Love Him Not

            The long ride home was commenced in excruciating silence.  Every once and a while, someone would shuffle, but no one dared talk.  Not with the atmosphere the Professor had established.

            The discussion on the lawn had proved too much a disarray –in the end, Professor Utonium told the neighbors (who had been awoken either when Bubbles burst out crying or Boomer attacked Butch because of it, no one knew for sure) that the boys would stay at his home for the time being.  All six of the super heroes were crammed neatly in the backseat, some of them sad, others angry, and all downright tired.  Eventually, the paddy wagon pulled into the drive way, and the guilty teenagers shuffled out and inside the house.

Butch and Buttercup didn't even apparate.

            The first words since downtown were spoken by the Professor –

            "Boys, you'll be sleeping in the Lab with me.  Girls, get upstairs."  Then he added, though they all knew it was coming,

            "We'll talk about this in the morning."  Which, as many children know, never ends well.

            There was a brief and simultaneous exchange of goodnights as the living room emptied out.

But no one really went to sleep.

-----

            Buttercup felt emotionally crossed between betrayed and bitter.  How she had been wrapped and would ultimately be punished for a plot in which she was the victim was infuriatingly beyond her.  She didn't bother to change her clothes and flopped on top of her bed, nestling in the black covers where Begee was contently snoozing on Butch's dirty shirt.  And while she mulled, she detected a foreign smell in her room.

Butch.

His scent was all around from earlier that day.

            Her face darkened.

            "It's his fault too."  She murmured bitterly, "If he'd never told me I wouldn't have gotten in trouble."

But for the first time, she couldn't get mad at him.  In fact, as she considered disbelievingly to herself, she didn't feel terribly upset at anyone.

            Buttercup cautiously inhaled the smell of her room.  She crawled over to where Butch had sat on her bed just hours before, and inhaled again.  And, though she would hardly admit it, it brought a strange mix of emotions to her mind.  Crossings between hate and humor and excitement.  She buried her face in that spot and muttering against the covers,

            "I want to tackle him."  Before slipping away into a light, comfortable sleep.

----

            Blossom lifted her hair brush from off the vanity and started the ritual.

One, two.  One-hundred brushes for each side.

Three, four, five.

            There goes the plan.  Between the four of them (herself not included, obviously) they had already admitted to half the plot in a hurried and rushed fashion which, if she knew the Professor (and she did) he would inquire upon in the morning.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

            Not to mention Butch and Buttercup had been there as well, hearing their secrets plainly exposed.

Eleven, twelve.

            It wouldn't have been so bad, Blossom thought, if they hadn't been there.  The Professor wouldn't have argued with their scheme, if not disapproved slightly.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

            Why were they there, anyway?

Fifteen, sixteen.

            And dressed in all black?

Sixteen, sixteen.

            They couldn't have…I mean, four against two, we would have noticed!

Sixteen, sixteen, sixteen.

            Then again…


Sixteen…

            Blossom set the brush down on the vanity rather forcibly.  She listened to the sounds of the door and the sounds in the room next door, where Buttercup's patterned breathing told her she was asleep.  Then she sat down at her desk and began, in a methodical fashion, listing the proving and disproving evidence that her theory was correct.

----

            Bubbles whimpered as she examined, for perhaps the millionth time that day (one-hundred-and-sixty-four, to be precise), the picture of Boomer resting upon her dresser.  He seemed alive within her scared 'The Great Funtime Adventures of Bunny-Bunny and Friends' frame, the vivid colors sparking his blonde hair to life, and making his wide blue eyes glitter.

            The blue Powerpuff sniffled miserably and hugged the picture tightly to her chest.

Then she heard a knock on her window.

            Bubbles glanced up reluctantly to see her sister, Blossom, avidly waving a sheet of pink notebook paper in her hand (?).  Bubbles moved dejectedly to the window, 'Boomer' still dangling from one hand as she opened the window for her sibling to fly inside.

Blossom whispered, "I figured it out."

Bubbles blinked slowly, her lip starting to tremble before she quietly wailed,

            "I don't care."  And fell crying on top of her bed.  Blossom immediately moved to her side, soothingly stroking her back.

            "We'll never be lovers now!" She cried steadily, muffled on the soft stain texture of her blankets.  Blossom decided not to question the terminology, knowing Bubbles' tendencies towards malapropism, and decided, rather, to be supportive.

            "Bubbles, don't be silly.  Boomer likes you as much as you like him.  I'm sure of it!"

            Bubbles sniffled, peering out slightly from her tunnel of despair and into the light of optimism, "Really?"

 Blossom nodded securely.  "Really."

            Bubbles smiled softly, and snuggled up to Blossom's side, wiping her last remaining tears away, and scooping her boyfriend's portrait into her arms once more.

"Thanks Blossom."  She smiled.

"No thanks necessary.  We're sisters."

They giggled lightly.

            "Speaking of which," The pink Puff continued, "I've figured out why our efforts to match Buttercup and Butch hadn't proceeded correctly."

            Bubbles hugged the picture tighter, giving Blossom an inquiring expression.

            "They're having a secret relationship already!"

Bubbles nearly exclaimed, "WHAT?!" but Blossom was quick to sensor her sister's surprise.

            "Think about it!  Doesn't it make perfect sense?"
Bubbles shook her head.

            "Well…think about all the times they were together.  Whenever we saw them together, they were always fighting.  But how did they always manage to find each other to fight?"

Bubbles said, "Maybe they met before.  Like a date?"
            "Exactly!  So do you get it?"
            "Not really."

Blossom sighed as Bubbles started to expound her reasoning,

            "Even when they don't fight they never get along.  Boomie and I get along.  And Brick and you get along.  Shouldn't they?"
            "It's probably a love-hate relationship."

Bubbles crinkled her nose delicately,

            "That's an…ox…oxen…"

            "Oxymoron?"

            "Right.  And besides that, why would they keep it a secret?"
            "Because Buttercup is a tough girl.  Tough girls don't have boyfriends."

Bubbles' nose remained cutely scrunched as she considered the possibilities.  Finally, she stated, "I still don't get it.  But it sounds a little possible."

            "And all we have to do," Blossom started with an air of fresh determination, having already forgotten what their last plan had brought about, "Is to catch them in the act."

            "I can help with that!" Bubbles cheered enthusiastically, then turned to digging through her coloring drawers until she resurfaced with a blue, heart-shaped camera.

            "Bubbles, you're a genius!"  While her sister blushed proudly, Blossom fiddled with the gadget.  It was half-way loaded with film, roughly seven or eight more pictures to go.  There was no flash, however, which could either be helpful or detrimental to the cause, she could not imagine which yet.

            Bubbles quieted suddenly, so quickly in fact that it caught Blossom attention.  Something else caught her attention.

Descending floorboards.

Their mouths moved simultaneously.

"Buttercup."  They wordlessly followed in suit.

----

            Brick lay idly in the darkness, half of him reviewing Barbarian war tactics in the thirteenth century, the other half memorizing the regularities of the Professor's snoring.  The day was certainly long, and he wasn't in the real mood to consider the insanity and obscurity the plan itself had presented to them in the long run.  In all honesty, he probably would have lived an easier life never hearing of it.

            But (like a wuss, he thought dismally) he did it for one of the more pathetic reasons in the mindset of some teenage boys like himself.

He'd done it for a girl.

One absolutely amazing and beautiful super heroine girl, but a girl nonetheless.

            When did he become this way, he wondered mildly.  Was it before or after the fateful day when he hit Blossom for the first, and last, time?  When they had kissed for the first time?

            He felt himself turning a peculiar shade of red, worsening his mood only slightly.  Finally feeling fed up with the topic, he closed his eyes and concentrated fully on war strategies.  It was then, however, that Brick heard a shuffling towards the base of the lab stairs.

            A curious, climbing sound.

            He estimated the time.

It was Butch. 

Going for his one o' clock glass of milk. 

Brick relaxed slightly and settled on his make-shift cot, seeing the door open slightly then silently close.  At least now the plot was open, and there would be no more running around. 

----

            Butch got his customary calcium urge at this time every night –it dragged him down the hall, past the living room and stairs, into the kitchen for a glass of milk, then guaranteed easily sleep.  But, as he quietly arrived at his destination, he noted a figure already there.

            Though his sleepy eyes and the dim darkness he only caught certain things about her: long hair and fluid movements, the rest of her obscured, seeming to blend in with the shadow.  She was seated at the kitchen table with her head buried in her arms.

The glass of milk said it all, really.

            His calcium craving temporarily forgotten, Butch silently pulled up a chair and watched her sleeping form.

            "Buttercup."  He whispered, "Wake up."

            "I'm not sleeping, idiot."  She looked up, eyelids drooping slightly in her drowsiness.  Butch rolled his eyes.

            "You really are a brat, you know."  But he was, oddly, grinning.  Buttercup grudgingly smiled as well.

            "Jerk."

Then odder still, they laughed.  Together.  Buttercup felt, once more, the inexplicable urge to punch him.  But as she had found herself doing lately, she valiantly resisted, instead pushing her milk to his side of the table.

            "Here.  I cleared all the milk just now."

            "Well now," Butch remarked sarcastically, washing the calcium-rich fluids in a single gulp, "that was gracious turn in your usual cruel behavior."

            "Denial in the calcium department at one in the morning is even too cruel for me."  She grumbled, her spirit in better humor, "Don't push it though."

            A spoon rose from the sink and smacked him wickedly in the forehead.  Butch meant to retaliate with that same spoon, sending it careening towards her with his own metal manipulation.  Buttercup concentrated however, and the spoon stalled between them.  The challenge had begun, either gazing deeply at the other for any sign of weakness.

            Buttercup stared, in a daze of warm milk and partial insomnia, into the forest green eyes of Butch.  Her heart picked up speed as she concentrated harder.  Butch was…her…rival.  She wanted to punch him.  Punch him for…for smiling and smelling…the way he did…

She blanked out suddenly; the spoon went flying forward, merely brushing her hair and crashing with a satisfied smack onto the sink.

            Buttercup laughed shortly, quietly, and shrugged her shoulders.

            "I guess you win, then."

Butch made a strangling sound.

            "What…" He sputtered, "What did you just say?"  She blinked.

            "You…win?"

Butch couldn't think of anything to say.  Buttercup had just realized what she said and couldn't think of anything to say.  Either of them felt themselves growing hot in the face, and with her violent tendencies uprising the green Powerpuff swiftly pushed herself out of her chair.

            "I'm…I'm going to back to bed." She whispered, moving out of the kitchen.

The green Rowdyruff sat very still then abruptly lashed out, grabbing her arm.  Buttercup jumped away, more likely in shock –the action made him feel ill.

            "What?" Buttercup asked, a cross between breathless and annoyed.

            "Is 'The Plan' still on?"  He inquired after a moment.  She frowned.

            "I…I think that…we should just forget it.  For now, I mean."


Buttercup fainted mentally.  I can't believe I just said that.

            "Alright then."

            "You're just…okay with this?"

He shrugged casually, turning towards the basement door.

            "It was your call."  He nudged her arm slightly.  "Night, brat." 

Buttercup crossed her arms tightly, laughing ruefully, silently, and to herself.

            "Goodnight jerk."  She bit her lip, hesitated, then flew swiftly upstairs and quietly shut her door.  Butch reappeared at the top of the basement stairs.

            "Hey Buttercup I was just thinking…"  He quietly glanced around, shook his head and receded back into the basement.

On the middle stair, a creeping sound ascended, moved down the hall and entered the pink room to the right.

            Blossom reappeared in her sister's room, where Bubbles had been waiting with growing anticipation.

            "What did you hear?" She asked quietly.  Blossom smiled gracefully and shrugged.

            "Nothing of importance.  I was way off base."  She yawned.  "I'm going to bed, Bubbles.  Professor's really going to give it to us, so sleep well."

Her baby-blue sister tilted her head one way, but dismissed her perplexity quickly.

            "I'm glad it's nothing.  Sleep tight, Blossom."

            "Goodnight Bubbles."

----

            Buttercup was terribly sleepy, but she continued to flip cards.

            "Love him…love him not…love him…love him not…"  Stupid and girlish, yes, but Buttercup felt she needed some form of security in her answer.  Meanwhile, the number of cards dwindled.

            "Love him…love him not…"  She threw the last card.  "Love him."

The green Powerpuff growled, burying her head in her pillow as she drifted, once more, into slumber.

            "Stupid cards…"  She grumbled.  But underneath her pillow, she was smiling.

Disclaimer: I own the Powerpuff Girls, not!  Alas, it pains me so.

Happy 100 review to meeeeeeeee~!  And thank you for the oodles and oodles of support you all have offered me –it is more appreciated than these typed words can express! ^____^  I don't think this ending is counted as a cliffhanger, so you all should be very proud of me. ^___^   In any case, this story is almost finished!  AHHHHHH!!!  -cough- Please excuse my excitement.  Thanks for sticking along thus far!!  Arigatou, minna-san!  -bows-