I am tremendously, tremendously sorry. I had hoped to wrap things up with this chapter, which is part of the reason that I've been sitting on it so long - I've seen far too many fics that started out strong and petered out near the end, and I have been trying not to be one of those folks, no matter what else RL is throwing at me.

I can't in good conscience make you wait any longer. My deepest apologies...and here's the next chapter.

~~~

Chapter 12 - Blue Skies

After Butch's rather dramatic exit last night, things went downhill. Sure, I'd clued Blossom and Brick in on how they felt about each other, but Blossom was in protective sister mode with Buttercup, and Brick was doing whatever it was that he did when he wasn't here, joined to Blossom's hip.

I'd put my foot in my mouth this time. Things were so much easier when we were still in Miss Keene's class and boy problems were simple things like saving Twiggy from Mitch Mitchelson - and I hate to admit it, but I still hold a tiny grudge against him for the way he treated that hamster. The point is, sometimes I see the Big Picture, and I get so excited, I forget that not everyone sees things the same way I do.

I would have been hurt, too, if I'd been Butch. Butch, my dark hero.

I did a lot of soul searching last night. Kept thinking that I might have actually wanted to break them up. I didn't, did I? I had everyone's best interests at heart, right?

I wanted to paint. I craved it. It was almost a physical pain; that's how badly I wanted to get my feelings out on canvas.

Took me until this morning to think of this journal.

And I can't help think of how Boomer keeps a journal, too, that stupid notebook full of who knows what. Maybe I should give up on trying to acquire Boomer's dark secrets by less than honest means.

My face flushed hotly every time I remember the eyeful I got. I wonder how long it will be before Blossom knows what kind of underwear Brick wears. It's not right that I know and she doesn't.

I wondered if Boomer habitually wore only one layer of clothing. Wondered if it was a habit he'd acquired while dating Princess. I wondered if "dating" was even the right word for what had existed between the two of them.

Most of all, though, I wondered if Butch hated me.

What's wrong with me? I am selfish. My sister is heartbroken because I made a mess of things, and all I can think is...does Butch hate ME? Is he mad at ME?

Boomer was right to be so sarcastic last night. He said...

Holy...

Boomer SAID. As in he spoke. Boomer, the withdrawn shadow with the journal, actually said something to me last night.

Granted, it was sarcastic, and I admit it hurt a little bit, but he'd opened his mouth and let the words fall out.

I am a horrible friend, and a horrible sister.

Doctor Love.

Boomer was right to point out my not-too-well-thought out plan.

I wonder if he thinks I'm a complete idiot. I wonder if Brick does, for that matter.

And still, I wonder if Butch hates me.

I can't face Buttercup. I need to, but I can't. If she kicks me out of her room, I think I'd fall apart.

~~~~~

It's only been a couple of days, but it seems like weeks. I've been a complete coward. I've even started going to school earlier in the mornings to avoid seeing the hurt I put on Buttercup's face. It appears I won't have time to dwell on this mess any longer today, because the hot line is beeping in the hallway outside our rooms, and as usual, Blossom has just picked it up.

I can see her from my position on the bed where I'd flopped as soon as I got home. Blossom's frowning - this is not a good sign. It's obviously more than a simple matter of helping the mayor open a jar of pickles. Buttercup once suggested a creative part of his anatomy to use as a jar opener, but I think it's become a sign that all is well in the city, so we still welcome those calls.

She looks alarmed. Looks like I'll have to put aside my bout of self-pity. Townsville first, Bubbles' teen angst second.

I think I'm becoming a bit cynical...

~~~~~

I'm okay. I'm okay. I will keep telling myself that until I believe it. Everyone else believed it, after all, so it must be true.

And I've finally managed to stop crying long enough to drag this damned journal out. The only place I can spill my guts.

I know that Buttercup often gets this 'high' from fighting. Chemical X hasn't ever been a problem with the rush of adrenaline we all get, although Buttercup seems to have gotten the lion's share there.

The short version of the story is...the day was saved, thanks to the 'Ruffs and my sisters. Maybe I helped a little. At least I helped keep a family of bunnies from getting flattened.

Then Butch prevented the same from happening to me.

It's kind of a blur. Typical big, ugly monster - one we haven't fought before, to my recollection. Then another one just like him shows up. Tops of buildings are torn off, a bus and an eighteen wheeler are both thrown into the distance. One was caught by Buttercup, and the other was prevented from crashing into our high school by Brick.

If things were the way they should be, he'd have gotten an earful after all the dangers were taken care of. Both Buttercup and Butch would have complained long and loud about still having to go to school.

Of course they don't mean it, really.

What am I saying? Of course they do. Except that they wouldn't want the truck driver to be hurt. Or anyone that might have been in the school.

It still hurts. Damn it, I can't believe how much it hurts.

I wasn't paying attention to the imminent danger. I was determined to get those rabbits to safety. I wasn't stupid enough to try to shoo them away; I wanted to scoop them up and fly out of the path of the collapsing skyscraper.

But first I had to get the rubble out of the way. I tore at it with both hands, and in my haste, I caused it to disintegrate. I batted away the fragments before they hurt any of the creatures I'd unintentionally placed in danger. I'll bet Blossom would have known that the stone that had imprisoned the bunnies was in danger of falling apart, but then, she might not have thought to look for our four legged friends, either.

So I managed to clear all the obstructions, but before I could gather the rabbits in my arms, they ran. Which was fine with me, because they were running away from the direction of the fight that was still going on.

I had just enough time to realize a large shadow had come over me, and I remember thinking maybe it wouldn't be so bad to think I was Mojo Jojo again, even if I didn't mean it. Funny what you think in times of crisis.

Then a warm body hit me. Hard. And both of us barely got out of the way in time.

I remember looking up at the sky and seeing Butch's worried expression. Once I smiled at him weakly, he scowled and called me stupid. However, I was on Cloud Nine.

Then I heard voices calling us. Blossom, calling from where she was still pummeling the upper part of Monster Number Two, Brick from wherever he was at the time, possibly helping Boomer tackle Monster Number One.

And Buttercup, who, I later found out, had finished off Monster Number Two with an enraged flurry of punches before she practically tackled Butch, just as he'd tackled me. She ran her hands all over his body, then seemed to realize what she was doing.

She turned her attention to me, and I shook off her concerns with a bright smile. Bunnies saved, Butch acting the part of my knight in shining armor, one monster already vanquished...

And Buttercup and Butch were suddenly climbing down each other's throats.

Fortunately for Townsville, by then the second monster had been taken care of by Boomer and Brick - again, I found this out later.

I'm surprised I remember anything, other than the sight of Butch and Buttercup going at it like they never had before. And that's saying something.

I suppose it's true. Fear is an aphrodisiac. I thought it was just some kind of twaddle, but apparently there's something to the need to reaffirm that you're alive and in one piece, or that the person you care about the most is.

I was the one who inadvertently put her foot in her mouth and drove Butch away, even if I wasn't the one who broke them up in the first place. And I was the one who stubbornly clung to the hope that maybe there would be a chance for me with Butch.

I knew it was foolish. I knew it would be wrong, so very wrong, even if Butch reciprocated my feelings. I doubt I could have ever gone through with acting on my feelings for Butch, because Buttercup is my sister. You just don't date your friends' ex-boyfriends, and that goes double when said ex-boyfriend dated your sister.

I did say that I knew they were meant for each other, didn't I?

I've lost track of whether I'm crying because I lost Butch, because I dared to want him in the first place, or because I feel guilty that I am crying in the first place.

Someone's at the door...

~~~~~

The Professor should get a medal, or sainthood, or something.

He asked if he could come in, then he sat on the edge of my bed and rubbed my shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

When I didn't answer, he followed up with, "Or maybe you just want a hug."

And I did. I cried anew, all over his white lab coat. I probably left a few more offensive things besides tears, because I could feel my nose running all the while, too, no matter how often I sniffled to keep from soiling his jacket further.

The thing is, he didn't need to say anything; he just hugged me, just like he had when I was a little girl, and let me cry.

He has often expressed disappointment that he hasn't been able to make up for the lack of a maternal figure in our family, but he's done a pretty good job, I think. Buttercup would say it's because he's in touch with his feminine side, but I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing.

The only thing he said the entire time I bawled my eyes out was, "Just because your head knows all the right things doesn't mean your heart wants to listen to it. Not even when your heart knows it's the right thing, too."

I guess that pretty much summed it up, didn't it?

It's late at night now, and I should be sleeping, but maybe I'll go up on the roof for a while. I think the fresh air will do me good.

~~~~~

Boomer was hovering over Townsville early the following morning, clutching his journal in one hand and a scrap of something in the other.

He knew she'd be here before long. He'd known her long enough to catalog her habits, and he knew that she'd want some time to collect her thoughts.

She was there within half an hour, and she looked surprised to see him. She looked hesitantly around, as if expecting his brothers to be in the vicinity as well.

"It's just me, Bubbles," he said. "Have a seat." He gestured to the empty air.

She laughed, and crossed her legs as she hovered next to him. "Copping a squat, as instructed," she said. The light in her eyes faded slightly as she recognized the scrap of canvas he held. One hand went to her mouth to cover the 'O' it had formed.

Boomer nodded. "I found it the other day," he said, shaking it open with one hand.

It was approximately a quarter of the oil painting Bubbles had done a while ago. In it, Butch's face was clearly visible among some of the smoke and fire, looking like an unattainable hope in the otherwise dreary art.

She remembered what she'd called it, too. The Demise of Hope.

Boomer vaporized the canvas with his heat vision, and she almost cried out with the loss, feeling it more keenly than she had when Butch and Buttercup got back together.

Then he held out something to her.

Her face flamed as she recognized the journal she'd tried to sneak a peek at.

"It's only fair," he said with a shrug as she looked at him questioningly.

As soon as she took the book from him, he left her alone with it, the blue streak that followed him slowly dissipating.

She ran a hand over the front cover, then slowly opened it.

~~~~~

You'd think that everything was back to normal, just about, right?

If you think that Butch and Buttercup's little PDA was the sign of everything being in the past, you'd be dead wrong.

Butch was still upset that Buttercup lacked faith in him, but, as he confessed to me one afternoon, he is still damned attracted to her. And he admitted once, just once, that he still loved her.

I believe him. If he didn't love her, it would be easy to forgive her for failing to trust him. That hurt him a lot, and I think she will have a bit of a battle to convince him that she does, indeed, trust him with her heart and soul.

It sounds melodramatic, but I think that she really does. Butch does, too, but he's not going to forgive and forget so easily. He'll come around, I'm sure of it. He's even saddled her with a new nickname. This time it's Bucky, and she really hates it. That's a surefire sign that they are close to rebuilding their relationship, at least for those two.

I think perhaps I'm finally on the road to getting over him. At least I know that it's all right for me to feel this way. It would be a problem if I acted on these feelings, but sometimes you just can't help who you love.

Brick and Blossom are simply adorable; honestly they are. They know how they feel about one another, but they are still testing the waters. They hold hands, and sometimes their knees will bump together if they sit across from each other at the table or next to each other on the couch.

Their casual touches are more and more frequent, and I see the open emotion when they look at each other. It's hard to miss in eyes as big as ours.

I don't think they've kissed yet. They are working their way up to that. Soon, though. All the signs are there, and I can see them clearly. It's different than what Butch and Buttercup have. Where Butch and Buttercup went from rivals to lovers, Blossom and Brick are taking the scenic route from friends to something-more-than-friends.

That leaves me and Boomer.

I would have gone to school the other day red-eyed, if I had bothered to go after I found out that Boomer had found part of my Dark Portfolio.

What's in the journal, you ask? You won't believe me when I tell you.

Poetry.

It started out as angsty-poetry, the sort that could be used as lyrics for a lot of popular bands today. Verses that showed the pain of unrequited love were first. Later on, there was the regret of loving the wrong person, and the pain of substituting lust for love, and then recognizing that physical attraction was sometimes just as blind as love.

Boomer is a damned poet. Not just a poet, but a romantic poet.

Romance isn't always sunshine and rainbows, as much as I've tried to convince myself otherwise.

Romance is also more than just love.

Love is what you feel. Romance is how you show it.

Sometimes what you show isn't exactly pretty.

I've not seen Boomer writing since he gave me the journal. I'm not sure if he felt that if I gave up my "dark vice" he'd give up his as well, or if it was a passing phase he went through, like the black clothes and hair.

Who am I to judge?

Maybe I will take up painting again. But I think I will get a new set of paints this time. Something with a lot more pastels and fewer dark colors.

Something with lots of yellow. And maybe some red and green.

I could always mix green instead of buying it. I already plan on having lots of yellow, after all.

But I think I'd rather have green paint that I didn't create. Something that was green, independent of anything I did.

Something that wasn't created by adding something blue to something like sunshine.

I want to paint again, and use the yellow and the red to depict sunshine, not flames of despair.

I want to use green to show the life around us. The grass, the trees, the flowers.

Perhaps some tulips, and poppies, and daffodils.

That just leaves the sky.

Funny thing about the sky. At night, it's black, but there are stars, little points of light in the darkness.

Sometimes it's gray, and foreboding. The gray can mean a thunderstorm, but it also signals the sunrise.

And when there is a torrential downpour, the gray skies do eventually clear. The rainbow is visible.

I think Blossom will always be the commander and the leader. She's damn good at it.

Buttercup, big ol' marshmallow softy that she is, will likely always be the toughest fighter.

It's time to remember my role in all of this.

I can do that.

~~~~~

A/N: As I mentioned earlier, I really had the idea to finish this story with this chapter, but then...well, things didn't happen as I envisioned. I am very, VERY sorry that you had to wait so long. I think it got worse the more time that went by. I felt it had to be really good to make up for the wait, and then I sat on it longer. It was a vicious cycle, and after all that time, I have almost exactly what I had a month ago.

Part of me wants to end the story here, but I think Bubbles deserves an epilogue. I just don't dare make any promises regarding when that will be.

My deepest thanks to those of you who actually came back to read after more than two months went by. I appreciate all the comments and encouragement to continue. You've really made me more determined to make the time to finish the chapter.

Once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your patience, and I hope it was worth the wait.

~~~~~

One last request, beyond the begging of forgiveness - I would deeply appreciate if the review button were not used as a means of launching an attack against another reader. It is rather upsetting to receive such hostile e-mails in the morning. I thank you all for taking the time to review the story in the first place. Your encouragement means a lot to me.