Chapter 3
In the days that followed her sisters' interference, Bubbles's family mourned the loss of her soul. Buttercup acted strangely protective, going so far as to join Bubbles in moving temporarily back into their old house, where Bubbles' family kept her closely monitored. Despite her protests, she was forced to leave behind her stuffed octopus, which Buttercup complained that they should've thrown out, the first time it had gotten possessed. There was no scientific way to rectify the situation, therefor no healthy way for Professor Utonium to process it. Buttercup was impatient to bust down the gates of Hell, like she had Bubbles' cabin door, and kick the devil's sorry ass, but Blossom insisted that they needed some kind of plan, and to consider any possible loopholes in Lucifer's. The recovery of Bubbles' soul was Blossom's first priority, but she was also paranoid the Apocalypse would soon be upon the world beyond Townsville.
To the contrary, Lucifer wasn't currently concerned with his plans for the Apocalypse, or anything, for that matter, aside from his chosen bride, who would someday rule beside him on the queen's throne.
Drunk on celebratory Devil's Brew, he sneaked away from a crowd of demonic minions, descended the staircase that spiraled toward his private quarters, walked through the red-and-black hallways, and into an empty room with heavenly blue walls. His euphoric bliss suddenly faded, and was replaced with an unfamiliar sickness in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps, he'd made a mistake. Hell was no place for someone like Bubbles, who was better suited to a field of flowers beneath a blue sky. The appeal of Heaven was one's ability to create their own world—to play God—but the catch was that it was a lonely illusion. Bubbles already lived in a world of her own, and with the expected loneliness, which Lucifer had offered an escape to.
With a sigh, he made his way toward his own chambers, which were red-and-black, and furnished with gothic décor. He changed into another frilly, black dress, threw a red-and-black, feathered boa over his shoulders, then sat down at his vanity, and quickly reapplied his black lipstick, before making a reappearance at his party.
Mitch's jaw dropped slightly, as he opened his door to the sight of Buttercup, whose face lit up at the sight of his. "Buttercup! Wh-What's up?!" He stuttered in his raspy voice. His shaggy, brown hair was disheveled, and his freckles showed vividly in the sun.
"Blossom said ya stopped by, the other day." Buttercup felt her face heat up, as she nervously rubbed the back of her neck. It had been three years since Mitch had understandably drifted apart from her. "How've you been?" He shrugged. "I've missed you, dude."
"Have you?" He asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow at the woman who'd dumped him for someone almost twice their age.
"Look, I'm sorry for the way everything turned out between us," Buttercup admitted. "I just wish we could go back to the way things were before we dated."
"You mean, when you were blissfully unaware of how I already felt about you?" There was a bite to Mitch's voice, but his expression softened, as tears welled up in Buttercup's eyes. "I wish we could go back, too." He sighed. "At least, I still had hope for us." She hung her head, and let herself cry for the first time in over three years. She wept for the loss of their friendship; the loss of Bubbles' soul; the loss of so many of Townsville's innocent citizens. All the tears she'd held back over the years, she finally let out. Mitch sat beside her on the porch steps, and patted her back. Once she'd finished crying, he let her vent about Bubbles, while they played a round of H.O.R.S.E..
"I'm just worried about her." Buttercup sighed, dribbling the basketball a few times, before bouncing it toward Mitch. He attempted to toss the ball into the hoop, but it bounced off the rim, and he was too lazy to run after it. Buttercup appeared to be equally lazy, or maybe just not in the mood. "I'm sorry for layin' all this on ya. I don't exactly deserve your company."
"Things will never be like they used to," Mitch admitted, "but I'll always be here for you."
As they said their goodbyes, they spit into their own hands, before shaking each others'. If this was the only way Mitch would ever again be able to swap spit with Buttercup, he'd take it; and if Buttercup had to choose between their friendship, or her relationship with Ace, she realized that she would definitely choose Mitch.
"We just need to think of a way to convince him to tear up her contract," Blossom thought aloud, as she paced about the laboratory, where she and Professor Utonium had been redundantly bouncing the same ideas off each other. "How would we even contact him, though? It's not like we can just call him on the phone."
"Maybe we could ritualistically summon him."
"Hm..." Blossom contemplatively stroked her chin. "That's a pretty sound idea. I think we should explore it." She hurried toward the nearby desk, and opened her laptop. "I'll start researching possible methods."
"We still don't know what we'd say or do," the professor reminded her.
"Maybe there's some other shady deal we can make with him, to effectively nullify the one he made with Bubbles. Or, maybe we can make some kind of bet for he soul." She smirked arrogantly at the the professor. "I'd bet him a lot of money, that I'd whoop his ass at chess." Utonium smiled proudly back at her, but the smile faltered, as worry and doubt crept back over him. "It'll be okay, Drake." Blossom closed the space between them, and tightly embraced him. "We're both way smarter than him, and I know we'll find a way to save Bubbles." Professor Utonium pulled away slightly, but only to lift his index finger to the underside of Blossom's chin, and tilt up her face, so he could plant a passionate kiss on her lips.
At that very moment, Bubbles happened to stumble upon them. She'd quietly floated downstairs, while Blossom and Professor Utonium had been too preoccupied to hear the door open.
"Oh, my God!" Bubbles squealed in her already high-pitched, squeaky voice.
"We can explain," Blossom defended, as the professor reached out to put his hand on Bubbles' shoulder.
"Don't touch me!" Bubbles reflexively pulled away, noticing the hurt look in his eyes, as though she'd just slapped him across the face.
"I don't see you like that, Bubbles," he insisted. "I have a different relationship with Blossom."
"I get it," Bubbles said, surprised by her own jealousy. "I've always known that Blossom was your favorite. I've always known that you love her the most." Before he could try to deny it, she flew back upstairs, and out the front door.
"'Ey, Buttercup!" The punky Powerpuff heard Ace shout, as she passed the dead end alley that they'd recently spray painted.
"Oh, hey," she greeted rather absently, turning down the alley, where the gang was just standing around, smoking cigarettes; which probably meant that they were discretely pedaling weed to passersby.
"Where you been? I haven't seen you in, like, a week."
"It's been three days." Buttercup rolled her eyes, snatching the cigarette from between her boyfriend's fingers, and taking a quick puff, before passing it back.
"I've missed you," Ace purred into Buttercup's ear, but she noted that it surprisingly didn't fluster her the way it once had.
"I've missed you, too," Buttercup said genuinely, though she realized the words had been subconsciously meant for Mitch, who she missed deeply, at that very moment, as she had ever since they'd drifted apart. When she thought about it, she realized she hadn't even missed Ace very much, over the past three days. She felt as though everything had been flipped upside down, turned inside out, and played backwards, because she suddenly couldn't pinpoint what had initially attracted her so intensely toward Ace, or why she'd ever thought he was worth more than her friendship with Mitch. Even the few vaguely intimate encounters she'd shared with Mitch over the course of the three months they'd dated, felt suddenly more significant than any she'd shared with Ace. She'd been superficially infatuated with the gang leader, who once could easily smooth talk her in his nasally Italian New York accent. He'd seemed way cooler, when she'd known him as merely some punk with slicked-back hair, dark shades, and a leather jacket, rather than an actual person, and the particular individual that he happened to be. Over the past couple years, Buttercup honestly had grown more appreciative of his true nature, but the superficial infatuation had finally worn off, and she was starting to question her past decisions; maybe even regret the path she'd gone down.
"When you comin' home?"
Home...
The word echoed through Buttercup's brain, nagging her to hurry back to her family.
"Dunno," she shrugged, "but I can't really chill, until we've found a way to save Bubbles. I'm ready to kick some ass, but Blossom's been trying to come up with a plan." She sighed, running a hand through her chin-length, black hair, whose tips curled upward. "Guess she's probably right, as always."
"Wish I could help," Ace somewhat surprisingly admitted, though Buttercup knew it was herself he wanted to help in this endeavor, since he'd always been as indifferent toward Bubbles, as he'd been contemptuous toward Blossom.
"Wish I could help, too." She felt powerless, as they waited. "I'll call you soon, okay?" Ace pressed his lips against hers, and she half-heartedly reciprocated the kiss.
"Smell ya later."
Buttercup rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the smirk the spread across her face. Ace had always been able to make her laugh. "Psh, you're the one who smel—" Her sentence was cut off by the sound of a monstrous roar, and the familiarly thunderous footsteps that followed. She whipped around to see that a skyscraper-sized amphibian was headed toward the city, and felt overcome by her violent instincts. With her eyebrows furrowed in determination, and a bloodthirsty smirk on her face, she took off into the air, like a rocket ship, and sped toward the slimy creature.
