Chapter 16

Blossoming Perspective

Townsville hospital! A place of healing, a place of renewal, and a place with copious amounts of disinfectant. It is in this busy bastion of recovery where we find our favorite superheroines, The Powerpuff Girls!

"Shh!" Blossom hissed.

Well, two of The Powerpuff Girls…

Blossom changed Buttercup's bandages for her so they wouldn't have to disturb the nurse on duty. Buttercup was still in a lot of pain, but the Chemical X the professor gave her sped up her recovery to the point where she could move almost independently. Butch wanted Mojo to bring him Chemical X too, but the old monkey was taking his sweet time coming back. Thankfully he still had Boomer to keep him company. Well, maybe thankfully was the wrong word.

"Okay, now I need a noun," Boomer instructed.

"Uh…is vomit a noun?" Butch asked.

"I think so. I'm gonna count it anyway," Boomer said as he wrote on a piece of colorful paper, "Okay, now I'm gonna read it back. I went to the fart store and slipped on some punching bags. Then I magnified the manager and hollered him in the vomit. Huh, that almost made sense."

"Could you guys stop with the ad-libs?" Buttercup groaned, "My head is killing me right now…"

"Hey, gotta do something while we wait on dear old dad," Butch groused, "Seriously, why is he taking so long? It's been two days, and I still can't move my legs!"

"We don't know that the Chemical X will fix your legs," Blossom pointed out, "Besides, he's not the only dad MIA at the moment. The professor said he would be here today, but he still hasn't shown up. I tried to call Bubbles to see if he went home, but I couldn't get a hold of her either. Again."

"What's the big deal?" Buttercup shrugged, "They'll show up when they feel like it. I don't mind."

"Yeah, but I do," Blossom snapped, "I'm the one that has school work to take care of, not to mention the crime problem in Townsville. Yet here I am, doing everything here by myself! Bubbles doesn't even have a job. She could take time out of her precious day to get off her butt and help me!"

"You know it's not that simple," Buttercup reminded her, "She's trying. Bubbles even tried to help you fight crime last week. She's doing her best."

"Yeah, and that ended with her releasing Mojo Jojo from prison!" Blossom griped, "Face it, Bubbles has lost it. I can't keep doing this, Buttercup! I'm fighting crime, working on college courses, taking care of you, and finding leads in the Mr. Big case so the professor can go home. I'm doing everything! Bubbles just sits around all day knitting her stuffed animals and feeling sorry for herself, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of being the only one in this family willing to pick up the pieces everyone else drops! Why can't she just help me?"

"Blossom, you're tired," Buttercup said matter-of-factly, "Just go home and take a nap. The world won't blow up if you take a few minutes for yourself."

"You don't know that," Blossom pointed out, "If there's a bomb threat, I have to stop it. If there's an organized crime problem, I have to stop it. I have to plan for every single thing that could go wrong, or else Townsville could go up in flames. There's no one to replace me."

"Yeesh, you are such a crybaby!" Boomer complained, "Look, if you really need help, just ask. I won't even charge that much."

"I'm not hiring you to work with me," Blossom argued, "You and your brothers cause more damage than you could ever mitigate. Unleashing you on Townsville would be even worse than Bubbles freeing Mojo Jojo."

"You don't know that," Boomer echoed her words, "I can punch criminals as good as you can. Maybe even better. After all, punching is punching."

"You're just saying that because you want to cause trouble without anyone stopping you," Blossom accused.

"Nuh uh!" Boomer protested, "I just…I dunno. You just look like you're gonna kill someone if you have to keep going like this. Maybe…maybe I don't want that. I dunno. I guess I feel sorry for you."

Blossom's tension left her shoulders, and she just stared at Boomer as if she had never seen him before. She didn't know a Rowdyruff Boy could feel empathy. He seemed sincere, in his own gruff way, and realizing how unhinged she looked to even the local bad boy supervillains, Blossom just sat down and let herself break down for a moment.

"It's not fair…" Blossom said calmly despite her tears, "…I gave my whole life to this city. Why is everything going so wrong? Bubbles is a basket case, Buttercup is injured, and the professor is in danger. I can't go home, I can't rest, and I don't know what we're going to do. What was it all for? A few pats on the back and some social media clout aren't enough to help when everything is imploding on itself. Why am I still doing this to myself?"

"You could try knitting," Buttercup halfheartedly joked, "It seems to calm Bubbles down."

"Look, Blossom, just stop pitying yourself and let me help you," Boomer insisted, "Just tell me what you need. Crime fighting, saving kittens from trees, I can do it all. Just say something."

"Well…you could stay with Butch and Buttercup while I check on Bubbles and the professor," Blossom requested.

"Hey! You're giving me the sissy job?" Boomer whined.

"Hah, hah!" Butch cackled, "Check it out, it's Nurse Boomer! Hah!"

"I hate all you guys!" Boomer sulked and crossed his arms.

"Please, Boomer?" Blossom pressed, "If I could just talk to Bubbles, then maybe I could get her to stay here instead of you. I also need to make sure The Saga Cartel hasn't found the professor. I won't be gone too long, okay?"

"Well…okay, fine," Boomer relented, "I guess if it'll keep you from melting everything with your laser vision or freezing the room with your ice breath."

"Thanks, Boomer," Blossom hugged him, and he tried to pull away, "I won't forget this."

"Get off me!" Boomer yelled.

Blossom giggled at his tough guy facade, and then flew out the window to find her family. As the clouds whipped past her, Blossom couldn't help but wonder why Bubbles was so distant lately. She knew PTSD could be a powerful problem to overcome, but it seemed like Bubbles was acting even more erratically lately. What could have gotten into her?

As Blossom's pink streak of light flew over Townsville, Femme Fatale looked up at the sky and watched her go by.

Femme Fatale was on her way to see Mr. Big, but before that she wanted to grab a tabloid from the local news stand. She knew most of the stories in there were pure fiction, but they were fun nonetheless.

She parked her lambo and walked to the news stand, her boot heels clacking on the concrete. She wore plain clothes today instead of her supervillain costume. For once she didn't feel like attracting unwanted attention, especially since she believed herself responsible for the death of Buttercup. Best to wait until the heat died down. If only she realized a trench coat and black boots wasn't exactly subtle.

As Femme Fatale looked over the different newspapers and tabloids available, she noticed that many of them had Blossom on the cover. The headlines varied, but they told a cohesive story all the same.

POWERPUFF PUMMELS PAINTING PILFERERS.

BLOSSOM BEATS BURNING BEAST

LOCAL HEROINE SAVES ANIMAL SHELTER

GIRL POWER: INSIDE THE LIFE OF BLOSSOM UTONIUM

Femme Fatale couldn't help but pick up that paper and read the last article. Blossom talked about how it felt to serve Townsville as its premier superhero for 20 years, and the various accomplishments she and her sisters achieved during that time. The part that really struck a chord with Femme Fatale was when Blossom discussed being the first female superheroes to join the Association of World Super People, which at that time was called the Association of World Super Men. Before The Powerpuff Girls joined, women weren't allowed among their ranks.

She couldn't help but cry a little at that thought. Femme Fatale spoke about breaking the glass ceiling for supervillains, but all the while The Powerpuff Girls actually did so for superheroes.

Femme Fatale paid for the newspaper and went back to her car. As she drove, she couldn't help but think about Buttercup and Blossom. She still remembered Buttercup lying there in a pool of her own blood. At the time Femme Fatale felt nothing but joy over her victory, except…it wasn't really her victory. It was Mr. Big's. Femme Fatale allowed herself to be used as a hired gun by some man to take down the best thing to ever happen for her feminist agenda.

Buttercup was dead, and Bubbles was likely dead now too. Femme Fatale worked to take down two of the only three female superheroes Townsville had. How could she keep going? Could she really kill Blossom? What would she really gain? She would still be under the thumb of Mr. Big, who was little more than an unstable man-child with the gluttonous eating habits to reflect such a disposition.

After a few minutes of driving she was admitted into the gated community, and quickly pulled up to Big's driveway. She abruptly pumped the brakes on her car, and took a sharp breath to brace herself. Mr. Big was outside, waving at her from the top of the steps. She wished she could put this off a little longer, but perhaps it was best to rip the metaphorical bandage off right now.

"Hi, Femme Fatale," Mr. Big said cheerfully, "Mr. Big was glad to get your call. For some reason the phone didn't work when I tried to call you back."

"I had the number disconnected," Femme Fatale explained, "I'm buying a new phone, and decided a new number would help me start over."

Mr. Big nodded, and then turned to walk inside. Femme Fatale grabbed his arm, and he stopped to look back at her.

"Listen Big, I need to talk to you about the money," Femme Fatale said sternly, "You promised me 3 million dollars, 1 million for each Powerpuff Girl. You've already paid me 1 million upfront, and now I would like the 1 million owed for Bubbles."

"Oh. Okay," Mr. Big replied, "I'm glad you said that. Mr. Big has a surprise for you."

Mr. Big then went inside, and Femme Fatale hesitantly followed him. It was difficult to adjust to the dim lighting after being outside in the sun for so long. Femme Fatale worked to gather her nerves. She knew what she had to say to Mr. Big next probably wouldn't be taken very well, but she couldn't just ignore the problem and hope it would go away.

"Big, I want to talk to you about the job," Femme Fatale continued as they walked, "I want out."

Mr. Big stopped then, and once again turned around slowly to regard her.

"Out?" Mr. Big repeated, "What do you mean, out?"

"I got you Buttercup, and I got you Bubbles, but…I don't want to hurt Blossom," Femme Fatale admitted, "Try to understand, girls today have so few role models. If I kill Blossom, then I kill a part of women's history. Townsville needs her, and I don't feel right going after a woman that means so much to so many. You probably can't understand. Men own the world. You can look anywhere to find someone like you doing great things. Men have kept women from reaching their full potential for thousands of years, and Blossom is one of the lucky few that has everything we've worked so hard to achieve. She's intelligent, strong, and independent. She's the kind of person I wish I could have looked up to as a girl. So…I can't do this. I know you're probably angry with me, but I just can't kill Blossom."

"It sounds like you want Blossom to stay alive," Mr. Big observed.

"I do, but I know I can't control what you do," Femme Fatale said in a defeated tone, "I know you're going to do your best to take revenge on The Powerpuff Girls. I can't stop you. I just don't want to be a part of this. I won't rat you out though. We criminals need to stick together, after all."

"Do you want me to not kill Blossom?" Mr. Big asked point blank, "You can tell me the truth. I won't get mad."

"I…" Femme Fatale clenched her fists to keep them from shaking, "I…don't. If it were up to me, you would leave Blossom alone."

"Okay," Mr. Big nodded, "If that's what you want, Mr. Big won't go after Blossom."

"Really?" Femme Fatale asked, surprised it was that easy, "But…you've been planning this for years. You would really drop the whole thing just because I asked?"

"No," Mr. Big replied bluntly, "Bubbles is still in Mr. Big's basement. Blossom ain't as important though, and you care about this. It's a shame we won't work together no more."

"I guess, but I really just want to take the money and do something for myself."

"Are you still gonna do crime?" Mr. Big inquired.

"Probably. Why wouldn't I?" Femme Fatale asked wryly.

"Because you're too good for it," Mr. Big answered, "You care about things, and soon you'll have a lot of money. You'll be able to do whatever you want, even if what you want ain't crime."

"Well…it would be nice to get my masters degree," Femme Fatale pondered, "I always wanted to teach feminist studies at an Ivy League university somewhere. It's too late though. I'm 42 years old and an ex-convict."

"Yeah, but money talks," Mr. Big grinned.

Femme Fatale couldn't help but smile back. She came to this house afraid she wouldn't leave it. She knew Mr. Big as well as any villain she'd ever met, and yet he still managed to surprise her. A mob boss was supposed to tie up loose ends, usually with cement shoes or a few clips from a machine gun. Mr. Big didn't do that though. He seemed to truly care for her, and she didn't exactly know why. Didn't he see that she wasn't what he projected onto her? She wasn't an upstanding person, and her future was severely limited.

"Now can Mr. Big show you the surprise?" Mr. Big asked excitedly.

Femme Fatale just smirked and followed him to an office near the back of the house. When he opened the door she saw there were burlap sacks, similar to the ones used by the various banks in Townsville. She went to open one, and her eyes glittered with the reflection of…

"Susan B. Anthony coins," Femme Fatale said softly, "But I thought…"

"It took a while to get enough, and they aren't all the same," Mr. Big told her, "Some are other lady coins."

Femme Fatale ran her hand through the bag and pulled up a handful of coins. There was Susan B. Anthony coins, Sacajawea dollars, Queen Elizabeth quarters, and in the same bag as the coins were…

"Wendy's gift cards?" Femme Fatale drolly asked.

"Uh…it was easier to get a lot of money in those at once," Mr. Big replied sheepishly, "Each one is worth 50 bucks."

"Thanks," Femme Fatale replied dryly.

"Can Mr. Big help you to the car with these?" Mr. Big offered.

"Sure."

Mr. Big looked like a school boy helping his crush carry books as he grinned from ear to ear. Femme Fatale couldn't help but find his behavior somewhat amusing, given his position of underworld power.

Femme Fatale opened the trunk, and Mr. Big loaded bag after bag of female-friendly money into the car. When they were finished, Femme Fatale looked over at Mr. Big, who was fanning himself with his fedora and revealing an unkempt head of wavy red hair. Poor guy looked like Cousin It as his hair melded into his beard.

"I'm glad we could end this job with a mutual understanding," Femme Fatale said, trying to sound professional.

Mr. Big didn't reply, and his face fell a little. She could tell that he only just now realized this was really the end of their adventure. Strangely enough, she started to feel bad about this too. While Mr. Big wasn't the easiest person to talk to, she found that when she didn't have to watch him eat she actually enjoyed his company. With nothing else to say, Femme Fatale took out a piece of paper and jotted something down it, before handing it to Mr. Big. The gangster looked down at the paper, and then scratched his head.

"Uh…what is this?" Mr. Big asked in confusion.

"What do you think it is?" Femme Fatale asked cheekily.

"Uh…a zip code?" Mr. Big feebly guessed.

"Oh for crying out-! It's my phone number, you idiot!" Femme Fatale snapped.

"But there aren't any dashes-" Mr. Big stammered.

"It doesn't have to have the dashes!" Femme Fatale interrupted, "Seriously, you cannot take a hint, can you? I'm saying you can call me on my personal phone."

"Really?" Mr. Big asked hopefully.

"Yes," Femme Fatale hissed, caught between friendliness and irritability, "I'm saying if you just want to hang out sometime…then call me."

"Oh…" Mr. Big looked down at the piece of paper, and then in a small voice asked, "But why?"

"Because…" Femme Fatale thought for a moment, and then settled on, "Because you're good."

Femme Fatale playfully squeezed his arm, and then walked back to her car. As she drove away, Mr. Big stayed rooted to that spot looking down at the piece of paper.

After a few minutes of statuesque stillness, Mr. Big lumbered back into his poorly lit mansion and gently placed the phone number in his breast pocket.

Good…Mr. Big couldn't help but dwell on that word. He wasn't good. Femme Fatale became a criminal because her family hurt her. Mr. Big couldn't remember a time when he wasn't breaking the law. His entire life was spent hurting people, and even now his greatest accomplishment in life was slowly killing a Powerpuff Girl. If Femme Fatale really knew him, she would know he was bad to his core.

Mr. Big didn't go down to the basement right away. He didn't want to look at Bubbles right now. He still needed to feed the professor, but he wasn't ready to do that either. How could he have ever considered himself worthy of Femme Fatale's love when he caused nothing but death and pain everywhere he went?

Mr. Big groaned to himself and pulled out the phone number, ripping it to pieces. They ended things well. She didn't hate him. That was enough. He couldn't get closer to her than that, or she would die too, just like everyone else he ever cared about.

Thinking this much wasn't good for his Pete's Tea, or whatever it was called, so Mr. Big decided to distract himself by going to the candy store. He went down to the parking garage, took a key out of the vending machine, and got in his teal '78 Jaguar. Driving was a good way to forget everything he lost, and candy would be a good way to forget everything he ruined.

It didn't take long to drive to Gerald's Deli Chocolates, and the overweight mob boss was already starting to feel better. That mood quickly shifted however when he saw who was at the store's front counter…

Blossom.

"Are you sure you haven't seen anything, Mr. Gerald?" Blossom asked the elderly cashier.

"I'm sorry, but I wouldn't forget her face," Mr. Gerald said as he nodded his head up and down, "If you like, I can call you if I see anything."

"Of course. Thank you," Blossom replied in a formal tone.

"Is something wrong?" Mr. Big couldn't help but ask her.

Blossom turned to the large man, but since she didn't know what Mr. Big looked like she just assumed this was another citizen of Townsville.

"I can't find my sister," Blossom explained, her tone soft but her eyes unwavering, "I've checked everywhere I can think of."

"Buttercup or Bubbles?" Mr. Big inquired.

"Bubbles," Blossom replied, "I went home to tell her something, but she wasn't there. I can't find our dad either. This isn't like her. If Bubbles went somewhere with the professor she would tell me. I came here because The Yarn Barn is next door, and that's her favorite shop. Nobody in the area has seen her, and I don't know where else to check."

"I'm sorry," Mr. Big replied sympathetically.

"I need to try to think like Bubbles…" Blossom said more to herself than her impromptu audience, "Let me think…she's cutesy, stressed, and suffering from PTSD…"

"Pete's Tea?" Mr. Big tried to repeat.

"PTSD," Blossom corrected, "She suffers from a lot of mental trauma. If she broke down or something it might explain why she's missing."

"You could try the pet store," Mr. Big suggested, "Pets are good when you're sad and need help."

"Hey, you're right. Bubbles does go to the pet store a lot," Blossom recalled, "I'll try there next. Thanks, Mister!"

"No problem!" Mr. Big smiled and waved as Blossom flew away.

Poor Blossom. Mr. Big wondered if he should help Blossom look for…Bubbles. Oh, right. She was still in his basement. Mr. Big rubbed his head in embarrassment, grateful no one else knew what a brain fart he just had. Never mind that kidnapping was illegal. No, the bad memory was the part he was ashamed of admitting.

Wanting to leave as quickly as possible, he grabbed a handful of cream drops and stuffed them in a bag. He then paid the cashier with a $100 bill, far more than the candy was worth, just so he wouldn't have to waste time waiting in line.