Part 5: Faded Watercolors


The hair was wet, and then it was stained. The stain was moved, and then was itself stained, mixing the colors to make something new. The new stain—tan—pressed against the paper, and spread. The brush slid back and forth as the paint stuck to the page. In the water it went, and then it was back. Green. The tan color was highlighted with green around the edge, and then it was back in the water. Black. It made the shape of her hair, and slipped ever so gently to make a mouth. And then it was rinsed. The hand moved the brush back and forth from the page to the water, and from the water to the paint, and then back to the page. Buttercup's face formed in the creamy paint on the paper. Her body followed, and then the monster, as she traded blows with it, completing the picture. It was the first of many smaller pictures on the page.

Blossom looked over. "Wow, that's pretty good, Bubbles."

She looked proud. "Really?"

"Yeah. Looks like you've been practicing."

She smiled.

Blossom's painting was coming along slowly. It was the start of a self-portrait. She started coloring in the eye, and the back of her mind brought the memory forward...


She opened her eyes for the first time since the procedure began.

"Welcome back," he said flatly as he noticed her movement.

She looked around. Eyes. She had two eyes.

"Your new eye has been installed. How does it feel?"

She tested it, moving her head side to side and keeping her eyes still. "It's kinda weird," she remarked.

"In what way?"

"It feels... it doesn't feel bad, but it doesn't feel like I'm moving it at all. There's this whirring noise."

"That is normal. Anything else?"

"It's... it feels like... like I'm looking through someone else's eye."

"If that is all, then there is nothing wrong. You will get used to it." He put away his tools. "Come, it is time for dinner."

She swung her legs over the ledge and walked with him into the next room.


Blossom lifted her eyes and noticed for the first time that Bubbles was looking at her quizzically.

Oops. "Sorry, Bubbles."

"No, it's... it's okay." Still, she looked a bit unnerved.

Blossom shrugged, and glanced at her sister's picture. "Hey, is that... Mojo?"

Bubbles moved her hand away from the page. Mojo's furry features were beginning to form. She stared at it blankly.

"Do you remember drawing that?"

"...Kinda."

"Weird." She shook her head gently. "It's all right. Doesn't bother me."

Bubbles grinned nervously, but finished Mojo's head. He was laughing maniacally.


Buttercup could see for miles around up here; the cityscape was amazing. She scratched the back of her head. It's been such a long time. Since she had felt at ease. Since she had peace.

"It's kinda unnerving," she muttered.

And then her moment of peace was broken. Something brought her attention to the corner, just down the street from the building atop which she was sitting. A shady transaction. Even from where she sat, she could see the money... and the drugs.

With a quick thrust, she hopped off the building, and spiraled down to the street below, speeding towards the two of them menacingly. "Hey! Drop 'em!"

The buyer threw his hands up and let go of the packs he had bought, but the dealer lunged past the corner, trying to get away.

Briefly, Buttercup stopped, burned the drugs on the sidewalk with her heat rays, before flying again, after the dealer. As she got closer, he shot an open palm at her, spraying a fine powder into the air.

Minutes later, with the white powder brushed off, she dragged him into the police station, and the cops booked him without delay.

The Chief of Police came up to thank her in person. "Thanks for your help, Buttercup. I hate these druggies. He's been selling this 'Shroud' for about three months now. This new drug, pretty potent. People been coming in all jacked up from it. What about the buyer?"

"I burned the drugs, but he got away."

He clicked his tongue. "No matter, he'll probably try again somewhere else. Good work. This one's been Hell dealing with on the street. Spreading like wildfire amongst the poorer districts." He was implying the destroyed sector. She rolled her eyes, and he kept on: "Oh, but it's easy enough to spot once it's in the system, though. Delirium, dementia, synesthesia, emotional overload... People going crazy on street corners. Stuff like that is hard to miss." He regarded her with distant concern when she didn't reply. "Enough about that, though. Everyone's been wondering: Bubbles. You found her yet?"

She turned to him with a start. "Oh." He was asking about Bubbles. Guilt rose in her: the city still loved its heroes, despite it all. He probably wasn't exaggerating about the people. But should she tell him? There wasn't any harm, was there? "Yeah, I found her, she's back at home. She's... fine." The chief looked like he was going to ask more, but she shook her head. He was making her feel awful. She needed to get back home. The guilt kept rising. She needed to talk to them. To her sisters. She had to make things right. She excused herself curtly and was in the skies before she knew she was even there.


The silence was broken by Bubbles. "Buttercup!"

She jumped up even as the "What?" left Blossom's lips and her arms swung forward, over Blossom's head, vaulting towards the window. Deftly, she opened the window just as something black and green shot through the space and into her arms. The tackle Buttercup gave should have knocked Bubbles across the room, but the metal arms rooted her in place.

Buttercup's pupils were dilated. "...Forgot to slow down. Can't forget you..."

Bubbles pulled her to the floor gently. "Buttercup! What's wrong?"

Buttercup fumbled for Bubbles' shoulder. "I was fighting crime... I'm so... You can't just..."

"Buttercup, are you—I mean, you sound—" She looked at Blossom. "Something is very wrong... She... uh... sounds fuzzy."

Blossom frowned. "Buttercup. Are you sick?"

Buttercup shook her head, and gripped Bubbles' shirt tighter. "No doctors. No ambulance. Don't call... anyone."

"Okay, all right. You'll be fine. No ambulance." Even as she tried to calm her sister down, she was beginning to cry. "Blossom... She's faint... Distant. I mean... like she's wobbly. It's hard to hear..."

Buttercup's grip was so tight that they could hear the fabric ripping in her hand. She spoke loudly, almost yelling. "Sorry I'm quiet! When I beat the guy up... maybe him... the guy had..." Heavy emotion rocked across her face. "Forget it! It's not... it's not important! You! Bubbles... sorry. I'm... didn't mean to..."

She blinked even as the water screwed up her vision. "I'm not mad at you. Just stay quiet. We're gonna help you. Okay?"

She nodded weakly and let go. "...yeah." She rubbed her forehead, staring at the ceiling. "Oh, man." After a moment, she simply passed out.

"Buttercup!"


They took turns watching her, making sure she was okay through the night. Blossom spent her time in deep concentration. What could it all mean? What sort of substance could do this to a Powerpuff Girl? And so quickly? Maybe Buttercup would start muttering again... The information was limited, but it could be used. Dissect it, make it work.

Some sort of drug dealer, obviously. And it must be a new substance, developed recently, there was no way it had been available before this year...

She stayed by Buttercup's side, thinking deeply, listening to every tiny sound Buttercup made. As midnight approached, Blossom rubbed her eyes. She shook her head, and forced herself to relax. Her mind went slack as she jerked herself out of concentration. She was tired. Too tired to keep going. It was Bubbles' turn, and her sister rose from the bed as she turned her head just to look.

"I didn't really sleep." Bubbles said wryly, though her concern was still obvious in her reddened eyes. And without stopping, she said, "Don't feel bad."

Blossom chuckled. "Okay, occasionally, I'd like to chip in to our conversations."

Bubbles looked at her with sudden seriousness. "Blossom. You're fast."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"It's fine... but... just now, this last hour? Only in the last few minutes... It was like you let me in..."

"Huh?"

"You weren't helping me sleep..." Bubbles said it gently, making sure Blossom knew she took no offense. "Like a waterfall... sometimes I got... uh... splashed. 'Buttercup' happened a lot. I happened a lot too. No!" Bubbles held up her hands. "No. Just relax, Blossom. Don't worry about it. Please. Just take a nap. You've earned it. I know you have. I really do. And you really need it."

Blossom nodded heavily. Bubbles was so right that it made her even more sleepy.

The bed was just the right sort of soft...


She was using her easel and had switched from a sheet of paper to a frame with a new canvas over it. The watercolors danced across the page vibrantly as she transferred the images from her mind to the cloth. It was... slow, and holding her arms up made it feel kind of tiring. Finally, her arms slumped, and she looked down. Her flesh brushed against the metal. It came up at the merest trace of thought, floating before her. She put the brush against the metal hand and it held. It bobbed up and down at her behest. It still looked so strange... but the feeling was almost natural.

Carefully, she took the brush in the bionic arm, and traced it over the page. It was... easier. A lot easier. She kept painting, now a little faster. Easier. The arm pulled back just enough to dab the pallet, wipe off the excess, and then brought itself back to the page. She smiled.


She was still painting when Buttercup woke up. She lay there, groggy She still felt awful, and she heard the sound of the brush sliding across the paper, and turned, and saw Bubbles, and hardly noticed the other arms moving. She rolled her head back to the pillow, and breathed softly. She was already feeling like crap... no sense dragging Bubbles into it. Let her paint, she decided. I'm fine.

The sound of painting continued. Buttercup just listened, and let her mind float inside her head. She had been so mean to her. She wanted to do something positive, but...

"Who needs ya!" She jumped up and out of the school, shaking her head to clear it of the debris that got stuck in her hair. The monster, visible even from where she was, towered over most of the buildings, and was sharpening its claws against them. Its alligator maw opened and let out a screeching roar, and stomped rapidly on the ground while propped on its tail. She could hear people screaming. As she shot forward, it turned and swung at her in the air. It was fast, and the blow connected. Her body skidded against the ground, breaking the asphalt in the middle of the road. Finally, she limply rolled to a stop. One arm moved out, then the other, and pushed her up, glaring at the beast as it comically danced in place and clapped its scaly hands, and ran towards her.

Her anger still flaring, as the monster reared towards her, she shot up, right through its neck like a supersonic bullet. Blood poured from its throat and it clamped its palm over one side of the hole, as Buttercup circled and shot through it again. But still her rage was not abated, and as the beast began to fall, she latched on to its body and plowed her fists into its collarbone, shattering it. But she kept going, even as the beast stopped breathing. Her arms moved faster, and she grit her teeth, clenched her eyes, and screamed powerfully as she ripped into its dead body.

Her rage was not gone. She threw her arms up and smashed her hands into the soft flesh of the beast, letting out all her anger at once. Those that had been in the immediate vicinity watched her as she stopped beating it, breathing hard, as the beat in her chest grew faster and faster as she kept seething. She looked up at them—all these people—staring at her—she glared—reporters—they were there to expose her—her rage was a rating—she hated all of it—so much that she couldn't breathe—barely think.

She barely remembered what happened next. Little flashes, here and there, and it was... bad. Real bad.

She lifted her arm and wiped her sweaty forehead. Where was she supposed to channel her anger?

"Buttercup?"

She turned her head. Bubbles, holding the paintbrush in one of her metal arms, was staring at her. The arm set the brush down on the easel, and Bubbles walked over, kneeling by the sofa. "Are you okay?"

Buttercup stared at her, searching for something to say. She wasn't prepared to talk to her. What would she say? After this long, this much torment, this much pain, all that they had been through... what did she say?

"Thanks," she said—in the end, that was all she could say.

Bubbles smiled. "It's okay, Buttercup. As long as you're okay, I'm glad."

Buttercup smiled, a little less enthusiastically. She glanced over her shoulder, at the easel. "What are you drawing?"

Bubbles reached towards it with one of the long bionic arms before she could stop herself, and it suddenly dropped to the floor with a deft thud, and Buttercup saw Bubbles staring back at her, hands over her mouth, looking afraid and guilty.

She blinked and tried to understand what just happened. Bubbles was... afraid. Afraid she would hate her? Was that it?

"Hey, it's cool. They're your arms. You can do what you want with 'em." She still didn't like looking at them.

Bubbles' eyes turned away, and then she looked back at her easel. The arm she had used before twitched, and tried to rise, but went limp.

She snorted. "Never mind." She rolled over in irritation, and stared at the couch cushions. "I'm fine now. Go to sleep."

After a moment of silence, Buttercup pushed her face into the cushions, grimacing. Oh man... I did it again! What the Hell is wrong with me?


Bubbles sat on the floor, sadly, and then stood, and joined what looked like a sleeping Blossom, facing away on the bed.

The communications breakdown had, however, not gone unnoticed in its severity and volume. Blossom opened her real eye, and glanced over her shoulder at her. Be strong, Bubbles. We can try again tomorrow.

Bubbles turned, meeting her eye in sadness. She sniffled and lay down, pressing her forehead against Blossom's back, whispering, "Thank you."

Blossom smiled even in the sadness she felt. As she looked up past the headboard, she could see the easel that Bubbles had been working on. Buttercup—even down to the scars—plowing through a giant monster; Bubbles was slamming a metal arm into Mojo's shocked face; Blossom had a visor, much like Cyclops from that show "X-Men." And though she had seen Bubbles start off with vibrant colors, as the brushes danced across the page, all the colors were... weaker towards the bottom. Faded.

She closed her eye slowly. They could start to fix things tomorrow.


Buttercup stretched, and she yawned, and rolled over.

And then she had an up-close and personal view of the floor.

It didn't hurt of course, but it was surprising nonetheless.

She pushed herself up and shook her head vigorously. Her eyes rolled around the room. Morning. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and parted with a wet smack. She stood and stretched, popping the muscles in her neck as she rolled her head from side to side.

Morning. She put her hand to her stomach, and tried to figure everything out at once.

She turned. Bubbles. Asleep. The arms.

She gasped. Last night. Why did she do that?

How to make it better? Think.

Think!

She shook her head and took a step forward.

Her foot touched something. One of the arms.

Bubbles stirred and rolled over to see. She whispered. "Morning, Buttercup."

"Mm—" She tried to speak and stopped. She looked away and thought. "Want to... help me make breakfast?"

Bubbles smiled.


A new day came with new ambitions. For her, it was the idea of change that made it possible to proceed. But the change was not to happen all at once; it had to be slow and progressive. Even as she opened her eyes, she was aware that the ones she hoped to change were not in the room. They had fallen asleep in the same room, but now that she was awake and opened her eyes to see, they weren't there anymore. Where did they go?

As she breathed in, the smell of food caught her senses, and directed her out of her bedroom and downstairs, where she finally saw them: Bubbles and Buttercup; eating breakfast. Buttercup was smiling—albeit nervously—and Bubbles had a fairly dry smile, too.

"Mornin' Bloss'," Buttercup called out. "Have some French toast! It's really good!"

Bubbles had a mouth full of food, but she nodded assent.

When she was properly seated at the table, she grabbed her fork and cut off a piece of the toast. It was dark golden-brown and sprinkled lightly with cinnamon and dribbled with the viscous goodness that was maple syrup. It looked good, and as it turned out, tasted delicious.

"This is good," she chirped. She glanced at Bubbles and opened her mouth, but instead turned to Buttercup. "Your cooking's really improved."

Buttercup blushed and looked away, scratching her head. "Actually... Bubbles... helped. A lot."

Bubbles and Blossom shared a smile and kept eating, and soon all three of them were finished. Bubbles took the dishes and washed them by hand, and then put them into the drying rack with her metal arms.

Buttercup watched her do this and nodded approvingly. She leaned in and whispered to Blossom, "She's really getting the hang of those, huh?"

She smiled and told her, "They're her arms. She can do what she wants with them, right?"

Buttercup's eyes turned to Blossom guiltily, and then to Bubbles, washing the dishes with her back to them.

"It's okay, Buttercup. I can tell she isn't mad. She just need some support right now. Try to be nice, for her sake?"

Buttercup looked down guiltily. After a moment of silence, she drew a strong breath and let it out, and smiled. "Yeah." She looked away, but opened her mouth to speak. "He—hey, Bubbles?"

She kept washing the dishes, but looked over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

Buttercup's lips tightened as if unwilling to let the words come out, but she forced them apart. "I'm... sorry about... last night... and—and... well, everything, you know?"


Bubbles faced forward, the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Even though she had expected her to say it, it still made her happy to hear it. She put the last dish in the rack and turned around to face her.

And the metal arms slammed carelessly into the drying dishes. She made an "oops" face, and looked over her shoulder, while Blossom and Buttercup stared in surprise. Finally, Bubbles turned to face them, grief stricken.

Blossom's eyes turned towards Buttercup, trying to gauge whether she was upset by this.

She was. "Oh, come on! Can't you do—"

Blossom quickly put a hand on her shoulder, and she went silent, staring back at her with wide eyes. She turned away abruptly, pursing her lips. Finally, stiffly, she grumbled, "It's cool. They're just plates. We can get more."

The smile Bubbles and Blossom shared this time was sad.

"So what are we doing today?" Buttercup asked, as if to change the subject.

Blossom looked at Bubbles.

Bubbles looked back at her.

Blossom nodded her head in Buttercup's direction.

Bubbles took the hint, and tried to sound nonchalant as she spoke. "We could break stuff."

Blossom's eyes went wide. Buttercup raised her head curiously, staring blankly at nothing.

Bubbles looked over at her. "Like, let off some steam, you know?"

Buttercup looked back at her with a strange sort of curious half-smile. "Man, it's like you're right inside my head."

"Seriously?"

"Wait, hang on. No." Blossom sat back, left hand in a halting gesture, the other pressed against her forehead.

Buttercup turned to her. "What's wrong with breaking stuff? I mean, it's fun, and—"

"How about we try to fix the holes we've already made in the house?"

Buttercup folded her arms and looked away. "Man, it's a waste of time."

"The house should look nice, just in case the Professor comes home."

"Feh. He hasn't been home in ages."

Bubbles spoke up. "He was home a couple months ago." Blossom and Buttercup turned to her. "He was here... after you... went into your... uh..." She balked, looking away.

Buttercup stared at her for another moment and then shrugged. "So he comes home every so often. Not like he's a frequent flier or anything."

"But he does come home?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Buttercup sighed in restraint. "Look, even if we wanted to fix up the house, there's no way we could! There's no paint, no... no... uh..."

"Plaster."

"Yeah, that. We don't have any plaster or tools or—"

"You have plastic."

"We—huh?"

"Where's Professor's credit card?"

Bubbles blinked and turned to Buttercup.

"It's... I have it. It's here," she said guardedly.

There was a very tense pause.

Blossom narrowed her eyes. "You just don't want to have to work."

Buttercup looked insulted. "What do you mean by that? You trying to say I'm lazy?"

After a moment, Blossom nodded. "Yeah, I guess that is what I'm saying."

Buttercup glared back at her for another second, then flew up to the bedroom and came back with a vinyl wallet, black, with a picture of a yellow flower on the front. She grumbled, "Make a list."

Blossom half-grinned, and she did.

Soon the door closed noisily, leaving the two of them to relax a little.

Bubbles glanced at Blossom.

Blossom smiled. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"


She was in line, finally, sour and tapping her arm impatiently. In front, an elderly white man, wrinkled and withered, liver-spotted and gray. In his hand, a blue basket with the store's logo on the side. Every few seconds he would steal glances at her and at the load behind her.

In line behind her, a woman in her late twenties wearing faded blue jeans, a green sweater and no makeup. A large bag of fertilizer, some seeds and a few bags of topsoil rested in her shopping cart.

Buttercup barely noticed anything around her as she stood just in front of her hand truck. She had everything. Everything on the list. It filled the bed of the truck entirely. So much stuff. Plaster, tools, tape, paints, brushes, concrete mix, disposable coveralls... everything Blossom had written down.

How much time had passed since she got into the store? She wasn't wearing a watch. It was some time around noon, by the looks of it. From there, she could see the sunlight coming through the double-doors leading outside. Too bright. Much too bright.

She sighed.

"Uh... Buttercup?"

She looked up. The middle-aged fellow behind the counter was waving to her, trying to get her attention.

She pulled her cart up but didn't speak. She was just waiting for it to be over.

He scanned all the items on the bed of the hand truck, talking nervously as his hand-held scanner blipped up each item. "Looks like you're... getting ready for a major project or something. Right?"

She turned her eyes towards him but didn't answer.

"Right, okay, awesome. Concrete mix..." Blip. "There. That's everything. Your total is—"

"Here." She pulled the card out and thrust it into his face. He took it from her. "Can I see some ID?" They stared at one another for another second. She narrowed her eyes just a little, and he swiped it quickly.

Approved.

The receipt printed and she signed it.

She pulled the flatbed effortlessly out of the store and pulled it off to the side.

In the gazebo by the entrance—the smoking pit—one of the employees called out, "You need some help getting' that home? We make deliveries, you know."

"Nah, I got it," she told him offhandedly, as she crawled underneath and lifted it into the air.

"Hey!" He dropped his cigarette and ran out into the parking lot, as if he could somehow catch her before she left. "You can't take that! We—"

"I'm gonna bring it back, moron! Sheesh."

Mouth agape, he watched her disappear past the trees. Breathlessly, he muttered, "Well, yes, I... suppose it's all right, I mean... she is Buttercup, after all, no... sense making a... huge fuss and all..." He trailed off, muttering to himself as he turned and walked back to the store.


Blossom took a card from the top of the deck and added it to her hand. "Your turn."

"Erm..." Bubbles glanced from her cards to Blossom and back several times before she finally made her decision. "Do you have any... threes?"

"Aw." She handed over three cards. Bubbles took them gingerly and made a book of four cards, setting it off to the side.

She looked away and muttered, "Your turn."

Blossom smiled and glanced at her cards.

"Go Fish," Bubbles said automatically. Almost instantly, her eyes shot open.

Blossom chuckled. "Don't worry. You'll get it."

She whimpered. "But it's..."

She reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I know it's hard, but if you keep working on it, eventually—"

With a thunderous crash, a Mack truck fell out of the sky and fell, nose-first, into their driveway.

At least that's what it sounded like. Buttercup appeared inside after a moment and then closed the door behind her. "I'm back. Where do you—"

"Don't... do that!" Blossom had thrown her arms around Bubbles instinctively, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Bubbles eyed her with concern. She looked down at the floor, at the deck of cards, and slid away from her sister. She breathed heavily. "I just... Whew. It's been a little while. Let's... let's get everything inside."

Bubbles smiled sheepishly and nodded.

Buttercup stared at them blankly for a moment, and shrugged. "Sure, why not."


He sighed deeply through his nose. "Can't be done," he answered curtly.

She looked up, nearly glaring. "What?"

He tapped the paper on the table with one finger. "Your proposal? It's unacceptable. It can't be done. At least, not that fast."

"Mister Wilson," Miss Sara Bellum began, staring at him incredulously, but then seemed unsure how to proceed. "What do you mean, 'it can't be done?'"

"It's English, Mayor. The only language I know how to speak."

Anyone else would have been sorely angered by this, but Miss Bellum kept her cool. "Never in the history of G.U.A.R.D. has there been a problem fulfilling a deadline like this. A monster would destroy a building and you would have it fixed practically overnight. So I'm finding it difficult to hear that you 'can't' do something. What aren't you telling me? Did something happen to G.U.A.R.D.?" She paused, waiting for him to reply. "Well?" He simply stared back at her, a business-like grin across his lips. She read his expression like a filthy magazine article.

Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed, all in one motion. "All right... what are your demands?"