3/17/16 All chapters are being revised and edited. Expect new chapters by next week!

Careful Blues

An ear shattering yell tore through Buttercup's lungs. Lodged within her stomach was a large piece of broken glass. By now, they had brawled for such an amount of time, they were fighting far from the hospital grounds. Throwing her from building to building, Buttercup became Butch's rag doll. She crashed through windows that were designed to be bullet proof and Butch proved to deal a much more intense affliction than that of a bullet.

Broken wall, glass, and rubble blew into the rooms of the buildings along with Buttercup's ill body. He cracked the bones in his neck, viewing this out pour of power as improvement with Buttercup serving as a practice doll. Kneeling down by her side, he grinned at the harm his very hands caused her. Using her flat palms, she struggled to lift herself under his penetrating stare. His own eyes were harming her.

"C'mon," Butch sucked in a breath, spitting on the ground inches away from Buttercup, "You've almost got it! Get up!"

Panting with shaking arms and legs, she fought against her state.

"Man, this sure as hell should tell you to give up,"

Buttercup did all she could to ignore her increasing pain. She was allowing for Butch to bask in her weakness. This wasn't the tough, iron woman she had grown to become. This was a submissive, faulty act of a woman who allowed herself to be abused. She wasn't a Powerpuff because she was a quitter. She was a Powerpuff because she was a confident champion.

"Quiet,"

Butch aimed his spit at her face, "Whadge'ya say?" he watched the struggle to rise and speak, "Do they call you the toughest puff for shits and giggles?"

"Yeah," she exhaled, "They haven't seen what I'm capable of."

Buttercup wasn't about to bite her tongue. His underestimation of her had given her the physical strength to live up to her name. Removing the glass from her stomach with burning hands, she pounced on him, breaking the glass in the process. She reached for the two pieces, stabbing his wrists into the ground. Reaching for more pieces, she rapidly retrieved any she could find then stabbing his vital areas. She stabbed him in the arms, legs, feet, and out of rage, stabbed him in the chest.

Missing by centimeters, she stabbed through his ribcage and into his lung, salvaging his heart. He suffered beneath her. Buttercup brought her hands together, rubbing them slowly. She closed her eyes in concentration. Her palms began to rise in temperature. Butch watched a creation of fire forming within Buttercup's palms. Buttercup sunk the growing fire deep into his chest with extreme force.

It had been a small fire ball due to Buttercup's destructive state. He would have kicked and punched his way out of the intolerable burning of the fire ball, but was held down by his injured lung and pinned limbs. He gave into the loud groans of pain once he could no longer withstand the temperature.

Feeling her palms grow cold and Butch losing consciousness, Buttercup dropped her head. Her shoulders fell as she leaned forward. She, too, was nearing unconsciousness, her memories of her nephew rushing through her. The love for her sister inspired her to face her strongest enemy in order to save her son.

Unknowing to her nephew's kidnapping, Buttercup felt a sense of victory wash over her. Sitting on Butch's wait, looking down at his lifeless body, she saw it safe to remove the glass protruding from his chest. Dropping it to the side in arm's reach, she fell upon his hard chest. It was incredibly warm, close to being hot enough to sooth her aching muscles. His heat had risen after her painful attack.

Sinking into his warmth, her eye lids became heavy. She fought against her sleepiness, knowing if she slumbered this close to her enemy, she'd be vulnerable. His steady heart made her give in to closing her eyes. She was remaining aware of her surroundings, resting partially with closed eyes. His scent made her mind begin to wander off to the memories of their brawls.

Smelling of sweat, power, and blood, Buttercup lifted her head to clear her nostrils. With the bridge of her nose brushing along the line of his chin, she stopped her movements. Choosing not to risk waking him up, she kept at remaining still. The hard touch of his mature Adam's Apple moved within his throat as he breathed. His juvenile features were now defined; his nose was long, his chin masculine, and his hair grew to be tied above his head in a messy bun.

Buttercup wished she'd be in the safety of her home where she could sleep away the discomfort of being so close. Sensing a shift and a disturbed growl in his throat, Buttercup raised her orbs and glanced back up at his face. His thick, black eyebrows angled, and she noticed his teeth coming down on his bottom lip. He may have felt her weight on his wound even in his sleep. She made no effort to remove herself and ease his pain.

"I hope you're feeling the pain," she uttered, "You deserve it."

She pictured her toddler self in a memory that for Buttercup, somehow connected itself to this moment. Mrs. Keane requested for the Professor to take part in a parent conference. Buttercup had been tasked with bringing her creator to the classroom to discuss private issues. Having just beaten an innocent classmate to a near concussion, Buttercup did her best to get on his pleasing side. She washed dishes, completed her homework, and even wore pink socks for Blossom (who knew the meaning behind her change of attitude).

Taking on the roll of the perfect, kind Powerpuff hadn't been beneficial. On the arrival of their scheduled meeting, Mrs. Keane asked of Buttercup to wait for the Professor outside the classroom. She could hear her teacher's worry and a hint of fear in her voice. What occurred after had imprinted itself forever in her memory. Being a child at the time, an upset parent came just as close as an ending world. The Professor punished her by taking away her privilege to fight the threats of Townsville. He also ordered her to visit the boy in the hospital, ready to apologize to both he and his family.

Fluorescent lights aligned the ceiling of the hospital. As she entered the boy's room, his horrid, bruised skin became a nightmare. Upon seeing her, the boy cowered in his bed. He began to yell, terrified at the green, little girl. Rushing at the sounds of his screams, his mother began comforting her child, shielding his eyes from Buttercup's figure.

Crystal clear, the mother's shouts came to her ears, "It's that evil Powerpuff! To believe that I once felt safe in this city because of you! If only I had known I was living in the same city as a monster!"

Lost in her memory, Buttercup's cheeks felt her freed tears. A river began falling from her shaking eyes, landing on the tattered shirt of the hard chest she trembled on. Butch's face, his narrowed eyebrows, his bitten lip, it all brought back an image that haunted her.

"I'm sorry...," she repeated out of her memory, "I'm sorry..."

Part of her knew he'd hear the sounds of her greatest weakness. Knowing this, she began silencing herself to whisper the words, before realizing how gullible she was to apologizing despite her iron nature. More memories thus surfaced on the beginnings to her life, a moment of understanding her physical power, and releasing her anger on Rocko Socko. Ushering another apology from her memory upon her sleeping enemy, she closed her eyes doing all she could to erase his image from her mind.

Another memory came to, but this one was different. This one reminded her of her pride—it also included Butch. The Rowdyruff's very first defeat reminded her that his current injuries were well deserved. She regained her tough attitude and blinked away her tears. The change came slowly as her memory touched the events of that day. However, once the feel of her lips came to his cheek in her memory, her fist arose to punch Butch's rough cheek.

Unaware of the control her memories had over her, Butch stirred from the attack. Buttercup stiffened; her heightened senses were attentive to his every move. Incredibly, he hadn't lifted an eyelid. She hesitantly began to relax in his warmth, suddenly feeling worse against his body.

The citizens of Townsville scurried to their homes. Some began to pack once they burst through their front doors. Others chose to hide underground in home-built bunkers. In fear, they remained close to their families. All except one scientist who sobbed alone in his living room.

Realizing that Mojo was stern on his response, the Professor began drafting a plan of his own. In the back of his mind, he questioned the security of Bubbles. He cried at the cowardly decision of running home instead of searching for her in the hospital. Breaking the tip of his pencil and rising from his knees, he rubbed the tears off his face. He hadn't used the cloth of his sleeve, using the bottom of his palms, instead. The hard skin angrily dried his cheeks.

Inwardly, the Professor knew the importance of formulating a plan. Yet his crammed mind shook his focus. His daughter's current safety was far more important than the need to plan out any counters to their situation. At this point, the Professor worried less about his broken lead and more about his daughter.

But the Professor would need to hurry. For Bubbles had fallen upon the tile floor once more, and with no nearby support in the empty hospital hallways, she was left unable to rise.

Will he arrive in time? How much control does Buttercup's memories have over her?

We now know Buttercup's greatest weakness... When will we know of Butch's?