Chapter 1: So hot

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. ever.


Buttercup stared at the figure before her, the grossest skepticism twisting her hardened features.

"That is complete and utter bullshit."

Butch, unfazed, tore another bite out of his raspberry scone. With his mouth full of scone-disgusting mongrel-he sagely replied, "I assure you that I am one hundred percent serious."

Buttercup stared at him, unconvinced. The story he'd told her would have been difficult to believe even if she hadn't been constantly suspicious. However, Butch showed none of the usual signs of lying. His eyes were focused and his expression was deadpanned; he did not look away from her scrutinizing gaze. His shoulders were relaxed and he was leaning back in his seat as though he hadn't a single care in the world.

The coffee shop he had led her to, following their impromptu brawl at the gym was dark inside. The booth he'd chosen to occupy was in the far corner of the shop, away from prying eyes. The ID card he'd presented to prove his identity was sitting innocuously in the space between them; his leery grin flashing rebelliously up at her from the laminated piece of plastic.

"You're telling me," Buttercup began slowly, uncertainly, "that you work for the FBI now."

"Yup."

"And you've been assigned to find the Powerpuff Girls, for a matter concerning national defense."

"Basically."

"This makes no sense!" Buttercup exploded with an infuriated whisper, "Why would you, of all people, work for the FBI. Why would the government trust you?"

At that, Butch rolled up the sleeve of his white dress shirt. On his wrist was a thin band of silver. In the center was a small dot of green light.

"I got caught trying to swipe an old painting, in from France," his tone was completely bored. It didn't go unnoticed by Buttercup that his voice was infinitely bitter. "They gave me a choice, either prison for a bajillion years or complete a mission for them and they'd let me off scot-free."

"This little device," he stroked the band of metal, disgust on his face, "monitors my vitals. If I get to out of control, this little bitch injects a strong tranquilizer into my system."

He'd expected her to laugh at him, for being collared and controlled like a dog. So he was surprised by the scowl on her face.

"Wait, we're not animals," she was so angry the use of the term we went unnoticed. Her green eyes flashed, "They're not going to put that thing on me if I agree to help you?"

Butch shrugged disinterestedly, "I can't say for sure, though I don't think so, you didn't try to steal a priceless painting right from under their noses."

Finishing up his scone, Butch reached into his pocket to pull out a slim cell phone. Scrolling through his text messages he continued to question her.

"Where are your sisters by the way?"

Buttercup averted her eyes, "Beats me."

Butch looked up from the screen, eyebrows furrowed and frown in place.

"Well that sucks," he blew out an agitated breath. Returning to his cell, Brick punched in a number and brought the phone to his ear.

"My superior," he mouthed when Buttercup shot him an inquisitive look. He turned his attention back to the phone,"Hey, bastard."

Buttercup rolled her eyes. Of course he'd refer to his superior with utter flippancy and disrespect.

"I found one of them. The green one. Yeah, the psychotic one. Problem though, she doesn't know where her sisters are. Think the two of us are enough? What do you mean you were hoping for the smart one?"

Buttercup could feel her infamous temper bubbling to the surface.

"No seriously, just try us. Look, I've already got one of them. It'd be a waste of time to keep looking for the other two. Just tell me what you need us to do."

Butch paused as the man on the other line explained something, his look of disbelief and outrage growing with each passing second.

"Is this a joke? I could have done this on my own. Seriously. Yeah, we'll get it done. Of course I convinced her. I don't know why you don't have any faith in me."

It was at this point that Buttercup finally decided she had had enough of this nonsense. Jumping up abruptly, she punched Butch in the face, making sure to control her strength. Although she knew it would have no effect on him, it help to assuage her boiling temper. She stalked away from the booth with her head held high and a snarl on her face.

"Hold on. I'll get back to you."

She felt a vindictive pleasure when she heard him crash into a table. Cursing under his breath he made use of his super speed in order to cut her off, causing a scene in the process. The woman at the counter was gaping unabashedly while some kid with a cupcake was pointing excitedly, "Mom! It's the Flash!"

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he was angry now, the calm façade finally exhausted.

Buttercup's eyes narrowed.

"Why the hell should I do this?" she demanded, hands on her hips, "This might be your parole project, but there's certainly nothing in it for me and I refuse to be roped into some ridiculous government project."

With her exclamation, it was as though a light bulb had flashed on in Butch's head. His smile was disturbingly devious and Buttercup blanched at the sight of it. Her shoulders tensed involuntarily as she scowled up at him.

"What's in it for you?" he repeated silkily, relaxing into his 'couldn't give a damn' posture, "Don't you think I know you Buttercup?"

"You don't know me at all!" she whispered fiercely, eyeing the other coffee shop patrons nervously. Many were staring at the spectacle with open-mouthed interest.

"Don't I?" Butch responded softly, "We're a lot alike Buttercup, we never did what we did because of ambition or ideology. We did what we did for the pure thrill of the fight."

Buttercup stiffened. He knew he had hit a nerve and the bloodlust on her face was subtle. It would have been unrecognizable if he hadn't been so familiar with it.

"That's right," he nodded knowingly, much to her chagrin, "How long has it been since you've really punched someone in the face? Zapped them with a laser?"

Buttercup could feel her fingers curl into a fist

"Of course your goody two shoes ways wouldn't stand for the beating of innocent bystanders," he continued, smirk still in place, " but here's your chance to beat the shit out of villains once again. No more holding back."

He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, "You get to beat them until you actually feel tired, can you just imagine?"

The problem was she could imagine it. The familiar itch in her hands, the one she hadn't felt in years, was returning full force, so much so that she ached for a real fight. She could almost taste it.

Butch delighted in the sulky resignation evident in her expressive green eyes.

Victory was sweet.

O-O-O

In her sheer and utter panic Bubbles had relegated Boomer to the time out corner. To her surprise he complied quite readily and was sitting hunched over quietly on the too small stool.

She tried to continue with class as normally as possible despite the incessant giggling and endless questions on the nature of her and Boomer's relationship. After a few children requested Boomer to play something for them on guitar Boomer cheekily chose a funky version of the alphabet song. The children, excited, sang along with great, screaming, gusto. Bubbles could feel a terrible headache coming on.

She couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief when the final parent—Mrs. Miller—left with young Jeremy. When she felt that there was no one within earshot she turned to Boomer.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed in exasperation, "How did you even find me?"

His smile was goofy, his blue eyes teasing, "I just couldn't stay away, my love!"

"Oh cut the crap," Bubbles scoffed, nervous and flustered. Her breakup with Boomer, her senior year of high school had not been ugly per se. However, it had been horribly awkward and she had not really spoken to him since.

"In all honesty though," Boomer stood, stretching in a manner that was almost cat-like, "I'd prefer to keep my sources secret in order to maintain my mysterious musician charms."

Bubbles rolled her eyes. He'd always been a tad dramatic and overly whimsical. She was in no mood to fight with him. She was happy with her job and her anonymity and the thought that he could destroy that with just one word was terrifying.

"What do you want Boomer?" she sighed in resignation.

Boomer straightened up, putting his best puppy eyes forward, "I need your help."

Bubbles offered him a crooked half grin, impervious to the puppy eyes, "I figured as much."

"Yes," Boomer stumbled with his words, "well, it's kind of a big favor."

Bubbles sighed again. Truth be told, she'd enjoyed her relationship with Boomer. It was the only romance that still lingered in the back on her mind. He had been kind to her and, although it had ended anticlimactically she was a sentimental person by nature and she still had a soft spot for the man in front of her.

"As long as it's not illegal, I'll do my best."

His blue eyes immediately tore away from her scrutinizing gaze. Guilty.

"About that…"

Bubbles eyes narrowed.

"No Boomer."

"You haven't even heard me out!" he protested weakly, guilt still evident on his face. He was always the worst at hiding his emotions.

"No Boomer." She repeated firmly, collecting her things from her desk. She'd deemed the conversation was over.

"I need you to hide me, Bubbles!" Boomer strode over to the desk, blocking her path.

"What did you do?" she hissed, hugging her purse to her chest, an exasperated frown on her face.

"I tried to steal something," he was being purposefully vague, "but I got caught. I was able to get away, but they know what I look like and they're looking for me. I've got no where to go."

"Boomer!" she exclaimed in reproach.

"Please Bubbles," he begged, imploring her with his soft blue eyes.

Bubbles was unyielding. Despite the affection she still harbored for him, her resolve was firm and she refused to compromise her beliefs.

Boomer sighed, "I didn't want to do this Bubbles but you leave me with no choice."

He brought himself to his full height. He was a good foot and a half taller than the small girl, so his looming position was actually quite imposing. Bubbles, however, refused to be intimidated and matched his stance, puffing herself up to her full height and staring right into his eyes.

"If you don't hide me out," he began, faltering slightly at the steel in her expression, "I will tell everyone in this town who you really are."

Bubbles looked down and mentally cursed him viciously. She should have known he wouldn't be above blackmail.

When she looked up he was smiling almost apologetically. She scowled and pushed past him.

"Are you coming or not?" she practically barked, flipping off the lights as she headed out the door.

Without a word, Boomer followed her.

"So now that you've gotten your way," Bubbles spoke up acidly as they headed to the faculty parking lot, "How did you find me?"

Boomer smiled cheekily and whipped a crumpled sheet of graying paper from his pocket. Bubbles grumpily snatched it from his hand and unfolded it. It was an article from last week's newspaper, discussing her award for winning teacher of the year for the entire state. Her own face was beaming up prettily.

"I knew you'd be a good teacher," Boomer remarked softly, taking the article and shoving it back in his pocket.

She found it a little strange, that he kept the article in his pocket of all places but he continued with a whisper, "besides, who'd suspect a pretty grade school teacher of harboring convicted criminals."

She squealed in anger and punched him. Her ire grew when he merely laughed.

"It's got to suck, masking you powers like that."

"Listen you," she jabbed a finger at his chest as she unlocked her car door, "If your existence makes my life in any way uncomfortable I will send your skinny ass to the police without batting an eyelash."

Boomer blinked and raised his hand solemnly.

"I promise you won't even know I'm there."

O-O-O

Blossom Utonium had been tossing and turning in her bed for a good few hours since she'd returned from work late that night. Sleep was elusive and Brick's offer kept spinning in her head.

"My brain hates me," Blossom groaned as she kicked off a blanket. Laying flat on her back, she stared at her ceiling bleakly, memories she'd long buried resurfacing once again.

She remembered the day Buttercup ran into the house screaming about making the varsity basketball team as though she were surprised. She remembered the day Bubbles made the lead in the school musical and how the remaining sisters had gone to see every single showing with Buttercup grumbling but there despite her hatred of show tunes. She remembered their sixteenth birthday when her sisters had thrown her a surprise party because she'd been stressed.

When she thought about it, she had probably missed out on so much. She missed out on graduations and shared birthdays. She may have even missed out on the births of nieces and nephews and it was all because she was too damn stubborn.

As she lay there, regretting, the sound of her doorbell rudely broke through her thoughts. Blinking, she sat up in bed, wondering who on earth could be harassing her at four in the morning. The person at the door was either stupid or incredibly rude because the button was ringing over and over again, incessantly. Fearing her neighbors would wake up she sprinted to her living room and flung open the door. Standing there with his trademark, insufferable smirk was Brick.

Blossom gaped. Surely he was joking.

"I've decided," he spoke airily, sidestepping her and entering the apartment, "that you don't have a choice in the matter."

Blossom stood there, making outraged noises with her mouth, but failing to form a coherent sentence.

Brick disdainfully eyed her pink nightshirt, complete with smiling clouds.

"How old are you, seriously?"

His insult seemed to shake her out of her shock.

"Brick," she whispered, infuriated, "Get out."

"You need to pack quickly," he remarked, completely ignoring her, "I'm parked illegally and I'm not really in the mood for dilly dallying."

"Brick," she repeated, motioning at her door furiously, "Get out."

He headed down the hall, toward her room, in complete disregard of her words. Unsure of what to do, Blossom closed her door and followed him into her room where she found him rummaging through her underwear drawer, throwing bras and panties on her bed haphazardly.

"This has got to be the most unsexy underwear ever," Brick deadpanned holding up a plain white bra.

"Brick!" she squeaked, grabbing for her bra. He let it go easily but the damage was done and she was blushing a brilliant shade of red that clashed horribly with her hair.

He had the audacity to laugh. Fuming, she physically shoved him out of the room and slammed the door in a rare display of immaturity. Turning to face the mess he'd created on her bed, she began organizing her underwear into what she would and wouldn't be taking with her.

The truth was, she wanted to go. And this was the perfect way to force her into doing what she was too scared to do. Grabbing her pink suitcase, she began throwing the most random things in. It was almost as though she was in a trance. She ignored Brick whenever he decided to shout obnoxious comments at her door. When she was satisfied that she had enough stuff to hold her over, she grabbed her road trip essential, an over large pair of white rimmed sunglasses and put them on. She changed into a pair of black sweatpants and a long-sleeved pink t-shirt, sweeping her hair into a loose bun at the top of her head.

When she stepped out of her room, Brick snorted.

"I like the sunglasses Pink, seriously."

She ignored him and headed out the door. She was surprised when he gently took the suitcase from out of her hand and led her down the stairs. At the sight of his red Ferrari she stopped, gaping. He smirked.

"Nice isn't it?"

She composed herself.

"I guess."

When he'd put her suitcase in the trunk and stepped into the driver's seat next to her, he turned to face her.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded numbly and it was only after they passed the sign indicating that they were leaving the city limits that she realized what it was she had agreed to.

Oh hell.


A/N: SO. I'm not dead, really. And neither is this little fic. Honestly, I have no idea if anyone is still reading this story, but I hope those who are reading are enjoying.

Anyway, reviews would be cool : - ) really.