Hello everyone! My name is Magician Irono and I bring you a romance story concerning our two favorite red heads. This is my first fusion fall story, but please don't hesitate to state any necessary opinions you may have.
First off, however, I would like to make a request. If you choose to review this story, please be specific as to what you enjoyed or despised about it. Not to be rude or picky here, but I want to write what you like. That being said, ideas and requests are always welcomed.
Second, I may be new on this fan base, but I am not new to fan fiction. I have more stories should you be interested. If not, you don't need to read them.
Now after all that, let's get on with the story. Cartoon network owns fusion fall, not me. Enjoy the show!
In a similar fashion to the aftermath of World War Two, the transition from chaos to peace was not an easy one, to say the least. Many brave warriors fought, even gave their lives, but all had been marked by the fear. Images of the Blitzkrieg of Planet Fuse and its demonic spawn slithered from memory into the sleep of victims and heroes alike. Nightmares, in turn, glissaded into the waking world to taunt and fool with imagined sounds and limpid figures. The blood of the innocent flows free and the doppelgangers begin their masquerade once more. In the same moment, it does not, nor do they. Psychologists call it post-traumatic stress disorder. Those diagnosed call it Hell on earth.
Some of the brave fighters have, in fact, dealt with such matters before, even if not to such an extreme degree. The cunning Samurai Jack had battled with the vile demon, Aku, and defeated him time and again. Since the discovery of the omnitrix, Ben Tennyson had seen and conquered many ferocious and eye-popping abominations, both friendly and lethal. The vast numbers of the Kids Next Door were available when tragedy struck, with or without the threat of plotting adults- even the moon sector and those beyond. We have been granted with the strongest soldiers, not to mention the most brilliant minds. Who could forget the incredible works of Professor Utonium, Numbah 2, and even Mandark. Without their advances in weaponry, how would Fuse have ever been defeated?
Yes, these godsend blessings are human like the rest of us, and are capable of many fears. Some have a phobia or two. Fear is human. It is a survival technique supported by perception and can even come in the form of prejudice. Some could argue that fear is a negative connotation of common sense (which, sadly, not many of us have as much as we need). Nonetheless, this primordial feeling is deeply intertwined within human DNA and remains throughout our maturation and development, just like every other feeling we have. Joy, anger, sadness- all of it.
Dexter, how do you do it?
The teacher droned endlessly in a monotone explanation concerning how one was to tell the difference between the rhombus, the rectangle, and their abnormal love-child, the square (which everyone was sure they knew already). Blossom sat in the third row, chin in hand, lazily writing notes in her binder. Occasionally she would consult the textbook just because she did not want to listen to the elder at the front of the classroom. The girl stifled a yawn and looked up.
Dexter sat in the front row (due to his horrendous eye-sight), scribbling madly in his own notebook. His gaze would flick up to the teacher, then back to his paper. Blossom was sure he was simultaneously processing the items on the whiteboard, the verbiage of the teacher, and the provided text in the geometry book all at once. He would push up his glasses once in a while, and then return to his work. Why is he writing this stuff down, the girl mused? Doesn't he know it by now?
Dexter was very well known as one of the finest minds of the tenth grade. His grade point average hovered around five points and his IQ was no doubt soaring above one hundred sixty. Not a day went by when the boy wasn't asked for some type of assistance, even from reluctant seniors. That was all Dexter seemed to do. Every time she saw him, Blossom found his nose in in a book of some sort. The boy could probably study for hours on end without burning out. That's not human.
The girl sighed mournfully. Didn't Dexter know that there was more to life than work? There was so much he was missing. Aside from school, he never stepped outside his own home (or rather lab). Everything in his head seemed to revolve around logic. No sign of any emotion would present itself. Not only was Dexter wasting away his hours with books, but he could be unable to experience the freedom properly. Blossom shuddered. She knew how valuable life was, even if hers was artificial.
Blossom's feelings for the boy genius were painful. The solemn ache echoed within her chest every time she saw him alone. Why not study with her? And why did she care for Dexter so strongly? She knew it wasn't true love just yet- that takes much more time to develop. But this feeling was unhealthy. The girl knew she would only fall further and further. Dexter would remain unmoved. He cherished solitude. How could he? Surely nothing was more terrible. Why did Dexter make this choice when it caused her so much grief? Or did he even pay a shard of heed?
The red-haired girl removed a blank sheet of paper from her binder. She scribbled a quick question in the center, ignoring the guidance of college ruled lines. Do you ever feel anything? She quickly folded the paper and wrote To Dexter on the front. Blossom tapped the student seated just ahead of her. The student turned. Blossom gave him the note. The child took the paper, eyed it, and then passed it ahead tactfully. Slowly the note made its way from child to child, all the while careful of the teacher's knowing glare.
Finally, the item reached Dexter's desk. Said boy took the note up. Blossom bit her lip. Hurry up and read it! Dexter seemed to patronize the girl, slowly turning it over in his grip, thinking, turning again and again. . .
The boy placed the note back on the desk and returned his focus to the content of the math class.
The girl sighed again. I should have known. . .
Blossom jumped in her seat. Suddenly she noticed the menacing glower of the geometry teacher accompanied but the curious looks of some of her fellow classmates. The only thing the panicked child could manage was a faint "huh".
"Apparently you already know the material," the old woman sneered. "Perhaps you would like to prove that statement for your classmates. Find the value of X." She gestured towards a diagram of a rhombus.
This was not difficult- first-year algebra, at the most. Blossom began her search for the missing link. 4X=10X-24, so that is 6X-
"If I may," interjected a voice. The girl looked up. Without a doubt, it was Dex. "The value of X is 4, so the length of each side is 16 units."
"That is correct, Dexter. Blossom, you would do well to follow his example."
Said girl sunk in her seat and pick up her pencil again. She was silent for the rest of the class period.
The classes passed one by one. Psychology, chemistry, English- All honors classes or advanced placement. Blossom was also an intelligent mind among her peers, though not to the same degree as Dexter. With each class came a new homework assignment. Second year French required that two worksheets be due the next morning. Advanced placement art called for a still life portrait. The geometry assignment was little more than a few questions from the book. But the weight had added up with each class period. Why were the textbooks so heavy? They didn't even have to read all this material-this was pointless!
The hallways were now filled with the rambunctious noise of afterschool joy and discontent. Some would go home to rot their brains with video games and late night television, while others would work into the late hours of the night for a frugal pay of minimum wage. Blossom slung her backpack on her shoulders, staggering with the weight of at least three hours of study material. Surely she would break her back one of these days and would have to sue the school. She stooped down to pick up the extra books that refused to fit. At least the day is over, she remembered. Blossom pressed her locker door shut and yawned. She was about to walk away when a voice called out to her.
"Blossom. A word, please."
The girl turned to be met by a familiar figure clad in a turtleneck sweater and dress pants. He carried and equally heavy backpack, but did not seem burdened by the weight. A smile tugged at the corner of the girl's mouth. "Hey, Dex. What's up?"
"I share the same concern for your grade that Mrs. Duchess does," he replied. The pair began to walk towards the main entrance. "Not just in geometry, but you appear to be losing valuable points in your other classes as well."
"I'm not failing because I have a few Bs, Dexter," said Blossom. "Not everyone is a genius like you."
"You have an eighty-one percent in united states history."
"That's an AP class, so technically it's a ninety-one."
Dexter stopped in front of Blossom. A serious glare crawled over the frames of his thick glasses. "That is no excuse to perform at a less-than-satisfactory level, woman. I would expect that you would know better." He raised an eyebrow. "Have you already forgotten the document based question concerning the articles of confederation?"
Blossom groaned. She loathed DBQs with a passion and was not alone. This was the mocking, vile, undefeatable arch-nemesis of every honors and AP student in the school. The very first document based question was a nightmare. Almost every girl was balling their eyes out, even a few boys, beneath the anxiety. The janitor had to clean up an extra amount of pulled out hair after that day. Even when half of the class had lapsed, still papers remained blank. Dexter, it seemed, was the only one who did not panic amidst the hysteria. He worked quietly and tactfully. When the grades returned to their respective students, the boy had earned the title of "Curve-buster" and is still known as such to this day.
"I see," said the "Curve-buster". "Then I advise you review the material tonight. But I imagine you may even avoid that, so I would also advise working with a partner. "
"Again? That's the third time this week." It was true. Recently Dexter had been insisting that the girl come on study sessions to his house. Blossom did not see them as necessary, but took advantage of the time to spend with Dexter. However at this point, the meetings seemed to get slightly redundant. Blossom felt that her grades were fine. It seemed that Dexter only did this to criticize the girl on her grades. And I even like that about him. I got issues. . .
"Four o'clock, no later," The boy commanded sternly. "Bring the history material, but I also suggest that you bring anything else you feel you may need assistance with." He turned, walked away a few steps, halted, and then turned around again. "Come early," he said. "The less time we waste, the better."
Dexter left and vanished into the crowd.
Blossom stood in the hallway. She shrugged and made her way to her bus. Her book bag was far too heavy for her to fly home. Maybe she could finish some of her work before she had to go to Dexter's.
"Hey, we're home!"
"Good afternoon, professor."
"Welcome home, girls. Did you all have a good day at school?"
What a treasure to have the professor home! During a majority of the weekday, Mr. Utonium would be occupied with his current job as a genetics specialist for DexLabs. Aside from the generous paycheck, the man loved working with the same comrades that he had battled with during the war with Planet Fuse. He was not actually put in the field, but the man was proud of his accomplishments, namely the assistance he offered other scientists of the war. The transition was not very easy for him, either, but was made a bit more bearable since Buttercup's return. Currently, he sat at the kitchen table, reading a book and enjoying a warm cup of tea.
Buttercup immediately dropped her book bag down, dropped her coat on the floor, and then proceeded towards the refrigerator. "Double-D once again has proved to be a noob," she replied. "He took up the sink washing his hands in chemistry for freakin' ten whole minutes."
"But we were working with the copper sulfate, right," mused Bubbles. She too set her books on the ground, but had the courtesy to place it by her own seat. She took out a textbook with a purple cover. "The zinc, too. We had to wash our hands."
"But that guy's a germ-o-phobe! I can only imagine what his water bill looks like." Buttercup walked to the kitchen table with a glass of milk, three slices of pepperoni pizza and a bottle of hot sauce. "Someone get me a plate."
Blossom walked to the cabinet to retrieve the requested item. "Dexter wants me over again. He's been asking me over a lot lately." The girl plucked a plastic dish and handed it to her sister.
"Again?! He's getting way too clingy." Buttercup placed the items down and began to spank a generous amount of hot sauce on her pizza.
"I don't think it's that, but he keeps harping on me about my grades. He called me lazy because I have an eighty-one in APUSH."
"Really?" The black-haired girl tore a piece of food and scarfed it down without the use of her hands. "He never bugs me and I get Cs and crap. Dorkster should be yelling at me, but then again, he knows better." She swallowed her pizza, and then took a swig of milk to swish around in her mouth.
Bubbles looked up from her book. "Why put the hot sauce on if you're drinking the milk," she asked. "They both cancel each other out."
"Because I can." Buttercup bit into her pizza and took out a pen and folder.
"Well, you should study with Dexter," said the professor. He sipped his own drink. "I know first-hand how brilliant he is. You should take advantage of the help he is offering. When are you going?"
"He said four, but then said he wanted me earlier. He thinks I'll waste time." The red head rolled her eyes.
"You'd better get going, then. Its ten 'til."
Blossom's jaw dropped. She whipped around, searching for the clock. 3:52- That was less! And Dexter would no doubt chew her out with irrational brutality if she were late. "Crap! I gotta go. Bye!" Ignoring the weight of her books, she ran out the door and soared up to the sky.
The three left sat at their, starring out the door. The professor returned to his book, Bubbles to her homework, Buttercup to her pizza. "Poor, sick lovebird," muttered the third.
"I think it's sweet," replied Bubbles. "But Blossom always tells me how Dexter doesn't seem to feel any kind of feeling, romance or general. Sometimes she gets pretty upset and envies him for it. How sad. . "
"It's not our place to pry, girls." The man turned the page. "That's her business. She will speak if she feels the need. Until then, let your sister be."
"Yes, professor. . ."
Blossom skidded to a halt at Dexter's door. From the weight of her book bag, she could have risked injury. She checked her watch. For a moment, it read 3:59. The next it read 4:00. Gasping for breath, she pressed the bell's button.
A woman's voice echoed on the other side. "Dexter, sweetie, I think your friend's here."
"Thank you, mother," replied A boy. That was doubtlessly Dexter.
Another voice rang out in a sing-song manor. "Dexter's got a girlfriend! Dexter's got a girlfriend! Dexter's got a-"
"Silence, you stupid girl! I have no such relations!"
"Yes you dooooo!"
"I do not! Mother, talk some sense into my imbecile of a sister."
"I don't know, Dex. I think you admire this girl."
"And I think you admire her tooo!"
Blossom couldn't get enough of a hold on her breath before she began to giggle at the dialogue inside. She knew it was rude to peep in like that, but she did not think it peeping if the inhabitants were so loud. Blossom obviously knew better to think the words held any bit of truth to them. This was a little more than a few antics meant to mock the boy genius.
"She is an acquaintance, nothing more!"
How true. . .
A few clicks were made as the door knob jiggled. Blossom stood up straighter, brushing her fingers through her bangs. The door swung open. On the other side stood Dexter. No sign of the quarrel presented itself on the boy's face. No flaring nostrils, nor a mad blush- he simply stared at the girl clinically.
"You are late."
Blossom pouted. "My book bag's heavy."
"And you have a strength that surpasses any man on this earth."
"And you have a brain that surpasses any man on earth. You should know."
Dexter's mother spoke up. "That's no way to treat a lady. Take her bag if it's heavy."
The boy looked down. For a moment, Blossom could see the thinnest sliver of what appeared to be shame. For her, having never seen any emotion on his face (save contempt or disappointment), it was not easy to identify. Perhaps it was subliminal or imagined. He jerked his head back up and took Blossom's hand. "Come. We are wasting time. The document based question draws near."
"Ooooooh," squealed Deedee. "A study date!"
"This is no date," exclaimed Dexter. "And I will require silence, if you please, though I doubt you have the capacity."
"Don't worry." The blonde girl gave a sly wink. "I won't disturb you two at all."
"It would be in your best interest." With that, the pair climbed the stairs into Dexter's room.
Blossom had learned to ignore the numerous "keep out" signs the riddled the door. Once inside, the girl set her books down, thankful for the mitigation. It was a simple room, housing a bed, some bookshelves, and a desk. An aroma or herbs floated in the air. Blossom took a deep breath and sat on the bed, crossing her legs. "So what's first?"
"You are the one who needs my assistance," he replied. "I will give you the privilege to decide."
Blossom growled. "Buttface. Fine, let's just work on APUSH."
"A fine choice, Blossom."
Several hours had passed since Blossom's arrival. The history of America's first government after the revolutionary war had been reviewed several times throughout the study session. Chemistry came after that. Geometry stood little chance. This session was surprisingly productive for a small group of friends. But thanks to Dexter's objective nature, no antics took place.
English now rested on the chopping block. This was one of the easier assignments- little more than a few exercising concerning the use of parallelism and chiasmus, both very similar devices in the use of rhetoric. Each worked quietly, speaking only to ask the other a question.
Dexter looked up from his binder. Blossom continued to scribble, momentarily chewing on the end of her pencil. He called her name. She turned to the source of the sound.
"What was the distribution of power under the articles of confederation?"
Blossom paused a moment, but she responded. "Strong state, weak federal."
"Why was this," the boy questioned.
"To avoid the monarchy of British rule from before the revolution."
"And what was one of the few correct items of the articles?"
Blossom paused for a moment more. Her gaze darted about nervously. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Rosemary and cypress tickled her nostrils once again. "Funding for education," she finally replied, "and to help the delegates of the Annapolis convention find the happy medium that would be the united states constutition."
Dexter smirked. "It seems that you are prepared. The question will be no problem. However, I want you to remember to get to the point while you are taking it. And avoid the use of rhetoric."
Blossom smiled. "No, I am not prepared. I panicked really badly last time. Wish I did get so anxious. How do you do it, Dex?"
"I am simply not frightened," he said casually, pushing up his glasses.
But Blossom frowned, inching closer to Dexter. "You never answered my question."
The boy looked up, slightly bewildered. He thought a moment, then responded. "Ah, yes. 'Do I ever feel anything.' Of course I do, silly girl."
Blossom smiled. Finally, at the end of the day, he would answer. . .
"The sensation of touch can be categorized into four categories: pressure, warmth, cold, and pain. Everything we feel is either one of those four or a combination. For example, we perceive cold and warm as hot."
Blossom frowned and covered the boy's mouth. "No, nononono," she said. "I mean emotion, not sensation."
As she removed her hand, Dexter turned to look at the girl. But she forced her gaze down, hands folded in her lap. "I'm kinda scared for you," she said. "There is so much you are missing out on. If you can't laugh or cry, how are you able to enjoy your experiences? But at the same time, I envy you. You don't feel pain or any obligation to do what other people tell you to do."
A silence fell. Not the focus or important work underway, but the inability to deal with the hurt that the girl had presented. Neither one knew much of it before-Dexter of its existence, Blossom to its degree. Her fingers were laced within each other. She sighed and continued.
"It hurts me too," she muttered. "I want to be the one who shows you that there is a world outside of school and work. It's a wonderful place. But the thing is-"she stopped. Dexter watched, expressionless as far as the girl knew. He won't care. She continued. "The thing is that I don't think you want me to show you, let alone see it for yourself."
It was quiet again. Dexter did not offer any words of logic to console the girl. Tears picked at Blossom's eyes. Why? I know he doesn't care. It shouldn't hurt. The girl sat up straight. She grabbed her pencil again. "Well, whatever. Let's get back to work. The teacher's gonna chew us out if we don't fi-"
There was a light touch on her cheek, softer than a feather. Finger tips. They gestured the girl to turn her head without one bit of force. The girl did so. And what a strange sight she beheld. On Dexter's face rested a mournful frown. His eyes glistened with longing. The boy brought his other hand to the other side of Blossom's face. Both slid to gently caress her neck. One thumb stroked her jawline.
Blossom could not comprehend what was currently occurring in this moment. Surely the boy wasn't thinking right. Despite the abnormality of the behavior, Blossom was . . . enjoying it somewhat. Even though she did not want to spoil such a moment, she had to. "Dexter," she began apprehensively. "Are you feeling alright?"
The boy did not move. He continued to gaze into Blossom's bright pink eyes. By some strange force, as though bewitched, he drifted closer to the girl. What a dream for the both of them. Blossom closed her eyes as Dexter's slid shut. She could feel his warm breath on her lips. Soft mint floated up her nose. Blossom parted her lips, thankful that she put on her strawberry lip gloss. Maybe Dexter was capable of emotion after all. And how undoubtedly elated she was that he was showing her of all people. The girl heart raced as she waited. . .
But his hands left her face. What just happened? She opened her eyes. Dexter was now standing up, a few inches away from the girl. He kept his eyes to the ground. Yet his hands were still shaped to fit Blossom's neck. The girl began to stand. "Dex, I-"
"My apologies," said the boy. All his previous passion had run off and hidden itself away. His voice vibrated at a single, flat tone. "I do not know what came over me." Dexter rummaged to collect his materials.
"I think it would be best if you leave now."
Blossom bit back a choke. She averted her eyes downward. She didn't want to. She wished that Dexter didn't take back his action so abruptly. Was he ashamed? Most likely. . . Without a doubt, all was ruined. The girl would be alone and Dexter wouldn't care. That would be that.
"Pack your things. It is dark now. I will walk you home."
Footsteps scraped along the cement walkways, yet neither walker made a sound. The only lights to guide them were the lamp posts. Blossom now perceived her books as much more corpulent than before. She craved sleep, merely end the day. The girl could not fly even if she wanted to (and at that point, she did). Dexter's presence seemed to dampen the air even more so. A sad mantra circled laps in Blossom's head. I am not wanted. I am not wanted. Her heart was little more than glass powder, finer than the sand it came from. Make it end, she prayed. Make it end, please.
A white building with three circular windows came into view. The pair stopped at the doorstep. It was time for Dexter to leave. He turned. "I'll leave you be now. Good evening, Blossom."
Dexter turned to leave, but was stopped. Blossom held a firm grip on the boy's shoulder. She was not finished. "You could have," she said, "if you wanted to."
Stars twinkled above. A light breeze slipped past them. Dexter turned. There it was again- the sadness, the vulnerability. Twice in one day- who knew?
"Sit, Blossom. I need to tell you something."
Dexter took his seat and looked up to see if Blossom would follow suit. She did not at first. The pain prevented her from doing immediately. At least, she let her bag fall and took her place next to the boy. He did not look to her and twiddled his thumbs.
"I feel many things," he began, "like many people. I feel pride. I feel contempt. I feel rage and annoyance. Above all," Dexter met Blossom's eyes. "I feel fear."
Blossom hung on each word. She leaned forward. Blossom never thought Dexter to be capable of that one. "Fear?"
The boy genius nodded. "It possesses me in every hour. I fear ignorance, so I study for hours without end. I fear people, so I stay away when I am able. I fear losing you," the boy paused, "so I don't get too close."
The girl raised her eyebrows. She enjoyed this conversation a bit more than one could argue that she should. But she remained silent and let the boy finish his explanation.
"Before I met you, I had never had a real friend. Relationships were never more than that of simply knowing one's name. My classmates sought my company for my homework. I had considered those around me to be morons, even my own family. I was hated and envied, but I cared not. Learning was my upmost priority. But you arrived. Not only did I learn that there were others as intelligent as I, but you asked for nothing. Never had I known someone so kind in my life. Solitude soon became unbearable and I craved your presence as though it were heroin."
Blossom snorted. "Nice analogy."
Dexter smiled, glad that she was still listening, but looked down again, dismal. "It grew worse," he continued. "I could not avert my thoughts. I would search for you in the halls and fought the urge to call you in night's old hours in a consistent cycle or pattern. I don't mean the insults concerning your grades- you are very intelligent. But I needed a professional excuse to be able to, well, spend time with you. I feared a direct approach would scare you off." Dexter moved closer. "And now I am afraid to even hide from you, for I may lose a special chance that will never come again."
"And what chance may that be," asked Blossom.
Dexter let his eyes drift up to her once more. He brought a hand to her cheek. The longing in his blue eyes returned once more. "Whatever it may be that you permit."
Blossom smiled, tilted her head to her right, and then lightly pressed her lips against Dexter's.
Dexter could be nervous at times. She could tell by the feel of chewed and callous lips beneath her's. The mint sent was still there and Dexter allowed the girl to finger his hair with one hand, while resting the other on his shoulder. The boy held his arms around her, slowly inching them downward to tighten around her waist. There was a sense of relief and security in the embrace that both heavily enjoyed. Could god make this moment last forever is she prayed? If only it were so . . .
They broke lips, but not grips. Dexter rested his forehead on Blossom's shoulder. "I feel something new," he said. "I believe it's called happiness."
Blossom grinned. "Yeah," she said. "I feel that, too."
Dexter released to the girl (to her mild dismay) and stood up. "I had best be getting home now. Most important for any kind of test is a good night's sleep. And before I forget, here." The male redhead rummaged in his pocket and drew out a small spray bottle and showed it to Blossom. She eyed it with confusion, but didn't have much time to ponder. "Can you tell me the significance of Shay's rebellion?"
The girl opened her mouth, but no words came out. The answer danced on the edge of her memory. I know we went over this, she thought. Defeated, the girl sighed. "I don't remember. . ."
Dexter uncapped the bottle and pressed the squirt on top. Once again, Blossom could smell the cypress and the rosemary, just like Dexter's room. She remembered once again.
"Shay's rebellion showed how weak the articles were because the government didn't have an army," she said. Dexter smiled and gave her the bottle.
"Spray some of this when you take the DBQ," he said. "I must be going now. Good night, Blossom."
"You too, Curve-Buster." Blossom waved, then stepped back inside.
A few days later, Blossom held a paper and a proud grin on her face. "Ninety-one percent" was circled in red ink on her own DBQ. Perhaps she would need to study at Dexter's more often. . .
Well, that's my first fusion fall story. I hope you all liked it. Remember to review, ok? In the meantime, fellow authors, I wish you many magical words in your writing. TTFN!