More Than Human, ch8, part 3
More Than Human, ch8
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
Title: More Than Human
Chapter 8: With the Girl at the Rock Show, or I Was A Heavy Heart to Carry
Pairing: RrB/PpG
Rating: R/M, because they're teenagers and a good handful of them use terrible, filthy language.
Disclaimer: Pay your respect to Craig, not me.
Summary: There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus
Notes: Thanks to mathkid and juxtaposie for knowing when to leave me to my own devices and when to call me out on my bullshit.
More Than Human, Pt. 2 - Senior Fall Semester
August - With the Girl at the Rock Show, or I Was A Heavy Heart to Carry
-sbj-
***
Blossom heard the slight commotion outside; apparently something was going on. After Brian came into makeup and told them to wash off the cavewoman makeup from the girls (“Thank God,” Buttercup praised), she figured something was definitely up.
“Girls, put on something normal. Solid colors. Jeans are fine,” Brian told them, before disappearing.
“Aww,” Bubbles pouted. “No loincloth bikinis?”
“Words I should never hear put together again,” Buttercup announced as she propelled herself out of her seat and back to change.
After changing into regular t-shirts and jeans, followed by another quick stint in makeup, the girls made their way out. Blossom wondered what on Earth was going on...
She halted when she saw Brick pacing uneasily behind the people at the laptop, and then Brian came up and asked him how he wanted to set up the lights.
“Let's get the girls under them first and then we'll see,” Brick said.
“What's going on?” Blossom blurted, and the entire room glanced up at her, Brick included. She thought she heard some dim screaming outside of the building that sounded like Dmitry. Brick looked away as the realization hit Bubbles, who squealed.
“Omigosh! Brick! Are they letting you take pictures?! I wanna see, I wanna see!” She dashed over there to the laptop, where the staffers were scrolling through Brick's photos. Her eyes softened as she tabbed through them. “Oh, Brick,” she sighed. “These are gorgeous. I love this one you took of Blossom, here-”
Blossom tensed as Brick shot Bubbles a sharp look. She stalked over, Buttercup lazily following behind.
“What are you talking about?” she muttered as she crossed her arms and glared at the screen. As Bubbles scrolled through them for her, the harshness in her expression faded.
They're pretty good, she thought to herself. Even the ones where she was clearly angry and screaming at the camera were good. It didn't occur to Blossom to ask why he'd taken so many of her.
The girls were ushered under the lights, and after some thought Brick took down a couple and set some screens up over the others to diffuse their light.
“Is this it?” Bubbles asked as the girls stood in front of the backdrop, unadorned.
“Yeah,” Brick said quietly. Behind him, Miss Maybury was beside herself with pride and yammering on incessantly to the Professor, who looked as if his ears had tired of the chatter about two years back. Brick stared at the girls for a bit, causing Blossom to shift uncomfortably. Finally he asked them what kind of pose they struck for the papers, then snapped a few of those. He seemed a little bit at a loss after that, even though the crew liked them.
Julie came up to him, and Blossom watched as she stood on her tiptoes and whispered quietly to Brick, “Try doing Bubbles by herself first.” Blossom's gaze was riveted to the way Julie's hand touched Brick's arm, how her fingers curved around the muscle. He let her touch him. Blossom hadn't realized how close they'd gotten.
He took her suggestion. After Julie asked a perplexed Bubbles about puppies, the girl lit up and launched into a rambling dissertation about how much she loved them, resplendent with wide, expressive gestures.
“That was a great idea,” Brick permitted as he snapped some photos. He then asked Bubbles to pick up her camera, and she willingly complied, snapping her own photos as Brick's camera went off. Her playfulness with the “prop” inspired a round of impressed murmurs from the crowd. The rest of the Art class took pictures, too, encouraged by Bubbles' brightness.
Buttercup was up next. Julie had clearly been hoping putting Bubbles up there first would loosen up the other girls, but with Buttercup it backfired.
“I don't like having my picture taken,” she explained gruffly.
“Buttercup, Mitch took, like, a zillion of you when you were together,” Bubbles reminded. In the back, a strangled cry escaped the Professor's throat.
“I didn't like it then, either,” Buttercup snarled. Brick managed to snap a photo of her irritated expression at her sister, then had a moment of inspiration.
“Don't be scared, Buttercup,” he said simply, and the girl whirled on him.
“Excuse me?” she snapped, and Brick went crazy with the photos. Another moment of genius hit.
“Care to tell me an embarrassing story about Blossom?”
Buttercup's eyes widened with glee at the opportunity while a panicked Blossom squeaked, “What?”
“Tell him the hair one!” Bubbles exclaimed.
“Bubbles!”
“Dude, okay, okay,” Buttercup started. “So we're, like, five years old-”
Blossom protested so vehemently it was hard to hear Buttercup, but she was telling the story with such exaggerated motions, often causing herself to burst into laughter, that it didn't matter so long as they got the pictures. Buttercup's came out even better than Bubbles'. They finally stopped when Buttercup, fueled by the twisted pleasure she got out of sharing her sister's shame, launched into another story, one when they were older, and Blossom dashed over into frame, struggling to shut her sister up.
“That's enough!” she shouted hysterically, face flushed.
They figured that was as good a chance as any to get Blossom up there. Again, she wasn't nearly as comfortable as Bubbles, and the story of how her sisters had chopped off all her pretty long hair probably hadn't helped.
“I'm having trouble picturing you half-bald, Blossom,” Brick said.
“Don't worry,” Buttercup cut in before Blossom could respond. “We have pictures.”
“Don't you dare,” Blossom warned frantically.
Unlike with Bubbles and Buttercup, the moment of inspiration did not come readily to Brick, and Blossom, too, looked out of her element. She had no idea what to do, neither did he, and it obviously irritated the both of them to no end.
What can I say to get her going? He wasn't used to talking with her, unless it was arguing about something. But-and he was being objective about this-while she looked just as pretty when she was angry, it would be doing the loveliness of her face a huge disservice to put it in a magazine locked in an expression of anger.
“Brick?” Brian asked, after he'd stood there for some time.
“Thinking,” he responded automatically, staring at the miniature image of Blossom in the viewfinder so he wouldn't make eye contact with her directly. She fidgeted under those lights. She was so naturally pretty. What to do? If she looked more comfortable these pictures would be fantastic. She wouldn't even have to do anything, or say anything, she just had to stop looking so tense...
Suddenly it hit him. Duh. The answer was so obvious.
“Blossom,” Brick said, his voice oddly charged, determined. “You should dance.”
Silence settled over the room.
“E-excuse me?” she said uneasily.
“Buttercup, let her borrow your MP3 player,” Brick said, still staring at the viewfinder. “Blossom, just pretend it's dance class. Or you're practicing on your own.”
She looked around at the room, all eyes darting between her and Brick. She looked even more nervous, which Brick thought was ridiculous. She danced in front of people all the time.
“It's a small space, Brick,” she said, making excuses as she indicated the photo area.
“Oh, if you're going to let that stop you, feel free,” he challenged, and five minutes and a hundred glares later, Blossom had settled her sister's headphones on and had her eyes closed as she listened. Even just the act of closing her eyes helped; within minutes the tension in her face and posture waned. Brick started snapping photos then. Then she started to dance, and as soon as Brick realized he couldn't seem to stop, he turned to Julie.
“Why don't, uh, why don't you have a turn?”
Julie's shock didn't temper her excitement, and as she bounded up Brick looked around and said, “Actually, why don't the rest of you guys have a turn at the camera?”
The Art class all exchanged looks, then leaped at the opportunity. As Brick walked back to his stuff, he passed a delighted Miss Maybury, who thanked him profusely. He sat next to Buttercup. Bubbles was off taking pictures of the room with her camera.
“She looks like she's zooming in crazy close on everything,” Brick observed.
“Yeah? I dunno.” Buttercup shifted, and nodded at the laptop. “I saw your pictures.”
“Yeah?”
“They look good. I mean, I don't know anything about art, or photography. But I think you take really good pictures.”
He nodded, and picked up his own SLR. “Thanks.” After a moment, he turned and snapped a photo of Buttercup. She smirked at him as he took another.
“What are these for?”
He shrugged. “Dunno.” Maybe for posterity's sake. He took more of the room, more of the crowd. The Professor made it into a few, as did Julie and his fellow classmates and Bubbles. Blossom made it into all the rest. Eventually he went back to the area where the pro camera was set up, his own still in hand. Blossom was slowing down, and she unclipped the player and removed the headphones, setting them aside.
“Sorry, her metal playlist started up,” Blossom explained, with the little glow lighting her face that she got after every dance, every performance. Brick made sure to take a picture. “Kinda hard to dance to.” The crew looked like they had way more than they needed of Blossom; they sounded very pleased. Brick spoke before they could move on.
“So why did you start dancing?” he asked, his voice ringing loud and clear above the chatter. She looked up in mild surprise, and Brick snapped photos of her expression.
“I just... I guess the Professor took us to see a ballet, when we were little, and the dancers looked so pretty and graceful that I wanted to be like them.”
“And what about the hip hop?” he asked, still staring at her through his camera. She laughed, a little embarrassed.
“That was a few years ago. I got into it because I was trying to get more inner-city kids off the streets. Also, it was just so different from ballet and tap and all that other stuff that it was kinda like a new challenge, you know? Felt like personal growth to take that on, and make a difference, too.”
“Did you make a difference?”
When she looked at him, she looked right at the camera, her expression soft and lovely and so mindnumbingly gorgeous the sigh Brick expelled internally manifested in the room as a collective sigh from the whole group.
“I hope so,” she said quietly.
They wrapped up the shoot with a few group shots of the girls, Bubbles constantly clambering over her sisters and squeezing them close, despite Buttercup's protests. They actually made for better shots. The class began to pack their stuff as the girls were hauled off to clean up. Brick lingered, scanning the room as he slyly pocketed the memory card from his camera.
“Brick.”
He turned to find the gray-haired man standing off in a dark corner with Brian, beckoning him over. Brick set down his camera and walked over.
The gray-haired man was speaking before Brick had even reached them. “I want those photos you took of Blossom.”
“You have those photos I took of her,” Brick said instantly. “Let's discuss my compensation.”
“I don't mean those dancing photos, I mean those regular ones, when she and you were just talking,” the man went on.
“I think I'll hang onto those. Let's discuss my compensation.”
“Those are the photos I want to put in the magazine. Give them to me.”
“What are you paying me?” Brick said, his voice a near-growl.
“How old are you?” the man said, his lip curling. “Sixteen? Seventeen? You're not even a professional photographer.”
“And yet you threw out your so-called 'professional photographer' to have me do the shoot instead. Seventeen, by the way. How much did you pay him to prance around and come up with an idiotic vision and take only one picture?”
Brian finally interjected, a little nervously. “That's, um, confidential.”
“He's an artist with a vision, right?” Brick said. “I imagine his fee is pretty steep to match that enormous ego. I want ninety percent of that.”
“'Ninety percent?!'” Brian cried.
“I gave you five times the photos in half the time it would've taken to do a whole session with that tool,” Brick explained. “And on short notice. And by special request. Ninety percent's actually undercharging you, if you ask me.”
The gray-haired man was still hard, scrutinizing him. “I want those pictures.”
“Then it's definitely ninety percent,” Brick said, his hand going to the pocket that held his precious memory card, loaded with pictures of the most beautiful girl on the planet.
“Fifty percent,” the gray-haired man said.
Brick scoffed. “You're kidding, right?”
The man suddenly switched gears. “What credit do you want on the photos in the magazine? Should we just call you Brick?” The question caught Brick off guard, and he stared at the man, contemplating. Not his real name; he didn't want to attract attention. He needed something generic, something anonymous, something...
“John Smith,” he said quietly, and there was a shift in the man's eyes.
“Is that so.”
He still couldn't recall the exact time or exact circumstances, or even whether he'd actually been a client or just a potential one. But Brick thought he'd recognized him from somewhere.
“Sixty percent,” the man said. “I can't go any higher than that.”
“Try seventy,” Brick suggested, his hand already pulling out the memory card.
“Beautiful.” The man shook Brick's hand. “Brian, write him a check.”
Brick smirked as he loaded the photos up onto their laptop (“I'm keeping the originals,” he told them, holding up the memory card). When no one was around the gray-haired man found him again and slipped him his payment, plus a simple card with only his first name and phone number on it.
“You guys and your single title names,” Brick murmured as he read Joseph off the crisp white card.
“One name is often all you need,” Joseph said. Then, pointedly, “Brick.”
Brick smiled as he pocketed the card, then tugged out his phone. Joseph was already off, wandering amidst the crew as they were striking the set. Brick thought for a moment of the person who had arranged the cameras for the Art class, arranged the whole field trip in the first place. He flipped open his phone and dialed. The line picked up after the first ring.
“Hello.”
“Mrs. Morbucks,” Brick said, his eyes tracing the silver imprint of Joseph's name and phone number on the card. “Thank you.”
He could practically hear her smirking into the phone. “You're welcome, Brick.”
***
Blossom was grinning as she buttoned up her top, enjoying the reflection of her smile, her hair, her whole body, actually. She'd seen the photos, and then had felt ridiculously pretty.
“He's really talented, isn't he?” Bubbles said conversationally.
“Looks, brains, talent,” Buttercup said, nodding. Her eyes glazed over. “Plus a chest that you want to... throw rocks at just so you can watch them bounce off.”
Bubbles shot her sister a look. “Buttercup, you... you're kinda weird.”
“Too bad he's such a prick, right Blossom?” Buttercup went on.
“Huh? Oh, yes. He's... insufferable.”
“Guess that's just how it works with the pretty ones,” Buttercup sighed, shouldering her bag. “Hey, come on. You guys ready or not?” Her sisters followed her out the door and back into the main studio, where their father was waiting.
“Your friends said they were going out to grab some dinner,” he said, yawning. “Did you want to join them? We've just got leftovers at home.”
“That sounds awesome!” Bubbles exclaimed. “I mean, if it's okay with you, Professor.”
“It's fine with me,” he said, yawning again. His girls stared at him.
“You should get to sleep, Professor,” Buttercup said. “You've been tired all day.”
“Yeah, I'm probably not conscious enough to drive,” he agreed, then surprised them all by handing Buttercup the keys. “You wanna drive home, sweetie?”
Buttercup gaped. “You-are you serious?”
“I'm not conscious enough to believe this is a bad idea,” he said with a laugh. “Drop me off at home and then you girls can go have dinner with your friends.”
Buttercup threw her arms around their father, then dashed outside, shouting, “Thank you, Professor!” over her shoulder.
Bubbles followed in a more subdued manner, taking her father by the hand. Blossom was reaching for his other when Brian's voice suddenly interrupted.
“Blossom!”
She turned. “Yes?”
“Could we have a word?”
Blossom looked after the Professor and Bubbles, who had turned and were waiting for her. She took in the circles under his eyes and the tired lines of his face.
“You guys go ahead, I'll meet you at the restaurant.”
“I'll text you the place when I find out,” Bubbles called back. Blossom floated over to Brian and a gray-haired man that she didn't remember seeing earlier in the day. Brian suddenly looked a little uncomfortable.
“Oh... is your father coming?”
“He's really tired,” she said. “What did you want to discuss?”
Now Brian definitely looked uncomfortable. “Oh, I think we should-”
“Just tell the girl,” the older man interrupted. “She seems responsible, and adult enough to make her own decisions.” Blossom swelled with pride at the compliment.
“Not to sound cocky or anything, but I do get that a lot,” she said.
Brian cleared his throat and said, “Well, Blossom, the thing is... you're a very, very pretty girl.”
“Thank you,” she said sheepishly, coloring.
“I mean, all of us thought so today,” he went on, indicating the empty area where the crew had once been. “You really caught us off guard.”
“Very striking,” the other man cut in. Blossom practically glowed; just a minute ago she had been staring at her reflection feeling beautiful, and now here she was hearing it from other people!
“So we'd like to ask... have you ever, you know... thought of doing this professionally?”
She stared at them, her jaw dropping. “Are-are you serious? You mean modeling?” She shook her head in disbelief. “No, I've never given any thought to it at all!”
“Well, you should,” the man said. “You need to get a little more comfortable in front of the camera, but once you do you'll be quite popular. Now, we wanted to talk to you about photographing you for another publication of ours-”
“But since you are still underage, we need your legal guardian present,” Brian interjected, his voice a little frantic. His boss-Blossom assumed he was Brian's boss, the way Brian kept deferring to him-waved him off.
“You heard her yourself. She's a responsible young lady who can make her own decisions.”
“Um, sir, I know, but there's the whole potential for legal ramifications if we don't-”
Blossom interrupted, a little confused, but still aglow from the proposition. “Um, if you don't mind, what magazine is this for?”
Brian looked exceptionally nervous then, but the man, obstinate in his stoicism, said to him, “Show her. We have a copy.”
He might as well have asked a child to club a kitten, the way Brian so reluctantly turned to rummage in their things for it. When he found it he handed it to Blossom upside down. There was a bottle of vodka being advertised on the back; this definitely wasn't Modern Girl. Blossom gave him a warm smile to try and dispel his nervousness, then turned it over. Her smile faltered.
After a pause, Brian explained, “See, we do these annual specials, you know...”
His voice became dim background noise in Blossom's head as she took in the cover. There was a celebrity on it, a very pretty woman she didn't recognize, but pretty or no, her face was barely present. She was sitting on a stool in what appeared to be a shirt made of tissue paper; it was so transparent. Her arms were crossing over her chest as her hands hugged her shoulders, simultaneously covering and accentuating her breasts. The shirt was long enough to drape along her thighs, on either side of her crossed legs, and still she was exposing a lot of skin. Blossom assumed she was wearing underwear, but maybe that was too much to hope for. And then there was the copy. Most of it was harmless: about sports articles, political articles, the like. Emblazoned in the lower right corner in bright red text, however, were the words Bedroom Tips: She'll Make Noises You've Never Even Heard Before.
FHN. Blossom had seen this magazine before, had huffed at it on display in convenience stores and newspaper stands. It always featured some scantily clad woman with an unrealistic body and sometimes inhuman breasts. Magazines like this insulted her as a girl, she always thought. Those women on the cover, if they had any brains about them, shouldn't offer themselves up like this. Women with brains knew better. Blossom had always prided herself on being the smart one. And here she was, being asked to pose in FHN.
She realized she'd never flipped through the magazine. That was just the cover. She began to riffle through it-her hands shook a little as she did so, and she felt oddly numb. Brian was continuing to speak, and she took in a little of what he was saying now.
“So, you know, when you're of age, we'd like you to consider being a part of our annual 'Newly Legal,' section,” (she could hear him cringing as he said it) “and doing a very small interview with us and a couple of photos...”
Blossom closed the magazine, disappointed. There seemed to be some decent articles in there, but every woman that had been photographed looked like some vapid, thoughtless drone. The photos didn't draw attention to the face, unless there was a closeup on her blindingly red and glossy lips, with a hint of tongue and teeth nudging suggestively at the corner. There was skin and breasts and thighs and arching backs and searching hands, but she couldn't remember what any of the women looked like, really looked like. She felt numb. Sad. Disappointed. Worse yet, she felt violated and exposed. She was now acutely aware of the little patch of skin she was revealing, just above her chest (she should've buttoned it all the way up), and to know that these two-these two men, older men-had looked at her and thought, Yes, she should pose for us in FHN, made her wonder what was the use of being pretty, of feeling pretty, if all anybody ever wanted was to get you as close to naked as possible?
She remembered how pretty she had felt in the dressing room, how proud she'd been, and now she just felt stupid. Blossom swallowed and handed the magazine back to Brian, not looking at him or his boss.
“I'm sorry,” she croaked, and she wished she wouldn't croak. She wished her voice was more steady and commanding and not at all meek and so obviously feminine. The corners of her lips were shaking as she tried to crack a smile.
“I'm sorry,” she repeated, still croaking. “I don't really think this is for me.”
***
I should've hit them.
Blossom inwardly cursed herself for reacting in such a... such a victimized, little girly way. She should've hit them. She was a crimefighter, and a superhero to boot! She was supposed to react to things like this with violence!
I should've hit them, she thought again, but that only made the regret stronger. She tried it out loud.
“I should've hit them,” she muttered, then, a hiss, “I should've hit them.”
It didn't help much.
She was flying to the restaurant Bubbles had texted her, her arms crossed tightly over her chest and her blouse buttoned all the way up. It wasn't a cold night, but it made her feel better.
I should've asked Bubbles and Buttercup to stay. If they'd been around Blossom might have reacted more, or reacted, period. Her sisters being around made the need to act a leader, to be a leader, more present. Without anyone on her side there...
I should've asked the Professor to stay, she thought miserably, then immediately felt guilty as she recalled how tired he'd looked. No. She shouldn't have done that. She was only making excuses for her own ineptitude to handle the situation. It didn't matter that her sisters or her father hadn't been there. They couldn't have known, and besides, as much of a family and a team they were, Blossom couldn't expect them to be around forever. She was supposed to be mature. She was supposed to be confident, so confident that when asked to pose for FHN she should've reacted with indignant anger, not submissive embarrassment.
She arrived at the restaurant, finally, then spent a moment of confusion by the hostess' podium seeking out her sisters. Bubbles spotted her and waved her over; she and Buttercup were in a booth with the Rowdyruff Boys and Julie. There were more of Bubbles' classmates seated at tables nearby.
Blossom quickly maneuvered her way over, trying not to attract any attention. It felt like everyone's eyes were on her, like every table was looking at her as she passed. Usually it made her feel important. Usually she liked it when she entered a room and the room parted for her. But tonight she just felt like a naked girl sitting in the spotlight with everyone's eyes on her, without the luxury of a tissue paper blouse to cover herself up.
***
When Blossom arrived Brick had just discreetly offered to buy Julie a dessert. She had come up with the idea to put Bubbles up there alone, after all, and if that hadn't happened Brick would've stood up there looking like an idiot for ages. He didn't say this to her, of course. He only offered, and kept his reasoning secret.
Blossom's appearance made him glad for his timing; he would've felt weird if she'd seen him buying Julie a dessert. He realized a little late that he had no reason to feel weird, and he became so upset with himself that he almost made a point of saying out loud that he was going to buy Julie a slice of cheesecake, and who the hell cared who heard or knew?
The announcement was already building in his throat, and then he saw Blossom and he stopped. She looked... different. Upset? She smiled as she arrived, spent a fraction of a moment studying the open ends of the booth-Brick was on one side, and Boomer on the other-and opted to sit next to Boomer.
Brick felt inexplicably angry at her choice until Bubbles leaned over his brother to greet her, and he realized Blossom was just trying to be near her sister. Julie was on Brick's other side, followed by Butch, Buttercup, and then Bubbles.
“What kept you?” the blonde asked. “What did they want?”
“Oh, just... they were just thanking me for our time,” Blossom said, that smile-that strange, trying-too-hard smile-on her face. Brick tried not to stare. He made small talk with Julie and listened to Buttercup and Bubbles tell the Boys about adventures from their younger years, which often turned out to be less adventurous and more of an effort to embarrass each other than anything else.
“This girl has such an evil streak,” Bubbles said, leaning on Buttercup's shoulder. “When she was a kid, she accidentally knocked out one of my teeth,” (and here Bubbles tongued her front tooth to further illustrate her point) “and then, after our dad told us about the Tooth Fairy giving money for teeth, she tried to knock out another one!”
“I was a very enterprising young lady,” Buttercup explained smoothly.
“Not only that, but after the Professor said she couldn't do that, she went around knocking out villains' teeth and made, like, thousands of dollars!”
Butch was staring at his friend in awe. “Dude. You are so on the wrong team.”
“Hey, I was going after bad guys,” she said defensively.
“Not at first,” Brick interjected. “You went after your sisters, and all in the interest of personal gain. Butch has a point, for once: you've got the makings of an evil mastermind in you.”
Buttercup eyed him over her drink. “You're weirding me out with this 'evil mastermind' talk.”
“Go check and see if Mojo runs an internship program. You could really hone your skills there.”
“Now I don't know if you're joking or actually being serious,” she said dubiously.
Boomer leaned against Bubbles. “Say, 'tooth,' again, except like you're actually missing your front tooth.”
She thrust her chin in his direction and stuck her tongue between her teeth. “Toof.”
“Holy crap, you're adorable,” Boomer sighed.
“Holy crap, you're disgusting,” Butch and Buttercup said in unison, making gagging faces as their siblings touched foreheads, lost in their own little world. Brick's gaze drifted to Blossom, who had both hands wrapped around her water glass as she waited for her food. She was staring at the table as she sipped, apart from the conversation.
“She brought a whale into our house once,” Buttercup said, indicating Bubbles with her soda.
“How on Earth did you fit a whale in there?” Julie asked.
“Creatively,” Buttercup answered.
“I was trying to save him! Also, I was five. Besides, Blossom's the one who tried to hide him in the living room.”
“Oh yeah, a great idea from the resident supergenius,” Buttercup cackled.
When their leader didn't respond, Bubbles leaned over and nudged her. Blossom looked up.
“Huh?”
“The whale that you tried to hide in the living room,” Bubbles explained. “Remember? One of your better ideas?”
“Oh, yeah,” Blossom said, managing a laugh. “Yeah, that was a winner.”
Brick and Bubbles furrowed their brows.
“Oh, and then there was the time the city faked us out and pretended to kill our dad to teach us a lesson about stealing toys-”
Butch sputtered, “Wait, you guys stole? And then they pretended to kill your dad?” His eyes lit up. “Man, we missed out on some good shit! Townsville's pretty fucked up!”
After a pause, Butch frowned and said, “There was something missing from that.”
“Yeah,” Buttercup agreed. “Something feels... incomplete.”
Language, Brick thought to himself, still staring at a mute Blossom, focused on sucking down her drink and not making eye contact. Bubbles glanced back over at her.
“Hey, Blossom? Are you okay?”
Brick watched as she looked up and said, “Oh, yeah! Yeah. I'm just-”
The food arrived then, and Brick couldn't help but notice that Blossom actually looked relieved at the distraction. Her eyes caught Brick's as she took her plate, and he hastily turned to Julie and started talking to her.
More stories were shared over dinner-Brick couldn't keep track of them all. Bubbles went off about a green “blankie” of Buttercup's, which prompted screaming from Buttercup and a story about Bubbles trying to go all hardcore when she was little (“I succeeded!” Bubbles cried), and continuing on in this endless cycle of one story after another. Occasionally Blossom was dragged into the mix, but she wasn't a very able participant. She kept her responses limited to single words and small phrases, and tended to make a show of being preoccupied with eating. When the attention was off of her, though, she only pushed her food around her plate.
“Hey, there's something I wanna know,” Buttercup said suddenly, and looked at the Boys. “How come you guys... you know, aren't with Him anymore?”
Brick tensed, very slightly, and sensed a curious Blossom finally looking up at him.
“That would be thanks to the Idea Man,” Butch said, pointing at Brick with a forkful of steak. “He worked his magic and got us free.”
“'Free?'” Bubbles leaned over the table, looking at Brick. “Were you guys slaves or something?”
“Not really,” Brick said gruffly before his brothers could interrupt. “Just consider it like we were under contract or something. You wouldn't think it, but there's a lot of legal red tape winding around things when you get involved with the Devil.”
“So you signed your souls over or something?” Buttercup scoffed. Boomer laughed.
Brick shrugged. “No. We just... you know, worked for Him. And then we didn't want to work for Him anymore.”
Blossom finally spoke. “Wouldn't a contract with Him be life-binding?” she asked. Brick delayed answering by taking a gulp of his soda.
“That's where Brick stepped in,” Boomer explained. “He made some sort of challenge, or something, and then wound up winning.”
“What was the challenge?” Julie said, very openly interested. Most of the table was, in fact.
“It was a riddle,” Brick said, and Bubbles and Buttercup groaned.
“Oh, man, that Guy and His stupid riddles,” Buttercup griped, shaking her head.
Bubbles was also shaking her head. “He made us go through that, too, all to save the Professor, and then it turned out-”
The rest of the table lapsed into conversation about the Girls' whole ordeal with Him, save for Brick and Blossom.
She looked at him and said quietly, “You challenged Him? Who posed the riddle?”
“He did.”
“And you figured it out?”
He nodded at the table. “We're here, aren't we?”
“Why'd you want to leave?”
“Wouldn't you?”
“Yeah, but I'm...” She trailed off, realizing that what she had been about to say was less than politic.
It really didn't bother Brick either way. He finished for her. “But you're good.”
She looked ashamed that she'd even brought it up. He didn't understand why; she was right. He and his brothers were not good people.
At least, we're not supposed to be, he thought, glancing at his siblings as they engaged in theatrical conversation with hers.
“Was that it? Just solving the riddle?”
“Yeah.” He didn't say that the one riddle was so complex, so involved, that it had actually taken him weeks to get through it. Calling it a riddle was deceptive, too. Riddle implied it was strictly verbal. This one had been anything but.
Their conversing ended there. Brick finished his dinner in silence while Blossom further acquainted her food with her plate. Eventually Julie had to leave, and once Brick was standing to let her pass everybody else wanted to pile out, too.
“There's an old pinball machine I want to check out,” Butch said.
“'Pinball?' Pft, that is so lame,” Buttercup said, but she followed him anyway. Boomer was studying a jukebox in the corner of the restaurant, then nudged Bubbles.
“Wanna go check that out?”
“You go ahead, I'll be right there.”
Blossom stood to let Boomer out, then was abruptly motioned back into her seat by Bubbles, who darted a furtive glance at Brick.
He automatically said, “Excuse me, got a voicemail,” and wandered a bit away, making a show of pressing his phone to the side of his head.
“Is everything okay?” he heard Bubbles ask in a low voice. “You seem really distracted.”
“Yeah, I'm fine,” Blossom said dismissively. “Just... tired, I guess.”
“Why don't you go home?”
“Oh, I'm not that... well, when are you leaving? I'll just wait for you or Buttercup first.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
Brick pretended to delete his message and made his way back to the table as Bubbles was getting out. Blossom was seated again, back to sipping at her water glass. As Brick sat, he saw her hand straighten the collar of her shirt, then drift across the top button, making sure it was fastened.
“What-” he started, but was interrupted by the server coming to take their plates away. Blossom gave no indication that she'd heard him, so he just sat back and waited for the guy to clear the table. He played with his coaster after the guy was gone and tried to think of something to say, anything to say. He couldn't think of anything.
***
“So is it true,” Butch asked as he scored a multiball and pinballs poured into the play area, “that your special power is in your tongue?”
Buttercup shoved him. “Who the fuck told you that?”
“Just heard.”
She humphed and crossed her arms, leaning against the pinball cabinet.
After a pause, Butch spoke again. “So is it?” His eyes were riveted to his game.
Buttercup sighed. “Yeah.”
He instantly straightened, and all his pinballs went gliding into the dead zone. “Show me.”
She made a face. “Why?”
“I wanna see.”
“It's not that exciting.”
“I wanna see, seriously. Show me.”
She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Fine.” After a second, she stuck her tongue out at him.
He stared. “... Is something supposed to happen?”
“Cahn yoo do fis?” she asked, her tongue still sticking out. He stuck his tongue out, and she settled back, satisfied. “You can't,” she said smugly.
“Fhat? Do fhat?”
“Curl your tongue.” She did it again. “Thee?”
“I didn't do it, just now?”
She tapped the glass of the pinball game. “See for yourself.”
He leaned over to view his reflection and tried it again a couple of times. “Fuck. You're right.” He looked at her. “Buttercup, you've got a mutant tongue.”
“Right, thanks.”
“Though it's kinda useless as a special power, isn't it?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, well.”
“Can't you do anything else with it?”
“What do you expect me to do with it?”
He considered a moment. “Well, you'd probably be really good at giving blow-”
She punched him in the face. “Fuck you, asshole!”
“Ow! I'm not trying to be a dick! I'm being serious!”
“So am I! Go fuck yourself!”
Butch rubbed at his jaw as Buttercup glared at him. “Okay. Sorry.”
“Damn right you're sorry,” she huffed.
“How am I supposed to fuck myself, anyway?”
Buttercup chose not to deign that with a response.
He fidgeted and said, “Seriously, is that it?”
“Yeah,” she snapped. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
After a while he dug around for more change, and shoved his quarters into the pinball machine. A little silver ball rolled in front of the plunger, and he pulled it back.
As he let it go and settled his hands over the buttons for the flippers, Buttercup said abruptly, “I tied a bag of cherry stems with it, once,” and his ball went sailing straight down the middle as he blinked. He looked back at her.
“What?”
She was staring at the ground, scuffing the floor with her shoe. “One summer. We were... going to Robin's house for a party one weekend, and they said there was going to be Truth or Dare, and I thought I might get dared to kiss Mitch, or vice versa, you know?” She swallowed, still scuffing the floor. “So... that morning, I went out and got a full bag of cherries, then locked myself in the closet so I could practice tying knots in the stems.”
She went silent again, lost in memory. Butch grew impatient. “And?”
“I went through the bag in, like, five minutes,” she said in a small voice, blushing a little. “I didn't even need to figure out how to do it. I tied a knot in every stem, on the first try. Even the tiny, short ones.”
Butch stared at her as she marked up the floor with her shoe, thinking of that little sliver of pink curling between her lips.
“So that's my special power,” she shrugged, forcing a laugh. “You heard right.”
Butch looked back at his game, where his next ball sat, waiting to be propelled out. He finally reached for the plunger and drew it back.
“Wow,” he said quietly, just before he let it go. “That's really something.”
***
“So what, did they ask you to pose naked or something?”
Brick regretted it the instant he said it. The way she looked up at him in horror, her face stricken instead of furious, her hands tightening around her glass so hard that a little crack actually appeared in it. He hadn't been serious. It had just been a joke. But her reaction...
A fierce anger suddenly welled up in him, and his glare drilled into her, past her, trying to picture who had asked so he could rip them to shreds later.
“Did they?” he bit out, trying to keep his voice even.
Blossom had recovered and shook her head, flustered. “No! No, that's...”
“Illegal,” he finished. “You're seventeen, aren't you?”
“They didn't ask me to do anything... without clothes,” she said firmly, but she was still hesitant, still uncomfortable. “They... it was FHN. They asked if I wanted to do FHN.”
Brick knew that name; Butch bought it on occasion. It was a good thing he wasn't around to hear this, or he'd probably explode with joy at the mere thought of Blossom in his favorite magazine. This all suddenly struck Brick as a ridiculous thing to get worked up over.
“Was that it?” Brick said coldly, and Blossom shot him a surprised glance.
“What do you mean, 'was that it?'” she asked.
“I've seen FHN. It's just a bunch of pictures of girls in sexy poses, usually covered up.”
“That magazine is an insult to women!” Blossom cried.
“They're not naked.”
“That's not the point!”
“So what are you saying? That we're not allowed to enjoy pictures of sexy girls?”
“That is not-” Blossom made a strangled noise of frustration, then demanded, “Can you even tell me the names of the girls you've looked at in that magazine?”
“I don't actually read that magazine-”
“That I understand,” Blossom said viciously. “There isn't a lot to actually read in it.”
Angry silence.
“You can't think of a name, can you?” Blossom finally said, and Brick huffed out a breath.
“I don't read it.”
“But you've seen it. You've flipped through it.”
“Because I'm a guy.”
“Because you're a pig.”
“Are you going to fucking lecture me for enjoying the way the female body looks?”
“Language,” she snapped, and there was something comforting about the familiar reprimand.
“News flash, Blossom,” Brick said sarcastically. “Guys like pretty girls. Pretty girls get put in magazines for guys to look at. Just because you aren't comfortable with being pretty-”
He cut off, then wished he could knife himself in the gut. He'd just inadvertently admitted he thought she was pretty. To his relief-and mild chagrin-she hadn't picked up on it. She was back to staring at her glass, her hand tracing the crack she'd put in it.
“I don't have a problem with people thinking I'm pretty,” she said softly. “But... I do all this other stuff. You know. I dance. I... I read. I make good grades. I try to help people. I try to be a good person. And we talked about that, a little, in the interview. I just... want that stuff to be important too.”
Brick had his own opinions on helping people and being a good person, but he held his tongue. For whatever reason.
“But they didn't care about that,” she said, shifting in her seat.
“Just because they didn't doesn't mean nobody else does,” he said. Then he was unsure where the words had come from and why he'd said them.
“I mean, by asking me to pose in FHN... I don't know. I guess most models aren't known for their brains, anyway. But maybe it's just that nobody ever asks them because they're too busy staring at their bodies.”
Brick thought back, trying to remember if he'd even thought about how she'd looked when they met again back in January. He hadn't thought of her as pretty then, not even objectively. He hadn't wanted to think about her, period. So why did he keep thinking it now?
“I don't even know what I'm saying,” she muttered, covering her face. “I got so... shaken up when they asked. I just... freaked out...”
For all that he was very often a smooth talker when the need arose, Brick had absolutely no idea how to genuinely comfort her. The fact that he wanted to at all should've disturbed him; it was so out of character for him. But she just looked so wretched, so miserable, that all he wanted to do was make her stop looking that way. He watched as her eyes drifted to the jukebox, her gaze softening as she took in Bubbles and Boomer, dancing and laughing.
“I'm sorry,” he suddenly blurted, and she looked back at him in shock.
“Huh?”
He darted a look at Bubbles and said, “About Bubbles. When I... risked her life. I'm sorry about that.” Now it was his turn to stare at the table, his turn to trace pictures in his glass. The plastic of the booth seat squeaked as Blossom fidgeted.
“Thank you,” she finally whispered, and Brick thought it was a weird way to respond to an apology, but again, he held his tongue.
“Hey, Brick?”
He shifted his gaze to her.
“Could I... could I see those pictures you took of me? On your own camera, I mean.”
He had to go out to his car to get them; his camera was in there. As he was rummaging, he thought he should've asked her to come out so he wouldn't have to hold onto it in the restaurant for the rest of the night. But then that probably meant they'd be sitting together in his car, and he was pretty sure that wasn't a good idea, either.
“Here,” he said, handing her the camera, and she automatically moved so he could sit down next to her. He did so without thinking twice about it. He watched as she scanned through the photos, her brow knit in concentration. At first they were looking at them together, but, having reviewed them himself already, he eventually pulled back to watch her expression soften as she clicked through the pics, one after the other.
“You did so many of my face,” she said, a little incredulously, and Brick grunted. She almost sounded elated about it. She edged closer, holding the camera out to him. Her thigh actually pressed up against his, and if Brick had been paying attention to anything besides the sudden heat of her leg next to his he would've noticed she was actually blushing.
“When was this from?” she asked softly, indicating a shot where she had just pushed her hair back away from her face and was now letting it fall across her arms and shoulders, a wispy red halo about her.
“I... think it was when I had just asked you about dancing,” he said. He really wasn't sure. He was too focused on their slight body contact, on not moving so he wouldn't discourage her from coming closer. She smiled and pulled the camera over to her again.
“You made me look so pretty.”
I didn't have to make you look anything, he thought as he took in the giant empty booth with all that room and furtively shifted closer, so the pressure of her thigh against his grew. You always look like that.
She handed the camera back and thanked him as he turned it off. He thought about buying her a dessert or something-she hadn't eaten much-and was wondering whether it would be better to order one for himself, then casually offer her some, when Butch and Buttercup showed up again.
“Outta quarters! Brick, do you have any-wait, you got your camera? Do you have any pictures of Blossom on there? Can I see?!”
They wound up having to drag Butch's unconscious body out of the restaurant.
“You sure gave it to him this time,” Boomer observed. “What'd he do?”
“Nothing,” Brick muttered, avoiding Blossom on the way back to his car and trying not to miss the warmth of her body pressed to his.
***
The following Monday morning Bubbles was dropping off a giant bag of 35mm film canisters to be developed when she got a text from Boomer.
out sick X(
“Aww,” she said on her way out of the store, and texted him back.
what's wrong?
After about a minute he responded:
fever sniffling coffing hurt all ovr falling apart wout u
She texted back, feel better.
Boomer responded come c me???
L8r, she tapped out, smiling, then flew to school. After dropping her stuff off in the music hall she bumped into Buttercup, fresh out of the showers.
“Hey. How was volleyball practice?”
“Fine.” Buttercup tossed her head at her sister. “Where's your pet?”
“What?”
“You know, that blue-eyed puppy that's always following you around.”
“Oh, stop. Boomer's out sick.”
Buttercup glanced at her as they moved down the hall. “Really? So's Butch.”
“Hey, girls,” Blossom greeted, clad in her dance leotard and tights.
“Blossom, is Brick out sick today?” Bubbles asked, and their leader blinked.
“H-how I would know?” she stammered.
“I thought you guys might be practicing or something.”
“No, actually, we hadn't even talked about-”
“There he is,” Buttercup interrupted, pointing down the hall. She gradually lowered her arm, then frowned and said, “Holy crap, he looks like shit.”
Blossom smacked her on the arm. “Language.” Then she too looked over, concerned.
“He's really pale,” Bubbles said. “And he's moving kinda slow.” The first bell rang, jolting them out of their senses, and Buttercup hissed under her breath and made a beeline for her locker.
“You should take him to the Nurse's Office,” Bubbles told Blossom, and then took off for the music hall.
“Wait!” Blossom cried. “Why me?”
Bubbles was already gone. Blossom sighed and looked back at Brick, his back to her as he plodded away down the hall. He really didn't look well at all...
She dodged several students on her way to him. She caught up quickly; he wasn't moving fast.
“Hey,” she said, gently touching him on the shoulder and guiding him around so she could see his face. “Are you okay?”
He looked like he hadn't slept in days. “Yeah,” he said, and his voice sounded off, a little strained. “I'm fine.”
“You know, you don't... you don't look fine. Do you need to go to the Nurse's Office?” She didn't want to take him there without his permission.
“Seriously, I'm okay. Just...” He yawned. “Just tired.”
“You're really pale.”
“Alright, thanks, I know I look like shit,” he said abruptly, obviously irritated, and she drew her hand back. “I told you, I'm fine.”
Blossom huffed at his rudeness, but for once her sense of charity won out over her sense of pride. “Can I walk you to class, at least?”
“No,” he said resolutely, and that was that. She rolled her eyes and headed back to the studio for Dance. Whatever. Brick was a grown boy, and clearly wanted to take care of himself. Fine. It wasn't like he was her responsibility anyway.
***
She changed her mind when he walked into their AP Physics class. Well, “walked” was really pushing it. As soon as he fumbled his way into his seat she switched tables so she could sit next to him.
“Brick! You look terrible!”
He didn't just look terrible, he looked worse. Where his skin had been pale before, now it had taken on a faint, sickly yellowish-green hue. Blossom touched a hand to his forehead-he made a face and tried to pull away, unsuccessfully-and she gasped.
“You've got a fever,” she said, gripping his arm with her other hand.
He started to say something and then went into a coughing fit instead.
Blossom steeled her resolve and said, in her most authoritative voice, “Brick, you need to go to the Nurse.”
“I do not,” he wheezed, and Blossom could've hit him. Boys were so stubborn and stupid about these things!
“You're coughing, you have a fever, you look green-literally-not to mention you practically had to drag yourself into the room when you came in. You are sick, and you need to go see-”
“I don't get sick,” he said defiantly. “I told you, I'm tired.”
“Of course you're tired!” she cried. “You're sick!”
“Are you done mothering me?” he snapped, and threw her hand off his arm. “Leave me alone.”
Blossom stared at him, fuming, then Hmph!ed and gathered up her things to go back to her original table.
“Boys are idiots,” she muttered as she left, making sure he heard her. All throughout the class, though, she kept looking over at him. He seemed to be getting worse by the minute.
Let him get worse, she thought furiously to herself. Let him play the stupid macho man he so clearly wants to be. “I don't get sick,” tuh. Please.
The tables went into group practice problems about halfway through class, and Blossom soon lost herself in working with her tablemates to solve the questions. On question two her attention was arrested by the door slamming shut, and she automatically looked up to Brick's seat.
Empty.
She blinked and glanced around the room. No sign of him. One of the bathroom passes was missing, though, and, after a fretful moment, she excused herself and took the other bathroom pass, edging out into the hall. He hadn't gotten far. He was leaning his side against the wall, hunched over and covering his face with one hand. Blossom flew over to him just as he sank to his knees.
She stifled a gasp; faint spots were rising on his skin. She recognized these symptoms now; of course, why hadn't she thought of this earlier?!
“Oh my God, I should've dragged you to the Nurse's Office when I first saw you,” she said, kneeling.
“What, did you follow me?” he said blearily, slurring his words. “Leave me alone.”
“I shouldn't have listened to you,” she went on, helping him stand. “Are your brothers sick, too?”
“They're at home,” he said, and started coughing again.
“Did you guys ever get sick when you were here? I mean, as kids? Like when you were five or anything?”
“We never got sick, no.” Blossom had to practically drag him along, but at least he was letting her.
“I can't believe you avoided this for as long as you did. Then again, I guess you never really hung around any other kids...”
Brick pushed her away, trying to walk on his own. “'This?' What do you mean, 'this?'”
“I mean,” she started, and then he fainted.
She caught him on his way to the ground and hoisted him up. “Brick!”
He was out. After weighing her options, she looked up and down the hall to make sure it was empty, then gathered him up in her arms, hooking one under his knees and the other under his shoulders. His head flopped heavily against her chest as she flew to the Nurse's Office.
***
“You're right, Blossom,” the nurse said. “Definitely the AB Virus. I can't believe he avoided it until high school.”
“He and his brothers left for awhile,” Blossom explained. “And they never hung around people much when they were little, either.”
“I don't think it's hit anyone over the age of twelve since the city first contracted it,” the nurse went on. “You'll probably have to talk to your dad about the adult vaccine.”
Blossom nodded. “I thought so.” She should do so immediately. AB could get worse in a day...
“Can you take him home?”
She looked up in surprise. “Me? I... sure, I guess, I just don't know where...” No, Bubbles would know where the Boys lived. Maybe?
“Okay, that's fine,” Blossom said, nodding. “I can take him home.” She left Brick resting on the cot in the office while she went to find Bubbles, who had-was it Government she had now? Yeah, that sounded right. After locating the classroom and knocking lightly on the door, she poked her head in.
“Hi. Could I speak to my sister for a second?”
Bubbles squeezed through the door. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Well, kind of.” She explained the situation, and a very worried Bubbles hastily gave her the address.
“Oh, I hope Boomer's okay,” she whimpered, digging her phone out of her pocket, ostensibly to text him.
“Probably in better shape than Brick is,” Blossom muttered. “At least he's been home, hopefully sleeping. Brick's been walking around all morning. He actually fainted.”
Bubbles was engrossed in her texting. Blossom thought about scolding her for it-they weren't allowed to use their cell phones during school hours-but realized how worried she must be, and simply thanked her for the Boys' address.
She walked briskly back to the Nurse's Office, then decided to stop back by their Physics class to return the bathroom passes and explain what was going on. She then gathered up their things and dashed back to the office just as the bell rang. Brick was awake, but still lying down with his eyes closed.
“I think you were right, as much as it pains me to admit it,” he said, after cracking an eye to find Blossom there. “I'm sick.”
“I'm often right,” Blossom said distractedly. “We should wait to leave. It'll be easier to move around after everyone's out of the hall.”
“What about Enviro Science?” Brick asked. They shared that one, and it was their next class. Blossom left to go talk to their teacher, and also to get the evening's assignment. She soon reappeared with a small stack of handouts.
“Tonight's reading,” she explained to Brick, packing it up in her bag first and then sticking Brick's in between his books. She called the Professor to ask if he could get three adult vaccines for AB ready ASAP.
“What's AB?” Brick asked as she hung up and the bell rang again.
“AB stands for Amoeba Boy,” she said, pocketing her phone. “It first started when we were five. The Amoeba Boys got everyone deathly sick with it, me and my sisters included. Obviously having a stronger immune system doesn't deter it. Think of it like the flu, except... kinda like chickenpox, without the sores.”
“Why like chickenpox?”
“Because it's highly contagious, and the older you get, the worse it is to contract it,” she said. “You guys never really hung around other kids when you were younger, so you probably didn't get significant exposure to it. Now you're in public high school... I'm surprised you only just got it now. Can you sit up?”
Brick struggled, but managed to do so. “I don't much like the idea of the Amoeba Boys starting a virus and then putting it in me. Even indirectly.”
“Yeah, well,” Blossom said, then trailed off, because she didn't know what should come next. “Ready to go?”
Brick let her help him up, too sick to register her hand gripping his and one arm of hers locked around his waist.
“Yeah.”
***
Bubbles tapped her foot nervously in the checkout lane as Buttercup paid for their groceries. After Blossom had told her, she'd texted Buttercup, and somehow, now, here they were.
“I hope there's not a pop quiz in English,” she fretted.
“Oh, come on,” Buttercup said, shrugging it off. “You're worried about him, aren't you? Besides, the Boys gotta eat something. If they've got AB, I doubt they're well enough to cook on their own.” She paused. “I doubt they even cook, period.”
“I think Brick knows a thing or two,” Bubbles said as she took a few bags from her sister and they both took off.
Buttercup scoffed, “Yeah, well. If he's anything like he was this morning, then that guy is in great shape to be cooking.”
***
Brick lived too far away for them to actually walk, and Blossom didn't know how to drive a stick shift-not that Brick would've let her in his car anyway-so that left flying, which meant carrying. Brick was not fond of this idea, but, barely being able to stand, he really didn't have a choice. Which was all for the better, since he was still continuously drifting in and out of consciousness.
He was draped along Blossom's back, piggyback style, and Blossom realized as they hit his street that she didn't remember the number, and the address was somewhere in the depths of her jeans pocket, which she really couldn't get to without dropping him. He was already threatening to fall off as it was.
“Come on, Brick,” Blossom groaned, hoisting him up so he could sit better on her back. “Where do you live?”
Brick made a noncommittal noise and gestured vaguely at the street. Blossom sighed and blew her bangs out of her face.
“Focus, alright? Just… okay, just open your eyes and point at the building, or tell me the number, or something.”
“It’s the big one,” he mumbled into her shoulder, breath hot and sick against her neck. Ugh. She wrinkled her face and looked around.
“Big what? Big building?”
He nodded slightly and added, “The tallest one. The top floor.”
“The tallest…” Blossom looked around and stopped as her eyes settled. “There? You live there?”
“Pretty sweet, huh,” Brick murmured.
“Kind of,” she admitted, wondering who they’d stolen the rent money from. “Can we go in through the window?”
“No,” he said immediately. “Door. I’ve got the keys.”
She sighed again. “Front door it is,” she conceded, and walked into the building.
***
(cont.)
Originally posted at http://essbeejay.dreamwidth.org/95938.html.
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
Title: More Than Human
Chapter 8: With the Girl at the Rock Show, or I Was A Heavy Heart to Carry
Pairing: RrB/PpG
Rating: R/M, because they're teenagers and a good handful of them use terrible, filthy language.
Disclaimer: Pay your respect to Craig, not me.
Summary: There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus
Notes: Thanks to mathkid and juxtaposie for knowing when to leave me to my own devices and when to call me out on my bullshit.
More Than Human, Pt. 2 - Senior Fall Semester
August - With the Girl at the Rock Show, or I Was A Heavy Heart to Carry
-sbj-
***
Blossom heard the slight commotion outside; apparently something was going on. After Brian came into makeup and told them to wash off the cavewoman makeup from the girls (“Thank God,” Buttercup praised), she figured something was definitely up.
“Girls, put on something normal. Solid colors. Jeans are fine,” Brian told them, before disappearing.
“Aww,” Bubbles pouted. “No loincloth bikinis?”
“Words I should never hear put together again,” Buttercup announced as she propelled herself out of her seat and back to change.
After changing into regular t-shirts and jeans, followed by another quick stint in makeup, the girls made their way out. Blossom wondered what on Earth was going on...
She halted when she saw Brick pacing uneasily behind the people at the laptop, and then Brian came up and asked him how he wanted to set up the lights.
“Let's get the girls under them first and then we'll see,” Brick said.
“What's going on?” Blossom blurted, and the entire room glanced up at her, Brick included. She thought she heard some dim screaming outside of the building that sounded like Dmitry. Brick looked away as the realization hit Bubbles, who squealed.
“Omigosh! Brick! Are they letting you take pictures?! I wanna see, I wanna see!” She dashed over there to the laptop, where the staffers were scrolling through Brick's photos. Her eyes softened as she tabbed through them. “Oh, Brick,” she sighed. “These are gorgeous. I love this one you took of Blossom, here-”
Blossom tensed as Brick shot Bubbles a sharp look. She stalked over, Buttercup lazily following behind.
“What are you talking about?” she muttered as she crossed her arms and glared at the screen. As Bubbles scrolled through them for her, the harshness in her expression faded.
They're pretty good, she thought to herself. Even the ones where she was clearly angry and screaming at the camera were good. It didn't occur to Blossom to ask why he'd taken so many of her.
The girls were ushered under the lights, and after some thought Brick took down a couple and set some screens up over the others to diffuse their light.
“Is this it?” Bubbles asked as the girls stood in front of the backdrop, unadorned.
“Yeah,” Brick said quietly. Behind him, Miss Maybury was beside herself with pride and yammering on incessantly to the Professor, who looked as if his ears had tired of the chatter about two years back. Brick stared at the girls for a bit, causing Blossom to shift uncomfortably. Finally he asked them what kind of pose they struck for the papers, then snapped a few of those. He seemed a little bit at a loss after that, even though the crew liked them.
Julie came up to him, and Blossom watched as she stood on her tiptoes and whispered quietly to Brick, “Try doing Bubbles by herself first.” Blossom's gaze was riveted to the way Julie's hand touched Brick's arm, how her fingers curved around the muscle. He let her touch him. Blossom hadn't realized how close they'd gotten.
He took her suggestion. After Julie asked a perplexed Bubbles about puppies, the girl lit up and launched into a rambling dissertation about how much she loved them, resplendent with wide, expressive gestures.
“That was a great idea,” Brick permitted as he snapped some photos. He then asked Bubbles to pick up her camera, and she willingly complied, snapping her own photos as Brick's camera went off. Her playfulness with the “prop” inspired a round of impressed murmurs from the crowd. The rest of the Art class took pictures, too, encouraged by Bubbles' brightness.
Buttercup was up next. Julie had clearly been hoping putting Bubbles up there first would loosen up the other girls, but with Buttercup it backfired.
“I don't like having my picture taken,” she explained gruffly.
“Buttercup, Mitch took, like, a zillion of you when you were together,” Bubbles reminded. In the back, a strangled cry escaped the Professor's throat.
“I didn't like it then, either,” Buttercup snarled. Brick managed to snap a photo of her irritated expression at her sister, then had a moment of inspiration.
“Don't be scared, Buttercup,” he said simply, and the girl whirled on him.
“Excuse me?” she snapped, and Brick went crazy with the photos. Another moment of genius hit.
“Care to tell me an embarrassing story about Blossom?”
Buttercup's eyes widened with glee at the opportunity while a panicked Blossom squeaked, “What?”
“Tell him the hair one!” Bubbles exclaimed.
“Bubbles!”
“Dude, okay, okay,” Buttercup started. “So we're, like, five years old-”
Blossom protested so vehemently it was hard to hear Buttercup, but she was telling the story with such exaggerated motions, often causing herself to burst into laughter, that it didn't matter so long as they got the pictures. Buttercup's came out even better than Bubbles'. They finally stopped when Buttercup, fueled by the twisted pleasure she got out of sharing her sister's shame, launched into another story, one when they were older, and Blossom dashed over into frame, struggling to shut her sister up.
“That's enough!” she shouted hysterically, face flushed.
They figured that was as good a chance as any to get Blossom up there. Again, she wasn't nearly as comfortable as Bubbles, and the story of how her sisters had chopped off all her pretty long hair probably hadn't helped.
“I'm having trouble picturing you half-bald, Blossom,” Brick said.
“Don't worry,” Buttercup cut in before Blossom could respond. “We have pictures.”
“Don't you dare,” Blossom warned frantically.
Unlike with Bubbles and Buttercup, the moment of inspiration did not come readily to Brick, and Blossom, too, looked out of her element. She had no idea what to do, neither did he, and it obviously irritated the both of them to no end.
What can I say to get her going? He wasn't used to talking with her, unless it was arguing about something. But-and he was being objective about this-while she looked just as pretty when she was angry, it would be doing the loveliness of her face a huge disservice to put it in a magazine locked in an expression of anger.
“Brick?” Brian asked, after he'd stood there for some time.
“Thinking,” he responded automatically, staring at the miniature image of Blossom in the viewfinder so he wouldn't make eye contact with her directly. She fidgeted under those lights. She was so naturally pretty. What to do? If she looked more comfortable these pictures would be fantastic. She wouldn't even have to do anything, or say anything, she just had to stop looking so tense...
Suddenly it hit him. Duh. The answer was so obvious.
“Blossom,” Brick said, his voice oddly charged, determined. “You should dance.”
Silence settled over the room.
“E-excuse me?” she said uneasily.
“Buttercup, let her borrow your MP3 player,” Brick said, still staring at the viewfinder. “Blossom, just pretend it's dance class. Or you're practicing on your own.”
She looked around at the room, all eyes darting between her and Brick. She looked even more nervous, which Brick thought was ridiculous. She danced in front of people all the time.
“It's a small space, Brick,” she said, making excuses as she indicated the photo area.
“Oh, if you're going to let that stop you, feel free,” he challenged, and five minutes and a hundred glares later, Blossom had settled her sister's headphones on and had her eyes closed as she listened. Even just the act of closing her eyes helped; within minutes the tension in her face and posture waned. Brick started snapping photos then. Then she started to dance, and as soon as Brick realized he couldn't seem to stop, he turned to Julie.
“Why don't, uh, why don't you have a turn?”
Julie's shock didn't temper her excitement, and as she bounded up Brick looked around and said, “Actually, why don't the rest of you guys have a turn at the camera?”
The Art class all exchanged looks, then leaped at the opportunity. As Brick walked back to his stuff, he passed a delighted Miss Maybury, who thanked him profusely. He sat next to Buttercup. Bubbles was off taking pictures of the room with her camera.
“She looks like she's zooming in crazy close on everything,” Brick observed.
“Yeah? I dunno.” Buttercup shifted, and nodded at the laptop. “I saw your pictures.”
“Yeah?”
“They look good. I mean, I don't know anything about art, or photography. But I think you take really good pictures.”
He nodded, and picked up his own SLR. “Thanks.” After a moment, he turned and snapped a photo of Buttercup. She smirked at him as he took another.
“What are these for?”
He shrugged. “Dunno.” Maybe for posterity's sake. He took more of the room, more of the crowd. The Professor made it into a few, as did Julie and his fellow classmates and Bubbles. Blossom made it into all the rest. Eventually he went back to the area where the pro camera was set up, his own still in hand. Blossom was slowing down, and she unclipped the player and removed the headphones, setting them aside.
“Sorry, her metal playlist started up,” Blossom explained, with the little glow lighting her face that she got after every dance, every performance. Brick made sure to take a picture. “Kinda hard to dance to.” The crew looked like they had way more than they needed of Blossom; they sounded very pleased. Brick spoke before they could move on.
“So why did you start dancing?” he asked, his voice ringing loud and clear above the chatter. She looked up in mild surprise, and Brick snapped photos of her expression.
“I just... I guess the Professor took us to see a ballet, when we were little, and the dancers looked so pretty and graceful that I wanted to be like them.”
“And what about the hip hop?” he asked, still staring at her through his camera. She laughed, a little embarrassed.
“That was a few years ago. I got into it because I was trying to get more inner-city kids off the streets. Also, it was just so different from ballet and tap and all that other stuff that it was kinda like a new challenge, you know? Felt like personal growth to take that on, and make a difference, too.”
“Did you make a difference?”
When she looked at him, she looked right at the camera, her expression soft and lovely and so mindnumbingly gorgeous the sigh Brick expelled internally manifested in the room as a collective sigh from the whole group.
“I hope so,” she said quietly.
They wrapped up the shoot with a few group shots of the girls, Bubbles constantly clambering over her sisters and squeezing them close, despite Buttercup's protests. They actually made for better shots. The class began to pack their stuff as the girls were hauled off to clean up. Brick lingered, scanning the room as he slyly pocketed the memory card from his camera.
“Brick.”
He turned to find the gray-haired man standing off in a dark corner with Brian, beckoning him over. Brick set down his camera and walked over.
The gray-haired man was speaking before Brick had even reached them. “I want those photos you took of Blossom.”
“You have those photos I took of her,” Brick said instantly. “Let's discuss my compensation.”
“I don't mean those dancing photos, I mean those regular ones, when she and you were just talking,” the man went on.
“I think I'll hang onto those. Let's discuss my compensation.”
“Those are the photos I want to put in the magazine. Give them to me.”
“What are you paying me?” Brick said, his voice a near-growl.
“How old are you?” the man said, his lip curling. “Sixteen? Seventeen? You're not even a professional photographer.”
“And yet you threw out your so-called 'professional photographer' to have me do the shoot instead. Seventeen, by the way. How much did you pay him to prance around and come up with an idiotic vision and take only one picture?”
Brian finally interjected, a little nervously. “That's, um, confidential.”
“He's an artist with a vision, right?” Brick said. “I imagine his fee is pretty steep to match that enormous ego. I want ninety percent of that.”
“'Ninety percent?!'” Brian cried.
“I gave you five times the photos in half the time it would've taken to do a whole session with that tool,” Brick explained. “And on short notice. And by special request. Ninety percent's actually undercharging you, if you ask me.”
The gray-haired man was still hard, scrutinizing him. “I want those pictures.”
“Then it's definitely ninety percent,” Brick said, his hand going to the pocket that held his precious memory card, loaded with pictures of the most beautiful girl on the planet.
“Fifty percent,” the gray-haired man said.
Brick scoffed. “You're kidding, right?”
The man suddenly switched gears. “What credit do you want on the photos in the magazine? Should we just call you Brick?” The question caught Brick off guard, and he stared at the man, contemplating. Not his real name; he didn't want to attract attention. He needed something generic, something anonymous, something...
“John Smith,” he said quietly, and there was a shift in the man's eyes.
“Is that so.”
He still couldn't recall the exact time or exact circumstances, or even whether he'd actually been a client or just a potential one. But Brick thought he'd recognized him from somewhere.
“Sixty percent,” the man said. “I can't go any higher than that.”
“Try seventy,” Brick suggested, his hand already pulling out the memory card.
“Beautiful.” The man shook Brick's hand. “Brian, write him a check.”
Brick smirked as he loaded the photos up onto their laptop (“I'm keeping the originals,” he told them, holding up the memory card). When no one was around the gray-haired man found him again and slipped him his payment, plus a simple card with only his first name and phone number on it.
“You guys and your single title names,” Brick murmured as he read Joseph off the crisp white card.
“One name is often all you need,” Joseph said. Then, pointedly, “Brick.”
Brick smiled as he pocketed the card, then tugged out his phone. Joseph was already off, wandering amidst the crew as they were striking the set. Brick thought for a moment of the person who had arranged the cameras for the Art class, arranged the whole field trip in the first place. He flipped open his phone and dialed. The line picked up after the first ring.
“Hello.”
“Mrs. Morbucks,” Brick said, his eyes tracing the silver imprint of Joseph's name and phone number on the card. “Thank you.”
He could practically hear her smirking into the phone. “You're welcome, Brick.”
***
Blossom was grinning as she buttoned up her top, enjoying the reflection of her smile, her hair, her whole body, actually. She'd seen the photos, and then had felt ridiculously pretty.
“He's really talented, isn't he?” Bubbles said conversationally.
“Looks, brains, talent,” Buttercup said, nodding. Her eyes glazed over. “Plus a chest that you want to... throw rocks at just so you can watch them bounce off.”
Bubbles shot her sister a look. “Buttercup, you... you're kinda weird.”
“Too bad he's such a prick, right Blossom?” Buttercup went on.
“Huh? Oh, yes. He's... insufferable.”
“Guess that's just how it works with the pretty ones,” Buttercup sighed, shouldering her bag. “Hey, come on. You guys ready or not?” Her sisters followed her out the door and back into the main studio, where their father was waiting.
“Your friends said they were going out to grab some dinner,” he said, yawning. “Did you want to join them? We've just got leftovers at home.”
“That sounds awesome!” Bubbles exclaimed. “I mean, if it's okay with you, Professor.”
“It's fine with me,” he said, yawning again. His girls stared at him.
“You should get to sleep, Professor,” Buttercup said. “You've been tired all day.”
“Yeah, I'm probably not conscious enough to drive,” he agreed, then surprised them all by handing Buttercup the keys. “You wanna drive home, sweetie?”
Buttercup gaped. “You-are you serious?”
“I'm not conscious enough to believe this is a bad idea,” he said with a laugh. “Drop me off at home and then you girls can go have dinner with your friends.”
Buttercup threw her arms around their father, then dashed outside, shouting, “Thank you, Professor!” over her shoulder.
Bubbles followed in a more subdued manner, taking her father by the hand. Blossom was reaching for his other when Brian's voice suddenly interrupted.
“Blossom!”
She turned. “Yes?”
“Could we have a word?”
Blossom looked after the Professor and Bubbles, who had turned and were waiting for her. She took in the circles under his eyes and the tired lines of his face.
“You guys go ahead, I'll meet you at the restaurant.”
“I'll text you the place when I find out,” Bubbles called back. Blossom floated over to Brian and a gray-haired man that she didn't remember seeing earlier in the day. Brian suddenly looked a little uncomfortable.
“Oh... is your father coming?”
“He's really tired,” she said. “What did you want to discuss?”
Now Brian definitely looked uncomfortable. “Oh, I think we should-”
“Just tell the girl,” the older man interrupted. “She seems responsible, and adult enough to make her own decisions.” Blossom swelled with pride at the compliment.
“Not to sound cocky or anything, but I do get that a lot,” she said.
Brian cleared his throat and said, “Well, Blossom, the thing is... you're a very, very pretty girl.”
“Thank you,” she said sheepishly, coloring.
“I mean, all of us thought so today,” he went on, indicating the empty area where the crew had once been. “You really caught us off guard.”
“Very striking,” the other man cut in. Blossom practically glowed; just a minute ago she had been staring at her reflection feeling beautiful, and now here she was hearing it from other people!
“So we'd like to ask... have you ever, you know... thought of doing this professionally?”
She stared at them, her jaw dropping. “Are-are you serious? You mean modeling?” She shook her head in disbelief. “No, I've never given any thought to it at all!”
“Well, you should,” the man said. “You need to get a little more comfortable in front of the camera, but once you do you'll be quite popular. Now, we wanted to talk to you about photographing you for another publication of ours-”
“But since you are still underage, we need your legal guardian present,” Brian interjected, his voice a little frantic. His boss-Blossom assumed he was Brian's boss, the way Brian kept deferring to him-waved him off.
“You heard her yourself. She's a responsible young lady who can make her own decisions.”
“Um, sir, I know, but there's the whole potential for legal ramifications if we don't-”
Blossom interrupted, a little confused, but still aglow from the proposition. “Um, if you don't mind, what magazine is this for?”
Brian looked exceptionally nervous then, but the man, obstinate in his stoicism, said to him, “Show her. We have a copy.”
He might as well have asked a child to club a kitten, the way Brian so reluctantly turned to rummage in their things for it. When he found it he handed it to Blossom upside down. There was a bottle of vodka being advertised on the back; this definitely wasn't Modern Girl. Blossom gave him a warm smile to try and dispel his nervousness, then turned it over. Her smile faltered.
After a pause, Brian explained, “See, we do these annual specials, you know...”
His voice became dim background noise in Blossom's head as she took in the cover. There was a celebrity on it, a very pretty woman she didn't recognize, but pretty or no, her face was barely present. She was sitting on a stool in what appeared to be a shirt made of tissue paper; it was so transparent. Her arms were crossing over her chest as her hands hugged her shoulders, simultaneously covering and accentuating her breasts. The shirt was long enough to drape along her thighs, on either side of her crossed legs, and still she was exposing a lot of skin. Blossom assumed she was wearing underwear, but maybe that was too much to hope for. And then there was the copy. Most of it was harmless: about sports articles, political articles, the like. Emblazoned in the lower right corner in bright red text, however, were the words Bedroom Tips: She'll Make Noises You've Never Even Heard Before.
FHN. Blossom had seen this magazine before, had huffed at it on display in convenience stores and newspaper stands. It always featured some scantily clad woman with an unrealistic body and sometimes inhuman breasts. Magazines like this insulted her as a girl, she always thought. Those women on the cover, if they had any brains about them, shouldn't offer themselves up like this. Women with brains knew better. Blossom had always prided herself on being the smart one. And here she was, being asked to pose in FHN.
She realized she'd never flipped through the magazine. That was just the cover. She began to riffle through it-her hands shook a little as she did so, and she felt oddly numb. Brian was continuing to speak, and she took in a little of what he was saying now.
“So, you know, when you're of age, we'd like you to consider being a part of our annual 'Newly Legal,' section,” (she could hear him cringing as he said it) “and doing a very small interview with us and a couple of photos...”
Blossom closed the magazine, disappointed. There seemed to be some decent articles in there, but every woman that had been photographed looked like some vapid, thoughtless drone. The photos didn't draw attention to the face, unless there was a closeup on her blindingly red and glossy lips, with a hint of tongue and teeth nudging suggestively at the corner. There was skin and breasts and thighs and arching backs and searching hands, but she couldn't remember what any of the women looked like, really looked like. She felt numb. Sad. Disappointed. Worse yet, she felt violated and exposed. She was now acutely aware of the little patch of skin she was revealing, just above her chest (she should've buttoned it all the way up), and to know that these two-these two men, older men-had looked at her and thought, Yes, she should pose for us in FHN, made her wonder what was the use of being pretty, of feeling pretty, if all anybody ever wanted was to get you as close to naked as possible?
She remembered how pretty she had felt in the dressing room, how proud she'd been, and now she just felt stupid. Blossom swallowed and handed the magazine back to Brian, not looking at him or his boss.
“I'm sorry,” she croaked, and she wished she wouldn't croak. She wished her voice was more steady and commanding and not at all meek and so obviously feminine. The corners of her lips were shaking as she tried to crack a smile.
“I'm sorry,” she repeated, still croaking. “I don't really think this is for me.”
***
I should've hit them.
Blossom inwardly cursed herself for reacting in such a... such a victimized, little girly way. She should've hit them. She was a crimefighter, and a superhero to boot! She was supposed to react to things like this with violence!
I should've hit them, she thought again, but that only made the regret stronger. She tried it out loud.
“I should've hit them,” she muttered, then, a hiss, “I should've hit them.”
It didn't help much.
She was flying to the restaurant Bubbles had texted her, her arms crossed tightly over her chest and her blouse buttoned all the way up. It wasn't a cold night, but it made her feel better.
I should've asked Bubbles and Buttercup to stay. If they'd been around Blossom might have reacted more, or reacted, period. Her sisters being around made the need to act a leader, to be a leader, more present. Without anyone on her side there...
I should've asked the Professor to stay, she thought miserably, then immediately felt guilty as she recalled how tired he'd looked. No. She shouldn't have done that. She was only making excuses for her own ineptitude to handle the situation. It didn't matter that her sisters or her father hadn't been there. They couldn't have known, and besides, as much of a family and a team they were, Blossom couldn't expect them to be around forever. She was supposed to be mature. She was supposed to be confident, so confident that when asked to pose for FHN she should've reacted with indignant anger, not submissive embarrassment.
She arrived at the restaurant, finally, then spent a moment of confusion by the hostess' podium seeking out her sisters. Bubbles spotted her and waved her over; she and Buttercup were in a booth with the Rowdyruff Boys and Julie. There were more of Bubbles' classmates seated at tables nearby.
Blossom quickly maneuvered her way over, trying not to attract any attention. It felt like everyone's eyes were on her, like every table was looking at her as she passed. Usually it made her feel important. Usually she liked it when she entered a room and the room parted for her. But tonight she just felt like a naked girl sitting in the spotlight with everyone's eyes on her, without the luxury of a tissue paper blouse to cover herself up.
***
When Blossom arrived Brick had just discreetly offered to buy Julie a dessert. She had come up with the idea to put Bubbles up there alone, after all, and if that hadn't happened Brick would've stood up there looking like an idiot for ages. He didn't say this to her, of course. He only offered, and kept his reasoning secret.
Blossom's appearance made him glad for his timing; he would've felt weird if she'd seen him buying Julie a dessert. He realized a little late that he had no reason to feel weird, and he became so upset with himself that he almost made a point of saying out loud that he was going to buy Julie a slice of cheesecake, and who the hell cared who heard or knew?
The announcement was already building in his throat, and then he saw Blossom and he stopped. She looked... different. Upset? She smiled as she arrived, spent a fraction of a moment studying the open ends of the booth-Brick was on one side, and Boomer on the other-and opted to sit next to Boomer.
Brick felt inexplicably angry at her choice until Bubbles leaned over his brother to greet her, and he realized Blossom was just trying to be near her sister. Julie was on Brick's other side, followed by Butch, Buttercup, and then Bubbles.
“What kept you?” the blonde asked. “What did they want?”
“Oh, just... they were just thanking me for our time,” Blossom said, that smile-that strange, trying-too-hard smile-on her face. Brick tried not to stare. He made small talk with Julie and listened to Buttercup and Bubbles tell the Boys about adventures from their younger years, which often turned out to be less adventurous and more of an effort to embarrass each other than anything else.
“This girl has such an evil streak,” Bubbles said, leaning on Buttercup's shoulder. “When she was a kid, she accidentally knocked out one of my teeth,” (and here Bubbles tongued her front tooth to further illustrate her point) “and then, after our dad told us about the Tooth Fairy giving money for teeth, she tried to knock out another one!”
“I was a very enterprising young lady,” Buttercup explained smoothly.
“Not only that, but after the Professor said she couldn't do that, she went around knocking out villains' teeth and made, like, thousands of dollars!”
Butch was staring at his friend in awe. “Dude. You are so on the wrong team.”
“Hey, I was going after bad guys,” she said defensively.
“Not at first,” Brick interjected. “You went after your sisters, and all in the interest of personal gain. Butch has a point, for once: you've got the makings of an evil mastermind in you.”
Buttercup eyed him over her drink. “You're weirding me out with this 'evil mastermind' talk.”
“Go check and see if Mojo runs an internship program. You could really hone your skills there.”
“Now I don't know if you're joking or actually being serious,” she said dubiously.
Boomer leaned against Bubbles. “Say, 'tooth,' again, except like you're actually missing your front tooth.”
She thrust her chin in his direction and stuck her tongue between her teeth. “Toof.”
“Holy crap, you're adorable,” Boomer sighed.
“Holy crap, you're disgusting,” Butch and Buttercup said in unison, making gagging faces as their siblings touched foreheads, lost in their own little world. Brick's gaze drifted to Blossom, who had both hands wrapped around her water glass as she waited for her food. She was staring at the table as she sipped, apart from the conversation.
“She brought a whale into our house once,” Buttercup said, indicating Bubbles with her soda.
“How on Earth did you fit a whale in there?” Julie asked.
“Creatively,” Buttercup answered.
“I was trying to save him! Also, I was five. Besides, Blossom's the one who tried to hide him in the living room.”
“Oh yeah, a great idea from the resident supergenius,” Buttercup cackled.
When their leader didn't respond, Bubbles leaned over and nudged her. Blossom looked up.
“Huh?”
“The whale that you tried to hide in the living room,” Bubbles explained. “Remember? One of your better ideas?”
“Oh, yeah,” Blossom said, managing a laugh. “Yeah, that was a winner.”
Brick and Bubbles furrowed their brows.
“Oh, and then there was the time the city faked us out and pretended to kill our dad to teach us a lesson about stealing toys-”
Butch sputtered, “Wait, you guys stole? And then they pretended to kill your dad?” His eyes lit up. “Man, we missed out on some good shit! Townsville's pretty fucked up!”
After a pause, Butch frowned and said, “There was something missing from that.”
“Yeah,” Buttercup agreed. “Something feels... incomplete.”
Language, Brick thought to himself, still staring at a mute Blossom, focused on sucking down her drink and not making eye contact. Bubbles glanced back over at her.
“Hey, Blossom? Are you okay?”
Brick watched as she looked up and said, “Oh, yeah! Yeah. I'm just-”
The food arrived then, and Brick couldn't help but notice that Blossom actually looked relieved at the distraction. Her eyes caught Brick's as she took her plate, and he hastily turned to Julie and started talking to her.
More stories were shared over dinner-Brick couldn't keep track of them all. Bubbles went off about a green “blankie” of Buttercup's, which prompted screaming from Buttercup and a story about Bubbles trying to go all hardcore when she was little (“I succeeded!” Bubbles cried), and continuing on in this endless cycle of one story after another. Occasionally Blossom was dragged into the mix, but she wasn't a very able participant. She kept her responses limited to single words and small phrases, and tended to make a show of being preoccupied with eating. When the attention was off of her, though, she only pushed her food around her plate.
“Hey, there's something I wanna know,” Buttercup said suddenly, and looked at the Boys. “How come you guys... you know, aren't with Him anymore?”
Brick tensed, very slightly, and sensed a curious Blossom finally looking up at him.
“That would be thanks to the Idea Man,” Butch said, pointing at Brick with a forkful of steak. “He worked his magic and got us free.”
“'Free?'” Bubbles leaned over the table, looking at Brick. “Were you guys slaves or something?”
“Not really,” Brick said gruffly before his brothers could interrupt. “Just consider it like we were under contract or something. You wouldn't think it, but there's a lot of legal red tape winding around things when you get involved with the Devil.”
“So you signed your souls over or something?” Buttercup scoffed. Boomer laughed.
Brick shrugged. “No. We just... you know, worked for Him. And then we didn't want to work for Him anymore.”
Blossom finally spoke. “Wouldn't a contract with Him be life-binding?” she asked. Brick delayed answering by taking a gulp of his soda.
“That's where Brick stepped in,” Boomer explained. “He made some sort of challenge, or something, and then wound up winning.”
“What was the challenge?” Julie said, very openly interested. Most of the table was, in fact.
“It was a riddle,” Brick said, and Bubbles and Buttercup groaned.
“Oh, man, that Guy and His stupid riddles,” Buttercup griped, shaking her head.
Bubbles was also shaking her head. “He made us go through that, too, all to save the Professor, and then it turned out-”
The rest of the table lapsed into conversation about the Girls' whole ordeal with Him, save for Brick and Blossom.
She looked at him and said quietly, “You challenged Him? Who posed the riddle?”
“He did.”
“And you figured it out?”
He nodded at the table. “We're here, aren't we?”
“Why'd you want to leave?”
“Wouldn't you?”
“Yeah, but I'm...” She trailed off, realizing that what she had been about to say was less than politic.
It really didn't bother Brick either way. He finished for her. “But you're good.”
She looked ashamed that she'd even brought it up. He didn't understand why; she was right. He and his brothers were not good people.
At least, we're not supposed to be, he thought, glancing at his siblings as they engaged in theatrical conversation with hers.
“Was that it? Just solving the riddle?”
“Yeah.” He didn't say that the one riddle was so complex, so involved, that it had actually taken him weeks to get through it. Calling it a riddle was deceptive, too. Riddle implied it was strictly verbal. This one had been anything but.
Their conversing ended there. Brick finished his dinner in silence while Blossom further acquainted her food with her plate. Eventually Julie had to leave, and once Brick was standing to let her pass everybody else wanted to pile out, too.
“There's an old pinball machine I want to check out,” Butch said.
“'Pinball?' Pft, that is so lame,” Buttercup said, but she followed him anyway. Boomer was studying a jukebox in the corner of the restaurant, then nudged Bubbles.
“Wanna go check that out?”
“You go ahead, I'll be right there.”
Blossom stood to let Boomer out, then was abruptly motioned back into her seat by Bubbles, who darted a furtive glance at Brick.
He automatically said, “Excuse me, got a voicemail,” and wandered a bit away, making a show of pressing his phone to the side of his head.
“Is everything okay?” he heard Bubbles ask in a low voice. “You seem really distracted.”
“Yeah, I'm fine,” Blossom said dismissively. “Just... tired, I guess.”
“Why don't you go home?”
“Oh, I'm not that... well, when are you leaving? I'll just wait for you or Buttercup first.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
Brick pretended to delete his message and made his way back to the table as Bubbles was getting out. Blossom was seated again, back to sipping at her water glass. As Brick sat, he saw her hand straighten the collar of her shirt, then drift across the top button, making sure it was fastened.
“What-” he started, but was interrupted by the server coming to take their plates away. Blossom gave no indication that she'd heard him, so he just sat back and waited for the guy to clear the table. He played with his coaster after the guy was gone and tried to think of something to say, anything to say. He couldn't think of anything.
***
“So is it true,” Butch asked as he scored a multiball and pinballs poured into the play area, “that your special power is in your tongue?”
Buttercup shoved him. “Who the fuck told you that?”
“Just heard.”
She humphed and crossed her arms, leaning against the pinball cabinet.
After a pause, Butch spoke again. “So is it?” His eyes were riveted to his game.
Buttercup sighed. “Yeah.”
He instantly straightened, and all his pinballs went gliding into the dead zone. “Show me.”
She made a face. “Why?”
“I wanna see.”
“It's not that exciting.”
“I wanna see, seriously. Show me.”
She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Fine.” After a second, she stuck her tongue out at him.
He stared. “... Is something supposed to happen?”
“Cahn yoo do fis?” she asked, her tongue still sticking out. He stuck his tongue out, and she settled back, satisfied. “You can't,” she said smugly.
“Fhat? Do fhat?”
“Curl your tongue.” She did it again. “Thee?”
“I didn't do it, just now?”
She tapped the glass of the pinball game. “See for yourself.”
He leaned over to view his reflection and tried it again a couple of times. “Fuck. You're right.” He looked at her. “Buttercup, you've got a mutant tongue.”
“Right, thanks.”
“Though it's kinda useless as a special power, isn't it?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, well.”
“Can't you do anything else with it?”
“What do you expect me to do with it?”
He considered a moment. “Well, you'd probably be really good at giving blow-”
She punched him in the face. “Fuck you, asshole!”
“Ow! I'm not trying to be a dick! I'm being serious!”
“So am I! Go fuck yourself!”
Butch rubbed at his jaw as Buttercup glared at him. “Okay. Sorry.”
“Damn right you're sorry,” she huffed.
“How am I supposed to fuck myself, anyway?”
Buttercup chose not to deign that with a response.
He fidgeted and said, “Seriously, is that it?”
“Yeah,” she snapped. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
After a while he dug around for more change, and shoved his quarters into the pinball machine. A little silver ball rolled in front of the plunger, and he pulled it back.
As he let it go and settled his hands over the buttons for the flippers, Buttercup said abruptly, “I tied a bag of cherry stems with it, once,” and his ball went sailing straight down the middle as he blinked. He looked back at her.
“What?”
She was staring at the ground, scuffing the floor with her shoe. “One summer. We were... going to Robin's house for a party one weekend, and they said there was going to be Truth or Dare, and I thought I might get dared to kiss Mitch, or vice versa, you know?” She swallowed, still scuffing the floor. “So... that morning, I went out and got a full bag of cherries, then locked myself in the closet so I could practice tying knots in the stems.”
She went silent again, lost in memory. Butch grew impatient. “And?”
“I went through the bag in, like, five minutes,” she said in a small voice, blushing a little. “I didn't even need to figure out how to do it. I tied a knot in every stem, on the first try. Even the tiny, short ones.”
Butch stared at her as she marked up the floor with her shoe, thinking of that little sliver of pink curling between her lips.
“So that's my special power,” she shrugged, forcing a laugh. “You heard right.”
Butch looked back at his game, where his next ball sat, waiting to be propelled out. He finally reached for the plunger and drew it back.
“Wow,” he said quietly, just before he let it go. “That's really something.”
***
“So what, did they ask you to pose naked or something?”
Brick regretted it the instant he said it. The way she looked up at him in horror, her face stricken instead of furious, her hands tightening around her glass so hard that a little crack actually appeared in it. He hadn't been serious. It had just been a joke. But her reaction...
A fierce anger suddenly welled up in him, and his glare drilled into her, past her, trying to picture who had asked so he could rip them to shreds later.
“Did they?” he bit out, trying to keep his voice even.
Blossom had recovered and shook her head, flustered. “No! No, that's...”
“Illegal,” he finished. “You're seventeen, aren't you?”
“They didn't ask me to do anything... without clothes,” she said firmly, but she was still hesitant, still uncomfortable. “They... it was FHN. They asked if I wanted to do FHN.”
Brick knew that name; Butch bought it on occasion. It was a good thing he wasn't around to hear this, or he'd probably explode with joy at the mere thought of Blossom in his favorite magazine. This all suddenly struck Brick as a ridiculous thing to get worked up over.
“Was that it?” Brick said coldly, and Blossom shot him a surprised glance.
“What do you mean, 'was that it?'” she asked.
“I've seen FHN. It's just a bunch of pictures of girls in sexy poses, usually covered up.”
“That magazine is an insult to women!” Blossom cried.
“They're not naked.”
“That's not the point!”
“So what are you saying? That we're not allowed to enjoy pictures of sexy girls?”
“That is not-” Blossom made a strangled noise of frustration, then demanded, “Can you even tell me the names of the girls you've looked at in that magazine?”
“I don't actually read that magazine-”
“That I understand,” Blossom said viciously. “There isn't a lot to actually read in it.”
Angry silence.
“You can't think of a name, can you?” Blossom finally said, and Brick huffed out a breath.
“I don't read it.”
“But you've seen it. You've flipped through it.”
“Because I'm a guy.”
“Because you're a pig.”
“Are you going to fucking lecture me for enjoying the way the female body looks?”
“Language,” she snapped, and there was something comforting about the familiar reprimand.
“News flash, Blossom,” Brick said sarcastically. “Guys like pretty girls. Pretty girls get put in magazines for guys to look at. Just because you aren't comfortable with being pretty-”
He cut off, then wished he could knife himself in the gut. He'd just inadvertently admitted he thought she was pretty. To his relief-and mild chagrin-she hadn't picked up on it. She was back to staring at her glass, her hand tracing the crack she'd put in it.
“I don't have a problem with people thinking I'm pretty,” she said softly. “But... I do all this other stuff. You know. I dance. I... I read. I make good grades. I try to help people. I try to be a good person. And we talked about that, a little, in the interview. I just... want that stuff to be important too.”
Brick had his own opinions on helping people and being a good person, but he held his tongue. For whatever reason.
“But they didn't care about that,” she said, shifting in her seat.
“Just because they didn't doesn't mean nobody else does,” he said. Then he was unsure where the words had come from and why he'd said them.
“I mean, by asking me to pose in FHN... I don't know. I guess most models aren't known for their brains, anyway. But maybe it's just that nobody ever asks them because they're too busy staring at their bodies.”
Brick thought back, trying to remember if he'd even thought about how she'd looked when they met again back in January. He hadn't thought of her as pretty then, not even objectively. He hadn't wanted to think about her, period. So why did he keep thinking it now?
“I don't even know what I'm saying,” she muttered, covering her face. “I got so... shaken up when they asked. I just... freaked out...”
For all that he was very often a smooth talker when the need arose, Brick had absolutely no idea how to genuinely comfort her. The fact that he wanted to at all should've disturbed him; it was so out of character for him. But she just looked so wretched, so miserable, that all he wanted to do was make her stop looking that way. He watched as her eyes drifted to the jukebox, her gaze softening as she took in Bubbles and Boomer, dancing and laughing.
“I'm sorry,” he suddenly blurted, and she looked back at him in shock.
“Huh?”
He darted a look at Bubbles and said, “About Bubbles. When I... risked her life. I'm sorry about that.” Now it was his turn to stare at the table, his turn to trace pictures in his glass. The plastic of the booth seat squeaked as Blossom fidgeted.
“Thank you,” she finally whispered, and Brick thought it was a weird way to respond to an apology, but again, he held his tongue.
“Hey, Brick?”
He shifted his gaze to her.
“Could I... could I see those pictures you took of me? On your own camera, I mean.”
He had to go out to his car to get them; his camera was in there. As he was rummaging, he thought he should've asked her to come out so he wouldn't have to hold onto it in the restaurant for the rest of the night. But then that probably meant they'd be sitting together in his car, and he was pretty sure that wasn't a good idea, either.
“Here,” he said, handing her the camera, and she automatically moved so he could sit down next to her. He did so without thinking twice about it. He watched as she scanned through the photos, her brow knit in concentration. At first they were looking at them together, but, having reviewed them himself already, he eventually pulled back to watch her expression soften as she clicked through the pics, one after the other.
“You did so many of my face,” she said, a little incredulously, and Brick grunted. She almost sounded elated about it. She edged closer, holding the camera out to him. Her thigh actually pressed up against his, and if Brick had been paying attention to anything besides the sudden heat of her leg next to his he would've noticed she was actually blushing.
“When was this from?” she asked softly, indicating a shot where she had just pushed her hair back away from her face and was now letting it fall across her arms and shoulders, a wispy red halo about her.
“I... think it was when I had just asked you about dancing,” he said. He really wasn't sure. He was too focused on their slight body contact, on not moving so he wouldn't discourage her from coming closer. She smiled and pulled the camera over to her again.
“You made me look so pretty.”
I didn't have to make you look anything, he thought as he took in the giant empty booth with all that room and furtively shifted closer, so the pressure of her thigh against his grew. You always look like that.
She handed the camera back and thanked him as he turned it off. He thought about buying her a dessert or something-she hadn't eaten much-and was wondering whether it would be better to order one for himself, then casually offer her some, when Butch and Buttercup showed up again.
“Outta quarters! Brick, do you have any-wait, you got your camera? Do you have any pictures of Blossom on there? Can I see?!”
They wound up having to drag Butch's unconscious body out of the restaurant.
“You sure gave it to him this time,” Boomer observed. “What'd he do?”
“Nothing,” Brick muttered, avoiding Blossom on the way back to his car and trying not to miss the warmth of her body pressed to his.
***
The following Monday morning Bubbles was dropping off a giant bag of 35mm film canisters to be developed when she got a text from Boomer.
out sick X(
“Aww,” she said on her way out of the store, and texted him back.
what's wrong?
After about a minute he responded:
fever sniffling coffing hurt all ovr falling apart wout u
She texted back, feel better.
Boomer responded come c me???
L8r, she tapped out, smiling, then flew to school. After dropping her stuff off in the music hall she bumped into Buttercup, fresh out of the showers.
“Hey. How was volleyball practice?”
“Fine.” Buttercup tossed her head at her sister. “Where's your pet?”
“What?”
“You know, that blue-eyed puppy that's always following you around.”
“Oh, stop. Boomer's out sick.”
Buttercup glanced at her as they moved down the hall. “Really? So's Butch.”
“Hey, girls,” Blossom greeted, clad in her dance leotard and tights.
“Blossom, is Brick out sick today?” Bubbles asked, and their leader blinked.
“H-how I would know?” she stammered.
“I thought you guys might be practicing or something.”
“No, actually, we hadn't even talked about-”
“There he is,” Buttercup interrupted, pointing down the hall. She gradually lowered her arm, then frowned and said, “Holy crap, he looks like shit.”
Blossom smacked her on the arm. “Language.” Then she too looked over, concerned.
“He's really pale,” Bubbles said. “And he's moving kinda slow.” The first bell rang, jolting them out of their senses, and Buttercup hissed under her breath and made a beeline for her locker.
“You should take him to the Nurse's Office,” Bubbles told Blossom, and then took off for the music hall.
“Wait!” Blossom cried. “Why me?”
Bubbles was already gone. Blossom sighed and looked back at Brick, his back to her as he plodded away down the hall. He really didn't look well at all...
She dodged several students on her way to him. She caught up quickly; he wasn't moving fast.
“Hey,” she said, gently touching him on the shoulder and guiding him around so she could see his face. “Are you okay?”
He looked like he hadn't slept in days. “Yeah,” he said, and his voice sounded off, a little strained. “I'm fine.”
“You know, you don't... you don't look fine. Do you need to go to the Nurse's Office?” She didn't want to take him there without his permission.
“Seriously, I'm okay. Just...” He yawned. “Just tired.”
“You're really pale.”
“Alright, thanks, I know I look like shit,” he said abruptly, obviously irritated, and she drew her hand back. “I told you, I'm fine.”
Blossom huffed at his rudeness, but for once her sense of charity won out over her sense of pride. “Can I walk you to class, at least?”
“No,” he said resolutely, and that was that. She rolled her eyes and headed back to the studio for Dance. Whatever. Brick was a grown boy, and clearly wanted to take care of himself. Fine. It wasn't like he was her responsibility anyway.
***
She changed her mind when he walked into their AP Physics class. Well, “walked” was really pushing it. As soon as he fumbled his way into his seat she switched tables so she could sit next to him.
“Brick! You look terrible!”
He didn't just look terrible, he looked worse. Where his skin had been pale before, now it had taken on a faint, sickly yellowish-green hue. Blossom touched a hand to his forehead-he made a face and tried to pull away, unsuccessfully-and she gasped.
“You've got a fever,” she said, gripping his arm with her other hand.
He started to say something and then went into a coughing fit instead.
Blossom steeled her resolve and said, in her most authoritative voice, “Brick, you need to go to the Nurse.”
“I do not,” he wheezed, and Blossom could've hit him. Boys were so stubborn and stupid about these things!
“You're coughing, you have a fever, you look green-literally-not to mention you practically had to drag yourself into the room when you came in. You are sick, and you need to go see-”
“I don't get sick,” he said defiantly. “I told you, I'm tired.”
“Of course you're tired!” she cried. “You're sick!”
“Are you done mothering me?” he snapped, and threw her hand off his arm. “Leave me alone.”
Blossom stared at him, fuming, then Hmph!ed and gathered up her things to go back to her original table.
“Boys are idiots,” she muttered as she left, making sure he heard her. All throughout the class, though, she kept looking over at him. He seemed to be getting worse by the minute.
Let him get worse, she thought furiously to herself. Let him play the stupid macho man he so clearly wants to be. “I don't get sick,” tuh. Please.
The tables went into group practice problems about halfway through class, and Blossom soon lost herself in working with her tablemates to solve the questions. On question two her attention was arrested by the door slamming shut, and she automatically looked up to Brick's seat.
Empty.
She blinked and glanced around the room. No sign of him. One of the bathroom passes was missing, though, and, after a fretful moment, she excused herself and took the other bathroom pass, edging out into the hall. He hadn't gotten far. He was leaning his side against the wall, hunched over and covering his face with one hand. Blossom flew over to him just as he sank to his knees.
She stifled a gasp; faint spots were rising on his skin. She recognized these symptoms now; of course, why hadn't she thought of this earlier?!
“Oh my God, I should've dragged you to the Nurse's Office when I first saw you,” she said, kneeling.
“What, did you follow me?” he said blearily, slurring his words. “Leave me alone.”
“I shouldn't have listened to you,” she went on, helping him stand. “Are your brothers sick, too?”
“They're at home,” he said, and started coughing again.
“Did you guys ever get sick when you were here? I mean, as kids? Like when you were five or anything?”
“We never got sick, no.” Blossom had to practically drag him along, but at least he was letting her.
“I can't believe you avoided this for as long as you did. Then again, I guess you never really hung around any other kids...”
Brick pushed her away, trying to walk on his own. “'This?' What do you mean, 'this?'”
“I mean,” she started, and then he fainted.
She caught him on his way to the ground and hoisted him up. “Brick!”
He was out. After weighing her options, she looked up and down the hall to make sure it was empty, then gathered him up in her arms, hooking one under his knees and the other under his shoulders. His head flopped heavily against her chest as she flew to the Nurse's Office.
***
“You're right, Blossom,” the nurse said. “Definitely the AB Virus. I can't believe he avoided it until high school.”
“He and his brothers left for awhile,” Blossom explained. “And they never hung around people much when they were little, either.”
“I don't think it's hit anyone over the age of twelve since the city first contracted it,” the nurse went on. “You'll probably have to talk to your dad about the adult vaccine.”
Blossom nodded. “I thought so.” She should do so immediately. AB could get worse in a day...
“Can you take him home?”
She looked up in surprise. “Me? I... sure, I guess, I just don't know where...” No, Bubbles would know where the Boys lived. Maybe?
“Okay, that's fine,” Blossom said, nodding. “I can take him home.” She left Brick resting on the cot in the office while she went to find Bubbles, who had-was it Government she had now? Yeah, that sounded right. After locating the classroom and knocking lightly on the door, she poked her head in.
“Hi. Could I speak to my sister for a second?”
Bubbles squeezed through the door. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Well, kind of.” She explained the situation, and a very worried Bubbles hastily gave her the address.
“Oh, I hope Boomer's okay,” she whimpered, digging her phone out of her pocket, ostensibly to text him.
“Probably in better shape than Brick is,” Blossom muttered. “At least he's been home, hopefully sleeping. Brick's been walking around all morning. He actually fainted.”
Bubbles was engrossed in her texting. Blossom thought about scolding her for it-they weren't allowed to use their cell phones during school hours-but realized how worried she must be, and simply thanked her for the Boys' address.
She walked briskly back to the Nurse's Office, then decided to stop back by their Physics class to return the bathroom passes and explain what was going on. She then gathered up their things and dashed back to the office just as the bell rang. Brick was awake, but still lying down with his eyes closed.
“I think you were right, as much as it pains me to admit it,” he said, after cracking an eye to find Blossom there. “I'm sick.”
“I'm often right,” Blossom said distractedly. “We should wait to leave. It'll be easier to move around after everyone's out of the hall.”
“What about Enviro Science?” Brick asked. They shared that one, and it was their next class. Blossom left to go talk to their teacher, and also to get the evening's assignment. She soon reappeared with a small stack of handouts.
“Tonight's reading,” she explained to Brick, packing it up in her bag first and then sticking Brick's in between his books. She called the Professor to ask if he could get three adult vaccines for AB ready ASAP.
“What's AB?” Brick asked as she hung up and the bell rang again.
“AB stands for Amoeba Boy,” she said, pocketing her phone. “It first started when we were five. The Amoeba Boys got everyone deathly sick with it, me and my sisters included. Obviously having a stronger immune system doesn't deter it. Think of it like the flu, except... kinda like chickenpox, without the sores.”
“Why like chickenpox?”
“Because it's highly contagious, and the older you get, the worse it is to contract it,” she said. “You guys never really hung around other kids when you were younger, so you probably didn't get significant exposure to it. Now you're in public high school... I'm surprised you only just got it now. Can you sit up?”
Brick struggled, but managed to do so. “I don't much like the idea of the Amoeba Boys starting a virus and then putting it in me. Even indirectly.”
“Yeah, well,” Blossom said, then trailed off, because she didn't know what should come next. “Ready to go?”
Brick let her help him up, too sick to register her hand gripping his and one arm of hers locked around his waist.
“Yeah.”
***
Bubbles tapped her foot nervously in the checkout lane as Buttercup paid for their groceries. After Blossom had told her, she'd texted Buttercup, and somehow, now, here they were.
“I hope there's not a pop quiz in English,” she fretted.
“Oh, come on,” Buttercup said, shrugging it off. “You're worried about him, aren't you? Besides, the Boys gotta eat something. If they've got AB, I doubt they're well enough to cook on their own.” She paused. “I doubt they even cook, period.”
“I think Brick knows a thing or two,” Bubbles said as she took a few bags from her sister and they both took off.
Buttercup scoffed, “Yeah, well. If he's anything like he was this morning, then that guy is in great shape to be cooking.”
***
Brick lived too far away for them to actually walk, and Blossom didn't know how to drive a stick shift-not that Brick would've let her in his car anyway-so that left flying, which meant carrying. Brick was not fond of this idea, but, barely being able to stand, he really didn't have a choice. Which was all for the better, since he was still continuously drifting in and out of consciousness.
He was draped along Blossom's back, piggyback style, and Blossom realized as they hit his street that she didn't remember the number, and the address was somewhere in the depths of her jeans pocket, which she really couldn't get to without dropping him. He was already threatening to fall off as it was.
“Come on, Brick,” Blossom groaned, hoisting him up so he could sit better on her back. “Where do you live?”
Brick made a noncommittal noise and gestured vaguely at the street. Blossom sighed and blew her bangs out of her face.
“Focus, alright? Just… okay, just open your eyes and point at the building, or tell me the number, or something.”
“It’s the big one,” he mumbled into her shoulder, breath hot and sick against her neck. Ugh. She wrinkled her face and looked around.
“Big what? Big building?”
He nodded slightly and added, “The tallest one. The top floor.”
“The tallest…” Blossom looked around and stopped as her eyes settled. “There? You live there?”
“Pretty sweet, huh,” Brick murmured.
“Kind of,” she admitted, wondering who they’d stolen the rent money from. “Can we go in through the window?”
“No,” he said immediately. “Door. I’ve got the keys.”
She sighed again. “Front door it is,” she conceded, and walked into the building.
***
(cont.)
Originally posted at http://essbeejay.dreamwidth.org/95938.html.