This was tricky to write, probably why it took so long to get out to you guys, sorry.

Once again, I must profusely thank my reviewers, You all have my undying love and gratitude. And Butch's, even if he doesn't know it. Because I control him. And I had a random Butch fangirl moment.

Reeeeeaaaaad.

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Honestly, Buttercup was beginning to have a hard time deciding what was worse about this undercover gig: Butch, or the no-powers rule.

They both had their moments. Moments when Butch drove her up the wall insane, made her just want to rip his damn spiky hair out of his head and strangle him with it. Her counterpart had an uncanny knack of knowing just what buttons to push to make her lose it. His immaturity, his ego, his attitude…they way he looked just like her. It pissed her off to the point where she was just on the brink of "pulling another Beijing." Everything with him was just.

Then, they were moments like now, while she was standing on her hotel balcony in Tokyo, staring out at the sunset over the city and knowing that she would trade almost anything to just zip away in a flash of lime green. As fast as she could, eyes open and stinging from the sharp wind, the breath ripped out of her lungs by pure speed, adrenaline-junky grin plastered on her face, skyscrapers whizzing beneath her…

But neither ditching Butch again or taking a forbidden spin around the city would solve her problems in the long run. In the long run, Sherry would always have Butch chasing after her. And even if she just told them all to suck it and leave, the killer would still be on the loose. And undercover or not, working with her ex-foe or not, she was still a super hero and had a duty to perform.

A duty that was just as formidable as ever, even with the Red's lengthy piece of news from Italy, that the Greens had received early that morning, directly after re-landing in Tokyo. Yes, they had already scoured this particular city, but in their brief absence of a mere day, three more deaths had occurred. Apparently, their villain favored Japan. So, on Sherry's orders, they had scurried back over here and had once again hit the streets. Butch was happier here anyway.

He spoke the language and loved rubbing Buttercup's lack of Japanese in her face, by purposefully ordering her the strangest food, taunting her to read the maps, asking what a sign said before saying, "Whoops, forgot, BC doesn't speak Japanese, heh heh heh."

After a few good punches to the face, he had gotten the message and restrained himself a bit more.

With one last longing look to the Tokyo skyline, Buttercup turned away with a sigh, knowing that she really ought to get some sleep because she they had to get up early the next day. Hmph. No sane being gets up at 6:oo a.m. on a Saturday to "get a head start."

With a creak of hinges, the door in the side of her hotel room opened. Buttercup turned to see Butch peering through. She rolled her eyes and flopped down cross-legged onto her bed. This time around, they had rooms with connecting doors and already, she was deeply regretting it. Let's just make it easier for Butch to irritate her, shall we? Of course, it could always work in reverse…prank him in the night? Buttercup repressed the wicked grin she was thinking, watching sullenly as Butch waltzed in, uninvited.

"What?" she grumped, resting her elbow on her knee, and her chin in her hand.

Butch wordlessly lifted his left hand, motioning to the buzzing watch.

"Again?" she groaned in disbelief.

Butch rolled his eyes in agreement. Buttercup irritably blew her bangs out of her face, but gestured for him to sit down all the same. He did and they sat shoulder to shoulder, sharing the tiny watch screen between them.

"Butch Strogoy Jojo."

Sherry's face promptly appeared on the screen.

"Hello," she stated briefly.

"Again," repeated Buttercup dryly.

Sherry paused to glare, but otherwise ignored the smart-ass puff.

"Well, some more news…"

"Boomie finally found something?" joked Butch.

"No."

"No, I didn't think so. Damn, he's slow," Butch grunted. Brat, treating the search for clues almost as a race. Which the Reds would be winning anyway.

Sherry paused, something on the tip of her tongue, but, oddly, the usually straightforward and no-nonsense woman hesitated. Not so patiently, they waited. Finally, the older woman began, obviously wording herself careful.

"Well, it's news," she repeated, "But not the good kind."

Buttercup's heart sank in dark anticipation, thoughts flying to her sisters. Were they injured? Did Buttercup need to bash one of Butch's brother's heads in?

"Buttercup,"

The puff's blood ran cold at Sherry direct approach of using her name. This could not be good.

"I'm afraid to say that your creator, Professor Utonium, was discovered dead in his home a few hours ago."

The world came to an abrupt, crashing halt.

Professor…

Was dead…

Sherry's next words flowed through her ears but she barely registered them as she continued to stare blankly at the watch face.

"I'm…I'm so very sorry, Buttercup," the words stuttered off the CIA director's tongue awkwardly, but sincerely, "But…he was found in the same state as the other victims…"

That monster…it discovered who they were, and…killed…

She looked away from her watch, away from Butch. She was afraid if she saw the pity on Sherry's face a second longer, that she would explode. Her heart felt cold with agony, throat thick with slowly building tears. She blinked furiously a few times, as rage was now added to her painful heap of emotions.

The thought was too much to bear. The Professor, the sweet, kind, loving Professor was dead because they had accepted this mission. Indirectly, she was the cause of his death. She had accepted, had left with her sisters, leaving the Professor defenseless and lonely to die a horrible death alone in his lab…

Sherry kept talking. Buttercup kept her face turned away, wishing she would just shut up and let her sit here and slowly understand.

"My condolences…I know he was a clever man and a father figure to you and your sisters."

Just shut up. Just go away. Sherry knew nothing. Buttercup needed time to sit and think, away from her apologetic words, away from Butch's silent presence beside her.

"Your sisters will be notified as soon as it is day in their respective time zones. Buttercup…please don't beat yourself up over this. I understand it must be very hard right now, but just focus on catching this son of a bitch so he can kill no more good people. 10-4?"

Buttercup grit her teeth. It was all too much. One more drop of pity, and the Greens would have not a single watch between them.

"Roger," breathed Butch beside her. Sherry's sad image died, leaving the Greens alone once again.

For a very long moment, no one moved. Butch didn't dare look at her, just keeping his forest green eyes trained on his blank watch face. Buttercup glared vehemently at the wall in front of them, drowning in countless emotions on the inside, but only furious on the outside.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening.

But he did speak after a while, even if it was only one word. Her name.

"Buttercup."

His voice was oddly soft, and cracked a little at the end. For once, he wasn't trying to annoy. He actually…didn't know what to say. His awkward sorrow just made everything suddenly ten times worse, if that was even possible.

She lowered her head a bit, not looking at him, adjusting her broken gaze to her hands in her lap. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him began to reach a hand out to touch her shoulder, but he faltered and retracted his arm. Her stomach contracted into a ball of fury and tears, but she didn't move. Another pause. Then,

"We'll catch it. Him. Her."

Buttercup's hands clenched into fists, her fingernail leaving deep welts in her palm. Finally, she exploded.

"Just shut up! Just. Shut. Up!" she snapped, springing up from the bed, widening the space in between them. He better not try to touch her again, try to comfort her. She wouldn't be comforted. The Professor, her father, her dad was dead. What did Butch think he was doing?

A niggling little voice in the back of her head, a small one that wasn't crying its heart out for the Professor, warned her she just acting out in anger, as she was prone to do. It wasn't Butch's fault…he was just trying to help, in his clumsy, awkward, evil counterpart way…

Slowly, he got up, green eyes wide and an uncertain look of terror and sadness on his face. This just drove her off the edge.

"Get out!" she screeched. Never before had Butch run away from a fight, but apparently, he knew when he was whooped and better get his sorry green ass outta there because he all but flew at the door that led to his room.

For a few seconds, Buttercup remained as she was, breathing a little heavier, eyes slowly filling with salty liquid. She felt like her very heart was bleeding. This couldn't be happening. Some sick joke of the universe.

Suddenly, she realized which moments were the most unbearable. The ones when she felt so utterly helpless. Helpless to truly deal with Butch. Helpless without her powers. Worst of all, helpless to actually help.

It had been a week. A week, and people were still dying. A week since she had planted a hasty kiss goodbye on her Professor's cheek, promising to be back soon. But now, it didn't matter. Soon could come and go, and she'd never see her father again. There wasn't even a proper body to bury, if the CIA would even let them have it. It was probably confiscated, being examined by their scientists as the other corpses had.

Cruelly ironic. He spent his entire life studying science and now, science was studying him.

He'd had so much to offer. He shouldn't have gone. It wasn't right. The man was only in his forties, for God's sake. Buttercup had counted on having him around for many, many more years.

Finally, emotion overwhelmed her and she sat back down on the bed with a creak from the springs. She swallowed thickly, forcing back tears. No tears, she was the tough one. Bubbles cried. Even Blossom was known to shed a tear or two at times. Buttercup didn't. At least she pretended she didn't, because when she did, it was a last resort. Nothing more could be done.

But, really, what could be? Sherry didn't lie. Of all things she did, lying wasn't one of them. And the pity on her face told all. He was gone. And they were left. She and her sisters…what would they do? Where would they live? They couldn't leave their home, not after all this. Their only memories of the Professor were in that house, his lab.

A single tear rolled down her face and Buttercup swatted it away viciously. Vaguely, she wondered who had discovered his body. Ms. Keane perhaps? The two had been going out on dates. They thought it was a secret, but pretty much all of Townville knew.

The thought made her miserable, and she flopped onto her bed and buried her face in her arms, choking back a sob. A couple drops of tears managed to sneak their way past her eyelids but she was too exhausted too care. There she lay, fully clothed, for a few hours, pushing down the hiccups and the miserable thoughts, until she eventually drifted to sleep.

**88**88**88**

It must have only a few hours later when Buttercup was shaken awake. Blearily, she blinked a few times, wondering why she felt like there was a gaping hole in her chest, before she remembered – the Professor.

Grimly, she rolled over and hoped for the sake of whoever was waking up her up, that they could run fast, because Buttercup wasn't in a good mood. Not surprisingly, it was Butch who loomed over her. He looked like he had just literally rolled out of bed, and she noted keenly that his signature little annoying smirk was missing.

Intense, black hatred suddenly gripped at her mind, and Buttercup almost literally snarled.

She suddenly remembered her parting words, but no guilt struck. He should have known to just scurry out of the way and let her mourn.

"Buttercup," he murmured, an edge of caution to his usually boisterous voice.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," she snapped, pushing him away so she could sit up. For the first time since…she could remember, he didn't retaliate, in words or actions. He must still feel bad about the Professor. She didn't need his pity. He just needed to stay the hell away from her.

But, he didn't. He stayed, and continued speaking.

"It's, um, another call from Sherry…" he mumbled.

Buttercup gaped at him, before staring unbelievably at the vibrating watch.

"You have got to be kidding me!" she growled, slowly swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"I know," he grumbled, sounding a bit more like himself as he took a seat beside her again.

"Butch Strogoy Jojo," he deadpanned. Buttercup was getting tired of hearing that name.

Again, Sherry's face flickered into focus on Butch's wrist.

"What now?" half-shouted the green puff, waving her hands wildly in the air to emphasis her point.

Sherry had the decency to look a little ashamed.

"Hello…again."

"This had better be re-ally important," Butch grouched. Buttercup felt her dark anger towards him mount - what was he complaining about, he hadn't known the Professor!

Sherry's eyes narrowed at the sassy Greens.

"Excuse me, but let's not forget who your boss is."

Sulkily, the Green waited for her reason to call yet again.

"You are to board a plane for New York. Now."

Stunned silence.

"Say what?" stuttered Butch after a moment.

"You just had us fly to Japan!" added Buttercup with a snarl.

"Yes. And now I'm having you fly to New York. Your siblings will be joining us too."

"That's the other side of the world!" complained the raven haired boy.

"Is the case solved or something?" piped up Buttercup, not quite sure what to feel. She must just flip a lid if they found the murderer mere hours after the Professor died.

"No, but we have a stupendous lead and need all six of you at HQ as soon as possible. You two are the farthest so you'd better get scrambling. I booked some last minutes seats for you, and if you can get to the airport in half-an-hour, you can make your flight and be here in 18 hours. Flight 203, American Air."

"What kind of lead?" questioned Butch, looking puzzled.

"A challenge."

"Challenge?" they chorused in confusion.

"He wants to meet you all in person. He's set a rendezvous-point here in NYC."

Both the puff's and ruff's eyebrows flew up in surprise.

"He apparently wants to…'teach you all a lesson'. Our best guess is he wants to battle."

"Well, then we are on our way," declared Butch emphatically.

Buttercup cracked her knuckles.

"And that bastard better be ready to feel the burn, cuz he's getting it – bad."

Butch nodded.

Buttercup felt a bitter sense of anticipation. She'd get the chance to sink some knuckle into this monster. She would make him feel her pain. He was going to get it. He would pay dearly for killing the Professor. He picked the wrong bunch of super-powered teens to mess with.

The angry fire in her stomach flared with emotion.

"Then hurry up, get on your way! You only have twenty-seven minutes 'till your plane actually leaves the gate! And traffic is always heavy in Toyko, regardless of the hour. Get some sleep on the plane. You'll need it. 10-4, and shake a leg."

"Roger," they said in unison. Instantly, they sprang to their feet, energy suddenly soaring through them, despite having been woken up minutes ago. Butch raced to his room to grab his bag, while Buttercup grabbed her own, grateful she hadn't even bothered to unzip it yet. Simultaneously, they sprang out of their respective doors and, in silent agreement, ran to the stairs – the elevator wasn't nearly fast enough.

Still at break-neck, without actually using their tell-tale colored powers, they barreled down the steps, with Butch actually sliding down the banister for last couple of floors.

In a rush, they rudely pushed past the line already formed at the counter.

"Check us out!" demanded Buttercup to the ruff, who really didn't need to be told, as he was already babbling furious (and probably dirty-mouthed) Japanese at the astonished clerk.

Although Buttercup couldn't understand what they were saying, it was obvious Butch won their brief squabble, and the clerk quickly checked them out and billed them. Without so much as a thank you or good bye, Butch led the Green's charge out of the lobby and onto the crowded street. Despite being well past 10:30 at night, traffic was at it's bumper-to-bumper norm.

"Taxi's not nearly fast enough," the green ruff growled under his breath, spinning around in circles, desperately trying to decide on what mode of transportation would be fastest, "Not bus, not the metro."

His dawdling was wasting time! Buttercup grit in her teeth to restrain herself from socking him into next year.

"How far is the airport?" interrupted Buttercup, eyes glued to her one and only guide.

"Mile, maybe more," he grunted, running a hand through his bed head of hair. Buttercup surprised the boy, and herself, by grabbing his elbow.

"Let's run!" she shouted, charging down the street. Butch pulled himself free of her grip, effectively stopping her in her tracks. How dare he? They needed to go now, how big of an idiot was he?

Buttercup was about start shouting about how running would be way faster than any public transportation, when he yanked her shoulder towards himself, already half turning to sprint the opposite direction they had been heading.

"It's this way, Smart One!" he taunted and they two rush down the sidewalk, pushing past the slowly traipsing citizens.

Buttercup slapped his hand from her shoulder, dark fury momentarily blurring her vision.

Filthy bastard! Keep your hands off me!

They sprinted block after block, completely disregarding everyone and all crosswalks, simply jaywalking (jayrunning?) onto the street and jumping over any cars in their way. It almost became a race to keep in front of the other, except Buttercup had no chance because she would be utterly lost without Butch.

They got to the airport in a record five minutes, without using their powers and with countless moving obstacles in their way. Both of them were panting heavily and had stitches in their side. Buttercup may or may not have pulled her shoulder while sliding over the hood of a car, but now wasn't the time to worry about that as Butch shoved their way through the security line, once again disregarding anyone who had been waiting.

Once again, Butch babbled at the attendant in Japanese, even though it was American Air and he could have spoken English. But, there was no time for thought, because he had apparently said something terrifying to the poor man, who scrambled to print their boarding passes, and handed them over, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Now, they sprinted to the security line, which they could not shove through without raising all the guards' alarm, forcing them to drag the teens away for suspicion on being terrorists. And that wouldn't do.

As they caught their breath in line, Buttercup grabbed her counterpart's wrist and read the time. They had ten minutes. They just might make it. She let his hand drop and fixed him with a curious stare.

"What…what, did you say…to make that dude look like…like he was going to shit his pants?" she panted.

Butch shook his head, also gasping for breath, and taking off his shoes

"Nothing that…needs to be repeated."

Her black hatred continued to brew and her lips twisted into a grim line. Butch wasn't one to hide his dirty mouth. And besides, he knew Buttercup had one of her own. So why was he refusing her? Just to be a jerk-face as usual?

"No, really, what?" she snapped shortly. He'd been on her nerves for the past several hours, no days, and he seriously needed to get his act together.

Butch shook his head again, a ghost of a smile tracing over his lips. The green puff set her teeth, his light mockery of her question making her insides burn.

"I wouldn't even know how to begin to translate it."

Buttercup let it drop because they had almost reached the front of the line, although her frustration with him wasn't appeased in the slightest. As both of their bags and shoes were consumed by the x-ray conveyor belt, they passed through the full body scan one at a time, and Buttercup sent up a silent prayer of thanks that no alarms had been set off.

One less thing to worry about in her rush to avenge the Professor.

Because I will avenge him, she thought with bitter determination as they ran through the huge Tokyo international terminal, without even bothering to put their shoes back on.

"Fuck!" yelled Butch, and made a sharp u-turn on the slick airport floor.

"What?" cried Buttercup as her socks slid for traction on the linoleum before she finally got herself moving in Butch's direction again.

"Wrong way!" he shouted as they dashed back, past the confused bystanders.

"Butch!" she hollered in frustration as they back tracked.

"What, it's huge in here!" he defended himself as they skidded to turn a sharp corner.

Ugh, he is so useless!

Eventually though, they did make it to their gate, and just in the nick of time – they were making last calls to board flight 203. The startled flight attendants let the shoe-less Greens onto the plane and gratefully, they sank into their seats.

Their entrance had attracted a few stares, but neither gave a damn.

"Remind me never to let Sherry book us last minute flights," groaned Butch, leaning his head back against the seat.

Buttercup silently agreed as she slowly began to pull her skater shoes back on. That had been way too stressful for a repeat performance.

Thanks to the chemical X, the duo quickly caught their breath. Silently, they sat side by side as the plane took off for a direct flight to New York City. Buttercup bounced her leg in quivering anticipation.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Butch's low voice.

"Let's try to sleep. I know I'm still tired, and you're probably even more exhausted."

Buttercup gave him a dirty glare for assuming she was weaker than him. Butch backtracked quickly, trying to reword himself.

"I mean…you are still grieving…" he trailed off, looking away at the last moment, not able to hold her gaze.

Buttercup's tongue struggled for a second. Why must he remind her? Did he get an evil sense of satisfaction in seeing her hurt?

He was a monster, but arguing was pointless at this time. Best plan of action was to ignore him - let him see that nothing he could do would affect her.

"Whatever," she muttered darkly, rolling away to face the other way and try to sleep. She couldn't see Butch or his reaction, but after a moment, he too curled up and within a few minutes, Buttercup was out cold.

It was a good flight. Buttercup slept almost the entire way, only waking a few times when he position was became unbearably cramped. She discovered she much preferred fitful sleep to consciousness, where she was bombarded with thoughts of the Professor.

But she was actually awake when they began to land, so it was she who reached over to give Butch a punch in the arm. He was awake instantly, eyes wide with distress and confusion, looking so much like a startled puppy it was all Buttercup could do not to laugh.

He blinked a little, before throwing her a pouting look and sitting up in his chair, stretching his lanky legs and arms.

"Gnnaaahh….damn planes," he grumbled, before running a hand through his now really messed up hair. Apparently, contrary to what Buttercup had previously believed, he did not gel it, because no matter how much the ruff pulled at it, it retained its spiky wildness. He just really needed to brush it or something, because right now, he looked like shit.

Not that she should really be judging appearances at the moment. She felt even worse. Hallow with anger and sorrow, hungry from sleeping through the in-flight meal, and horribly cramped and bruised. That, and her shoulder still ached from whatever she had done on their frantic dash to catch their flight. She hoped the chemical X would heal it before their clash with the sicko that dared lay finger on her father, because injured or not, that monster was going to have it ala furious Buttercup.

Her grip on the armrests tightened and she swallowed quickly. The captain flashed the seatbelt sign and she felt the plane slowly tip towards the earth. Soon, so very soon. But not soon enough for her tastes.

With a jolt, they touched down, and the exact millisecond they had arrived at the gate, Buttercup was out of her seat and shimming down the aisle while the confused passengers squeaked and leapt out of the way. Butch groaned and shouted after her.

"Yo, BC, take a chill pill!"

She didn't grace him with an answer.

She also didn't hear the words of protest the flight attendant shouted after them as the Greens galloped through the gate, only to be confronted by a frightfully long line that all international flight passengers would have to pass. Buttercup's wild expression of rebellion turned sour as she almost rammed into the back of the innocent foreigner in front of her. Finally catching up to his renegade partner, Butch rolled his eyes and gave no comment, obviously knowing a lost cause when he saw one.

Takes one to know one, loser, she thought sourly, a flicker of her black fury burning at the back of her mind.

Passing customs took far too long for the impatient puff, but in due time, they had escaped the ridiculous security system. Buttercup once again forcefully led the way down a gargantuan escalator, but as she bounded off the moving steps, came to an abrupt halt next to the revolving baggage claim.

Ahhh….derp.

She didn't know where to go from here.

Butch darted around her and kept walking towards the door with purpose, as if he saw something she didn't.

Conceited, Buttercup internally moaned, but scampered after him all the same.

They approached a buff guy in a tux, who was leaning discreetly against a wall. Butch stopped directly in front of him, backpack slung across one shoulder, hands shoved in his pockets, head tilted up to look the enormous guy in the face. Buttercup stood behind and to the side of her counterpart, not sure what the hell Butch was doing.

"Hey, you," Butch drawled. The much taller man lowered his sunglasses to peer at the green-clad boy, who didn't flinch. The two had an intense stare down for a few seconds, before the man gave a slight shrug and gave the two a little wave to follow, as he turned and wordlessly tromped off into the crowd.

Butch rolled his head over his shoulder, his mouth sliding into a lazy grin. He sauntered after their agent. Buttercup clenched her hands into fists, loathing his arrogant ass. Did he find it necessary to show her up in everything?

Only a bit more…than I'll will never have to see his ugly mug ever again.

Furiously scowling, she shuffled after them, sinister hatred pounding uncontrollably through her veins. The dark rage was slowly gaining strength with his every little action, and it was driving her off the edge every time she had to restrain herself. He'd be getting it soon if he didn't watch out.

Their silent agent led them out of the sliding doors, to the parking structure and into a sleek black Hummer. He slid into the driver's seat and Butch hopped confidently into the back.

"We're going back to HQ," grunted the burly agent as he slid the keys in, the powerful engine rumbling to life.

"Are my sisters already there?" Buttercup growled, fidgeting with her seatbelt, disliking the angle at which it cut into her neck.

"Your siblings are waiting," the nameless man confirmed. The drive was short, almost ridiculously so, if Buttercup had cared to pause and think, but the state of traffic was the farthest thing from her mind.

Minutes from being reunited with her sisters, perhaps until she could wreck her revenge on the son of bitch who had dared lay finger on her professor. On all those people.

If Buttercup had been in her right mind, if the thick, mind consuming hate wasn't clouding her judgment, she might have been able to push aside the grief and pent up rage to consider that she was being a bit short sighted. It was irrational, illogical even, to place so much stock and hope and even faith in an act of revenge.

If she hadn't been driven to the brink of insanity with her rage and heartache, Buttercup would have heard Blossom's nagging voice in the back of her head, reprimanding her for being a "ignorant cement wall, charging to her own self destruction." If her every molecule wasn't going haywire with emotion, she might have glimpsed the truth in these words. The death of the murderer wouldn't bring her peace, wouldn't solve all her problems, wouldn't right the wrongs. It would bring him to justice. She was letting this get too personal.

If

If Buttercup was thinking straight.

Which she wasn't as she charged out of the Hummer, past Butch and the agent, storming up to Sherry's office, barely even registering her sisters' presences in the back of the room. She tuned out Butch as he scrambled through the door after her, all eyes on Sherry's robust figure, still slouched across her spinning chair as she had been the day they'd met.

"Where. Is. He," she snarled furiously, hands trembling. By now the bubbling, frothing, pitch black fury was eating away at her very consciousness. Every millisecond between the end of her question and Sherry's response seemed a life time of agony.

"North end of the Brooklyn Bridge."

Buttercup didn't pause to think how uncharacteristic it was for Sherry to meekly reply to her aggressive behavior. She didn't even pause to think as she turned on her heel and crashed headlong out of the office's full length windows in a blinding flash of lime green.

Out of the corner of her peripheral vision, she caught glimpses of colored streaks hot on her trail, only pushing herself harder. The polluted air stung her eyes and face, New York's colossal skyline blurring beneath as Buttercup led the six super powered teen on a full rocketing sprint towards the famous silhouette of the Brooklyn Bridge.

As if controlled by one collective mind, they began a perfectly synchronized nose dive towards the north end of the bridge, shadowed from the sparkling in the early afternoon sun.

As they touched down, Buttercup shot a quick look over her shoulder to confirm to herself that all six had made it. Not that it mattered. Whether she did it by herself or with the entire U.N. backing her, she was bringing it down.

She shot off across the glass-littered gravel stretch of wasteland under the belly of the bridge, scanning for any sign of movement. A dancing shadow caught her eye and she abruptly changed course to whiz around the edge of a structural beam to find a scrawny, miserable looking man with an unkempt beard. He smelled of weeks of filth and urine, and was most unarguably as high as the moon.

"You!" Buttercup bellowed, shoving the human onto the ground with one hand. He fell roughly into the ground, cowering and whimpering pathetically.

"We're looking for a vicious, satanic mass murderer. Am I looking for you?"

"I-I-I-wa, ohmyoh, no, please, I," the man spluttered, face chalky white, pupils alarmingly dilated.

"Spit it out!" she warned in a dark tone, holding a threatening fist up to his large nose. Her tunnel vision rage was fighting her tooth and nail - every second she wasted talking was another second she wasn't beating the living daylights out of her soon-to-be victim.

"Turn…around…" he gasped, before passing out and crumpling into a pitiful heap of sinew on the gritty ground.

At his shuddering words, an inexplicable freeze captured Buttercup's senses.

Black rage fading to the background, bones heavy with dread, heart somewhere in her throat, Buttercup pivoted slowly. She didn't know how, she didn't know why, but she knew that she didn't want to see behind her. But she had no choice.

Another crumpled body lay before her. A blond boy, her own age, dressed in a dark blue hoodie, spattered with copious amounts of blood, his arms and legs twisted at impossible angles, and an expression of pain of fear across his unmoving face.

"Bo - Boomer?" she choked, staring disbelievingly down at the very dead teenager at her feet. Her dark shivering fury completely overwhelmed with this new paralyzing horror, all Buttercup could do was remain glued next to the ruff's dead body, slow, heavy thoughts trickling through her mind.

She hadn't known Boomer. Last time they had actually exchanged more than sentence had been when they were five, when they had captured the naïve blond in a holding ray while Bubbles masqueraded as him. But, looking into his sightless dark blue eyes, glazed over with death, her innards knotted uncomfortably.

Her eyes traced his broken form, too overwhelemd with the discovery of his body as to wonder how it got there.

He…he must have been a bit like Bubbles…they were counterparts…he was young. Too young to die.

Butch…whispered a hushed voice…Butch's 'little' brother…

"Butch," repeated Buttercup in daze, finally able to rip her eyes from the motionless corpse.

Of course! He's - oh God, he's…Butch will be devastated…where are they, I have to tell them.

This monster, it must have been! He killed Boomer! No! The Asian kid, the Professor, Boomer, this list has gone far enough!

"Boomer?" stammered a voice. Buttercup turned a bit to see Butch coming to a gliding halt beside her, mouth gaping. Buttercup's heart twisted.

"Butch, I'm so sorry," she managed to spit out, struck by the agonized grief filling her counterpart. Limply, he dropped to his knees, brushing a hand across his brother's bloodied bangs.

"Boomer, no, you're not dead, come on Boomie…" he murmured thickly, clutching frantically at the shredded hoodie. Buttercup tried desperately to say something, anything, but no words left her lips. Soundlessly, she gazed down upon the pair of brothers, feeling yet another shard of her heart shatter.

Butch's eyes closed, the rumble of a primal growl stuck somewhere in his throat.

"'An agent fallen in battle died a noble death and you must insure it was not in vain,'" he chanted under his breath through grit teeth as he stood back up, hands clenched into white knuckled fists. His words sounded like a well memorized phrase, and were obviously not meant for her ears because he offered no explanation.

With a swift jerk of his head, Butch suddenly turned his gaze to her, dark green eyes brimming with emotion, but surprisingly no tears. The CIA must have trained him well, to be such a cold hearted brother.

"We have to find the others and warn them. Now! There is no time, come on!"

Buttercup, who just realized she'd been staring, gave a curt nod and they took off, bodies parallel and low to the ground, necks tilted to scan the area around them. They zipped along a few hundred yards, weaving in and out of the support beams, before they simultaneously caught a glimpse of red.

"Brick," Butch grunted through the fierce wind they were creating. She matched the angle of his sharp curve, and they reached the spot in a few seconds. Buttercup pulled her neck upwards to right her body into a vertical stance before touching back down on the gritty ground.

"Yo, Brick," called Butch sharply after mimicking her actions, jogging forward a few steps to the exact spot where they had seen the red blur.

"Butch?" questioned a cracked voice from nearby. Butch quickened his pace and rounded the curve of a beam. Buttercup hopped along beside him to find Brick and Blossom, back pressed against the concrete slab. Blossom's arm darted out and she grabbed Butch and pulled him in to join, Brick roughly yanking Buttercup the same.

"Whoa, you guys -" snapped Butch but the Reds slapped hands over their mouths before they could make any further complainants.

"It's here," hissed the red ruff. Butch made a few strangled noises before finally slapping his brother's hand away.

"Boomer's dead." he growled. Brick stared wide eyed at the raven haired boy, who didn't waver. Buttercup's eyes flickered to Blossom, who's mouth sagged with shock.

"Bubbles?" asked the pink puff after a second. Buttercup felt her limbs freeze in horror as she realized their sister was now the only one not present.

"And It's here?" Buttercup demanded.

Brick snapped out of his momentary trance with a thick swallow.

"Yes."

"We have to find her and regroup!" whisper-shouted Buttercup, dancing around her sister to dart back out. The dread that had seeped into her mind ever since that first moment she'd spotter Boomer was slowly morphing into sickening, nauseous fear - for her and the others. She hadn't even been sure they could die…that had proved not only a false hope, but a terrifying close reality.

She hadn't moved five feet before a pair of agonized screams pierced her ears. Instinctively, she whipped around to observe with wide, scared eyes, two crumpled bodies.

"Blossom," she shrieked, rushing back to her companions. The redhead coughed violently, blood gushing between her lips. Buttercup's eyes trailed down a few inches to se her sister's throat, slashed violently through, warm, gooey liquid completely soaking her front.

"Blossom, what happened!"

The redhead's frosty pink eyes drifted slowly up to her face, lips twitching in an effort to speak, but Buttercup realized her vocal cords had been destroyed.

"Blossom," she half-whimpered, helplessly watching Blossom's light fade disturbingly fast.

A gurgling choke directly next to them distracted her for a second. Buttercup looked up to see Brick in a similar state, copious amounts of blood dribbling around his face. His sharp red eyes flickered from Buttercup to Blossom before his face went slack.

"Br…" Buttercup started, before remembering and adjusting her horrified stare to Blossom - too late. She was gone as well.

"No!" Buttercup screeched, slipping back to cover her face with her hands, realizing too late that they were covered with Blossom's blood.

"No!"

"Sh! Buttercup, sh!" warned a trembling voice from nearby. Buttercup looked up, warm blood trickling down her face and dripping onto her neck. Butch's forest green eyes filled her vision as he wrapped one arm around her quaking shoulders to hoist her up.

"B…B…Blossom…" she stuttered, still shivering with shock. Blossom gazed sightlessly upward, while Brick was still turned toward her. Their colors had always been red, but now they were entirely covered in it, their crimson blood and fiery red hair pooling around them.

Butch tightened his grip around her. In normal circumstances, Buttercup would have beat the living shit out of him for touching her, but Buttercup was too numb to notice. This breath-taking, ice cold, pure terror was a completely foreign emotion to her. She'd never felt so powerless, so at a loss.

"Buttercup, snap out of it!" Butch hissed in her ear, spinning her around so she couldn't see the bodies anymore. "Now is not the time to mourn. The killer is on the loose! We have to find Bubbles fast, she's the only one left."

Buttercup nodded mutely, letting Butch take a hold of her wrist and drag her away. After a few steps, she regained enough of her presence of mind to keep up, although Butch didn't relinquish his grip on her.

Suddenly, out of no where, a streak of baby blue whizzed in front of them, knocking them to the ground. In the fall, Butch's grip slipped, leaving Buttercup both her hands to use to bounce back up. In front of them, Bubbles was sprawled on her butt, looking a little dazed from their high speed collision.

She looked up and blinked happily, relief washing over her petite features. Buttercup took a stumbling step forward, about to roughly crush her 'little' sister in a tight embrace, unbelievably grateful to have found her, but before she could, Bubble's small smile vanished, baby blue eyes widening.

"Gnnough," the blonde choked, spitting out a few drops of blood. She turned her terrified gaze up Buttercup, wordlessly pleading for help, before Buttercup finally noticed the huge spike metal sticking out of her stomach.

A deep, rumbling laugh echoed around the belly of the bridge, ricocheting off the concrete.

"Buttercup," she gasped, before falling forward onto her face, revealing a dark figure behind her, still holding onto the jagged edge of the metal shard he had just driven through her chemical X body as if it had been jello.

"We finally meet, Buttercup," purred the black silhouette, entire body cloaked in inexplicable shadows.

The green puff rediscovered her voice.

"You…killed…" she gasped raggedly, not finding the words to express what she felt.

Again, the figure chuckled ominously, releasing his slight hold on Bubble's impalement.

"Yes, I sure did. And you know what?" he cooed, taking a confident stride towards her. She stumbled back a step, feet stirring up a little cloud of grey dust.

"It was only too easy," he answered his own question, voice oddly growing a few pitches higher.

"No challenge anymore. I'd hoped for more from you Powerpuffs. Legends aren't all they are cracked up to be, huh?"

"You bastard!" Buttercup finally screeched, although still making no move to attack.

He ignored her, still shaking his "head" in disappointment.

"Not even those CIA trained Ruffs were a problem. Bam, bam…and bam."

At the last word, a shout of pain interrupted their conversation, and Buttercup whirled to left to see Butch on his hands and knees, writhing in pain. With a jerk, his head shot up to stare at Buttercup from under his bangs.

"No!" she squeaked, realizing he was the only other chemical X left. Her conuterpart twisted and squirmed every which way, teeth grit in pain. With lazy, slow steps, the dark void of a being trudged over to him, reaching down with a massive paw to lift Butch by the back of his jacket.

Butch hissed, thrashing in its grip.

"So, you are a feisty one?" murmured his captor, a tendril of shadow reaching out to lingeringly brush across his dirt smudged cheek. At the contact Butch let out another blood curdling shout of pain, eyes squeezed shut tightly.

"Stop, please!" blurted Buttercup, a little surprised at the amount of passion in her voice.

Both looked to her, Butch's face filled with an indescribable emotion, the other a featureless void.

"Fl…fly," Butch whispered.

"Fly? You really think that's going to do her any good?"

Buttercup remained transfixed on Butch.

"Butch…" she started in a hushed voice. Butch either couldn't or wouldn't respond verbally, but his intense stare was all the words she needed. With a little jump, Buttercup expected to go shooting off into the sky, but to her shock, she only fell back to earth with a heavy thud.

"Like I said, you thought that would help?" drawled the dark nightmare of a thing, "Well, it was a brave but worthless effort. I'd say goodbye now, if I were you two."

Without another moment's hesitation, he dangled Butch from his tousled black hair, gripped the underside of his chin, and gave a quick yank. A loud snap filled the air, and Butch was dead before he hit the ground.

Buttercup's piercing shriek was his only death cry.

"And now for you, little miss, not so tough now are you?" he mocked, trampling Butch's limp form underfoot as it slowly advanced on her.

"You are a horrible daughter. You abandon your fragile human creator, alone and defenseless? Wow, not what I would have expected from a so-called super heroine. He was oblivious…"

His words brought flickering images of the Professor to mind, only deepening the bleeding hole in her heart.

"And sister? Pu-leaze. You never shared anything with them. You disrespected Blossom, your leader, disobeyed her commands whenever possible. You weren't grateful for her in the least."

Buttercup took a step backwards, eyes blurring with tears, and stumbled on a rock, falling hard on her back.

"Bubbles? The countless times you teased her to tears? You ignored her smile, brushed off her sweetness? She was always too good for you."

Too exhausted to run, she struggled to push herself to her elbows, realizing the horrible truth.

"And that one," he gestured back to Butch's body, "Really? That was the cherry on top. What. A. BITCH. you were to him. I can't even imagine what a headache you were to live with, when every single thing he did pissed you off, for no reason! Was it any wonder he retaliated?"

Tears flowed freely down her face, and she barely managed to restrain a broken sob. Had she really been that despicable? She was an awful person!

"You are a self absorbed, violent, moody, hypocrite who took everything and everyone in her life for granted. Your powers, your loving family, the friends you never knew you had. And now it is time for you to PAY!"

With these last words, he lunged forward, shadowy hands extended for her throat, and she didn't even try to resist.

**88**88**88**88**

Buttercup felt like someone had just socked her in the stomach.

She flailed to consciousness, fingers woven in a death grip on the bed, unable to contain a few broken sobs.

Completely disoriented, Buttercup sat up quickly, panting. Her bright emerald eyes fervently swept the room, taking in the detail of the floral wallpaper, the white doors, the grungy blue carpet.

Where was she…she was…

A look over her shoulder to the window confirmed her suspicions.

She was still in Tokyo. The second call from Sherry had been the start of a dream - a nightmare.

Her mind was too blank to be relieved. She was in shock. It had been a dream…impossible. It had been so vivid, so real, frighteningly real. She could still taste the gray dust in her mouth, feel the feathery warmth of blood, hear the echoes of her own anguished screams.

She sat stock still, still slowly piecing together her reality. A hand drifted to her face, touching the trails of her tears in surprise. Her gaze flew to the door that connected the Butch's room to hers.

Later, in reflection, Buttercup would blame the nightmare. It had wound up all her emotions, bared her deepest, darkest fears, and torn down her self worth.

It was only possible reason for what she did next.

Butch rolled over with a sigh to face the wall, too distracted to fall asleep.

He hated pity. It was a weak emotion, in his opinion, and he avoided it whenever possible.

But the news of Professor Utonium's death brought back painful memories of his own Professor Strogoy and his unsolved disappearance. He could relate to the unbearable grief Buttercup must be going through…

Normally, he would have never run with his tail between his legs, but he pitied her, God damnit.

So he had bolted. She couldn't deal with her emotions, that was clear, and he didn't want to be in the crossfire while he felt too sorry for the violent, unreasonable bitch to defend himself.

Now, he here was, wallowing with indecision as to how he was supposed to face her tomorrow. He could only pray that her tough girl instincts would kick in -

His thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable squeak of a door swinging open. Butch froze, making the spilt second decision to pretend to be asleep. Silence filled the air.

A tentative footstep stepped closer, making muffled noises on the thin hotel carpet.

Aching to see what game she was at, Butch gave in to temptation and rolled over, pushing the blanket from his shoulders.

A combination of moonlight and streetlights flooded in from the curtain-less window, highlighting Buttercup's motionless silhouette. She was bare-footed, still wearing her ratty jeans and dark tee. She took another small step towards him, bringing her face into the light.

Butch's eyes widened as the pale light reflected off glistening tear tracks on her face.

She was…crying. Of course, Butch knew she was capable of crying…he just did not expect her to come actually crying to him, of all people.

"BC?" he murmured thickly, untangling his legs from his blankets. Her only response was to stare mournfully down at him, eyes wide and wet.

"Dude…" he trailed off, totally unsure of what to say. Disregarding that fact he was clad only in boxers, he stood up. For a long moment, they faced off silently. Butch shivered in the cool air, spellbound by Buttercup's broken stare.

Suddenly, without warning, she snapped. She sprung forward a few steps, flinging her arms tightly around his neck, slamming their bodies together in a fierce hug, her wet face buried in his bare chest.

Butch's jaw scraped the floor as he stumbled back a few steps with her momentum. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring flabbergasted down at the top of Buttercup's head. After a pause, it dawned on him that she had started sobbing uncontrollably, and, awkwardly, he snaked his arms around her slight figure, which for some God forsaken reason, only fueled her emotion.

Buttercup. THE Buttercup, was hugging HIM. Of her own free will. In his boxers. While she was CRYING her heart out.

His mind was blown.

Cautiously, he stroked her shuddering back, and she actually nuzzled closer. Neither spoke, mostly because Buttercup was too busy sobbing and Butch was unreservedly speechless.

They might have stayed that way for seconds, maybe minutes, hours even, Butch could never remember. But eventually, her body-shaking gasps died into intermittent hiccups and sniffles, and as quickly as she had jumped him, she pulled back, and without a backwards glance, or having uttered a single word of explanation, she turned and bolted out of his room, slamming the door shut behind her, leaving a bewildered Butch standing boxer-clad in the middle of his hotel room, chest covered in tears, wondering what the hell had just happened.

GREEN, AWWWW MOMENT!

Yesh. I killed the Professor. For Realz. And I felt like an awful person doing it.

You guys are some seriously smart cookies, I bet I didn't fool any of you with the dream for a minute, eh?

IMPORTANT: Ok, so I must explain. I don't think Buttercup is an emotionless bitch. At all. I think she is a bad ass who pretends not to get hurt, so, when faced with the news of the Professor's death, she doesn't know what to do, and doesn't want Butch to know that she's really sad, so she flips out on him. Then, eventually falls asleep from over-emotion, has this huge ass, emotion charged, absolutely horrible, gory, self-guilt dream (which may or may not have been natural *hint hint, wink wink*) AND THEN finally cracks and needs a hug from (shirtless ;p) Butch, who, of course, is totally confused. - I hope you lot are less confused.

In regard to her dream, it was realistic feeling, yes, but in case you didn't spot my failed attempts, I tried to make it more dream-like by having lots of inexplicable emotions, and a rather improbable story line. Geeeet it? :D

Random MUSIC note: This makes no sense, but in case you care, the hug scene has a theme song that I listened to a lot when writing it. "Feels like Tonight" by Daughtry.

Review please? :3