Chapter 9
Autonomy

"Wake up! Wake up, you asshole!"

Butch grumbled an entirely unintelligible dissent. He slowly squeezed his arms together in an attempt to—jeez, squish her? But Buttercup had long since wriggled out of his grasp.

They hardly used both rooms they were given. Whether they fell asleep in hers or his, one of them wound up on the other's couch.

Last night had been rough, they were reeling from their public character assassination. But Buttercup had pushed her hurt aside for fury on Butch's behalf, allowing it to swallow her whole.

The drawback to this, of course, was that Butch had done the same for Buttercup and they'd gotten absolutely nowhere. They were both hilariously writhing in their angst.

They were both done with acting as it was anyway. So who cares if their last few months of spotlight were marred by ugly untruths?

Soon enough their siblings would jet back to LA and they could fall peacefully into obscurity. Buttercup nearly sighed in bliss at the thought of her pretty face being slapped on a Where Are They Now master list.

They reconciled with the fact that they'd just have to let it roll off their backs until that day. And they would. Hence her refusal to let him boa constrict her into compliance. They had a full fucking day to attend to.

Today was the day where their lives would go back to Normal™.

They'd just hang and screw around and hit up a party or three, maybe even kick it at a friends house in between. Today was a good day and he wasn't even bothering to wake up and enjoy it!

She stood in the doorway, the perfect picture of a woman on a mission. With a deep breath, she got a running start to catapult herself onto Butch's sleeping frame in a beautiful belly flop.

She didn't anticipate that he'd actually been disturbed by her loud prodding and was ready for her attack. With admirable lightning reflexes, his arms shot out to grab her before she could land on him too hard and he'd locked his arms around her waist, effectively pulling her into a spooning position.

He made a grumbly noise while she struggled. Sleep. Why couldn't she just let him sleep?

She was so warm…soft…the perfect combination for sleep.

"No! Come on!" Buttercup struggled violently against his hold. It'd taken her at least half an hour to free herself the first time and he'd been unconscious then. "Why're you such an asshole!"

"Stop moving." Butch's voice was a low rumble still laced with sleep.

She ignored him and continued to move and wriggle against his hold, only stopping when he craned his neck ever so slightly so that he was able to nip at her ear fiercely enough to cause a sting that he lapped at—just a stroke or two—lazily with his tongue. She stopped cold, every muscle in her body tensing up.

That was her thing. He knew that was her thing. She knew he knew that was her thing because he was her best friend and he teased her about such things. Such things that were probably told to him by one or more of her various exes (it could only have been one of a specific two, really) in confidence.

"Baron?" Her voice was a little strangled.

"Friction." He supplied, rather unhelpfully she noted.

A blush crept up from the tip of her toes to the top of her head when the realization finally decided to dawn on her. She coughed it away. Butch was a guy, that was normal, especially since it was pretty early. She tried to shake it off — figuratively not literally of course.

"Get up! We've gotta—"

"The four of them can handle whatever it is on their own, Butterbabe. My schedule has only just freed up from sibling crises. Let me sleep." His voice carried an edge that she rolled her eyes at.

His authoritative edge was badass and effective and tended to be more than a little useful, but it worked on any and everyone but her. She was almost insulted that he'd tried.

She resisted the growing urge to punch him in the face. She examined said face, her expression cross.

"Fine, I'll let you sleep. I'll just tell the guys that you weren't up for hanging out today. You'd rather catch up on some sleep…sip some tea…be a pussy." She remarked dramatically, blowing a huge sigh that displaced her bangs. He didn't budge. "Damn, and Mitch said you were just starting to wear Siobhan down. The first time in months that all of us are in the same place…and you'd rather sleep."

Butch's eyes shot open at the mention of their friends (read: Siobhan). They were rarely all free at the same time and if they were they weren't always in one place.

Mitch, Butch's asshole best friend, who wasn't really an asshole for any real reason other than letting Buttercup slip through his fingers, was in a popular metal band with Grubber, Mike, and Wes. Siobhan and Will weren't actors or singers or models or anything of the like but were equally tough to pin down schedule-wise.

Back during Buttercup's whole Mitch phase Butch had made never-ending attempts to make passes at Siobhan, who rejected him on principle each and every time.

He'd decided she was a good get. Butch was a masochist above all else, and a girl who took no interest in him other than to make him work hard to earn her attention was right up his alley.

Case in point.

"Bad idea, my Butterfly." He breathed, giving her a nice squeeze before closing his eyes and snuggling further into his pillow.

They hadn't hung out as a group in a while, the last time they'd had been a disaster. Of course, he missed hanging with their friends, but he'd had his fill of catastrophes lately.

"How so?"

"Off the top of my head?" he opened his eyes a crack then, to meet her gaze. He stretched and his grip on her did not falter, not in the slightest. "Mitch is still in love with you."

"What? I—we—no! Mitch and I—"

"Today's going to be a disaster. Count me in." He sat up, now fully aware that his hopes to go back to sleep were futile. "I swear you'd fall apart without me. God you can't survive without all this for even a second can you?"

"Careful, Lima Green, your fondness is showing." She scoffed. He smirked at her less-than-smooth recovery from his brutal honesty. "Mitch isn't in love with me, you're just jealous because he's more tolerable than you."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself."

"I hate you."

"Ditto. Now hurry up and change. I don't know why you were rushing me when you're not even dressed yet." He rolled off the bed lazily making his way over to his closet.

Buttercup looked down at what she was wearing. She'd thrown on something comfortable and lightweight. It was summer in New York, ripped jean shorts with sneakers and a cropped band tee that she'd sliced the hem off of and added some holes to for extra breathing room was appropriate.

"You're an asshole. I look great." She stomped out of his room, making sure to slam the door extra loud.

"You look butch!" he called after her with a smirk on his face.

Buttercup passed the green and white soccer ball between her hands absentmindedly. Butch had been bouncing the basketball rhythmically for the last 3 city blocks and it was somehow more soothing than irritating. It was nice that she didn't want to shove it down his stupid throat yet.

She dwelled on how that could be when, normally, she'd have threatened to shove it down his throat at least fifty times by now.

"Nervous?" he shot her a smug look, brow raised challengingly.

"'Bout what?"

"More like 'bout who." He laughed and righted himself in the wake of her attempt to shove him into oncoming traffic. "It's my duty as your friend to tell you that you are absolute shit at this."

"At attempting to murder you?" Her tone was light, conversational. She propped the ball up under one arm and tapped at her chin with one finger. "Shit, I must be if you're still standing here. Bugging me."

"Well, damn you're shit at trying to kill me too!" he shoulder checked her, hard. "I meant people. You, my sweet Buttercup, are shit with people."

Butch produced a neat joint from his pocket which Buttercup promptly swiped and lit. He scowled down at her and produced another. He was used to this and was subsequently always prepared. He leaned in as Buttercup lit him up.

"You're no guru when it comes to people either, fuckwad." She clipped at him, holding the smoke in her lungs as long as she possibly could for a nice saturation. Who was he to say such a wild thing to her? He practically sent people running for the hills.

"I do well enough."

"No, you don't! You scare the hell outta people, man." Buttercup punched him on the arm playfully. "And I've lost count of how many women you've—"

"They don't count." He took a long drag. They were almost at the park the guys had mapped to them. "Besides, I meant you and Mitch, you and Snake, you and Siobhan, you and—"

"There ain't any 'me and Mitch'. There ain't any 'me and Snake'. And Siobhan and I are great, thanks." She interrupted staunchly.

Buttercup had admittedly left things up in the air with Mitch. She wasn't gooey like her sisters. She hadn't wanted to talk about it and neither had Mitch—not even with Butch. She especially didn't want to talk about the break up with Butch. No, it had felt wrong on several levels.

She didn't want Butch to feel that he had to comfort one of his best friends over the other. All she'd told him was that with her taping the show and him on tour it just didn't make sense. It was a partial truth.

But he was both their best friend, so he'd still been tasked to mediate between them and one can only imagine how that worked out. (Hint: it hadn't.)

As for Snake, that was a whole mess that didn't mean she was bad with people, just bad at picking them.

Buttercup glanced up at him through squinty eyes. Neither said a word as they were rapidly engulfed in a group hug and greeted by their friends.

An hour later Buttercup was glowing. She glowed with happiness, she glowed with adrenaline, she glowed with a nice coat of sweat.

The basketball courts were predictably full so they had settled on a friendly game of soccer. Except it was apparent that none of them knew what friendly meant.

They were all varying degrees of worked over. Siobhan had dirt smeared on her cheeks with fallen tendrils of her lavender hair from her ponytail plastering to her sweaty face. Wes' knee was scraped up pretty good, the blood adhering a clod of dirt and grass to him. Mitch had taken two balls to the head, Grubber had thrown up from taking too many checks to the gut, Butch had a split lip and a wicked slice on his cheekbone with a pencil thin line of blood, Mike and Will were pussies and had tapped out after taking one too many dives for the ball in the goalposts, complaining of soreness.

But Buttercup was glowing, in her element, an absolute beast on the field. She was quick on her feet and fierce with her kicks. She aimed for the gut and if you were smarter than that you'd get it aimed at your face. It was safe to say half the injuries were her fault.

Butch had started out on her team but their friends quickly rectified their mistake. Their competitive nature was best to be burnt out on each other they decided.

Wes gave a halfhearted pass to Grubber who dribbled up the field as fast as he could, which meant he was slow enough for Mitch to intercept and pass to Buttercup. She gave it a fierce kick, sending the ball whipping through the air towards the goal, where instead of a net the ball connected with Butch's ribcage.

"Fuck!" He took a knee, clutching at his side and gasping for breath.

They all surrounded him to make sure he was okay. He probably just got the wind knocked out of him. He'd live. They were all banged up, but maybe now that they had an odd number with Butch out they could all tend to their battle wounds.

"Buttercup," He wheezed. She knelt beside him so he didn't have to strain to talk. "That…was a sloppy shot." He looked up at her with a lopsided grin. With a roll of her eyes, she pushed his face away to forcefully free him of his shirt. "Buttercup! If you want an audience I'm down for your kink but at least give me a minute to recover down here."

She stared at where the ball had hit him, leaving an impressive angry red blotch that extended from the top of his V thing to his ribcage. It would leave a pretty sick bruise.

Buttercup pressed two fingers to the sensitive area experimentally while looking straight into his eyes to catch a reaction. There wasn't any except a sharp inhale of breath, barely even noticeable, every time she applied a moderate amount of pressure.

"Sorry, man. Worst case scenario you broke one. Best hope it's just a bad bruise." She poked him again, enjoying the way he narrowed his eyes at her. "Hey, maybe if you're lucky Siobhan could play nurse for you."

She waggled her brows suggestively but what normally would have elicited lewd comments and laughter on his part did nothing but earn her a small smirk and a clap on the shoulder.

But it didn't bother her—much. He was probably just more subdued because he'd just been hit. He was tired, he had put up a pretty decent offence. She knew he was enticed by the prospect of being surrounded by girls, Siobhan included, swarming to him drawn in by the danger vibe he'd give off.

She also knew that Butch was right about Mitch still being sweet on her. That thought didn't sit right with her at first but it wasn't all bad.

Mitch was great. He was hilarious and fun to hang out with and one helluva kisser, in her humble opinion. Buttercup wouldn't mind another go around the block with him. Besides, maybe the timing when they tried dating before had just been all wrong.

He was on as strict a schedule as she was after all. But now with nothing but free time on her hands and an expiring contract Buttercup idly welcomed the thought of giving Mitch another shot.

Speak of the Devil, he'd taken to joking with Butch about how ladies love bad boys with battle scars—which Butch responded to by pointing out that ladies love him any which way.

With the game a definitive tie, they grabbed their stuff and started to walk towards Mike's place. He lived the closest and it was safe to say they all needed to freshen up. Going to the club a sweaty, bloody mess was one thing but they couldn't very well go to dinner like that.

On the way, they were recognized a handful of times but part of what Butch loved about New York, besides the fact that it was his home, was that it was impossible for him not to blend. There was so much energy here he practically fed off of it.

As they neared the apartment complex Siobhan and Buttercup got into a heated rock, paper, scissors battle over who got the Ice Cube first.

Mike's penthouse had four bedrooms with an en-suite in each but only one of those bathrooms had a crazy beautiful view, several different options for water flow, and was made entirely out of glass that was glazed over to leave more to the imagination than less.

"Why don't you just save time, energy, and resources and shower together?" Grubber piped up exasperatedly.

"Yeah, for the good of humanity, you guys." Wes piped up. Siobhan stifled a groan as the sneering ensued. Boys. "Save the Planet."

"Save me from you pigs." Buttercup rolled her eyes so far up she wasn't sure they'd come back down.

"Oh, well, sure. That's actually a great idea guys. Buttercup, we could take turns lathering up. The lower back is just so hard to reach."

"Totally! And we could wash each other's hair. A nice, deep massage." She shot back, her voice taking on a sugary lilt. "I mean, would any of you care to Save the Planet with us?"

"It'd be great guys!" Siobhan clapped.

"Really?"

"Yeah! Mitch and Wes, Will and Grubber, Butch and Mike. All four bathrooms full." There was a collective groan paired with a simultaneous eye roll.

Four rousing draws later Buttercup was the victor and won the Ice Cube fair and square. The minute Mike swiped his apartment key she was practically the first one in and she ran straight for it.

The second she slipped into the bathroom she shed her clothes quicker than you could say filthy and was fiddling with the temperature monitor.

98 degrees felt right, nice and steamy.

She got in and a moan escaped her lips at the smooth feeling of the hot water running through her hair.

For a while she didn't actually wash anything, she just closed her eyes and stood under the giant square rain showerhead. The view was almost as amazing as the feeling of the hot water rolling over her tired body.

She could see a good portion of the Manhattan skyline and the way the late afternoon sun was glinting on the skyscrapers was enough the make her wanna stay in the cube till it completely set.

Buttercup was just lathering up her hair when she heard the door open and shut.

"Whichever of you pervs just came in here, get out!"

"But I come bearing gifts, my little Butterfly." Butch set down a neat stack of folded clothes for her.

They hadn't anticipated that they'd need a change of clothes to bring with them, but they certainly couldn't wear their soccer clothes to dinner and they definitely couldn't wear their dinner clothes to the club they'd reserved a spot at.

She swiped a hand across the shower door so she could see through the steam. He'd placed two folded stacks of clothes on the ottoman bench by the sink and was leant against it, lighting a blunt.

"Thanks, where'd you get em?" she continued to wash up, not wanting to hog all the hot water from Siobhan.

"I'm familiar enough with your drawers to know what is where." He held back a cough of laughter when she poked her head out the shower growling Butch. "Chill, I called Bubbles. She was more than happy to drop them off. Apparently, Brick and Blossom are getting along and it's freaking her out."

"You know what'll help me chill? You sharing that blunt."

"You got it, my emerald."

"That sucks for Bubbles…where's Boomer?" Buttercup turned to pump some cucumber face wash into her hand.

"He ditched her to go help dad in the studio. I think they're still fighting." He sounded way closer to her than before.

She turned back around to take a hit, thinking he'd be right in front of the shower door and almost slipped and fell.

He was right in front of her. She didn't dare look down to verify whether or not he'd at least left his underwear on. He held out the joint to her with a cheeky smirk on his face.

"Butch, what the hell!" She covered her chest protectively, despite knowing he hadn't looked down and trusting that he wouldn't.

"What, you prefer to shotgun from me?" he took a deep hit. "I'd be happy to oblige."

"No! I prefer you to get out!" She'd receded to the furthest corner of the shower from him. Butch shook his head slowly blowing smoke from his lips. It mingled with the steam from the shower and was hardly noticeable.

"What happened to all your 'save the planet' crap?" His voice was low and she idly wondered if it was from the bud or from the acoustics in the shower playing tricks on her ears.

Buttercup was so dumbfounded that her jaw was clamped firmly shut. She didn't justify him with an answer, instead opting to snatch the spliff from him.

It was blessedly dry and she was grateful that though he was standing under the rain showerhead he'd kept the spliff safely away from the stream.

She took a few puffs while eyeing Butch carefully. He still hadn't looked down or looked at her at all really. She watched as he grabbed the face wash and squeezed a decent amount into his hands.

He gingerly swept his hands across his face in small circles, wincing when he cleaned near his split lip. It looked way better than it had earlier, but definitely probably still stung.

Buttercup unwillingly let her eyes drift to his ribcage where the ball had struck him. It'd already progressed to an angry deep red with purplish undertones. Thankfully, by looking at the bruise she could see the band of his boxers in her periphery.

"Nice bruise."

"Thanks." He watched her ash the spliff on the far wall of the ice cube. She wasn't under the direct stream and had to be cold. He briefly considered offering to warm her up but thought better of it. "You gonna let me wash my junk or are you gonna stick around to watch the show?"

"You can't kick me out of the shower! I was here first, asshole!"

"Oh, no no no. You're more than welcome to stay, I was only asking as a courtesy."

"Well, I'm staying! I wasn't done yet."

"Suit yourself." Butch shrugged. He tried his very best to keep an indulgent smirk from gracing his face.

Buttercup shimmied around him and stepped out of the Ice Cube. She'd been in there about 20 minutes tops so even with Butch hijacking the cube Siobhan would still get a turn and everyone would be done getting ready around the same time.

She wrapped herself in a giant fluffy robe waiting for her outside the Cube, sighing at how good it felt against her skin.

It was really cute that Mike had stocked his apartment with such amenities as cucumber face wash, extra washcloths, and big fluffy robes. It was probably a preference picked up from being bumped from hotel to hotel while on tour but better that than a raging coke habit or gross messy habit.

With a big umph, she flopped onto the guest bed and snuggled in deep. She'd seen the neatly folded stack of clothes Butch had laid on the dresser but promptly ignored it, entirely unwilling to shed her giant soft cocoon.

Butch stepped out of the cube a few minutes later and was unsurprised to find that she'd dozed off a little on the bed.

He followed her footsteps and bypassed his clothes instead curling up behind Buttercup on the bed to spoon her. He had to keep one hand firmly on the towel wrapped around his waist but was more than happy to drape the other over her.

"Mm…where're we gonna eat?"

"Butter." He nuzzled her and was oddly cognizant that this was kinda where they'd started off this morning. They'd come full circle and he seriously couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be. "Then we're headed to this new club Siobhan found Chemical X."

"I friggin love their lamb scallopini."

"When Bubbles dropped off your clothes she said it'd work for both places."

"Bless that girl." Buttercup moved her hands out from under her head to wrap them around Butch's arm. "Gotta get dressed… don't wanna move. Baron, you're gonna have to make me."

That made Butch chuckle, a warm deep rumble straight from his chest. It'd be the perfect revenge for this morning. He gave her a tight squeeze.

"Nah."