Status – complete

this was supposed to be finished by new years but as you all probably know, it is not new years.

~5~

It's Christmas Day when Boomer finally admits that Bubbles is his friend. He doesn't add the finer details.

They are in the midst of a party on Christmas Eve at Blossom's apartment before that happens, though (Blossom had originally refused, but Buttercup's constant badgering had pushed her to to her wit's end and she caved at last. "This is the last party," Blossom warned, and Buttercup merely waved her off.)

There's upbeat music blasting from the living room and there are people conversing and laughing. Some mistletoes are hung up above door entrances or archs. Butch had taken a couple of opportunities to drag Buttercup under them, only stopping when she yanked the last mistletoe he pulled her under and shoved it into his pants.

He shrieked, "That's so dirty–"

She walked away.

Robin throws her head back laughing at something Boomer says. She'd cut her hair shorter and Bubbles can't help but notice, there's something different about her.

"You're almost glowing," Bubbles tells her. The three of them are seated at one of the small dining tables a little ways from the sparkling Christmas tree.

Robin visibly blushes, so much so that Boomer pretends not to notice to save her the embarrassment.

Bubbles doesn't bother pretending. "Oh my goodness!" she says, grinning and touching her own cheeks. "Don't tell me, have you met someone?"

Robin sighs dramatically, leaning back in her chair. "Her name is Julie. She went to school with us. So technically, I've already met her."

At this, Boomer seems alarmed, and Bubbles voices his thoughts. "Hold on, hold on–Julie Smith or Julie Bean?"

"Bean! What the hell, Bubbles, after all the shit this city's been through you think I'd go for an ex-con like Smith?" Robin jokes, taking a sip of her soda. "Can't believe I came back to Townsville for Christmas break just to have you doubt me."

Bubbles laughs, so truly and genuinely, and Robin is glad to be in her company again.

"Ex-cons aren't that bad, in my opinion," Boomer mumbles as he chews his food.

"Sorry Boomer," Robin says, smiling fondly, "You're not terrible, but you're not excellent either. You're an in-betweener. It's okay, kid."

As Boomer's arguing that a few months of age difference doesn't make him a kid, Robin suddenly turns and asks Bubbles, "Could you grab us a couple more drinks, and maybe a shot or two?"

"At least one of us can't get drunk tonight," Bubbles says, sighing in defeat. "So I'll be the designated driver."

Boomer grins, "Way to take one for the team!"

Bubbles throws an offhanded "yeah, yeah" over her shoulder as she leaves to retrieve their beverages.

As soon as she's out of hearing range, Robin fixes her eyes on Boomer. "What is going on?"

Boomer almost shrinks back. "What do you–"

"You two were never so comfortable around each other! Civil, yes, tolerable of each other, I guess, but I don't think I ever remember seeing you and Bubbles being all buddy-buddy."

She doesn't look exactly angry, so that's a good sign. He relaxes.

"Are you two dating?"

He tenses up immediately, "No–"

She smirks. "The look on your face alone tells me you at least want to."

"Robin, I never hated you before, but I'm sure I do now."

Robin giggles, but something in it is so distinctly friendly, understanding. "I don't blame you. I was in your shoes before, young man. Bubbles makes you love her without even trying to, you know."

Boomer is red from head to toe. He fidgets with his collar. "I wouldn't exactly–call it love–"

Robin nods, "Maybe not, but it's the start of something." She taps her chin, smiling. "You two together are a little interesting, given how your brothers and her sisters have started dating a while ago. You're like late bloomers or something. It's cute."

"Bubbles!" he shouts, and Robin turns to look over her shoulder where Bubbles is on her way back to the table with Brick in tow. "Bubbles! Is! Back!" He's blushing so hard Robin thinks he might actually burst.

"Woah," Bubbles says as she notices the color all over his face, putting down some of the drinks on the table while Brick sets down the rest of them. "Did you drink something? Don't tell me Robin made you take a shot while I was gone so that I wouldn't stop you!"

"Hey!"

"For your information, I would've taken a shot on my own merit because I can do whatever I want," Boomer declares, his embarrassment long forgotten.

"Your tolerance is barely stable," Brick says, raising at eyebrow at his brother.

Robin crosses her arms, still smirking as Boomer's blush comes back at maximum speed.

Brick isn't convinced, but he walks away, sarcastically warning, "Don't get too crazy now, kids."

"Alright!" Boomer says excitedly, taking his shot glass into his hand with his chaser in the other. "Let's get drunk out of our minds in the name of Santa Claus!"

Robin is now hyped, and clinks her glass with his, saying, "Yeah!"

Bubbles grabs each of their wrists and lowers them down slightly, levelling their gazes to her own. She smiles sweetly. "Don't cross the line, okay?"

They both nod, and simultaneously promise, "Okay."

…

They crossed the line.

Boomer's holding back Robin's hair as she vomits into the toilet. Inside his mind, he's planning out the epitaph for his tombstone for when Bubbles murders him.

Butch bursts into the bathroom just then, clutching his stomach and looking pale and weary. His eyes sweep over the occupied toilet, then to the bathtub. He inhales and closes his eyes, making his decision, and solemnly says, "Sorry Blossom."

…

Boomer rides uncomfortably in shotgun as Bubbles drives Robin's car, staring straight ahead. Robin lies on her side in the backseat, snoring her worries away.

Boomer swallows, thinking of something to say. "I'm–"

He cuts himself off when Bubbles looks at him right in the eye and then looks back onto the road.

"I'm deciding to forgive you," Bubbles says. She frowns. "I didn't want to be the only sober person going home tonight. Makes me feel left out."

"You've got plenty of opportunities to get drunk," he supplies, hoping it'll lift her spirits.

She smiles, "Getting drunk isn't really my thing."

Boomer hesitates, almost scowling at his indignance. "So, we're cool then?"

"Of course we're cool! What, you think I'd go on a rampage or something?"

"You are scary when you're mad."

"I'm glad you think so."

He relaxes into his seat, the fleeting waves of nausea bringing him back to that night a little over two months prior. Oh, memories. Robin releases an obnoxious snore that startles him out of his thoughts, and Bubbles chokes on her laughter.

…

"Keep your arm there–Under her knees. Keep them–Don't forget to support her head! Oh, God, she's totally limp!" Bubbles whisper-screams.

"That's what a hangover does to you, I guess," Boomer whispers back. "Keep your arms steady, too!"

Boomer almost trips over his feet as he and Bubbles carry Robin to the guest bedroom.

"Can't believe you let me sleep on the couch when this was here the whole time," Boomer grumbles, holding Robin while Bubbles opens the bedroom door.

Bubbles snickers. "After the whole break and entering situation I didn't really consider you a guest."

Bubbles helps Boomer set Robin gently down on the bed, and she takes care to pull out the bedsheets and drape them over Robin as the girl curls into herself.

Boomer's eyes drift to the digital clock, where the time reads 12:42 A.M.

"Woah!" His eyes widen, and he stares at Bubbles in shock. "It's Christmas Day! Man, now I wish Robin wasn't asleep."

"Well, we can't wake her," Bubbles says, keeping her voice light.

Boomer adopts a determined look. "Alright, then, let's do this. You and me. To the Christmas tree we go!"

"Be quiet!"

Luckily, Robin had not woken up, and the two blondes found themselves sitting at the foot of Bubbles' small white Christmas tree. The ornaments were unsurprisingly predominantly blue, with some red and yellow thrown in every now and then in the form of tiny ribbons and hollow bulbs and candy canes. At the head of the tree sat a blue star. Beneath the tree, three gifts.

"After everything, I am glad you and Robin became such good friends," Bubbles says as they both stare at the tree.

"We were already friends," Boomer points out. "But I think you might've solidified that friendship? I don't know. I just hope she likes my present." He had gotten Robin a stuffed elephant and some new paintbrushes.

"I'm sure she will. I mean, you put effort into it and that's what counts."

"Right."

"At least you guys followed through! I was scared that when I suggested doing a mini Secret Santa between the three of us that you'd both shoot me down immediately."

"I was going to," Boomer admits, "But then I remembered that I'd get a gift, too! So that was kind of exciting. What about your sisters?"

"Well, between the Professor, my sisters, and I, we do our own Secret Santa every year. It's become like a family tradition. I thought it'd be fun to do it with you guys, too."

Boomer allows himself to smile. The clock's large hand shifts from its perch on the wall. The time reads 1:18 A.M.

"Alright!" Bubbles says, grinning and grabbing the two presents marked for herself and for Boomer. "Let's get this party started. I'll open mine first."

He's momentarily reminded that his gift is from Bubbles. He tries not to think about it at the moment.

She reaches into the bag, littered with blue tissue paper and drawn in cute little snowmen, and she pulls out a Christmas card and a pair of light brown slippers. She opens the Christmas card, laughing at Robin's message relaying the first few years of their friendship and a wish for more to come.

Bubbles runs her fingers along the fluff of the inside of the slippers, sighing happily. "Feel it! It's so soft," she says vibrantly, thrusting the slippers to Boomer.

As he feels the fluff, he pouts, complaining, "What the fuck, I want these!"

"Why don't you check your present and see if you want it more than what I got for you, then," she challenges, nudging the wrapped gift in his hand.

He observes the gift, adorned in midnight blue wrapping paper with splatterings of snowflakes every which way. He notices that she had taken an actual white ribbon to tie around the gift box.

She crosses her legs. He can feel an amicable aura emanating off of her. "You shouldn't be scared. I'm a superb gift-giver."

He doesn't doubt it, but he can still feel his heart thumping a bit too quickly. He grabs the ribbon, pulls, and watches as the thin fabric unravels and softly falls to the ground. He halts for a moment, and nearly chokes on his breath when Bubbles reaches out to grab his hand and guide it to the corner of the lid. The box is fairly flat, so when he peels off the lid to reveal a book, he's not all that surprised. But he is a little disappointed.

"A book," he says flatly. Bubbles snorts. "This is totally nice and all, but… reading isn't exactly my strong point. I mean, you were there in ninth grade–"

"Yes, of course, I know that," she assures him.

He's still confused. Then, at a revelation, he frowns. "If this is like some specialized challenging reading thing, I'll fight you."

"It's an album," she finally says, her smile broad. She motions her hand to it. "You should, like, flip through it, you know."

He processes the information and looks down at it. After he gingerly pulls the album out of the box and onto the floor between them, he opens up to the first page.

A picture of him and his brothers, age 8, running out of a chicken spot that they'd just robbed. Butch has a drumstick in his mouth and is hauling about five bags of fries and burgers as he charges away. Brick is hovering above the sidewalk a couple feet away, seemingly yelling something behind his shoulder. A young Boomer follows behind them, laughing so hard there are tears at the corners of his eyes.

He looks at the picture in awe. "Where did you…" He blinks out of his stupor. "Where did you get this?"

Bubbles holds a confident smirk, cheeks flushing with pride. "You have a lot of pictures of you and your brothers just lying around in your bedroom, you know. However, for this picture specifically, I had to go into some archives in the library. Didn't take too long to find it."

"Yeah… This is the youngest we'd ever been caught on camera together."

After another silent moment of studying the photo, he turns the page. On the left is a picture of a 12 year old Butch giving a toothy grin to the camera, his arms in the air with two rock-n-roll hand signs. The photo is set in the courtyard of a middle school. Off to the side is a girl with short hair, grimacing at him, half of her body cut from the shot.

Boomer points to her immediately. "Is that Buttercup? Oh my God."

Bubbles outright guffaws, nodding her head.

They spend the next half hour looking through the album, at the pictures of each brother in varying sizes, various dates and places, different ages. Boomer is elated to have all these memories in one place, where he could look at them whenever he pleased. He tells himself to remember to show his brothers the album, see how they react to their younger selves. They'd never taken many pictures of themselves until high school.

It's strange, Boomer thinks, seeing a part of himself as a child and feeling like he's a completely different person, yet not.

"This is sappy as fuck," Boomer decides to say after flipping past the last page of pictures. The second half of the album is empty, and he feels a twinge of excitement at having the chance to add more.

"You're welcome," Bubbles says kindly, genuinely. She knows what he means to say.

Something inside his chest feels so warm and giddy. She did this for me. "I've never had a friend get me a gift for Christmas or anything. Is it always this cheesy?"

Bubbles eyes almost twinkle and she smirks right in his face. "Friend? I'm your friend?"

His heart nearly leaps out of his chest and kicks his own ass. "Shut up," he says quickly, and then, "You are, to me."

She gasps, delighted. "I love making friends!" she squeals.

At that moment she's smiling so hard her eyes are crinkled, and her eyelashes spread like wings, or something similar, and her cheeks are shining and red, and he can't help but let the dam burst, she's so beautiful, she's always been so beautiful, the water has crashed out–

He let's his hand drop the page it was holding onto to trace it along her jaw, pull her in, and as her smile fades into a look of slack surprise, he presses his lips to hers, not soft, but not hard.

She doesn't move at all after a few moments, so he pulls back, embarrassed. His hand remains on the soft column of her neck, lingering.

She opens her eyes, slowly, and it makes his heart race realizing that she had closed them to relish the feeling as he had kissed her.

"You can just, like, forget I did that," he says bluntly, betraying the look of humiliation on his face. "I'm probably still drunk, anyway."

"You're not drunk," she says, and he's startled at the change in her tone. Her eyes sweep over him quickly. He feels like he might die. "I know what you look like when you're drunk. The way you talk and all. You're sober," she declares.

He gulps. "Are you going to beat me up? If so, can you do it quickly."

She shakes her head, brief but fast. "Is there…" Her voice is almost shy, hesitant. But she gathers all the confidence she can and she asks him, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Well, yeah, but you're probably going to kick my ass, so–"

That makes her facade crack, and she laughs. The mood damn near automatically lightens up and some tension is already seeping away.

"I won't," she promises.

"Then… okay," he says. He puts on his best Brave Face and looks her square in the eyes. Her really, really pretty blue eyes–

"Oh, God," he says, covering his face and turning away. "I can't fucking do this."

"Come on!" she encourages. She's getting a little impatient. "I believe in you!"

He blushes fiercely, and then steels himself once more, removing his hands and setting them at his sides. He feels somewhat reassured when he can see her blushing, too. "Can you just do me one favor?" he requests.

Her eyebrows furrow, but she complies and asks him what he wants.

"Say it again."

She's never been more confused in her life. She stares and stares, but cannot come up with anything significant she had said to him recently. "What do I say?"

He looks pained for a second and continues on, embarrassed even further, "What you said… that night. I broke in, drunk." He looks up at her. "You thought I was asleep."

There's the sound of a record-scratch somewhere in the distance. The sound of glass cracking. A halt in the fabric of space and time. Bubbles wants to fly into the sun and never come back.

"You–" Her voice cracks. Her eyes are wide and unbelieving. "You knew about that!? This whole time!?"

Boomer looks off to the side. "... Yeah."

"Why didn't you say anything!? Oh my God." She brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, hiding her face.

"I don't know?" he says, unsure. He sighs. "I felt like I dreamt it up or something. Or maybe that you just meant it in a friendly way. I don't know!" He groans, frustrated. "I thought that if I brought it up, you wouldn't even know what the hell I was talking about, and it would be awkward, and you would reject me, and then I would live out the rest of my days as Boomer, The Huge Ass Fucking Loser–"

"Okay, stop." She holds up a hand to silence him, amused and slightly shocked. "I said it because I meant it."

Boomer stops talking, stops thinking altogether.

She is captivating in the artificial blue and white lights of the Christmas tree when she says, "I really like you."

The air runs the fuck out of his lungs just then, and he's so–How does he breathe? What does he do now? So he responds before he loses his nerve, "I like you, too."

He can feel her hands cupping his cheeks, and then her mouth is hovering over his. His breath is truly, without a doubt, completely gone.

She kisses him, moving closer so their knees slot together. He just about burns to death at the physical contact and he reminds himself this isn't the first time he's ever kissed anyone, but it's the first time he's kissed the girl he'd been pining for since he was fourteen, and the feelings of a premature crush come rushing back and he nearly can't believe what's happening.

But he doesn't care about that anymore. He cares about the shape of her lips against his, her thumb brushing his cheek, the fingers grazing across his neck, the warmth of her waist under his hand, everything happening now, in this moment–He can believe it.

~fin~

robin is hiding discreetly somewhere in the hall taking a picture of them making lovey eyes at each other and sending it to Everyone with the caption "it's happening"

the ice has been broken. bubbles and boomer begin a healthy, supportive relationship and everyone is happy because they deserve to be, the end. 3