A/N: Bit of a long one for a change. Enjoy…

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There was no reason not to walk home. The rain had cleared after lunch, and a watery sun now shone in an almost perfectly blue sky. Clouds which had for the last few days appeared so threatening now drifted lazily into the distance before breaking apart and vanishing altogether. A light mist still hung in the air, refreshing and cooling from the heat of the mid afternoon. Birds returned from their hiding, and sang sweet, inviting post-rain tunes from the branches of the trees. It was a beautiful afternoon.

Despite this, Buttercup hung back in the girl's bathroom, debating whether to ask her sisters for another lift home. She could claim she was tired, her feet hurt, she had a headache, or there was too much homework for her to do that night. There were any number of excuses, and no doubt Blossom and Bubbles would fall for all of them. No, the problem wasn't lying; the problem was that she did sincerely want to walk home.

With deliberate slowness, she wet her hands and teased out the ends of her hair, so that they rested slightly apart from her face. Buttercup liked her hair; it was shaped in a pixie bob around her face, and managed to accentuate her green eyes and red lips without highlighting how pale her skin was. No matter how hard she tried, she could not give herself a tan. Even in the height of summer, her skin refused to brown. It would redden if she stayed out long enough in the sun, then fade and return to its default whiteness. The stubbornness with which it refused to do what she wanted bugged Buttercup; she would even have preferred the freckles that Blossom constantly complained about.

Bored of examining her face, and unable to think of any more reasons to stay in the bathroom, Buttercup left and walked with slow, paced steps towards her locker. Maybe, she thought, if she simply took long enough to meet her sisters, they would leave without her and that would be that. No decisions, no awkward prying questions, no need to think about anything except each step bringing her closer and closer to the sanctuary of her home.

But Blossom and Bubbles were still there, heads huddled together in whispered conversation. They broke apart quickly when they saw Buttercup, and for a moment she was offended. After all, weren't three sisters of identical age supposed to share everything? It was three or nothing, not two and one. Her mind made up to walk, Buttercup held her head high and made to walk past them.

"We wanted to talk to you," said Blossom, grabbing her arm and yanking her back towards them. "Buttercup! Stop walking." She used her trademark bossy tone, and Buttercup felt her hackles rise.

"What?"

"Well…we just-" they looked at each other purposefully. Buttercup glowered at the two of them, thoroughly agitated.

"Look, I'm walking home, and if I don't get going I'll never get there. So whatever it is you want to say you'd better spit it out."

"We just wanted to know what all that was about at lunchtime," continued Blossom obstinately, refusing to be cowed. "You know, with Butch, and all that? Because-because we wouldn't want you to get involved in a relationship that could be damaging. You remember what happened with Ace, don't you?"

Mention of her brief childhood crush, in such a tactless and brash way, sent Buttercup into a frenzy. She snatched her arm away from her sister, threw her books into her locker and stormed down the corridor without a backwards glance. Behind her, Bubbles said something in a timid voice, but not even that was enough to make her turn around. Buttercup continued to rage until she was out of the school and halfway down the street, only stopping then to readjust her shoelace, which had come undone in her haste to leave. As her shaking fingers fumbled to tie the laces, Buttercup cast her thoughts back to the Gangreen Gang of her childhood, and their prolific leader.

Ace. She rarely saw him anymore, but her gut still boiled when she thought of how she had been manipulated, and how close her blind stupidity had come to costing her sisters' lives. They had never really forgiven her for that, she knew, despite their assurances to the contrary. But how was she to know what he was planning? He was so much older, so much more mature, than any guy she had known back then, and his company had been almost a relief, despite his ludicrous sidekicks and rather crummy living conditions.

Straightening, Buttercup pushed those thoughts aside and set off at a brisk pace. Her appreciation of the day had been soured by her sisters' attitudes. And who was Blossom to give her lectures about relationships anyway? It wasn't as if she had never done anything stupid before. And Bubbles…Buttercup smirked meanly. Bubbles had no idea what it was like to have that sort of connection. She was such a goody two-shoes. Neither of her sisters had ever felt the thrill of adventure in the way she had, so how could they possibly understand? Buttercup scuffed her foot along the pavement as she walked, thoroughly angry now. So was so caught up with her own thoughts, in fact, that it took her a while to notice that she had walked straight past her turn-off. She swivelled and made to retrace her steps, before pausing.

It was irrational, but a sudden desire to see Ace again had begun to sweep over her. A little voice inside her warned her of the dangers, but Buttercup brushed it aside with characteristic ease. A quick glance up both ends of the street assured her that she was alone. Without too much thought, she righted and continued on the way she had been going, headed towards the Town Dump, where she knew Ace still lived. It was easy to quell her thoughts and allow her teenage rebellion and anger with Blossom to propel her forwards.

Walking as quickly as was possible without drawing attention to herself, Buttercup reached her destination within ten minutes. Her feet slowed as she approached the once familiar house, tension building within her at the thought of where she was. But there was little time to prepare herself; Ace stood at the doorway as if he had been waiting for her.

His face went instantly blank when he saw her. He had grown relatively little from their younger days, but he still towered over her; scrappy black hair framed his face, and the shadow of a beard darkened his chin. Indeed, his entire persona felt dark. A shiver ran down Buttercup's spine as she approached him.

"Ace," she inclined her head, not sure what to say and uncomfortable under his steady but expressionless gaze. "I-"

"What are you doing here?" his tone was wary, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Buttercup felt a wave of recklessness coming over her, and she stepped forward with a grin.

"Well, it's been such a long time," she simpered sarcastically. Ace inclined his head condescendingly, and pulled a cigarette from behind his ear. Buttercup was reminded forcefully of Butch, and her stomach tightened. "I guess I wanted to see what you were up to."

"Mhmm, you mean this isn't some ploy to bust my ass and throw me in jail for a couple of years?" He took a long drag, and blew the smoke towards her. "You know you shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" she challenged defensively, not liking the way he spoke to her as if she was a still in kindergarten. "I'm not a kid anymore. I don't take orders from anyone."

"Really?" Ace drew out his vowels with irritating laziness. "But you are so controlled Buttercup."

She frowned at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean," Ace leaned casually against the wall. "When do you ever do anything you're not told to do?"

"All the time," she snapped. "Nobody told me to come and see you today."

"And I bet you're shit scared, aren't you?" There was a challenge in Ace's voice.

"No."

"Then why are you standing so far away?" he asked quietly, his brown eyes piercing hers. He took a final drag on his cigarette and tucked it back behind his ear. "Why not come closer, if you're so unafraid?"

She had no answer to this. Raising her chin stubbornly, she took several deliberate steps forwards until she was standing directly in front of the former gang leader. He smirked, and as quick as a bird of prey, reached out and pulled her towards him, twisting so that she was wedged between his body and the hard wall of his house.

"That's better," he breathed, his breath smoky and warm. Buttercup knew that she could throw him off of her in an instant if she wanted, but for some reason she remained still as stone. His hands did not move from where they clamped her waist, and his eyes stayed steadily on her face. "Don't you think?"

"You know you can't touch me," she replied with more confidence than she felt. After all, she had not fought anybody for a long time. And Ace certainly looked powerful.

"But you want me to don't you?" he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, his hand moving from her waist to her breast. "You want me to, or you wouldn't be here."

"No," roughly, she pushed at Ace's chest until he stepped backwards, then skirted around him. "No I don't want you to."

"Then why are you here?" Ace didn't look annoyed, just amused. He reclaimed his smouldering cigarette and, noticing her staring, held out the packet for her. "Want one?"

Usually she would have said no instantly, as she had to Butch on the beach. But for some reason she found herself incapable of refusing; Ace's taunts still rang loudly in her ears. Silently, she held out her hand.

The smoke was coarse and painful as she breathed it in, and it took all of her self control not to cough like an amateur. Ace watched her thoughtfully, his head titled slightly to the side as if he were deep in consideration. Buttercup had to admit he had grown a lot handsomer since their childhood. His hair was not so lanky, though still long, and his face seemed less greasy somehow. She could not pinpoint it exactly, but he was just more…more human.

And yet she had never felt as dissatisfied with his appearance.

"Take a picture," he scorned, turning suddenly and disappearing inside his house. For a moment Buttercup hesitated, battling with indecision and the wise voice which told her she should leave. But then she heard Blossom's voice echoing in her skull, 'You remember what happened with Ace, don't you' and before she recognised what she was doing she had dived after him. After all, she had not come all this way simply to be left standing alone after five minutes. And something about Ace's abrupt movement had intrigued her. It was as if he had come instantly to a decision.

Inside it was smoky and dim; it had the atmosphere of a den, but the room was surprisingly clean. "Discovered your inner housewife I see," she remarked derisively, standing uncomfortably in the lounge room. Ace wandered into the kitchen and returned with a bottle and two glasses. Warning bells began to sound in Buttercup's head-a distant memory of past mistakes and lessons she was supposed to have learnt-but she brushed them off and sat heavily on the floor alongside the gang leader.

"What? Aren't I allowed to care about appearance?" he asked with feigned innocence. She snorted and accepted the drink he handed her. It burnt her throat as she swallowed, so she took a bigger mouthful to hide her discomfort. Stupid, whispered something within her. She got rid of that with another swig as well.

"You're supposed to be a dirty drug dealer," she explained, finishing her glass and resolving not to drink anymore. It was strong stuff, whatever it was; already she felt slightly unsteady. But when Ace raised the bottle questioningly, she found herself nodding, and bringing the glass to her lips again as if someone else was controlling her body.

"A dirty drug dealer?" Ace nudged her, for she had stopped talking.

"Yeah! A dirty criminal, not some tidy old woman," she rolled her eyes and realised she had emptied another glass. "You've gone soft."

"Hardly," Ace's eyes were like dark whirlpools in the dim light; no, they were actually moving! Freaked, Buttercup closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Ace was a lot closer to her.

"Another drink, Buttercup?" he handed her the bottle this time, and she glanced blearily at the label. She blinked at it, noting in surprise that it was in another language. She was drinking foreign alcohol!

"What is this?"

"Oh, just something I've had for a while," Ace grinned and leaned forwards, his face merely inches from her. Buttercup's head reeled as she tried to lean backwards. How had she gotten against the wall? That didn't make sense. "You know, lying around."

"Yeah," she was, of course, in total control of this situation. She was a superhero, she reminded herself, and she didn't let circumstances get out of hand. She would put up with this for just a minute longer, until her head stopped spinning; then she would leave.

Ace's lips brushed her cheek. They were warm and moist against her skin. Not entirely displeasing. But they weren't what she wanted. "You want to know something?" he asked her huskily, lips moving to the other cheek. His body was almost on top of her by now, and she felt herself getting mad.

"What?"

"One more sip," he brought the bottle to her lips and tilted it into her mouth. The liquid gushed down her throat and she choked. "Good girl. Now, where was I?" He kissed her lips, and she struggled to turn her head away. The room swayed dangerously. "Oh that's right. You want to know something?"

Buttercup couldn't reply. It didn't make sense, her last shred of reason argued adamantly. She hadn't drunk that much. Why was she so totally out of it? What was in that stuff?

"Well I'll tell you," Ace's hand brushed her breasts and cupped itself around her neck. "I've wanted you for a long time Buttercup."

Liar. This was wrong. She had to get up. But her body was totally unresponsive to her commands.

"A long, long, long time," he hissed in her ear, his voice low and ominous. "And now-" his other hand snaked to her neck- "I've finally got you."

His hands began to squeeze.

Buttercup's utter stupidity hit her with the force of a train. The creep was strangling her! Panic sirens blared in her head, and she struggled viciously. Or she thought she struggled viciously. Her body was lethargic and slow…had he drugged her? And he was strong. Stars began to sparkle in her vision, and she gasped in vain for air. But it was little use. He was simply too powerful.

Her mind began to clamour, and for some strange reason the same image permeated her thoughts again and again, even as the rest of her body began to sag from lack of oxygen.

Butch. Butch. Butch. Butch.

Hot tears pricked at her eyes. She had not envisaged dying this way, drugged in Ace's living room, strangled to death by the leader of the Gangreen Gang. That was not romantic. It was not courageous. It was not even interesting. It was stupid.

Butch. Butch. Butch.

What would Ace do with her body once he had killed her? Throw her in the river? Bury her in his backyard? Return her to her family? Or maybe he would simply feed her to his dogs; she remembered he had terrifying dogs.

Butch. Butch.

What would her family say? Her poor sisters. Her poor father. Blossom was right. She should never have come here. It was idiotic. Why did she never listen to her sisters?

Butch…Butch…

She was blacking out now. Even a superhero couldn't last forever without air. If only she hadn't ignored Butch at lunch today, maybe none of this would have happened. Why was she so rude to him? She couldn't even remember now.

Butch…

Her hands had gone numb. Now her arms. And her legs. She could feel her energy slowly draining out of her. This was it then. This was the end. Buttercup gave a choked cry in the darkness; her head slipped slowly backwards, and hit the wall with a dull thud.

There was a strange roaring her ears. Was death a waterfall? There were no hands around her neck now, so she had to be dead. Maybe heaven was a giant river? But there were loud crashes all around her. That didn't make sense at all; wasn't heaven meant to be peaceful?

"Buttercup!" Male voice. Male voice. That had been a male voice. She was sure of it. And it wasn't Ace's. She tried to open her eyes or make a sound, but she had no power over her own body; she ordered her eyelids to open sternly, but they remained tightly shut. Her arms too refused to obey her; they were comfortable and limp and did not want to be engaged in any more activity. This was ridiculous.

A warm pressure now covered her mouth, and it occurred to Buttercup that someone was kissing her. What an inappropriate time to be kissing, she thought hazily. There was just no need…and she recognised those lips. Yes, she definitely knew this mouth.

And suddenly a gust of air seemed to shoot through her, travelling from her aching throat deep into her lungs and filling her chest with life giving oxygen. Another breath, then another, and another, and at last her arms were obeying her. More air, and the life seemed to be returning to her toes. One more, and her lungs sputtered to life and began doing the job themselves. She was alive.

For a minute all she could do was lie there-why was she lying down?-and breathe. There was somebody beside her; that much she could ascertain without sight. And he was laughing. She could distinctly make out a deep, barking, almost insane laugh echoing around her skull.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and the laughter stopped abruptly. She felt herself helped into a sitting position. There were strong, supportive arms around her, and she sagged into them gratefully.

"Do you have any idea," warm breath washed over her neck, and for a moment she was reminded of Ace. But no, this was not Ace, the voice was deeper, less composed. More familiar. "How many years you just wiped off my life?"

She knew who it was.

Surely she must be dead then. This could not possibly be reality; her reality. This was just a delirious passage of time before she truly died, while her brain sorted through all its dreams and fantasies. What a shame. Her body went limp in disappointment and her eyes closed again.

"Buttercup?" his voice was urgent now. In fact, it sounded full of fear. He lifted her up and shook her slightly. "Buttercup say something!"

She tried to make her throat work, but it screamed bloody murder at her and refused to make even the slightest whisper. Perhaps God had taken her voice box away as punishment for the stupid way she had allowed herself to die?

"Buttercup!" the mouth was back on hers, warm and firm. Another breath of air; she wished he would he stop blowing at her like a whale? Figuring she was dead anyway and whatever she did from here did not really matter, Buttercup indulged herself and opened her mouth a little further; her tongue grazed against his lips.

Immediately the comforting pressure of his mouth vanished. "Buttercup you shit," he cursed, though he sounded happy. "Stop messing around. You're killing me. Are you alright or not?"

She would have to tell him, explain to him that she was not alive. He just didn't seem to get it.

"Dead…" she finally croaked, her voice like grating sandpaper.

Another bark of laughter. "You came close, trust me. What the hell are you doing here Buttercup? I've been looking for you all night. Do you understand how near you were to dying? If I hadn't-" he stopped, because a tear had suddenly leaked out of the corner of her eye.

"Not…dead…?"

The arms supporting her tightened somewhat, for which Buttercup was grateful. She felt totally incapable of grasping reality right now. Her throat burned like hellfire, her head was spinning from the effects of whatever noxious poison she had unwittingly swallowed, and her thoughts were slowly emerging from a state of death. All in all, she felt like crap.

"You need to sleep," she was being lain down again. Panic seized her at the thought of being left alone. But he did not for one second release his grip of her, and slowly her fear subsided as she began to slip out of consciousness.

There was a momentary pressure on her forehead. "Sleep, Buttercup."

"Don't…go…"

"I'm not going anywhere. I promise," Butch touched his lips to her brow once more, then settled in to hold her while she slept.