Epilogue

-Blossom's POV, 5 years later-

The very unwelcome sound of my ringtone rang out in the previously quiet bedroom. Half between sleep and waking, the both of us groaned, shifting and trying to block out the noise.

As a part-time intern at Townsville's renowned Biomedical Research Institute, as well as a grad student at University of Townsville part-time, it went without saying that sleep did not come to me easily. Especially considering I had stayed at the lab past midnight last night. And I resented that my precious sleep was being taken from me.

After about the fourth time my phone started to ring, a hand squeezed my waist, jolting me straight into consciousness. I grunted in protest.

"Bloss," Brick's husky half-asleep half-awake voice was in my ear. Not unwelcome whatsoever. "Answer phone."

"Mmmnnnn," I tried, my voice not coming out the way I wanted it to. I tried again. "No," I said successfully this time.

"Bloss," Brick said again, pleading.

"No," I said, burying my face into my pillow. The phone stopped ringing for about a minute. The both of us sighed in relief.

And then it began ringing for the fifth consecutive time. We groaned.

"Blossom, I beg of you," Brick said to me, sitting up slightly and sounding a little more awake. "Your phone is two seconds from being burnt to charred metal. I'm serious."

Groaning again, with all my might, I heaved myself up from the pillow and blanket haven of our king-sized bed and picked up my phone grouchily, flopping back down onto my pillow. I answered the call with bleary eyes without bothering to check who was blowing up my phone at 6 AM on a Saturday morning. "Yeah?" I shot out as soon as I answered, my eyes shutting.

"Blossom!" Bubbles' voice burst through the receiver at a volume that jangled my nerves and made my eyes snap open again. "Why weren't you answering your phone? I've been trying to call you! Butch and Boomer have, too!"

"Sleep," I muttered, rubbing my eyes with my free hand. "A natural process that every living being does nightly as a means to recharge. Perhaps you should try it." I felt Brick slink closer to me on the bed, and he wrapped his arm across me as his face buried into the nook of my neck, sighing. The stubble on his cheek and chin brushed against my skin pleasantly, and his warmth, along with the steady beat of his heart against me, helped ease my irritation. I stroked his hair back from his forehead as I always did when we cuddled.

"Blossom, it's Buttercup!" Bubbles yelled into my ear. "She won't stop throwing up!"

A spike of fear went through my middle, adrenaline waking my brain with a slap. I jolted and sat up, knocking Brick's arm off of me. "Is she…sick?" I asked, panic flooding my voice all at once. Brick sat up next to me in bed like someone had thrown cold water on him.

"We don't know! Blossom, Boomer and I are on our way to Professor's house to see her. You guys should get over there, too. Quick. She needs us."

Fight or flight had kicked in hard, and my hands were shaking. "Okay," I said quietly first, distress constricting my throat, then I said louder, "Okay!"

Bubbles hung up, and I flung my phone to the floor, jumping from the bed. Having heard Bubbles' voice on the call, Brick scrambled off the bed, too.

"We have to go. Right now," I said to him, throwing open a clothes drawer, searching for a shirt I could throw on. I found my white t-shirt that said 'Warner University Grad' on it in orange letters, and I decided to settle for that, tossing it onto the bed as I yanked my nightgown over my head at the same time. "Get dressed!" I told him, my voice muffled by fabric as I pulled on the t-shirt.

"I heard! I am!" Brick said, already stripping off his favorite t-shirt to sleep in that had 'ARMSTRONG' across it, along with cartoony caricatures of both Louie Armstrong and Niel Armstrong, heroes of two things he loved—swing music and space travel. Shirtless, looking through one of his shirt drawers for a fresh one, he asked me, buried worry in his tone, "Do you think…?" He trailed off, already knowing I was thinking the same as him.

Finishing putting my hair up into a messy ponytail with a hair tie I'd had around my wrist, I dropped to my knees in front of the chest of drawers. "Oh God," I lamented, yanking open my drawer with jeans and sweatpants in it. I pulled out the first pair of jeans I saw. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

"We don't know yet," Brick told me as I sat on the edge of our bed, putting my legs into my pants. "We don't know….it might not be…" he trailed off again. His wavering reassurances were not helping me feel better.

"Not again. No, no, no. This can't be happening again, this can't be happening." I stood again and yanked on the tops of my jeans, tugging them up with the belt loops and hurriedly zipping and buttoning them. "It's been five years now with no problems. Chemical Y can't have degraded, right? Not already!"

"Do you feel okay?" Brick asked me after tugging one of his favorite burgundy sweatshirts over his head. As he pulled the collar down, some strands of his hair stood up with static electricity.

I rushed across our bedroom, swinging open the closet door to get to my shoes and jackets. "I mean, not currently! But I was just fine before the phone call. I think. Even though I was asleep." I paused, putting my hand against my forehead as I halfway thrust my feet into a pair of ballet flats. "I don't have a headache."

Brick seemed reassured by this. "Did Bubbles say anything about feeling sick, too? She didn't, right?" He stepped into a pair of jeans as he asked.

I stopped, my mind wheeling back to the phone call. Then I said, "…No. You're right, she didn't. She just seemed pretty freaked out about Buttercup. But she didn't say anything about herself one way or the other, she just wants us to get there."

"All right, good. Then let's just try to keep as calm as possible and get there fast." Brick was sitting on the edge of our bed, shoving on his shoes which were already on his side of the bed.

I left into our walk-in closet. "You're right, you're right. God, you're right. Gotta stay calm. Staying calm. Just need to—" I paused, then shouted, whirling around, "Where the hell is my jacket?"

"Which jacket?"

I was digging through the closet now, rummaging like mad through the section where I had hung up all of our jackets by color. Why, oh why, did we have so many jackets? I shouted to him distractedly, "The pink—The one with pockets, no hood, the one I've been wearing all the time latel—God, where the hell did I put it?!"

"Here," Brick said, suddenly behind me, already fully dressed and holding out both my jacket and my phone to me calmly. I sighed in relief and took them from his hands, and he grabbed my face, kissing my forehead before he told me again, "We're all right. We're okay. Calm. Let's just get there."

I shoved my right arm through the right sleeve of my jacket as I took a deep breath and then breathed out slowly. "Right. Calm. Got it."

Brick told me to sit on the edge of the bed again, dropping to his knees so he could fix my shoes, putting the heels of my feet inside of them instead of my feet being on top of the backs of them—it drove him crazy when I did that when I was in a hurry. Half of my pairs of flats and sneakers were bent out of shape from this bad habit of mine.

Then as Brick grabbed his phone from his nightstand, the two of us hurriedly left our apartment, took the elevator down to the lobby, and left our building into the cool morning.

"Mr. and Mrs. Utonium!" Greeted the doorman to our apartment building. He tipped his uniform cap at us. "So early on this Saturday morning! What's the hurry? Duty calling?"

"Something like that," I said to him over my shoulder as we left, waving as Brick waved to him also. "See you later, Jamie!"

Since our modest, family-only exchange of vows at the Townsville Courthouse the previous summer, followed by our weeklong trip to Antarctica as our honeymoon, it had taken a while to get used to people addressing us that way instead of just 'Blossom and Brick'. Additionally, it had taken months before people finally stopped asking Brick why he had taken my last name instead of the other way around.

"It only felt right to become a Utonium instead of staying a Jojo," he had always responded. And he had always left out the unfortunate fact that his old surname had been borrowed in the first place from one of his creators, who happened to be just a regular chimpanzee now and didn't even remember him.

The two of us walked further down the sidewalk, away from our building. The sidewalks and street were still somewhat empty, and the sun was barely rising in the sky—the sunrise colored the skyline.

The both of us looked up and down the walkway, making sure the coast was clear to take off. Then, clasping our hands together, Brick and I took off into the sky, deciding flying to my childhood home would be our fastest and surest bet for an emergency.

The public was still none the wiser about Mojo. For all they knew, Mojo had disappeared and never returned—though that wasn't entirely false either.

The boys had decided that it was better this way, that the public didn't know the truth. They decided it was better that he kept some modicum of dignity. It was what he would have wanted, they'd said.

Though Mojo had never in any capacity been a proper father figure to them, he still brought them into this world. And it was because of that that they'd had a difficult and confusing mourning period for him. They had never loved him, and Mojo had never loved them, either. But for so long, he was all they had.

They also preferred not to interact with Jojo whenever they visited Professor. It made them uneasy, seeing their creator in such a state. And not being recognized by who was essentially just an animal now.

We made it to the quiet residential street in no time, and we landed on the front lawn in front of Professor's quiet home.

"Crap," I said as soon as we reached the red front door. "I just realized I left my key at home." Somewhere in our apartment sat my neat keyring of the abundance of keys I had accumulated over the years, and among them was the house key I still had for my childhood home—red to match the door. I smacked a hand to my forehead. "In our rush to get here, I forgot it."

"No worries. You said Bubbles and Boomer were already here, right?" Brick asked, and before I answered, he reached forward to ring the doorbell. Ah. Yes. The doorbell. Of course. In my moment of further panic, I had apparently forgotten about the existence of it altogether.

The next moment, the front door swung open, Bubbles standing on the other side of it. Long light hair in her signature tousled, beachy waves, she was wearing her purple Moriah's Café apron over her regular clothes. She had likely been getting ready for work when she'd been alerted about Buttercup. "You're here!" She exclaimed, stepping back from the doorway so that we could enter. "That was fast. Thank God."

Brick walked inside first, and as I came in after him, I was enfolded into a relieved hug by my sister, the bangle bracelets on her wrists colliding with each other and making tinkering noises. I hugged her back tightly. "Of course. We rushed over as quick as we could," I told her, leaning back from our hug to look her in the face. "How is she?" I asked.

With a sigh, Bubbles responded, "She's been between Professor's lab and the bathroom for the past couple hours now. He's running tests and trying to figure out what's wrong. She's absolutely miserable." Her eyes were worried, of course, but her grin showed that she was trying to stay optimistic. As usual, her makeup was perfect, which reminded me that I didn't have any on. Even when she was worried she looked amazing, and exactly as young and fresh-faced as she was in her teen years.

One could almost say she wasn't aging at all, even though she had been working her butt off to become co-manager at Moriah's Café ever since she started working there our second year of college. That place wouldn't be the same without her and her amazing recipes—especially from her huge exposure as a popular baking blogger.

"Let's just try to remain calm," I told her, echoing Brick's previous statements to me before we'd left. "Worrying over her won't help Professor figure out what's wrong." I grabbed her left hand, leading her over with me to sit on the couch. "Let's sit down." Pointedly, I lifted her hand, letting the sizable ring on her ring finger glint in the overhead light, and joked, "So you can give your hand a rest from all this heavy lifting."

Her expression lightened as she actually laughed. "Oh, stop." Then she turned to the other side of the room, where Brick was standing with Boomer. She interrupted their low conversation as she said to him, "Did you hear that, honey? Your ring was complimented for the billionth time."

It was ornate but gorgeous. It had three stones—a princess cut aquamarine with a smaller white diamond on each side of it, in a white gold band with butterflies carved into it. A total princess ring. I did love it on her because it fit her perfectly, but I loved my own ring even more—a teardrop cut pink diamond on a simple single rose gold band. It was more me.

Ever since Boomer officially proposed seven months ago, though they had discussed and planned getting married for years, Bubbles hadn't stopped gushing about the dream ring the love of her life had designed himself to anybody who would listen.

Boomer, with most of his jaw length light hair stuffed back into a blue beanie, although some strands managed to spill out on the sides, turned toward us. "Hey, thanks, Bloss!" He said to me with a half wave. "I never get tired of hearing that."

He looked as worried as Bubbles did, though both of them tried to conceal it in the same way—a grin was on his face, too, although it was strained. Also just like Bubbles, there was no sign of any aging on his features whatsoever. He looked like a teenager still. Perhaps it was just that I was used to seeing him all the time, but Brick didn't seem to be aging either, at least not like our human ex-classmates and co-workers were.

It was peculiar.

Being back in this living room again after a while felt so strange. Every time I came here these days, it reminded me of the time when we were confined to this place like a prison, when this house was all that was left of our world. But as always, I tried to swallow the bad memories back.

That wasn't how I wanted to remember my childhood home. I wanted it to remind me of only the good times.

Smiling slightly at Boomer, I gestured down at his hand as Bubbles and I sat side by side on the couch. "Just come from your studio?"

He looked down at his own fingers, which were smudged with charcoal and pastels. "Oh," he chuckled slightly. "Yeah, I was working on some commissions. But when Bubbles called I left immediately, didn't have time to wash my hands."

"There should be some antibacterial soap by the sink in the kitchen," I told him.

Nodding in thanks, Boomer turned to leave to the kitchen, and Brick sent me a reassuring smile before he left with him. When the two disappeared through the kitchen entryway, I turned to Bubbles. She had watched them leave, too.

Wanting to keep conversation light for now, at least until we would get an update on Buttercup, I asked her, "So, how are the wedding plans coming along? You need any help with anything yet?"

Bubbles sighed, weary. "Actually, I got the budget and the guest list worked out. I've also planned out the details of the cake." One of the first things Bubbles had planned for the wedding was that she would bake their wedding cake. "But now I need to find a dress, and figure out catering, videographer, photographer—and oh geez, the florists! Do you have any idea how many florists I need to hire? There needs to be flowers everywhere! And where the heck am I going to find a horse-drawn carriage?"

She and Boomer were, of course, having a big, beautiful fairytale wedding. But when she had decided to plan everything herself instead of hiring a wedding planner, I don't think she had considered just how much work went into planning big, beautiful weddings. And I just knew she would need my organization and planning skills eventually.

I took her hand again. "I told you I'd be here when you need me," I reminded her, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'll help with all the hiring. I'll make sure everything goes smoothly."

She let out a breath. "Thanks, Bloss. That's such a relief."

"And Buttercup and I will come with you to find your dress," I said. Then my stomach shifted at what I'd said. I saw a similar look of discomfort spread on Bubbles' face. I tightened my grip on her hand. "We will."

The fear had come back to Bubbles' face full force, and this time she didn't try to grin to hide it. "What if she's sick again, Blossom?" Her voice was small. "What if we're sick?"

Shaking my head, I said, "No. Don't say that. I'm sure Buttercup will be fine." But even as I'd said that I couldn't ignore the way I churned inside.

Boomer and Brick returned to the living room, and they came over to sit with us on the couch. The four of us fell silent. And when we had been sitting there quietly for a few minutes, suddenly, the sound of a door opening filled the space.

The basement door had opened, and three pairs of footsteps came through. "Easy, easy. Not too fast," came a voice. Butch's voice. "Don't wanna get dizzy again, do you?"

"All right, all right." Buttercup. My heart flew up into my throat.

Buttercup, with Professor steadying her at her side and Butch behind her, appeared in the kitchen doorway. I held my breath at her appearance. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were glassy, lips pressed together hard. But even looking as relatively rough as she did, she was still young looking, as was Butch, even with the scruffy almost-beard look that he was trying out currently. Wasn't a huge fan of it, personally.

She looked up from her feet, seeing all of us sitting in the living room, and a weak wry smile came onto her face. "Welcome to the party," she said, her voice rough.

Butch groaned at her attempt at a joke, but he waved at us, half distracted. "Hey guys, thanks for coming."

The four of us stayed quiet, tension flooding the room. Then I was the one to speak first. "How are you?" I asked Buttercup, knowing she wasn't well but feeling the need to ask anyway.

She grunted as Professor helped her sit in the armchair, one of Professor's recent additions to the room. "Been better," she said. She paused warily before she asked me, "You?"

I knew what she was asking. She wanted to make sure we weren't feeling sick like she was. Bubbles and I exchanged a look, and then I answered, "We're feeling okay. But we're worried about you."

"So it's just me puking like it's my job," Buttercup said, nodding with bitter acceptance. "Fantastic." Butch rested a hand on top of her head. Her hair was still in her pixie haircut. It turned out she had taken a strong liking to it five years ago and kept it up ever since. She liked that she didn't have to tie it up while she instructed part time at her Wing Chun dojo.

Professor said, "I'm finishing running Buttercup's blood test, it shouldn't be too long now. And now I have to test both of your vitals, just to be sure," he said to Bubbles and me, looking at us with a worried frown. "I know you don't currently feel any negative symptoms, but we can't be too careful."

The two of us nodded. "Of course," Bubbles said.

As we remained sitting on the couch, Professor checked our blood pressure, listened to our hearts, and look a sample of saliva from each of us to test down in his lab, and he was gone down to the lab again. I tried very hard not to think of how this reminded me so vividly of our darkest days. The room was silent until Butch spoke up.

"So," he said, nodding toward Brick and I, "how are the old married couple doing? Still the image of marital bliss?"

I appreciated him bringing up a subject that felt easy to talk about, to distract us all from what we were inevitably thinking of. I glanced over at Brick, a quiet grin on my lips. He grinned back at me. "Yup," said Brick proudly.

Buttercup shook her head, pretending to sneer at us. "Disgusting," she said.

"Hey, now," I said, pointing at her. "Just because some people don't believe in marriage doesn't mean it's not perfect for others." I leaned my face on Brick's shoulder. "Right, sweetie?" Brick smirked and leaned in to kiss me on the tip of my nose.

"Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your piece of paper the government gave you," Butch said, though he was smiling. Then he leaned down, wrapping his arms around Buttercup's shoulders lightly. "Some of us don't need it."

Buttercup tilted her head back slightly, looking up at him as she nodded. Then she picked up his left hand, bit it, and said, "Mine."

"Wait 'til you see our wedding," Bubbles said to them, reaching over to squeeze Boomer's knee.

Boomer, stretching his arm across her shoulders, added in agreement, "Our perfect wedding."

Bubbles looked at Buttercup, shrugging a shoulder. "You might change your mind."

"Not likely," Buttercup replied, lifting an eyebrow. I believed her. It took a lot for Buttercup to change her mind about anything, and I definitely didn't think that she and Butch would be rushing to walk down the aisle when they firmly believed it was just a social construct.

A few minutes later, as we'd continued talking about things—happier things, like Butch's stories that surrounded the other mechanics he worked with part-time, or Brick's adventures in grad school to become a part-time university professor himself—Professor ran up the stairs, through the kitchen and returning to the living room. It was quiet in an instant as we all took in his sudden rushed reappearance.

"What is it?" I asked Professor as he bent over to catch his breath. He looked…enthused about something. Certainly not worried, as he had looked before.

Still breathing hard, Professor answered me. "I finished running the blood test. And, well, Buttercup. I don't know how you'll receive this news…but, in my opinion, it's good news. Very good news." Behind him, Jojo ambled through the kitchen from the basement door, pausing to stare at all of us from the kitchen entryway.

Buttercup sat up straighter in the armchair, face becoming hopeful. "I'm not dying?"

"Even better." Professor was smiling. Jojo came over to his side, then sat on the floor, observing the room.

Buttercup was confused now. Her face scrunched up as she asked, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Professor had a light to his eyes that looked suspiciously like restrained joy. I wondered why he looked like that…then immediately found out why. "Buttercup, it looks like you'll be eating breakfast burritos, burgers and pizza for two now."

All six of us had frozen up, speechlessness ambushing us once again, this time for completely opposite reasons.

Butch was the only one who dared respond first to such a shocking revelation. His voice was thin. "…Excuse me?"

Professor went on jovially, as if not even noticing any of our reactions. "Indeed, I'm surprised that she's only just showing symptoms after two months. But I suspect she'll be having them more frequently from now on."

"Oh my God," Bubbles whispered, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Professor said, "Butch, I expect you'll be a good father. Although it would be good if you didn't spoil your child the way you spoil Buttercup. But to each their own, I suppose."

Both my hands had been covering my mouth, and slowly, I moved them to my heart so that I could speak clearly. "Professor…" I trailed off, disbelief coloring my tone. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Professor kept going, his face practically glowing with joy by now. "I suppose Chemical Y does allow a better environment for life, just as we—just as I had hoped. I am so thrilled. I'm going to be a grandpapa!" He clasped his hands together in front of him with a clap.

"Buttercup?" Bubbles' voice was filled with restrained joy just as Professor's voice had been. She had come off of the couch and was squatted down in front of Buttercup, where she remained frozen sitting, staring blankly ahead at the wall. "Are you okay?"

"She's just staring." Boomer pointed out, staring down at her too. "Is she even breathing?"

"Yeah," I said, cringing in sympathy. "She's just shocked, I think." Then, something occurring to me suddenly, I dug into my pocket for my phone.

Brick asked, looking equal parts concerned and amused as he gazed at his brother, who was also frozen and staring, "What about Butch? He's not saying anything else."

"Guys? Hey, guys!" Boomer waved his hands in front of Butch's face, then turned to wave his hands in front of Buttercup's face. Neither of them even flinched. "Guys. Blink twice if you haven't blacked out with your eyes open."

"Oh my God. Babe," Brick started, suddenly turning to me.

I held up a finger, already typing on my phone with one hand. "On it. Texting my gyno about birth control as we speak. And, send," I said as I hit send.

Brick sighed, gripping his own forehead. "Thank God." We may have been the only 'old married couple' of the group thus far, but we were certainly not ready for babies, at least not until grad school was behind us both. Especially now that we knew that they were now possible.

Professor interrupted all of our bewildered reactions. "Of course, Buttercup, if you're not ready for this kind of responsibility…or, of course, don't want it…I would oblige." All of us had sobered instantly, and from his face, I could tell it pained him to even mention this. "If you decide you want to terminate it, I wouldn't blame you nor stand in your way."

"…No."

Startled, and even more shocked, we all stared at Buttercup, who had finally spoken. "Buttercup?" I was the only one who responded to her.

She had both hands pressed to her lower abdomen, staring up at Professor with a look of determination, eyes narrowed like she was in full-on battle warrior mode. "No," she said again. Her tone said that there would be no arguments, no changing her mind. "I…I want it. I want to keep it."

Silence echoed momentarily as we all processed this, taking in what this meant for her, for Butch, for all of us. Then the rest of us were standing, animated and thrilled.

Bubbles covered her mouth with her hands as her eyes glistened. "Oh, Buttercup!" she cried. She looked over the moon to be an auntie already.

Professor's smile had returned now, and completely unreserved—he was beaming. I rushed over to the armchair and bent toward my sister, hugging my arms around Buttercup's shoulders briefly, trying to contain myself.

I had to decide what kind of auntie I would be. Bubbles would almost certainly be the overbearing, baby-voiced, face-pinching auntie. Maybe I would be the auntie that read literature to the baby so that it would form a developed vocabulary and healthy love for books.

Butch had finally unfrozen, at first swaying between each foot as if he were about to fall over, and then he dropped heavily to his knees at Buttercup's feet. He looked terrified, staring up at her. Buttercup stared back at him, saying nothing and appearing unsure for a moment. Then Butch reached for one of Buttercup's hands, enfolding it in both of his tightly and pressing a kiss on her knuckles.

"Okay," he said finally, in a tender voice. The way that he gazed up into her face in this moment made me positive that he would, without a single doubt, follow her to the ends of the Earth if she asked him to. He nodded ever so slightly, whispering this time, "Okay."

Buttercup had mirrored his terror at first. But at his affirmation that he wanted this too, and that he would be ready if she was, her fear faded—first into soft surprise, then her eyes softened, and surprise turned into a rare public show of the deep devotion she held for him, that she would always have. She nodded. "Yeah," she said, breathless.

He smiled. She smiled.

Abruptly interrupting the moment they were having, she jolted, the hand she had on her abdomen coming up to clutch her stomach. "Oh, God. It's happening again," she yelled. "Hurl, hurl, hurl!"

Butch let go of her hand, scrambling to get up and fly to the kitchen as he shouted, "I'll get the bucket!"

Sometime later, after Buttercup stopped throwing up again, after all our excited talk faded and after Professor railed off a long, detailed list of This-Is-Not-Allowed-During-Pregnancy things, which he had apparently already prepared long ago just in case, he proceeded to give the 25-page long guide to Butch, entrusting it to him.

And that was when all 6 of our hotline notifications went off on our phones.

There was an organized robbery happening downtown.

All six of us rushed out of the front door, preparing to take off—though not before Professor instructed Buttercup not to fight too recklessly for the sake of the baby, resulting in her groaning in annoyance.

Butch wrapped his arms around her from behind as they walked, leaning down over her shoulder to kiss her cheek. Bubbles laughed, grabbed Boomer's hand, and then reached over with her free hand to affectionately pat our sister's stomach, which of course didn't have a bump yet, but would grow one in the coming months. I hoped for Buttercup's sake that the baby wouldn't be a kicker.

As we stepped into the front lawn, I grabbed Brick's arm. He glanced back at me, a look of question in his eyes. I squeezed his forearm. "Just a sec," I told him. I rushed back through the door to find Professor perched on the arm of the couch, looking misty-eyed, just as I knew he would be.

He looked up to see me re-entering the house, and before he could fully form the question caught in his throat, I flew to him and gently threw my arms around his neck, hugging him. "Congratulations, Grandpa Professor," I said in his ear. I pulled back slightly, looking at him and beaming. "Or do you prefer grandpappy? Grandpapa?"

His tears had fallen as he laughed, hugging me back briefly. "I'm not sure yet. I suppose I have around seven months to decide which one I like best." He pulled out of our embrace. Despite the tears, he was practically glowing. "Thank you, sweetheart." He stepped back, grinning at me and making a shooing motion with his hand. "Now, go ahead. Our city needs you."

"We'll make you proud," I said as I began to back away.

Softly, he responded, voice catching, "I'm always proud."

I smiled, turning and walking back through the front door.

Buttercup, Butch, Bubbles, and Boomer had gone ahead, but Brick was still waiting there for me, face patient, but eyes quizzical. The wind was blowing slightly now—it wasn't natural wind, I realized. It was air stirred up from the distant battle. It blew long tendrils of his hair into his face, tiny strands getting caught in the sunlight and glowing. My heart clenched in the way that it sometimes did when I looked at him—when I saw him sleeping with drool on his chin, or laughing at his favorite movies, or frowning in concentration as he read and I couldn't believe how much I cherished him, how lucky I was.

Not ready for babies yet, certainly. Our current non-existent sleep cycles would thank us for that. But one day?

Absolutely.

And I would love them just as unquestioningly and as unconditionally.

He tilted his head at me, noticing my stare. "Everything good?" he asked me, a corner of his mouth lifting. He reached toward me for my hand.

I stretched my arm out, taking his hand in mine, our fingers lacing together and finding home. I nodded as I said to him, "Let's go. I'm sure the others are wondering where we are."

He grinned, nodding back at me. Then he inclined his head forward, half bowing. "Lead the way, m'lady."

I laughed, leaning in to kiss him just because.

The next moment, we took off into the air, and before we were out of full sight of the house, I glanced back at our front yard. Professor was standing on the front steps, holding hands with Jojo, and waving with his other hand as he watched us leave with pride.

Jojo watched us, too. Who knew what he could possibly be thinking. Sometimes when I looked at the chimp, I wondered if there were any lingering Mojo thoughts inside of that brain of his. I guess we would never know.

We soon arrived at the scene of the crime, and we jumped into battle seamlessly, and in conjunction, we worked for justice, safety, and light. We worked for the sake of goodness, just as we always would. My sisters and I, and he and his brothers.

Three of us, three of them. Forever.

Six of a kind we would always be.

Knowing that the day would once again be saved. As always and until the end.

"The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost." -Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The End