Angel ♡ Eyes

♡ Chapter 7

The thing about trying to come up with a reasoning, is that when putting thoughts into words... it doesn't always come across properly. This often results in a long chain of arguments, loud yelling, unnecessary comments, etc. criteria.

And when you put two people on the task of making an argument that'll prove them not to be insane, it tends to get a bit more chaotic. Especially when there's a deadline.

Brick had given Buttercup and Boomer until a place to lie-low was found. The whole day was full of Boomers wild, un-put together rambling, and Buttercups statistics and wide range of knowledge. Both arguing back and fourth over what made sense, what didn't, what sorta did, so on and so fourth.

It wasn't until the six stumbled upon an old, run-down, once-luxurious town, did the actual searching for a place to sleep happen. Much to the delight of Bubbles, who, for the past few hours, had been complaining about a headache. Blossom and Brick agreed upon a motel that was willing to give them a place to sleep in turn for work. No payment necessary.

The room itself wasn't anything special. It had a kitchen, two king beds, a couch that pulled out into a bed, a bathroom. The first thing Butch did was fall face-first onto a bed. Followed by Blossom who'd claimed the other bed. She sprawled out over the white sheets and debated weather or not to just fall asleep then and there.

"Buttercup, Boomer." Brick's harsh tone snapped everyone from their relaxed state. "I'm making the call unless you give me a reason not to."

"Are you always this problematic?" Bubbles had taken to lying down on the couch. Her blonde curls spoiling around her head like a halo. She had the face a cherub, but the smirk of a devil. Something Boomer had instantly noticed. She reminded him of an angel just then. Beautiful blue eyes that just sparkled.

"Problematic?" Brick turned a glare to the blonde girl. "I'm trying to get us--"

"Don't quite care right now." Bubbles yawned. Her eyes flicked to Boomer who she'd caught staring. She gave a little wave before looking back to the celling.

"Bubbles," Blossom warned.

"What?" The blonde giggled. "I don't care."

"The file." Buttercup broke in. "It all stems back to the file."

Brick grabbed a chair from the small table in the kitchen and sat down. "Okay."

"Back at the house-- cabin-- whatever you want to call it," Buttercup started. "I looked into the mission file. I wasn't expected to do that until later in the debrief. I saw the fear that flashed over the president's eyes when I mentioned I'd already read the file."

"Supposed fear isn't valid." Brick frowned. "If I remember correctly you said it had potential to turn bad and then refused to elaborate."

"No, no, no." Boomer held his hands up and waved frantically. He'd taken a step to the side, now in Brick's prefrail vision. "Listen, why would she be afraid unless she was hiding something? What if there was something on that file that held information about our mission, that we weren't supposed to know? Buttercup might of missed something--"

"It is possible. Rare, but entirely possible." Buttercup shrugged.

"--something that the president didn't want us to know. She might of made a whole 'nother file for us to read, one that wasn't with the real reason as to why we were going on this mission." Boomer had taken another confident step forward. "She'd of changed it by now though. After knowing Buttercup had access, she'd change that file and move the secret stuff to somewhere else. Maybe it's on paper instead of digital. Then, the blueprints. Those blueprints are proof that plane was a set up for something. It wasn't supposed to of lasted. And the piolet ejected and never even told us?"

"The plane is sketchy." Brick agreed. "But how does the plane tie in with the president?"

"That--!" Boomer broke off. His face grew from confident to shy as he rubbed the back of his neck. "We...uhh...We still haven't figured that out."

"Then I'm calling." Brick stood up but was pushed down by a large wind. He quickly looked over and saw Blossom sitting there with her hand outstretched. Ice curled around her fingers and her eyelashes had turned white. Frost bit her nose and the tips of her ears. Had she just shot him with an ice breeze? Brick narrowed his eyes at her.

"Listen." She urged. "I know my sister. She's got an amazing gut instinct. And she wouldn't just make stuff up."

"That I can agree with." Bubbles held her hand in the air as if she were mimicking raising a glass of champaign or beer.

"I don't care what you do or don't agree with." Brick rolled his eyes. "What matters is, is that I don't have concreete evidence that she's apart of some conspiracy. I'm on her detail. I'm sure I'd know if--"

"What evidence do you have that she's innocent?" Buttercup asked. "Other than a stupid gut feeling?"

Brick found himself fumbling to find words. Truth be told what her and Boomer were saying made some sense. But it was all a bunch of ifs and buts. No how's or whys. All good conspiracies are made of feelings that don't quite go with the flow of things. Some make sense, but then you read another that contradicts the first one and it makes sense too. So as much as he felt uneasy about the president, the whole situation, he couldn't just ignore the facts he was given.

Day one of the mission and it was already a complete shit-show.

Butch cleared his throat. "If I may?" He flicked up the collar of his leather jacket. "I'm not some big scientist know-it-all, but I am a firm believer in the president being an ass."

"Oh joy." Brick rolled his eyes. "Another opinion."

"No, I'm serious." Butch chuckled. "About a year back I was on a mission with... people. There was...a thing that needed to be done. Anyways, my buddy Mitch got into a barfight the night before our mission went down. The president replaced him with this guy Lumpkins. We debated not even doing the...thing that needed to be done. We'd been practicing and practicing for months. Training nonstop. It felt odd then that Mitch got into a barfight. Truth be told he wasn't really a bar guy. Anyways, during the mission, things went bad. Lumpkins went psycho and stated shooting at everyone. I got stuck in... a situation. Blood was everywhere. When I caught up to Lumpkins, he'd smirked and taken a cyanide pill before I could take him in. But before he died he'd mentioned something along the lines of: "Don' trus' yer govern prezz". Which I didn't think much of at the time, because he was a crazy psycho and I couldn't understand him over his thick accent." Butch was having a hard time keeping details in and sharing. He'd lost so many people that day. Comrades. Friends. Civilians. He'd ended up with a bullet in his thigh. It should of shattered his bone and paralyzed him to where he couldn't walk. Yet somehow, by some miracle, he'd left with just a scar and a month of physical therapy.

"Butch," Brick started. "I don't quite think--"

"I like it." Bubbles nodded. "Some psycho saying don't trust the president? Believable as it comes."

Blossom had a hard time deciding if she was being sarcastic or actually thought that. But decided to just ignore it.

"Don't call the president." Boomer pleaded. "If there's any doubt in your mind, if there's even a sliver of unknowing... if a small part of you believes us.... don't call her."

Brick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Once again, it's not that he didn't believe them. Butch's story only added to the doubt. But that's the thing... stories. About crazies that belong in the looney bin! The plane is a sketchy shit-show. But there's no hard-core proof that the president was involved. Nobody knew who sent Buttercup the warning message. That was another sketchy situation.

It took fifteen seconds.

Fifteen seconds for Brick to stand up, walk over to the phone, dial the presidents number. After the fourth ring he'd made up his mind and hung up. Boomer seemed to of relaxed. Buttercup kept the same neutral face as always. Blossom and Bubbles shared a look. Butch smiled.

Brick had made a choice.

He'd chosen to trust his team.

"You all better fucking be right."