A Powerpuff Girls 'What if?' fanfiction.

Powerpuff Girls created by Craig McCracken and all related characters owned by Cartoon Network.

2:23 A.M. Pacific Daylight Time, June 4, 2018

The man threw the cabbie a fifty and raced toward the front doors of the Townsville Tribune. The place was teeming with people. Late night at any big city paper was always a fairly busy time as the final deadlines for the early morning editions approached. On this night, though, the place was simply jumping with activity.

The whole city of Townsville was, actually. The cab driver had fought a massive traffic jam of cars, horns honking; and full of delirious people, leaning out windows, celebrating. The streets were full of pedestrians, shouting, waving banners and bottles of champagne and other inebriating liquids. The Townsville Police were going to have their hands full, but there would be no riots. The citizens of Townsville were basically good people.

But there was cause for celebration this night. The Townsville Toons, in only their fourth season in the National Hockey League, had won the Stanley Cup, the 125 year-old symbol of hockey supremacy. The Toons had taken the heavily favored Montreal Canadiens to a seventh game, and had won in the most dramatic of fashions.

The man ran into the first open elevator he found and pushed the button for the top floor. His name was Frank Dixon. He was thirty years old and he'd been covering the Toons and the NHL for the Trib since day one. The next day's editions would be full of coverage. A special section would be devoted to the story. Much of that section had been written by Dixon himself, well in advance; in preparation for a victory. The lead article on the game itself, to appear on the front page of the sports section, would be written by a staff writer, with contributions from Dixon, and would bear no by-line. Normally, Dixon would have written the story, but this was such a proud moment for the city of Townsville that his feature piece would appear on the front page, below the banner headline. It would, of course, have to be continued inside because of the length.

It wasn't just the thrilling win that filled him with nervous excitement as he rode the elevator, but the story he had just finished, pounding away on his laptop in the cab's back seat. It was a story he had begun back in the press room at the Townsville Ice Palace, but it had changed radically by the time he left. He couldn't wait to show it to his editor. He tore out of the elevator, down the hall and into the spacious, luxurious office of the Townsville Tribune's managing editor, Dan Ryan.

Ryan, a man of sixty, was a former sportswriter himself. He had been at the game, a guest of Townsville?s mayor, Sara Bellum. He had forced himself, much as he hated to do it, to leave the luxury suite before the game was over to return to his office. He had a paper to get out. He had been able to see the end of the game on the big-screen TV built into one wall of his office, and still could not believe the ending he had witnessed just over an hour ago.

The two men looked at each other. Neither spoke, both knowing they had seen something special that night and relishing the small parts they would play in it. Finally, Ryan held out a hand.

"What've you got for me, Frank?"

Dixon opened the briefcase that held his laptop computer and pulled two sheets of paper from a folder. He handed them to Ryan and walked over to Ryan's printer, hooked a cable from his laptop to the printer, and began printing out the rest of his piece. Ryan began to read the article:

A TALE OF THREE SISTERS

By Franklin W. Dixon IV

'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...'.

Those simple, yet eloquent words from the great Dickens just about sum up the story of the dramatic finish to last night's game and the victory that gave our city its first Stanley Cup title ever, over the vaunted Montreal Canadiens. For those of you who weren't at the game, didn't see it on television or haven't yet seen the extensive coverage elsewhere in today's Tribune, the following will give you some sense of what it was like.

?The Shootout?

The game now belongs to the ages, played for hockey's Holy Grail.
The story told on countless pages, one team would win and one would fail.

Through eight months and a hundred games, only two survived it all.
No one will forget their names, the Townsville Toons and Montreal.

The Canadiens wore on this night the legendary 'bleu, blanc et rouge'.
While Townsville, in their green and white, planned this eve to play the Scrooge.

Game Seven of the final round, what hockey fan could ask for more?
But when the final horn did sound, the score was tied at four to four.

So sudden death is what they played, played and played 'til one team scored.
Every fan that came had stayed; not a single one grew bored.

Each skater looked for every ounce of energy they could give up.
For they knew just one lucky bounce might bring to them The Stanley Cup.

Each worn-out goalie gave their best; a moment's lapse could end their dreams.
But both withstood each single test and played their hearts out for their teams.

One period and then another, then a third came to an end.
The anxious fans all thought "Oh, brother! Won't this darn thing ever end?"

When extra session number four had ended with the score still tied.
The fans all knew what was in store, on what the outcome all would ride.

The Shootout: not the best plan ever, but the only way that will allow
an end to games that last forever; lest they still be playing now.

Skater vs. goalie, one on one; "Who's the best, pal, you or me?"
In sport there's nothing that's more fun or thrilling for a fan to see.

Both coaches now chose their top five to take that magic penalty shot.
To keep their team?s Cup hopes alive, they must match what the other team got.

For goalies, pressure is immense, the consequences of failure grave.
Their focus has to be intense to make the all-important save.

The home team, Townsville, got the nod; the crowd let out a mighty roar
and stood as one and prayed to God that they would be the first to score.

Their All-Star winger touched the puck and confidently skated in.
With equal shares of skill and luck he might lead Townsville to the win.

He split the circles, in the slot and faked the goalie to the right
then ripped a tricky backhand shot; he found the net and lit the light!

Thunder shook the old Ice Palace as everyone jumped to their feet.
They could sense Lord Stanley's chalice filled with champagne oh, so sweet!

Montreal sent out their skater, on his back the number ten.
It would be better now than later to get this game all tied again.

But the guardian of the net was ready and deftly turned the shot aside.
Then each team's goalkeeper held steady and every chance they both denied.

Until there was just one to go, Montreal's final hope and prayer.
If you weren't there you'll never know the tension that now filled the air.

Drama simply gets no better; somehow this moment had to come.
For the names sewn to each sweater were both the same, Utonium.

The bitter irony of this scene was obvious to all there that night.
Two sisters, one's eyes blue, one's green, opponents in this crucial fight.

In a league once only just for men, two women faced this final test.
But surprised no one should have been, for they both simply were the best.

The league's best goalie and best skater; as prospects they'd been called 'Can't miss'.
But at their jobs no one was greater; now, it all came down to this.

The goalie's task was very clear: Stop this shot or face five more.
The skater, her team's end was near; to live she simply HAD to score.

She'd scored three and set up one; for Montreal she'd played just great.
But less THEIR star the Toons were done; without her they'd have let in eight.

Now, the skater eyed her rival across one hundred feet of rink.
To score the goal that meant survival, let instinct rule and do not think.

She saw the referee give the sign, his right arm dropped, the whistle blew.
She blazed off toward the center line, she knew what she was going to do.

The goalie watched her hit her stride and had to guess which way she'd go.
Just one split-second to decide if she'd shoot high or stay down low.

She saw the old familiar frown and watched the dark head give a shake.
Too late, as she was dropping down, she knew she'd bought her sister's fake.

The goalie fell onto her back; the skater had an open net
She finished off her quick attack; this game was not quite over yet!

But, as if sent from up above, the goalie found the strength somewhere.
Up shot her battered leather glove and trapped the speeding missile there!

And just like that, the Cup was won; she threw her stick and glove aside.
Her teammates charged out on the run; every heart was filled with pride.

They swarmed their hero, picked her up; she had delivered them the game.
Amid cries of 'We want the Cup!', the fans began to chant her name.

The skater slumped against the boards, beaten by the blue-eyed thief.
The pain was like a thousand swords, the green eyes blinked in disbelief.

Her dream of glory was now done, oh, so close and yet so far.
Her teammates came out one by one to comfort their now fallen star.

For the losers, devastation; they'd played their best and come up short.
For the winners, celebration; they'd reached the zenith of their sport.

The party couldn't start just yet for the Townsville players and their fans.
At center ice the two teams met and lined up to start shaking hands.

A smile, a nod, a firm handshake, when the girls came face to face.
Tradition that you just don't break, no tearful hug or tight embrace.

For them, that moment was to come at a future time and date.
Time now for one to skate off, numb, and for the other to celebrate.

Out now came the Stanley Cup to joyous shouts and thunderous claps.
Each player's turn to raise it up and round the ice in victory laps.

But there was one fan there that night for whom the scene was bittersweet.
How hard it was to watch that fight as she sat there in her seat.

Now, as she watched Bubbles' turn to joyfully hold the trophy up,
it made her heavy heart just yearn to go and be with Buttercup.

Had things turned out differently she would be feeling just as sad.
Just as painful it would be as she watched it with their Dad.

She longed to be down in that mob to be with Bubbles in her glory.
But now she had to do her job and get to typing out her story.

She also longed for Buttercup, just to hug her and support her.
But her deadline was coming up, the bane of every reporter.

She left there with a small, sad smile; summer would soon be here and then,
they'd all be home for just awhile, all on the same team again.

For long ago and far away the three of them had fought together.
Until there came that fateful day the team was broken up forever.

The story everybody knows, about these former teammates three.
Grown apart now, friendly foes, but sisters they will always be.

Ryan looked up at Dixon from the poem he had just read.

"Not your usual work. I love your Dickens opener, there, Frank, I think that's what everyone felt. But that poem, man, where did THAT come from?" Ryan smiled, "You after my job, son?"

Dixon blushed at the compliment, with good reason. "Uh, Dan, there's more. A LOT more."

He handed Ryan several more sheets of paper. Ryan took them, but looked up at his young reporter.

"What more needs to be said, Frank? I think you've just about said it all, here."

"No, Dan, I haven't. Not even close."

Ryan went back to reading Dixon's words.

As for what Blossom was feeling as she watched, I'll let her tell you herself. For when I reached the press room under the stands, I was amazed to see her sitting in one of the glass-enclosed cubicles, pecking away at her laptop. I was even more surprised when she looked up and motioned for me to join her. I had expected to run into her down on the ice at some point but didn't, so I asked her about it.

"I'd have loved to, Frank, but I've got a deadline and a plane to catch, back to Washington. Some game, huh?"

She just kept typing, never looking up as she spoke, but I knew she wanted to talk to someone or she wouldn't have waved to me. I didn't know exactly where to begin so I just asked her the obvious question.

"Blossom, what was it like, watching that?"

"Everybody in Townsville knew what was going to happen, Frank. Only one of them could win. I was prepared for one of them to lose. But not like that. Why did it have to happen that way?"

Other than pointing out that Fate was sometimes cruel, I had nothing brilliant to offer so I kept quiet.

"I kept telling myself it was only a game, but Frank, nothing has hurt me so much since the day when we were ten that my Dad told us we were going to lose our powers before we were thirteen."

Everyone knew that story, even those like myself who hadn't grown up in Townsville. Again, there was nothing I could say as I watched her slim fingers hitting the keys.

"I wanted Buttercup to score. That would have tied it again, put it in the hands of someone else. I would have felt the same way if Buttercup's goal meant the difference. I would have wanted Bubbles to stop her. I know they'd understand. I also know that if you asked either of them if they would want to be put in that same situation again, they'd both tell you 'In a heartbeat'."

She stopped typing and printed out what she'd been working on. She looked it over quickly and then handed me the poem that you read above.

Ryan bolted upright in his chair. "Good Lord, Frank, SHE wrote this?!"

"Unbelievable, isn't it? I couldn't have gotten that to come out if I spent a week on it!"

"She's a pro, Frank. It takes a journalist a lot longer to get to the top of their profession than an athlete, but trust me, she'll get there someday."

Ryan went back to Dixon's article.

"I know, it's not very good.", she told me as she handed it to me. "I just wanted to get that out while everything was still fresh in my mind."

Not very good. I asked her if she minded if we ran it.

"If you want, but I wrote it for them, for all of us. I never used to care for hockey, but I've really grown to love the game. If you decide to not print it, I hope you will at least put what I'm about to tell you in your column. Frank, I never realized until now just how proud I am of my sisters. The day I learned we would no longer be the Powerpuff Girls, I knew that each of us would have to choose our own path to walk in life. I had hoped in my heart of hearts that they would have done something more worthwhile than become professional athletes. I always felt they were being a bit selfish and I was disappointed in them. I never told them that but they could sense it and we grew apart. Going to different colleges and growing up and leaving home did have a little to do with that, but I know now just how wrong I was. Because, when we were growing up we were taught to always do our best, no matter what. And that never changed with either of them, and now they are the best. Perhaps medicine or law or something else would have been a more noble calling, but I also could have chosen one of those. In our field of journalism, along with medicine, law, business and many other professions, even politics, which is my passion; women long ago proved that they were the equals of men. I haven't broken any new ground. But professional sports is the last bastion of male dominance. My sisters tonight showed the world that women can not only compete alongside men in a team sport, rather than having separate leagues; but they can also be the best. There have been women athletes on men's teams in the past, but now there will be even more, and someday, hopefully soon, the distinction between men's and women's sports will disappear. The importance of what they did tonight can't be measured, and I want to tell them in front of the whole world that I'm sorry I ever doubted the worthiness of the paths they chose."

"That was some speech, Blossom," I told her. "I'm sure Bubbles will read it before Buttercup sees it back in Montreal."

"Well, I'll be talking to both of them on the phone as soon as I can."

"When Bubbles gets her turn to have the Cup for a few days this summer, will you take a drink from it? Everyone in Townsville who is anyone is probably doing that down in the Toons' dressing room right now."

"No, Frank. This is a great moment for our city. The Townsville fans deserve it and I'm not taking anything away from them or Bubbles, but I won't. Maybe I will when Buttercup wins her first. I just know she's going to."

Ryan looked up once again. There were a few more short paragraphs from Dixon to wrap up the piece, but he'd seen enough.

"Wow, Frank, just wow."

3:05 A.M. P.D.T., June 4, 2018

In the large room that held the presses, Frank Dixon's finished piece was digitally fed to the computer and the presses were about to begin printing. The article would appear, titled 'A Tale Of Three Sisters', on page one in the left column, before it was continued inside on page 5. Next to it, taking up the remaining width of the page, would appear a color photo of a jubilant team, sitting or reclining on the ice. The Stanley Cup stood in front of them, resting on the Townsville Toons' logo painted at center ice. In the center of the group, beaming and holding up one finger with her other arm wrapped around the base of the trophy, sat Bubbles, her short blonde hair soaked with sweat and champagne and plastered to her head. At the top of the page, the huge bold headline would read: OUR CUP BUBBLES OVER!

On the Op-ed page of the same section of the Tribune, just below the small photo of Blossom that appeared next to the name of her syndicated column 'Capitol Offenses', would appear the words: No column today. Ms. Utonium's column will resume tomorrow.

3:17 A.M. P.D.T., June 4, 2018

An exhausted and subdued Bubbles clutched Professor Utonium's arm as the two walked to his car in the VIP parking section behind the Ice Palace. Many of her teammates were going to a party given by one of Townsville's biggest bigwigs, but she just wanted to go home. In the next few days there would be more parties and then the parade through the city streets; and more endless picture taking. She didn't mind it, though. All too soon, she would have to say goodbye to those with whom she'd shared the wild ride. Most of her teammates she would see again in September, when training camp opened up. Some she might never get to play with again. One or two might retire, and for sure at least a few others would be traded over the summer. In sports, business came ahead of friendships.

Knowing this made her a little sad. There was always a let-down after the elation. But her true regret was that she had not been able to share the moment with her sisters, nor would she ever truly be able to. She knew that Blossom would be home for a bit because in a non-Presidential election year, Washington was pretty dead in the summer. But the closeness they had once enjoyed was no longer there. Blossom hadn?t even come down to the ice with Professor, to be with her. Buttercup would be home for no more than a week or two. She lived in Montreal now, and ran a hockey camp for kids there in the off season. But though they were much closer, this was something that would always hang between them. Maybe when their playing days were finished, and Buttercup had a championship ring of her own (hopefully not at her expense), they would both be able to look back at tonight and smile.

3:45 A.M. P.D.T., June 4, 2018

Blossom was hard at work, just finishing up her syndicated daily column for the Washington Post, which was also picked up by the Tribune and over a hundred other papers. It was nearly 7 A.M. in Washington and she had not slept since before leaving her apartment for the airport more than 24 hours earlier. Yet she couldn't sleep on the plane, which was somewhere between Denver and Chicago and wouldn't land for hours.

She had much of the cabin to herself; the red-eye from Townsville to Washington was sparsely populated this trip. She laid her computer on the seat next to her and thought about the day, and her life. She had actually been giving it some thought for months. Understanding now that her sisters' vocations were no less valid than hers, she had begun to analyze what had led them to where they were. She realized that part of the reason she had gone into covering politics was that she missed the fighting spirit from her earlier life. In politics there was endless competition and in-fighting, and it was thrilling to be around. Her sisters had pursued athletics because of the same spirit of competition. They had actually involved themselves in the competition, whereas she had merely observed it from the sidelines. Though all of them had worked hard to be the best in their chosen fields and had accomplished good for society in their own way; her sisters had shown more courage than she had. It was time to change that.

Politics was her passion, and she could do a lot of good in public service; even more so than just writing about who was screwing up what, where and how, and who was making what dirty deal with whoever else. It was time for her to put up or shut up.

She also wanted to try to heal the rift between herself and her sisters, a rift that had mostly been her fault. She had actually grown a bit closer to Buttercup in the past year, getting to know her sister again. Montreal was in the Eastern conference and the Canadiens came to Washington twice. On both occasions they had been able to spend some time with each other. Townsville was in the West and this had been the year the Toons had not come to D.C. Blossom didn't get home to Townsville much, but she tried to call Professor at least once a week. She never seemed to be able to catch up with Bubbles, though. It was time, she felt, for her to try harder.

Blossom believed that she could fulfill both her professional and personal goals right back home, in Townsville. She had discussed this very idea with her boyfriend a few times. The fact she had mentioned it more than once meant she was undecided, but each time he had assured her that whatever made her happy made him happy. He would follow her, wherever it was she went. Washington had more than enough lawyers anyway.

She picked up her laptop, made sure her column for tomorrow had been saved, and typed out her letter of resignation to the Post.

3:51 A. M. P.D.T., June 4, 2018

The chartered jet was on its way back to Montreal. Most of her teammates were either asleep in the dark of the cabin or sitting silently in thought. A few played cards in the back of the plane. Buttercup sat by herself, replaying the season's final play over and over in her head and finally came to a conclusion: She'd have done the same thing again. Bubbles had robbed her, plain and simple. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that puck would have been in; it was just a great play by her sister. Her initial shock and heartbreak had worn off. It had been a long, tough year, but after a few weeks rest she knew she would be anxious to get back on her skates and prepare for getting her shot at the Cup again. She felt badly, though, for her teammates, knowing that the situation was the same for them as for Bubbles' mates. Some of them would never again get this close to winning. Some would not be with the Canadiens come the new season in the fall. That was the way the business end of the game worked.

For herself, there wasn't much to complain about. She was 24 years old and had a good 10 years at least to play if she wanted to and stayed healthy. Her situation contract-wise was far different than her sister's. Though they both had been highly rated coming out of their college careers on men's teams, NHL clubs had been leery of taking a chance on them. Bubbles had been ranked the number one goalie in the draft, and Townsville, a two-year franchise and struggling, looked to help sell the team to its fans by making a hometown hero its first pick and third overall in the draft. It shocked the sports world, but now, with a Stanley Cup only two years later, they'd been vindicated. After she had won rookie of the year honors in her first season and led a last place team into the playoffs, she was rewarded with a new five-year deal that made her one of the top-salaried netminders in the league.

But goalies are a different breed. Lack of physical size is not important when your eyes and reflexes are lightning-quick. Though Buttercup was the same height as Bubbles, 5' 7", and at 138, weighed nearly ten pounds more, all muscle; she was considered too small to stand up to the pounding a forward would receive from men averaging 6 1" and 200 lbs. Townsville wanted her but couldn't afford to risk a second pick after taking a chance with her sister. She was unproven and good scorers at the college level were a dime a dozen and most didn't pan out. Montreal took that risk and selected her in the ninth round, the 267th player chosen in the 2016 draft. She signed a two-year deal at minimum salary. She made the team her first year but struggled to score. When she couldn't score, she had to show she was worth something, so she played tough. She would hit anything that moved, regardless of how much bigger than she it was. The first time she dropped her gloves, her opponent just laughed at her; the idea of fighting a girl just too ridiculous. Lying on his back with a bloody nose, looking up at the scoreboard not knowing what hit him took care of that. Her teammates quickly found out that not only did they not have to worry about protecting her, but that she would be the first to jump in to help any of them. Her fearlessness and refusal to back down kept her from being sent to the minors and the fans and press in Montreal fell in love with her. 'Le Belle Dure', she was called, The Tough, Beautiful One. When her talent began to show itself and her confidence with the puck improved, she caught fire offensively and was the league's fourth highest scorer the second half of the season. She led the team in scoring in the playoffs, before they were knocked out in the second round. (By the eventual champion Washington Capitals. Seeing what a championship did for the self-image of a city and its people made a lasting impression on Blossom, and it was at those games in Washington that she began to develop a love for the game her sisters loved, and an appreciation for what they did.) In her second season, Buttercup ran away with league scoring honors. It was clear that the Canadiens had not made a mistake, and her success along with her sister's had won the sport a legion of new fans.

Now, her contract was up. She was a restricted free agent. That meant she could sign with another team but Montreal had the right to match it. She had refused to talk new contract until the season was over; she didn't want anything distracting her from playing her best. Now that the season was done, the team's management, fans and the media were afraid she would try to hold them hostage. She could practically name her price, and the Canadian teams had a hard enough time competing with their US counterparts due to the exchange rate and taxes. She was now giving this some thought. She knew what she wanted and she didn't have an agent. She did her own talking.

Her deal was obviously on the minds of someone else. She saw her coach and the team's general manager walking through the aisle toward her seat. They sat in the seats opposite hers. Her coach handed her a frosty brown bottle.

"Sorry it's not champagne, kid." They'd already had a chance to talk about the game, that was behind them. Every player and member of the coaching staff had agreed that they'd come as far as they had as a team, and lost as a team. No one blamed her, and she didn't blame herself. It was a great group, and it played a big role in her decision-making.

"That's okay, coach. You know I like root beer better, anyway. Next year, you guys are taking a root beer bath, and that's a promise!"

The GM eyed his young star with surprise as she knocked back her bottle and took a swig. She intended to stay. Now, how much did she want?

"Buttercup, can we talk or do you want to wait a few days? We'd really like to get a deal done before you head home."

"Montreal's where I live. You know I run a kid's camp. I'm only gonna be in Townsville a couple weeks, tops. But, I'd like to get this done, too."

"What are you looking for?"

"I want what Bubbles is getting, no more, no less."

Though he was a whiz at numbers anyway, it was the GM's job to know what was going on in the league. Many had to look it up, but he knew. While a top goalie earned big bucks, superstar scorers could command far more. She was offering them a bargain. There had to be a catch.

"How long?"

"Two years."

She saw the looks on their faces and knew what they were thinking. Why a two year deal at that figure when she could have asked for and gotten nearly double? She answered it for them.

"I know, crazy, isn't it? But this is what I want. I love you guys and I love the city and I want to win here. I know we can do it. But I want to go home. I want a chance to win a Cup with my sister, because as much as I love this game, I'm getting out in five years. I want to have a family, too, and I'm not waiting until I'm 35 or 40 to do it. So, for the next two years, you get me for cheap, and we win two Cups. After that, you let me sign with the Toons."

The two men just looked at each other. What choice did they have? They knew they'd have the league's best for two more years, and she would give them her all. After that, because she was a restricted free agent for three more years, in order to sign her Townsville would have to give up players or draft picks to Montreal as compensation. So it wouldn't be like they were giving her away. Plus, they respected the heck out her. She was being honest. Any team had a right to know she planned on cutting her career short. She was also putting family over money.

The GM extended his hand. "The press will kill me for this, but it's a deal. You just better get us that Cup you promised!"

"Oh, I will!", she said, with her patented grin. "I just hope we get to play them again."

5:00 P.M. P.D.T., July 16, 2018

Townsville?s oldest and most revered news anchor, Stanley Whitfield, led off the Channel 5 newscast with the story that had been rumored for weeks: Blossom Utonium would run for City Council in November.

7:01 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time, May 20, 2019

The Utonium sisters had not just opened the door for women, they had blown it off its hinges. The annual amateur draft was just concluded. It had taken place in Boston this year, and among all the players selected from the US college and Canadian juniors' systems, NHL teams had drafted 21 women. Most would start out in the minor professional leagues, as the vast majority of all draftees did. But it was five times the number of women drafted just a year earlier. If any of them made it to the NHL, it would add to the number of just eight that currently were on NHL team rosters.

11:17 P.M. P.D.T., June 11, 2019

Buttercup took the Stanley Cup from her captain and began her trip around the ice at Townsville Ice Palace, pure joy on her face. The disappointed crowd gave their second-favorite daughter a warm ovation as she held the trophy high above her head. Her wrist shot at the 10:37 mark of the first overtime had beaten her sister Bubbles low to the stick side, and given Montreal its revenge, 4 games to 1.

She completed her lap and handed the Cup to the Canadiens' goalie. She then joined the throng of fellow teammates, media and VIP's on the ice. She searched out and found who she was looking for. Blossom threw her arms around her victorious sister and they tearfully embraced each other. Then Professor was next. He was bursting with pride. Though it was Bubbles now who tasted defeat, both of them had reached the pinnacle. Then Buttercup hugged Blossom's fiance. The wedding was set for August, when Buttercup could be home for a few weeks, and she and Bubbles would stand as maids of honor for their sister. Then, it was time for her to enjoy the celebration with her team, and the three headed off to the Toons' subdued dressing room to be with Bubbles.

On the way there, they ran into Frank Dixon, who was headed for the on-ice party. Blossom made quick introductions all around, and joked that Dixon would have to write his story on the game without her help this year. It was the first time they'd seen each other since that night a little over a year ago. Dixon was sorry that she'd left the ranks of their craft, but knew she'd made the right choice. He wished Townsville?s newest City Council member and her fiance the best on their upcoming wedding, and they said their good-byes. When summer came and Buttercup brought the Cup home with her for her one week with it, Blossom would pass on drinking from it, dreaming of the day when her sisters might win it together.

10:44 P.M. E.D.T., June 10, 2020

Bubbles stood and cheered along with the rest of the Montreal fans in the Molson Centre as her sister and the Canadiens completed their second straight Stanley Cup title run. She and her teammates had been eliminated in the first round this year; mainly because she had been out since the last month of the regular season with a bad ankle. Now, she was just another hockey fan, and she joyously hugged Professor, Blossom and her brother-in-law. She wished it was her team skating around with the Cup, but in being a non-participant this year, it meant that she and Blossom could both share in Buttercup's happiness. Together, the four of them headed down to the ice to congratulate her.

Buttercup had made good on her promise to deliver the two titles to the city of Montreal, and her plans to join Bubbles and the Townsville Toons were a secret that was known only by herself and her team's management. As she celebrated on the ice, moments after the beaten Detroit Red Wings had skated off, her joy was tinged with sadness that she would be with her fellow Canadiens, all together, for the last time. Next year, she would be with a new team.

1:15 P.M. E.D.T., June 16, 2020

As expected, the Montreal media was outraged when, two days after the victory parade in downtown Montreal, the press conference concluded. The GM was quickly branded an idiot for letting Buttercup get away, and she a traitor for leaving. But the announcement a day later would calm them down, of the deal she had made with the Toons and the package that the Canadiens were getting in return. And when Buttercup's explanation for why she wanted to leave hit the Montreal papers, everyone would wish her well, except for when Townsville and Montreal played each other.

1:00 P.M. P.D.T., July 27, 2020

Townsville?s mayor, Sara Bellum, opened her scheduled monthly press conference with a stunner: She would not run for a fifth four-year term in the fall.

10:53 P.M. P.D.T., June 7, 2021

As the seconds ticked off the clock and the screaming Townsville fans counted them down, Buttercup curled around the neutral zone with the puck on the blade of her stick, killing time. The opposing New York Rangers' players half-heartedly gave chase as she skated into her own end, toward Bubbles in the net. The game was long over, 7-2, with Buttercup netting four goals. As the final horn went off and the 4-0 sweep was complete, she scooped up the souvenir in her glove and she and Bubbles embraced each other and fell to the ice. Their teammates were on them instantly but it was as if they were alone. They had done it! Together once again, side by side, saving the day.

Blossom was not with them this night. Townsville's mayor and her husband were at Townsville General, where she had given birth to their first child, a boy, just hours earlier. The puck was a present for their new nephew. Professor would briefly come out to celebrate their moment with them, and then leave to deliver the gift to his new grandson and his proud parents. They would take their turns skating with the Cup, pose for the obligatory team photos, politely answer a few questions for the media, then head for the hospital themselves to be together as a family.

11:45 A.M. P.D.T., June 12, 2021

The main street of downtown Townsville was lined with tens of thousands of fans, celebrating their second Stanley Cup victory in four years, and the first with their homegrown heroes as teammates. The shiny convertibles passed through the confetti that rained down from the buildings towering above. It was customary for there to be one player per car, each standing, waving to the crowd while wearing their home white jersey. Following the car that the team captain rode in as he held the Cup high for all to see, this tradition was broken. For sitting in the rear seat was Townsville's mayor, Blossom Utonium (she had retained her birth name for official use, to honor her father), flanked by Bubbles to her right and Buttercup to her left. Bubbles wore her #3, Buttercup her #93 and Blossom, a jersey they had specially made for her, with MAYOR and the number 1 sewn to the back. While her sisters waved to all those cheering in the warm sunshine, she held up her newborn son (and possible future hometown hero), who wore a tiny replica Toons jersey with his name on the back. The crowd went wild.

Though this was a celebration for the entire team, it was a special moment for the sisters. Once again, they were together, conquering heroes, all; the two champions and the one who would now lead the city of Townsville into its future. As the sun shone down on them, Blossom held her infant son in her arms and her sisters each draped an arm across one of her shoulders and waved to the crowd. They gently swayed from side to side to the classic Queen song 'We Are The Champions', that poured from speakers along the street. It had been played for victory celebrations since before they were born, but still stirred the hearts of fans even after all these years.

Scattered throughout the crowd were handmade signs, decorated with pink, green and blue paint, ribbons, flowers, whatever the makers thought to use. The message was the same on all: 'We love you, Powerpuff Girls'. The sentiment was not lost on the three sisters. Nor did the rest of the team mind. Though they came from different parts of the globe, they were all citizens of the city that cheered for them, and they all knew its history. As the music died away, one loud voice yelled out the message that was on all of the signs. At that, a huge cheer went up from the crowd, and the sisters received a thunderous ovation that their teammates joined in on. As the bright sun reflected off of their tear-streaked, happy faces, their minds raced back twenty years in time. And for that brief, shining moment, they were the Powerpuff Girls once more.

THE END

Author's note: The inspiration to write the poem 'The Shootout' came from reading tomcarson3's poem 'Bubbles At The Line'.

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