A/N: What could be more nauseating than a fic about prom? Probably not much. But at least these characters are IN high school. It's not like I put a bunch of pokemon characters there, who are characters from a show that doesn't even seem to incorporate schools in the normal sense of the word. Uh, err, just take it for the random fluffiness it is. Senior year—after the season 4 close so I just made it so Virgil's family knows about his superpowers. That's about it.

Start the Fire

Chapter One

Irritating. That's what the walls were. One couldn't walk an inch without his eyes being assaulted by butcher paper frothing over with bright paint reminding upperclassmen that—oh my gawd—the even to end all events—the night that's supposed to be magic but instead usually ends up in heartbreak, hangovers and unwanted pregnancies—PROM—was coming up. It was like a presidential election, years of preparation and build up for an event that could never meet anyone's expectations. A whole lifetime of buildup for a night of crappy music under crappy crepe paper with crappy food.

A tiny reminder protruded from the crack in the side of every locker in the hallway, like a gauntlet of taunts placed along the path—the plan of a wayward stalker trying to irritate anyone not bubbling over with excitement over a dance.

"For cripe's sake," Richie muttered as he grabbed the reminder from the crevice of his locker, crumpled it up, and threw it unceremoniously onto the ground.

"What?" his oblivious friend asked while reading his note, then crumpling it up, and tossing it unceremoniously at Richie's head. "It's your fault you haven't asked anyone yet."

"Why would I ask anyone?" Richie folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against his locker. He looked away from Virgil as he continued. "I'm not going."

"What!" Virgil looked at Richie sternly. "You have to go! We only get one Senior Prom, and you bailed on Junior prom last year!"

"Yeah, and after hearing all the stories the next day of people puking off hotel balconies, I was glad."

"I didn't end up puking," Virgil offered, and then began to prod. "It'll be fun! Aww, I get it, you're too chicken to ask anyone!"

"Hardly. If I wanted to go—I'd walk right up to anyone I wanted and ask."

"Don't worry bro," Virgil completely ignored his statement. "I'll find someone for you."

"No way!" Richie waved his arms emphatically, "I'd rather go stag—last time you tried to hook me up I ended up with the swamp thing. Not that I have something against the Swamp Thing race, it's just the Bayou is way too humid for me—"

"How was I supposed to know that girl was a bang baby?" Virgil defended himself. "Besides, you two could have had a litter of genius crime-fighting myopic swamp creatures. That'd make an awesome comic book—swamp things wearing glasses and rocket rollerblades!"

"Maybe awesome if you just drank a bottle of cough syrup and followed it up with a bottle of Absinthe," Riche rolled his eyes. "We'd better just get to class."

"Oh man I'm gonna be late!" Virgil gaped at the clock on the wall and then took off running. "See ya after school!"

"Yeah—see ya." Richie began walking to class, not caring if he was late. He was walking down the hall, but decided to walk out of the building instead of to class.

He pretty much wandered aimlessly, but stopped in front of the community center which was pretty much deserted during school hours. If anyone was there, they were inside. The sun warmed sandbox in the kids' playground was empty, and dusty wind moved a swing every so slightly back and forth. The creaking and the opportunity to be alone for a minute invited Richie to sit. His rear nearly touched the sand as the swing wasn't really made to hold someone of his weight, but he could swing back and forth a bit if he bent his legs in a bow-legged way. He watched as his feet made trails in the sand, not really considering that anyone might walk by and wonder just what the heck he was doing.

He also didn't notice when someone sat down next to him until the shadow crossed the paths he was creating with his feet.

"Why aren't you in class?" a familiar voice asked.

Richie looked up, startled. He should have figured this was a stupid place to sit around. He told himself that he didn't care who saw him previous to doing it, but he was beginning to regret it.

"You know senioritis," Richie tried to laugh it off. "Ditching all the time."

"Usually to party," Sharon tried to catch Richie's gaze, but couldn't. "Not to sit on playground equipment made for five year olds."

"You're right!" Richie exclaimed, "I'm cured! Guess I'll be going home now!"

"I have your phone number," Sharon stood in front of Richie before he could get up, placing her hands on her hips. "I'm sure your parents would like to know about your 'senioritis.'"

Richie tried to change the subject. "How'd you see me anyway? Don't you usually sit in an office?"

"Yeah, except when someone is like, hey some high school kid is ditching and sitting on our swing set, should we call the cops? And I ran to see, and noticed it was you. You're lucky my dad isn't here. You'd get lectured worse from him than me."

"Well, you got me I guess," Richie kept swinging, making no attempt to get up.

"What's wrong with you?" Sharon asked. "You've been pouting like a little girl every time I see you around."

"What?" Richie became indignant. "I don't pout!"

"You are right now! What, didn't get the prom date you wanted?"

"To put it lightly," he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I guess you could put it that way. I don't want to go anyway. But your brother is pretty much insisting."

"Well he just wants you to have fun! Live the experiences of high school while it lasts!"

"Yeah, great experiences—I'm sure I'll be ecstatic while blending into the wall by the punch bowl while he is having a blast with Daisy."

"Jealousy?"

Richie's face flushed a little, and Sharon offered her hand to help him up. "Can we move this to my office? These are my nice work pants—and I don't want sand in my drawers either."

"Um, I think I'll go back to class now—"

"It's either my office, or a phone call to your parents."

"Let's see—raging best friend's sister—raging mother and father. Tough choice—but you can't ground me into the carpet. Let's go."

The two moved into the community center, and the sudden absence of wind combined with a lack of desire to actually breathe made the room seem like a vacuum sucking all the air from Richie's lungs.

Sharon's office was a little more cheerful than the community center which was definitely not on peak hours, since everyone was at school. The blinds were cracked open, causing bars of sunlight and dark to cross the room. Richie had a fleeting thought of prison bars, but shook the thought from his mind as Sharon implored him to take a seat.

She sat behind her own desk, folding her hands underneath her chin, appearing intense and professional. It was almost funny to Richie, considering most other times he'd seen her she was either fighting with her brother or—fighting with her brother. He knew she was a dedicated counselor, but it was like a teacher having his own child in a class—very hard to get respect from someone who knows the professionalism is a façade.

"Are you really ditching school because you're jealous of Virgil's prom date?" Sharon seemed less than amused.

"You know teenagers—next thing you know I'll be writing vampire poetry and wearing lipstick and fishnet panty hose."

She still remained less than amused.

"Does Virgil have any idea that you have a thing for Daisy?"

"No—but that could be because I don't."

"You turned red as a beet when I suggested it outside—body language doesn't lie."

"No, I absolutely don't have a thing for Daisy—look—I can't tell you what my problem really is."

"I know you're probably worried about anything you say getting back to Virgil—but trust me, anything said in this office is strictly confidential."

"Yeah, right. And I suppose there was no pillow talk about the case during the conjugal visits of the jurors on the OJ trial either."

"I wouldn't risk losing my job for some silly problem between my brother and his friend," Sharon seemed a bit offended, but squelched it quickly. "Not to mention my integrity as a counselor."

Richie sighed. "I'm sorry. All I can tell you though—prom just has me bummed. It's a huge reminder the end of the year getting closer—I don't really know what college will be like—"

"You and Virgil are gonna have a blast," Sharon assured him. "Besides, it'll be a breeze for you; I wish I could remember things as easy as you can."

"That's just the thing—" Richie became uneasy. "Me and Vee—rooming—"

"This really isn't about prom at all, is it?"

"It is—and it isn't," Richie slouched in resignation. "In a very small microcosm of my life, it is. But there's more to it—yeah."

Sharon reached over to Richie and patted him on the hand. He stiffened at first, but then relaxed, although his brow remained knotted with consternation.

"I don't know if I should—I mean, I think I should tell Virgil to find another roommate." Richie began to sweat visibly, and became self-conscious as his hand became clammy in Sharon's grasp. He didn't yet pull away, however. "I mean, he did keep telling me I should go to MIT or Yale or something—I wanted to stay—a guy can change his mind can't he?"

"Why exactly do you suddenly want to change your college plans?"

Richie grew flush, and Sharon realized she wouldn't get an answer for a while without further prodding. "Richie—I'm not stupid. We're just playing a game right now. But tell me why you want to change your college plans."

"Because—" Richie paused. He'd never committed himself to the words before, even in thought, and the words lingered in his stomach, trying as hard as they could to stay nestled in safety. If he didn't say it, Sharon couldn't really know what he was going on about, although she professed to know. If he said it—it'd become tangible. It would no longer be just a jumble of fleeing thoughts and feelings he'd buried. It would surface like the ten year old forgotten cheese in the back of the fridge during a cleaning before a move—

"I need to leave," he stood from his chair. "Thanks for the session, Freud, but I'm done. I'll just deal with whatever consequences from my parents and the school for ditching."

"I'll get the licensed psychologist to get you a note for school," Sharon stalled him. "But one question—why did you stop here? You know who works here."

"I was just going to go to—home or something," Richie shrugged. "Coming here was kind of a fluke thing for me. Maybe I did expect to see you—and wanted to talk to someone—and you—well, I really don't know what you think about me now."

"It's not like this is a surprise to me," Sharon half-smiled, but was sure not to make it seem as if she were laughing. "And whatever my brother does with his life, I support him."

Richie shook his head and chortled with heavy breath. "No worries about him, he's all over Daisy."

"How long has he been with her and not made it official?" Sharon smirked wryly. "She's been wanting him to for a long time—and he's been dragging his feet. But you didn't hear that from me."

"He's just oblivious," Richie brushed the innuendo aside. "She'd have to beat him over the head with the idea before he'd get it."

"I think she has!" Sharon responded, "But I'm not trying to give you any ideas or anything. I know you don't want to hurt your friendship, and whatever you do is your choice. But I know Virgil, and 'all over Daisy' or not, talking to him probably wouldn't result in the end of your friendship."

"Well," Richie pondered, "Thanks Sharon. I'll think about that." Richie stood up as if to leave.

"Hold up a sec," Sharon asked, then began digging around in a drawer. She pulled something out and held it up like a prize. "Want a lollypop before you go?"

Richie smirked, leaned over and calculatingly grabbed it from her hand. "I guess counseling is painful like seeing a doctor—except without the whole having to turn my head and cough thing—"

"No mental images, puh-leeze!" Sharon crossed her eyes in feigned indignation. "Oh!" She stopped again and lifted the phone. "Hold on while I call and tell the Doctor to write you a note."

While she dialed the numbers, Richie sat back down and grinned. "Maybe I should have more problems to come here and get out of class for—the girl who sits next to me in biology smells like she lives in a methane processing plant."

"Don't make me change my mind about telling your parents," Sharon growled, and threw a wad of paper at Richie as she began the phone call.

-

Virgil looked totally bummed as he walked into his house—he was slouching, his bottom lip protruded in a pout, and he generally exuded an unpleasant aura. He parked on the sofa, and since he was the first person home, he just used a tendril of electricity to snag a soda for himself out of the fridge. If he lived alone he'd probably never leave the sofa—actually, he dismissed that thought after postulating the idea of urine conducting electricity. He zapped the TV on and drank the soda in angry swigs, and watched it vapidly until his sister came through the door.

"I see I'm just in time to not see dinner thoughtfully started by my loving brother," Sharon pouted.

"Well you know if I did it instead of you I wouldn't get my daily dose of toxic waste," Virgil quipped back, "that's how I keep my super powers. I never told anyone, but the big bang was nothing—your meatloaf—that's the stuff mutants are made of."

"If dad would allow me to keep you in the attic I would," Sharon glowered as she walked into the kitchen to get a soda herself. "You're in an awfully sunny mood right now, must have been free Prozac day at school, am I right?"

"No," Virgil began his sob story, "Richie didn't meet me after school—I waited forever—he just ditched me."

"I'm sure he'll just come home with booze on his breath and whine at you for nagging when he wants to go out with the boys."

Virgil ignored the comment. "And to think—all day I looked for someone without a prom date to ask for him."

"I'm sure he and the swamp thing would come out lovely in the pictures."

"I was thinking the same thing," Virgil smiled deviously, "and that's exactly how I came up with the perfect plan! You can go with him!"

"Uh, I really don't think he's my type," Sharon shot out, although it became quieter at the end as she didn't want to let any of her previously acquired knowledge slip.

"It's just a dance, you don't have to marry him," Virgil stood on his knees on the couch cushions, looking at Sharon as if he'd solved all his problems. "Adam won't be jealous—and it'd cheer him right up—I can go with Daisy, and he can go with mysterious older girl. He'll be the most popular boy in school!"

"Are there cameras in the house? Is this a Saturday Morning Special now?"

"Come on, I really want him to go—but I think he's too stubborn to ask anyone."

"And I think you're too nosy. Let him handle his own business."

"Come on—don't you want to relive your youth? Leave the world of old hag for a day to be a teenager again?"

"Actually," Sharon laughed despite herself, "I am going to go—to baby-sit you little brats. I'm chaperoning."

"No! That's—that just isn't right!"

"Yup, no sneaking off to a stairwell or freak dancing for you!"

"Noooooo!"

"Yeeeeeeees!"

"You don't," Virgil sniffed pitifully, "you don't trust me?"

"Doesn't matter whether I do or not," Sharon folded her arms underneath her chest, "they asked if I would like to volunteer, and I said yes. It had nothing to do with you."

"Great, under scrutiny on prom night!"

"Don't worry; there are way more interesting things in this world to scrutinize than you. I'm sure I'll have my hands full with the other kids."

"Double great—I have no one to set Richie up with!"

"That's your problem," Sharon ended the conversation and turned to the meal she was about to begin.

Virgil grumbled for a minute, and then became genuinely worried that Richie hadn't even called him to explain why he didn't meet him. He ran to his room and plucked his shock vox from a super secret hiding place in his room (if he were more normal he might have some porn there instead) and, as he was still bitter, he held it to his mouth and greeted Richie gruffly.

"Yo Dora," he snapped, "did you find too many delicioso things in the forest to remember to meet me after school?"

There was a pause, and then a totally befuddled "what?"

"You know—Dora—Backpack—never mind."

"Sorry Virg—I just came home early because I felt sick, and I fell asleep. Forgot to wake up and meet you."

"What—got a case of senioritis?"

"What!" Richie's voice squeaked—and his response sounded like a mouse screaming for its life.

"Chill bro," Virgil blinked in confusion. "It was just a joke. You didn't seem sick last I saw you, though."

"Yeah, well," Richie calmed down, feeling that he had overreacted to the mention of senioritis. Everyone was talking about senioritis—it's not like he's the only person who ever talked about it. "I do feel better now. Maybe something I ate didn't agree with me."

"See?" Virgil pressed, "Even your lunch wants you to go to prom."

"Not this again," Richie groaned. "Feeling sick all over again."

"Come on Richie," Virgil's tone softened, "I need prom pics with my best friend before we go off to college."

"You're not taking pictures with Daisy?"

"Both! Some with her—then some with you!"

"I dunno how I feel about going as your concubine."

Virgil laughed. "I swear I will not ignore you, Daisy will probably be with her girlfriends most of the time anyway—I need a wingman. Plenty of girls go with friends in groups rather than with a date—you'll get your dance on with someone—I promise."

"Woo, pity dancing with strangers!"

"That's the spirit! Now come over for dinner—if I have to eat cow brain soufflé for dinner, so do you."

"Hey, maybe I'll get bovine spongiform encephalopathy and I won't have to go to prom after all!"

"Really? Unless you get mad cow you'll go?"

"I guess."

"Hooray! Maybe we should go out for pizza instead then."

"I at least demand the opportunity to contract mad cow. Sort of a prom Russian roulette."

"Whatever. Just get over here." Virgil stuffed the glorified walkie-talkie in his super secret hiding spot, which was an old habit considering his family knew his secret anyway, and walked back into the living room. In fact, he pretty much never used his powers in front of them. Partially because it was an old habit, and partially in desire to not be called a showoff. But he did always get blamed whenever something electronic broke—even though it never really was his fault. Not for a long long time, anyway.

Author's note: Ch.2 is done. Just leavin' ya hangin', if you call that hangin'. I don't think there's enough suspense in this to make anyone give a crap about the outcome or not, but oh well. This is just random fluff. And trust me, it gets REALLY, REALLY fluffy. Not sharing with who, but you can probably guess. I had something stewing that's better than this. However, the last episode of JLU I saw totally ruined my idea because it involved Shayera still being gone from the Justice League.

I haven't done a fanfic in years. I'm rusty. If I got Sharon's job wrong—sue me. I just figured she was a counselor on her way to becoming a psychologist. My TV watching is sporadic, I hardly have every detail of the show memorized. My bf's sister has a counselor like that who works under the direction of a licensed psychiatrist. Why don't I write a real story or something and make some money off of it? I'm a masochist or something. Writing fanfics at 3 am that surely no one will read or like. Oh well.