Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock
Summary: AU! At the age of fifteen, Richie ran away from home because it was safer than living at home. He got mixed up in a relationship he can't seem to forget, and is now living on the streets while, at the same time, protecting them. When his partner, Static, finds out his real name, everything gets turned upside down for them both.
Warnings: Homelessness, implied abuse, homosexuality.

Second Chances

A Static Shock Fanfiction

No! Francis, please, let me go! I don't want—

Richie stops mid step.

These kinds of flashbacks happen all the time and Richie's knows exactly what he needs to do to make them go away.

There's a nearby bench that Richie makes his way to. He sits down and tightens his old and ratty red coat around his slender frame. The howl of the evening, spring wind is blowing against his face, sending chills down his spine, but he ignores it and wraps his coat tighter. He needs to focus on suppressing these flashbacks.

In Richie's pocket is a rubber band. He found it on the sidewalk a couple weeks earlier and picked it up. Originally, he was going to use it for his money, but sense he rarely had any, he found putting it on his wrist to flick every time he had a flashback was more productive.

Francis, please, I don't want—

Flick.

Richie winces—he accidentally hit one of the many burn scars on his arm.

Ow! Francis, please, that hurts! Please, Francis, let me—

Flick. Flick.

The flashbacks finally stop.

Richie sighs and leaves the rubber band on his wrist. Sinking down, he closes his eyes and wraps his arms tightly around his around his chest. He enjoys a few moments of bliss, momentarily left not plagued by the mountain of problems he's currently dealing with.

Then he hears sirens blare, and he jumps up. For a moment he tries to figure out where the sirens are coming from, but the he realizes he needs to change into his uniform. He curses under his breath and spins around, running in the direction of the abandoned gas station. He's not too far away, but he has a marginal amount of time to get there before Static does.

Thankfully he manages to get there, and change into his costume, mere seconds before Static shows up.

"It's Hotstreak," Static informs as they take off into the sky. "Guess he doesn't realize he can turn coal into diamonds himself."

"Well, technically," Gear says, "he would also need tens of thousands of pounds along with that fire if he wants to make diamonds." He grins when Static rolls his eyes at him. "So he's robbing the jewelry store?"

"What was your first clue, Einstein?" Static grins when Richie sticks his tongue out at him.

Within a few minutes, Static and Gear are in front of the jewelry store. Static is the first one in, throwing out quips and lightning bolts from the get-go. Gear lingers at the door, preparing mentally to confront Hotstreak.

Of course Richie is in costume, and sure there is a zero percent chance Francis knows who he is, but it's the fact he's in the presence of his ex-boyfriend that always puts Richie on edge. Even as a masked superhero fighting a villain, he hates confrontations with Francis.

Gear shakes his head and takes a step inside the jewelry store, only to discover the battle was over before it ever really stared. Hotstreak is pinned to the wall upside down, and there is a distant sound of blaring police cars quickly approaching the crime scene. The sight makes Gear grin because, in a way, it's like sweet, sweet vengeance.

Static walks up behind Gear and taps him on the shoulder. It startles Gear and he spins around, instantly face-to-face with Static.

"So," Static says, rocking back and forth on his heels, his arms crossed over his chest, "did you enjoy the show?"

Gear bites his lip and looks down at his feet. "Sorry," he mutters.

For a moment Static stares at Gear. Eventually he sighs and drops his arms and stops rocking. "It's cool, man," he says. "Hotstreak is easy." He puts his arm around Gear's shoulder and they walk out of the building just as the police show up. "If you had ditched me on, say, Ebon or someone, then I'd have been really ticked."

Gear smiles and inadvertently leans into Static's side.

Static is the only physical contact with another human Richie ever gets, so whenever Static touches him, Richie soaks in as much of it as he possibly can.

Static removes his arm from Gear's shoulder. "C'mon," he says, and jumps on his disc. "I'll race ya back."

Gear laughs and accepts the challenge.

-ss-

"I'll see you tomorrow, Gear," Static says and waves over his shoulder. "Have a good night."

"Thanks," Gear calls after him. "You, too."

When the coast is clear—because the last thing Richie wants is for Static to know his partner is homeless; it might hinder his credibility as a hero—Gear sighs and takes off his helmet. He sets it down on his workbench along with Backpack. After he makes sure his robot is resting comfortably, he makes his way into the backroom of the gas station where he changes back into his street clothes.

After Richie shrugs his jacket over his shoulders, he makes his way out of the backroom to a little room tucked away behind a wall and sits down in front of the telephone. He glances at his watch and sees its 4:15—just enough time to make a call. This is his third time making this call, and he swears if he has to make it again, he might scream.

Getting food stamps should not be so hard.

Richie puts the phone to his ear and listens to it ring. He sighs when he hears an automated voice and begins pressing buttons before the voice is even done talking. It doesn't take long to memorize the numbers to dial that gets to an operator.

"Finally," Richie says under his breath when someone answers.

Richie listens to the overly perky woman spiel off her introduction and he rolls his eyes—he's not in the mood for perky; he just wants to eat. When she finally quits talking, he answers her generic question with a generic answer. "I'm fine, thanks." He sighs and dives into the reason he's calling. "My name is Richard Foley. I'm nineteen years old, and I'm calling because I—"

There's a crash in the other room.

With a loud sigh, Richie glances at his watch, which reads 4:35, and sighs again—he only has twenty-five minutes to complete this call. "Will you excuse me for a moment?" Richie asks politely. "I have to check on something in the other room."

Richie clears his throat and sets down the phone. He makes his way into the main room of the gas station and looks around, putting his hands on his hips. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for Backpack being on the ground. He rolls his eyes and makes his way to his robot and bends down to pick him up. He puts him back on the workbench and makes sure he's, for the most part, unharmed.

"Backpack," Richie says, and the robot immediately responds to his voice, the eye in the middle extending to look at Richie, "I barely have the money to eat, let alone fix you again, so please stop falling." Backpack's lens recedes back into his body. Richie sighs and pats him. "I'm not mad at you," he says and turns away, making his way back to the phone. "I'm just frustrated because—"

Richie's chin hits his chest. He drops the phone on the ground and sighs loudly. "Great," he mutters brokenly and walks away from the phone, not caring that it isn't hung up. He shuffles into the next room, barely able to keep himself on his feet. "Guess I'll need to call them a fourth time," he says in the same broken tone.

He's too tired to scream.

"Goodnight, Backpack," Richie says and turns off the light. "I'll see you tomorrow. Don't fall again." As soon as he opens the door, he wraps his coat tightly around his body, the chilly spring wind from earlier having turned into painful and cold rain and gust.

He doesn't care, though.

With flashbacks and another failed attempt at getting food stamps, it's not like his day could possibly get any worse.

-ss-

His name is Richard.

I can't believe I know his name. It's such a wonderful name. I wonder if he goes by a nickname, though; he doesn't look like he likes that name. He probably goes by a nickname; I wonder what it is. I feel sort of bad for knowing his name, but it's not like I meant to forget my wallet. I need my school ID if I want to get into my lab tomorrow, so of course I had to go back for it. I suppose I should have knocked first, to see if he was in there... oh, man, I can't believe I know his name!

Virgil turns over in bed so he can stare at the ceiling instead of the wall. It's 2:30 and he's been trying for an hour to go to sleep. He can't, because he's preoccupied with the fact he knows his partner's name. Nothing could be better than knowing Gear's real name.

Richard Foley.

The goofiest grin is plastered on Virgil's face and, for the life of him; he can't get it to go away. Not that he wants it gone, because, really, he knows Gear's real name, and there's nothing more exciting than that. He's more excited than he was when he met Romeo or Shaq, and he was awful excited in both of those instances.

Oh, man. I can't let him know I know this about him. He'll probably be pissed if he finds out I know his name. I guess this can be my secret.

Virgil grins.

He feels like a silly fan gushing over a celebrity, what with the way he's freaking out over something as silly as a name, but he can't help it.

He's got a crush.