So Do I
Written by Princess Kiela S.
In case anyone cares, I have an account that I'm sharing with my friend, Crisis Haylo. The link can be found in my Bio. It's the first one, with a bold and italicized indicator, just so no one can miss it.
Disclaimer:
All "Static Shock" characters and ideas are copyright to Milestone Media and Warner Brothers Animation. I am not a member of Milestone Media or Warner Brothers Animation, and, therefore, I do not own any of the characters or ideas pertaining to "Static Shock," much to my disappointment. I do, however, own the story line of, and the ideas in, this fanfiction, regardless of how short it actually is. I would thank you not to steal anything.
Summary:
Two late-night conversations plus twenty snippets of action, in the future unknown, equals three hundred fifty-nine words of pure angst. Prepare your tissues. Oh, and find a flashlight while you're at it, for it's dark enough to warrant one.
Pairings:
Allusions to, or mentions and hinting(s) of: Static/Virgil Hawkins X Gear/Richie Foley.
Warnings:
Please keep in mind this fanfiction has hinting(s) of shonen-ai in it, so if you don't enjoy reading about romantic feelings between two males, don't read this story. It's as simple as that people. If you will take any offense at the contents of this fanfic, I ask that you please leave now. The exit is that little arrow pointing to the left up in the upper left hand corner of the screen. It's called the 'back' button, and it does wonders to make web pages disappear.
Double lines indicate the beginning or end of the chapter.
A single line indicates a scene change, a time lapse, or both during the chapter.
Speech inside "these things" indicates spoken words.
I hope you enjoy this fanfiction. Please leave a review for me when you're done reading!
So Do I
Virgil Ovid Hawkins, age thirty-two, sat up in bed suddenly, a soft whisper of noise alerting him to a sudden movement.
"Richie?" he asked blearily, sleep still clinging to him persistently.
The soft crunch of carpet stopped momentarily.
"It's that nightmare again," was his answer, and the dark skinned man's face lit with understanding.
"Do you need me for this one?"
"I've got it covered, V. You know me, always prepared."
The sound of movement faded down the hall, and Virgil slumped back against his pillow.
"Yeah," he whispered, hand drifting to rest on the side of the bed opposite his own.
It was cold.
"Always prepared," the echoed words came out rough and choked.
"Dad?" sniffed a twelve-year-old boy, as he peered uncertainly into the darkness shrouding his bedroom door.
A soft, familiar noise answered him.
"I had the dream again."
"I know. Scoot over."
The boy obliged, and his bed creaked with the shifting of weight. There was silence for a long while.
"Dad?"
"Mm-hum?"
"I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for."
The boy swallowed thickly. "Yeah, but-"
"Listen to me. You have nothing to be sorry for. Okay?"
"I. . . . I'm still sorry, though."
A sigh. "I know."
It was a much longer silence this time.
"I'm fine now, you know. You can get back to Pops."
"Are you sure? I can stay here all night if you need me to."
"No, it's okay."
"All right, then. If you change your mind, just say so. I'll be up."
The weight on the bed shifted again, and the sound of rustling covers filled the quiet for a moment. When the boy was once again settled comfortably, the soft crunch of carpet started up again.
"Dad?"
There was another momentary pause of movement.
"Yeah?"
The boy bit his lip, and then looked down at the small, four-legged oval robot in the doorway. "I wish you were still. . . . real," he told it.
The holographic image of Richard "Richie" Osgood Foley - a projection of how he would have looked as a thirty-two year old - closed its eyes, and displayed its preprogrammed bittersweet smile.
"So do I, son. So do I."
Please don't kill me for this. It was written late at night when my brain was fried from overuse, and I was very tired.