Disclaimer: No...they still aren't mine, goshdarnit. I'm not making any money, here, and still hope no one will sue me.

Written for Cypher, just 'cause he's cool like that.


No one knew the full story of the man who called himself 'Static'. He had first appeared in the skies of Dakota nearly three years ago, while Richie was still in the Academy. He still remembered the day one of the other cadets had come running into the cafeteria during dinner, yelling at the top of her lungs that they had to check out that evening's news. A bank heist had gone down in the shopping district…but the case had been solved in a record time. It had been pretty easy, what with the first officers on the scene coming upon the criminals stuck to the ceiling by massive amounts of static electricity.

After that, the masked man had been a fixture in Dakota.

Soaring above the streets of the city on a glowing metal disc, his black trench coat billowing dramatically behind him…he raised cheers wherever he was spotted. No one knew who he was or where he had come from, although Static himself claimed to be a lifelong resident of the city. No one knew how he had acquired his electric powers, and on that Static himself had remained silent. He'd made it his business to render assistance to the police force, taking on criminals wherever they dared to show their faces. His amazing powers and charisma had won him the hearts and minds of thousands of Dakota's residents. To most, he was a bona fide hero.

To Richie Foley, he was a pest.

"What do you want, Static?"

The insufferably smug grin widened a bit. The darker man crossed his arms over his chest and studied Richie thoughtfully. "Depends. What're you offering?"

"Aren't there any cats in trees that need saving, today?" Richie bit out, ignoring Static's comment. That was part of the problem he had with Static…'Double Entendre' seemed to be the other's native tongue.

"Got the last one down this morning. Heard about the body on the police band, thought I'd check it out. And then I heard my favorite detective was on the job and I had to come down."

"Adam's over on the dock," Richie retorted, as he re-holstered his gun. The grin widened still further, and Static lightly hopped off his disc, landing with a soft thud next to Richie. The disc clattered to the ground behind him, and he called it to his side with a burst of electricity, tucking the bulky thing under one arm.

That was the other problem Richie had with Static. The man seemed to have also made it his personal mission in life to interfere with as many of Richie's cases as he could. Occasionally…occasionally, Static had proven to be some slight assistance, but Richie knew he would have been just fine on those occasions even without the electric hero and as far as Richie was concerned, the assistance was not worth the aggravation.

"So, what've we got?" Static asked conversationally, blithely ignoring the murderous looks Richie was shooting him.

"We have nothing. I have a dead informant and a warehouse to check out."

"Aw, c'mon Rich. We could be a good team if you'd just give me a chance. A real good team."

"Would you please go pester Adam? He still buys into that whole 'Dakota's finest son' bit."

"Oh, you read that article, huh?" Static sounded entirely too pleased, and Richie rolled his eyes heavenward.

"The headline caught my eye while I was lining the cat box," he huffed.

"You don't have a cat."

"Will you go away—wait, how did you know I don't have a cat?"

Instead of answering, Static jerked a thumb towards the warehouse Richie had been trying to break into. "What do you think's in there?" Clearly, he had no intention of leaving.

Richie closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then twenty. Then he did it again in French. Briefly, he considered just walking away and returning when Static had lost interest in following him around, or got called away on something else. His instincts were screaming at him to check out the warehouse, though. "I don't know what's in there. But I found tire marks. Fresh tire marks leading out of a building that probably closed a decade ago."

"Lots of these places aren't as abandoned as they look. Squatters, gangs, homeless…hell, I broke up a gambling hall in one of these buildings last year."

"Lots of these places don't have dead bodies laying a couple buildings away."

"But then—"

"Look, you want to help? Help. Otherwise, leave me alone and let me do my job." Richie's voice had dropped to the perfectly calm and blandly pleasant monotone he used when he was two steps away from really pissed off. Those who knew him well knew this was the opportune moment to make tracks elsewhere.

Static apparently recognized this as well. Too bad he wasn't that easily scared off.

The electric man merely smiled again, and actually had the nerve to wink at Richie. "See? We make a good team…I knew you'd see it sooner or later."

Richie idly wondered if he had the nerve to bang his head against the brick wall of the warehouse hard enough to knock himself unconscious. However, Static stretched out his free hand toward the loading bay door and narrowed his eyes slightly.

A halo of purple light surrounded his hand, arcing out in a lightning bolt towards the door. A twist of Static's fingers and the door raised by itself, opening the warehouse to them. Static grinned at him as the light faded, and bowed low at the waist, grandly gesturing for Richie to precede him. Muttering a few very ungentlemanly phrases beneath his breath, Richie pulled his weapon out again and did so. Just at the loading bay door, though, he turned.

Static's eyes quickly jerked upwards from where they had been focused on…God, he hated this man. "Stay out of my way," he ordered firmly.

Static plastered a patently insincere 'Who, me?' expression on his face, and nodded solemnly.

They moved silently into the dimness of the warehouse. Weak morning sunlight was filtering through the filthy windows, stronger in some places where the glass was missing. It was enough to see by, barely, but much of the warehouse was cast in deep shadow. Richie paused for a moment, listening intently. He knew it would have been impossible for anyone who was still here to miss the large bay door rattling open…but he was fairly certain this place was long empty.

There was the soft, chittering rustle of rats in the shadows, the creak of old wood, and the whistling of a light breeze in the rafters. However, there was no hint of human movement. Richie walked a bit further into the cavernous room, his weapon still held at the ready, but pointing down towards the floor now. He heard Static treading lightly behind him, and then suddenly felt a light rush of wind.

Static soared upwards on his disc, towards the ceiling, purple light crackling around him. The light burst outwards towards the huge industrial lights hanging from the ceiling. A fizzing, popping sound filled the warehouse, and then most of the lamps stuttered to life, casting much stronger illumination on all corners of the place. Richie's gaze darted about his surroundings, trying to keep one eye on Static, who was swooping to and fro over the length of the warehouse.

"It's clear, Rich!" Static called after a few minutes. He dived back down to where Richie was standing to hover a few feet over Richie's head. "What now?"

Richie ignored him, reholstering his gun and casting a critical eye around the warehouse. As he had first suspected, the place was too clean. One half of the warehouse was every bit as filthy as he would have expected. The floor was thick with dirt, grime, and rat droppings. Refuse littered the expanse of the floor—boxes, bits of old equipment, trash, broken bottles.

The other half had been used, recently. The floors had been swept, the debris and refuse left by the previous owners stacked neatly against one wall. Richie focused on this section of the warehouse, walking forward to stand in the center of the cleared area. Static followed him silently, still hovering on his disc.

There were strange scuff-marks on the floor, places where the floorboards had been scored and scratched by heavy equipment. Such would not have been particularly unusual in a warehouse…but these markings, like the tire tracks, looked fresh. Richie examined them closely, wishing he had a camera available.

"Hey, Richie…take a look at this." He glanced up in annoyance at Static's soft voice, but the annoyance vanished when he saw the hero kneeling on the floor a few feet away.

"What is it?" he asked, moving over to Static's side. There were a few tracings of damp sawdust on the floor, as if someone had used the stuff to soak up a spill, and then been sloppy in sweeping it up. Richie's brow furrowed as he picked up a pinch between his fingers, bringing it to his face and sniffing delicately. "Ugh." He threw the clump down and wiped his hands on his pants leg. "Blood. And vomit." Someone had been violently ill here, and recently.

Static was shooting him an incredulous look. Richie shrugged one shoulder and ducked his head, but did not feel like explaining to Static how much of both he'd had to clean up in his house, growing up. Static raised one eyebrow, but didn't comment. Instead, he tossed his disc into the air again, charging it up with a negligent wave of his hand. As he did so, Richie caught a glitter of something in the light cast by Static's powers.

"Hold on a sec," he said briskly. He pointed towards the area, near the wall, where the lights didn't quite reach. "Give me some light over there."

"What's the magic word?"

Richie shot his companion an annoyed look. "Now," he said dryly.

"Oooh, forceful." Static complied, though, casting a wide funnel of light in the direction Richie had indicated. The object glittered again, small and seemingly innocuous. Richie pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and moved forward, kneeling down to scoop the object up in the folds of the clean cotton. "Whatcha got?" Static asked. In answer, Richie held the object up for him to see.

It was a small, glass vial, the sort hospitals used to store blood samples. There was no label on the glass, and a few drops of amber liquid had dried on the inside.

Static frowned faintly. "What's that stuff?" he asked. Richie shrugged.

"Could be nothing. Could be anything. I'll send it over to Adam…let the crime lab take a look at it."

Static nodded, and turned a slow circle in the air, shedding his light over the rest of the darkened corners, searching for anything else that might be a clue. As the glow passed over what must have been the main fuse box, he paused. "Hey, Richie…what does that look like to you?" he asked slowly.

Richie looked up from his examination of the vial, and followed Static's gaze. It didn't take him long to spot what Static had spotted, ad he felt himself go cold all over. A smaller box had been attached to the fuse box, with thick cables and wires that spiraled out of a small, round contraption. The cables looked to be attached to at least a dozen small, red sticks. Richie sighed softly.

"That…would be a bomb."

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Before Richie could protest, Static zoomed forward on his disc, towards the bomb.

"Static! You idiot!" Richie shouted.

"Go get Lieutenant Evans…tell him to call the bomb squad!" Static called back over his shoulder.

Richie froze for a split-second, undecided. Then he shook his head…by the time he ran back to the crime scene, tracked Adam down, and got the bomb squad raised, Static would probably have blown the place sky high. "Moron," he hissed, before running forward.

Static had stopped a just in front of the device, and was just staring at it when Richie reached his side. Static glanced down at him, irritation on his face. "Richie, get out of here."

"I had an introductory one week course with the department bomb technicians," Richie snapped. "Top that, I'll go."

"I…played a lot of Operation when I was a kid," Static muttered sullenly.

"Hah! I win. You go get Adam and tell him to call the bomb squad."

"I'm not leaving you alone in here!" Static protested.

"Then shut up and let me look at this." Richie pushed his glasses up his nose and took a deep breath, regarding the device in front of him. It looked fairly simple…a straightforward timing device attached to twelve sticks of dynamite. How…unoriginal. Still more than enough to take a good portion of this place out, though, and the fire it would start would no doubt take out the rest.

Which, Richie realized suddenly, was the point.

He narrowed his eyes and turned his attention to the timer. He tilted his head slightly, and frowned. "What time is it?"

"Huh?"

"What time is it?" Richie repeated impatiently.

"I dunno…ten, ten thirty."

Richie turned back to the timer, confusion blossoming on his face. "This thing isn't set to go off until tonight."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause if it wasn't, we'd have been dead five minutes ago."

Static's eyes widened comically. "That's it, we're outta here." He lowered his disc slightly, reaching out as though to grab Richie's arm.

"No, wait…look at this, the whole thing's attached to the clock. If we stop the clock, it'll short the whole thing out…or it'll"

A burst of power erupted from Static's hand, sparking towards the timer. A corona of purple light enveloped the timer, and a hissing pop exploded from the device. A wisp of smoke curled up from it…and the hands began to spin around at an accelerated rate.

"Set the whole thing off right now," Richie finished tiredly. "I hate you. Have I ever told you that?"

"Mentioned it a few times." Static dipped down and, before Richie could react, grabbed him around the waist, lifting him to stand in front of him on the disc.

The disc swept around in a wide arc, and then zoomed towards the still open loading door. Automatically, Richie swung an arm around Static's neck for balance. Static pulled him back tightly against his chest as he forced still more speed out of the disc.

They burst out of the warehouse and Static simply shot the disc straight upwards. Richie gasped as the ground receded rapidly. He thought he heard Static chuckle behind him, but the whistling of the air around them filled his ears.

Barely two minutes after Static had set off the timer, there was a muffled explosion from below them. Richie glanced down in time to see one wall of the warehouse they had just been in blow out. Any remaining intact windowpane was shattered, glass fragments flying outwards in a glittering shower. Smoke began pouring out of the hole that had been created in the wall, billowing out of the shattered windows, and Richie could see the orange lick of flame starting.

From this height, he could see over to the slip where Ferret's body had been discovered. The gathered crowd was obviously aware of the explosion. Richie could see several uniforms scrambling for their cars, and he hoped that someone would think to summon the fire department.

A loud, cracking groan suddenly filled the air, and Richie's attention was jerked back to the burning warehouse. His jaw dropped as the roof of the warehouse suddenly collapsed, a fount of flame and sparks bursting upwards as years of rot, and the collapse of one wall did the building in. The brick walls were still standing, but the roof had totally caved in on itself.

A low, long whistle sounded in his ear, and he was suddenly reminded of the fact that he was still clutching Static's neck, and Static still had his arms wound tightly around his waist. He didn't dare let go of the other man, this high up, but he didn't like how comfortable Static seemed with their current situation.

"Put me down," he demanded, not liking how pithy his voice sounded, but unable to do anything about it.

Static chuckled softly, right against his ear. "Right now? It's a long way down, Rich."

"Static," Richie growled. "I'm not kidding. Take us down!"

"Scared of heights?"

"Put me down, or I'm gonna shoot you."

"No you won't."

"Static!"

"All right, all right…geez. Gotta say, though, I kind of like hearing you scream—"

"Finish that sentence and I will kill you."

"Directions at me," Static finished. The smug grin was firmly back in place. Richie growled inarticulately, as Static began directing the disc back towards the ground. By the time they reached the street, a knot of police had gathered.

Static stopped the disc a few feet over the asphalt, and Richie wasted no time letting go his grip on the other man's neck. He could practically feel the smirk boring into his back as Static steadied him while he jumped down.

Funny…Richie hadn't been aware that steadying someone had to involve putting your hand on their ass.

He turned around as soon as his feet touched the asphalt, glaring up at the electric hero. He opened his mouth to give Static a piece of his mind, but Adam's worried voice interrupted him.

"Richie! Christ, man, are you all right?"

Static jerked his chin towards the approaching officer. "You better go talk to him. You can handle the police report, here, right? I hate those things."

"You…you…" Richie's vocabulary deserted him, and he clenched his fists. Static merely smiled again, tipped him a jaunty salute, and then the disc shot upwards, carrying him away.

Adam reached his side a moment later, breathing heavily. "Rich…Jesus, man, what happened? What was Static doing here?"

Richie sighed heavily, as he realized there was no way he was getting back to his offices until he had been interviewed by someone, and given a statement. He jerked his hat off his head yet again, wiping his wrist across his brow.

"I hate that man."