Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock
Summary: AU! Virgil and Richie are twenty-five, high school and college graduates, and have been in a relationship for nearly five years. Everything about both of their lives is going great, except that that which Virgil has been suppressing for nearly a decade is starting to resurface, and with full force. While at first he tries to once again suppress it, he slowly learns to accept it.
Content: Gender identity issues

Pressing the heels of her palms against her forehead, V rests her elbows on Richie's desk, leans forward, and cries. Richie is still in bed, in their bedroom down the hall, so this is as good a time as any to let out all the pent up emotions; to just let it all go.

There are so many questions V wants to know the answer to, so many things she wants to figure out, and looking at articles on the internet is only making it overwhelming, scary. She lets herself cry because, even after ten years, she knows just as much about being Trans, and the steps she needs to take to become more comfortable with her body, as Richie or her family does—absolutely nothing. In a way, it makes her feel like a failure, or as if she's not really Trans at all; as if she's making it at all up.

The thought only makes her cry more. She knows she's not making it up; knows this isn't all in her head, at least not in that way. Gender identity is a psychological thing, so it is technically in her head, but it's real; she really is a female. V really does not feel comfortable expressing herself as a male; it isn't who she is, even if it is biologically. She sighs because she's so confused.

V groans. This is all so overwhelming. It's not like she doesn't have enough to worry about—fighting crime, work, Richie. Adding in gender identity issues is the recipe for madness, insanity. Or, in this specific instance, tears. Many, many tears.

-SS-

With a soft moan, Richie takes in a deep breath and turns from his side to his stomach. Reaching out a hand to V's side of the bed, he moves it for several moments before realizing she's not there. Opening his eyes, he sits up and looks around the room then back at her side of the bed. Glancing at the alarm clock beside the bed, he notices its 3:06, and instantly becomes a little concerned. He could have sworn V was in bed with him when he fell asleep.

"V?" Richie calls out into the night. When he doesn't get a response, he calls once more as he gets up and grabs his robe. "Where are you?" he calls, slipping the robe over his arms. He makes his way out of the bedroom and is, almost immediately, met with the sound of distant sobbing. He furrows his eyebrows, pressing his pointer finger and thumb against his chin. "V?" he asks, heading toward the sound.

Thankfully, it doesn't take Richie very long to find V sitting at his desk, crying. He goes wide-eyed as he hurries into the room and gets down on one knee beside her. "Hey," he says gently, pressing his right hand against her bicep and squeezing it, "what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"It's all so confusing, Richie!" V cries. The suddenness and volume of her tone slightly startles Richie. "It's all so fucking confusing!" Shaking Richie's hand off her shoulder, she drops her hands into her lap and turns in the seat to face him. The sight of her tears instantly breaks his heart. "It's all so confusing," she says again, pointing at the computer screen. "I don't even know where to begin with all this! I just… I just want be normal!"

Normal. The word pierces like a dagger to Richie's heart. If there's one thing Richie wants V to understand, more than anything, it's that she's perfectly normal; it's absolutely, perfectly normal to be Trans, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with her. Besides, normal is such a relative term, anyway; there's no way to define what is and isn't normal.

Gently, Richie presses his hand against V's cheek which she instantly leans into, pressing her own hand against his. She closes her eyes, enjoying the comfort of his fingers gently massaging her cheek. For several moments, they both remain quiet until V is able to calm down enough to have an understandable conversation. Considering Richie's touch is easily the most effective thing to calm V down, it doesn't take very long for her to stop crying.

There are so many questions Richie could ask right now, but he decides to simply ask what V is doing out of bed; why she's even on the computer in the first place. He throws in a joke about how he swore she was where when he fell asleep, but V brushes it off—she's not really in the mood for jokes right now.

"I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd read about hormone therapy." V shrugs and turns her head to stare at the screen. Reaching her right hand out, she grabs the external mouse and scrolls down the seemingly never-ending page. When she finally does get to the bottom, she turns back to Richie. "But there's so much information and it's so overwhelming and I don't even know if I would work, anyway, because of my fucking electricity. You know how medicine, like, never works for me. Ever." She sniffs and looks back at the computer screen. "I think I'm gonna be stuck in this fucking body forever, Richie."

For a moment Richie closes his eyes, because he really wishes there were something he could do. Sure he could probably make some sort of hormone treatment to benefit her, but the fact of the matter is it's safer for a certified doctor to perform that sort of thing, as much as it kills Richie, because he really wants to help her. With a soft sigh, he opens his eyes again and gets to his feet. Bending over, he pulls V out of the chair and into his arms, which is so easy because she is letting him do it.

"You'll have the body you want if I have to personally make sure it happens," Richie says airily against her ear. The words somewhat relax V and she wraps her arms around Richie's back, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I want you to be as comfortable as possible. I want you to be happy with who you are."

V sighs through her nose and looks down. "I just feel so stupid because I don't know anything about this. I spent so long trying to hide it and ignore it and pretend it wasn't real… I should have been using that time to discover what I want and who I am and…" V sighs heavily. "Just, you know, all this crap; I should have been worrying about all this, not hiding it."

"You can worry about it now," Richie says and squeezes V tightly before letting her go. He takes a step back and smiles, pushing her long dreads out of her face. The gentle gesture makes V grin, despite how much she just wants to keep crying. Richie smiles as well. "Just... not... right now, because it's late, and we both need to be sleeping. You know how we're basically on call twenty-four/seven."

V snorts because it's true; there is no rest for a hero.

Taking Richie's hand, V lets herself be led back to the bedroom. "Yeah," she says halfway between the office and the bedroom when she has a thought, "but, you know, at least when someone decides to rob a store at three in the morning, there's not a horde of reporters there to call 'Sir' or 'Mister Static.' I'm surprised none of them have tried Sir Static yet… like I'm some kind of fucking royalty or something."

Richie grins, laughing through nose, as he sits down on his side of the bed. Virgil sits down on hers. "You could correct them," he says as he takes off his robe and hangs it up. "Just tell them you prefer to be called 'Ma'am' or 'Ms Static.'"

"Oh yeah," V says with a throaty laughs, mostly because the idea of being called 'Ms Static' is just as stupid, although she could get used to being called 'Ma'am.' "I can imagine it now: 'By the way, Dakota, your favorite superhero is Trans, so for all of you who call me a guy—stop.' Somehow, that's not exactly the way I imagined coming out."

Richie shrugs as he lies back against the headboard. V follows suit. "You'll have to tell them all eventually. Especially if you plan on going through with hormone therapy," he says and gestures in the general direction of his office, "I'm pretty sure that stuff causes at least partial breast development or something. People will wonder, and you know how Dakota is with rumors… and not being over all pretty shitty."

"Richie, oh, my God." V rolls her eyes but laughs—she has heard this all before. "Yes, please, tell me more about how much you hate living in Dakota," she says with a snort. There is a moment of silence before she sighs and continues. "Look, I know you hate it here, but there's really nothing we can do about it right now; it's near Gotham, and these people need us. It's the best place for us right now."

Richie sighs heavily and scoots down under the covers. He lies on his side to face V and, after she zaps the light off, and lies down next to him, he wraps his arms around her tightly. "I know it's the best place for us," he says matter-of-factly, "but that doesn't mean I can't hate it here. I just think we would both be so much happier somewhere else."

With a soft sigh, V scoots back against Richie and rests her head on the edge of his pillow. She closes her eyes, taking in slow, deep breaths as she tries to calm down enough in order to go to sleep again. The fact she can feel the gentle rise and fall of Richie's chest against her back is helping tremendously.

"One day we'll move out of Dakota," V says tiredly. "I promise."

"Mm," Richie murmurs in response. "One day you'll have the body you want," he says in return. "Just try not to stress too much; you'll make yourself crazy. Everything will work out in time." He pauses for a moment to yawn. When it passes, he shakes his head and cuddles up against V all the closer. "I promise."

The exchange of promises is what keeps them both asleep throughout the rest of the night, well into the afternoon. Neither of them makes a single movement until noon, when the sun coming in through the edges of the curtain begins to disturb V. Even still, she manages to stay asleep for another two hours.

Saturdays are undoubtedly such a wonderful times for them.