A/N: I think this is my longest one yet! And I didn't even mean for it to turn out that way. XD
.:Murky Brown Worry:.
He knows that he should be more worried about himself, and he knows that his best friend worries about him, but he can't help to feel the most worried about Virgil since he's mainly the one putting his life on the line time and time again.
Virgil is Static Shock, a quickly well-known teen superhero, since he's the only one who bothers to use his powers for something other than personal gain. And all the while Richie has been his backup, and later, his partner Gear. It's all Richie can do, though; be the one to fall back on. He's rarely the one coming to Virgil's rescue, since his own powers are limited to that of what his brain can invent. But a rescue mission is exactly what made him Gear in the first place, so when it comes to equal status, Richie doesn't complain.
Still, he would like to be less on the sidelines. He would like to be able to take on Static's foes himself, because he can't stand seeing Virgil get hurt. He hates that he's merely "the smart one", because it makes him appear weaker. But don't get him wrong; the sign of weakness is less of a pride issue and more of a protection issue. Richie can hardly protect himself, and yet he wishes to protect his best friend. Not out of payback or anything along those lines; he simply wishes to keep the one he loves safe from harm.
It's been a while now since they made a deeper relationship between one another. Nearly four months, to be exact. It's a secret, though, because no one needs to know what goes on between them in their spare time. Plus, if one of the enemies found out… well, if they've tried using Richie before as bait since he's a friend of Static's, imagine what they would do if they knew that he's Static's boyfriend. The stakes are higher. So for their own wellbeing, their status is kept under wraps. Many, many wraps.
Unfortunately, nothing stays secret for long. And that's what worries Richie above all else.
And he has plenty to lose sleep over, because some people can pick up on the signs better than others. Already Frieda asked him why he and Virgil are suddenly friendlier with each other, to which Richie simply laughed off and replied, 'What d'ya mean, friendlier? We're best friends, so we're always friendly with each other.' Then, later, he overheard Frieda talking to Daisy, giggling about how defensive and bashful he had been (he felt offended; him, bashful? Tch), and how it's 'so totally obvious' that they were going out. Daisy, Richie noticed, was surprised, but more about Virgil than Richie (again, tch).
But as long as no one makes the connection between each of the boys' identities, things are relatively in the safe-zone.
Yet there are other things to consider, and some nights these other things preoccupy Richie's complex mind, the murky brown sludge known as panic and worry coating each 'what if'. What if Virgil is captured again? What if he's out patrolling alone and gets into deep trouble, unable to call out for help? What if he – figuratively or literally – takes the bullet for Richie? What if…
"Uhg, shut up, stupid brain!" Richie grumbles to himself as he rolls onto his side and covers his head with his folded pillow. "Go into hibernation mode or something." Like a computer, his mind races with multiple thought tracks at once. Like he told Virgil when his powers first bloomed, 'it's like my thoughts are thinking thoughts!' Because, in a manner of speaking, they are. And late into the night, a majority of them are all about Virgil in one way or another. Richie usually forces the more pleasant thoughts to the front of his mind if he can, but sometimes even the genius isn't capable of controlling his rising fears.
It's on this night, when more 'what if's are going on a rampage, that Richie gets a weak call from his Shock Vox. Blinking in the dim lighting, he shifts in his blankets and reaches for the hand-made walkie-talkie on his end table. "What was that?" he says, asking Virgil to repeat himself.
"I said, I need you! There's an armed-robbery at the bank, and some of the late-night workers are trapped inside as hostages!" Virgil's voice hisses through the crinkling static. Richie hears two rapid gunshots, and then screaming. "Hurry! I don't know if I –" But then his sentence is sliced in half as the Shock Vox goes dead.
A shot of sinking fear cuts Richie's stomach from it's tubes, and he feels it drop much farther than where a stomach should be. He struggles to let go of the Shock Vox as his mind seems to come to a screeching halt. He can almost hear the crash of his thoughts speeding together into a pile of broken, jumbled words.
Then, he's moving quickly, as fast as his mind normally moves, only this time his body is the one doing the thinking. Without realizing the full extent of his actions, Richie flies out of his bed and shimmies out of his pajama bottoms and into his green-and-white suit. He dons his helmet and scoops up Backpack, not even bothering to give it a voice command. The machinery can easily synch up with his thoughts and comprehend what it is he needs to do.
His skates locking into place, Richie fully becomes Gear, and he leaps out his bedroom window. The jets burst into flame and propel him into the sky, and he flies towards the bank, Backpack climbing from his arms to rest on his back where it belongs.
"V," he murmurs softly in the confines of his helmet. The worry escalates from his disconnected stomach to plug every pore in his body with sticky sweat. He swallows hard, hoping that if the Shock Vox was destroyed, it doesn't mean that his love was destroyed along with it. To make sure, the blond clears his throat to order, "Backpack; scan the bank – no, better make that the entire city – for Static's Shock Vox."
Data immediately streams in across the bottom of his vision. It informs him that there are no signs of it anywhere.
The dread turns his sweat icy.
"Please don't be hurt," he chants as he gets closer to the bank, "Please, please don't be hurt. I'm almost there. I'm comin' for you, man." It becomes a small mantra of comfort, the word 'please' being whispered continuously.
Richie makes a left turn around a tall building, and the bank comes into sight. He makes a landing off to the side of it, the windows dark, but he can see figures moving. Most of them are ducked down, hands on their heads. They must be the workers. But where's Static? Where's Virgil's mop of dreadlocks? It's too unclear to tell if he's there, but even shadows should be able to give him away. Or even a flash of light from his electricity. So where…?
Assessing the situation, Gear disables the outer alarms and sneaks into the bank. He rolls along the tiled flooring like a swift ghost in the night, and suddenly he wishes that his costume was a darker color than white and green, because as much as he loves green, it's only good for hunting or army camouflage, not ninja stealth.
The blond exhales slowly and switches to the built-in night vision on his helmet. Greenish-grey light fills his line of sight. He creeps past multiple cowering bodies, and each one that lifts their heads to blink at him in the dark, he raises a finger to his lips to shush them, and then whispers, "I'm here to save you. Hold on." And they all nod or start to cry before shrinking back into their please-don't-shoot-me positions.
Acting quickly, Gear skates near the front desk where a man with a semi-automatic and black ski mask sits atop the counter and observes the hostages. Gear figures that the other participants in the robbery are off stealing while this guy is stuck babysitting. A wry smile forms on Gear's lips; this is almost too easy. If he wants to, he can threaten this man into telling him where his beloved partner is.
…But no, that would cause too much of a disturbance, and the others – who knows how many there are! – would come to back this guy up, and then Gear would be surrounded and Static-less. So he takes into account another option: using one of his Zap Caps to tie the man up and silence him while Gear does away with the gun. It's a lot safer and quieter than the first plan, so nodding to himself, Gear withdraws one of the devices and takes aim.
Within seconds, the baddie is on the ground squirming, his yells muffled by a wire in his mouth. The scene briefly reminds Gear of when the same thing occurred to Shiv on a different rescue-Virgil mission. His first, to be exact.
"I'll come back for you later," he growls at the man as he strips him of his gun and hands it to one of the rising hostages. The hostage is dressed in a bue shirt and navy dress slacks, a small badge on his lapel. "Are you a security guard here, sir?" he asks.
The man nods and scrambles completely to his feet. "One of the new night guards," he informs the teen.
"Here," Gear says, handing him the gun. "Keep an eye on this guy, would ya? I have some other business to attend to."
"Um, sure thing," the guard stutters unconfidently as he takes the gun with shaking hands. "God, I've never handled anything bigger than a handgun before…"
"You don't have to fire it," Gear leans in to say. He doesn't want the robbing accomplice to hear him. "Just use it as intimidation until I come back with Static."
"Oh yeah, you're Static's sidekick, aren't you?"
"Actually, we're partners."
"Same diff. Look, I don't know where he is, but I know how you might be able to find him; on the basement floor there's a room with a door that says 'security personnel only' on it. If you go inside, there'll be monitors of every room and vault in this building. Static has to be in one of those, so if you just look to see which one, you can go get him," the guard rambles, his nerves clearly shaken. But he's attempting to be helpful to get his own slice of heroism, and for this Gear is grateful.
He smiles politely at the man, whom can't be more than thirty-five. "Thank you, citizen. I'll be on my way, now," and he forces a short salute as the guard takes his stance beside the fallen criminal.
And then Gear is speeding down the hallways and turning on the jets in his skates as he jumps the stairs to the basement. He finds a hallway and near the end of it, the door that he's looking for. Only there's a man stationed there, another in a ski mask, and unlike the man before him, he has green skin peaking out, which means that he must be a Bang Baby.
The man turns and spots him, stunningly orange irises staring Gear's way through the eyeholes of the mask. "It's you! You're that genius kid that hangs with Static," the man barks, and he tears off his gloves. A teeny voice in the back of Gear's head automatically makes the assumption that the gloves were on to stop fingerprints from being left anywhere. Green hands the sickly color of vomit ripple and stretch to form disgusting ivy tentacles, and for a minute Gear thinks of how cool that would be if it wasn't going to attack him. But he remembers that this isn't a Plant Man comic and that guy isn't the lovely Poison Ivy, so he's in deep shit.
Okay, so, what are enemies of plants? He thinks as he dodges a whip from the man's hands. And another. And another. He leaps around the hallway, which luckily has a rather high ceiling for a basement. Gear glances upwards, and notes that there are three pipelines, each labeled with what they contain. Water, gas, and electricity. If I was Vigil, I could use the electricity to my advantage. But I'm not him, so I have to think fast. Let's see… water won't do me any good, because with the exception of drowning small plants, most of the bigger ones just absorb the water. So all that's left is –
A tentacle wraps itself around his ankle like a living vine, and thorns pop out to try and pierce his suit. He orders Backpack to laser it off, and that's when an idea hits him.
Of 'course! A plant doesn't stand a chance against fire! So if I could melt a hole in that gas line and then shoot it with one of the flare Zap Caps, the guy's arms will set on fire and I can run past him into the room! Only… how do I get it so that it doesn't spread too far to hurt me or anyone else?
The roars and rears up deadly close, his ivy arms snaking up around Gear's sides. Panic rises in his chest, but more because he thinks he's going to fail Virgil than he's going to lose his life.
I don't have time to work out the details, he thinks while one of the vines threaten to choke him. He grunts as he wrestles with it, his feet beginning to lift off the ground. I have to act now before it's too late, and I'm unconscious on the floor!
So, with a roundhouse kick higher than any he's ever managed, he triggers the jets in his boots and kicks at the arm that's nearly strangling him. The man shrieks and yanks the tentacle back, the other loosening it's coil around Gear's waist as a reflex. He takes this opportunity to break free and, lifting into the air with his boots, shoot a hole in the gas pipe to spray down upon the plant-like Bang Baby. He flies ahead of the leak and kicks back, the flames form his jets igniting the gas and sending a fury of flames on the criminal's clothes. The ski mask burns off as the man rolls to put out the fire, but Gear isn't looking any longer. He's already at the doorway of the security monitor room, his conscious beginning to weight heavy with the guilt of harming, possibly killing, another person. He mind flashes to the two-headed monster that used to be Hotstreak and Ebon, and how the two drowned in the harbor, essentially killed by himself and Virgil.
But Richie has no time to think of that now; he has to locate his boyfriend and get them the hell out of here, and hopefully the police in their place. Speaking of which, where are the police? Where no alarms tripped? How can they not know about this?
Shrugging the thoughts away because there are too many, Richie rolls on his skates up to the wall of television screens. His eyes scan from left to right, top to bottom, until they land on the fifth down from the top right.
It's a black-and-white scene, meaning old cameras, but the picture is clear: it's a vault, and it's empty, save for one bleeding body lying on the cold stone floor.
The murky brown worry-sludge turns into watery sewage soup as Richie's knees buckle from underneath him. He falls to the floor, the first thought seeping into his brain being an icy, hurtful one: He's already dead.
"No!" Richie roars as he tears off his helmet and listens to it's echo as it hits the control table below the screens. "No, no, no!"
It can't be. It's simply cannot be. There's no way that Virgil let himself get beat so bad. There's no way that he's dead. It must be a trick. It has to be a trick. Because if it isn't, something in Richie might break clean in half, never to be mended again.
His breathing coming in ragged gasps, Gear stands and replaces his helmet over his sweaty blond hair. He bites his lip and mentally records where the vault is.
And then he's gone, not stopping to look at the burnt man on the floor, only stopping to plug the gas leak. He moves up the chain of stairs by jet-skate until the digit four is painted on the brick before his eyes. He shuts off the jets and rolls in through the door.
This is it. The hallway on the monitor. And, he rationalizes, if I take a left turn at the T-intersection at the end, I'll come to the vault that Virgil is locked inside of.
With one forward thrust of his leg he's wheeling down the tiled hallway to his destination. As he rounds off on the corner, he meets up with two men in front of the vault. One is a Bang Baby; he wears no mask, only an animalistic face with hair around his jaw and orange eyes with slitted pupils.
What is with these orange-eyed Metahumans? Gear puzzles to himself as he launched himself into battle. He doesn't even stop to care that the other baddie is human, but wielding an automatic rifle. Does orange eyes mean that they are immune to the cure sent out a couple months ago? Or does it mean that they're a new breed, and now Bang Babies at all?
He can't work up the energy to theorize now, however. He's too damn determined to get inside of that vault, to feel Virgil's pulse and touch his face and make sure that he's going to be fine.
Gear throws three Zap Caps, the kind full of harder-than-concrete goo that he whipped up himself. One of the Caps falls flat on the ground and hardens on the tiling. But another hits the ceiling, raining the homemade cement down on the human. And then the last one hits the animal-guy square in the chest, freezing him in place, his elongated claws (they must be at least half a foot long!) outstretched but going nowhere.
The genius smirks to himself, part of it from the relief and pride, and most of it from the hysteric concern welling up in his body. But he shakes it off and moves onto the vault door, Backpack easily hooking up to it's code pad and overriding it's circuitry.
Then, finally, Richie is free to burst into the iron vault and race to Static's side.
No one's around. It's alright to call him by his first name, Richie thinks to himself. "Vi-" But then he remembers about the monitors, and how everything is taped. He stops himself mid-breath as he takes the superhero into his arms, lifting the limp, heavy body onto his lap. "Static," he stresses, his voice higher than usual. The harsh ache of tears string the backs of his eyes. "Static, c'mon, you can't be dead! Please, don't die on me..." He bends down, his head resting on the black boy's chest. He hears the lowest whisper of air entering and leaving a pair of lungs. And, alongside it, the dull thumping of a beating heart.
Relief sweeps through him, but it's merely temporarily as the warmth of blood heats his thigh. He glances down, gently turning his love to find the gash in his side, and the probability of broken ribs.
"Oh…" Richie breathes out, the tears pooling in his eyes. "I'm so sorry that I didn't get here in time," he chokes. Sniffling once, he stands, Virgil's weight being brought into his arms. "I'm going to get you out of this, man, if it's the last thing I do."
"Rich…" Virgil answers, the slur in his tone indicating that he's barely conscious. It could even be subconscious, like talking in one's sleep due to voice recognition.
"That's right," Gear murmurs to him as he stumbled on his skates upon exiting. "And I'm here for you, one-hundred percent."
It appears that he isn't sleep-talking after all, because the next thing Static says is, "'N walk," as if saying, 'I can walk.'
"Don't worry, I got ya," Gear replies. He finds his own statement rather hypocritical, because it sounds as if he has nothing to worry about, when in truth, he is nothing but worried.
"Let me walk," Static groans a second later.
Torn, Richie decides to set his boyfriend down, because in all honesty, he was getting hard to carry. "Okay, but lean on me. No, not on my left; your right side is wounded. Here, come to my right; that way your arm won't be reaching up and ultimately stretching that gash." He guides the mocha teen along, weaving him around the stilled criminals and solidified puddle of Zap Cap cement.
It takes them a while, but soon they're on the elevator down to the main floor. It's a short ride, but in the quiet of the elevator (the music is somehow absent, for which Richie is glad), Richie noticed precisely how banged-up Virgil is. He's ashen and sweating from the pain, and there are small cuts along his arms. His jacket is torn in multiple places, all with the same cut patterns. The animal-Metahuman, Richie realizes. He must've been fighting the animal-like Metahuman. And worse, the blood splattered everywhere; it's like something out of a horror film, only in this scary movie, Richie knows it's real and it's serious and that the leading character is the most important person in his life. He winces as this dawns on him, and out of instinct, holds Virgil closer.
"I'm going to leave you somewhere safe while I take care of the rest of the robbers and call the police," Gear says in a strict voice. It's all he can do to keep the conflicting emotions off of his face.
Static glances up at him. "No… I need to help you. I'm hurtin' pretty bad, but I still have power. I can –"
"Shut up, V," Gear grumbles. "I won't have you getting hurt again. It's alright if they hurt me, but they made a huge mistake when they hurt you. It's payback time now."
"What d'ya mean, it's alright if they hurt you?!" Static retorts, but the raise in his voice turns into a groan as the outburst angers his wounds. He hisses out between clenched teeth, "I would never forgive myself if you got turned into minced meat like me."
Richie almost wants to laugh. The elevator doors open before a weak chuckle slips out. The two hobble out of the lift and into a hallway. There are voices nearby, shouting over stomping boots. The bad guys are on the move toward their getaway.
"Stay here!" Gear orders as he sets Virgil down on the floor. "I'm going to end this." And he runs, his skates flying across the floor. He can't afford further damage to anybody. This has to stop.
He catapults himself into the chaos, the night vision on his helmet returning as he flips it on and watches blurs rush by. The masked ones carrying bags of money become his targets.
"What?! When'd he get here?" one of the criminals yell as they spot Gear and halt in front of him. The criminal panics, his head looking between his fleeing friends (some of them slowing to see what he meant) and Gear. It doesn't take long for him to realize that he's met his match. He drops the bag of cash and raises his hands in defense. "L-look, we ruffed up your friend, but if you want to know where he is –"
"I already found him, thanks!" Gear snaps as he grabs the man by the shirt. He pushes him to the ground and throws a Zap Cap at him. Metal wires spring out and cocoon the stricken robber, his arms and legs bound together.
And then Richie whips around to face the others. Hostages around them glance up, curious to see what the teenager will do.
And oh boy, does he have a show for them.
He flies into the air and rushes three of the robbers, their bags of money flying and untying in the air. As the dollar bills cascade down like twirling helicopters from trees in the fall, Gear hogties them together in a heap, a tiny part of him astounded that it feels so easy. But these three are merely human, so it isn't too much of a surprise.
One still races for the front entrance, panicking noises escaping his lips. Gear wheels over to him and cuts him off before he reaches the doors. "And just where do you think you're going, mister?" he grins darkly.
"Um… into a police car?" the man shrieks. Gear can tell that he doesn't want to be bound like his pals behind them. Too bad.
"Wow, so the bad guy learns," Gear says sarcastically. He takes out his final Zap Cap, another of the cement kind. And he slams it down on the floor between them, and soon the criminal is rendered helpless like the rest.
And suddenly, Gear notices, he's done. Just like that.
Backpack jumps down form his back and clicks over on his quadrupeds to a light switch. It plugs itself into the switch and turns on enough lights to give the hostages some insight as to what happened. As Gear walks over to the closest victim (a woman in a red suit jacket with a black skirt) and asks to borrow her cell phone to call the police, he glances up to find Static hunched in the doorway, gazing at him with a jaw slacked in awe.
Richie freezes, blinking in the other teen's direction. "On second thought," he says before he takes the offered phone, "Why don't you call them? I need to get Static some medical care."
The woman follows Gear's line of sight. "Oh, dear. Maybe I should call an ambulance?"
"No, just the police," Richie murmurs to her as he starts to drift toward his boyfriend. "If you explain the situation, an ambulance will come naturally."
The woman nods and begins to dial nine-one-one, but Richie isn't paying attention. He skates over to Virgil, the light squeaks form his wheels sounding somehow louder in his ears. "V," he whispers, "How are you feeling?"
Virgil rests his head against his left forearm on the doorframe leading into the elevator hallway. "Not too great," he pants. "I feel dizzy."
"It's the blood loss," Richie tells him. "You should lie down."
"No," Virgil replies stubbornly, "If I do, I'm afraid that I won't wake up."
"Then come over here; we can sit down on that bench by the window until the cops show up," he suggests lightly.
The mocha teen offers a tired smile. His mask slips a bit from his sweating forehead, the white rim drooping over his left eye. "Okay," he complies. Virgil lets Richie drape one arm over his white shoulders, and as soon as they sit down, Virgil doesn't hesitate in lying his head on Richie's chest. He touches Richie's thigh lightly with a gloves finger. "Are you hurt?" he asks.
"Er, no; that's your blood," Gear replies lamely. He wants so badly to remove his helmet and Static's mask so that he can kiss his face. Now that the worry is fading, relief is settling in. But some of the concern lingers due to Virgil's physical condition.
"Oh," the electric superhero sighs. "Man, they really did a number on me, huh?"
"Yeah, you really got your ass whooped," Richie says, knowing how much his boyfriend wants to lighten the mood. So he plays along, all the while silently hoping that the ambulance gets here before Virgil conks out.
A hitch in breath indicates a small laugh. "Yeah. Note-to-self: don't fight tiger people."
"Or plant people," Richie adds.
Virgil raises his head a bit. "Plant people?"
"I encountered one in the basement while looking for you. The guy had vine whips as arms."
"Get out," Virgil answered tiredly. "Like what Plant Man can do in the comics?"
"Yup, only this guy was a villain."
"That sucks for us," Virgil says dimly. The blood loss is getting to him. "I wonder… how he managed… to stay a Bang Baby. The others, too."
"I think it has something to do with their orange eyes," Richie muses aloud as he uses his teeth to pull off one of his gloves. He combs a hand through Virgil's hair, not caring what any of the post-hostages thought of the intimate gesture. The blond knows how much it calms Virgil, and at the moment, he needs the calmness.
"Trippy," the mocha teens whispers, commenting on the freaky-factor of bright orange eyes. His own eyes close. His head tilts, becoming heavier on Richie's chest.
"Static, are you asleep?" he inquires softly.
And that's when the sirens scream in Richie's ears, and he knows that he doesn't have to have the answer, because Virgil is going to be all right.
