So, we've made it. My beta-reader claims that this chapter makes the story work. I hope she's right. I know it doesn't quite go where I expected at the start. But I think where it goes is right. I hope you agree.

I give this to you all. You stuck with me, believed in me, came back to read my poor unfinished chapters time and again, and you deserve the best I can offer. I hope this comes close. This is for you.

Enjoy!

"Can I see him?"

The nurse looked Richie up and down and looked at her chart again. Then she shrugged.

"I guess so, kid. He's been really good for us. And we've got him hooked up to something that will render him unconscious if we hit the alarm, so even if he does try something he probably won't get far. You willing to risk it?"

"Yes."

She nodded and led him down a corridor, then down some stairs, then down another corridor. At one of the checkpoints she spoke quietly to a guard who met Richie's eyes with determination and instructions about "only 10 minutes and then I shut him down if you're not out yet." Richie just nodded to it all and followed.

And then the last door was opened.

Tim was lying on the bed, hands at his chest. A step closer and Richie could see a well-worn Bible pressed against him, as though he'd been reading and set it down but didn't want to let it go. The room was brightly lit, and Tim was shackled to the bed and covered in monitoring devices. He seemed lost in thought.

"Um. Hey," Richie coughed a little awkwardly. Tim's head shot around and he blinked behind his glasses.

"Richie?"

"Yeah." He moved to the one chair in the room, beside the bed, and sat down. "I…I heard about everything. And I just…I wanted to come and make sure you were okay."

"Oh. Yeah. I mean, no," and his face paled. "I'm…well, I'm going away. The deal will keep me out of prison, but I'm not going to be back at school any time soon."

"Yeah, I heard. And I heard you helped the police, too. Told them about everything. Told them about why you did it."

"Yeah."

Silence reigned for several moments.

"So, why are you here?" Tim said finally.

"Well, not to drop off homework," Richie tried to force a smile, but the joke failed utterly. "I just…I keep remembering that last conversation we had, you know?" And no, it doesn't matter that the last one I remember isn't the same one you're thinking of; they were similar enough for it to count, he thought.

"Yeah?"

"And I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay."

"I don't…I don't know," Tim answered slowly. "I made so many mistakes, Richie. I should never have…well. I did a lot of bad things. I hurt a lot of people. I almost got Static and Gear killed. I don't know what would have happened if Gear hadn't saved us both. Seraph was crazy enough to kill me even though I thought he was my friend."

Richie just waited. Tim sighed and spoke again.

"And I did it all because…because I was hurt. And mad. Because other people hurt me. Not you. People from school. Even my dad. And I just…I wanted to make it right."

"But how you did it, that could never make it right," Richie said softly.

"I know that now." Tim closed his eyes. "I thought I understood what God wanted from me. I thought I understood that I had been blessed to punish sinners. It was so perfect. I could inflict judgment without doing real harm. What else could God have wanted? But…I didn't really understand what harm meant." He looked at Richie and his eyes were wet. "Did you know that one of the little girls I scared with my powers came to visit me? She said she has nightmares about the dark now. She asked me why I did it to her and how she can feel better. And...I couldn't answer her."

"Tim…" Richie began, but then trailed off. What could he say?

"I thought the rules were easy. But they aren't. I thought I could just…do things, you know? And it would somehow make it all good or prove it was all evil. But it doesn't work that way. I don't know exactly what right and wrong means anymore. Except that I know I was wrong."

"Tim," Richie tried again, "nothing is as simple as we want it to be. The people we want to love, or the people we want to hurt, or even the people we want to be. It doesn't…it doesn't have short answers. It doesn't come fast. Even being a Bang Baby doesn't seem to fix things. Maybe it makes it worse."

"It did for me. I'm glad there are people like Static and Gear out there. Being blessed made them better, not worse."

"You're not worse. You have the rest of your life to be better."

"You told me that I should be who I was supposed to be, but that I would have to figure it out on my own. Well, not exactly, but that's what you were getting at, right? That I couldn't be who I thought I was until I figured out what that meant?"

"Something like that," Richie nodded.

"What I'm figuring out is that I don't know anything about myself that doesn't start and end in being mad or hurt. But now I will have time to deal with it. It's like my heart was always lashing out without my permission. Does that make sense?"

"More than you might think," Richie said wryly, thinking of his own brain's uncontrollable nature.

"I thought there were rules. And maybe there are, but they aren't easy and they don't fit on note=cards. But I can make some for myself and live by those and that will be enough. And if they're true for me, and if they fall under what I believe God is asking me to do, then that will make them good. And that's what I've got to do now. It won't be easy. I don't want to do it in a room like this for the rest of my life."

He turned away for a moment before meeting Richie's gaze unflinchingly. "But if that's what it takes, then I can handle that. Maybe all I ever needed was to listen to myself, and it's quiet enough in here for that."

-==OOO==-

"So, how was the visit?" Virgil asked, swinging his feet in the chair. Homework was spread before him, but his attention was all on Richie.

"He's…okay. I mean, he's going to be locked up for a long time and people will always be afraid of him but I think he's going to be a better person now. He and I are going to email for a while. And he gave me something to think about."

"Oh?" Virgil turned.

"He was talking about rules and how the black-and-white thing ultimately broke down for him. I think I've been trying too hard to put words to things. To diagnose my brain, to give it a term that has a finite definition and meaning and a set of patterns and expected outcomes. And I don't think my brain works that way anymore. I don't think I can work that way. I think I just…I'm just me. My brain is my brain. And if I start admitting to myself that not everything has to be clear-cut for it to be okay, I'll feel better."

"Also…" Virgil started to interrupt, but waited to make sure Richie had said what he meant to say.

"Also?"

"Well, you seem to do better when you talk, you know? The stuff you really tell me about, it gets better. It's when you don't tell me things, like before I knew about this, that it gets too much. You should just talk more. Even just to me."

"You know, I have nightmares where I'm in trouble and I can't seem to call for help," Richie confessed.

"And big-brain analysis says…?"

"That really what I'm afraid of is that there will be stuff I could scream and nobody would hear. That it isn't real if nobody knows and acknowledges it, and that nobody's listening. And if it isn't real, I can't fix it. But Tim said something that makes me think maybe I can listen to myself and it will be enough. And, if you're around, you can listen." And Richie felt himself get incredibly shy before the eyes of his best friend. But what if Virgil didn't…?

"I always hear you." Then, with a wry grin, "Especially when you scream. You scream like a toddler."

"Oh yeah? Well which one of us got into a fight on the internet defending the merits of 'Veggie Tales' for four hours a few weeks ago? I didn't think it was me." Richie jumped back at him, feeling relief wash through him. They were okay.

"You keep that up and I'm gonna zap you out into the junkyard and stick your face down that mysterious slimy hole in the back and see how scared you are!"

"Virgil, your face could scare the knot-holes out of TREES."

"Yeah, but you know you love it."

"Yeah. Yeah I do." And this time he said it looking straight at Virgil without shame. Listen to yourself, huh Tim? Yeah, I can do that.

"I know, Rich."

"Is it okay?"

"It is." This time it was Virgil who was staring at Richie intensely, as though fighting through a wall of his own with the power of his not-quite-glare.

"How come?"

"'Cause I don't know if I'm gay the way you are, but that's not what matters. You are essential, Richie, to me, to my life. You know? Laugh if you want, but that's what it is. And I'm not going to let it be weird because I won't let anything get in the way of you and me being you-and-me." He fidgeted after saying it, but his shoulders eased as if he'd been holding it in for a while.

"That was unexpectedly very deep, Virg. But you're only partially right."

"Which part is wrong?" he looked up in alarm.

"The me being gay part. I mean, I am. But a lot of it is you, you know. If I didn't know you, would I be gay in a Virgil-vacuum? I don't know. Probably. But who knows? It's what you said. You're essential to me and my life. I guess I just take it farther than you do or something." Apparently Richie didn't do half-disclosure anymore. Score another one for Tim and his existential crisis.

"I don't know yet if that's true."

"What do you mean?" Richie's eyes widened.

"Rich, I just started thinking about all this stuff. And the…connection between us, whatever word you want to put on it, that's the most important thing in my life right now. Everything else, Daisy and dates and all, you know I'd dump every bit of it if you asked me to. You are essential. If that means that I'll inevitably wind up gay for you the way you did for me, well, that's what's going to happen. I just…I'm not there yet." He looked away now, ashamed.

"Okay, Virg. That's okay."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

Richie turned away and felt his mouth curve up into a tiny smile.

Essential. Inevitable.

Yes, everything was going to be okay.