------------------
Water Flows, River Stays
---------------------
(Richie's POV)
Several hours had passed and I felt as wrung out as Kobe Bryant after his wife got through with him. I knew I should have been embarrassed and maybe a little scared by the easy way Virgil and I had submerged in each other's pain, but truthfully I was feeling sort of numb. Too many things had hit me and I figure my emotions decided to take a little vacation. Plus, what had happened felt- distant. Sort of scabbed over. It still pulsed with dull pain but I didn't think I was going to collapse into a shivering wreck again. The memory of that helplessness sent a quiver done my spine. Instinctively, I leaned on Vee and felt him respond with a gentle brush of emotion. The easy give and take felt so natural, not like something that hadn't existed before yesterday.
Well, it existed. Vee just didn't know about it. And, oh boy, was I relieved that he took it so well. When we'd gradually separated back into different people, the connection remained, so much more obvious than before. The freak-out I had expected didn't occur. Neither Virgil nor I had made a move to leave the couch. Truthfully, I couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be. I was glad he felt the same.
Most men would be ashamed to cuddle even a member of their family let alone their best friend. The easy way Vee gave comfort was one of the reasons I fell in love with him, with his whole family. Just being with them, seeing the affection they showed so openly, was more seductive than any pin-up. There was no turning away from that.
We ended up watching television, more out of habit than any real desire. We hadn't wanted to separate. I had felt our mutual desire to stay together, so I had ordered Backpack to switch on the TV. That's how we came to be watching the news and the breaking story on the fire that had claimed the life of a sixteen-year-old girl.
The perky brunette anchorwoman was standing in front of a burned-out building. "It seems that the fire originated in the bedroom of Blaise Makil, who was just sixteen. Initial findings point to an old-fashioned turpentine lamp as the accelerant in this fire. A faulty outlet appears to be the cause. Her body was discovered a little over twenty minutes ago. Officials are calling this a tragic accident. Here with me is the young woman's mother."
The tear-streaked face of the woman I had briefly glimpsed an eternity ago was pulled into close-up. Shaking hands came up and covered her eyes. "She's gone. She's really gone."
"She looks so…relieved." I whispered, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
There was nothing wrong with her words. She sounded exactly like a grieving mother should- except she didn't. Maybe it was because I knew what really happened in that house, but I saw the sloped shoulders of a woman shaking with relief instead of anguish.
The movement of Vee's chest muscles against the back of my head let me know he was nodding. //agreement//shock// "How horrible do you have to be that your own mother doesn't miss you?"
As the screen switched to the weather forecast, I flashed back to my glimpse of the mousy woman I saw in those awful moments. Somberly, I closed my eyes. "I imagine she was scared every day of her life. Scared of her own daughter. Scared for her very sanity, unable to tell anyone, unable to stop her own thoughts. Disgusted with herself and terrified of the future." My stomach roiled back and forth and those wounds I had thought so distant pricked my eyelids with tears.
Vee tightened his grip, rubbing the dry towel into my shoulder. I heard him swallow heavily, "Richie?" //worry//reflected pain//
The question lay unspoken between us because we both knew that the only truth hurt too much to say. No, I wasn't alright.
I squeezed the forearm wrapped around my chest, giving reassurance even though it was a lie. As the closing for the broadcast started to roll up I felt a wave of //hesitancy// roll out of Vee.
"You've got to go." I managed to keep the bitterness from my voice but I doubted I was as successful with my emotions.
"Yeah." A brush of fingers over my knuckles then he pulled out of my grip and slid out from under me. //regret//annoyance with other// "I haven't been showing up for enough meals lately. I got a chewing out the other day."
I shrugged despondently. He had to go. I could tell he didn't want to and I still didn't want to let him go. You're being a baby again. A voice in my head whispered. He can't always be your security blanket.
There was more hesitation on his part when I wouldn't look at him. I could tell he was going to offer to stay. While part of me desperately wanted to scream at him to not leave another was growing rather sure that I was pathetic. I hadn't even gotten up to change into clothes since he'd carried me in here and placed me on the couch. I'd just broken down and made him pick up the pieces. And of course he can feel all this and you're making him feel guilty. Determinedly, I focused my emotions into a more neutral area.
Tugging at the rather loose towel around my waist, I stood up. The world tilted a little but I managed to right it again. I looked Vee in the eye and said, "I probably should head home too before my mom sends out the search parties." Only after I said it did I realize how true it probably was: my mom hadn't seen me in over four days. With a sinking gut I knew I'd be going home tonight. Quickly, I steered my thoughts away from that before Vee caught on. No guilt trips.
Our link pulsed between us and for a moment I felt that he might throw my bullshit back in my face, but he backed down instead. "I'll see you tomorrow, Rich."
As soon as he was out of the room I sagged against the arm of the couch. His presence faded away til it was an ethereal murmur. I was alone.
I clenched my fist against my thigh and let out a deep breath. I could feel my fingers wanting to twitch. I looked around the den. The TV was still blaring away, but I didn't see what was on anymore. I felt naked and afraid even here. It wasn't an on-rush of fear like before. But it still seemed to whisper in the corners making me want to close my eyes and hide.
Get off your ass and get armed, you idiot.
Shaking off my fear as best I could, I headed into the laundry room in search of my Gear outfit, ordering Backpack to skitter along behind me.
(Virgil's POV)
Mashed potato mountains were taking shape on my plate but I didn't really care. I wasn't hungry. Oh, boy was I not hungry. In fact I would have liked nothing more than to skip this family dinner and still be sitting on the couch with Richie.
Everything seemed so… hollow and discolored. I'd experienced some backlash trying to fit back into my non-superhero life before but nothing like this. Part of me kept reaching out for Richie and every time I came up empty it hurt. How can I miss something I've only known for a few hours so much?
There was nothing to compare it to. Even when I'd first deliberately tried to connect with Richie using his new power I hadn't realized I'd feel him like that. I'd just wanted him to know I trusted him and maybe selfishly I wanted him to really understand in that way a person just can't when it's only words.
People always hunger for some sort of connection, to not feel alone. When they don't get it that's when suicide starts to look so appealing. Luckily for me, my life has never lacked the affection and understanding that normal people use to connect with the others.
Normal people.
That's the crux, because for the first time I'd felt a deeper connection and somehow I'd gotten addicted to that as well. The tiny niggle left in the corner of my mind wasn't nearly enough. I wanted that extra dimension of reality back, now. Which translates to: Richie, now.
I groaned internally as I forked another lump onto a budding pile. This is so not going to help with my obsession. Although, I'd sort of already decided to put that problem on hold for a while. It wasn't at a dangerous level and if I had to tell the truth I didn't think either of us could stand to be apart. Not when there was no one else who understood, who could make the hurt fade even a little.
I couldn't look into the faces of my sister or my father. The urge to confess was too strong. I wanted to break down, shout at the world, beat my fists on the table, say, "Don't you see me, that something's wrong?", get their attention, get their love to try and cover the holes left when I'd sacrificed myself.
It wasn't going to happen, though. They would look at me differently. They would start to pay attention to all the things I couldn't afford their attention on. This secret could reveal all the others.
Twisted maybe, but I couldn't give up the skies, helping people, the freedom and strength I'd found in my alter ego. It meant too much to me. If I told there'd be no more late nights alone in the sky with Richie, fighting the good fight, or ecstatic moments of discovery in our workshop. How could I give that up? It would hurt as much as surrendering to her devil's kiss.
It burnt so bad. Gore rose up in my throat and I could almost feel her lips again. Quickly, I swallowed, forcing it down. With grim determination I scooped another forkful of potatoes. This one I detoured into my mouth. I swallowed it before I had to taste it. Even though they hadn't looked poisonous for once I figured they'd taste like paste anyway, I was in no mood to enjoy food. Several more bites and I couldn't do it anymore. I pushed my plate away and stood up. Looking up for the first time I said, "'Nite."
I beat a fast retreat, knowing what I was running from wasn't going to stay downstairs. I burst into my room and stumbled to a halt. Streetlights shone in through my window, making my mess entirely visible. I didn't bother turning on the electricity, just shuffled over to my bed and started stripping down.
Then, sitting on the edge of my bed in my boxers, I stared at the wall consciously not looking at the street clothes and the uniform mingled together on the floor. I wasn't sure who I was anymore. I wasn't sure… about anything.
Reaching out into nothingness I could feel the smoothness of Richie's face under my palm almost like he was there. I felt his warmth and his concern and then it was gone and my fingertips registered only the cool air.
Shaking my head at my foolishness, I bent down and picked up the incriminating pieces of cloth and moved over to my closet. I stopped in front of the mirrored door, seeing a distorted, darkened image of myself in it. Irrationally afraid, I shoved the door open and deposited my stuff as quickly as possible. I went back to bed without once glancing back at the mirror.
Once I was in bed I closed my eyes and before I knew it darkness pulled me down.
(Richie's POV)
Even though I sort of expected it, it still hurt the way my mother didn't even question where I'd been for four days. I know for sure that if Virgil disappeared for twelve hours his father and sister would be raising all sorts of hell. How can this be home? I wondered, staring at my bedroom ceiling, my eyes drawn to the spot where the missing model had hung.
Shit, as soon as I got there I wanted to turn around and leave. At the gas station, I'd practically worked myself into a panic attack thinking about what I'd be feeling when my father came home. I made myself stop thinking about it and set off although it didn't stop what I figured was an early ulcer from getting a start in my stomach.
My mom's emotions had been muted and shifty, like she was trying to hide them from herself during the quiet meal we'd shared before I managed to slip away. No way did my father have that sort of reserve and the idea of, the possibility of… My breathing quickened just thinking of it.
I can't take this. Not now. Please. I hugged myself. The way Her emotions had pushed into me had almost been worse than the physical violation. Curling up into a ball under my covers my mind ran all over the place until I dropped into a restless sleep.
Whimpering I woke, and for a second trapped between the horror of what happened and the helplessness of my home life, I thought, I can't take this. Death would be better. Scared by my own thoughts, I sat there shaking, paralyzed by my own desperation. No matter how bad things had gotten I'd never thought that before. That was a place I would not go. No. Just. No.
But I could still feel it pressing at me, memories rising from the depths and I knew I couldn't take reliving it again, not now when everything was too much. Before I really thought about it I had rolled out of bed and gotten dressed.
Gear slipped out of my window and headed for the only safe place I knew.
(Virgil's POV)
That place between waking and dreaming held me for several seconds, trying to draw me back down into its unhappy depths. Whatever had woken me however, kept it from winning and I slowly blinked my eyes leaving behind fragmented embryonic dreams, registering first the blackness then the chill that was pressed all along my front. A breath puffed against my collarbone, almost one with the whispered, "sorry."
Richie. It occurred to me that I should ask what he was doing here, practically molesting me in my sleep but really I didn't care. Pulling him closer to me with the arm that had enwrapped him while I was still unconscious, I closed my eyes and pulled with my heart as well, instinctively murmuring reassurances silently through our bond.
When I woke in the morning with my alarm blaring in my ear, I was alone with a suspicious patch of wetness on my chest. I felt it shift against my skin as I sat up and zapped my clock. Running my hand through my hair, I stared at it. Half dried, the damn thing poignantly reminded me of the cruelties of life. Standing, I started my morning routine, my usual joie de vive shot to hell.
The school had a memorial service. Why I'm not quite sure. She'd only gone to our school for two days. The way I figure it she was just too 'pretty' to die without notice. The talk around school was it was all "how tragic", "what a waste", "she was too young"
Richie and I skipped it, holing up in the bathroom until it was over. I held his shoulder as he looked at the wall. We didn't say one word to each other for fifteen minutes, just stood as absorbed in each other as we had been back on the couch last night.
When I drew away from him, Richie looked at me with his matching wet eyes and I gave him a weak smile.
It hadn't escaped my notice that, despite the mild weather he was practically being swallowed by his hoody, or that on our desperate flight he'd managed to avoid touching anyone in the hallways. It also didn't elude me that on our way back he did the same thing.
a month later…
I'm the son of a social worker. My father has pamphlets on just about every teen issue there is at the center and I've been "volunteering" there since I was ten. Doing the math I figured I probably knew more about rape trauma than our school's health teacher slash gym teacher, with all the emphasis on the gym part. It hurt to know I was a victim just like Richie. Maybe I had set myself up for it but she still made me do things that I would never have done otherwise- made me feel dirty and used. But I'd known it could happen. Hell, I'd rushed head long into it. Richie had everything ripped away. His preconceptions and his control.
It became obvious pretty quickly that the only times Richie really relaxed was when he was alone with me or when he was Gear. Although it was strangely gratifying that Richie evaded all other touches but mine I did find the other fact… ominous? Richie taking refuge in his alternate personality too much just didn't seem like a good idea. I understood the feeling of invincibility that comes with putting on the mask that could make you regret taking it off. I also knew the helplessness under her and understood wanting to get some control back. So, I didn't say anything and made sure we got a lot of alone time to counter his dependence on Gear and hoped for the best. I was pretty much an amateur playing with psych but I wanted to help.
Maybe if I hadn't, I could have gone on in ignorance. Even having some experience with time travel, I'm not sure if there ever really is a chance to take the other road and trying to figure it out still gives me a headache.
It happened innocuously enough. As we'd been doing for weeks, Richie and I were hanging out in my living room watching TV. That day, Richie had fallen asleep during the fourth hour of Sci-Fi Channel's 'Chain Reaction' marathon of X-Files. That also wasn't uncommon. Although his late night visits had grown less frequent and so had the nightmares that sent him to me. Which we still didn't talk about. After the third time he crawled into my bed I tried to, but Richie refused. Seeing the shadows in his eyes, I just couldn't bring myself to push. Either way Riche was still having trouble sleeping at home. So I'd grow accustomed to him falling asleep on me.
Sitting in the corner with a zonked out Richie laying sprawled across my chest and the rest of the couch under a fleece blanket didn't keep me from enjoying one of the better X-File episodes I'd ever seen. It in fact was a nice addition. We were together and safe. Mind numbing television was rotting my brain and patrol wasn't for hours yet. All good. So, there I was watching this scene with Scully and the love interest of the X-File of the show talking in a high school bathroom at the lady's reunion feeling as content as I had in a long time.
The blonde, Sheila, said disbelievingly, "Not even a kiss?" Talking about Scully and Mulder and I smirked to myself. That's what every fan ever has asked themselves.
Meanwhile Scully shook her head looking exasperated. Still smirking I thought, I wonder just how many times she's had to say no to that one.
Sheila, who'd gotten in a lucky smooch on a distracted Mulder earlier, said, "Trust me, the man knows how to kiss. I just never thought of Holman that way, you know. He's my closest friend. And to not even suspect..."
I rolled my eyes at that and resisted making a comment that would wake the peacefully sleeping guy on my arm. Seriously, the Holman character may have been as pathetic a nerd as ever did exist but considering he'd been dogging her since high school Shelia really should have caught the clue bus.
And even though I knew Scully was just saying it because the guy Holman's control of the weather hinged on it and that Scully knew she wouldn't be getting out of the town alive if she didn't get the willfully blind-to-what-is-right-under-her-nose woman to see how much the geeky super powered guy loved her, Scully's words made my guts twist.
Scully said, "Well, it seems to me that the best relationships-- the ones that last-- are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with."
That was when the metaphorical brick hit my head. Dazed, I looked down at the face of my best friend -ever- and said the only words that would come to my mind. "Oh, shit." Because that was it exactly, the feeling I'd had ever since Alva's island. Maybe before then, since I came back from the future with proof that Richie and I were always going to be together. I thought I'd become obsessed but it'd been love. I felt a rush of tingles down my spine and groin as for the first time I pictured leaning down just a bit and pressing my lips to Richie's plush pink ones. A hurried jumble of images followed, explicit but none too distinct, leaving me half hard.
Yet, looking at the man pressed trustingly to my chest, I also realized I had the worst timing in the world. My heart should have been soaring. I'd found true love! But it instead was sinking, as was my arousal. The trust on Richie's face was the clincher. How could I tell my traumatized best friend who trusted me above all others not to take advantage of him, that I wanted him? That I loved him?
I can't. Looking back up at the television, seeing the final credits, I knew that I couldn't say anything. That all I could do was love him, maybe for a long time, in silence. He was fragile right now, any type of excess pressure- we'd both been slogging our way back from what happened for a long time with him taking the brunt of it. No way was I going to put the guilt of not loving me on his shoulders or worse yet taking away the one person he felt comfortable enough around to relax by having him worry I was going to jump him. That would be worse than knifing him in the back.
It struck me only after I'd started despairing about betraying my friend by falling for him at such a sucky time that, duh, he was a guy and he might not even want that kind of thing from me anyway. Mentally, I groaned as I saw my problems piling up.
And really, this was the first time I'd ever pictured a male in any of my fantasies. Shouldn't I be having a freak out about loosing my hetero membership?
I turned my stare on the ceiling. Those self-same pamphlets in my Dad's office had covered sexuality too and I'd heard of the Kinsey studies. I wasn't seriously surprised to find out I could be attracted to a guy. A little shocked that it had happened, yeah, but it was Richie. There was practically nothing we hadn't shared already- I sent a bitter mental birdie at her- the closeness between us made it different somehow. Amusedly I thought of all the times Richie had come through for me for years, since I'd met him. How could I not fall in love with him?
Some half formed emotions nudged at me pulling my gaze back down to Richie's face, which had wrinkled and his hands had started to clutch at me; probably my distress was disturbing his sleep. Letting the conflict in my heart slide away as I had learned to do with strong emotions, I pulled my love closer. I resolved to wait til night, when distance had muted our connection, to feel my heartache again. I wasn't able to keep, myself, however from trying to send a silent message to him even though I knew he wouldn't hear the words, I'll wait for you. I'll love you. I'll keep you safe. I promise.
Then turning my face to the ceiling I gave God a piece of my mind. An X-Files episode. You made me realize I was in love through an X-Files episode. You really have a sick sense of humor, you know that? What did I ever do to you?
------
A/N: By the title is a proverb that means that although the water in the river is always changing and never the same the bedrock of the river always remains. No matter how turbulent or calm the water may look it is the river that is important because it is what will still be there when it is all over. Deep, huh? That's what World Religion courses will do to you.