Hello my dears,
Well, I do apologize for not updating for so long. This bit just didn't want to flow right...this is actually my fourth revision. Very annoying. I finally got it to go the way I wanted, though. Many, many thanks to those who have reviewed...I am so flattered by your kind words. Individual shout outs would end up being longer than the actual chapter, but I would like to extend my sincere thanks to those of you who have sent encouragement. It means a lot to me to know so many are enjoying this story.
Author's notes: Okay, I think I wrote this clear enough that it should be obvious, but just in case...all the scenes with Robert Hawkins are in fact taking place in the "real" Dakota. This is not Evil!Static's father.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Now listen to the story of a fellow named...oh wait, wrong file. This author makes no claims that she is in any way associated with the real owners of Static Shock and all recognizable characters. No money is exchanging hands and this is for entertainment purposes only.
Eight o' clock in the morning.
Robert Hawkins sat at his kitchen table, a cup of coffee long since gone cold at his elbow, staring at the clock on the wall opposite him. An untouched plate of scrambled eggs and toast, congealed into a rubbery mess, sat beside the coffee. The only sounds in the house were the tick of the clock and his own soft breathing.
He had been sitting thus since six in the morning. He should have been at the center an hour ago, but he had called in sick, letting one of his assistants take over for the day.
Virgil had not come home last night.
Robert picked up the cordless phone handset again, dialed a number that Richie had set up especially for him for the eighth time since he had woken up that morning. The phone rang once, twice, and then a soft click sounded. There was a hiss of static over the line and then a soft beep.
Virgil had said he would be home around one in the morning. Robert hadn't waited up because his son had called to tell him that patrol had been dead quiet, and he and Richie were just going to take one more sweep of the city before turning in. It wasn't any different than a hundred other such conversations he had had with Virgil since discovering his son's identity as Static. He'd worried, of course he'd worried…but he had long ago learned that staying up and staring at the door served no purpose other than to exhaust him and make Virgil feel guilty. Now, though, he wished he had waited up.
The beep sounded again in is ear, followed by a mechanical click. Robert sighed and closed his eyes as his son's voice sounded on the line. If only it really was Virgil he had managed to contact.
Virgil had not come home last night.
"Hello. You've reached the Abandoned Gas Station of Solitude. Your call is important to us. If you are being attacked by a mutant bent on world domination, please press one. If hostile aliens are—whoa!" A faint scuffle could be heard, and then Richie's slightly irritated voice replaced Virgil's.
"V, I told you…this is not a toy. Hey Mr. H. We're not in, obviously. It's been-" Here, Richie's voice took on a faintly canned quality, as prerecorded information was recited. "-twelve hours and thirty five minutes…since we left the gas station. Last contact with Backpack was…nine hours and sixteen minutes…ago. We were…okay…at the time."
"Hey, Rich…what's this do?" Virgil's voice was barely audible, probably standing over Richie's shoulder as the other boy had made that message.
"Virg, wait! Don't-" there was a tiny hiss and a cry of surprise from Virgil, "touch that. I haven't made the anti-solvent yet. Gotta go, Mr. H."
The message ended, and Robert was left with only the dead air of a closed line, the same as all the other times he had called. Only the length of time since they'd had any sort of communication with their base had changed. With a heavy heart, he clicked off the phone. Nine hours. It had been nine hours since Richie's computers at their base had made contact with Backpack to check on the boys. It was not unusual for Virgil and Richie to pull all-nighters if the criminal element of Dakota was particularly troublesome. Robert had called the special answering machine Richie had made for him before to find that it had been fourteen or fifteen hours since they had set foot in the gas station.
He knew for a fact that the computers contacted Backpack every hour on the hour though. It was possible that Backpack had been damaged in a fight, and the boys unharmed…but something felt wrong to Robert.
The clock wended its way to eight o' five.
They had made a deal a few months after Robert had learned the boys' secret. They checked in with him at least a few times a night when they were on patrol. Virgil woke him up, no matter what time the boy got in, to tell Robert that he was back, had made it home safely. In return, Robert had agreed to trust them, to trust that they could take care of themselves, and to not work himself into a panic when they inevitably were forced to work a late night. He'd promised to save the panic until they were at least eight hours overdue.
Virgil had not come home last night.
His son was now seven hours and five minutes late. Robert decided it was close enough.
He'd check with the Foleys first, on the off chance that the boys has decided to stay the night at Richie's and just forgotten to call him. "Never. They'd never do that." Then he'd try the gas station, in case they had simply been too tired after patrol, and sacked out in their 'base.' "He'd call. No matter how tired he was, he'd call." He tried to tell himself that there had been nothing on the news that morning, nothing that he had heard.
Virgil had not come home last night.
Robert shoved his chair back from the table and rose, heading for the living room. He snatched his car keys off the kitchen counter as he passed, trying to think of what he would do if his boys weren't at Richie's or the gas station…and not wanting to think about either situation. They could take care of themselves…he knew they could take care of themselves. This was all a misunderstanding. It had to be.
He was halfway to the door when a firm knock echoed through the front hall.
Robert froze, staring at his front door, and suddenly he felt his chest tighten, felt a roil of dread in the pit of his stomach. Sharon and Adam had a key. Virgil might have locked himself out, but his son never knocked so politely. There was no one else who would come to their house this early in the morning. Unbidden, memories of another time, with another unexpected visitor rose in his mind.
"Mr. Hawkins…Robert…it's Jean. You need to get to the hospital."
There was no logical reason for the same leaden dread that had gripped him upon hearing the news of his wife to rise up in him now…but it did. He felt the same clammy chill enveloping him, heard the same dull roar rise up in his ears. He moved towards the door slowly, as though he couldn't quite remember how his feet worked.
"Please, no…please God, no…not Virgil. Not my boy, too."
He laid one hand on the door knob, mildly surprised to realize it was shaking, ever so slightly. "Robert…it's Jean. You need to get to the hospital."
He pulled the door open; to reveal a figure he had never expected to see up close, much less standing on his front porch. The other man's fist was raised, poised to knock again. Faintly glowing green eyes widened a bit, before settling into a coolly professional demeanor. Robert felt his jaw drop, but under the surprise, the sick fear began to grow, expand. Why was this man here?
"Gr-Green Lantern?" Robert choked out, his voice gruff with both shock and the nameless, formless fear. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong…he knew it with every instinct in his body. Something had happened to his child.
"Mr. Hawkins?"
"Yes." He steeled himself, inwardly bracing for…what, he didn't know. All he knew was that his son was in trouble. "What are you doing here?"
Green Lantern sighed, his eyes turning sympathetic, and Robert felt the horrible fear coalesce in his gut. He gripped the doorframe tightly, refusing to collapse against it as he wished to do. The tightness in his chest grew, choking his breath.
"Mr. Hawkins…we need to talk."
The water was barely on the side of tepid and the pressure was badly rigged, so intense that it stung to stand under it. The shampoo was some homemade concoction that smelled like hospital disinfectant. The hard spray was unpleasant, probably sloughing off a few layers of skin as well as the grime from the sewers.
It was the most glorious shower Virgil had ever taken. It felt so good to be able to get clean.
He stood under the stinging spray as long as he could stand it…and then for a few moments more, until his skin felt as though it might bruise. At last he hit the lever that Adam had shown him, shutting off the water, and then stepped out of the small cubicle. The bathrooms in the underground base were really little more than jerry-rigged latrines. A single section had been walled off from the rest of the base, and a set of communal showers and toilets installed. Apparently, privacy was one of many luxuries that these people could not afford.
When he was finished mostly drying his hair and body with the thin, threadbare towel that had been provided, he exited to the main part of the bathrooms. Adam was waiting for him. The older man had literally not left his side since springing him from Aqua Maria's care. Virgil didn't want to admit how nervous the thought of Adam having to leave him alone with an "armed guard" made him. A ball of wadded up clothes hit him in the face as he emerged from the showers, and he caught it reflexively. A pair of ancient sneakers followed, clunking onto the floor in front of him.
"Might be a little big, but at least they don't smell like sewer," Adam said quietly.
"Which makes them absolutely perfect. Thanks, man," Virgil answered. He unwound the ball to find a worn pair of jeans and dark blue t-shirt. The clothes were worn nearly through in some places, and they were obviously made for Adam's much taller frame. Virgil wasn't going to complain though…they were clean. He retreated back into the shower cubicles to change, feeling much closer to human. He had to roll the cuffs of the jeans up a few times, but other than that, they fit well enough.
All right…clean, food, rescue plan. Those were his priorities right now. Truth be told, he'd rather have skipped the clean and food and gone straight to rescuing his partner, but the logical side of him knew he had to take care of himself before he could be any use to Richie. He badly needed to replace the energy he had expended in the fight in the junkyard. His stomach had started up a near constant rumbling in the showers.
He rejoined Adam, who jerked his head towards the entrance to the main thoroughfare of the base. They exited the bathrooms and Adam began leading him back down the main "street," towards the buildings that housed most of the refugees. There were more people out and about now…and each of them stopped to stare as he and Adam passed.
Virgil had never seen such hostility in people, such unadulterated hatred—and all of it was directed at him. He ducked his head, not willing to meet those angry gazes. These people wanted to hurt him…he could sense it. It said a great deal about their respect for Adam's authority that they didn't try anything. Every last one of them, though, watched him…he could feel the heat of their gazes burning into him.
"We'll just grab something to eat in the mess and head back to my place. We can talk…figure out what our next move is," Adam said quietly, after a few tense moments. Virgil didn't answer, but nodded shortly.
What was his next move going to be? He couldn't bear the thought of leaving Richie with the other him for a second…not after learning what this Static had done to this world's Richie. He breathed deeply, clenching his fist so hard his nails dug painfully into the flesh of his palm. If the other Static hurt Richie…if he touched Richie, there was going to be hell to pay. First, though, he had to come up with a plan.
He couldn't count on these people to help him. That was becoming painfully obvious. So...he was on his own. It wouldn't be the first time. It had been a very long time since he'd been so totally on his own, though. All right…all right. He needed to find out who this other Static had working for him. He needed to find out where the other Static had his base, what kind of security was in place. He needed to know how well the streets of the city were patrolled, where he was likely to run into the other Static's people. The sheer magnitude of the task might have daunted some, but Virgil felt only grim determination.
Richie was counting on him.
Adam led them through the living quarters of the base, to the opposite end of the station. Here, another section had been walled off by sheets of plywood, creating a large room. The smell of charcoal fires hung heavy in the air around the 'room,' which Virgil presumed was the mess. Adam pulled a shabbily rigged door open, and the smell of smoke became heavier. A thought struck Virgil.
"Uh, Adam…Sharon doesn't do the cooking here, does she? 'Cause I'm not that hungry yet."
Adam chuckled, mirthlessly. "We don't let Sharon near the kitchen anymore. Eggs. Food poisoning. Sixty people, four working toilets. Wasn't pretty." A slight shudder went through the taller man, and despite himself, Virgil's lips twitched into a smile. At least some things around here seemed to be no different than his Dakota.
The 'mess hall' was perhaps twice as big as Virgil's living room. Here, there had obviously been some attempt to make the place more homey and comforting, rather than starkly functional. White Christmas lights had been strung up on the ceiling, providing dim, but inviting, light. Several old, mismatched picnic tables lined the hall, many topped with red and white checked plastic tablecloths, such as one might see in a family restaurant. Here and there potted plants had been placed on the tables, though the plants looked rather sickly. Still, it was a nice effort.
There were no people at the tables when they entered, a fact for which Virgil was grateful. He wasn't sure how much more of these peoples' rancor he could take. In the back of the room another partition had been built, rather like the kitchen of a diner. The scent of baking things drifted out into the main part of the room. Virgil's mouth began to water almost painfully, and his stomach growled loudly.
Adam proceeded across the room, up to a window that had been cut in the partition. A bell had been set up on the lip of the window and Adam tapped it once, sending a musical chime through the mess hall. Virgil hung back, not wanting to startle whomever Adam had just summoned. There was a sound of pans clattering together from the back, a shuffle of feet.
A small face appeared in the window—a little Asian boy, maybe eight or nine years old, with a mop of dark hair and a streak of flour across his cheek. The boy smiled happily when he saw who was on the other side of the counter. "Hi Adam!" he said brightly. He turned around and called over his shoulder, "Hey Uncle Carmen, Adam's here!" The boy vanished, evidently jumping down off of whatever he was standing on.
Virgil's eyes widened. "Uncle Carmen?" he repeated softly. "No way, man...don't tell me—" A large, rather bestial head poked out over the lip of the counter, and Virgil nearly choked on his shock.
Carmen Dillo looked a great deal…cleaner than Virgil was accustomed to seeing him. He was also sporting a poofy chef's hat, set at rather a jaunty angle. The bang baby smiled brightly at Adam. "Hey, Adam…Leah told me you had some excitement today."
"Ain't that the truth, Carmen," Adam muttered wryly. Carmen snorted in laughter.
"Should I fix up the couch for you?" he asked slyly, beady eyes twinkling with amusement. Adam chuckled softly.
"I'll let you know. I think Sharon's still deciding." Adam took a deep breath, and then gestured for Virgil to move to his side. Virgil swallowed convulsively and shuffled into Carmen's line of sight. He really didn't want to have a throw down with any of Adam's people, and he didn't know how prepared Carmen was to see him. "Carmen, this is Virgil."
He was ready for the fear, for an immediate attack. He was ready for the suspicion, the sullen anger. He was not ready for Carmen to merely eye him up and down, sniff at him twice, and then cock an eyebrow.
"Huh. So you're Static."
"Uh…yeah?" Virgil replied uncertainly.
"Got the whole 'try anything and there won't be enough left a' ya' to fill a teaspoon' speech?"
"Several times," Virgil muttered wryly. Carmen nodded sagely and stuck out one paw-like hand.
"So long as we understand each other. Welcome to the Underground City, kid."
Automatically, Virgil reached up to shake the other bang baby's hand. How much more surreal could this place get? He thought about that for a moment, and then his eyes widened. "I didn't mean that…I swear I didn't mean that!" He just knew that tempting Fate here would be a very bad idea.
After a moment, Carmen released Virgil's hand, tilting his head and regarding the young man critically. "You really do seem…different," he commented after a moment. He did not, however, elaborate, instead turning back to Adam.
"So…what've you whipped up?" Adam asked, leaning his elbows on the counter by the bell. Carmen smiled proudly, and adjusted his hat with a flourish.
"Well for lunch we're offering soup and stew, along with biscuits made by the very best helper ever, Mr. Michael Yu." Virgil heard the little boy laugh in delight to be included in Carmen's spiel. A faintly suspicious look creased Adam's face.
"What's the difference between the soup and the stew?" he asked carefully. Carmen shrugged.
"One of 'em sat under the heat lamps long enough to congeal slightly."
"Uh-huh…and do I want to know what's in either of them?"
"Mmmm…probably not, no."
"Great. Soup it is, then. Two, please."
"I'll get it, Uncle Carmen!" the little boy, Michael presumably, called out from somewhere further back in the kitchen. Speedily, a tray with two steaming bowls and a plate with two rather lumpy and misshapen biscuits appeared. Adam nodded his thanks and picked the tray up, heading back towards the door.
"Lunch crowd isn't due for another half hour or so…it's usually pretty quiet in here this time of day," Carmen said suddenly, shooting a meaningful glance at Virgil. Adam hesitated a moment before nodding again and changing direction towards the table farthest from the door. Virgil moved to follow him, but a soft hiss from the window caught his attention. He turned to find Carmen staring at him rather intently. "Hey kid…Leah told me what you did for her up top. Thanks." With that, Carmen tossed first one, then another can of grape flavored soda, which Virgil caught automatically. Before he could reply, Carmen had vanished from the window, bustling back into the depths of the kitchen.
He walked over to the table Adam had taken over, a thoughtful look on his face. At least that had gone better than his meetings with Sharon and the rest of her people. Virgil shook his head as he sat down with his back to the door, and passed Adam one of the sodas. Being cheered up by talking to Carmen Dillo…who'd have thought it?
Adam took the soda with a nod of thanks and handed Virgil a bowl of soup in return. Despite the rather…unsettling…conversation he had heard Adam have with Carmen about the soup, it actually smelled rather good. Chopped vegetables and fine bits of spice were floating in a thick, creamy stock that, reminding Virgil of his grandmother's homemade chicken soup. Adam caught his bemused look and shrugged a bit.
"I couldn't believe it either, but he's actually a pretty good cook. Just don't ask what's in it."
Virgil glanced askance at Adam…but he didn't ask. He picked up his spoon and dug in, quickly realizing how ravenous he was now that there was food actually available. Within a few moments he had polished off the bowl and drained half his soda. He looked up to find Adam staring at him, his lips twitching spasmodically.
"What?" Virgil asked defensively. "I'm a growing boy." Adam held up his hands in a gesture of laughing surrender, and then shoved the plate of biscuits towards Virgil. They quickly vanished, as well.
A companionable silence fell over the table as Adam ate his own meal. Virgil sipped slowly at the remainder of his soda, staring at the stained and greasy plastic of the tablecloth. His immediate needs satisfied, his mind turned to the problem of how to rescue his best friend. His first instinct was to simply storm whatever base the other Static had, and fry things until he got Richie back. Unfortunately, logic rather quickly overruled that instinct.
As much as he hated to admit it…he could not afford to rush off without a plan. To do so would undoubtedly only get him hurt or killed. Or worse…would get Richie hurt or killed. He needed to think this through, he needed a strategy. And those would take time. Time in which the other Static could do who knew what to his partner. Virgil clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
Damn it…he needed help. He needed the help that Adam had promised…the help of these people. The people who hated him, feared him. How was he ever going to pull this off? Adam had been willing to listen, to see that Virgil was not their Static…but Virgil knew that was only because Adam had seen Richie. Right now, the rest of these people were willing to trust Adam's judgment, but how long would that last? How could he convince people who had lived in terror of the other version of him for so long to help him? There had to be a way…there had to be a way to earn their trust, to make them see as Adam had.He would find it. There was no other choice.
"Hang on, Rich. Whatever you have to do…hang on. I'm coming for you, as fast as I can."
"Aw, shit." Virgil looked up from his intense contemplation of the tablecloth to find Adam staring towards the entrance to the mess. Hesitantly, Virgil turned as well, glancing over his shoulder.
Hotstreak was standing in the door, glowering at them.
There were no flames around the young man, but Virgil thought he saw a few wisps of pale smoke drifting up from Hotstreak's body. The other bang baby's eyes were narrowed; flashing with hatred and anger that Virgil could see even across the room. Hotstreak merely stood there for a few moments, before crossing the room to stand in front of their table.
"Boss wants to see you," he said coldly to Adam, though his gaze remained focused on Virgil. He crossed his arms over his chest and a rather unpleasant expression crossed his face. "Alone."
"Hotstreak…" Adam began uneasily. At last, Hotstreak looked away from Virgil, refocusing on Adam.
"Oh relax, RB. You know how 'Uncle Carmen' feels about fighting in the kitchens." Hotstreak's voice was perfectly calm, perfectly reasonable…but the calm didn't reach his eyes. "I just wanna…talk. Get a few things hashed out. No big." He smiled disarmingly, and again it was at odds with the anger in his eyes. Adam rolled his own eyes heavenward.
"Virgil—"
"It's okay, man," Virgil interrupted quickly. He shot Hotstreak a measuring look of his own. "It'll be fine." Adam looked at him strangely, but Virgil jerked his head towards the door. "Go on, Adam…I don't want to cause any more trouble between you and Sharon than I already have. It's okay, I promise." At last, Adam relented.
"Don't leave here until I get back. I'll make this as quick as I can." He shot a warning look at Hotstreak, who shrugged and stepped aside, gesturing grandly towards the door. Adam glanced at Virgil uneasily, but rose and hurried out of the mess, throwing several looks at the two over his shoulder as he went.
As soon as he vanished out the door, Hotstreak turned back to Virgil. This time there was not even a pretense of calm. There were still no flames, but the heat of Hotstreak's glare was almost as good. Virgil took a deep breath and jerked his chin towards the door Adam had just exited through.
"Where you wanna do this?" he asked steadily. For a moment, Hotstreak seemed taken aback. A flare of confusion licked through the anger in his gaze, but it was quickly shaken off.
"Let's go," Hotstreak replied, not answering Virgil's question. Virgil sighed and rose from the table. He thought he saw the boy, Michael, peeking out of the window to the kitchens as he and Hotstreak proceeded towards the door, but couldn't be sure.
They exited the mess hall and Hotstreak immediately turned towards what looked like a less used portion of the subway station. The lights didn't reach here, so well, and there was debris and scrap stacked everywhere. It looked as though this was a catch all for the debris that had been cleared from the rest of the subway station when they had converted it into a base. The two youths walked side by side, neither willing to trust the other at his back, and Virgil could feel Hotstreak practically vibrating with tension. The air around him was definitely growing warmer as they walked.
There were no people about, now, a fact Virgil was grateful for. He wasn't sure what they would do without Adam's presence. They wended their way through the shadowy area, back towards the very edges of the station. Here was a place where a small tunnel that looked as though it led back into the main sewer line had been cut into the wall. A crisscross of faintly glowing lasers covered the entrance to the tunnel, and Virgil could hear the soft skittering clicks of more of the strange guard robots in the pipes above them.
It was at the entrance to this tunnel that Hotstreak stopped, and turned to face Virgil. It was the perfect place for a fight…open enough that they had room to move, plenty of cover available, and far away from prying eyes. Virgil pushed a flare of nervousness aside.
At last, the other bang baby allowed his power to come to the fore. Flames burst to life in his hands, crawled up his arms, flickered their way into a glowing halo around his body. In Virgil's world, Hotstreak had been a punk. A dangerous punk, to be sure, but still just a punk. This version, though, was something different.
Like everyone else around here, he was dressed for maximum protection and quick movement. His dark jeans and blood red shirt clung to him like a second skin, and a black, bullet proof vest with several pockets sewn on served as body armor. It was more than the dress, though. This Hotstreak's entire demeanor was different…oh there was still the air of barely contained violence about him (as evidenced by the very situation Virgil now found himself in), but there was an edge to it that Virgil had never before associated with Hotstreak. This person was craftier, more cunning. This was a survivor, a warrior…not just a mean street punk.
Moreover, despite the fact that Virgil was in a great deal of danger from this Hotstreak…he couldn't hurt the other bang baby. To do so would ruin any chance he had of convincing this world's people to help him rescue Richie. Virgil swallowed hard and subtly glanced around for means of escape, should this go badly.
"I don't know how the hell you got Adam to buy that shit story of yours, but you're not foolin' me," Hotstreak said suddenly, a dangerous growl to his words. "I've been waitin' a long time for this, Static." The fire flared around him, hotter and more intense. Virgil carefully shifted his weight, ready to dive out of the way should Hotstreak try to throw something at him.
"I don't want to fight you, man," Virgil said evenly. "I'm not your Static."
Hotstreak laughed, a bitter, nasty sound. "I told you…you're not pullin' that on me."
"Look, man, what do I have to do to convince you I'm not who you think I am? Name it, I'll do it." If it would convince these people to help him get to Richie, Virgil didn't care if he had to get down on his knees and beg. His only answer, though, was that same harsh laugh. It cut off after a moment, and Hotstreak's glare deepened.
"I promised Foley I'd fry you, someday. I promised him you wouldn't get away with what you did to him." The words were said in a dead even tone, at odds with the tossing, roiling fire that surrounded Hotstreak. With that, the conversation was apparently over.
Virgil barely had time to dive out of the way as a column of flame suddenly shot towards him. It hissed overhead, enveloping him in heat even as he rolled out of the way, coming to his feet again at the entrance of the tunnel leading out of the base. He wanted so badly to charge up his powers, but he forced himself not to. He couldn't hurt this Hotstreak unless there was no other choice.
It quickly became apparent that there probably wasn't going to be another choice.
The flames rushed towards him again, a miasma of red and orange and heat. He dived to the side again, taking cover behind a stack of wooden crates. Damn it, there was scrap metal all around him, more than enough to use as weapons…and this was Hotstreak. Virgil knew he was more than capable of taking out the other bang baby. He couldn't, though. To do so would ruin any chance he had of convincing the others of his story.
"Hotstreak, think about this!" Virgil shouted. "If I'm the guy who did all this, if I'm the guy who…who killed Richie, why the hell would I come down here like this?" The uppermost crate on the stack he was hiding behind exploded into flame suddenly, raining down burning bits of wood and ash upon him. Virgil covered his head as best he could and scrambled away, deeper into the piles of scrap around him.
"Damn it, fight back!" Hotstreak shouted.
"I don't want to fight you!" Virgil shouted back, just as loudly. "This doesn't make sense, Hotstreak. If I'm your Static, why would I march right into a base full of people who want my head on a plate?"
"You're…you're just trying to figure out where we are. Foley made sure you couldn't track us down here!" Hotstreak didn't sound so sure, now, though.
"By myself? No backup, no way to contact anyone else?" Virgil countered. He ducked behind a pile of scrap metal, kneeling down to peer around it. He could just barely see Hotstreak around the debris that littered this area. The flames had not vanished, but there was definitely a bit of doubt on his face. "You know it doesn't make sense, Hotstreak. Think about it…would your Static really do something this crazy?"
"Shut up, just shut up!" The metal he was kneeling behind was suddenly struck by a burst of flame, superheating it almost instantaneously. Virgil was forced to roll away yet again as the metal began to melt. The hiss of molten metal hitting the concrete floor filled the air, and Virgil couldn't help crying out at the terrible heat. He scuttled back in an awkward crabwalk, before finally regaining his feet.
A soft sound, barely audible over the hissing, reached his ears and he whirled around- in time to see a flash of movement in the shadows behind him. Before he had time to investigate, though, the remaining stacks of debris between him and Hotstreak literally exploded, shoved aside by flame. Hotstreak stalked forward, unaffected by the heat he was generating.
"C'mon Static…you really gonna let me barbeque you? You said I was a dead man walking last time we rumbled! Fight back!"
"I told you I'm not gonna fight you. I can't believe I'm saying this, but you're one of the good guys here. I don't want to hurt you, man."
"Well…that sucks. 'Cause I sure as hell wanna hurt you." Hotstreak raised his fists and brought them down fast, firing a blast of flame at the floor. The flames raced towards Virgil, splitting off at the last moment to surround him in a ring of fire. The heat battered at him, singeing his skin and clothes, but he stood firm. There was a piece of scrap metal just to his left, undamaged by the flames, which he could use to escape if it came to that. No, he wasn't going to just let Hotstreak barbeque him…but he wasn't backing down until there was no other option.
The flames licked closer, close enough that the heat hurt, but still he stood motionless, staring into Hotstreak's eyes. "I'm not him. I'm not."
Hotstreak bared his teeth in a snarl, and the flames leapt higher, nearly tall enough to touch the ceiling. Sweat poured down Virgil's face, and he knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer. Something inside of him told him to stand firm, though.
At last, just when Virgil was sure he couldn't take another second of it…just when he was about to summon the sheet metal and damn the consequences, a new voice rang out.
"Enough! Francis, that's enough!" Virgil gasped in surprise as a wave of water suddenly swept the floor around him, quenching the flames. The resulting steam was nearly as painful as the heat of the flames had been, scalding the skin left bare by his clothes, but he forced himself to remain still. Hotstreak, to Virgil's further surprise, allowed the flames surrounding his body to dissipate with a puff of pale smoke.
Aqua Maria appeared behind Hotstreak, sidling up to him and laying a hand on his arm. A puff of steam hissed up where she touched him, but neither seemed to mind. Hotstreak responded by wrapping the arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, apparently unmindful of the fact that he was soaking one side of his clothes. A third figure emerged from the dimness behind them. Carmen Dillo stopped on Hotstreak's other side, and the three bang babies regarded Virgil quietly.
"Told ya'," Carmen said at length, apparently addressing Hotstreak. Virgil's brow furrowed in confusion. His gaze darted between the three as he tried to decide if they were going to attack him. No attack was forthcoming, though. "He smells different. You can't hide scent."
"No way Static would have taken that, that long," Maria added. "He'd have tried to kill you." Hotstreak nodded grimly. At last, Virgil found his voice.
"Uh…not that I'm not grateful…but what's going on?"
"We had to see for ourselves. We had to know if you were telling the truth or not," Hotstreak answered. His voice, while not exactly friendly, held none of the anger from before. Virgil rocked back on his heels, shock running through him.
"You mean—dude you were playin' me?"
"Static doesn't exactly have a lot of…impulse control," Aqua Maria said. "And he hates Francis."
"No way he'd ever be able to control himself around Hotstreak that long," Carmen added. "Sorry, kid, it was the only way we knew to see for sure. I called Hotstreak and Maria on the comm. system while you and Adam were eating. We had to be sure."
"You…you believe me?" Virgil couldn't keep his own disbelief out of his voice. Could they really be serious?
"For now. I meant what I said before…you try anything, we'll squash you like a bug," Maria replied. Virgil's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, before he nodded.
"Fair enough. Th—thank you." Maria's gaze hardened a bit.
"We didn't do it for you." Her voice dropped softly, becoming soft and sad. "Richie was our friend. A true friend. If what Adam says is true…if Static has your Richie…we must save him. We will help you save him."
Virgil swallowed heavily, and something in his gut loosened a bit. A wave of relief swept him. He opened his mouth to thank them again, but Maria waved him off. Clearly, they still didn't trust him entirely…but they were willing to believe him, for now. They were willing to help him rescue his friend. That was enough.
That was more than enough.
"We better get back to the mess hall, guys. Adam'll be back any minute," Carmen said after a moment of heavy silence.
"I have to get back to the tunnels…I promised Peter I'd only be gone for a few minutes." Maria rose up and kissed Hotstreak on the cheek, with another hiss and puff of steam. She glanced over at Virgil and nodded gravely, before she glided away from them in the direction of the opening back into the sewers.
Carmen gestured for Virgil to join them, and he quickly scurried through the puddles of still steaming water. Together, the three began making their way through the station, back to the mess hall.
"You do realize Adam's gonna kill us when he finds out about this, right?" Hotstreak muttered at length, drawing a short bark of laughter from Carmen. The shadows receded as they got to the more lived in section of the subway station.
"No he won't…I'm the only one who knows how everything in the kitchen works," the animal-like bang baby answered cheekily. Hotstreak snorted softly, his lips twitching into what might have been a smile.
Neither of them left their backs to Virgil, but there was a definite lessening of the tension that Virgil had felt around him since his arrival. Walking between the two other bang babies, listening to their banter, Virgil sighed softly.
For the first time since Richie had been taken, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, things would be all right.