Many heartfelt thanks to those of you who have reviewed. It means a lot to know that people are reading and appreciate my efforts. I realize this part is rather light on plot and there's still no sign of Richie, but the part I was going to have as the second half of this chapter (in which there is a sign of Richie) just refused to cooperate and jive nicely with this bit. So, you get a few more chapters than I had originally intended. Is anyone disappointed?
Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine. Still not making any money, still don't want anyone to sue, please.
Virgil sat cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He had been in that position for nearly and hour now, ever since Faith had…vanished. All around him were the sounds of his home waking up, sounds both familiar and strange. He heard his father puttering around in the kitchen below, and knew that soon the smell of freshly brewed coffee would permeate the house. Still, it was odd to him not to hear the crying of his six month old niece, or the muted roar of the cartoons his nephew watched religiously, starting at sunup. He heard the shower start down the hall, and knew that Sharon would be in there for at least the next forty-five minutes. How unusual it was, though, not to hear Adam thumping around in what was now their shared bedroom, doing his morning calisthenics. Now, though, Adam and Sharon's wedding was still two years away. His niece and nephew were not born yet.
Richie was still all right.
"How am I supposed to do this?" he wondered aloud. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to protect his friend at all costs. Faith's words, however, rang through his head. He couldn't interfere. He wasn't going to be allowed to interfere. If he tried, all of this would disappear, and he would be back in that hospital room.
Despite the agony that ripped through him at the thought of letting Richie be hurt when he knew he could save him…he didn't want to lose this chance. To see his friend again, vibrant and full of life; to talk to him again and hear that voice answer back…it was a gift. It was a gift that came with a very high price, but a gift nonetheless. Faith had been right—he did regret chickening out on telling Richie his feelings more than almost anything else in his life. To have the chance to do it again, to do it right, was a treasure.
Finally, he raked his hands back through his hair, shoving it into even more disarray, and stood up. He faced his reflection in the mirrored door of the closet, silently marveling at the sight of his younger self. He looked like such a…kid. He drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and letting some of the hardness that had crept into his gaze over the years shine through. He was still himself, still Static—a hero of the Justice League and all around card-carrying good guy. He could do this. He could.
So why was he trying so hard to convince himself?
Faith watched her young hero silently, unobserved by the world around her. She noted the determination on his face and her heart ached for what he was going through. Truly the fates were giving with one hand and taking away with the other in this case. Even with all the surety that what she was doing would help him in the long run, and the knowledge that she couldn't change what had to happen, she couldn't help but feel sympathy for the youth.
"Why are you still hanging around? Your part's done…it's all up to him, now." Faith did not react to the new voice; she was used to her "supervisor" showing up at odd moments when she was on assignment.
"I just wanted to watch. Just in case—" she trailed off and lowered her head. A heavy sigh sounded from behind her, and a firm hand dropped on her shoulder.
"We can't change things, Faith. It's not our department."
"He was right, though. It's not fair."
"Few things in life are, my dear. If everything was safe and predictable, what would be the point of free will?"
"You are preaching to the choir here, Gideon. I understand. I do…but he's done so much, for so many. Doesn't he deserve more than a fleeting moment of happiness?"
"It all balances out in the end. I know it's hard for these mortals to see that, sometimes, but it's true." Gideon was silent a moment. Then his voice gentled still further, mindful of the fact that this whole case had been a painful reminder of things past for his apprentice. "Does he know?"
Faith shook her head. "I couldn't tell him. Some things we're better off not knowing. How could he go through this, knowing that these are truly the last hours he'll ever spend with Richie, in any form?"
"When is it going to happen?"
"Midnight. His heart is finally going to give out. It'll be so hard on Virgil, Gideon. So very hard."
"That's why young Mr. Hawkins was chosen to receive this gift, Faith. If he talks to Richie, if he takes the chance—at least he'll have that."
Faith well knew what a torment words left unspoken and feelings left hidden could be. Her Earthly life had been full of it. How many times had she wished for just one more day with her own lost love? How many times had she berated herself for keeping silent when she should have proclaimed for all to hear that she was in love? It was a terrible thing, such silence…it weighed on a soul. That was part of the reason she had leapt at this assignment. In Virgil Hawkins, she could see shadows of her own tragic story. Perhaps his would have a somewhat happier ending.
"Yes," she murmured, "at least he'll have that."
"Yo Pops, how's it hangin'?" Virgil greeted his father as brightly as he could, struggling to remember how he had talked when he was sixteen. Had he really changed that much? He didn't think so, but how could he really be sure? His father was staring at him in abject shock, and for a moment he feared he had done something that would rat him out.
"Fine, son. What's the occasion? It's vacation, before noon, you're vertical and coherent." Nothing to worry about then…just parental humor.
"Yeah, well, early bird and all that." Automatically, Virgil headed for the coffee machine, sniffing the ambrosial aroma appreciatively. Damn, but Pops made good coffee.
A fact he hadn't appreciated until he had gotten to college.
With a regretful sigh, Virgil aborted his quest for a mug and pulled out a cereal bowl instead. He loaded it with the first cereal that came to hand, and only then turned to face his father.
The decade Virgil could remember had been kind to Robert Hawkins. He was still a tall, broad man, with a commanding presence and an incredible heart in Virgil's future. This younger version, though, didn't have quite as much padding around the middle, and a great deal more hair. Virgil snickered to himself as he sloshed milk over the sugar-chocolate-frosted-whatevers he had poured. The snicker quickly turned into a grimace as he took his first bite of cereal, though. How in the hell had he eaten this for years on end? How did the Flash still manage to down it by the box full? He chewed and swallowed as quickly as possible, nearly choking on the sugary film it left in his mouth.
"So," he said, sitting down at the kitchen table across from his father, "anything you need me to do today? Any last minute party supplies?"
Supplies for the Christmas Eve party they were throwing. The party that the bang baby had interrupted.
"/Don't think about it,/" he told himself firmly.
C'mon, V, we can be there and back before they're finished with the Christmas carols. This guy doesn't look so tough.
You can't change Fate, Virgil.
"I think we've got everything under control. You and Richie are going to help me put up the lights today, right?"
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure…we've got you covered." Virgil's fists clenched on the table and he shot a glance at the kitchen clock. Richie would be here in a matter of hours. What was he going to do? What was he going to say? He only had until midnight tomorrow.
"/Damn it, Faith…I need more time!/" Who was he kidding? A hundred years, a thousand…it would never be enough time with his friend. He looked away from the clock to find his father looking at him oddly. Virgil squirmed under that intense gaze, ten years having done nothing to dispel the power of "the Look." He grinned weakly. "Hey, anything to avoid helping Sharon clean up."
Robert folded the paper he had been reading and set it down beside his plate, still regarding his son thoughtfully. He tapped his fingers lightly on the table before seeming to come to a decision. "Son, is there something going on between you and Richie?"
"Going on?" Since when did his voice squeak like that?! "Why would you think that?"
"Maybe because you've been twitching every time someone mentions his name for the past two months," Pops said wryly. He quickly became serious again. "Did you two have a fight?"
Virgil nearly wilted in relief. Then he cringed inwardly…that kind of thinking had been exactly what had led him to clam up the first time around. "No, sir," he sighed. "We're not fighting."
"Is there something up with, ahem, Static and Gear?" Worry, quickly suppressed but easily seen, blossomed in his father's eyes. Virgil smiled softly, seeing with older eyes the strain it had placed his father under to let him go out and be who he was at such a young age.
"No, Pops, nothing like that." This time, it was Pops who seemed to wilt in relief.
"You know you can talk to me about anything, Virgil."
"Yeah, I know. I just—don't know what's going on, yet. I mean, I know what's up with me, but I don't know what's going on his end. I mean, not that there's anything going on, just, you know…if there was, I'd know what was going on with me and I still wouldn't know what's going on with him. Y'know?" Virgil finished weakly. He felt like banging his head on the table. Okay, so he had the body of his sixteen year old self—inside he was still the twenty-six year old man who worked side by side with the likes of Superman and Batman. Had Faith switched out his brains when she switched his body?
"No, I actually think I'm more confused now than when we started this conversation. But okay, we'll talk when you're ready." Robert fell silent, staring into the depths of his coffee mug. Virgil pushed his now soggy cereal around with his spoon, realizing that he couldn't remember ever having this conversation with his father.
Fear stabbed through him. Did this count as interfering? Was Faith going to reappear and send him back to his future? He sat tensely for a full minute, waiting for the wrath of the strange being to fall down on his head. When no wrath appeared, he gradually relaxed. Great…so he could alter his past with his father as much as he wanted, but he couldn't step in for his best friend? He let the spoon fall into the soggy mass, no longer the least bit hungry.
"Virgil," his father began as he moved to stand up and take the bowl to the sink. Virgil paused.
"Yeah, Pops?"
His father stared at him for a few seconds, an entirely new intensity lighting his eyes. Then he reached across the table and gripped his son's hand, tightly. "Virgil, you're my son and I love you, no matter what. I want you to be happy, no matter what. Nothing will ever change that. You know that, right?"
Virgil froze at the unexpected words. It was not the first time his father had said such things to him, but this time rang with something more than the usual affection Pops had always shown his children. He felt his jaw fall open as the full implications hit him. Pops held his gaze a moment longer, then released his hand and sat back, unfolding the paper and starting to read it again as if the whole conversation had never taken place.
Virgil sat, blinking, for a few seconds before he finally remembered how to speak. "Yeah, Pops. I know that," he choked out, then scrambled out of his chair to dump his bowl in the sink. He let the water run a bit longer than necessary to wash the whole mess down the drain, trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he shook his head and turned back toward the kitchen door, intent upon claiming his own round in the shower.
Before he left, though, he paused.
"Just so we're clear, we were just talking about me being hot for Richie and you being more or less cool with that, right?"
"Yes. Now be a good boy and let me freak out in peace, all right?"
"Right." Before he left, though, he ran back around the table and gave his father a bone-crushing hug. "I love you, Pops."
Then he left, a weight he had never before realized he was carrying suddenly gone from his soul.