In case anyone is still online this fine New Years Eve...Happy New Year! May the best that we've seen this year be the worst that we see in the next.
Ahem, before I proceed with this 'fic, I must post the following caveat. The author is in no way responsible for any instances of nausea, insulin shock, or diabetic coma that may result from the reading of this 'fic. Should you experience any of these symptoms, please proceed to the nearest exit in a calm and orderly manner, where attendants are waiting to assist you. Happy reading!
Guess what?! An awesome artist on the StaticSlash mailing list has drawn a fanart for this story! Yeah, it's just a sketch, but I think it's indescribably awesome that someone drew a picture based on something I wrote.
Go over to view the picture, and be sure to heap praise upon makkura:) The address is makkurakoyappi,deviantart,com
Just be sure you change those commas to dots. How the heck do you post links here anyway?
Disclaimer: Oh come on, you haven't figured it out yet? I'm not making any money off of this, just playing with the toys. I promise they will be returned in the codition they were in when I started.
"Richie."
"Hey, bro, how's it goin'? Man you wouldn't believe how crazy it is over at my house! My Aunt Irene hurt her back a couple weeks ago, so Mom's cooking everything for the family dinner and we're packing it in the car with us. 'Why don't we just have everyone over here?' I said, but do they listen to me? No way! And then—uh, Virgil?"
"Rich—"
Richie frowned at him. "Yes, me Richie, you Virgil. Little help here?" He jostled the packages in his arms and shot Virgil a meaningful look. Virgil realized he was still standing in the doorway, just staring stupidly at his friend. Hurriedly, he moved to one side, and reached over to take the biggest box from Richie's arms.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry." The large cardboard box Richie had been carrying was full of Christmas lights and bright red ribbons. On top of that was the present Virgil had never opened, bright and new once again in its red and white polka dot wrapping and badly tied green ribbon. Richie readjusted the straps of the plastic bags he was carrying on his arms with a groan of relief and stepped through the door.
"Okay, so I brought all the lights we had left over and I found some really nice candles we've never used. Oh, and Mom sent over a couple bottles of cider." Richie dumped his burden on the couch and rustled something out of the plastic bags. "And, of course, the grand finale!" He turned around with two aerosol cans in hand and rattled them dramatically. "Fake snow."
Virgil was still standing by the open door, just staring. Richie's grin faded into a frown again. "V, you okay—oomph!"
Virgil crossed the distance between them in two strides, dumping the boxes on a chair. Without preamble he threw his arms around his best friend. Richie stood frozen for a moment, before he awkwardly returned the hug, patting Virgil's back with a can of fake snow.
"Uh, Virg?"
"Yeah?"
"Air kinda becoming an issue, here."
"Oh! Sorry!" Virgil backed away quickly. Richie tossed the cans onto the pile on the couch and made a show of straightening his shirt and readjusting his glasses. "It's just…it's good to see you, bro." Virgil murmured finally, the most incredible understatement he had ever uttered. His eyes drank in the sight of his friend the way a starving man might drink in the sight of a Thanksgiving banquet.
Here was Richie—whole, healthy, and talking to him. The memories of the horribly wasted, skeletal body, the sickly pale skin, the sunken eyes perpetually ringed by bruise-dark shadows were all chased away by the vision in front of him. Now, for the first time, he truly understood what Faith had meant when she said this was meant to be a gift. To be able to see his friend again, free of the injuries that had cut his life so tragically short even if they hadn't killed him…it was worth any price.
"You just saw me last night on patrol," Richie said, looking at Virgil as though he were wondering if the other hadn't hit his head on said patrol. Then the expression cleared, and Richie grinned at him. "But it's good to see you, too. Now, what is it your dad wants done?"
The afternoon progressed much as Virgil remembered it from the first time he had lived through it. They strung lights around the windows, and liberally applied the snow-in-a-can, much to Sharon's dismay. The ribbons were wound around every possible surface, and Virgil's father produced a load of pine boughs left over from the many Christmas tree lots in the city. Under Sharon's watchful direction, they transformed the living room and dining room into the proverbial winter wonderland.
Just because he was free to be goofy with his friend again, Virgil started a popcorn fight when they were stringing the stuff for the buffet table Sharon wanted to set up. He used increasingly outrageous means to sneak samples of Sharon's baking. He went out of his way to make Richie laugh, and if Richie noticed that Virgil never strayed more than a foot or two from his side, he was nice enough not comment. Likewise, if he noticed that Virgil's father was watching them both with unusual interest, he never mentioned it.
It was a good day.
Still, as the hours whiled away, Virgil found himself no closer to making his confession. By the time his father ordered the pizza for dinner, he was a bundle of nerves. Finally, he volunteered to go down to the basement for more chairs while Richie and his father wrestled a giant wreath over the fireplace into submission, just to get a chance to breathe and collect his thoughts. He found the chairs quickly and plopped down in one, holding his head in his hands.
"How's it going?" He was unsurprised to hear Faith's voice beside him. Without looking up, he shrugged.
"You tell me," he muttered. "Damn it, Faith, I'm twenty six years old and I'm totally choking. I wasn't even this nervous when I proposed to Carol!"
"Indeed." She reached over and picked a stray bit of popcorn out of his hair. "Look, I'm not trying to bring you down, but you are running out of time."
"I know!" he replied forcefully. Then, he modulated his voice. Getting angry at Faith would serve no purpose. "I know," he repeated, more softly. "It's just—seeing him again, hearing him…it's incredible. I can't tell you what it feels like."
"So go try and tell him."
"I don't know how! I had this speech all ready, but nothing sounds good enough."
"Then just grab him and kiss him. If he doesn't hit you, you're fine."
"You think he's gonna hit me?" Virgil sat up straight and looked at her worriedly. Faith was suddenly reminded of a frightened rabbit. She couldn't help but laugh at him, despite the gravity of the situation.
"Virgil…look, I can't tell you what's in his heart. However, I can tell you that if I were you, I would definitely take the odds on him not hitting you."
"You're right…you're right. I can do this. I can. I'm just gonna go up there, and I'm gonna do it." He stood up, determination steeling his features. He made it two steps before he turned around and went back to the chair. "I can't do this."
"Virgil—"
"It's nuts, I know. I'm a grown man and he's my best friend and—oh God, I'm about to go put the moves on a minor!" His eyes widened in horrified realization. Faith crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall behind her, an expression of disbelief on her face.
"What?"
"I'm twenty six years old, Faith! I know I look sixteen, but up here," he tapped the side of his head, "I'm still me! The future me. Richie's still sixteen. Oh man, I'm a pervert. Does this make me a pervert Faith?"
"Virgil!" Faith barked out his name, cutting through his ramblings like a hot knife through butter. "One, breathe. Two—the fact that you are technically ten years older than Richie right now does not make you a pervert." Virgil sighed in relief. "The fantasy you have involving the chocolate sauce and the cling wrap makes you a pervert."
"Faith!" he squeaked out, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks so quickly it was almost painful. How had she known about that? Faith let him squirm for a few seconds before taking pity on him.
"Virgil…it doesn't matter how old you are inside your head. What matters is what's inside your heart. Love freely given and received Virgil—that's what you have to remember. Keep in mind, neither you nor Richie is exactly a normal teenager at this point anyway. You've both dealt with things that no child should ever have to face—you understand things that it takes others a lifetime to learn. You both grew up far faster than you should have. Now…stop making excuses, get up there, and tell that boy how you feel."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'm going to do it. For real, this time." On impulse, he leaned over and pecked Faith on the cheek, smiling as it was her turn to blush. He then turned, grabbed the two chairs he had come down for, and started back towards the stairs.
Inspiration struck him before he had made it more than three feet.
He whipped around again. Sure enough, Faith was still standing there, watching him with a rather knowing grin. She winked at him and rubbed her hands together.
"Consider it done," she said brightly, before Virgil could voice his request. There was the very faintest puff of wind this time as she disappeared into thin air. Virgil grinned to himself, hefted the chairs, and scurried back up into the living room.
Virgil, Sharon, their father, and Richie fell on the pizza like starving wolves. For once, Sharon made nary a comment about the two boys piling slices on their plates as though it was their last meal, as hers was nearly as high. They collapsed in the living room around the coffee table, cheesy Christmas carols blaring from the music station on the TV, and proceeded to stuff themselves on the pizza—deep dish pepperoni, olives, and extra cheese, Virgil's favorite. The day was winding down into evening, the sun already mostly set. Virgil watched the clock like a hawk, waiting for just the right moment.
He had already snuck away while they were waiting for the pizza to be delivered to get his end of preparations done…now Faith just had to fulfill her end. Inwardly, he chuckled to himself—this was going to be great. He leaned back against the foot of the couch, no longer really participating in the flow of conversation around him, just watching.
Richie and his father were deeply involved in some discussion about a new computer program due to come out in the beginning of the year. Virgil hid his smile behind a glass of soda as Richie began gesturing wildly, stabbing a piece of pizza forward to emphasize a point. He'd thought Richie attractive (obviously), but looking at this version after ten years of the broken shell of his friend brought new details to his attention. Like the way his smile lit up his entire face, the abandon with which he threw himself into things that interested him. Virgil noticed the way the lights shone on the blond hair, bringing out highlights of deeper gold, and the delicate flush that rose on pale skin when he got excited.
He wondered how far down that flush would go…
Virgil quickly sent that train of thought to a screeching halt. He really didn't want to see how badly his sixteen year old hormones could betray him. A final glance at the clock, and he decided it was time. Suddenly nervous, despite the confidence he had shown to Faith, he gulped down the rest of the soda in his glass and stood up casually.
"Rich, man, what time your Mom expecting you home?" he asked. Richie paused in mid-rant and looked up at Virgil blankly, taking a few seconds to brig his attention out of the world of programming language and calculations. Then he glanced down at his wristwatch and shrugged.
"Eh, any time before eight. My grandpa's supposed to call us tonight, and I don't want to miss him." Richie's paternal grandfather lived on the other side of the country, and Richie rarely got the chance to see him.
"Why don't you boys go on upstairs? Sharon and I will handle clean up." Robert Hawkins had the most bizarre expression on his face as he said that—half "oh my God, I can't believe I'm doing this" and half "best of luck to you, son." Virgil shot him a grateful look. "Thank you for coming over today, Richie. We couldn't have done it without you," Robert continued warmly. Richie grinned back at him.
"No problem Mr. H. I never turn down a chance to earn pizza," he replied with a wink. Sharon snorted.
"Or anything else edible," she muttered, but shot Richie a small smile of her own. Richie stuck his tongue out at her good-naturedly. Then he hopped lightly to his feet and scooped the red and green package off of the floor next to the couch, where it had been stowed to prevent squashing.
Virgil took a deep, steadying breath as he led the way up the stairs, silently willing his palms to dry up already. This was it—zero hour. If this went well, he would have until midnight tomorrow night to experience a bliss he would never have expected to have only a few short days ago. If it went badly—well, he might as well ask Faith to just send him back early.
He breathed a silent prayer to whoever might be listening for the former to be the case as he opened his bedroom door.
"Whoa, Virg, did Sharon threaten to come in here and give all you stuff away to the Salvation Army again?" Richie laughed as he entered the room. The place was spotless, thanks to a frenzied cleaning, which, he was proud to say, did involve shoving his things into the closet in any way. Even the bed was made.
"Something like that," Virgil said, shutting the door behind them. Strange how the sound of the latch closing seemed so loud. Richie admired the carpet he rarely got to see for a few seconds, before he turned back toward Virgil and held out his present with a flourish.
"You, my friend, are gonna flip," he said, as he had all those years ago. The teasing, dancing smile was the same as it had been, as was the sparkle in his eyes, like a kid keeping a juicy secret. "I have outdone myself this year, if I do say so myself." He blew on his nails and buffed them against his shirt. Virgil laughed weakly as he took the present, and then set it down on the foot of the bed. He couldn't bring himself to put it on the desk as he had the last time. He fingered the cheap ribbon for a moment, before he closed his eyes and squared his shoulders.
"I, uh, didn't go out and buy you something this year, Rich," he said quietly. He turned quickly to catch Richie's reaction. Others might have been hurt at a perceived slight, but Richie merely raised one eyebrow in inquiry.
"S'okay, Virg, you don't have to get me anything," Richie said easily, and Virgil could tell he meant it. Unsaid, but well known, was the sentiment that their friendship had always been and would always be good enough a gift for both of them.
"No, that's not it. I do have a present for you…it's just not something you can open the day after tomorrow."
"Oh, messing with tradition, here, V. That's dangerous stuff." Richie's words were light, but he looked touched.
"/Now or never,/" Virgil told himself. As though by some prearranged signal, though he had not even thought of how he would tell Faith when he was ready, there was a rush of the now familiar warmth in the air around them, and then the lights went out.
The room was plunged into perfect darkness, helped along by the drawn curtains on the window and the sudden appearance of a cloud across the moon in an otherwise sparkling clear night. Richie yelped in surprise and Virgil took a careful, halting step towards the sound.
"What the—Virgil? Where are you, man?" He ignored Richie's question, closed his eyes, and aimed a tiny spark of power upwards.
The darkness receded and Virgil heard a soft gasp in front of him. Only then did he open his eyes. The sight that greeted him was perfect. "/Thanks, Faith./"
His ceiling was covered in lights. There were no bulbs or wires, and yet the entire ceiling was alive with them. They sparkled with the same golden light Faith had produced, clusters of particles charged with Static's energy, thousands of small, dancing points of light—like golden stars across his ceiling. Slowly, the lights began to move, swirling slowly around the ceiling in intricate patterns. Richie was staring up, mouth agape, and Virgil's breath caught at the sight of him bathes in that golden glow.
"Virg…geez, are you doing this?" Richie whispered suddenly. He refocused his attention on the other youth, stunned delight shining in his eyes.
"You like it?" Virgil asked in reply, neatly dodging the question.
"It's—it's gorgeous!" Richie exclaimed, raising his eyes to the ceiling again.
"Yeah," Virgil agreed, not looking at the lights at all. "Uh, this isn't your present though. This is just…atmosphere."
Richie tore his gaze away from the light show for a final time. "Oh really? Atmosphere for what?"
There was never going to be a more opportune time. The lights grew steadily brighter, swirling in tighter circles until they were spinning over the heads of the two boys. Confusion bloomed on Richie's face as Virgil moved closer. Now or never. The lights began raining down on them in a sparkling shower, and everywhere one touched them, an echo of Faith's warmth blossomed. Virgil winged one final prayer heavenwards, and went for broke. He reached up, pulled Richie towards him, and kissed him.
It was worth it. Whatever else he suffered after this instant, it was worth it to do this, even if it was only once. Virgil strove to commit every microsecond of the feel of Richie in his arms to perfect memory. The lights spun in a single, final frenzy, and exploded in a shower of warm sparks around them, and were gone.
Virgil's bedside lamp and the overhead flickered back into operation. He stood there for a moment more, then released his friend, and stepped back. Time to face the music.
Richie's expression was not unlike those worn by their enemies right after Static zapped them with a nova blast. He looked as though he'd been hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat. The seconds ticked by, and Virgil grew more and more nervous as Richie remained silent, just staring at him.
"Th-that was my present?" Richie managed finally, raising one hand to his lips and swallowing convulsively. He didn't sound angry…but he didn't sound pleased either.
"Um, yeah…yeah, that was it," Virgil replied uncertainly. Richie nodded once.
"Frieda? Daisy?" It was a bit of a left-field comment, but Virgil quickly realized what Richie was asking.
"Not even blips on the radar. Not for a long time." Again, Richie nodded.
"Was that some kind of experiment?" Richie's voice had gone flat, as close to Gear's coldly analytical side as Virgil had ever heard his friend utter while out of costume.
"No! No, Richie…damn it, I wouldn't do that to you," Virgil rushed to assure, horrified that his friend could even think such a thing. A cold, sick feeling began growing in the pit of his stomach. He'd done it…he'd really done it. He had ruined his friendship with one of the most important people in his life.
"Then why?"
"Because, I…I…I love you, damn it! I haven't been able to think about anyone else for months!" Virgil desperately wanted to call the words back as soon as they crossed his lips. He could've played it off as a joke, might have been able to salvage his friendship with Richie before those final hours ticked down. Not now, though. Not now that Richie knew the truth.
Richie nodded yet again, a short, quick gesture that seemed to Virgil as bad as if Richie had reached out and slugged him. "Good."
"I'm so sorry—look we can just forget it…wait, what?"
How had he ever thought Richie's smile bright before? This expression was blinding. "I said, 'good,'" Richie repeated slowly, enunciating each word. It was Virgil's turn to look pole axed. Richie laughed aloud and took his friends face in his hands. "I don't ever want you to think about anyone else."
Then, Richie tackled him. Virgil had time for one surprised yell before he tumbled back onto the floor in front of his bed. The carpet cushioned most of the impact to his tailbone, but it still hurt.
A split-second later, though, he didn't care. Richie landed more or less on his knees, straddling Virgil's lap, and proceeded to try and kiss the breath out of him. It was Virgil's turn to freeze for a moment, before his brain caught up with events. There was something of an 'oh hell yeah' from every nerve ending in his body, and the paralysis was broken. He reached up and pulled his friend closer to him, relishing the feel of Richie's body against his.
Then, coherent thought ceased for a little while.
Faith let out a shriek of triumphant delight and spun on top of the Hawkins' roof. "Yes! Go Virgil!" she called, performing an impromptu dance step on the narrow peak. Just for the heck of it, she raised her hands and let a shower of the same sparks that had adorned Virgil's room moments ago erupt from her fingertips. Without Static's extra charge of energy, they were not quite so bright and beautiful, but they were an expression of pure joy, so who cared?
"That was not in your job description." Gideon appeared beside her, floating in midair, his hands on his hips and a rather irritated expression on his face. Faith didn't care.
"Oh Gideon, don't be such a wet blanket. Virgil just wanted it to be special. Richie will think it was Virgil's powers…what's the harm?" Gideon merely raised one eyebrow and snorted in that way that told Faith he couldn't think of a good argument, but didn't want her to think she had won.
"Out of curiosity, what was that? Harlequin Romance night at the Astrology Society?"
"It was gorgeous and romantic, and you know it!"
"Hrmph. I hope you told the boy to have some insulin ready before the show."
Faith stuck her tongue out at him. Gideon merely rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, back to the matter at hand—"
"Gideon…don't," Faith interrupted. "Don't tell me anything about tomorrow, don't give me advice, and don't make me remind Virgil. Just…just let them be happy tonight, and let me be happy for them, okay?" Faith paused in her dancing, and Gideon's stern face softened visibly.
"As you wish, my dear," he murmured. Faith nodded her thanks, and her mentor vanished. The mood was broken, though. In the room below her, her two young heroes reveled in each other, and in the glow of newly confessed love.
Faith, however, could not help but think about the fact that their happiness was already waning into its death.
"Twenty nine hours, Virgil. Make them count."