A/N: Book Two! There's a deep, dark secret about the way this is written, and it has a bearing on the eventual plot twists of the story. Who wants to start the guessing? Incidentally, did anyone figure out which Stephen King book gave me the idea for the story? Hint: it's one of his less oughtright-scary ones, and one of his "just plain creepy" ones.

Book II

Chapter One: Meetings Pg. 99

From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins (6) Pg. 113

Book II

Chapter One: Meetings

"…and he hasn't been seen in weeks," Kangor finished. "I'm telling you, man, Gear's gone." He put his size forty-two boots up on the desk and reclined in his chair. He'd named himself Kangor because of those boots- and the monstrously huge feet inside them. He hadn't wanted anyone calling him Kangaroo, so Kangor worked. Got the point across, you could say, without being too obvious.

"He's taken a permanent vacation." Shiv, standing off to Kangor's right, was grinning. He dug into the bag of chips he always seemed to have on him and crunched loudly.

Ebon folded his arms. "We can't hope for something that good," he said. "We need to make damn sure." He looked around his hideout at the other Bang Babies who had come to his emergency meeting. Not that they had much choice, Ebon thought, smiling to himself. As a living shadow, Ebon crept from place to place, and could move across the entire planet in minutes. And he could carry people with him. That was how he had managed to make so many show up at his meeting. Ebon liked to think of himself as the big Bang Baby boss in Dakota, and the only Bang Babies who didn't seem to think he was the boss were Static, Gear… and Hotstreak.

But even he came, Ebon thought. He had no choice. I dragged him here, and he doesn't know how to get out. Besides, he wants a chance to get at Static just like the rest of us. And if Gear's missing- for whatever reason- this might be our chance. But we have to make damn good and sure that the little brain boy won't show up at the wrong time to save the day.

Hotstreak muttered, "He can't be gone. He's worse than that rat, Foley, trailing after Hawkins. He'd never let his friend go out alone."

"Oh, and since when are you the big Gear expert?" Ebon demanded.

"I've just seen a lot of flunkies like him, that's all," Hotstreak grumbled, his eyes flashing. He wasn't bouncing a ball of flames between his hands- not yet- but he might, soon. He wasn't known for his patience. His hate of Static rivaled Ebon's. Static had been a thorn in his side for far too long. Someday, I'll change that. And us sittin' around here listenin to rumors about one missing sidekick isn't going to help me do that. He sighed. Well, as long as we're stuck here anyway, there's something Ebon and the others have to know. "I don't know if Gear's gone or not, but if he is, there goes any leverage we had with Static. He only has one major weakness, one that works all the time: he watches out for that little robo-nerd. He can't even be completely destroyed with water, like we first thought because he always finds a way out."

It was a speech for Hotstreak, who usually kept his answers to grunts or a few short words at best. But he wanted Ebon to understand their chances. Maybe he'll decide it's hopeless until we know more and just let me go. I'll find my own way to get to Static.

"He's gotta be missing, man," Kangor argued. "Static's been seen a lot- by all of us- but Gear hasn't shown up once."

"Not since the day the Justice League showed up to save him and Static from us," said Puff, bearing her teeth. "If he isn't missing, maybe he's hurt or scared. He isn't like Static- take away all those inventions, and I bet he's nothing."

"If we only knew who he was, we'd have an edge over Static," Kangor said.

"And how are we supposed to figure out who he is when we've been trying for three years to figure out who Static is?" Ebon snapped.

"We can't!" Hotstreak had turned his hands into torches. "So let us go, Ebon. There's nothing we can do here. Either Gear's missing, or he's not. If he is, we have no way to get at Static. If he isn't, we're back where we started."

"I say when this meeting is over!" Ebon roared, hitting Hotstreak so hard he crashed into the wall. Ebon knew well that he was one of the few meta-humans Hotstreak couldn't hurt, and he took full advantage of that fact.

Hotstreak got to his feet. "Fine! Then what are we going to do?"

Ebon was pacing. "I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to try what Puff tried. We'll show up to attack Static all together. We'll spring the rest of our gang from jail. Then we'll wait for a good day- or night- and lure Static out to where we can destroy him. And if Gear happens to show up, too, well, there will be enough of us to take him out, too. But until then, you'll all lay low. That's an order. We want Static to get comfortable, maybe start to think that he's frightened us off. When we all show up-" Ebon rammed his hands together- "we'll crush him."

Richie met Virgil at the corner where their paths to school crossed.

Virgil assessed Richie's condition, noting the dark circles under his eyes. "You okay, Richie?" Virgil took Richie's hand.

Richie smiled at the contact, then yawned. "Very tired." He handed Virgil a floppy disk in its little case.

Virgil held the disk, staring at it. "Did you finish last night?"

Richie nodded.

"Man, no wonder you're so tired! You didn't have to hurry up and finish it! I would have waited."

They started walking. "I needed to get it off my chest, V. I feel completely husked out now."

"No offense, Richie, but that doesn't exactly sound healthy."

Richie smiled and tightened his hold on Virgil's hand. "I feel free, V-Man. I feel completely and utterly relaxed, as if all my memories, in all their stark detail, were transferred from my brain to that disk. I still remember what happened, but it doesn't stab at me anymore. And if I dreamed last night, I don't remember it. I'd say that's a definite improvement."

"Maybe that's because you didn't actually get to sleep?" Virgil raised an eyebrow.

Richie shrugged. "I managed about four hours. It'll see me through the day. By the way, you don't look exactly chipper and ready to go yourself."

Virgil slipped his arm around Richie's shoulders. "I love you, Richie," he whispered.

Richie gasped, then laughed at his own surprise. What had happened last night hadn't been a dream. "I love you, too." They walked in silence for a block or so, then Richie asked, "Do you mind showing everyone that we're together?"

Virgil was quiet for a moment. "Do you think we should show them?"

Richie smiled; he couldn't help it. He was amazed that they were even discussing this. I never thought we would get far enough to discuss logistics. His smile broadened. In English, as V puts it, that means I never thought we would be talking like this. Talking about us as a couple. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether we want to listen to all the teasing we're going to get."

"Rich, I hate to break this to you, but we're teased anyway. I'm the wuss and you're the teacher-pleaser."

"So, you vote not to hide our discovery?"

Virgil grinned. "Well, I've always been reckless. Let's try it."

Richie laughed and moved closer to Virgil. "Let's just hope those don't become famous last words."

Frieda rushed to the lunch table she, Daisy, Richie and Frieda shared, so excited that she hadn't even stopped to get lunch. Daisy was already there, flipping through a magazine. "Daisy! Daisy! Look, quick!" Frieda grabbed Daisy's arm and pointed towards the doors to the lunch room.

Daisy looked up, wondering what had gotten Frieda's ponytail in a knot this time. It wasn't that she didn't like Frieda, but Frieda could get excited about almost anything. But when Daisy spotted the two boys walking into the lunch room, holding hands, she squealed, "Oh my God!" She was gasping for air. "Is that Virgil and Richie?" she whispered.

Frieda's eyes were big as dinner plates. "Yes! I saw them walking down the hall like that and I wanted to know if I was seeing what I'm seeing." She sat down beside Daisy. "So, am I really seeing it? Are they actually together? Like that?"

Daisy shook her head. "Either that or this is some stupid stunt."

Frieda groaned. "You don't think they would do that to us, do you? I mean, they're notorious for playing jokes."

Daisy grinned as Richie and Virgil slipped into the lunch line. She watched Richie blush at something Virgil had said. "No, I don't think it's a joke."

"Why not? They're perfect class clowns and-"

"And check out Richie's face. Look at his eyes. Look at the tiny smile he's trying to hide. Then look at Virgil. He looks like a guardian angel or something."

"Maybe Richie just had a bad night or something. You know how Virgil takes care of him. And he did have that really serious black eye yesterday. It's going away now, but it was huge, and I don't think you can get something like that from falling."

Daisy shook her head. "No, I think they're really together. But I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

Frieda grumbled, "I don't want to wait! I want to know right now!"

"Well, you'll only have to wait a few more seconds. Here they come."

Virgil swaggered toward the table, and Richie tagged along beside him, his eyes sparkling.

"I'll bet you a free soda I can make mine look just like Mt. St. Helens," Richie said to Virgil. The blond slid into the seat beside Frieda at the circular table. He poked at his mashed potatoes with a plastic fork.

Virgil sat on his other side. "Yeah, but can you make it erupt?"

"Just find me some ketchup, some baking soda and some vinegar!"

"That's cheating!" Virgil cried. "I want you to make it erupt by just using what you have right here in front of you."

Richie grinned. His cheeks had gone pink. "If you hold my hand, V, I bet I can do it." He made a crater in the center of the mashed potatoes, poured ketchup in the crater, then took Virgil's hand. "Send me a little luck, V." He closed his eyes and poked his finger in the mashed potatoes.

"Duck, Frieda!" Daisy cried, and the two disappeared under the table. Daisy didn't think there was any way Richie could make his food explode with just his finger, but, well, strange things- and usually messy things- happened around Richie Foley and Virgil Hawkins.

For an instant, nothing happened. Then, suddenly…. Ka-BOOM! Ketchup and mashed potatoes flew everywhere. Richie had fallen backwards off his stool, and he was laughing so hard tears streamed down his cheeks. His glasses had come askew, and he was gasping for breath. Virgil was equally helpless beside him.

"Mr. Foley! Mr. Hawkins!"

The two teens struggled to their feet. Neither of them wanted to sit in their chairs, which were covered with remnants of their lunches. Richie's had completely disintegrated. Virgil was snorting as he tried to stop laughing, and Richie had covered his mouth with both hands.

"Detention for both of you!" roared the lunch-room monitor.

Richie turned pale as parchment, and his laughter died in his throat. "Please, Mr. Kingsley… It was my fault, but…" He was biting his lip almost hard enough make it bleed. "Please… I'm sorry…"

"You should have thought about that before you decided to turn this lunch room into a science lab. Now, both of you go get paper towels from the bathroom and clean this mess up."

As the two walked away, Frieda asked, shaken, "Are you still so sure they're together?"

Daisy didn't answer- she just pointed. Frieda followed her gaze. Even though the two were spattered with bits of food, and were definitely sticky and gross, Virgil has his arm around the shoulders of a very… well, a very depressed Richie.

"He looks like someone just told him he's going to the gallows tomorrow," Frieda whispered, forgetting her curiosity about the love-life of her friends.

Daisy sighed. "Yeah, he does."

In the bathroom, Virgil washed his face and hands quickly. He didn't really care if he went around the rest of the day with gook drying on him if it meant that he could wipe that look of desperation and terror off Richie's face. But he knew his appearance would get him in trouble with the teachers, and they might make him leave Richie's side to go wash. Better to take care of the problem now.

Richie was just staring into the mirror. "I can't run," he was whispering. "I can't, but I want to. I don't want to go home after this…"

Virgil squirted some liquid soap into one brown palm, then went to Richie. Without a word, he took Richie's hands in his, turned on the water, and washed Richie's hands himself. "We'll get through this, Richie. I won't let him hurt you. We'll find a way out or around this. I promise. I won't ever let him hurt you again. I swear it." Virgil grabbed some paper towels, got them a little wet, and cleaned Richie's face and glasses. His boyfriend was staring into the mirror and showing absolutely no sign that he was in the world at all. "Trust me, Rich; I won't let anything happen to you. I love you too much to let anything happen."

Richie's hands were shaking. "I'm such an idiot. I should have thought…"

"I'm going to save you, Richie."

"I shouldn't have just forgotten everything like that…"

"Richie…" Virgil hugged his boyfriend from behind. "Rich, calm down. We'll-"

Richie turned to Virgil, his eyes filled with such wild fear that Virgil fell back a step. "He'll kill me, Virg. I can't do home. He'll kill me this time."

Virgil grabbed Richie's shoulders and shook him. "I won't let him!" he whispered, his face an inch from Richie's. "I won't let him, Rich. I won't. I swear it. We'll go talk to the principal right now. We'll explain that we made a terrible mistake- both of us- and then we'll explain that you can't stay after, that you'll get in trouble with your dad. He knows all about your dad, remember? Maybe you can spend your detention during school. That'll make Mr. Kingsley happy and keep you safe."

Richie took a deep breath, then another. "You're right, V." He dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry. I just lost it, didn't I?"

"With good cause, Richie." Virgil drew Richie against him and hugged him. "I love you, Richie. I won't let anything happen to you."

Richie hugged him back. "I love you, too." Then he smiled weakly. "We need to clean up that mess out there."

Virgil grabbed a fistful of paper towels. He leaned close to Richie and muttered, his lips barely moving, "Well, Static and Gear vowed to clean up Dakota."

Richie grinned, snagged some paper towels, and the two went to clean up the mess they'd created.

During eighth period in-school-suspension, Richie wrote a letter. He had been thinking about the disk he'd given Virgil that morning. There were a few things that he'd wanted to say before Virgil read the story. More than anything, he didn't want Virgil to go into the terrible story without warning. And so he wrote:

Virg, I love you. More than anything. I'm not asking you to read this because I want you to be hurt. I'm telling you because I think I have to. I can't explain my feelings any better than that. You don't have to read the whole thing. Read as far as you can stand. If you want me to gloss over the rest, I can. It isn't hard, now that I've told it twice, once to BP and once in writing.

V, I want you to know two things more. First, I'm not innocent anymore. I saw far too much with Brainiac, too much through the nightmares he sent me. And second, I'm not a virgin anymore. Brainiac took that from me. He raped me long before you came to save me. I never thought about saving myself for someone, but I hate Brainiac for what he did, because now I wish I could be untouched for you. I wanted you to be my first and only.

Richie considered the note, wondering if it sounded either a) desperate, which was bad, or b) sappy, which was probably worse. If it's the first, I sound as if I need Virg to protect me- which I do, but I don't want him to know that. And if it's the second, V will wonder how "feminine" I really am. Richie blushed.

The bell rang, signaling the end of his punishment. Sighing, Richie admitted, But I'll have to let it stand. There isn't time to write something else. I have to get home. Quickly, Richie folded the note and slipped it into his pocket as he stood up.

Two minuets later, he and Virgil were on their way home. They walked close together, and occasionally Virgil brushed against Richie's arm.

"So what are you doing tonight?" Virgil tried to sound casual.

"Dad'll be hone tonight, so I'll be working on a fake project for Science."

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "We don't have enough homework? You have to make some up?"

Richie didn't look at him. "Mom told him I was working on a project for Science. So, that's what I'll be doing."

Virgil groaned and moved even closer to Richie, taking his hand. "Tell me how long this has been going on, Richie. How long has he been hurting you? This isn't a new thing in your life, is it?"

"When I was eight, I asked your mom if I could live with you and your family. She thought I was just being sweet, I guess. She picked me up, hugged me, and said, 'Oh, Richie, you'll always be like my son, whether you live here or at your house.'" Richie cleared his throat. "I've always liked school, even if I didn't always get the best grades, because it meant two things: I could see you, and I could be away from him. And I looked forward to every chance I got to sleep at your house." Richie blushed. "Please don't take this the wrong way, V, but it wasn't just you I loved seeing. I loved how your dad would hug you or tell you to do your homework or talk to you about his day. I loved how you and Sharon fought, even; I thought that there was safety in that fighting."

Virgil was silent for a moment. He was stunned to know that Richie had figured something out that he, Virgil, had only come to realize in the last year or so. "I guess there was. We still loved each other, and knew it-" he smiled a little- "really deep down." He put his arm around Richie's shoulders. "And I don't hold it against you, Richie. Any time I can make you happy, that's cool with me."

Richie leaned into the one-armed embrace. "I love you, Virg."

"I love you, too."

They had reached the corner where Virgil turned. Richie disconnected himself with a slight effort and dug a note from his pocket. "Here," he said somewhat awkwardly. "Please read this before you read… the rest."

Virgil took the note with all solemnity, though his eyes twinkled. And when the note had disappeared, he asked, "Is this a proposal of marriage?"

Richie gasped, but he could see Virgil was trying to joke, and so he laughed weakly. "I'm only sixteen, V; much too young. I think you'll have to wait a few more years for that."

Virgil's teasing expression fell away. He drew Richie to him and whispered in his ear, "Not if I propose first."

Richie gasped again. He felt like a leaky bellows. "V, you're not- you're not… Are you?"

Virgil tightened his hold on his boyfriend. "Not a real proposal," he said. "Not one with a ring and everything. But I want us to be linked somehow. Will you let me be your partner, even as Static is Gear's? Will you trust me and come to me when you need help? Will you help me when I need it?"

Richie bit his lip and pulled back a little so he could meet Virgil's gaze. "V… do you really mean all this?"

Virgil rubbed his hand on the back of his head. He looked embarrassed, but determined to finish what he'd started. "I do, Rich. I swear I do."

"Then I promise to be your partner. I will do everything you asked. But you have to promise to come to me with your problems, and not just wait for me to seek you out."

"I promise."

Both of them glanced around, both a little shy about kissing in public. But no one was on the street. They came together, kissing quickly, chastely. When they stepped back, Richie was blushing and Virgil was rubbing the back of his head almost fast enough to start a fire.

Richie smiled, and the simple expression lit up his face. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

Virgil turned and walked towards his house. Richie hurried home, knowing that if he didn't get going he would watch Virgil walking until he disappeared around the next corner three blocks down.

Richie's father wasn't home quite yet when his son came in. Richie heaved a sigh and dashed up to his room. He found a schematic for a miniature rocket launchpad that he'd drawn up a few months ago- right before Virg and I decided I'd become a Bang Baby, in other words- and printed it out. Backpack was sitting on Richie's bed, watching the blond work.

You see, BP, I have to say I've been working on the plans for a couple days and now I'm going to start on the actual launchpad. This way, he'll think I really have been working on a project for Science.

Richie, when are you going to tell Virgil how long your father has been amusing you?

Richie sighed. I dodged his question, didn't I? I didn't even realize I was doing it. Then he laughed in amazement. You could read my mind all the way from there? Your range is expanding.

Yes, thanks to you. And yes, you dodged his question. Again.

Richie's good cheer faded. It's just hard to admit to your best friend that you've been hiding secrets from him for that long. Especially since we've been so honest about everything else. The only other time I kept something from him was when that old man was doling superpowers out to me like a drug. And my resolve lasted less than a day. I've kept this hidden for so long that I can't imagine my relationship with Virgil without it.

If Virgil really loves you- and I think he does- then he will accept your confession. He may be a little angry at first, since not all humans can deal with changes immediately even if they see that those changes are for the best. But Virgil will forgive and forget. I think he will always be there for you.

BP… If I'm going to tell one secret, should I tell the other?

Ask yourself instead why you wouldn't tell him.

Because I don't want to be connected with any group like that in any way. And it's more than my father being a member. I attend the meetings.

Not willingly.

I still have to go, though. And I hear the doctrine once a week. What if it starts to affect the way I think?

If, after each time you go the meetings, you come back and we talk about it, laugh about it a little and then forget about it, that won't happen. And it probably wouldn't happen anyway because you are stronger than that, Richie. Richie sensed Backpack's smile. And if you tell Virgil, you will have another person to laugh about the meetings with. Imagine the jokes Virgil might suggest. He's a genius at suggesting funny ways to look at things.

Richie's face lit up as he smiled. You're right, BP. I shouldn't hide things from him anymore. We'll only get closer after the shock of my confessions wears off.

I would love to have someone else in on your innermost secrets, Richie; someone who can be there when I can't. I like Virgil. I trust Virgil. He's the only person in the world I would trust with your safety.

And coming from you, there's no higher praise than that.

Again, Backpack's smile shone in Richie's mind. Any and all developed intelligence aside, Richie, I was programmed to stay with you, to look after you. It's a task I take up willingly every day. Now Richie sensed that, if Backpack could, he would have been blushing. I love you, Richie. Not as Virgil loves you, but like a brother, or maybe…

BP, say whatever you're thinking. I won't be offended.

I was going to say like a father. A real father. Like Mr. Hawkins seems to love you.

Richie stood and went to the bed, sitting beside his robot. "I love you, too, BP."

Backpack beeped and turned his sensor eye to the hall. Richie cursed and went back to his desk chair. Backpack dove under the bed.

The door to Richie's room opened and Mr. Foley strode in. Richie assessed his father's mood, and decided that his father was decently relaxed. That didn't mean Richie could relax, but it meant that he might at least get through this interview without any new bruises.

He rose respectfully to greet his father. "Hi, Dad. How as work?"

"Not bad. We've had a whole new project dumped in our laps, and it's supposed to be done months before we could conceivably do a decent job, but your old man's dealt with much worse things in his lifetime." He clapped Richie on the shoulder. "Studying?"

"Actually, I finally finished the blueprint for the launchpad I'm going to build. The rocket blueprint's done, so-"

"Remember, Richie, only houses and other buildings have blueprints, so your rocket has to have a design."

Richie blushed a little. He knew that- his father always said it, anyway- but correcting his son in building-terms always put his father in a better mood if, that was, the older man was already in a good mood. "Thanks, Dad. I forgot."

"That's all right, Richie; I know you aren't going to be a construction worker. You're going to be a astronaut or a doctor or something amazing like that." His father fairly beamed at him.

Richie smiled, then turned the conversation to other matters. He liked the praise- could almost forget his father's harsh words and fists when the man spoke that way to him- but he didn't want his father thinking he was getting a big head. That would turn his mood in an instant. "Do you want to look at the blueprint for the launchpad and check it for me? Just in case I've made a mistake or something?"

"Maybe later. We have a meeting tonight, don't forget, and we need to eat dinner before that."

"Okay," said Richie easily. "Are we eating now?"

"In about twenty minutes. What are you going to do until then?"

"I think I'll start work on my rocket… unless I can help you?"

Sean Foley shook his head. "I'm going to kick back a little." He ruffled Richie's hair. "Get your work done." He headed for the door. "And don't forget to wash before dinner. We don't need any grease-stains on the tablecloth."

"I won't forget to wash." Richie watched his father leave the room. He listened to him walk downstairs. Only then did Richie return to his chair. Backpack came out from under the bed and positioned himself at Richie's ankle. Richie reached down and touched him. It was strange, but touching Backpack was a little like petting a dog: Richie found it therapeutic.

Richie tied his white tie and looked at his reflection. The suit hung well on him- a gift from his father when he turned sixteen- and showed off his narrow form to good advantage. The baggy clothes he usually wore hid any and all bruises and had the added advantage of not rubbing incessantly against his newest injuries. The suit hid nothing: his black eye stood out and the low collar of the suit-coat didn't hide the bruise on his neck. It doesn't matter, Richie thought. All I have to say- with Dad's prompting if I forget- is that a bunch of black boys beat me up. That will get everyone off my back. And I might earn a shy, sympathetic smile from one of the brainwashed girls there.

It annoyed his father to no end that Richie had to attend a public school and mix with "people like that". But the Foleys weren't rich enough to be able to send Richie to a private school, so he stayed at Dakota Union High. And I'm lucky to be there. If I hadn't met Virg and learned for myself that black people are just like white people in al the ways that matter, I'd likely be as brainwashed as the daughters of the rich men.

Richie resisted the urge to scowl. If nothing else, once you're at one of the meetings, you're considered to be equal to everyone else there. "We have to unite under one banner, brothers and sisters. We must unite, without barriers between classes, or we will never be able to quell the usurpers." That was the sort of thing Richie heard each week. Richie liked to think that they sounded like medieval, ignorant villagers. What's next? Torches and pitchforks? But he knew that, in centuries past, that's exactly what the meetings had often led to. Today, things had to be done differently. For one thing, the police didn't approve of violence from anyone.

Richie forced himself not to smile. Plus, there aren't any pitchforks here. He glanced at the back of his father's head. His father was driving their beat-up old car and his mother sat beside him, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Her head was bent like a person who grieves or prays.

Maybe she's praying the meeting hall will have exploded by the time we get there. I know that's what I'm praying for.

Richie sometimes wondered what God thought of his prayers. They were almost always for things to be missing, or burned down, or broken. In fact, I think the only time I pray for anything "good" is when I pray that V and I will make it through each battle. Well, even if I do pray only for terrible things, I can say this much to God: Thank you, thank you, thank you for Virgil. I know I don't deserve him- my prayers show that much- but I want You to know that I'm grateful for the chance to be with V.

"… in the back, Richie?"

Richie blinked. His father had been speaking to him. Great. Now I'm going to get it. "I'm sorry, Dad; I was meditating on the lesson from last week and wasn't listening." He hoped he looked contrite and convincing.

Sean Foley was in an exceptional mood. "And what have you decided?"

"That I need to study our ways devoutly or I might fall into temptation." Like kissing Virgil. If Dad knew about that, the Children Protection Services would have to scrape me off the floor.

His father smiled. "That's true. What I said is, will you help me set up the supper tables in the back tonight?"

"Sure."

"Good."

Richie longed to sigh. I forgot the dinner tonight. We'll be here until ten or eleven. He thought of all the doctrine that would fly around his head before the night was over. I'm going to need a nice long 'counseling session' with Backpack when this is all over. He resolved to make up at least a half-dozen good jokes about the whole stupid gathering before he got home.

In the parking lot, Richie climbed out of the backseat and smoothed his suit down.

"Sean! Maggie!" A short, thin man in a grey suit rushed towards them, his arm outstretched. "And it's so good to see you, Richard!"

Sean shook the man's hand. "Hello, George. How's the missus?"

"Oh, she's suffering from a bit of a cold. So our little Angela made the casserole." He winked. "I'm lucky to have such a talented daughter."

Sean slung his arm around Richie and drew him close. "Well, my boy's been building a rocket for Science. And not from one of those kits, either. He's made it up from scratch."

The greetings continued for ten or more minutes, but then a bell rang and everyone shuffled inside and took their seats.

Richie endured the meeting by pretending to take notes. He wrote on two pages: one held notes about the meeting (mostly things Richie copied and expanded from the program) and the other held jokes and cartoons and a few proposals.

V, will you marry me?- Way too blunt.

Hey, what do you get when you mix a white robe with a black soul? A dirty-grey bastard. – Okay, that wasn't funny. I'll try again later.

The next was a cartoon of two superheroes- Static and Gear, in fact- scaring a whole gaggle of white-robed figures. Speech-bubbles over their heads said things like Zap! Pow! and Get 'em, BP! That one made Richie grin inside himself like a cat.

And, after that: I know we haven't been together for a long time, Virg, but I want you to know how much you mean to me. We're only sixteen, but will you marry me when we're eighteen? I'd be the luckiest person in the world if you said yes.

A shadow fell over his writing, and Richie looked up, a slightly-goofy smile falling off his face as he met his father's gaze. He opened his mouth to explain that… well, that something, but his father seized the page before he could get anything out. Richie watched the man's face turn purple. The blond boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For a supergenius, Richie, you're really a moron, you know that?

From the diary of Virgil Hawkins/Static Shock

Dear Diary,June 3, 2003

It's a good thing I didn't have any homework tonight. There's no way I would have been able to concentrate. I don't know what it's like to be in shock, and I'm probably overreacting. I can still breathe and move, after all. But I can't even begin to think about what I've read. And this isn't like when I'm trying to start a paper for English. There aren't facts jumping around in my head. There's nothing.

But I need to write about this. I need to get it out before I see Richie, and it's too late to go out as Static. Besides, I don't think even cruising around would help me right now. I need to get this out.

Okay, wait a minute… I just looked at the note Richie wrote me. I have to admit that when I read it before starting in on the… stuff on the disk, I had no idea what Richie was talking about. I get it now.

Richie told me I didn't have to read the whole thing on the disk, and of course I didn't understand. I thought Richie meant it was long, or that Richie was embarrassed by it somehow. I'm glad I read it, though. He needs me to know everything so I can help him. That's why I had to read it all.

But even if I didn't understand that first part, I felt a little sick when Richie told me "I'm not innocent anymore". And I've never known anyone that was raped. I don't know how to help Richie, or what I can do for him. I want to talk to Dad about it, and maybe to Sharon, even, since she's the psychology major, but I wouldn't know where to begin. And what if Richie doesn't want anyone to know? I bet his father doesn't know. Maybe I'm the only person he's told.

I don't know what the second thing was he wanted to tell me. Did he want to tell me that he hates Brainiac? That would be bad. Richie's never hated anyone, as far as I know, probably not even his father. So if Brainiac has made Richie hate, he's stolen something very important from Richie, and, like my boyfriend's virginity, it's something Richie will never get back.

Or maybe that isn't what he meant to tell me. I've grown up with the idea of saving myself for the person I love, but I never thought about it before. I'm only sixteen. I can't deny we've talked about it in the locker room after P.E., but I've never really thought about sex. Richie has… but that might be Brainiac's fault, too. I need to remember to talk to Richie tomorrow about this. If I don't figure anything else out tonight, I know this: I still love Richie, and no matter what Brainiac has done to him, I will never stop.

I read a book once where the narrator talked about his words coming one at a time, then in little squirts of phrasing, then whole sentences, then a torrent. That's what this is like. Suddenly, I want to write a hundred things about the story/ramble/confession Richie gave me. But, unlike that author, I don't feel like I can actually write anything. Everything I want to write is right here on this disk. The urge to give the disk to Pops, and also a copy to Sharon, and maybe even a copy to the Justice League is almost overwhelming. I don't know if they can help, but I'm still stuck with what I figured out before: I love Richie, and will always love Richie. But now I'm stuck with this question: is that enough, or does Richie need something more from me? If this was a comic book, I'd just sail in, scoop him up and fly away into the sunset. But there's always something beyond the sunset. And somehow I don't think Pops would approve of my kidnapping Richie. Even if Richie's parents- well, his father- is abusive, Richie is their son, and so I guess they have a right to say where he goes. Not a complete and total authority or the Children Protection Services couldn't help Richie, but something like that.

Damn. I just looked over the last paragraph I wrote, and it makes little or no sense. I guess I'm more wound up than I thought. But, wound up or not, the questions keep coming. I've got to help Richie, but how? What can I do for him? Should I tell anyone about what he's suffering through? Not that I could explain the whole Brainiac-induced nightmares to Pops because that would expose Richie's identity and mine.

Okay. Deep breath, Virgil. You've just figured something out. You can't tell Pops about Brainiac, but you can tell him about Richie's dad because that's not a secret. The school knows, so it's definitely not a secret. Half of Dakota probably knows by now. You can't tell me that teachers and principals don't take their problems home and share them with their families.

I can tell Pops about Richie's dad, at least. Maybe, with one less thing on my chest, I'll feel better. But… It's three o'clock in the morning. I don't think Pops would appreciate me waking him up. I'll have to wait until morning- well, later this morning. And it's going to be a long few hours. I can't sleep.

I wish I could see Richie right now. I want to hug him. The urge to do that is so strong it's almost a physical ache.

Sailor Vegeta: Thank you for the compliment. As you can see, here's the next bit. The only problem with my fics is they can't seem to stay in the "small" category, or even the "medium" category. I know this doesn't qualify as a novel yet, but I think we'll get there eventually. At least I think the plot's going to last that long.

Dimitri Aidan: I agree with you about endings, so I'll make the same offer to you that Stephen King made to his readers of the Dark Tower series: if you don't want to read the ending, you're completely free (and even encouraged) to leave it be.

I was really getting a kick out of "Richie" Richie and Gear ganging up on "not quite" Richie. Someday (not necessarily in this story) I want to see the two heroes (Static and Gear) have a sit-down and a good talking-to with their secret identities. It would just be fun to read!

Actually, just for the record, there was a cartoon series called "Batman and Robin" where Batman was wrong once. He admitted as much to Dick Grayson at the end of the episode. Maybe the world won't end until that's common knowledge- so don't spread it around!

tp96: I'm glad being confused didn't put you off too much. Were there any really confusing parts that frustrated you? Please tell me; this is still a work in progress.

Tristripe: I'm glad you feel (in a metaphorical sense, of course!) like Richie. That means I'm doing my job.

My emails have gotten mixed up, and I'm not sure if I replied to everyone. If I didn't, please forgive me! Just keep telling yourself: "She's really technologically impaired" and all will be well.