Chapter 3: Unaffected
Disclaimer: Still don't own them.
Warnings: There is slash in this chapter, so for all Slash fans: Let the good times roll! 0)
The Apartment, 1:45 am.(cont.)
If Hotstreak had suddenly transfigured into Ebon at that moment, Static wouldn't have been more surprised. He knew my mother…my mother knew him…there's no way.
"If you knew Jean Hawkins, then did you…"
"I heard she was killed in the Dakota Riots all those years back, yeah." Hotstreak bowed his head in reverence. He must have really cared for her, because Static saw the sadness in those green orbs. He'd seen that sadness many times before, and most of those times he had seen in the same look of sadness in his own mirror. He knew the grief of loss more than anything else.
"She was the mother I never had," Hotstreak continued, "I never knew my real mother, I think she died in a car accident when I was three. It was always me and my dad, and he was a less than perfect role model—he was never around, I really had to take care of myself. I grew up faster than most kids."
"And the gangs?"
"I wasn't the kind of kid who made friends easily. My life was like…what was it called…Social Darwinism?"
"Damn—you really have done a lot of reading."
He shrugged, brushing it off. "When you're bored and no one wants to talk to you, what else is there?"
"So…social Darwinism?"
"Yeah, kill or be killed, take or be taken—survival of the fittest. And I wasn't about to let myself be taken or killed. It was tough, and there are times I look back on and wonder how I survived."
"But how does…Miss Jean tie into this?"
"She gave me the little bit of morality and hope that kept me going. Sometimes, her memory just wasn't enough. I felt like I was caught in a void…"
"Depression?"
"Must have been—there were times, plenty of them, when I wondered why I bothered living. Death had to be better than living in my personal hell. Besides, if I had died, maybe Mom and Miss Jean would meet me at the pearly gates…" he paused and frowned, "that is, if I get that far."
"You will."
Hotstreak looked up at Static, his gaze full of wonder. "What makes you so sure?"
"Everyone has a chance of forgiveness and repentance. This thing, helping us with finding this murderer, this may be your chance to redeem yourself."
"Maybe." He fell silent for a while, and Static thought that would be the end of it. He went back to reading, his eyelids beginning to droop before the redhead cleared his throat.
"This is all about trust, right? Which means no secrets between us?"
"Certain secrets would have to be kept, but yes."
"Well, I've got a dead-ringer for you. See, Miss Jean left behind a husband, and daughter and a son."
"Uh-huh…" he didn't like where this was going. What secret could he possibly be keeping that somehow involved his family?
"And the son, I kinda beat up in high school."
"That's it?"
"No," he said, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "See, I didn't realize he was Miss Jean's kid, and I wanted to apologize to him, for making his life a living hell. But I got arrested and never got my chance. I wasn't expecting much, but maybe forgiveness. That's not much to ask, is it?"
"Course not," the hero nodded. "And somehow, I think he's already forgiven you."
"But that's not all!" he said quickly.
"Oh?" he was very interested now. Hotstreak ran his hand through his hair, which Static would later find out to be a nervous habit of his.
"Yeah, see, while I was in the clink, I had a lot of time to do some thinking…and I kinda, well…aw hell, I don't know how to put this…"
"Just say it—I won't judge."
"You sure?"
For moment, Static doubted himself. C'mon, how bad could it be? "Go on."
"I liked him."
"As in…tolerated him?"
"No," Hotstreak locked eyes with the hero. "I liked him. You know, really liked."
Static felt like he had been sucker punched. "You're…gay?"
Virgil's room, 6:23 am.
"Shit, shit, shit! Double shit!" Richie said later. He was all but banging his head against the wall. "We should have known! We. Should. Have. Known! Hell, he was in prison for eight years, you'd figure…"
"Rich, it wasn't like he was somebody's bitch, remember?"
"Still—he's gay, and he's living with us!"
Virgil looked up at the ceiling. "Somehow, I know there's someone out there that's rolling on the floor right now."
"Where is he?"
"Hotstreak? He's sleeping; I made him a drink and slipped a little Nyquil in there so we could talk."
"Smooth—but yeah," Richie sat on the edge of his bed. He stared into space and said dismally, "He's gay…and he has a crush on you. You! My own boy—hey!" he all but shouted as Virgil clamped his hand over the other man's mouth.
"Not so loud!" he hissed. "What if he hears you?"
"You gave in Nyquil in a glass of vodka—I think he's out like a light."
"Yeah, but we don't know how well he can hold his alcohol. Listen, Rich," he pulled the other man into his arms affectionately, in way that crossed the boundaries of platonic friendship. "I don't like this either. But we can put up with it for now. With his help, we might catch the killer in a few days, and then he's gone. It won't be so bad, you'll see."
Richie leaned his head against his friend's chest. It wasn't a well-known fact, except by they're closest friends and allies in the League. Virgil and Richie weren't just friends, and they weren't just partners.
They were lovers.
They had been together since both were seventeen, and had been inseparable ever since. Nothing could have torn them apart, not even college. Virgil remembered the day that their parents found out. To say that Mr. Foley was less than pleased was an understatement, but at least Mr. Hawkins had helped ease the other man's temper. Years had passed, and things had cooled down to the point that Foley tolerated the partnership. He even allowed them to spend Christmas together, even if the dinner was silent as the grave. Oh well—had to start somewhere.
Mr. Hawkins wasn't angry, upset, or even disappointed. He was shocked—then again, he had walked into the room, only to find his son entangled with Richie, kissing the blond boy passionately and running his hands all over his body. Sharon only laughed when she found out, proclaiming that she knew it all along. Poor Mr. Hawkins had to chill for awhile before he could look his son in the eye. Once he did, however, he just started laughing.
"What's so funny?" Virgil had asked. His father just laughed. Gaining composure for a moment, he said,
"I wish I could have seen my face!"
"Yeah, it was pretty priceless…"he was forced to agree with a small smile.
"Not as priceless as yours—I don't think I've ever seen you so embarrassed."
"Um, yeah…can we forget that little encounter never happened…?"
Upon joining the Justice League, everyone knew about it, but decided to keep it under wraps, and treated it much like with secret identities. There was nothing they had to worry about there—the League proved to be a surrogate family for both young heroes.
Originally, Virgil and Richie shared the same room; the one Virgil was sleeping in right now. They had agreed that since Hotstreak was coming to stay, they would have to sleep in separate rooms to keep up the façade. But with this new revelation, keeping the redhead in the dark would be harder than they thought.
"He's going to figure it out," Richie said, his arms encircling his lover. Virgil held him close and gave him a bear hug.
"If he does, we have something to use against him."
"Blackmail? C'mon, V…"
He tried to look innocent. "We'll make a 'you scratch my back I'll scratch yours' thing. Like what he was talking about earlier…it's all about knowing when to keep your mouth shut."
"Speaking of which," Richie caught Virgil's lips, "how much longer do we have to wait?"
Virgil was reminded of how long it had been for them—at least three or four days. Too long. "I don't know. As soon as he's gone I guess."
"He kinda worries me."
"How's that?"
"V, have you seen the way he looks at us? The way he looks at you? He said tonight that he liked Virgil Hawkins, what if he's falling for Static Shock, too?"
"He won't," he answered, rubbing the other man's back. "I'll give him a reason to not like me."
"I think he has plenty already."
Virgil grinned mischievously. "Then I'll give him one more reason to hate me."
"Why are you doing this to me?" Hotstreak asked with an agonized sigh. "I just wanna relax, man!"
"Too bad, keep going," Static stood over him, looking down upon him like a king to a lowly slave—and poor Hotstreak was the slave.
"You know I haven't done this in a while…" the redhead argued.
"Again, tough—now let's see it."
Hotstreak grunted and pushed. Static heckled him.
"You call that a push up? That's a girl push-up—they don't count!"
"Who says girl push-ups don't count?" he grunted, holding himself up with shaky arms. The two of them were in one of the gymnasiums of the Watchtower, and Hotstreak was getting his daily dosage of exercise. That didn't necessarily mean he was happy with it, though.
Static pointed at him. The hero had taken off his coat, but kept the gloves and mask for obvious reasons. "See? You're out of shape…"
"Why are you my Drill Sergeant all of a sudden?"
"Less talking, more working. Let's move, soldier!"
Hotstreak muttered something incoherent under his breath as he continued doing his push-ups the "right way". Static looked on, uninterested. A woman's voice sounded in his ear.
"Keeping him busy?"
"Gotta do something with him—otherwise he'd just sit around the apartment all day. How's Batman?"
Wonder Woman shook her head wearily. "The same as ever, only he's much moodier these days, what with the lack of information about the Dakota Destroyer."
"You mean you can actually tell between his moods?" he asked incredulously. She grinned and fought back a laugh.
"It's an acquired skill."
"Tell me about it—I'm not sure Marvin could figure him out," he said, referencing J'onn. Wonder Woman gave him a reproving look.
"Static, please go easy on Batman—he's been under a lot of stress lately."
"He does know that he doesn't need to help me and Gear on this case, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "I keep telling him…"
"…but he's as stubborn as they get…" he finished the overused statement. He pointed at the redhead, now on his fiftieth push-up. "Though I think Red here might give him a run for his money."
"I can hear you, you know," Hotstreak said, gritting his teeth. "So don't act like I'm not here."
"You're very strong," Wonder Woman said, changing the subject quickly. "For a mortal man, at least."
"Gee, thanks…" he said sarcastically. Static warned, "I wouldn't piss her off, man. Remember, she's an Amazon…"
"Yeah," he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. "But to be honest, ma'am, you really don't scare me."
"Oh?" her tone became harsh as winter winds, biting like a viper. The redhead nodded and paused to catch his breath. "Yeah—it's Batman that scares the bejeezus outta me. How Joker does it I'll never know."
"Could it be that Joker's insane?" Static offered.
"Could be that."
Static was suddenly aware of Wonder Woman's blue eyes studying him. He looked back at her, the question in his eyes. With her eyes, she wordlessly motioned for him to stand a few yards away, while she admonished Hotstreak.
"You call yourself a man? You are nothing—prove your strength to me—run the marathon."
"Marathon?"
She nodded. "The obstacle course."
Static's jaw dropped. Was she serious? No way, she…holy crap, she was serious. The Amazon pointed the meta-human in the right direction, then turned to give Static a wink. When he caught up with her, he finally asked, "What are you doing?"
"Putting him through his paces; a man like that needs to know who the boss is."
"I think he has a pretty good idea already."
She pulled him close so she could whisper, "Why are you defending him?"
He looked at her strangely. "What are you talking about?"
"You're protecting him—every time he's out of his room, you're with him."
"Yeah, to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. He may know what the rules are, but that doesn't necessarily mean that he'll follow them."
"You always stand so close to him…"
"Meaning?"
"Do you…admire him?"
"As in…do I like him…in that way?"
The look she sent him was enough. He shrugged. He hasn't really thought about it…but she had a point. He had gotten into the habit of standing close to the meta-human, too close in some cases. So close it would have made Gear's blood boil.
But that doesn't mean anything—I do NOT like Hotstreak. He was alerted by a yelp and saw to his amazement, Hotstreak running through the 'obstacle course'. Though among the new recruits, it was called the 'Death Chamber', for obvious reasons. It was a joint project between Gear and the Green Lantern, who felt that they needed to stay in shape somehow, and felt the need for better training programs.
In light of this, Gear designed a system with which to test the very limits of strength: he included flying blades of death, flame throwers, potentially deadly robots, lasers, and everything else under the sun. In all honesty, the Death Chamber had everything imaginable but the kitchen sink.
And for a beginner, Hotstreak was doing very well. It was downright impressive even. Wonder Woman seemed to regard him in a new light. "For a man who only just got out of jail, he is in remarkable shape. Look at the way he dodges the lasers and robots."
"And all this without his powers—I never would have thought. He really is good…"
"See? That is what I mean."
"Diana," Static said, "I do not like him like that. Remember, I have Richie—I love him and he loves me, and that's all I care about."
"I'm not disagreeing with you," she said, sending him a warning glance. "But if I were you, I'd be careful around him, Virgil."
He smiled his usual grin, "Don't worry—I've got it under control. And if I don't I'll let Richie take over. Is that cool?"
"That sounds fine to me. You know..." she turned her attention back to Hotstreak, who was currently running away from one of the robots, affectionately called 'Brutus'. The redhead was screaming, "Somebody get me outta here! Or at least take off the goddamn bracelets!"
She giggled. "I think we should let him out."
"Aw…but it's so much fun to see him run around like that," he joked.
"Virgil, as much as I find this humorous, Hotstreak is of no use to us if he's dead."
"Fine," he sighed in defeat. "I'll get him out."
"Virgil?"
"Yes Diana?"
"I just had a thought."
"About what?"
"Hmm…just a musing—maybe…maybe Hotstreak would make a good member of the Justice League. That is, if he didn't have all those moral flaws."
He parted with a laugh. "Hey, you'll beat the tar outta him someday, and that'll fix any moral flaws right there. Oh, and Wonder Woman?"
"Yes, Static?"
"Thanks."
"I'm telling you, that lady is downright sadistic!"
Static snorted, trying to hide his laughter. He was bandaging up the redhead's left arm, and poor Hotstreak was incensed. "It's a wonder she's even a hero!"
"Maybe that's why they call her 'Wonder Woman'," Static ventured.
"And you're no help either!"
"You're bleeding."
"No shit Sherlock."
"No, your chest—there's blood," Static pointed. Hotstreak looked down at his chest and saw that, indeed, he had a cut and it was bleeding. "Huh, I don't remember that one."
"We'd better get that fixed up anyway. Take off your shirt, I'll get it."
"But you're not a doctor…"
"I'm trained to be a field doctor, just in case something happens, then I'd know what to do. All members go through some form of First Aid training before entering the field."
"How long did it take you?"
"A couple years—but most of this stuff is extensive—setting broken bones, curing poisoning, what to do with a snake bite, and stuff like that. Now, take off your shirt…"
"Fine," he grumbled, slowly peeling the tight article of clothing away from his body. He winced when he tugged at bits that had been stuck to his skin with dried blood. That cut hurt like hell…
Static took out a packet of rubbing alcohol swabs, some bandages, and antibacterial salve. He took one of the swabs out of its packet and unfolded it. "this'll sting a little—but it won't last long."
Hotstreak only nodded, laid back on the couch, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his bare chest. As Static slowly dabbed the alcohol-drenched wipe across the raw flesh, the redhead hissed with pain. The hero looked at him apologetically and continued.
The patient kept focusing on the hero's face, set with concentration. He had seen that look many times before—and it never failed to make his heart palpitate. That face, the smile, and sometimes, if he was lucky, he would hear him laugh. Though he tried, Hotstreak couldn't help but admire him. He was no Virgil Hawkins, though...Hr briefly wondered how much he had changed. Was Hawkins the same as he always had been?
Static was at his wit's end. He never thought that he'd be feeling this way about one of his greatest enemies. Though here he was, treating a wound no less, getting full view of the muscled chest and firm stomach, taunt muscles relaxed. Why was he affected? He had Richie and needed nothing else.
It's temptation, Static, his mind told him. This flame-haired fallen angel is tempting you.
No he isn't, he admonished.
Think about it—Richie's never looked this good…
'Course he has, Static thought with a wicked grin. In fact, I can think of a few times when he looked even better…
But, don't you ever wonder about what you're missing…? his brain told him.
Static finally banished these thoughts from his mind. I'm not missing a damn thing—I'm happy with what I have.
But he still wouldn't deny just how…incredible Hotstreak looked, laid out like that, shirtless, eyes closed. The hero fought back on a blush and started applying the antibacterial salve. The salve, then the bandages, then its over. But, he reasoned, looking is fine, its not like you're cheating…right?
Hotstreak, meanwhile, was struggling to keep his breathing under control. God, whatever Static was doing, he wished it would never stop. He was gentle, as no one had been gentle with him before. Hotstreak had tried to hide the fact of his orientation while in prison, and a couple guys found out, and in order to pacify them… He didn't want to think about it. For the time being, he was simply enjoying these new sensations. Awareness dawned. Shit—I like him! I'm not falling for him…am I? No, its too soon…its infatuation. Besides, even if he was…that way, he thought dismally, a frown creasing the handsome face, Even if he was gay, he'd never go for a guy like me.
Easy, Static, he told himself, almost done… He applied the last bandage and declared a little too quickly, "Done!"
"Hey thanks—you're not too bad a guy."
"Um…thanks?"
He gasped when the redhead shot up from lying down and pecked him on the lips. Shock and disorientation made it nearly impossible for that action to register in the hero's mind until Hotstreak had extracted himself and went into his own room. After the door had closed, Static unconsciously raised his finger to touch his lips, still able to feel the pressure of those lips upon his own.
Richie's not going to like this…
Dakota, 11:34 pm.
Somewhere in Dakota, late at night, in the dingiest parts of the city, he lurked. Hugging the shadows, skulking along the alleys, prowling the streets like a panther on the hunt. He smiled to himself, a queer, cruel and sadistic smile. He sniffed the air like an animal, and caught her scent on the air. Her perfume was so sweet, and what's this? Walking home at night, all alone, in one of the toughest neighborhoods? Now, that just wouldn't do…
He extracted himself from the shadows and made his presence known. The woman he was trailing saw him, was startled, but relaxed when he voiced his intentions.
"Excuse me, miss," he said kindly enough, "But I noticed you were walking all alone—its pretty dangerous around here. Would you mind if I walked you home?"
The woman, a beautiful Asian, arms laden with groceries, smiled sweetly and said, "That's kind of you, but I can handle myself."
"Are you sure? What if something happens, wouldn't your family or boyfriend worry?"
"My family doesn't live here, and I don't have a boyfriend," she said, turning her back on him and walking away, adjusting the grocery bags in her arms. He grinned. Turning her back on him was the last mistake she'd ever make…
"So you're family doesn't live around here? Then that means no one will be missing you for a while…"
She turned around to question him, then opened her mouth to scream. The sound never came…
He smiled as he stood over her body, her blood spilling into the gutter, groceries scattered all over. He took the knife out of his pocket and moved forward. This time, he'd leave a little warning for all of them: Never mess with the Destroyer.
The Watchtower, Static's Room, 3:22 am.
Static was suddenly aware that there was someone in his room. It wasn't Gear, because he would have climbed into bed with him. It wasn't Hotstreak, because he knew that even after all these years the redhead was not adept at picking locks. The only other alternative Static could think of was…
"Bruce, it's 3:30 in the morning. What are you doing?" he asked groggily. Batman crept out of the shadows in the room and walked over to the bed and demanded, "Get up!"
"Why?"
"The Destroyer has struck again."
He shot up. "What! When…where?"
"About an hour ago—police only just found the body." The Dark Knight handed him the crime scene photos. Static took one look at them and shook his head.
"This can't be the Destroyer—its not his usual style…whoa! What the hell…?"
"He left a message for us to follow," Batman said, concern and irritation etched into his face. Concern for Dakota's citizens, and irritation for not being able to predict this murder. "Virgil," he said, "Get Richie and Hotstreak and get down there now. We can't waste time."
He didn't need to be told a second time. The hero shot up out of bed and got into his costume. As he put his mask on, he turned back to look at Batman. "I have told you that you don't need to help us, right?"
"I want to—besides, I have a feeling you'll need all the help you can get." The Batman stared down at one of the pictures and narrowed his eyes dangerously. In the photo, there lay the body of the murdered woman, her corpse mutilated beyond recognition, and on the brick wall above her a message was scrawled in blood:
"Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword."
To be continued…
A/N: woo! We have a poetic killer on the loose! Remember to read and review!
