Chapter 7: Going Under
Disclaimer: don't own Static Shock. Is that so hard to understand?
A/N: my thanks to Lotus-chan for pointing out the mistake in the last chapter. You are absolutely right—dead bodies do have a rather strong and nasty odor to them, so apparently I haven't been watching CSI as much as I should be. Oh well, now I know.
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Dakota, 6:25 am
Static felt like he was going to be physically ill. Ivan had already beaten him to the chase, rushing out of the house faster than a sinner with hell on his heels. The hero struggled to keep his breakfast down, the smell finally permeating the whole house. Lorelei had been there for weeks, and it was a marvel to him that the neighbors hadn't called someone about the smell. It didn't occur to him until later that there were no neighbors—this was the last place in Dakota that anyone would want to visit, much less live. Not even the most hardened gangs liked coming through here. This place was a variable ghost town, and that suited Miles Fisher's purposes perfectly.
My god, he thought. It was the only thought that kept running in his mind, over and over again like a broken record. My god…
He heard sirens in the distance, then heavy footsteps on the stairs. "Static," Ivan called, "I just tipped off the police; we better am-skray before they get here and start asking questions."
Nodding, he followed him back underground, running down the dark passages, intently grateful to be running as far and as fast from that horrid place as possible.
Abandoned Subway station, 6:45 am
Ivan let him pass as he bounded into the old station, slowing to a shaky walk. Even after all these years fighting crime, this was the worst the hero had ever seen. And judging by Ivan's reaction, the ex-bang baby wasn't as hardened as he led one to believe.
By now, everyone there was wide awake. The younger children huddled around the older ones, and Pixie disengaged herself from a crying little girl long enough to question Ivan. "What happened? We heard on the news?"
"It was Lorelei—we found her," he said. Pixie's face paled and her eyes betrayed the hint of stinging moisture behind them. He enveloped her in a hug and held her as her tiny frame shook with grief, tears running like dewdrops down her flower-like face. Static could only watch in confusion as Ivan comforted the small sobbing girl.
Akira came over and gently shook her shoulder. She buried her head into his chest as the boy said quietly to Ivan, "Serendipity said she wanted to see both of you. She said it's urgent."
"Thanks, kid." Ivan led Static back over to the subway car; the older man's face the picture of melancholy.
"How did she know Lorelei?" Static asked. Ivan paused at the doorway of the damaged car, his hand resting against the doorframe. His shoulders sagged with his heavy sigh and he said without facing him, "Lorelei and Pixie were sisters." With that, he entered, not visibly caring if the hero followed him in.
Static paused before entering Serendipity's home, turning about to look over his shoulder at the young bang baby in question. Pixie had collapsed to the floor, kneeling as if in prayer, face buried in her hands as Akira knelt next to her. Other bang babies shed tears of their own, but a few of the older ones had their faces set in grim determination.
Static set his jaw with the same determination. This had to end…
Serendipity was sitting on a cushion on the floor and bade him to sit opposite her. Static obliged, and Ivan saw himself out leaving the two alone. Serendipity sat in a kneeling position, her dark blue layered skirt spread out around her sitting figure giving the illusion of a fairy sitting upon a morning glory. Her long hair was cast over her shoulder, the scarf pulled tight close to her head. She wore an Egyptian ankh around her neck on a black cord and she sighed.
"Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow…"
"What does that mean?" he asked.
She lifted her head and recited, "All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their own peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their own peril."
"Meaning?" he asked again, totally lost. Serendipity only sighed again and shook her head this time.
"Miles was notorious for quoting Oscar Wilde—he was his favorite author."
"What does that have to do with this?"
"I am afraid…" she trailed off. "I am afraid, that you do not understand…"
"Help me understand! There is not much time left! I have to stop this guy before he strikes again!"
"But he will!" she said firmly, facing him directly, her light blue sightless eyes staring straight at him. "He will strike, whether you like it or not. This time, it will hit home."
"How?"
"You can not hide truth forever, Virgil."
He stood up quickly like a scorched cat. "How did you?"
"Please let peace be upon you, child," she implored, raising her hands to him. "Yes, I know you, that is why I asked Ivan to leave us be. You can not hide truth forever. It is for you—and I am not the only one who knows."
"Of course not—I've dealt with bang babies in the past and they've figured me out eventually. But they haven't said anything…"
"I will not reveal you. Just as I know you will not reveal us—you walk with honor, Master Hawkins, honor is you."
"Um…thanks?"
"What I tell you involves Master Foley," she stated simply, pausing to allow him to speak.
"Richie? What about him?"
"You and he are more alike than even you know. You are cowards who kill with a kiss."
He was getting very impatient now. "What do you mean by that? 'The coward who kills with a kiss'? That doesn't make any…" then it struck him as to what she was actually saying.
'For each man kills the thing he loves, by each let this be heard…the coward does it with a kiss…' He had kissed Francis, Francis had kissed him, and it was killing Richie inside. In a roundabout and figurative way, Virgil had succeeded in killing the one thing that mattered most: his love for Richie. Now he loved another man. And inside, he felt like he was also dying as well.
…The brave man with a sword…
And that was exactly what Miles Fisher—the Dakota Destroyer—was doing. He was playing the part of the brave man, the psychotic man, doing everyone he hurt a favor by killing them instantly so that they wouldn't feel emotional turmoil. He was answering their call for help. 'I'm so heartbroken…I wish I could just die…' That was his plan—to get retribution, for himself and others, then ultimately…
Miles was going after the heartbroken victims, and then kill himself in the process.
Static bounded for the door, Serendipity's calm accented voice stopping him halfway. "You can not stop the wheel when it is already in motion, young hero. The only way to stop this wheel is to break it."
"Which is exactly what I'm going to do."
"One more thing," she called after him. She rose gracefully, her many bracelets, necklaces and bangles clinking together like tiny bells. "Ivan refuses to sell death."
He nodded knowingly. "Hotstreak said that."
"Do you know why Agni said this?"
'Agni'? Oh wait, Hindu god of fire…right, gotcha…"Not a clue," he admitted.
She placed a delicate hand on the back of his shoulder, standing tall, her face tilted downwards in a visible expression of sorrow. "Ivan's father was a cruel man, and I feel no shame for speaking ill of this dead man—Ivan and Adam were lucky to live. Their father—the shame of leaving his family like that…" she clenched her fists then took a deep calming breath. "Remember well these words of mine."
"I will, thanks." He proceeded to leave again, but paused, as if expecting her to stop him again. She said nothing, only stood there expectantly. Finally he sighed and wondered, "What should I do?"
"The answer lies within," she said, her voice taking on a faraway tone. "And be not afraid of the darkness—for day's darkest hour resides just before the dawn."
He smiled, reassured, then parted company with her. Serendipity sighed as she heard the curtain over her door settle back into stillness, then straightened her posture. She was having another vision.
"Day's darkest hour…"
Watchtower, 10:45 am
"I'm back!" he said animatedly…okay, at least as animatedly as possible considering the type of morning he'd had.
"Okay," was Richie's simple answer. He didn't even sound like he cared…
Virgil stopped dead as he proceeded to take off his mask. Richie was sitting on the couch fixing up some strange mechanism or another—in full civilian dress.
"Rich, what in the hell are you doing?"
"What's it look like I'm doing?"
"WHY ARE YOU IN REGULAR CLOTHES?" he exploded, fearing for minute that his lover had hit his head on something hard.
Richie turned to give him a look. "Will you keep it down? Francis is trying to sleep."
"Oh, so you're his nurse now?" he snapped, without completely understanding why.
"Where have you been all this time?" Richie finally asked, hoping he effectively masked his anger.
Virgil threw his arms up in the air. "NOW he asks me. Couldn't have been the minute I walked in the door, could it?"
"Why are you acting like this?"
"Why are you? What are you thinking? What if he comes out and sees…?"
"I think he knows, Virg."
"I don't care if…wait, what did you say?" he forgot all about his anger in a heartbeat. A very panicked heartbeat…
"Virgil," Richie said, standing and looking his lover in the eye. "Virgil, I think Francis knows who we are."
"How? How did he find out?"
"I have no idea—he must have put two and two together."
He was shaken, and Virgil had no idea what to say in accordance with this news. "What are we going to do?"
"I don't know," he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know."
"Great, so now we have our greatest enemies knowing who the hell we are. This is just…"
"Enemies? As in, plural?"
Virgil bit his tongue. Shit!
"Virgil, where have you been all night? Did you go out on patrol?"
"Yes."
"You answered a couple emergency calls?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"And…you didn't think to call me?"
"I…thought you were busy," was Virgil's lame excuse for an answer.
"Why are you only giving one-word answers?"
"The last one had five words to it, Rich."
"You're hiding something from me."
"No I'm not," he defended himself. For a moment, he debated whether he should really tell Richie about Ivan and the Kids. I can't do that to them, he thought, I gave them my word.
"Look, I just ran into a couple gang members—nothing big. I swear, Richie," he said, holding up his hands in defeat. "That's all it was."
"No robots?"
"No robots…no aliens, no mad scientists hell-bent on taking over the world…," he started listing all the possibilities on his fingers. "No supervillians, no monsters, no Lex Luthor with a giant-ass rock of kryptonite—none of that. It was a pretty quiet night."
Richie knew he was hiding something big. "Virgil, what aren't you telling me?"
"I…," he sighed and hung his head. He knew there was no way he could lie to him. "I can't say. I gave my word…"
"Yeah? You also gave your word to me when we got together that we wouldn't keep things from each other—what are you hiding?"
"Richie, I'm telling you," he was starting to lose his temper. "I can't tell you. If I did, many people would lose their freedom, and maybe their lives."
"Who? V, if it's as bad as you say," Richie's tone became sympathetic all of a sudden. "If it's really that bad, we're heroes—we can do something about it." He bade his lover sit next to him on the couch so they could talk. It took Virgil a minute or so to will himself to sit in his lover's embrace, and even then his body language suggested he was uncomfortable.
"Richie…look, I really can't tell you."
"C'mon, a hint…clue…allusion…suggestion…anything?"
Virgil only shook his head. "I…it's complicated."
Richie arched an eyebrow, "I'm sure a super-genius could be able to comprehend…"
"Let's do this hypothetically."
Richie shrugged. "Works for me. Shoot."
"Okay," Virgil took off the jacket and gloves, kicking off his boots as well. He lounged back into the cushions and—avoiding eye contact for the most part—began to relate. "Okay, say there was this dude…"
"You?"
"No, someone else—now may I continue?"
He nodded.
"Okay, this guy, right? He's used to have this…condition…only now he's cured. You following?"
"This isn't rocket science, V."
"Thought so—okay, this guy is cured, but see, he's sort of amassed a whole group of people who currently have the same condition he used to have. Problem is, he can't get the treatment to all of them…so they're pretty much living on the streets."
"So this guy is trying to help people like him become cured of some disease? Are we talking physical or mental?"
"Definitely physical here."
"Okay—well, so far, I don't see anything wrong."
"But he used to be in prison…for a felony."
"Aahhh…" a light of understanding finally shone in the blonde's eyes. "So he's afraid to go to anyone because they might not believe him…"
"And he doesn't want to go back to prison. Rich, I swear you should have seen the way he looked at me when he said he'd rather die than go back to prison. I mean, I don't want to say it was pathetic or anything…but it was. He was getting desperate—sometimes, I think that if he didn't have the Kids…"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he cut him off. "There are kids involved? V, just how serious is this?"
Virgil was about to speak up when Backpack alerted them to a visitor. Richie got up to answer the door and gave a polite smile to the dark Knight himself.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Is Static back yet?"
"I've been back," Virgil called from the sofa. Batman seemed a little miffed, but he calmly stated, "Next time, do us all a favor and let us know where you are every so often? That usually helps."
"Using sarcasm now, Batman?" Virgil asked innocently. "I think you're hanging out with Gear too much—I think he's starting to corrupt you."
"Ah yes—I'm single-handedly corrupting the universe, one superhero at a time," Richie said, the sarcasm showing full-force. "So why are you here?"
"I think you still might have your prime suspect," Batman said, handing print-outs to the blond. Richie took them in hand and scanned over them. "What are these for?"
"Remember I said that Ivan Evans died in a prison fire?"
Virgil's heart clenched and his stomach did flip flops. No!
"I went back to the gravesite," Batman continued. "And I did a carbon scan of it. There is no body in the casket." He emphasized every word in the last sentence. Richie's eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed.
"So you're saying…"
"Ebon is still alive—and he's out there."
Virgil felt really bad right now. His face had paled slightly, but it was more than enough for Batman to notice. "Static, are you feeling alright?"
"Might've been something I ate. I…I think I need to lie down for a while."
"You need anything?" Richie asked worriedly. Virgil shook his head and gathered his discarded coat and gloves.
"I'll be fine. Um, excuse me…" he saw himself to his own room, closed the door tight behind him and locked it. Batman grew very suspicious.
"Has he been acting strangely since he got back?"
"That's an understatement," Richie said dryly. "You thinking that he already knew about Ebon, and that's why he left?"
"Perhaps. But," he pulled Richie in close to whisper, "I have an assignment for you. We have a positive ID of the Destroyer; all we need is to track him. Are you up to it?"
Richie had started putting on his armor and packing up as many gadgets as possible. As he put on his helmet, he said, "Lay it on me."
Watchtower, Francis' Room, 11:00 am
He was less than thrilled to awake from that particular dream. Francis' dreams had been full of the most erotic and sensual images his mind had ever conjured and most of the action centered on him and Gear and Static. He briefly wondered whether they kept the masks on for sex, but as he let his fantasies run rampant, all tangible thoughts were banished and imagination took over.
He swore he could practically feel their touch, he swore he could feel their lips upon his own…it all felt so real. The fantasy was intense—the most intense he'd had for anyone. But he decided early on in his dreaming that it was not lust—he genuinely cared about these guys. He loved watching the look in their eyes as they looked at one another. That gaze was full of pure love, and Francis would have given anything to feel that in return for once. Just once, he wished he could be treated…well, he was just sick and tired of being treated like a whore. Maybe if these guys gave him a chance, he'd finally know what it meant to 'make love', and not just mindlessly fuck each other's brain's out.
His eyes opened slowly and he took in his surroundings. He was out of the hospital; thank god, and quietly resting in his own room. No sooner had he opened his eyes than his door opened. Gear stood there, standing still for a moment or so, just looking him. With a deep breath, the super genius walked in and closed the door behind him. He sat on the edge of Francis' bed, resting his elbows on his knees, closing his eyes and taking another deep breath.
"So…you know?"
It took Francis a minute for the meaning to register. He nodded dumbly. "Yeah, I know…Rich."
Richie groaned and hung his head. "Was it really that obvious?"
Francis shook his head earnestly. "No—you're good at hiding it. To be honest, when I first got here all I could think about was my freedom, and maybe slandering you two. But that didn't last."
"Obviously," he answered with a snort.
"You know, you can take the helmet off—it's not of any use now."
He had a point…Richie took off the Gear helmet and ran a hand through his spiky blond hair. "So…any guesses as to who Static really is?"
"I'm not going to like it, am I?"
Richie looked up at him, an incredulous look in his eyes. "You have no idea who Static is?"
Francis shrugged. "And I've fought him longer—you'd think it'd pop right out at me. Sooo…" he trailed off. He pointed at the outfit and armor. "Going on patrol?"
"I got a lead on the Destroyer, and I'm taking it. We have two suspects now."
The redhead straightened up, fully alert. "Who?"
"A guy named Miles Fisher and your old buddy, Ebon."
"I thought he was dead?"
"Well, his body isn't in the coffin, so my guess is he's still alive and kicking."
Francis was visibly digesting this information. Resolutely, he threw aside the covers and tried climbing out of bed. Richie rushed to assist him, and though normally the redhead would have pushed him away, he fell into the other man's arms willingly.
"I can walk—really."
"Sure…right…"
They shared a smile, and Francis sat on the bed next to the blond. He leaned his head against his shoulder and asked, "If you're bringing in the killer, you mind if I tag along?"
"Tag along?" Richie asked. "If I'm not mistaken, you'll more than likely want to take part…"
"Only if he hurts you," Francis said seriously. "If he so much as gives you a papercut, I'm gonna fry him so bad…"
"I don't need you to elaborate." Richie leaned his head against his. "But just the same, thanks…"
"No big," he disengaged himself and stretched. "Is Static coming too?"
Richie shook his head. "He said he wasn't feeling well."
He shrugged, got up and walked over to the closet. "Well, I guess even heroes are still human…sorta." He chose to wear a long sleeve black shirt and olive green army pants, combined with his own pair of boots. Running a hand through his longish hair, he frowned at his reflection. "I'd always hated these natural highlights…"
"That is natural?" Richie asked disbelievingly. "No way."
Francis shrugged. "They say I have my mother's hair. She was Irish Catholic, so she had the red hair…"
"And the fighting spirit. Huh, so I guess we can't blame you for your violent side—its all about genetics, isn't it?"
"Yup," he said confidently. He even joked in an Irish accent as he flexed an arm muscle. "I can lick any sonuvabitch in the joint…"
"That's great and everything, but do you think you'll be okay?" the blond asked, standing and walking over to stand behind the taller redhead. Francis watched him in the mirror and he nodded.
"I just need to let loose a little—I should be fine. Why are you looking at me like that?"
Richie wasn't rightly sure, to be honest. He had fixed the meta-human with an almost pleading stare, sad and forlorn, questioning. "How do you really feel? Static and I, are we nothing more than just a conquest for you?"
"At first, you were," he admitted with a dejected sigh. "But as time went on, I… ah, dammit, I can't say it."
"No, go on."
"I, see…" he trailed off, and turned to face the blond, staring him deep in the eyes. "I realized I liked you—both of you. You were giving me a chance that no one else would. A little later, I realized even more that I liked you both more than I thought I did."
He was waiting to hear it. "Are you saying…"
"Yes." With one step, Francis closed the space between them, captured Richie's chin with one hand holding it firm, then kissed him softly, tenderly. It was sweet and chaste, two words he normally wouldn't have associated with the meta-human. But here he was, in the flesh, kissing him sweetly. Richie could tell Francis wanted to take the kiss a step farther, but seemed hesitant. Richie fixed that problem very quickly.
He wrapped his arms around the other man and crushed his lips on his. Francis drew back a little from the shock, but opened his mouth willingly when Richie's tongue probed at the entrance. He welcomed that skilled tongue with a moan and he wound his own strong arms around the slightly shorter man. His mind was practically screaming 'Static learned it from Gear! Static learned it from GEAR!' but at the present time, he didn't rightly care. The kiss was more mind-blowing than the one from Static—and that was saying something.
Richie was the one to pull away, but Francis still held tight to him, resting his head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. "Where the hell did you learn that?"
Richie grinned. "Would you believe its all instinct?"
"Instinct my ass…" he scoffed. "Speaking of which…" his hands started to move down his back to cup Richie's backside. He pushed away, a flush on his cheeks. "N-none of that right now—taking it to quickly…"
"Wait, you mean…" Francis had a hopeful look. "You mean, you're willing to…to see this through?"
"If you're up to it, and Static certainly seems up to it—then why not?" Richie pecked him on the lips one last time and placed the helmet back on his head. Francis reached out his hand once more in an effort to grab a feel, only to have that hand swatted away by a very annoyed-looking Backpack. The android perched itself on its master's back and Gear sent Francis a sly look.
"You're such a pimp, you know that?"
"Damn straight," he answered as they walked out the door. And when Gear was least expecting it, Francis managed to slap his ass just once then take off running. Gear promptly followed, chasing after the laughing pyro as fast as he could.
And all the while, Virgil had witnessed the whole thing.
A/N: not as long as the previous chappie, but I'm proud of it nonetheless. Spring Break rocks! WOOHOO! Remember to read and review!
