Title: The Writing Portfolio
Author: Estel Baggins
Rating: T
Paring: Virgil/Richie
Warning: not much action- this is a fuzzy fic
Summary: Richie's never written poetry before- you have been warned! Though he seems to do fairly well if he's inspired…
Author's Note: This does not take place in the same universe as "Telling Tales" and "The Miracle of Three".
Author's Note 2: The next chapter of "The Miracle of Three" should be up by (I hope) Sautrday. This one was difficult to write at first.
Method of Inspiration
"Your writing portfolios are due in three weeks. I suggest you get started." Mrs. Cappello, teacher of twelfth-grade English since the Jurassic, pointed to each item on the chalkboard. "Copy the list of topics on the board and make sure you have the following: one poem per topic, an essay entitled "Why I love/hate the dark" and a story between three and five pages in length dealing with one of the poetry topics."
Richie had been falling asleep (he was going to have to invent a formula that would allow him to get a full night's sleep in just two hours) but when Mrs. Cappello started talking about the portfolio, the teen had forced himself to pay attention. Being a super genius may help in math and science, but I don't have any creativity when it comes to writing. Richie grinned. Maybe I could program Backpack to write all this. He shook his head and the grin faded. Yeah, I can just imagine how that would be. And the sad part is my own poetry wouldn't be much better.
Glancing up at the board, he blinked at the first topic: sunlight. What can you say about the sun in poetry that you can't say with calculations and scientific facts more accurately?
Still, he jotted it down and looked at the next. Your phobia was written in the cream-colored chalk Mrs. Cappello linked so much. I can't tell what really terrifies me; I'll have to make up something normal.
On to the next (the flower- choose one) and the fourth (rain, either alone or as a contrasting poem to sunlight) and finally: love. Richie refused to ponder any of these last three. All seemed equally disrespectful of the ink that would be wasted on overused clichés, and yet, each was beyond Richie's limited creativity, as he well knew.
He didn't even dare think about the short story. After scribbling down the title of the essay, he turned to his right and caught the horrified expression on his boyfriend's face. Knowing that Virgil felt uncomfortable about the assignment somehow made it easier to deal with. Richie nudged his partner and when Virgil came out of his daze and smiled a little, Richie felt better still.
That night, he sat down to attempt the first of his poems. Sunlight seemed the simplest. He started by making a list of what he knew about sunlight. When it threatened to fill more than ten pages, he switched to how the sun affected plants. He quit that list at three pages.
Maybe this won't be so easy, after all. Sighing, thinking he would just set the thing aside and start tinkering with a friendly machine, his eye fell on the Shock Vox he kept partially hidden in the small shelf beside his desk. Taking the Vox in his hands, Richie closed his eyes and marveled at the simple piece of equipment, one of his first inventions. Virg and I were so excited about these. Opening his eyes, he ran his thumb lovingly over the black and yellow front. It was a little cool the day we went to test them, but I couldn't get my jacket because of Mr. Janis. But once I was on top of that roof, the sun warm on my shoulders, listening to Virg call me for the first time, I forgot the light breeze that cut through my pullover. And when V asked me what to call 'these gizmos'-
Just like that, he knew what to write about sunlight.
Sunlight
By: Richie Foley
I can imagine you flying, the sunlight unable to outshine your natural light.
Yellow-white sun, like a daisy and a buttercup next to each other
Outdone by the moonlight purple of your power.
When you called me and I could hear you, clear as glass,
Even over twenty city blocks or more, I knew.
Yellow, purple, moonlight white will always remind me of you.
Surprised at how easily the poem had come out, not caring if it sucked (which he was convinced it did), Richie looked at the next topic. What fake phobia can I invent? One by one, he scribbled down common fears on a scrap piece of paper. Dark, death, water, claustrophobia, snakes, separation, guns
That's V's fear. I won't use that. He scratched it out.
dogs, loud noises, machines that think for themselves
Except for Backpack, of course. And I'm still not convinced he can do it. Richie crossed that one out, too.
bees, spiders, loss
Richie shivered. Losing Virgil was right up there on his own list of fears. There had been times- like when Virgil had been sent to the future- that Richie didn't think he'd ever see his lover again.
And it's not like it's an unreasonable fear; we're superheroes. We could be killed at any time. And I'm not very scared of death; I'm terrified of Virgil's death.
Well, I guess I could write about losing somebody. It's probably easier than trying to make up a fear I don't feel. I just won't mention who I'm afraid of losing and why.
Loss
By: Richie Foley
Every time you put on your uniform, I can't help but wonder:
Will this be our last fight? But that's not true;
It might be easier if it was.
Most times I only think about guarding your back
And trying to do my share. And my share
Is more than just being saved by you.
You're saved me more times than I can count.
What happens if I can't save you?
When that day comes, I won't put my uniform on anymore.
Who wants a hero they can't count on?
I'm cutting it pretty close. But I don't think anybody will be able to figure that out. Richie glanced at his clock. Time for patrol. He closed his notebook.
With fresh fears in his mind, he went to meet Virgil at the gas station.
oOo
"You must be working on a new project," Static noted as the two superheroes flew along the shore of Lake Dakota, watching the docks.
Gear blinked and asked, "Why do you say that?"
"You're not joking or muttering about lack of excitement." He grinned. "And you're not mad at me; at least I don't think so, so my guess is that you have something simmering back at the station and can't wait to plunge back in. Just remember that it's only Monday; we have a whole week of school left until you can afford to stay up all night."
"I'm not the one who has trouble staying up all night, remember?"
Static flipped over so he was standing upside down on his disk. He flashed Gear his megawatt smile. "You can keep me awake, Gear; you've done it before."
The blonde blushed at the innuendo, glad his mask hid most of his reaction. "You only flatter me because I keep your Vox in good repair."
Static, after righting himself, had flown a little ahead. Now he spun around, his disk moving with him. He charged Gear, forcing him to stop in midair. Static flew around his boyfriend twice, then said, "You keep my cock in good repair? You're really asking for it, man."
"Your Vox. Get your ears checked." Gear resisted the urge to look away. If he did that, Static would be able to guess that he'd made his partner blush, mask or no mask.
"I hear what I want to hear." Static moved closer. "What say we fly over the park, hit the east side one more time, then go home? I want to know what invention you're working on."
"That's the last thing on your mind," Gear answered, wishing his costume was a little looser.
Static turned away from the coast, calling over his shoulder, half-laughing, "So, are you coming or what?"
Ten minutes later, Gear had forgotten the tightness of his pants. He and Static had flown perhaps a quarter of the way across the park when they spotted what appeared to be a series of miniature solar flares leaping out of the ground. As one, they dove, Gear freeing a Zap Cap from his belt.
Backpack beeped, informing Gear that the Bang Baby known as Hotstreak was below, apparently cooking something.
And as long as it's not people, I'm cool with that. If it weren't for the fact that the park's supposed to be closed after dark. Gear exchanged the Zap Cap with another that would be more effective against Hotstreak. He was about to tell Static who they were facing when a tree just ahead of them exploded and Hotstreak stepped between the burning halves. He was holding what looked like an entire package of hot dogs on a very long stick.
Well, at least it's just food. Gear let the Zap Cap fly.
Something large and semi-squishy hit Gear in the back and he flew out of the air. He heard Static calling for him, but he couldn't answer. An instant later, he hit the ground hard enough to make his teeth rattle. Something landed on his back and clawed hands pushed his face into a bed of buttercups.
The Zap Cap exploded on the grass a few feet from Hotstreak, coating the early-April blades in ice.
Static knocked the first of Hotstreak's missile-dogs out of the air and started looking for a water source. He saw the fountain a little distance away, but knew it was still too far away. As he took out another missile, he spotted Carmen Dillo sitting on Gear's back. I hope these are the only two here.
Hotstreak shouted, "Can't a guy have a cook-out anymore?"
"Not in the middle of the night in a closed public park," Static said. "Can't you read the signs?"
"Those are only for the people that can't protect themselves." Hotstreak launched another hot dog.
You'd think we hadn't saved each other on Alva's island two weeks ago. Virgil raced towards Hotstreak, knowing his electricity-made shield would protect him. I need to dunk him so I can go help Gear.
"What's the matter, big shot, no bombs for me?" Carmen asked, his claws digging into Gear's arms.
The teen winced but didn't answer. In his mind, he commanded, Now, Backpack!
His robot pushed up off his back, shoving Carmen back. Gear leapt up and turned, launching another Zap Cap. This one hit its mark, wrapping Carmen in a web of metal coils. Gear threw two more, making sure the Bang Baby would stay put. He glanced at the buttercups he'd fallen into, thinking, I probably have pollen and petals all over me. Then he called Backpack to him and looked for Static.
A large cloud of steam from the nearby fountain announced Hotstreak's defeat. Gear flew over to where Static stood and tossed another Zap Cap, this one creating a block of ice around Hotstreak's arms.
Static was about to say something smart when he spotted the gashes on Gear's upper arms. "Bro, I hate to tell you this, but you've sprung a leak."
Gear shrugged. "I'm okay to fly back. I'll look at them there."
Revelation and Submission
I can't hand these in! Richie stared in horror at the portfolio he'd put together. The first poem was fine, the second passable- barely. But the others-! And forget the essay and short story.
Richie read over the last three poems again, looking for a way to salvage the situation.
Buttercups
By: Richie Foley
They're a flower soft to land in, but man do they stick to your costume!
I would have liked to see my partner covered in them, though.
Their warm glow would have brought out the symbol on his chest.
And of course yellow reminds me of sunlight and sunlight reminds me of him.
Buttercups are soft to land in.
And they smell nice. Like him.
Not like him. He smells of the wind, and coming out of the shower
He smells like Virgil.
Not like buttercups at all.
Still, buttercups are soft to land in.
Suck Inside
By: Richie Foley
Stuck inside, no crime to fight,
I listen to the slick and secret song of the rain.
I won't go out; I need to be here.
Inside. Inside him. I need to be inside.
Keep kissing me, keep holding me.
We don't get enough chances to do this.
Keep going, rain. I want to stay here.
Inside.
Romance Bears
By: Richie Foley
Who gives stuffed animals to their boyfriends?
Not many; V is unique. Except there are two bears.
She's pink; they're both pink
(Or maybe they're gay boy bears.
Not that I wear pink; not that V does, either.)
Soft with a bow around each neck.
His name is Romance- it says so on the card.
And it's not even Valentine's Day.
"Because I love you, Rich."
"Because I love you, Virg."
Because I knew you'd like it.
Who knew we both like love bears?
Pulling at his hair, Richie whispered, "I can't submit these!" He turned to Backpack, who was sitting on the worktable beside him. "I can't submit these!'
Backpack beeped, warning Richie that his heart was beating faster than was safe for an extended period of time.
What am I going to do? What am I going to do? This is all due tomorrow- what am I going to do? Richie looked at Backpack. I couldn't…. Could I?
Desperate, Richie hooked Backpack up to the computer and input several commands. As Backpack went to work, words appeared on the screen. Richie didn't read them; he turned back to his essay and short story.
If I just change all the names in the story to Casey and Daniel, the story's salvageable. No one needs to know it's about Virg and I. But what about the essay? It's littered with Static and Gear references and won't stand without them?
Richie stayed up the rest of the night writing a new essay about how he'd overcome his fear of the dark as a child while the computer screen filled with words.
oOo
At least it's out of my hands, Richie thought as he passed the reworked portfolio to Virgil and watched it disappear into the stack of binders. Think of all the trouble my poetry would have caused! Virg and I just aren't ready to come out to anybody besides Frieda, Daisy, Mr. H and Sharon.
He sighed, relieved. I was able to save the story and the essay before anyone could figure out who Static and Gear are.
When the bell rang, they were set free. Richie and Virgil left together, as they always did, but parted sooner than usual. "I have to mow the lawn," Richie said. "Want to come watch and make fun of me?"
Virgil considered. "Wish I could, but I'm supposed to go to the store for Sharon. She's making some sort of cake for Adam's birthday and told me to go to the store after school for sprinkles. You're coming to the party, right?"
"Wouldn't miss it." They bumped fists. "Peace, bro."
"And out." Virgil headed to the gas station to pick up the money Sharon had given him. He didn't dare take it to school, static powers or no static powers. He could make a lot of things stick to him, but some of the kids at school had even stickier fingers.
He entered the gas station, said hello to Backpack (he wasn't sure yet if Richie's robot had intelligence, but he didn't plan to insult Backpack, just in case he did) and wandered over to the desk to grab his money out of the drawer. As he stuffed it in his pocket, his eyes fell on a notebook filled with Richie's neat writing. Thinking it was probably notes about a new invention (and hence not really expecting to understand it) Virgil picked up the book with an eye to scanning it before heading to the store. The title at the top of the page caught his eye:
Why I Love and Hate the Dark
By: Richie Foley
Was this his first draft? Virgil read the first two sentences.
I have a night light. His name is Virgil.
Virgil's jaw dropped. What is he-? Shaking his head, Virgil glanced at his watch. Shit! I have to get home! He stuffed the notebook in his bag, waved good-bye to Backpack and ran out of the station. Soon as Sharon has her sprinkles, I'm going to read that. He tore down the street. Please tell me he didn't submit that essay as-is. Not that he wasn't touched by Richie's words. They were just… too dangerous for a high school English essay.
oOo
Sharon tasted the cake batter and gagged. It tasted like salt. I followed the recipe! What did I do wrong?
Virgil's boyfriend- Sharon was a little more tolerant of him now that she knew the two were in love- wandered into the kitchen. He'd shown up about ten minutes ago, two hours early for the party. Virgil had been upstairs all afternoon, and Sharon told Richie that. Apparently Virgil had either kicked his boyfriend out for the time being or Richie was coming to purposely annoy her.
"Go away, Richie," she snapped. "I'm busy."
Richie raised an eyebrow and strode over to the counter. He stuck his finger in the batter without asking, but Sharon didn't warn him. She relished the nauseated expression when he swallowed.
"You need to rebalance the ingredients," he said, taking a drink from the faucet.
"And how am I going to do that when Adam will be here in an hour? There's no time to remix everything and bake it and have it cool in under an hour. Besides, I used all the sprinkles." He sounds like a little scientist sometimes. What happened to the goofy, B-average student Virgil introduced me to?
Richie picked up the cookbook, studied it for a moment and asked, "Can I try to fix it?" He was already pulling off his pullover so he wouldn't get his sleeves in the salty batter.
"Be my guest," Sharon muttered, thinking she would just run to the store and buy some cupcakes.
But she stopped in the kitchen doorway, meaning to give a parting shot, but she was caught by the way Richie poured first one ingredient and then another into the bowl without measuring anything. She scowled. "So not only is the cake going to be ruined but you'll waste all our sugar and stuff too!"
Richie was mixing the mess with a wooden spoon. Sharon wandered back over to the counter.
"Don't try it yet," Richie said. "It's not ready."
She tapped her foot and folded her arms, thinking, I really need to get to the store. But she couldn't quite bring herself to leave. Richie's face was so concentrated she realized he probably didn't even know she was there.
Richie took the pan from the cabinet on his left- When did he learn our kitchen so well? Sharon wondered- greased it and poured in the cake mix. He smoothed it over and stuck it in the oven. Then he grinned at her. "Now taste the batter."
She hesitated. 'You can taste it first. I didn't even see you do that."
Unperturbed, Richie stuck his finger into the stuff left in the bowl, brought it to his lips and licked it off. He smiled and held out the bowl. "It's not poisonous."
Sharon dipped the very tip of her index finger into the batter and sampled it, readying herself for the same horrible taste. She gasped as a sweetness that wasn't too sweet attacked her tongue. She took a fingerful and licked the digit clean. Richie was laughing at her, but she didn't care. She was just so glad that the cake was saved.
"The Foleys always make good cake. It's in our blood."
Sharon looked between him and the bowl. "I guess it'll do," she said, fully aware that her enthusiastic reaction wouldn't be forgotten. Then, because she was a well brought up young woman and Richie had just saved the party, she said, "Thank you."
After the Cake
After Adam, her father and even Virgil had exclaimed over the cake, Sharon admitted that Richie had made it.
Virgil gaped, Adam raised an eyebrow and her daddy just smiled.
Richie was blushing and he mumbled something about just adding a few things.
Now the story makes sense, Virgil thought. He hadn't calmed down after reading the essay, poems and story. He was terrified that Richie had actually submitted them. By the time he'd finished reading everything, though, it was time for the party and he didn't have a chance to take Richie aside.
When the plates were cleared and the presents had been opened, Virgil grabbed Richie's arm and dragged him upstairs. Closing and locking the door behind him, Virgil maneuvered Richie so he was sitting on the bed. Then Virgil dropped the notebook into Richie's lap and sat at the desk, facing his partner. "Please tell me you didn't give this to Mrs. Cappello. Please tell me these aren't the essays you turned in."
Richie looked down at the book and started to laugh.
Virgil stared at him, glad Richie wasn't angry at him for going through his things, but completely confused. "Does this mean you didn't submit those?"
Richie laughed even harder, holding his stomach and rocking on the bed. Tears rolled down his cheeks and splashed on the notebook cover. He gasped for air, looked at Virgil and hooted. "You thought- you thought- God, Virg, don't you have more faith in me than that?" He snickered, coughed, managed to catch his breath. "I wrote the stuff in here for the project, but decided I couldn't hand them in. For obvious reasons. So I had Backpack write the poetry, I switched the names in story to Casey and Daniel and had to make up a new essay." He shook his head. "You've been worrying about this all afternoon, haven't you?"
Virgil smiled, too relieved to be annoyed that Richie was laughing at him. "Yeah." He got up and joined Richie on the bed.
Richie leaned against him. "Did you like the story? I couldn't decide if you liked chocolate or vanilla cake, so I made one of each. And the characters ate them."
Virgil snorted. "You have a very strange definition of 'eating', Rich."
Richie shrugged. "That's why it's fiction, V."
Remembering how the Richie and Virgil in the story had celebrated their engagement by decorating their bodies with bits of cake batter and licking it off, Virgil said, "Well, it doesn't have to stay fiction." He drew Richie closer and kissed him, tasting the chocolate frosting Riche had painted Adam's cake with.
But Richie pushed him away. "It does tonight. We're not alone here."
"So?" Virgil pushed Richie onto the bed. "We'll just be quiet. Superheroes are used to sneaking around."
The notebook fell off Richie's lap and opened to a page in the middle:
"And as Virgil used his tongue to paint designs in the frosting on Richie's chest, the blonde had to ask: "So, does this mean you'll marry me?' "
On the bed, Richie forced himself not to give in. "Please, Virg, I don't want to get you in trouble."
Virgil sat up, sighing. "All right, Rich; you're probably right. Maybe we should go to the gas station. It's Friday night; we're not excepted to be here, anyway." He smiled. "Can we make fiction a reality there?"
Richie nodded, but his breath caught. Too bad we're not old enough for the rest of the story to happen.
Virgil laid down beside Richie, turning so their foreheads were touching. "I love you, Richie Foley. And when I have enough money for a ring as well as cake mix, I'll be asking you something." He kissed the corner of Richie's mouth. "You asked me to marry you in the story, but I'll ask you first for real."
Richie made a face, but his eyes sparkled. "Will you feel insulted if I ask you first?"
Virgil grinned. "I'm an equal opportunity romantic. If you get the courage and the cash up first, I'll fall into your lap and promise to never leave you." He kissed Richie again, more deeply this time. "But you have to do the same for me if I make it before you. Deal?"
"Deal."
Budding Shakespeare
Mrs. Cappello had read through ten of the portfolios so far. Her husband told her to go to bed, but she couldn't. Not yet. If she finished another one tonight, she'd have a third of the class done, leaving two thirds for the next two nights.
Grabbing one at random, she opened the binder and saw Richie Foley's name at the top. Steeling herself, knowing he was a science-lover, not a poet, she read the first poem.
Sunlight
By: Richie Foley
Yellow burning light life for the earth
Life for me
Warmth on blades of grass
Sunlight light for me life for me
Yellow life for the earth.
She couldn't decide if the poem was terrible or beautiful. It made sense, but only marginally. Mrs. Cappello read the rest of Richie's portfolio.
By the time she reached the end of his last poem (Love no love difference between) she was convinced he was a budding Shakespeare.