House Call
Chapter 2: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?
By: VincentM

"So you don't have any problems eating human food?"

J'onn paused in his examination of several of Richie's files, looking up at him with vague confusion. After pizza and a quick round of car racing on the old arcade game at the restaurant, Virgil beating them both, Richie and J'onn made their way back to the gas station, while Virgil went home to check on his outsourcing project. A few hours had passed, the conversation between himself and the alien lapsing into silence as they both tried to unravel the mystery of the Watchtower's hijacking. Richie noted, with some amusement, that J'onn hadn't expected his question, nor seemed quite sure how to answer it.

"I was just curious," Richie told him, hoping he didn't come off as rude. He didn't think J'onn was sensitive about his non-human status, but one could never be certain. "I mean, I can't eat Indian food without feeling like I'm dying, but at least that's from the same planet."

"A few things do not agree with me," J'onn replied after a moment, "but for the most part, I am able to imbibe human food without discomfort. Mars was much like Earth when I lived upon it, in terms of vegetation and diet, though we did not fry quite so many things."

"I wouldn't eat too many of the fried things if I were you," Richie suggested, grinning, but his mind was already dancing around with what J'onn said about Mars. "I suppose it makes sense, being in the same solar system and all. I wonder if it's possible certain organic entities from Mars made it to Earth over the centuries, perhaps by way of passing meteor or any other million things that can happen in the infinite probability of space. Or, maybe, there's a general pattern that must be maintained for any life to develop on any planet, but that wouldn't make sense since, from what I remember, there were quite a few species that didn't follow anything we have on Earth. Then again..."

Richie was somewhat aware he was rambling and that his words had vanished into a muddled stream of soft-spoken muttering, all while his hands flew across the keyboard of his laptop, rescued just a few short weeks ago from a dumpster outside Alva Industries. Gradually, the stream of conscious thought trailed off, at least verbally. In his mind, however, the thoughts kept coming, mingling easily with all the others already there.

Movement out of the corner of his eye stopped all those thoughts, or rather, banished them to a slightly lower level. J'onn had stood up and was rubbing the side of his head, staring at Richie with an unreadable expression. Richie blinked at him a few times.

"What?" he asked, not intending to be short, but when his mind went into overdrive, his verbal skills tended to fail him.

"Your thoughts are incredibly... complex," J'onn said, sitting back down, but he kept massaging the side of his head. "I did not mean to pry without your permission, but sometimes it is unavoidable."

Richie ducked his head in embarrassment. "Sorry," he said sincerely. "Sometimes I get carried away with myself. Static usually has to smack me upside the head to bring me back."

"It is not your fault," J'onn replied, but his eyes were narrowed in concentration. "What did you mean by, 'from what I remember'?"

This time, Richie was surprised at the unexpected question. Did he really say that out loud? Of course, he supposed it didn't matter if he'd said it out loud or not, since J'onn was a telepath.

"Oh, you know," Richie said, going for nonchalant, shrugging easily and turning his eyes back on his monitor. "That thing that happened."

"Thing?"

J'onn got to his feet once more, standing across from where Richie was sitting on the couch. Richie didn't look up, pretending to focus all his attention on the data in front of him. He wondered if J'onn knew he barely needed to focus five percent of his attention on one thing at a time, then remembered he probably shouldn't have thought that. Hanging around a telepath might be more difficult than he thought.

"Gear."

Richie sighed, finally raising his eyes. "You know, that thing. A little over a year ago?"

"Brainiac," J'onn said firmly.

"Yeah." Richie looked down again. If J'onn wanted to speak in one-word psuedo-sentances, then Richie could do it, too. "That."

"I did not believe you would retain those memories." J'onn hadn't moved at all.

Richie wished that J'onn had continued with the one-word psudeo-sentances. It would make this easier. Granted, he knew the man was an alien, but he should be able to pick up when somebody didn't want to talk about something by now. He'd been on Earth long enough.

"I retain memories of every single thing that has happened to me for the past two years and some change, J'onn," Richie said, giving the Martian a wry smile. "It's part of the curse of being a super genius with a perfect photographic memory."

J'onn nodded then, as if what Richie said confirmed something he suspected or simply as a gesture of understanding. "It must be a great burden."

"It's not so bad," Richie replied truthfully. "Brainiac, at its core, was nothing more than an archiving program gone wrong on an emotionless mission to record and store every piece of data about every culture it ever encountered. Of course, the programming flaw the Kryptonians missed meant that it came to the logical conclusion that ending that culture would mean the mission could continue, since otherwise it would be forced to spend an eternity in one place and never complete the task it set out to do. Most of my memories of those cultures it encountered were happy ones, or at the very least interesting, up until the end there, when Brainiac blew them up."

Of course, that was the hard part - the sickening knowledge that at the point Brainiac arrived, all those cultures and histories simply stopped, when by all rights they should have continued. It was a terrible thing, at times, having the memories of these civilizations, to know all their triumphs and struggles, and to know that, in the end, none of it meant anything. Dead, gone, dust in the solar winds of the universe, they existed nowhere but in Richie's mind now.

Well, Richie's mind and Brainiac's backup servers hidden throughout the galaxy, but J'onn didn't need to know about that. They had enough to worries with the Watchtower. Richie didn't think Brainiac could start himself up again anytime soon, but if he did, he was pretty sure he could take care of it quickly enough on his own, without the assistance of the Justice League, assuming he wasn't overpowered and jacked into it again like an Intel Pentium chip.

"I don't want to talk about it," Richie said abruptly, hiding a shudder that ran down his spine.

"Very well." J'onn turned to go sit once again at Richie's desktop computer.

The way he said it, though, Richie had a feeling they'd be talking about it at some point in the future, whether he liked it or not - and Richie was almost certain he wouldn't like it.

Two frustrating and painfully awkward hours later, Richie and J'onn were making their way through the streets of Dakota in the direction of Virgil's house. They'd accomplished very little in terms of the Watchtower and, after the Brainiac discussion, Richie made sure all conversation more or less stopped. While fairly late in the day, the early summer sun still hung stubbornly in the sky, heating the concrete jungle around them to an almost unbearable level.

Well, Richie thought it was unbearable. J'onn, harboring a human persona, didn't seem at all bothered by the heat, not a drop of sweat marring his skin. Richie wondered if it had something to do with the new form the shapeshifter currently enjoyed or perhaps had something to do with his alien physiology, but given where the food conversation ended up, Richie decided he could live without sating his curiosity.

"It's not much further," Richie said helpfully, wiping his forearm across his sweating brow. A car blew past them on the street, kicking up a cloud of litter and dust as it zoomed by. The breeze hitting his face as it passed was pleasant, exhaust filling his lungs not withstanding. "It's why I picked the gas station in the first place, since it was somewhat close to Virgil's house."

"It is a... unique place for a home base," J'onn remarked tactfully.

Richie snorted. "Yeah, so it's not a giant space station floating in space, or a massive cavern hidden underneath a mansion, or an elaborate home located in a pocket dimension just to the left of our own, but it works. Nobody comes in there, not usually. Occasionally we have to chase the homeless and the drug addicts away, but other than that, it's secure."

J'onn glanced at him sideways. "I was not criticizing."

"I know."

And Richie did know that. Still, every time he got in contact with the Flash, the man had some joke to make about the place. The rest of the Justice League heard about their choice of hideout, via him and probably a few of the original leaguers, and sometimes they would make off-the-cuff comments. Last time Richie checked, being a superhero didn't rest solely on one's status as a self-made millionaire or magical creature. Not everyone was blessed with a trust fund or immortality. But, the stigma held, as it always would, Richie thought, until he and Virgil managed to do something spectacular. As long as the stigma remained in place, Richie doubted any of the other Justice League members would take them seriously, with a few notable exceptions.

"Here we are," Richie said as the turned the corner, Virgil's house finally in sight. He led J'onn up the front walk and didn't bother to knock, fishing his key out of his pocket and letting himself in. He held the door open for J'onn, who was looking at him curiously. "I practically live here anyway. It's cool."

"I see," J'onn said, and he stepped inside.

Richie followed a few seconds later, sighing in relief as the cool air conditioning hit his face. It felt extraordinarily nice after the sweltering walk from the gas station. "V, Mr. H," he called, crossing through the living room. "We're here."

"Right on time."

Mr. Hawkins gave Richie a bright smile from where he stood at the stove, proudly wearing the novelty apron Virgil originally bought as a gag gift for Sharon. It read, in proud, tall letters, 'Don't like my cooking? Lower your standards!" The smell of red beans and rice, fried potatoes, and blackened chicken hovered in the air and Richie felt himself getting giddy. He loved it when Mr. Hawkins cooked.

"Mr. Hawkins, I'd like you to meet J'onn J'onzz," Richie said, gesturing to the Martian at his side while standing on his tip toes, trying to get a look at the homefries in the frying pan. "J'onn, this is Robert Hawkins, Virgil's dad."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. J'onzz," Robert said, wiping his hand on his apron and thrusting it out. J'onn shook it readily. "Virgil's told me quite a bit about you. I hope you like spicy food, since my daughter Sharon's not dining with us and I finally get a chance to make it. It's bound to burn your taste buds off."

"The honor is mine," J'onn said, a faint smile on his face, "and it smells very good."

"Old family recipe," Robert said cheerfully, then just as cheerfully added, "Richie, stop edging close to that stove before I hit you with the spatula. Go set the table."

"Yes, sir!" Richie gave Mr. Hawkins a mock-salute before walking over to the cupboard and pulling out the plates, cups, and silverware.

"Is there anything I can do to assist?" J'onn asked, looking just a tad unsure of himself. Richie supposed he didn't get to attend a lot of family dinners.

"Just make yourself comfortable," Robert told him, turning back to the potatoes. "You're a guest. Richie, on the other hand, is family and therefore cheap labor."

"Hey, now." Richie shook his head at Mr. Hawkins, who winked at him. The table set for four, Richie glanced toward the stairs, a look not missed by Mr. Hawkins.

"Why don't you go on up and see if you can drag that son of mine away from his game?" he suggested, gesturing up the staircase with his spatula. "The chicken's got about fifteen minutes to go."

"Yeah, right," Richie said, grinning at them both. "Last I heard, Virg was in the middle of level fifteen of 'The Legend of Sunn'. We might not see much of him for weeks."

Robert gave a tiny chuckle under his breath. "I'm sure the crystal cups will still be there after dinner." He grabbed a cup off the table, filling it with ice and water before sitting down at the table. He waved at J'onn to join him, which he did after only a moment's hesitation.

With one last look over his shoulder, Richie walked towards the stairs. They had to tell Mr. H about J'onn - how else would they explain a strange man joining them for dinner? Virgil's dad knowing about the whole superhero thing made things easier, sometimes, though not always. Richie's mother, on the other hand, hadn't brought it up since that fateful night. Richie wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"So," Robert was saying as Richie went upstairs, "Virgil tells me you're a Martian. That must be interesting."

"It has its moments."

"Hey, bro," Richie said as he pushed open the door to Virgil's bedroom, not bothering to knock. "Your dad says dinner will be ready in a few. How goes the giant's castle?"

"It's kicking. My. Ass," Virgil ground out between clenched teeth, his hands gripping his PlayStation 2 controller so tightly, his knuckled were turning white. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the edge of his bed, legs stretched out in front of him. "How goes the Watchtower?"

"Pretty much the same." Richie flopped down on the floor next to Virgil, resting his arm on one bent knee. "J'onn and I made zero progress on the whole thing. Talk about a wasted day."

Virgil groaned as his warrior of Sunn got his head chopped off by the unexpected swing of a wicked looking blade from off the top of the screen. He threw the controller down as the game told him he lost, for the umpteenth time, and that the world of Sunn would be plunged into darkness for another thousand years thanks to his failure. Rocking forward, Virgil stabbed the power button of the game console, shutting it off.

"Ditto, man." Virgil flexed his fingers to get the feeling back in them, slumping down and glancing over at Richie. "So, really no progress at all?"

"Guess it depends on how you rate progress," Richie said, frowning. "We managed to exclude a few more people and organizations, but we're not much closer to figuring out who's responsible. I think I'm developing a facial tic thanks to all this. Do you see a facial tic?"

Virgil squinted at Richie's face, then shook his head. "Nope, no ticking. You're safe, man."

"Good."

Richie closed his eyes with a sigh, leaning back easily against the bed. His head hurt, probably from eyestrain and stress, he reasoned. At times like this, he thought back on his life before becoming a super genius, before the Big Bang, before Brainiac, and the Justice League, and Ebon, and Hotstreak, and when Alva was nothing more than a name he occasionally heard on the news. Those were good times, when the most he and Virgil ever thought about superheroes centered around the debates they used to have about the storylines they ate up in their comic books. Yes, the good old days, when he didn't wear spandex under his clothes and didn't care about anything beyond not ticking off his dad and trying to maintain his B average in school.

But they couldn't go back to that, could they? Sure, there was that supposed cure those scientists developed and released into the environment, but it didn't cure Richie so much as nearly kill him. Like a nasty 'Flowers for Algernon' parody, he'd felt like he was dying when his intelligence started to leave him, killing off portions of his brain bit by bit - the final solution, so to speak, the final cover-up. Even after the second Bang, it took him quite a while to get back to the level before it, took time for his brain to rewire itself, make new connections to compensate for the damage. Richie knew they were lucky to find the cure for the cure before things got worse, otherwise, he probably would be drooling in a state home right now. He never thought he'd be grateful for Ebon for anything, but there you go.

A sharp poke in his side brought Richie back to the present and he blinked a few times, looking over at Virgil. His best friend poked him again, for emphasis. At least it wasn't a smack upside the head this time.

"Don't fall asleep, bro, otherwise I'm gonna have to eat all your chicken," Virgil said with a silly waggle of his eyebrows.

"I'm not falling asleep," Richie replied, a lie that was thrown out into the open when a yawn escaped him. "Okay, maybe I am, but can you blame me?"

"Yes." Virgil stood up, grabbing Richie's hand and tugging him to his feet. "You push yourself too hard, man. One of these days, I'm going to find you twitching on the gas station floor."

"Just throw a tarp over me, bro," Richie said, stretching his arms above his head, "and don't let Shenise trip over me when she takes my place."

Virgil made a face. "I like her, Rich, but I prefer you. You're much less annoying."

"Gee, thanks."

The two of them walked out of Virgil's room and down the stairs toward the kitchen. Some of Richie's exhaustion fled him in anticipation of the dinner he could smell wafting in their direction. When they walked in the kitchen, Mr. Hawkins was laughing and J'onn was his usual green. That made Richie feel good, to know that J'onn felt comfortable enough to exist as he normally did around Virgil's dad. Then again, Mr. Hawkins tended to have that effect on people, making them feel at ease.

"Any luck saving the world?" Robert asked Virgil as they came in.

"No, I just doomed it to another thousand years of darkness and torment," Virgil replied, grabbing his seat, "but they'll get over it."

"Good to know." Robert stood and grabbed the plates of food of the counter, moving them to the center of the table to allow them to serve themselves. "So, Mr. J'onzz was just telling me about the time the two of you ended up on that garbage freight in Central City last month. You left that part out when you told me about it."

Virgil nearly choked on the sip of soda he'd just taken, glaring over at J'onn. "A superhero has got to try to keep something of an image, thank you."

"Besides, it was all Supergirl's fault," Richie said, reaching for the chicken on the platter in front of him. "She's got to remember there are other people in the sky."

"I cannot argue with that," J'onn said, looking with interest down at the blackened chicken, fried potatoes, and red beans and rice on his plate. He touched his fork to it cautiously. "She has a tendency to lose sight of those around her in the heat of battle. Superman was once the same way, though, so I'm sure she will learn how to manage it at some point."

"Hope so." Richie took a bite of the chicken and felt his eyes start to water. It was spicy, painfully so, strong enough to clean out his sinuses and make him feel like he was dying. He dropped the chicken leg and grabbed his cup of water, drinking half of it in one gulp. Clearing his throat, Richie looked over at Mr. Hawkins, wiping his eyes. "Man, Mr. H, this is perfect!"

"Thank you, Richie," Mr. Hawkins replied, taking a bite of his own chicken, but not appearing to suffer any ill effects. "I don't know why Sharon doesn't like it."

J'onn put a piece of chicken in his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully. "Interesting."

"Not too hot for you, is it?" Virgil asked, grinning as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his chicken already nothing but bones.

"Not at all," J'onn told them, taking another piece. "I am simply surprised at that I can actually taste the flavor. Most Earth food seems quite bland to me."

"Martians must have tongues of steel," Richie said, taking the pitcher and refilling his water glass.

J'onn gave him a tiny smile, but said nothing more on the subject. The dinner conversation turned to mundane things, Mr. Hawkins bemoaning the upcoming fundraiser for the Community Center and his total lack of reliable volunteers, giving Richie and Virgil a pointed look. When J'onn started asking him about some of the programs he ran there, Virgil and Richie started talking about the game they were both stuck on, wondering if they'd perhaps missed something in the Orian Fields that they needed to get past the traps in the castle. All in all, dinner was going quite well, none of the uncomfortable awkwardness in the air Richie feared about before they arrived. After all, it wasn't every day a Martian ate at the table.

Just as they were heading toward dessert, ice cream and a sweet cobbler, the sound of a key rattling in the front door killed all conversation. They heard the door opening and closing, heard Sharon sigh as she threw her purse on the couch. Adam must have come with her, because they could hear the two of them talking.

"How was I supposed to know D was going to let it leak that I was back in town?" Adam was saying as they moved toward the kitchen. "He never tells me these things."

"You need a new agent, boy," Sharon told him, then walked into the kitchen and froze, taking in their guest.

Ah, so there was that awkwardness Richie had been missing. He was wondering when it would show up. Sharon was staring at J'onn with wide eyes, Adam coming up behind her and looking just as surprised. His arm was wrapped around her waist several times, but Richie saw it slacken slightly.

"Why is there a green guy in our kitchen?" Sharon asked shortly when it became apparent that nobody was going to say anything.

Richie exchanged a look with Virgil, not sure what to say. Even Mr. Hawkins seemed something at a loss. Only J'onn looked perfectly calm, standing up and giving Sharon a small bow.

"You must be Sharon Hawkins," he said politely, nodding at her. "My name is J'onn J'onzz, a founding member of the Justice League. Your father invited me over for dinner when I informed him that some of the members of the Justice League were willing to make an appearance at the upcoming fundraiser for the Freeman Community Center."

"Really?" Sharon asked, looking over at her father, who simply nodded. She grinned. "That's great! Wow, like Superman and the Green Lantern and the like?"

"As many volunteers as I can round up, yes," J'onn said.

Richie smothered a smile with his hand. Yes, he could just see J'onn asking for volunteers, could imagine the scene perfectly. He figured it would sound something to the effect of, 'You're going', and that would be the end of it. But, hey, Richie was busting his butt for the Justice League and he wasn't even a member. They could spend one Saturday afternoon helping to raise money for disadvantaged and mutated kids in Dakota.

"It's an honor to meet you," Adam said, extending his hand about five feet across the room to shake J'onn's. "Tell the Justice League we really appreciate it. I'm going to be performing there as well."

"Yes, it's going to be wonderful," Sharon said, smiling at her boyfriend, clearly all her irritation with him faded in light of the good news.

"And it'll raise a ton of money," Richie added, relieved.

What he didn't say was why, exactly, that made him so happy. Every penny the center raised on its own was another penny they didn't get from Alva Industries. Sure, the media thought that Alva was just doing it to improve his public image, but it wouldn't surprise Richie in the least to discover an ulterior motive. If the Justice League put in an appearance, maybe Alva would think twice before trying anything deceitful. Now, if only they could get his damn name off the gym.

Adam's head rose a few feet higher than it could have for a normal person, looking over all of them at the counter. "Hey, is that cobbler?"

"Yep," Robert said, grabbing two more chairs that were pushed up against the wall. "Why don't you two join us? Sounds like your plans ran into a snag."

Sharon took a seat, glaring at Adam once again. "You're getting a new agent."

"Yes, dear," Adam replied automatically, taking a seat next to her.

Richie sat back and smiled as the conversation picked up again. Three Bang Babies, two normal people, and a Martian, all sitting around the dinner table, enjoying peach cobbler and ice cream - very strange, but it worked. Maybe recent events in the last couple of years had made Richie's life a great deal more complicated, but for all the trials and tribulations that came with it, the good things that came about as a result outshined them all.

He caught a look at J'onn's face as he spooned his ice cream over the warm cobbler, smushing it all up together. The Martian looked vaguely happy, if a tiny bit shell-shocked. If something as simple as a family dinner surprised him, Richie figured the alien needed to get out of the Watchtower a little more. Being so separated from the real world, forgetting how to live in it - that alone was probably the most dangerous thing about the superheroes high above them. How could anybody look at the world for what it was if you forgot what it was actually like?

For all the annoyances it was causing, Richie was glad the Watchtower was out of commission.

Shoving his spoon back into his ice cream bowl, he blinked in surprise when it clanged against the hard Corningware. Frowning, he looked over at Virgil, who had a perfectly innocent expression his face that Richie might have believed, had there not been a tiny bit of Richie's ice cream at the corner of his mouth. With a shake of his head, Richie kicked him under the table.

"I'll be sure to send you any updates as I get them."

Richie and J'onn were standing on the back porch of the Hawkins' residence. J'onn, once again no longer green, but much more human-like, was staring up at the dark sky above, looking toward the stars. He looked very much at peace.

Dinner had been an unmitigated success, even with the arrival of Sharon and Adam. The two of them were still camped out in the kitchen with Mr. Hawkins, talking about this and that. Apparently, Adam's agent made a quiet tip to some website that he would be back in town, as he was currently on tour, and they'd gotten swamped at the restaurant they picked. The paparazzi were still camped outside of Adam's apartment, so it looked like he would be spending the night at the Hawkins' residence - on the couch, of course.

"Thank you, Richard," J'onn said, his eyes still fixed on the sky above. "I will do the same for you, should I discover any information in regards to the current situation."

Richie followed the alien's gaze, wondering what he was seeing up in the sky. Few stars dotted the Dakota night sky, blotted out by the city lights and pollution around them. Scanning the darkness, Richie's eyes finally fell on one tiny speck of light, moving too fast to be a planet.

"The Watchtower," Richie murmured, watching the satellite roll across the sky, still shining from the reflection of the Earth, even though everything inside was dark.

"Yes," J'onn replied and when Richie looked at him, he saw a tiny smile quirk his lips. "As Flash would say, I can see my house from here."

Richie could see both of them, actually, Mars a small red dot just peaking through the haze above them. He didn't know much about J'onn's past - nobody did - but he suspected it was tragic. He wondered if it pained J'onn to see that little red dot in the sky, almost as much as he sounded pained at the temporary loss of the Watchtower.

"I'm curious," Richie began carefully. "Why did you decide to spend the whole day here? I mean, it was great having you and all and I think we covered a lot more ground together than alone, but you didn't have to stay for dinner or anything like that. I never would have guessed you'd agree to hang out with us."

"I wished to be sure of a few things," J'onn said quietly.

Richie knew then exactly what he meant. He didn't like it, found himself a little offended by it for a few seconds, but upon further reflection, he realized he couldn't blame the alien. The unsettling feeling that J'onn had been hidden, invisible, in the gas station much longer than he admitted settled around Richie's stomach.

"And are you sure now?" he asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.

J'onn simply nodded. "Implicitly."

"Okay." Richie wasn't sure if he heard the unspoken apology in the Martian's voice correctly, but he decided to take it on merit. "Feel free to stop by anytime."

"I will, should the need arise," J'onn said.

"Need, shmeed." Richie waved J'onn off, forcing a smile on his face. "Just come on over. Maybe next time, you can come on patrol with us, get a feeling for types of people we deal with down here. It's not that easy, even though Virgil and I make it look that way, but that's just our mad skills coming through. Besides, aren't you coming the Saturday after next to wow the kids?"

"I am," J'onn said with a genuine smile on his face. "It should prove an enlightening experience. Virgil's father seems like a good, honest man."

Richie nodded firmly. "He is, which is rare."

"It is at that." J'onn pulled the fake trench coat around him, taking a few steps off the walk. He paused looking back at Richie. "Are you returning to your family home? I know you left your robot back at the gas station. I could walk with you, if you feel you need it."

"Without going into a long, boring explanation, suffice it to say, I am home, J'onn," Richie told him, jerking his thumb back in the direction of Virgil's house. "I'm spending the night, as usual."

J'onn gave him a curious look, but didn't ask anymore. Instead, he gave a small bow. "Goodnight, Richard, and good luck."

"Same to you, J'onn," he said, giving the alien a little wave. "Don't worry. I'll get you moved back into the Watchtower in no time at all."

"I am certain you will." With one more nod at Richie, J'onn walked away down the walk... and vanished.

A tiny breeze ruffled the top of Richie's hair and he knew the Martian was probably in flight above him, heading to who knows where. Maybe he was staying with Batman or Superman, or maybe he was heading up the coast to spend the day lounging under a beach umbrella with a fruity drink in hand. Richie found himself giggling rather stupidly at that ridiculous image as he walked back into the house.

Sharon, Adam, and Mr. Hawkins had moved to the living room, where they were sitting around the couches chatting. The TV was on, tuned to a news channel, upon which was airing some boring segment about some celebrity trial Richie couldn't care less about. Mr. Hawkins smiled at him as he walked past for the stairs.

"Did Mr. J'onzz get off all right?" he asked.

"Yep," Richie said, making a little 'zooming' motion with his hand. "He took off and it felt like he was flying north."

"I hope you didn't go all fan-boy on him," Sharon said in her most lecturing tone. "He's a very important individual and we don't need you offending him before the fundraiser."

One of these days, Richie was going to get on Virgil's case about telling Sharon the truth about Static, Gear, and everything in-between. She'd be pissed they kept it from her for so long, no doubt about that, but Richie had a feeling she'd get over it quick enough. He was almost positive Adam knew - how could he not? Still, it would make things easier on everybody.

"I assure you, Sharon, no fanboy-ing took place," he said, giving her a bright smile. "I was on my best behavior. I only asked him to autograph my back, which I'm never washing again. Goodnight!"

Richie dashed up the stairs as Sharon yelled at him, "Oh, you did not do that, boy! Don't you play me!"

Still laughing, Richie pushed open the door to Virgil's bedroom. Virgil, yawning and already changed into his pajamas, was sitting on the bed, flipping through a book. He raised an eyebrow as Richie closed the door.

"Something funny?" he asked, sounding sleepy.

"Just giving Sharon a hard time." Richie chuckled to himself as he went over to Virgil's closet, opening it up and pushing aside Virgil's clothes to the stack of his own he kept on the left side of the space.

Virgil smirked at him as he shucked off his clothes, changing into a t-shirt and a pair of boxes. "Be careful, man. She's liable to smack you around if you keep pushing it."

"You think I don't know that?"

Richie sank down on Virgil's bed, glancing at the book Virgil was reading - Chaucer's, 'Canterbury Tales', one of their assigned readings for the summer. Virgil looked like he'd already made quite a bit of headway into it. Richie hadn't even started it yet, but it wasn't like he couldn't read it in the space of an hour if he wanted to. It didn't mean he liked it.

"So, the green guy have anything interesting to say when you walked him out?" Virgil asked, throwing the book across the room where it almost landed on the desk, but not quite.

"Not really." Richie stretched out on the bed, his feet dangling off the side with his back to the wall. "I think he's homesick."

Virgil wrinkled his nose. "Somehow, I can't see him being homesick."

"It's subtle, but it's there." Richie yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Oh, and he thought I was the one responsible behind the Watchtower malfunctioning, which was why he was hanging around the gas station probably most of the morning spying on me and why he decided to hang out with us all day."

Virgil, who had been in the process of trying to fluff the pillows and straighten his comforter, nearly fell off the bed. "Excuse me?" he asked, turning around. "What was that last part?"

"Remember earlier when we were joking that I was probably the only person who could do that to the Watchtower?" Richie prompted, reaching out a hand to steady Virgil before he tumbled to the floor.

"Yeah, but we were just kidding," Virgil said, regaining his balance. "Weren't we?"

"Maybe we were, but J'onn didn't think it was very funny." Richie rested his head on the wall, frowning. "Can't blame them, of course, but the lack of trust is just painful, bro. I mean, if I wanted to take out the Justice League, I could have just rigged up the Watchtower to explode or something."

"Man," Virgil said, shaking his head in disgust, "sometimes, those guys piss me off."

"They're just being careful," Richie replied, trying to pay the devil's advocate. He ran his tongue along his teeth and grimaced. "Bro, my mouth is growing fuzz that even the cayenne pepper couldn't kill. I'm gonna go get all minty fresh, okay?"

"Please do," Virgil said, waving his hand in front of his face.

Richie shoved him lightly and slid off the bed, heading toward the bathroom. Virgil wasn't over his righteous indignation, Richie knew. It was fairly obvious from the way he kept muttering to himself as Richie left the room, words like, 'stupid jerks', 'saved their asses so many times', 'after we went to the wire for them', barely audible in the tirade.

Smiling to himself, Richie pushed open the bathroom door, grabbing his toothbrush out of the holder where it was nestled next to Sharon and Virgil's. Covering it with paste, he thrust it into his mouth, scrubbing his pearly whites thoughtfully, staring at himself in the mirror. Taken the moment of relative peace and privacy for what it was, he mused on the day, taking stock of it.

It was nice, having Virgil there to be indignant on his behalf, to stand up for him. Nobody knew him better and nobody probably ever would. Even if the whole Justice League looked at him warily for the rest of his life, so long as Virgil stood by his side, Richie couldn't be bothered by it. The moment Virgil started questioning his motives or sanity, Richie knew that would be a sign he should pay more attention to himself.

It was extraordinarily comforting, Richie thought as he spit into the sink, to have somebody like that in his life. He knew how rare and special it was, how few people had others they could connect with in this world. From the little he'd seen of the new Justice League members up in the Watchtower, friends like that were clearly in short supply.

Shortly after the second Bang, with Virgil getting a feel for his new, expanded powers and how they worked, the Justice League offered him a place by their side. Richie pretty much expected it - Virgil was a force to reckon with these days, and there was little doubt he would only get better. The same offer was not extended to Richie in any way, shape, or form, regardless of the fact he designed their current base of operations for them.

Virgil turned them down point blank without even needing to think about it. He gave them a litany of excuses - he was too busy with school, his Pops would not approve of him going up into space on a regular basis or being called to emergencies around the world, that Dakota was heating up again with Bang Baby activity after the cure released into the environment started to destabilize and people found themselves transforming again, but this time slightly more psychotic, and so on. They were all very good, reasonable, logical reasons, but Richie knew that wasn't why Virgil said no.

Both of them or neither - those were the terms. Most of the members of the Justice League, with the exception of Batman, didn't trust Richie for a long list of rationales. Too smart, the risk that he could go psychotic, the danger of his association with Brainiac, no matter how forced, (an objection loudly and frequently raised by the Green Lantern Corp), on and on it went. Again, Richie couldn't argue that they weren't all very good, reasonable, logical reasons for them to be wary, but it wasn't good enough for Virgil. All for one and one for all, or something to that effect.

And, damn, did that make him feel good.

Wiping his face with the hand towel, Richie left the bathroom, going back to Virgil's room. Virgil had once again retrieved his book and was laying down on the bed, his side pressed against the wall, squinting at the pages in front of him. Richie shook his head at him, crawling onto the bed beside him.

"Admit it, bro," Richie said, tapping the side of his head. "You need reading glasses."

"No, I don't," Virgil said, but his scrunched up eyes said differently.

Richie shrugged, taking off his own glasses and setting them on the night stand, sinking down into the bed and pulling the covers up over him. "Whatever, man. Just don't bitch to me when you get another headache."

Virgil snorted stubbornly and reached over Richie to drop the book on the floor, taking the opportunity to tap him lightly on the side of the head. "My eyes are tired, that's all. Too many video games and do we remember when I had to fight Hotstreak all by myself this morning?"

"Sure, sure." Richie yawned and rolled over on his side away from the wall, nestling his head in the pillow and closing his eyes. "Whatever you have to tell yourself, bro."

"I'm just tired." Virgil reached over him again and flipped off the lamp on the nightstand and Richie could feel him sinking down into the bed, taking up more space than was really fair.

A sudden flash of a future, sixty years away, struck Richie then, the two of them still arguing over Virgil's need of reading glasses and a hearing aid as they sat around grumpy and white-haired in bathrobes. Maybe they'd have a few cats running around, yelling at small children to get off their lawn in-between reliving their glory days back when their spandex fit better. Richie snorted into his pillow, his body shaking with laughter.

"What?" Virgil asked, very close to whining.

"Nothing," Richie choked out through his snickering.

Virgil bopped him on the shoulder with a closed fist. "Stop wigging out on me, bro, and go to sleep."

"Yes, dear."

He heard Virgil sigh as he started giggling again. Richie didn't stop laughing even as Virgil threw out his arm, draping it over face in an attempt to get him to quiet down. "Man, you are so weird."

Richie said nothing, only smiled and pushed Virgil's arm down and away.

At two o'clock in the morning, Richie found himself awake. It wasn't a slow, gradual return to consciousness. Rather, Richie instantly snapped alert, his eyes going wide, hand trying to reach up to slap the back of his neck. He wasn't successful in that action because Virgil, in true Virgil-form, had managed to spread out across the entire bed, half his body flung out over Richie's back, while Richie's own leg was dangling to the floor.

Something didn't feel right. A dull pain throbbed under the skin at the base of his neck, radiating uncomfortably from someplace sub-dermal. Carefully extracting his arm from where it was trapped under Virgil, Richie gently pushed him aside so as not to wake him, sitting up and touching his fingers to the source of his discomfort.

His skin burned hot in that one place. He knew what lay under that patch of deadened skin, knew what was causing the pain, but he hadn't felt it in a long while. Frowning, Richie looked out the window, rubbing the skin irritably.

Closing his eyes, he threw his mind across the city, interfacing with Backpack many blocks away back in the gas station. He'd left the robot there to finish up some mundane data organizing tasks so Richie could examine the results in the morning. The connection wasn't as good from such a long distance, but the pain in his neck was Backpack's way of alerting him to something going on around the robot, something the robot didn't like.

Scrunching his forehead in concentration, Richie struggled to access its data logs. Backpack had switched from his data entry to high-alert mode and, Richie could tell, the robot was so concerned, it had gone into one of its many hiding places inside the gas station, as Richie programmed it to do. Trying to override that protective programming so he could get some idea of what bugged the robot so badly proved difficult with the distance between them, but finally, he did it.

"No..." Body going rigid, Richie's eyes flew open. Turning around, he shook Virgil hard, waking him up. "Wake up, man. Wake up right now!"

"Mmm... what?" Virgil blinked several times, sitting up and looking around the room in confusion. One look at Richie's panicked face shook off any remaining sleep. "What is it?" Virgil asked, already moving to stand up. "What's wrong?"

"The gas station," Richie said, jumping to his feet and making a mad grab for his clothes. "It's on fire."

To be continued...

A/N: Hehehehehehehe...