Thank you for the reviews - knowing people are reading makes the posting as much fun as the writing! And really thoughtful comments, too. I understand why some of you were upset...but aww, I feel sorry for V. Am curious what everyone will think of this part, when they accepted Richie's side of it so completely...
Five days later the heat wave had yet to break. Virgil didn't care, since it was just another excuse not to leave the house anyway. Sprawled sweating on the couch, he flipped channels, the television volume cranked high to be heard over the labored hum of their ancient AC unit.
News, boring. Cop show rerun, boring. Stupid superhero kiddy cartoon, boring. Discovery Channel special on a desert that was probably the only place on the planet hotter than Dakota, boring.
He could call Frieda, beg for a swim in her family's backyard pool. He could ask Daisy out to the movies, where the air conditioning might actually be functioning. He could put on his costume and zip a circuit around the city, let the wind cool him down—just a joy ride, since even the stupidest crooks wouldn't be out in the worst of the heat.
Ten-year-old sitcom, boring. Car commercials, boring. Local city talk show, boring.
He could nap, make up for all the sleep he still was missing, even not on patrol. Damn heat wave. Throwing down the remote he rolled over the couch. "Two zillion channels and nothing on."
"Because it's the middle of the afternoon," Sharon said from the doorway. "And why the hell don't you have a job yet? You planning to hit the lottery before college?" Virgil didn't look up as his sister crossed the room, fanning herself with a folded newspaper. "I should've just pulled overtime. The office has AC, and it's too hot, walking home in this," she complained, undoing the top buttons of her blouse. "Yuck."
"You could go take a mudbath," Virgil offered, not raising his head. "That's how pigs stay cool."
"And here I was gonna offer you some lemonade." Several layers of newspaper fluttered down over his face. "Go get a job, slacker."
"Shut it." Virgil brushed the wanted ads to the floor without sitting up. "Lemme alone."
"You shut it. I wanna veg, move over. You're taking up the whole couch."
"The chair's right over there."
Sharon put her hands on her hips and glared. "You're impossible. So when does the Boy Wonder get back from vacation to cheer you up?"
"Huh?"
"You know, Richie? Blond dweeb, about this tall? I figure since he's not been planted here he must be on a trip with his folks."
"No, he's still in town, I think." Virgil sat up.
"You think?" Sharon repeated, incredulous. "So why aren't you out bugging him, if he's not here bugging us?"
"Couch's yours," Virgil said, getting up and tossing her the remote. "Watch whatever you want."
"Hey, hold on—Virgil!" When he didn't stop, Sharon grabbed his arm. "You've been even more annoying than usual, going around looking like that all week. What happened?"
"Looking like what?"
"Like your best friend just died. What happened to Richie?"
"Nothing happened to him." He shook her off before his rising temper gave her a more literal shock than that in the look in her eyes now. "He's okay."
"You guys had a fight?" she persisted.
"Not really." He'd thought it over enough times to decide it couldn't quite be called that. It had been too quiet, too calm. Too fast, over before he'd even realized what had happened. More like a sucker punch; a week later and he still was reeling. He couldn't remember exactly what he had said, what Richie had said, but thinking about it was enough to get him angry all over again, so he tried not to. Not when Richie wasn't either, apparently.
Every time the phone rang he expected Richie, but it hadn't once been him. He hadn't turned his shock box on—it was only for Static anyway, and he hadn't been out on patrol. Not like they'd—he'd—had much luck catching the gang before anyway.
Sharon's stare looked like she was suspecting him of stabbing Richie and stashing the body in a car trunk. "It's none of your business," he said. "Just, sometimes you think you know someone, and it turns out you really don't."
"O-o-oh," Sharon said, pressing one finger to her lip. "So he told you."
"No, he didn't tell me, he—wait, how do you know?"
His sister winced, then blinked, all false innocence. "Know what?"
"Dammit, Sharon, he came out to you? When?"
"He didn't, not to me," Sharon said. "But since I happen to be female, I'm not blind. So I asked Daddy."
"Our dad? Pops knows he's gay? Richie told everyone but me?"
"No," Sharon shook her head. "Just Daddy, I think. Probably practice for with his own folks." She frowned. "Is that what this is? He's gay and now you're not talking?"
Virgil tried to walk away, but she reached up to grab him by the shoulders and sit him down again. "You ain't going nowhere. This is because of that? What'd you do? Richie hasn't even called here for a week, what did you say to him?
"What'd I say to him?" Virgil snapped. "Richie's the one who did the talking. Only it was an accident, he didn't even mean to let it slip, otherwise I might've never heard. And Pops knew all along and didn't tell me!"
"So you find out your best friend is gay, and you're not friends anymore? I should slap you, you bigoted, homophobic little shit!"
"Homophobic's got nothing to do with it!" He yelled it loud enough that Sharon rocked back on her heels as if he had physically shoved her, giving him the space to surge back to his feet.
Virgil ran one hand through his dreads, wondering when he had gotten so much taller than his sister. Richie had always been the right height to look him in the eye, and still was, but Sharon used to tower over both of them. She looked short now, not giving more ground but staring up at him wide-eyed as he caught his breath. "It's not the gay thing," he said, more quietly. "Yeah, that's kinda weird, but I'm not a total asshole. I've been thinking it through, I can get over that. But Richie didn't want me to know. He kept it to himself, all this time."
"Maybe he was just trying to figure out the best way to tell you," Sharon suggested. "I mean, that's a pretty big secret. He can't know how people would react to it, so he's being careful."
"You don't have to be that careful around your crew, not if they're really your brothers! You didn't see Richie, the way he was talking. He was really upset that he'd let it slip. It was a big deal to him, it mattered so much to him that he didn't want me to know a damn thing. It's a big secret, yeah, but the stuff that counts, I've always told Richie. Right away, not accidentally a year later. Even when I wasn't telling anyone else, even when I wasn't totally sure how he'd handle it. I still let him in. Hell, I told him right away when I became—" He stopped himself just in time. "Uh, even really big things. I've told him. But he didn't want me to let me hear this."
"Ah," Sharon said, remarkably passing over the chance to pry in order to nod knowingly. "So it's because he didn't trust you."
"Doesn't trust me. He hasn't even tried to call. We're supposed to be friends but he doesn't care enough to bother."
"Have you tried calling him?"
"Hey, he doesn't want to talk anymore, I don't want to bug him."
Sharon continued to tap her lower lip thoughtfully. "Does Richie know what got you mad?"
"Huh? He was the one who said he didn't want me to know!"
"So you told him?" she pressed. "That it was the trust thing, not the gay thing?"
"Well, I didn't say it exactly like that."
"Boys," Sharon said, disparagingly. "So Richie didn't want to tell you he was gay, probably because he was worried you'd freak out over it and wouldn't want to be friends anymore. But he finally does have the guts to open up—and my stupid little brother freaks out and doesn't want to be friends. I totally should slap you."
"You don't think Richie really thinks that..."
"I think your entire gender is born brain-damaged."
"Shit," Virgil said, and sat down again on the sofa. Trying hard not to think of Richie, yelling at him like his voice would crack if he lowered it. He still couldn't remember exactly what he had said, not even whatever it was that had started this. Some stupid thing about Hotstreak, and Richie knew he didn't mean it like that. He had to know. Virgil had said things like that before, hadn't he, and Richie hadn't cared, Richie had known it was nothing more than verbal sparring. Throwing back at their enemies what was thrown at them, because that was always the quickest way to rile the bastards up. Same as you insulted a guy's mother, even though you'd never met the lady, because it was the kind of thing that pissed someone off. Just the way everyone talked, and Richie had said himself that Virgil didn't mean it. He had to know.
Okay, it had thrown him a little when he had caught on to what Richie was talking about, maybe he could have handled it better, but you had to give a guy a couple minutes to adjust to something like that. But Richie had backed off, his shoulders hunched in—not just embarrassed about his slip. Like he was bracing for a blow, like Virgil was going to punch him out or something once he really figured it out. Like he hadn't believed Virgil would be cool enough with it even to let it drop.
And it hurt to think he wasn't trusted even that much, but it hurt as much to remember that last glimpse of his friend, standing alone on that rooftop. Watching him go, not trying to follow. Possibly not because he didn't care, but because he didn't dare to follow. Possibly feeling just as betrayed as Virgil himself had felt.
As terrifically annoying as it was to admit, Sharon might be right. Richie could be an awfully dumb super-genius sometimes.
"Well, maybe not all men," Sharon amended. She was looking at the TV; when he followed her gaze to the screen he saw a news program had come on. Shaky camera footage followed a figure in green rocketing across the city skyline, as the anchor cheerfully reported, "—the FBI is joining forces with Dakota's own local heroes to—"
Virgil bounced up onto his feet. "What the—who's joining forces?"
Sharon gave him an odd look. "It's Static's partner. You know, that guy with the crazy equipment, Gear."
"Yeah, obviously, but why the hell is he working alo—uh, I mean...isn't it hot to be out heroing?"
"Unlike some lazy bums, other people got jobs to do, and they do 'em," Sharon sniffed. "I bet Static doesn't waste his summer sulking and being a jerk."
"Well, that's—ah, forget it, I got—something to do—" Virgil vaulted the couch.
"Oh, for God's sake, don't forget the phone, you idiot!" Sharon snapped after him, but her brother was already pounding up the stairs.
The phone wouldn't have done any good anyway if Richie was out on patrol. Virgil slammed shut his bedroom door behind him as he dodged for the desk, snatched the shock box from the drawer and flicked it on. "Gear, you there? It's Static. Come in, Gear. Please."
The channel crackled for a moment. Just as he opened his mouth to try again, the answer came, "Roger, Static. Gear here."
Richie's voice was emotionless, rigorously, professionally calm. Virgil was still glad to hear it, hadn't realized how much he had missed it until he had. "You alone, Gear, or you busy right now?"
"I'm at home, alone," Richie said.
Missing him didn't mean he wasn't still pissed as hell, though. "Great, so you can tell me exactly what the hell you're doing working with the FBI!"
There was a brief pause; then Richie said, "What do you think I'm doing? They've asked us to help shut the burglars down."
"If they asked us, then why'd Static have to hear about it on the five o'clock news?"
"Because Static," Richie said, low enough that Virgil couldn't tell if he were angry or just being logical, "didn't answer the call I sent over the shock box, after they contacted me through Backpack's police channel this morning. And I didn't want to compromise your identity by giving you a phonecall from their headquarters."
"Ah." It did make sense. "So you just got back?"
Richie's pause was longer and hence more noticeable this time. "A couple hours ago."
"I've been home all day," Virgil said, feeling his own temper start to rise again. "Phone hasn't rung once."
"I didn't—I wasn't sure if I should call. If you'd want to be in on it."
"They don't want Static?"
"No, they do, they kept asking where you were. They've noticed you haven't been around much this week. But they want Gear, too. They're running a computer analysis they want me to tweak, and I already told them I'd do it. But I told them I can't speak for you. You don't have to do it. Just tell me now, and I'll let them know tomorrow."
"Of course I'll do it! Why wouldn't I help them out?"
"Because you'll have to work with me," Richie said, and Virgil thought he must be angry, the way his voice fell even lower, unless he had dropped the shock box. "And I didn't think we were partners anymore."
Virgil sat down on the corner of the desk. His room was stifling hot with the sun slanting through the curtains, but there must be a draft coming from the AC downstairs because he shivered. "You don't want to be partners anymore, Richie?"
"It's not what I want, V. Virgil." But there was a little catch in Richie's voice, and Virgil suddenly realized that quiet wasn't anger. "It's what you're comfortable with." It was anguish. "If you—if we can still work together sometimes, that's good. That's really—"
"Work together? I don't want to 'work together'!" The shock box crackled, and Virgil noticed the faint sparking aura dancing over his skin. Hastily he backed away from his desk before he could fry his computer's circuits.
"It's okay, we won't have to, not after this. Like I said, you don't even have to work with them, and—I can't quit being Gear, not now, but I'll be careful not to—"
Virgil didn't think he'd ever heard Richie sound so miserable, not any of the times they had fought before, not even when he had run away from home after Virgil had first met his dad. He couldn't listen to what Richie was saying, didn't want to listen, just wanted him to stop. Not just because it didn't matter but because it hurt too much to hear it. "Hey, bro, listen to me—I didn't—Richie, shut up!"
With a gulp that would have been a sob if he had been crying instead of babbling, Richie did. "I didn't mean it like that," Virgil said quickly into the gap. "I meant—of course we're partners, but I don't want just to do the hero thing together. I want to be friends, dammit!"
"You—you do?"
He sounded so surprised that it surprised Virgil in turn to a stunned quiet. "Yeah, Rich. I do."
"Even though I'm..."
"What? Gay? Jesus, bro! You really thought I was gonna freak so bad over that?" Stunned, and a little sick. Not just because his big sister had been nauseatingly correct. "Come on, Richie. Why'd I care what you jerk off to? We've been friends for long enough, I thought you'd know me better than that. I thought you'd trust me better than that."
"Trust you?" Now Richie sounded bewildered, too. "That wasn't—I knew you wouldn't tell anyone else, and I knew you'd try not to hold it against me. But it was easier, not saying anything. It wasn't complicated—"
"It's not complicated now," Virgil said. "You're supposed to be a genius, how difficult is it to say, 'By the way, bro, I'm gonna date guys.' Dammit, Richie, you didn't have any trouble telling my pops!"
"V, your dad's the only other guy I've told. And I was terrified, talking to him about it."
"Terrified?" Virgil tried to imagine anyone frightened to talk to his father, and failed badly. When it got down to it he had a lot of respect for his old man, but he wasn't exactly terror-inspiring. "Of my dad?"
"I was scared, if he knew—once he knew—that he wouldn't want us to be friends anymore. That he wouldn't let us be."
"He'd never do something like that," Virgil said, amazed. "Shit, he'd probably smack me if I did. And even if he did, my father doesn't decide my friends, not any more than yours does."
"Virgil, if I told my father I was...I'd be lucky if he just disowned me. He's trying to get over the racism thing, but he hates gays more than he ever hated blacks. He...the things he calls them. Us. It's worse than anything you've ever said, and he's not joking."
Virgil didn't know how to answer that. Richie was so much like him, so much like a brother, that it was difficult to understand that his home, his real family, could be so completely, scarily different. "Richie," he settled for saying at last, since there wasn't anything that could make that any better, "I'm really sorry about the crap I've said before. That hurt your feelings. I'll watch my mouth."
"Yeah, well. I'm sorry, too. For overreacting."
"You weren't, not to that stuff. I was being an asshole."
"No, you weren't, you just weren't thinking about what you were saying. I knew you weren't, I'm an idiot. And I should've known better. I'm sorry, V. I should've trusted you. It was just..."
He stopped. Virgil waited a moment, but Richie didn't continue. And he could have asked, but what they had now felt so fragile, an understanding too new for questions that could wait until Richie really wanted to talk. He sighed, forced his voice light to say, "Okay, so tomorrow morning, we on with the FBI?"
"We're on." Richie's smile sounded so clearly even through the walkie's tinny speaker that Virgil almost could see it, and some of the hurt of that unspoken refusal eased. He could wait, if his friend needed him to that badly. "Just come to the main police station downtown, second floor, third window on the right. They're not gonna expect us before 10 AM, they know we're teens."
"How much else do they know about us?"
"Not sure," Richie admitted. "Though they seemed like they'd like more, if they could get it. That's why I was worried about calling. They're supposed to be the good guys, but...hard to tell who you can really trust. In the government or anywhere else."
"Yeah." Too damn hard to tell.
"V, we—we're cool, right?"
Virgil grinned, hoping Richie could hear it over the box as clearly as he had heard Richie's. "Cooler than cool, bro, and always will be." Then he grimaced, wiped his brow. "Even when it's thirteen zillion degrees outside."
Richie snorted. "That in Fahrenheit or Kelvin? Though as a matter of fact I've almost perfected a miniature cooling unit for my suit. I could see about installing one in your jacket."
"That would be sweet! Uh, wait, unless it backfired like that mini-vacuum thing that blew air out instead of sucking in. That'd not be so hot."
"Actually it'd be very hot, which would be the problem. Besides, the vac works great now, I just needed to swap the manifold—"
"See you tomorrow, Rich."
"See you, V."
The shock box hissed blank air. Virgil's thumb was on the switch when it crackled back to life. "Hey, V?"
"Yeah?"
"I...uh...nothing. Forget it."
"Hey, Richie, why don't you meet me tomorrow at 9 in the lot? So you can fill me in on what the FBI's up to in person."
"Sure thing. Later."
"Later." Virgil shook his head, switched off the box and put it back in the drawer.
Then he took it out again, turned it back on and clipped it to his jeans under his t-shirt. With the volume lowered no one else would hear it, but his electromagnetic aura would pick up the change in the signal pulse if he were contacted again. Just in case Richie figured out tonight what else he wanted to say.
The heat wave must be breaking; the breath of evening air through the window was cooler than any in days. He was grinning as he went back downstairs to see what was for dinner.
to be continued...
