Thank you so much for all the reviews, how did y'all even find this little story? Anyway, glad you're enjoying it, and I hope you find it worth the wait between chapters!
Virgil had something to say to him. The way his eyes kept sliding to Richie as Agent Statler droned on was a dead giveaway.
Actually, Virgil had had something to say to him for the last week, at least. Richie could tell by the way he jumped between non sequiturs when they talked, the way he literally jumped when Richie jostled his arm to get him on track, and fidgeted all through the one chance they'd had to crash on the couch watching a movie. V hadn't managed to spit it out even when they were alone, however, much less sitting in costume among a group of policemen listening to an FBI agent lecture.
Though in all honesty Richie hadn't given him much chance to say it. They'd been talking a lot, but even out of costume most of their discussions had centered around the current case. They really needed to find a better way to disguise their hero conversations than by referring to their mutual favorite, absolutely non-existent TV show, but right now everyone was discussing the burglaries anyway, so that wasn't much of an issue.
Better that than the gay thing. Virgil seemed to have exhausted his immediate curiosity; or else reached the point the questions had started embarrassing him. Either way, Richie was grateful. They had fallen back into their normal routines, hanging out together as much as before, and the give-and-take teasing banter didn't have any more of an edge than it ever did. His coming out might not have even been a blip on the radar.
Except now Virgil had something to say to him, and the odds were against it not having anything to do with that. So maybe Richie had been changing the subject or cracking jokes, not giving Virgil much chance to talk seriously of late, unless it was about the burglars. They didn't have time for more of that drama now. They had a job to do.
Professional responsibility. And that he had no idea what Virgil wanted to say, but was pretty sure he didn't want to hear it.
At times Richie regretted that mindreading hadn't been included in the whole super-genius mutation package. He at least wished that the human equation were as simple as chemistry or quantum physics. Human beings were ultimately made up of the same elementary particles that comprised everything, but they didn't follow the same predictable natural laws as everything else.
He had read extensively in the field of psychology, especially when he had first realized he had become a metahuman and was trying to figure out precisely how his brain had been affected. Dakota University was happy to give Gear a card and full access to their library stacks. But while he had gotten a good grasp of neuropsychiatry, and was fairly certain he had deduced a couple properties of synaptic action that hadn't actually been proven by any neurobiologists yet, the higher functions of human behavior remained as baffling as ever.
It was an amazing thing, really, that Richie knew Virgil better than anyone in the world, and yet still couldn't understand what was really going on inside his head. He could forecast criminal behavior with a better degree of success. Statistics don't apply to individuals, and Virgil was even more individual than most. Even after being friends for a decade, Virgil still could surprise him. Maybe that was just V. Or maybe it was the combination of him and Virgil that made it so unpredictable.
A whisper interrupted his contemplation. "Yo, Gear. You're on."
The agents and officers were looking at him expectantly. "Right," Gear said, standing and clearing his throat while he quickly collected his thoughts. Once settled, his pre-memorized speech poured as easily from his mouth as a recording. "Well, gentlemen--and ladies--while, as you all know, we've yet to find a single fingerprint at any of the crime scenes, I've been over what evidence we have found, and given the consistency of the methods of break-ins, taking into account the different environments, I've calculated an eighty-seven percent probability"--roughly rounded, of course--"that we're dealing with a single, experienced gang..."
Everyone was watching him, nodding thoughtfully along with his conclusions. After a couple years as Gear, the respectful gazes of the agents and cops were pressure he could handle. Harder to deal with was Virgil's steady attention, those dark eyes looking at him with--whatever it was. That anticipation, almost apprehension. He was the one talking, but Virgil had the stage fright, for a week now, working up to whatever he was going to say.
If Richie gave him the chance say it. What was he afraid of hearing, anyway? It wasn't like Virgil was going to say, sorry, the gay thing wasn't working after all, and call off their friendship. Well, he could, but he wouldn't, and any doubts Richie might have to the contrary were no more than a flawed self-confidence, the legacy of years living with his father's prejudiced views. Richie could follow elementary psychology that well, at least.
It might be something innocuous. Maybe nothing to do with him, even. Virgil had his own life. Maybe he hadn't said it yet because it actually wasn't any of his business. "Richie, I want to go to college in New Zealand." "Richie, I like the new Star Wars movies better than the old ones." "Richie, I want to ask Daisy to marry me."
He played them all in his head but none of them seemed right. Who knew, though. He could calculate to the eighth decimal place the probability of his body spontaneously combusting, but this was pure guesswork.
"Richie, I know how you feel about me."
That was the big one. The most likely one, if he had to guess cold with no statistics to back it up, nothing but instinct and a creeping dread.
No, V, I haven't been honest with you. Even knowing how upset you got about my secrets before. Even though you probably have a right to know.
He'd almost said it a couple times. That first night, even, when the truth had first come out. And later, the couple times Virgil had skirted around the issue of what he liked. Who he liked.
'Am I hot?'
Geeze, V, ask someone else. A gay guy who's not in love with you. Don't want biased results, do you?
No, he couldn't help but be grateful that Virgil had stopped the questions. Honesty will only get you so far. It's one thing to come out to one's best friend. It's another thing to mention, "Oh, and by the way, one of the things that really clued me in that I was gay was realizing how much I want you to do me, hard, all night long."
Mid-thought, mid-sentence, he happened to glance at Static, and quickly looked away before he blushed hard enough for V to notice even through the helmet's visor. Though at that moment his friend seemed as preoccupied with his own thoughts as Richie.
He finished the presentation on autopilot, re-enaged his brain enough to answer a few questions before stepping down from the podium, upon which Virgil immediately pulled him aside. Then let go of his arm, just as abruptly, and rocked an uneasy step back, crossed his arms with fake confidence. "So, Gear, we going back to homebase now, for you to keep cracking this thing?" Virgil's eyes weren't meeting his, instead drifting away to fix on a point somewhere behind his left ear. Nervously.
"Er, actually," Richie said, "I'm planning to do the work here at the station--it's easier to access the police database directly, and I have some more questions for the agents. But you don't need to stick around for that."
All of which was entirely true, and besides Virgil looked a bit disappointed but more relieved, so there was no reason for Richie to feel like such a total, pathetic coward as he added, "Uh, I'll meet you at HQ this evening, before patrol."
"Got it," Static said, "see you then," and he paused for only a couple awkward seconds before heading for the door with a wave.
It was after dark by the time Richie made it back to the station, and that had apparently been enough time. He saw it as soon as he walked through the door, and Static was waiting for him. Standing in the center of the garage, facing him, empty-handed, in costume but without his mask.
Virgil had reached some kind of equilibrium; there was an equanimity about his face, the calm of a decision already made. Resolution. Resignation. Richie could have mouthed the words along with him. "We need to talk, Rich."
Except they didn't have time for this now. "Yeah, we do. Sorry I'm so late but I've got something now, and it's big."
"Richie, this is important--"
"So's this. You want to catch these thieves, or lose our last chance?"
"Last chance?"
"We're on a deadline, V," Richie said. "I've finally been over all the data gathered on this gang's activity in other cities. If the thieves strike tonight--and there's an eighty-eight percent chance they will--then there's a ninety-four percent chance that this will be their last heist in Dakota."
His partner blinked, former train of thought derailed. Richie didn't feel guilty. Much. "You mean they're splitting town?" Virgil asked.
"If they follow their previous patterns, yeah. Tonight."
"You know," Static remarked, "since this is kinda urgent, it would've been helpful if you and those FBI brains had mentioned it a little earlier. Like, before tonight!"
"I know, V," Richie said. "And it's my fault, I should've realized sooner that I was missing such crucial information, but I was operating under the assumption that they were being honest with me--"
"Whoa, back up. Who's not being honest?"
"The reason I didn't realize this before now was because I didn't have complete data from the other cities. A few crucial heists were missing--I was going over the dates from St. Canard and realized there were a couple gaps, so I contacted the SC police directly, and they gave me new records. Different information than what I'd gotten before from the agents, and when I queried the other cities I got new stats from them, too. I really should've realized the discrepancy before, but since the FBI model's predictions were so accurate, I figured the information it was supposedly based on had to be, too. I should've seen the elemental design flaws, should've looked at it more carefully..." He'd been distracted lately. Because Virgil had been distracted; they worked so closely together that the lack of concentration was contagious.
Well, and V himself tended to be quite the distraction. Even when he wasn't talking. Breathing was enough. Especially this close.
"Hold it." Especially when his eyes got that particular bright spark of comprehension. One could almost see the electric field surrounding him flicker in reaction; the urge to reach out and touch him, to feel it more directly, was almost overwhelming. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Gear?"
He caught himself. "Depends. Do you think I'm saying that one or both of our FBI allies were deliberately falsifying my data, because they're in league with the thieves? In that case, yes, I am."
"Damn! So what do we do, find the agents?"
"It's probably only one of the agents. This is the first time they've both been on the case together, after all. But I don't know which one, they're both computer-savvy, either of them could have screwed with the data."
"So we go after both of them and sort it out afterwards. Do you know where they were going this evening, before we meet up for the late-night burglar patrol?"
"They didn't say, but it won't be too hard to find out. Backpack, engage tracers."
Virgil rocked back on his heels, looking impressed. "You bugged FBI agents?"
"Not bugs, just a couple trackers. A listening device might have been noticed, but the signal these put out should be low-level enough not to be caught even if they have scanners. I'm counting on you boosting the Mark III ShockVox enough to pick it up."
"No sweat. Allow me." Static took out his own radio and accepted Gear's, held one in each hand and closed his eyes. Electricity hummed, and after a brief moment the red overcharge light blinked to life on both boxes. Backpack gave a quiet beep of confirmation.
"That's it," Richie said, taking back his radio and flipping up the display. "Two signals, both clear. Downtown, looks like, from these readings. They could still be at the station, but if they're elsewhere we can find 'em, as long as they haven't changed boxers."
"How'd you get the trackers in their underwe--never mind." Virgil shook his head. "Don't want to know."
He couldn't resist. "Just used my magic gay powers to get into any guy's pants."
On occasion Richie greatly regretted that Virgil couldn't really blush. His expression still was a picture. "I said I didn't want to know!"
"Joking, come on, man! Those agents? Even if one of them wasn't a bad guy, they're both old enough to be my dad! Agent Kruepke's got no hair! Now, if they looked like, oh, Krycek..."
"TMI, man!" But Virgil was grinning, and Richie didn't need to read his mind to know he was as pleased as Richie, relieved that this could be added to their stockpile of personal jokes and ribbings like it was no different than Virgil's taste for pineapple on pizza.
Only then Virgil's bright grin lowered a few watts, determined resolution folding his brow once more. He hadn't given up yet.
They still had a job to do, though. "Now," Richie said, before his friend could open his mouth, "tonight's heist should be late, after midnight. And it's going to be big, so they might still be planning. Maybe with their agent buddy. Follow him, and if we're lucky--"
"We'll catch 'em all in the act." Static nodded, hesitated only a moment before reaching up to pull his mask down over his eyes. "So let's go get the bad guys."
Virgil took their heroing seriously, too seriously to let personal things get in the way when they had a job to do. Richie had to suppress a sigh of relief when the mask covered that clear resolve.
He was such a coward.
"Hey, V?"
Virgil, heading for the door, turned around. Richie spread his empty hands, defenseless. "You had something to tell me?"
Virgil's eyes slid to him, slid off again as if he were coated in oil, too slippery for his gaze to settle anywhere. "Nothing. It can wait. Stuff to do. And all."
Not the only coward, though. "Then let's get these guys."
Once they were further downtown, the signals resolved at two separate locations, so they split up to each follow one of the agents by air. Static decided to track Agent Statler--"Something about that guy is just not right"--and Gear didn't protest. He would have chosen to follow Kruepke anyway. While he had no solid leads on either agent, circumstantial evidence put the higher odds on Kruepke .
He didn't mention this, of course. Virgil wasn't happy about splitting up anyway. Neither of them were, as a rule, if it were for more than a routine patrol. They were partners; they worked better together than separately. But neither of them could be two places at once, and requesting police backup might alert the agent. Double agent. Especially if he had already recruited one or two of Dakota's finest.
Besides, once in a while it couldn't hurt for Gear to get the limelight for catching the villain. Especially since half the papers still referred to him as "sidekick," no matter how many times Static corrected them.
Though who would get the glory wasn't Virgil's real concern, Richie knew. He had his ego, definitely, but being a superhero wasn't exactly a safe career choice. Teamwork was less dangerous. They probably wouldn't be more than a ten minute flight apart, but a lot could go down in just the time it took to call one another, and even after over two years of Richie being a fellow Bang Baby, Virgil still worried. About Richie. Static wouldn't ever even consider the possibility that something could happen to himself.
Which was the primary reason Richie was hoping Kruepke was their man. He didn't mind Virgil worrying about him--maybe he should want to prove himself, maybe it should be an insult to his masculine pride that his friend wanted to protect him, but he couldn't help but find it...nice of V. Endearing. Cute. He wouldn't admit that aloud in a million years, but it meant something to him, knowing V cared.
It meant a lot to him. Maybe more than it really should. They were best friends, totally natural that they'd want to watch each other's backs. It shouldn't make him have to hide a blush, when Virgil let some thug have it for knocking him down.
He hoped V hadn't ever noticed.
He wouldn't mind Virgil worrying about him anyway, because he spent a good deal of his time worrying about Virgil. That had been a habit even before he became Gear, long before he had any idea that what he felt was more than simply friendship. Static was the coolest thing ever but it hadn't taken him long to realize how dangerous a superhero's life could be. And Virgil was fast, and smart, and his powers were strong, but he took risks, enough risks that sometimes Richie had thought about asking him to stop. Begging him. Or just walking away from the whole thing, though he'd never actually do that, couldn't. But if anything ever happened to Static...
There was quite a lot he wouldn't say in a million years, when you got down to it.
Backpack chimed an electronic reminder that he had successfully triangulated Agent Kruepke's position. Maneuvering over an alley, he cut most of the power to his rockets and dropped to the street, caught himself most of the way down when the tracer signal changed, indicating the second floor of the brick building to his left.
He hadn't been paying much attention to where he had been flying, but these were slums, this roach motel almost certainly condemned. Not the kind of hotel where an FBI man would stay for a month-long furlough, and not at all like the upscale places the thieves had been targeting, either. There was no logical reason for the agent to be here.
Rockets at the lowest, quietest power possible to keep him hovering level with the second story, Gear had Backpack press a microphone-equipped sensor to the brick wall. The amplified sounds played through his helmet's headset, crackling with the building's creaking, footsteps, voices--there. He re-angled the sensor cup and turned up the volume.
"--said we should just forget about it." That was Kruepke's voice. "Not tonight. Maybe not again in Dakota."
"The job is set. It won't be more than half an hour's work, and the take--"
"The take will be thirty years hard time, if we're caught. I'm telling you, that green kid's bright. He figured out something today, it was all over his face, even in that ridiculous helmet. He's likely onto us, and that means Static could be, too. If you have any sense you'll call off the job and leave town tonight."
Bingo.
Other voices chimed in, arguing. Three other men besides the agent. No, four. The place they were speaking wasn't directly behind the wall, maybe one room removed. There was a window a couple feet to his left, but it was boarded over and there was no good way to determine the layout of the floor; there might be no easy access to the gang's room. Without the element of surprise he wouldn't have much chance of taking them alone.
Static might have tried. Static almost definitely would have tried and Richie was glad that the odds had fallen in his favor. If Virgil had followed Agent Statler to the thieves instead, and taken them on by himself...they were professional burglars, not killers or Bang Babies, but they were damn good at crime and like most criminals, they had no wish to get caught. And Kruepke was a trained FBI agent who carried a gun--two, actually; Gear had observed an ankle holster in addition to the Smith & Wesson on his belt.
Virgil wasn't stupid. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to calculate the exact percentile of risk here (only thirty-one point two that he'd actually get shot, and the chances of it being a lethal wound were much lower, but one out of three weren't exactly encouraging odds, either, and bullets hurt like hell) but he'd have certainly realized the danger. But Static would take those odds anyway.
Something about being able to fly made a man feel invincible. Or maybe it was the being able to survive being struck by lightning. Either way it scared Richie, that foolhardiness, or daring, or courage, or whatever it was. He liked it, too; it was one of the main elements of character that made Virgil so absolutely Virgil, and he understood it, felt it himself, the drive to be a hero, to do something, to really make a difference and damn the consequences. But if something happened to Static...
If something happened to Virgil, and Richie hadn't told him, never got the chance to tell him... Even if Virgil didn't really want to know. Even if he'd guessed already. To not have the chance to say it to him...
Not that having the chance was helping, particularly. At least V was trying with whatever secret he had to confess. Richie didn't even know where to begin, and didn't want to. Not when telling him could screw up so much; he'd followed in his head so many scenarios of how it could go wrong. Enough to not even want to try. That hurt, too, but not as much as it might. Virgil was the risk-taker, the courageous one. The hero. He was just the genius.
Kruepke and his men were still arguing--no, probably not his men, not with language like that. Associates, not employees. From the tone of their debate they were going to be here for a while yet.
Rockets tilted so he was effectively leaning against the wall while standing on air, still listening through the receiver, Richie raised the shockvox, flicked it on. "Yo, Static, you there? I've--"
Upon which a gloved hand reached down and plucked the box from his hand, then flung it to the ground. He didn't protest, being unable to speak anymore into it anyway, thanks to the sudden strangling cord around his neck, cutting off his breath.
If he turned his head he would make it worse, but out of the corner of his eye he could see the long shadow of a rope dropped down from the roof, and a dark figure beside him grasping it, standing perpendicular from the wall. "Thought I saw something go by," a harsh whisper hissed in his ear, as the cord tightened around his throat. "Now float down to the ground, nice and slow. And stop struggling, kid. Don't want you blacking out before you and my partners have a chance to chat."
Richie rather preferred to be conscious for that conversation himself. It sounded fascinating. Maybe it could include a tangent about getting distracted by emotional confusion while working a dangerous job. Or the pitfalls of a superhero falling in love with his best friend and partner.
Better still if the conversation would include said friend. Said partner. Live and in person. As soon as possible. Richie was always happy to see Static, but he would be especially glad at this particular juncture. He wouldn't even care if he started blushing.
Virgil, help!
to be continued...
