A/N: I'll be back in two weeks, which means the next chapter should be put up in the early to middle part of July. I'm sorry for the long wait. Take care!
Book III
Backpack's Personal Log (5)
Backpack's Personal Log (6)
From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins (5)
Chapter Three: On-line Chat
Backpack's Personal Log
Personal Log
Date: 8-1-05
Subject: Sean Foley and on-line chat
Batman hasn't been able to find anything yet. I find it interesting that both Richie and Virgil become calmer as time passes. Perhaps that is because humans cannot keep their fear. It must be physically exhausting. Virgil has stopped being angry, at least for now, and Richie is smiling again.
He has started talking with Nightwing and the others, giving me permission to 'listen' to the conversations. I do not trust any of the people Richie is talking to- they have to earn that trust- but I think I like them as I might like an acquaintance. I do not know they well, but so far they are proving to be likeable. In time, they may prove themselves to be Richie's real friends.
As a side note, the KKK in Dakota seems to have gone underground. I have been checking their websites, investigating them, seeing if maybe they were hiding Sean. All of their websites have been discontinued and they have abandoned their meeting hall. Strange. Perhaps Static's and Gear's attention frightened them. I know not.
Backpack's Personal Log
Personal Log
Date: 8-9-03
Subject: A possibility of moving
Richie keeps saying, "I can't move. Not now. I love them. But I love V. I want to move. But I can't." This litany turns back on itself again and again. And, besides Richie, only I hear it, for Richie doesn't want anyone to know he's debating it. The hearing in front of the Children Protection Services board is tomorrow and still Richie cannot decide.
I wish there was a way for him to live in both places. There may be, if the board would agree to let Richie spend some weekends with his foster parents, but that is unlikely. Then again, Richie doesn't need to ask their permission. But no matter what he chooses, he cannot split his time right down the middle, especially once school starts.
Richie's worry is getting to me. I sound a lot like him right now, nervous and tense and with many racing thoughts.
We tried praying, but if God sent an answer, Richie hasn't been able to hear it. I am still not sure I believe in this 'God,' but Richie believes, answer or no answer, and I accept his belief. I wish I could figure out to contact this 'God' and get a few answers. What sort of omnipotent, omniscient being says he will be there for his creations and then doesn't answer? Richie tells me God gave us the Bible so we can learn what he would do. But in a case like this, there isn't much that the Bible says. Richie found one passage, but he isn't sure if it applies to he and Virgil: "For so shall a man leave his family and cleave to his wife." But Richie doesn't know if God even approves of him loving Virgil. Not that he would ever stop loving Virgil, or at least I don't believe that is true. But Richie says that he doesn't think that passage applies to him because he isn't married to Virgil. And Bernadette and John aren't his blood-family, though I personally think that blood doesn't have anything to do with it.
I am worried about Richie. What will he choose, and can he be happy with that choice? I also feel lucky, because I would never have such a choice. I don't love anyone except Richie. But to be human, or at least part of being human, is loving a lot of different people. Not all humans are like that, but I think the majority are.
Richie is coming. I must see what he is thinking now.
From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins/Static Shock
Dear Diary,August 9, 2003
None of us meant for this to be hard on Richie. But he's closer to Bernadette and John than any of us thought possible. He's having trouble deciding who he wants to live with. He has to make a decision by tomorrow and be prepared to plead it in court.
I'm sick of court rooms.
It shouldn't hurt that he's having trouble choosing who to live with. Except it does. Call me a selfish bastard. I already know what I am. But calling myself a name doesn't change the fact that I want Richie right here, under this roof, where I can see him each morning when I wake up and make sure he's the last person I see before I go to bed at night. I mean, Sharon's even agreed to help clean out the guest room. Doesn't Richie appreciate that? (Okay, not fair; Richie doesn't know she promised.) Still….
I know I'm selfish. But all that aside, living here would just be the best thing for Richie. He would so much safer. And he would have me to help him with anything he needs and he wouldn't have to go to a new school and he wouldn't have to fly ten minutes just to get to the gas station. And he would be with people he'd grown up around and he would be able to see me every night. Isn't giving up his foster parents- people he hasn't lived with all that long- worth all that? And if not, isn't living with me worth it?
I'm being unfair. Richie isn't my prisoner. But Pops is right: I want to live under one roof with Richie, a feeling that has nothing to do with wanting to protect him. I just want to be in the same house with him and know that we both live there and that I'll always be able to walk across the hall and see him sleeping if I want.
And we're back to my wants again. I didn't think I was this selfish. Maybe I really should try that on-line chat thing Flash suggested. I don' really have a problem with anger (yeah, and the Moon is made of Burger-Fool cheese). Okay, fine, I need the help. If nothing else, it will pass the time until I'm tired enough to go to sleep.
Chapter Three: On-line Chat
Virgil had to decide on a screen name. He stared at the blinking cursor on the screen for a full ten minutes as he tried to figure out what he wanted to be known as. Shockmaster? Maybe. Electrolad? Definitely not. Lightningmaker? No; too long. He grinned, thinking of something Richie had said once. HVH for High Voltage Hero! Then he shook his head. If Richie's on, I don't want him to know it's me immediately. His grin widened. I'd like to surprise him. So I guess that means I should stay away from the electricity-related screen names. How about KKKbeater? Ditto; Richie would know. Besides, I don't want to get any arguments started. And I'm going on this thing for a little help with anger, right? My screen name shouldn't be so hate-oriented then.
Irgil rested his chin his hand. BPbuddy? He slapped his forehead. Why can't I think of something Richie won't recognize? Daisychain? Uh… no. Just… no. How about Hawkin…. No, wait! Hawk16! It's perfect! Virgil typed his screen name into the box, then chose an easy password: myrichie. Moments later, he was logged into the chat room.
Three others were logged on already. Virgil watched them talk for a moment, reading idle chitchat, it seemed like. Then he took in a breath and typed:
Hawk16: Hi. Is this the anger-management seminar?
Knight: Yes. You are….?
Hawk16: GL asked me to join.
Knight: I'm tracking your location. We don't want anyone on here that we can't trust. So I'll know who you are in a minute, anyway. I'm Nightwing.
Redbird: I'm Robin.
DrH: I'm Gear. Static, is that you?
Virgil blushed, hesitated, then typed:
Hawk16: Yeah. Hi, Gear.
DrH: Welcome to the Society for the Betterment of Superheroes with Anger Issues.
Hawk16: So, what were you guys talking about?
Knight: Just killing time, actually, until Blackbird gets here.
Virgil grinned.
Hawk16: She your sister, Robin?
Rebird: Raven and I chose our names individually.
DrH: And they're both too stubborn to back down. One day, too many people will ask if they've been dating and one of them will have to change.
Redbird: Luckily, no one's done that yet, GEAR.
DrH: Don't shoot me. I'm a civilian right now.
Redbird: So, can I shoot you when you're in costume?
DrH: Unless I shoot you first.
Blackbird: I'm outnumbered, aren't I?
Redbird: Hey, Raven.
Knight: You're not outnumbered. There are two Teen Titans versus the rest of us.
DrH: Two Teen Titnas facing Dakota's funky fresh hero and his good-looking partner. You're the one who's outnumbered, Nightwing.
Knight: Good thing Robin and I have common anger issues.
Hawk16: So, how do we start?
Knight: Well, Static, since you're new, just watch for a little bit. You'll get the hang of it.
oOo
"I'm in!" Tech exclaimed, drawing Hotstreak's attention.
The annoying member of the Night Bree made Hotstreak's blood boil every time he spoke, but his ability to hack was unmatched. He'd been on the Internet for hours, looking for Static and Gear information. At last, he had stumbled on a live chat forum run by and for superheroes. It had only taken him ten minutes to break into the system, extract a name of someone who was trying to log on, block her service and transfer her screen name to his computer.
Sitting back with a satisfied smile on his face, Tech said, "Your name is Blackbird. You're Raven, from the Teen Titans. If you don't type too much, you should be able to stay relatively safe. They're operating on the assumption that you are Raven. Just don't prove them wrong."
Hotstreak scowled. "Get out of my way."
Tech snickered, not bothered at all. "See if I help you again." He left quickly, though, when flames blazed in Hotstreak's eyes.
He turned back to the computer screen and read over the last twenty or so lines of the conversation. Then he decided to make his appearance. The little he knew about Raven was that she was closed-lipped and prone to making wisecracks.
Blackbird: I'm outnumbered, aren't I?
It was obvious from the way the others responded that Hotstreak was accepted at once. Grinning, he read each line. He had always enjoyed playing spy games as a child- not that he'd had much time to play them- and this felt no different. Except now he was eavesdropping on real people- on Virgil and Richie, nonetheless. His grin widened until he looked almost rabid. His eyes flashed as he read each new line and tried to picture what each superhero might be doing at that moment. Where was Richie? Probably in his room at the Corbett's. And Virgil was probably home, but he might not be if Sean Foley was still out there somewhere. The Hawkins' house might not be exactly safe.
He was highly amused by all the talk of "anger." Hey, they should just let it out like I do, then they wouldn't have any issues. Except with the police, but they're easy to avoid. He laughed. 'Course, if they just let it all hang out, they wouldn't be superheroes, would they? I guess there's one way superheroes and the rest of us are alike: we all get pissed off. We just handle it differently, that's all.
Ten minutes after logging on, Hotstreak was laughing hysterically and trying desperately to stay in his chair. Nightwing and Robin were going at it about the Batman, having a regular diss-fest. If Bats could see what they're saying, man the feathers would fly!
In what seemed to Hotstreak like the middle of the birdbrains' rant, Nightwing typed:
Knight: OK. That's it for us. Who's up? Gear?
DrH: Can I skip tonight? The night terrors have let up and-
Redbird: And are you still angry?
DrH: More worried about the court hearing tomorrow.
Hawk16: Have you decided what you want to do?
DrH: NO! Quit asking me!
Hawk16: Rich, I didn't mean
Drh: I'm not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready. I'm just about ready to flip a coin and go with that.
Knight: Hey, it worked for Two-Face.
DrH: Not funny.
Redbird: Seriously, sometimes all you can do is choose one thing and hope for the best. Batman hates that choice, too, but he's had to do it before.
Knight: And even though the choice isn't always right, it will at least teach you how to fix the situation, or give you clues at the very least.
Hawk16: You talked about this with them?
Knight: Cool off, Static. If you can't talk to your anger-management buddies, who can you talk to?
Damn, Hotstreak thought. I didn't know Virgil had such jealousy issues. He typed, unable to help himself:
Blackbird: He needs more than one perspective. Lay off, Static.
DrH: I'm sorry I brought this up. Maybe I should just go and
Knight: No.
Redbird: No.
Hawk16: No.
And, not to be outdone;
Blackbird: No. We're here to work this out.
I'm good. I should be on Geraldo or Judge Judy or something.
DrH: Okay, never mind. Static knows everything I'm feeling, and so do you guys, so you know why I'm worried. Should I really toss a coin? If I can find one, that is?
Hawk16: You could toss Backpack.
DrH: angry face Not funny, Shock-Jock
Hawk16: Sorry. I'll toss a coin for you if you want.
DrH: Thanks, man. Will you bang me over the head, too?
Hawk16: Why?
DrH: So I can get you for spouse abuse. Why else?
Hawk16: Ouch. Low blow.
DrH: Hey, if I have to sink to my opponent's level…. grin I love you.
Redbird: clears throat I thought we agreed not to use the floating stars. Didn't we all decide they just get in the way and can't even come close to expressing what we're thinking?
Knight: They're called asterisks.
DrH: Hey! You spelled it right!
Knight: An education paid for by Wayne Enterprises does come in handy sometimes.
DrH: You just don't want to look dumb in front of the genius.
Knight: Kiss my tail feathers.
Redbird: GETTING BACK TO THE REASON WE'RE ALL HERE… Maybe you
Hawk16: No SHOUTING on line! Isn't that a rule?
Redbird: should try what you haven't tried. And kiss my ass, Lightbulb Boy.
DrH: You mean live with… well, not with who I'm with now. Maybe… It's a better plan than I can think of. Besides, I could still see my parents… Okay, I'll try it.
Hawk16: Just like that? I've been trying to talk you into it for a week!
Knight: Guess you didn't use the right logic. Robin's good with humans that are half machine.
DrH: Hey, the half-machines may outlast the humans. yawn Okay, I'll done. Oops, sorry about the asterisks, Robin.
Redbird: rolls eyes Sure you are. Anyway, it's either Raven's turn or Static's.
Hawki16 : Uh, Pops is calling me. Guess I better go. Night.
Knight: Night, Static.
Redbird: Good night.
Blackbird: Night.
DrH: I love you.
Hawk16: Love you, too. Go to bed before you have a chance to rethink this.
DrH: Yes, Mom.
Hotstreak read the small sign on his screen: Hawk16 has signed off.
Redbird: Seriously, Gear, are you really going to take my advice or did you just write that to get Static off your back?
DrH: I'll never lie to V if I can help it. Anyway, I guess we're done here, huh?
Knight: For now. Will you have a computer when you move in with Static?
DrH: BP will help me with that.
Redbird: Something just crashed. Beastboy and Cyborg are at it again. Later.
Redbird has logged off.
Knight: You sure you're okay?
DrH: I'm getting better. I'm amazed at how well this thing actually works.
Knight: Because you didn't think of it?
DrH: Yeah, that too. I think I'll play on the Internet for a bit before I sleep. Good night, Nightwing.
Knight: Don't let the bat-bugs bite.
Knight has logged off. Now was Hotstreak's chance to ask a question that had been chewing at him since he'd seen Richie's screen name.
Blackbird: Hey, Gear?
DrH: Hey Raven. I thought you went to go yell at Beastboy, too.
Blackbird: I'll go in a minute. I wanted to ask, what does your screen name mean?
DrH: Well, I'll probably have a doctorate in something eventually. And the H is for Static's last name. I'm going to drop mine when I'm eighteen and take on his.
Damn, they've got it bad. Hotstreak snickered.
Blackbird: Oh. Good night.
DrH: Good night.
Blackbird has sighed off.
Hotstreak sat back and laughed until he shook the chair. I'll have to make sure I'm nice to Tech. This is too good to pass up.
Besides, how else could he get this close to Richie and Virgil without either of them knowing it? I'll talk to them face to face, but not until I'm ready.
And why aren't you ready now?
I am. I just… Oh, fuck off, okay? Damn voices. I'll let them know who they've been talking to when I'm damned good and ready. And that'll be when they're ready to handle me. And that could take a while.
oOo
Richie set his suitcase on the floor of the guest room beside the bed. The walls were bare, but Richie knew he would fix that soon enough. For now, it was a relief to be home. He sat on the edge of the bed; it had been made with white sheets and a quilt. Richie traced the stitching that held the squares together and wondered if it was handmade. Smiling a little sadly, he thought, It could be. There's more of a chance of it being homemade here than at my old house.
Someone was coming up the stairs. Richie stood, moving to the open door. Virgil was carrying a desk lamp. He caught sight of Richie and grinned. Gaining the top step, he cross the hall to the open door and handed Richie the lamp. "I have to go find a light bulb, but here's this part, anyway." He glanced over Richie's shoulder at the room. "I'm sorry we didn't have time to fix it up before you got here."
Richie shook his head and set the lamp on the floor just inside the room. "Virg, I made that happen. I couldn't make up my mind until last night, remember? How were you supposed to have the chance to do anything?" He touched Virgil's shoulder. "V, just knowing I'm welcome here is more than I can ask for." He stepped back as Virgil reached for me. "Not yet. We have other stuff to move, right?" He glanced around the room. The bed and the newly acquired lamp were the only pieces of furniture.
Virgil laughed. "No, man. You're going to live in a cell. It's part of your punishment for taking so long to decide." He headed for the stairs, and Richie followed.
Two hours later, Richie had finished putting his clothes away in the dresser and the closet. He had grown up with the idea of keeping things cleans. To do otherwise would be to invite a beating. On a conscious level, he knew Mr. H would never hurt him. But some habits are hard to ignore. Besides, I don't want to seem ungrateful for everything I've been given.
When almost everything else was in its place (he would worry about putting things up on the walls to make them look less bare in the morning) he set a picture of his foster parents- taken by Backpack just before they left- on the nightstand by his bed. Then he knelt by the bed, on the pretext of looking for something, and whispered into the shadows beneath, "You okay, BP?"
Yes, Richie. All is well.
I'm sorry your freedom has been restricted again.
As long as I am near you, I do not mind. We will move our work to the gas station and I will continue to experiment there.
He heard a creak in the hall, then a soft knock at the door. Rising quickly, marveling at the tolerance of a closed door, he grasped the knob and drew the door back, already smiling at whoever happened to be there.
Robert was carrying a picture so that Richie could only see the back. Stepping aside, Richie said, "If there was more, I could have helped. But you said-"
"I wanted this to be a surprise," Robert answered. "And you're not allowed to see it yet. Go downstairs and wait. Sharon and Virgil will be bringing other things up, but don't try to see what they are. Just hang out for a few minutes."
"Okay, Mr. H." What sort of secret does he want to keep?
A pleasant one, it seems, Backpack answered.
And with that thought, Richie had to be content. He left the room. He met Sharon on the stairs, but she was more discreet than her father. Whatever she was concealing was int eh backpack on her back. She threw Richie a mock scowl and ordered him to stay downstairs, out of the way, before disappearing into his new room.
Virgil was the next one to appear, pushing open the door to the basement and flashing Richie a cheeky grin as he tucked something behind his back. "You're going to like this," he teased before dashing upstairs.
Richie leaned against the couch cushions, listening hard. He heard the pounding of a hammer- the picture Mr. H had brought upstairs was being hung- but nothing else that could give him any clues. Closing his eyes, he decided not to worry about it. What was the point, anyway? They weren't doing anything that would hurt him; the days when he had to listen for his father's key in the front door or his footsteps in the hallway were over. Now I just have to keep telling myself that, because it isn't natural yet. Maybe being a crime fighter has made my senses ultra-sensitive, made me jumpy, but I don't think so. It was him. He made me this way. Now all I have to do is change that part of myself and I won't have any tie to him.
His mind went to his mother, as it so often did since he had visited her in the hospital for the first time. Her room had smelled of pristine sterileness, if that was even a word. Sitting by the window, she had been playing with a small, blond-haired girl-doll, rocking it, cooing to it, calling it "my little Richie." He'd almost fled the room right then and there, not even daring to approach her.
But Bernadette had laid a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. He had asked his foster parents to stay out in the hallway, and had turned to demand why she had come in. (His fear was making him angry.) But he'd realized that he, too, was in the hall, that he'd backed right out of the room without realizing it. The astonishing lack of control over his own movements strengthened him; he wouldn't let himself slip like that again.
Instead, he'd smiled at his foster mother, then at his foster father, who stood just behind Bernadette, his own hand on her shoulder. Then he walked back into the room and shut the door. As much to keep himself in as to keep them out.
Maggie Foley had looked up, her eyes bright with a lively curiosity Richie didn't like at all. She cradled the doll closer and whispered, "It's your father, Richie. Do you want to see your father?"
Richie had squared his shoulders, went to her and knelt, putting his hands on hers. "Mom? It's Richie. Can you hear me?"
She blinked slowly. "You've grown," she murmured, and for the first time set the doll aside so she could touch his face. "It's true our children grow in an instant." She laughed, a free, untroubled sound he had never heard. It hurt ot listen to her, even though Richie knew he should be grateful that she didn't sound broken anymore. But she also doesn't sound like my mom anymore.
"Where's your father?"
"At home."
She sighed. "He didn't want to see me, hmm?"
"I didn't invite him."
"Oh, Richie, you're not still fighting with him, are you? Please tell you're both at least still talking."
Richie thought of the trial, how he'd spoken to his father from behind Gear's flace plate. "Yes, we're still talking. It's hard, but we've tried."
She nodded. "I'm glad." She patted his hands, some of her familiar, distracted nature returning. "You were always such a good boy, Richie. You always tried, no matter what that man said. You always tried to do what would make him happy." Then she frowned. "Except for bringing Virgil over for dinner that one time. That was a mistake, dear."
"I know."
She patted his hand again. "But don't worry; it's always been out-of-sight, out-of-mind with your father. I'm sure he's forgotten all about that little fantasy note you wrote." Maggie Foley suddenly met Richie's gaze, and her eyes were narrowed. "It was a fantasy, right? You don't really love that boy, do you?"
What could he have said? "Yes, Mom, it was a fantasy." That might have kept things from happening the way they had. But Richie didn't want to lie to his mother. And she had seemed so lucid, so there, in those moments, that he had temporarily forgotten where she was and what she had been talking to when he came in.
"Mom, I love Virgil. We're dating. Someday we might even-"
She slapped him so hard Richie rocked back on his heels and lost his balance. Now half-lying on the floor at her feet, he stared up at her twisted, enraged expression. She watched her scoop up the doll and thought maybe she would just return to it, call it Richie, and forget him.
"You… You…" She was panting now, staring down at him, her gaze pinning him in place like a fly roasted by the sun concentrated by a magnifying glass. "You'll go to Hell. You know that, don't you?" Then she began to weep. "I raised my boy to go to Hell! What have I done?" But she didn't stumble back from him as he'd hoped. Her expression darkening even more, she whispered, "Sean was right. Your that boy's whore. Oh, God, my son is a WHORE!"
Then she kicked him. Only once, and it was a glancing blow as he was finally ablet o roll away, but it landed, nonetheless. And what hurt more than the blow was the fact that his mother, his distracted, yet kind mother, had dealt it.
His superhero training had clicked on like a safety switch. In a moment, Richie was up and backing towards the door, his hands held up protectively in front of him in case she attacked again. His glasses had gone askew; without dropping his defensive posture, he used one hand to straighten them.
She picked up a water glass and hurled it at him, screaming, "Drink the water of life and be purified!"
He ducked; the glass shattered on the wall. One and had dipped to his belt, searching for the Zap Cap that should have been there. No, it shouldn't be. I'm still Richie, not Gear. And she's my mother, not a Bang Baby. Now he could hear Bernadette and John hammering on the door, trying to get to him. Did I lock the door? Should doors in these rooms lock from the inside? Then he realized that his back was to the door, keeping them out. But he didn't move away from it. Not just yet. An angry wind buzzed in his ears, drowning out other sounds. Drink the water of life and be purified… God, no. He's gotten to her! He did this to her! He made her into a fanatic like him God, please tell me it isn't true. I can accept her hating me for loving Virg, but not this. Please don't let her be like him. She's never said one way or the other unless he was standing over her. Why does she have to give in to all of the lies and hatred now?
His mother took a step towards him, but then sank to her knees. She was clutching the girl-doll in her arms, sobbing against its yarn-hair. "Richie, my Richie…. My baby Richie…"
She had forgotten him again. Shaking, Richie stepped away from the door and opened it. Still watching her for any sudden movements (his instincts wouldn't let go of him quite yet) he inched out of the room and shut the door. Glancing from one foster parent to the other, he laughed suddenly, the unnaturally-high sound hurting his own ears. He stopped abruptly.
"Richie…" John began.
"Wait," Richie answered. He glanced through the door's window and saw that she had regained the chair by the window. There she had resumed her former mood and posture, cradling the doll against her. Baby Richie, he thought. But his anger had faded. Now he only felt sad and husked out, unable to do much more than think those words. It was a struggle to stay on his feet, but he made the struggle. He wouldn't let her see him collapse, if she happened to glance towards the door.
"Okay," he said, turning to face his parents. "We can go now." And without waiting to see if they would follow, he strode down the hallway, his mouth set in Gear's no nonsense, don't-talk-to-me expression. And, after a moment, he heard them following.
"Richie?"
The blonde blinked, coming back to the Hawkins' living room. His living room, if such miracles were to be believed. He smiled up at Virgil. "Hey."
"Hey yourself." Virgil sank onto the couch beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. Lowering his voice, Virgil asked, "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just thinking about my mom. You know, my first one."
Virgil nodded and gave him an extra squeeze. "Do you want to talk or do you want to come upstairs and check out what we've done to your room?"
"We can talk later," Richie answered, smiling. He stood, and Virgil followed him up the stairs. Richie walked into his room, expecting the one picture… but not the ten or so that decorated his walls.
The only thing that had all of them in common was that they all had Richie with at least two of the Hawkins'. He saw a picture of the fishing trip he'd taken with Virgil and his pops two years ago. Next to this was another framed photo, this time of Sharon glaring across the table at two very messy ten-year old boys as Virgil and Richie tore into the chocolate cake Mr. H had bought for Richie's tenth birthday party.
But the picture that caught his eye was an enlarged print. Robert Hawkins and Jean sat behind their children. Including their adopted child. Robert had his hands on an adolescent Sharon. Beside him, Jean was hugging the two small boys from behind. I remember that day. It was the first day I was allowed to come over after being sick for a week. V's moms said she had missed me and she knelt right down and hugged me.
"I think he likes it," whispered Sharon from behind him.
Richie turned, gazing at the three Hawkins'. I won't cry. I won't cry. I won't cry. He pushed his glasses up and rubbed at his eyes. "You're… You're the best," he managed at last."
Robert smiled. "You've been a part of our family for so long, Richie; I wouldn't have ti any other way."
Virgil was grinning like a fool. No surprise there.
Sharon shrugged. "Enjoy it, little brother. Tomorrow I'm back to punishing you for all the noise and disaster you throw at me."
Richie laughed. "Does that mean I can pick on your cooking?"
She scowled. "Only if you want to try making dinner."
To her surprise, Richie answered, "Okay."
There was a short silence. Then Robert cleared his throat. "Richie, you aren't expected to fall right into the chore rotation."
"I don't mind cooking, Mr. H. Really. It's fun. I made the cake you guys had at my birthday party. It's sort of…" He blushed. Why were they all staring at him, even Virgil? Virgil knew he could cook. Didn't he? Where else did he think that cake had come from? "It's a hobby of mine," he finished, staring down at the carpet.
Virgil broke the silence. "Well, I'll try Foley's fast food any day over Sharon's Shake-n'-Bake Cuisine."
His sister scowled at him, but Virgil pretended not to notice. "What about you, Pops?"
"I like Sharon's cooking," Robert answered. "But there's no reason she should have to cook every night." He looked at Richie. "And if you agree to cook sometimes, that will excuse you from dishes."
Richie grinned. "Okay." Not that he minded dishes, either. As long as I don't have to clean the bathrub with my tongue anymore, I'm all set.
oOo
The next night, Robert was drawn into the kitchen by the heavenly smell of something garnished in garlic, onions and a few spices he couldn't identify simmering away happily on the stove. Richie was chopping something on the cutting board (We have a cutting board? Robert thought) and keeping an eye on the concoction on the stove. He didn't seem to realize there was someone in the room with him. He was humming a soft, tuneful melody under his breath.
"Richie?" Robert asked tentatively, not wanting to intrude but unable to keep silent.
"Hey, Mr. H." Richie flashed him a smile, then turned back to his chopping.
"Richie… what is all this?"
"Spaghetti sauce. The pasta's already done, but the sauce needed a few extra things." As he spoke, he dumped the stuff off the cutting board into the pot. "It'll be ready in about ten minutes."
"It smells really good," Robert admitted, wandering over to the stove. "What in here?"
"A jar of Ragu sauce and some extra vegetables and spices and stuff." Richie's expression had changed from happy to nervous. "I'm sorry; I should have asked if you wanted spaghetti. It's just…" He looked down at the floor.
He does that too often, Robert thought. "Richie, I trust you to cook whatever you think is best."
Richie raised his head, his eyes bright. "Really?"
"Yes, really." What in the name of all things good in this world did Sean Foley do to this boy?
"Thanks , Mr. H. That means a lot." Richie turned back to the sauce and began stirring it. He didn't seem to want to talk anymore, and Robert left him to it.
Dinner that night was an almost silent affair as everyone decided to put off talking in favor of putting away as much of Richie's spaghetti as possible.
oOo
As he did every night (and sometimes during the day if he was bored enough to start pacing) Hotstreak slipped into the chat room Tech had discovered. After talking it over, the two of them decided it was too dangerous for Hotstreak to pretend to be someone. It would be better if he spied without being noticed. The venture was a little more risky, but it would allow Hotstreak to relax a little. Who knew pretending to be a superhero you had never met would be so difficult?
He scanned the top of the page before noticing that two people were logged on: Knight and DrH. Some action at last! It had been a rather dull two weeks.
Unless you took into account the new Bang Baby in town, and the fact that Hotstreak had gotten to rub elbows with Lil' Romeo. Yeah, and the kid dissed me.
But he was too happy to see that there would be real conversation today.
Date: August 30, 2003
Webchat #: 164
DrH: Hi, Nightwing. Long time no see
Knight: It's been a long couple of weeks. Every criminal was on vacation in the beginning of August and they all decided to come back at once. What have you been up to?
DrH: Dakota's been quiet as a tomb. Ebon and most of his Meta Breed are still in jail and Hotstreak and Talon have disappeared off the face of the earth. Static and I have had to start working out just to keep in shape.
Knight: I can picture you in shorts and a T-shirt, but not Static.
DrH: Yeah well sometimes it's just me working out. I guess it's been busy for the Teen Titans, too. I've only talked to Raven once and forget Robin. And since Static and I are in the same house, there's really no need for the computer. I came ounce a week for my session, but got nobody last week, and only Raven the week before that.
Knight: So what did the two of you talk about?
DrH: I ended up telling her about my mother. The last time I saw my mother, actually.
Knight: Was it bad?
DrH: Is Batman hard as stone?
Knight: Want to talk about it?
DrH: I'm okay now. Between Raven, BP, Static and a surprise visit from Batman (guess he isn't too busy) I'm pretty good right now.
Knight: Good. Any news on Sean Foley?
DrH: No. Thank God. He seems to have vanished off the face of the Earth.
Knight: Well, we can dream. How's Static?
DrH: He's still flying high after getting to work with Lil' Romeo. Not that I blame him.
Knight: The rap kid? He needed protection?
DrH: Not if he hadn't been wearing a Static costume. I swear, can't Bang Babies tell the difference in height and voice if nothing else? Moron. Anyway, the Leach finally figured it out and grabbed Virg instead.
Knight: Are you going to tell me the whole story or am I just going to have to be content with half-answers?
Hotstreak enjoyed reading the story from Richie's point of view. The blonde explained about a new Bang Baby that had shown up. He sucked out other metahumans' powers and kept them for himself. He'd even broken into the metahuman prison to kidnap Ebon. Like a real leach, this one had to feed regularly. He couldn't keep his powers for more than a few hours. We were just lucky that Ebon was captured and sent back to jail.
Hotstreak grinned, thinking of how he, Ebon and Talon had run away, leaving a weakened, powerless Static to face Leach alone. Not the best thing I've ever done, but I wasn't in the mood to play hero. He snickered. We escaped and shut the door on Static. Then I heard something, turned around, and saw Gear looking down at us. He didn't hit me with a missle, though; he just threw a little grenade with metal cords in it at Ebon. Talon and I scattered, but I don't think Gear wanted to catch us. He could have. Both of us were just as powerless as Ebon and Static. Maybe that was Gear's way of saying "thanks for staying out of trouble" for a month. Who knows? I won't count on that sympathy later, but it was fun to watch Ebon get nailed again while I got away.
DrH: So I'm okay. School starts soon- our senior year.
Knight: Have you picked a college yet?
DrH: I've applied to quite a few, but I'm not sure if I'll take any of them.
Knight: Why?
DrH: Because I'd have to leave V.
Knight: Barbara and I had a similar problem. She went away and I stayed in Gotham to fight with Batman. Alongside Batman. You know what I mean.
DrH: Yeah. You mean fight against him and with him against the world. What happened?
Knight: We broke up. But before you say anything, keep in mind that not all relationships break up because of distance, and many are strong enough to last no matter how far away you are.
DrH: I think V and I are like that, but maybe that's just wishful thinking. And even if we stayed together, could I stand being away from him for so long? Nightwing, this is something I haven't talked with anybody about yet. I'm still trying to figure it out. Do you mind listening?
Not n the least, Hotstreak thought, leaning unconsciously closer to the computer screen.
Knight: Of course not. Go ahead.
DrH: I never thought being gay would be like this. I have all these tendencies to do things my mother did- or should have done. Like enjoying cooking and wanting to stay near my family. I don't really need to go anywhere else to be happy. There's a part of me that knows I want to do something with my life, but at least half of me would be content to stay home and take care of V and raise our children.
Knight: That has nothing to do with being gay, Rich. It's part of who you are. Don't be a shamed of it. I think you are, at least a little. Aren't you?
DrH: Yes. I know I shouldn't be; the feminists would skin me alive. But I feel weird liking those things.
Knight: Not everybody's meant to be the head of a corporation or a big-deal doctor or lawyer. Some people are meant to stay home and nurture. And then there are the people who are meant to do both: establish themselves, then return to the home and care for others. Neither Barbara or I was like that. I something think that was one of the reasons we broke up; neither of us wanted to take care of things at home. It wasn't the only reason, and I'm sure there are couples out there where both people work outside the home all the time, but that's not how it worked for us. And it may not work like that for you and Virgil. Just don't be ashamed of what you want. You deserve to be happy just like everybody else.
DrH: I guess you're right. It's just…
Knight: You weren't raised to believe that.
DrH: No. I wasn't.
Knight: Neither was I. Most men aren't. But that doesn't mean we have to do what we're conditioned to do. We're not rats in a maze.
DrH: You know what?
Knight: What?
DrH: I never thought about that before. I need to go think about it.
Knight: Will you listen to a piece of advice?
DrH: Another? Sure, why not?
Knight: Do your thinking on your own for a little while. I know you do that anyways, but do it for a longer period of time before you talk to anyone. If there's one thing I've learned from Batman, it's that keeping to yourself can actually be a good thing when you have something to figure out that's more concerned with you than with anybody else.
DrH: Okay, I'll try it. How long should I keep quiet?
Knight: Until you figure it out, but no less than a week.
DrH: Thanks. I'm gonna go now. I'm cooking tonight.
Knight: Does Static like your cooking better than his sister's?
DrH: This sounds really conceited, but I think she even likes my cooking better than hers.
Knight: That is conceited, even if it's true. Bye, Gear.
DrH: Bye, Nightwing.
DrH has logged off. Knight has logged off.
Hotstreak sat back and folded his arms. Huh. So Gear had motherly, womanly tendencies? Huh. Hotstreak could have seen this coming. Almost anybody could have seen it coming.
Now he really reminds me of Aunt Sue. He smiled at the connection and added, I don't mind, either. If… WHEN I tell him what I'm thinking, and persuade Static to stop trying to shock me long enough to listen to me, I'll know at least a little bit of how to deal with Gear. Then Hotstreak shook his head. No, what I've just read isn't a way to deal with Gear. It's a way to deal with Richie. I've noticed how Richie's personality carries over into his superhero costume, but there are bound to be differences, too. He might be more prone to fight or more likely to suppress those kinds of feelings.
Nope. I can't deal with Gear yet. But I have a clue to dealing with Richie, and that's a start. Next job: How do I deal with Virgil, Static or both?
A/N: Yay for spying Hotstreak!