A/N: Okay, I didn't know this chapter was going to be this long, but I have a feeling the next one will be even longer. The next chapter will probably be the last, but I'm not quite sure yet. Again, I'll let you know.
A/N2: Please read the warnings for this chapter!
Warning One: It's Christmas, so Christianity abounds!
Warning Two: Hotstreak is not mine, just as none of these characters are mine. If you don't like what I've done to him in this chapter, please write your own story. I accept all flames, but know that I won't change Hotstreak.
A/N3: Okay, now that all that stuff is out of the way, enjoy! And thank you to those who reviewed, and especially those who told me to hurry up and post already.
Chapter Three: Christmas, 2003: Celebrate!
The windshield wipers moved back and forth across the van windows, lulling and hypnotic. They tempted Sean, drawing him towards sleep, but he wanted to be awake for the whole trip. He wanted to spend as much time as he could in prayer. They wouldn't reach Richie before Christmas Day, and he was told they wouldn't launch the attack until after New Year's, but Sean had vowed not to waste a single moment of the journey. He felt like Moses, journeying in the desert as he ran from Egypt. Or Joseph, sold into slavery by his brothers, and now approaching a land he didn't know. But neither of these analogies was exact; the closest was almost sacrilegious, and so Sean shied away from it. But it flitted behind his eyes nonetheless: Mary, Mother of God, riding on the donkey into Bethlehem, ready to give birth to her Maker even if everyone in the world drove her away. He, Sean, was the expectant mother. Inside him, he carried the miracle that would save all mankind. But the only person Sean wanted to save was his own son. And, carrying the hope of Jesus crucified and resurrected, he would bring Richie back to life.
But the happy, feel-good religion had never been the right one for Sean, and he was also willing and ready to deal some Old Testament Judgment to everyone that stood in his way. Like Sodom and Gomorrah, they would fall before the power of God, as wielded by the hand of His most trusted servant, the one who gave himself to continual prayer as he made his pilgrimage. It mattered not that Richie would resist; Simon Pete had resisted, had even denied the Lord three times. Saul had been changed on the way to Damascus, had been remade Paul. If such a thing could happen to a man who had been raised in lies, how much more easily would it be to show Richie the error of his ways? He had the Faithful Foundation; it would be easy to teach him. And if it wasn't Sean was up to that. He wouldn't rest until Richie was safe with him once more. He wouldn't rest in his soul until Richie was at his side, speaking the truth as Sean knew the truth, and condemning those that had hidden the truth from him.
My son is so intelligent and quick; he'll understand. And if it is as the Scriptures say, that my son has become too wise in the ways of the world, then I will teach him the ways of the Word. The Holy Spirit will move in him and Richie will be taken back by God. He will not be left to languish in the land of the dead and the dying. He will be brought back to everlasting life. Sean refused to believe anything else. He had been promised as much, and it didn't matter now if that promise had come from God, from his fellow Klan members or from Sean himself. The important thing was this: a promise could not be broken. Richie would be saved. Richie must be saved.
Prayers for salvation mingled with prayers of fire from the sky. Sean meditated equally on visions of holy rejoicing and descending hellfire. And each vision brought him joy as he dreamed of the future to come in less than two weeks. It is now Christmas Eve, the best time for miracles. All of my prayers will be answered on this night. And even though God hears all prayers and answers all prayers, He will answer these especially swiftly and well, since they are prayed in all desperation on the night of His Son's birth. O God in Heaven, let my Richie be ready to come home when I find him. Let him be filled with righteous anger against his enemies. Let him long for nothing more than peace and his family this night so that he will run to me when I come. Abide in his heart, Lord, and do not let any hurt him. Fill him with joy so that he calls on Your Name in reverence. Prepare his enemies for the fire of Hell, and harden their hearts so that they will have no chance of salvation. Only when they burn in Hell will Richie be safe. Oh Lord, Father of all, hear my prayer in the name of your Son, my Crucified Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
More than a dozen hours passed in this way, and Sean tuned out the slapping of the windshield wipers as he continued to pray and call on the Lord. His prayers were heard, though perhaps Sean would come to wonder if he should have been more specific.
oOo
Richie gazed at his reflection in the mirror, taking in the black suit coat, the grey pants and the white shirt. Grinning at the smiling teen in the mirror, he tied his tie and surveyed the result with a critical eye.
You look very handsome, Richie.
Thanks, BP. Richie wrapped himself around the presence in his mind. I love you. I'll be back by one A.M.
I will watch out for you, Richie, as always.
Gear? Any news on Brainiac?
No. The link between Brainiac and Backpack is still down. I think Brainiac found another way to achieve its goals.
Richie nodded. Okay. That means my plan may not work just the way it was devised. All we can do is hope Brainiac will show itself soon. Whatever happens, I have to make myself Brainiac's target.
There is one way to make sure Brainiac will come looking for you, Gear said. That's what you want; that's the first step.
Will this first step be dangerous?
For me, yes. But I'd be in no more danger than if Brainiac had simply come to you. And maybe less, especially if Brainiac thinks I can be trusted.
You're going to make friends with him, or at least allies, aren't you? Richie closed his eyes, considering. It could work. We could even get further if you did that. But, Gear, no offense: I don't trust you not to support him.
Brainiac would kill Virgil, who I love. For that reason, and possibly no other, I wouldn't help Brainiac, no matter what it promised. A pause, then, Richie, are you worried about me? I thought you hated me.
Sighing, Richie smiled sadly. It's like V said: I have a loving heart, arrogant and simplistic as that sounds. I can't hate you. I don't trust you, but….
Richie, if I ever have the opportunity to fuse with some of Backpack's artificial intelligence, I'll be touched by that. For now, I'm just grateful.
Maybe you're already touched and don't know it. Richie took in a breath. All right, Gear; make friends with Brainiac. I'll see you in a few days. Are you sure you can jump from my mind to his?
Just give me a moment to force open the link between your mind and Brainiac.
Let me sit down first. Richie went to his bedroom door, locked it, then sat in his desk chair. Closing his eyes, he tuned out the world around him. As he opened his eyes in his mind, Backpack drew him close, hugging him, protecting him.
Will this hurt? the robot asked.
It might, a little, Gear said. Are you ready, Richie?
Just do it. Richie gritted his teeth against any cry of pain and watched as Gear found the newly-repaired connection in their shared mind.
Gear paused, turning back to gaze at Richie.
What's wrong? Richie extricated himself from Backpack for the moment and laid a hand on Gear's shoulder.
I just don't understand you, Richie. You could just leave this up to the Justice League. You could just let everything go, including Backpack and me. Why don't you do that? Why do you have to put yourself in danger and save the world? If I was you, that's what I would do. I wouldn't give up my life for the billions of people who wouldn't understand the sacrifice or appreciate it. How can you just give yourself over to possible death? What have they ever done for you?
Gear, do you really want my answer? You're going to hate it.
I'd like to hear it anyway. I'd rather go to my own death knowing all of my burning questions are answered.
Jesus gave himself for everyone. And I love Jesus. I swore to follow Him to the best of my ability. And, aside from my dedication to God and to Christ, I can't abandon V. The same love you have for Virgil is in me, Gear.
Gear grasped Richie's hand and enclosed it in both of his. If I don't come back, take care of Virgil for both of us. And please tell him I loved him.
I will.
Richie stepped back when Gear released his hand. Backpack at once wrapped himself around Richie again, protecting him as best he could.
Gear offered them a salute that was only half-mocking. Then he turned, ripped open the hole, and disappeared through it.
Richie's head spun and his stomach clenched. He covered his mouth with his hand, not wanting to throw up; some of what happened in his mind happened in the real world, and Richie had an idea that throwing up was one of those.
Richie, Backpack began, I must close the-
But the lesion in Richie's mind sealed itself and Richie sagged against Backpack, all his strength gone for a moment.
Richie? Richie?
"Richie! Richie, what's wrong? Richie, please…"
Shivering, Richie came back to himself. Swaying, he gripped the solidity of the desk chair and leaned forward, gasping. Sharon was outside his door, pounding on it. Soon, her father and Virgil-
Rich? I can hear Sharon all the way downstairs. What's wrong?
Gear went off to infiltrate Brainiac. Richie pushed himself to his feet. I locked the door so no one would come in and see me while I was 'out.' He unlocked the door and opened it. Sharon was just getting ready to hammer on the door again; her eyes were bright with fear and when she saw Richie, she embraced him so tightly that he swore his ribs might crack.
"Don't scare me like that again, little brother," she ordered.
Due to certain circumstances, Richie and Virgil hadn't told Sharon their secret. So there was no way Richie could explain what had really happened. Maybe it would have been easier if we told her, he thought.
Are you out of your tree? Virgil cried. Trust me; it's better this way.
Huh. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He decided not to invent a story unless she demanded one. "It won't happen again."
She shook her head and held him at arm's length. "Well, at least you're dressed." She fussed with his suit, straightened his tie, then dragged him into the bathroom so she could comb his hair. His golden locks didn't stay where she put them, so she gave up after a few minutes.
Good thing Pops was outside, Virgil sent. He doesn't need to be sacred about you anymore. Are you sure sending Gear was a good idea? Won't he double-cross us?
No. He loves you, Virg. He would do anything to protect you, and he knows that joining Brainiac would kill you.
He loves me?
Yes. As much as I do. You're the only person he cares about besides himself. I guess that's one way he's different from Brainiac; he has someone to love.
Is he hurt that I don't love him?
As you said once, Virg, you love both of the voices in my head. Richie chuckled. Just like me, you love Gear, even if you don't trust him.
That's confusing, Rich.
Don't I know it. Now, are we ready for church or what?
Yeah, we're ready, as soon as you and Barky get down here.
Shaking his head, laughing, Richie said, "We should probably get going, Sharon."
She sighed. "I guess your hair is a lost cause." She left the room and Richie followed, still chuckling.
oOo
Hotstreak watched Richie and Virgil leave their house, accompanied by Mr. Hawkins, Sharon, and Sharon's boyfriend, Adam. Hidden within the confines of a trench coat, a hat pulled down over his eyes, he straddled his motorcycle, ready to follow them. They're going to church, probably, since it's Christmas Eve. That's cool; I can slip in the back, watch them and half-listen to the service. And if the church gets dark so the candles can be lit as a symbol of hope, I can probably find my way to where they are and sit with them. Unless they're surrounded by their family. Well, so maybe I'll have to sit a row back. I'll find a way to let them know I'm still there. As the motorcycle roared to life, Hotstreak snickered. Maybe I'll write something like "the Phoenix is back" on a hymnal. Then he laughed, hard, as he imagined Richie opening the hymnal, seeing his writing, dropping the book and looking around for him while all the time the pastor tried to preach. Okay, so maybe I won't do that. Maybe I'll just wait until after the service, then try to catch their attention before they go home. They'd still have to go home, but they could sneak out afterwards and I could tell them…
Tell them what? That I'm ready to do things the right way? I'm not quite ready for that. Maybe I'll just ask Richie if he's figured out how all the Bang Babies can keep their powers. But hat wasn't enough, and Hotstreak knew it. I want to be with them. I'm sick of being without them. I want to kiss them. I want to hold them. I want to see them smile at me. And so what if I have to give up being a delinquent? It's a small price to pay to wake up in the morning with the two of them in my arms. If I can keep my powers, I'll find a way to deal with being good. I can give up police chases and anger for them. Hey, this is the season of miracles, right? Anything's possible.
Hotstreak shook himself, coming out of his reverie. He didn't want to lose the car in front of him; do that, and he could kiss all his dreams good-bye, at least for a little while longer. I've waited too damn long. I need them. Tonight. Grinning, he sent up a half-conscious prayer of thanks. Not knowing where he was sending it, not caring, he rode on, his eyes dancing with pictures of the near future. I love you, Virgil. I love you, Richie. Soon, I can tell it to your faces. Then you'll tell me you love me and we'll hold each other. I'll kiss you, Virgil, and then take off Richie's glasses and kiss the bridge of his nose. Hotstreak blushed at the romantic notions, but couldn't quite put them out of his head. Half dizzy with dreaming, he almost missed the last turn to the church. Shaking his head, forcing the thoughts to continue their run under the surface of conscious thought, he parked the motorcycle in some bushes- it was a stolen bike, after all; being in love didn't make him rich- and headed for the front doors of the church, which stood open so people could swarm in. An errant breeze caught his hat just before he stepped inside and it flew away. Groaning, Hotstreak put up the collar of his coat and slunk inside, hoping no one spotted him.
The sanctuary was unbearably warm and Hotstreak cursed his luck. He snagged a hymnal and a bulletin from one of the ushers at the door, then moved towards the wall, thinking to hide in the back as best he could. He found himself hoping the lights would be dimmed soon and the candles would get lit even before the service started.
But all thoughts of hiding himself melted away, at least for the moment, when he spotted Virgil and Richie taking seats in the middle section of pews. They sat towards the front, though not at the very front, with Virgil's father and sister. Also with them were Bernadette and John, though Hotstreak couldn't remember either of those two going to church. When Richie lived with them, they had dropped him off. Okay, so I watched every weekend. I wanted to make sure Richie was all right. So I was in love, even then, and denying it. So sue me. Hotstreak made his way to the pew just behind Virgil and Richie, wishing he looked a little more normal. Everywhere around him, people were dressed in their best, and here he sat in an old coat and tattered pants. Not to mention a T-shirt that's seen much better days. At least I snuck into a YMCA earlier today, took a shower and washed my clothes. Far better to smell like ivory soap than whatever I smelled like before.
Virgil and Richie were talking in whispers. Hotstreak blocked out the chattering of the people behind him- so far so one was desperate enough to sit next to someone they didn't know- and focused only on the voices of the two he loved. Sharon and her father had left for a moment. Richie's and Virgil's whispered words faded in and out.
Virgil: "…not back in two days, we call the J…."
Richie: "Give… more time, V. We can trust…"
Some lady in the row behind Hotstreak: "Oh, baby, you look so cute! Who dressed you up? Did you mommy do your hair? Oh, baby, it's…"
"…not as if he's proved himself trustworthy."
"He loves you; we can trust him." Richie turned his head suddenly and Hotstreak wanted to shrink back. But Richie didn't see him; he was looking up at Sharon and Robert as they approached, carrying hymnals for Bernadette and John. And a moment after the Hawkins were all seated, the service began.
"Stand, please, for the singing of our first hymn, page 388."
Hotstreak stood with everyone else, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than necessary. I'll just mouth the words and get through this thing. He hadn't expected to feel so uncomfortable, and he was starting to sweat under the trench coat.
The opening was played on the piano just as Hotstreak found the page. Silent Night. Well, that was to be expected. Now I'll just- But his thoughts dissolved as quickly as his desire to hide in the back had only a few moments ago. The congregation had started to sing. Richie's crystal-clear voice carried back to him and Hotstreak didn't even bother to mouth the words as he drank in the sound of Richie's passionate singing.
Gradually, Hotstreak became aware of Virgil's rich baritone and he listened to the two of them as they sang as if the words they sang really meant something to them. As if they firmly believed in miracles and didn't mind sharing that belief with everyone around them. Hotstreak sank down into the pew and closed his eyes as the voices swept over him, moving him, drawing at him, compelling him to do something, though he hardly knew what.
The hymn ended much too soon for Hotstreak's taste, but before he could come more than halfway out of his daze, the singing started again. His fingers feeling numb, Hotstreak flipped the pages until he came upon "What Child is This?" Then his body gave up any pretense of paying attention to anything except Virgil and Richie and he sat stock-still, his eyes drifting closed once more. It seemed to him that Richie's voice was like the dancing froth on the crests of ocean waves and Virgil's was akin to the strength of the tide that drove the waves. Sinking further into his reverie, Hotstreak imagined that eh was being carried on the waves, his fire unquenched by the water, exultant cries being torn from his lips as he gazed up at the thousand stars. But his eye was drawn to one star in particular, one that shone much brighter than the others. Hotstreak sent his cries up to it, thanking it for everything he'd been given.
He came awake with a start. Everyone around him was sitting down and the pastor was asking for the ushers to get ready to receive the offering. Well, here's one way I'll stick out. They'll see I don't have anything. Hotstreak cursed the warmth that made it all too tempting to fall asleep, the same warmth that muddled his thinking. He shrugged out of his coat and just hoped no one would recognize him. He didn't want to fall asleep again. What if he snored?
The pastor resumed as the ushers came forward. "Oh, most holy God, receive our offerings that we give gladly in Your Name. Amen."
"Amen," murmured the congregation, and Hotstreak was shocked to discover the word had come out of his own mouth as well. It must be the heat.
The pastor had blessed the fake velvet bags and was turning again to the congregation. "And now, as we prepare to worship the Lord with our tithes and offerings, Richie Foley will sing our offertory hymn."
Hotstreak sat up straight, his eyes going immediately to Richie's empty place in the pew ahead of him. Triple-cursing the close heat, he looked to the front of the church. The piano was beginning to play as the ushers made their way down the aisles.
Richie stood a little to one side in his suit coat and trousers, his hands held up in prayer. His eyes were closed, but as the accompaniment progressed, he opened his eyes and seemed to meet each gaze in the congregation. His hands drifted down, but remained animated. He smiled the radiant smile of a man who knows and counts his blessings daily. "I wonder as I wander/Out under the sky/How Jesus the savior/Did come to die."
The world opened up around Hotstreak; he couldn't have explained what that meant if asked, but he knew it was true. He didn't close his eyes this time, but was caught by the love in Richie's eyes and the expressive movement of the younger man's hands, so white and fragile in the light. Only then did Hotstreak realize that the lights had been dimmed slightly, encouraging all eyes to turn to the stunning angel in front of the altar.
"To save lowly people/Like you and like I/I wonder as I wander/Out under the sky." Richie's eyes widened suddenly and Hotstreak realized he'd been spotted. The pianist continued, unperturbed, and it was a good thing that there was a small interlude between verses. Richie took a step forward and reached out with one hand, his eyes filling with tears. But he smiled through his tears and came in just when he was supposed to. "When Jesus was born/It was in a cow's stall/With shepherds and wise men/And angels and all." His eyes went to Virgil, then back to Hotstreak. Again, he took a step, and his gaze pleaded with Hotstreak to hear something, to understand something. "The blessings of Christmas/From heaven did fall/And the weary world woke/To the savior's call."
More piano. Richie relaxing a little, scanning the congregation again, meeting every gaze once more. But when he sang the last verse, his eyes were drawn back, first to Virgil, then to Hotstreak. His tears hadn't disappeared, and he hadn't wiped them away. One brimmed at the corner of his eye, ready to fall. "I wonder as I wander/Out under the sky/How Jesus the savior/Did come to die/ To save lowly people/Like you and like I/I wonder as I wander/Out under the sky." Everything stopped for an instant, frozen like a far-of star in the night sky, shining but unable to move on its own. Then Richie sang, unaccompanied, "To save lowly people/Like you and like I/I wonder as I wander/Out under the sky."
Another beat of silence, in which Richie bowed his head and folded his hands in that same praying position. Hotstreak noted- though how he could done so when his mind was so overwhelmed was beyond him- that three out of the four ushers hadn't gotten past the first two rows of parishioners, attesting to the fact that they, too, had been arrested by Richie's song.
Richie swayed; reaching out without looking, he caught hold of the piano to steady himself. His tears were flowing freely now and he kept looking between Virgil and Hotstreak.
For his part, Hotstreak was afraid Virgil would turn around and stare, wanting to see who Richie was looking at, but it seemed Robert's son had more discretion than that. He reached back with one arm, as if just to flick something off his coat (though this looked strange enough, since almost everyone else seemed unable to move) and reached for Hotstreak's hand. Hotstreak touched Virgil's fingers with his own and smiled when Virgil squeezed his hand briefly before returning his hand to his lap.
Glancing up, Hotstreak was in time to see Richie stepping away form the piano. The spell was broken. Parishioners in almost every pew stood to applaud him. Richie first looked to Heaven, as if for strength, or maybe in gratitude, then bowed. He had to endure another minute of clapping before everyone consented to be seated so the offering could continue. The pianist played something soft, maybe it was "What Child is This?" but no one noticed. Probably even she didn't notice: her eyes followed Richie as he descended the two steps and moved down the aisle. Hands dropped envelopes into the velvet bags without really looking. All eyes, it seemed, were on Richie as he reclaimed his place between Virgil and Bernadette.
And when the velvet bag came to Hotstreak, he waved it aside and the usher didn't seem angry or annoyed as Hotstreak had thought; he, too, seemed lost in thought.
More words poured over Hotstreak as the service continued, words of thanksgiving to God, and then everyone rose to sing another hymn. "O Little Town of Bethlehem" this time, and Hotstreak found himself tempted to sing. He knew the melody and some of the words; he'd heard the hymn on a CD he'd stolen once. He hesitated through part of the first verse, but when Richie reached back, his hand resting on the back of the pew, and Hotstreak touched the warm fingers, his courage suddenly blazed and he opened his mouth. I'm not the best singer, but I'll try. "Yet in thy dark streets shineth, the everlasting light/The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight."
Hotstreak lost track of the next verse as Virgil's hand joined Richie's and suddenly Hotstreak was touching both of them, enjoying both of them, relishing their touch even as he relished their voices. Well, Virgil's voice, at least for the first half of the second verse. Richie had temporarily lost his ability to sing. But then Richie sang the last line of that verse, and Hotstreak glanced back down at the hymnal. Surprised, he realized that the verse he was hearing was the first. Shrugging, he sang the first verse all the way through this time, loving it because Richie and Virgil were signing, too. And loving it because something in the music gave him that opened-world feeling again. Used to accepting things- his reactions, the injustice of the world, his hunger for danger and excitement- Hotstreak drank in the feeling like win without bothering to wonder where it came from.
Then the hymn was over and the pastor called for "all Christian believers" to join him in Holy Communion. Hotstreak sat down heavily and groaned. He didn't want to let Virgil and Richie slip away, even for a few moments.
Well, if you asked Jesus into your life, you'd kill two birds with one stone- a really bad expression, considering what you're about to do. Not only could you follow Richie and Virgil now, but you'd have, just possibly, a way to help your anger and keep you with them. If practical, scientific, clear-headed Richie and "I can take care of myself" Virgil believe in God, and Jesus, maybe there's actually something to this. And it's not as if you're signing away your life, right? You can always go back if you decide you don't like it.
Hotstreak couldn't think of an argument to that, if only because the opening-world feeling was blooming inside him like an unfurling flower. Okay. I'll do it. To be near them. And if I don't like ti, I can go back, right?
Right.
The church was taking communion in rows, starting at the back of the church. Hotstreak swallowed when those in the row ahead of him had moved into the aisle. It was now or never. He put his coat on again, grateful that the lights hadn't been turned back to full, flipped up his collar, and prayed no one would see him. This is Richie's and Virgil's night, God, as much as it's the birthday of Jesus. Can you please not let anyone else recognize me? I don't want to ruin this. He frowned. Something was missing. Oh, yeah. Amen. And I want to know you, God. I want to meet you and find out how you've made your way into Richie's and Virgil's lives. So here I am, giving myself to you. Just please help me do what's right by Richie and Virgil. I know you love them, so protect them from anything stupid I might do. Thank you. Another pause. Amen. Again.
He shuffled forward, following the woman in front of him and hoping he'd know what to do when he got to the altar. Maybe I should have waited for Richie and Virgil to go first so I could watch them. But that wouldn't have worked. Sighing, Hotstreak vowed to watch the woman in front of him. She'd show him what to do.
With a rustling of fake silk, she stopped before the altar and bowed. Then she went to the railing and knelt there. There wasn't space for Hotstreak. He glanced around nervously, unsure what to do. But then he saw the pastor serving communion to those and at the altar and realized that he'd be the first one to kneel when those at the altar cleared. And Richie's father is going to be right next to me. Okay, God, now's the time for a miracle.
The altar cleared. Hotstreak went up the two steps and knelt, bowing his head to hide his face. He heard someone moving towards him and turned his face away a little too, just in case.
Then he felt the nudge at his side and glanced up, surprised. Richie was grinning at him. Gesturing with his head, Richie led Hotstreak's hands to the blonde's hands, which were resting on the railing before the altar, cupped as if to receive something. Hotstreak imitated him, then bowed his head again in case someone else noticed and recognized him. How did Richie come to be the first in line? Well, I got my miracle. Thanks, God. Now, next one: just get me out of this church unidentified by anyone else.
The pastor came. He laid a wafer in Hotstreak's cupped hands. "The body of Christ, the bread of Heaven," he intoned, before moving on to Richie and repeating it. The wafer looked more like paper than anything else and Hotstreak was tempted to pick it up so he could examine it, or stick it in his pocket for later. Had the pastor called it bread? Maybe he'd given Hotstreak the little paper cap on a can of communion bread by mistake. Was there such a thing as cans of communion bread?
"Amen," Richie murmured, addressing the pastor. Then he nudged Hotstreak. "Eat it," he whispered.
Hotstreak did, chewing quickly, reflecting that the wafer tasted sort of like a rice cake without the satisfying crunch. And without the little spread of peanut butter Aunt Sue always put on top of mine. He glanced up as a man in a black robe covered by a while stole presented him the rim of a large chalice, saying, "The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation."
Well, if I didn't know that was metaphorical, I'd be seriously grossed out. Hotstreak sipped from the cup and hoped no one had drunk from it that had a cold. Peeking to his left as he bowed his head, he saw the man wipe the rim with a white cloth before offering the cup to Richie. Okay, I just ate the body of Christ and drank his blood. Does that mean I'm saved yet? But any sarcasm that might have accompanied this thought was swept away by that opening-world sensation and Hotstreak answered his own question. Yeah, I'm saved now. I don't get how, or why God would give a shit about me, but I'm saved.
And he knew something else that should have scared him but didn't: There's no going back now.
Richie stood and Hotstreak copied him, following Richie and the others back to the pews. Robert and Sharon were standing at the beginning of their pew, waiting for Richie to file past, as Virgil had already done. They're not taking any chances with Richie, not even in a church. Hotstreak he liked how the two Hawkins thought. He slipped past them as they went in after Richie and sat behind the blonde and Virgil once more.
The lights were dimmed a little more and candles were passed out. Hotstreak discreetly lit his so he wouldn't have to look at anyone to get a flame from their candle. The lights went out so only a sea of candles could be seen, along with the vague, faintly angelic figures of people. Hotstreak's mind jumped around like a squirrel on a hot griddle while the pastor gave the sermon, so he missed most of it. That didn't seem to matter. The feeling hadn't left him, and Hotstreak knew that even when it did, he wouldn't be able to forget. Still not really caring, knowing he'd find out more about it at some point, Hotstreak sat back and relaxed. And when the last two hymns came, he stood with everyone else and sang them. The first one passed out of his memory, but the second stuck, if only because everyone was asked to join hands and Richie and Virgil both reached back to take his hand.
Even then, no one noticed that they were reaching back. No one noticed Hotstreak. Geez, when you do a miracle, you really do a miracle, don't you, God? Not that I'm complaining. And, just in case Hotstreak was supposed to say it, even though he wasn't sure if it was the right time: Amen.
The last hymn was "Amazing Grace."
When this last was over, everyone tried to talk at once, and many struggled to make their way to Richie. Hotstreak slouched down in the pew, bowing his head as if in prayer, and listened as Richie was complimented again and again. And he heard Richie say the same thing to many of those that told him what a beautiful voice he had: "All praise to God." Maybe it makes him less embarrassed to have so many people fawning over him. He couldn't quit believe that; Richie was just honest enough to admit when he did something right. So if it's not that, then it must be that Richie really means what he's saying. Wonders never cease. Now I've got to know what it means to believe in God. He'd met a few Christians in his lifetime, and none of them seemed as thoroughly dedicated as Richie. Maybe Virgil's like this, too. I'll have to ask him.
Slowly, the crowds dissipated. Hotstreak left the sanctuary at a discreet distance, thinking he would catch up with Richie and Virgil when they got back home. But at the door, he spotted someone who looked vaguely familiar. Hotstreak couldn't place the face, though it reminded him of the horrid smell of hospitals. His sense of unease deepened. The man was standing a little away from the pastor, who was shaking hands with people as they left.
Richie and Virgil started past the unknown man, and he reached out, catching hold of Richie's arm. "Excuse me, son, are you Sean Foley's boy?"
Virgil moved at once to break the man's hold, but Richie pulled away, starting again for the front doors. And when Virgil looked back at the man, Richie turned and caught his hand, pulling him away as if Virgil was an errant child.
The man smiled after them and shook his head. "Youngsters," he muttered. Then he turned and made his way, upstream, back into the emptying sanctuary.
Hotstreak scowled at the man's back, and, after a moment, decided he needed to know who the man was. Maybe just a curious person, maybe some Richie's father worked with. But maybe not. And that hospital smell kept intruding on Hotstreak's brain. He slipped into the large room, trying to look as though he'd forgotten something. The man- he was a little plump, with black-grey hair and a grey, three-piece suit- was striding towards the altar as if it held all the answers. Maybe, for him, it did. Hotstreak moved between two pews so he could come towards the altar from the side. When he was closer, he saw the man take out a cell phone. Hotstreak dropped to a crouch and scuttled behind a dozen pots of poinsettias. It was a tight fit between the plants and the wall, but he managed it. Now he was near to the railing where he'd taken communion. Unable to see the man anymore, he could still hear him pushing buttons on his phone.
"Hello?... Brother Eustace, it's me. The boy's here at St. Paul's Episcopal. He sang a secularly-written carol that profaned the whole service. That n--- boy has done more damage than we thought…. Not until then?... Well, no, I don't think he's in any immediate danger. The n--- seems intent on keeping him away from everyone else. And Sean's son wasn't bruised or even too thin. Looks like the n— boy keeps a good eye on his whore… No, I'm safe here… Yes, I'll watch for him. They left together, him and his keeper. Maybe they're even living together. They arrived together… No, of course not. You know I'm better than that. They have no idea they're being watched…. Don't worry; I'm going to go home now and pray and make sure I read the Holy Scriptures until dawn. I'll be all right…Yes, I'll see you soon. I'll try to find out where the boy lives. Are you still going to…? I'm sorry. But I promise you, I'll all alone in here except for God, and He approves… Yes, of course. We can't be too careful…. Bye."
He closed the cell phone (Hotstreak heard the soft click) and started back up the aisle. Peeking around the leaves of the poinsettia at the end of the row, Hotstreak watched him go, strolling at a slower pace, smiling like a man who has just enjoyed a good service and was just offering up a last little prayer. It was all Hotstreak could do to hold still until the man was gone.
He's going to hurt Richie and Virgil! Richie's father's coming back, probably with more KKK for backup, and they're going to… to what? Take Richie back to his father, at the least. And the way he talked about Virgil… They might want to hurt Virgil, too. Hotstreak crept back down the side aisle, hoping the grey-suit man was gone. I can't let him know I heard. They might try to strike sooner. And, at least for now, they may be waiting. I think that's what I heard. He poked his head out into the foyer outside the sanctuary and saw that it was deserted except for the pastor, who was working at a small desk off to one side. Maybe I can sneak out. Hotstreak started across, careful not to make one sound. But when he was halfway, the pastor glanced back, as if he'd known Hotstreak was there all the time.
"Excuse me, young man, but would you mind if I asked you a question?" He stood and held out a hand to Hotstreak.
The lights were bright in the foyer. Doesn't he recognize me? What's protecting me now? God, I didn't mean no one will ever recognize me again! "Yeah?" Hotstreak shook the outstretched hand, unsure of what else to do.
"I've been told something remarkable happened to you tonight. Were you saved, by any chance?"
Hotstreak opened his mouth to deny any such thing, but then he remembered the opening-world sensation, and the compulsion to pray that had come over him, was, in fact, still influencing him. "Yeah, I'm saved. So what? It's not like I understand it or anything."
"Would you like to understand it?"
Before he could stop himself, Hotstreak said, "No. Richie and Virgil will teach me." Shit! Why did I say that? What's he going to think now, especially if he recognizes me?
The pastor's smile was uncomplicated. "I'm glad. Richie and Virgil are both wonderful young men." He took a small step back. "You're free to come here anytime. There's almost always someone here. I like to think we're one of the few churches that are open right when people need them, not just on Sundays." He held out his hand again and Hotstreak shook it. "I'm Pastor Darren Moore. Can I have your name?"
Oh, here we go. "Uh… no. You can't." Hotstreak started for the door again. "I hate my name," he added, glancing over his shoulder. Then he pushed the door open, leapt down the steps and jogged across the parking lot to where he'd hidden his motorcycle.
On the way back to Virgil's house, he only got lost once. But getting lost at all annoyed the hell out of Hotstreak and by the time he reached the Hawkins' it had started to rain as well. Great. Just great. What else can go wrong? He hid the motorcycle behind some bushes in a nearby park and walked to the house. Creeping around the side, he glanced up at the darkened windows. The light was still on in the living room, though, and so he crept to the window, amazed that the curtain hadn't been closed.
The scene inside made Hotstreak think of a stereotypical Christmas postcard, but even as he scoffed at the sentimentality of it all, he wanted to be part of it. Oh, and there's one difference between most family-together Christmas cards and what I'm seeing: in the pictures, everyone is almost always white. Here we have a nice mix: three of one, four of the other. He cupped his hands around the sides of his face and hoped that no one would notice him. He had crouched down low and was hovering near one corner, hoping he would be missed. Likewise, he hoped no one would drive by.
A decent-sized tree stood in one corner, covered over with lights and ornaments. Hotstreak studied it briefly, smiling at the obviously child-made ornaments. His eyes traveled to the angel on the top of the tree, then moved to the tree's base, where a small pile of presents were scattered about. But these didn't hold his attention for long. At once, he looked to the center of the room. Bernadette and John sat, squished together, on the couch. Virgil sat on the arm of the sofa, and Richie sat in front of the couch, leaning against Virgil's legs. His eyes were closed. Sharon and Robert were sitting in two chairs that had been drawn close to the couch. Adam sat on the arm of Sharon's chair, his fingers interlaced with hers. John was speaking, but Hotstreak couldn't hear what was said. But it must have been funny, because everyone started laughing. Virgil tottered on the arm of the sofa and Richie's eyes opened and sparkled with mirth as he turned to glance up at his foster father.
Suddenly, Richie froze. It was only for the barest instant, and no one except Virgil and Hotstreak noticed it. Then Richie was jumping up and gesturing towards the kitchen. Virgil followed him. The others turned to watch them, but didn't follow.
Do the Hawkins have a kitchen door? Hotstreak jogged around the side of the house to the back. No door. But then he saw Richie's pale, drawn face at the window. Richie pointed up and Hotstreak followed his finger just in time to see the lights go on in Virgil's room. The window opened and Hotstreak climbed the tree beside the house, not wanting to alert anyone by using his fire powers to fly up.
When Hotstreak was high enough to see into the bedroom, Virgil leaned out the window and whispered, "We'll meet you in the scrap metal yard on Ray Street when everybody goes to bed." And before Hotstreak could ask any questions, Virgil closed the window and ran out of the room, shutting off the light as he went.
Hotstreak clung to the tree for a moment, wondering if he should be angry with Virgil, or just accept the order for the moment. If I'm still ticked when I see them, I'll let him know. Hotstreak dropped out of the tree. But I'm not going to wait in the scrap yard until they come. The KKK might come at any time, and even if I'm pretty sure that time isn't tonight, that grey-suited guy might get impatient and try something. I won't leave Richie and Virgil unprotected. He crept back around to the front of the house and stationed himself by the front window. He glanced in every few minutes, but didn't stare. Richie had seen him; the others might at any time.
oOo
John's second Christmas joke was better than his first, and Richie laughed freely as he leaned against Virgil's legs. But the laughter died in his throat as he remembered the man who had seized his arm as he tried to leave the church.
They had only just returned from the church, but Richie couldn't help feeling that someone was watching them. Watching me. Watching V. I don't' know about the others. But… He remembered the man who had caught his arm. He'd known him, of course; how could he not? The grey-haired man was Angela's father, his father's friend from the meeting hall. I saw him every week when we went to the meetings, but I remember him from the night my father caught me writing notes about Virg when I was supposed to be piously paying attention to the sermon. He knew perfectly well who I was. The question is, what is he going to do about it?
Richie?
What's up, BP?
I could not help but notice your anxiety. Do you also sense the Bang Baby nearby?
Richie stared up at the ceiling to keep from looking around nervously. Which Bag Baby?
Hotstreak.
Oh. Richie relaxed. Well, Virg and I will have to talk to him.
But what were you worried about?
Richie sent his robot the memory of the meeting in the church. Then he sent Virgil a silent call and the two of them stood. After telling the others that they would make hot chocolate, the two of them disappeared into the kitchen.
The moment they were out of sight, Virgil took Richie in his arms and asked, What is it, Rich?
Hotstreak's here. Can we talk to him?
Now?
No. After everyone else goes to bed.
Okay. Virgil tightened his arms around Richie. Do you want me to go outside and find him?
I think you should talk to him from your room. He saw us, I think; he'll come back here. I'll send him up to you. Richie shivered and Virgil hugged him even more fiercely.
Richie, what-?
The man that grabbed my arm in church is a friend of my father's. Richie closed his eyes for a moment and leaned against Virgil. Then he pulled away. I need you to hold me, V, but right now I need you to get up there so I can send him up to you.
Virgil nodded. All right. I'll be right back. He kissed the corner of Richie's mouth, then dashed for the stairs.
Richie leaned against the counter for a moment, overwhelmed. Please, I don't want him to come back and hurt everyone I love. I don't want him to ruin everything. Please, God, don't let him ruin everything I have here. Gradually, he became conscious of his trembling and he forced himself to stand completely still. I can handle this. I can live with this, even if he comes back. He snorted. I'm more scared of him than I am of Brainiac. Shaking his head, he went to heat the milk for hot chocolate.
Richie, I am here for you. I won't let him hurt you. I'll find a way to protect you. I promise I will.
Richie again stood still, basking in Backpack's love. His heartbeat slowed and he smiled slightly. Thank you, BP. I love you, too. So bolstered, his courage and determination reasserted themselves and Richie went to collect mugs from the cupboard and find the marshmallows.
The next hour or so would have been intensely joyful if Richie could have forgotten about his father. He was looking forward to seeing Hotstreak, and so the after-bed meeting would have only made him happier, more excited. But the grey-suited man kept popping into his mind and Richie couldn't shake the thought that his father wasn't far behind. It made no logical sense, especially when Richie remembered that the grey-suited man might have just been in the church to worship like everyone else. The KKK has gone underground, remember? Their meeting hall is even dark. That's probably why he was there; he wanted to find a place to worship on Christmas. He didn't have to be looking for me. He could have just seen me and wanted to say hello… No. I'm trying to lie to myself. He was there for me; I know it. And even if my father isn't back in Dakota, that doesn't mean he won't be soon, especially since he'll know soon that I was in church. Richie considered the offertory hymn he'd sang and had to force himself not to shiver. I love that song; I always have. But Dad has always said it's a secular nightmare, designed to sway the unwary from the true hymns of God. Please, Lord, don't let my father hear about the hymn. Please don't let him hear.
Near the end of the night, when everyone was starting to yawn- everyone except Virgil and Richie- Robert suggested they all open one present. Richie roused himself out of his dark thoughts, trying to act just as cheerful and happy as he had been during the service. He offered to pass out one gift to each person just to give himself something to do. Virgil helped him and soon everyone was sitting with a present on his or her lap.
"Who's first?" Robert asked, glancing around.
"Go ahead, Mr. H," Richie said. "V and I are old enough to wait a minute."
"Speak for yourself," Virgil said, and everyone, even Richie, laughed.
Robert ripped off the paper and gazed at the cardboard box. "Is this something I can store more files in?" he asked Virgil since his son's name had been on the card.
"Just open it, Pops."
Robert took the top off the box and smiled. "Virgil…"
"What? You're the one who said you need to lose weight."
Robert pulled out the workout T-shirt. It said "Father Figure" and had the outline of a father who was fatter than Robert had ever dreamed of being. Shaking his head, Robert put the shirt back.
"Hey!" Virgil cried. "There's more in the box!"
Heaving a melodramatic sigh, Robert balled up the exercise shirt and lobbed it at his son. Then he froze, his eyes widening. Slowly, he took the framed picture out of the box. "Where did you find this? And how did you clean it up? I thought it was ruined!" He turned the picture around so everyone could see it. In the background, waves were frozen for all time in their rush towards a long expanse of beach. Sharon and her mother were building a sand castle on the shore while Virgil and Richie splashed in the surf.
"I took this picture only a week before the Dakota Riots," Robert murmured. "We went out to the beach to celebrate Richie's birthday and to give Virgil a chance to run off some energy. We stayed all day." His hands shaking, he set the picture back in the box. "I've never seen too little boys who slept so soundly. They slept all the way home and all night." He stood and walked to Virgil, who grinned at him. "Virgil…" He hugged his son close, closing his eyes. "Thank you." Then, when he could speak a little more, he asked, "How did you clean this picture up? Somebody spilled raspberry jam on it the day we got it back from the photo shop. And I don't think it was this large, either."
Virgil nodded towards Richie. "What can I say? I have excellent resources."
Richie blushed pink. "Okay, Sharon, your turn," he muttered without looking up. For the first time since leaving the church, the shadow of fear left his heart. Forgetting his embarrassment, he watched his sister intently.
She unwrapped the small box and gazed at the beautiful picture inside. "Oh, Richie…" Her eyes shining, she lifted out the picture, holding it so first Adam, then everyone else, could see. Her own image smiled back at her, joined together with Adam. The picture had been altered so both of them were dressed in wedding clothes. Sharon laughed. "Is this supposed to be a subtle hint?" She tried to glare at Richie. "Do you want me out of the house this badly?"
Richie grinned at her. "No, it's just a picture. Make of it what you will."
Sharon threw a pillow at him. Richie caught it, but only just; his reflexes weren't perfect, as they'd been since he'd trained with Virgil. Shaking off the realization, refusing to reflect on its implications when he was so happy, Richie pitched the pillow back. At least my aim is still dead-on, he thought as Sharon squawked, tipping sideways to bump into Adam. Adam gasped and fell off the chair arm, catching himself before he could take an ungraceful swan dive.
"Next?" Sharon asked, trying to distract everyone from what she'd made Adam do.
Richie glanced at his foster parents and John said, "All right." He unwrapped two dress shirts he'd been desperate for and hugged his wife. Bernadette then opened a pretty blue-and-white pin Sharon had seen on campus.
Next, Adam unwrapped six bundles of black socks held together with an orange extension cord. When he asked Virgil what he was trying to say, Virgil answered, "I don't want my sister to marry someone who doesn't change his socks often. And the cord's the right length for your synthesizer." He grinned somewhat sheepishly. "Rich and I melted it when we were trying to make a little music." That wasn't exactly what had happened, but Virgil didn't think now was the time to say he'd used the cord to tie up Carmen Dillo the week before last.
Adam sighed. "If it wasn't Christmas, you'd be in trouble."
Virgil grinned. "Only if you can catch me, Boucny Boy."
"Enough," Robert said tolerantly. "Virgil, Richie, that just leaves you two."
Virgil considered his present for a moment. "Okay, I'll go first. I can't wait another second." He tore into the paper, shredding it and tossing little balls of it at Richie, at Sharon, at his Pops. When the box was free of all paper, Virgil opened it and grinned at the book the found there. Lifting it out, he opened it and found one of his baby pictures. On the flyleaf was this message: SS and G Scrapbook, V. Don't turn the page until you're alone.
Virgil set the book aside and hugged Richie from behind. "I love you, Rich."
"I love you, too, V." Richie tore the paper off his gift, now anxious to get to Hotstreak and to talk to both he and Virgil about the man in the church. His happiness had ebbed a little, but he fought to keep from losing it completely. He opened the box and laughed, unable to retain his worried mood for that moment. Folded into the box were several sweaters in varying shades of blue and green. Glancing up at his foster parents, he asked, "So you're saying I wear hooded sweatshirts too often?"
Bernadette ruffled his hair. "Something like that."
Shortly after this, everyone started getting ready for bed. Bernadette and John were sharing Richie's room and Richie was sleeping with Virgil. After the confession that they were Static and Gear, Virgil and Richie had cracked and told their parents (all three) that they'd made love. The reactions hadn't been quite as bad as Richie and Virgil had expected, but both of them had felt very guilty, especially when Robert reminded them that they ad both promised not to have sex until they were married. But, two days later, Robert was calming down about it, and he was slowly starting to trust them alone together again. Bernadette and John (who had both secretly thought Richie had Virgil had made love months ago, when Virgil was spending the night that first time) were more relieved than anything that Virgil and Richie had gone so long.
Alone in Virgil's room with the door shut, Virgil and Richie changed out of their church clothes and slipped out Virgil's window to meet Hotstreak. Backpack was going to meet them at the scrap metal yard just in case, and Richie had hidden a few Zap Caps in the front pocket of his hoodie. The three of them weren't exactly worried about Hotstreak turning on them (okay, fine: Virgil and Backpack were a little worried) but other Bang Babies might have followed Hotstreak that the red headed teen didn't know about.
The walk only took five minutes, but that was more than long enough for Richie to start feeling nervous again. He walked with Virgil's arm around his shoulders and one of his hands plunged into the pocket where he carried the Zap Caps. Thanks to Backpack's surveillance, they knew Hotstreak was following them, but neither let on, preferring to wait until they reached the scrap yard. They walked at a brisk pace, their senses alert for danger.
At the entrance to the scrap yard, they paused in the shadows, listening one final time. They hadn't heard Hotstreak as they approached, and they couldn't be positive they hadn't been followed by more than the redhead. But we can't stand out here all right or someone will definitely spot us, Virgil thought, and Richie nodded.
Hotstreak must have circled around them because he stood in the moonlight, waiting for them, his hands on his hips and his eyes unreadable. The three teens gazed at each other, looking like a planned-out stage tableau. Richie reached out a little, just as he had in the church, then everything was still again.
"What do you want me to say?" Hotstreak asked, taking two steps towards them. He was holding his hands away from his body, as if he were a soldier trying to show that he had come in peace. Hotstreak needed no weapons, so the gesture was somewhat useless. But it had been made, and that was enough for Richie.
"I'm not sure," the blonde answered, stepping away from Virgil. He didn't move towards Hotstreak, but gazed at him intently. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to say. I can't help you." He tried to smile, and the boyish look of nervousness made him look three or four years younger than he was. "I'm hoping you got the letter I slipped into your pants when you and Aquamaria were at the mall a few weeks ago. Why haven't we seen you?"
"I didn't want Static and Gear to have to fight me."
Virgil shook his head. "Because we'd kick your ass?"
Richie caught Virgil's hand in his. "I'm glad we didn't have to fight you." He gestured towards Virgil. "And so is he; he just shows it differently."
Virgil was rubbing the back of his head, but he stopped abruptly. "Yeah, I guess I do." He was shaking his head again. "This is stupid. Why are we all so nervous? It's not like we don't know each other." Then he fell silent and stared at his shoes, probably regretting his words. "I feel like we're all acting in some play and we've forgotten our lines or something."
"That's about it," Richie and Hotstreak said. Then they looked at each and laughed. He tension eased somewhat.
Hotstreak moved closer so that he was within touching distance, even though he didn't touch either of them. "After you left the church, the guy who grabbed your arm went back into the sanctuary and called somebody named Brother Eustace."
Richie moaned softly and Virgil hugged him close with one arm.
"I guess you know him," Hotstreak said. "Who is he?"
Richie bit his lip and tried to stop his hands from trembling. He didn't want to appear as frightened as he felt. "He's the pastor of the church I used to go to. He conducted the services and the meetings of the KKK. He hasn't been seen in Dakota since my dad disappeared." He swallowed and stood straight, meeting Hotstreak's eyes. "What are they planning?"
"I'm not sure; the guy in the grey suit started to say something about doing something-" Hotstreak shrugged, realizing how uninformative that was- "but he didn't finish. It sounded like Brother Eustace didn't want him to finish, just in case he was overheard. There's a guy that could give Ebon lessons on over-cautious behavior."
Richie reached out, and Hotstreak took his hand. "Please tell me everything you heard," the blonde said, his jaw set and his eyes glittering. His expression had changed from terror to a fierce determination that Hotstreak knew he didn't want to cross. Something in that look reminded Hotstreak of the day Richie had yelled at Slipstream, And may you have joy of it, you blarney bastard. The look wasn't quite the same as the voice; the look was softened by love and trust, but it was close for all that. The steel was still there.
Hotstreak tried to remember the conversation from beginning to end because it was so obviously important to Richie. "He said he saw you at St. Paul's Episcopal Church and that Virgil was with you. He said Virgil did something to you, but that you weren't in any immediate danger." He shrugged. "Maybe he meant Virgil wasn't going to kill you tonight."
"That's it exactly," Richie answered. "Go on."
"He said you weren't hurt, that- Are you sure you want to hear this?"
"Yes," Richie and Virgil said together, and now Virgil moved so that even though he still had his arm around Richie's shoulders, he was almost brushing Hotstreak's arms with his own.
That show of trust made Hotstreak's heart soar. "He said," and I can't believe I remember this word for word, " 'Looks like the n— boy keeps a good eye on his whore' Then I think he promised to keep watching both of you. He thought maybe you might live together since you arrived together."
Richie shuddered between Hotstreak and Virgil and both of them tightened their grip on him, strengthening him. Richie colored slightly, though it couldn't be seen well under the moonlight, and smiled. "I'm okay. Keep going, please."
"He thinks you two don't know you're being watched. Then he said something about going home to pray and read the Bible."
Richie laughed. "Just being near us makes him unholy, huh?" He chuckled more softly. "Man, I'm so glad I'm away from all that."
Hotstreak could hear the relief in Richie's voice and realized Richie sounded a lot like him when he'd been glad to be out of the hospital. He squeezed Richie's fingers and continued, "He said he'd see them soon. I don't know what that means, but he said he'd tried to figure out where you live, Richie. That was when he started to ask if they were going to do something, but he didn't finish. He said something about being careful and that he was alone in the sanctuary except for God, who agreed with their plans. Then he hung up." Glancing down at Richie's hand in his, Hotstreak remembered Richie singing, and he added, "He told about your song at the beginning of the conversation."
Richie tensed. "What did he say?"
"I can't remember exactly… Something about profaning the service or something."
Richie groaned. "Great. Did he tell Brother Eustace the title?"
"No."
"Okay… Okay, at least there's that. My dad's always hated "I Wonder as I Wander," and the more I loved it, the angrier he got. He forbade me from ever signing it."
"Well, I'm glad you sang it, Rich," Virgil said.
"It was perfect," Hotstreak added. "Your voice… I didn't know you could sing like that."
Richie blushed. "All praise to God," he said.
Hotstreak was drawn forward by those words, and, freeing his hand from Richie's, he touched the side of Richie's face. "I want you and Virgil to teach me about God. I think I gave my life to him tonight, even if I don't know if I did it for the right reasons." He shrugged, refusing to be embarrassed. "I've met so many Christians that don't take what they believe seriously, or at least not seriously enough to do more than preach about it while they live just like everybody else. But you're different. You really practice what you believe. And you do it without shouting that you're doing it, or hiding from everybody, or anything. The only way I know you're a Christian is by the things you don't say, like how you don't swear or you-" He blundered into silence when he felt the soft kiss on cheek. And turning his head, he met Virgil's gaze.
The younger teen smiled. "You talk too much, Hothead. Sort of like me." He kissed Hotstreak again, this time on the mouth, then drew back and turned Hotstreak's head with his fingertips.
Hotstreak wanted to pursue the kiss, but then Richie was leaning forward and Hotstreak gave himself over to kissing the beautiful blonde before him. Wrapping one arm around Virgil and the other around Richie, he kissed each of them, back and forth, back and forth, like that, until Richie laughed and wriggled out of his grasp.
Stepping back, Richie gazed at the two of them. "I want to see you together like that," he said, gesturing for them to move closer to one another as if he was taking a picture. When Hotstreak and Virgil moved closer, Richie grinned and then stepped close enough to take their hands in his. "So is this all right with both of you?" he asked, looking from one to the other. "Can we be together?" Maybe he was blushing again; it was hard to tell. His hands holding theirs were steady enough and his voice gave nothing away.
"Yes," said Hotstreak. "I can't promise I won't lose my temper- not on you, on others- but I'm going to try." He glanced between them, including both of them in his words. "I love you."
Richie looked to Virgil and raised an eyebrow.
"Okay," Virgil said. "if you can put up with Hotstreak and I teasing each other and both of us wanting to protect you, then a threesome's just fine with me."
Richie grinned. "Deal." He embraced them both and relished the feeling of being surrounded by their arms. But he couldn't enjoy it long; if Hotstreak was going to join with them, he had to know everything. He pulled back enough so he could meet Hotstreak's gaze. "Francis-" He caught the man's wince. "Do you want me to call you Hotstreak?"
"Not really, but I don't really have any other name. Just please not Francis." He paused. "Or F-Stop. My Aunt Sue hates that nickname." He grinned and kissed Richie's cheek. "I want you both to meet her. She makes the best pumpkin soup."
"I bet it's not better than Richie's," Virgil said. "Just thinking about his makes my sister drool. Well, more than usual." He glanced at Richie to see if he was embarrassed, but Richie was deep in thought. "Rich? Earth to Richie. Where'd you go?" He glanced at Hotstreak and, hoping to pull Richie out of the other world he'd gone into, he said, "You'll have to get used to this. Richie's big brain gets in the way of his interactions with normal metahumans like us." Richie still didn't react. "Richie?" Virgil shook Richie gently. 'Please tell me you're not talking to Gear again." He saw Hotstreak raise an eyebrow, but couldn't spare the minutes it would take to explain things. "Richie!"
The blonde blinked and came back to reality. "No, not Gear. He's still off trying to make nice with Brainiac." He saw the confusion on Hotstreak's face, but ignored it for the moment. "I was trying to find a better name for you," he said to the former bad boy. "I was thinking of a few. See what you think." He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked first at Virgil, then at Hotstreak. "Aidan's the first. It's Irish and means fiery." He grinned. "Actually, most of the ones that popped into my head mean 'fiery' or 'fire,' so I'll just tell you when they don't. Egan is also Irish. Kehydi is Old English and means golden-haired. Peter is Hebrew and means 'a rock' as in strong like a rock." Richie chuckled. "Adam means 'red earth,' and I don't know why it suits you, but it does." He grinned. "The next seven all mean fire: Nuriel, Orion, Adar, Kai, Fiyero, Josiah and Nuri. Let me know if there's some other meaning you- What?"
Hotstreak was laughing hysterically, his hands on his knees, his head down. Virgil was supporting him, but he, too, was laughing, his whole body shaking.
"What!" Richie demanded. "What's so funny?" he searched the last seven names he'd listed for any connections to anything sexual or any bodily function, thinking that was what had set off the other two men. They continued to laugh and Richie put his hands on his hips. "What?"
"How do you-?" Hotstreak gasped. "How do you do that? How do you know all those? Who uploaded into your head?"
Virgil snickered. "That's just Richie; he'll go on all night if you want him to."
Richie scowled at both of them, then his face smoothed out. "You know," he said, going for the Zap Caps in his pocket, "I brought enough water Caps fore both of you."
Virgil and Hotstreak both jumped back.
"Richie, please," Hotstreak began, remembering how Richie had gotten him good when all Hotstreak had tried to do was protect him.
"Rich, don't you dare!" Virgil cried.
Richie's grin looked dangerous. "Maybe I will and maybe I won't." Then he took his hand away from the pocket and said, "Are you done laughing at me?"
Both metahumans nodded contritely.
"Okay, then." Richie threw himself back into their arms and kissed each of them. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked Hotstreak.
"Yeah. I think I need to think about it. But I like that a lot of them have to do with fire." He frowned. "I liked Kydidi, I think."
"Kehydi," Richie answered, grinning. "I'll see if Kydidi is a name, though. Any others?"
"Fiyero sounded good. But Nuri? Orion? I don't want to sound like either a retard or a nerd."
"Fair enough." Richie's face became suddenly serious. "Virg and I have a lot to tell you, just so you know what's coming. First, and maybe most important, Brainiac's back."
Forty-five minute later, Hotstreak stood with the two superheroes at the entrance to the scrap yard. He had earned himself a place in Richie's plan, even though he liked the idea of Richie going into danger just as much as Virgil did. He'd met Backpack and been rightly surprised when he heard an echo of Richie's voice coming out of the little robot. It had taken him a while to understand the separation between Richie and Gear, probably longer than it would have if Gear had been in evidence to introduce himself. But for just being exposed to a whole new, confusing world, Hotstreak handled himself remarkably well. As he though to himself in the middle of the explanation about Gear: Well, if I just remember that I love them more than I love anything else in the world, including myself, I'll be all set. I can handle anything, even something this strange.
"We should all get some sleep," Virgil said as they stood at the entrance, hidden in the shadows. "Or at least we should try before we're supposed to be all excited about presents."
Richie gasped. "I forgot!" He groaned and put his head in his hands for a moment. Before Virgil or Hotstreak could ask him what was wrong, Richie looked up at them, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Well, now I'll have to make sure I see you in the morning," he said to Hotstreak. "I left your present at home."
Hotstreak shook his head. "I already have my present."
Richie and Virgil smiled, but Richie said, "I'll find a way to meet you tomorrow." He shivered as the wind gusted. "We could meet in the gas station."
"Where?" Hotstreak asked.
Virgil bowed. "The Gas Station of Solitude, sir. Haven't you heard of it?"
Snickering, Hotstreak drew both Richie and Virgil into his arms. "You'll show me tomorrow," he said. Then he kissed then and received kisses in return. He didn't want to let them go; it seemed as if they'd just gotten there. But they needed to sleep, and he knew it. Besides, they might be missed. "Go home," he said.
Richie hesitated. "Do you… do you have somewhere to sleep?"
Hotstreak smiled. "I'll be all right, Richie. Don't worry about me. I've gotten along all this time, right?"
Richie reached up and touched Hotstreak's face with cold fingers. "Yes, you have. But I want to take you home and make sure you eat and sleep." He sighed. "And I know that can't happen yet, but it doesn't mean I don't want to take care of you."
Hotstreak kissed Richie's fingers. "It's only fair, since I want to take care of the both of you." He kissed Richie's mouth gently. "Go home and sleep. I'll be all right until morning." He turned to Virgil and they both just stared at each other for a moment.
"Well, this isn't going to work," Virgil laughed. "We're both so used to being the strong one. How are we going to say good night?'
Richie shook his head at both of them. "Try kissing. It's sometimes better than words." His smile was wry. "Especially for you two."
Fully aware that they were following orders, but not caring, Virgil and Hotstreak embraced and kissed each other, melting against each other. For a long moment, time stopped and there was just the two of them, clasped body to body, neither giving in, but each showing his strength to the other.
Richie gazed at them and blinked away a few tears. Then he chided himself for being too sentimental and turned to Backpack, who had been silent for most of the exchange. Richie knelt and Backpack climbed off his back so they could look at each other. You're all right with this, BP?
Learning to trust him will be like learning to trust Virgil, but it can be done. I can see how happy he makes you. I would not stand in the way of your happiness for anything, Richie, unless I thought what you were doing was dangerous.
But you do think this is dangerous.
He's… different now, Maybe trusting him will be easier than I thought.
Richie grinned and hugged Backpack tightly. I love you. Thank you for trying this with me. He stood, the robot still in his arms. Will you go back to the gas station or come with us back to the house?
I wish to see if I can locate your father or Brainiac. I will stay at the station for a little while. I will see you tomorrow. Backpack smiled in Richie's mind. Or rather, later today. It is three A.M.
Richie set Backpack down and smiled at Hotstreak and Virgil, who were still holding each other, but watching him. "What? Can't I talk to my best friend? Don't you two get jealous now. That's something we definitely don't need." He laughed as Virgil and Hotstreak hugged him, both of them kissing him and trying to tickle him. "I'll sic Backpack on you!" he gasped out between giggles. "I swear I will! Or I'll get at the Zap Caps and-"
Hotstreak stopped Richie's threats with his mouth and Richie stilled, luxuriating the feeling of cool lips and a hot tongue. His knees unbuckled and he felt himself supported by Virgil from behind.
"Now go home," Hotstreak said. "I'll see you both later. Get some sleep. And don't worry about your father any more tonight, Richie. Between Virgil, Backpack and me, you're covered." He held up a hand when Richie tired to speak. "Go. How are you supposed to get up at six like normal hyper teenagers if you don't get any sleep?"
Richie nodded, hugged Hotstreak again, then turned with Virgil and started home. He glanced back once, but Hotstreak was gone. Knowing that the redhead was off to find someplace to sleep, hopefully someplace warm, made it easier for Richie to walk away. And Hotstreak probably knew that; that's why he left.