Disclaimer: I don't own The Incredibles or Static Shock

Chapter Twenty-Six: Those Golden Days

The week before the states championship game Dakota was inundated with one torrential downpour after another. The Dakota High baseball diamond turned to brown mush and was deemed impossible to play on, despite the groundskeeper's best efforts.

Normally, Francis and the rest of the team wouldn't have minded a couple of days off, but it was the week before the biggest game of their season and the rain was doing nothing to help their chances.

"Do you think this will keep up? Coach will probably schedule weekend practices if it does." The co-captain Scott Henderson asked in a bored tone. He and Francis were standing in the doorway to the high school's field house watching raindrops spatter off the sidewalk.

Francis shrugged. From behind them, the sounds of baseballs pinging off of bats and tennis shoes squeaking on the floor echoed out the door. "I hope not." Francis scowled up at the dark, gray sky. "I hate the rain."

Henderson snickered softly. "It doesn't seem to like us too much either."

"Ok, that's it." Francis threw his backpack onto the couch. "I refuse to keep driving my bike in the rain." The pyro was drenched, little wisps of steam floated off his body as he passed the living room.

Bob snickered from behind his newspaper. "Don't worry kid. Forecast calls for sunny skies starting tomorrow."

Francis glowered. "It better be."

"Shouldn't you be studying for finals?" Helen popped out of the kitchen.

"One thing at a time!" Francis snapped and continued stalking to his room. Bob and Helen exchanged amused smiles.

"You are annoyingly smart." Violet pouted, watching as Virgil raced through his homework. He grinned at her before slamming his textbook shut.

"Done."

"Jerk." Violet gave her algebra assignment a glare. "I really don't think its fair of the teachers to give us so much homework the week before finals. How are we supposed to divide our time?"

"Are you complaining to me about course load?" Virgil butted in. "The teachers at Vanmoor border on the psychotic. I've got eight classes with final exams, three projects, two papers, and that stupid super-secret project my demonic senior supervisors have got us working on. I'm lucky to still be sane."

Violet gave her algebra a new appraising look. "Well, when you put it that way." She looked back to Virgil and grinned sweetly. "You did ask to transfer there."

"I know, I know." Virgil waved her statement aside. "And the course work may be killer, but it will all pay off this summer when I'm sitting in sunny Miami."

"What! No way! You got the internship?" Violet nearly knocked her books off the table in her excitement.

Virgil laughed and pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket. He'd already read it so many times since this morning the paper was beginning to wear thin. Violet grabbed at it and pulled the letter out.

It was from the Alva Oceanic Laboratory in Miami. Every summer, the lab selects a handful of the Vanmoor Institute's top performing students for a marine biology internship. Virgil had applied a few months ago with little hope of being chosen, having transferred in halfway through the year. But that was his name on the envelope.

"This is amazing. Congratulations Virg!" Violet ran around the table and hugged Virgil. "I'm really happy for you."

"You haven't even heard the best part yet." Virgil took the letter back.

"What?"

"Daisy got in too."

Violet squealed happily.

"Right, so we'll be spending a lot of time together." Virgil continued. "We'll be out on the water a lot, and on the beach. I'm thinking that's when I can make my move."

Violet sighed dreamily. "Summer lovin'…"

"…had me a blast." Francis walked into the kitchen and stopped short at Virgil and Violet's stares. "What?"

"Did you just finish the lyrics to a Grease song?"

"No." Francis frowned.

"But you just…" Violet trailed off.

Francis smirked. "Prove it." He went to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. "What're you guys doing?"

"Studying, or at least trying to." Virgil motioned at the textbooks and papers spread across the kitchen table.

"And celebrating!" Violet exclaimed. "Virgil got that Alva internship."

"Really?" Francis flashed Virgil a grin. "Congrats dude."

Virgil returned the grin. "Thanks. But don't tell anyone else yet. I haven't even told my dad. I'm pretty sure he should know before I jet off in a few weeks."

"Or…or." Francis cut in. "We could not tell him and make it a surprise."

"Surprise Pops! I'm in Florida and I'll be back in a month. Peace." Virgil laughed. "I don't think that would go over too well."

"Well this sucks." Francis pulled his helmet off with a deep sigh.

As promised, the day had dawned sunny and was already pleasantly warm even at seven in the morning. Francis and Violet set off to Dakota on their motorcycle, and for the first half hour enjoyed the sunshine and empty highways. And then as they approached the Dakota off ramp, they hit traffic.

And not just your average, every day, commuter traffic. This was five-car pile-up, state trooper level traffic. The minutes were ticking by and Francis and Violet were still twenty minutes away from school, and the first bell would be ringing in ten.

Violet pulled off her helmet and shook her long black hair. "We are not going anywhere, anytime soon."

"You think we can get an excused late pass for this?" Francis asked and crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed the long lineup of cars in front of him. He'd long since turned off the engine.

Violet got off the bike to stretch. A man in a red convertible next to them was watching sports highlights on his phone. "I hope so."

Francis leaned forward over the handlebars and groaned. "This is so stupid. The off ramp is right there, if we can just get past these couple of cars we'll be home free." Francis suddenly sat up and whipped around to face Violet. "I have an idea."

"Yeah?" Violet asked hesitantly.

"You're not gonna like it. It might be a teensy bit illegal."

"Will it get us to school on time?"

"Possibly."

Violet considered for a moment before climbing back onto the bike and pulling her helmet on. "I'm game."

"Sweet." Francis smirked and put his own helmet on before kick starting the bike to life. "Hold on."

Violet's arms went around Francis' waist and they took off. Francis guided the bike between the cars, weaving in and out to a chorus of blaring horns. One of the state troopers noticed the bike but since they were also blocked in by the traffic, they couldn't pursue the duo.

Francis grinned wickedly behind his helmet's visor and revved the motorcycle. As they neared the off ramp, Francis gunned the engine and they flew out from between the cars and into the open road.

"Yes!" Francis crowed.

"Let's not do that again." Violet shouted from behind him.

Francis laughed. "No promises!"

With much worrying, caffeine, and late night studying, finals week arrived at Dakota High School. The library saw more foot traffic in those five days than the rest of the year combined. Some classes only required a paper, others handed out multiple choice scantron tests, and still others had the dreaded oral exam.

Spanish, for instance, required all students to give an oral presentation to the class, in Spanish with accompanying visual aids. Luckily, Francis was teamed with Frieda. Their topic was traditional festivals in Spain. In their free period, they snuck to the library to put the finishing touches on their project.

"What if I forget what I'm supposed to say?" Francis asked, as he cut out a picture of Pamplona to add to the poster.

"You won't." Frieda promised. She was grabbed a Sharpie and added a few more facts to poster in Spanish. "There, that looks good."

"What if I forget how to conjugate something? We're supposed to be using five different tenses. And I still get imperfect and preterit mixed up."

Frieda grabbed Francis' hand and smiled reassuringly. "You'll do fine. And if you don't, I'll take over."

Francis smiled. "You should just do the whole thing. Then I know we'd get an A."

"But that wouldn't be good teamwork." Frieda teased with a grin. The bell rang and the two gathered up their supplies. "C'mon, let's get this over with."

"What the hell?"

"What?" Frieda walked up behind Francis and slipped under his arm. "What's the matter?"

Francis pointed wordlessly at the bulletin board outside the main office. There was a bit of a crowd as students gathered around to see who had made the honor roll for each grade. The top ten students from each grade were listed. The list was always posted on the last day of school.

Francis had been passing by to get to his locker, he needed the grab his baseball cap before the big game tonight, when Richie had grabbed him and propelled the pyro to the front of the crowd.

There, near the bottom of the list for the junior class, was his name. Francis Stone. On the honor roll.

Francis looked around in confusion, expecting someone to start laughing and say 'Gotcha!' But all he saw was Richie's grinning face.

"What the hell?" Francis repeated in the same dumbfounded tone.

"Oh my god! Babe, that's fantastic!" Frieda squealed and hugged Francis tightly.

"You're on here too Frieda." Richie pointed out. Frieda's name was near the top of the list. The bespectacled boy's grin grew wider. "I guess we know who Dakota High's power couple is."

Francis was still staring in shock at the list. "Wait, but, how's that even possible?"

Frieda softly punched him in the side. "You've been working your butt off all year. This is the payoff." She stood on tiptoe to reach his face and kissed Francis on the cheek. "You deserve it."

Finally, Francis snapped out of his stupor and he hugged Frieda back. "You know, back in Metroville I used to beat up the honor roll kids."

"Then the evolution is complete!" Richie announced dramatically. Francis snickered and draped an arm around both Frieda and Richie before walking away from the crowd and out into the sunshine.

The entire Parr family had made the trip to Dakota for the State Championship game. They sat alongside Lucius, Virgil, Daisy, Richie, and Frieda in the stands. Dash had found one of Francis' baseball shirts and had painted his cheeks in the school colors to support Francis.

But, several innings into the game, they had had very little reason to cheer. Dakota was being beaten badly by the Empire City High Lions. In the top of the sixth, it was 5-1 in the Lions' favor.

This was in large part due to the Lions' star pitcher, Leo Becker. Unquestionably the best pitcher in the league, Becker was on fire and the Dakota team had only managed to get two hits off of him all night. Francis was 0 for 3. Frustration was starting to seep into the dugout.

Thanks to a double play by Henderson at second, the top of the inning was over 1, 2, 3 and the Dakota team trudged back the bench. Francis didn't even bother to strip out of his catcher's gear. He was the fourth batter in the lineup, and they were near the bottom, he probably wouldn't get the chance to step up to the plate this inning.

"Hey, Francis."

Francis looked up at his name being called. Bob was standing by the chain link fence dividing the stands from the field. He gestured at Francis to come over.

Francis wove his fingers through the chain link as he leaned against it. "Yeah?"

"What's going on? I know I said for you to hold back some, but it's okay to get a hit. Especially with your team down so much."

Francis huffed in frustration. "I am trying!" It came as a growl. "This Becker guy's got my number. I can't get a lock on anything he throws at me."

Bob looked taken aback. "Oh, I thought…"

"Believe me, I'm trying. This Empire team's no joke." Francis cut in. "I don't know if we can…"

"No, don't even go there." Bob interrupted. Francis met the older man's eyes with confusion. Bob leaned forward, his face almost pressed up against the fence. "You can win this. I've seen this team play and you can all do a lot better than what you're showing right now. You've still got time. You can still win this."

Francis was quiet for a moment before slowly nodding.

"Good luck kid." Bob grinned and stepped back.

Francis returned the smile and walked back to the dugout, his mind buzzing. The second Francis sank into his seat on the bench; James Kipling was stepping into the batter's box. He tapped home plate twice with the end of his bat and then assumed his stance. From under the brim of his helmet, Kipling eyed Becker going into his own stance, checking the runner at first, and then winding up.

A split second later the sound of a baseball pinging off of a metal bat echoed around the field. Kipling watched the ball sail through the air, over the outstretched glove of Empire City's center fielder, and over the wall.

Francis, the rest of his team, and the crowd jumped to their feet. Kipling smiled, dropped the bat, and trotted around the bases.

The score was now 5-3. Francis's mind continued to race with possibilities. Bob was right, they could win this.

The next two batters fell to Becker's pitches, but the damage was done. Momentum was swinging with Dakota High.

Francis pulled his catcher's mask on and grinned as he knelt behind home base.

The next two innings went by in a blur. Both Leo Becker and little Oliver Brown were pitching the best games of their lives. No runs were scored and players on both teams were running high on adrenaline. Every time one of Oliver's pitches smacked into Francis' glove, he found himself feeling lighter and lighter.

It was the top of the ninth, with two runs out. The Empire City batter took a few practice swings and then stepped into the box. He spit into the dirt next to Francis. Behind his mask, Francis narrowed his eyes and threw down one finger. Oliver nodded. Fastball. Oliver went into the wind up and unleashed the fastest pitch he'd thrown all night. It had to have hit 80 mph.

The Empire City batter was a little faster, but only just. The bat only caught a piece of the ball and was rocketed straight up and to the right. The batter followed the ball with his eyes and stamped his foot in the dirt, disappointed. Foul ball.

But Francis whipped his mask off and was following the ball with his feet. The ball was hovering over the visitor's dugout and would likely bounce off the wooden roof and out of play. Francis lunged, throwing his mitt as far as it would go over the roof, his other arm bracing himself against the ledge as his feet dangled in the space over the dugout's floor. The ball landed in his glove and Francis pulled it to his chest to contain it even as he lost his grip on the ledge and tumbled into the Lions' dugout.

The ump at first base had run down to monitor the play and Francis held the ball aloft for him to see. Caught. Three outs.

Francis resisted the urge to laugh into the bewildered faces of the Empire City players standing around him, tossed the ball to the ump, and climbed out of the dugout. He ran into an embrace from Oliver Brown and Francis lifted the little pitcher off his feet.

It was now the bottom of the ninth. Dakota was still down by two runs, but Henderson had just gotten on base and there was another at second. And now it was Francis' turn to grab a bat.

Becker was standing on the mound, a furrow of concentration deepening between his eyebrows. He checked over his shoulder to see that Henderson was staying at first then delivered his first pitch.

Francis swung, and missed. The air whistled as his bat swung through it. Strike one.

Francis shook his head in disappointment. Out of the corner of his eye, Francis saw Dash sitting on Bob's shoulders so he could see above the crowd. Frieda and Violet were both jumping up and down, clapping and cheering his name. Francis returned his attention to Becker and tightened his grip on the bat.

The second pitch flew straight at his head and Francis was forced to dive to the dirt to avoid getting hit. The ball bounced off the backstop and both Henderson and the other runner took the opportunity to advance to the next base while the catcher scrambled after the ball.

Coach Barnes was screaming at the ump from the dugout, going red in the face from shouting threats.

Francis got to his feet and nodded when the ump asked if he was alright. Becker got a stern warning that Francis wasn't even sure the other boy heard, he was busy kicking at dirt on the mound. It was hard to tell if Becker was disappointed that he'd thrown a wild pitch, or that the pitch hadn't hit Francis.

Francis assumed his stance in the batter's box, digging his right toe into the dirt for purchase and waited for Becker to throw the next pitch.

When he finally did launch the ball, Francis could have sworn it was moving in slow motion. The ball arched perfectly in front of him and Francis swung, feeling the vibration all the way up his arms as he connected with the ball. And then it was arching away from him. Francis dropped the bat and waved desperately at the ball to keep going.

The ball obeyed. It soared through the air and over the outfield wall.

Francis punched the air several times and took off around the bases while the crowd erupted into cheers. His team was waiting for him and mobbed Francis when he crossed home plate.

The final score was 6-5, in favor of Dakota High. They were state champions. Coach Barnes got a hold of the giant, gleaming trophy first, kissed it and then passed it to co-captains Henderson and Tommy Howes, who almost immediately passed it on to Francis.

Francis soaked in the moment. The cheers of the crowd, Frieda's voice loudest of them all, the claps on the back and hugs from his teammates, and the heft of the trophy in his hands. Francis smiled and thrust the trophy into the air and the crowd cheered even louder.

What felt like hours later, after the crowd has dissipated and the team had left, promising to meet up to celebrate later, Francis found himself sitting alone near the top the bleachers, watching the sun set beyond the horizon. The last golden rays of light illuminated the field and cast long shadows on the grass.

Francis fiddled with the brim of his cap as he held it in his lap, watching the sunset change from orange, to red, to purple.

"Hi."

Francis turned to the voice. Frieda was climbing the bleachers and settled into the seat next to him. She was wearing his sweatshirt; there were still smudges on her cheeks from the face paint Dash had given her.

Francis slung his arm around her and pulled her to his side, where Frieda happily burrowed and silently watched the sunset with him.

Just as the first stars were appearing in the darkening sky, Francis leaned over and kissed the top of Frieda's head. "I love you."

Frieda's fingers gripped his t-shirt and without missing a beat replied, "I love you too." And Francis could hear it, could hear the love in her voice. Could hear her smile without having to see it. Francis smiled into Frieda's soft, red hair.

Frieda looked up to the sky and pointed at the first, bright star glittering above them. "Make a wish."

"This had better be good. I've got a flight to catch in less than an hour."

"Oh, it's good. Trust us Mr. Alva."

The lights to one of the laboratories in the Vanmoor Institute clicked on automatically as three figures strode through the doorway.

Edwin Alva stood stiffly, dressed as impeccably as ever in a black, tailored suit, waiting for this something good to be presented to him.

The two others, boys, rushed around the waiting tycoon to where a sheet was covering something huge in the middle of the room. The one wearing a Hawaiian shirt whipped the sheet away, revealing an enormous robot.

The robot was block-shaped, with two arms, including working fingers, and two legs, but instead of a head there was single green eye in the chest. It was an impressive bit of engineering, the robot looked professionally made, not as though it was the work of students.

"May we present our senior project," the one with a long blond ponytail gestured.

Alva appraised the machine quietly. "It's impressive Mr.…."

"Trapper." Ponytail supplied. "And this is my associate Mr. Specs."

"Our project is a fully-functioning robot that tracks electrical signatures." Specs explained.

"Why should I care?" Alva asked bluntly. "This is impressive, but nothing my own scientists couldn't create."

"We thought you might ask that." Trapper smirked. "On the surface, it appears as though the robot only tracks electrical signatures, but it also contains a catalog of every Super ever to exist and what their powers and weaknesses are."

"The robot uses it electrical reserves to power this little baby." Specs tapped the green light with his knuckle. "It's a neural disrupter, it specifically targets the Super cells in the brain and shuts them down."

"So this machine…" Alva started to say.

"…can de-power any Super, so long as the disrupter is aimed at them." Trapper finished. "Not to mention we've made the robot from trinium, the strongest metal found on earth. It's almost impossible to destroy. We discovered its usefulness through some leaked files from the Syndrome incident. He used it to make his omnidromes."

"An ingenious design." Specs commented lightly.

Trapper nodded. "Oh, absolutely."

Alva looked at the robot again with greedy eyes. "But there are many Supers, how can one machine hope to battle all of them effectively?"

"Not a problem." Specs said. He picked up a remote control from the table and hit a button. A wall lifted from the floor and slid back to reveal dozens of robots, all standing to attention, their shiny metal exteriors gleaming in the low light.

"We've prepared for any eventuality." Trapper continued with a wicked grin.

Alva was silent a moment and then finally, he smiled. "Boys, I think we have a deal."

Author's Note:

What? What's this? Plot development? That's new.

Sorry this chapter's so late. It really, really didn't want to be written. But for once, my real life and my fictional world both synced up. I have finals this week and they're killing me. So do I study? No, I write fanfiction. I've definitely got my priorities straight.

Anyway, I hope you guys like the chapter. I killed myself writing it. I'm actually fairly proud of those baseball scenes.

PLEASE REVIEW!