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

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Everything's Coming Apart

Frieda was sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through a book and listening to raindrops pattering against her window. Her parents had gone out for dinner, but she had opted to stay in and finish her book. She hummed softly to herself, still in a good mood from the picnic earlier. As the thought of Francis crossed her mind, she glanced at her phone, lying on the bed next to her. She'd sent Francis a text a few hours ago and hadn't heard back yet.

It was probably nothing. She didn't want to be one of those clingy, needy girlfriends, but she couldn't help but worry. Francis had gone off the radar before, and had always emerged a sullen, distance mess. There were things going on in his life that Frieda knew he was keeping from her. But she didn't pry. Francis would only retreat further if she tried to go digging around where he didn't want her to be.

So Frieda tried to put her boyfriend out of her thoughts so she could concentrate on the last few pages of her book.

Suddenly, there was a dull pounding that seemed to be coming from downstairs. Frieda looked up in confusion. Was it thunder? She looked out the window. It was still raining, but there was no sign of lightning or traces of rumbling thunder. The pounding repeated itself, louder and more insistent. It was someone knocking on the door.

Frieda got up and wandered downstairs. The foyer was dark and she turned on the light before opening the door.

Standing on the stoop, head bowed against the rain, was Francis. He was soaked to the skin and seemed to be favoring his right side.

"Francis? What…what are you doing here?" Frieda was shocked. "Are you wearing scrubs?"

Francis looked down at the pale blue scrub top he'd stolen from the hospital. "Uh, yeah. Can I come in?"

"Of course." Frieda stepped aside to let Francis in. "What happened to you?" She got a glimpse of white bandages covering Francis' shoulder and back. "You're hurt!"

Francis pulled away from her concerned reach. In the light, Frieda was able to see how pale he was. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in days, and his face and bare arms were covered in a multitude of tiny cuts and scrapes. He looked up and there was pain in his green eyes. "I messed up."

Frieda wanted to grab her boyfriend and hold him, but the lost look on his face made her think twice. "Let's go upstairs."

In her bedroom, Francis sank into her desk chair, sitting sideways so his back wouldn't be pressed up against the backrest. Frieda got a towel from the bathroom and helped Francis dry off, his injured right shoulder made it difficult for him to do it alone.

Somewhat dry, Francis seemed to come back to himself and he relaxed slightly. Frieda sat on her bed and watched him. "What happened?"

Francis stared at the floor. "It was my fault. It was stupid. Violet's hurt."

Frieda smothered a gasp of concern with her hand.

"We were driving back from the picnic, and Wade pulled up alongside us. He wanted to race." Francis scoffed. "The idiot I am, I agreed. Violet tried to talk me out of it. We crashed. She's in the hospital."

"I think that's where you should be too." Frieda said gently.

Francis shook his head. "No, Bob was really mad. And he should be. He's going to send me back."

Frieda frowned in confusion. "Back? Back where?"

Francis' eyes widened and Frieda could almost see him shut down. He'd said something he wasn't supposed to. She backtracked for him. "I'm going to go make some hot chocolate." She got up and Francis stood too.

"I'll go with you."

Frieda fingered the stiff scrub shirt Francis was wearing. "I think I can find one of my dad's shirts for you to wear. Something's that's not all wet."

Downstairs, in a warm burgundy Dakota University sweatshirt, Francis watched Frieda prepare the mugs and hot chocolate mix. Rain continued to batter the big bay window and a flash of lightning lit up the room.

Frieda ignited the stovetop and put the kettle on. Little blue flames danced under it, heating the water. She turned to Francis. "I think we should call the Parrs, I bet they're worried about you."

Francis shook his head. "It's probably best if I stay away for a while."

"You mean forever." Frieda corrected. Francis raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I know you. It feels like you came here to say goodbye." She crossed her arms. "That's not fair Francis. People make mistakes. They'll understand, they'll forgive you."

"It's not like that." Francis tried to argue.

"The hell it's not. They're your family, they love you."

"I don't have any family." Francis retorted hotly.

Frieda turned away to check on the kettle. "That's not true. And I think you know that."

"I am not going back, I'm not. They'll have to find me first." Francis muttered, more to himself than to Frieda. She started to turn back to question him and her elbow caught the kettle's handle. The pot crashed the ground and hot water splashed over the tiles. Frieda's hand groped for a handhold on the counter and her arm plunged into the blue fire.

Francis rushed forward and instinctively put his hand over the fire, smothering it instantly. Frieda pulled her arm back and then grabbed Francis, holding his hand under the faucet to run cold water over it. "Hold on, I think there's some burn ointment in the first aid kit in the bathroom…" Frieda stopped herself and stared at Francis' hand. She turned it over in the water and then stared at Francis. "What?"

His hand was perfectly fine, unharmed by the fire. Her own skin stung slightly, but she had only a second of contact with the flames. He had actually put his hand right in it.

Francis stared back, eyes wide. "I think I should probably tell you something."

The story took a while to tell. Francis didn't want to leave anything out. It felt wrong, to be telling Frieda all of these secrets he had been trained to never reveal. But it also felt right, in some odd way. Like there was a heavy weight being lifted off of him. It felt like he could actually breathe now.

He started from the very beginning. He recounted what he knew about his mother and father and of his early life in the government relocation center. Frieda understood why he didn't want to go back.

Francis touched upon his time in Dakota, what lengths he had gone to in order to survive and disappear into the crowd of people. How eventually his life in a gang had evolved from a survival need to a lifestyle. He talked about exposing his powers that day, it seemed like forever ago, to save the lives of his classmates and teachers. How Mr. Incredible and Frozone had tracked him down under the NSA's orders.

Francis hesitated about whether or not he should mention the Parrs and Virgil, but Frieda pieced that together herself.

"You guys, all of you. You're all Supers aren't you?"

Francis nodded his head slowly.

"And you're all Superheroes. You're Hotstreak." Frieda actually laughed. "I knew it!"

Francis frowned. "What? How?"

"There was one time, after a fight. That psycho guy with the purple hair. You got cut, right here." Frieda traced the path Shiv's energy knife had carved across Francis' shoulder. "I saw the bandage. I suspected, but I guess I just thought it was a crazy idea. And Violet and Virgil, I had no idea." Frieda laughed again. "No wonder Mr. and Mrs. Parr were so nervous when I came over for dinner."

Francis cracked a smile, and then froze at the reminder of the Parrs. It was bad enough he'd just revealed his own secret identity, but what them? He's just broken the Super cardinal rule. Bob would really never forgive him now. Francis grabbed Frieda's hands. "You can't tell. You can't. Please, you have to promise you won't tell anyone, ever."

Frieda's eyes widened in surprise. "Of course, I would never…"

"No, Frieda. You don't understand. This is really important. Our secret identities, it's the most important thing we have." Francis' voice cracked as he tried to convey how serious he was. "If anyone found out, they could use it against us, they could hurt us and the people we care about. I shouldn't have told you, we're never supposed to tell. But now you know about me and the Parrs and Virgil and his dad and you have to promise. Please."

Frieda squeezed Francis' hands reassuringly. "I promise. I won't tell." She closed the small gap between them and placed a kiss on his cheek. "I promise."

Francis let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Good. Thank you."

Frieda smiled at him and then yawned. It was late. Her parents would be home soon. If her bedroom light was off, they would think she was asleep and wouldn't check on her. She crawled to the head of the bed and pulled the covers down. "C'mon, let's go to bed. I'm exhausted."

"Wha...?" Francis stared dumbly at his girlfriend.

She patted the bed beside her. ""C'mon, we can figure the rest of this out in the morning. You look tired too."

"Yeah, but." Francis gestured at the bed. "We've never…."

Frieda laughed again. "We're just going to sleep. Unless you want to crash on the floor? But I'd prefer to snuggle."

Francis smiled weakly and crawled up beside Frieda. He pulled the sweatshirt up over his head and got under the covers, facing Frieda. Frieda turned so Francis could wrap his arms around her waist. She put her hands over his and then reached for the light. They both fell asleep listening to the rain on the window.

"Careful with that." Specs snapped at one of the dock workers struggling to unload one of the enormous crates line dup side by side inside the truck.

Trapper shook his head. "So hard to find good help."

The two young engineers stood off to the side, watching as their robots were hauled into Alva Industries' main laboratory. It was the middle of the night, and the only ones aware of the transaction were the two boys, the workers, and Alva.

The billionaire himself observed the work from the catwalks high above the scurrying laborers. Beside his father, nervously gripping the handrail, was Edwin Junior. He turned his gaze from his father's stoic face to the crates below. "Why are you buying the robots?"

Alva glanced at his son from the corner of his eye. "We've already gone over this. The bio-mechanical engineering in these robots is valuable and useful."

"Yeah but," Junior hesitated. "Don't you think they could hurt somebody?"

"Not just anybody. Supers." Alva replied flippantly.

Junior frowned in confusion and then fumbled over his next question. "Aren't Supers good?"

Alva turned, aiming his blank face with just a hint of disappointment at his son. "Perhaps some. But not all. Have you forgotten what happened to your mother, caught on that train with that Supervillain? Or how about when this very factory was burned to the ground by a rogue Super? It took years and millions of dollars to rebuild." Alva returned his stony gaze to the offloading. "For every Superhero, there are dozens of Supervillains, and we shouldn't depend on others to fight our battles for us."

Junior nodded stiffly. "I understand. Sorry."

"Sir." The foreman climbed the stairs to the catwalks and stopped when Alva began walking towards him. "All the crates are accounted for. We need your signature."

"Of course." Alva reached for the pen.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash and a scream from down below. Alva, the foreman, and Junior ran to the handrail. One of the crates had been dropped, and split open. The robot inside had been activated and now had one of the men wrapped in his metallic hand.

Most of the men ran off in all directions, trying to put distance between themselves and the robot. A few stayed, trying to figure out a way to free their friend, who was pale with fear as the robot scanned the room.

Alva's brow furrowed. "Where are those two morons! Get them in here and turn that thing off!"

But Specs and Trapper had vanished. Probably amongst the other fleeing workers.

The robot turned to the open door and its light blinked. It tossed the man aside, bowling over those who had stayed behind, and began marching for the open air.

"Close the door!" The foreman barked into his radio.

The door slid closed, heavy steel now blocked the robot from its escape. It continued its march, straight through the door.

Alva clenched his fists. Trinium. No door on earth could hold that robot. "I need a containment unit. Immediately. That robot can't be allowed off the premises." He ordered, voice calm. The foreman nodded and started to relay the message. "And find those two so-called scientists. They're the only ones who can shut it off."

The next morning, when Frieda's mom checked in to see if Frieda was awake, she found her daughter sitting at her desk on the computer. They exchanged pleasantries and then both her mom and dad left for work.

After the front door had closed, Francis came out from Frieda's closet where he had been hiding. "You know, you play the good girl pretty well, but you've got a bit of naughty in you too." He flopped onto her bed with a smirk.

She turned in her chair. "I don't like lying to my parents." She shrugged. "But I'm a teenager. It's what we do."

A police car raced by outside, its siren splitting the calm morning air like an axe.

Frieda wandered over to the bed and sat down beside Francis' feet. "So, we said we'd continue talking about….everything…in the morning." She gestured at the window. "It's morning."

"Is that what you call it when it's all bright outside?" Francis asked.

Frieda tickled the bottom of Francis' foot and he jerked his knees to his chest. "Hey, no fair."

"Don't tell me. You're ticklish." Frieda smiled. "You're ticklish and you get freckles. You're the ideal boyfriend."

"That's not the word I would use." Francis grumbled. "Something more like liar, idiot. Those are good words."

Frieda frowned. "If you think I'm going to be mad about you lying to me about this whole Super thing, forget it. How can I be? I understand that you need a secret identity. Francis, you're not just a Super, you're a Superhero. That's pretty amazing." She crawled up the bed and snuggled into Francis' side. "And as for idiot, I'm not going to deny you have your moments, but for the most part you're pretty smart. And I think you need to talk to the Parrs."

Francis was silent for a few moments and then nodded. Frieda felt the movement. "You're right." He snorted. "You're always right."

Frieda laughed. "Just remember that." She sat up and went to the door. "I'm hungry, breakfast?"

Bob could say last night was honestly the worst night of his life. He'd had bad nights before, of course. Everyone has. But sitting in that uncomfortable plastic chair, watching Violet's chest rise with each breath and keeping an ear on the heart monitor beeping away beside her, Bob had never had a night like that. It seemed to drag on forever. He didn't sleep at all.

Lucius had brought changes of clothes and blankets before taking Virgil home. Someone needed to stay at the Sanctum and be on watch duty. He promised to take care of Jack-Jack. Dash refused to leave and was now curled up on the cot beside Helen, who had fallen asleep only a few hours ago after sitting up with Bob.

A nurse had come in a while ago to check on Violet and assured Bob that she was now in stable condition. The hallway outside was getting busier as the night shift and the morning shift changed. Bob groaned and rubbed his eyes. It wasn't just Violet that was keeping him awake, although that was a big part. It was Francis.

He'd vanished. Lucius said he hadn't come home or heard from him. Helen tried to call his cell but it was turned off. Bob wanted to hit himself. How could he have threatened to turn Francis over to Dicker. Of course that would make him want to run.

Bob had been upset and mad, but that wasn't much of an excuse. He'd hacked into the traffic control database and found the accident footage from a traffic camera at the intersection. He watched the race, fuming at Francis for being goaded into a trap like that, and then saw both Francis and his daughter being thrown from the motorcycle.

He'd trained Violet too well. She didn't conjure up a forcefield before her body slammed into the ground. All of the kids in his care had been drilled about the need for secrecy, protecting their secret identity came before all else. So Violet hadn't exposed her powers, knowing Wade and his goons were watching. And she had suffered for it. There were more important things than a secret identity. Bob would trade his secret identity, show his true self to the world, if it meant Violet would be okay.

Helen stirred and sat up sleepily, dark circles under her eyes. She looked to Violet first, to confirm she was still there, before looking to Bob. "Morning."

"Morning." He lifted his eyes to her. They had both left out the "good."

"How is she?" Helen absentmindedly ran her hand through Dash's hair as she yawned.

"Better. The nurse said she should wake up in a few hours."

Helen carefully swung her legs over the side of the cot, careful not to disturb Dash. "And Francis?"

Bob gestured to the phone in his hand. "Still not answering."

"Mom?" Dash sat up.

"Hi sweetie." Helen hugged Dash to her side.

Dash looked around the room and his gaze fell on Violet. "Is she better?"

"Yes, she'll be okay." Helen comforted her son.

"Good." Dash yawned and the found the remote. "Can I watch TV?"

Helen nodded. "Just keep the volume down."

Dash started flipping through the channels and Helen moved to go sit next to Bob. "Did you get any sleep?" Bob shook his head. Helen sighed and leaned into his side. "She'll be okay." Helen murmured.

Bob grunted. It sounded like an affirmation. Helen tried again. "We'll find him." Silence. "We will."

"Um, mom? Dad?" Dash broke in.

"Honey, we're talking…"

"Mom, look!"

Bob and Helen looked to Dash, who was pointing at the television screen. They both blinked in surprise and then shot to their feet. A robot was tearing through downtown Dakota.

Buildings crumbled in its wake and people ran screaming. The police and firefighters were on the scene, trying to contain the robot and the fires that sprang up when it directed its laser eye at something incendiary. The news reporters were shouting into their microphones to be heard over the shouts, screams, and crashes. The robot continued to advance towards them and the reporters were forced to run with the fleeing crowds. The camera image bounced and jostled and eventually was dropped the ground, the cameraman abandoning his equipment in his panic.

Bob and Helen exchanged looks and then ran from the room, already calling up Lucius. Dash was right behind them.

Richie was fast asleep, enjoying the ability to sleep until noon, when his entire house shook on its foundation. Richie rolled out of bed and scrambled for his glasses. "Earthquake!"

"Richie!" His bedroom door was thrown open and his mother ran inside. "We have to go!"

Richie found his jeans on the floor where he had kicked them off last night, pulled them on, and then he and his mom ran out of the house. His neighbors were doing likewise and they flooded onto the street. They all turned to see a giant robot advancing up the street towards them, demolishing buildings as it went. It seemed to be searching for something.

The crowd fled in the opposite direction and Richie pulled out his phone.

"I don't mean to brag, but my pancakes are the best." Frieda smiled as she flipped said pancake in the pan.

Francis was sitting at the counter watching her. "That's a pretty bold statement."

"I'm a pretty bold girl." Frieda turned and scraped the pancake out of the pan with a spatula. Francis offered her his plate, already full of pancakes. Frieda tossed the pan into the sink and then sat next to her boyfriend. "Did you get the orange juice?"

"Already poured." Francis slid a glass to her.

Frieda's phone rang and she reached for it. "It's Richie, hang on." She flipped it open. "Hi Rich, what's up?" Frieda's brow creased and she put a hand to her other ear to block out the sound so she could hear better. "Richie, I can barely hear you. What's going on?" She frowned in concentration. "What? Wait, is someone screaming? Richie, where are you? Robot?" She looked at Francis who was no watching her with concern. "What robot? Richie?" Frieda pulled the phone away from her ear and frowned at it. "He hung up."

Frieda got to her feet and walked over the to TV sitting on the counter. She turned it on and found a news channel. She and Francis stared wide-eyed at the screen. "Oh my god." Frieda clapped a hand over her mouth.

Mr. and Mrs. Incredible were battling a giant robot. Dash was running around the perimeter of the fight, getting bystanders out of the way. Mrs. Incredible stretched to wrap herself around the robot, hopefully pinning its arms to its side, when it trained its eye on her. It flashed a green light and Mrs. Incredible fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

Mr. Incredible tried to reach to her and was swiftly batted away by the robot. Dash quickly ran to his mother's side and pulled her away. Mr. Incredible dug himself out of the rubble of the building he had just been thrown through and faced the robot again.

Francis got to his feet. "I have to go."

Author's Note:

A couple things about this chapter. I don't know if we ever found out what happened to Mrs. Alva or not. Hell, she could be alive in the cartoon for all I know. But I needed a reason for Alva to have a grudge against Supers, bad Supers anyway, and that seemed like a good reason. I hesitated about making Alva the villain of this story, and I ended up with him being the catalyst for this final showdown, but he doesn't come across as particularly villainous to me. You can read it differently of course, but I still see Specs/Trapper/and their robot as the true villains.

The first part of this chapter was really easy to write, I had envisioned the Francis/Frieda scene for a long time. Unfortunately the second half was not as easy. Next chapter is the big fight. Two more chapters, get ready.

PLEASE REVIEW!