Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ Was It Something I Did? ( Chapter 9 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimers Apply Here: Manga-Chick does NOT own any part of Static Shock...no matter what she thinks.


I’m_alive: Dogs are a funny lot, really. >.< As for Ivan’s relationships–thankies. I actually have a lot of fun writing him, even if he does provide me with some trouble. I am continuously glad that you like this fic, and please, forgive my diva tendencies when I choose not to update as quickly as I used to. XD
Shampoo Marea: ...uh...*chews on chocolate bar* Sorry I was a little late...I’ll try harder next time! ^_^

Chapter Nine:
Was It Something I Did?




“Who did this to you?”

The apartment allowed minimal amounts of light in–those standing by the window stood quietly, stiffly, and Theresa looked from one to the other with a sort of studiousness that drew her features tightly. A ripple of unease made her limbs tremble slightly as she looked back at Eustacio, who was propped up on the couch amidst some pillows, his plaster and stitched body looking weak and defenseless as his older brothers towered over him.

Rudy, Armando and Gabriel Sedano all stood near the couch, in various poses of tension as Rudy questioned their youngest brother. Theresa shifted her gaze from them, looking down at her man with a sense of foreboding as she waited for him to answer.

Eustacio answered to them; being their youngest brother, he was often bullied and manipulated into doing their will. She had often found themselves doing their bidding at times; drying marijuana, running it across the state to various others; loaning them money they themselves couldn’t afford to do. Eustacio never kept things from them; he was brought up to answer to each and every thing they asked of him.

She immediately thought of Ivan and the others, wondering how she could warn them before Rudy and the others retaliated.

“Man, I just told you,” Eustacio complained, looking exasperated as he shifted uncomfortably. His eyes shot toward Theresa before looking up at Rudy. His jaw had been wired, so he spoke very uncomfortably and tightly. “I don’t know! It was fuckin’ dark...I couldn’t see their faces!”

“You piss anyone off, lately? Co-workers?” Rudy questioned evenly, raising both thin eyebrows.

“Like he works,” Gabe muttered, shaking his head with a smirk. “Gets the woman to do his shit for him...”

“You ain’t workin’, Eustacio?” Rudy asked, looking quite disappointed. “What’s up with that?”

“I just found myself between jobs. ‘Sides, I didn’t do shit to anyone. Well...not that I know of, of course. But I don’t know who these fuckers were.”

“Didn’t hear any names?” Armando asked. “Recognize their colors?”

“It was dark. Could have been anyone. You piss anyone off, lately?”

“We piss anyone off, that’s our business,” Rudy snapped as he rose. At six foot three, he was the tallest of the group; broad shouldered, scarred and heavily tattooed up and down his arms and around his neck. His thin mustache and goatee were meticulously cared for, his dark eyebrows furrowed heavily with life’s constant strains. He was the brother in charge of things; the others just followed at his bidding. He’d been in jail twice for drug-related issues, and had been involved with gang activity most of his life. He was the sort that carried out his business with much dedication and commitment that often made him intimidating and frightful to others.

“People aren’t supposed to be touching the families,” he added. “It’s not the way it works.”

“Heard you guys pissed off the Playas,” Eustacio muttered. “But I ain’t sayin’ that it was them. I’m saying, overall, that I don’t fucking know who the hell it was that got me.”

“Playas are our business,” Gabe said. “‘Sides, they all handled. It’s out of our hands.”

“You seen this happen?” Rudy asked Theresa, who shook her head tightly.

“Don’t involve her. She wasn’t involved,” Eustacio grumbled.

Rudy studied his younger brother carefully; his eyes took in the cast that was set over his left leg knowing of the multiple pins that took residence underneath skin and held his knee together. The same for his left hip. His brother was destined to walk with a limp for the rest of his life. Couldn’t do much for the rib injury–nor the stitches that kept his eyebrow together, and the wires that kept his jaw set.

The thought of a group of people hurting his brother made him furious; the fact that Eustacio couldn’t seem to remember who had done this made him even more enraged. He had a feeling that he was lying; Eustacio’s eyes would dart nervously before speaking. This was enough to drive his suspicion up the wall, and he moved away from the couch. He looked at Theresa with a considerable stare, finding himself pinned by the same even stare.

He’d always disliked his brother’s girlfriend–Theresa wasn’t a pushover, nor was she easily manipulated like all the other girls. She didn’t fear anybody, nor did she abide by the code of conduct among gang members.

He had a feeling that she was involved.

“You do something to piss her off?” he asked slowly, speaking to Eustacio but looking directly at her. Her eyes narrowed.

“No,” Eustacio muttered. “Fuck...”

Rudy studied Theresa for a few more minutes, then looked away. He took in the apartment’s contents, and his lip curled in disgust. His younger brother was lazy, full of excuses, and often left the money making activities to Theresa–or asking for loans from the family.

“You get well, then,” he finally decided, running a hand over his shaved head. “We’ll figure this shit out and fix it.”

“There ain’t nothing to fix!” Eustacio said fiercely, glaring up at him. “Fuck, if this happened, I fuckin’ probably deserved it!”

“But what caused it? Huh? What made some fuckers decide to up and kick your ass?”

“I probably pissed someone off by saying something, or doin’ something...I don’t know! Fuck. Just leave it alone...”

Rudy looked away from him, his eyes meeting those of his other brothers’. Quietly, they turned away from the couch, Rudy looking back at his youngest brother.“Fine. We’ll leave it at that. But this ain’t going to go away...I’m going to find out who did this to you. Then we’ll see what happens. Is that understood?”

“Whatever, man. Just let it alone. I deserved it.”

Rudy made a snorting sound, turning away from the couch. He gestured at the others to leave, ordering quietly, “Theresa. Let me talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Rudy–!”

“Shut the fuck up, Eustacio. Theresa, get out here.”

With a sort of hesitation understandable for her situation, Theresa took her time in leaving the couch, Eustacio looking at her with a mixture of concern and apology. She looked away, wondering why she had fallen for such a weak man when he was nothing like the one she had fallen for first.

She followed Rudy and the others outside, and found herself crowded as Rudy stepped in close to her.

“I heard he beat you up a couple of weeks ago,” he commented, his voice low as she shut the door behind herself. “That you lost the baby. If this is some revenge motivated bullshit–”

“He killed our baby,” Theresa muttered low, her dark eyes focused intensely on his, no sign of fear or remorse expressed in them. “Karma returned the situation half-fold.”

“...I think you know more than you’re letting on. Who did this to him? You involved?”

“I wasn’t with him that night. But I feel it is just that he’s laid up in there for laying his fists on me. And for murdering our child. I see no problem with his situation.”

“You ain’t got the family with enough balls to confront him,” Rudy said with disgust, disliking her fierceness, her boldness as she faced him. “Who are your friends?”

“You know my friends, Rudy. You met them.”

“Ain’t none of them ballsy enough to attack my little brother. Especially being who he is, and who we are. We fucking don’t take that sort of bullshit. And if family’s involved? You can fucking be rest assured that we’ll fix it to our advantage.”

Theresa snorted. “Sure, man. Whatever. Listen to your brother–if he says he deserves it, then he’s speaking the truth.”

“We’ll be watching you, girl. Make a wrong move, make a wrong friend, we figure out that you’re lying, you’ll be the one we’ll be visiting,” Rudy promised, the others moving toward their vehicle. Theresa lifted her chin, a slight smirk on her features.

“Be waiting for you, then,” she said with a light shrug, presenting her back to him as she walked back into the apartment.

Rudy’s jaw tightened as the door shut, but he turned and followed his other brothers, determined to find out the real story.

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.


The wet slab of meat hit the dusty floor, and Daniel Trujillo tore into it eagerly.

Those watching him winced at the destructive display, the sounds of ripping muscle and crunching bone slashing through the empty warehouse. Located in an auspicious place near the docks, it was the common meeting spot for the gang that called themselves the Pitts. Named mainly for their illegal dog-fighting and common interest in pitbulls, they were a gang that operated under Rudy’s command. They met commonly, usually to catch up on each other’s activities with their animals and for other occasional business.

Tonight’s meeting was to catch up on Danny’s activities, the creature fed in the same manner as their vicious dogs, meat tossed to him carelessly. Danny may not be collared and leashed like their pits, but he was treated as such.

Rudy shook his head in disgust, looking at Armando. Armando winced when slips of meat slipped from those uneven teeth. “Man...you think he’s ever gonna change back?”

Rudy studied the deformed human being in front of them–remembered that Daniel Trujillo had been a sizable kid, easily impressed by those he looked up to. Danny had been six feet tall, a Mexican-American that had left his abusive mother and three younger sisters to find something better in Dakota. He’d fallen into the gang scene, settling with the Pitts for the comfort of being with family. He had been down at the docks that fateful night on unrelated business, and had been influenced by the gas like everyone else. He’d made his first change as a werewolf in a Dakota Electronics store and had been beaten that same day by a raising upstart that had taken on the name “Hotstreak”. He’d learned to shift on and off as the creature before making a trip out of Dakota to L.A., to settle some unfinished business with something outside of his family.

He’d been gone for a few years, coming back a changed person two years ago. In all matters understanding. There had been a period where he’d retained his form for far longer than he was used to, and it looked as if he’d forgotten how to be human again. As days passed and Danny kept his wolf form, all traces of his humanity had continued to elude him.

It had taken Rudy and the others to understand that their friend wasn’t going to turn human again–unless he was subjected to the cure that had cured all Bang Babies. But they’d learned something in that matter of time; Danny listened to them. He actively followed their orders and had turned extremely useful in matters considering.

Rudy had ‘trained’ Danny–he’d used the former human’s canine instincts, training him as if he were one of their trademark pitbulls. He taught Danny to fight; taught him to hate and taught him to track. There was an advantage to having a werewolf-creature in their ranks; it could easily kill and do things they couldn’t do.

Danny was used to take care of their business when they themselves couldn’t. Danny was their pet. And he retained that sensibility despite his menacing ways, faithful and loyal to those that continued to look after him.

One of the Pitts leaned in to stroke between his ears, laughing about something while Danny growled affectionately, chewing heartily on the bone that remained. His muscular size and statue easily dwarfed those of the gang, the oversized animal taking up the space they were standing in.

There were cages in the other room that housed their more menacing animals. They were busy with their own food, being beat and teased by their trainers to retain their viciousness. When the occasional pained howl hit the air, Danny’s ears twitched nervously, but he did nothing as he enjoyed his own meal.

“Is he getting bigger, you think?” Gabe asked curiously. He patted his thigh, and Danny turned away from the bone, tail wagging cheerfully as he nuzzled into the grown man’s hand with his wet nose. Licking his muzzle to clear away the traces of blood and slivers of meat, Danny crouched and leaned into the affectionate petting.

“I think so. Dunno. He was just a kid when he came to us, man,” Rudy muttered. He thought back to the days before Danny had changed into the form he was in, now. “What? Fourteen? Thirteen?”

“Yeah...it’s been awhile since then. He shouldn’t be growing. But, hell, whatever works, huh? He still does it good.” Gabe picked up one of those large paws, examining the finger-like digits and picking at the debris collected at the base. He then reached up, to hook his thumbs at the corners of his mouth and opening Danny’s mouth wide to examine his teeth. Danny growled lowly at the action, but allowed Gabe to examine his mouth.

Rudy reached out, his fingers curling into Danny’s shoulders. Leaning on him, he gave him a hearty rubbing, making a face as he did so. “I feel gay, man.”

Everyone laughed as he straightened.

“I mean, c’mon! He was a fuckin’ human being before he turned into this! Then we’re all rubbing him and shit...”

“You’re the one all over him like that!” a man named Michael called out with a guffaw.

“But he’s like a big ole fuckin’ dog, man. He needs rubbing and affection...he can do all that other bad stuff, but he’s just a dog.”

“I don’t rub my dog like that.”

“What’s that shit called? When people do it with animals?” Gabe asked curiously, wiping his hands on his jeans and pushing Danny’s head away from him.

Rudy shot him a disgusted look. “Don’t be going there, man. That’s gross.”

“I think it’s called bestiality.”

“Hey, you think he ever gets horny?” someone asked, taking all the shouts and disgusted whines that were tossed at him.

“Every man gets horny,” Rudy figured, looking at Danny, watching the tail wag with indifference as inquisitive gold eyes blinked with heavy laziness. “He prolly jumps on all the bitches around here.”

“He’d tear them up, man. Maybe we should find him a woman. Eustacio’s woman would be more than enough.”

“She’d cut his balls off!” Rudy said on a laugh. “She all evil that way.”

“You want a bitch, man?” Gabe asked Danny, rubbing his muzzle as the creature leaned into the brisk action. “Wanna bitch? You need to get laid?”

Rudy suddenly laughed. “That’s fucking gross, man. Who the fuck cares? If he is, he’ll figure it out. He’s got...stuff...there.”

“I still say we need to get him into some pants, or something,” Armando grumbled. “It’s like, so wrong to have runnin’ around with his bits and parts flying around.”

“I ain’t puttin’ no pants on some rabid werewolf guy! ‘Sides, if he was so self-conscious, he’d do it on his own!”

“He can’t think for himself, man! He all animal an’ shit! He can’t think that way anymore! We gotta think for him!”

Rudy chuckled again, shaking his head. “Where’d you go the other night, huh, Danny-boy? Huh? Where’d you go?”

Danny turned to look over at him, tongue lolling out as his expression turned indifferent.

“He got someone! It’s all confirmed!”

Everyone looked over to see another one of their crew members hurrying in, carrying that day’s newspaper. He handed it over to Rudy, who looked down at the page five article of a death that had occurred a couple of nights before. When the name of the deceased jumped at him, he laughed in a careless way.

“Fuckin’ Tyson, man,” he commented, recalling the tall teen with the gold incisor. “Kid was always so fuckin’ full of it.”

“That black fag-kid? Man, he was all fairy. I heard he was into little boys an’ shit.” Armando made an expression of disgust, others noticeably doing the same thing in automatic reaction.

“Yeah. He had a record. Fuckin’, his own cousin! He was in juvie for that one.”

“He fucked his own cousin?” someone asked in disgust, and Rudy nodded in confirmation.

“Little ten year old cousin, and he’s all fuckin’ sexual with him. Ah, well, gotta get those kinds of perverts off the streets anyway. Ain’t no sympathy for him. Good boy, Danny-boy...good boy. Who you going after, next, huh?”

Danny began wagging his tail once more, teeth displayed in a sort of doggie-smile as he stared up at Rudy with much affection. Rudy reached out, to scratch behind one ear as that tail began moving more fiercely.

“Didja find out who fucked over your brother?” Michael asked him curiously.

“No. He ain’t sayin’ shit. He knows who did it, man,” Armando said with disgust. “He just ain’t sayin’.”

“His fuckin’ woman was involved,” Rudy muttered. “I know she was. She just fuckin’ looks like the type to call up her homies and shit.”

“Weren’t she pregnant?”

“Yeah...still...if it was another man’s baby, I would have done the same thing.”

“Bitch gotta know her place.”

“Yeah...but he ain’t sayin’ who did it. Anybody know of her friends?”

“She ain’t got no friends that tough enough to take him down,” another man, Carlos, muttered. “She tight with someone else? Maybe a man on the side?”

“Dunno. Just check it out, huh? We’ll find the fuckers that did it. Meanwhile, we got other shit to do. Heard most of those faggots were taken in for stealing military bullshit. That true?” Rudy asked curiously, looking around the group.

Most shook their heads, but Gabe gave a snort. “Yeah. Man, I told you already. They were busted by Static. They all up in juvie or jail for stealing on military cargo and shit.”

“Aw, snaps! Seriously? Fuck...how many of them?”

“‘Bout ten or fifteen of them.”

“Static’s helpful, sometimes. How many left?”

“Still some here and there. Oh, get this!” Michael laughed as he rose from the chair he was sitting on, straightening his wife beater over a soft stomach. “Tyson was hanging around Ivan Evans, man. You know that fucker? Was that fuckin’ Ebon guy, back in the day!”

Rudy laughed. “Oh, not uh! Had to run and try to hide behind that guy, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“He was bad-ass back in the day. But he ain’t nothin’, now. Just a normal motherfucker like the rest of us...”

“I ain’t no motherfucker...”

“What’s that guy up to, nowadays? He still around Dakota?” Rudy asked curiously, taking a seat atop of a table, clutching the edge.

“Yeah. Him and that Stone character are always hanging out together.”

“Stone...fuckin’ hated that bitch. Thought he was so fuckin’ good. I still want a chance to fuck him over just to teach him his place.”

“Yeah, him and Evans are still all tight. But Tyson hung out with them a lot. Probably was tryin’ to hide out while shit went down.”

“Well...that happens...” Rudy trailed off thoughtfully, lips pursed as Danny rose, then settled once more on the floor, curling up for sleep. He eyed the creature with a frown. “Looks like he ain’t going anywhere, tonight. Let’s go home, kids. Daddy’s tired.”

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.

Ivan made a curious tilt of his head as he studied the clipping, frowning. He knew it was something important...the name of the dead teen struck him with some familiarity, but he just wasn’t getting it.

“Ah, man!” Francis then exclaimed, looking oddly shocked. “That was that kid! Rich’s boyfriend!”

“Ah,” Ivan then murmured, placing the name with the face of the kid. Then he had to scowl, looking over at Francis with a measuring stare.

“He died?” Francis repeated, looking over his shoulder. “How’d he die?”

“Dude, the fucker got attacked by some dog,” Shiv reported eagerly, stabbing the article with one finger. His DC labeled t-shirt was splattered with his dinner; but he paid it no mind as he shared what he learned with two of his best friends. His current girlfriend at the moment, a snotty-faced girl by the name of Christy, gazed impassively at them as she leaned against the counter. She was pointedly ignored by everyone. “They think it was a pit! The kid was a gang member, anyway...”

“For which one?”

“The Playas! That’s why they knew you, Ivan. Didn’t you guys know that?”

“No...” Francis gave him a disgusted look. “Like we pay attention to shit like that. Least...I don’t. I don’t fuckin’ care...”

Ivan tossed the clipping aside, a bored expression on his features. “What we doin’ tonight?”

“I...kinda wanna stay home...”

“And wait for the little woman to come back?” Shiv snickered. Christy sighed impatiently as she shifted noticeably, but once more, she was ignored. “He’s been gone for awhile, man. He ain’t comin’ back.”

“He’ll come back. He always does,” Francis muttered, stomping over to the fridge to open it and rummage within. The blond shifted when the redhead’s bulk nearly smushed her as he shifted to pass out some left over beer.

“Man, you shameful,” Ivan commented with a disgusted expression. “There ain’t no other words to describe how much I really dislike your bitchy attitude.”

“There ain’t no other words to describe how much I’ll kick your stupid black ass for talking more shit about my attitude...”

Amidst the slap Ivan administered across Francis’ face, Shiv said, “While that is occurring, should we, like, order pizza? I’m hungry, man.”

“You need to go on a diet.”

“You’re getting fat,” Christy muttered sullenly. But she was ignored.

“Not all men could be all–hey, let’s go work out! I wanna lift some weights!”

“I just got done in there, Shiv. I don’t feel like it,” Francis muttered, absently rubbing his goatee, then rubbing the area where Ivan’s palm had connected. “No pizza. I don’t want that fuckin’ kid delivering over here and looking for Richie. Let’s get some Chinese...”

“Has anyone ever told you how fucking controlling you are?” Shiv asked curiously. “Every other thing is denying the little R this and making sure he don’t get that because of this.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ controlling! Just...he...you know what? Fuck you, Shiv. Shut the fuck up.”

“I hate Chinese,” Ivan muttered. “I don’t want no fuckin’ Chinese...”

“No, I mean, seriously! You wouldn’t let him watch that movie because he really likes what the actor looked like! You threw a fit because some guy looked at him twice! Dude! I don’t fuckin’ care about all this drama shit, but I think it’s totally ridiculous when you get all pissed over something that he can’t control. You won’t even let him go out with you because you know you’ll get pissed over some guy looking at him!”

“I do not!”

“You do too!”

“Fuck you, man! I don’t act like that!”

“Ho, let’s make a bet, then. If he ever comes back, let’s all go out–!”

“He ain’t going with us! That’s fuckin’ bullshit!”

“Let’s get some chicken, man. Not that KFC crap, either,” Ivan said with a frown. “With some mashed potatoes...oh, and some of that biscuits...ain’t there a Popeye’s nearby? Do they deliver?”

“Why? Why won’t you let him do that?”

Christy sighed heavily, snatched her purse, and stomped out from the house. No one bothered to notice as they continued with their arguments.

“He’s so fuckin’ whiny and complains the entire time! I don’t like the music, I don’t like to dance, I don’t like to drink so much–!” Francis raised his voice a little to try and mimic his husband’s, giving it a lisp, flinging a limp wrist about. Then he made a slashing motion with both hands, speaking regularly. “He always fuckin’ whines the entire time! I hate taking him out!”

“No way, man. That last time? When you did let him come? Some guy bought him a drink, and you fuckin’ flipped out cuz you were sure they were fuckin’!!”

“I DID NO–! Wait...dude, they were! You saw how fuckin’ close they were!”

“IT HAPPENED IN A FUCKING BAR WHERE EVERYONE WAS FUCKING CLOSE TO EACH OTHER!!”

“Nah...not Popeye’s...let’s get some Mexican...I’m feelin’ like shredded beef nachoes...who’s buyin’?”

“THAT GUY WAS TOUCHING HIM!”

“HE WAS GIVING HIM THAT DRINK!! Of which you took away and flung back into his face! GOD! YOU’RE THE REASON WHY WE WERE BOOTED OUT OF THERE!”

“SO? WE GOT TO COME BACK THE NEXT NIGHT!”

“YEAH, BUT–!”

“With some rice...I want some rice...the kind with cheese on it. Hey, what place delivers? Someplace good.”

The front door opened, and everyone quieted, all eyes on their unexpected visitor. At the sight of Richie walking in with a sheepish expression, all of them shifted their previous expressions into glares. The blond shut the door with a frown, no one moving as his every move was monitored.

Francis gave a snort, crossing his arms. Shiv shoved the article across the counter to him, and Ivan had his darkest scowl plastered over his features.

Sighing heavily, Richie ventured from the door and looked down at the article. Noting Tyson’s death with a disgruntled frown, learning that his death was blamed on an animal and the suspects being those of a rival gang, he felt that curl of guilt and unease sweeping through him. His stomach twisted violently, and he pushed the article from him, looking at Francis.

“Sad?” the redhead practically spit. “He ain’t gonna be around to fuck you anymore...”

Richie sighed again, wondering why he even made the effort to come back. He turned away from the counter, dropping the keys as he rummaged through the fridge. Shiv and Ivan exchanged looks, and both of them pushed away from the counter, heading away from the kitchen.

“Ah, shit...” Shiv looked around curiously. “Dude, did I just get dumped again?”

“By who?” Ivan asked, puzzled. “Did you bring someone over?”

“...Maybe I just imagined it. Never mind.”

Francis looked his husband over, frowning as Richie picked out some leftover onion dip and took out the chips from the cupboard.

He continued to stare at him as Richie munched on the snack, pointedly ignoring him. When Shiv began the nightly slaughter of video games, Ivan reluctantly joined in. When the blond started rummaging the cupboards for a cup to pour some soda into, Francis took over on the chips.

“Where were you?” he asked quietly, crunching noisily on the ruffled potato pieces. He made sure that the clothes Richie was wearing were those he owned. Sometime during the past week, Richie had come back to the house for supplies. Once he recognized the dark green tee and baggy dark blue jeans, he relaxed.

“Out.”

“By yourself?”

“Nope. With five different guys. All of whom that think I’m more of a catch than you apparently do,” Richie said sweetly. “With my ego stroked once more, I decided to come back home so I can once again bask in the warmth of your love and happiness all over again.”

“Ah, cut the fuckin’ crap, man!” Francis groaned, throwing the chips aside. “So I fuckin’ said some things...so what? I obviously didn’t mean it...”

“Yeah...really...” Richie trailed off, giving him a disgusted look. “You obviously don’t mean a lot of things, do you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you have to think about it, then it’s apparent that I did a lot more thinking than you did. Funny.”

“Fuck...when you come home all actin’ fuckin’ superior, it makes me want to smack you. Why can’t you just stop your fuckin’ whining and complaining sometimes, huh?”

“Sure, Francis, solve everything with physical violence. That’ll solve everything.”

“Does in the movies.”

“Wow, someone’s been taking How-To lessons with Steven Seagal!”

“Man, you’re really getting on my nerves...why don’t you leave, again?”

“Where’s the love?” Shiv complained quietly, unable to ignore their rising voices. “Remember when they never fought? When things were so disgustingly sweet and cutesy? When Francis wouldn’t ever mention whore and Richie in the same sentence? When Richie wouldn’t refer to Francis as a loser and a pathetic psycho within the same paragraph?”

Ivan snorted, frowning as his race car slammed into a street sign. “Who the fuck cares?”

“Wanna make a bet?”

“...what kind?”

“Bet you, in six months, they get a divorce.”

“Ch. I’ll bet you, in three weeks, that ho finds someone else to fuck with.”

“...Which one?”

“Foley.”

“...Hah! Yeah right! You’re on!...What we bettin’?”

“Your rent.”

“HAH!...er...okay.”

SS.SS.SS. SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.

After deciding that Ivan wasn’t playing seriously enough for him, and growing tired of the continued argument from the kitchen, Shiv left to track down his flavor of the week. Ivan turned off the video games and watched tv, half listening to the words that were filtering in from the kitchen. Francis was drinking and working himself up into a rage again, and Richie was really instigating his every word and accusation with those looks and words that made the redhead furious.

Ivan found it amusing, really. He sneaked a look over in their direction, watching Francis rant and rave, arms flying here and there as he punctuated his words with gestures. Richie was there in his face, using his height to really draw the ire of his husband’s mood, accusing and mocking, neither of them really bothering with apologies and explanations.

He wondered where the love went. These sorts of fights were commonplace, now. Both of them were getting annoyed by the other. Those traces of anxiety, concern and love that Francis had been feeling for his missing husband was gone, replaced by insecurity, annoyance and exasperation.

He wondered who was at fault, really, when both of them were instigating the other’s ire. He didn’t feel like blaming Francis–that was too obvious. He would blame Richie for being too damn spoiled, for getting his way despite it all. The boy needed to be taught a lesson.

Chuckling low at that, he turned back to the television set and gazed impassively as Stewie threatened his mother’s life once more.

Richie rolled his eyes, turning away from Francis, heading toward the couch to escape the redhead’s tirade. Ignoring the slams of glass on Formica, the rough handling of various things from the cupboards, Richie flopped front first onto the couch, reaching for one of the floor pillows to prop against. He stared blankly at the television screen, wincing when one particular slam was followed with the ominous crack of wood. He shifted his eyes from the screen to Ivan, who had his chin propped atop of one palm. Francis had just thrown an empty glass bottle into the trash can with a violent crash of sound, and stormed out from the kitchen, into the garage. Richie figured he’d steam some of that anger off weight lifting, and worked his bottom lip for a few minutes, wondering if he should follow and continue his argument.

Maybe if he had Francis alone, to keep him from continually wanting to keep up the tough guy attitude, he’d calm down and see it Richie’s way. Because whenever one of his friends were in view or earshot, he was so stubborn and annoyingly pointed in his standing to appear as if he were the one that called all the shots. It was so much easier working with him when he was alone.

It felt awkward being in the living room with Ivan. He looked at him again, lifting his upper torso up from the floor pillow to give the black man an uncertain expression.

Then, settling once more, he grumbled, “Don’t you have your own apartment to watch tv, in?”

Ivan made a sort of scoffing sound that seemed to come from his nose. “You ain’t kicked out, yet?”

“Ch,” Richie muttered, removing his glasses and setting them aside, burying his face against the cushion. “Get a life, Ivan. Stop sucking on others’...”

Ivan looked over at him with a darkened frown, one corner of his lip raised as he shifted in his seat. “Just cuz your man lays down the damn law–!”

“Don’t you even start with that bullshit, Ivan!” Richie snapped, jerking his head up, glaring over at him. “You guys think you’re so fucking manly and have it all! You’re just a bunch of former metahuman fratboys that won’t ever grow up! None of you are ever going to be anything else!”

Ivan shot up from his chair, snarling angrily. “Don’t be giving me that fucking attitude, bitch!” he snapped. “You wanna start shit, you better realize who the fuck you’re starting shit with!”

“Oh yeah?” Richie shot up from the couch, getting into his face, using his height advantage to full effect. He could see Ivan practically explode as he did so, his teeth bared into snarling display as Richie shot back, “who are you, Ivan? I don’t see any powers on you...you’re nothing but a normal, regular–!”

He paused when he felt fingers wrap around his throat, his windpipe obstructed by the strength in Ivan’s left hand. He grit his teeth, exhaling slowly as Ivan tightened his hold.

“Stop. Talking. Shit. I don’t fucking like you. I don’t want to deal with you. I abhor the thought of having to spend any amount of time with you, because you remind me of a whiny, bratty child...a spoiled one, at that. I don’t wanna hear anything more from you. You start shit? You start it with someone else. You understand?”

Richie stared at him for a couple of considering minutes, feeling the hand loosen its hold on him. He then gave a light snort, never taking his eyes off his. “Talking in a big boy voice makes you feel better? Take you back in the day when you were the boss?”

Ivan felt every one of his cells ignite, his eyes examining the smug expression on the blond’s face. He wanted to tear it off; to smash that smirking face into the coffee table. But things calmed within an instant as he realized that Richie was using that particular voice and expression specifically to piss him off. This was exactly what he did to Francis; recognizing that Richie was just playing with him made him realize that getting angry was what Richie wanted.

At that, he nearly laughed. The blond thought he was slick. He lowered his hand, his lips curving into a sudden, careless smirk.

“You think you can pull that shit with me?” he asked quietly. Amusement filtered into his tone. “I seen you do the exact same thing to him. I know what you do.”

Richie’s face slipped into that of puzzlement for an instant, then shifted to that of smug content. Seeing those lips curve into a sarcastic smile made Ivan’s blood boil briefly, but now that he knew what was going on, he wasn’t about to fall for it again. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Trick, you ain’t all that. Talk all the shit you want. None of it’s going to affect me. You can cry, pout, or whine about it all–you ain’t gettin’ to me.”

Richie frowned at him, staring at him with considering measure. Ivan took the stare, returning it with one of his own. For a few moments, the blond considered just leaving him, realizing that Ivan was beyond caring what would be said. He could dig into Ivan’s past and use Adam and his past as Ebon all he wanted, but none of it would affect Ivan. His fingers clenched tightly in both fists, but he loosened them once more.

His shoulders slumped slightly. As much as he wanted Francis to himself, he wasn’t going to have that chance.

As he stared at Ivan, feeling the urge to look away, something came to him. If words wouldn’t work...

He felt his lips curl once more, Ivan keeping his cool expression.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, holding up his hands. “You got me, Ivan. Can’t pull one over you, can I?”

Ivan’s eyes narrowed slightly at the sarcasm, but he resumed his indifferent stare. Inwardly, he was waiting for Richie to pull something else out of his proverbial hat.
Richie stared at him for a few moments, then felt the corner of his mouth raise. He moved to walk past him, intending to head on back to the garage when his hand snaked out, to grope Ivan’s crotch rather blatantly. Ivan was stunned speechless at having his privates handled so uncharacteristically, by the last person on Earth he’d have touching him.

Richie found what he was looking for, tugging lightly before Ivan jerked out of his hold with a garbled exclamation.

Ignoring the threat of being bodily harmed, Richie snickered as he calmly headed toward the garage.

Intensely steamed that Richie had gone to such lengths, the red that coated Ivan’s vision didn’t subside until the garage door slammed shut. A strong growl escaped his lips, his teeth gritting fiercely as his fingers curled into tight fists. He then straightened his pants, muttering sharply as he struggled to regain his sense of calm.

He was still stunned in that Richie had touched him so; stunned that he’d even go that far. But, in all things considered, it looked like it was on.

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.

That night, Francis heaved a quiet sigh as he stared at the digital clock on his side of the bed. The numbers shifted rather slowly to 2:47, and he still wasn’t any closer to any sleep. While he felt the need to close his eyes, to relax completely into much needed rest, he simply couldn’t.

He knew Richie was having trouble sleeping, as well. More than likely, he was just as awake as he himself was. The window was open to allow the cool night air to filter in, and as such, the sounds of their sleepy neighborhood was just as loud and alive as it was during the day. The chirping of nighttime insects, the barks from various neighbors’ back yards, the sounds of traffic...lulling and complacent, it just wasn’t enough to allow him to rest. There was a sense of unease that kept his spine stiff and his thoughts to run in random order.

He hated to admit when he was wrong. But he would if he absolutely had to. It was a sense of pride that kept him from admitting things when they needed to be. He didn’t want Richie walking all over him.

But then again...it was hard denying him what he wanted.

He shifted restlessly, onto his stomach, turning to face him as he swept his arms underneath his pillow, and raised his left knee, bumping it against Richie’s legs. The blond shifted automatically–pulling away from him. That’s when Francis was definitely sure that his husband was just as awake as he.

“I hate it when you leave,” he admitted quietly. “When you don’t let me know where you are.”

“Fuck off,” Richie murmured. “You can’t be that controlling.”

“I’m not controlling. I’m just letting you know.”

“...So you can bitch at me all that time? Sometimes I just want a break from you.”

“It’s not like we’re together all the time. You have that break period. You work and do your school thing. You spend that time with Virgil. We ain’t together all the time; I don’t see why you need some fuckin’ ‘break’.”

“When you get all pissy and stupid, Francis, that’s when I need a break.”

“I was pissed because you were all over that boy, Rich! Well...fuck it. Ain’t like he can cause trouble again, huh?”

Richie snorted; shifted so that he was practically laying at the very edge of their king sized bed. Francis scooted closer, and enjoyed that tension he felt from the blond at the movement. He knew he hated it; hated being touched and talked to when he was pissed at him. That was why he did it. Just to piss him off.

He stared at the back of his husband’s head, breathing quietly; his feet shifted to entangle with Richie’s, feeling the angry terseness the blond had as he shifted his feet over the edge of the bed. Sometimes, it made Francis want to laugh; Richie could be so childish sometimes, when he was angry.

He listened to the sounds of the world outside their window; heard someone’s television set blare with some British cooking show; someone’s dog barking maniacally at something unseen. A plane flew overhead, air brakes giving that familiar whoosh of noise that sliced through the night. His hand left the firm comfort of his pillow, to lay over his husband’s hip over the light blanket that covered him.

“Stop touching me, Francis!”

He chuckled, pulling his hand back. He wormed his way closer, so that he was resting his head on the very same pillow Richie’s was, breathing down the back of his neck.

Richie smelled of his familiar musky scent and a recent use of shampoo. It was both comfortable and annoying; annoying in that he knew others could be enjoying the same combination. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way; but his possessiveness sometimes rivaled his husband’s.

He hated when women acted this way; he didn’t give them any chances. The moment they began acting so childishly, he booted them and never looked back. But Richie...while he hated the petulant act he displayed, Francis couldn’t be more appreciative.

If Richie were indifferent to him, if he didn’t care what Francis did or said...then something was utterly and inexplicitly wrong.

Francis laid quietly, thoughts running amok as he listened to the things filtering in from the open window, and enjoyed the comfort of familiarity in his husband’s scent. He could remember a time when he couldn’t get enough of it–having the scent trapped on his clothes, on his pillow, on his skin...remembering those days when they were so madly in love with each other that nothing else mattered made him a little nostalgic. He wondered how and when they had lost that passion. He couldn’t remember the exact moment when Richie started falling asleep away from him; when he himself didn’t feel like having sex; when both decided that cuddling was definitely too much work.

They were affectionate, here and there. But it wasn’t as much as it had been in the past.

When had things started to die?

He frowned at this, trying to picture a future without Richie. He had been with the boy for far too long to really live without him; there was an entirety to comfort in having him, in knowing that no matter what, Richie would come back home. It was almost similar to wearing shoes everyday; to having a routine; to brushing one’s teeth. If one lost that comfort and familiarity, one was lost and confused. Passion could die a little...but the comfort was still there.

He gave a small sigh as he adjusted himself on their shared pillow, resisting the impulse to reach out and curl his arm around his husband’s waist. With his current mood, Richie would most likely exclaim angrily and storm out of the room to sleep in the guest bedroom. Francis would only follow to annoy him. They would end up fighting, and instead of making up, Richie would disappear again.

He didn’t want that. But he did want to be close to his irritated husband.

His eyes sought the ceiling, focusing there as he heard Richie heave an annoyed sigh.

He watched the shapes of shadows shift as someone drove by–their bedroom window overlooked the street. Watching this, he wondered if things would have been different if he and Ivan had somehow retained their powers.

He shifted again, feeling Richie tense as he lined his front with his back; waited tersely for Richie to throw a fit. But he felt immense satisfaction when Richie relaxed against him. That was all it took for Francis to happily toss an arm around his waist, and pull him close, to shift the pair of them towards the middle of the bed. He heaved a sigh of satisfaction as his arms shifted snugly around his trim waist, forcing his leg between his. Satisfied with his position, he felt sleepy, his eyelids heavy as he resettled into his pillow and waited for Richie to relax into his position. Feeling him settle, Francis gave a smug smile and nuzzled that mop of clean blond hair.

“Love you, babe,” he murmured quietly. “‘Night...”

“...You’re such a baby, Francis. I hate you.”

Francis chuckled, snuggling more firmly against him, arms tightening briefly around him. “‘Hate’ is just another word for affection, Rich. If you hated me so much, you wouldn’t be here.”

“...True. I could be with someone else that appreciated me, more.” Richie used an elbow to loosen Francis’ suddenly tight grip over his waist. “That wouldn’t call me names. Or leave me home all the time. Or–”

“All right, all right! Jesus fucking Christ, just go to sleep. Stop your fuckin’ bitching...”

Richie exhaled heavily, not bothering to return the embrace. He stared glumly off into the darkness and wondered why his hand remembered the distinct heaviness and thickness of Ivan’s crotch.