Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ One ❯ Chapter Six ( Chapter 6 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
The pressure rises...it doesn't look as if he's meant to take this path. But what's continuing to hold him back?
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.25.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.3K | Visits: 714 | Status: Completed
The pressure rises...it doesn't look as if he's meant to take this path. But what's continuing to hold him back?
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.25.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.3K | Visits: 714 | Status: Completed
One
Chapter Six:
Aquamaria frowned as she caught sight of the hurriedly moving shadow across the street. Her hand went up to quietly shush Talon’s and Shiv’s talking, the pair of them hushing immediately. They kept close to the shadows they hid within, watching the hurrying figure move down the sidewalk, away from the house.
“That him, girl?” Talon hissed, narrowing her eyes.
“See? Told you!” Shiv hissed, snickering. He reached up into the air, tooting an invisible horn. “One stop Love Hotel!”
“Shut up, idiot!” Maria hissed, Talon smacking him across the back of the head to shut him up. She narrowed her eyes as she took in the plain two story house, where a dull green Corolla was pulling up. “I can’t believe it...I wasn’t even gonna listen to you, too. It all true...”
“When do I lie?” Shiv protested.
The three of them were hiding behind a hedge in a neighbor’s front yard, spying as they tried to confirm Shiv’s rumors. Because Ebon had ‘asked’ him to, Shiv had kept a close eye on the flame-haired meta since he left jail, and had his arm twisted behind his back by both Talon and Maria to allow them to accompany him tonight. The two girls had been affronted on Shiv’s continued insistence that Hotstreak was still lingering around Foley, and wanted to see for themselves.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, they were able to confirm Shiv’s words with their very own eyes.
“He said he was gettin’ tutored by him...and the guys at school say that he all school boyish, now,” Shiv whispered, fiddling with his playing cards. He’d brought them along, intending to play a round or two of ‘speed’ while they waited, but neither of the girls wanted to play with him. “Gettin’ all A’s and shit, snagging up scholarships to Harvard...”
“Stop playing around,” Talon said with a roll of her eyes. “He only been in school for a couple of days. Ain’t no A student, that one!”
Shiv chuckled, wrinkling his nose with cheer. “Well, anyway...that kid was the one doin’ it. Something fishy going on...I think I smell a little of boy-boy action goin’ on here...”
“Nuh-uh. That guy’s a brain. Francis prolly has him doin’ all his homework an’ shit. And he’s making sure of it,” Talon growled, shaking her head.
“More than likely,” Maria muttered. “Francis don’t pull that kinda shit. He ain’t the type to like boys. He’s all butch.”
“Why you guys care so much, anyway?”
“Maria’s in love,” Talon giggled behind one hand.
“Shut up, bitch!” Maria hissed.
“That ain’t right...ain’t like you guys can bone, or anything. You being all water and stuff...” Shiv muttered, looking puzzled.
“Shut up, Shiv!”
Talon snickered while Shiv stared at the watery beauty thoughtfully. Then had his head slapped as Maria grew pissed off by his look.
“Oh, shit. What am I doin’?” Shiv then cried, leaping from his hiding spot and running after Hotstreak, tailing him.
“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Talon then asked Maria.
“What’chu thinking, girl?”
“Yeah, he’s gotta pass an’ all...but why he’s hanging around him so much?”
“I...I don’t know.”
“He ain’t gonna tell us. You heard him the other night. He ain’t give a straight answer to anything.”
Maria narrowed her eyes, drumming her fingertips against her lips. “No...”
“Damn. Let’s go home, ‘k? I got a job to do tonight. I don’t got time to chase after idiots just for some gossip. You gonna stay and play?”
“I’m...going to go, too. Cya.”
Talon nodded, and took flight, disappearing into the darkness.
With a frown, Maria stepped out from the hedge, marching for the sidewalk. She stared at the two story house for a few moments, then liquified her body, disappearing within the storm drain at her feet.
OooooooooooO
Virgil strode determinedly toward Richie’s locker that next day–he wasn’t going to let this new thing keep him from his best friend, but he just had to know some things. If Richie wasn’t willing to talk to him about it, then there was something definitely wrong with their communication skills. When did Richie ever feel that he had to keep things from him because the blond was afraid of his reaction? What was so damn wrong about that picture? He didn’t find the blond there, and gnashed his teeth, trying to think of the various areas Richie liked to hang out in. Felix and Chuck had said they’d seen him arrive earlier, but Larry had also mentioned that the blond looked like he was avoiding them.
He hurried out to the back, where the little table outside often held Richie’s company. When he saw that Richie was indeed there, laughing about something to the person (here’s where he gnashed his teeth again, and steeled his reserve) sitting across from him, he forced himself to think friendly thoughts. He was with Hotstreak–he recognized that oversized black tee and those olive green cargo pants anywhere. He was also wearing a black baseball cap backwards, but it wasn’t enough to hide that fiery red hair of his.
Unfortunately, his friendly thoughts weren’t working.
“Hey, Virgil,” Frieda’s voice at his right startled him, and he pushed himself back into the school, startling the redhead. “Uh...hello? What’s going on? Who are we spying on?”
“N-Nothing. I wasn’t spying. I wasn’t doing anything!”
Frieda’s reporter instincts kicked in, and she glanced outside, wondering what it was that had Virgil all riled up. She immediately understood, ducking instantly, as if she were spotted. “He’s still helping that guy out?”
“Yeah,” Virgil muttered, kicking the floor. “I’m just–it’s just–it’s all fuckin’ wrong, y’know? I know Hotstreak’s blackmailin’ him, or something...it’s just...I don’t think–”
“If Richie’s being blackmailed, it sure looks like he’s enjoying himself,” Frieda hissed, looking puzzled.
Indeed, the boy had a goofy grin on his face, and even as he was pointing something out on a lined sheet of paper, he still looked as if he were having a grand time of it. She couldn’t see Hotstreak’s face, but judging from the hunched shoulders and for the fact he was angrily protesting something that she couldn’t catch, it looked as if he were...too. In a strange Francis Stone sort of way. If the guy wasn’t throwing a fist around, or getting Richie nervous enough to leave, then... something was definitely up.
“And Hotstreak’s...not...beating him up, or anything. It’s like...they’re having a conversation. And he’s listening! Virgil! What is going on, here?”
“I don’t know,” Virgil emphasized, curling both hands into fists. He looked over Frieda’s shoulder, snarling, “That’s what has my brain spinning!”
“Look at them! Usually, F-Stop’s throwing a fit, a-and he’s not! He’s just...sitting there...doing his homework. I don’t know whether to be stunned into nothingness, or run down there for an interview on how Richie does it...”
“It’s unnatural,” Virgil ground out. “Hotstreak’s holding him hostage! He’s just bein’ Richie, and makin’ jokes an’ shit to cover up the fact that he’s terrified! He’s just–Richie covers up his fear by laughing about it! He–!”
Frieda suddenly gasped, clapping both hands over her mouth as she whipped around, looking at him. “Virgil...you don’t suppose they’re...involved...do you?”
“Richie and Francis?” Virgil about shrieked, causing her to step back, and for several kids to look over at them curiously. “Girl, you whacked! First off, Richie ain’t gay! Second off, Francis ain’t gay, either!”
“Well, I kinda don’t agree with you on Richie’s end, Virgil. When was the last time he mentioned having a crush on someone?”
“Well, he...” Virgil blinked, having to actually pause and think about this. At his silence and thoughtful expression, Frieda grew even more excited.
“When was the last time he went out with one?”
“Uh...he...well...never...”
“When was the last time he oogled one?”
“Er...he...when...shit...”
Frieda began bouncing joyously. “It’s because he isn’t attracted to girls! He isn’t, Virgil! Oh my God, why didn’t I see that earlier? Virgil, Richie’s gay!”
Virgil worked his mouth a few times, then quickly shook his head. “Not uh! He can’t be! I mean– wouldn’t I know? He’s my best friend! I’m with him practically twenty-four seven!”
“Virgil, darling, I don’t know if you know this, but you two aren’t as close as you used to be,” Frieda scolded, hands on her hips and bottom lip jutting out. “You’ve been with Daisy a lot more than you were with him! And I’ve been with him a few times...he’s not into girls.”
“He...he just can’t be...he would...he would tell me...” Virgil trailed off, then vehemently shook his head. “And Hotstreak isn’t! He beat up that one guy, Geoff, because he caught Geoff holding hands with his boyfriend that one day!”
“Oh...that’s right...he is a hater,” Frieda agreed, nodding. Then the pair resumed their spying, both of them watching as Hotstreak rose from his seat with a sudden snarl, flinging a text away from him, Richie taking cover behind his backpack. But not making any movement to get away. Merely resumed talking while Hotstreak listened to him, and returned to sitting, saying something that made Richie laugh once more. “Well...that would have been kinda neat...I mean...if those two were together...think about it. The world would somehow right itself and make...sense.”
Virgil rolled his eyes and moved away from her. “Girl, you confuse me, sometimes...”
“Ah, well. Maybe Richie’s just good at taming wild animals.” Frieda shrugged as she pushed strands of hair from her face. She then patted Virgil on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, too much. If Richie knows what he’s doing, then he’s going to be okay. I’m going to go. Catch ya later!”
Virgil waved her off with an absent gesture, then inhaled deeply. He was just going to go down there...say ‘hi’...make up some lame excuse in order to hang out with them for a few minutes to somehow–SOMEHOW–get an idea of what the real deal was between those two. That was all. That was just–wait a sec. What was that...?
He squinted his eyes, and saw something that set all his nerves on fire–along the lower curve of Richie’s bottom lip was a patch of color that wasn’t supposed to be there. His teeth ground together, and his mind was made up. He stormed down the stairs, instantly furious that that creature lay his dirty fists on his best friend.
Richie was in the middle of explaining something when he caught sight of him, and stopped smiling. Then nervously smiled again in greeting. Virgil didn’t like that. He didn’t like that his friend’s lower lip was obviously bruised. That, as he drew closer, there was another one just above his jaw line on the same side. A fist had made impact with his mouth, then scraped with enough force there to leave a mark. His very insides sparked with fury upon this.
He forced himself to smile, but his teeth were clenched so tightly together that it was hard to formulate anything. It was more of a constipated grimace, but he wasn’t being too self-conscious about his looks right now.
Hotstreak was bent over some paper, and merely glanced up at him with a dismissive air before returning to the task at hand.
“Can I talk to you? In private?” Virgil ground out, reaching out to grab Richie’s arm. He then began dragging him past the lunch cart nearby without giving him a chance to say anything.
“Uh, yeah. What is it, V?” Richie asked once Virgil deemed them out of ear shot.
“What happened to you?” Virgil snarled, letting go of his arm and pointing to his face. “Did he do that to you?”
“No. He didn’t,” Richie said quietly, while self-consciously touching his face. Then his brow furrowed as he observed Virgil’s expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t avoid the question, Richie. Stop avoiding me! Where did you get that from?”
“Geez, Virg! I tripped down my stairs! You know how clumsy I am!” Richie gave him a disgusted look, then calmed. “It’s really nothing, Virgil. He didn’t do it.”
Virgil stared at him in silence for a few seconds, feeling his insides heat with rage. Richie suddenly began waving his hands about, then slashing at his neck, telling him to cut the power. Struggling hard to will away his rising fury, Virgil took a few calming breaths, staring at the pavement. When he was sure that he was centered, he shoved past Richie, unhooking his backpack from his shoulder.
Before anyone else could expect it, even himself, he swung his heavy bag against Hotstreak’s back, sending the guy against the table.
“Virgil!” Richie cried in alarm, jumping on him as Virgil tossed the bag away, Hotstreak rising from his seat with a vicious snarl. “Stop!”
“You mother fuckin’ prick!” Virgil heard himself scream, his fists raised. “Don’t you ever touch him! Don’t you ever touch him!”
“What the fuck was that for?” Hotstreak raged, ripping his hat from his hair and looking ready to attack. “I’m going to kill you–!”
“STOP! BOTH OF YOU! STOP!”
“–Ever lay a hand on him again, I’ll fuckin’ castrate you an’–!”
Richie finally shoved himself between them, both hands pressed on either one’s chest. As he struggled to keep them apart, feeling their fists flying at each other over his head, there were shouts coming from the stairwell. He finally managed to shove Hotstreak away from Virgil as the guards swarmed them. The older male was tackled to the pavement, while Virgil was swung around roughly, orders being barked in a confusion mass of noise and movement. Guns were drawn and pointed at the metahuman on the pavement, frantic screams of warning piercing the air. Richie found himself shoved against the table as well, the head security guard waving a baton around as he sought for order.
“What the fuck is going on, here?” he roared, glaring at Hotstreak first. “Who started this?”
“HE DID!” both Virgil and Hotstreak shouted, pointing at each other. “I DID NOT! YOU DID!”
“We’re not messing around with you,” the guard snarled, pointing his baton at Hotstreak, who looked very affronted. “You’re out of here. I want you off of these grounds immediately.”
The meta made an exasperated exhalation as his hands were roughly cuffed behind him by the two guards that were on him. The one holding Virgil had his shirt grasped in one hand, keeping the black male steady as they watched the two guards lead Hotstreak away. Richie stared after them in silence, then looked at Virgil. Virgil blinked rapidly in confusion at the look of rage and betrayal that crossed his friend’s face. Richie then turned his back to him as he began gathering the things that were lying on the table.
“Mind explaining what was going on here, Hawkins?” the head guard asked, glaring over at him.
“Nothin’...just...a disagreement...” Virgil trailed off, staring at his friend’s back. “It was over nothin’.”
“And you...where’d you get that bruise from?”
“I fell...down my...stairway at home.”
“Is that all? Is that all that happened, here?”
“Yes...” Both boys mumbled in unison.
“Let’s head on up to the principal’s office, Hawkins. I don’t mess around with fights at school. Especially with metas...”
“I’m not a meta–!”
“I’m not saying you are!” the head guard snapped. “But you were involved with Mr. Stone, and we need to get things straightened out. Depending on the decision of his parole officer, he may or may not be coming back. I hope he doesn’t. We don’t need his kind here. And we certainly don’t need your kind encouraging it.”
“I–! Wait! Richie!” Virgil shouted in desperation as his friend took off, heading away from the school.
“FOLEY! WHERE the hell are you going–? Never mind. Let’s go, Hawkins.”
Virgil stared after his friend in disbelief as he was being taken to the principal’s office. Richie was leaving campus without another glance back. And judging by his attitude and that previous glare, it was obvious Virgil had done something entirely wrong.
But what?
He grit his teeth, fighting so very hard to keep control of his raging emotions.
OooooooooooO
Arriving at the bakery that afternoon, Hotstreak was still pissed. He had spent five hours at the county jail while the school superintendent and his parole officer hashed it out. When they’d finally come to a decision, he had come to learn that he was not allowed back at Dakota Union–he’d have to continue his education elsewhere. He’d been so pissed that all the work he’d done over the last couple of days had been for naught. Then, combined with the fact that he was being kicked out of school while he’d been trying to stay on the good road, he’d flared briefly with rage and had prepared to lash out–until his parole officer gently reminded him that his powers being used was recorded–and could be used against him the next time he found himself in court.
After that lovely little in house session, he had to spend a few hours with his Anger Management counselor, who only ended up pissing him off again because he’d questioned his recent sexual activities...
“Sex is an excellent stress reliever,” the guy had said with a nervous smile, completely aware of the slow flush that crept over his client’s skin. “I fully suggest having a monotonous relationship with a woman that can easily accept your current status...and use protection, of course. But the endorphins released after a sexual encounter can be useful in maintaining your level of non-aggression...or...if needs be, perhaps a man...? When was the last time you had sex?”
“...Ain’t none of your business...”
“So, you haven’t, er, ‘hit it’ for awhile? No wonder you’re so wound up. Young guy like you should be releasing a great deal of your aggression with all the, uh, pretty honies out here in Dakota...Maybe you should look at the young men...?”
Needless to say, Hotstreak had been pretty pissed that some balding, stickly-thin fart with eerie looking eyebrows was dictating his sex life.
Things hadn’t looked too well in that aspect; and his parole officer, upon leave, had made a comment that he’d see him sometime soon...subtly implying that this next time was going to be in jail. Hotstreak would admit that his track record with the place was pretty consistent–and he had a lot of anger. He had contemplated blowing up the place; but only one thing stopped him. And he knew that if he had followed through with that thought, he knew he wouldn’t be seeing Richie again for a long time.
And his hesitation made him doubt himself–and piss him off even more. So he’d walked the thirty plus blocks to the bakery instead of hitching a ride. Along the way, he’d exercised off some of his anger, but he was still pretty heated when he arrived.
Walking in, he saw that Kyler was back–the couple’s teenaged son. Great.
He muttered darkly to himself as he bypassed the counters and headed into the kitchen to retrieve his apron. The woman was there, and she smiled faintly in his direction, kneading some dough in a wide, plastic bowl.
“How was your day, today?” she asked, her heavy accent making it hard for him to understand her. He simply gave her a sideways glance, his expression saying all she needed. She turned away, sighing as she used a majority of her upper body way to knead the thick dough.
“Help yourself to some chocolate, Francis,” she said tiredly. “Perhaps it’ll cheer you up some.”
“Don’t need any of your fuckin’ food,” he muttered as he walked on past, tying on the apron. He snatched the broom from the hall closet and shuffled out into the main shop. His fingers were curled tightly around the handle, and his teeth hurt from being clenched so hard.
Why was it, when someone was trying to do good for himself, things always just seemed to make it worse? He knew of many drug addicts that worked so hard to get clean, but it seemed as if their roads were pitched full of obstacles that always had them sliding back on their previous paths. They would build themselves up and try so hard to continue that straight path–but it seemed as if they were always destined to keep themselves stoned in order to survive. He felt like this, now. Having that Virgil Hawkins all up on his back; the superintendent and his parole officer kicking him out of Dakota Union; Ebon and his crew; Maria...everything was an obstacle, struggling fiercely to keep him from this particular path.
He kept rethinking his decision in staying on the straight and narrow; there were so many reasons why he should just burn the anklet off his leg and find the Crew, but he kept telling himself to stick it out. It had barely been a week since he was let out of jail; did he really want to get sent back so soon? And land a longer sentence? He hated it–being in cells, behind bars, getting haggled by the guards...he hated it. He didn’t want to go back. And he didn’t want to go to prison.
He swept furiously, ignoring Kyler’s smirk from behind the counter, and for the fact that the elderly couple and their middle aged children had quickly left the shop upon his appearance.
Ebon and his crew...wanting to mess with him, still...challenging him. He couldn’t be soft when it came to them. He had to stay tough; had to stay strong. If he relented, Ebon would walk right all over him, disrespect him. He didn’t want that. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
Then Maria...accusing him of being ‘soft’...meaning he couldn’t handle the streets anymore. That he was something like Kyler over there...he couldn’t lose the respect and cred that he’d built over the years because of this.
And Virgil Hawkins attacking him...when he hadn’t done nothing–sure, he could have simply said that he hadn’t been the one that put the color on Richie’s face, but for one: he’d been pissed that he’d been attacked, and two: Richie kept quiet about his abuse for a reason. If Hawkins didn’t know... then how was it his business to tell?
And then there was Richie...he paused in sweeping, glaring hotly out one of the side windows. Richie pushed him, yes–but he was pressuring him for the right reasons. And not only that, he was encouraging him; complimenting; giving him things that no one else bothered to do. It felt as if Richie were his only brightness here, and he felt inwardly strange about admitting as such...and for feeling as such. But he’d already admitted he had feelings for him. His face flushed slightly, and he began sweeping again with a frenzy to escape that train of thought.
“So...heard you were kicked out of school, today,” Kyler said from behind the counter. “Fighting with some guy. Doesn’t that make you angry, Francis?”
Hotstreak felt his back tense; his neck stiffen. That tone of Kyler’s was enough to heat his temper. He knew the guy was looking for a fight; he regularly pushed his buttons, just to test him. See how far he could go.
Kyler chuckled, drunk with power. Confident that because of the metahuman’s parole, he would not be touched. He had to revel in it somehow...
“Well, it isn’t like you’re going to be anything, anyway...you’re a nobody. You’re going to be one of those guys living their lives in and out of jail all the time...I heard you haven’t even passed tenth grade, yet. And how old are you? Twenty one? Twenty two? Pity...here I am...eighteen, and off to Harvard in the fall. Isn’t that fantastic? Something you’ll never get to do, I’ll bet. Probably don’t even think of things that way, huh?”
The broom handle protested the pressure that was being exerted onto it as Hotstreak ground his teeth. Kyler chuckled, turning to fluff the chocolate cake display.
“Nothing but dreams, Francis. Nothing you’re going to be able to touch.”
Never did he realize how close Hotstreak was to hurling the broom at him when the door opened, the cheery bell ringing as their customer walked in. He lowered the broom, and felt his entire face freeze with annoyance.
Maria winked at him, ignoring a surprised Kyler as he stared at her from over the counter.
“Hey, daddy. What’chu bakin’ today, huh?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Hotstreak closed his eyes with annoyance, and began sweeping once more.
“So,” she started, pointedly ignoring Kyler and the interest of the woman that peered out from the kitchen, “what ya doin’ after work, huh? Have some time to play some pool?”
“No.”
“Well, you obviously don’t have to go to school, tomorrow,” she said, on the verge of snapping. “It’s not like you have anything else to do!”
“I gotta school to go to. Some fuckin’...adult education bullshit. I dunno.”
“You still doin’ that shit?” she asked, her accent heavy with exasperation. “How many clues do you need, idiot? You ain’t cut out for this bullshit! You ain’t supposed to be good!”
“Hey, can I help you with anything–?” Kyler started to ask when she whirled on him, snarling, her watery body expanding threateningly. He quickly backed away from the counter as she resumed her form and turned back to Hotstreak.
“You knock off this bullshit, Francis,” she hissed. “You ain’t supposed to be good. You ain’t meant to be it! You’re supposed to be out here on the streets with the rest of us! That’s where you belong. You stay all up in this stupid good path, and you’re going to get burned. And I don’t mean literally– they gonna fuck with your head, make ya think you’re doing okay, then fucking drop the bomb on you. All for fucking nothing. Why waste your time on this bullshit? Why you wanna get that way?”
“Fuck off, Maria,” was all he had to mutter as he began sweeping up the dust onto the dust pan.
All it took was a hand thrust out, and moisture from the very air to muddy up the contents on his broom and pan, leaving a mess that he’d have to mop up.
“You listen to me, Stone!” she demanded as he patiently crouched, and held his hand over the muddy mess, heating the air significantly enough to dry out the moisture and separate it from the dirt. “I know that system! They deliberately set you up for failure! Why do you think you were kicked out from Dakota Union so quickly? They had witnesses that said Hawkins started that fight–but they kicked you out, because you were doing good.”
“Fuck off, Maria!”
“NO! Listen to me! They’re going to fuck you over! I am trying to help you!”
“Leave me alone!” Hotstreak finally snarled, pitching the broom at her.
She avoided it easily, forcing her body to shift into separate splits to allow the broom to fly straight through her, then solidified herself once more to face him. She jabbed the air with a finger.
“I’ll set you straight, Stone. I’ll make you see. You ain’t cut out for this shit. You’re meant to be out on those streets, son. I’ll be seeing you. And your little friend, too.”
This time, the dust pan flew after her as she hurried out from the shop.
Chapter Six:
Aquamaria frowned as she caught sight of the hurriedly moving shadow across the street. Her hand went up to quietly shush Talon’s and Shiv’s talking, the pair of them hushing immediately. They kept close to the shadows they hid within, watching the hurrying figure move down the sidewalk, away from the house.
“That him, girl?” Talon hissed, narrowing her eyes.
“See? Told you!” Shiv hissed, snickering. He reached up into the air, tooting an invisible horn. “One stop Love Hotel!”
“Shut up, idiot!” Maria hissed, Talon smacking him across the back of the head to shut him up. She narrowed her eyes as she took in the plain two story house, where a dull green Corolla was pulling up. “I can’t believe it...I wasn’t even gonna listen to you, too. It all true...”
“When do I lie?” Shiv protested.
The three of them were hiding behind a hedge in a neighbor’s front yard, spying as they tried to confirm Shiv’s rumors. Because Ebon had ‘asked’ him to, Shiv had kept a close eye on the flame-haired meta since he left jail, and had his arm twisted behind his back by both Talon and Maria to allow them to accompany him tonight. The two girls had been affronted on Shiv’s continued insistence that Hotstreak was still lingering around Foley, and wanted to see for themselves.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, they were able to confirm Shiv’s words with their very own eyes.
“He said he was gettin’ tutored by him...and the guys at school say that he all school boyish, now,” Shiv whispered, fiddling with his playing cards. He’d brought them along, intending to play a round or two of ‘speed’ while they waited, but neither of the girls wanted to play with him. “Gettin’ all A’s and shit, snagging up scholarships to Harvard...”
“Stop playing around,” Talon said with a roll of her eyes. “He only been in school for a couple of days. Ain’t no A student, that one!”
Shiv chuckled, wrinkling his nose with cheer. “Well, anyway...that kid was the one doin’ it. Something fishy going on...I think I smell a little of boy-boy action goin’ on here...”
“Nuh-uh. That guy’s a brain. Francis prolly has him doin’ all his homework an’ shit. And he’s making sure of it,” Talon growled, shaking her head.
“More than likely,” Maria muttered. “Francis don’t pull that kinda shit. He ain’t the type to like boys. He’s all butch.”
“Why you guys care so much, anyway?”
“Maria’s in love,” Talon giggled behind one hand.
“Shut up, bitch!” Maria hissed.
“That ain’t right...ain’t like you guys can bone, or anything. You being all water and stuff...” Shiv muttered, looking puzzled.
“Shut up, Shiv!”
Talon snickered while Shiv stared at the watery beauty thoughtfully. Then had his head slapped as Maria grew pissed off by his look.
“Oh, shit. What am I doin’?” Shiv then cried, leaping from his hiding spot and running after Hotstreak, tailing him.
“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Talon then asked Maria.
“What’chu thinking, girl?”
“Yeah, he’s gotta pass an’ all...but why he’s hanging around him so much?”
“I...I don’t know.”
“He ain’t gonna tell us. You heard him the other night. He ain’t give a straight answer to anything.”
Maria narrowed her eyes, drumming her fingertips against her lips. “No...”
“Damn. Let’s go home, ‘k? I got a job to do tonight. I don’t got time to chase after idiots just for some gossip. You gonna stay and play?”
“I’m...going to go, too. Cya.”
Talon nodded, and took flight, disappearing into the darkness.
With a frown, Maria stepped out from the hedge, marching for the sidewalk. She stared at the two story house for a few moments, then liquified her body, disappearing within the storm drain at her feet.
OooooooooooO
Virgil strode determinedly toward Richie’s locker that next day–he wasn’t going to let this new thing keep him from his best friend, but he just had to know some things. If Richie wasn’t willing to talk to him about it, then there was something definitely wrong with their communication skills. When did Richie ever feel that he had to keep things from him because the blond was afraid of his reaction? What was so damn wrong about that picture? He didn’t find the blond there, and gnashed his teeth, trying to think of the various areas Richie liked to hang out in. Felix and Chuck had said they’d seen him arrive earlier, but Larry had also mentioned that the blond looked like he was avoiding them.
He hurried out to the back, where the little table outside often held Richie’s company. When he saw that Richie was indeed there, laughing about something to the person (here’s where he gnashed his teeth again, and steeled his reserve) sitting across from him, he forced himself to think friendly thoughts. He was with Hotstreak–he recognized that oversized black tee and those olive green cargo pants anywhere. He was also wearing a black baseball cap backwards, but it wasn’t enough to hide that fiery red hair of his.
Unfortunately, his friendly thoughts weren’t working.
“Hey, Virgil,” Frieda’s voice at his right startled him, and he pushed himself back into the school, startling the redhead. “Uh...hello? What’s going on? Who are we spying on?”
“N-Nothing. I wasn’t spying. I wasn’t doing anything!”
Frieda’s reporter instincts kicked in, and she glanced outside, wondering what it was that had Virgil all riled up. She immediately understood, ducking instantly, as if she were spotted. “He’s still helping that guy out?”
“Yeah,” Virgil muttered, kicking the floor. “I’m just–it’s just–it’s all fuckin’ wrong, y’know? I know Hotstreak’s blackmailin’ him, or something...it’s just...I don’t think–”
“If Richie’s being blackmailed, it sure looks like he’s enjoying himself,” Frieda hissed, looking puzzled.
Indeed, the boy had a goofy grin on his face, and even as he was pointing something out on a lined sheet of paper, he still looked as if he were having a grand time of it. She couldn’t see Hotstreak’s face, but judging from the hunched shoulders and for the fact he was angrily protesting something that she couldn’t catch, it looked as if he were...too. In a strange Francis Stone sort of way. If the guy wasn’t throwing a fist around, or getting Richie nervous enough to leave, then... something was definitely up.
“And Hotstreak’s...not...beating him up, or anything. It’s like...they’re having a conversation. And he’s listening! Virgil! What is going on, here?”
“I don’t know,” Virgil emphasized, curling both hands into fists. He looked over Frieda’s shoulder, snarling, “That’s what has my brain spinning!”
“Look at them! Usually, F-Stop’s throwing a fit, a-and he’s not! He’s just...sitting there...doing his homework. I don’t know whether to be stunned into nothingness, or run down there for an interview on how Richie does it...”
“It’s unnatural,” Virgil ground out. “Hotstreak’s holding him hostage! He’s just bein’ Richie, and makin’ jokes an’ shit to cover up the fact that he’s terrified! He’s just–Richie covers up his fear by laughing about it! He–!”
Frieda suddenly gasped, clapping both hands over her mouth as she whipped around, looking at him. “Virgil...you don’t suppose they’re...involved...do you?”
“Richie and Francis?” Virgil about shrieked, causing her to step back, and for several kids to look over at them curiously. “Girl, you whacked! First off, Richie ain’t gay! Second off, Francis ain’t gay, either!”
“Well, I kinda don’t agree with you on Richie’s end, Virgil. When was the last time he mentioned having a crush on someone?”
“Well, he...” Virgil blinked, having to actually pause and think about this. At his silence and thoughtful expression, Frieda grew even more excited.
“When was the last time he went out with one?”
“Uh...he...well...never...”
“When was the last time he oogled one?”
“Er...he...when...shit...”
Frieda began bouncing joyously. “It’s because he isn’t attracted to girls! He isn’t, Virgil! Oh my God, why didn’t I see that earlier? Virgil, Richie’s gay!”
Virgil worked his mouth a few times, then quickly shook his head. “Not uh! He can’t be! I mean– wouldn’t I know? He’s my best friend! I’m with him practically twenty-four seven!”
“Virgil, darling, I don’t know if you know this, but you two aren’t as close as you used to be,” Frieda scolded, hands on her hips and bottom lip jutting out. “You’ve been with Daisy a lot more than you were with him! And I’ve been with him a few times...he’s not into girls.”
“He...he just can’t be...he would...he would tell me...” Virgil trailed off, then vehemently shook his head. “And Hotstreak isn’t! He beat up that one guy, Geoff, because he caught Geoff holding hands with his boyfriend that one day!”
“Oh...that’s right...he is a hater,” Frieda agreed, nodding. Then the pair resumed their spying, both of them watching as Hotstreak rose from his seat with a sudden snarl, flinging a text away from him, Richie taking cover behind his backpack. But not making any movement to get away. Merely resumed talking while Hotstreak listened to him, and returned to sitting, saying something that made Richie laugh once more. “Well...that would have been kinda neat...I mean...if those two were together...think about it. The world would somehow right itself and make...sense.”
Virgil rolled his eyes and moved away from her. “Girl, you confuse me, sometimes...”
“Ah, well. Maybe Richie’s just good at taming wild animals.” Frieda shrugged as she pushed strands of hair from her face. She then patted Virgil on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, too much. If Richie knows what he’s doing, then he’s going to be okay. I’m going to go. Catch ya later!”
Virgil waved her off with an absent gesture, then inhaled deeply. He was just going to go down there...say ‘hi’...make up some lame excuse in order to hang out with them for a few minutes to somehow–SOMEHOW–get an idea of what the real deal was between those two. That was all. That was just–wait a sec. What was that...?
He squinted his eyes, and saw something that set all his nerves on fire–along the lower curve of Richie’s bottom lip was a patch of color that wasn’t supposed to be there. His teeth ground together, and his mind was made up. He stormed down the stairs, instantly furious that that creature lay his dirty fists on his best friend.
Richie was in the middle of explaining something when he caught sight of him, and stopped smiling. Then nervously smiled again in greeting. Virgil didn’t like that. He didn’t like that his friend’s lower lip was obviously bruised. That, as he drew closer, there was another one just above his jaw line on the same side. A fist had made impact with his mouth, then scraped with enough force there to leave a mark. His very insides sparked with fury upon this.
He forced himself to smile, but his teeth were clenched so tightly together that it was hard to formulate anything. It was more of a constipated grimace, but he wasn’t being too self-conscious about his looks right now.
Hotstreak was bent over some paper, and merely glanced up at him with a dismissive air before returning to the task at hand.
“Can I talk to you? In private?” Virgil ground out, reaching out to grab Richie’s arm. He then began dragging him past the lunch cart nearby without giving him a chance to say anything.
“Uh, yeah. What is it, V?” Richie asked once Virgil deemed them out of ear shot.
“What happened to you?” Virgil snarled, letting go of his arm and pointing to his face. “Did he do that to you?”
“No. He didn’t,” Richie said quietly, while self-consciously touching his face. Then his brow furrowed as he observed Virgil’s expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t avoid the question, Richie. Stop avoiding me! Where did you get that from?”
“Geez, Virg! I tripped down my stairs! You know how clumsy I am!” Richie gave him a disgusted look, then calmed. “It’s really nothing, Virgil. He didn’t do it.”
Virgil stared at him in silence for a few seconds, feeling his insides heat with rage. Richie suddenly began waving his hands about, then slashing at his neck, telling him to cut the power. Struggling hard to will away his rising fury, Virgil took a few calming breaths, staring at the pavement. When he was sure that he was centered, he shoved past Richie, unhooking his backpack from his shoulder.
Before anyone else could expect it, even himself, he swung his heavy bag against Hotstreak’s back, sending the guy against the table.
“Virgil!” Richie cried in alarm, jumping on him as Virgil tossed the bag away, Hotstreak rising from his seat with a vicious snarl. “Stop!”
“You mother fuckin’ prick!” Virgil heard himself scream, his fists raised. “Don’t you ever touch him! Don’t you ever touch him!”
“What the fuck was that for?” Hotstreak raged, ripping his hat from his hair and looking ready to attack. “I’m going to kill you–!”
“STOP! BOTH OF YOU! STOP!”
“–Ever lay a hand on him again, I’ll fuckin’ castrate you an’–!”
Richie finally shoved himself between them, both hands pressed on either one’s chest. As he struggled to keep them apart, feeling their fists flying at each other over his head, there were shouts coming from the stairwell. He finally managed to shove Hotstreak away from Virgil as the guards swarmed them. The older male was tackled to the pavement, while Virgil was swung around roughly, orders being barked in a confusion mass of noise and movement. Guns were drawn and pointed at the metahuman on the pavement, frantic screams of warning piercing the air. Richie found himself shoved against the table as well, the head security guard waving a baton around as he sought for order.
“What the fuck is going on, here?” he roared, glaring at Hotstreak first. “Who started this?”
“HE DID!” both Virgil and Hotstreak shouted, pointing at each other. “I DID NOT! YOU DID!”
“We’re not messing around with you,” the guard snarled, pointing his baton at Hotstreak, who looked very affronted. “You’re out of here. I want you off of these grounds immediately.”
The meta made an exasperated exhalation as his hands were roughly cuffed behind him by the two guards that were on him. The one holding Virgil had his shirt grasped in one hand, keeping the black male steady as they watched the two guards lead Hotstreak away. Richie stared after them in silence, then looked at Virgil. Virgil blinked rapidly in confusion at the look of rage and betrayal that crossed his friend’s face. Richie then turned his back to him as he began gathering the things that were lying on the table.
“Mind explaining what was going on here, Hawkins?” the head guard asked, glaring over at him.
“Nothin’...just...a disagreement...” Virgil trailed off, staring at his friend’s back. “It was over nothin’.”
“And you...where’d you get that bruise from?”
“I fell...down my...stairway at home.”
“Is that all? Is that all that happened, here?”
“Yes...” Both boys mumbled in unison.
“Let’s head on up to the principal’s office, Hawkins. I don’t mess around with fights at school. Especially with metas...”
“I’m not a meta–!”
“I’m not saying you are!” the head guard snapped. “But you were involved with Mr. Stone, and we need to get things straightened out. Depending on the decision of his parole officer, he may or may not be coming back. I hope he doesn’t. We don’t need his kind here. And we certainly don’t need your kind encouraging it.”
“I–! Wait! Richie!” Virgil shouted in desperation as his friend took off, heading away from the school.
“FOLEY! WHERE the hell are you going–? Never mind. Let’s go, Hawkins.”
Virgil stared after his friend in disbelief as he was being taken to the principal’s office. Richie was leaving campus without another glance back. And judging by his attitude and that previous glare, it was obvious Virgil had done something entirely wrong.
But what?
He grit his teeth, fighting so very hard to keep control of his raging emotions.
OooooooooooO
Arriving at the bakery that afternoon, Hotstreak was still pissed. He had spent five hours at the county jail while the school superintendent and his parole officer hashed it out. When they’d finally come to a decision, he had come to learn that he was not allowed back at Dakota Union–he’d have to continue his education elsewhere. He’d been so pissed that all the work he’d done over the last couple of days had been for naught. Then, combined with the fact that he was being kicked out of school while he’d been trying to stay on the good road, he’d flared briefly with rage and had prepared to lash out–until his parole officer gently reminded him that his powers being used was recorded–and could be used against him the next time he found himself in court.
After that lovely little in house session, he had to spend a few hours with his Anger Management counselor, who only ended up pissing him off again because he’d questioned his recent sexual activities...
“Sex is an excellent stress reliever,” the guy had said with a nervous smile, completely aware of the slow flush that crept over his client’s skin. “I fully suggest having a monotonous relationship with a woman that can easily accept your current status...and use protection, of course. But the endorphins released after a sexual encounter can be useful in maintaining your level of non-aggression...or...if needs be, perhaps a man...? When was the last time you had sex?”
“...Ain’t none of your business...”
“So, you haven’t, er, ‘hit it’ for awhile? No wonder you’re so wound up. Young guy like you should be releasing a great deal of your aggression with all the, uh, pretty honies out here in Dakota...Maybe you should look at the young men...?”
Needless to say, Hotstreak had been pretty pissed that some balding, stickly-thin fart with eerie looking eyebrows was dictating his sex life.
Things hadn’t looked too well in that aspect; and his parole officer, upon leave, had made a comment that he’d see him sometime soon...subtly implying that this next time was going to be in jail. Hotstreak would admit that his track record with the place was pretty consistent–and he had a lot of anger. He had contemplated blowing up the place; but only one thing stopped him. And he knew that if he had followed through with that thought, he knew he wouldn’t be seeing Richie again for a long time.
And his hesitation made him doubt himself–and piss him off even more. So he’d walked the thirty plus blocks to the bakery instead of hitching a ride. Along the way, he’d exercised off some of his anger, but he was still pretty heated when he arrived.
Walking in, he saw that Kyler was back–the couple’s teenaged son. Great.
He muttered darkly to himself as he bypassed the counters and headed into the kitchen to retrieve his apron. The woman was there, and she smiled faintly in his direction, kneading some dough in a wide, plastic bowl.
“How was your day, today?” she asked, her heavy accent making it hard for him to understand her. He simply gave her a sideways glance, his expression saying all she needed. She turned away, sighing as she used a majority of her upper body way to knead the thick dough.
“Help yourself to some chocolate, Francis,” she said tiredly. “Perhaps it’ll cheer you up some.”
“Don’t need any of your fuckin’ food,” he muttered as he walked on past, tying on the apron. He snatched the broom from the hall closet and shuffled out into the main shop. His fingers were curled tightly around the handle, and his teeth hurt from being clenched so hard.
Why was it, when someone was trying to do good for himself, things always just seemed to make it worse? He knew of many drug addicts that worked so hard to get clean, but it seemed as if their roads were pitched full of obstacles that always had them sliding back on their previous paths. They would build themselves up and try so hard to continue that straight path–but it seemed as if they were always destined to keep themselves stoned in order to survive. He felt like this, now. Having that Virgil Hawkins all up on his back; the superintendent and his parole officer kicking him out of Dakota Union; Ebon and his crew; Maria...everything was an obstacle, struggling fiercely to keep him from this particular path.
He kept rethinking his decision in staying on the straight and narrow; there were so many reasons why he should just burn the anklet off his leg and find the Crew, but he kept telling himself to stick it out. It had barely been a week since he was let out of jail; did he really want to get sent back so soon? And land a longer sentence? He hated it–being in cells, behind bars, getting haggled by the guards...he hated it. He didn’t want to go back. And he didn’t want to go to prison.
He swept furiously, ignoring Kyler’s smirk from behind the counter, and for the fact that the elderly couple and their middle aged children had quickly left the shop upon his appearance.
Ebon and his crew...wanting to mess with him, still...challenging him. He couldn’t be soft when it came to them. He had to stay tough; had to stay strong. If he relented, Ebon would walk right all over him, disrespect him. He didn’t want that. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
Then Maria...accusing him of being ‘soft’...meaning he couldn’t handle the streets anymore. That he was something like Kyler over there...he couldn’t lose the respect and cred that he’d built over the years because of this.
And Virgil Hawkins attacking him...when he hadn’t done nothing–sure, he could have simply said that he hadn’t been the one that put the color on Richie’s face, but for one: he’d been pissed that he’d been attacked, and two: Richie kept quiet about his abuse for a reason. If Hawkins didn’t know... then how was it his business to tell?
And then there was Richie...he paused in sweeping, glaring hotly out one of the side windows. Richie pushed him, yes–but he was pressuring him for the right reasons. And not only that, he was encouraging him; complimenting; giving him things that no one else bothered to do. It felt as if Richie were his only brightness here, and he felt inwardly strange about admitting as such...and for feeling as such. But he’d already admitted he had feelings for him. His face flushed slightly, and he began sweeping again with a frenzy to escape that train of thought.
“So...heard you were kicked out of school, today,” Kyler said from behind the counter. “Fighting with some guy. Doesn’t that make you angry, Francis?”
Hotstreak felt his back tense; his neck stiffen. That tone of Kyler’s was enough to heat his temper. He knew the guy was looking for a fight; he regularly pushed his buttons, just to test him. See how far he could go.
Kyler chuckled, drunk with power. Confident that because of the metahuman’s parole, he would not be touched. He had to revel in it somehow...
“Well, it isn’t like you’re going to be anything, anyway...you’re a nobody. You’re going to be one of those guys living their lives in and out of jail all the time...I heard you haven’t even passed tenth grade, yet. And how old are you? Twenty one? Twenty two? Pity...here I am...eighteen, and off to Harvard in the fall. Isn’t that fantastic? Something you’ll never get to do, I’ll bet. Probably don’t even think of things that way, huh?”
The broom handle protested the pressure that was being exerted onto it as Hotstreak ground his teeth. Kyler chuckled, turning to fluff the chocolate cake display.
“Nothing but dreams, Francis. Nothing you’re going to be able to touch.”
Never did he realize how close Hotstreak was to hurling the broom at him when the door opened, the cheery bell ringing as their customer walked in. He lowered the broom, and felt his entire face freeze with annoyance.
Maria winked at him, ignoring a surprised Kyler as he stared at her from over the counter.
“Hey, daddy. What’chu bakin’ today, huh?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Hotstreak closed his eyes with annoyance, and began sweeping once more.
“So,” she started, pointedly ignoring Kyler and the interest of the woman that peered out from the kitchen, “what ya doin’ after work, huh? Have some time to play some pool?”
“No.”
“Well, you obviously don’t have to go to school, tomorrow,” she said, on the verge of snapping. “It’s not like you have anything else to do!”
“I gotta school to go to. Some fuckin’...adult education bullshit. I dunno.”
“You still doin’ that shit?” she asked, her accent heavy with exasperation. “How many clues do you need, idiot? You ain’t cut out for this bullshit! You ain’t supposed to be good!”
“Hey, can I help you with anything–?” Kyler started to ask when she whirled on him, snarling, her watery body expanding threateningly. He quickly backed away from the counter as she resumed her form and turned back to Hotstreak.
“You knock off this bullshit, Francis,” she hissed. “You ain’t supposed to be good. You ain’t meant to be it! You’re supposed to be out here on the streets with the rest of us! That’s where you belong. You stay all up in this stupid good path, and you’re going to get burned. And I don’t mean literally– they gonna fuck with your head, make ya think you’re doing okay, then fucking drop the bomb on you. All for fucking nothing. Why waste your time on this bullshit? Why you wanna get that way?”
“Fuck off, Maria,” was all he had to mutter as he began sweeping up the dust onto the dust pan.
All it took was a hand thrust out, and moisture from the very air to muddy up the contents on his broom and pan, leaving a mess that he’d have to mop up.
“You listen to me, Stone!” she demanded as he patiently crouched, and held his hand over the muddy mess, heating the air significantly enough to dry out the moisture and separate it from the dirt. “I know that system! They deliberately set you up for failure! Why do you think you were kicked out from Dakota Union so quickly? They had witnesses that said Hawkins started that fight–but they kicked you out, because you were doing good.”
“Fuck off, Maria!”
“NO! Listen to me! They’re going to fuck you over! I am trying to help you!”
“Leave me alone!” Hotstreak finally snarled, pitching the broom at her.
She avoided it easily, forcing her body to shift into separate splits to allow the broom to fly straight through her, then solidified herself once more to face him. She jabbed the air with a finger.
“I’ll set you straight, Stone. I’ll make you see. You ain’t cut out for this shit. You’re meant to be out on those streets, son. I’ll be seeing you. And your little friend, too.”
This time, the dust pan flew after her as she hurried out from the shop.