Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ One ❯ Chapter Ten ( Chapter 10 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
When a woman is scorned, nothing is safe; also, Virgil finds out...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.26.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.8K | Visits: 621 | Status: Completed
When a woman is scorned, nothing is safe; also, Virgil finds out...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.26.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.8K | Visits: 621 | Status: Completed
One
Chapter Ten:
“I...CANNOT...BELIEVE...THIS!” Maria shrieked, her watery form becoming larger and larger as she loomed over them, her fury evident in her features. Richie wanted to giggle out loud–for some odd reason, his inner reasoning wanted to kill him. But the way her voice raised several notches on the angry woman scale made him slightly hysterical. And here he was...in a single cold, wet towel. Hotstreak backed away from him, giving a complex mixture of horror, embarrassment and his own fury as the woman loomed over him. Richie, seeing that most of her anger was focused on him, snatched the clothing from the bed and quickly jammed out of there.
“It was all TRUE?” she continued to shriek. “It was ALL TRUE? YOU LIED TO ME! YOU FUCKING LIED TO ME!”
“I–what–he–you–fuck,̶ 1; was all Hotstreak was able to utter, unable to form a coherent sentence or thought as his mixture of feelings assaulted him.
“YOU ARE A FAG!”
“I–no–wait–!”
“I’m going to KILL you! YOU INSULT ME WITH THIS DISGUSTING DISPLAY! How DARE you do this to me! AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE FOR YOU? AFTER ALL THAT WE’VE ENDURED? YOU TURN TO SOME BOY? FUCKING DISGUSTING!”
“Keep your–!”
“YOU WILL NOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” she cried shrilly, her fists raised. “After all the things I’ve done for you, you turn to some boy? After all that I’ve done for you in the past, you get your rocks off with some boy? FUCKING FAG SHIT!”
Hotstreak could feel his face flushing with mortification, wondering just how much she had seen...and heard. Instantly, his face and neck matched the color of his hair, and it wasn’t fury that fueled it. He stepped back once more, blinking, pulling at the collar of his shirt. All that was currently running through his mind right now was oshitoshitoshitoshitoshit....
He held up his hands, trying to placate her, but she was having none of that.
Her fists were curled at her sides, and they raised now, shooting up into the air with an aggressive scream.
Meanwhile, Richie was shifting through the clothing, wincing at the screams and roars of fury from the other room. Two pairs of pants, two shirts and a pair of worn shoes that were a couple of sizes bigger than what he normally wore. Assuming they were supposed to be his, he quickly separated the size thirty-twos from the thirty-six, and yanked those blue jeans on. He’d lost his boxers in the room, so he grimaced at having to go commando. He grabbed the smallest shirt and yanked that on as well, ignoring the Fishing Derby Day logo on the front. Since he didn’t have any socks, he merely yanked the shoes on over his bare feet and tied them tight.
There was a lot of breaking and smashing things coming from the bedroom, accompanied with Maria’s shrieks. He heard Hotstreak protest something that ended in a unmanly squawk, and Richie realized that he didn’t want to stick around for his punishment...even though it was kinda funny. He never knew they were that close.
Something intensely loud shattered the shrieks, and the creak and protest of wood caught his ears. More shifting and groaning sounds made him look up, realizing the roof was shuddering, and the walls trembling. He grabbed the other set of clothes and ran out the door, turning to see the small cabin cave in on itself in a flurry of dust, wood and water.
Looking around himself, he saw that they were in a woodsy area–there were other cabins lining to the right and left of the one they’d occupied, and from the looks of it–they were right near a dirt road. It looked as if they were in the south end of Dakota...he couldn’t see the sprawl of the city, but he could hear the planes flying overhead.
He turned again, seeing that Maria was still shrieking about being wronged, so he set the shirt and pants down on the ground, and turned, hurrying for the road. He felt intensely sad, then. That this was the end of the road he had with Hotstreak. But...it was as they knew deep inside–it would never work. They couldn’t be together.
He sighed as he jogged his way to the road, wincing at all the various aches and pains in his body.
OooooooooooO
Hotstreak had no idea how he was going to calm the woman down. He knew Maria was pissed, and adding to the mortification he felt at knowing she knew about his thing with Richie, she had more power than him to teach him a lesson. Fire and water didn’t mix, and she had use over a great deal of it. And she wasn’t afraid to use it all on him.
The cabin was destroyed, and all he could really do was keep her from drowning him. She’d already soaked him thoroughly, so he was unable to use any of his powers–not that he could against her, anyway. She was bent on taking her fury out on him, and wasn’t going to hesitate on doing so. In the midst of her fury, Richie had gotten away. Which was good. Because if she focused in on him...
Maria was in his face as he sputtered water, being soaked once more when she saw that he’d been glancing around rather than paying any attention to her.
“Why?” she finally cried, grabbing his shirt, her face near his. Her breath smelled of rain. “Why do you do this? Why’d you do this to me? Why?”
“I...nothin’. You don’t know nothin’. Don’t haveta explain anythin’ to you,” he muttered sullenly, feeling his hair drip onto his already soaked shirt.
“I liked you, you stupid asshole!” she shrieked. “I’ve liked you for so long–! And for you to do this with some boy–! Do you realize how fucking hurt I feel? How disgusted I am? I thought I knew you, but I obviously didn’t! I am hurt, Francis, that I cannot be the one to make you happy–!”
“What? You what?” Hotstreak sputtered again, looking at her closely, as if seeing her for the very first time. In fact, that image came to mind–a pretty, curvy Latina with a mischievous smile and a fondness for tight clothing. They’d met because he was friends with her ex-boyfriend, and she’d always been so bossy and friendly with him, even as Luis was replaced by Miguel, and Miguel replaced by Charlie. Yes, he’d admit to thinking of hooking up with her a few times, but who hadn’t? With that figure?
But he’d never thought she looked at him that way–she was Latina, so she dated within her race. Not out. Her family forbade it. But when Maria turned into Aquamaria at the Big Bang, she became a closer friend to him, because they were obviously connected.
She slapped him with one of her cold, solid hands. “Don’t fuck with me that way! I’ve liked you! I have always had your back, no matter what! I always supported you and backed you no matter what the fuck you did! I never disrespected you, nor did I talk down about you to others. I did everything to show you what I felt, and you do this to me? I am hurt, Francis, HURT! I fucking hate what you did to me! I hate you!’
“I never–! You–!”
Maria covered her face with her hands, and dropped to the ground, sobbing loudly. And Hotstreak glanced around himself, utterly mortified and helpless with a female’s tears. He stepped away from her, uncertain of what to do. Why in the world did females have so much freakin’ power? He was just glad that no one could see this...a woman kicking his ass, confessing her love...wait a minute. She liked him? Like...like that? But it would never work. He didn’t look at her that way. Yeah, the body, but...not...not like that. She wasn’t his type.
She was suddenly pushing herself off the ground, latching onto him with the expression of a mad woman.
“We can kill him,” she said, breathing heavily as he reeled back from her, tripping over some roots. She followed him to the ground, straddling his waist. “I can kill him. I can drown him. No one would ever know. I’ll take the rap, for you. I can have his body hidden away, and no one would ever know you had this sort of thing with him. No one would ever know that you were loved up by this boy. It’ll be easy! I can do it!”
Hotstreak shook his head, feeling more than uncomfortable by this admission. Not that it wasn’t a bad idea, but...the thought of her killing just to protect him? Just to...save face? It could be done, no doubt...she could drown him, or----no. Richie won’t be killed. Some part of him screamed ‘Why?’, that part eager to protect his image and his rep. But another part of him, the majority–he couldn’t have Richie killed. No. That wasn’t how it worked. That wasn’t how it goes.
Maria pulled his hair, hard enough for him to yelp out loud, no matter how unmanly the sound.
“Why not?” she growled, her eyes wide and murderous.
“Because...I took him...I’ll be blamed,” he said carefully. He wanted to move her, but he wasn’t sure of a more polite way to do so. So he stood up, and she rolled off with a feminine squeak of outrage.
She whirled, tossing what she could grab at him. He ducked the flying of rocks and dirt, hands up in the air.
“You sick freak!” she hissed, rising to her feet. “You love him, don’t you? And don’t lie! I heard that goin’ on in there! You love him, you perverted, sick freak! I cannot believe you, Francis! How could you be this way? I thought you weren’t like that! I had always thought you would never lower yourself to that! And you do!”
“Shut up, all right? Shut the fuck up!”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” she shrieked, looming over him. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! And don’t think I back you, this time! You make mesick! You disappoint me! You fuckingdisgust me! I hate you! Fag! Freak! Pervert! Disgusting fag! I hate you!”
And with that, she turned and stomped off, miserably covering her face with both hands and sobbing anew.
Feeling utterly pathetic, Francis Stone’s shoulders drooped, and he felt incredibly helpless...and doomed. She knew his secret–what was she going to do with it?
It took awhile for him to find the clothes that he’d brought earlier–from the looks of it, Richie was long gone. He changed into the dry set of clothing, and headed on down the hill. Glancing over his shoulder, he sighed at the thought of his former hiding place being demolished by a vengeful female. His uncle’s cabin had been quite useful to use when he was hiding out from something in Dakota. He found the Ford Taurus he’d traded with the Buick, and located the keys. It was parked just below an embankment, hidden by brush and dense trees, the barely visible road stretching out to connect with the main road. There wasn’t much traffic out this way–Richie couldn’t have gone far.
Maria arrived on her own, and left in her same, mysterious way.
He found the teen nearly a half hour later, and when he got into the car, the pair of them shared a single look. Nothing more needed to be said.
The drive to Dakota was silent–while many things flitted through his mind, Hotstreak wasn’t going to say anything. He realized that his impulsive decision to take Richie out of Dakota just so Ebon couldn’t get at him was certainly implicating–it just confirmed what many knew. He had himself to blame for that. And Maria...well...if the information benefitted her, she wasn’t afraid to use it. No matter what her feelings said. That in itself was puzzling and surprising. Maria liking him. Having feelings for him. Beyond the normal lust and power hungry motives that many girls had. But he wasn’t going to give it serious thought. Maria just wasn’t his type.
He couldn’t protect Richie forever–it would just implicate him even further. And make him more vulnerable. He had to separate his feelings. He couldn’t have any for Richie, knowing that he could be used as a tool against him if people knew. He had to...he had to somehow get rid of these feelings. Both of them knew that they couldn’t be together–they could be nothing more than...than what they were before this amazing thing ever happened. That was the only way to make things right. He had to resume his bullying ways, and Richie had to...well...resume being the geek that got beat up for being geeky.
His fingers clenched the wheel. He had to get rid of his feelings.
He knew Ebon and his crew were looking for him–if they got a hold of Richie...then...it would be the blond’s problem. Not his. He had to save face.
“We’re merely friends.” Richie’s voice startled him. He glanced over at the blond, who was staring out the window, slumped low in his seat. “You only wanted to talk. You didn’t kidnap me. You only wanted to talk. And we talked about your decision to turn back to this path. That’s it.”
“...Whatever.”
He parked the Ford Taurus in an alleyway, intending on dumping it there so he could take the rest of the trail on foot. He hadn’t any idea the police were after him–he was counting on the Foley’s fear of him to stay quiet. He would simply go back to...do what he had to to survive. And keep from getting tossed into jail. Which meant a lot of running and hiding.
The thought tired him, and he clenched the wheel tiredly, recalling Richie’s desperate words earlier. He could have changed things–he had the chance. But...he made his decision.
He looked over at the blond, who looked over at him. The pair simply stared at each other, each one knowing where their roles would take them.
With an expressed look of sadness, Richie climbed out of the car.
As he watched the teen make his way toward the end of the alley, something desperate surged through him. The car was still running, but he left it that way as he climbed out, the abruptness of his leave causing the teen to turn back to face him.
Hotstreak hurried over to him, and Richie’s arms curled around his neck, already comforting him with his touch and his neediness for him. His arms curled around the teen’s body, pulling him close–their lips met with a combination of desperation and sorrow, each one trying to taste what they couldn’t anymore. At this point, he didn’t care who saw what–this was just one last time. One more time. He had to let go. For himself, and for the teen’s own sake. He could feel Richie’s feelings for him as he held him tightly, his arms locked solidly behind his neck. Could feel everything.
Then, almost as one, they pushed away from each other, breathing heavily. Words couldn’t express what they felt, so they said nothing. Hotstreak moved away from him, forcing himself to move. He heard Richie do the same. He forced himself into the back entrance to the restaurant of whose owner he was friendly with, and forced himself to just...keep moving.
He had a rep to protect. A face to save. And countless other things that Richie couldn’t be part of. His heart felt broken–which told him just how hard this trail was going to be.
OooooooooooO
Static shot through the air, grimacing. He had spent a good amount of his energy racing home to perform morning duties for the sake of keeping his father from realizing that he was missing, and racing off in the pretense to going into school. He’d changed back into his Static outfit and was in the air nearly two hours after he’d told Lewis that he’d help. His mind was racing frantically as he scanned the streets, looking for any sign of Hotstreak or Richie. The Buick was something easily lost in the Projects–he was panicked, because he had no idea how to go about locating Richie. He knew the Shock Vox was in his room–Richie couldn’t have grabbed it while being snagged from his room by a psychotic meta. He couldn’t even trace him in that aspect; he had to go about this the harder way.
He was sailing over the Projects, trying to think like Hotstreak when he saw Talon coasting over a condemned warehouse, shouting down at someone he couldn’t see. He quickly took cover behind the water tower of a community complex and strained his ears to hear.
“She don’t know, either!” he heard Shiv shout, his familiar squeak barely audible from his position. “Said she hasn’t seen him since he went in the first time!”
“What’s goin’ down, Talon?”
Puff. Her familiar slangy voice was more audible than Shiv’s.
“We’re looking for Francis! He gone an’ pissed off Ebon!” Talon shouted back.
“When don’t he? I ain’t seen him for a long ass while! Thought he was still in jail?” Puff shouted. “What’d he do?”
“Any place where we can find him?”
“He mentioned somethin’ about his uncle’s cabin outside of Dakota...but he might be hiding out at that place down on Ohm!”
“Thanks!”
Talon lifted higher into the air, Shiv shouting something that went unheard by the bird woman. Static kept out of her sight as she flew close, her face screwed into something unreadable. He coasted around the water tower to look down at both Puff and Shiv, both of whom were laughing about something.
Then Shiv was jumping into a vortex, disappearing out of sight while Puff strode back into the warehouse.
“Make enough friends, an’ they rat ya out,” Static muttered, narrowing his eyes as he shot off after Talon, tailing the bird-woman. “Good enough for me! Seems like we’re lookin’ for the same person...”
Utterly delighted at his good luck, Static continued to follow Talon throughout the city, keeping his distance and making sure he kept out of her sight. The two Metas were thorough in their search–they went in and examined every nook and cranny Hotstreak was familiar with, getting suggestions and ideas from various others along the way. It was a little maddeningly as time kept stretching further and further out of his reach. He had an idea of what Hotstreak was capable of if he grew desperate. Usually, if things grew too intense for the redhead to handle, he either cut and bailed to cause chaos the next day, or seriously hurt others to ensure his escape.
The thought of Richie being vulnerable to these acts of desperation scared him. His mind kept racing with constant hopes and prayers, hoping that his best friend was okay. It hurt and angered him that secrets were being kept from him–that he wasn’t as big as a focus point to Richie as he had been in the past. Richie wasn’t comfortable telling him things anymore, and that hurt.
What could he do to rectify this, to gain back the blond’s trust and eagerness to confide? Drop Daisy? Forgo all his own comforts and wants just to get back into Richie’s good graces, again? It just didn’t seem fair!
On that note...Frieda’s observations came back to bother him, his mind racing away from his frantic worry to curious wonder: was Richie gay? Static had to think–come to think of it, there hadn’t been a time when Richie expressed interest in a girl...well, there was the time they’d first met Shebang, and Richie had seemed impressed and giggly with her...and Nina Gonzales and her former powers had sent Richie into bouts of glee and cheer...
But...there hadn’t been any real interest in the opposite sex for the blond...no confiding on who he was crushing on, no obvious examination of female bodies in the mall, no...no nothing! Virgil would be craning his neck to check out a girl’s delicious booty as she walked by, and he told Richie about every girl he found gorgeous and likeable...but Richie said nothing to express his own!
He slapped his hands over his face. How could he have been so blind? He’d never given this thought before! There hadn’t been cause, to! But now that it was brought to light, he remembered how flustered Richie was in the locker room, the way he’d pay way more attention to the guys speaking to him than the girls, the way his eyes would course thoughtfully over the guys in the mall than the girls...
“OF COURSE!” he shouted in realization, then slapped his hands over his mouth. He dropped out of Talon’s sight when he saw the bird woman turn around to glance in his direction. Hiding behind a billboard, Static grimaced and shook his head, feeling intensely like a failure. Richie had been his best friend for years, and he hadn’t even known this shocking little factor. How could he have missed that? How could he have missed his best friend looking at other boys the way he did with girls?
How could he?
He peeked around the billboard to see Talon was talking to Replikon, who was standing within an apartment balcony with some friends of his. The black man shrugged, and Talon was off once more, taking flight higher up within the air. Static, careful to avoid being seen by Replikon, ducked the billboard and flew around the building the black man was living in. He tailed after Talon, his head racing with thought.
Well...sure, the thought made him, Virgil Hawkins, intensely uncomfortable. That his best friend was gay. What guy didn’t feel comfortable with such things? The taboo subject was enough to make anybody squirm, immediate thoughts of self-concern coming into place. Was he checking me out? Did he think of me like that? Did I accidently turn him on at some point?
This particular thought made him seriously queasy, made intensely so by the fact that it was his best friend that made him feel this way. He didn’t want to–but it was instinctive. The thought of other guys being turned on by guys wasn’t...right. Natural. Men were supposed to be with women, and so on and so forth. For a man to turn to another man for the same things they turned to women for, well...it just made him queasy. And to apply that to Richie–funny, smart, geeky Richie...Static just couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t see it. Not that he wanted to...but he couldn’t believe it! There was a manic need inside of him that wanted this confirmed with his own eyes, and not those of others. And there was a need to just...not believe it.
He saw that Talon was going to take a break–she swung atop of a gothic rendition of a gargoyle atop of a particular building, looking seriously bushed. He took the care to duck out of her radar, coasting into an alleyway to take a break himself. He was seriously craving a burger, or a slice of pizza...with a Sunkist, or generic brand of orange soda...
He jumped onto the pavement, his disk folding up as he took a couple of running steps to slow his momentum in landing. Keeping Talon in sight, he quietly began creeping down the alleyway, looking for a spot where he could rest as well. He rounded a sharp corner, glancing away from Talon to see where he was going, and stopped straight, heart slamming into chest. He was frozen in place, his eyes widening to tremendous size, his mouth dropping open to hang some point below his knees.
He’d wanted confirmation about his friend’s sexuality. Well...there it was.
...He couldn’t move. His eyes were just...glued to the fact that the two were practically devouring each other with a sort of hunger and desperation that he’d only seen in movies. The kind where the couple had to be separated and neither was sure they’d ever see each other ever again.
His stomach roiled, but not with the disgust and disbelief that he thought it would–no, it was anger and hurt. Richie had been carrying on with his enemy, Hotstreak, and had every right to try and keep this secret. The fact that Hotstreak was kissing on his best boy friend, when he made it clear that he’d hated gays, zoomed right over his head at this moment.
Richie had both arms around the guy’s thick neck, and Hotstreak had both his arms wrapped around his back and lower back, their bodies pressed so tightly together that it looked incredibly natural for them both. Their mouths claimed, took and gave, fingers curling into material, heads moving–it was straight out of a film. Virgil still couldn’t move, staring at the scene with the sort of expression reserved for spectators gawking at a momentous tragedy.
They finally pushed away from each other–literally pushed–and with torn, exhausted and grievous stares, turned away from each other and quickly headed in different directions. In all that time, they hadn’t once glanced over to see Static standing there, right in the open. Gaping at the entire thing. No, Hotstreak took a doorway into the building behind him, and Richie was hurrying toward the street.
A Ford Taurus was parked nearby, the driver’s side door open, and the engine still running. Hotstreak either left it there, or was planning on using it again. Static, with much numb feeling, unfolded his disk and took flight.
Well...he’d wanted proof...
Chapter Ten:
“I...CANNOT...BELIEVE...THIS!” Maria shrieked, her watery form becoming larger and larger as she loomed over them, her fury evident in her features. Richie wanted to giggle out loud–for some odd reason, his inner reasoning wanted to kill him. But the way her voice raised several notches on the angry woman scale made him slightly hysterical. And here he was...in a single cold, wet towel. Hotstreak backed away from him, giving a complex mixture of horror, embarrassment and his own fury as the woman loomed over him. Richie, seeing that most of her anger was focused on him, snatched the clothing from the bed and quickly jammed out of there.
“It was all TRUE?” she continued to shriek. “It was ALL TRUE? YOU LIED TO ME! YOU FUCKING LIED TO ME!”
“I–what–he–you–fuck,̶ 1; was all Hotstreak was able to utter, unable to form a coherent sentence or thought as his mixture of feelings assaulted him.
“YOU ARE A FAG!”
“I–no–wait–!”
“I’m going to KILL you! YOU INSULT ME WITH THIS DISGUSTING DISPLAY! How DARE you do this to me! AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE FOR YOU? AFTER ALL THAT WE’VE ENDURED? YOU TURN TO SOME BOY? FUCKING DISGUSTING!”
“Keep your–!”
“YOU WILL NOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” she cried shrilly, her fists raised. “After all the things I’ve done for you, you turn to some boy? After all that I’ve done for you in the past, you get your rocks off with some boy? FUCKING FAG SHIT!”
Hotstreak could feel his face flushing with mortification, wondering just how much she had seen...and heard. Instantly, his face and neck matched the color of his hair, and it wasn’t fury that fueled it. He stepped back once more, blinking, pulling at the collar of his shirt. All that was currently running through his mind right now was oshitoshitoshitoshitoshit....
He held up his hands, trying to placate her, but she was having none of that.
Her fists were curled at her sides, and they raised now, shooting up into the air with an aggressive scream.
Meanwhile, Richie was shifting through the clothing, wincing at the screams and roars of fury from the other room. Two pairs of pants, two shirts and a pair of worn shoes that were a couple of sizes bigger than what he normally wore. Assuming they were supposed to be his, he quickly separated the size thirty-twos from the thirty-six, and yanked those blue jeans on. He’d lost his boxers in the room, so he grimaced at having to go commando. He grabbed the smallest shirt and yanked that on as well, ignoring the Fishing Derby Day logo on the front. Since he didn’t have any socks, he merely yanked the shoes on over his bare feet and tied them tight.
There was a lot of breaking and smashing things coming from the bedroom, accompanied with Maria’s shrieks. He heard Hotstreak protest something that ended in a unmanly squawk, and Richie realized that he didn’t want to stick around for his punishment...even though it was kinda funny. He never knew they were that close.
Something intensely loud shattered the shrieks, and the creak and protest of wood caught his ears. More shifting and groaning sounds made him look up, realizing the roof was shuddering, and the walls trembling. He grabbed the other set of clothes and ran out the door, turning to see the small cabin cave in on itself in a flurry of dust, wood and water.
Looking around himself, he saw that they were in a woodsy area–there were other cabins lining to the right and left of the one they’d occupied, and from the looks of it–they were right near a dirt road. It looked as if they were in the south end of Dakota...he couldn’t see the sprawl of the city, but he could hear the planes flying overhead.
He turned again, seeing that Maria was still shrieking about being wronged, so he set the shirt and pants down on the ground, and turned, hurrying for the road. He felt intensely sad, then. That this was the end of the road he had with Hotstreak. But...it was as they knew deep inside–it would never work. They couldn’t be together.
He sighed as he jogged his way to the road, wincing at all the various aches and pains in his body.
OooooooooooO
Hotstreak had no idea how he was going to calm the woman down. He knew Maria was pissed, and adding to the mortification he felt at knowing she knew about his thing with Richie, she had more power than him to teach him a lesson. Fire and water didn’t mix, and she had use over a great deal of it. And she wasn’t afraid to use it all on him.
The cabin was destroyed, and all he could really do was keep her from drowning him. She’d already soaked him thoroughly, so he was unable to use any of his powers–not that he could against her, anyway. She was bent on taking her fury out on him, and wasn’t going to hesitate on doing so. In the midst of her fury, Richie had gotten away. Which was good. Because if she focused in on him...
Maria was in his face as he sputtered water, being soaked once more when she saw that he’d been glancing around rather than paying any attention to her.
“Why?” she finally cried, grabbing his shirt, her face near his. Her breath smelled of rain. “Why do you do this? Why’d you do this to me? Why?”
“I...nothin’. You don’t know nothin’. Don’t haveta explain anythin’ to you,” he muttered sullenly, feeling his hair drip onto his already soaked shirt.
“I liked you, you stupid asshole!” she shrieked. “I’ve liked you for so long–! And for you to do this with some boy–! Do you realize how fucking hurt I feel? How disgusted I am? I thought I knew you, but I obviously didn’t! I am hurt, Francis, that I cannot be the one to make you happy–!”
“What? You what?” Hotstreak sputtered again, looking at her closely, as if seeing her for the very first time. In fact, that image came to mind–a pretty, curvy Latina with a mischievous smile and a fondness for tight clothing. They’d met because he was friends with her ex-boyfriend, and she’d always been so bossy and friendly with him, even as Luis was replaced by Miguel, and Miguel replaced by Charlie. Yes, he’d admit to thinking of hooking up with her a few times, but who hadn’t? With that figure?
But he’d never thought she looked at him that way–she was Latina, so she dated within her race. Not out. Her family forbade it. But when Maria turned into Aquamaria at the Big Bang, she became a closer friend to him, because they were obviously connected.
She slapped him with one of her cold, solid hands. “Don’t fuck with me that way! I’ve liked you! I have always had your back, no matter what! I always supported you and backed you no matter what the fuck you did! I never disrespected you, nor did I talk down about you to others. I did everything to show you what I felt, and you do this to me? I am hurt, Francis, HURT! I fucking hate what you did to me! I hate you!’
“I never–! You–!”
Maria covered her face with her hands, and dropped to the ground, sobbing loudly. And Hotstreak glanced around himself, utterly mortified and helpless with a female’s tears. He stepped away from her, uncertain of what to do. Why in the world did females have so much freakin’ power? He was just glad that no one could see this...a woman kicking his ass, confessing her love...wait a minute. She liked him? Like...like that? But it would never work. He didn’t look at her that way. Yeah, the body, but...not...not like that. She wasn’t his type.
She was suddenly pushing herself off the ground, latching onto him with the expression of a mad woman.
“We can kill him,” she said, breathing heavily as he reeled back from her, tripping over some roots. She followed him to the ground, straddling his waist. “I can kill him. I can drown him. No one would ever know. I’ll take the rap, for you. I can have his body hidden away, and no one would ever know you had this sort of thing with him. No one would ever know that you were loved up by this boy. It’ll be easy! I can do it!”
Hotstreak shook his head, feeling more than uncomfortable by this admission. Not that it wasn’t a bad idea, but...the thought of her killing just to protect him? Just to...save face? It could be done, no doubt...she could drown him, or----no. Richie won’t be killed. Some part of him screamed ‘Why?’, that part eager to protect his image and his rep. But another part of him, the majority–he couldn’t have Richie killed. No. That wasn’t how it worked. That wasn’t how it goes.
Maria pulled his hair, hard enough for him to yelp out loud, no matter how unmanly the sound.
“Why not?” she growled, her eyes wide and murderous.
“Because...I took him...I’ll be blamed,” he said carefully. He wanted to move her, but he wasn’t sure of a more polite way to do so. So he stood up, and she rolled off with a feminine squeak of outrage.
She whirled, tossing what she could grab at him. He ducked the flying of rocks and dirt, hands up in the air.
“You sick freak!” she hissed, rising to her feet. “You love him, don’t you? And don’t lie! I heard that goin’ on in there! You love him, you perverted, sick freak! I cannot believe you, Francis! How could you be this way? I thought you weren’t like that! I had always thought you would never lower yourself to that! And you do!”
“Shut up, all right? Shut the fuck up!”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” she shrieked, looming over him. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! And don’t think I back you, this time! You make mesick! You disappoint me! You fuckingdisgust me! I hate you! Fag! Freak! Pervert! Disgusting fag! I hate you!”
And with that, she turned and stomped off, miserably covering her face with both hands and sobbing anew.
Feeling utterly pathetic, Francis Stone’s shoulders drooped, and he felt incredibly helpless...and doomed. She knew his secret–what was she going to do with it?
It took awhile for him to find the clothes that he’d brought earlier–from the looks of it, Richie was long gone. He changed into the dry set of clothing, and headed on down the hill. Glancing over his shoulder, he sighed at the thought of his former hiding place being demolished by a vengeful female. His uncle’s cabin had been quite useful to use when he was hiding out from something in Dakota. He found the Ford Taurus he’d traded with the Buick, and located the keys. It was parked just below an embankment, hidden by brush and dense trees, the barely visible road stretching out to connect with the main road. There wasn’t much traffic out this way–Richie couldn’t have gone far.
Maria arrived on her own, and left in her same, mysterious way.
He found the teen nearly a half hour later, and when he got into the car, the pair of them shared a single look. Nothing more needed to be said.
The drive to Dakota was silent–while many things flitted through his mind, Hotstreak wasn’t going to say anything. He realized that his impulsive decision to take Richie out of Dakota just so Ebon couldn’t get at him was certainly implicating–it just confirmed what many knew. He had himself to blame for that. And Maria...well...if the information benefitted her, she wasn’t afraid to use it. No matter what her feelings said. That in itself was puzzling and surprising. Maria liking him. Having feelings for him. Beyond the normal lust and power hungry motives that many girls had. But he wasn’t going to give it serious thought. Maria just wasn’t his type.
He couldn’t protect Richie forever–it would just implicate him even further. And make him more vulnerable. He had to separate his feelings. He couldn’t have any for Richie, knowing that he could be used as a tool against him if people knew. He had to...he had to somehow get rid of these feelings. Both of them knew that they couldn’t be together–they could be nothing more than...than what they were before this amazing thing ever happened. That was the only way to make things right. He had to resume his bullying ways, and Richie had to...well...resume being the geek that got beat up for being geeky.
His fingers clenched the wheel. He had to get rid of his feelings.
He knew Ebon and his crew were looking for him–if they got a hold of Richie...then...it would be the blond’s problem. Not his. He had to save face.
“We’re merely friends.” Richie’s voice startled him. He glanced over at the blond, who was staring out the window, slumped low in his seat. “You only wanted to talk. You didn’t kidnap me. You only wanted to talk. And we talked about your decision to turn back to this path. That’s it.”
“...Whatever.”
He parked the Ford Taurus in an alleyway, intending on dumping it there so he could take the rest of the trail on foot. He hadn’t any idea the police were after him–he was counting on the Foley’s fear of him to stay quiet. He would simply go back to...do what he had to to survive. And keep from getting tossed into jail. Which meant a lot of running and hiding.
The thought tired him, and he clenched the wheel tiredly, recalling Richie’s desperate words earlier. He could have changed things–he had the chance. But...he made his decision.
He looked over at the blond, who looked over at him. The pair simply stared at each other, each one knowing where their roles would take them.
With an expressed look of sadness, Richie climbed out of the car.
As he watched the teen make his way toward the end of the alley, something desperate surged through him. The car was still running, but he left it that way as he climbed out, the abruptness of his leave causing the teen to turn back to face him.
Hotstreak hurried over to him, and Richie’s arms curled around his neck, already comforting him with his touch and his neediness for him. His arms curled around the teen’s body, pulling him close–their lips met with a combination of desperation and sorrow, each one trying to taste what they couldn’t anymore. At this point, he didn’t care who saw what–this was just one last time. One more time. He had to let go. For himself, and for the teen’s own sake. He could feel Richie’s feelings for him as he held him tightly, his arms locked solidly behind his neck. Could feel everything.
Then, almost as one, they pushed away from each other, breathing heavily. Words couldn’t express what they felt, so they said nothing. Hotstreak moved away from him, forcing himself to move. He heard Richie do the same. He forced himself into the back entrance to the restaurant of whose owner he was friendly with, and forced himself to just...keep moving.
He had a rep to protect. A face to save. And countless other things that Richie couldn’t be part of. His heart felt broken–which told him just how hard this trail was going to be.
OooooooooooO
Static shot through the air, grimacing. He had spent a good amount of his energy racing home to perform morning duties for the sake of keeping his father from realizing that he was missing, and racing off in the pretense to going into school. He’d changed back into his Static outfit and was in the air nearly two hours after he’d told Lewis that he’d help. His mind was racing frantically as he scanned the streets, looking for any sign of Hotstreak or Richie. The Buick was something easily lost in the Projects–he was panicked, because he had no idea how to go about locating Richie. He knew the Shock Vox was in his room–Richie couldn’t have grabbed it while being snagged from his room by a psychotic meta. He couldn’t even trace him in that aspect; he had to go about this the harder way.
He was sailing over the Projects, trying to think like Hotstreak when he saw Talon coasting over a condemned warehouse, shouting down at someone he couldn’t see. He quickly took cover behind the water tower of a community complex and strained his ears to hear.
“She don’t know, either!” he heard Shiv shout, his familiar squeak barely audible from his position. “Said she hasn’t seen him since he went in the first time!”
“What’s goin’ down, Talon?”
Puff. Her familiar slangy voice was more audible than Shiv’s.
“We’re looking for Francis! He gone an’ pissed off Ebon!” Talon shouted back.
“When don’t he? I ain’t seen him for a long ass while! Thought he was still in jail?” Puff shouted. “What’d he do?”
“Any place where we can find him?”
“He mentioned somethin’ about his uncle’s cabin outside of Dakota...but he might be hiding out at that place down on Ohm!”
“Thanks!”
Talon lifted higher into the air, Shiv shouting something that went unheard by the bird woman. Static kept out of her sight as she flew close, her face screwed into something unreadable. He coasted around the water tower to look down at both Puff and Shiv, both of whom were laughing about something.
Then Shiv was jumping into a vortex, disappearing out of sight while Puff strode back into the warehouse.
“Make enough friends, an’ they rat ya out,” Static muttered, narrowing his eyes as he shot off after Talon, tailing the bird-woman. “Good enough for me! Seems like we’re lookin’ for the same person...”
Utterly delighted at his good luck, Static continued to follow Talon throughout the city, keeping his distance and making sure he kept out of her sight. The two Metas were thorough in their search–they went in and examined every nook and cranny Hotstreak was familiar with, getting suggestions and ideas from various others along the way. It was a little maddeningly as time kept stretching further and further out of his reach. He had an idea of what Hotstreak was capable of if he grew desperate. Usually, if things grew too intense for the redhead to handle, he either cut and bailed to cause chaos the next day, or seriously hurt others to ensure his escape.
The thought of Richie being vulnerable to these acts of desperation scared him. His mind kept racing with constant hopes and prayers, hoping that his best friend was okay. It hurt and angered him that secrets were being kept from him–that he wasn’t as big as a focus point to Richie as he had been in the past. Richie wasn’t comfortable telling him things anymore, and that hurt.
What could he do to rectify this, to gain back the blond’s trust and eagerness to confide? Drop Daisy? Forgo all his own comforts and wants just to get back into Richie’s good graces, again? It just didn’t seem fair!
On that note...Frieda’s observations came back to bother him, his mind racing away from his frantic worry to curious wonder: was Richie gay? Static had to think–come to think of it, there hadn’t been a time when Richie expressed interest in a girl...well, there was the time they’d first met Shebang, and Richie had seemed impressed and giggly with her...and Nina Gonzales and her former powers had sent Richie into bouts of glee and cheer...
But...there hadn’t been any real interest in the opposite sex for the blond...no confiding on who he was crushing on, no obvious examination of female bodies in the mall, no...no nothing! Virgil would be craning his neck to check out a girl’s delicious booty as she walked by, and he told Richie about every girl he found gorgeous and likeable...but Richie said nothing to express his own!
He slapped his hands over his face. How could he have been so blind? He’d never given this thought before! There hadn’t been cause, to! But now that it was brought to light, he remembered how flustered Richie was in the locker room, the way he’d pay way more attention to the guys speaking to him than the girls, the way his eyes would course thoughtfully over the guys in the mall than the girls...
“OF COURSE!” he shouted in realization, then slapped his hands over his mouth. He dropped out of Talon’s sight when he saw the bird woman turn around to glance in his direction. Hiding behind a billboard, Static grimaced and shook his head, feeling intensely like a failure. Richie had been his best friend for years, and he hadn’t even known this shocking little factor. How could he have missed that? How could he have missed his best friend looking at other boys the way he did with girls?
How could he?
He peeked around the billboard to see Talon was talking to Replikon, who was standing within an apartment balcony with some friends of his. The black man shrugged, and Talon was off once more, taking flight higher up within the air. Static, careful to avoid being seen by Replikon, ducked the billboard and flew around the building the black man was living in. He tailed after Talon, his head racing with thought.
Well...sure, the thought made him, Virgil Hawkins, intensely uncomfortable. That his best friend was gay. What guy didn’t feel comfortable with such things? The taboo subject was enough to make anybody squirm, immediate thoughts of self-concern coming into place. Was he checking me out? Did he think of me like that? Did I accidently turn him on at some point?
This particular thought made him seriously queasy, made intensely so by the fact that it was his best friend that made him feel this way. He didn’t want to–but it was instinctive. The thought of other guys being turned on by guys wasn’t...right. Natural. Men were supposed to be with women, and so on and so forth. For a man to turn to another man for the same things they turned to women for, well...it just made him queasy. And to apply that to Richie–funny, smart, geeky Richie...Static just couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t see it. Not that he wanted to...but he couldn’t believe it! There was a manic need inside of him that wanted this confirmed with his own eyes, and not those of others. And there was a need to just...not believe it.
He saw that Talon was going to take a break–she swung atop of a gothic rendition of a gargoyle atop of a particular building, looking seriously bushed. He took the care to duck out of her radar, coasting into an alleyway to take a break himself. He was seriously craving a burger, or a slice of pizza...with a Sunkist, or generic brand of orange soda...
He jumped onto the pavement, his disk folding up as he took a couple of running steps to slow his momentum in landing. Keeping Talon in sight, he quietly began creeping down the alleyway, looking for a spot where he could rest as well. He rounded a sharp corner, glancing away from Talon to see where he was going, and stopped straight, heart slamming into chest. He was frozen in place, his eyes widening to tremendous size, his mouth dropping open to hang some point below his knees.
He’d wanted confirmation about his friend’s sexuality. Well...there it was.
...He couldn’t move. His eyes were just...glued to the fact that the two were practically devouring each other with a sort of hunger and desperation that he’d only seen in movies. The kind where the couple had to be separated and neither was sure they’d ever see each other ever again.
His stomach roiled, but not with the disgust and disbelief that he thought it would–no, it was anger and hurt. Richie had been carrying on with his enemy, Hotstreak, and had every right to try and keep this secret. The fact that Hotstreak was kissing on his best boy friend, when he made it clear that he’d hated gays, zoomed right over his head at this moment.
Richie had both arms around the guy’s thick neck, and Hotstreak had both his arms wrapped around his back and lower back, their bodies pressed so tightly together that it looked incredibly natural for them both. Their mouths claimed, took and gave, fingers curling into material, heads moving–it was straight out of a film. Virgil still couldn’t move, staring at the scene with the sort of expression reserved for spectators gawking at a momentous tragedy.
They finally pushed away from each other–literally pushed–and with torn, exhausted and grievous stares, turned away from each other and quickly headed in different directions. In all that time, they hadn’t once glanced over to see Static standing there, right in the open. Gaping at the entire thing. No, Hotstreak took a doorway into the building behind him, and Richie was hurrying toward the street.
A Ford Taurus was parked nearby, the driver’s side door open, and the engine still running. Hotstreak either left it there, or was planning on using it again. Static, with much numb feeling, unfolded his disk and took flight.
Well...he’d wanted proof...