Kindling
The authorities contacted him only. because they didn't know who else to call. Common thought maintained that all capes knew one another and an intern thought that their patient might have been in some incarnation of the Justice League, back in the day. That had to mean he was important…and that someone with deep pockets would take responsibility for his mounting hospital bills. Heaven knew they hadn't found an insurance card on him. They had looked. Hard.
The doctors swarmed around J'onn as he came in response to Phoenix General Hospital's call, fawning over their accomplishments and shouldering each other out of the way. Making a good first impression was essential if one wanted to become the primary care physician of a superhero. It was a great opportunity to inflate a resume, not to mention that it was well known that becoming the personal physician of a superhero was guaranteed consistent income.
"I stopped the internal hemorrhaging," one gloated.
"Without my intervention, he would have died within a matter of hours," another noted, flipping through a medical chart and attempting to look concerned.
A third doctor chimed in, "He was lucky to be brought here. Anywhere else would have killed him."
J'onn doubted that but knew debating the point would waste more time than he will willing to give the trio of medical vultures. It was only a feeling of obligation in honor of a mutually fallen friend that kept him from leaving.
"Gentlemen," he hesitated at the door, not bothering to look at the doctors he addressed, "if you are finished, I would like to see the patient." He paused for emphasis. "Alone." Taking advantage of the standard operating procedure that dictated that superheroes be granted private rooms, J'onn phased through the closed door, leaving three stunned doctors in his wake.
The room was dimly lit, smelled of stale disinfectant, and the white-noise of medical equipment filled in the air. In addition to himself and the patient, an overworked nurse puttered in the corner. She looked up, the wrinkle lines of many hard years of kindness crinkling around her tired, wise eyes. A wry smile tugged at her lips as she observed his cape and green skin, obviously unperturbed and un-intimidated. "I imagined it would only be a matter of time before one of your type showed up," she said briskly. "You can stay, if you'd like, but don't think you're taking this young man out of here. He needs rest. World ending apocalypse or not, I will throw that green kiester of yours out of here if you try anything funny. Don't think I won't just because you are a superhero, mister."
Instead of insulting him, J'onn found the nurse's blatant honesty a refreshing counterpoint to the doctors outside. It also reminded him fondly of Beatrice. Sweeping by the Martian and giving him one last warning stink-eye, the nurse left the room, giving J'onn and the patient some privacy.
Despite the time they had spent in the JLI, saving the world and fraying each others' last nerves, J'onn was struck by the condition of the man in the bed before him. He had seen Booster battered by supervillians before, but his current state reminded him too closely of their first deadly encounter with Doomsday. The shreds of his uniform, tinged with red, and his melted and twisted goggles had been laid on the bedside table. Their condition was reflected in the man to whom they belonged. Though most of his body was covered in a hospital gown and bleached-white sheets, his face showed ample signs of abuse. Bruises marred his pale face and one of the cuts above his left eye showed had been stitched close. Above the sheets, bandages peeked out from under Booster's smock-like clothing, protecting the wounds on his shallowly moving chest from further aggravation. Oxygen tubes supplemented the air his lungs could not provide and a series of IVs in his hand and arms laced his blood with antibiotics and replenished the blood and nutrients he had lost. The only evidence that Booster had any idea about his condition was in his scrunched eyes and the tightness of his jaw as he unconsciously struggled against the pain.
Disturbing as his wounds appeared, it was not Booster's physical condition that sparked the greatest concern and gave J'onn reason to pause. Rather, it was the unbearable psychic silence in the room that sent a chill down the Martian's back. The constant, one might say obnoxiously persistent, glow of enthusiasm, curiosity and mischievousness usually exuded by the time traveler's mind was gone—like a once-lively house left abandoned and haunted by the ghosts and joys of its past. Something had caused the fiery chatter of Booster's mind, which had been reduced to cinders at the death of Ted Kord, to be extinguished. Possibly forever. If that was true, all of the physical rehabilitation in the world would not be able to help. Booster would be gone.
Gently, J'onn placed his right hand on Booster's brow, noting absently how cool humans always felt to his touch, and prodded into the murky fog of his mind. It was strange to glide so effortlessly into Michael's inner thoughts. Booster usually projected raucous amounts of unhindered surface thoughts, especially in the company of Blue Beetle, but possessed a natural ability to block deeper mental intrusions. His closed-mindedness was no where near the rival of Batman's, but had nevertheless periodically surprised, intrigued and frustrated J'onn. Then again, Booster's emotions were always so transparent, on his face, in his stance, and from his heart, that J'onn had rarely felt the need to delve deeper. Now, with the superficiality stripped away, the Martian descended deeper and deeper into Booster's mind, searching for the light of the man he once knew.
As he fell, it struck J'onn that he had no inkling of the cause of Booster's decayed mental state. It was especially worrisome considering the fact that the superhero community was under the impression that Booster's anti-crime endeavors were limited to the prevention of petty thievery and the usual showboating. After his spectacle in with Batman and the JLA turned out to be yet another publicity stunt, reports of Booster Gold's antics were few, far between and mentioned with no small amount of distain. Despite the common opinions regarding his former teammate, J'onn could not imagine one of his staged events going so far. There was something else—something larger—at stake here that had traumatized Booster so badly that he had retreated into a sanctuary deep within his psyche.
The only other time J'onn had seen Booster so withdrawn was in the immediate aftermath of Ted's death. Even then, however, he had been able to pick up latent emotions from Booster: waves of horror, disbelief and desperation all stemming from a pit of anger and sadness that had threaten to drown his one-time comrade. Now, he felt nothing.
Finally, after an interminable decent that should have been full of bright, happy memories, J'onn saw a glinting light in the mental miasma. Like a bright quarter, shimmering as the only thing of worth on a dull sidewalk, J'onn was drawn towards it. The closer he came, the more of his astral vision it encompassed, until even he was forced to close his eyes against its searing brightness. When he reopened his eyes, the gray was gone, replaced by…a place he had never dreamed he would see again.
It was Dmitri's dacha in the foothills of the Ural Mountains. The Central Planning Committee of the USSR took good care of their JLI representative, evidenced by the intricate woodwork on the walls interlacing the whitewashed plaster, the roaring fire in the ornate living room fireplace, and the picture of wintertime troika rides above the mantelpiece. Rocket Red had been the only JLI member with a family and had insisted in his overbearingly jolly way that everyone simply must join his family for New Year's Eve dinner—the atheist Soviet Union's substitution for Orthodox Christmas. That night still remained as one of J'onn's fondest from his time with the JLI.
Despite the familiar location and the warm feelings it provoked, J'onn immediately knew that this haven in Booster's mind was no simple recreation of that peaceful (as much as any night with the JLI could be) night so many years ago. No one seemed to question his passive observation from the corner of the room as he scrutinized the scene before him.
Dmitri sat on one end of the plush couch that anchored the middle of the room, his 3 year old daughter Tanya cuddled in his lap. Safe in her father's arms, she was mesmerized by the green energy and ice constructs Guy and Tora entertained her with from the other side of the couch. Of course, big, tough Guy Gardner would never admit to the happy glint in his eyes as the little girl grabbed at the green ladybug that was zipping around her. His perpetually annoyed expression melted into pure, I-will-deny-this-to-my-dying-day contentment when he suavely stretched a hand around Ice's shoulders as she conjured a shower of snowflakes over Tanya that considerately melted before hitting the furniture. Tanya clapped adorably.
Ivan, Dmitri's 7 year old son, was sitting cross-legged on the floor completely unfazed by the fact that he was flanked on one side by a man dressed in a blue, bug-themed suit, even if the cowl was pulled down to reveal his mess of brown hair, and on the other by a woman in a green, not-appropriate-for-these-climates swimsuit. Much to Blue Beetle's horror, Ivan had admitted that he didn't know what a s'more was, much less how to make one. In the interest of decreasing Cold War tensions and promoting multicultural tolerance, Ted had taken it upon himself to teach the poor, deprived child of the wonders of horribly unhealthy camp foods.
"The trick is a slow roast and constant rotation," Ted advised sagely, demonstrating with a skewered marshmallow.
Ivan nodded, his eyes intensely following the Blue Beetle's technique and mimicking with his own air-puffed treat. Fire, standing above the pair, was substantially less impressed. Rolling her eyes dramatically, she snatched a marshmallow from the package and ignited it in her hand. Quickly blowing out the flames she popped the treat into her mouth with a sultry smirk.
"That's how you do it without looking like a pansy."
"I am not a pansy, you're just a barbarian," Ted pouted.
Fire winked at Ivan, inspiring him to move his skewered marshmallow directly into the flames of the fireplace.
"Good boy," she ruffled the young Russian's hair as he blew out the flames.
"Traitor."
Fire just kept smiling even as Beetle harrumphed melodramatically. Still, it was hard to take his sulking seriously when his mouth was stuffed with s'mores and there was a smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. Surveying the family room scene from behind the couch, Captain Atom's silver skin looked strangely natural in this setting, despite the reflection of the fireplace's flames across it. No one, not even the children, looked twice at him. Somehow, someone must have convinced him that he was off-duty because he sported an uncharacteristic lager beer bottle in his hand. His military training prevented him from becoming too comfortable, despite the alcohol, and he made sure to keep a careful eye on the children, Ted and Bea included, to keep them out of trouble.
As J'onn continued to watch, a civvy-wearing Scott Free entered the room from the back wall's doorway. He carried two dark drinks in his hand, one of which he passed off to Ted. He had a goofy grin on his face which could only be partially explained by the Jack-and-Coke he held in his hand.
"What's got you in such a chipper mood?" Ted groused, still miffed at Bea for stealing his protégé.
"Ekaterina is teaching Barda how to cook. It may be borsch, but the fire alarm hasn't gone of once since they started. Not once!" Scott was grinning like a fool. "Dmitri, your wife is a miracle worker."
"You should see what she can do with potatoes," Dmitri glanced fondly over his shoulder toward the sounds of domesticity emanating from the kitchen. "She will teach your wife how to put meat on your bones."
"Or you could eat more s'mores," Beetle suggested, holding one up. "Come on, Scott, live a little."
Mr. Miracle's expression, unhindered by a costume, was less than thrilled at the prospect. It was hard to convince someone who escaped death traps for a living that s'mores would make him 'live a little'. Luckily, an elongated hand from across the room saved him from an awkward refusal by plucking the treat out of Ted's hand.
"Hey!"
"A treat for the lovely lady." From the conjoined dinning room, J'onn looked over to see Ralph and Sue Dibny sharing a seat at a solidly constructed cherry dining table. Ralph's arms were wrapped snuggly around his wife's waist, kissing her on the cheek while she munched on the s'more. Her hand not occupied with the campfire sandwich was playfully twirling a strand of red hair at the nape of his neck with a finger. It was so lovingly marital J'onn couldn't help but crack a smile…until he remembered that the closest the Dibnys could be now was dictated by the distance between their gravestones.
Sharing the table with the detectives were two children. J'onn's attention was brought to them when a mysterious blonde from the kitchen brought a tray of snacks, with two lonely non-alcoholic drinks balanced precariously on it, to the two. They were both bent over paper—one with a calculator and pencil, the other with a box of 64 rainbow crayons. Skeets followed the blonde, dipping towards the table to peek at the children's papers.
"Am I ever going to need to find the area under a curve? No. Then, I will never need the ability to calculate a derivative. Too bad this logic is lost on Mr. Kirkpatrick. Ugh." As the young man lifted his eyes to a God who ignored his pleas for educational liberation, the Martian Manhunter finally recognized him. Jaime Reyes was significantly less blue and mechanical than J'onn had been led to believe, considering his alternate persona, but every bit the teenager. Ralph peaked at the high schooler's homework, grimacing. "Jaime, you do remember that the derivative of sine is a negative cosine, right?"
"And I believe a pi is missing in the third step," Skeets added.
"Augh!" Jaime buried his face in his hands. He scribbled furiously at his paper with his eraser. "I hate this!"
The young blonde, with a sympathetic but obviously amused grin, scooted the glass of Coke a few inches closer. "Lighten up, Jaime. This is supposed to be a party."
The little brunette, whose legs kicked incessantly a foot above the floor, held out a 'Norwegian' blue crayon. "Use this," she advised. "I never make mistakes with it-never, ever."
Jaime's older brother instincts took over, forcing him to take the new utensil and finish the problem with Ralph's helpful sign change and a randomly inserted pi. Negative pi over two, with confirmation from the back of his textbook. "Thanks, Rani. It's perfect, just like you said. Where'd you get the cool crayons?"
"Boppy gave them to me!" The little girl's smile was as bright as the sun. It made J'onn wonder if she had ever been given a present in her life. "He said my pictures were so good that they needed to be in color, and permanent, not like on his chalkboard."
The blonde turned Rani's paper towards her, giving J'onn a good look at her face. Her eyes were blue like Booster's, but what convinced J'onn of their sibling connection was the excited way that she shoved the little girl's picture in the face of her nearest victim: Sue Dibny.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Michelle gushed. "It's Rani, Rip, Skeets and I." She pointed out each stick figure proudly to Sue.
"Boppy's frowning because Michael's off making trouble again," Rani explained, "but he's not really upset. I can tell."
Sue completed the obligatory 'oohing' and 'ahhing', agreeing that the picture simply must be put on a refrigerator somewhere while Ralph silently thanked his wife for taking one for the team.
"Rip Hunter is the man Booster currently works for," a voice beside J'onn answered, replying to his unasked question. He shouldn't have been surprised to see Batman detach himself from the shadows of the living room, but then again, in any other circumstance his telepathic abilities would have warned him of the Dark Knight's arrival.
J'onn's eyes narrowed. For some reason that he could not explain to himself, the news disturbed him. Booster was working for someone unknown to him, who had not been cleared through the Justice League database, and whose motivations were unclear. "How do you know this 'Rip Hunter'?"
Batman huffed, but in a way that might have been a cleaver disguise of a smile. "Booster sees me as an omnipotent stalker—anything I want to know, I know. He may have been able to hide some aspects of himself and his life from me in reality, but his subconscious self tells me everything. That is how I know some things that I have no reason or way to know; for example I know the meaning of those portraits behind you."
J'onn turned, not knowing if the picture frames trailing down the wall beside him had been there all along or had flashed into existence at Batman's command. Gotham's vigilante stepped silently out of the way, towards the other revelers but not joining them, as his teammate inspected the images. Some were easily recognized: Ralph and Sue, Ted, Michelle, Dmitri, Tora, even himself and Batman. Much to his surprise, Max Lord's face grinned cheekily at him from inside a frame. Others were more ambiguous. One was a roadmap of a decently sized city, red letters on a swath of green in the center of the grid blaring 'Coast City Central Park'. Tucked in the corner of the frame was a Polaroid, but the person in it was no more than an ill-defined male silhouette against a background of well manicured trees. Another picture showed a jewel-like planet of swirling emerald skies suspended in a field of space without stars. Wedged in its corner was another Polaroid. A woman with black hair and a high-collared medical shirt stared back at him sadly.
"It's not only death," Bruce rejoined him at the final picture. "Though that is the obvious connection."
"And it is not simply his feelings for the individual deceased," J'onn put his hand to one of the pictures. "I can feel that it is something more…complicated."
"Booster Gold is not a complicated man," Batman reminded him, "and neither is this. The link you are missing is an understanding of one of humanity's greatest desires: to die without regrets. These are Michael's regrets—the people he was unable to save who continue to haunt him."
Cities and planets worth of guilt. The man who could bear such burdens was not the Booster Gold who J'onn thought he knew. In fact, he should have known sooner that something was different. The Booster of their JLI days would have had a raucous, faintly debaucherous party in his mind, not the comfortable, calm get together he was in now. The realization prompted a new bout of curiosity that could only be satisfied by talking to one person. "Where is Booster?" he asked.
Batman's eyes widened slightly at the question. "He's…." the Dark Knight uncharacteristically trailed off, cocking his head to the side as if listening to a voice only he could hear. His mouth turned down into a disturbed frown. "He's outside."
"Why?"
"I don't know," Batman's frown deepened. "He won't tell me."
Without waiting for further explanation, J'onn walked to the front door of the home, ignored by the other people in the family room. The door opened inward and the Martian walked straight into a snow squall, the noise of the door slamming shut behind him almost lost in the howl of the storm. Narrowing his eyes against the sting of precipitation, J'onn took slow, careful steps into the white unknown. Minutes of blind reaching and squinting into the fury of the snowstorm finally rewarded him with a flickering flash of blue and gold. He fought his way towards it.
"Booster!" he yelled at the snow-obscured figure, but it did not move. Undaunted, J'onn continued forward until he stumbled into an oasis of calm that seemed to surround him and his quarry. He knew instinctively that the calm had been created specifically for him as the storm continued to rage scant inches away.
"What?" Booster asked, monotone, staring blankly in the direction of Dmitri's home. He was knee deep in snow, his goggles pushed down around his neck and his hair lying damp and cold on his forehead. His face was chapped red and his whole body was wracked with periodically violent shivers.
"Booster, you need to come with me." J'onn took a single step towards him, stretching out his hand. Michael didn't move, except to shake his head.
"I can't," he said softly.
J'onn took another step closer. "I can help you."
"No, I can't."
One more step, and J'onn placed his hand on his ex-teammates shoulder. "Booster, if you stay out here, your mind will die."
The touch jolted the blonde into action and he spun to face J'onn, his eyes suddenly full of fury and frustration. "Leave me alone! You never bothered before and you won't start now! Just leave!"
Before J'onn could react his vision blurred and, a blink later, he was standing in Dmitri's family room next to Batman. "Went that well, did it?" Batman asked drily.
Rather than dignifying the Dark Knight with a response, J'onn considered his options. Booster still retained some power in his own mind, that much was obvious, but he seemed intent on using it towards self-destructive ends. His words, as hurtful as they were, stung all the more because of their truthfulness. There was no reason for Booster to talk to someone who had never dignified him with the simple act of listening. What he needed was someone the time-traveler could not ignore and for that, there was only one choice.
"Beetle," Ted looked up at the sound of his name, his eyes bright and curious even as he licked the melted marshmallows and chocolate off of his fingertips.
"What do you need, oh Jolly Green Giant?"
Despite the fact that the others in the house again appeared unaware of the conversation between the two superheroes, J'onn beckoned the Blue Beetle away from the cozy firelight. With a shrug, Ted clambered up from the floor, humoring his one-time JLI teammate. "If you want a s'more, you don't have to be ashamed. I can even make one with chocolate, than a marshmallow, then more chocolate, just like a Choco."
J'onn sighed. "No, Ted. It's about Booster."
Beetle rolled his eyes, still not appreciating the seriousness of the situation. "What kind of trouble has he gotten himself into this time?"
"He's trying to kill himself," J'onn explained bluntly.
Confusion and fear caused Ted to sputter, "Wh-What?"
"He's outside."
"In this weather? Is he crazy?" The Blue Beetle's initial fear was turning quickly into anger, though who it was directed at wasn't clear. "Why didn't you drag him back in here?"
One thing that had always impressed J'onn about the spunky engineer was how he was never intimidated by other superheroes with the power to read minds or move planets. Ted knew that Martians had the ability to scramble the minds of their enemies, or reach through their bodies to tear out internal organs (not that J'onn ever would), but that didn't stop him from trying to stare down the Manhunter. Of course, the intimidation factor was somewhat lost when Ted had to stare a good foot up, especially while invading J'onn's personal space.
"Booster won't listen to me." J'onn admitted. "But you…if you ask tell him to listen, he will. Your opinion means more to him than a thousand facts."
"There seems to be a common misperception that Booster always listens to me," Ted frowned. "No one remembers the times when he was too damn stubborn to listen to reason, much less me."
Even as he ranted, Ted was a man of action. Walking over to the couch, he snatched the heavy afghan off the back, causing Guy to squawk out an affronted, "Hey! Watch it!"
"Ted," Tora was more curious, more concerned, "what's going on?"
"Nothing," Beetle stalked towards the door, "just Booster being Booster."
He had to pass by J'onn again on his way to the front door. "Don't get lost in the storm," the Martian advised, "Michael could be anywhere."
"Great, this day is just getting better and better," Ted complained, shaking out the blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. "I hate the snow."
Taking one last breath of warm air, Ted braced himself to face the biting Siberian wind he could hear howling just outside the door. Opening it, he took a tentative step outside.
Abruptly, the blizzard stopped, the last snowflakes cascading to the ground gently and leaving the air feeling clean and crisp. Through two feet of snow and up a perfect sledding hill, Ted could easily see his best friend now gazing away from the home. Despite the sun, his uniform looked dull and worn.
Trudging up the hill like an exasperated parent, Ted sighed dramatically when he saw the state his friend was in. Slinging one hand around a blue and gold shoulder, he tried to tuck the afghan around the two of them. "At least it stopped snowing," he murmured.
"You wanted it to stop," Booster's eyes flickered down to meet Ted's for a second, just enough for the Blue Beetle to see the pain in his eyes before returning to something past the horizon that only he could see.
Ted grinned, brighter than he normally would have to try to provoke a reaction from his friend. "For me? Aw, Booster, you shouldn't have!"
His humor was not contagious. "Why are you here, Ted?"
"Because I don't want my best friend to be a frozen dinner for some raging Siberian tigers."
"I'm not cold."
"Bull," now Ted was becoming angry. Did Booster think he was stupid? Or just wish that he was? "Get your frosty butt inside so I can yell at you from the comfort of Dmitri's warm home."
"I can't."
"First your not cold, now your legs are frozen and you can't walk." Ted poked at his friend's ribs under their shared blanket—usually a move that would instantly galvanize Booster into reciprocal poking. "Make up your mind."
"I can't!" Booster twisted away, his voice catching in his throat, choking back something that may have been a sob. The blanket fell from around his shoulders to trail limply in the snow.
Ted paused to think. "You've tried, haven't you," he realized, inching his hand towards his partner-in-crime's shoulder again, "but you really couldn't."
Booster's head was bowed and despite the stillness, Ted almost missed his anguished whisper, "Just leave me alone, Ted."
Just as softly his hand brushed Booster's shoulder again and said, "If you really wanted me gone, you could make me leave."
"Go back inside. It's safer there."
"Not without you."
"I can't."
"You keep saying that," Ted squeezed Booster's shoulder encouragingly, trying to draw him out. "Why can't you?"
Beetle could feel the tenseness in his friend's shoulders, like he was a high-tension cable ready to snap. It contrasted starkly with the vulnerable hiccupping noises he was making as he tried to keep his emotions under control. Finally, after a minute of anxious waiting Booster admitted, "My hands, on the doorknob, they keep slipping."
"They're probably frostbitten. Here—let me take a look at them," Ted reached over to inspect the problem.
The violence that Booster jerked away from him caught the Blue Beetle off guard. "No! Don't!" but he couldn't move fast enough to keep his friend from seeing his ungloved hands.
Ted hesitated. "Booster…is that…blood?" He attempted to reach for Booster's hands again, only to have him turn away a second time. "My God! Won't you at least let me see if you're okay?"
"It's not mine," Booster explained, unable to meet Ted's eyes. He didn't have to look to know instinctively where his best, dead friend was—even when they weren't both locked in his own mind. "It's their's."
"Booster, buddy—we had this discussion. Remember? Back when you first joined the League. You can't save everybody. It's just not possible. You can't beat yourself up over it." Ted made another grab towards Booster's hands to emphasize his point. Once again he was denied.
"What about the people you could save, but chose not to? What about those people, Ted?" Booster's hands balled into bloody fists dripping on the fresh, clean snow. "How can their blood not be on my hands?"
"I-I don't…," Ted wanted to find something to say, something reassuring, but nothing came to mind. To consciously decide to let someone die; it was an idea he could not wrap his mind around. Still, this was his best friend, and there were some unequivocal things he knew about Michael Carter.
On impulse, and knowing that another grab for his hands would be in vain, Ted enveloped Booster instead in a hug. Circling his arms to lock around Booster's back, he could feel the blood-slicked hands between them as his friend struggled to get away. "I'm one of those people, aren't I?" the dead man was choking on his own words now but he didn't care, "My blood is on your hands, killing you."
"No!" Booster denied, vehemently, even if it was a lie. Again he tried to pull away and again he failed. In reality he had always been stronger than Ted, but in mental strength he had always known that Ted was his better. "It's not your fault. I should have been able to save you. For God's sake, after meeting you I went back to the 25th century. All I had to do to save you was look up your name. That's it! And I couldn't be bothered. I couldn't care enough. Not even for you."
Ted stayed silent. If he had gone to the future he knew he would have researched his friends' fates. There was no doubt in his mind. Then again, is mind and Booster's were very different. "That's it," he whispered into Booster's chest, listening to the fluttering pulse of his friend's heart. "That's it."
"What's it? What are you talking about?"
Ted squeezed his friend tighter. "Your brain has never been your strongest muscle, Boost. It's always been your heart. You didn't check because you assumed, like every other person, that your friend would never die. That you'd always be able to protect me. Because you cared about me."
"I would do anything for you. Anything but save you."
"You're such an idiot," Ted couldn't help himself, "You really think you consciously decided not to save me."
"I consciously decided to stop trying," Booster was trembling again, but Beetle knew it had nothing to do with the temperature. "What kind of best friend does that? What kind of hero doesn't even try to stop as millions of innocent people from being massacred? What kind of hero uses the excuse of 'it's meant to be' as an excuse to be complicit in murder." Tears were streaming down his face now. "I can't do this, Ted. I'm going to lose my mind. Then, I'm going to kill myself."
Furious, Ted pushed away. The movement surprised Booster enough that it gave Ted the opportunity to finally wrap one of his hands around his best friend's bloody wrists. His anger also gave him the strength to keep his grip even as Booster tried to wriggle away. With the other hand, he grabbed Michael's chin and jerked his face around to look directly into his eyes. "Don't you ever say that," he ground out between clenched teeth. He had never wanted to punch Booster so badly before. "Don't even joke about it."
"I'm sorry," Booster looked honestly contrite, "but…."
"No 'but's," Ted shook his friend's head for emphasis. "I won't let it get that far."
"Ted, you're dead. You don't have much of a say in what happens outside my mind."
Despite his anger, there was a seriousness in Beetle's eyes that Booster both feared and remembered. It was the look that meant his friend was going to do something—or die trying. "But in your mind I have a lot of say. In your heart I have even more-even as a memory."
"You seem to have an awful lot of confidence in my heart," Booster noted quietly. "Everyone else says it's the part of me that keeps getting me in trouble." Ted smiled, feeling the tension finally recede.
"First of all, you couldn't stay out of trouble even if you tried. That's not your heart's fault; it's just you. Second, anyone who belittles your heart has a serious mental condition. It's the only thing strong enough to keep you alive in your horrible job."
Booster laughed, but it was bitter and choked. "At least I get to prove my Dad wrong."
"What do you mean?" Ted treaded carefully, hyper-aware of the fact that Booster had never mentioned his father in his presence before.
"I threw my career away because my Dad told me my heart couldn't handle the guilt of him being hurt. Back then, he was right. I wonder what he'd think if he knew the kind of baggage I was carrying around with me now." Booster paused. "Who am I kidding? He'd say I was a failure, just like always."
"I know what I'd say," Ted took both of his friend's hands in his own. Booster twitched, but all of the fight had ebbed out of him. His eyes were drawn to the blood now on Ted's palms. "I'd say you owe me an apology—and a couple of drinks."
Michael couldn't keep himself from rolling his eyes. "And why, exactly, do I owe you an apology? I thought you didn't want me to feel responsible for your death."
"Not for that." Beetle disentangled one hand to poke Booster in the chest. "A while back you told me people never change. That they are what they are. I, being older and wiser, disagreed. Well, I have news for you, buddy-boy. You were once a shallow, egotistical, idiot—"
"Gee, thanks."
"And you're still a goof-ball, and you don't always think things through, and you're constantly getting into trouble—"
"You suck at making people feel better."
"But you have so much compassion it tears you apart. You love people so deeply that you don't think twice about sacrificing everything for them. You're the best that humanity has to offer these days, Michael, and I know that's a heavy burden to bear. But just look at how far you've come. Look how much you've changed."
"Okay, maybe you don't suck at it."
Ted snorted. "I just like being right. So, now that we're done inflating your ego, are you ready to go inside?"
Booster looked towards the house, with the bright filtered light shining from its windows and a picturesque curl of smoke trailing from the chimney. He could see shadows moving behind the curtains—it looked like someone had just smacked the back of someone else's head. It was so warm and comfortable. He looked down at Ted, "I'm sorry. I can't."
"Even after everything I've said? After our breakthrough?"
"Yeah."
Ted shrugged. "Then I guess I'll just have to stay out here with you. You get stupid when I leave you alone."
"You belong back in there," Booster argued, "with the people I'm trying to protect—or their memories."
"No," Ted readjusted his position, throwing his arm around Booster's shoulder once more and the blanket around them both. "I belong with you."
"I miss you, Ted."
"I know."
"It'd be so much easier with you, with the 'ol Blue and Gold back together."
"I know."
He didn't have to say that it would never be. They both knew it. They both knew that this was all a product of Booster's mind and, really, Ted was only saying what Booster wanted him to. But it was what Ted would have said. Michael knew his best friend well enough to be certain of that. The guilt, the pressure and the blood were still there, but there was a kindling warmth now that made it bearable.
It was a change that was noticeable to J'onn as well. He paused a moment in his conversation with Batman (he was trying to coerce Bruce into divulging exactly what Booster was doing for work—unsurprisingly, he had met with staunch failure) to read the new emotions. They were weak, like a tender flame someone was blowing on to coax into brilliance. There was contentment mingled with heartbreak, fear with cautious optimism and a bedrock of strength underscoring it all. It was unlike anything J'onn had felt before from the superhero he thought he knew.
Closing his psychic eyes, he carefully withdrew from Booster's mind until he could see with his real ones. Looking down, he could see that Booster's expression was still shifting, but this time it was from his own exertion as he tried to regain consciousness. The feelings he had sensed from Michael remained, filling in the corners of the room with a warm glow and giving him encouragement. Patiently, he stood by the head of the bed, his mouth only quirking up in the slightest smile when Booster's eyes flickered open and he mumbled, "…Ted?"
"No, Michael," J'onn took great care to speak slowly and clearly, "It's J'onn. You were badly hurt and the hospital contacted the Justice League."
Booster frowned, his brain slowly processing the information. The last thing he remembered was being in Kansas, where and when he shouldn't have been, fighting Magog and Captain Atom. He was trying to save his teammate and the millions of innocents who would die when his containment suit ruptured. He'd had his butt handed to him by Magog's team of renegade heroes and remembered seeing the terror in Cap's eyes when he realized he was going to meltdown. After that, there was the push of an explosion and an uncharacteristically shuddering pull of the time platform. He must not have made it all the way back to Hunter's lab.
"What happened?" J'onn used the same tone of voice he did when coordinating Justice League movements, the one that brooked no arguments. "What are you up to, Michael?"
Laced with medical drugs though he was, Booster was still lucid enough to know that he could not answer the question honestly. Too tired to fabricate an elaborate lie, he settled on a childishly vague, "Nothing."
" 'Nothing' nearly killed you," frustration was building up, just like it had in the JLI. "You must think very poorly of me if you believe I would let a danger like this go un-investigated."
Whatever Booster's retort might have been was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Both occupants looked up to see a brown haired, non-descript man enter the room. The only thing that marked him as extraordinary was Skeet's presence hovering with little impatient dips over his shoulder. "I'm afraid you'll have to," Rip said tersely.
J'onn looked suspiciously at the man who met his gaze unflinchingly. Their battle of wills was only marginally distracted when Skeets zoomed past the pair to Booster's bedside exclaiming, "Sir! We were so worried when we couldn't find you!"
"Sorry," Booster reached up weakly to pat his partner like a loyal dog. "My gear got mangled, plus I was very unconscious apparently, so I couldn't contact you."
"Well," Rip glanced past his adversary, coolly evaluating Booster's condition even though he felt like his heart had dropped into his stomach because of his own worry. "You'll have to finish recuperating elsewhere. We have work to do."
Rip sidestepped the Martian, moving to gather the remnants of Booster's possessions and get close enough to transport them all back to his lab. He was stopped by a firm hand digging into his shoulder. "Step away from him," J'onn warned, unconvinced that Rip had Booster's best interests at heart.
"J'onn! Wait! It's okay. This is Rip Hunter," Booster explained, adding a face to the name Batman had supplied. "I'm doing a little freelance work with him." Despite the pain it must have caused him, Booster shifted to pull himself up into a sitting position on the bed. He tried to smile disarmingly. "If it makes you feel any better, it's something Ted would've wanted me to do."
That statement, coupled with the emotions now radiating from the blonde—fatalism mixed with happiness—convinced J'onn to relent. Loosening his grip, he let Hunter move next to his ex-teammate and pull out a strange, handheld device from under his leather jacket. Booster looked up with a quirked smile saying, "See ya later, J'onny-boy. And thanks." A second later and he, Hunter and Skeets had vanished in a cascade of rainbow-colored light.
"Good bye, Booster," J'onn replied to the empty room and then, even quieter, "Good bye, Ted. Take care of him."
Author's Notes:
(1) The encounter with Doomsday reference is taken from "The Death of Superman". As far as I know, J'onn was masquerading as Bloodwynd at that point, so he would know what happened.
(2) The pictures on Booster's wall of regret come from various incidents over his life. I'm sorry if I missed any important ones.
(3) Michael's father's statements about the strength of his son's heart come directly from the second TPB of his current series.
(4) Ted and Booster's argument over whether or not people can change comes directly from "Formerly Known as the Justice League".
(5) The Magog and Captain Atom incident comes from "Kingdom Come", which may or may not be considered DCU cannon.
One of many deleted lines: [Said by Ted] Your heart's a big place, and stronger than even you know. I should know—I'd like to think that I was one of the first people you let in there."