Disclaimer:
All characters are owned by DC Comics. Used for entertainment, not profit.
Chapter One
Specifically, it started in the kitchen.
Blue Beetle sat at the weathered wooden table, leaning on his elbows as he sifted with automated motions through untidy piles of papers. Although he was in costume (all two-toned blue, with the dark blue lines over his ribs resembling the stylized, stretching legs of an insect), his cowl was pulled back, bulgy yellow goggles and all, to reveal a crumple of auburn hair. He heaved a somewhat overdramatic sigh as he dug a particularly dog-eared document out of the middle of a minor tower of papers, then groaned as the entire top half of the stack slowly, inexorably slid sideways and cascaded off the table. He muttered a half-hearted curse as he made a grab for them . . . then blinked in surprise when they stopped halfway from the floor, settling on an invisible surface two feet off the ground.
"Hey Beetle," Booster Gold grinned from the doorway. "Drop something?"
"Nice save." Blue Beetle reached down to scoop up the papers, but they floated away, just out of his reach.
"What? I use one of my patented, copyrighted, all-rights-reserved force fields to help the bug-man and all I get is 'nice save'?" Booster neatly manipulated his force field to push the documents into a recognizable, if slightly haphazard, stack before carefully lowering them back onto the table. "Clearly a waste of my many, varied talents!"
"Well, you know what they say . . . With great power comes great responsibility and all that," Beetle replied, straightening the papers a little.
"Where'd you hear that?"
"Read it somewhere."
"How about 'With great power comes great profit'?" suggested Booster, whose tagline wasn't the Corporate Crusader for nothing.
"Pffft. I wish."
"Well, that sounded a little bitter. What's up?" Booster entered the room, his yellow and blue costume reflecting in the glossy, checkered linoleum. He blinked as he saw that in addition to the papers sprawled across the table, Beetle also had two full boxes overflowing on the floor. "What the heck are you doing? Fifteen years of taxes all at once?"
"Not far off," Beetle said gloomily. "Bankruptcy forms."
"You're kidding." Booster's eyes widened behind his yellow visor. "Last time I checked, K.O.R.D. Inc.'s stocks were through the roof! What happened??"
"Do you want me to start with the part where my girlfriend--correction, my ex-girlfriend--called my father out of retirement in the South Pacific to replace me because I was 'neglecting the company'? Or how about when the board of trustees booted me out with a vote of no-confidence? Or maybe I should just skip to the part where my father managed to gut the multi-million dollar company, which I pulled out of the gutter to begin with, in a month? A month!" Beetle repeated incredulously. "How is that even possible?"
"He must've been giving helluva big Christmas bonuses . . . Seriously though, I'm sorry, man. I had no idea."
"Yeah, well . . ." Beetle shrugged. "I guess I can see where the board was coming from . . . When you spend half the day as a costumed vigilante, it's hard to get to your desk on time, y'know?"
"Unless being a costumed vigilante is your desk job," Booster Gold said a trifle smugly. He looked thoughtful. "Hmm . . . 'vigilante' has such a negative connotation, though. I think I prefer 'unlicensed crimefighter.'"
"My friend, the spin doctor."
Booster cocked his head to one side, wearing the vague smile he always displayed when he came across an unfamiliar 20th century phrase and was trying to decide whether to ask for a definition. The futuristic superhero apparently decided it wasn't worth the effort in this case, as he merely said, "So how long have you been wading through that junk?"
"Oh, I dunno . . . since ten or so . . ."
"Ten?? Geez Beetle, it's two now! I'll bet you didn't eat yet either, did you?" Booster said, giving his friend a disapproving look.
"Booster. Look at this mess." Blue Beetle waved a hand over the table, unintentionally sending a few 1099 forms flying. "I don't have time to eat. I don't have time to sleep. I'm lucky I still have time to breathe."
"I could help you go through them," Booster suggested as he picked up a few of the papers and began to flip through them.
"Erm . . . Not that I don't appreciate the offer, but . . . maybe that's not such a good idea," Beetle said hesitantly.
"Why not?" Booster asked in a slightly offended voice as he tried to make heads or tails of an inch thick IRS form.
"Because you're holding that upside down, for starters. Admit it, Booster, as far as you're concerned, it might as well be Greek."
"That's not true!" Booster said crossly as he turned the form right-side-up. It wasn't true, either; Greek would've made more sense. "Look, I don't care how much stuff you have to sort through, you still need to take a break, Beetle. Get out, go for a walk, grab something to eat . . . Did you know there's a new Mexican place near the embassy?"
"Oh yeah, I keep meaning to drop by and check that place out. What's it called again?"
"La Cucina."
"La what? Shouldn't that be cocina? 'Cucina' is Italian for kitchen . . ."
"Uh huh. But that's what it's called. I think it's supposed to be trendy or ironic or something. I hear the food's great, though!" Booster said.
"Well . . ." Blue Beetle hesitated. "If you want to go check it out . . . I guess the paperwork will keep for an hour or two . . ."
"That's the spirit, buddy!" Booster encouraged with a grin.
"Don't forget to change into civvies," Blue Beetle warned as he began transferring armloads of papers from the kitchen table to an out-of-the-way corner of the living room. "And try not to flash your name around. Some of us still depend on secret identities, you know!"
"Outdated," Booster called from the kitchen, but he trotted towards his room and reappeared a few minutes later in jeans and a T-shirt.
"I suppose it would be too much to expect you to wear a shirt without your picture on it?" asked Blue Beetle, who had also changed into less conspicuous clothes.
Booster glanced down at his shirt, which featured a drawing of him flying with his feet neatly tucked together and his arms outstretched. "Hey, at least it's not a close-up head shot, right?" he said as he stuffed his superhero outfit into a briefcase. (The Justice Leaguers seldom left the embassy without their costumes, not since the night Mister Miracle, in his civilian garb, had been forced to take multiple breathalyzer tests after repeatedly trying to explain to an officer that his ignorance of the traffic laws was due to being raised by an evil god on a distant planet.)
Beetle picked up a well-worn backpack containing his own costume. "You should think about getting some sort of disguise."
"No way! I'm Booster Gold, 24/7," Booster grinned. "Besides, how would I disguise myself? Slap on a pair of fake glasses?"
Both heroes laughed at the idea as they left, once again forgetting the Martian Manhunter's injunction against slamming the door.