The Big Damn Lists...have nothing clever to say. How disappointing.
Title: Not So Alleged
Fandom: Justice League
Characters: Booster, Max, Beetle (mention)
Prompt: "Heart." (fanfic100) and "I was wrong about you." (un_love_you)
Word Count: 669
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: I blame madripoor_rose's post about Booster's reaction to Ted's (alleged) heart condition. This was supposed to be commentfic!
(If anyone's been keeping track, why yes I did already use the "Heart" prompt. But this fit better, so I switched it for "Independence." Yay fickleness!)
Not So Alleged
Booster was pale and quiet in the waiting room, and Max was struck by how very young he suddenly realized the man was. He knew it, of course, in the abstract way that he knew the ages, allergies, and social security numbers of all the heroes (and hero-related staff) currently working for him. He just never thought about it.
It was like looking out at the horizon and realizing that oh, yes, sunsets are quite often orange, aren't they?
It made him feel far too old.
Sitting next to him, Max cleared his throat and casually glanced around. "How is he?" he asked quietly.
Booster shrugged. And continued staring forward at a spot that wasn't quite wall or floor.
Max blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Comforting distraught heroes wasn't in his job description.
Or if it was, he was having L-Ron remove it immediately.
Opening his mouth, Max considered and rejected "at least he's not in another coma," "there's a No Dying On Company Time clause in his contract," and "not very alleged now, is it?" There was a reason he left the comedy to Booster and Beetle: they were bad at it, but everyone was used to it.
What he said was, "It's just surgery. He's had surgery before."
Glancing over, Max saw Booster clench and unclench his hands. He started to speak again, but he was startled by Booster wrapping his arms around his stomach and bending over until his forehead touched his knees. There appeared to be a soft, whispered keening coming from the man. Max glanced around the room, but it was apparently a slow night for pain and suffering and waiting room vigils thereof.
Thank god the man at least wasn't in costume.
"Booster," Max said, hesitantly reaching out to touch the man's shoulder. The shoulder shook and he jerked his hand back as if stung. Frowning at himself, he reached out again to get a firm, manly grip on the shoulder. "Booster, he'll be fine."
"They're cutting him up with knives," came a shaky whisper. It was painfully obvious how appalled he was by the notion. "How can that even work?"
"I..." Max paused, at a loss. How did that work? He knew that the doctors opened up the body and fixed what was wrong, but the exact details and how to explain them was beyond him. "Well, the doctors get a lot of practice making it work."
"They cut you open and dig around and sew you back up and somehow you people survive. It's insane."
Completely aside from how young the man was, Max somehow managed to forget he was from the future. Booster had integrated so well, he made it easy to forget. Then he would mention something, or be unfamiliar with something, and there it would be.
What was modern medicine to Max was probably leeches and prayer to Booster.
Max sighed and moved his hand to drape his arm over Booster's back. "Look, Ted's survived this much already, he'll be fine. Hell, he got smacked around by Doomsday, the monster who killed Superman, and lived to tell about it." He smiled. "He's like a cockroach, you just can't squash him."
A loud sniff escaped Booster and he sat up enough to glance up at Max. Staring at him for a moment, Booster finally gave him a small smile.
"I'm telling him you called him a cockroach," he said thickly, wiping at damp eyes.
"I'm telling him you admitted he had a heart condition."
"Alleged," Booster corrected, smile going lopsided. "Alleged heart condition."
"He'll probably try to prove it with a doctor's note," Max told him.
"'Please excuse Ted from superheroing today, he feels sick'," Booster piped in a squeaky voice.
Max snorted and shook his head. "I'm just a glorified babysitter to you people, aren't I?"
Shifting to lean his head on Max's shoulder, Booster sighed. "Yeah, but you're good at it."
Maybe comforting the distraught could stay in his job description.
Fandom: Justice League
Characters: Booster, Max, Beetle (mention)
Prompt: "Heart." (fanfic100) and "I was wrong about you." (un_love_you)
Word Count: 669
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: I blame madripoor_rose's post about Booster's reaction to Ted's (alleged) heart condition. This was supposed to be commentfic!
(If anyone's been keeping track, why yes I did already use the "Heart" prompt. But this fit better, so I switched it for "Independence." Yay fickleness!)
Not So Alleged
Booster was pale and quiet in the waiting room, and Max was struck by how very young he suddenly realized the man was. He knew it, of course, in the abstract way that he knew the ages, allergies, and social security numbers of all the heroes (and hero-related staff) currently working for him. He just never thought about it.
It was like looking out at the horizon and realizing that oh, yes, sunsets are quite often orange, aren't they?
It made him feel far too old.
Sitting next to him, Max cleared his throat and casually glanced around. "How is he?" he asked quietly.
Booster shrugged. And continued staring forward at a spot that wasn't quite wall or floor.
Max blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Comforting distraught heroes wasn't in his job description.
Or if it was, he was having L-Ron remove it immediately.
Opening his mouth, Max considered and rejected "at least he's not in another coma," "there's a No Dying On Company Time clause in his contract," and "not very alleged now, is it?" There was a reason he left the comedy to Booster and Beetle: they were bad at it, but everyone was used to it.
What he said was, "It's just surgery. He's had surgery before."
Glancing over, Max saw Booster clench and unclench his hands. He started to speak again, but he was startled by Booster wrapping his arms around his stomach and bending over until his forehead touched his knees. There appeared to be a soft, whispered keening coming from the man. Max glanced around the room, but it was apparently a slow night for pain and suffering and waiting room vigils thereof.
Thank god the man at least wasn't in costume.
"Booster," Max said, hesitantly reaching out to touch the man's shoulder. The shoulder shook and he jerked his hand back as if stung. Frowning at himself, he reached out again to get a firm, manly grip on the shoulder. "Booster, he'll be fine."
"They're cutting him up with knives," came a shaky whisper. It was painfully obvious how appalled he was by the notion. "How can that even work?"
"I..." Max paused, at a loss. How did that work? He knew that the doctors opened up the body and fixed what was wrong, but the exact details and how to explain them was beyond him. "Well, the doctors get a lot of practice making it work."
"They cut you open and dig around and sew you back up and somehow you people survive. It's insane."
Completely aside from how young the man was, Max somehow managed to forget he was from the future. Booster had integrated so well, he made it easy to forget. Then he would mention something, or be unfamiliar with something, and there it would be.
What was modern medicine to Max was probably leeches and prayer to Booster.
Max sighed and moved his hand to drape his arm over Booster's back. "Look, Ted's survived this much already, he'll be fine. Hell, he got smacked around by Doomsday, the monster who killed Superman, and lived to tell about it." He smiled. "He's like a cockroach, you just can't squash him."
A loud sniff escaped Booster and he sat up enough to glance up at Max. Staring at him for a moment, Booster finally gave him a small smile.
"I'm telling him you called him a cockroach," he said thickly, wiping at damp eyes.
"I'm telling him you admitted he had a heart condition."
"Alleged," Booster corrected, smile going lopsided. "Alleged heart condition."
"He'll probably try to prove it with a doctor's note," Max told him.
"'Please excuse Ted from superheroing today, he feels sick'," Booster piped in a squeaky voice.
Max snorted and shook his head. "I'm just a glorified babysitter to you people, aren't I?"
Shifting to lean his head on Max's shoulder, Booster sighed. "Yeah, but you're good at it."
Maybe comforting the distraught could stay in his job description.