Happy Boostlethon, darth_animus!
It's the most wonderful time of the year: Boostlethon Posting Day! A huge thanks to all the participants - we had a great turnout this year and I can't wait to see what you've all done!
And now, without further ado, the first entry:
Title: Like Meat Loves Salt
Author: silver_apples
Recipient: Darth Animus
Rating: PG
Summary: Booster has something to tell Ted. Cooking him dinner seems like the best way to go about it.
Booster dumped the grocery bags on the table and hurriedly began unpacking them, glancing at the clock. There was no way he would have dinner ready on time. But maybe, if he hurried and Ted was late, he could have it cooking before Ted showed up.
Fate, any gods out there, and Lady Luck all hated Booster. The ground beef and onions were cooking on the stove and he had every knife in the apartment (including a few that had been confiscated from criminals and were not intended to be used as kitchen knives) spread out on the table. He had just determined that none of them were even close to “crinkle cut” and was about to slice the sweet potatoes with a non-crinkled knife when there was a knock at the door. Booster sighed, admitting his cause was hopeless, and went to open the door.
“Yeaurg!” Ted shouted, stepping back and dropping into a fighting stance. Booster automatically shifted his weight, ready to defend himself and trying to figure out what was wrong with Ted. Ted scowled, stepping forward and lightly smacking Booster’s outstretched hand. That was holding a knife. Oh. “We do not answer the door with weapons,” Ted scolded, pushing past Booster into the apartment.
“Sorry. I was cooking.” He closed the door and followed Ted into the small kitchen.
Ted sniffed. “Smells good. What are you making?”
“Chili and fries, and then cheesecake for dessert!”
Ted sighed. “Booster…”
“No, it’s all heart healthy, see?” Booster held out the pages he had printed. He loved the internet; it might be archaic technology and a confusing mess, but at least this time period was finally figuring out the proper way to store and find information. “It’s all low fat, low sodium, and doctor approved. And I got fruit and yogurt for smoothies.” He looked at Ted pleadingly.
Ted took the papers and flipped through them. “Wow.” He looked up at Booster, smiling. “Thanks old buddy. This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”
Booster flushed. “Yeah well, it was supposed to be done before you got here. Only I didn’t have most of the ingredients and had to go to the store.”
Ted shook his head and tsk-ed. “An apartment full of junk food? For shame, Booster. You’re going to get fat.”
“No food at all. I love take-out.” Booster straightened, patted his stomach. “And you only wish you had abs like mine.”
Ted laughed. “Well, since I’m here, and hungry, let me help cook.”
Ted took over preparing the fries, after a discussion about the feasibility and practicality of turning one of Booster’s knives into a crinkle-cut knife. Booster won the argument, largely because it devolved into a discussion about the practicality and feasibility of turning Booster’s oven into a forge. “I don’t care if you destroy some of my knives,” Booster said, “or even most of my knives, but I’m not letting you unleash your mad scientist tendencies on the stove.”
“Hey! I do not have mad scientist tendencies!”
“Teleporter mouse trap.”
Ted hmph-ed. “That was a minor miscalculation. Besides, turning an oven to a forge would not create giant rodents.”
Booster rolled his eyes. “Yeah, giant rodents, that’s what I was worried about. Not you setting the whole place on fire. Even if you didn’t burn us all to a crisp, you’d damage the apartment enough that I would lose my safety deposit."
“Like you can’t afford it,” Ted retorted, taking a boring, non-crinkled knife. “How much alimony do you get?”
Booster sighed. “None. I just got a settlement, and it’s not nearly as big as the tabloids suggest. Do you think I’d be living here if I was rich?” He indicated the small one-bedroom apartment and secondhand furniture.
“Yes,” Ted nodded. “You have finally matured enough to realize that you should save your money, not spend it lavishly on things you don’t even want. Also, mansions make you even more egotistical than usual, you go half-mad with loneliness and end up dating anyone who’s willing to pretend to be impressed, and then something horrible happens and everything blows up.” He considered this for a moment. “Often literally.”
Booster had to admit this was true. Lavish lifestyles were lots of fun, but he always ended up feeling isolated, and he focused on maintaining the lifestyle to the exclusion of things like friendships and saving the world. And it was easier to make a small apartment feel like home. Money and social status, while very nice things to have, no longer seemed so important. So this was maturity. It was every bit as boring as he had feared. And domestic, he thought as he drained the grease from the beef and added the rest of the ingredients. He looked over at Ted to see how the fries were coming.
“Did you crinkle cut them the hard way?” He craned his neck to see better. Yup, those were definitely some jagged looking fries. They looked like blocky lightning bolts. “Why?”
“Food tastes better when it comes in fun shapes,” Ted insisted, undermining every claim he had ever made about being mature and stuffy now. He checked the recipe. “What the heck is cumin?”
“It’s what you say when someone knocks on the door,” Booster said, and Ted groaned. Booster grinned and tossed him the bottles of spices needed for the fries, one at a time, Ted catching them easily. Booster stirred the chili and added some more water. He frowned; that may have been too much water. Shrugging, he turned up the heat a little so the extra water would evaporate.
Ted mixed the seasonings together and tossed the fries in the mixture, then laid them out on the baking sheet. “Fries are ready to be cooked,” he announced. “Is the oven preheated?”
“Red light’s still on,” Booster reported.
“If we were using a forge, it would be hot already.”
“If we were using a forge, you would still be building it, and we would end up ordering take-out. And then you would have a heart attack from all the grease and fat, and I would have to spend the rest of my life in this apartment, alone and friendless with a disassembled stove.”
Ted sniffed and wiped his eye. “A moving and tragic tale,” he said. “Although if it had worked, think of all we stood to gain! Crinkle-cut fries, Booster, real crinkle-cut fries. Isn’t that worth the risk?”
Booster shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ted, but no. It would be one thing if it were just you and I making the sacrifice, but how can we in good conscious ask an innocent oven to take such a chance?”
Ted sighed and nodded. “I see your point.” He looked over at the stove. “Um, it’s boiling over.”
Booster swore, grabbing the pot, then swore again. Some pots were designed so the handles did not get hot. Booster did not have those pots. Ted turned off the stove and used a hot pad to move the pot while Booster held his hand under the faucet and ran cool water over the burn.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. It’s not bad.” Booster was more worried about dinner. None of this was going to plan. All he had wanted was to surprise Ted with a delicious, healthy meal.
Ted took his hand and examined the burn. “Doesn’t look too bad. Just a little red.” He let go, grinned at Booster. “Maybe you should do the cheesecake while I take care of the hot stuff.”
“I am the hot stuff,” Booster retorted, but obediently started mixing the ingredients for the cheese filling. He had picked such simple recipes-why was so hard? He was looking like an incompetent idiot. Nervously, he wiped his palms on his pants, then hissed as the denim rubbed against the burn.
Ted put the fries in the oven and stirred the chili, turning the stove back on, this time to low. He glanced over at Booster, who was standing at the small kitchen table with his back to Ted, using a handheld mixer to stir the cheese. “Anything else need doing?”
“Just the smoothies. Everything for them is ready, just dump it all in the blender.” The smoothies couldn’t go wrong, Booster thought. Yogurt and fruit.
He heard Ted open the fridge, footsteps, quiet thuds and clinks and plops as he put everything on the counter and dumped the yogurt and fruit into the blender. The blender whirled to life. Ted yelped, swore, and Booster turned around to see Ted frantically jab the power button on the blender, red and white glob dripping from the wall and ceiling and counter and Ted.
“You’re supposed to hold the lid down,” Booster said. Ted turned to glare, and Booster snickered. Yogurt and fruit puree and fruit not yet pureed was splattered over his shirt and face and hair. “That’s a good look for you.”
“Shut up.” Ted grabbed a roll of paper towels and started wiping up the mess. “I think smoothies are out. Most of it is on the walls.”
Booster took a wad of paper towels and floated up, cleaning the ceiling and upper parts of the wall. “There’s milk and water and coffee. Are you allowed to have coffee?”
Ted sighed. “I’m supposed to be cutting back.” He tossed the paper towels into the trash. “I’m going to use your shower and steal some of your clothes. Don’t let anything burn.”
Booster nodded and focused on cleaning up and finishing the cheesecake, and not on Ted taking a shower just down the hall. Soon the failed smoothie was cleaned up, the cheesecake chilling, and the chili and fries were ready. Ted emerged from the bedroom wearing a pair of sweatpants rolled up at the ankles and a loose t-shirt. Booster looked away, pretending not to like that Ted was wearing his clothes. Ted sniffed the air, oblivious to Booster’s reaction. “Oh, that smells good.” He got out the silverware and bowls while Booster poured two glasses of milk. “So what’s the plan? You said something about a TV show.”
“That new crime drama. You know, the one with a superhero cop that is supposed to be really realistic, accurate, and well researched? The two-hour premiere is on today.”
Ted snorted. “Oh man, I love those kinds of shows. They’re hilarious!”
They settled in front of the TV, bowls of chili in their laps and the plate of fries on the coffee table. Booster turned on the TV, watching from the corner of his eye as Ted took a bite of the chili. “This is good,” he said, and Booster sighed in relief.
The chili and fries were good. No one would ever mistake them for the real, full-of-grease thing, but it was an acceptable substitute. The show was hilariously inaccurate. Ted and Booster gleefully mocked the crimes, the science and forensics, the investigation, the motivations, and the characters. “How can they claim this is accurate and researched?” Ted demanded. “What happened to truth in advertising?”
Booster snickered. “They researched it.” Ted looked over at him, eyebrows raised, and Booster snickered again. “There aren’t that many superheroes with no secret identity, you know.”
“You didn’t,” Ted said. “You’re responsible for this?”
“Ralph helped.” Booster said modestly. “He told them about all the struggles he and Sue went through when they first started their relationship, how hard it was to fight crime and have a romance, how Sue struggled to adapt to being in love with a superhero.”
“Did they pay you for this information,” Ted demanded, but he was grinning and Booster could hear the laugh in his voice.
“Nope. We told them we didn’t even want credit. Our teammates might feel uncomfortable if they knew.”
“And they didn’t think that was suspicious? You never refuse to take cash or credit.”
Booster lightly punched Ted's shoulder. “Funny.” He stretched his legs out on the coffee table, carefully avoiding the plate with the last few fries. “If they didn’t get suspicious when I hinted that some superheroines might sometimes make ends meet by taking jobs that require showing even more skin than they do in their costumes-“
Ted burst into laughter. “You’re a bad bad man. No wonder you didn’t want credit.”
“Wait until the episode with time travel,” Booster said. "That's what they really wanted to ask me about. Some of my explanations were brilliant."
During the commercials they came up with more suggestions for the show’s writers, inventing ridiculous back stories and motivations for their teammates and enemies for the show's writers to use as inspiration. “We’re going to get killed,” Ted said after suggesting that Dinah had gained her powers and name when she’d struck a pocket of an unknown gas and screamed a warning for the other coal miners to get out.
“There are worse ways to go,” Booster said, gleefully writing down Ted’s suggestions.
After the show, they cleaned up the kitchen, putting away the leftovers and loading the dishwasher. “So,” Ted said, leaning against the counter as Booster wedged the last bowl in, “what brought this on?” Booster looked over, puzzled, so Ted elaborated. “You always claimed I was faking it. Why the sudden desire to cook heart-healthy foods for me?” He raised his eyebrows. “Did you go to the doctor? What’s your blood pressure?”
“My blood pressure is fine,” Booster insisted. “I just,” he walked away, drying his hands. This should not be awkward, he told himself. “You said you missed salt.” Ted looked blank. “We stopped for lunch, after fighting off the giant mutated hedgehogs.” That had been an odd fight. The hedgehogs had spent most of the time curled into giant spiky balls. It hadn’t been too bad until they got really upset, and started bouncing a little. He hadn’t known hedgehogs could jump while curled into spiky balls. “You ordered something disgustingly bland and said you missed salty foods. So I thought I could cook kind-of-salty-but-not-bad-for-you foods.”
“That was weeks ago. It did not take you that long to find the recipes. Spill, Booster. What's going on?”
He was a superhero. He could do this. “Remember, years ago, back in the League? Ralph was waxing poetic about how much he loved Sue, and Tora was trying to get Guy to be romantic, and we all started just giving these really ridiculous analogies?” Ted shook his head and Booster sighed. “I said I loved you like peanut butter loved jelly, and you said…you said you loved me like meat loved salt.”
Ted shrugged, a forced casualness that Booster saw through. “Did I? I don’t remember. That’s it then? I compared us to meat and salt, and then missed salt, so weeks later you thought it was time we had dinner together? Your brain works in strange ways.”
Booster took a deep breath. Full confession now. “There was a show on the other night, where they acted out fairy tales.” With puppets, but Ted did not need to know that detail. “There was this about a princess getting kicked out because when her dad asked her how much she loved him, she said she loved him like meat loved salt. Later, she fed him some unsalted meat, and it was disgusting, and he realized what she had meant, and then everyone hugged and lived happily ever after.”
Ted raised an eyebrow. “O-kay.”
Booster huffed in annoyance. “The point is, it’s not a silly analogy you made up. It means something. And you’re smart and you read, and you had to have known what it meant when you said you loved me like meat loves salt!”
Ted nodded. “You caught me. I think of you as a father, Booster.”
Right, so much for the touchy-feely talk-about-emotions part, Booster decided. He leaned forward and kissed Ted, hard on the mouth. “All these years,” he said after he pulled back and Ted was gaping at him like a stranded fish, “all the teams and girlfriends and managers, being rich and famous and being disgraced and forgotten, and you’re the one I always go to for help, you’re the only one I’m always glad to see, and you’re the only one I miss when we’re not together. And,” he looked down, “I really do love you like peanut butter loves jelly, and meat loves salt.”
Ted blinked at him. “So you cooked me dinner.”
“It seemed like the thing to do.” Practical, simple, domestic. Taking Ted’s health problems seriously, showing he was mature and responsible, that he was willing and ready to listen to Ted and make adjustments if it meant having Ted in his life. And it ended up messy, unnecessarily complicated, and someone got injured. Yeah, it fit them.
Ted was silent, staring blankly into space. Then he focused on Booster again, face solemn. Booster's heart sank. "This is...Booster, I said that years ago."
He had known that this could happen, that Ted's feelings could have changed from that long-ago confession, but it still felt like a punch in the gut. He'd realized he loved Ted when they had joined the Superbuddies, and the fighting and insults hurt as never before. He'd wanted Ted to be jealous of Gladys, and when that hadn't worked he'd wanted to convince Ted that the marriage was nothing, meaningless and shallow. But Ted had stayed distant, and Booster had begun to think it was a hopeless case. Ted had been so determined to argue, so adamant that he and Booster were not a couple, that Booster had joined in, loudly denying his feelings because anything else might cost him everything. But then he’d seen that stupid show, remembered Ted’s confession, and had spent the next two days trying to figure out how to approach Ted, how to show him that Booster was serious.
"Look, Booster, it's not that I don't love you, it's just...I don't know if I love you like that. I figured you weren't interested, refused to let myself pine or let it get in the way of our friendship. So much has happened since then. We've both changed."
"I understand." He’d fought Doomsday and survived; he could handle the “it’s not you, it’s me” and “I think of you as a friend” speeches.
"No you don't! I'm not saying no, I'm saying, wait. Let me think. I wasn't," he laughed a little, "I never expected this."
Booster nodded. "Yeah, okay. I can wait." But Booster could not believe that waiting would change Ted’s mind. If he wasn’t in love with Booster now, he wouldn’t be in a few days either.
"I should go."
"No!"
Ted looked confused, a small crease between his eyebrows. Booster could not let Ted leave now; it would be the end of them. He had to salvage their friendship, if nothing else. "Stay. Have cheesecake. We can watch a movie or play cards or something. Just stay. I'm not going to pressure you or anything, but---no matter what you decide, I'll always be your friend, okay?" He had to keep that much. “So let’s hang out, as friends. Because if you leave now, then we won’t be able to see each other again without remembering how awkward this was, and we might never get things right again.” Okay, a little melodramatic, but Booster was desperate to get their friendship back to how it was before he ruined everything.
Ted bit his lip, then nodded once, decisively. "Screw it," he said. “We both hate waiting. If we’re going to end tonight as friends no matter what, we may as well have more than just an awkward conversation.” And kissed Booster.
It was a quick kiss, over before Booster could process what was happening. "What?" Usually he could follow Ted’s thinking, but this one had him lost. Not that he was objecting, but he was a little confused, and it made him nervous when Ted was leading the way without telling Booster where they were going.
Ted grinned at him, looping his arms around Booster’s shoulders. "Mad scientist tendencies, remember? If you want to find out if two chemicals are compatible, mix them together and see if they explode." He ruffled Booster's hair. "It works for chefs too. Best way to find out if two flavors go together is to try them and find out. So. Let's try and find out."
"And we either taste good or explode?"
"Shut up and kiss me you fool."
Booster laughed and Ted joined in, the two leaning against each other. Yeah, Booster thought, hugging Ted, this would work.
The End
And now, without further ado, the first entry:
Title: Like Meat Loves Salt
Author: silver_apples
Recipient: Darth Animus
Rating: PG
Summary: Booster has something to tell Ted. Cooking him dinner seems like the best way to go about it.
Booster dumped the grocery bags on the table and hurriedly began unpacking them, glancing at the clock. There was no way he would have dinner ready on time. But maybe, if he hurried and Ted was late, he could have it cooking before Ted showed up.
Fate, any gods out there, and Lady Luck all hated Booster. The ground beef and onions were cooking on the stove and he had every knife in the apartment (including a few that had been confiscated from criminals and were not intended to be used as kitchen knives) spread out on the table. He had just determined that none of them were even close to “crinkle cut” and was about to slice the sweet potatoes with a non-crinkled knife when there was a knock at the door. Booster sighed, admitting his cause was hopeless, and went to open the door.
“Yeaurg!” Ted shouted, stepping back and dropping into a fighting stance. Booster automatically shifted his weight, ready to defend himself and trying to figure out what was wrong with Ted. Ted scowled, stepping forward and lightly smacking Booster’s outstretched hand. That was holding a knife. Oh. “We do not answer the door with weapons,” Ted scolded, pushing past Booster into the apartment.
“Sorry. I was cooking.” He closed the door and followed Ted into the small kitchen.
Ted sniffed. “Smells good. What are you making?”
“Chili and fries, and then cheesecake for dessert!”
Ted sighed. “Booster…”
“No, it’s all heart healthy, see?” Booster held out the pages he had printed. He loved the internet; it might be archaic technology and a confusing mess, but at least this time period was finally figuring out the proper way to store and find information. “It’s all low fat, low sodium, and doctor approved. And I got fruit and yogurt for smoothies.” He looked at Ted pleadingly.
Ted took the papers and flipped through them. “Wow.” He looked up at Booster, smiling. “Thanks old buddy. This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”
Booster flushed. “Yeah well, it was supposed to be done before you got here. Only I didn’t have most of the ingredients and had to go to the store.”
Ted shook his head and tsk-ed. “An apartment full of junk food? For shame, Booster. You’re going to get fat.”
“No food at all. I love take-out.” Booster straightened, patted his stomach. “And you only wish you had abs like mine.”
Ted laughed. “Well, since I’m here, and hungry, let me help cook.”
Ted took over preparing the fries, after a discussion about the feasibility and practicality of turning one of Booster’s knives into a crinkle-cut knife. Booster won the argument, largely because it devolved into a discussion about the practicality and feasibility of turning Booster’s oven into a forge. “I don’t care if you destroy some of my knives,” Booster said, “or even most of my knives, but I’m not letting you unleash your mad scientist tendencies on the stove.”
“Hey! I do not have mad scientist tendencies!”
“Teleporter mouse trap.”
Ted hmph-ed. “That was a minor miscalculation. Besides, turning an oven to a forge would not create giant rodents.”
Booster rolled his eyes. “Yeah, giant rodents, that’s what I was worried about. Not you setting the whole place on fire. Even if you didn’t burn us all to a crisp, you’d damage the apartment enough that I would lose my safety deposit."
“Like you can’t afford it,” Ted retorted, taking a boring, non-crinkled knife. “How much alimony do you get?”
Booster sighed. “None. I just got a settlement, and it’s not nearly as big as the tabloids suggest. Do you think I’d be living here if I was rich?” He indicated the small one-bedroom apartment and secondhand furniture.
“Yes,” Ted nodded. “You have finally matured enough to realize that you should save your money, not spend it lavishly on things you don’t even want. Also, mansions make you even more egotistical than usual, you go half-mad with loneliness and end up dating anyone who’s willing to pretend to be impressed, and then something horrible happens and everything blows up.” He considered this for a moment. “Often literally.”
Booster had to admit this was true. Lavish lifestyles were lots of fun, but he always ended up feeling isolated, and he focused on maintaining the lifestyle to the exclusion of things like friendships and saving the world. And it was easier to make a small apartment feel like home. Money and social status, while very nice things to have, no longer seemed so important. So this was maturity. It was every bit as boring as he had feared. And domestic, he thought as he drained the grease from the beef and added the rest of the ingredients. He looked over at Ted to see how the fries were coming.
“Did you crinkle cut them the hard way?” He craned his neck to see better. Yup, those were definitely some jagged looking fries. They looked like blocky lightning bolts. “Why?”
“Food tastes better when it comes in fun shapes,” Ted insisted, undermining every claim he had ever made about being mature and stuffy now. He checked the recipe. “What the heck is cumin?”
“It’s what you say when someone knocks on the door,” Booster said, and Ted groaned. Booster grinned and tossed him the bottles of spices needed for the fries, one at a time, Ted catching them easily. Booster stirred the chili and added some more water. He frowned; that may have been too much water. Shrugging, he turned up the heat a little so the extra water would evaporate.
Ted mixed the seasonings together and tossed the fries in the mixture, then laid them out on the baking sheet. “Fries are ready to be cooked,” he announced. “Is the oven preheated?”
“Red light’s still on,” Booster reported.
“If we were using a forge, it would be hot already.”
“If we were using a forge, you would still be building it, and we would end up ordering take-out. And then you would have a heart attack from all the grease and fat, and I would have to spend the rest of my life in this apartment, alone and friendless with a disassembled stove.”
Ted sniffed and wiped his eye. “A moving and tragic tale,” he said. “Although if it had worked, think of all we stood to gain! Crinkle-cut fries, Booster, real crinkle-cut fries. Isn’t that worth the risk?”
Booster shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ted, but no. It would be one thing if it were just you and I making the sacrifice, but how can we in good conscious ask an innocent oven to take such a chance?”
Ted sighed and nodded. “I see your point.” He looked over at the stove. “Um, it’s boiling over.”
Booster swore, grabbing the pot, then swore again. Some pots were designed so the handles did not get hot. Booster did not have those pots. Ted turned off the stove and used a hot pad to move the pot while Booster held his hand under the faucet and ran cool water over the burn.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. It’s not bad.” Booster was more worried about dinner. None of this was going to plan. All he had wanted was to surprise Ted with a delicious, healthy meal.
Ted took his hand and examined the burn. “Doesn’t look too bad. Just a little red.” He let go, grinned at Booster. “Maybe you should do the cheesecake while I take care of the hot stuff.”
“I am the hot stuff,” Booster retorted, but obediently started mixing the ingredients for the cheese filling. He had picked such simple recipes-why was so hard? He was looking like an incompetent idiot. Nervously, he wiped his palms on his pants, then hissed as the denim rubbed against the burn.
Ted put the fries in the oven and stirred the chili, turning the stove back on, this time to low. He glanced over at Booster, who was standing at the small kitchen table with his back to Ted, using a handheld mixer to stir the cheese. “Anything else need doing?”
“Just the smoothies. Everything for them is ready, just dump it all in the blender.” The smoothies couldn’t go wrong, Booster thought. Yogurt and fruit.
He heard Ted open the fridge, footsteps, quiet thuds and clinks and plops as he put everything on the counter and dumped the yogurt and fruit into the blender. The blender whirled to life. Ted yelped, swore, and Booster turned around to see Ted frantically jab the power button on the blender, red and white glob dripping from the wall and ceiling and counter and Ted.
“You’re supposed to hold the lid down,” Booster said. Ted turned to glare, and Booster snickered. Yogurt and fruit puree and fruit not yet pureed was splattered over his shirt and face and hair. “That’s a good look for you.”
“Shut up.” Ted grabbed a roll of paper towels and started wiping up the mess. “I think smoothies are out. Most of it is on the walls.”
Booster took a wad of paper towels and floated up, cleaning the ceiling and upper parts of the wall. “There’s milk and water and coffee. Are you allowed to have coffee?”
Ted sighed. “I’m supposed to be cutting back.” He tossed the paper towels into the trash. “I’m going to use your shower and steal some of your clothes. Don’t let anything burn.”
Booster nodded and focused on cleaning up and finishing the cheesecake, and not on Ted taking a shower just down the hall. Soon the failed smoothie was cleaned up, the cheesecake chilling, and the chili and fries were ready. Ted emerged from the bedroom wearing a pair of sweatpants rolled up at the ankles and a loose t-shirt. Booster looked away, pretending not to like that Ted was wearing his clothes. Ted sniffed the air, oblivious to Booster’s reaction. “Oh, that smells good.” He got out the silverware and bowls while Booster poured two glasses of milk. “So what’s the plan? You said something about a TV show.”
“That new crime drama. You know, the one with a superhero cop that is supposed to be really realistic, accurate, and well researched? The two-hour premiere is on today.”
Ted snorted. “Oh man, I love those kinds of shows. They’re hilarious!”
They settled in front of the TV, bowls of chili in their laps and the plate of fries on the coffee table. Booster turned on the TV, watching from the corner of his eye as Ted took a bite of the chili. “This is good,” he said, and Booster sighed in relief.
The chili and fries were good. No one would ever mistake them for the real, full-of-grease thing, but it was an acceptable substitute. The show was hilariously inaccurate. Ted and Booster gleefully mocked the crimes, the science and forensics, the investigation, the motivations, and the characters. “How can they claim this is accurate and researched?” Ted demanded. “What happened to truth in advertising?”
Booster snickered. “They researched it.” Ted looked over at him, eyebrows raised, and Booster snickered again. “There aren’t that many superheroes with no secret identity, you know.”
“You didn’t,” Ted said. “You’re responsible for this?”
“Ralph helped.” Booster said modestly. “He told them about all the struggles he and Sue went through when they first started their relationship, how hard it was to fight crime and have a romance, how Sue struggled to adapt to being in love with a superhero.”
“Did they pay you for this information,” Ted demanded, but he was grinning and Booster could hear the laugh in his voice.
“Nope. We told them we didn’t even want credit. Our teammates might feel uncomfortable if they knew.”
“And they didn’t think that was suspicious? You never refuse to take cash or credit.”
Booster lightly punched Ted's shoulder. “Funny.” He stretched his legs out on the coffee table, carefully avoiding the plate with the last few fries. “If they didn’t get suspicious when I hinted that some superheroines might sometimes make ends meet by taking jobs that require showing even more skin than they do in their costumes-“
Ted burst into laughter. “You’re a bad bad man. No wonder you didn’t want credit.”
“Wait until the episode with time travel,” Booster said. "That's what they really wanted to ask me about. Some of my explanations were brilliant."
During the commercials they came up with more suggestions for the show’s writers, inventing ridiculous back stories and motivations for their teammates and enemies for the show's writers to use as inspiration. “We’re going to get killed,” Ted said after suggesting that Dinah had gained her powers and name when she’d struck a pocket of an unknown gas and screamed a warning for the other coal miners to get out.
“There are worse ways to go,” Booster said, gleefully writing down Ted’s suggestions.
After the show, they cleaned up the kitchen, putting away the leftovers and loading the dishwasher. “So,” Ted said, leaning against the counter as Booster wedged the last bowl in, “what brought this on?” Booster looked over, puzzled, so Ted elaborated. “You always claimed I was faking it. Why the sudden desire to cook heart-healthy foods for me?” He raised his eyebrows. “Did you go to the doctor? What’s your blood pressure?”
“My blood pressure is fine,” Booster insisted. “I just,” he walked away, drying his hands. This should not be awkward, he told himself. “You said you missed salt.” Ted looked blank. “We stopped for lunch, after fighting off the giant mutated hedgehogs.” That had been an odd fight. The hedgehogs had spent most of the time curled into giant spiky balls. It hadn’t been too bad until they got really upset, and started bouncing a little. He hadn’t known hedgehogs could jump while curled into spiky balls. “You ordered something disgustingly bland and said you missed salty foods. So I thought I could cook kind-of-salty-but-not-bad-for-you foods.”
“That was weeks ago. It did not take you that long to find the recipes. Spill, Booster. What's going on?”
He was a superhero. He could do this. “Remember, years ago, back in the League? Ralph was waxing poetic about how much he loved Sue, and Tora was trying to get Guy to be romantic, and we all started just giving these really ridiculous analogies?” Ted shook his head and Booster sighed. “I said I loved you like peanut butter loved jelly, and you said…you said you loved me like meat loved salt.”
Ted shrugged, a forced casualness that Booster saw through. “Did I? I don’t remember. That’s it then? I compared us to meat and salt, and then missed salt, so weeks later you thought it was time we had dinner together? Your brain works in strange ways.”
Booster took a deep breath. Full confession now. “There was a show on the other night, where they acted out fairy tales.” With puppets, but Ted did not need to know that detail. “There was this about a princess getting kicked out because when her dad asked her how much she loved him, she said she loved him like meat loved salt. Later, she fed him some unsalted meat, and it was disgusting, and he realized what she had meant, and then everyone hugged and lived happily ever after.”
Ted raised an eyebrow. “O-kay.”
Booster huffed in annoyance. “The point is, it’s not a silly analogy you made up. It means something. And you’re smart and you read, and you had to have known what it meant when you said you loved me like meat loves salt!”
Ted nodded. “You caught me. I think of you as a father, Booster.”
Right, so much for the touchy-feely talk-about-emotions part, Booster decided. He leaned forward and kissed Ted, hard on the mouth. “All these years,” he said after he pulled back and Ted was gaping at him like a stranded fish, “all the teams and girlfriends and managers, being rich and famous and being disgraced and forgotten, and you’re the one I always go to for help, you’re the only one I’m always glad to see, and you’re the only one I miss when we’re not together. And,” he looked down, “I really do love you like peanut butter loves jelly, and meat loves salt.”
Ted blinked at him. “So you cooked me dinner.”
“It seemed like the thing to do.” Practical, simple, domestic. Taking Ted’s health problems seriously, showing he was mature and responsible, that he was willing and ready to listen to Ted and make adjustments if it meant having Ted in his life. And it ended up messy, unnecessarily complicated, and someone got injured. Yeah, it fit them.
Ted was silent, staring blankly into space. Then he focused on Booster again, face solemn. Booster's heart sank. "This is...Booster, I said that years ago."
He had known that this could happen, that Ted's feelings could have changed from that long-ago confession, but it still felt like a punch in the gut. He'd realized he loved Ted when they had joined the Superbuddies, and the fighting and insults hurt as never before. He'd wanted Ted to be jealous of Gladys, and when that hadn't worked he'd wanted to convince Ted that the marriage was nothing, meaningless and shallow. But Ted had stayed distant, and Booster had begun to think it was a hopeless case. Ted had been so determined to argue, so adamant that he and Booster were not a couple, that Booster had joined in, loudly denying his feelings because anything else might cost him everything. But then he’d seen that stupid show, remembered Ted’s confession, and had spent the next two days trying to figure out how to approach Ted, how to show him that Booster was serious.
"Look, Booster, it's not that I don't love you, it's just...I don't know if I love you like that. I figured you weren't interested, refused to let myself pine or let it get in the way of our friendship. So much has happened since then. We've both changed."
"I understand." He’d fought Doomsday and survived; he could handle the “it’s not you, it’s me” and “I think of you as a friend” speeches.
"No you don't! I'm not saying no, I'm saying, wait. Let me think. I wasn't," he laughed a little, "I never expected this."
Booster nodded. "Yeah, okay. I can wait." But Booster could not believe that waiting would change Ted’s mind. If he wasn’t in love with Booster now, he wouldn’t be in a few days either.
"I should go."
"No!"
Ted looked confused, a small crease between his eyebrows. Booster could not let Ted leave now; it would be the end of them. He had to salvage their friendship, if nothing else. "Stay. Have cheesecake. We can watch a movie or play cards or something. Just stay. I'm not going to pressure you or anything, but---no matter what you decide, I'll always be your friend, okay?" He had to keep that much. “So let’s hang out, as friends. Because if you leave now, then we won’t be able to see each other again without remembering how awkward this was, and we might never get things right again.” Okay, a little melodramatic, but Booster was desperate to get their friendship back to how it was before he ruined everything.
Ted bit his lip, then nodded once, decisively. "Screw it," he said. “We both hate waiting. If we’re going to end tonight as friends no matter what, we may as well have more than just an awkward conversation.” And kissed Booster.
It was a quick kiss, over before Booster could process what was happening. "What?" Usually he could follow Ted’s thinking, but this one had him lost. Not that he was objecting, but he was a little confused, and it made him nervous when Ted was leading the way without telling Booster where they were going.
Ted grinned at him, looping his arms around Booster’s shoulders. "Mad scientist tendencies, remember? If you want to find out if two chemicals are compatible, mix them together and see if they explode." He ruffled Booster's hair. "It works for chefs too. Best way to find out if two flavors go together is to try them and find out. So. Let's try and find out."
"And we either taste good or explode?"
"Shut up and kiss me you fool."
Booster laughed and Ted joined in, the two leaning against each other. Yeah, Booster thought, hugging Ted, this would work.
The End