"Hey Bee--er, Ted, what is it?" Booster turned around to search for the cause of his friend's panic, frowning when all he saw was a man exuding suave sophistication from the soles of his sleek, well-polished shoes to his lustrous black sweep of hair. A beautiful blonde in a red dress hung off his expensive suit as though she were a strangely attractive fungus stuck to his shoulder, giggling emptily at the man's murmured small talk.

Booster pulled his head out of the aisle and looked back at Ted, who had sunk almost entirely out of view; only his head remained visible above the edge of the table.

"What's wrong?" Booster repeated. A thought struck him. "That's not your ex-girlfriend surgically attached to him, is it?"

"Booster, stop staring at them," Ted hissed. "My ex never dressed like that."

"Too bad," Booster murmured appreciatively, turning in his seat again.

"Don't you recognize the guy?" continued Ted, leaning out into the aisle a little ways as the waiter leading the well-dressed couple turned to take them to section with small, round tables surrounded by stiff-backed chairs.

"The guy?" Truthfully, Booster's attention had been focused . . . elsewhere. He had barely had time to notice the man before being distracted by that dress. The cut of the neckline was particularly . . . interesting . . .

"Booster, you're drooling," Ted said, skooching himself up in his seat now that he had determined that the man and woman wouldn't continue past their table.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"So who is the guy? The villainous Fashion Plate? Captain Expensive? Lord Chick-Magnet?"

"He's a not a villain. You really don't recognize him? And you have the gall to call yourself the Corporate Crusader."

"Well . . . who?" Booster began to stand up so he could look over the booths and get another look at the individual in question, but Ted caught his sleeve and pulled him back down again.

"It's Bruce Wayne, dummy."

"Ohhhhh, Wayne. Billionaire CEO of WayneTech, Wayne Corp., Wayne Enterprises, Wayne World--"

"Yes, yes, I KNOW, Booster. I was a billionaire CEO too until last month, remember?" He paused. "'Wayne World'?"

"Theme park. Biggest thing since Disneyland."

"I had to ask . . ."

"You know, I thought he looked familiar. Why are you trying to avoid him, though? Wayne always seemed like a decent enough guy to me. Dumb as a brick, of course, but . . ."

"First of all . . . I probably owe him money. Second of all . . ." Ted reddened. "Well, I just don't want him to see me here in a . . . regular place like this. How the mighty have fallen, y'know?"

"But Beetle--Ted--you go to places like this all the time. You always have. Didn't you once tell me you hate fancy restaurants because they serve a third of the food at three times the price?"

"Yeah, but . . . that was when I could have gone to fancy restaurants every night of the week if I had felt like it."

"But you didn't," Booster pointed out.

"But I could have."

"But . . . but he's here! Why should you to be embarr--"

"Look, I just am, okay? Lay off!" Ted snapped.

Booster raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Okay, okay, whatever. Nurse your little neuroses. See if I care."

"It's not a neurosis, it's--" Ted cut himself off with a yelp as he spotted Bruce Wayne wandering down the aisle again, minus his date. This time he really did fling himself under the table.

"Excuse me." The billionaire playboy gave Booster a vapid smile as he drew near. "Do you happen to know where the restrooms are?"

"Go straight, then turn left there at the end," said Booster, who had immediately located the men's room on arrival. (The 20th century was incredibly germ-ridden compared to his own era and he was diligent when it came to washing his hands.)

"Ah, thank you." Bruce Wayne's eyes seemed to slide towards the floor and Booster stifled a sigh, sure that Beetle's impromptu dive had been noticed. But instead of commenting on it, the billionaire focused on Booster again, leaning forward a little as if dredging up alcohol-hazed memories of various elite social functions. "Say, aren't you--?"

"No, I just look like him." Booster said in a polite but definite tone.

"Oh. So sorry, my mistake." Bruce Wayne nodded with a vague smile and moved on.

"Is he gone yet?" a voice floated out from under the table. Ted Kord cautiously surfaced, eyes darting.

"You know, now I'm getting embarrassed," Booster Gold complained.

"Oh, come off it."

"I'm serious."

"You're never serious."

"But I am."

"Uh huh."

They crunched on nachos for a minute. "Wayne," Booster warned laconically when the billionaire exited the restrooms, causing Beetle to disappear under the table again. Mr. Wayne gave Booster a curious look as he returned to his own table. Booster smiled disarmingly as he went past and pretended not to hear the faint "whoof!" from under the table when he accidentally kicked something that felt like Ted's head.

"Ow," Ted said when he re-emerged, giving Booster a reproachful look.

"Sorry," the Corporate Crusader apologized. "You know," he added, "I think Wayne might have recognized me."

"I told you you shouldn't have worn that shirt! Tell me, Booster . . . do you have any clothes without logos or self-glorifying advertisements plastered all over them?"

"Ummm . . ."

"Never mind, stupid question, forget I asked."

"Okay, maybe the shirt wasn't the best idea," Booster admitted, glancing down at the picture of himself silk screened on the front of the article of clothing in question. "But he probably would have recognized me anyway. I mean, how many handsome, witty, urbane, blond guys with superheroic physiques are there in New York?"

"None?"

"Oh, hardy-har-har."

"I notice 'modest' didn't make your list."

"There's no point in false humility."

"You've heard of the concept? Amazing . . ."

"I am, aren't I?"

In response Ted flicked a nacho at him. Booster dodged, then grabbed a handful of chips himself. By the time a truce was called several minutes later, the table was littered with tortilla chips and passing waiters both glared and crunched as they strode past.

"See, now this is a prime example of why I don't want Bruce Wayne to see me here," Ted said, head tilted as he picked a chip out of his hair.

"You started it," Booster pointed out, unperturbed, as he swept the space in front of him clean, pushing the scattered remains of the nachos off the edge of the table. "I was serious about him maybe recognizing me, though. I've met him before at parties and things."

"Well, you'd better think of some story to tell him in case he decides to actually ask. Maybe if you say you're a clone--"

"Aw, Beetle, give me a break. That's stupid. I hate this secret identity crap!"

"Ted! The name's Ted!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah . . ." the Corporate Crusader grumbled . . . then suddenly brightened as he straightened in his seat.

Ted turned and saw the waiter returning, pushing a small cart loaded liberally with white porcelain plates piled with steaming food. "Ahhhh, the entrees . . . "

"Here's your meal, gentlemen. The first wave of it, anyway." The waiter gave them a look of incredulity.

"We're really hungry. Haven't eaten in days," Ted deadpanned. He stole another glance at the cart. Man, they really had ordered a lot of food, hadn't they?

"Um. Yeah, okay. Who ordered the Coca-Cola?"

"That would be Boo--I mean, that would be Michael," Ted indicated his friend. "Right?" he added, because Booster was giving him a dirty look for some reason.

"Yes, but--"

"And here are two empty plates in case you want to eat buffet style. Well, let me know if you need anything else. More refills . . . more nachos . . . antacids . . ." The waiter grinned and left.

"Right," Booster said, then aimed a glare at Ted. "Excuse me? What did you think you were doing??"

"Keeping you from blowing our cover, that's what," Ted shot back as he picked up one of the empty plates and began loading it up with shrimp fajitas. "Which you were two seconds away from doing."

"So what if I was? It's MY identity!"

"Well, what about me then? If you're prancing around as Booster Gold, it's not gonna take a rocket scientist to start thinking maybe I'm a superhero too."

"I don't prance!"

"Frisk? Strut? Swagger?"

"You know, I should have left you buried in paperwork is what I should have done."

"Sashay?"

"I swear to God they are never going to find your body."

"I thought you were an atheist."

"Well, the sentiment is the same . . . Excuse me, but why are you piling ALL the double-cheese enchiladas onto your already considerable payload of food?"

"Waste not, want not . . ."

For a few minutes the only sounds to be heard were the clinks of silverware against the plates and the gentle sound of ice cubes shifting against each other in the tall glasses.

"Don't call me that again," Booster said abruptly, setting down his fork.

"Huh? What are you talking about? Don't call you what?"

"Michael. Don't call me Michael."

"But your name is Michael," Ted said pragmatically, pointing his fork in Booster's general direction. "Your real name, I mean."

"My real name is Booster," his friend returned sharply. "It's always been Booster."

" 'Always' being defined as 'since you picked up a high school nickname', right?"

The blond superhero glowered. "If you call me Michael, I'm going to call you Edward. How do you like that . . . EDWARD?"

"Okay, okay, all right, geez! I won't call you Michael, Mike, Mick, Mickey, or anything BUT Booster Gold. And I'll always put the little copyright circle after your name. Sheesh! Overreact much?"

"I just don't like being called that," Booster said, a little sulkily.

"Well, it's your own fault for having such a different name. It's not exactly the first thing listed in the books of baby names."

"That's the point. It's unique. Like me."

Ted mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?" Booster asked suspiciously.

"I said you are definitely unique . . . Pass the salt, would you?"