Ted Kord wasn't a superhero anymore. And his life had never been better.
He'd had a good time as the Blue Beetle. Made some good friends, went on some adventures, actually accomplished one or two good deeds. Hadn't been raped, or brain-washed into an evil assassin, or killed and been brought back to life with a robot arm (Booster would've liked that). He'd just done his bit, developed a heart condition, packed in his blue spandex, and let that new kid in Texas have the name. Little guy seemed to be doing better with it than Ted ever had. Foiled an alien invasion already. That wasn't too shabby.
Now, his life was pretty simple. He slept in till about nine, got up had a healthy gluten-free breakfast, took a moderate jog up and down the blocks—never any muggers in his nice upscale subdivision, so he never had to worry about foiling street crime. Came back, showered, shaved—hot water, not anything like at the old embassy—then he went into work.
His lab was close enough that he could bike to it; that was great for his heart. Then he put in a couple hours doing some good, honest research. At the end of each day, he had something written down—progress. That was something he didn't miss about being a superhero. Locking up some clown—literally, if he was visiting Gotham—and then watching as they just broke out again and got locked up again and wondering what the hell had he accomplished, really? Earned the citizenry a reprieve from being terrorized by that particular clown, so that instead they could be terrorized by all the other clowns?
It was one thing when he was doing it with his friends (and Max Lord), but on his own, he was just a guy in an all-primary-color wardrobe knocking around poor people. Made you worry about a guy, when they did that too often. And hey, maybe a prosthetic leg with a built-in egg timer wouldn't save the world, but it had more of a lasting impact than putting Two-Face in jail for a week.
He owned a small business that paid okay. The work was pleasant. His apartment was a little cramped, but mostly cozy. He was an ordinary, average man with an ordinary, average life. Bilbo Baggins, if he'd been lucky enough never to find the One Ring.
So why was it that during his lunch break, while he'd been getting a healthy meal at Mario's (best kale in town), he'd heard an explosion and ran
towards
it? Well, he was in pretty good shape, even with his heart. He'd been sticking real hard to the diet and exercise the doctor had prescribed, getting him into the best shape he'd been in for the last five years. He didn't have a six-pack or anything, but he could probably fit into the suit again if he hadn't sold it on eBay for home theater money. And he had experience with crisis situations. He could work crowd control.
Yeah, that's what he'd do. Pick up any lost kids, help people out of rubble, maybe pull one person out of a burning building, tops. He certainly wasn't going to punch any alien invaders in the face--!
He had pepper spray for that.
Maybe it was because he missed working with a uniformly beautiful collection of female colleagues, all of whom saw nothing inappropriate about skintight bodysuits in the workplace. That idiot Bilbo only got to hang around with
dwarves...
Ted ran four blocks before getting to Grand Street, arriving sweaty and low on breath (okay, maybe he wasn't in
that
great shape). It was about the usual crisis. Dark sorcerer speechifying while he launched fireballs, Zatanna blocking with shielding spells and speaking her own mumbo-jumbo. She looked good. A lot of women in the business had to run and fight all the time, so they tended toward a certain athletic physique. That was great and all, but a little repetitive. Zee, though, she flew around on a magic carpet when she wasn't reading magic books and drawing magic circles. She had a few curves on her. Curves like her fishnet stockings probably had permanent bends--
"Get down!" Zatanna suddenly cried. Ted looked around to see what idiot was standing around during a firefight when he realized that, of course, it was him.
He ducked behind a parked car in time for an eldritch bolt of dark energy to send a chunk of concrete to a demon dimension instead of him. Quickly, he looked around to see how he could help out. Zatanna seemed to have it well in hand. He ran for it, the dark sorcerer laughing after him, before suddenly—
How can this be! – Lothor, you should've known – impossible! I will return! You haven't heard the last – And I'll be there to stop you!
Ted had heard it all before, but Zatanna was pretty good at it. Didn't stammer or accidentally call someone a hot dog like he had when he'd fought the Time Trapper. Safely in the nearest alleyway, Ted poked his head back out to see if anyone needed help. No, Lothor was screaming as he was sucked into a hellish otherworldly vortex. Everything seemed fine.
Brushing himself off, Ted started down the alley. Best to avoid running into Zatanna. It was just too awkward to meet up while one of you was in costume and one of you wasn't. Like seeing a teacher in public when you were a kid. Who let you out of school?
"Thanks for the help," Zatanna said behind him. Ted turned to see her striding through the mouth of the alley, her well-defined calves working splendidly inside her stockings. She definitely had a personal trainer. Maybe he should ask for the guy's name. Or girl. Maybe it was a girl. Zatanna and a girl trainer, working out together, spotting each other, holding a punching bag for Zee, sparring, wrestling, getting all sweaty and then taking a cool shower together—
She's not the only one who could use a cold shower, ya dingus,
Ted heard his inner Booster Gold say. Out loud, he said "It was nothing."
"Yes, it was nothing. I was being laconic."
"Sarcastic even," Ted replied.
Zatanna planted her hands on her lips, legs akimbo, in a pose that would definitely get him into her magic show if it were on a poster. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
