Conspicuous Consumption

by C.

"We need stuff," Apollo announced, hands on his hips, and looking nothing less than he had just stated his intention to save the world, again.

Midnighter glanced up from the newspaper he had spread out on the hardwood floor of their living room. He took in the fervent gleam in Apollo's eyes, the hair tousled by the breeze coming through the open window and figured Apollo was just bored.

"We have a bed," Midnighter said and turned his attention back to the paper. "And a stool-slash-plant stand. And a plant."

Apollo glared at him. The thriving fern rustled a few fronds. Midnighter was convinced that plant grew toward Apollo.

"We can't invite people over and ask them to sit on the floor," he said. Midnighter did not feel any great need to invite people over, so he was singularly unsympathetic.

"Throw away the plant, Martha," he said. Midnighter wasn't entirely convinced Bendix wasn't dead and this `retirement' they embarked on few weeks ago wasn't some elaborate hoax to lull them into a sense of false security. Running again would be easier if they didn't have to leave a lot of things, or friends, behind.

Retired. You're retired. Stop being paranoid, he reminded himself for the hundredth time that day. He was doing better. He didn't automatically reach for the leathers every morning. Sometimes. He could almost sleep through the night.

"It was a gift!" Apollo said, staunch defender of the weasely guy in the apartment directly below theirs whom Midnighter was convinced only wanted to get into Apollo's pants.

Midnighter turned a page of the newspaper. He gave his best girly squeal.

"Oh, look, honey! There's a sale at Pottery Barn!"

Which was why, half an hour later, he was being led though a brightly-lit showroom of All Things Beige, mentally cursing Apollo's complete inability to appreciate sarcasm. He amused himself by telling Apollo the mark up on every thing Apollo showed an interest in and estimating, out loud, how many child laborers or political prisoners required for its making.

Apollo ignored him heroically. Not entirely stoically, because he often wore a slightly pained expression that thinned out his lips.

"What do you think of this?" Apollo asked, turning over yet another brushed steel item, a clock this time, in his large hands. "I think it would look nice on the mantle."

"It's not little Feng's best work," Midnighter replied. Apollo put the clock down with deliberate care. Sensing he may have crossed a line, Midnighter decided to let Apollo shop in a peace for a few minutes while he amused himself with fantasies of all the sales clerks actually being mutant ninjas that he had to fight his way through to get out of the store.

He settled on one of the leather display couches and scowled at every sales clerk who came within ten feet of him. They all veered off quickly with the same "oh, I'm needed on the other side of the store" _expression on their well-scrubbed faces. They looked more annoyed than fearful. It was strangely comforting.

Midnighter glanced down the length of the couch, figured it was long enough for him to stretch his legs out on, but probably not for Apollo. Maybe they could get something custom-made. Please God, anything but a sectional. He hated sectionals. They lacked… completeness.

He relaxed a little more into the couch and turned up his hearing to follow Apollo around the store. He was flipping through curtains now. Midnighter could hear the brush of linen against the whorls of Apollo's fingertips. The sweep of breath past Apollo's lips when he inhaled to decline yet another offer of help. Midnighter could also hear every conversation in the store. Mostly innocuous, an almost hypnotic hum of words. The couch was really pretty comfortable. He closed his eyes.

And opened them again when he heard someone hiss `fag'. He didn't hear any movement from Apollo for a few seconds and he couldn't see him, hidden by a shelf full of vases and chenille throw pillows. Then, Apollo was pulling out plastic-wrapped packages and glibly warding off sales clerks again.

Midnighter glanced around the store to see if he could pinpoint who had spoken, but his heart wasn't in it. He wasn't even sure the comment had been directed at him or Apollo. There wasn't a whole lot of personal satisfaction in beating the living shit out of someone who stood no chance against you even if you were blindfolded, gagged, and duct-taped to a bed of nails. Some, but not enough to expend the energy required to track the asshole down. He wondered how Apollo could stand being able to hear every comment made by every prejudiced, bigoted asshole on the planet without killing more people than he already had.

Midnighter knew he could never be as forgiving as Apollo. He settled back, and turned down the enhancements on his hearing.

He didn't hear Apollo approach as much as felt him, his inhuman warmth reaching out to Midnighter as he got closer, and Midnighter, even sitting down, couldn't resist pressing back toward him. He smiled to himself. Photosynthesis. Maybe Bendix has slipped some plant parts into his enhancements. Pansies. Cock's Combs.

"What's so funny?" Apollo asked, leaning over the back of the couch.

"Gardening," Midnighter said and, to ward off potentially embarrassing questions, asked. "Did you get anything?"

"A few things," Apollo said. He leaned forward and kissed Midnighter briefly on the lips. "I want you to help me pick out a couch."

"I don't care about a couch," Midnighter groused. "Just pick the one you like."

"It's more important that you like it," Apollo replied.

"Why's that?"

"Because you're going to be the one bent over it when we get it home," Apollo explained, dazzling, butter-wouldn't-melt smile. Midnighter coughed.

"Jesus! Warn a guy," he said, hoping like hell he wasn't blushing.

"C'mon," Apollo said, giving Midnighter's shoulder a squeeze. "I going to buy you a cookie since you haven't been a complete bastard about this."

"Well, don't let that get out. I have a reputation to protect," Midnighter smirked and got to his feet.

"Did you like that couch?" Apollo asked as they meandered through the mall, dodging teenagers and cell phone kiosks.

"Nah," Midnighter said. "It won't work. We should check Arhaus. There's one about a mile away."

"Should I check you for fever?" Apollo grinned. "Did you just suggest more shopping?"

"What do I care if we're shopping? I'm retired. I've got nothing but time," Midnighter said and replaced thoughts of Bendix and elaborate traps with scotch guarding and steel versus wood frames for at least an hour.

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