Samson kept a full roster of patients. The attempted take-over of Earth and constant fight against Apokolips’ forces was enough to weigh upon anyone’s psyche so he made a point of having as many on the front lines come and meet with him regularly. There were some who were overtly against the process, Bobby Drake being one, but others were more open and seemed to be benefiting from having someone to talk to.

He hoped Johnny Storm would be one of those heroes. 

The man was usually so jovial but he knew well enough how much comedy could be a defence mechanism against difficult thoughts. He’d just finished a short game of alleyway on his phone when there was a knock on the door and a blonde man entered.

“Mr. Storm,” he said, his soft voice at odds with his hulking form, “Please have a seat, can I get you a drink? I’ve got good coffee, bad coffee and soda.”