Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So there wasn’t that much blood. Really, there wasn’t. He’d taken a nasty punch to the face. Nothing he couldn’t handle. And sure, maybe his nose was broken and would heal back a little crooked, but his face had never been particularly perfect anyway. Besides. Didn’t some people find asymmetry attractive?

The broken wrist though.

That was going to be a little more… difficult to deal with. 

Hal winced when Ollie lifted his hand, biting back a string of swear words that would have made his former CO blush. “Yeah, that’s bad,” Ollie winced.

“No shit,” Hal rolled his eyes and made a point to look anywhere but at his wrist that was definitely not supposed to be able to bend at that angle.

“Can you walk?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my wrist was connected to my leg,” Hal snapped. 

Ollie shook his head and helped him to his feet. “Anything else hurt?”

“Oh you know, just my fragile male ego.”

He made the mistake of glancing down at his hand, wincing when it looked exactly as bad as he’d expected it to. Swollen and floppy, but hey, at least the bone wasn’t poking out, right?

Amazing how something didn’t really hurt until you looked at it.

“You should really, really get that looked at,” Ollie commented as they navigated through the streets. 

“Whatever,” Hal muttered, quickly forming a construct brace. “It’ll be fine.” Besides. He’d gotten through nasty injuries with tylenol and an ice pack before. He’d be fine. Not to mention he wasn’t exactly keen on spending thousands of dollars to get it taken care of properly. Not with a 13 thousand dollar deductible (yes, three zeroes) and a 40 percent copay. No sir, no thank you.

“Seriously, man,” Ollie turned to look at him, eyes dead serious for once. “You need to get that looked at.”

“It’s fine, Ollie.”

“It’s so not fine.”

“Can you just drop it?” Hal snapped.

“You know, if you need help paying for it, you can always…”

“Yeah, if you could just. You know. Kill me now. That’d be great.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

He heard Ollie mutter something under his breath, but couldn’t quite make out what it was. 

“There you two are,” a voice said from behind them. And here Hal thought the day wouldn’t get any worse. But no. Fate had always been out to get him. So of-fucking-course Batman had to be the one to find them first. “Lantern, you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, Spooky,” Hal groaned, not bothering to turn to look at him. 

“He broke his wrist,” Ollie supplied, and Hal turned to glare at him.

“Thanks.”

“Shut up.”

“You need a doctor,” Bruce said, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Coming from the man who fights crime in a fursuit.”

“At least we know he didn’t hit his head?” Ollie offered.

“You know my hearing wasn’t damaged, right?” Hal snapped. He groaned as the adrenaline high started to drop and the pain in his wrist started to grow. Funny how things didn’t really hurt until you started to pay attention to them. Against his better judgement, he looked back down at it. The construct brace had faded away and it was definitely swollen, and definitely not supposed to bend like that.

“Closest ER is about five blocks from here,” Batman commented, and a panicked feeling swept through Hal. ER meant bills. Big ones. Big ones that he couldn’t really afford to pay when his Green Lantern gig kept him from holding down a steady nine-to-five.

“Can’t we just look at it at the Watchtower?” Hal groaned, leaning further into Ollie’s side, more tired than he wanted to let them onto.

“Medbay isn’t quite ready yet,” Batman responded. Because of course it wasn’t. Because why in the hell would Hal be that lucky.

“Look, Hal, I already offered to…” Ollie started, but the look Hal shot him must have been strong enough to shut him up. 

It wasn’t that Hal didn’t need the help (he did). But he would rather not injure his pride on top of everything else.

A tense moment passed between the three of them, and Hal wasn’t entirely sure Bruce and Ollie weren’t going to gang up on him and drop his sorry ass off at the hospital door anyway. 

“I have an idea,” Bruce said after what subjectively felt like hours and was probably objectively closer to thirty seconds. “You won’t like it.”

Barry Allen and Hal Jordan looked nothing alike. But, thankfully, the staff at the local hospital didn’t know that. Those names meant nothing to them, and whoops Hal’s ID was in his wallet, which had suspiciously gone missing. In a glove compartment. Of the batmobile.

Hal leaned against the waiting room chair, staring up at the shitty fluorescent lighting attached to the shitty drop ceiling, wondering where in his life he’d gone so wrong as to commit both identity theft and insurance fraud on the same night.

“What’s your name?” Bruce asked, sitting beside him. They’d stopped so Bruce and Ollie could change into civvies, shoving a Tylenol in Hal’s hand (he was pretty sure it was a Tylenol PM, the bastards) to tide him over until he could get the good drugs. 

“Barry Allen,” Hal responded without missing a beat.

“Date of birth?”

“March 14th…”

“Nineteenth.”

“Whatever.”

“Do you want to get this looked at or not?” Bruce snapped, and Hal flinched. “Gee Spooky, I don’t know,” Hal responded, turning to shoot him an annoyed look. “What part of ‘I don’t need a hospital, I can deal with this at home’ did you not understand? I know that’s a lot of words for your obsessed little brain to handle. I can make them smaller if you want.”

“You’re right,” Bruce turned to talk to Ollie, sitting on Hal’s opposite side. “He didn’t hit his head.”

“You know, I’m really wishing I had a head injury right about now,” Hal groaned and turned to glance at the clock. They’d been there three hours already, but he figured that was a good sign. Meant he wasn’t dying. Probably. Unless his bone had sliced an artery and he was bleeding out. But that probably wasn’t too likely. 

Yeah.

The guy with the kitchen knife sticking out of his chest probably needed to be seen before him anyway.

“Barry Allen?” a nurse called from the doorway. Must have been a hell of a coincidence if there was a Barry Allen here. Though it probably wasn’t that uncommon of a name. He started to move to rest his head on Ollie’s shoulder when Bruce elbowed him in the ribs.

“What?” Hal snapped, turning to glare at him.

“Barry Allen?” the nurse called again, and Hal groaned.

Right.

He was supposed to be Barry Allen.

He stood up and made his way over to the door, rolling his eyes as Ollie shouted “Good luck,” behind him, starting to think that of all the stupid decisions he’d made in his life, this was probably somewhere near the top.

“All right, Mr. Allen,” the doctor said as he came into Hal’s partitioned off segment of the ER. A thin curtain on a tension rod separated him from a kid who was terrified of blood (the nurse had told him it was ketchup going into the bag) on one side, and a dude who had been in a bar fight (pain is an ELEVEN, man, an ELEVEN) on the other. “X-ray shows a nasty break in your wrist, but we think we can set it non-surgically.”

Hal let out a sigh of relief and winced when the doctor picked up his wrist. At least they’d given him the good stuff to block out most of the pain, even if the meds did make him sick to his stomach and more than a little bit drowsy.

“So tell me about what you do for a living,” the doctor commented as he examined Hal’s injury.

“I’m a…” Test pilot shit no. “Forensic investigator.”

“You must see a lot, then,” the doctor hummed, and Hal nodded. He figured he could fudge some Corps stories to make it sound convincing.

“Yeah, man, you wouldn’t believe half the shit people do... JESUS CHRIST,” he shouted when his wrist was very much back at a straight angle. “You could warn a guy!”

“You would have tensed up,” the doctor shrugged.

“Bastard,” Hal muttered under his breath as he continued to work.

 “I coulda flown myself home,” Hal commented, resting his head against the window of the batmobile. His ring was still mostly charged and it wasn’t like he’d flown on worse injuries. But Bruce had made up some bullshit about flying on pain meds (they didn’t even give him morphine, god Bruce) and Hal had been too tired to really try and argue it.

Besides. The beds at Wayne Manor were probably way nicer than what he was used to anyway.

“You’re high on Dilaudid,” Bruce responded without missing a beat. 

“Am not,” Hal rolled his eyes and watched the city fly by, wondering how fast they were going. 

“You’re acting like a child.”

“Am not.” 

Bruce didn’t respond to that, which was probably smart on his part, much as Hal hated to admit Bruce Wayne was actually smart. He shut his eyes and focused on the hum of the engine, trying to let it lull him to sleep, easier said than done when Bruce fucking Wayne was sitting in the driver’s seat.

“You didn’t have to help me out, you know,” he muttered after a moment of tense silence. He would have been fine, really. So his bank account would have been overdrawn for a few months and he’d have to pick up a few odd jobs, but whatever, right? He opened his eyes and glanced over at Bruce.

“You’re an idiot, Jordan,” Bruce sighed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. So much for relaxed, then. “The League has an assistance fund. You could have…”

Hal laughed at that. A dry, humorless thing. “Applied to it?” he finished Bruce’s sentence for him. “So you can all see my 500 credit score and four dollar checking balance? No thanks.”

A heavy silence hung between them, and Hal thought about trying to fake sleep. At least then neither would feel the need to talk.

In the end, it was Bruce who broke it.

“I have a thousand dollar deductible,” he spoke, voice even, like he was talking business at a board meeting. “Twenty-five dollar copay primary care, forty dollar specialist. One-fifty ER.”

“Well good for you,” Hal rolled his eyes. 

“I also have vision and dental. Life insurance. Hell. I have pet insurance on Titus.”

“You really know how to rub salt in a wound, huh?” Hal glared.

“I can add immediate family,” Bruce continued.

“Oh good, so your small army of children is covered.”

“Would you shut up and listen for a minute?!”

Hal rolled his eyes again and folded his arms across his chest.

“What I’m getting at,” Bruce sighed and rolled a shoulder back. “Is that we could form an… arrangement.” Hal raised an eyebrow at that. He was high as a kite, yeah, but he was still pretty sure this conversation wasn’t headed where he thought it was heading. “You would get coverage.”

“And you would get?” Hal pressed. Because no one ever did things just to be nice. There had to be something in it for Bruce.

“Nothing,” Bruce admitted, and Hal was inclined to believe him for once. “Just… consider it. When you’re sobered up.”

Hal was silent for a moment, thinking it over. “Hey Bruce?” A grunt confirmed the older man was listening. “You had me at deductible.”

Chapter Text

“Is this really necessary?” Hal asked, falling into step beside Bruce. He fought the urge to roll his wrist, glaring down at the brace wrapped around it. Really. They couldn’t have made something more uncomfortable if they tried. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t more than a little surprised that Bruce hadn't thought better of his little proposition by the time he’d filled out the paperwork for the first bill (Barry really did have damn good insurance. It almost made him sick), but here they were.

“We have to make it look real,” Bruce answered as he pushed the door to the jeweler open. Hal muttered something under his breath, but didn’t repeat it when Bruce snapped his head around to look at him. It was uncanny, really, how he always seemed to know when someone was doing something they shouldn’t be. He rolled his eyes and glanced around the store, wrapping his good arm around himself.

Places like this always had made him more than a little uncomfortable and had a way of making him feel more than a little out of place. He glanced down at his beat up jeans and faded shirt, standing in stark contrast to Bruce’s tailored button-up and khakis. ‘What?’  Bruce had asked on their way out the door. ‘I’m going casual.’

“Ah, Mr. Wayne,” a woman in a tailored black dress smiled as she approached them. Her artificially white smile faltered just a bit as she glanced at Hal, but she recovered. Anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed it. “And this is?”

Hal glanced at Bruce, deciding to let him take the lead. This whole thing had been his idea after all. Besides. He wasn’t sure if he should be the one to drop that particular f-bomb. It wasn’t like this was anything more than a convenience, after all. Hell. He still hadn't told Barry or Ollie about their little arrangement.

“My fiancé,” Bruce answered without hesitation. Hal tuned him out as he made small talk with the saleswoman. The same-ole same-ole of ‘Oh! Congratulations!’ and ‘Tell me about how you met,’ even though she only cared about the sale in the end. He’d gone through this already when he’d proposed to… He shook his head to clear it. That had been a long time ago.

She’d probably laugh him out of her office if she heard what he was about to do.

A twinge of pain radiated up his arm and he glanced down at his wrist. He’d gotten damn lucky that was the only thing he’d broken. He really couldn’t keep playing with fire. And hey, Bruce had promised to ignore him a majority of the time, so that was great. He’d even said he’d make sure Hal gets to keep some stuff in the pre-nup. So really, there were worse ways to go about this, he figured.

“All right, Mr. Jordan,” the woman smiled and led him by the arm to a case full of rings and watches that probably cost more than he made in a year. Bruce had instructed him to ‘pick out whatever he wanted’ and that thought still made him a little sick to his stomach. But hey. The press would want details on whatever Bruce got him when he popped the question, and ‘a thousand dollar deductible with a negligible copay at the ER’ wasn’t exactly romantic.

Not that anything about this was really romantic to begin with.

“So,” the woman continued as she unlocked the case, pulling a few options out. “Mr. Wayne tells me you hate yellow. So we’ll just avoid these here.” She set a few of the things aside before setting more out on top of the glass. “He also mentioned something about purple being out.” Hal frowned slightly and glanced over at Bruce, who was busy making small talk with a salesman who couldn’t have been older than 19. “Do you prefer something flashier or more subdued?” he blinked and turned to glance at her, processing the question.

“Uh, subdued, I guess,” he said with a shrug. His Green Lantern ring was flashy enough. She nodded and hummed as she glanced at the selections she’d pulled. Hal bit back a comment that it didn’t matter. All the bands looked the same anyway. 

“So,” Bruce spoke, draping an arm around Hal’s shoulder. Hal fought the urge to tense up. He and Bruce were definitely not friends who touched. “Any luck?”

“This is insane,” Hal spoke as he got into the car. “Like. Completely and totally insane. You realize that, right?”

Bruce slid into the driver's side, starting the engine before turning and glancing over at him. “You don’t have to do this,” he spoke, voice calm and even in a way that made Hal want to punch him square in the face. “You can back out of this at any time.”

Hal chewed at his lower lip and stared out the window, not caring that the car wasn’t even moving yet. “Even after we… You know. Go through with this? If we go through with this?”

“Even then,” Bruce nodded before turning to see better as he backed out of the parking space. “This isn’t exactly a traditional marriage,” he added. “You realize that, right?” Hal glared at his own words being thrown back at him.

“And you’re sure you want to do this?” he pressed, every instinct in him screaming to run. It was always easier to run. To ignore things in the hopes that they’d eventually go away, even when he knew things never really worked out like that.

“If I wasn’t sure, would I have just spent that much money on a piece of metal?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Hal rolled his eyes and glanced down at the bag in his lap. City streets faded into highway lanes. Some soft rock channel was playing on the radio, but Hal didn’t mind it too much. It filled the space, at least. Something was eating at him, though, and he needed to bring it up. “You can back out to, you know.”

“I am aware, Hal,” Bruce spoke without turning to glance at him. Probably a smart move since he was pretty sure they were doing 70 in a 55. 

“Just… This is me giving you an out, okay?”

“I gathered that.”

“So what’s our plan on like… other people?” he asked tentatively.

“Do you really want to do this right now?” Bruce sighed and turned the radio volume down.

“Would you rather talk about the weather? It sucks here, you know.”

A ghost of a smile formed on Bruce’s face, and Hal was content to take that particular victory. “You do realize we won’t actually be married, right?”

“Yeah, the marriage license is gonna say different,” Hal responded, shifting to get a better look at Bruce.

“I don’t care if you want to see anyone if you offer me that same courtesy.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hal nodded. A silence fell over them again, and he didn’t like it. He’d never been particularly comfortable with quiet.  He fought the urge to start babbling off about something, figuring Bruce probably wouldn’t want to hear every little thing that popped into his head. The silence lasted about two mile markers before he couldn’t take it anymore. “Can we like. Not do the PDA thing?”

Bruce frowned at that. “What PDA thing?”

“Back in the store,” Hal elaborated, only to get an even more confused look from Bruce. “The arm?” Bruce’s confused expression deepened before he blinked and shook his head. “Just. We’re not there.”

“Okay,” Bruce nodded and pulled into the exit lane. 

“God, this is weird,” Hal muttered and glanced back out the window. Bruce made a noise of agreement but didn’t add anything else to the comment. And it was, really. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d agreed to get himself into this mess. But hey. Friends helped each other out, right? And as much as he hated, absolutely hated to admit it, Bruce was a friend.

Plus Ollie was already married and Iris might be upset with him if he tried to marry Barry for his benefits package.

“Why are you doing this anyway?” Hal asked as Bruce pulled into the driveway. “What’s in it for you?”

“Why does there have to be something in it for me?” Bruce killed the engine and turned to face him, body language more open than Hal could ever remember seeing him. 

“There’s always a catch. And don’t tell me this is all about me being able to afford an x-ray. You could’ve just put me on Wayne Enterprises payroll and hoped no one questioned it. Hell. That probably would have been less paperwork for you.”

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and breathing deeply before opening them again. “I’m a little sick of being Gotham’s most well-known bachelor, and to be honest, I could use some publicity on, well, the Bruce Wayne side of things.”

“So you marry a nobody test pilot from the opposite side of the country that no one has ever seen you with before? Sorry, Spooks, but something isn’t quite adding up here.”

“And you look too far into things,” Bruce said. “It’s a win for both of us, Jordan.”

“Okay,” Hal nodded and got out of the car. “But I want pink champagne at the wedding. And a chocolate cake.”

Bruce shook his head and laughed lowly before following his lead. “I think we can make that happen.”

Hal shut the door and leaned against the garage wall, studying Bruce for a moment, not caring if he noticed. “You’re a good person, you know. Even if it might kill you to admit that.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. “Was that a compliment?”

“Take it, Spooks,” Hal called over his shoulder as he headed inside. “You only get one a month.”

Chapter Text

So the thing about wedding planning was that it was stressful as fuck. Hal had wanted something nice and quiet for once in his life, but Bruce had demanded it be a public affair with all the bells, whistles, and camera flashes from nosy paparazzi. Something about ‘protecting the Brucie Wayne identity’ or something. Hal had checked out somewhere between staring at place settings and roses for the cake.

But hey. He’d agreed to this, and he was down to look nice and eat some fancy food for a few hours. Besides. Bruce had promised him a custom tux out of the deal, and his ass was going to look absolutely amazing in it.

The tabloids, of course, were eating this up. Had there been any knowledge that billionaire Bruce Wayne was even dating test pilot Hal Jordan? No. Was Bruce playing up that it was ‘love at first sight’ and he just ‘had to settle down with this man?” Absolutely. It was unsettling, really, how this man and Batman were the same person. Hal was still having trouble wrapping his head around it.

“What about this one?” Bruce asked, holding up what seemed like the twentieth napkin Hal had looked at that day. 

“It’s a napkin, Bruce,” Hal answered, falling dramatically into one of the dining room chairs that probably cost more than he made in a month. “It looks exactly like the other ones we’ve looked at.”

“But this one has piping.”

“God, you need a hobby.” Bruce shot him a glare, and Hal responded with a look that demanded ‘what?’ “It’s fine,” he conceded, holding his hands out in front of him. “It just… We’re going through a hell of a lot of trouble for this, don’t you think?”

“And here I thought you loved the idea of a publicity stunt.”

“Oh don’t get me wrong,” Hal stood up and moved over to the table of rejected wedding decorations. “I am here, one-hundred percent, for an awesome party. But I can promise you right now, no one is going to give two shits about the napkins.”

“Alfred will,” Bruce argued, and dammit, Hal couldn’t argue that.

“Alfred will.”

Bruce studied the napkin a bit longer before placing it with the other rejects and picking up number 21. “So… this one?”

-------------------------------------------------------------

If there was one law of the universe, it was probably that Hal Jordan should not have been left unsupervised in a store with a scanner gun. Bruce had insisted they didn’t need a registry. Hal had thrown his ‘we’re doing this right’ attitude right back at him. Bruce had said ‘fine,’ and that had somehow translated to Hal, standing in that store, trying to figure out how to work the damned thing.

“We don’t need gifts.”

“I want the gifts.”

“I’m a billionaire, Hal.”

“I want. The gifts.”

“Fine.”

“And I get them in the divorce.”

“Sure.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” a man in a suit greeted, and Hal instinctively straightened his back. Funny how some things never really leave you. “May I offer you any assistance?”

Hal stared at the man for longer than was probably polite, trying to figure out what to say. Truth be told? He had no clue how to work the damned thing. But pride was something he held near and dear to his heart, and he wasn’t sure he wanted his first public outing as the future Mr. Wayne (Mr. Jordan? Mr. Jordan-Wayne? They really needed to work that out) to involve a man old enough to be his father showing him how to use a device any idiot should have been able to figure out on their own.

“I uh… I think I got it,” Hal replied, swiftly moving to be anywhere that wasn’t in the man’s direct line of sight. “Thanks,” he called over his shoulder.

In the end, he probably scanned way more than he needed to.

------------------------------------------

Bruce had been the one to insist Hal stay at Wayne Manor, at least until the initial shock to the public died down. Besides. It’s what people would expect, right? They were getting married and a bunch of people tended to live together before taking that step. Still. It felt weird, and Hal was starting to wonder if he’d ever really get used to it. Or if he’d even have to.

The plan was easy enough. Get married. Get the benefits. Continue to live their lives separately except for Important Holidays and Events. And besides. It wouldn’t be like they’d be the first big-name couple to have a certain… arrangement.

It was midnight, and Hal found himself standing in front of the freezer, eating ice cream straight out of the pint. Damian had gone off to bed with an ‘Oh, I see he is still here,’ and Bruce had been locked up in his study since before mid-afternoon.

It was amazing, really, how such a big place filled with so many people could feel so goddamn lonely.

At least in his apartment back in Coast he had the excuse of living alone.

“You’re up late,” a voice came from behind him, and Hal nearly jumped out of his skin. He swore under his breath, set the ice cream down on the counter, and turned to face Bruce, who was still dressed in his work clothes. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that,” Hal responded, tone icier than he’d meant for it to be. It had always been easier to think of Batman, of Bruce, as the enemy. As someone he should avoid at all costs and bite back at when he couldn’t. But an enemy… An enemy wouldn’t be doing this for him. Right? An enemy wouldn’t have pulled that stunt way back when he’d snapped his arm like a twig on their first big fight as a group.

Where that neural pathway had even stemmed from, he wasn’t sure.

He never had liked authority.

“Only nine back home,” Hal shrugged, hoping Bruce would just let it drop.

“You’ve been here a month.”

“It’s creepy the way you do that, you know.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, and Hal fought the urge to shrink back. It wasn’t fair, really, how Bruce never ceased to make him feel like every last thing he did was wrong. How something about the other man never ceased to make Hal feel like a little kid who had been sent to the principal’s office and was stuck waiting for his mom to come pick him up.

“Well, since you’re up,” Bruce, thank fuck, decided to change the subject for once. “We need to work on invitations.”

“God, it never ends, does it?” Hal groaned as he made his way to the island, claiming a barstool.

“Always something,” Bruce agreed, sitting down next to him. A silence hung over them, and Hal couldn’t quite decide if it was a good or a bad one. In the end, it was Bruce who broke it. “You didn’t invite your family.”

Something twisted in Hal’s gut. He’d been hoping Bruce wouldn’t have noticed, or at the very least, wouldn’t have cared about that tiny little detail, but of course the universe was playing against him. When had the goddamn universe ever gone to bat for Hal Jordan? “I didn’t invite my family,” he nodded, looking anywhere but at his fiance. 

“Why not?”

Hal frowned in confusion. Bruce’s tone had been more curious than accusatory, and damned if that didn’t throw him through a loop. For a minute, just a minute, he entertained the idea that Bruce might actually want to get to know him a little better. But that was ridiculous. It wasn’t like this was anything more than a marriage of convenience. They didn’t have to ‘share.’ Hell. They didn’t even really have to like each other.

“It’s… complicated,” he decided on, not even sure why he was even bothering with a response.

But Bruce’s reply? That genuinely surprised him. “It always is.”

“I uh…” Hal trailed off, not sure if he really wanted to go there with Batman of all people. But. Hey. They were about to be legally stuck with each other in a few months, so might as well, right? At the very least, it would give him another out if he wanted it. “I was kind of… a wreck after my dad died. And it… I didn’t really… get better.” He risked glancing over at Bruce, surprised to see that the other man seemed genuinely interested in what he was saying. “My mom tried, but three kids and two jobs meant she wasn’t really around, so Jack was always in charge, and I was…” Just grow up, Hal, he could still hear Jack snapping at him one day after school.

“You don’t have to talk about any of this,” Bruce cut in, and Hal was grateful for it.

“Just… I’m not like you, okay?” he asked, finally making eye contact with him. “You dealt with your parents dying and shit and I just… I didn’t.”

A sound escaped Bruce’s throat and it took Hal a solid minute to realize the man was laughing. “Oh gee thanks, Spooky,” he glared, ready to throw his defenses back up. “I open up to you and you laugh at me?”

Bruce stared at him in shock, an expression Hal didn’t even know he was capable of. “Hal,” he spoke, tone showing he was trying, and failing, to get a grip. “I dealt with my parents death by training with assassins and beating people up at night. I don’t think that’s ‘dealing with it.’”

Hal stared blankly at him, processing what he’d just heard before saying the first thing that popped into his head. “So guess we’re both pretty fucked up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bruce nodded. “I guess we are.”

Chapter Text

So the thing about being away from Earth for long stretches of time is you’re not really around to start your car every now and then and Hal couldn’t really trust Mrs. Johnson from down the hall to do it because she’d probably forget to turn it back off and then some kid would steal it and he’d come home to both a missing car and a likely eviction notice, and that really didn’t seem like a good time, so it was better to just leave it parked in his space and hope it was still there when he got back, and this time he didn’t even have the excuse of being off world. At least, not for the full time. He’d gone straight from space to that fight with the League to living it up with Bruce.

But the thing about not starting your car for the better part of three months  is that when you get back, it doesn’t exactly want to run.

So there he was, late for work, no tow truck in sight, staring down at his phone like a teenager who got lost their first week driving on their own and wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

He’d called Carol. She’d understood, told him to take as long as he needed, and absolutely had not offered to come pick him up and take him to work herself, but with the way they’d left things, he was lucky enough to still have a job in the first place, and he wasn’t really feeling like pushing that further than he already had, especially now that his and Bruce’s pictures were popping up in the magazines all the way out here in California. He probably could have flown there, but then people would start talking about Green Lantern flying to Ferris Air and then not being spotted again” when half his coworkers already knew he’d called Carol to tell her he’d be late was probably one of those situations that would hurt the whole secret identity thing.

He stared down at the contact he’d opened. It was a stupid idea. Really, truly, possibly one of the dumbest ideas he’d ever had. Barry could have been there a hell of a lot faster, and Hal had planned on calling him when he saw the band on his ring finger and remembered that there was probably someone else he was supposed to call in situations like this, even if they were a several hour flight away.

He hit the button, threw it on speaker, and stared up at the ceiling of his car wondering why the hell he was still in the thing in the first place.

“Hal?” the voice on the other end sounded more confused than anything else. Hal wasn’t really sure why he would have expected anything different. He didn’t call. It wasn’t part of the deal. “Everything okay?”

“Aw, you’re worried about me?” Hal asked, a smirk forming on his lips. Except the words fell a little flatter than he’d meant them to because now that he thought about it, Bruce had sounded a little worried.

“I have a meeting in five,” Bruce said, tone back to the gruff businessman Hal had always associated him with before. And honestly? Hal didn’t know if that was better or worse than before. “What’s going on?”

Hal took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. It was dumb. He shouldn’t have called. But dammit, he was committed now. “My car won’t start.”

“Hal,” he could hear the exasperated sigh. He could picture Bruce standing there at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes crinkled shut. “I’m not entirely sure how to explain to you that I’m literally on the opposite side of the country.”

“I know,” Hal responded, voice softer than it had been. “It was stupid. I shouldn’t have…”

“Look. I can catch a flight, be there tonight…” 

Hal frowned and missed the last part of what Bruce was saying because damned if that had not been the absolute last way he’d expected this conversation to go. Part of him wanted to argue. Say it was fine. Besides, he could get to Bruce a hell of a lot faster than Bruce could get to him. Not that it solved the car problem. Not that it was even the point.

“Yeah?” Hal asked, relieved to hear a noise of confirmation from Bruce’s end. “Yeah, okay. I’d offer to pick you up, but…”

“I’ll call you when I get in.”

So when he’d agreed to Bruce coming to Coast City to look at a car that was probably well past its last leg he had not, in fact, considered the fact that Bruce was going to want to see his apartment. 

At least not until they were both standing there at the door to his apartment.

Hal had greeted him in the parking lot, showed him the car, Bruce had agreed that it was probably time, and Hal had thought about sending him right back to Gotham on the next flight home, but that seemed like a dick move considering they were set to get married in a few months and Bruce had never really been in Hal’s neck of the woods.

And really. It should not have been weird.

Hal had been spending more time at the manor than was probably healthy for any sane person to do, but letting Bruce into his space meant… He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew it would mean something.

But in his experience, the best thing to do in this type of situation was rip the bandaid off and hope for the best.

“Do you, uh…” he glanced at the door, then back at Bruce. “Want to come in? Or whatever?”

Bruce stared at him like he wanted to make a snide comment but decided against it. “I’d love to come in.”

“Yeah, sounds good, let me just…” he fumbled with the key in the lock and fought the urge to swear at it. Smooth, Jordan. Real smooth.

Eventually he won the battle and the door clicked open.

“So,” he stepped inside, gesturing at the space. “This is it.”

Bruce stepped in, shutting and locking the door behind him. Hal watched as he glanced around the living area and kitchen, face completely, infuriatingly neutral. “It’s…”

“Small, I know,” Hal cut him off before Bruce could finish the thought. Better to hear it out of his own mouth than Bruce’s. “I know. Nothing at all like what you’re used to, but,” he shrugged. “It does what I need it to.”

Bruce folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the kitchen peninsula. “I was going to say it’s very you .” 

“Oh.”

And maybe it was. Hal didn’t have much. Growing up military and then joining later meant he knew not to bring anything home he didn’t want to pack back up in a few months. But personal touches still floated around every now and then. That one picture of him and Barry that Iris had forced them to take at some roadside ice cream place sat in a frame by the TV. His favorite throw blanket was tossed over a sensibly neutral couch. A face-down frame he wasn't quite ready to get rid of yet on the table by the chair.

“Do you make a habit of putting words in people’s mouths?” Bruce asked, and Hal just stared at him, not really sure how to respond to… any of this, really. Because Bruce fucking Wayne was in his apartment, god the neighbors would be all over that tomorrow. Because Bruce had dropped everything and flown out here because Hal’s car wouldn’t start. Because maybe, just maybe, Bruce wasn’t as much of an asshole as Hal had made him out to be.

He thought about doing it. He could walk three steps and have Bruce pinned against that wall, and he could kiss him like he’d maybe wanted to do for a while.

But that would make the situation even weirder than it already was, and he wasn’t quite sure they were there yet and wasn’t that weird because he was pretty sure kissing or love or whatever came before marriage in that one rhyme kids jumped rope to.

“So,” he said at last, talking so he wouldn’t do something he’d likely end up regretting. “Do you want some water or something?”

Bruce nodded, and Hal went to fill a glass in the sink.

He handed it to Bruce, flipped the TV on to some random local channel (no sense paying for cable when you’re gone half the time anyway), and plopped himself down on the couch.

Bruce sat next to him, a respectable distance away, and really that’s all Hal needed to confirm what he’d already suspected.

Bruce had offered their arrangement because he’d felt sorry for Hal, and it’s probably why he was here now.

Why bother reading any further into it?

Chapter Text

There’s a thing about vulnerability. Something that pools in the pit of his stomach and makes him feel sick. Something that screams “danger.” Something that screams “run.” He feels it start, here in his apartment, watching Bruce sleep on his second hand IKEA couch. Hal had offered him the bed, but Bruce had insisted. It was Hal’s home, he had said. He should sleep in his own bed.

He fought back the urge to run his fingers through Bruce’s hair. To drape the throw on the back of his couch over the man. It wasn’t like it would cover even half of him to begin with, but the gesture would have been nice. But that would be an opening. A sign that he felt more than he was supposed to. And that deep, bubbly, awful, gross, heavy feeling screamed at him like a warning. Run.

In the end he didn’t sleep. Didn’t even move away from the couch. Bruce woke at five AM on the dot, and only then did Hal shift away from him to start the coffee, whatever cheap, expired brand he kept these days.

”You’re awake,” Bruce commented, more observation than question.

”Yeah. Never quite mastered the art of brewing coffee in my sleep,” Hal responded, tone colder than it needed to be. Distance. He needed distance. He was getting close, too close, to feeling the things he knew he never wanted to feel again. That blissful, perfect, floaty feeling that always ended in a horrific burn.

Bruce stretched, a loud crack from a lower vertebrae filling the silence in the room. “So the car…”

”I’ll deal with it.” Better to butt in now, build up the walls before Bruce could swoop in and buy him some expensive thing he couldn’t even keep up with the maintenance for. He’d hit Craigslist (did people still use Craigslist?) that afternoon, find another old beater that would get him through the year.

Bruce frowned and studied Hal in the way that made him feel exposed. Like Bruce could see every molecule that composed his being. A shudder ran down his spine. Fake, he reminded himself. This is all supposed to be fake. “I can help,” he offered. “It doesn’t have to flashy, or new even.”

Hal turned away and gripped the counter, closing his eyes. Why draw the line here? Why not back there? A car was the least weird idea he and Bruce had had this month. But this felt… Different. Wrong in a way he wasn’t quite sure how to describe. Because Bruce had flown across the country when Hal had asked him to. Because this felt like more than helping a guy out. “I think you should go.”

”Hal?” He felt Bruce’s presence behind him, could have sworn he felt Bruce’s hand hovering over his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and told himself they could make this work. They would see each other for holidays and major events. They would live their own lives. Bruce would live his own life and whatever feelings Hal was feeling would just have to be dealt with and shoved away.

Hal steeled himself and turned to face Bruce, tried not to think about what he saw in those blue eyes. Was that hurt behind the mask? No. Couldn’t be. This wasn’t real. They weren’t…. They didn’t care about each other. Not in that way. “Thank you for coming to check on me,” he said, voice even, detached. “I’m just really tired. Can you please just go?”

Bruce frowned. Hesitated a moment longer than was polite. Hal started to brace himself for the fight, thought about starting it himself. It would be easier that way, he told himself. Ruin it first. “I’ll call you when I land?”

”Whatever,” Hal sighed, turning away again. He listened for the footsteps, the latch of the door. It would take forty-five minutes for Bruce to get to the airport, an hour to get through security, three to get back home. He paced the apartment, trying not to think about what he’d done. Bruce had been trying to help. Hal had invited him here and then… What? Panicked over a feeling? 

“Idiot,” he whispered to himself as he switched his phone to Do Not Disturb.

—————————————-

He wans’t sure how long he actually spent in the apartment. He’d been earthside for a month now, but settling back into his home routine had never been easy. The manor had structure. Hal knew their routines like clockwork. Bruce, up at five. Damian, up at five thirty. Alfred would already be about his morning rounds. Breakfast promptly at six. Dinner at seven.

Soemtimes Hal wished he had that kind of discipline. But here he was, going to bed somewhere around four in the morning and not waking up until well past noon. He lay in bed, doom scrolling through the last several texts he’d gotten from Bruce.

Just landed. Call later?

Hal?

Can we talk?

Call me. Please.

He flipped to the calendar app and stared at the gray dot on the first Saturday in June. So many things needed to be done. Tuxes tailored, cake ordered, catering decisions finalized. Did he even still want to go through with it all? The tiny scars on the side of his wrist said yes. Just a transaction, he told himself. That’s all.

———————————

“You’re being a dick,” Barry declared, plopping himself into the booth across from Hal. “You know that, right?”

Hal stared at his friend for a long while, trying to remember why it was he’d called Barry and not Ollie to begin with. Ollie would’ve told him to just call the whole thing off. Money trouble? He would help. Bruce? Fuck that guy, am I right? But things had never been like that with Barry. He never let anything slide.

”Let me get this straight,” Barry leaned in. “You’re willing to marry him for the insurance but you won’t even entertain the idea of looking for a car together? Can you try to make that make sense for me?”

”It’s not about the car,” Hal snapped in frustration. 

“Then what is it about?”

Hal took a breath and stared at the ceiling, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to figure out how to make them make sense. “I called him for help and he came.”

”Oh my God, that bastard,” Barry rolled his eyes, tone dripping with sarcasm. “How dare he. That monster.”

”Just shut the fuck up, Barry.”

”You’re the one who invited me,” Barry reminded him. “So let me get this straight. You call Bruce for help. He shows up, stays the night, offers further help, and that’s a problem because…”

”Because I don’t want him to get hurt, okay?” He was standing now. People were staring. Great job, Jordan, he thought. Always making a scene. He gave an apologetic smile to the bartender across the room before calmly sitting back down.

”You don’t want him to get hurt or you don’t want him to hurt you?” Barry pressed.

”Both,” Hal sighed, stirring the straw in his club soda just to have something to do. “I don’t want this to be another Carol.”

”He’s not Carol.”

”I just… I don’t want to do this again.”

Barry cocked an eyebrow, staring at him a long, intense moment. “Oh boy,” he breathed, seeing something on Hal’s face he hadn't been able to hide. “You’re in deep.”

”Am not.”

”Are too,” Barry grinned before turning serious again. “Hal,” he lowered his voice so they wouldn’t be overheard. “He’s not Carol. And you’re not some dumb twenty-something anymore.”

”I know,” Hal lowered his gaze, resigned. So much had changed, and yet sometimes it felt like nothing had changed at all. 

“So the way I see it,” Barry continued. “You’ve got two choices. Call him, be an adult, and explain what’s going on, or throw away something with the potential to be really fucking good because you’re scared.”

Hal nodded slowly, playing out the two situations in his head. “You couldn’t have just said, ‘man fuck that guy?’and moved on could you?”

Barry smiled and gave a half laugh half snort before playfully slugging Hal in the arm. “You know that’s not how we work, asshole.” Hal returned the smile, making a mental note to call Bruce in the morning. “Oh, hey, by the way, Iris wants to know why I had ortho surgery in Gotham.”

Chapter Text

So there was this thing about having defense mechanisms for your defense mechanisms, and the thing about that was that Hal had gotten really damn good at keeping things pushed so far down they wouldn't surface until exactly when they'd do the most damage. To date, his strategy of shoving things into the dark corners of his brain and waiting for them to fuck off had worked exactly zero times, but he was never one to quit, so naturally he decided the best way to handle the Bruce situation was to pretend like it didn't exist at all.

Which would have been a brilliant plan if he hadn't needed to report back to Wayne Manor three days after the car incident to keep up their whole happy couple routine.

Bruce picked him up at the airport partly because that was just the kind of guy Bruce was and partly because it was a perfectly gift-wrapped publicity opportunity. When Hal spotted his supposed fiancé waiting with the actual family members and loved ones past security, he plastered on a smile that he hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt. He braced himself for the hug, trying to make it look natural for when the phones inevitably appeared.

"How was your flight?" Bruce asked, sliding an arm around Hal's waist as they walked. Hal tried to relax into the touch, focusing on the weight of his duffel bag instead of how warm Bruce's hand felt at his hip. They were engaged. They were a couple. They couldn't have people thinking there was trouble in paradise. Bruce needed the positive press as much as Hal needed the insurance—that was the deal.

"Long," Hal said. "I hate flying."

"You fly for a living."

"Yeah. I trust how I fly. Other people though?"

"And you call me the control freak."

"If the shoe fits..."

They were heading for the departure doors when Bruce suddenly changed direction, yanking Hal's arm hard enough to make him stumble. "What the—"

Bruce stopped dead in front of him, face serious as a heart attack. "Press."

"What about them?" Hal asked, though the sinking feeling in his gut already knew.

"They'll be out there," Bruce said, voice low enough that nobody could hear. "Lots of them. It's... It can be a lot."

"I'm a big boy, Bruce," Hal replied, trying to sneak a look outside. "I can 'no comment' til the cows come home."

Not just that. They'll want... They'll expect..."

And there it was. "A happy reunion."

"They'll... We'll... You don't..."

"Oh for fuck's sake." Hal grabbed Bruce's arm and practically dragged them both outside, where they got hit with about a million camera flashes at once. This shouldn't have been surprising, he tried to tell himself. They were supposedly getting married in a few months and had never been seen doing anything more exciting than holding hands. Part of that had been Hal's thing about PDA, part of it had been their constant (and Hal did mean constant) insistence on privacy. But here they were, reuniting after what was supposed to look like months apart, in the busiest airport around. It was business. Nothing more. A transaction. A—

And then Bruce was looking at him like they were the only two people in the world, his eyes doing that thing that made Hal's stomach flip like he was thirteen again, about to kiss Cindy Johnson at the movies.

And wasn't that the whole fucking problem? Because this wasn't supposed to be like Cindy or his high school girlfriend or Carol or anyone he'd actually given a damn about. This was business. A means to an end. More Tinder, less Hinge. And yet he'd been in trouble and called Bruce and Bruce had come...

"Let's give 'em something to write about, then," Hal grinned, cranking up the charm to eleven. He pulled Bruce in and kissed him with just enough heat to make the tabloids lose their minds. He shoved down the warmth in his chest, ignored how his whole body lit up at finding out Bruce was way better at this than he'd thought. Business.

Business. Business. Business.

He pulled away, got in the back seat, and spent the whole ride home pretending Bruce didn't exist.

The drive from the airport to Wayne Manor took approximately forever, but thankfully Bruce seemed just as content to ignore Hal as Hal was to ignore Bruce. The driver dropped them at the circle turn around at the front of the building, and they both muttered their thanks before heading inside. Alfred had requested a few days off, and by some miracle all of Bruce's kids were somewhere else for the night.

Hal made straight for the kitchen, trying to put some distance between himself and Bruce, but of course Bruce had to follow him. 

You’re being a dick, Barry's voice rang in his head.

"Hal," Bruce said once they'd gotten into the kitchen, his voice gone soft in a way Hal had never heard before. "If I've done something to upset or hurt you..."

Hal stared at Bruce for a long moment before sighing and glaring up at the ceiling. So. They were doing this after all. No getting off the hook like he'd hoped. He could deflect. Throw up more walls. But if they were going to be in this for the long haul, something had to give.

"You didn't," he admitted, gripping the edge of the island counter just to give his hands something to do. "I'm the one who should be starting the apology train here."

"I don't understand," Bruce frowned. Hal wondered how he’d never noticed the forehead lines before.

"I'm just..." Hal started then stopped, trying to get his thoughts in order. "I'm not super great at the whole 'letting people help me' thing."

"I've noticed."

"And when I called and you showed up to help, I kind of..." he trailed off, trying not to sound like a kindergartener having a meltdown because he wanted a different color spot on the carpet. "I freaked. Panicked, really. Historically when I get close to people it doesn't end super well, and... Actually never mind. This is stupid. We don't need to do this."

"Do what?" Bruce asked, and Hal tried not to notice how Bruce hadn't moved any closer, like he was waiting for permission. Like he was respecting some boundary Hal hadn't even known he'd put up.

"This," Hal gestured between them. "This wasn't the deal. This was business and I went and screwed it up."

"Hal," Bruce said seriously. "I am literally marrying you so that you can see doctors when you need to."

"Yes, Bruce, I was there."

"Does that not strike you as something someone who cares about you would do?"

"You hate me."

"We have professional differences."

The silence went on way too long.

"I don't know how to do this," Hal admitted quietly, hating how pathetic his voice sounded.

"As much as it pains me to say this, you can admit that we're friends."

"Right," Hal nodded, chewing at his lower lip. "Friends. Sure." He started toward the back stairs, hesitating for a moment when he thought he heard Bruce start to say something. "Night, Bruce."

"Night Hal."

Chapter Text

Morning light streamed through the window, and every cell in Hal's body screamed at him to get the hell out. It always went this way, didn't it? Let the walls down even a little bit. Then inevitable pain.

This was always going to end in pain.

He stared at the ceiling, the urge to call Barry and bail growing stronger by the second. Before whatever this was with Bruce got any more complicated. Before he let himself believe Bruce actually gave a damn about him.

But hunger drove him downstairs two hours later. Stupid basic human needs.

Bruce was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, tablet in hand. Hal tried not to stare at his forearms and failed miserably.

"Morning," Bruce said without looking up.

"Hey," Hal replied, making a beeline for the coffee. Thank God it was already full. 

Bruce slid a folder across the counter. "We need to discuss the engagement photos."

Of course. Because nothing said "good morning" like a reminder of their fake relationship. Which was definitely, absolutely fake. 

"Can I at least drink my coffee first?”

"You can drink while we talk." Bruce opened the folder, revealing locations around Gotham. Gardens, waterfront, fancy buildings with columns. All very Bruce Wayne.

"The photographer wants to set up at the botanical gardens next week."

"Let me guess – she's also discreet and won't ask questions?"

"Precisely."

"Yeah, because nothing says 'true love' like posed photos at the Gotham Museum of Art."

Bruce looked up then, really looked at him. "What would you prefer?"

The question caught Hal off guard. "I... what?"

"If these don't work for you, where would you want them? This is supposed to be about both of us."

Hal set his mug down. "I figured you'd just tell me where to show up."

"I'm not trying to control everything, Hal." Bruce actually sounded hurt. "Despite what you might think."

"Look, I'm not good at this stuff. Fancy photos with outfit changes? Not exactly my thing."

"Then what is your thing?"

Hal stared at him. Bruce was actually serious.

"I don't know. Something less staged? Maybe at the airfield?"

Bruce started typing. "We could do both. Something formal for the press, and something more casual that actually feels like us."

"Us?" Hal laughed. "There is no 'us,' Bruce. That's the whole point, remember?" The lie tasted bitter in his mouth.

Bruce's fingers stilled. "For appearances, then."

"Right," Hal said, but the word felt wrong. "For appearances."

Another silence stretched between them, and Hal found himself staring at Bruce's mouth.

"The airfield is a good idea," Bruce finally said. "It represents you."

"Fine. When do we need to decide?"

"Today, preferably." Bruce slid the tablet toward him, their fingers brushing. "I have a meeting, but I'll be back this afternoon."

Hal nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"And Hal? Try to eat something besides coffee."

Before Hal could respond, Bruce was gone, leaving him alone with the increasingly undeniable realization that he was completely, utterly screwed. Because this was supposed to be a business arrangement, not whatever made his heart race every time Bruce walked into a room.

This was why Hal didn't do relationships. Because running was a lot easier than staying.

Ollie's place was exactly what you'd expect – modern, expensive, and just a little too much. Hal tossed his duffel by the door, taking in the familiar surroundings. He'd crashed here enough times over the years that it should have felt comfortable. It didn't.

"So," Ollie said, sliding a water bottle across the counter, "are we going to talk about it, or pretend you didn't fly across the country to avoid your feelings?"

Hal caught the bottle, the weight of it grounding him somehow. "I needed space."

"From Bruce."

"From the whole situation."

That was Hal's go-to move – turn complicated emotions into "situations" that could be managed, contained, or ideally, escaped from entirely. He'd been doing it since he was a kid watching his dad's plane go down in flames. Since his mom checked out. Since every relationship he'd ever attempted crashed and burned. Compartmentalize. Distance. Run when needed.

"Right. The situation where you're pretending to be engaged to a guy you're pretending not to have feelings for."

"Can we not do this?" Hal sighed, twisting the cap off with more force than necessary.

"No can do. I'm contractually obligated as your friend to point out when you're being stupid."

"Since when?"

"Since you decided to play house with Batman." Hal nearly choked. "Though the fact that you're worried about it tells me you've got more than just insurance on the line here."

"It's not like that." The words felt hollow even as he said them, like reciting lines he no longer believed in. "We had a deal. I get coverage, he gets good PR."

"And the fact that you can't be in the same room with him without running away is...?"

"A complication." The same word Hal had used for every feeling that had ever threatened to overwhelm him. Carol had been a "complication." And now Bruce.

Ollie studied him with that look he'd had since they were in their twenties – the one that said he saw right through Hal's bullshit. "I think you're scared."

Hal snorted, falling back on the bravado that had carried him through countless battles. "I fly into space and fight aliens for a living."

"And yet a guy in a bat costume has you running for the hills. Wonder why that is."

Because Bruce was different. Because Bruce had seen Hal at his worst – and he was still there. Because Bruce knew exactly who and what Hal was, and hadn't walked away.

"I'm not running."

"What do you call this?" Ollie gestured around them.

"A visit."

"A visit you didn't tell him about," Ollie countered. "You left a note? What are you, sixteen?"

Hal's silence was answer enough. The note had been pathetic – scrawled on the back of a receipt he'd found in his jacket pocket. Gone to Star City. Back in a few days.

"You know, for a guy whose whole job is about willpower, you sure are good at avoiding the obvious."

Hal traced a pattern in the condensation on his water bottle. The irony wasn't lost on him. He could stare down intergalactic dictators without flinching, but the thought of admitting he had feelings for Bruce made him want to fly multiple sectors away.

"And what's the obvious?"

"That you're into him. And he might be into you too."

"He's not—"

"Considerate of your feelings? Attentive to what you want? Giving you space?" Ollie ticked off on his fingers. "Yeah, sounds like he hates you."

Hal set his water down hard. "It's not that simple."

"Actually, it is. You like him. He might like you. The only complicated part is you're both too stubborn to admit it."

Hal followed Ollie to the living room, collapsing onto the couch where he'd spent countless nights after fights with Carol, after Coast City, after every time he'd needed to run. 

"This whole thing is fake."

"Is it though? He's been real nice to you for someone who doesn't care."

"That's just Bruce." And it was. That was the thing about Bruce that had always gotten under Hal's skin – his unwavering sense of duty. His determination to do what he thought was right, regardless of personal cost. "He's... decent."

"Decent enough to marry you for insurance?"

"It's not like it's real." The words tasted like ash.

"You keep saying that, but I'm starting to think you're trying to convince yourself more than me."

Hal stared at the ceiling, counting the tiny imperfections in the paint. He'd memorized them over the years. "Even if there was something real, it wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"We're too different." It was the easy answer, the safe one. The one that let him keep his walls up. "He's all Gotham elite, fancy galas. And I'm..."

"A test pilot who moonlights as a space cop?"

"Exactly." A flyboy with a chip on his shoulder. A guy who destroyed every good thing he touched.

"You know that's not a real argument, right?"

Hal glared at him.

"I know that running away every time you start to have feelings for someone is getting old, man."

The words hit harder than a punch from Mongul. Hal felt his defenses crack, just a little.

"Look, I'm not saying confess your undying love. I'm just saying maybe, instead of running away, you could see where this goes."

"And when it blows up in my face?" Because it always did. That was the pattern, wasn't it? Get close. Get hurt. Get gone.

"Then it blows up. At least you tried."

Hal's phone buzzed in his pocket – the phone Bruce had insisted he carry. Everything circled back to Bruce somehow.

Where are you?

Three simple words that felt like an accusation. Hal stared at the screen, seeing his own reflection in the glass. He looked tired.

"That him?" Ollie asked.

Hal nodded.

"You gonna answer?"

What could he possibly say? Sorry I bailed without warning because I'm freaking out about the fact that I can't stop thinking about you? Sorry I'm a mess who doesn't know how to handle actually caring about someone?

"You know what your problem is? You'd rather crash and burn than land safely."

The metaphor wasn't lost on Hal. How many times had he pulled out of a nosedive at the last possible second, heart racing with the thrill of it? How many times had he chosen the risky maneuver over the safe one?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you'd rather sabotage whatever this is before it gets off the ground than risk it actually working out." Ollie leaned forward, all traces of humor gone. "It means you're so used to things falling apart that you'll burn them down yourself just to control when and how the ending happens."

Hal's phone buzzed again.

Alfred said you took one of the planes. Are you all right?

And there it was – not anger, not accusation. Just concern. Because that was Bruce. Underneath the cowl, behind the billions, beneath the brooding silence – he cared. And that terrified Hal more than anything else ever had.

"Answer the damn phone, Hal," Ollie said quietly. "And then figure out what you really want."

Chapter Text

Hal had been back in his Coast City apartment for exactly twenty-six hours when the knock came. Not that he was counting. 

He'd flown straight here from Star City, skipping the Wayne Manor layover entirely. Ollie's words had been rattling around in his head the whole flight, and the last thing he needed was to face Bruce while his defenses were this compromised. So he'd sent a text that was just vague enough to not be a lie.

I'm fine. Needed to check on something at home.

Home. Not the manor. Not Gotham. Not wherever Bruce was.

Bruce had texted back a simple Understood which was somehow worse than if he'd demanded an explanation. Because that was Bruce – respecting boundaries even when Hal was being an ass. Considerate bastard.

The knock came at 1:17 AM, because of course it did. Hal had been staring at his ceiling fan for the past three hours, watching it make lazy circles that matched the thoughts spinning in his head. He knew who it was before he even got up. Nobody else in his life had that particular knock – authoritative but restrained, like they were trying not to wake the neighbors while still making their presence known.

Hal considered pretending to be asleep, but Bruce would probably just lurk outside his door all night like the creep he was. He pulled on a t-shirt, ran a hand through his bedhead, and answered the door.

"What part of 'needed to check on something at home' was unclear?"

Bruce stood there in jeans and a henley that probably cost more than Hal's entire wardrobe, looking irritatingly put-together for the middle of the night. He held up a paper bag.

"I brought ice cream."

"It's one in the morning."

"Is there a better time for it?"

Hal stared at him for a long moment, then stepped aside with a sigh. "Fine."

Bruce stepped inside, glancing around the apartment like he was cataloging every detail. Which he probably was. Then he opened the bag and frowned.

"It's melted."

Hal peered into the bag to see a pint of ice cream that had definitely seen better days. "You flew across the country with ice cream and didn't think about the fact that it might melt?"

"I had it in a cooler on the plane," Bruce replied, like flying private with an ice cream cooler was the most normal thing in the world. "It's been in your building's unair-conditioned hallway for the past twenty minutes while I debated whether to knock."

Something about the image of Bruce Wayne, billionaire and terror of Gotham's underworld, standing in Hal's crappy hallway having an internal debate about whether to knock, made Hal's chest do a weird thing.

"There's a 24-hour mart three blocks from here," Hal said before he could think better of it. "We could get more."

Bruce looked surprised, like he'd expected Hal to tell him to leave. Which, honestly, would have been the smart move. But apparently smart wasn't on the menu tonight.

"All right," Bruce nodded.

"Let me grab my shoes," Hal said, already regretting this decision but somehow unable to take it back.

Five minutes later, they were walking side by side down the nearly empty streets of Coast City. The night air was warm with a hint of salt from the nearby ocean. Neither of them spoke for the first block, the silence stretching between them like a living thing.

"So," Hal finally said, because he'd never been good with silence, "you flew across the country at midnight because...?"

"We were supposed to decide on engagement photo locations yesterday."

"Right. And that couldn't wait until I got back?"

Bruce was quiet for a moment. "You didn't say when you were coming back."

And there it was – the unspoken question. Hal shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to come back."

"Were you?"

"Yes," Hal insisted, though part of him had been considering extending his "home visit" indefinitely. "I just needed some space."

"From me."

It wasn't a question, and Hal didn't bother denying it. "It's not... Look, this whole thing is getting complicated."

"It was always complicated," Bruce said, stopping at a crosswalk despite the complete absence of traffic. Of course Bruce Wayne waited for the signal.

"Yeah, but now it's..."

"Now it's what?"

Hal didn't have an answer that wouldn't require admitting things he wasn't ready to admit. Not to Bruce, and definitely not to himself. So he did what he always did – deflected.

"We still going to do the airfield photos?"

Bruce studied him for a moment, and Hal had the uncomfortable feeling that Bruce could see right through his deflection. But all he said was, "If that's what you want."

The light changed, and they crossed the street. The neon glow of the corner mart beckoned ahead, a beacon of artificial light in the darkness.

"They probably think we're crazy," Hal said as they approached the store. "Who buys ice cream at 1:30 in the morning?"

"People with melted ice cream," Bruce replied, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

And despite everything – the confusion, the tension, the fact that he'd literally fled across the country to get away from Bruce – Hal found himself smiling back.

Which was exactly the problem.

The convenience store was a dump. There was no way around it. The flickering lights buzzed like they were on their last legs, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. The linoleum floor was sticky in places Hal didn't want to think about, and the whole place smelled like a cocktail of stale cigarettes and cheap beer.

Bruce looked absurdly out of place. Even in jeans and a henley, he might as well have been wearing a three-piece suit with a sign that said "I'm worth billions" hanging around his neck. The cashier, a guy with more face tattoos than teeth, glanced up from behind his scratched security glass, eyes narrowing as the electronic door chime announced their arrival with a half-broken beep.

"Ice cream's in the back," Hal said, stepping over a suspicious puddle near the entrance. "Watch your step. Pretty sure the health department hasn't been by in a decade."

"Charming," Bruce murmured, but followed anyway, sidestepping a display of jerky so old the packages had started to fade from the fluorescent exposure.

"You know, we could have gone to the all-night grocery three miles over," Bruce noted as they navigated past an aisle where half the items looked like they'd been opened and put back.

"Where's the fun in that?" Hal replied, oddly enjoying the sight of Bruce Wayne, Gotham's Prince, trying not to touch anything in Coast City's seventh most questionable convenience store. "Besides, this place has character."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"Play nice, rich boy," Hal smirked, approaching the freezer that hummed loud enough to drown out the tinny rap music playing over blown speakers. "Not everyone has a butler stocking their pantry."

Hal pulled open the freezer door, which made an alarming creaking sound. "They have the okay stuff, but honestly, you don't want the name brands here. Too much risk of freezer burn." He reached for a container with a hand-written label that just said "CHOC+NUT" in sharpie. "This stuff's actually homemade by the owner's grandmother. Trust me."

Bruce raised an eyebrow but didn't argue, which felt like a small victory.

"You want anything else while we're here?" Hal asked, suddenly aware of how absurd this all was – Bruce Wayne standing in the seventh worst convenience store in Coast City at 1:30 AM, just because Hal had suggested it.

"What do you recommend?" Bruce asked, eyeing a display of questionably labeled energy drinks that promised things that were probably illegal in several states but surprisingly not California.

"Honestly? Nothing," Hal laughed. "But their hot Cheetos are usually safe since they're sealed." He grabbed a bag from a rack, noticing it was covered in a fine layer of dust. "Mostly."

"Tempting," Bruce deadpanned, "but I think I'll pass."

"Your loss," Hal shrugged. "They also have those knock-off candy bars by the register that are definitely not copyright infringements."

"Because I'm a snob?"

"You said it, not me."

Bruce actually smiled at that – a real smile, not the fake Bruce Wayne playboy grin he used for the cameras. It did something weird to Hal's insides that he chose to ignore.

They made their way to the checkout, stepping around what appeared to be a puddle of melted Slurpee that had attracted a small army of ants. The cashier eyed Bruce suspiciously through the bulletproof glass, probably figuring anyone that clean-cut was either a cop or lost.

"That it?" the cashier grunted through the speaker system that crackled with each word.

"Yeah," Hal replied, sliding their items through the little rotating door in the security partition.

"Twelve fifty."

Hal blinked. "For ice cream and Cheetos? It should be like six bucks."

The cashier glared at him. "Inflation, man."

Before Hal could argue, Bruce was sliding a twenty through the partition. "Keep the change."

"I can pay for my own junk food, Bruce," Hal said under his breath.

"Consider it replacing the ice cream I melted."

Hal wanted to argue on principle, but there was something in Bruce's expression that made him back down. Like this small gesture was important to him.

"Fine," Hal conceded. "But I'm not a charity case."

"I know," Bruce said quietly as they collected their items, which came back through the security door in a plastic bag that had seen better days. "You never have been."

The words hung between them as they left the store, the night air feeling suddenly fresher by comparison. They walked in silence for half a block, the plastic bag making concerning stretching sounds as it struggled with the contents within.

"I wasn't trying to run away," Hal finally said, though that was exactly what he'd been doing.

"Weren't you?"

"No," Hal insisted, then sighed. "Maybe. I just needed to think."

"About?"

About how Bruce's consideration was throwing him off balance. About how the lines between real and fake were getting blurrier by the day. About how terrifying it was to realize he might actually care about Bruce Wayne.

"About this whole thing," Hal said instead. "It's getting... complicated."

"You said that already."

"Because it's true," Hal replied, frustration edging into his voice. "This was supposed to be straightforward. A business arrangement. But now it's...”

"Now it's what?" Bruce stopped walking, turning to face him fully beneath a streetlight that flickered almost as badly as the ones in the store.

Hal stopped too, trapped in Bruce's gaze like a deer in headlights. "Now it's not what I signed up for."

"What did you sign up for, exactly?"

"A fake engagement. Insurance coverage. Good press for you. That's it."

"And what's it become?"

The question hung in the air between them, dangerous and electric. Hal clutched the plastic bag tighter, hearing the alarming crinkle of plastic stretching to its limits.

"I don't know," he admitted finally, the closest he could come to honesty. 

Bruce studied him for a long moment, and Hal had to resist the urge to fidget under that gaze. It was like Bruce could see right through him, past all his defenses, to the mess of confusion and fear underneath.

"We should head back," Hal said, breaking eye contact. "Before the ice cream melts. Again."

Bruce nodded, and they resumed walking. The silence wasn't exactly comfortable, but it wasn't hostile either. It was expectant, like the air before a storm.

"For what it's worth," Bruce said as they approached Hal's building, "I think complications can sometimes be good."

Hal glanced at him, trying to read his expression in the dim streetlight. "Since when? You're the guy with a contingency plan for your contingency plans."

"Plans change," Bruce said simply. "Sometimes for the better."

And Hal didn't have a response to that, so he didn’t say anything at all.

Chapter Text

The ice cream was melting again. 

Hal watched as Bruce scooped the softening chocolate into two mismatched bowls he'd found in Hal's cabinets. The domesticity of it was unsettling—Bruce Wayne, billionaire vigilante, standing in Hal's tiny kitchen at 2 AM, dishing out ice cream like they did this every night.

"Your grandmother would be horrified," Bruce commented, eyeing the chipped bowl with what might have been amusement.

"Yeah, well, not all of us have fine china," Hal replied, taking the offered bowl. "Some of us shop in the Aldi Aisle of Shame."

"I've been to Aldi."

Hal snorted. "No you haven't."

"I have four sons and two daughters. I've been dragged to every establishment in Gotham."

The image of Bruce being led through a department store by his kids made something twist in Hal's chest. It was too... normal. Too human. And that was the problem, wasn't it? Every time he started to see Bruce as a real person with a real life instead of just Batman, the lines got blurrier.

They settled on opposite ends of Hal's couch, which suddenly felt much smaller than it had that morning.

"So," Hal said, stabbing at his ice cream, "you flew across the country to bring me melted ice cream and talk about engagement photos?"

"The ice cream wasn't melted when I started," Bruce replied, which wasn't an answer. He took a bite and looked surprised. "This is actually good."

"Told you. Grandma knows her stuff." Hal watched Bruce eat another spoonful. "You didn't answer my question."

Bruce set his bowl down on the coffee table, perfectly centered on a coaster Hal didn't remember owning. "You left without saying goodbye."

"I left a note."

"On the back of a receipt for gum and Red Bull."

"It was all I had."

"You could have texted."

"I did text."

"After you were already gone."

Hal sighed, setting his own bowl down. "Look, I needed space. I didn't think it was that big a deal."

"It's not," Bruce said, too quickly. "But we have arrangements to finalize. The engagement announcement runs next week."

"Right," Hal nodded, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment. "The business arrangement."

A silence fell between them, heavy with things neither of them seemed willing to say. Hal fought the urge to fill it with noise, with jokes, with anything other than the weight of whatever was happening here.

"Is that all?" he finally asked.

Bruce looked at him, really looked at him, in that way that made Hal feel like Bruce could see every thought he'd ever had. "What do you want me to say, Hal?"

And that was the question, wasn't it? What did Hal want? He wasn't even sure himself.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just..." He ran a hand through his hair. "This is weird, right? This whole situation?"

"Depends on your definition of weird."

"My definition is pretending to marry someone you've spent years butting heads with."

"We work well together," Bruce countered. "When it matters."

"And this matters?"

"Doesn't it?"

Hal didn't have an answer for that. Not one he was ready to say out loud, anyway.

"Look," Bruce continued when Hal remained silent, "if you want out—"

"I don't," Hal interrupted, surprising himself with how quickly the words came. "I don't want out. It's just..." He stood up, needing to move, to put space between them. "I'm not good at this."

"At what?"

"At..." Hal gestured vaguely between them. "This. Whatever this is."

Bruce stood too, slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt. "It doesn't have to be anything other than what we agreed to."

But that was the problem. Hal wasn't sure what they'd agreed to anymore. The lines kept shifting, the boundaries blurring.

"Maybe it should be," Hal said before he could think better of it.

Bruce went still. "What?"

Hal closed his eyes, cursing his impulsive mouth. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Hal."

Just his name, but the way Bruce said it—like it was important, like he was important—made Hal open his eyes.

Bruce had moved closer, just a step, but it felt significant. "What did you mean by that?"

This was the moment, Hal realized. The crossroads where he either took the leap or ran away again. And Hal Jordan had spent his entire life running toward danger, not away from it.

"Maybe we should stop pretending this is just about insurance," he said, the words feeling like they were being ripped from somewhere deep inside him. "Maybe we should talk about why you flew across the country in the middle of the night because I left a note on a receipt."

Bruce's jaw tightened. "I told you. We have arrangements—"

"Bullshit." Hal stepped closer, riding the wave of adrenaline before his courage could fail him. "Those could've waited. You could've called, or emailed, or had Alfred handle it. Why are you really here, Bruce?"

"I thought that would be obvious."

"Nothing about this is obvious!" Hal threw his hands up. "We're supposed to be getting fake married in two months, but you show up at my door with ice cream like we're... like this is..."

"Like what, Hal?" Bruce's voice had gone low, dangerous. "Say it."

"Like you care," Hal shot back. "Like this actually means something to you."

"And if it does?" 

The question hung in the air between them, electric and terrifying. Hal stared at him, caught between hope and the overwhelming certainty that he was reading this all wrong.

"Does it?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

Bruce's expression shifted, frustration breaking through his usually controlled facade. "You are the most infuriating, stubborn—" He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. "Why do you think I offered to marry you in the first place?"

"Because you're Batman and you have a pathological need to fix everything?"

"Because I couldn't stand the thought of you getting hurt again and not getting the care you needed." Bruce's voice was razor-sharp. "Because every time you come back injured and downplay it, it makes me want to—" He stopped abruptly.

"Want to what?" Hal challenged, stepping closer until they were just inches apart. "What, Bruce?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

Bruce's eyes flashed with something intense. "Why did you run, Hal? The truth this time."

"I didn't run—"

"Don't lie to me," Bruce growled. "Not now."

Hal felt his own temper flaring. "Fine! You want the truth? I ran because this stopped feeling fake! Because every time you do something thoughtful or considerate or just... just Bruce it makes me think maybe there's something real here, and that scares the hell out of me!"

"Why?"

"Because I ruin things!" The words exploded out of him. "I've never been able to hold onto anything good in my life. Not my job, not my relationships, not anything! And the thought of ruining this—of ruining us—"

"There is no us," Bruce cut in, throwing Hal's own words back at him. "That's what you said, isn't it? There is no us."

"I lied!" Hal was shouting now, not caring who heard. "I lied because it was easier than admitting that somewhere between you stealing Barry's identity for me and showing up with melted ice cream, I started thinking maybe we could be real!"

Bruce went silent, his expression unreadable. Hal's heart hammered in his chest, certain he'd just destroyed whatever fragile thing had been building between them.

"You're an idiot," Bruce finally said.

Hal blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're an idiot," Bruce repeated, stepping even closer. "You think you're the only one who's scared? You think this is easy for me?"

"Nothing's ever been easy with us."

"No," Bruce agreed. "But some things are worth the difficulty."

"What are you saying?"

Bruce looked at him with an intensity that made Hal's breath catch. "I'm saying I'm in love with you, you stubborn ass."

The words hit Hal like a physical blow. He stared at Bruce, certain he'd misheard. "You're... what?"

"You heard me." Bruce's voice was steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "I've been in love with you for longer than I care to admit. Why do you think I came up with this ridiculous marriage scheme in the first place?"

"For... for the insurance," Hal stammered. "For the publicity."

"I could have put you on Wayne Enterprises payroll. I could have dated any eligible socialite in Gotham for publicity." Bruce shook his head. "I wanted an excuse to have you in my life. An excuse that wouldn't scare you away."

"That's..." Hal couldn't find the words. His mind was reeling, trying to recalibrate everything he thought he knew. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you've spent the past three months doing everything possible to maintain distance. Because every time we get too close, you run." Bruce's voice softened. "I was waiting for you to stop running."

Hal swallowed hard, feeling like he was free-falling without his ring. "I'm not running now."

"No," Bruce agreed. "You're not."

The silence between them was charged with possibility. Hal felt himself leaning forward before he'd consciously decided to move. "Bruce, I—"

Bruce closed the distance between them, one hand coming up to cup Hal's face as he pressed their lips together. The kiss was nothing like Hal had imagined (and he had imagined it, more times than he cared to admit). It wasn't careful or hesitant—it was desperate and hungry, like Bruce had been holding himself back for too long.

Hal responded immediately, hands fisting in Bruce's shirt, pulling him closer. All the tension, all the frustration, all the confusion of the past months poured into the kiss. It was messy and perfect and real—so achingly real that Hal felt like he might break apart from it.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Hal couldn't help the laugh that escaped him.

"What?" Bruce asked, looking slightly concerned.

"Nothing, it's just..." Hal shook his head, smiling. "I can't believe Batman just declared his love for me in my shitty apartment at 2 AM over melting ice cream."

Bruce's lips twitched. "I've done stranger things."

"Name one."

"I agreed to marry Green Lantern for insurance purposes."

Hal grinned. "Is that still the plan? The fake marriage?"

Bruce's eyes softened as he traced his thumb along Hal's jawline. "I think we might need to reconsider some aspects of our arrangement."

"Such as?"

"Such as the 'fake' part."

Hal's heart stuttered in his chest. "Are you asking me to marry you for real?"

"I'm saying I'm open to negotiations."

Chapter Text

The first time they got married, it had been a spectacle. Gotham's social event of the season, covered by every tabloid and gossip column from the East Coast to the West. Practical in its purpose—good publicity for Bruce, good insurance for Hal—but with enough champagne fountains and designer flowers to make it look like true love to outside observers. All flash, all show, with only Alfred suspecting there might be something genuine beneath the "Brucie Wayne Takes a Husband" headlines.

This time was different.

Hal adjusted his tie for the fifteenth time in as many minutes, staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror. The custom tux fit perfectly, just like Bruce had promised. Not that Hal would ever admit that out loud.

"Stop fidgeting," Barry said, slapping his hand away from the tie. "You're going to wrinkle it."

"I'm not fidgeting," Hal lied, immediately reaching for the tie again.

"You're worse than Wally on a sugar high," Barry sighed, catching his wrist. "What's got you so worked up? You've already been married to the guy for a year."

That was true. Legally, nothing would change today. The rings on their fingers—Bruce's understated platinum band and Hal's which matched except for the sliver of green stone inlaid in the center—were already over a year old. But somehow, this felt more significant. More real.

"What if he changes his mind?" Hal asked, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

Barry stared at him for a full five seconds before bursting into laughter.

"Have you met your husband? The man who plans contingencies for his contingencies? Who spent six months researching the perfect ring even though you were already married? Who looks at you like you personally hang the stars every night?" Barry shook his head. "He's not changing his mind, Hal."

A knock at the door saved Hal from having to respond. Oliver poked his head in, grinning.

"It's time, flyboy." He gave Hal a once-over and nodded approvingly. "Not bad. Remind me to compliment Alfred on his taste."

"Is Bruce—" Hal started, then stopped himself. God, he sounded like a teenager.

"Is Bruce what? Nervous? Ready? Having second thoughts?" Oliver's grin widened. "Yes, yes, and hell no. Now get out there before Batman decides to come drag you to the altar himself."

The airfield had been transformed. They'd compromised on the location—not the botanical gardens, not the manor, but the place where Hal felt most at home. White chairs lined what had become a makeshift aisle, filled with faces both familiar and not. League members in civilian clothes mixed with Gotham socialites, all watching as Hal made his way toward Bruce.

Bruce, who stood waiting under an arch of white flowers, looking more breathtaking than anyone had a right to in a custom tux. Bruce, whose eyes never left Hal's as he walked down the aisle. Bruce, who had once offered health insurance and somehow ended up offering his heart instead.

When Hal reached him, Bruce extended a hand. "Ready?"

Hal took it, feeling the solid warmth of Bruce's palm against his. "I was born ready, Spooky."

Bruce's lips twitched, that almost-smile that had once driven Hal crazy with frustration and now just drove him crazy in other ways. "You're still an idiot," he murmured, just loud enough for Hal to hear.

"Yeah," Hal agreed, squeezing Bruce's hand. "But I'm your idiot."

"Yes," Bruce said, his voice softening in that way it only did for family. For people he loved. "You are."

Later, after vows were exchanged and champagne glasses clinked and Diana caught the bouquet with an ease that suggested she might have used her lasso, Bruce found Hal standing alone at the edge of the dance floor.

"Regretting it yet?" Bruce asked, sliding an arm around Hal's waist.

"The only thing I regret," Hal said, leaning into him, "is not calling you on your bullshit insurance excuse sooner."

Bruce laughed, the real one that few people ever got to hear. "It worked, didn't it?"

"You're impossible," Hal muttered, but he was smiling.

"And yet," Bruce pointed out, "You married me. Twice."

"What can I say?" Hal turned to look at his husband—his actual, real husband, who had seen every broken, jagged piece of him and loved him anyway. The same man who'd once flown across the country with melting ice cream just because Hal's car wouldn't start. The same man who'd waited patiently for Hal to stop running.

Under the stars, with the faint smell of jet fuel lingering in the air, Hal finally stopped fighting the smile that had been threatening all evening.

"Some complications," he said, echoing Bruce's words from that night in Coast City, "are worth the difficulty."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​