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Hal Jordan is smart. Period. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. He is an intelligent human being.
People tend to forget that.
They don’t understand that a bachelor’s degree is required to become a military pilot. They don’t realize that being a test pilot requires extensive skill and knowledge.
Give Hal a wing schematic and he’d be able to tell you what Mach numbers it was designed to fly at. Ask him what happens when flight changes from supersonic to hypersonic, and he’d be able to tell you – because he’s seen the line himself where the very composition of the air starts to change due to the speed of the craft. Wonder how they can tell how fast a plane is moving and he can lecture you about Pitot tubes all day long.
He can interpret the results of CFD analysis, explain the circumstances under which Bernoulli’s law doesn’t work, and recite all of the laws of thermodynamics.
Hal Jordan is no idiot.
But besides intellectually… Hal knows when to trust his gut. He knows when someone is trustworthy, can tell if someone served just by looking at them, understands when something is about to fall apart. He instincts are almost never wrong. It’s what made him a damn fine pilot.
It’s also why he understands and trusts Batman a good deal more than he’d prefer to, honestly. No one knows one single thing about they guy beyond the fact that he’s apparently in a committed polyamorous relationship with Justice and Gravitas. Still, something in Hal’s gut practically recoils in familiarity whenever the two speak, and Hal knows that he trusts Batman.
Hal is smart, but he hates chemistry. That’s why, when a new and suspicious drug starts to creep its way into Coast City, Hal takes a sample of it to Batman the first chance he got. What can he say? Hal much prefers machines to chemicals.
He’d gotten special permission to zeta to the Cave – because of course no one could know the actual location – and was watching Batman run some tests. He’s using a type of mass spectroscopy that Hal could vaguely understand from his higher-level physics classes when a young man in a black Kevlar suit and matching mask drives in on a motorcycle from what Hal thought to be the main entrance. “B!” the young man yells after he’s pulled to a stop, flinging himself off the bike with a grace that Hal finds himself slightly jealous of.
Man, does he ever look that good getting off of his bike?
Who’s he kidding, hell yeah he does.
Also, who the fuck is this kid to just walk into Batman’s inner sanctum like it’s nothing? The hell?
The young man continues, “Guess what day it is, B!” He spreads his arms wide, displaying the blue bird insignia on his chest and reminding Hal vaguely of a League meeting they’d had previously where profiles for the League’s auxiliary teams were presented. Where was this guy from? Too old to be the Teen Titans, and definitely not Young Justice… Ah! The just regular Titans. What was his name again? Hal glances at the bird on his chest. Something-wing, he thinks.
Batman sighs and looks away from his spectrometer. “Nightwing.”
Right. That was it.
Nightwing seems to wilt a bit, his arms dropping. “I know that tone.” Nightwing glances over at Hal, making him startle. He hadn’t realized that the other man even noticed him. In fact, Hal was actively trying not to be noticed to try to learn more about the guy that Batman apparently trusts more than the entire League. “And it can’t wait?”
Hal knows that tone too, scarily enough.
“Daddy, daddy! Look!” Hal, aged 7, holds up a picture of a plane he had drawn. “I had an idea!”
His dad pauses in pulling on his flight jacket by the front door. “Hal…”
Hal pouts. “You have to go?”
His dad crouches down and reaches out to ruffle Hal’s hair. “Yep, I’ve got planes to fly. But you can tell me all about your idea when I get back, okay?”
Hal smiles a bit at that. “Okay, I guess.”
His dad laughs. “Okay.” He stands back up, towering over Hal. “Love you, buddy.”
Hal waves at his dad as he walks to the car. “Love you, Dad!”
“It can’t,” Batman says, startling Hal out of his memory. “Sorry. We’ll do it tomorrow.”
Though his tone was as even as ever, the words send Hal mentaling reeling. Sorry? Contrary to popular opinion, Batman did occasionally apologize when he realized that he’d spoken out of turn, but in all the time Hal’s known him, he’s never apologized for simply inconveniencing someone.
Who is this guy? Also, what’s that it they’re talking about?
Nightwing frowns. “Right. Well.” He grimaces. “As long as it’s for the mission, I suppose.” The disgust in his phrasing is practically tangible. Hal winces, and he supposes some of it may have hit Batman too, somehow, because the man pushes away from the table.
“Nightwing-“
The man turns his back on Batman (which, holy hell, the balls that kid must have) and raises a hand in a half-hearted wave. “Don’t worry. We’ll try again in two weeks – again. Maybe next time the Riddler or someone will be your convenient excuse.”
Hal gets the distinct impression that he’s watching a telenovela unfold in front it him, and it’s not nearly as fun as he’d thought it would be. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, grateful for the mask covering his face.
Batman takes three measured steps in the young man’s direction. “Nighwing.” The man stops but still doesn’t look at Batman. “Saturday. We’ll go Saturday.” And then, quieter and more unsure that Hal’s ever heard him, “If you’re free, that is.”
The man half turns back to glance at Batman. “Saturday,” he says quietly, nodding, before continuing to walk out of the main Cave through a door that Hal’s never seen open, apparently just having free reign of the place somehow.
With the young man gone, Batman returns to analyzing the drug sample Hal had brought without a word. Within the evening, he’s given Hal an answer as to what it is and its likely origins and then sent Hal on his way. After a quick zeta to the Watchtower, Hal decides to fly home.
After all, he needs to think over how much Batman had sounded like a service member given a mission and Nightwing like a military kid just told so. It’s a specific tone, one that Hal has come to know well over the course of his life.
So how does Batman have it?
The League meeting is almost coming to a close, thankfully. Hal understands the necessity of briefing and debriefing and delegating and reporting back, he really does, but that doesn’t mean that he enjoys the bureaucracy. Everything in him, from the pilot to the Lantern, the engineer to the Captain, much prefers just getting things done rather than talking about how things need to get done.
Tiny constructs of airplanes flying around his lap under the table can only amuse him for so long.
He sets two T-6 Texans flying – oldies but goodies – just as the floor opens for individual business. Green Arrow immediately starts, asking for help linking a new gang on his streets to any Colombian cartel. He’s apparently convinced as to their origin but is having difficulty proving it.
Various Leaguers offer their input, from Flash to Wonder Woman, when Batman gruffly interrupts, “How badly do you need this info?”
Green Arrow drags a hand down his face. “As soon as possible. Last night, they caused a shootout that blocked off three major intersections.”
Batman nods and, with the rest of the League watching curiously, pulls up the voice chat application used by the comms. He plugs in an ID number by hand, rather than searching the individual up in the data base. “Red,” he intones once the call has gone through.
“Yo, B. What’s up?”
Several Leaguers shift in their seats, taken off guard at the familiarity in the man’s tone. Batman ignores it. “Where are you right now?”
“Brazil. Estou de férias, man. Near as I know, don’t have anyone who needs maiming on my agenda, and the city’s well protected right now.”
Hal frowns. Maiming? Who the heck is this guy? Also, was that Portuguese?
Batman plows on. “Do you still have contacts in the Colombian drug cartels?”
The man laughs harshly. “Are you doubting my capabilities, old man? ‘Course I do. Whatcha need?”
There are some murmurs throughout those gathered now. Why does Batman know someone connected with the cartels? And why did he call them using League tech?
Hal, though, Hal thinks something else.
He’s in the middle of his air force service, out for a drink with his squadron. One of his buddies is clearly drunk, slurring his speech as he sloshes his beer around. “And tha’s nothin! See, there’s this girl ah know, in, ah, in Germany-“
One of the other men laughs. “Shut your trap, pisshead. If I had a nickel for every girl you know, I’d be retired.”
Another one chimes in. “’Sides, everyone knows the best fun’s at the Korea base. I know a guy there who-“
In the military, everybody knows a guy who knows a guy somewhere. Six degrees of separation ain’t nothing in the armed forces.
The way that Batman knew without hesitation who to call… that only happens after you fight, live, and drink alongside someone for a damn long time.
Hal blinks at the two teens in front of him, somehow bickering in the midst of a hostile drone takeover initiated by Luthor. He uses a net construct to sweep up several of the drone, pulling it tight to crush them, all while watching Red Robin and Superboy argue.
“I’m just saying,” Red Robin argues as he leaps over a drone and somehow redirects it to fly into another. “Drone invasions are tacky, overdone. You wouldn’t find a Gotham villain relying only on them. That’s like, definitely last decade.”
Superboy snorts, flying into the air and sending a drone plummeting to the street below. Hal winces, making a single, strong, flat construct a few feet above the street that the drone crashes into instead. No need to make extra collateral when Luthor’s already making enough on his own. “Please,” Superboy derides, “Gothamites can’t say anything about tacky villains. You all have the cream of the crop.”
Over his comm, Hal hears Superman say, “Bet it’s nice to be out of Gotham for a change, huh?” and Batman respond with “No.”
Huh.
Hal traps several drones in a construct of a maraca and rattles them around furiously before setting their broken pieces down on the ground. He glances over again at the two teens he somehow ended up babysitting.
Is Red Robin associated with Batman?
Watching the kid fly across the rooftops with a single line and somehow turn the drones against themselves, Hal decides that yes, this kid is very likely affiliated with Batman in some way, shape or form.
“Just admit it, Metropolis is just classier than Gotham!” Superboy yells.
Red Robin smacks a drone out of the sky with a staff, looks straight at Superboy, and responds, “No.”
“Well, if it ain’t some of those Air Force flyboys! Tell me, how’s the golf course holding up?”
Hal looks up from his drink with his buddies to see a unit of Naval pilots approaching their table. He grins. “Hey, squid. Don’t you have a buoy to paint?”
The pilot laughs and slaps him on the back. “We ain’t the damn Coasties, man!”
Hal chuckles. “Say, want to have a little competition?”
The man and his friends pull up chairs from another table. “Drinking between zoomies and swabbies? The Navy’ll kick your can, pretty boy. Hope you have that dinky little scarf on you to wipe your face with.”
Hal rolls his eyes. It’s been ages since the Air Force has worn scarves in uniform. “Please. We’ll show you what a real pilot looks like.”
Hal looks back and forth between Red Robin and Superboy, thinks back to the interactions between Superman and Batman, and says aloud, “Huh.”
Hal blinks when he walks into the commissary at the Watchtower to see a small girl covered head to toe in a black suit sitting on the counter. He can’t even say he’s shocked when he sees the Bat symbol on her chest, because honestly, who else could the girl be affiliated with?
Also, the fact that she’s swinging her legs and gives Hal a wave when he enters to the room goes a long way to getting Hal to relax around her. “Right,” he begins. “I’m guessing someone brought you here?”
She nods eagerly. “Batman.”
“Right.” Hal decides to just accept it. He’s starting to have a personal theory about Batman having his own little army, and he just counts the girl’s appearance as more proof. After seeing the balls on that Nightwing guy, hearing whoever Red was casually discuss connections with the drug trade worldwide, and seeing Red Robin reprogram Luthor’s drones on the fly, he has no doubt that the girl in front of him could likely cut him in half if she wanted to.
He heads to the pantry to pull out the snack he wanted and shuts the door, jumping when he finds the girl standing right there. He backs up a few steps. “Um, can… can I help you?”
She cocks her head to the side, and the motion seems oddly Kafkaesque in her all black get up. “Batman said POC.”
Point of contact? What the hell?
“Like, he’s your POC?”
She shakes her head. Verbose, this kid.
“Who’s your POC then?”
She cocks her head to the other side and points at Hal.
He suppresses the shivers her motion sends down his spine. Creepy as hell. He half wishes she’d go back to swinging her legs on the counter. “I’m your POC?”
She nods and then, mercifully, steps back to lean against the opposite counter.
Hal crinkles the snack bag in his hand uncertainly. Why on earth would Bats tell her that Hal’s her POC? Unless…
There’s a clue in her use of POC.
He hesitantly asks, “What can I do for you?”
She hums a bit and claps her hands a few times, which Hal takes to be a good thing. “MRE? Please?”
Oh yeah, there’s definitely a reason that Batman made him her POC.
He doubts that she wants an actual ready-to-eat military meal, so he heads to the freezer. “You hungry?” At her nod, he opens it up and pulls out one of the meals stored in there. “How does… chicken alfredo with broccoli sound?”
She gives a vigorous nod and hops back up on the counter, sitting on her hands and swinging her legs back and forth. Huh, kinda cute. Hal pops her meal in the microwave and eats his own snack, taking out her dish and handing it to her with a fork when its done.
She somehow undoes only the bottom of her cowl and starts to dive into her pasta with much more ferocity than Hal was expecting, but honestly? They eat together in companionable silence for a bit and Hal kind of enjoys it.
A few minutes later, someone clears their throat from the doorway. Hal looks over to see Spooky there, though he doesn’t loom quite as much as he normally does, and the girl offers Batman a small wave before bounding over to him. She proudly shows Batman her plate and says, “GL. MRE,” before setting the plate down and signing something.
And Batman, honest to God, smiles. “I’m glad you liked it,” he signs as he speaks. Batman glances over at Hal, who’s still sitting at the table. “Thank you.”
Hal offers a half-hearted salute. “Uh, yeah. No problem. Though, if you make me POC for any of your other Batlings – and don’t deny that you have them, I’ve seen them – I’d appreciate a heads up.”
Batman gives a grunt as he picks up the girl’s plate. “You’re not as dumb as you pretend to be, Jordan.”
Hal rolls his eyes as he watches Spooky rinse the plate and place it in the dishwasher. “Wow, I’m flattered.”
Batman closes the door of the dishwasher. “Consider this your forewarning.”
Hal blinks. “Forewarning? For wha- oh hell no.” His eyes widen more than he’d care to admit. “You can’t mean-“
The girl interrupts him by giving his a brief hug. Then, both she and Batman are gone.
Hal stares at his food. “What fresh hell have I gotten myself into?”
Hal had sworn long ago that he’d never have kids. He’d be a terrible father, really, and having to go into space for indeterminant amounts of time really didn’t help in having a steady relationship with anyone, friends, family or otherwise.
And yet, somehow, he’s the one who got asked to supervise the joint training session between Young Justice and the Teen Titans. Well, to be honest, Black Canary’s the one doing the actual instruction, the League’s just been working on implementing two-deep instruction recently. Hal comes to think that maybe that’s a good thing, when he spies the newest Teen Titan, Robin (who was added on Nightwing’s recommendation, apparently, and who Hal also has no doubts belongs to Batman’s little violence coven) stew in one corner, flipping a knife over in on hand, while the others all chat among themselves or watch the spar currently going on.
Hal meanders over to the kid’s corner and sits down beside him. “Hey, Robin.”
The kid glares at him, and holy shit is it kind of terrifying. “Lantern. Batman says you are of sufficient intelligence so as to be of both use and trust.” Robin grimaces. “I remain unconvinced.”
Hal has to open and close his mouth a few times before something comes out, because one, what a compliment from Batman, damn, and two, what an intense kid, damn. “Don’t count me out when I’m not down, kiddo.”
Robin scowls and brandishes the knife at Hal. “I am not a child.”
Note to self: don’t call Robin a child. Got it. Can do.
Hal’s grateful that his suit is relatively impenetrable in cases like this. “Soooo… what are you sitting over here for, instead of making friends?”
The kid flips the knife away, making it disappear… somewhere. “Friendship is but a false similitude of loyalty for those who are too weak to stand on their own.”
“Uh, wow.” Hal blinks. “I wouldn’t say that.”
The kid pulls out a katana and starts inspecting the blade. “I only speak the truth. Friendship is no true bind between people.”
Hal resists the urge to scoot away, more due to pride than anything else. “I’m friends with Batman.”
And would you look at that? Hal thinks he actually is friends with Batman. Pigs must be flying.
“And,” Hal presses when the kid doesn’t say anything, “I’d bet that’s the only reason you’re even talking to me in the first place.”
The kid goes unnaturally still for a few minutes before shaking his head and muttering, “What does it even matter? I’m here now, but given time, either they will leave or I will. No one sticks around.”
Hal’s buddy sits heavily down beside him in the commissary. “I’m getting PCS’d,” he says. “We leave in four months.”
Hal swallows his bite. “You upset?”
His buddy scowls at his food. “My kids just started making friends here, finally, and now they’re going to have to start over.” He shakes his head. “I’m not mad about it for me and the missus, but the kids…”
Hal steels himself and risks nudging the kid gently with an elbow. “Take it from someone who knows, building those relationships is never a waste of time or resources.”
The kid hums, sheathes his sword, and walks away without another word.
Man, that family’s issues have issues, Hal thinks, before oh.
They’re a damn family, aren’t they? They act like a damn military family.
They’re in a monthly League training meeting with everyone when a communicator goes off. It’s not an uncommon experience, after all, people forget to silence technology all the time, but when Batman pulls out a device that looks eerily like a pager, people start to murmur.
“That’s a first,” Barry mutters aloud, while Diana simply pauses before continuing on with her lecture in ancient Greek battle strategy.
Hal seems to be the only one who notices the way Batman stiffens, how his jaw tightens. He stares down at the communicator in his hand, no longer paying a lick of attention to the meeting around him. Before Hal realizes what he’s doing, he says, “Go ahead, go.”
Everyone looks at him, and Hal tries to muster up every last bit of dignity in his body as he gives a small, crooked smile. “It’s a family emergency, isn’t it?” Batman gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. Hal’s smile grows a bit. “Just leave. I’m sure you already know all this anyway.” The room’s so silent you could hear a pin drop, but eventually, Batman pushes his chair away from the table and practically runs out of the room, leaving Hal to the proverbial wolves.
As everyone in the League turns to stare at him as one, Hal shrinks in his chair, mentally preparing himself to fight off the masses.
Later that night, he gets a text from an unknown number. It contains an address and a time.
Hal frowns and googles the area code, sighing when it pops up as Gotham. Of course. Can’t do anything without the dramatics, that Bat.
Still, though, he shoots back a Spooky? Just to be safe.
The number responds instantly. Of course, Jordan.
Hal drags a hand down his face. Could you possibly explain a bit more what that first text was about?
Again, immediately, a reply. Dinner. My family wants to meet you. A second text then comes through. And I think I want you to meet them.
Hal stares at the phone in his hand.
Huh.
Okay.
I’ll be there.