FLYBOY

“Trust me, you’re not interrupting anything.” He snorts and makes his way back out onto the balcony, leans against the railing. “Just star gazing and binging old episodes of America’s Next Top Model. I keep wondering how long it’ll go before Tyra says something about how great the President is that I didn’t remember her saying before.”  He laughs lightly and shakes his head, gestures to one of the two lawn chairs sitting outside. “Please, feel free to make yourself comfortable in my high class patio furniture. Only the finest at Casa Jordan.” He lets his gaze fall back to the black sky then, feels the familiar but still insistent pull of the ring unsuccessfully trying to find Oa in the cosmos, before turning back to her. “It might be an asshole thing to say, so I’m sorry in advance--but it’s kinda good to hear I’m not the only one who feels like they’re gonna go crazy.” 

“I’m sure as hell not your mom, and I’m sure as hell not Alfred. I’m just here to drink your beer and stop your stupid ass brain from running out of control.” Hal grins wolfishly and shrugs his shoulders, flips Jason the bird as he stands and heads towards the fridge for the beer in question. “You wanna live off take out in filth, that’s all you bro.” A life of surfing couches and splitting between space and Earth has kept Hal from accruing enough stuff to make a real mess with, so he likes Jason’s place--it’s chaotic like the man that lives in it, but there’s a warmth that Hal can’t pin on one thing or the other, just the kind of feeling that Jason probably cultivates as a reminder that he’s a human being, that he’s alive. He flops himself down on the couch and scrolls through delivery options on his phone, and by the time Jason re-enters the room he’s got Thai food on the way and he’s a couple minutes into a re-run of one of the Mission Impossible movies. “Do you think Tom Cruise is here somewhere? And if he is, do you think he’d be down to clown with the Green Lantern?” 

He brushes it aside and grins wolfishly, cracks his knuckles. “So, are we going hand to hand?” He constructs a green light version of Diana’s God Killer sword, twirls it around in his hands like he has any idea what to with it besides what he’s seen in all three Lord of the Rings movies. “I could do my best to keep up with you with one of these, but I’m gonna be honest--you might find a better competitor in one of those demons.”

“Hey soldier,” Hal drawls and sidles up to the man outside of the bar they’d both been drinking inside of minutes earlier, a playful smirk on his face. “Saw you with that guy in there, how up tight was he?” He leans against the brick wall of the alleyway, an arm above his head to expose the lean muscle of his torso, covered only by his flight jacket and the thin white fabric of his favorite ace-in-the-hole white t-shirt. The man’s eyes roam appreciatively before he shrugs his shoulders and says, “Some people just don’t know what they really want until you show them.” Hal nods his head at the statement, chuckles deep in the back of his throat before flitting a hand over the man’s chest. “Right? It’s almost like, when he says no, that really means no.” 

He shoves him back against the wall and the smirk turns savage as he lands a punch directly to the guy’s nose, accompanied the satisfying sound of bone breaking under his fist. “You’re nothing but a disgusting lapdog for a maniac, and you’re a creep? Something tells me you’ve had this coming for a long time, bro.” He punches him again when he hears the tell tale whoosh of air that usually indicates Clark--who he can’t remember making plans with for this evening but would be a welcome sight regardless. He turns, but there’s a woman where Clark hypothetically should be standing, wearing the symbol that he was pretty certain was exclusive to the one person--which raises about a thousand questions. Questions he doesn’t get to ask before his creep his in the hands of the young woman, who’s eyes are flashing red. “Since when were there two of you?” He manages, raises an eyebrow. “Are there two of you? Is this a magic spell gone awry, Clark?” 

Hal doesn’t think he’s asking for the world here--heaven forbid he just wants something to take his mind off of his imminent doom for an hour our two--but as it turns out, getting stood up for something as simple and non-committal as dinner and a movie doesn’t feel any better than it did when the city was back on Earth and there was far less rioting in the streets involved. He could go home and wallow in his sorrows and cheap beer, a tried and true method perfected after many similar nights, but that seems even worse and even lonelier without the promise of Barry zipping in through his door after about an hour with a kind word and an arm casually slung around his shoulders. No, the best thing he could do right now is chalk it up to the universe continuing it’s time honored tradition of slapping him in the face, and shove any sorrow deep down into the pit of his stomach and bury it under work. 

He’s got the ring running more atmospheric analysis against known sectors of space that he’s visited, hovering a few feet above the roof of an apartment building. For once he’s grateful that he’s alone, that he can huff whatever hurt nonsense he wants to underneath his breath without anyone to ask him what he’s talking about--but the universe can’t just hit once, it’s apparently after the sucker punch as well. “Look kid, can we skip you using SAT words to insult me today?” Hal rolls his eyes at Robin underneath him, spine straight and arms folded across his chest in a dead mirroring of his father, before turning his gaze back to the ring’s readings. “I get enough of it from your old man.” 

Hal is reckless--that’s like, fact number one that people learn about him. He is the man without fear, highball, the greatest Earth Lantern there ever was--and you don’t get those titles without pulling a few stunts, and ever since Doom revealed the list at that party--effectively cementing his own power for the time being--it’s felt like something Hal has needed to do. He cuts his dives a little closer than he normally would because he likes the rush of the ground screaming towards him, he takes on larger groups of demons because he needs something to do--some way to prove to himself that he’s doing something to get himself back to his city and his friends. 

But not every risk has rewards, as is evidenced by the fact that his shoulder is very much not where it’s supposed to be, and is currently supported by a sling constructed out of green light. He's hoping that this clinic is open, and won’t ask too many questions about the whole masked man emanating green light thing--otherwise he’ll have to do it himself and he knows from experience that is going to hurt worse than anything. The door is open, luckily, and he manages to push it open with his good arm with only a sharp wince through his teeth. “Hey, please tell me you’re not shut up for the night--” He says when what he hopes is a doctor appears. “This--hurts.” Eloquent as always Jordan. 

“Is it just me, or are these things getting more vicious?” Hal huffs as three more demons start stalking towards him, apparently looking to avenge their fallen comrades that just got mowed down by Hal’s green gatling gun. He doesn’t exactly feel sorry for them, as far as he’s concerned they are standing in between him and Coast City, the sky and the stars and everything he holds dear. Definitely falls under the “those who worship evil’s might” category, if you ask him, and besides--he’s always operated under what the Guardians don’t know won't hurt them. 

He breaks the construct of the gun and goes for something more personal, a classic green light sword--but he doesn’t get the chance to use it before a huge--ax? Is flying past his eyes and into the chest of one of them. “Hey buddy, nice aim but I totally have this--” He starts saying, but proceeds to trip over one of the bodies near his feet when he sees just who exactly is wielding such a weapon. 

“Thor, you are Thor and I am definitely Green Lantern, thank you for that--by the way.” He says in quick succession, immediately flies to his feet. He can’t help but hear Carol’s voice in his head, her bell like laugh followed by “Such a gay disaster, Jordan.”

The whole reason Hal chose to rent the place he’s living in currently is the view--his balcony is just high enough that the light pollution is lessened, and even though he knows these aren’t his stars, and he’ll never get used to not being able to reach them, it’s comforting to step outside and see them there. In this case he’s grateful for the illusion, he’d rather have something than nothing at all--if he couldn’t see the stars, he thinks he might have lost sight of his purpose a long time ago. He's currently nursing a bottle of beer slowly, letting the warm summer air wash over some of his newer bruises and getting lost in the sounds of the traffic beneath him coupled with the soft background noise of his TV--it’s as close to peaceful as he could think to get, as he wants to get. He’s never done well in the stillness--it brings up things he would rather not think about. 

He turns his head when he hears a knock at his door, pulls himself up from the plastic lawn chair he’s set up as furniture outside. He’s not surprised to see Zatanna standing there--they’re good friends and Hal is always a safe bet for taking someone’s mind off of the terrors of the things going on around them. “Hey Z,” He smiles warmly and steps aside so that she can enter. He’d apologize for his place, it’s what he’s used to doing--but by now his friends are familiar with the way he lives, a byproduct of splitting his time between Earth and space normally. “There’s beer if you want it, it’s not the worst drink I’ve ever had.” He leans his arms on his kitchen counter, meets her eyes. “What brings you out this way?” 

When Hal was younger, he used to demand that his father tell him bedtime stories about Chuck Yeager--about the flight where he broke the sound barrier. Martin was always more adherent to the facts, but all Hal really wanted to know about was that moment of breaking through--of flying so fast that sound itself couldn’t catch him, that light and time and the sky itself broke open for those fractions of seconds. Hal’s never wanted that more than he has being trapped here—lately he flies as close as he can without stalling, and imagines shattering the whole illusion like a pane of glass--of burning green light in the vacuum of space and finally being able to breathe again--racing the stars in their movements just because he can. 

He’s hovering just now, where the air is thinner and everything starts to get soft around the edges. He flexes the fingers on his hand, the ring a constant reminder that he needs to get out of here. He doesn’t care how much willpower it takes anymore, he’s past pulling his punches--he’s the man without fear, he is the leader of the Green Lantern Corps, and it’s about damn time he started acting like it. “Beware my power, asshole.” He says under his breath, grits his teeth in determination. “Ring, give me atmospheric breakdowns--I wanna know what’s keeping me here, all the way down to the chemical formulas--there’s gotta be someone here who can make sense of it.” The ring showers green light over a section of the sky--but his attention shifts when he feels a sudden warmth from beneath him, sees white flame flash of light. 

“Damn it,” He huffs and figures that he sure as hell better check out whatever that was. He dives towards the ground where he saw the flash and sees what used to be several demons, all smoldering and in various states of ash. “Now this is what I call a party, screw whatever Doom was trying to pass off!” 

Justice League meetings have always been borderline torturous for Hal--they’re usually just an excuse for the Bat to go on and on about plans and backup plans and plans for if the backup plans fail, and if they aren't about that they dissolve into arguments, from which city truly has the best coffee and doughnuts to where blame for the current predicament can really be placed. Normally Hal feels like a school kid counting the seconds until recess, rolling his eyes at Barry across the table even though his best friend is normally an active participant in the both types of conversation as a mediator, or wishing he could draw as well as Kyle could so at least he’d have something for his hands to do. Or that he could send Kyle or John to these things in his place. 

Today’s meeting is relatively tame, just making sure the individual data that everyone has collected about the situation is brought into one place, and ascertaining who or who isn’t going to be at the party in case anything happens. Hal only feels like he wants to fall asleep on the table once, and apparently that span of time is enough for him to miss something, because before he can fully ascertain what is going on a hand is grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him away, muttering something about space and target practice. He doesn’t know what Diana is annoyed about, and he’s trying really hard not to laugh at Wonder Woman annoyedly huffing things under her breath, but he’s never going to overlook the chance to spend time with her. 

“You could have asked me to come and I would've said yes.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “We’re friends, Diana.”