Heya folks! This is comicroute, now commanderquill on tumblr. Not sure if that will be my AO3 name as well (or if this will even keep), but Iâll definitely post updates about any further changes as they happen. My last username was a spur of the moment choice and didnât feel personalized enough to suit me.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
comicroute replied to your post âHello! Do you have any good angsty JayTim fic recs? :)â
Fuck me, heartslogos gets me bawling like a baby every god damn time. I see her name on a series I click and I first make sure I have a bottle of water beside me. I'm not joking even a little bit.
LOL i believe you 100%. HL has a way of writing melancholy/angst that hits me right in the feels.
glaciya replied to your post âHello! Do you have any good angsty JayTim fic recs? :)â
Aww thank you for the rec! Philo is my pride and joy <33 I actually just started on the epilogue today ;)
of course lovely <3 Philo made my heart hurt (so good), and Iâm totally stoked to see what the epilogue has in store O_O
Yooo, fanart for the fanfic One Step Closer by comicroute. Itâs really good, and my favourite aspect about it is how in depth the detectiving that Tim does is in the first couple of chapts, but then I stayed for the great characterization. I love little details like that (so what do I do but draw a fluffy scene from chapt 6). Also, Jason, how are you so well fed?
And, possibly unintentionally by the author, but âA Thousand Yearsâ by Christina Perri was stuck in my head while drawing this.
Because my readers are the most patient, lovely people on earth, hereâs a little treat: Remember that side story to One Step Closer I mentioned, where Tim and Jay spend a day chasing chickens around Gotham? Well, itâs slowly but surely being made a reality, and hereâs a sneak peek!
Hope you guys enjoy! Itâs the most fun Iâve had writing something in a while.
So, it starts like this:
...Actually, scratch that, Jason has no idea how it starts because he has no idea how anything starts with Tim. One moment heâs just minding his own business, the next his best friend is knocking at his window and telling him theyâre going to the haunted clock tower.
It isnât that Jason thinks ghosts are real or anything. Itâs just that Tim has the tendency to trip over his own shoelaces, and it would be a shame if he fell off the clock tower and died.
Tim has his camera with him, but itâs the nice one this time, and he eventually explains that he wants to take photos for his schoolâs photography contest. Jason suggests that submitting a photo of Robin might give him a better chance at winning, but Tim clarifies that the theme is âHauntedâ and shuts the idea down.
Personally he thinks âHauntedâ is a shitty theme, but he supposes itâs a fitting one for the abnormally unfortunate city they call home.
Thereâs a bus stop a block away from the clock tower, so they donât have to do too much walking when they finally get there. A good thing, too. Heâll deny it except on pain of death, but this part of town gives him the heebie jeebies.
The cobblestone that gives Old Gotham its distinguishing mid-19th century look wobbles beneath them as they make their way down the main street, gas lamps flickering in the late morning light. Thereâs a low fog over them and the walls of the buildings glisten with dampness, although it hasnât rained for at least a few days. Itâs just like that.
âWhatâre they working on?â Tim asks as they pass an alley that offers a clear line of sight to the harbor. Thereâs a construction zone marked off on the way there, blocking off the sidewalk and the half finished building beside it. Wood panels criss cross each other where there should be steel beams. No workers are anywhere to be found.
âI donât know,â Jason answers honestly. âTheyâve been working on it for as long as I can remember.â The last time he was here was three years ago, and it doesnât look any different. Itâs as if Old Gotham is constantly suspended in a state of purgatory.
Tim shivers as a cold gust of wind sweeps past them from the harbor, but makes no additional comment. They walk a little faster.
The clock tower is old. Not old enough to be made out of wood, or for the stoneâs harsh edges and spiky points to have smoothed out, but itâs jarringly out of place compared to the relatively modern Catholic Church beside it. The structure doesnât extend into the sky easily. It makes its way there in steps and levels, each with a platform that seems like it might have been a porch, if there were any visible doors. In the place of doors, tall arched windows allow the slightest glimpse of the pitch black interior, guarded by gargoyles with gaping mouths. Spires extend at every interval, getting thinner and shorter with the exception of the long, thin lightning rod on top.
The clock face itself is written in Roman numerals, large and impossible to miss but, for Jason at least, just as impossible to read. However, he can still tell the hands are at six oâclock. Itâs ten.
âWe canât get in,â Jason says.
âWhy not?â
âItâs locked.â
âYou havenât even tried.â
Neither of them move.
âMaybe--â Tim begins, but Jason doesnât get to hear the end of his suggestion, interrupted as he is by distressed shouting splitting the air.
It doesnât sound like a cry for help, more like a vehement argument, but itâs strange mostly for the fact that Jason was subconsciously convinced no oneâs lived here for at least a few thousand years. A quick glance beside him makes him reasonably sure Timâs thinking the same thing, and when he moves towards the sound, Jason gratefully follows. He isnât procrastinating going into the clock tower. Really. That would be stupid.
The shouting comes from about a block away, and even without the noise it would draw the eye. Nestled between two apartment complexes is a stout little house surrounded on all sides by a white picket fence and lush green grass. The five foot long walkway branching off from the sidewalk is paved in white pebbles and the sky opens directly above it, the first break in the clouds theyâve seen all morning. The sunlight streaming through is being enjoyed by a particularly fat tabby cat.
They stare, bemused. The house is painted pink with white trim, and a large white sign above the front door names this surreal establishment the Little Gotham Daycare.
As they watch, the front door opens so fast it nearly slams into the wall, and a white-haired older woman in a floral red skirt swishing past her distinguished hips stomps onto the porch and sits with a huff on the top step. Â Jason takes that as a sign to go. Tim takes that as a sign to speak. âAre you okay?â he calls, and Jason resists the urge to groan aloud.
The woman raises her head, but it takes a moment for her to find the two of them. When she does, she squints, then slumps with what Jason considers to be a very melodramatic sigh. âNo, no, no, oh dear, everything is going wrong today! First the chickens eat their own eggs again, because of course Donald didnât remember to take them out this afternoon, and then he forgets to lock their cage and they disappear without so much as a goodbye!â
âI donât think chickens are supposed to talk,â whispers Jason loudly to Tim, who ignores him.
âHow many chickens?â
âFour,â she says, dejected, and then hides her face in the crook of her arms. The boys stand together awkwardly. Finally, she looks back up at them and pats her thighs with a deep breath. âBut nevermind all that, you boys must be hungry. Where are your parents? Oh, it doesnât matter. No one around here has parents anymore anyway,â she mutters, standing up and beckoning them over.
âTimâŚ,â Jason pleads as Tim, predictably, takes a step forward. The woman has already disappeared into the odd little house, presumably expecting them to follow. âI donât trust any old lady who says stuff like that and owns a daycare. Thereâs something really, really wrong with that.â
âShe lost her chickens, Jay,â Tim chides. âSheâs lonely.â
âSheâs weird,â he grumbles, which does nothing to move Tim from his already decided course. With great reluctance, he follows his best friend into the quaint daycare.
Itâs to his relief that the inside does, actually, look like a daycare. They step past scattered toys and half-broken crayons crushed permanently into the carpet, and Jason yelps when he steps on a lego, instantly regretting taking his shoes off. Tim, the jerk, doesnât even look back at his cry of pain, too intent on cataloguing everything about their surroundings.
As much as it sucks to be ignored, he can admit to being proud of that particular quirk. After all, itâs a habit his best friend only picked up when they became friends. Although, he isnât entirely certain if Tim does exactly what he tried to teach him and actually spends the time making note of all the exits and escapes, or if heâs just looking for clues like a bona fide Sherlock Holmes.
Jason supposes the keeping-track-of-stuff-that-actually-matters job, as usual, falls to him.
âOh, the children will just be so devastated when I tell them what happenedâŚ,â the lady despairs, entering the kitchen to look into the fridge. She pulls out the basic sandwich fixings and two cold bottles of water.
âWill you have anyone look for them?â Tim asks innocently, but no. It isnât innocent, because Jason knows exactly what that tone of voice means, and his answer is no.
Unfortunately, Tim rarely takes his opinion into account, so he doesnât bother voicing his objection. But maybe...
âTheyâll tell me just to adopt new ones, but Nessieâs been with me for a while, you know? And Lara, and Tommy -- sheâs a lady, my grandson named her -- and Jane.â
âThatâs all of them,â Jason points out.
It only makes her sigh sadly at her tomatoes.
âMaybe we could--â Tim starts, but Jason jumps in:
âYou should put out a reward for them.â
Tim glares, but the woman suddenly seems contemplative. She looks distantly out the window while spreading mayo on the second bread slice. âPerhaps that could workâŚâ
âOh, it definitely does. People do it for their cats and dogs and⌠chickens all the time. Trust me.â When she continues to mull over her decision, he adds: âWhen we lost our goat, we put out a $200 reward and someone found it the next day.â
Tim gawks. Itâs Jasonâs turn to ignore him.
Thereâs a long silence, and Jason holds his breath as the odd woman places their finished sandwiches on separate paper plates for them to take, then proceeds to scrutinize them very carefully. Jason makes sure to wear his biggest and brightest smile. Tim makes sure to step on his toes. He fights back a wince.
Suddenly, she claps her hands together and smiles at them. âWell, that just sounds like a splendid idea!â
Tim pales. âOh, Mrs⌠um.â
âDuvall.â
âMrs. Duvall, you donât need to--â
â--worry at all,â Jason assures her, bulldozing right over the rest of Timâs sentence. âSomeone will find them safe and sound! In fact--â
âDo you suppose $100 is enough? I donât have much--â
âWellâŚ,â Jason begins.
âYeah,â snaps Tim.
âGreat! Could you boys help me print out posters?â she asks hopefully.
Tim has the audacity to hold a palm up to Jasonâs face before he can answer. âActually, I was going to say that we can look for your chickens.â
âThe reward would help a lot. You know, buses are getting pretty pricey these daysâŚ,â interjects Jason.
Mrs. Duvall positively glows at the suggestion. âOh, of course! I would be so delighted if you could help. Really, truly, you boys are just the sweetest⌠Let me just make you some proper packed lunches to take with you.â
When she swivels back around to the fridge, Tim hisses: âSeriously?â
âWhat?â Jason replies, voice high and innocent. âYou were gonna do it anyway, who says I canât get something out of it too?â
âYou donât have to come with me,â Tim mutters petulantly, but itâs half-hearted. They go everywhere together.
They stand awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen while Mrs. Duvall stuffs two paper bags with everything in her cupboards. When sheâs done, she holds them both out, but doesnât let go when they grab at them. âBefore I forget, I should let you know that my chickens have trackers. I canât remember what the neighborâs girl said about using my phone, thoughâŚâ
Iâm happy to announce that I am finally slowly updating the chapters of One Step Closer with their edited versions. After much deliberation Iâve decided to change very little, although my edits will probably cause a noticeable dip in final word count. Here are the changes:
Due to some plot edits, the detective work and âcluesâ collected of the last few chapters have changed (including a few scenes). Since Iâve only updated the first few chapters, you wonât see the changes for a while. Hopefully if itâs been a while since you read OSC you wonât even notice, so thatâll be awesome. This is mainly why I didnât want anyone to reread anything during my hiatus.
âJohnâsâ appearance has been very limited, and the later phone call involving him deleted completely. He wasnât an important character but I accidentally made him out to be, so to prevent anything anticlimactic Iâve removed him. However, heâll appear in a side story that will still line up with both versions, and yes, itâs there that weâll find out who he is.
The birthday chapter will be removed and placed in a side story. Iâll have a notice where the chapter was recommending people read it, due to the quotes most of you have noticed popping up later, but besides that book the chapter is best suited as a standalone.
Besides this, my changes have involved better adjusting dialogue to better suit characters, deleting introspection not completely age-appropriate, and hopefully better emphasizing foreshadowing.
Thanks for your patience, everyone! Youâll know when all the chapters are finally replaced, and Iâll post my first new chapter (chapter 20, or, as you all might better know, chapter 21) on here afterward.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Summary:Â Barry doesnât know much beyond the space station he calls home. After all, he doesnât have to travel worlds to help innocent people as a Chief Inspector. But heâs put to the test when a Green Lantern, the stuff of myths and legends, shows up one night insisting he didnât kill the woman bleeding out beside him. And as if that wasnât hard enough, they have only a few weeks to solve the case â before the Guardians of the Universe come take Hal Jordan away.
Hal Jordan hates cages.
Metaphorically and literally. In the case of Central Space Stationâs holding cells, itâs literal. A jail must not have been anywhere in the original structure plans because instead of an actual cell, heâs been locked up in a cage thatâs in a room with multiple other empty cages. Hal is absolutely certain thereâs a grid-like pattern carved permanently into his ass.
Itâs cubed like the fences around the perimeter of Ferris Air, but it doesnât give even a little when he presses his palms against it. He feels like a dog. The cage is just a few inches taller than the top of his head -- if he jumped high enough, heâd give himself a minor concussion. But itâs not even as wide as the length of his body, and he has to sleep diagonally across it just so he isnât forced to curl his knees up.
Heâs having a hard time reminding himself that heâs not in a sex trafficking ring.
Probably.
No oneâs bothered taking the yellow hand sheaths off yet. Theyâre probably hesitant -- he still has his ring on underneath, and all he needs is a moment free to be out of here. He wants to say that he wouldnât just bust out of jail given the chance, but even heâs not too sure about that, so he canât even begin to make an argument to convince them of it. Still, itâs inconvenient at best and disabling at worst. Heâs almost lucky there isnât anything to do in a cage with nothing but a small mattress and a bucket, because even if he had a laptop right in front of him itâs not like heâd be able to properly use it. Heâs had an itch on his thigh for an hour.
Itâs a little unnerving to him that these people know about a Green Lanternâs one weakness at all, but he figures itâs probably necessary for other âgood guysâ around the universe to know after...
Doesnât mean he has to like it.
And yet, even pondering questions like that arenât enough to keep his mind off of what he saw. Suffering from absolute boredom like this, with nothing but his own thoughts for company, forces Hal to keep revisiting the image of Sister Sercyâs body lying prone across the metal floor of her dorm wing. The way her white robes looked, steeped in blood. The way--
It isnât the first time heâs seen this sight.
Far from it. In fact, he can go as far as to say that heâs used to the image. But heâll never be fully detached from the emotions it evokes -- all he can ever do is distract himself with bigger and more pressing things. Otherwise, all the sights and smells threaten to overwhelm him.
He didnât know her very well. When he thinks about her, nothing really comes to mind except the battles they fought together, shoulder to shoulder, back to back. Dependable, but not familiar.
Her death impacts him the same way as any strangerâs death does. A vise gripping around his lungs, a fist permanently semi-closed. But he can still breathe. He can still think.
That doesnât mean the horror ever truly goes away. All it means is that he can function enough to find the real predator, to bring justice to each person so terribly wronged by life as much as he can.
He doesnât always succeed. These days, it feels like he rarely does. He--
The door opens.
Hal fights the urge to spring to his feet in relief. Heâs slipped down this train of thought too many times already, he doesnât need to do it again. He quickly rearranges himself so he looks as relaxed as possible, laying on his side with his cheek propped in one hand by the time the door makes it all the way open.
âThank you,â is the tail end of Barry Allenâs response to someone unseen as he walks into the room. He raises his eyebrows at Hal. âEnjoying your luxurious stay?â he asks.
âHonestly. You shouldâve seen the state of the motels on War World. Compared to that, I call this five-star service.â
Barry doesnât take the bait. Hal swings his legs off the mattress and sits, dangling his arms over his knees. Time to get down to business then. âWhatâs the news, chief?â
âIâm not the chief,â Barry immediately responds as he comes to a stop beside the cage.
Hal would never say that Barry doesnât take his job seriously, he maybe takes it the most seriously out of everyone Hal has seen so far in this god forsaken place, but Barry might be the only one truly on his side. It makes him trust him, even if he probably shouldnât.
Of course, Halâs entire impression of the man could just be his charm turned up to max, but he somehow doubts that anyone would crank up faux charm to impress a supposed criminal. If banter and altruistic declarations are how Barry Allen treats a potential murderer, he canât be that bad of a person.
Most likely.
Likely.
Hopefully?
It really depends on whether Barry thinks heâs actually a murderer, come to think of it.
Also, itâs probably in the job description. Get friendly with the prisoner, butter them up, the works. He vaguely remembers a kid in college ranting to him about how no matter what, the police are never your friend.
Hal wishes heâd listened to that. It sounds like solid advice.
âI came to tell you that I pulled some strings,â Barry says. He gestures to the room. âThis place canât be comfortable. The real chief agreed to see you for the possibility of bail.â Thereâs a chair propped against the opposing wall. Barry grabs it, drags it over beside the cage, and sits down.
Hal stares, waiting for the punchline. It doesnât come. âWait, seriously?â
âSeriously.â
âThe hell you do that for?â Then, before Barry can answer: âNevermind. Donât answer that. Iâve been trying this all âbe gratefulâ thing out lately and I really just want to get out of here. Now please, please tell me you have a key. I feel like Iâm losing my mind.â He gets to his feet and braces his covered hands against the cage. He only realizes after he makes the motion just how desperate he looks, but thereâs no taking it back now. He kind of is actually really very desperate. But only a little.
Heâs trying not to be incredibly suspicious of Barryâs good intentions. The suspicion is definitely warranted, but itâs not exactly helpful.
Barry doesnât look at him with the warmest or friendliest of expressions. Thereâs a very healthy note of caution and apprehension at Halâs eagerness, but he seems to take it in stride. âI donât. One of the guards will take you to the courtroom in two hours. Youâll have to answer a few questions, but if all goes well, you should be free to help clear your name soon.â
Hal slumps back onto the bed. Just a few more hours. He can do this. Heâs gone through much worse. He takes a deep breath. âGreat. Cool.â A pause. âThank you.â
âYouâre welcome.â
âThis is probably a good a time as any to ask,â he begins, looking up at Barry before he has the chance to leave. âBut do you actually believe me?â
A contemplating expression graces Barryâs face. âIâd rather not tell you that.â
Fair. Not confidence inspiring, but fair.
âSee, look, I get that. I really do. But the reason Iâm asking is because Iâve gotten into some super weird situations, and Iâve discovered that there are a lot more places out there who would sooner hire a killer than condemn them, and Iâd just like to be sure youâre not taking me out on bail to ask me to kill your boss or kill me yourself or something like that.â
Barryâs lips twitch again. Heâs fighting backa smile, which Hal thinks is an achievement. But just as soon as the expression appears, itâs gone. âAre you saying you get arrested often?â
âIâd rather not tell you that,â Hal says, mocking Barryâs earlier words.
âAnd what would you say you get arrested for most often?â
âNever said I get arrested. Just said Iâve been to some mean places.â
âDodging the question looks worse for you than answering,â Barry points out.
âTrespassing,â Hal eventually replies. No need to push his luck. âAnd just being an overall pain in the ass. My bossâ words, not mine.â
âNot quite the murderous type, then.â
Hal moves backwards so he can sit on the lumpy mattress, relief blooming in his chest like a breath of fresh air after being submerged. âSo you believe me?â He canât keep the smile off his face. Does he actually have someone on his side?
Barry side eyes him. âYouâre smiling too much for someone whoâs suspected of murder.â
A deflection. Heâs totally on his side.
Probably. Maybe.
Hopefully. Heâll stick with that one. Hope is the companion to willpower -- he can work with hope.
âItâs a defense mechanism,â Hal replies immediately. Normally he wouldnât admit that, but he canât afford to scare his only possible ally off. âAlso, I totally have a reason to smile right now.â
Heâs found that he always seems to function better under pressure. This day will pass, and so will the high stress situation heâs found himself in, and when itâs all said and done heâll end up in a room alone in the middle of the night like he always does feeling like his heart is trying to jump out of his chest, like his lungs are filling with water, and like the vast universe is pressing down on him from all sides.
But not yet.
He has a few more hours, at least. Depending on how quickly heâs let out of this cage. He canât let himself fall apart when his surroundings are bright enough to see his hands. Thatâs no time to let his thoughts strangle themselves. If he can see himself while pieces of him shatter, heâll never be able to forget how often it happens.
âWell, I like to think Iâm not prone to helping people get bail unless Iâm reasonably sure they deserve it,â the other man replies, leaning forward in his seat. âI know this justice system inside and out, which means I know that this system is more likely to convict someone for the sake of closing a case than guilt. Youâre the only suspect. I can build the the strongest case to convince the chief, but it doesnât matter unless the evidence can point to a specific different someone. Iâve been trying this long to make sure innocent people donât fall victim to the system, Iâm not going to stop now. If thereâs any chance youâre innocent, then you need to work with me to find another suspect to bring this as close to a fair trial as possible.â
Hal isnât surprised. âA lot of places are like that, you know. Donât think this is my first rodeo.â
âIt isnât right,â Barry says firmly.
âMost normal things arenât. What can you do?â
Itâs a rhetorical question, but the look on his face makes it so Hal doesnât doubt that the man thinks about it constantly.
âThe question you should be asking is: Where am I going to start?â
His first impression was right. Altruistic.
Very few of those in the universe these days, especially with one of the few Blue Lanterns dead. Even the Green Lanterns canât seem to keep up with that traitâŚ
Hal shakes the thought from his head before it can continue down that yellow-paved road.
âSo. How does court go in this place?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, you said yesterday that I donât have the right to an attorney, so I bet things are a lot different than what Iâm used to.â
Barry frowns. âIâm afraid I donât have anything to compare it to,â he admits. âBut for the actual court scene, youâll be standing in the center of the room. There will be the witnesses, the head CSI for the case, occasionally the head of their department which will be me, and any other significant individuals that might be involved. There could be a few experts on certain topics, for example. Or for personality profiling, if you know of anyone whoâll speak on your behalf. In any case, the head of the department will present the case, the CSI will present details of evidence, everyone else presents their side of the story, and the chief asks some questions. Then everyone but the guards and the defendant leave, and the chief gives the verdict and sentence.â
Hal stares, waiting for more. It doesnât come. âThatâs it?â
âYes? What else were you expecting?â
âWhat about the jury? What about my defense? Defense attorney, prosecutor? Why is the chief also the judge? Whoâs supposed to argue my case?â
âYou. And the evidence speaks for itself. Thereâs no⌠arguing. How do you argue facts? Why shouldnât the chief act as judge?â
âOh god,â Hal says, despair leaking into his voice. âIâm so screwed.â
He puts his head in his hands, and he can almost feel the confusion emanating from Barry at this distance. He tries to compose himself somewhat, so he can look up and ask some more questions. He needs to keep his head in the game; he can't afford to let go while he still doesn't know his situation down to every detail. It takes a while longer than he wished it did.
A trial without a jury. Â It sounds like every dystopia he never bothered to read back in high school English class. Some unbidden memory from some graduation required Political Science class tries to tell him that a judiciary not separated from the executive powers is the trademark for a corrupt government.
He's never getting out of here.
"Why are you here?" Hal finally asks.
Barry appraises him for a moment. "I'm interested in your case," he says. "Also, information like this is always best delivered in person. It's faster and things don't get muddled in the process."
"Don't you have better things to do than worry about me?" This is despite the fact that Hal is extremely glad Barry has an interest in his case. There's no way he'd be getting out of here otherwise. Probably.
Although, he's done impossible things before.
It's actually becoming somewhat of a routine at this point.
âYouâre my priority.â
"In other words, you have nothing better to do than worry about me. Great, someone needs to," Hal says. "My mom gave up years ago."
Their conversation stops abruptly, and Hal is convinced thatâs it. They hang suspended in an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then Barry asks, âWhere are you from?â
âCoast City.â
When thereâs no reaction on Barryâs face, he clarifies: âCalifornia.â Thereâs still no reaction. âUh, Earth.â
There. Surprise washes over his face and stays there. âEarth? Thatâs a long ways away. I didnât think many people still lived there.â
âYeah, not everyone likes space. Which is a damn shame, if you ask me.â
âAre legal proceedings very different there?â
âSuper,â says Hal. He frowns. âYou have no idea how corrupt this system is, do you?â
Barry raises his eyebrows, incredulous. âYouâve been here for one day. Iâd say youâre both biased and uninformed on that subject.â
âI think Iâd have a heart attack if I saw more. Sure, you know that just because Iâm not the only suspect doesnât mean Iâm guilty. But first of all, according to what you said earlier, one single person still decides another personâs fate, and they have absolutely no opportunity to fight for their case unless theyâre incredibly educated. Second of all, whoâs to say the Chief of Police is always impartial anyway? They have absolute power, and that never remains neutral. And third of allâ--here, Hal pauses to gesticulate angrily around him--âyour jail cells are fucking cages! Even you have to admit thatâs wrong, on so many levels.â
Barryâs lips thin. He looks unhappy, and Hal canât decide if itâs because of what he said or how he said it.
âHave you really never been to Earth?â Hal asks, because he canât even fathom that. He spends all his time in space, and yet he always tries to fit in some time for home, even if itâs just a flyby. Heâs traversed the universe, and yet thereâs nothing quite like the way the Pacific Ocean sparkles under Californiaâs noonday sun.
âNo.â Hal wants to ask more, ask where he grew up if not where all humans belong, but then Barryâs lips quirk. âI suppose trying to get a personality witness is a bit of a long shot, then.â
Somehow, this came full circle back to the case. He squints. Never trust a cop. Has Barry been searching him for information this entire time? Itâs hard to tell.
He opens his mouth to give some anecdote about not having any friends left planetside, but stops short. Maybe this is what was meant by trusting cops. His guard is already down. A detail like his inability to maintain stable relationships isnât information remotely necessary for a Chief Inspector to know, and could only hurt his image. So he keeps his lips sealed and just nods, letting the awkward silence descend over him.
Barry turns on the tablet heâs had in his hands the whole time, and it makes Hal slightly nervous since he doesnât know what heâs writing on it. It soon becomes apparent that heâs messaging someone, and after a few minutes go by with no conversation, he settles back for the long wait.
Summary:Â Barry doesn't know much beyond the space station he calls home. After all, he doesn't have to travel worlds to help innocent people as a Chief Inspector on Central Space Station. But he's put to the test when a Green Lantern, the stuff of myths and legends, shows up one night insisting he didn't kill the Blue Lantern bleeding out beside him. And as if that wasn't hard enough, they have only a few weeks to solve the case -- before the Guardians of the Universe come take Hal Jordan away.
When Barry gets to J Deck, he finds that most people have already left their stations. Itâs time for the dayâs switch, as people clock out early and their replacements clock in late. Itâs disorienting to see people getting started on their work when Barry is just about ready to retire for the night. Even still he sometimes forgets that thereâs an entire second life to the space station heâs never encountered.
âHey, Patty,â he says, beelining for her desk, grateful to see that she hasnât left yet. Sheâs ruffling through one of her drawers, no doubt trying to locate some file she buried there last week. Patty is more unorganized than he is, and thatâs saying a lot.
âHey,â she says, glancing up briefly to smile at him. âMr. Nightlight is in interrogation room nine. Albert just finished getting a DNA sample.â She returns to her work. Barry shuts his mouth, Â as sheâd already answered the question he was about to ask. It makes him feel awkward, now that heâs walked all the way up to her desk but no longer has anything to say. He tries a different tactic.
âWould you believe me if I told you I just wanted to see if you were free tomorrow?â
She pauses only to send him the most straight look, her short blonde hair swinging slightly in front of her face.
âNo?â
âNo.â Sheâs right, but guilt twists in his gut, and heâs about to protest until she smiles and says, âYouâre a workaholic, Bar. But so am I.â
He matches her smile hesitantly. âWe really should catch up sometime, though,â he says.
âConvince chief to give us a damn break and Iâll happily take you up on that. Iâve been meaning to show you this sad excuse for a cooking show that Iâm streaming from Galafro. Canât understand a word of it, but Iâm pretty sure what they call food was never meant to be consumed.â She gives him a sharkâs grin as he backpedals away from her.
âSounds gross,â he says with a wrinkle of his nose.
âThatâs the point!â she calls after him as he turns the corner.
The interrogation rooms are a series of nine rooms set up in a half-circle on the police stationâs perimeter. Each room is remarkably soundproof but only separated by one wall, making it quick work to pass them all to room nine at the very end.
When he enters, the Green Lantern stares him down. Itâs almost unnerving, to be on the other end of that stare. Heâs seen suspects in a wide range of emotions, from desperate to pissed, when they sit in this room. Intensity tends to come along with those. But itâs never intensity like this, of the eager and quiet kind. Barry nods at him. âHi,â he says lamely.
âYouâre a CSI,â the Green Lantern says immediately. âWhat are you doing here? Someone already took a piece of my hair.â
âMy name is Barry Allen. Iâm the Chief Inspector of this station, and I just want to ask you a few questions.â
âI didnât do it,â the Green Lantern insists immediately. âI--â
âOkay.â
That stops the Green Lantern in his tracks. But instead of looking relieved, he seems to grow even more suspicious. âIf you know that, then why am I still here?â
âYouâre a cop, right? Or something like it, anyway.â He holds the Lanternâs eyes as he slowly pulls out a chair and sits down across from him. He sets his messenger bag on the table and pulls his tablet out from the smallest compartment.
âThatâs not an answer.â
âYouâre our only suspect. If you donât want to remain our only suspect, I suggest you cooperate and answer my questions.â
He doesnât say anything. Barry flips his notepad open to a blank page. âLetâs start with the basics. Whatâs your name?â
â...Guy Gardner. G-U-Y. G-A-R-D-N-E-R.â
Barry spells it out on the top of his notes. âOkay, Mr. Gardner. Why donât you tell me how you know MissâŚ?â
âSister Sercy.â
âRight.â
âSheâs a--â Abruptly, Gardner stops and declares: âWait. I want a lawyer.â
Barry frowns at him. âAre you trying to sue someone?â
âWhat? No,â Gardner says, frustrated. âBut I have the right to an attorney.â
âNo you donât,â Barry says, carefully. âWho told you that?â
Gardner takes a moment to curse under his breath. âNo one. Nevermind. Okay, so. I know Sercy because sheâs the fourth or something Blue Lantern, and I--â
His pencil stops, and he just barely refrains from snapping his head up to look at Gardner. âBlue Lantern?â he says, as neutrally as possible, but he doesnât think he quite succeeds.
âYeah,â Gardner says, unfazed.
âExplain.â
Gardner frowns. âYou people know about Green Lanterns and the color yellow, but youâve never heard of a Blue Lantern?â
Rumors. Heâs heard rumors, starting maybe just two years ago, about new Lanterns flying through the cosmos. No one knew where they came from. No one knew what they could do. Once, there was a whisper of a Red Lantern. He heard it while in the middle of a crowd, so quiet heâd thought heâd imagined it, of destruction and devastation wrought on a planet stranded on the fringes of Lantern inhabited space.
When thereâs no response forthcoming, Gardner says, âHope,â like that answers every question heâs ever had. Before he can ask another, the Lantern continues: âSercy was a priestess, I think, on⌠wherever she came from. Brother Hymn found her and brought her to Elpis, and I met her when I went to see that little blue troll for a thing. There arenât a lot of Blue Lanterns, and theyâre help like no other against the Reds and Yellows, so when we team up they all tag along. I guess you could call us coworkers.â
Barry occupies himself by writing on his notepad, because the alternative would be staring blankly at Gardner. What is this, a Lantern rainbow? âIt doesnât seem like you were very close, then,â he comments when heâs done.
âUh, no, not really. We ran into each other here.â
âStart from the beginning.â
âRight. Well, I was on my way to Oa, and like I said, I ran into her in this star system. Our paths intersected, I think she was heading back to Elpis. We decided to rest up here so we could catch up a little. She wasnât in a hurry and I was procrastinating, so we got rooms and went to the lounge. We were both on the figurative road for a while. Space travel, even with a ring as fast as ours, still takes super long, and there isnât a habitable planet for light years after this stop.â
He brings his hands up, goes to grip his hair with his fingers and remembers that theyâre in a yellow sheath. He stiffly  lowers them back down to the table.
âBut I couldnât sleep yet, and I went to go see if maybe her sleep schedule was just as fucked as mine, and I just⌠I found her. Like⌠that. Dead. Outside her own cabin⌠Fuck.â He crosses his arms on the table and drops his forehead onto where they meet. Despite the position, his next words are still clear. âIâm used to shit like this. She was too. This line of work, itâs dangerous. And Iâve always been in this line of work, even before becoming a space cop. But we let our guard down in times of peace. Even I do. War is different. You go to war expecting to die, because if you end up living, then you get to actually celebrate something that isnât your buddyâs funeral. But in peaceâŚâ He scoffs. Itâs a full-body effort. âPeace. All Will Be Well my ass, SaintWalker.â
âI want you to explain to me what exactly you did next, step by step. If you thought a thought, I want to know what it was. If you stepped an inch to the right, I want to know when. Begin when youâre ready,â he instructs softly, after a moment of respectful silence. Gardner takes a few more seconds just to breathe before lifting his head.
âI walked up the hall. The direction you came from. I saw her laying on the ground, and⌠I knew she was dead. I couldnât see the blood on the ground at first, though. She was too far away. So I walked over to her and it was just⌠everywhere. I wanted to check if maybe there was a chance at saving her, so I asked the ring to scan for signs of life, and it came back negative. So I turned her back over  and tried to take the knife out. She⌠I couldnât leave her like that. A Blue Lantern, killed by a fucking knife. Thatâs just⌠Itâs wrong.â
âHave either of you been here before?â
âI have. This is the perfect place for a quick stop between far space and Oa. But I donât know about Sercy. Blue Lanterns are notorious for never leaving Elpis. Theyâre like monks. They donât like to travel, just live in peace and harmony by themselves. She seemed to know her way around, though.â
âDo you know who might dislike her? Something she mentioned, maybe?â
Gardner shakes his head. âNo. Sheâs a private person. Blue Lanterns in general are relentless optimists. They donât like to complain or talk about the bad things that have happened.â
âDid she ever tell you where her cabin was?â
âYeah. How else would I have found her?â
âAnd where did she tell you this information?â
âUh, one of the lounges on G Deck. One of the exterior-facing ones. I could see Docking Port 23 from the window.
âWhen was this?â
âA few hours ago.â
âCan you tell me anything that stood out to you in that room? Or even just the specific room number?â
âIt⌠might have been L36. UhâŚâ Barry waits as the Green Lantern thinks. âThe barista. He had this long black hair, tied it back in this weird triple bun type deal. Didnât know what hot chocolate was. He knew Sercy by name, and we were at the bar when she told me. The lounge was pretty crowded, there were people all around us. I donât remember.â He takes a deep breath. âIâm so stupid. Iâm always supposed to be on alert. Kilowog is gonna kick my ass,â he says bitterly.
Barry finishes writing down his notes, then leans back in his chair with a sigh. The dayâs grind is catching up to him, and he can feel the heaviness start to settle in his lower back. This kind of work is aging him way faster than he wants to be aging. But his mind is reeling, and he canât seem to muster up the usual desire to get out of the station and relax on his bed. Thereâs no mystery as to why. âWhoâs Kilowog?â he asks curiously, carefully.
âMy drill sergeant,â Gardner says. âA tough-as-nails hardass. Always preaching that I need to keep my eyes peeled for anything. Imagine how good Iâd be if I actually listened to him?â
There are many other questions he wants to ask, but thereâs a line he needs to draw for the sake of professionalism that prevents him from asking. âDid she talk to anyone else at the lounge?â
âNo.â
âWas she expecting to meet up with anyone? Did she talk about knowing anyone at the station?â
âNo. Just the barista.â
âWhere did you go after the lounge?â
âWe went our separate ways after the lounge. I went back to my room because I was beat, she went⌠to the market, I think.â
âYou said you couldnât sleep.â
âWhat?â
Barry narrows his eyes. âYou told me you couldnât sleep, and thatâs why you sought her out. Now youâre saying you went to bed early because you were tired.â
Gardner pauses, like heâs either trying to remember saying that or he wasnât expecting Barry to notice, but Barry didnât get this job by being unobservant. âI have a hard time sleeping sometimes,â he says awkwardly.
Barry doesnât answer, preferring instead to look on in silence for a while after. Gardner must understand what heâs doing, though, because he doesnât even fidget.
âDid she say what she was going to get from the market?â
âNo.â
âSo you have no idea why she was going?â
âI just said that.â
âDo you know the baristaâs name?â
âNo.â
âWhat time were you there?â
âI donât know. A few hours ago.â
Barry nods curtly, takes a final glance at his notes, then flips the booklet closed.Â
âAm I free to go?â Gardner asks, but itâs in a resigned monotone. Barry wonders why he even bothered asking if he knew the answer was going to be no.
âOfficer Kin will be through in a moment to show you to your cell. Thank you for your cooperation,â he says, and gets briskly up from his seat. Heâs almost out the door when he turns around and takes a last look. The green glow of Gardnerâs mask casts a sickly light on his pale cheeks. He looks small sitting there. Nothing like an intergalactic hero. âMr. Gardner,â he says, and it takes a moment for Gardner to glance up. âIf you didnât do this, I will do everything in my power to help you and bring the real killer to justice.â
Gardner sighs. âLook. You seem like a good guy. I donât know how the justice system here works, but if itâs anything like where I come from then I just I donât have that kind of time.â
He must think that Barry is just going to leave after that, because he doesnât continue. âWhat do you mean?â he prompts.
âWhen a Lantern dies, their ring comes off and typically finds a new host. Sometimes it goes back to their central power battery, or wherever the guardian of it dictates. Iâm going to take a wild guess and say that no one in this station has spontaneously turned blue and started flying yet?â
Barry shakes his head.
âThen itâs probably on its way to Elpis, directly or through a new Lantern on a nearby planet. When it gets there and the rest of the corps learns that their Lantern is dead, theyâll discover where the ring came from and theyâll come find whoâs responsible. I didnât kill her, Barry. But they wonât wait for your justice system to figure out who the real killer is. Especially not once they tell the little blue trolls on Oa about it. Iâd say I have maybe two weeks, if that.â
âI canât do anything about that. Investigations take time. Iâm sure we can negotiate with the⌠Blue Lanterns when they get here.â
âBlue Lanterns, maybe. But good luck trying to negotiate anything with the Guardians.â
âIâm sure theyâll be reasonable.â
Gardner scoffs, but says nothing more.
Barry has nothing to add to that, so he takes his leave. He shuts the heavy door behind him and stares for a moment, overwhelmed, at the far wall. He looks to his left, where Officer Kin on guard duty isnât even trying to hide his curiosity. âHow fast can you pull up the security footage of all that?â Barry asks. âI think I need to listen to it a few million more times.â
Summary:Â Barry doesnât know much beyond the space station he calls home. After all, he doesnât have to travel worlds to help innocent people as a Chief Inspector. But heâs put to the test when a Green Lantern, the stuff of myths and legends, shows up one night insisting he didnât kill the woman bleeding out beside him. And as if that wasnât hard enough, they have only a few weeks to solve the case â before the Guardians of the Universe come take Hal Jordan away.
Two hours later, a guard enters to escort Hal, and Barry leads them through the halls. They enter a circular room, just as sleek and grey as everything else, with a low ceiling that makes Hal feel that much more claustrophobic. There's a raised platform at the front, like a stage, and in front of it is a circular table surrounding one man in one chair.
The Chief has dark brown hair with thick sideburns lining his jaw and dense eyebrows to match, which make him look perpetually stern. The uniform he wears isn't dissimilar to Barry's, but is adorned with more circles and dashes for ornaments across his chest and is navy blue where Barry's is red. Heâs probably human, but itâs hard to tell from this distance.
Hal didn't really notice it before, but he's starting to wonder why most of the staff on this space station seem to be of human descent, or at least something close to it.
In front of the stage is another identical table surrounding a much shorter plastic chair. Between the two tables, more plastic chairs make up the perimeter of a circle. It's creepily reminding him of an AA meeting and heâs tempted to comment that he isnât an alcoholic.
The guard leads him to the the table and chair on ground floor, then goes to stand by the door. Barry stands to the left of the table, nearest the door and the guard, but doesn't take a seat in any of the many empty chairs. "Your Honor, I present to you Green Lantern Guy Gardner."
At first, Hal is startled to hear the name, and almost looks to the door to see if Guy just walked in -- he wouldnât put it past him. But then he remembers where he is and what he did.
So, thatâs going to be a thing now.
"Guy Gardner is accused of murder in the first degree. I've already stated the reasonable conviction I have in his innocence, and would like to formally request bail for the record."
Well, good to know that somewhere this whole thing is being recorded. He hopes it's just audio, because being stuck in a cage probably hasn't done his hair any favors.
"The reasons I have are of the following: 1) There are no DNA related samples or evidence linking Gardner to the scene of the crime. 2) There is no perceived motive. 3) The investigated timeline and events of the murder don't logically correspond with the suspect. 4) I retain reasonable belief that the suspect can be of use on the field to locate the actual culprit. 5) The suspect carries with him a good reputation and good background and deserves the benefit of the doubt."
The Chief listens respectfully until Barry finishes, nodding all the while, then says: "As previously stated in private and now restated for the record, I, Chief of Police James Gordon, grant permission for suspect Guy Gardner's temporary and supervised release. However, due to the unique circumstances of the power which Gardner wields, unconventional bail terms have been arranged. Guy Gardner, if you agree to these terms, you will be free to assist our Chief Inspector with your investigation, and also to do whatever you please within the boundaries of this station and under the direct supervision of an officer approved by our Chief Inspector. Chief Inspector Barry Allen, if Guy Gardner agrees to these terms, you will be held responsible for his actions. Is this understood by everyone present?"
"Clear as day,â Hal says, until he realizes that maybe that expression doesn't work in space.
"Understood," Barry says.
"To be allowed on bail, Guy Gardner must agree, among other base requirements, to surrender use of his Green Lantern power ring."
"Hell no," says Hal, almost before the Chief finishes speaking. "Absolutely not. Not in your dreams, not in your nightmares, not in your--"
"Then I believe this hearing is over," responds the Chief, cool and collected. The guard moves forward.
"Woah, wait," Hal protests immediately. He warily eyes the guard, and catches Barry off to the side rubbing at the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Can't we talk about this?"
"These terms aren't for negotiation," the Chief declares. "I'm not certain you realize how bad your situation is, Lantern Gardner. Murder suspects aren't often allowed bail at all. You only are because of how valuable Inspector Allen's word is. You're in absolutely no position to bargain."
"Yeah, well--" he cuts himself off as the guard nudges him forwards the door. "Watch it," he snaps. He turns his attention back to the Chief, who hasn't made any move to get up. "A Lantern can't remove their ring. Itâs one of the most powerful weapons in the universe, and I can't depend on some mediocre police department's evidence locker to keep it safe."
"You know just as well as I do that a Lantern's ring can't be wielded by anyone other than the Lantern," the Chief replies, and Hal doesn't know why he's surprised that he knows that.
He curses under his breath as he allows himself to be herded out the door. He doesn't glance behind him on his way back to the cage, but he can hear two sets of footsteps that say Barry isn't far behind. He doesn't look even when the cage door closes behind him.
"Good job," Barry says drily.
Hal whirls around. "You could have told me what the so-called 'questions' were," he snaps, but almost immediately regrets it. Barry does not look impressed by his temper. Hal has always been remarkably good at pissing people off but, for once, he can't afford to chase this person away.
"You didn't honestly expect it would be easy, did you?" Barry responds. "You're a Green Lantern suspected for murder. Any time bail is allowed, something must be given by the defendant for temporarily holding that is valuable enough to the defendant that they either won't run without it or can't run without it before their trial. Normally it's money, but considering we have no information on how valuable that is to you, requiring a monetary deposit doesn't guarantee that you won't still run. The only way to make sure you show up to your trial is to restrict how easy it is for you to run." Barry gestures to Hal's yellow mittens. "Hence this."
"I didn't say I don't know why you guys want it," he replies, his ire already dying down. No need to get angry about logic.
"Well, either you turn your ring over to us or you're going to be stuck sitting in this cage for the entire length of this investigation." Barry's expression is at first disappointed, but soon looks concerned. It's almost hard to pick up on, but whereas a line like he said would be mocking coming from anyone who wasn't genuine, it sounds sad coming from him. "And it doesn't get much better than this."
Barry has taken to leaning against the cage, apparently comfortable enough to do so, although not comfortable enough to have his back to Hal. He's staring intently at Hal, waiting to see what move he'll make.
He needs to stay calm. Being angry will only hurt his case. Which he doesn't really understand -- he feels like an innocent person should be allowed to get angrier over being wrongly accused than a guilty person, but the universe is fucked like that sometimes.
After a moment taken for himself, he looks straight into Barry's face. "Fine," he says. "Take it."