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<BATCAVE: Friday Night>
Bruce paced the room, counting seventeen steps towards the Batcomputer before walking back to Hal, who wore an expectant expression. Even without his cowl, Bruce hoped his Batglare was effective as ever.
Hal was – unsurprisingly – immune to his intimidation tactics. In fact, the man was grinning even wider now.
What a punchable face.
Bruce sighed. “So, your foolproof plan to get divorced from your moustache-twirling archnemesis,” he said, jabbing a finger in Hal’s flight jacket, “which, by the way, you never told me you were still married to,” Hal bashfully avoided eye contact, “is to get double-married?”
Bruce gripped Hal’s forearm, just hard enough to be bordering on painful. Except that his brain mixed up the angry signals with the romantic ones, as always, so it turned into a bruising kiss instead. He couldn’t help it.
Hal was smiling into the kiss. Smug bastard. Bruce’s hands roamed under Hal’s shirt, annoyance momentarily forgotten as he felt Hal’s heartbeat speeding up. This was their most effective form of communication: sharing breaths, feeling up those glorious back muscles, warm and alive.
Surprisingly, Hal was the one who broke off the kiss first. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, babe, but – hey, leave my neck alone, such a vampire – but I think it’s best if you come along, ‘cause I’ll totally fuck this up.”
Bruce stepped back and crossed his arms. “More than you already have?” he asked, failing to hide his frustration.
Hal was distinctly unimpressed. “Aaaand there we go, Mach 5 to zero. Really killing that sexy vibe.” Hal cornered Bruce to the nearest wall, caging him in with both hands. “Y’know, Spooky, it wouldn’t hurt for you to say, Okay, Hal, I’ll have your back when Sinestro says no.”
“And why would he say no?”
“I don’t know!” Hal straightened his flight jacket, then shrugged it to its original position out of habit. “Maybe, like, tax benefits.”
Bruce counted to ten within three seconds, breathed out slowly, and reminded himself of his no-kill rule. “TAX BENEFITS?!” he screeched.
“Okay, that came out wrong, you’re not supposed to know about – Erm, you know what, never mind. The point is, it’s a foolproof plan! We go there, I get married, immediately coerce him into the divorce, then we get married. Booyah.”
Bruce really wanted to blame this nightmare on Scarecrow, but Crane was still in Arkham. “The problem with your foolproof plan,” he enunciated each syllable clearly, as if speaking to a misbehaving puppy, “is that it’s not idiotproof. You want to knock on Sinestro’s front door? Fine. He’ll greet us with a smile and we’ll definitely live to tell the tale.”
Hal frowned. “Fuck you. That mental image is fucking creepy. Thaal never smiles, not even when—”
“Oh, so it’s Thaal now, huh.”
“Got a problem with that?” Hal challenged, fiery gaze holding Bruce in place. For a fleeting moment, Bruce was genuinely worried that Hal had lost his temper. Yet Hal gave Bruce an assessing look and smirked, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Or are you jealous, Spooky?”
Bruce scowled into the kiss.
<QWARD: Saturday Morning>
Hal Jordan’s willpower, while useful in battles, could be extremely irritating. Especially now that they’ve moved on from the fuckbuddies stage to fiancés. It meant that Bruce had to find a compromise more often than not.
It made him feel helpless, that Hal held so much power over him. Batman could not believe his whole crimefighting life had led up to this moment—
He knocked on the door.
“Jordan? ...Oh.”
That, that right there, that look before Sinestro caught sight of Batman.
Hal may not have noticed the look Sinestro reserved for him, but Bruce had. Heck, the entire Justice League knew that Sinestro had a thing for Hal, although the Korugarian sure had a more violent way of expressing it.
Sinestro hovered a little higher, making himself appear taller. “Batman. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Batman did not deign to give a polite reply, instead digging his heel into Hal’s toes, which forced Hal out of his hiding place, a.k.a. Batman’s cape.
Hal’s suit glowed brighter to compensate for his awkwardness. “Hey, Thaal. Sinestro.” Both Batman and Sinestro were staring at him. It was unnerving. “Wanna go… grab a beer? Alien booze?” Smooth, Jordan, real smooth.
“The answer’s no, Jordan.” Sinestro was giving Hal that heated gaze again. Batman hated it, but schooled his face into a passive don't-fuck-with-me-I'm-the-goddamned-Batman expression.
“Cool,” Hal mumbled.
Gathering his not insignificant amount of willpower, Hal stood straighter and blurted out: “Actually, I might as well – I’m just gonna say it. You tricked me into our marriage, I don’t like you. Let’s get divorced, or I’ll kick your ass into the Stone Age.”
Seeing as Sinestro was staying silent, Hal added, “I’ll send you straight into a planetquake.” Sinestro continued to stare, as if asking, Is that the best you can do?
“And I’ll destroy your ring,” Hal continued. “I’ll spray paint your room neon green. I’ll design I <3 GL T-shirts and force you to wear them. And I’ll – y’know – maybe – borrow Krypto for a second, because I know you’re allergic as fuck to pet dander. I’ll make your life hell. I’ll get Itty’s children to pester you whenever you try to sleep. All thirty-four of them can take turns. Sleep deprivation will hit you like the fucking Titanic. I can—”
Batman gently slapped a hand on Hal’s mouth. “Quit while you’re ahead, Lantern.”
Sinestro briefly glared at Batman, then met Hal’s eyes. “Like I said, Jordan, the answer’s no.”
Mouth still covered, Hal muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “See, Spooky? I told you!”
Batman sent a Batglare piercing into Sinestro’s soul. “Why?” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess… Tax benefits?”
Hal shook off Bruce’s hand, eyes widening in horror. “Oh no…”
There it was, Hal Jordan’s worst nightmare: Sinestro’s evil laughter.
A minute of villainous cackling later…
“Your evil laughter sucks,” Batman told Sinestro, “I rate you one out of ten. Can’t even hold a candle to Gotham's kittens.”
Both of them were doing their macho posturing like fucking peacocks while Hal was, helloooo, literally right there. It was insulting. (Not really. It was fucking funny and almost flattering.) Just insulting on principle. “Girls, girls, you’re both pretty. Can I get a divorce now?”
“As you know, Jordan, given the circumstances of our nupitals, the only way for us to get a divorce,” Sinestro spat out the last word like a disease, “would be for one of us to die, permanently. And I’ve been trying to unalive you for years.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Yes, I have.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No,” Batman interrupted, “you merely enjoy doing your kinky villain dance by tying Hal up in yellow constructs. That one time Hal almost died, you personally brought him to our med bay. In a bridal carry.”
“Now you call him Hal,” Sinestro mused, “not Lantern. Since when did you two grow so close?”
Hal willed a giant green hand to muffle Batman’s reply. “Anyway, Sin, I came up with foolproof plan – (let me do the talking, Bats, please) – which is for us to get married in Vegas.”
Sinestro was amused. “Married, again?”
“Last time didn't count and you know it!” Hal folded his arms across his chest, a glowing green finger pointed accusingly at Sinestro. “You know, after you turned evil and destroyed our papers, right in front of me, by the way, how rude, I really thought that meant I’m single again. But oh no. Turns out that I’m still married according to goddamned Oan law, you asshole. And then Ganthet told me that time I snapped your neck doesn't count, so we’re back to the drawing board, no thanks to Parallax.”
“Jordan, have you ever considered,” Sinestro paused for dramatic effect, “not getting divorced? More convenient this way. Less trouble.”
“Oh. Oh! Oh, I’m so dumb, I never thought of that. Silly me, all my problems can be solved if I don’t get a divorce!” Hal gave out a spine-chilling laugh. (Batman and Sinestro exchanged a worried look for a second there.) “Let’s see… HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO MARRY BATMAN IF I’M ALREADY MARRIED TO A SUPERVILLAIN, MOTHERFUCKER?”
“I see,” said Sinestro coolly, pointedly ignoring Batman. “And us marrying in Vegas is supposed to achieve that goal?”
“No, Thaal,” Hal rolled his eyes, “We’re getting married just so we can get divorced legally, can you imagine the paperwork – Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hal eyed the Batarang on the ground suspiciously and then huffed as he watched Batman seethe. “Just raise your hand if you wanna talk, it’s not that hard.”
Batman’s muffled voice grew louder. He was reciting Gotham laws regarding double homicide now. If looks could kill...
Hal made his constructs disappear.
“Thank you, Hal,” Batman said, irritated. “I see you haven’t idiotproofed your plan.”
“Excuse me? This is the best goddamn 12% of a plan that you’ve ever seen! You don’t get into the Air Force just by looking pretty, you know, I actually have brains. A master strategist, is what I am.”
“And yet,” Batman countered, “you can’t even convince Sinestro to marry you, Master Strategist.”
Sinestro was amused. “You are mistaken, Batman. I fully intend to marry Hal. Question is, whether I’ll divorce him afterwards.”
Batman had a thousand different replies in his mind, ranging from vaguely insulting to absolutely soul-crushing. Truly, the universe had never witnessed such power in one man.
Then again –
“Plan B,” Hal announced, willing a boxing glove construct to punch Sinestro in the face.
– the universe had never planned on Hal Jordan.
<WATCHTOWER: Saturday Night>
“What on Earth—” The streak of scarlet lightning froze. Barry joined the rest of the slack-jawed Justice League, watching the multiverse’s unlikeliest drinking contest. (Victor used Barry’s distraction to excuse himself, and discreetly rang up his therapist.)
“We’re not on Earth, Bar!” Hal said cheerfully, stumbling over to pat on Barry’s back, only tripping over thin air twice. “In fact, we’re – I dunno – hey babe, are we on – Oa – no, the Watchtower? Babe?” Hal turned to look at the table behind him, where Batman was solemnly drinking his tenth glass of alien beer.
Hal created a sofa construct and beckoned for Barry to sit with him, which Barry did while supporting Hal's weight, after watching Hal fall over his own construct. Hal exclaimed, “You’re my best man!” and sloppily kissed Barry full on the lips.
Barry blushed redder than his Flash suit.
At the table, Sinestro (who was watching Hal and Barry like a hawk) glowered and drank his ninth glass, not appearing the least bit drunk. A yellow construct anchored Batman’s glass on the table. Both of their lips were slightly swollen, for some reason.
Batman cleared his throat, addressing the Justice League, “Thank you for coming.”
Superman was the only brave soul who shuffled ahead, wide-eyed: “B? What…?”
Batman glanced at his best friend. “No, I won’t explain. It’s all Hal’s idea.” Seeing as Sinestro had effectively kidnapped his glass, Batman drank directly from the bottle. Sinestro, annoyed, let his construct fade away.
Meanwhile, Barry was fussing over Hal. “Is that – You’ve got a little something on your nose… No.” Hal grimaced when Barry poked him. “Hal, I think your lips are bleeding!” Faster than a speeding bullet, Barry was back with a first aid kit. “What happened?”
“Oh, that. ‘Tis but a scratch,” Hal said dismissively. “I punched Thaal. See the blood on him? He punched back, hurt like a motherfucker. Then Spooky threw a bomb in his face, so I had to save him… Then – I don’t know – I think, think we got married.”
“Hal, who’s we? Think carefully before you answer.”
“Me and Bats, of course.” Hal cupped Barry’s face and gave him a dopey smile. “I hate them so fucking much, Bar. I’ll literally smother him in his sleep. Real romantic, that guy. S’like sleepin’ next to a corpse.”
J’onn coughed softly. “I have monitor duty,” he said, and left the room, away from Hal’s mental squealing, although the distance really didn’t help.
Diana had a hand on her lasso. “So why is Sinestro not locked up yet?”
“Princess!” Hal's expression brightened when he finally noticed her presence. He was mock-swooning, or maybe real-swooning. “It’s right there.” A giant hand construct pointed at the ceiling, where the word TRUCE was floating in glowing yellow, with a green smiley face next to it.
Diana blinked. “I don’t… get it.”
“No, no, no,” Hal said, struggling to stand up. It was a miracle that he hadn’t started vomiting his guts out yet. His constructs remained surprisingly solid.
Hal slurred through the first part of his explanation before getting to the main point. “We told Sin I wanted a divorce, yeah? Blew up his house, but I guess it's technically not his house, bunch of fighting and stuff. Then he was like, staying married has perks, ya know? Tried to seduce Spooky with a bunch of Qwardian tech, and Bats – believe it or nah – actually seemed tempted. Dammit. So I was like, you fuckers are just gonna backstab each other anyway, and I said I really really need this divorce, ‘cause I’m in love with you, you see. But then Spooky was like, actually the tax –” Hal paused. “Anyway. So I’m double-married. Don’t worry about the age difference, eh, Bar? Ohhh, I think I have kids now! The demon son and Hood love me!”
“Oh, Rao,” Superman said faintly, ready to pass out at any moment. The glowing green light of Hal’s constructs illuminated his face like Kryptonite.
“Seriously, Supes, we’re all good now. Sin already officiated the wedding. This is afterparty… I think.” Hal waved his hands frantically, though no one could understand what the hell he was trying to gesture. “This is – This is – huh, I think we’re having polyamory negotiations… Wait, no, they're possessive assholes. Babe, what the fuck were we doing again?” He turned to Batman for help.
Batman nursed his drink. Not taking his eyes off the glass, he said mildly, “Eloquent as ever, Flyboy.”
“I agree,” Sinestro said.
Somewhere at the door, a voice carried over: “Bats, Z told me about – oh bollocks.” Then came the noise of metallic clanking. Something crashed. “...Bloody hell. Your son's gone mad, Alfred. Ta. Laters.”
Barry slumped in the green sofa, feeling the beginning of a headache. He scooted over so Superman could sit next to him.
Barry sympathized. Batman’s best friend was close to hyperventilating. “It’s not that bad,” Barry said comfortingly, though he was personally doubtful.
Superman wrapped him in a bear hug –
“C, my ribs! My ribs!”
“Sorry,” Supes said. Was he – oh god – was Superman crying?! “It’s just, I’m so – I'm so happy for them!” And Clark burst into tears.
“DID SOMEONE SAY PARTY?” Oliver’s booming voice asked, as he exited the Zeta tube with Dinah at his side. “I brought chilli! Oh, and Hal, Guy said he’ll be here soon.”
“I love you, Ollie!” Hal said drunkenly.
“And I love you, Hal! Best. Wedding. Ever!”
Behind him, Dinah whispered to the sane members of the Justice League, “I brought tissues, milk, tranq darts, and Ollie’s baby photos. Just in case.”
It was chaos. Hal was climbing Oliver like a tree, Clark was still sobbing, Captain Marvel was here for some reason, and Cyborg (after a short therapy session) was 69.420% sure that the Batfamily had infiltrated the Watchtower.
“I’m so glad Arthur isn’t here,” someone in the crowd sighed.
“I’m here,” Arthur said, waving his trident helpfully, eyes glued to the bottles of alcohol.
Amidst the League’s existential crisis, no one noticed when Batman and Sinestro clinked their twelfth glasses together.
Sinestro’s voice was as bored as someone asking about the weather, but his lips twitched. “Have I told you about that time Jordan was defeated by a banana peel?”
“Oh? Pray tell." Batman raised his glass. "Cheers."