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Barry searches the sky through the cloud of his breath. The wind up here whips it away in an instant, his nose and cheeks prickling with the cold as he searches the gray clouds above.
Central had been mostly quiet tonight, of the activity he’s watching for, anyway. Maybe the supervillains were also caught up in the mass of shoppers downtown. Even with the extra lights festooning the buildings for the holidays, there’s no way Barry could have missed the emerald shooting star. He’d been up the side of the nearest skyscraper the next moment, lightning jumping to the snowflakes swirling in his wake.
It hasn’t been a long separation — a little over two weeks, so fairly average— but Barry’s well versed in absences and fondness, and his heart had started so very, very fond. By the time Hal crosses the city and descends to meet him, Barry’s cheeks hurt from smiling.
Hal drops his shield as he nears, wind tossing his hair as he opens himself to the elements. Barry zips forward, standing on his toes and reaching out to close the distance that little bit sooner. He folds himself around Hal, every cell in his body relaxing at the heat of Hal’s uniform, the familiar scents of leather and artificial orange from Oa’s standard hygiene products.
Hal sighs, a deeply comfortable sound, and his nose presses a cold line into Barry’s neck. “Mmm. So much better than the freezing void of space, or this terrible Central City wind.”
“Technically, space isn’t cold.” Barry tilts them slightly to better protect Hal from the wind as Hal snorts into his collarbone. “You need molecules around you to transfer energy to be ‘hot’ or ‘cold.’”
“Lucky me then, that I’ve got your molecules here to get some of that hotness.” Hal looks up, far too energetic for having traveled thousands of lightyears, but Barry’s used to that, too. “You know, I checked the temperature in Coast, and it’s in the 80s today. It’d only take you, what, half a second to pop over there?”
“Why would I waste half a second when you just got back?”
“That would be my loss. Shall we?”
Hal steps off the building into a sleigh construct that springs up around him, complete with a pair of reindeer pawing at the open air. He holds out a hand. Barry takes it, shaking his head with an amused huff as Hal pulls him onto the bench next to him and pulls a construct blanket tight around their shoulders. He cracks the reins, and the sleigh shoots forward.
Hal steers a little lower, so the windows of the buildings zip by them. “When is it, anyway?”
The question’s as much a part of homecomings as rooftop embraces, Big Belly Burger, and all the things they’re going to get up to tonight. Barry tries to focus on that, and not how close they get to the glass as they turn a corner. Everything feels faster when his feet aren’t solidly on the ground, something he’s sure Hal’s counting on, given how his grin widens when Barry’s arms tighten around him. “December. After Hanukkah, but over a week until Christmas.” Keeping his eyes focused on Hal helps too. It’s not hard; he hadn’t been exaggerating about not wanting to miss a moment of their reunion. “I lit the candles every night, though, uh, I couldn’t remember how the song went, and had to look it up on Youtube.”
Hal’s face transforms, the glee of flying replaced by such a touched fondness that Barry can’t help hugging him a little tighter. He’s glad Hal’s shown time and time again to be able to read as much on his own, less expressive face.
After a few more turns, Hal asks, “So what are you up to? Besides being in the lab on Christmas?”
“There’s a Flash snow training exercise, and the League holiday party.” Anything beyond the next couple days is too far out, and planning would be an exercise in disappointment. Barry might not be able to stop his brain from contemplating Christmas and New Year’s, but he can stop before sharing that with Hal. “Is there anything you want to do?”
“If you’re asking about holiday things, I got more than my share in Sector 2425. Ha-L Mark-34 is a 24-7 holiday fest, even the times we didn’t have the misfortune of being there on Life Day — candied buildings, garlands everywhere, so many lights that it was legit hard to see.” He shudders dramatically. “I can still smell it. The whole planet smelled exactly like those pine car freshener things.”
Barry arches an eyebrow. “Says the man that just made Santa’s sleigh with his mind, complete with bell harnesses.”
“Their excessive holiday cheer got to me! Guy was right! We took too long to escape from their Grinch reeducation camps!”
Hal continues the story as they pull out away from city center and out into the open air, spinning a daring tale of their escape from the candy cane enforcers with the help of a stampeding herd of what sounded like land narwhals.
“So Santa’s village is out,” Barry says as they pass the stadium, the powerful lights shining red and green. “Anything else you wanted to do?”
“What I’m looking forward to is being the little spoon to my own personal space heater.”
Barry’s not surprised; Hal isn’t one to talk about the future, particularly the future beyond the next few days. Often, Barry appreciates that, given his own habit of being stuck years ahead, or behind, and missing the current moment entirely. But, being squarely in the holiday season, and potentially only having a couple days to celebrate, it feels like they should be doing something more.
Hal smiles, bright and present as they dash through Central and it’s all the reminder Barry needs to be right there with him. He’s being ridiculous.
“We’ve already accomplished our main traditions; you working, and me disappearing off into space,” Hal says. “Between the two of us, we can figure the rest out.”
“Sorry I’m late!” Avery says as she appears in a plume of snow. “I met up with some friends after exams, and then these jerks... You know what, you already know the story — jerks vanquished, day saved. I’ll be faster next time.“
“You’re the Flash,” Ace says, grabbing her extended hand, the two of them sharing matching grins. “Everyone’s expecting you to be late, thanks to this guy.”
“Not the legacy I would have chosen,” Barry says dryly, “but certainly one I’ve earned.”
White stretches out around them on all sides, the only breaks the few, sparse trees poking their way through the thick blanket of snow. There’s scarce daylight to be had in Canada this time of year, but what little there is cold and clear, and all the colder for the illusion of warmth from the bright sun. The valley is enclosed by mountains, allowing them privacy for their training exercise.
Barry hands Avery a pair of snow goggles, purple versions of ones the rest of them are already wearing. He’d based them off ski goggles; while the Inuit design is ingenious, the last thing he’d want was for the public to think they’d been recruited by Captain Cold. “I’ve been talking to the Flash, and even though he can’t be here today, we agree that some snow exercises are in order.”
Today was the twins’ school recital, and Barry absolutely wasn’t going to pull Wally away from that. Wally had been less convinced, saying, “elementary schoolers singing off key, or Impulse. How can I choose?” Jai and Irey will be getting their own version of snow training later, which Barry suspects will include an encore of their singing.
“Why now though?” Ace asks, “We fight on snow all times of year. If it’s not Captain Cold, it’s Weather Wizard—“
Avery jumps in. “Or Killer Frost.”
“Or Frozone.”
Ace frowns at Bart. “Isn’t that just a comic book character? And wasn’t he a good guy?”
Barry cuts in before they can continue. “You’re all right; we’ve all encountered our share of snow obstacles. But after some recent… incidents, we realized some dedicated practice time was in order.”
Ace snorts. “And by ‘incidents’ you mean Impulse charging into Weather Wizard’s snowstorm and getting stuck in a snow drift?”
Bart looks up from the snowman he made while Barry talked. “Only for 20 seconds! He couldn’t hold me!”
“20 seconds was the entire rest of the battle!”
Barry jumps in again. “That fight turned out well, but we want to make sure that things don’t end up worse next time. So we’re going to do some laps” — that’s met with a series of groans — “and then some more advanced drills.”
There’s a little grumbling and some pointed comments — frowns materialize on each of Bart’s snowman’s two heads — but they all run after him as he starts around the valley at a leisurely hundred miles an hour.
Barry gives them pointers as they run; there’s a specific technique to running on snow, especially if they want to run without quickly exhausting themselves.
They spend the first couple laps this way, the cold air breaking against his cheeks and thighs numbing into the background as his body warms from running. Barry keeps a steady pace, even as he catches Bart scooping up an armful of snow and chasing Ace, or Avery using a targeted blast of air to create an instant snowdrift. He might throw a snowball or two himself, to not be left out.
By the time they’ve passed Bart’s snowman again, the kids are all panting. Barry’s calves are happy to inform him how out of practice he is with this running style, used to needing less effort to push the rest of his body forward. The snow will do that, the reason for this exercise, and also why he’d told Hal to wait a couple minutes before —
Hal bursts from a mound of snow, surrounded by rows of construct cannons, and launches a barrage of snowballs into the air.
The snowman is caught in the crossfire, to a cry of, “No! My snow goon!”
The volley reaches them a moment later. Barry weaves through the snowballs, vibrating through some and dodging around others. Hal’s not that far — maybe a football field’s distance, which is usually barely a moment, for the Flash — but the air, thick with snow, slows him down. Still, it slows the kids down more, and he’s able to put some distance between them and duck behind Hal’s firing line.
Hal’s frozen midair like the glowing green captain of a pirate ship, directing his snowball cannons as if in the middle of a heated sea battle. Barry’s eyes linger on the dimple in his cheek, the glimmer in his eye visible even through the mask.
The continuous blasts of cannon fire goes from subsonic to near-deafening as Barry shifts back to real time. He vibrates each leg to lose the extra water he’s picked up; somehow, snow always manages to get into his boots. “Are you this enthusiastic attacking the Lantern trainees? Is this why Lanterns don’t have sidekicks?”
Hal matches his expression, impishness coming easily to his features. “Really? I’m not the one who suggested putting ice and rocks in the snowballs.”
Through the thick rain of snowballs, Barry watches the kids blur as they dodge around, slap away, and vibrate through the oncoming projectiles. Bart, who Barry’s noticed lately over-relies on vibration, yelps as the snow under his feet liquifies and he drops into freezing slush. Avery nudges a snowball that explodes in a powdery cloud, and she runs face first into another one. Ace dodges through them, accepting a few glancing hits to avoid more serious ones, though it slows him down enough that he’s not making much progress.
“Varied densities make for better vibrational frequency practice,” Barry says absently as Bart attempts to heft himself out of the hole, only for the snow to crumble under his hands and drop him back in.
“Uh huh. You don’t get to talk to Kilowog anymore; wouldn’t want you giving him more ideas for Lantern boot camp.”
Time to get back out there. He touches Hal’s arm. The light pressure of Hal’s fingers against his back in response is a familiar show of support and “bye for now” from many, many fights fought side by side.
The slap to his ass, and the armful of snow Barry drops over Hal’s head, are newer gestures. He’ll be fine. The snow won’t get through Hal’s forcefield.
Barry runs back into the snowball storm, navigating through to find Ace and run alongside him. “Great job. Time for a rescue?”
“I’ve got Avery,” Ace says, and then runs towards the splotch of purple among the white.
Barry ducks around a snowball the size of a hot dog stand — Hal must be having some fun with his cannons, now that the exercise is nearing its end — and scoops up Bart under the elbows. He’s cold to the touch, so Barry runs him over to a rocky outcropping. He jumps back as Bart vibrates the water out of his suit like a dog shaking the rain out of its coat.
They rejoin the group as Hal produces thermoses and takeout containers from his ring and sets them up on a construct table jutting from the churned snow. “All right, time for Flash fuel. You’ll have to warm it up yourselves though.”
“Really?” Bart groans, his hands blurring around a thermos. “This needs to be an exercise too?”
“It comes in handy on away missions. It’s more discreet than making a fire.” Barry catches Hal’s eye. “Or construct hotplates.”
The flaming hotplates had been an early mishap, when both of them had had less experience with their powers than the kids had with theirs. Barry just had the advantage of being able to compensate for most of his power mishaps before anyone noticed them.
“Hey! It’s not my fault that when I picture a hotplate, it’s one that’s been through three Goodwills and some gastronomically-adventurous mice. And I think Bats would rather deal with some artistic char and a small, easily-contained fire than oatmeal all over his cowl!”
“What?!” Bart shouts, zipping around Hal. “When did this happen? Robin didn’t tell me any of this!”
“Probably because Batman didn’t tell him,” Barry says, even as he’s biting back a smile.
Hal practically glows from the attention, tutting as he says, “Flash, that’s not good reasoning. Would you not jump off a bridge because Batman wasn’t jumping off either?”
Avery squints. “Pretty sure that’s not how that saying goes.”
“So,” Hal continues, “the two of us, Supes, and Bats were hiding out after being stranded on an alien planet. This was like day three of being cold and tired and increasingly frustrated that we hadn’t figured out how to get out of there. Now Flash here, being the proper host that he is, insisted that we could at least have a hot breakfast, and started warming up the ration paste tubes like what you guys are doing with the thermoses now. He got through the first couple no problem. By tube number three, though, Flash was getting overconfident, chatting instead of focusing — ”
Barry can’t let this go uncorrected. “—chatting with you ! You were going on and on about how I should get into massage, or something equally nonsensical!”
“— was so busy running his mouth that he wasn’t paying attention to the can of molten foodstuffs he was loading with each vibration he put into it. So he’s gabbing away without a care in the world, and bang! The lid bursts off, spewing chunky goo all over Batman’s face!” Hal looks at each of the kids in turn. “So we’re all staring at Bats, frozen in horrified shock, and unable to believe that just happened. Finally, Bats fishes a hanky out of his utility belt, and just said, completely monotone, ‘I’ll have mine cold.’”
Barry laughs along with the rest of them, even though he’s sure his face is beet red. That’s one way to keep warm. Hal slings an arm around his shoulders, pinching his cheeks in temperature-less pressure with his force field.
“So don’t flirt while handling hot objects, got it,” Ace says with a smirk, though he subtly angles the thermos away as he unscrews the lid.
Barry hands Hal a warmed thermos, then turns to the kids. “I hope you enjoyed this training session, because Green Lantern isn’t getting invited back.”
Hal immediately pops the lid of his thermos and takes a long drink, unperturbed by his own story. “It’s not fair that the Flash formerly known as Kid Flash is the only one that got to hear your embarrassing stories. I’m just trying to even the playing field.”
Ace asks, “Is this going to be a thing? Is this the First Annual Flash Snow Training Day?”
“Not if we’re calling it that. How about Cold Flash?” Avery’s face twists as she runs through options. “Snow Twister? Ice Cyclone?”
Bart jumps in. “Flash Freeze! And we need to do another one! How else can I avenge my snow goon?”
“There’s lots of ways,” Hal says to Bart, who watches him with interest. Hal tosses a ball of ice in one hand, the other wrapped around Barry’s shoulders, holding Barry close. “All you need to do is…”
A construct yanks the front of Barry’s cowl and Hal drops the ice down Barry’s suit.
Barry jumps, icy cold skittering down his chest. He scrambles at the ice, but his suit’s stretchy material works against him, and he only manages to spread it over more of his chest.
By the time the ice has melted into a splotch of water against his belly button, everyone’s gathered around Hal, doubled over in laughter. They mostly manage to stop snickering by the time he picks his way back through the churned snow.
“There’s your lesson from Green Lantern on not letting your guard down,” Hal crows, eyes sparkling.
“And on the importance of knowing your teammate’s powers.” Barry turns away, discretely scooping a handful of snow into the palm of his glove. The yellow palm of his gloves. “Otherwise, you can’t compensate for their comparative weakness, or, occasionally —.“
Hal yelps and shoots ten feet into the air when Barry’s frozen hand passes straight through his forcefield to freeze the back of his neck.
“What’s going on down there?” Hal asks as he picks his way through the scattered boxes and baskets to where Barry, Howie, and Jane are camped out on the floor. “That potato doesn’t have enough glitter on it to have been packed between the macaroni ornaments and the uncanny valley Santas.”
They’re at Jim’s, in the living room strewn with the boxes and bags, the midpoint disaster between no decorations and the winter wonderland of previous years. When they’d called and told Jim that Hal was back in town, Jim had immediately invited them over. “It’s perfect,” he’d said. “We wanted to give Hanukkah a little room to breathe, so we haven’t set up for Christmas yet. And we can always use another adult pair of hands to carry Sue’s ceramic village.”
Said village spreads across the faux fireplace’s mantle, though with the pile of trees and Green Lantern Combining Mechazord standing over the scene, it looks like the site of a particularly nasty super battle. The rich smell of baking butter and cinnamon had hit them the moment they’d open the door to be tackled by Hal’s niece and nephew, a promise for after they finish decorating.
Barry, Howie, and Jane currently aren’t making much progress towards that, and are instead hunched around Barry’s impromptu demonstration. Barry takes the wire connected to the potato and attaches the clips to the tiny LED light, and the kids cheer as all three lights along the circuit spring to life.
“Uncle Barry’s showing us how Christmas lights work!” Howie says, waving around a stray bulb from the string lights twinkling around the tree.
Barry gestures at the second potato, wired in parallel, with two lights shining despite the missing third. “They wanted to know why I had to check every single bulb when the string died as a kid, and figured a demonstration was in order.”
“And here Jim’s worried we’re going to spoil the kids. I’m pretty sure ‘science lessons on Christmas lights’ cancels out ‘flying to another state for outdoor ice skating.’”
“I know which I’d have preferred,” Barry says. He’d been invested in his one job during the holidays, though not enough to fight against the upgrade to parallel circuits. They’re more robust, and better designed for their particular task. “I guess I was always this much fun.”
Hal drops the cloth angel tree topper onto Barry’s head like a hat. “And that much of a nerd. Well, while you were sitting around unscrewing light bulbs, we were sitting on the beach and splurging on Chinese takeout, because it was the only place open on Christmas.”
“Howie!” Sue calls from the kitchen. “Can I have my potatoes back now? It’s time to start dinner!”
“Yes, Mom!” Howie grabs the potatoes — Barry speedily collects the wires before Howie can touch them — and runs out of the room.
“That’s not how I remember things at all,” Jim says mildly as he comes down from the attic with another round of boxes. “The house was always decked out for the holidays.”
“That’s because Jack and I would call a truce to scrounge together decorations.” He takes a box of Santas from Jim as Barry collects the others. “I remember one year where I painted a dead wreath green with paint from the school art room. With all those old lights and dry wood, we’re lucky the whole place didn’t go up in flames.”
“Is Uncle Jack coming?” Jane asks, standing from where she’s playing with the tree skirt.
Jim crosses the room to kneel next to her. “Uncle Jack’s not coming today, sweetheart. But we’re visiting him next week.”
Hal scoops her up, holding her in one arm and the Santas in the other. “Not everyone can fly across the universe in a couple minutes.”
Jane frowns. “Then he can run.”
Sue pops her head through the door. “It would take all day to run from Uncle Jack’s. Remember the drive the last time we visited? It took hours driving.”
“Then what can he do?”
“Besides being a dic—“ Hal mumbles, only to cut himself off at an aggrieved look from Jim “— district attorney?”
Jim tries again. “Sweetheart, can you tell me exactly how you think Uncle Jack gets to our house?”
“He runs. Or flies in the sky.” Jane says, like she’s explaining to an even littler child. “Because he’s an uncle. Uncles have super powers.”
Barry bites his lip. Hal’s eyes meet his, glittering brighter than tree lights.
“Don’t mention that to him. It hurts his feelings that your other uncles’ powers are so much cooler than his.” Hal says seriously.
“Jack’s like daddy, Jane,” Jim says, taking her from Hal with a warning look that doesn’t even dent Hal’s glee. “He doesn’t have any powers.”
“Oh.” Jane blinks, taking in this new information. “That’s boring.”
“From the mouths of babes!” Hal cackles, slapping Jim on the back, and Barry zips to Hal’s side to rescue the Santas.
Barry stops on the last stair to the attic, pausing before the door to take a breath. They’d finished unpacking downstairs, and Barry’s collecting Hal for the hot cocoa and cookies part of the afternoon. Barry loves Hal’s family, he really does, but the nonstop energy can be tiring. Even if Hal’s nieces and nephews are more understanding of “Uncle Barry’s time out corner” than Wally’s kids.
He opens the door, and almost misses Hal where he stands unmoving among the boxes in the far corner, hidden in the low, dusty light from the attic’s single window. Barry drifts over, making his footfalls against the wood floor louder than usual.
Hal looks up as he approaches, his smile warm and making no attempt to hide what he was holding.
Barry stands next to him. “What have you got there?” It looks like a cylinder, dusty blue with bits of white and yellow.
“It’s a candle, from when we were kids. Mom always picked up extra shifts, so it was up to me and Jack to make sure Jim got a real holiday. Not that we had much of an idea what that looked like, outside of TV.” He turns the little figure around in his fingers absently. “What I knew was that we needed candles, so I found us some.” He holds the thing up in the shaft of light, and Barry finally sees the blackened wick poking from the indentation in the wax. “It used to be a penguin. Pretty sure the head was half melted when I swiped it from some other kid’s birthday party. Of course, when I showed this guy to Mom, she told us that the candles were supposed to match, and went and got some proper ones. But this guy came out after Thanksgiving every year anyway.”
Barry puts a hand on Hal’s shoulder, squeezing lightly as a show of support and is rewarded by a quick smile back. “That was a really kind thing you did.”
“It wasn’t that big a deal.” But he’s smiling at the little headless penguin, idly cleaning off its dusty surface with his thumb. “Like I said, we never even really used it.”
To Barry, it sounds like they had; you don’t take something out every year, and then hold onto it for a couple decades, for no reason at all. “I know it sounds trite, but the thought does count. Like reassembling my alarm clock.”
Hal shrugs, even as his cheeks redden. He’d fixed the alarm clock just yesterday. “I had some downtime while you were at work.”
Barry tightens his arm around Hal’s waist, and sneaks a kiss to his cheek. “Well, I appreciate it anyway. And maybe it’s a little presumptuous, but I think Jim does too.”
“Yeah, well. That wasn’t totally selfless. I also wanted to show up Jack.” He laughs, then nudges Barry with his elbow. “This is the part where you tell me a childhood holiday story. Don’t leave me hanging like that.”
He knows Hal’s trying to distract him, but he appreciates Hal’s vulnerability, and would never want to punish him for it. And Barry’s been trying to be a little better about actually saying things out loud, instead of simply thinking them, but apparently he’s been backsliding. Thankfully, Hal’s never been shy about asking.
“I suppose I was on the other side of that equation. It took me years to realize that Darryl did the Christmas decorations for me, and even that wasn’t until his partner mentioned it at the CCPD Christmas party. Apparently Darryl had run out and bought our three foot artificial tree, and the lights, and the wreath we put up every year, when he found out I was going to be living with him.
“But the detective also mentioned that Darryl liked eggnog, and that he’d never found one like his great aunt used to make. So I found the recipe in a cookbook shoved in a corner of the bookcase, and got to work.”
“That the stuff you always bring to the League holiday party?” When Barry nods, Hal says, “Here I thought it was just you having old school tastes, but then...“ He gestures at Barry and his sweater vest.
Barry chuckles. “Granted, my first couple versions came out more like scrambled egg than like anything anyone would willingly drink. But I managed it by Christmas, and yeah, I’ve been making it ever since.” He’d made quite the mess, but, as with the series circuit lights, he’d eventually prevailed. “Though I still prefer it without the alcohol. He let me try some that first year, and I’d never tasted anything worse! I’m pretty sure he was trying to stop me from drinking underage, and it definitely worked. I couldn’t even stand the smell.” He hasn’t made his usual batch for Darryl yet this year, or for the holiday party. Maybe Hal would want to join in. “The version I do now is more reliable; eggs are kind of amazing from a food science perspective.”
Hal laughs, his previous hesitancy gone. He holds Barry’s by the shoulders at arms’ length, studying him. “So you were a cute, nerdy child who grew up into a handsome, nerdy man. Should I be trying harder to provide nerd opportunities? We could speculate as to the external conditions under which a lamp could burn for longer than expected, or what kind of Speed Force friction shield Santa needs to not combust in the atmosphere.” He slings an arm around Barry’s shoulders, tugging him close. “Or how fruitcake is, scientifically, just the worst.”
“Hal? Barry?” Jim pops his head through the door. He crosses the room, then brightens when he sees the candle. “Oh, you found Percival!”
Barry tilts his head up to look at Hal, enjoying his warmth. “Percival?”
“I’d forgotten we’d named him!” Hal holds the penguin candle up. “We figured if Rudolph could have an old guy name, then he should too.”
Hal moves to put the candle back into the box, but Jim stops him. “Keep it.”
Hal hands it to Jim instead. “I can’t. You’re the one who thought to hold onto it all these years—“
“Well, if you’re going to be like that.” Jim places it squarely in Barry’s hand instead. “Barry, here’s a present for you and Hal. Since it would have ended up at your apartment anyway.”
Hal splutters, and Barry closes his fingers around the candle. “Thank you for the wonderful gift, Jim, from both of us.”
Jim laughs. “We have to stick together, around all these people with more willpower than sense. Now let’s get downstairs before the kids eat all the cookies.”
Barry stands for a quick stretch as friendly chatter springs up around the table. They’re most of the way through their annual end-of-year wrap up meeting, having already gotten through the usual crime statistics, recap of notable missions, and areas for improvement. Barry’s struck, as he is every year, with how much he’s forgotten; summarized like this, it feels like so much and so little time all at once.
Today’s main event is the League’s annual nondenominational end-of-year celebration— or, the holiday party, for brevity’s sake — which both Atoms are currently finishing setting up in the Watchtower’s central room. The only hint Barry has to this year’s theme was a passing mention of Ice’s involvement, and Ray Palmer’s barely contained excitement that they were absolutely going to top Ralph Dibny’s holiday-themed escape room.
The meeting room is more traditionally festive, in that the League themselves are decked out in various combinations of superhero costumes and holiday business casual. Barry pulls his eyes from Captain Atom, who’s at the projector setting up for the next presentation. The silver covering his body is usually as invisible as Ollie’s hat or Superman’s red underwear — too normal to even comment upon. But the addition of a holiday sweater on top brings uncomfortable attention to the rest of his costume. This was not at all helped by Hal, with his highly-tuned ability to hijack Barry’s thought processes, leaning over and whispering in Barry’s ear that Captain Atom was Donald Duck-ing it.
Dinah leans forwards on the table, her tasteful black turtleneck standing out less against all the red, green, and gold for Batman sitting two chairs down in his standard costume. “Wow, Clark. Martha really pulled out all the stops this year,” she says, diplomatic as always.
“Kon-el showed her pictures from the Titan’s ugly sweater contest,” Clark confesses, tugging self-consciously at his sweater’s neckline, the ribbing striped like a candy cane. “She may have taken personal offense to the sweaters they considered intentionally ugly, and all put that energy into this year’s sweaters.”
Hal elbows Barry. “I told you we should have ordered something from the Rogues’ tailor. A guy who thinks Mirror Master’s look is peak functional fashion is the only one capable of taking on,” he gestures as Clark’s sweater, “that.”
It’s the most aggressively Christmas sweater that Barry’s ever seen, with what seems like every classic sweater motif surrounding a collection of Christmas trees, stars, snowflakes, reindeer, and every vaguely holiday thing that could be shoved onto a sweater. Even with all the real estate Clark’s broad chest provides, it has the look of some of the lawn displays in Central’s suburbs — specifically, the one filled to the bursting with twenty years worth of mismatched decorations.
Barry shakes his head; they’ve had this conversation before. “No sweater is worth bringing a surveillance device into the Watchtower.” He reaches up and straightens Hal’s green elf hat, which had shifted sideways to a roguish angle that might have worked, except for the fabric ear protruding from Hal’s forehead. “And I’m not sure even he could beat an aggrieved Martha Kent.”
Hal had gone the casual route, with the green elf cap, and an excessively Lantern-patterned sweater he’d found while complaining that the whole of the internet’s Lantern sweaters couldn’t match Flash Museum’s collection. “That narc, Elf on a Shelf, wishes he could look this good,” Hal had said this morning, as he adjusted Barry’s peppermint striped bow tie. It, along with most of Barry’s outfit, were gifts from Wally and the rest of the Flash family over the years, right down to the clock-adorned socks.
“I especially love that garland,” Dinah continues. “The 3-D effect with that fluffy yarn really takes it to the next level."
“Congrats to Ma Kent,” Ollie says. “Because that’s the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen. Just take the Sundollar gift card already, with our compliments.”
“I intend to,” Clark says, unperturbed. “She’ll be happy to hear it was the center of the conversation, and she likes the occasional caramel drizzle, so it’s win-win.”
“I’m questioning every conversation I ever had with you,” Ollie says. “Specifically those times you commented on how useful a bow and arrow is in a super fight.”
“And here I was taking this conversation as yet another lesson we could take from this year: that some fights are not worth fighting,” Diana says from the front of the room. Hal had asked her earlier if her cheetah print sweater was the spoils of war, to which she’d responded with a simple “maybe it was a gift.” It looks regal on her, with the deep red cape draped around it. “Now, shall we continue?”
The rest of the meeting flies by, Diana and Nate running through the usual administrative reminders at an impressive clip, aware that everyone’s ready for the social portion of the meeting.
Batman says the final remarks. “We survived another year. But don’t let your guards down. There’s always something during the holidays, so keep your communicators on you.”
“Geez, Bats, you’re terrible at this,” Ollie gripes, tossing a balled up itinerary across the table and into the recycling bin. “Normal people would have ended that with a,” his voice takes on an uncannily peppy tone,“‘Let’s finish this year strong, and bring that energy into the next one!’. An AI could have written a better send off. Christ.”
“And on that note,” Clark says, standing. “As Ollie said, great job this year, everyone. While there’s always room for improvement, I’m proud of us and what we were able to accomplish, and I hope you all are too.” He smiles around the table, the shiny yarn in his sweater twinkling at them. “You all know I love an inspiring speech, but I also know that the best thing a speech can be is short, especially when it’s standing between everyone and the holiday party. So let’s go see what the Atoms came up with for the nondenominational end-of-year celebration, and finish out another great year.”
They all filter out of the meeting rooms in little groups, Ollie and Hal taking a few more potshots at Clark’s sweater as Barry catches up with Dinah. All that talking stops when they get to the party venue.
Ray hadn’t been kidding; they’d absolutely outdone themselves. The room is lit in blues, purples, and greens, but what draws Barry’s attention is the half dozen snowflakes ringing the room, each easily ten feet across, and the even larger group of varying sizes suspended from the ceiling. Even from the doorway, Barry can tell that they’re not simple ice sculptures; the combination of precise angles and slight irregularities to the crystal suggested a particular explanation, and speeding across the room to examine them closer confirms it. These are real snowflakes, expanded to over 1000 times their normal size.
How had they managed it? He studies the grates the snowflakes are mounted on, but those don’t look to be doing much besides catching any eventual melted ice. Obviously, the Atoms had their technology that let them change their own size, but while the body is a self-contained system, the ice would be constantly interacting with any water vapor and anything else in the atmosphere, the same conditions that gave the snowflakes their unique structure in the first place. Even with the station’s highly controlled humidity, to be able to preserve this level of structural integrity, while also—
Hot breath tickles his ear as Hal whispers, “Looks like we’ve found this year’s nerdy holiday thing.”
He’s not wrong. Barry spends the next few minutes admiring the snowflakes as they cycled through colored lights provided by what Barry suspects is Crazy Quilt’s helmet, commenting to Hal about how they must have gotten Ice involved to integrate extra water while expanding molecular structure, and how he can’t wait to talk to the Atoms and learn if he’s right. Around the time Hal would usually leave Barry to do just that, Hal asks if they can talk by the teleporter room.
Barry waits for the door to slide shut, then asks, “What is it?”
“Ollie and I are heading out. He had some stuff he wanted to talk about, and figured, for once, it’d be better to do it not in the middle of the holiday party.”
Barry bites done on his bubbling laugh; Ollie’s famous at these things for his… candor, particularly a few drinks in. “Is it something serious? Anything I can do to help?”
“No, no, nothing like that. But he’s been busy this last week and some stuff is easier to talk about with other people in the business, you know?” He shakes his head, the motion dislodging his forgotten elf hat, which Barry catches before it can fall to the floor. “I can stay another hour if you’d rather; I know we usually do a bit more of the holiday party together, and didn’t want to just disappear on you.”
That does about summarize their usual holiday party activities; they make the rounds, looking at whatever display their fellow Leaguers have created, eat some appetizers, and then drift apart to catch up with other friends. An hour into a standard holiday party would involve Hal, Ollie, and some other, more boisterous heroes creating some impromptu game using someone’s powers, while Barry would be deep in a discussion about particle physics. They’d occasionally find each other throughout, but mostly for the goodbyes and a happy, but exhausted, trip home.
Barry turns the elf hat over in his hands, then, before he can think too much about it, pulls it onto his head. “I can see why you wanted to catch me before I started on Ray and Ryan about what they’d done to the snowflakes. That’s going to take a while.”
“What can I say, I recognize your ‘intense urge to talk about hydrogen bonding’ look. And getting rid of me and Ollie extends the lifespan of those snowflakes by an hour, at least.” Hal reaches up to play with the ridiculous elf ears, his eyes incredibly fond. “We don’t have anything tomorrow, right? I’ll bring back lunch from the Star, and we can make a day of it.”
Barry looks both ways, but it doesn’t look like anyone else is heading out of the party just yet, so he moves in a little closer and brushes that one stubborn curl on Hal’s forehead back into place. “Sounds like a date. Say hi to Ollie for me. But maybe tomorrow morning, on the way out the door. I wouldn’t want to ruin your visit.”
“Dork.” Hal’s voice is heavy with affection, and when his eyes flick to Barry’s lips and his head tilts ever so slightly to the right, Barry’s there to meet him halfway.
It’s little more than a peck, a quick press of lips to lips, but Barry’s left warm all over. It’s probably better that Hal’s leaving soon, or Barry would be tempted to duck out early himself.
“Why, Mr. Allen. What kind of a guy do you take me for? Out here in the open like this, where anyone could see?”
Barry laughs against Hal’s chest, his stupid hat pressing against his forehead. “Well, Mr. Jordan, I’ll take that under advisement, but shall state for the record that your response is far dorkier than anything I’ve, uh, perpetrated.”
The door whooshes open, Hal whispering “saved by the bell,” as they each take a step back.
Ollie walks out holding a glass of the eggnog Barry and Hal made earlier today, his sweater loudly proclaiming “Opinionated and Ready to Talk Politics.” He stretches. “Hal, ready to ditch Dasher and — “ He doesn’t get any farther, because Hal claps a hand over his mouth.
“Bye Bar! Enjoy the party! And depending on what this asshole says, lunch tomorrow might be on him.” That last one is said like a threat with a warning look at Ollie, before releasing his mouth and pulling him towards the teleporters.
“That was unnecessary,” Ollie grumbles as they disappear. “You think I can’t be festive when I want to?”
“Not when you’re too busy being a dick.”
Barry huffs a laugh, straightens his silly hat, then turns and heads back into the party. Time for some quality nerd time.
Barry dumps an armful of snow onto the final tar glob, then scrapes it up with a construct spatula, and marks it for pickup. With pothole season upon them and Star Labs reworking Tar Pit’s byproduct into liquid asphalt, this fight could provide patches for half of Central City’s roads.
Hal had been right about yesterday’s holiday party snowflakes; they did eventually end up destroyed, though it had been at the hands of the science heroes brainstorming how to test the particulates giving the snowflakes their unique shape. Given the sad lack of equipment at the party, they’d agreed on a flame test, and Firestorm had jumped to oblige. Luckily, Barry, the eternal designated driver, was on hand to grab falling blocks of ice. It was a sad end, but as a tipsy Ray Palmer solemnly said over the resulting puddle, “It was always meant to be ephemeral. We could have preserved it, but then it wouldn’t have been just a snowflake anymore.” And then he’d hiccuped, and Ryan had poured one out for the snowflake, and it had been time to go home.
Barry leaves the spatula construct, and heads up the side of the nearest skyscraper. They’d been talking to the officers on the scene when Hal had gotten a call from his ring, and Barry had known their time together was at an end.
It’s a cold, clear night, the wind burning against his exposed cheeks and nose, and whipping away his condensed breath as soon as it leaves his lips. With the city’s lights below and the stars above, it’s like he’s standing between the separate worlds the two of them sometimes inhabit.
Hal finds him a moment later in a wash of green light. He drops his forcefield, then grimaces and makes a bubble to protect them from the wind. “Well, I’m headed back to Sector 2425. Looks like there’s going to be treaty negotiations between Ha-L Mark-34 and LIV T1-M, and they want us there to mediate. Not sure why they specifically asked for me and Guy, and a couple of others who were just there. If the Hallmarkians think they won us over with their small town charm, they’ve got another thing coming.” He rakes a hand through his hair and lets his hand fall with a huff. “Guess it was a little greedy thinking we might actually make it to Christmas this year.”
Barry runs a thumb over Hal’s cheek until his smile turns more genuine. “So I’m going to be working and you’re going to be in space? Sounds like we’re just continuing our holiday tradition.”
Hal laughs at that. “I liked today’s better.
Barry had, too. He’d had a quiet morning in, finishing a couple long put off chores and then doing some reading by his Christmas tree, just like he used to as a kid. The afternoon was less quiet but equally rejuvenating; Hal returned, laden with takeout and a terrible Robin Hood movie which they’d mostly ignored as they sat on the couch, legs intertwined, and talked. It had been a good day, the kind Barry always wishes they could have more of. But, because of that awareness, he’s extra grateful for the rare times they can just exist in each other’s presence and share the little moments in between the excitement and action that so defines their lives.
Hal continues, “But we had a pretty good run of it. Gotta save something for next year, right?”
Because of course Barry would think of Hal while drinking his tea on Christmas after returning home from work, but he’d also be thinking of the time they did have together — of a newly minted Flash family tradition, and eggnog made for all their friends, and a little headless penguin stood next to the menorah on the window sill, where Barry only had to look a little farther to see the stars. Maybe he’ll get a tub of Jim’s family favorite hot cocoa, or throw snowballs at Wally with Jai and Irey — ones without rocks and ice. And then they can do it all again when Hal is back. Or simply keep moving forward and do something completely new.
Maybe that’s what traditions mean for the two of them. Not something that needed to be done every year, but little opportunities for togetherness, with the knowledge that even if they didn’t manage this year, they had so, so many more opportunities going forward.
Barry squeezes Hal’s hands. “Someone’s confident about the future.”
Hal’s face turns thoughtful for a moment. Then he smiles, bright and bold and so happy that Barry can feel it in his own chest. “Yeah, I suppose I am. Maybe not so much about our odds of spending specific dates together, but in general…?”
He trails off, but his expression is all the confirmation that Barry needs.