Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Morning meetings on the Watchtower were always a mess.

Technically, space didn’t have mornings, but the League still functioned on some semblance of a schedule. Most of the team operated on Earth’s standard time zones, which meant morning debriefs were a necessity—no matter how much Hal hated them.

He wasn’t a morning person. Never had been. Not even the ring could fix the slow crawl of consciousness he fought every time he woke up. Which was why he was in the kitchen, waiting for Barry to finish using the coffee machine. The only reason he even noticed Bruce was because the guy was scowling harder than usual.

And that was saying something.

Bruce had a permanent frown, but this? This was a different level of grumpy. A deeper scowl, sharper tension in his shoulders, the kind of expression that said, I have been awake for far too long, and I am debating murder.

Hal didn’t think about it.

He just… made two coffees.

One for himself. And one for Bruce.

Then he grabbed both mugs and made his way to the table where Bruce was already reviewing mission reports.

He set the coffee down in front of him without a second thought, “Dark roast, no sugar, splash of milk,” he muttered.

Bruce barely looked up. Just reached for it, took a sip, and hummed low in his throat.

“Thanks.”

That was it. No fanfare. No surprise.

Like this was normal.

Which—fine. It was normal. Hal had done this before. It was habit at this point. He always got Bruce’s coffee in the morning when the man didn’t want to get out of bed. He knew the guy’s order better than his own.

The problem?

This time, people noticed.

Barry, sitting across from Hal, raised an eyebrow. “Uh.”

Hal took a sip of his coffee. “What?”

“You just—you got Bats coffee? And he actually drank it?”

Hal frowned. “Yeah?”

“You knew his order?”

“…Yeah?”

Barry leaned in, his grin way too knowing. “You didn’t even ask. Just brought it to him like you’ve done it a million times before.”

Hal shrugged. “I mean, it’s not that weird, his order is just coffee with some milk.”

Across the table, Clark and Diana exchanged a glance.

Hal narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Diana tilted her head. “It’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“You remembering his order,” Clark said, his tone way too amused. “You don’t even remember your own half the time.”

“That’s not true.”

Barry smirked. “Last week, you put salt in your coffee because you weren’t paying attention.”

Hal scowled. “That was one time, and it’s not because I forgot I was just tired.”

Diana gave him a knowing look. “And yet, you weren’t too tired to get Bruce’s order wrong.”

Hal opened his mouth, then closed it. Because—okay. Fine. That was technically true.

Still. Not the point.

“It’s coffee,” he muttered. “Not like I made him a romantic dinner.”

Barry wiggled his eyebrows. “Would you?”

“Shut up.”

Bruce, for his part, had zero reaction to any of this. He just turned a page in his mission report, sipping his coffee like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Like this conversation wasn’t happening.

Hal pointed at him. “See? Not a big deal.”

Clark hummed. “If you say so.”

Hal did not like that tone.

He grumbled under his breath and focused on his coffee, ignoring the way Barry kept smirking at him.

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Hal finally managed to slip away from the kitchen, shaking off Barry’s relentless teasing and Clark’s insufferable knowing looks. He made a beeline for the more secluded halls of the Watchtower, sipping
his coffee and trying not to think too hard about what just happened.

He wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t flustered. The League was just reading too much into things.

He turned a corner and nearly ran straight into Bruce.

“Oh, for—are you following me now?” Hal grumbled, stopping just short of spilling his coffee.

Bruce gave him a flat look. “You left in a hurry.”

Hal scoffed. “Yeah, because our dear teammates are a bunch of gossipy little shits.”

Bruce hummed, stepping in closer. “You did that to yourself.”

Hal narrowed his eyes. “I brought my boyfriend coffee. That’s normal.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “‘Boyfriend’?”

Hal blinked, brain stalling for a split second.

Technically, yeah, that was what they were. They hadn’t exactly sat down and defined things with labels, but they were together. Exclusive. Hal knew it, Bruce knew it.

Still, hearing the word out loud made something flip in his stomach.

Bruce studied him for a moment before his lips twitched, just slightly. “I don’t mind the title.”

Hal rolled his eyes, fighting down a grin. “Great, glad we settled that.”

Bruce glanced at the coffee in his hand. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Hal scoffed, bumping their shoulders together. “Yeah, I did. You looked like you wanted to throw someone out an airlock.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose—his version of a chuckle. Then, quieter, he added, “Thank you.”

Hal blinked.

Not because Bruce never thanked him—he did, in his own way. But the softness in his voice? That was reserved for moments like this. Private moments.

Hal smirked, leaning against the wall beside him. “Anytime, B.”

Bruce shook his head, but Hal caught the way his fingers brushed over his wrist, just for a second. A silent, secret touch. Then, like nothing had happened, Bruce took another sip of his coffee and walked
away.

Hal watched him go, shaking his head with a grin.

The League might not know they were together.

But Hal? He didn’t need any more proof.

Chapter Text

There was a general rule in the League: do not insult Batman.

Not because anyone was particularly afraid of him (okay, maybe some were), but because it just wasn’t worth it. Bruce either didn’t react, which was frustrating, or he reacted just enough to make you regret it.

Hal, however, had apparently decided that this rule wasn’t just an unspoken truth of working with Batman—it was something to be personally enforced.

The thing was, Hal didn’t seem to realize he was doing it.

Which made it even funnier.

It started on a slow day in the Watchtower briefing room. Most of the League was gathered, waiting for a scheduled mission debrief to start. Hal was leaning back in his chair, tossing his ring in the air like he didn’t have a literal cosmic weapon on his finger.

Then, Wally opened his mouth.

“Man, Batman is so dramatic,” Wally said, grinning. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I respect the guy, but did you see the way he disappeared last night? Who does the whole ‘vanish into the night’ thing in real life?”

There were a few chuckles from around the room.

And then—Hal.

He didn’t even hesitate.

“That’s just tactical efficiency,” Hal said, deadpan. “It’s not his fault you blinked and lost sight of him.”

Wally blinked. “Uh. Dude. He jumped off a building in the middle of a sentence.”

Hal shrugged. “And? He had places to be.”

The conversation could have ended there. Should have.

But then Barry, sensing an opportunity, leaned in with a smirk. “Come on, Hal. Even you have to admit, sometimes he’s a little over-the-top.”

Hal narrowed his eyes. “How?”

Barry gestured vaguely. “The deep voice? The constant glaring? The way he talks like he’s narrating a noir novel?”

“That’s called presence,” Hal said, voice bordering on offended. “It keeps people on edge, makes criminals hesitate. It’s a psychological strategy.”

Wally grinned. “Or he just really likes being scary.”

Hal scoffed. “Scary works. Have you ever seen a guy piss himself just from Batman looking at him? It’s amazing. That’s strategy.”

Barry and Wally exchanged a glance.

Diana, who had been silently observing, finally leaned forward with interest. “You seem very passionate about this, Hal.”

Clark, because he was Clark, tried to be diplomatic. “I think they’re just saying that Batman has a certain… flair for dramatics.”

Hal huffed. “It’s not drama. It’s effective.”

Barry snorted. “Right. And you’re definitely not biased.”

Hal frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Barry smirked. “I mean, you defend him a lot.”

Hal crossed his arms. “Because you’re wrong a lot.”

“You didn’t even let Wally finish his joke!”

“Because it was a bad joke.”

The entire table was watching now.

It was too good.

Hal had no idea how obvious he was being.

Clark tried again. “No one’s saying Batman isn’t impressive—”

Hal scoffed. “You’d better not be.”

Barry choked. Wally actually wheezed.

Diana smiled knowingly.

Hal didn’t notice.

Which made it so much better.

“Okay,” Barry said, clearly enjoying this, “so let’s say, hypothetically, that Batman is a little dramatic.”

“He’s not.”

“Hypothetically.”

Hal narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Hypothetically.”

Barry grinned. “Would that bother you?”

Hal didn’t even blink.

“No.”

Barry’s grin widened. “Would you even admit it?”

Hal, without hesitation: “No.”

The table erupted.

Even Diana laughed.

Hal blinked, looking around. “…What?”

“Oh my God,” Wally gasped, wiping away a tear. “You’re so in love with him.”

Hal choked. “What?! No, I’m—”

Barry leaned in. “Hal. Buddy. You just spent ten minutes defending Batman’s honor.”

Hal scowled. “Because you were wrong.”

“Uh-huh.” Barry’s smugness was off the charts. “And that had nothing to do with how much you lo—”

“Finish that sentence,” Hal said, “and I will kill you.”

The laughter only got worse.

Hal grumbled under his breath, sinking lower into his chair, glaring at his coffee like it had personally wronged him.

Across the room, Bruce did not react.

Didn’t even look up from his tablet.

Which meant one of two things:

                      1. He didn’t hear (unlikely), or
                      2. He was deliberately ignoring this entire conversation.

Given that Bruce ignored everything until it suited him, Hal was betting on the second.

Fine. Whatever. Let them laugh.

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Hal slammed the door shut.

Bruce, still at the Batcomputer, raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Hal threw his hands up. “They were relentless today.”

Bruce just looked at him. “…And?”

Hal huffed, pacing. “They think I have a crush on you.”

Bruce hummed. “Do you?”

Hal stopped pacing.

Turned.

Stared.

Bruce wasn’t even looking at him.

Hal narrowed his eyes. “I hate you.”

Bruce smirked. “No, you don’t.”

Hal groaned.

Bruce finally looked up, tilting his head. “Did you at least convince them you don’t?”

Hal crossed his arms. “I tried.”

Bruce’s smirk widened. “And?”

Hal grumbled something under his breath.

Bruce’s eyes glinted. “What was that?”

Hal scowled. “They didn’t buy it.”

Bruce actually chuckled.

Hal pointed at him. “Not funny.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, studying him. “It’s a little funny.”

Hal flopped onto the couch with a sigh.

Bruce stood up, crossing the room. Hal felt it before he saw it.

Bruce was warm. Solid. A quiet, steady presence.

A second later, strong hands rested on Hal’s shoulders.

Hal sighed. “They were so smug about it.”

Bruce hummed. “I can imagine.”

Hal tilted his head up. “You could’ve at least helped me out.”

Bruce leaned down, lips ghosting against Hal’s temple.

“Why,” he murmured, “when you’re so cute when you’re flustered?”

Hal sputtered.

“And you make fun of me all the time, so I thought you deserved a little retribution,” he whispered in his ear.

“Well only I can make fun of you, and I do think you are entirely too dramatic you know”

Bruce just smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to Hal’s jaw before stepping back.

Hal glared at him. “I hate you.”

Bruce chuckled. “No, you don’t.”

Hal grumbled something under his breath.

Bruce’s smirk didn’t fade.

And Hal was so, so screwed.

Chapter Text

The Watchtower had some of the best technology in the known universe, but for some reason, its conference room was still stuck with a subpar holo-projector that flickered at the worst times.

Which meant that during debriefings, most of the League ended up watching Batman for cues on what was actually happening.

Hal, however, did not have that problem.

Because Hal was already watching Batman.

A lot.

It wasn’t intentional. Not exactly. He just… had a tendency to look at him. The way his cowl framed his jaw, the way his lips barely moved when he spoke, the way his hands shifted subtly as he mapped
out strategy points on the holo-display—

Shit.

He was doing it again.

Hal blinked, forcing himself to focus.

Bruce’s voice was a steady, even tone, going over their latest skirmish with an alien warlord who had very nearly turned an entire continent into his personal battleground. He was laying out
countermeasures, strategies, plans—things Hal probably should’ve been paying attention to.

But his brain? His brain was stuck somewhere else entirely.

Like, for example, how unfairly attractive Bruce looked when he was in mission mode.

Hal had been listening, at first. But somewhere between “reinforce defensive perimeters” and “coordinate satellite surveillance”, he’d lost the thread and gotten distracted by—

Well. Batman.

It wasn’t his fault, really. Bruce had this presence, this gravitational pull, and Hal had been orbiting him for years.

He barely noticed when he started staring.

Unfortunately, other people did.

Shayera was the first to catch on.

She was sitting beside him, arms crossed, wings shifting slightly as she leaned over. “Hey.”

Hal blinked. “What?”

Shayera smirked. “You’re staring.”

Hal scoffed. “Am not.”

John, who had clearly been eavesdropping, let out a short laugh. “Oh, you definitely are.”

Hal scowled. “I was listening.”

Shayera raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then what’s the plan?”

Hal opened his mouth—

Paused.

Shit.

John smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

And then, as if the universe wanted to punish him further, Wally tuned in.

Wally, whose favorite pastime was making Hal’s life hell.

“Ohhh,” Wally said, his grin teasing. “I get it now.”

Hal ignored him. “You get nothing.”

Wally’s grin widened. “No, no, I totally do. You weren’t zoning out. You were watching Bats.”

Shayera nodded sagely. “Like a lovesick teenager.”

John sighed. “It was embarrassing.”

Hal groaned. “I hate all of you.”

Meanwhile, Bruce was still talking.

Still presenting.

Paying no attention to the absolute disaster happening just a few feet away.

Clark, who was desperately trying to keep the meeting on track, coughed. “Can we focus, please?”

Wally grinned. “Hal wasn’t focusing, why should we?”

Hal smacked his arm.

The meeting eventually wrapped up, but the damage was done.

By the time the team filed out, the entire League was in full agreement:

Hal Jordan had it bad.

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Hal barely made it through the door before groaning into his hands.

Bruce—who had, of course, noticed everything—leaned against the wall, arms crossed, amused. “Good meeting?”

Hal scowled. “I hate your stupid face.”

Bruce smirked. “No, you don’t.”

Hal groaned again, flopping onto the nearest couch. “They caught me staring.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And now they won’t let it go.”

Bruce hummed. “You do stare a lot.”

Hal sat up. “Not helping.”

Bruce pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “You could’ve been more discreet.”

Hal scoffed. “Oh, like you’re subtle? Please.”

Bruce smirked. “I am subtle.”

Hal glared. “You’re Batman.”

Bruce tilted his head. “And?”

“You wear a cowl with ears. In space.”

Bruce’s smirk didn’t fade.

Hal groaned, leaning back. “I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

Bruce sat beside him, their shoulders brushing. Without hesitation, he reached out, running a gloved hand through Hal’s hair. Lightly tugging the knots loose from his hair.

Hal felt himself relax, even as he huffed. “You’re enjoying this.”

Bruce’s fingers traced absently along Hal’s temple. “A little.”

Hal shook his head. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Bruce chuckled. “I know.”

Hal groaned, but he couldn’t even be annoyed about it. Not when Bruce was already leaning in, pressing a slow, easy kiss to his lips, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Hal let himself sink into it, smirking when Bruce pulled back just enough to murmur, “Still hate my face?”

Hal grinned. “Nah. It’s growing on me.”

Chapter Text

The Watchtower was busier than usual, with League members gathered in the main hall after a particularly grueling mission. Some were getting patched up in the medbay, others were grabbing food, and a few were simply taking a moment to relax. Hal was somewhere in between—still in uniform, still buzzing with post-mission adrenaline, but already gravitating toward the one person he always found himself near after a long day.

Bruce.

The man was standing off to the side, reviewing data on his gauntlet, as if they hadn’t just spent hours fighting off a full-scale invasion attempt.

Hal found him without thinking, like he always did.

“Hey, Bats,” he greeted, slumping against the console beside him. “Hell of a day, huh?”

Bruce hummed, barely glancing up. “You could say that.”

Hal grinned. “Come on, that was an ‘I’m proud of us’ if I’ve ever heard one.”

Bruce didn’t reply, but the amusement in his eyes was enough for Hal.

Normally, he would have let Bruce keep up his brooding act. But he was riding the high of victory, and his impulse control had never been great, so without thinking—without even considering who was watching—Hal reached out and casually dragged his fingers down the back of Bruce’s cowl. A light touch. Barely there.

Bruce didn’t react.

Didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, didn’t pull away.

That was… odd.

Normally, even in private, Bruce gave him at least a look when he did stuff like that. But this time, he just kept scrolling through mission data, letting Hal touch him like it was nothing. Like it was normal.

Hal’s stomach flipped.

It was normal—to them. But not to anyone watching.

Not to the League.

And they were watching.

He could feel it before he even turned his head.

A few feet away, Barry, Diana, and Clark were looking right at them.

Hal yanked his hand back.

Too fast. Suspiciously fast.

Crap.

Barry’s eyebrows were nearly in his hairline. “Uh…”

Hal cleared his throat, stepping back like he hadn’t just had his fingers on Gotham’s most notoriously untouchable man. “What?”

Diana tilted her head, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “That was… familiar.”

Clark crossed his arms, smiling just enough to make Hal want to die. “Very.”

Hal fought the urge to sweat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Barry looked between him and Bruce, then at Bruce specifically. “And you just let that happen?”

Bruce, to Hal’s absolute horror, didn’t even look up.

Instead, he exhaled sharply, flexed his fingers, and muttered in the most exasperated voice imaginable:

“I’m too tired for this.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s good.

Hal latched onto the excuse like a drowning man.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding aggressively. “Yeah, he’s exhausted. Long day. We all had a long day, right?”

Barry didn’t look convinced.

Diana, however, considered Bruce’s posture—how he hadn’t moved in minutes, how there were faint circles under his eyes—and hummed. “I suppose that’s true.”

Clark nodded, ever the understanding one. “Makes sense. You’ve been working since yesterday, haven’t you?”

Bruce just grunted.

Barry squinted at him, but after a second, he shrugged. “Huh. Guess even Batman has his limits.”

Hal resisted the urge to sigh in relief.

Diana smiled. “Perhaps you should rest, Bruce.”

Bruce, in true Batman fashion, didn’t acknowledge the suggestion.

Clark and Diana eventually moved on, leaving Barry to shoot Hal one last suspicious look before following.

Once they were out of earshot, Hal turned to Bruce, voice low. “Nice save.”

Bruce finally looked at him, eyes sharp with amusement. “You seem awfully relieved.”

“Duh,” Hal muttered. “Barry was this close to putting two and two together.”

Bruce smirked. “He’s been close for a while.”

Hal groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Bruce’s smirk didn’t fade. “Maybe next time, you’ll think before touching me in public.”

Hal scoffed. “Not my fault you didn’t react.”

Bruce tilted his head, gaze flickering down, then back up, slow, deliberate. “Didn’t I?”

Hal swallowed.

Oh.

Oh, that was…

Later. He’d deal with that later.

For now, he just exhaled and muttered, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Bruce leaned in just enough to make it personal. “Not yet.”

And Hal was so screwed.

Chapter Text

There were a lot of things Hal Jordan would call himself—charming, good-looking, the best pilot in the galaxy—but jealous was not one of them.

At least, not until now.

It had started with a mission. Standard League business—stop an alien arms deal in deep space, make sure the weapons didn’t fall into the wrong hands, and get out without causing an intergalactic incident. Easy. Routine.

The problem? The mission had required a team-up with Tamaranean warriors.

Koriand’r—Starfire—was already a known ally, but she wasn’t the only one representing her people. A squad of Tamaraneans had joined them for the fight, and while that should have been fine…

Hal didn’t like how one of them was looking at Bruce.

Didn’t like how they kept hovering around him.

Didn’t like how they kept touching him.

Tamaraneans were naturally affectionate. It was part of their culture, something Kori had explained before. They didn’t just communicate through words—they used physical touch, body language, warmth.

And Hal got that. He did.

But he was not a fan of seeing some six-foot-four, orange-skinned warrior with flowing black hair and a perfect physique resting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

Or the way Bruce didn’t immediately shrug them off.

Or the way they smiled at him.

Bruce, of course, was completely unbothered. He stood there with his usual brooding expression, arms crossed, listening as the warrior spoke. No reaction to the way they leaned in closer. No effort to put space between them.

Hal’s jaw clenched.

He knew Bruce. Knew that Bruce was just tolerating the physical contact—that he’d spent years perfecting the art of not reacting to things. Knew that he was probably just waiting for the warrior to finish talking so he could move on.

But no one else knew that.

To anyone watching, it probably looked like Bruce wasn’t completely indifferent.

That? That was unacceptable.

Barry, standing nearby, was the first to notice Hal’s expression.

“Dude,” he muttered, nudging Hal’s side. “You good?”

Hal forced his shoulders to relax. “Fine.”

Barry followed his gaze and grinned. “You sure?”

Hal exhaled through his nose. “I said I’m fine.”

Unfortunately, Barry’s expression meant that he wasn’t buying it. And the moment Barry noticed something, it became everyone’s problem.

Clark glanced up, immediately picking up on the tension. “Tamaraneans are naturally friendly. It’s nothing to—”

“I know that,” Hal muttered. “I’m not an idiot.”

Diana, observing from the side, tilted her head. “Then why do you look as though you wish to incinerate them with your ring?”

Hal scoffed. “I don’t.”

Barry’s grin widened. “Right. And you definitely weren’t staring daggers into that guy’s head.”

Hal gritted his teeth. “I just know that Bats doesn’t like people touching him.”

At that moment, Bruce dismissed the warriors and turned back to the League, ignoring the slow-moving train wreck happening right behind him.

Diana hummed, clearly amused. “That was interesting.”

Bruce frowned. “What?”

Clark, already smirking, shook his head. “Nothing.”

Barry elbowed Hal. “You’re so obvious.”

Hal scowled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” Barry grinned. “Because I think you were about five seconds away from punching an alien warrior in the face.”

Hal rolled his eyes. “Please. I would never.”

“Uh-huh.” Barry tilted his head. “If looks could kill…”

Hal waved him off. “Not my fault if I don’t appreciate people all over Batman.”

Bruce gave him a flat look. “I can handle myself.”

Hal crossed his arms. “I know, but teammates defend each other.”

Diana’s lips curled into a knowing smile. Clark looked like he was seconds away from laughing. Barry just looked downright entertained.

Bruce, seemingly done with all of them, just sighed. “We have a mission to finish.”

Hal, still stubborn, muttered under his breath, “Yeah, whatever.”

Bruce barely had time to take off his cowl before Hal grabbed him by the waist and pulled him in.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

Hal scowled. “You let them touch you.”

Bruce just looked at him. “I let you  touch me.”

Hal opened his mouth, then paused. Because, yeah. That was fair.

Bruce wasn’t exactly a touchy person. He had walls upon walls, barriers built up over years—a reputation for not letting anyone get too close. Except, for a certain Green Lantern.

Hal exhaled, resting his hands on Bruce’s waist. “Still didn’t like it.”

Bruce smirked. “Possessive.”

Hal tightened his hold. “Yes. Their whole race is attractive, so what if I’m a little jealous.”

Bruce just hummed. “They weren’t a threat.”

Hal sighed. “I know.”

“And you know that I think you are more attractive”

Hal grumbled. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Bruce’s smirk softened into something quieter. “Hal.”

Hal didn’t respond. He simply pressed his forehead against Bruce’s shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of leather, Kevlar, and something unmistakably Bruce.

After a moment, Bruce lifted his gloved hand, threading his fingers gently into Hal’s hair.

That was all it took.

Hal relaxed completely.

Bruce exhaled, his touch lingering as if reassuring Hal. “Better?”

Hal huffed. “Maybe.”

Bruce smirked playfully. “Liar.”

Hal rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away—instead, he tugged Bruce closer.

Yeah. He was fine now.

Chapter Text

The mission was supposed to be straightforward.

Alien distress call. Possible invasion. Contain the threat. Assist survivors. Leave.

The team was split into pairs, combing through the shattered remnants of a research colony orbiting a dead moon. There was no time for jokes, no time for distractions. The energy readings had been unstable, flickering with radiation spikes and dimensional tears. Something had gone wrong here—something big.

Bruce and Hal had been assigned to the eastern quadrant.

They worked in silence, the kind that could only come from the trust that your partner had your back. Hal scanned with his ring, Batman triangulated structural weaknesses. They moved like clockwork. Trusted each other in a way that didn’t require words.

Until the ceiling collapsed.

A blast from a hidden mine ruptured the corridor they were in, throwing Hal into a wall before he could react. His ring flared uselessly as it tried to protect its owner as a chunk of debris slammed into his side, pinning him against twisted metal. The impact was loud—sickening.

Batman turned instantly.

“Hal.”

No response.

Bruce’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“Hal.”

He crossed the space in seconds, adrenaline overriding logic. Smoke filled the air, but he didn’t stop. Not when he saw the blood. Not when Hal’s breathing came in short, ragged gasps.

“Stay with me,” Batman snapped, pulling debris away with strength he didn’t realize he was using. “Ring status—what’s his condition?”

:: Life signs critical. Multiple fractures. Internal bleeding. ::

The world narrowed.

Batman didn’t panic. Batman calculated. Focused. Never let emotion interfere.

But Bruce?

Bruce was kneeling beside the man he loved, fingers trembling as he checked Hal’s pulse.

“Damn it, Hal, stay awake,” he muttered, voice low, raw. “Don’t you dare—”

“B-Bruce?”

It was barely a whisper.

Bruce’s grip tightened around Hal’s gloved hand. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay.”

Hal coughed, blood streaking the corner of his mouth. “You sound… worried.”

“You’re bleeding out.”

Hal’s lips twitched. “Still hot when you’re bossy.”

Bruce exhaled sharply. “Stop talking.”

“Make me.”

Over the comms, Diana’s voice crackled. “We felt the shockwave. What happened?”

Bruce didn’t answer.

“Batman?” Clark’s voice this time.

Still nothing.

Batman was focused on stabilizing Hal. He tore into his belt for the emergency med-foam, applying pressure where the ring couldn’t. His gloves were slick with blood. He didn’t care.

“Batman, do you copy?”

“Requesting immediate evac,” Bruce barked finally, voice lower than usual. “Green Lantern’s down. I need medical now.”

There was a beat of silence on the comms.

“Understood,” Diana said quickly. “ETA two minutes.”

Batman looked down again. Hal was fading, eyes fluttering.

“Hey,” Bruce said quietly. “You stay with me.”

“You’re not really great at this whole ‘no emotions’ thing,” Hal slurred.

“I don’t care.”

“Team’s gonna notice.”

“I said,” Bruce whispered, voice breaking just slightly, “I don’t care. You’re hurt.”

And if the League was listening, they heard that.

They heard the fear in his voice.

They heard something more than teammates.

When the med-bay finally cleared, Bruce refused to leave.

The others hadn’t said anything on the flight back. Not when Batman barked orders. Not when he stayed by Hal’s side, pacing like a caged animal. Not even when he ignored debrief protocols entirely, opting to ride down to the infirmary instead.

Clark and Diana exchanged a look but said nothing.

Barry opened his mouth once, then closed it.

No one asked questions.

They didn’t need to.

When Hal finally stabilized hours later, Bruce was the only one still there.

Sitting beside the bed. Gloves off. Cape discarded.

Hal’s breathing was steadier now. The machines around him beeped in rhythm. There was a bandage across his head, his torso wrapped, one arm in a sling.

He cracked one eye open. “You look like hell.”

Bruce didn’t look up. “I don’t think you should be the one saying that.”

Hal tried to sit up. Winced. “Ow.”

Bruce stood immediately. “Don’t move.”

“You gonna scold me?” Hal rasped. “Again?”

Bruce hesitated. Then: “You almost died.”

Hal blinked at the tone.

Soft. Quiet.

Real.

He reached out, hand brushing Bruce’s.

Bruce didn’t pull away.

“Y’know,” Hal said, voice lighter, “the team has to know by now.”

Bruce exhaled. “I don’t care.”

“You panicked.”

“I thought you were dying.”

Hal softened.

He tugged Bruce closer, their foreheads nearly touching. Bruce didn’t fight it.

“I’m okay,” Hal whispered. “You didn’t lose me.”

Bruce closed his eyes.

“I couldn’t have handled it,” he admitted. “Not you.”

They stayed like that, the hum of machines the only sound.

Minutes passed.

Eventually, Bruce settled into the chair beside the bed again, hand still loosely held in Hal’s.

Hal sighed. “Well. Guess this means we’re officially the League’s worst-kept secret.”

Bruce finally looked at him, eyes softer than anyone else would ever see.

“I really don’t care,” he said.

And for once, Batman meant it.

Chapter Text

The Watchtower lounge was quiet.

Too quiet.

There were no world-ending threats today, no dimensional anomalies or villain invasions—just the soft hum of the space station and the occasional beep of mission alerts being handled by someone else. Everyone was enjoying the rare stillness.

Well, almost everyone.

Hal Jordan was stretched across the largest couch like he owned it, one leg slung over Bruce’s lap, the other foot planted on the floor. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, a bandage visible just beneath the collar. He was still technically recovering—should’ve been in the medbay, if anyone was being honest—but Bruce hadn’t said a word about it.

Bruce Wayne. Batman. World’s most emotionally distant man.

Was sitting there with Hal’s leg across him, like it was fine. Like it was normal. One gloved hand resting on Hal’s knee. Occasionally moving. Thoughtless. Gentle.

Diana watched over the rim of her teacup, her eyes amused but quiet.

Clark was reading something but hadn’t turned a page in five minutes.

And Barry… Barry was vibrating with the need to say something.

“Am I crazy,” Barry muttered under his breath to Clark, “everyone else sees this right.”

Clark didn’t look up. “Don’t ruin it.”

“They’re cuddling,” Barry hissed. “Batman doesn’t cuddle.”

“Apparently, he does.”

“I need a photo of this. Just for historical records.”

Diana, without glancing up, said calmly, “Try it and you’ll lose your camera. And your hand.”

Barry pouted, then leaned over slightly. “Hey, Hal.”

Hal cracked one eye open. “Yeah?”

“You and Bruce. This is a thing now, huh?”

Bruce didn’t look up from his datapad. “Barry.”

“What? I’m just asking! For science.”

Hal smirked. “Would it really be that shocking?”

Barry gestured between them. “I mean, yes? You’re literally on top of Batman and he’s not throwing you off. That’s newsworthy.”

Bruce sighed but didn’t move.

Hal looked almost smug. “Maybe he just likes me.”

Bruce didn’t comment—but his hand moved again, just slightly, a subtle thumb brushing across Hal’s knee.

Diana smiled quietly. Clark turned the page.

Barry, grinning now, threw up his hands. “Unbelievable. You’re not even denying it.”

Hal laughed, relaxing back against the couch. “Why would I?”

Bruce muttered something about “children” and “profesionalism” under his breath, but he didn’t move. He didn’t push Hal away. And everyone in the room noticed.

Barry leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “Okay, but if you two start holding hands during a mission, I’m telling everyone.”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Hal just smirked. “Go ahead. Pretty sure everyone already knows.”

And yeah, they did.

But it was nice to hear it out loud.