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Like a cult, the Justice League—battered, bruised, and bone-tired—sang a happy song around a dim room lit only by sterile blue holographic screens and a single candle on Green Lantern Hal Jordan’s cake.
A distress signal arrived at the Watchtower ten days prior—barely enough time to assemble a rescue squad for a stray cruiser caught in the crossfire of warring planets. The battle was locked in a stalemate, both sides hovering over what seemed to be mutually assured destruction. J’onn debriefed before the mission that it would be of ethical interest for the league to do a full reconnaissance mission, serving both planets by defusing the situation and simultaneously rescuing the ship.
In simpler and fewer words, it was a long battle that spanned multiple days. Everyone was exhausted, save for maybe Bruce, who had been the “man in the chair” rather than active at the scene. Space travel was never easy for the non-pilots either.
But as consolation, Diana had brought out a cake for Hal’s birthday (which he was unfortunately still on the Watchtower for). The appearance of the cake was seamless, having already been on the base—like someone had planned it all along. No one had expected it, except for perhaps everyone but Hal, who had been grouchy the entire time. Once the cake appeared in sight, though, Hal’s senses were washed over with a sense of relief and giddy childishness.
It maybe had something to do with the fact he never remembered his own birthday after being stationed in space for so long, where days of Earth didn’t exist because there were countless other calendars in Sector 2814 alone. It got lonely.
No one needed to know that, though.
“Happy birthday, Hal,” Diana spoke proudly while planting a kiss on his forehead. Hal grinned back—it wasn’t every day a goddess treated you like a treasure to be won. He felt like the apple in the Iliad. He thanked her the way a normal man would (after clearing his throat awkwardly), and the other heroes swarmed to his side.
Clark smacked his shoulder, forgetting that Hal was more man than ring power, and the festivities were at an all-time high until Hal noticed a gloomy corner in the otherwise jovial room.
Of course!
Of course, Bruce would be a buzzkill.
Yet, for some unknown reason, Hal was more happy than he was annoyed, and in his gracious attitude, he cut a slice of cake (the first!) and brought it over to Mr. Can’t-Take-A-Joke-Ever.
“Does the work ever end?” Hal said, grinning as he placed a slice of white sheet-cake next to Bruce’s right hand.
Bruce grunted. “Not when you ram our ship into an enemy.”
Hal could almost swear that Bruce was fighting the instinct to say “my ship” since he owned basically everything the Justice League had. It took a lot of wealth and a lot of things going right in someone’s life to have that level of entitlement.
“Hey, what else could I have done?” Hal did his most swoony grin and put his hands up like he was caught red-handed, and he had been, but for a good reason.
He was stuck on transportation duty, standing on the sidelines as the blue boyscout got to have his peacemaking, world-changing moments. Yeah, it irked him to have to be delegated to a role that did not even require his ring—pilot duty was something he did every day for work. No need to repeat the same scene on and off the clock.
The mission ended only mere hours ago. And despite being the pilot, Hal had taken some hits on behalf of the team by utilizing his ship in a way no one wanted him to (rammed it into the aggressive party orchestrating the entire conflict with no regard for his own health).
(Or the ship’s.)
It felt great until Bruce ran the numbers by Hal about the cost of repair. A shitty start to the birthday, though he never felt it was his birthday. Time always just seemed to slip away. The older Hal got, the more aware he became of that fact.
“Maybe not crash our ship. Into the enemy.”
Hal scoffed. “I saved the mission.”
Bruce stared blankly at Hal, probably synthesizing the least-most destructive insult to wound Hal’s pride for the rest of the week. He had a sort of je ne sais quoi about it where it wasn’t enough to make Hal leave the Justice League but exactly humbling enough to make Hal quiet. For at least five minutes.
He turned back toward those holograms.
“You can take your cake,” he said without looking at Hal. That made it worse.
Hal huffed and rolled his eyes. “You know, I was being nice. When’s the last time you even celebrated your birthday if you even have one?”
“Yesterday.”
Hal’s face dropped.
“Shit, really?” His cheeks got red, and his neck burned. One hand came up to rub at the base of his neck as if he could hide it. “Sorry.”
He tried to speak like a normal person—you know, the mighty Green Lantern who saved the day. But instead he had a sharp inhale at the start and tripped over his words after barreling into this conversation headfirst with entropic force.
A small smile appeared on Bruce’s face. Hal began to ramble.
“You know, it’s just that we, humans—” it was clear he often made this excuse when speaking to the Guardians “—just value our day of birth a lot, and I was just being the loose canon I normally am. It had a lot to do with being the transport guy—you know, being under-utilized. But I see now that I was wrong. Happy belated birthday, Bruce.”
It was the result of numerous practiced apologies—a punch swung at a fellow Green Lantern, a failed mission, a crashed ship, another stupid decision among hundreds. He had grown quite talented at escaping board rooms with his head barely on his shoulders, having just been on the chopping block.
Hal whipped around and began to leave the area, opting instead to go to his more comfortable niche: Ollie and Barry, who were not friendly with one another at the moment but still better than Bruce. Their heads clashed but were never as intense as the Emerald and Dark Knight. No, they were never like the keen eyes that Bruce had trained on Hal. Every moment he could, Bruce called him out for the mistakes he made.
There was the short clinking sound of a fork hitting a plate before Bruce spoke again. Hal had not gotten far enough to ignore the Batman.
“I didn’t,” he chewed on his words as much as he did cake, “mean to belittle your skills by assigning you transportation.”
Hal stopped in his tracks.
“I just knew you’d get us out. You’re our best pilot.”
Hal felt the base instinct to cover his reddening ears. He turned back though he really didn’t want to and watched Bruce say the next words.
“I trust you.”