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LONG BEACH, CALIFORNIA.
Reacquainting himself with his home state was, and Kyle didn’t take pleasure in saying this—like rescuing an old car from the scrapheap and driving it down Main Street where everybody could see. It had just been so long, is all, since he’d walked through these familiar areas. They brought about odd feelings and older mundane memories, something Kyle wasn’t sure he quite liked. Yet he stuck around, picked out an apartment somewhere in the heart of Los Angeles, rediscovering regular routines—human ones.
No more impromptu space adventures, unpredictable newfound powers, or dramatics with the corps. He could do this, take a jaunt at boring, and settle down. Which was how, of course, three days into this resolution—Kyle found himself half an hour from the busy city, and down 50 bucks via taxi. He honestly should’ve flown that same distance in a quarter of the time, but Kyle had been determined to complete the journey on his own two legs. If only to prove he could, after all the years away.
The temperature became cooler, the closer he got to his destination. A salty taste to the wind that rustled the branches of nearby palms. Kyle had worn his favorite jacket, one he’d lifted from John during their last mission together before he’d…
It was hot. Kyle shucked the jacket off his shoulders, grimacing at the visible lines of sweat that decorated his torso and arms. For the last waning weeks of December, it certainly didn’t feel that way—a far cry from New York’s halfhearted snow and slush. But at last, the building finally came into view, all glass paneling and bright refractions of the setting sun.
He arrived at the ticketing booth, a lone traveler amid the bustling crowds of children and parents. The clerk did a less than subtle double-take, clearly surprised to not be faced with crying babies or rambunctious toddlers. Kyle offered a somewhat lopsided smile in return, and glanced up again at the pricing labels.
“One adult ticket,” Kyle said, then awkwardly fumbled for his wallet. He fished a wad of twenties out of the worn fabric, and held it out promptly.
“That’ll be forty-four fifty with tax,” the clerk replied, wincing. “Apologies for the inconvenience, but we don’t take cash anymore.”
Kyle peered at the terminal. Had he even renewed his card the last time it declined? That would’ve been years ago, certainly before he moved to Oa full-time.
“Excuse me, sir,” came a voice from behind him. He spun to- well, apologize, maybe, or flee and evaporate out of embarrassment.
Instead, he was met by an elderly couple—who miraculously appeared more curious than upset Kyle was holding up the line. “I’ve found myself forgetting things much more frequently these days,” the woman continued, and winked. “Though you, sonny, don’t seem nearly old enough to have to worry about that sort of problem.”
“Haha, yeah,” Kyle said, and felt his face redden. “I haven’t visited since…”
Next to the woman, her partner finally spoke. “We’ll cover the young man’s fee,” he said, stepping forward. Kyle watched in silence as the old man raised a shaky arm to tap his card against the terminal's screen. He held out the back of his hand to be stamped by the clerk, the sudden rush of emotion forming something close to a lump at the base of his throat.
“Have fun!” The woman called out as her husband guided her further inside the building. “And happy holidays!”
Right, Kyle thought, staring up at the darkening sky above him. He was here to experience a perfectly normal evening, and no overthinking or insecurity would stop him from accomplishing this goal. Filled with a new sense of purpose, he followed the mass of people inside.
When Kyle was young, he and his mother had very few specific traditions around the holidays. Those they did, however, were taken with extreme seriousness. Maura Rayner never really understood her son’s fascination with his sketchbook, but without fail on his birthday she would manage to procure both the time and funds to visit the nearby County Museum of Art.
In turn, Kyle would routinely remind her to drive them down to Long Beach come the winter months. Maura had always loved all kinds of marine life, and the Aquarium of the Pacific was close enough to their rental apartment that she could justify the yearly visit. Then he’d grown—busy with college and work and Alex—and the family trips petered out, until they were nothing but a fond memory for Kyle to look back on.
The aquarium had gone through at least a dozen renovations since his last visit, Kyle decided, head whipping left and right as he absorbed his new surroundings. While it was nothing particularly unique, nor alien—not in the way his adventures to space often were, Kyle still felt that familiar sense of overwhelm.
He wandered through exhibit after exhibit in a sort of daze, passing by all sorts of creatures—frogs, colored fish, reefs, lobsters, eels and the occasional octopus. It would be best to take a pause and explore properly, yet the further Kyle walked the more he was overcome with a pervasive sense of sadness. The lump in his throat only grew larger, his cheeks straining painfully with the subconscious urge to not just break down and… cry?
The strangest part, perhaps, was that Kyle couldn’t put a finger on why. If anything, his life had been going far too well lately, every aspect falling into place with an alarming rate of success. He had a new apartment, friendly neighbors, and enough fresh commissions lined up to pay the bills. Which left the million dollar question—how could he still feel so hollow?
Across the PA speakers, a female voice announced: “Last call for the final seal show of the day! All interested visitors should head for the outdoor amphitheater between floors."
Kyle shook his head and inhaled deeply. Free from his downward moping spiral, he stopped in place—an action that seemingly irritated those trying to shove by—and stared up at the large, curved viewing window in front of him. Everything was so beautifully blue it nearly took his breath away, and then he saw the seals.
A harbor seal, spotted and chubby, floated straight toward him. Kyle watched in awe as it collided with the glass and opened its mouth—either in shock or muffled complaint—and released a torrent of bubbles. He instinctively moved closer in turn, until he was about a nose-length away from the window. The seal tried once more, its soft black nose smooshing into the glass. It seemed to give up after that attempt and rotated in circles, big shiny eyes closing in relaxation.
“Oh,” Kyle whispered, his voice quavering.
On the spinning seal’s right side, a second seal approached at a more subdued pace. Instead of shoving at its companion, it let itself float into them. The first seal opened its eyes, and pushed itself into alignment with the other. From this angle, Kyle could almost pretend the two seals were holding flippers. To the delight of the brewing crowd behind him, the seals bumped snouts before turning around and swimming in the other direction.
There was suddenly a tug on the sleeve of his shirt, and a quiet voice that asked: “Hey mister, are you crying?”
“I- huh?” Kyle stammered, frantically searching for the right words to reassure the child staring at him with a concerned gaze. “I’m not-”
He reached up with a hand to check his face, and came away wordlessly with wet fingers. “Um,” he tried again, “wow, that’s weird. I didn’t even notice.”
“That’s okay!” The little girl exclaimed, as though she hadn’t expected Kyle to acknowledge her. “I cry all the time, especially if I’m lost. Is your mom here too? Did you lose her?”
Kyle thought about his mother. He thought about the letter burning a hole in his new desk. He thought about the obsolete League communicator hidden in the drawers underneath his bed. And perhaps most devastatingly, he thought about Connor Hawke.
“Not exactly,” he said. Then, “I’m really sorry, but I think I have somewhere to be.”
He tried his phone first, except his appointment to get it serviced was the next day—and every call or text ended with the words ‘error’ or ‘try again.’ Following that, Kyle rushed out of the aquarium in a flurry of erratic emotions, fueled by the urge to make things right. He briefly considered taking another taxi, until he, flustered, remembered his ring and its vast assortment of abilities.
Within minutes, Kyle was suited up and in the air. But for all his hurry to go somewhere, he hadn’t exactly thought it through. Maura had moved across California, and hadn’t contacted him with her new address. His friends were spread out all over the country: Wally settled down in Central City, Donna either on Themyscira or living with Titans—wherever that was nowadays—and Connor…
Well, Connor would probably be the most complicated to track down on short notice.
Kyle flew to Star City.
Truthfully, Kyle wasn’t privy to Oliver Queen’s address even when they were on the same superhero team. A decade hadn’t changed much, besides Kyle’s ability to easily find said information on the internet. (Phone still out of commission, his searching process instead involved asking the occasional pedestrian within range.) Kyle dissolved his costume, filled with an unexpected anxiety, and rounded what should've hopefully been the final streetcorner before the Queens' home.
He was so not keyed-in that the sudden collision with a solid body sent him sprawling against the sidewalk. “Man,” Kyle said, holding back a curse at the wet seeping into his clothes. “Sorry about that, I totally wasn’t paying attention.”
“It’s alright, accidents happen,” the stranger said.
The tone was inexplicably familiar in such a way that Kyle found himself compelled to sit up properly and look. Verdant and brown fabrics, connected to the neck by a hood. Typical boots and belt, quiver strapped to his back, some halfhearted attempt at a thin green mask, and—
“Green Arrow,” Kyle gasped.
Connor smiled.
For future reference, Kyle had zero intention to kill the guy. He scrambled to his feet, shoes slipping on partly-melted ice, and threw himself at the other man. Connor laughed brightly, arms open—though that did little, and they both went crashing down this time—but managed to shield Kyle from yet another traumatic head injury.
Kyle buried his face in Connor’s jacket. “Jesus,” he murmured, “It’s good to- I guess I-”
“I missed you,” Connor said. Though Kyle couldn’t see him properly, he knew Connor had some approximation of a soft expression upon his face.
“Yeah, I missed you too,” Kyle replied, and the confession came out watery and weak. The tears from earlier had made their inopportune return, running wet trails past his cheeks and toward his neckline. They were completely exposed, out in the middle of town, something that would’ve bothered Kyle had he been ten years younger and just as immature.
If Connor looked at him now like he did back then—open and vulnerable, the world his oyster to explore—Kyle might’ve kissed him, and that was somehow scarier than any other realization he’d had all day. He considered this as Connor got them both standing properly, a warm, guiding hand stilled at his middle-back.
“I didn’t think you’d be around,” Kyle said, and attempted to wipe away the last of his tears. “I’d planned on ringing Oliver’s doorbell ‘till he gave me the coordinates to your last known location.”
Connor winced, averted his eyes. “I live here.”
“In Star?” Kyle prodded, “like permanently?”
The awkward silence was enough of an answer.
“What’re you getting up to?” Kyle asked instead, desperate to keep the conversation flowing. He hadn’t planned out a single idea of how to keep Connor once he got there, and it was definitely about to bite him in the ass.
“Last minute holiday shopping,” Connor said. He gestured to the bags under his arm, continued, “I couldn’t figure out what to get Oli- Dad. You’d think after all this time, I’d finally know what to pick.”
Kyle wanted a lot of things, all of a sudden, and it took him off guard with the ferocity of his desire. To play pretend, maybe, like it was ‘98 again—and Kyle was the only other hero Connor called when he needed backup. Then he considered his empty apartment in Los Angeles, and how much better the place would look if Connor Hawke was sitting pretty in it. And most importantly of all, something Kyle hadn’t allowed himself to examine any closer… that back on Earth, he was just plain lonely.
“Hey,” Kyle said and stuck out a hand, weaving Connor’s fingers between his own. “Let me help you, alright? It’ll be like old times.”
“Okay,” Connor agreed easily. “But only if you stay for dinner.”