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Bruce received a phone call from a number he'd been hearing from more and more often, a number he’d started to look forward to hearing and listen to ramble. Despite that brief spark of warmth the ring tone caused, he hadn't expected any correspondence from it at four in the morning- the man calling him was usually out of commission at such an hour.
He picked up regardless.
"Bruce? You-You're in Fisher's View, right?" The man asked as soon as his call had been picked up, his voice clearly distressed and frustrated even through the distortion of the line. Bruce didn't wait long before answering, a singular yes. "Great- yeah, fuck- I need you to pick me up, my ring's out and I-" Bruce interrupted him, a brief of course, before he could continue. "Thank fuck- yes- thank you- here's the address-"
He was working a case in the small town. A mercenary that usually worked in Gotham had been spotted in the area and he needed to stop them before anything escalated. However, the whole night had been quiet, and the case could wait for him until he was done helping his friend.
Friend.
Considering how many times they'd landed in bed together, calling him that felt strange. Affection had definitely blossomed between them thanks to their sessions, despite what their actions outside of the bedroom may imply, and he felt himself yearn for something more, something he hadn't had in a while. He gripped the steering wheel tight.
The drive was only ten minutes, could've been longer had he driven like a normal person. He was admittedly shocked he hadn't been stopped--
"I need to fix my attitude? Please, Mike, you should fix your fucking brain before you try and tell me what to do-" A voice rung out from the first floor of the apartment building, so loud he could hear it from inside his car. The other side of the argument didn’t come through as loudly. "Yeah, well, if I ever fucking see you again- yes, yes, tell them whatever you fucking want- oh, eat shit Mike!"
He’d become familiar with such a tone, and how loud it could get. That was practically silent compared to some of the tamer arguments they’ve had.
Quickly, the door to the building opened and out came him. He looked frazzled, tired, his wires on end. He put his jacket on as he beelined to the car, closing the door behind him harshly, his only words of greeting being “Drive.”
Bruce did as told, heading to the man’s home. He spoke up again only a few moments later.
“Shit- Jesus- I forgot-” he was about to pull out some cigarettes from his bag before he remembered where he was, “and I don’t have any fucking gum left! Christ--” He sounded near the verge of tears. Had he been anyone else, Bruce would’ve expected him to start sobbing. But he wasn’t one to cry.
“Do you have any?” He finally directed his attention to him, his eyes red, his voice strained. He looked as if he’d been up all night. He searched the glove compartment and cupholders desperately before Bruce could even think of answering. “Gum, I mean- I know you don’t smoke-”
“And you know I won’t endorse your habits, Hal,” he replied easily. “Let’s go to that diner you like.”
He stayed silent for a moment, considering. All the aggressive and frantic energy he entered the car with was gone, had disappeared the moment Bruce had spoken. It was almost as if it had soothed him, brought him back to earth. “Yeah-” a breath, “yeah. Thanks, spooky.” He slumped in his seat, and finally put his seatbelt on.
Bruce was the one to break the silence this time.
“I thought you only had arguments like that with me,” he put his blinkers on even as the streets were entirely empty, checked for any incoming cars out of habit. “It’s a little disappointing, if I’m being honest.”
He huffed out a laugh, smiling a little. Bruce grinned a little, too. “Yeah, sorry cowboy- you’re not special,” he turned to the window and watched the streetlights and buildings pass behind them, “special in that aspect, I mean- you're plenty special, spooky.”
He nodded, feeling something warm in his chest, even if Hal couldn’t see him.
“I called you from his bathroom,” he started after a few minutes, changed the topic, his voice calmer and quiet. “Piece of shit was drunk, and I didn’t want to deal with him. I was over it before he’d even gotten there.”
Bruce could only hum. He was never good at keeping conversation.
“I went out to pack my shit and he started yelling at me,” he stretched and yawned, “something about me not being able to commit,” the smirk in his voice was clear, “like I’d want to settle and become miserable with that walking cocklet.”
A laugh of surprise left him- “that’s a new one. Walking cocklet.”
“I got it from Otto,” he replied with a grin, “as I do most things.”
Always a creative one, that one.
—
“You know I don’t like food,” he argued even as he read over the menu, mentally crossing off anything that wouldn’t make Bruce’s wallet weep. The charm of it lied in wanting to make Bruce suffer, if only in his head; he knew the man wouldn’t mind spending whatever amount of money on him for whatever cause- a notion he wouldn’t dwell on for long. “I can just drink some coffee and be done with it.”
“Yes, because you haven’t eaten since when?” He asked, gave Hal a serious look, and turned back to his own menu when he was given nothing. Hal was pouting. “I thought so. You can’t sustain yourself on just gum and cigarettes.”
“For the record, I had a donut yesterday morning,” he looked almost proud of himself. “And water.”
“Horrendous,” was all he could reply, the only way he was willing to dignify that response. “I’m ordering you some waffles and a coffee.”
Hal rolled his eyes, but didn’t complain any further- a win in Bruce’s book. He made no complaints either when the waitress came to their table and Bruce ordered some additional fruits for his dinner/breakfast/lunch. Bruce felt like a champion at that point.
His victory, however, was soon subdued by Hal becoming frantic again.
“Oh- fuck- wait- you were working on a case, weren’t you?” His eyes widened as he started to put his jacket back on, ready to leave the moment Bruce lowered his guard, “I-I called you because everyone else was asleep- I think so, anyway- but I didn’t mean to- fuck- I’m sorry, I’ll walk-”
“If you walk out, I’m charging you for the food,” Hal stopped in his tracks, deterred not at all, absolutely not, by the threat of payment, but by the grim look Bruce fixed him with, “or I’ll start crying very loudly, cause a scene, and embarrass us both. Your choice.”
He sat back down immediately, face in his hands. “I think I’d rather kill myself, thanks.”
“Good- you’ll live to see another day,“ he reassured, a rare, yet small, smile on his features. “The case can wait.”
Hal’s heart almost melted.
—
“I’m not going to eat these,” He stared at the box of leftovers on his lap, looking almost guilty about the fact that it existed at all, “you should take them- they’re just going to grow mold in my fridge.”
“Maybe it’ll be space mold,” Bruce suggested, Hal couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, “and you can bring me a sample later to study. You keep them.”
Hal debated it in his head, kept getting distracted by the suggestion of extraterrestrial mold existing in his apartment- ultimately deciding to keep and eat them after making himself paranoid about space fungi and not wanting to think about it any longer. “Fine, fine- but you’ll take over my monitor watch shifts if I get sick.”
“I promise,” Bruce raised his hand and crossed his fingers, earning a slap on the arm from Hal. “Where to now?”
“My place, obviously,” he answered almost too quickly, readjusted himself in his seat to hide the fact, “I have some z’s to catch up on.”
He did look exhausted. “What were you doing all night?” Bruce asked, more so blurted out, “or did you just come back from space?”
“Does it matter?” He turned away with a huff to look through his window again, suddenly distant. He never did take such questions well. “I’m just tired.”
Bruce had two choices to make here. He could take the high road and leave it be, not disturb him with any more intrusive questions and change the topic; he knew the man prioritized his privacy and was quick to become defensive when it was intruded on, didn’t like others peeking in too much when he hadn’t allowed them to. Or, he could- “It does. I feel I deserve some sort of explanation after picking you up at such an hour.”
Fantastic.
They stopped at a red light the moment Hal turned to him, the most indignant and annoyed expression on his features. A view Bruce frequently had of the man. “Jesus Christ.”
The volume on the radio was turned up to the highest level, an upbeat happy song he didn’t even know the name of blaring from the speakers. Why did he even have that station on? Hal turned away again, crossed his arms and pretended Bruce didn’t exist.
Right. We both need to shut the fuck up.
The music played as they sat in uncomfortable silence, the volume and lyrics making both their ears bleed. The night is still young, Bruce stared at the stoplight as if it had just murdered someone in front of him, let’s party all day long, Hal stared out the window trying to calm down.
The longest minute of his life.
Bruce often tried to think things through, would usually apologize- but more often than not, something about the man sitting next to him made it so he couldn't think rationally, couldn't shut the fuck up, couldn't be the bigger man and leave it be.
At that moment, Bruce Luna and Hal Jordan had exited the scene- Batman and Green Lantern were now in position to dance in front of a grimacing audience.
We can do no wrong!
“So incredibly mature of you- how do you do it?” he said as he turned down the radio, sped off as soon as the light turned green. “I’m sure both Mike and Carol liked that about you.”
Low blow. Hal grit his teeth.
“And I’m sure Selina loved how fucking emotionally constipated you are all the time,” he smiled, an entirely evil thing, “oh wait, she didn’t! My bad.”
He couldn't say he didn't deserve that- he also found himself incapable of stopping their drive.
He was almost certain he’d already passed Hal’s apartment, had driven away to who knows where and gotten them completely lost. Streets he didn’t recognize or even paid enough attention to passed by as they kept yelling back and forth, their arguments turning into nonsense or topics they frequently turned back to whenever they fought, unrelated to the actual matter at hand. He didn’t know the city like Hal did, who probably had every single street memorized, but in the state he was in he wouldn’t be able to distinguish his lefts from his rights.
Generic lyrics about how the party never stops turned into almost poetic cries about incompetence and superficial intellectualism, nearly shouted at the same volume as that hellish song.
They both entered a nightmare-like state where the only way out was for either one of them to jump out of the car- and it looked like it would be Hal, from how he was sitting stiffly and ready to choke Bruce out the moment he had the chance.
“You’re the one who fucking started this, spooky, why the hell are you trying to make me look bad?!” He yelled, “it’s always fucking like this with you- you can do no wrong, never! Batman is always fucking right!”
As if under command, he swerved right.
“And Green Lantern never knows when to give up,” he was practically making donuts in the parking lot they’d wandered into, “never knows when to stop and think-”
“Think about what ? About how perfect you are?” Shocked and frustrated laughter escaped his lips, “Oh, Brucie! How are you so fucking good at everything–?!” The tires screeched outside, Bruce completely unaware of the fact as he nearly crashed into one of the walls. "Allow me to lick your goddamn boots!"
Bruce wasn't even responding anymore- he and the car had melded together, his focus on not killing himself or Hal and probably wearing the tires down to useless rubber. He looked as if he could burn a hole into the cracked cement around them.
Hal gained a brief moment of consciousness thanks to the silence. “Stop the damn car- you’re going to get the fucking cops called on us!”
He parked, nearly toppling the coffin on wheels over, into a spot close to the corner almost perfectly. Hal would ignore that as he caught his breath.
Bruce finally let go of the steering wheel. He set the car on park and shut it off, immediately locking the doors as if on instinct. His hands hurt.
“Let me out,” Hal demanded, his voice still full of anger but somehow more tempered, “I can walk home.”
“You don’t even know where we are,” Bruce slumped in his seat and put his face in his hands, “don’t try to pretend like you do.”
“Yes I fucking do, we’re in-” he cut himself off to think, looked out the car’s windows to try and see where they were- “shit- this is your fault! I know where everything is–”
“Then why did you call me?” He turned to Hal for the first time that entire drive, his face still didn’t show much emotion but his furrowed brows said it all, “why did you call me if you could just walk? If you know where everything is you could’ve just–”
Hal looked at him as if he’d just been stabbed.
“Because I wanted to fucking see you, you goddamn, cocksucking asshole!” He sounded like he wanted to sob again, “Why do you make shit so difficult–?!”
Bruce felt as if he’d been stabbed.
It was Bruce’s turn to interrupt, unbuckling his seatbelt as he pulled Hal in for a harsh, emotion ridden kiss, barely letting him finish- he needed Hal to heal the bruise he’d caused. The admission had hit him harder than any sudden stop or crash could, his heart beating miles per minute as Hal kissed back, crawled into his lap and gripped him as tight as Bruce had the steering wheel.
“A kiss isn’t going to fix anything,” Hal said once they broke apart, his gaze intense as their breaths mingled together, “you know that.”
“I know I don’t want to fix this,” he corrected, trailing kisses down his jaw, “I want to be the only one you talk to like this- yell at like that.”
“Jesus, you’re so broken,” despite his words he caressed the back of Bruce’s head, pulled on his hair when the man left a bite on his skin. “Why would you want someone like me?”
There were so many words to describe all the reasons why he’d want someone like- why he’d want exactly Hal, but none seemed sufficient or worthy of describing why he needed the man. He felt himself cringe at how romantic and cheesy the sheer thought had been, but it was true- his affection for the man was far too large to ignore.
Still, something bothered him.
“I should be asking you that,” he paused when he reached the collar of Hal’s shirt, the tantalizing skin teasing him as it peeked at him from under the fabric. His hands caressed his hips, gentle and tender. “I’m the one who upset you, who so easily sets you off- why did you want to see me?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his gaze softened. He leaned his forehead on Bruce’s as he spoke up again, “you’re the only thing I could think of the whole night.”
He could say the same, too. Being in Fisher's View without Hal by his side felt like a crime.
“Even while you screamed at poor Mike?” He received a well-deserved pull of his hair for that, was forced to look up at Hal’s face. He was illuminated by the street lamps, his eyes watery and red, his hair messy from all the turns they took and how much he’d fussed with it while arguing.
He’d never looked more beautiful.
“The only thing poor about that guy was his wallet,” he countered, tucking away the stray hairs on Bruce’s face, “I was especially thinking of you then, though- he couldn’t handle what I gave him like you can. I need someone like you, cowboy.”
Bruce closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose. Hal waited for him, planting small kisses all over his eyes, nose, his lips. The quiet music in the background had turned to something gentler, romantic, less obnoxious. It made the air in the car less suffocating yet warmer, something he could peacefully fall asleep in.
He would only want to be woken up by that fire, by the heat of Hal’s words all focused on him. He wanted to burn by his light.
In Hal’s arms, he could go anywhere.
He exhaled and opened his eyes, took Hal’s ringed hand and kissed it, his knuckles, the bruises there from all the fighting he’d done, all the battles won and lost. “I’m going to have to give you another ring to wear if you keep talking- looking at me like that.”
Hal laughed, a soft thing. “Promise?”
“I promise.” They kissed as the song faded out, the host on the radio talking about how many were starting their commute to work- Bruce was surprised to hear it was already six in the morning. Hal didn’t seem to care much.
“Let’s get out of here,” Hal said when they parted, his lips red. “I’ll eat those strawberries on the way to your place.”
“You’re just scared about creating a new strain of penicillin in your fridge,” Bruce said with a smirk, though Hal’s suggestion did not pass by unrecognized, “I understand- I’d be afraid too.”
“I’m going to make you deep clean that fridge, asshole- you know I’m allergic to that shit.” Hal pressed on adamantly, “Well, after I pass out on your bed, anyway. You owe me this.”
“You don’t want me to clean anything else, first?” He pointedly looked up and down Hal’s body, the suggestion clear in his body language. “I wouldn’t mind doing either.”
Hal huffed and slapped his arm. “When I sleep my fourteen hours. C’mon, I don’t want you driving with a hard on- again.”
Bruce argued that it was hardly his fault a certain someone had rubbed up against him while they ordered something from a drive thru. Hal argued to the contrary as he laughed, moving so he’d be in his seat again.
Finally, Bruce Luna drove off not like a normal person, but a broken someone who knew why and where they were going- with a little help from Hal Jordan.