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"You've got to be kidding me," Hal says flatly.
Guy continues swinging wildly, smashing his bass into the hardwood flooring of the stage. Again. You'd think a guy would get tired of replacing it every few shows.
But the crowd goes crazy. They're just eating it up.
Hal doesn't miss a note, continuing his riff, but glances back at John. The drummer just shrugs and rolls his eyes.
Hal does not have the man's patience. The song's not over, much less the set, and their bassist has taken himself out of commission.
The new stuff Hal wrote that their manager promised they could test with the audience tonight? Clearly not happening.
Guy throws himself into the audience, trusting them to catch him. And they do. Just like they always fucking do.
Hal's just fucking done.
—
Hal's agent slaps a pile of papers down in front of him.
He swallows. It's a tall stack.
Carol just slides a pen across the desk. "Last bit of paperwork and you're officially a solo act."
It's a terrifying prospect, but Hal's ready to make his own music. To write his own songs; stand on his own two feet.
Will he miss the Lanterns? Sure. But then he remembers all his issues with his band mates. Guy's onstage antics, Kyle's penchant for sleeping with groupies, even John's endless lectures on behaving himself- when Hal is by far the best behaved member of the group these days. Hal doesn't begrudge them their fun, he's just…tired of it.
"Am I making a terrible mistake?" He asks her, only half joking.
Things might still be slightly tense between them, since their romantic relationship crashed and burned, but he trusts her implicitly with his career.
Carol considers him thoughtfully. “You know, I think you’re actually making a good decision here,” she nods firmly. “It’s about time you made a change.”
In the end, signing the papers is an easy decision.
—
And then Hal hits a roadblock.
Twitter went crazy when he announced he was setting out on his own, and the critics are paying attention.
This first debut album is important. It needs to represent him as an artist; to set him apart from the old band.
But Hal has no fucking idea who that is anymore.
Who is he as an artist?
"Ohmygod, you sound ridiculous," Oliver complains. He beckons a waitress over to their booth.
"Bring me my usual, with two glasses," he tips her a handful of bills Hal can't identify.
"Of course, Mr. Queen." She gracefully disappears back into the writhing mass of dancers.
Oliver elbows Hal, "Perks of hanging with the owner of a nightclub, eh?"
Hal just rolls his eyes. "And how does that help me?"
Oliver pauses and considers, "Well, what do you think of this music?" He points upward.
The repetitive techno music is loud, grating, and not in a million years would Hal ever consider releasing a song like this neverending one.
"It's fucking sucks," he says loudly, to be heard over the din.
Oliver shrugs. "Fair enough." He spots the waitress on her way back over. "Have a couple drinks and then see what you think of it."
—
After (more than) a few drinks, the techno still sucked, and Hal had earned himself a massive hangover.
Dinah plonks a huge mug of coffee in front of him when he finally drags himself out of Ollie's guest room.
He takes a grateful gulp of caffeine, barely wincing when it burns his tongue.
"So what were you two celebrating last night?" Dinah asks, curious. It's been a while since Hal spent the night at theirs.
"Not celebrating," he croaks out. "Just…trying to figure out what the hell to do as a solo artist."
Dinah perks up. "Why didn't you say so!"
Hal winces; her tone is much too cheery and bright for his headache.
"I don't know why you would go to Oliver about this," she rolls her eyes fondly. "He's just a rich nepo baby who owns a nightclub. You should have come to me!"
Hal blinks. Actually, she's right. Dinah is the perfect person to ask about this.
"I have no idea why I didn't think of that," he frowns. "You know exactly what it's like to break out on your own- what did you do, when you first left the Birds of Prey?"
Dinah hums into her mug. "Well, it's not like I left them. I still perform with them all the time. But it was hard, putting together my own album," she admits. "I'd been relying on the other girls for so long, I didn't know what my own sound was."
Hal leans closer. "How did you figure it out?"
"I went out to a bunch of local shows and clubs," she shrugs. "Had to figure out what I liked somehow."
"Huh." Hal slumps back in his chair. That was a place to start, at least.
—
Hal decides almost immediately that it's actually a terrible idea.
He's sitting by in a dimly lit club, all by himself at a table with a lone candle. It would actually be pretty romantic in any other situation.
Unfortunately, in the current situation, Hal’s at a jazz club. When he hates jazz.
The lone upright bassist on the stage plucks strings at random. The guy at the table next to Hal nods along, getting into it. Hal shoves his chair back before he can roll his eyes too obviously.
Thank God for alcohol.
The bar at the back of the room is empty; all the patrons sitting at their own round tables in front of the stage.
The bartender turns to him immediately, setting down the glass he'd been drying. "What can I get you, sir?"
If he had any sense, Blondie would bat those eyelashes- his blue eyes would be a killer for raking in tips if weaponized properly.
He doesn't have that sense, but he's pretty, and Hal's bored. "What's your poison?" Hal leans against the bar.
"Oh, I don't drink much," Blondie (Barry, says his name tag, once Hal tears his eyes from his pretty face) says diplomatically.
"Then why are you a bartender?" Hal asks, only half teasing.
Barry just smiles politely, "It pays the bills. We can't all be big stars."
Hal's delighted. "You know who I am?"
"Sure, who wouldn't recognize a member of Superman?"
Hal nearly pops a vein in his forehead.
"Excuse you- I'm a Green Lantern!"
Barry blinks guilelessly. "Really?"
Hal scoffs and pushes away from the bar. Shitty music and being mistaken fucking nerdy Clark Kent? It's enough torture for one night.
—
So there's absolutely no reason Hal should find himself back at the same club the next weekend.
The music is once again dismal, in Hal's opinion. But the same bartender is behind the bar.
The bar isn't crowded, so Hal takes a stool and catches Barry's eye.
When Barry makes his way over, he's carrying the most fluorescent green drink Hal's ever seen.
He sets it down carefully on a cocktail napkin in front of Hal.
Hal raises his eyebrows. "I didn't order this."
Barry smiles sheepishly. "I know- consider this an apology drink."
"An apology?" Hal asks dumbly.
"I really didn't mean to offend you last week," Barry explains. "I swear I looked it up and everything, I know exactly what the Green Lanterns are now."
He looks so earnest that Hal doesn't even tease.
"Oh," is all Hal can think to say, "Cheers then." He toasts his glass to Barry and takes a hesitant sip.
And thank God he did. "What the hell is this?" Hal chokes out.
Barry bursts into laughter. "It's absinthe- I promise it has sugar and water in it, too."
"Why did you give me this?!"
"Because it's green," Barry says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Can't have Mr. Green Lantern thinking I forgot who he is."
—
"You never answered my question, you know," Hal points out after Barry has replaced his drink with something less green.
"What question?" Barry hums absentmindedly as he wipes down the counter.
"Why are you a bartender? You said it pays the bills, but come on, there's gotta be more to it than that."
Barry shrugs, "Okay, you got me. It's not that being a bartender is all that appealing to me, although I do make great tips." He tosses the cleaning rag over his shoulder. "It's being a bartender here ."
Hal frowns. "Holy shit, are you a jazz fan?" he asks incredulously.
"You don't have to say it like that," Barry huffs. "You're the one who's paying to be here!"
Hal ignores that. "Wait, it's more than that," he squints at Barry, who blushes under his scrutiny.
"You play, don't you?" He realizes.
Barry's blush grows brighter. He says nothing, just takes Hal's now empty glass and drops it in the sink.
"You do!" Hal crows. "What do you play?"
Barry sighs. "Piano." He braces both hands on the counter, clearly preparing for a barrage of questions.
Hal considers him. "You any good?"
Barry rolls his eyes. "I'm alright."
"Would you play for me?"
Barry laughs brightly, "Not a chance."
Another customer signals for a drink down at the other end of the bar, and Barry starts to head that way.
"Come on, I could even pay you!"
Barry just waves him off dismissively.
—
The next two times Hal drops in to the club, Barry's not on shift. He doesn't stick around long.
—
"So what do you do when you're not here?" Hal asks, stirring the latest drink Barry's given him without asking what he wants. (A grasshopper, because Barry thinks continuing the green bit is hilarious.)
"What do you think I do?"
"Plug yourself into the charging port until the next shift," Hal quips.
"Ha ha," Barry rolls his eyes. "I do all the normal things you imagine- I run in the mornings, grocery shop, sometimes I can even snag a gig playing in one of the hotel lobbies nearby."
"Do you ever go to any other bars?"
Barry shrugs. "Nah, I mean I spend most of my nights here."
"Would you be open to going to another bar? Say, with me?" Hal asks. He's really been spending too much of his free time here. In a jazz bar. He's been neglecting all the other opportunities to check out the current music scene in the city.
Barry fumbles the glass he'd been drying. "Like, just the two of us?" He asks a little breathlessly.
"Well, my friends Ollie and Dinah will probably tag along," he admits. "But they'll be too wrapped up in each other to pay us any mind."
Barry swallows and nods jerkily. "Yeah, that sounds- that sounds great!"
When Hal pays his tab, the check Barry slides him has a phone number written on it.
—
Inviting Barry out to a country bar was the best idea Hal’s had all year- even better than deciding to leave the Lanterns.
Hal leans back against the sticky bar while he waits for their drinks. Barry is line dancing out on the floor with Dinah. He looks absolutely ridiculous and awkward. Hal is so into him.
“So how’d you meet him?” Oliver practically yells into his ear to be heard over the loud twangy sound of the live band.
“He works at the jazz club I’ve been going to,” Hal yells back.
Oliver frowns in confusion, “You hate jazz.”
Hal just shrugs.
—
Barry has somehow acquired a cowboy hat by the time Hal can squeeze out onto the dance floor to join him. He doesn’t look anywhere close to authentic, but he is wearing jeans and a plaid button up. It’s absolutely working for Hal.
As the band launches into a slower tune, Hal grabs Barry’s hand and slides an arm around his waist. He revels in the way Barry easily lets him, resting his other hand on Hal’s shoulder.
“So have you converted to a country fan?” he leans in to murmur in Barry’s ear.
Barry just laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I do have to say I’m enjoying this song very much,” he glances up at Hal through his lashes.
“Yeah?” Hal asks stupidly.
Barry bites his lower lip. “I’m definitely seeing the appeal.”
Hal leans in, fully intent on kissing Barry- only to knock into the brim of the cowboy hat.
For a moment, they stare at each other wide eyed.
Then Barry bursts into laughter. Hal can’t help but laugh, too.
Barry moves to take the hat off his head, but Hal stops him. “Nah, it suits you,” he flicks the brim, and lets go of his waist to spin him playfully.
Hal’s mouth hurts from smiling by the end of the night.
—
Hal starts sticking around later and later. No matter how crowded the bar is, Barry finds time to make him a green drink and even when he has other paying customers, he keeps coming back to make conversation with Hal.
Tonight it's about his motorcycle.
"Those are death traps!" Barry argues. "I can't believe you drive a motorcycle."
"I'm a totally safe driver!" Hal says (mostly) truthfully. "Come on, let me give you a ride home tonight, I'll prove it to you," he offers boldly.
There's an awkward pause as Barry stares at him. Hal just sips at his midori sour.
"Okay," Barry finally nods emphatically. "Give me a ride home tonight."
Hal mentally fist pumps. Fuck yeah.
—
Hal flips the last chair and stacks it, seat down, on top of the table. He dusts off his hands in satisfaction.
There’s a scraping sound from the stage. When Hal turns to look, he realizes Barry’s sitting up there, pushing back the keylid on the piano.
He doesn’t dare move; he practically holds his breath in case Barry changes his mind about playing in front of him.
It’s dark, but even under the dim lights, Barry shines.
He’s hesitant at first. He muddles around on the keys, just feeling it out.
Hal wanders closer. He doesn’t want to distract Barry, but he can’t stay away. He tiptoes up onto the stage and hovers behind Barry.
Barry slides over a little on the bench, and Hal seamlessly takes a seat next to him.
The notes become more purposeful- it only takes a few seconds for Hal to realize Barry’s launched into Blackest Night, one of his bands’ biggest hits.
He laughs brightly, fully impressed. Barry even nails Hal’s (very impressive, in his opinion) riff.
The rock hit slides into something just as exciting- it’s fast and a little shocking- when Hal stops to think, it’s exactly the kind of music he would expect from Barry.
It’s nothing like anything Hal’s heard at this club; it’s not the slow disjointed mess he’s come to expect.
Hal can’t look away from Barry’s hands; he’s like lightning.
Barry ends his piece with a run, leaning over Hal to slide up the keys.
The last note lingers in the air. Hal knows his jaw is hanging open in a completely unflattering way, but he can't help it.
He can’t hold his tongue, “What the fuck, Barry? You said you were ‘alright’! In what universe is that-”
Barry’s mouth smashes into his, abruptly silencing him. Hal gets with the program immediately. He skims a hand up to Barry’s neck, to keep him exactly where he is. He greedily licks into Barry’s mouth, pulling a moan from him.
They sit there on that uncomfortable piano bench, kissing for what feels like ages.
It feels like there should be audible suction when they manage to pull away from each other. They breathe heavily into each other’s mouths.
“So about that ride home…” Hal finally says.
Barry laughs into his cheek. He pulls Hal to his feet. “Take me home.”
And Hal does.
—
Months later, The Brave and The Bold debuts to rave reviews.
"So what’s the story here?" Rolling Stone magazine asks. "This is a totally new sound for you, Hal."
Hal grins, "Oh, I totally agree," He turns to Barry to tease him with a wink. “I had inspiration.”
“Critics are saying you must have been inspired by the local jazz scene in Coast City- you were spotted at the Blue Light Lounge pretty often a few months ago.”
Barry nudges him with an elbow, "Yeah, Hal. You must have developed a newfound love of jazz- why else would you spend nearly every weekend at a jazz club?”
Hal snorts. “Absolutely not,” he tells the interviewer. “I hate jazz.”
The interviewer looks taken aback. Barry clears his throat next to him.
Hal rolls his eyes. “Okay, I don’t hate all jazz,” he admits. “Happy now?” he asks Barry.
“Ecstatic,” Barry beams.
The interview clears his throat. “So that’s a…no? On the jazz influence in your album?”
“No, there’s definitely some influence,” Hal relents. “It’s just not from the club. Here, let me explain. It all started when this asshole mistook me for Clark Kent…”
Rolling Stone publishes the interview under the title "Former Green Lantern Hal Jordan hates jazz- here’s why his collaboration with jazz pianist and newcomer Barry Allen makes total sense".