Merry Christmas...

[lanternslight.livejournal.com]

Hal has gone all out for Christmas this year. He may be spending it with his brother Jim and Jim's family, but he's got a baby with him this time. And sure, the tyke's going to be going home any time now, but if he's spending Christmas with a Green Lantern, he's going to be getting one hell of a Christmas.

There's wrapping paper all over the floor. There are more stuffed animals and baby toys and baby books under the tree this year than when Jim's own children were of the appropriate age. Hal wears a Santa hat, and he sips from his eggnog as he watches the baby play on the floor with his new toys. His niece and nephew play with their toys in the next room.

Jim comes up behind his brother and places a hand on his shoulder.

"You look good with a baby, Hal," he says, only half-teasing.

Hal looks up and smiles, and is about to retort when his ring beeps at him. "Hang on," he says. "Got a signal coming in." He pulls the ring towards him. "Green Lantern here."

"Green Lantern," the voice answers. "This is Detective John Marcus with the New York City police. We thought you'd want to know... we've located the baby's mother. Can you come as soon as you can?"

___________________________

The baby's mother had been in a hospital since the zombie attack, in a light coma as a Jane Do. The father was out of the picture.

She seemed nervous around all the male cops and the Green Lantern. The signs of a survivor of abuse seemed clear. Hal offered to give a way to stay in touch, and offered to even help babysit from time to time. She took his information, gave contact information to the police, and left, carrying all the baby things she could carry from all the stuff Hal had with him. She refused to be given a ride home from Hal, though... she said it would make her nervous being alone with a man like that.

So Hal returned to his apartment in Coast City, alone.

He steps into his office space, which had doubled as the baby's room for the last two months, and steps on a teddy bear, dropped that morning on the rush to his brothers.

Hal picks up the bear and stares at it for a long time.

The Great Escape

[wrist-magnum.livejournal.com]

Arkham Asylum
Ten minutes until midnight.

Floyd left the car at the access road. Pulled it behind some scrub brush that the grounds crew still hadn't cleared out. Typical. The laziness of the Arkham employees was one of the main reasons that the place had a revolving door on it. Inmates danced in and out, seemingly at will.

One was going to tonight.

Floyd crept from the car to a point between the rear loading gate and the wall outside of what, if his memory was correct, was the cell of Dumfree Tweed. The severe threat block was deeper inside the monolithic building, containing all sorts of walking nightmares, when they were at home, that was. Joker. Killer Croc. Mr. Zsasz. John Dee, the human skeleton called Dr. Destiny. He was one of the only ones in Arkham who actually spooked Floyd, deep down, with his ability to reach one spidery hand into your head and claw out your nightmares.

He didn't have the current duty rosters. Didn't have the current floorplan. So, if they'd changed things substantially since the last time he'd been inside, there could be trouble. Best to have a distraction, and a plan. Because the moment the shooting started, he'd have about 7 minutes at best before the Bat, or one of his people, showed up to respond.

Whoever he sent, Floyd just hoped it wasn't the Huntress, or that kid. He couldn't shoot a kid. Wouldn't shoot Huntress.

Anyone else? Fair game. They walked into his sights, they'd better know a good orthopedic surgeon. Maybe that chick at S.T.A.R. who always rebuilt Vic Stone.

He checked the loads in the wrist magnums, left, then right. Right hand contained a clip of ezpolsive-tipped shells. Left hand contained rubber bullets. No kill shots with the left, unless they were point blank. Right hand was to blow a way out when everything shook loose.

Time to party.

Twenty steps to the loading gate. Duck beneath the camera, wait for it to swivel left. He crossed the twenty steps in time to miss the revolution of the camera and pressed the buzzer twice, the signal for a prisoner drop-off, counting on the guard shift to simply pop the door.

They didn't disappoint.

He aimed low, coming in rolling, and shot twice, one rubber bullet into each kneecap, the new silencers working like a charm. A buzz like a particularly quick flying mosquito, and another, and the two guards were clutching their knees, rolling on the concrete.

"Shh," was all he said, pulling the mask into place, and slipping a blackjack from his belt. Two swings and the guards on back-door duty were out like a busted Crime Alley streetlight. He had about ten minutes before the roaming guard made his way back to the door on his usual rounds. Just enough time to lug these lumps into a supply closet.

He had to fire three more times before making his way to the block containing Harvey Dent. Nothing lethal. If he got popped again, he had enough murders on his jacket to make sure that Zoe wouldn't ever see him again, unless it was through plate glass before they popped a needle into his arm. He wasn't going to be taken alive. Noah had instructions, and the keys to his Cayman accounts, to make sure Zoe was set up for life should anything happen.

He wasn't going to be looking out of the inside of one of these cells again, that much was certain.

He reached Harvey's cell without incident, sliding the prepped security card he'd recieved in one of his mail drops from the Calculator.

"Counselor," he said. "Your ride's here. I figure we're about two minutes from an appearance by somebody we don't want to see. Clock's ticking."

The Night After

[lanternslight.livejournal.com]

He's put away most of the baby supplies. The crib. The diapers. He'll donate them to the needy tomorrow.

For now, he's sitting in the living room with a beer, the Santa-hat he wore earlier discarded and flattened in the middle of the floor.

He sighs. The kid would be eating dinner right now. Over two months, the ritual of it has become familiar.

He moves to his phone and presses the button to hear the message on his answering machine.

"You've reached Hal Jordan..." the voice explains, but in the background, he hears the sound of a baby gurgling and cooing. The message plays out, the baby continuing to coo in the background until the end.

He sighs... and listens to it again.