Summary:

When Barry changes the timeline, he doesn't expect to run into quite so much trouble. Of intergalactic proportions.

When Hal is sent to Earth to deal with the problem, he doesn't expect the 'problem' to be an adorable speedster.

Notes:

This was a fill for an anon prompt on tumblr (HalBarry and 'literally bumping into each other') - if you're reading this, nonnie, I'm sorry I took forever with this!

Disclaimer: I don't know the first thing about Green Lantern. I saw the live action movie and about ten minutes of cartoon Hal in total. Imagine this is an AU Hal as I imagine him if he were to enter the CW 'verse. (Yes, this disclaimer is designed solely to cover my ass against any claims of highly probable OOCness :'D)

(See the end of the work for .)

Work Text:

In hindsight, Barry will fully admit that it's his fault, for not paying any attention to his surroundings.

Unfortunately, hindsight doesn't do much against the sensation of scalding coffee soaking into shirts, pants, and judging by the unpleasant spread of the heat, underwear. Barry snaps his eyes up, but before the litany of apologies can spill from his mouth, he's blinded by a dazzling smile, showcasing two rows of perfect pearly-whites.

"Ow," the guy says, and his bright green eyes are alight with amusement instead of the rage Barry was expecting. "When I woke up this morning thinking I needed to drown myself in caffeine, I didn't think the universe would take that literally."

"Sorry," Barry yelps then, recovering his faculties enough to realize that an apology is still necessary, even though the stranger is gorgeo- taking this accident in surprisingly good humor. "I- I wasn't looking, I'm really sorry, I'll pay for your cleaning bills, here, let me just give you my number-"

"Oh, is that how it is? I have to say, as a pick-up strategy, it's not so bad."

He's laughing, but Barry's still mortified (and more than a little heartbroken from the fact that Iris didn't recognize him at all). The only thing he manages is stammering out half-formed negations while shaking his head furiously. He takes a step back in an attempt to regain some composure with a sliver of personal space, and nearly slips on the spilled coffee under their feet; a strong hand curls around his bicep and steadies him, pulling him a little closer to the man's chest than absolutely necessary.

"Hey," the stranger says softly, and his features shift from bright amusement towards genuine concern. "You alright there? You look like you need to sit down."

Barry would rather spill coffee down his pants all over again than sit down in this particular shop and watch the woman he's been in love with for years ignore him, but he doesn't really want to talk – or think – about that. His clothes stick to his body in a way that's starting to be more than a little uncomfortable as the wet fabric cools, and he longs for a shower and maybe a year of sleep, even though that's unlikely, with the way this week's been going, weird metahumans popping up everywhere.

And here he thought that changing the past would mean he'd maybe, finally, get some peace.

He's lost in his thoughts for longer than strictly socially acceptable, and Mr. Hot stares at him for that moment, then pulls him out of the door.

"Seems like you might need something stronger than a latte," he mumbles, and Barry blinks at him: he must look really shitty for a stranger to assume he needs a drink. Not that he doesn't: if there were any drinks on Earth that would actually kick in through Barry's superhuman regeneration, he'd gladly get shitfaced and forget for a moment that the girl who promised to wait for him a couple of days ago hardly even knows his name in this timeline.

"We can't really go bar-hopping like this," Barry sighs, gesturing first to himself and then to... yeah, okay, the guy's shirt is stuck to his stomach and those are some spectacular abs. Fortunately, the guy doesn't seem to notice Barry's bumbling embarrassment, because he just shrugs and motions somewhere to the side of the road:

"How about my place, then?"

Barry follows the gesture and his eyes land on a motorbike, an older but well-kept model in shiny black and metallic green. His stomach does a backflip at the implications, but before he can decide whether he likes how fast this is going (and isn't that ironic, for a speedster), the guy is already handing him a helmet and grinning at him in a way that does things to Barry's insides he doesn't want to analyze.

Maybe this is the time-stream's way of showing him things will be fine – by handing him a neat package of everything Barry's ever found attractive in other men.

"I shouldn't," he mutters: he knows he will, but he wants it acknowledged that there has been a moment of hesitation. That he's not so easy that he'll accept such an invitation lightly.

The guy doesn't seem to care in the slightest: he laughs again and extends his hand in an easy, friendly gesture.

"Yeah, you should. I'm Hal, by the way. So that you don't have to worry about coming home with strangers."

Then, he honest-to-god winks and Barry takes his hand with the feeling that he's being pulled into this guy's orbit, with the possibility of burning up like a tiny splinter of an asteroid brushing too close to a star. It's a peculiar feeling, in a life of a metahuman vigilante, and Barry finds he kind of likes it, likes that Hal feels larger than life, however strange and overwhelming 'life' gets for Barry Allen.

He manages to return the favor and mumbles his name in response, and then Hal's straddling the bike, giving him an inviting look that twists Barry's stomach into a tight knot all over again. He doesn't have a choice other than to throw his leg over the leather seat and put his hands onto Hal's hips: the man immediately takes Barry's hands in his own and pulls them tight around his waist.

"Don't wanna lose you, so hold on, yeah?"

Barry spends the short ride wondering if the universe loves or hates him. The calculated odds are pretty evenly split by the time they stop in front of a non-descript apartment building. Hal leans backwards, the hard muscle of his back pressing into Barry's chest; the speed powers come in handy when Barry's heart kicks into overdrive and effectively cancels the need for Barry to wonder if the other man can feel his heartbeat.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Hal beams, face twisted over his shoulder to look at Barry. He's so close it would barely take a couple of inches to lean in and kiss him, and Barry wishes he could kick that thought out of his head.

"N-no, not bad at all," he manages and slips off the bike, discreetly adjusting himself in his still-wet jeans while Hal's back is turned to him.

The apartment turns out to be a bit of a dump – not dirty or messy, but impersonal in a way Barry wouldn't have expected from a warm, obviously affectionate guy like Hal. Everything looks a little too squeaky-clean, like it's just been taken off a store shelf, unpacked from its plastic wrapping.

"New in town?" he asks, curious, and Hal seems oddly tense for a moment before he shrugs:

"Yeah, you could say that. So. Beer? I think I got some vodka around here but I wouldn't bet on it."

"Beer's fine," Barry nods and looks around some more while Hal walks into the tiny kitchen area that's probably only large enough for making a very small sandwich. There's not that much to look at, in the end, and Barry would sit down if he wasn't worried he'd leave coffee stains everywhere.

"You can take a shower, if you want – I'll get you some fresh clothes," Hal calls, like Barry's not standing just ten feet from him. Barry jumps, a little startled by the offer, but he has to admit coffee sticking to his skin is pretty gross and greatly outweighs the weirdness of showering in the home of a guy he's only met half an hour ago.

Which basically means he talks himself out of refusing and says 'thanks' instead. Hal waves him towards an open door that leads into a tiny bathroom with an even tinier shower. There's hardly enough room for one, but the five minutes it takes Barry to scrub the sticky sugar out of his skin are filled with the ridiculous mental images of Hal stepping in, already naked, pressing Barry against the wet tiles and just-

Yeah. Barry categorically refuses to jerk off in a stranger's shower, so he turns the water to freezing for a moment before he steps out, wrapping a towel securely around his waist. When he walks back to the kitchen-slash-living-room, Hal hands him a beer, but Barry's attention gets caught up on the wide expanse of the man's chest, now without the barrier of a soaked T-shirt in the way. He takes a quick swig from the bottle and coughs when Hal starts unbuttoning his jeans; the man laughs at him and a warm, large hand lands on Barry's shoulder as Hal passes him on the way to the bathroom.

"There's a shirt and some pants on the bed, feel free to help yourself. And don't spill anything else on my stuff, alright?"

The (no doubt unintentional) innuendo leaves Barry with burning cheeks as he stuffs himself into Hal's clothes. They smell vaguely unfamiliar and really, really good, and Barry has to stop himself from burying his nose in the fabric of the soft, worn shirt. It's all a bit too big on him – Hal's not that much taller, but considerably wider everywhere.

By the time the man emerges from the shower, Barry's sitting at the tiny kitchen table, beer half-finished and his mind halfway back to Jitters, to the way Iris gave him a blank stare and then a polite, confused smile when he told her his name. And it's not just her: Barry went back and changed the world and now, nine days in, it feels like blasphemy to miss some parts of his old life. Like Joe; Barry's grown up with the man's advice firmly in his ear whenever he had a need for it, and now, he feels a little lost without it, without any possibility of telling Joe about any of this. He has his parents, yeah, but he can't just trail after them for the rest of his life – it's been quite a startling discovery to realize that he doesn't really know his parents at all. They've had a decade and a half of a life Barry doesn't remember, in this timeline, they've matured and changed in ways Barry's unfamiliar with. He misses Cisco and Caitlin and even Harry, none of them his friends in this timeline. He doesn't have anyone to talk to, about the Flash stuff, about the mixed feelings he's having about this thing, this change of his world he's been craving ever since he was eleven years old and unable to do anything when his mother was being killed.

He got what he wanted – but suddenly, he doesn't know if he can keep wanting it, when he knows the price, and it feels like he's an awful person, like he's wishing for his parents to disappear, and it twists Barry's gut with anxiety and shame.

That's how Hal finds him, wound halfway to knots and worrying at the label on the beer bottle with his blunt nails. The supportive, heavy hand returns to his shoulder, squeezing a little, a soothing pressure on his tense muscles and Barry leans into the touch, sighing as his eyes drift closed.

"Do you wanna tell me what got you so upset?" Hal asks, and Barry really wishes he could.

"No," he manages, looking for a suitable excuse that wouldn't consist of 'I'm a metahuman who changed the world last week'. "I don't want to bother a stranger with my problems."

"We've been over this, right? Hi, I'm Hal, and I'll be your shrink for the day," Hal snickers and puts his other hand on Barry's neck as well, thumbs digging along Barry's spine, making him melt. "Now spill."

Barry rolls his head around, leaning further into the delicious pressure, his mind shutting down the defense system. He opens his mouth, wondering if he can suitably conceal the true nature of his current predicament, make it sound vague enough that he wouldn't scare Hal off or break the moment-

-and of course that's when the wall explodes, flying debris filling the air.

"Shit!" Hal screams, but before Barry can react, before he can wake up from his daze enough to move, grab his host and just run, Hal's whipping around, raising his hand, like he can actually do something-

-a wall of green light erupts out of nowhere, standing between them and whoever the attacker is. Barry's eyes widen, stinging from the dust swirling in the air, and he coughs, once, twice, trying to make sense of it. Through the green wall, he can see some floatation device carrying a man with oddly colored skin: it's hard to make out the exact hue through the green light protecting them, but it sure as hell isn't any natural human skintone.

Barry groans – he just can't catch a break with these weird metas. They've been at his heels ever since he changed the past, and Barry doesn't understand why there are so many of them when the particle accelerator never exploded in this timeline. Now is not the time for scientific musings, though: the meta raises an oddly-shaped gun and begins shooting at the wall of light, which starts cracking down the middle like glass.

"Dammit – let's go!" Hal screams and yanks Barry towards the door by his arm. They're both barefoot, but the first shot of the weird gun that gets through the light singes the couch and eats a hole through the kitchen counter, so Barry's inclined not to care about shoes all that much.

Another shot follows, whizzing past their heads and Hal ducks, swearing like a sailor and gripping Barry's arm tight, dragging him down the staircase of the building. The metahuman is yelling something behind their backs, but Barry can't make out any real words in the mess.

"Can you get us out of here?" Hal snaps and tugs Barry out of another shot's way. The concrete sizzles, mere inches behind, and Barry doesn't even have the time to appreciate being held tight against Hal's impressive chest. He blinks at the odd request as it finally reaches his brain, and shrugs:

"I don't really have a car-"

"Dammit, Barry, you're a speedster, you don't need a car!"

"What?" he chokes out, but Hal's draping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close again. His other hand reaches back and doesn't land on Barry's waist; there's an odd sensation and when Barry twists in Hal's grip, just enough to see, there's more green light, shaped like a... rope? It's winding around the metahuman, trying to yank him off his flying machine, but it's a struggle and the rope seems to be losing. Hal's forehead is beaded with sweat and his eyes look manic (and are they... glowing?!) when he glances at Barry again.

"Now, Barry! Get us out!"

The next shot burns through the air and scatters the crackling lightning left in their wake.

...

Running without shoes hurts his feet, but Barry manages to get them out of Central, to a small hill not far from the seashore that offers a good view of the city in the distance. There's very little doubt the metahuman attacker won't follow, or at least try to track Barry down again for some unknown, awful reason – but at this very moment, Barry's mind is reeling with more pressing questions.

"How did you know?!" he snaps, ignoring the fact that Hal's bent over, breathing hard and probably trying not to lose his lunch. "How do you know me? Nobody knows, not-"

He stops himself before he can say something he'll regret, but Hal, slightly pale in the face, finally straightens up and gives him a pointed look.

"Nobody here, you mean? In this fancy new timeline you've whipped up for yourself, Flash?"

Barry's blood runs cold and he swallows, trying to think of something to say, some way to deny the ridiculous, but unfortunately true statement.

"Who are you?" is what he whispers in the end, heart beating fast, but this time it's not because of Hal's abs or shoulders or his smile. Despite the false sense of security he's let himself be lulled into, he doesn't really know this man, doesn't know who he is, where he came from and what he wants. He could be just as dangerous as the metas who have been out to get Barry for the past nine days – more, probably, because he had enough brains to con Barry into thinking he was harmless.

Hal takes a step forward – Barry takes one back.

"Who are you and what do you want from me?" he barks, on the verge of hysteria: he severely misses the sound of Cisco's voice in his ear, providing him with some readings on who or what this guy might be. He's all alone here, nobody knows where he is or what might be hunting him, and Barry shudders involuntarily under the mental strain of his sudden loneliness.

"Oh, for fuck's- I'm here to save your ass, alright?" Hal groans and then takes a deep breath. "Watch."

He spreads his arms in a quick gesture – Barry doesn't really expect anything much to happen, so he gasps out loud when a flash of green light envelops Hal's body, and then his sweatpants are gone, replaced by a tight suit in several shades of deep green. An unknown symbol adorns his chest, some sort of a circle with two lines, but Barry's much more fascinated by the glowing outline of muscle fiber on the... suit? It looks like someone turned a person inside out and outfitted the bare structure with Christmas lights.

Barry blinks at the sight, equal parts intrigued and weirded out.

"That's... creepy," he comments, and Hal, face half-concealed by a green mask, twists his mouth in a displeased grimace.

"Yeah, like your leather strip-club ensemble's any better. Where is it, anyway? You can't run around in my pants all day if we're to stop the universe from imploding."

That sentence makes exactly zero sense to Barry – he's still caught up staring at the pulses of light tracing Hal's abs, and this is very much not the time to develop an unfortunate, odd crush on a weird-ass meta.

The bit about the universe imploding finally filters through to Barry's brain when he looks away from Hal's stomach.

"What's wrong with the universe?" he blinks, and Hal snorts:

"The tl;dr answer is: you."

"Uh," Barry manages, because that's a pretty big accusation, and if this guy somehow got the idea that he needs to kill Barry in order to restore balance to the world, or whatever, Barry's not really game for standing here waiting for his own execution. "What about a longer, more detailed version of that?"

"You know how you ran back and changed the time on Earth?"

Barry opens his mouth to protest, but it's technically true, and that last part throws him for a loop.

"What do you mean 'on Earth'?"

"I mean on Earth, on this planet, Gaia, Terra, located in the Solar System, Orion Arm, Milky Way galaxy, you're standing on it right now – rings any bells? I'd give you proper coordinates but I have a feeling that wouldn't really help, seeing as you haven't set a foot off the planet anyway."

"And you have?" Barry snorts skeptically, because that's about the only reaction that springs up to his otherwise painfully blank mind.

Hal rolls his eyes and pointedly gestures to his torso, still bright green and glowy. "Duh."

Which gives Barry all sorts of unpleasant ideas. Unpleasant and scary.

"Wait," he mutters, eyes going wide, "are you an alien?"

This only seems to irritate Hal further – he drops his hands and groans: "No I'm not an- look, we don't really have the time to get into detailed personal histories here. All you need to know is that you gotta trust me and work with me, because right now there's a price on your head and if they get to you, it's not gonna be pretty. The Xy'dhari mercenary was just the beginning."

"Zi- what?!"

"The guy who blasted through my wall? Which, by the way, was new, courtesy of you running back in time, resulting in me being erased from Earth's history and losing all my possessions and my old home. I liked that loft, you know?! Now that I think about it, I wonder if there's a grave of fifteen-year-old me somehow or if I just dropped out of existence at the point that you changed-"

"Can you focus for five minutes?" Barry sighs and drags his hand down his face. This whole mess has gone from alarming to bizarre in the span of the last thirty seconds and Barry would very much like some answers, now.

Just then, a distant whooshing sound alerts him to the approaching... something, flying through the air at great speed towards them. It's the guy (thing?) from the apartment, and Barry can see now that he's an unnatural shade of purple and pissed off, already pointing his gun in their direction. Hal sees him, too, and throws Barry a quick grin as the first shot sails over their heads.

"Rain check on the chat?"

The fight is over quicker than Barry would've thought – it seems that with enough room to create strange green-glowing things out of thin air, Hal's pretty good at fighting what Barry still refuses to believe is an alien. A giant hand slaps the purple villain out of his flying thing and emerald ropes successfully bind him this time – after a hammer the size of a small building knocks him out.

Hal turns back to Barry then, a grin on his face that suggests he's immensely pleased with himself, and Barry can't really begrudge him the pride: no matter how the green light happens, it's oddly effective.

"You don't seem bothered by... all this," Barry comments and leans down a little, peeking at the purple skin of their attacker that looks like it's made out of tiny, sharp scales. Hal shrugs and cards his fingers through his hair – which really shouldn't look this well-styled after a fight, however brief.

"It's kinda in my job description, man."

"Fighting aliens?" Barry raises an eyebrow, and dammit, he told himself not to believe in aliens – but in light of everything that has gone down in the past three years, maybe intelligent life on other planets isn't that farfetched.

Hal nods, like it's no big deal. "Yeah. I'm a member of an intergalactic police force. You probably haven't heard of us – Earth hasn't exactly been interesting for anyone out there. Until now, that is."

"Because of... me?" Barry struggles not to think about any movies with aliens coming to Earth and destroying it. He shudders to think he might've unwittingly caused such a disaster.

"Yeah, kind of? I mean, you changed fifteen years of a planet's history. You only saved your mom and look what happened – imagine if you went back for someone more important, no offense."

"None taken," Barry mumbles feebly. "But I've run back in time before, changed the course of events – how come it's different now?"

"I'm guessing you didn't change that much, not in the grand scheme of things. Now, there's a lot of people, aliens, call them what you want; and they'll try to make you run back in time for things they want. Big events of intergalactic importance that someone wishes would've turned out differently."

"So what do you want from me?" Barry frowns. "Because I'm not running back and watching my mother get killed again."

Hal actually looks alarmed at the suggestion, waving his hands around like a muscular green windmill. "Whoa, whoa, holy shit, man, I just told you that you painted a target on your back changing time and your suggestion's doing the exact same shit all over again?! That's an awful idea, and you can take it from me, I'm the king of awful ideas."

"So what?"

"So we hide you, until the Earth, as it is now, settles back into the time-space fabric of the universe."

"O...kay?"

"Don't worry, it won't be forever. A couple of days – weeks, tops. We just gotta make sure nobody can track you down, and we should be set."

Barry's really on-board with the plan of not being abducted by aliens, but he lacks any information to actually suggest a way of hiding from them. Fortunately, Hal nods at him and grins a little, stretching his green glowy arms over his head and raising an eyebrow under that mask:

"So, you got any ideas about how to slow down your body? You kinda stick out like a sore thumb with that heart rate of yours."

...

"You have to be kidding me," Barry sighs. A violent shiver runs down his spine and he rubs his hands over his arms, but it's no use: he's still only wearing Hal's shirt, and this is- "The Arctic?!"

Travelling by way of flying in a huge ball of green light has been a worrisome experience, but it's nothing compared to the thought of being dropped in the middle of snowy nowhere. Barry shivers again and glares at Hal, who seems unaffected by the cold, a green glow coating his body and probably protecting him from the abysmal temperature.

Hal holds open the door to what looks like a recently abandoned research station and Barry brushes past him in hopes of escaping the cold, but the inside of the building is just as freezing as the outside. Well. Minus the wind, at least.

"Don't these things have generators?" Barry asks, teeth chattering, and Hal closes the door behind him, strolling past Barry with a grin:

"They do. I turned it off."

"What?!"

"You said your body slowed down when cold. This is our best bet of concealing your location."

Rationally, Barry understands the reasoning, but his brain is mostly focused on getting him warmed-up, logic giving way to basic survival. He glares at Hal, who doesn't seem bothered in the slightest, and tries to make words through his chattering teeth:

"At least let me contact my parents. They'll be worried if I don't show up for... however long this takes."

"They'll be more worried if you don't ever show up again because you're too busy being an intergalactic time-travelling slave."

He's not wrong, but Barry still doesn't like the prospect of having his parents worrying about him for who knows how long. "Hal, I have to let them know I'm alright."

After a moment of consideration, Hal's shoulders fall a little and his eyes roll towards the grey concrete ceiling.

"Fine," he sighs, "I'll go find your phone and text them that you met a total hunk and you're taking a leave of absence for some torrid love-making, how about that?"

Barry splutters and feels his cheeks heat up a little, despite the fact that his breath is still freezing right in front of his face.

Hal, ever the asshole, actually grins at him then, cocking an eyebrow up in a way that really shouldn't be this attractive.

"Hey, it could be worse, the mercenary could've gotten to you first." Hal's voice drops into a conspiratorial stage-whisper. "They have two dicks. With scales."

That is disturbing enough to shake Barry out of his 'must-get-warm' mindset for a moment.

"...do they really?" he asks, skeptical and also a bit worried.

"That's for you to hopefully never find out," Hal's shit-eating grin makes a comeback, but Barry doesn't know him well enough to tell if he's overjoyed he's fooled someone, or just generally amused by the weird fact.

Just as the green-glowing man turns to the door, no doubt to fly back to Central, Barry sighs.

"Hal?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't tell my mother tales about my sex life."

"She'd probably be happy you met a nice guy like me."

"Hal!"

"Yeah, yeah, make yourself at home and for the love of everything that's holy to you, don't use your powers."

...

Twelve hours in, Barry swears that cold makes time slow down as well. He's huddled on a slightly rickety bed with a metal frame and a very thin mattress; no blankets, because Hal is a heartless jerk and denies Barry any semblance of warmth, citing some sensors and readings that Barry doesn't really appreciate as much as he would if his mind had the freedom to think about the scientific implications of such advanced technologies.

He doesn't know when and how he falls asleep, but when he blinks his eyes open, he's marginally less cold. The world is tinted green for a moment and when he struggles up to a sitting position, he realizes there's a glow enveloping his whole body. A mug is shoved under his nose – he wraps his hands around it gratefully, but it's not exactly warm, and when Barry peeks into it, the contents look like a soup, not coffee.

He groans, and Hal raises an eyebrow at him when Barry tilts his head back to give the man a hurt look.

"You need to eat something. I kept you at a constant temperature while you slept, so you wouldn't actually get hypothermia and die – I gotta say your body's kind of impressive."

Barry blushes, even though it feels like his blood has turned into an icy slush in his veins, and Hal snorts, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settles down next to Barry.

"Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant that your powers seem to be doing an alright job keeping you from freezing to death. I actually wanna see you run for real, once this is over with."

He sounds almost reverent, admiring, and Barry can't help but lean into the solid warmth of Hal's shoulder, just a little. Hal sighs and for a moment, Barry thinks he'll get up and leave. Instead, Hal drapes an arm around Barry's shoulder and pulls him closer. Barry wants to protest, but the closeness is comforting, even after Hal's ring glows and blocks out most of his bodily warmth.

"I am sorry about this, you know," Hal says, and Barry sips his lukewarm soup, stomach growling at the (questionable) taste of food. "Even though it's kinda your own fault."

"Gee, thanks," Barry mumbles, but doesn't move away.

...

They play chess.

Both of them suck at the game, and the glowing green board gets confusing when there are only a couple pieces left. Most of the fun is derived from the arguments about whether or not Hal has moved Barry's pieces when Barry wasn't looking, and it's surprisingly pleasant. Sometimes, Barry is reminded of Cisco and all his other friends that he doesn't exactly have in this time. He grows quiet, then, and Hal tells him outrageously exaggerated stories about his space adventures (at least Barry hopes they're not wholly true, otherwise world would be a truly scary place). Barry knows it probably says something about his mental state that sometimes, looking at Hal, a wave of gratitude sweeps over him. He should not feel thankful for being stuck beyond the Arctic circle, freezing his ass off so aliens don't get to him... but he does, and when Hal smiles at him, face tinted green from the glow of the chessboard, Barry forgets the reasons why he shouldn't.

By the end of the fourth day, chess is out of the question, as Hal keeps changing the pieces into more and more ridiculous shapes, and when they argue for half an hour about whether the winged elephant unicorn was intended to be the rook or the knight, it's clear they're not going to get a serious game going anytime soon.

An old dusty deck of cards is discovered in one of the cupboards, and that doesn't go much better, but at least Hal can't easily cheat his way out of the game (even though he tries, cheeky grin firm on his lips when he tries to slip a green, glowing card into his hand, obvious and teasing).

Every time Hal goes on a food run, Barry is bored out of his mind or drowning in paranoia. It's always an immense relief when the door opens again, Hal poking his head in and announcing the daily menu. A simple chocolate bar has never tasted this good, even though Hal doesn't let Barry eat nearly as much as Barry could, if he didn't have to keep his body temperature low. He's feeling sluggish and sleepy a lot of the time, and by the end of the second week, Hal takes naps with him. Barry doesn't think Hal actually sleeps, but the closeness of another living person by his side always drags Barry under, despite the cold. When he wakes up, Hal is there, watching him with those impossibly green eyes, and Barry loves those sleepy, quiet moments before Hal says something silly just to break the silence.

By the end of the third week, Barry starts wondering if Hal ever comes back to Earth for more than just a mission. He remembers Hal saying that this planet has not been particularly interesting on an intergalactic scale; the thought of not seeing Hal ever again becomes a looming probability.

Twenty-seven days in, Hal comes back with Chinese takeout, steaming hot, and declares their wait over.

Barry's stomach twists, and he tries to tell himself it's only at the prospect of actual warm food.

They eat in silence, and even the blanket (finally) draped over his shoulders can't keep Barry from shivering. Hal seems oddly tense as well, and when Barry asks whether there's still some threat, Hal dismisses the notion with a simple shake of his head and mumbled reassurances. Barry doesn't want to think about the fact that the question sparked up some misplaced hope in his chest and the answer flushed that hope out.

He doesn't even know what exactly he's been hoping for- well, no, that would be a lie. He knows, every time he looks at Hal, at the curve of his grin, at the angles of his face; what he doesn't know is if what he wants is real, or merely the result of being basically held captive, with no one else to keep him company, to get attached to, beside Hal.

Barry can feel his powers coming back to him as he shovels spring rolls into his mouth, speed force vibrating through his body once he's properly fed, but the tension in his shoulders doesn't abate, like his body is waiting for something unspecified. It's only when Hal rises from his chair and declares it's time to go, in a strangely solemn, quiet voice, Barry knows he has to say something or he'll choke.

They're nearly at the door by the time Barry musters up the courage, Hal's hand halfway to the handle.

"Hal?" he starts, hesitant and maybe too quiet to be heard, but the man turns to him anyway.

"Yes?"

It's almost like he's waiting for something, too, the glint in his eyes too close to the hope that rises in Barry's heart again.

"I just... can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Hal shrugs, and Barry has a thousand questions, about space, about the Green Lanterns, about any of the alien races that Hal mentioned previously as the ones who would be most interested in Barry's ability to change the course of history. He could ask any of those questions, take an out and ignore whatever it is that's been budding between them for the past weeks.

This is the first time Barry wishes he could run forward, see the outcome before he plunges down the deep end.

"Back in Central... did you start talking to me because you knew who I was?"

Hal raises an eyebrow, and Barry mentally curses his own imprecise wording. "I started talking to you because you spilled coffee on me."

"You know what I mean," Barry sighs, but attempts to clarify anyway. "Did you follow me? Because I was your mission?"

Was I only ever a mission to you? he thinks, but cannot bring himself to ask. Hal, for all his silliness, seems to be good at reading between the lines when he wants to, because he looks at Barry for a tense moment, the silence stretching way too thin.

"I wouldn't have come back to Earth if it weren't for the mission," he says, and something in Barry cracks, ready to shatter- "But I didn't expect the mission to be this cute."

Cute. Yeah, alright, he can work with cute. Something in Hal's eyes shifts then, softens, and Barry's rushing forward before he can think himself out of it, before he can once again worry about Hal never coming back after today. Lightning crackles around his body as he wraps his arms around Hal's shoulders – not enough fabric on his ridiculous suit to grab and use as leverage.

Hal's too tense, unmoving as Barry slams their mouths together, but then, that's the effect the speed force has – when Barry slows to 'human', Hal's hands find his waist under the blanket, slide up his back and keep him close. Barry shudders into the contact, sighs into the kiss and Hal tightens his hold on him, spins them around so that Barry's pressed against the door, squeezed between the cold surface and a warm, solid chest.

Hal's knee slides between Barry's thighs and it's more than Barry could've asked for; he groans and twists his fingers into Hal's hair, wondering idly if he'll be able to mess it up, or if that's one of Hal's superpowers as a space cop, looking perfect no matter what. Hal's mouth slides over the line of Barry's jaw, nips at his exposed throat and Barry rolls his head back. He's hard already, and that might be just his heightened metabolism kicking in, but it's likely Hal's fault, Hal who is palming Barry's ass with insistence that doesn't leave much to the imagination. The blanket has dropped to the floor, but Barry can't seem to care except that it tangles around his ankle when he tries to raise his leg and hook it over Hal's thigh to pull him closer – Hal gets the message anyway and chuckles into Barry's collarbone, and then angles his hips and grinds against Barry and it's good, so good-

Until it stops.

Barry blinks in confusion, trying to clear his head from the haze of lust that has fallen over his senses.

"Wha-"

"Did you just... vibrate?"

Hal's voice is shot to hell, hoarse and low and like a slow lick up Barry's spine. It takes a moment for the question to get through the arousal, and then Barry laughs, a little sheepish, shrugging innocently.

"Yeah. Sorry. I kind of... do that sometimes. When I lose control."

Hal makes a sound Barry's never heard anyone make outside of porn, and effortlessly hoists Barry up, supporting his weight with big hands under Barry's thighs. Barry doesn't fight it in the slightest, just wraps his legs around Hal's waist and grins at the man who is looking at him like he just discovered... something fascinating and desirable. The part of Barry's brain responsible for thinking in actual words shuts down completely in favor of chanting 'yes yes yes please now'.

"I just received an important transmission," Hal smirks. "Seems we're required to stay here for a day longer. Possibly two, just as a safety precaution."

Barry laughs when his breath's nearly knocked out of him as Hal deposits him on the narrow bed, climbing over Barry with a distinctly predatory look.

"Confident in your stamina, huh?" Barry teases and his hands run up Hal's shoulders, over the smooth curve of his biceps, concealed by the glowing suit. "How do you even get this thing off?"

"I just have to wish really hard," Hal smirks, and as he leans down to kiss Barry again, he does.