Chapter Text
“God, that’s one hell of a mosquito bite,” Ollie said, as Hal pulled off his shirt in the communal showers.
“Costs ya five bucks for looking,” Hal replied. He tossed his balled-up T-shirt at Ollie’s face. “Ten if you keep looking at the downstairs.”
He teased Ollie, but he truly did hate even a second of attention on that spot on his side. He knew exactly what Oliver was talking about, but it wasn’t a bug bite. Damned if he knew what it was, but nothing had bit him. And it hurt way worse than even the meanest wasp sting.
“What got you, Lantern?” Ollie persisted. “Roy used to break out like that from some bites, but he grew out of it. Think you’ve got skeeter syndrome?”
“I don’t have any syndrome—” Hal huffed in reply. “Besides, we’ve gone camping enough times, you’d know if I was allergic to mosquitos… I dunno, maybe some little alien critter got me.”
It wasn’t a lie if he didn’t know the truth. Maybe some tiny lifeform did bite him and he didn’t notice. Weird if it could have pierced him through his uniform construct, and a leather jacket, and a T-shirt. But stranger things had happened.
He knew Ollie wasn’t just picking on him, that his friend genuinely was concerned, but right then, while he was self-conscious and in pain, the attention simply felt irritating.
“Entomology discussions can wait,” Bruce said, as he stepped into the shower room and began the complicated work of getting his suit off. “We have quite the debrief ahead of us.”
“Thanks, Spooky,” Hal cried in relief. He probably had never put those two words together before. “That’s what I’m saying. Let’s just get… un-gross, so we can get this meeting done with and all go home.”
“Didyousayyougotbitbyanalien?”
Hal sighed as loud as he could, as he undid his belt and stepped out of his jeans. The swollen spot over his rib hurt sharply as he bent to get out of his clothes. The pain radiated up to his temples. For a second, his vision actually blurred.
Before he could come up with another dismissal, Barry was fully up in his space, inspecting the lesion on his right side.
“That doesn’t look quite like a bug bite,” Barry said. “Does it hurt?”
“Oh my God, I never said it was a bug bite. I said it was maybe something from one of the zillion planets I’ve hit this week. But Bruce is right, it’s a waste of time to talk about it. We still need to debrief, and at this rate, the girls are gonna beat us back to the meeting room.”
“Dinah will want to do her whole conditioner routine— that’ll take a full twenty minutes,” Ollie said, then started whistling under the shower stream.
“It looks like it hurts…” Barry said, still fixated on the stupid red bump.
“I’ll put aloe on it if that’ll make you guys happy,” Hal said.
He really wanted to get in the shower, but couldn’t risk garnering any more attention. And he had a dreadful feeling that the sore on his left hip probably looked a lot worse than the one on his torso that was apparently so distracting. So he waited for enough steam to fill the room, before he risked taking his shorts off.
“You alright, Hal?”
Now Clark had entered, bringing his genuine warmth and care. Hal tried hard not to roll his eyes. An eyeroll would probably make him puke at this point, considering how dizzy he felt. He wondered whether that was because of the pain from those two tiny spots, or from the blow to the head he received during the fight. God, everything hurt.
He didn’t want to think anymore. He didn’t want to shower here at the Satellite. He definitely didn’t want to debrief. He wanted to go home, order delivery from the corner Chinese restaurant, nap on his couch till his orange tofu arrived, get some hot food in his belly, then take an Epsom salt bath until his fingers pruned.
And he definitely didn’t want to put jeans back on. He wasn’t ready for the friction of the unforgiving side seam against that spot on his hip.
Clark was looking at him with that motherly concern. Hal suddenly felt extremely self-conscious of his heart rate, which still hadn’t settled back down to its resting rate since the fight. He was aware of his slightly heightened breathing in response to the pain, aware of his unsettled stomach and how gross it probably sounded to Kryptonian ears. God, could he not get an ounce of privacy around here?
Okay, that was kind of a stupid frustration to have while standing basically naked in a communal shower, among his naked teammates. Hal knew he was being unreasonably edgy. It was just hard to feel calm while his skin— no, something under his skin— was screaming at him.
In the time it took Hal to sort through all his aggravation and find his words, Barry had stripped, washed up under the shower, and gotten back into a clean uniform. Now he and Clark were fixated on the stupid sore spot on Hal’s side.
“I’m okay, Ollie was just being a mother hen about this bug bite I got.”
He decided doubling down on the bug explanation would be the quickest way for everyone to lose interest.
“I don’t think that’s a bug bite,” Clark said, squinting at the lesion. “It looks like staph. My pa got staph once on his hand, when I was in high school… See, it’s got that pinprick spot in the middle.”
“If you have staph, Hal, you oughtn’t use the group facilities,” Bruce said, wrapping a towel around his waist.
“Oh my God, I don’t have staph! I’d know if I had staph. It doesn’t hurt that much, and the pinprick thing is probably where the critter’s weird mouth parts went in. Ollie was probably right, maybe I am suddenly allergic to mosquitos after all.”
“Say that again, brother,” Ollie said, beaming as he toweled off his hair. “Music to my ears.”
“Alright, everyone, for the record. On this day, in the shower room of the Justice League Satellite, Oliver Queen, in a rare moment of mental clarity, was right about something. A round of applause for our comrade, Oliver Queen.”
Hal used his ring to make a construct of two oversized hands, clapping. Bruce’s sigh echoed against the tiled walls.
“Do you mind getting checked out at the infirmary after the debrief?” Clark asked, clearly not willing to let this go. “On the chance that it is staph, it could get a lot worse just overnight. Stay on the safe side, as a favor to me?”
“Sure. I guess. Okay.”
Easier than arguing. It wasn’t that Hal was averse to medical attention— he simply felt bad and wanted to go home sooner rather than later. That, and he was almost positive this skin irritation wasn’t anything life-threatening, like Clark and Barry seemed to think it was.
The shower room was nice and dense with steam now. Hal took advantage of the coverage it provided, and finally stepped out of his shorts, working hard not to wince or gasp at the stab of pain radiating from either wound as he moved.
—
Batman had a lot to say about the battle against Professor Ivo and his goons. Warning signs they could have watched for, to intervene sooner. Arrow had a lot to say about Bruce’s “fascistic” obsession with surveillance. Wonder Woman had a lot to say about the League’s teamwork, pointing out the good and bad moments from the fight.
Canary called out Superman for acting individualistically during the battle. Supes tried to defend himself, and Ollie piled on. J’onn stood up for Clark, and Flash just tried to keep the peace, to stop Arrow and Spooky from getting too heated.
Hal had very little to contribute to the discussion— for the first time in his life. He was aware of his own tendency to interrupt people, to contradict, to insert opinions. But right now, all he could focus on was the pressure that seemed to swell up from under his skin in those two spots. The pain was a neverending crescendo. His head began to swim, like the feeling he got when nearly falling asleep at the wheel, when he was a long-haul driver.
“Green Lantern, what are your thoughts on the matter?”
Hal was jolted back to the present by MM’s voice. The trouble was, he had no idea what matter they were even talking about anymore.
“Um… I’m with Flash on this one,” Hal said, hoping that was an answer that made sense.
The second he spoke, he realized that his body was really not coping so well with the pain and the stress. Actually using his voice highlighted everything feeling off about his mouth and throat. The saliva pooling in excess underneath his tongue. His throat muscles involuntarily contracting. Oh, God… the sweaty palms. He was going to throw up, it was too late to stop it. All he could do was try to delay it.
He wondered if he could stay focused enough to make it through the end of this meeting without his stomach forcing him to run out. That would be the worst outcome he could imagine. All the attention he had finally shoved off back at the showers would pile on top of him again.
It was just a matter of willpower. Way easier than building any of the constructs he used during the battle. And this struggle didn’t even take any ring power. Just normal concentration. Just not giving into the pain. But, God, it hurt so much…
“Flash said he didn’t have an opinion,” Dinah huffed. “Are you really saying the Green Lantern doesn’t have an opinion on something?”
Hal shrugged. The motion made his T-shirt ride up under his constructed uniform, which chafed at the sore on his side. Like a knife to his brain.
“Perhaps this discussion would be better suited for a later time,” J’onn suggested. “I believe we are all weary.”
“You make a good point,” Diana replied. “I’m sure we’ll all think more clearly after a night’s rest. After all, we were victorious against Ivo. We’re only squabbling about what would have been the optimal way to reach that victory.”
“I think it’s pretty disingenuous to characterize a serious ethical issue as a squabble, WW,” Oliver said, folding his arms. His face was pretty flushed, the way it always got when he was angry.
“An ethical debate,” Superman said, “not an ethical issue. You two were discussing hypotheticals. Useful to hash out for future scenarios, but not productive when we’re all this tired. I don’t think any of our points of view are actually that different on this matter. Let’s save the conversation for next meeting.”
“You’re all being naive, if you think it can wait that long,” Spooky growled.
A stronger wave of nausea rolled over him, as Bats tried to prolong this godawful debrief. If it kept up like this, he wasn’t sure he could make it gracefully through till the ending.
“Ivo isn’t beat, we just damaged his current operation. But we know he’s nothing if not resourceful. He’ll be back up, stealing metahuman abilities right under our noses if we don’t set up the proper surveillance. And if you seven aren’t willing to go to that length, that’s on you.”
“And just what do you mean, that’s on us?” Dinah demanded, slapping her palm against the tabletop.
Hal’s left hip throbbed. The pain radiated through his joints, down to his knees and up through his back.
“See, I think this is exactly what J’onn and Diana were talking about,” Barry said, standing up with a full-body yawn. “This discussion’s too important to have while everybody’s having an adrenaline crash. I’m gonna go grab some pizza and beers and bring ‘em back here.”
“Damn. That… actually sounds really good right now,” said Dinah.
His queasy stomach gave him one last warning at the mention of the greasy food.
“Meeting adjourned. We’ll reconvene next week to discuss Batman’s surveillance plan.”
As Diana stood, Hal got up as quickly as his aching muscles would let him, and made a brisk walk out of the meeting room to the nearest restroom. His two small wounds screamed at him with every step.
Miserable as he felt, he was just a little proud of himself for lasting the entire meeting, though. But here came the horrible part.
Throwing up from pain was the worst. Worst because it never came with any relief. Just a full-body wretchedness and the horrible sensation of being completely out of control.
Just as Hal thought he truly couldn’t feel any lower, there was a knock on the door.
“GL? You okay?”
Fuck. He was still too sick to even answer, so Ollie went ahead and came inside.
Hal had a couple false starts when he tried to talk, just wound up retching instead. His voice was broken up and shaky when he could finally coordinate the movement to speak.
“Can’t a guy barf in privacy around here?”
His stomach was finally done emptying itself out, but the lesions themselves hadn’t let up whatsoever. Hal still felt queasy. The pain kept ringing inside his skull.
“Not after you spent so much time trying to convince us you’re not sick.”
“I’m not sick.”
Surprisingly, Ollie just let that statement hang there. Let it sink in to Hal just how stupid it was to say that. Before he could come up with another justification for himself, his friend crouched down beside him and rubbed his back. It was the first sensation that felt nice in a while.
“Maybe it isn’t staph, Hallie, but Clark might’ve been onto something by thinking infection.”
“I’m not sick,” Hal repeated. “This is just… ‘cause of the pain. Which will feel a lot better the sooner I can get home.”
“Don’t you think it’s concerning that a little bump can cause so much pain that the man with the greatest willpower in the universe throws up because of it?”
“I also hit my head,” Hal said.
“All the more reason to get checked out. Hallie, brother, you’re not leaving this place until you visit sick bay. Everybody noticed the beeline you made out of the meeting room. Clark and J’onn both have super hearing. There’s a whole Justice League who know you’re not well. Just… try being a decent patient long enough for Batman and Wonder Woman to clear you.”
“Ughh, Spooky is on med team? Isn’t that pretty hypocritical? Just when has he ever let anyone treat him in sick bay?”
“Not counting times when he was unconscious?” Ollie said.
Then he gave Hal a gentle pat on the back. “Come on, Lantern. I’ll be your advocate.”
—
Only Spooky and WW had to be there for the exam. Of course, Hal preferred Arrow’s presence to his absence. But there was no reason for Supes and Flash to be hanging around, except for that they had already been nosy back at the showers.
“Okay, this is four more moms than I need,” Hal said, sitting up on the exam bed, down to his civvies. “I’m excepting Diana, not because she’s being a mom, but she’s actually being useful.”
Diana smiled and sighed simultaneously, which resulted in an expression Hal couldn’t begin to decode.
“Your vitals are all stable,” Batman said. “Your heart rate is mildly above your resting, but not tachy yet.”
“Why the ‘yet’? It’s not gonna be tachy. I don’t need treatment, I don’t want beer or pizza, I don’t even want my orange tofu anymore, I just want to go home. I promise a cup of hot and sour soup and an hour of mind-numbing TV will do better for me than any Amazonian healing ray.”
“Hal,” said Clark, “you have something that looks like staph, you left the meeting to go throw up, and you’re clearly in pain.”
“I stuck out the meeting, I only left because it was over. See, I’m clearer-headed than Superman here.”
“You did clear your neurologic assessment, so we can assume only a very mild concussion,” Batman said.
“Very mild, that’s great. And explains anything that’s been off about me since we got back here.”
“You still require observation, Lantern,” Bruce warned.
“Looks like I’m being observed plenty,” Hal snapped.
He knew he was being edgy. He knew the pain was getting to his mood. Turning every little stimulus into an irritant. The Justice League were his friends, but right now, he hated every single one of them. Well, except J’onn and Dinah, they were the only ones who hadn’t bothered him about the stupid bug bites.
“Listen,” Barry said, “how about we just get a tissue culture, use that new rapid stain from S.T.A.R., and let Hal go home. I’ll stay the night to keep an eye on him for the concussion…”
“That isn’t necessary, I’ve had about a hundred concussions before.”
“All the more reason for observation, Hallie,” Arrow said. “It’s not a bad deal. Just try to unwind and let Flash sleep on your couch.”
“My couch is covered in laundry.”
“Dirty or clean?” Barry asked.
“Clean,” Hal grumbled.
“Alright, buddy, just one needle then, and you can go home and watch Jeopardy or whatever it is you do.”
—
As much as Hal had complained about the attention earlier, Barry was actually pretty good at bringing the comfort. Once Flash got them to Hal’s apartment, he immediately got him set up on the couch with ice water and a throw blanket. Next, he phoned for takeout, so Hal could have the hot and sour he so badly needed. He set water boiling on the stovetop before dashing out to buy some chamomile and honey from the corner store.
Then he made a hot compress with a soft washcloth, to help with the painful sores— or abcesses, Hal was beginning to think. Maybe if he could just get them to drain, he’d feel better in the morning. Hot compress, spicy soup, ibuprofen, sleep. Probably all he needed.
He remembered developing the occasional painful zit during high school. Those could get really inflamed and hurt a lot before they healed up. Obviously, these spots weren’t acne, but the principle was probably the same. Just needed a little care and patience.
“You get that this isn’t staph, right?” Hal said. “That shit’s super contagious. And doesn’t it mostly infect people who are already sick? Jack told me that Mom got staph in the hospital a few times.”
“I don’t know, buddy, I just think it’s better to be safe on this one. I had half a mind to push for you to go on antibiotics.”
“Glad the better part of your mind prevailed,” Hal replied. “Antibiotics are awful. I’m allergic to half of ‘em, and the other half make me sick as a dog.”
“I get it, but between that and a blood infection, you’ve gotta see the obvious choice.”
“Why are we talking about a blood infection? I have two bug bites.” Maybe if he kept saying it, he could make himself believe it.
“Keep the hot compress on as long as you can stand it, Hallie.” Barry did not acknowledge Hal’s statement at all. “Food should be ready. Be right back.”
A couple unopened envelopes— unpaid bills— flew off the coffee table as Barry took off. Hal reached for the remote and looked for something good on TV in the meantime. He definitely wasn’t in the mood for anything sci-fi, especially since it was probably some rude little alien lifeform that put him in this mess. He hated police and detective shows, figured Barry probably did, too. Maybe there was a rerun of Bonanza or something else nostalgic like that.
As he flipped channels, a familiar French horn melody seized his attention, warmed his heart, just like the soup was about to. Then the lush string section, the covered wagon, the sea of tall grass, the girls running down the hill. Hal loved Little House on the Prairie, didn’t care that it was kind of soapy. He liked the adventure vibe and the stupidly good-looking dad who took care of his family.
“Oh, Iris loves this show,” Barry said, appearing back in the living room with a big paper bag.
“It’s really good,” Hal replied. He stretched, to see if that gave his painful side any relief, but no good came of it. He was about to move the compress onto the lesion on his hip, under his shorts, but Barry grabbed the washcloth from him and returned it hot and steaming.
A moment later, his friend was perched on the arm of the couch, slurping up lo mein, after bringing Hal his soup in a bowl.
“Did you call Iris?” Hal asked. He blew on a spoonful of the hot and sour, and realized how hungry he really was. That had to be a good sign that he genuinely was not sick.
“Oh, thanks Hallie, that would’ve put me in the doghouse.”
Barry was off again, into the kitchen where Hal’s house phone was mounted. Hal tried not to listen to the conversation, but it was hard not to, in a 500-square foot apartment. Barry told Iris that Hal was sick. Of course. Nobody was willing to shake that idea, despite the lack of evidence.
Hal decided to focus on the show instead. As the plot rolled out, while Barry was talking to his wife, Hal realized he’d seen this one before. It was the one where the mom cut her leg on a dirty wire while the kids and handsome dad were away.
The poor woman was dealt a complete clusterfuck while having to run the farm on her own, and she tried to self-treat as best she could, but it was the old prairie days, so she was basically screwed. Eventually, she got the inspiration to lance the infected wound herself, with a knife she heated up in the fireplace. Gnarly as hell, but it did the trick. Ma Ingalls was pretty badass.
By then, Barry had finished eating his lo mein, and had finally slid his ass off the arm of the couch and onto a cushion, like a person.
“Hey, Barr, what do you think, if I really have staph like you and Supes want to believe— I do one better than Caroline Ingalls and will myself a glowing green scalpel…”
“We’re not even going there,” Barry replied, shaking his head. “But you know what Prairie Mom there did, besides self-surgery? She went to sleep.”
“She also had Handsome Prairie Dad to take care of her.”
“Am I not Handsome Prairie Friend? C’mon, give me some credit.”
“Touché,” Hal said. He was feeling in far better spirits than this afternoon, probably from the combination of the many things Barry had done to ensure his comfort. Encouragingly, the hot compresses had given him a bit of relief, and his stomach was doing okay with the soup he’d eaten. The prospect of a good night’s sleep for his total recovery seemed promising.
“I’ll wake ya up in, like, four hours to make sure your brains haven’t turned to mush.”
“Oh, no, I’m already there, pal. Good food and couch time got me all warm and fuzzy.”
“Hey, that’s a heck of a lot better than the injured feral cat routine you were going through up there at the Satellite.”
“Feral cat?” Hal scoffed.
“You were grouchier than even Bats when he’s wounded. It’s all okay, Hallie. Sleep it off. You’ll feel way better in the morning.”
“Finally, now you’re sounding like you believe in my beautiful, robust immune system.”
“Sure, if that’s what’ll help you get to sleep. ‘Night, Hal.”
“ ‘Night, Barr. I know I’ve been kvetching a lot, but thanks for the help.”
“Hey, anything to keep you from doing prairie medicine on yourself.”
Hal left his bedroom door open, listened as Barry switched the channel to something playing light, instrumental jazz… the weather channel, he realized, after a minute. His friend really was boring as hell. The soft, synthy music did make for a good lullaby, though.
Normally, Hal liked to sleep on his side, but neither one of those was a viable option, thanks to some alien mystery critter. On his back it was. What a fucking day. At least Ivo was a non-issue for the immediate future. At least Hal had friends who cared, as annoying as that care showed itself at times.
One stray thought grabbed his attention right before he fell asleep. Shouldn’t that S.T.A.R. Labs rapid culture have come back by now? Well, no news was good news, he guessed. The biopsy probably showed them nothing, and he could strut in, all superior, when he saw all those mother hens at the JLA meeting next week.