The familiar constellations of home came into view as Hal streaked through Earth's atmosphere, his ring's energy cutting through the night sky like an emerald comet. Below him, the lights of California spread out in their familiar patterns. The sprawling grid of Los Angeles stretched to the south, while the twinkling coastline reached north toward San Francisco. But it was the smaller cluster of lights that drew him like a magnet: Coast City, still rebuilding from the Red Lantern attack but very much alive.
As he descended toward the suburban neighborhood where the safehouse sat quietly among rows of similar homes, Hal felt something he hadn't experienced in what felt like years: complete peace. Not the temporary quiet that came after a crisis, but the deep, bone-deep satisfaction of a job completed and home within reach.
The familiar green energy of his ring faded as Hal materialized in the backyard of the safehouse, his Green Lantern uniform dissolving to reveal the simple jeans and polo shirt he'd been wearing when he left for Oa. The clothes felt strange after days in the form-fitting Lantern uniform, looser and more casual, but undeniably human. After everything that had happened, Earth's gravity felt like a welcome embrace rather than a burden. Sinestro's betrayal, the cosmic battle with Atrocitus, witnessing the near-destruction of the Corps itself, all of it felt distant now.
He stood there for a moment, just breathing. Really breathing, not the careful, measured breaths of someone constantly ready for the next crisis, but the deep, relaxed inhalation of someone who was finally, truly safe. The evening air carried the scent of jasmine from someone's carefully tended garden and that particular California mixture of ocean salt and suburban lawn sprinklers. It was so perfectly, beautifully normal after the cosmic chaos he'd just left behind. No alien atmospheres requiring ring-generated life support, no sterile recycled air of space stations, just the simple, complex bouquet of home.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance, and he could hear the faint sound of a television from the house next door. Normal sounds. Human sounds. The kind of everyday background noise that most people took for granted but which now seemed almost miraculous to someone who'd spent the last few days surrounded by the vast silence of deep space.
Through the kitchen window, warm yellow light spilled across the patio, and Hal felt his chest tighten with emotion. His family was gathered around the dining table, and the sight made something that had been wound tight inside him finally relax. There was Mom bringing what looked like her famous pot roast to the table, the same ceramic serving dish she'd been using since he was a kid. Jim was gesturing animatedly about something, his hands moving in that lawyer way he had when he was making a point, while Jennifer laughed at whatever story he was telling. The boys were bouncing in their chairs with barely contained energy, Steven using his fork to gesture while Tim hung on every word.
And there was Carol. She looked more relaxed than he'd seen her in months, and completely different from when he'd left. Gone was the sharp business suit she'd been wearing during their tense conversation in the safehouse study, when she'd tried to hide her worry behind CEO professionalism. Instead, she wore simple jeans and a soft cream-colored sweater that reminded him powerfully of their college days, when she'd curl up in the campus library wearing something similar while they studied together. Her hair was down, falling loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back in the efficient style she favored for work, and she was smiling at something one of the boys was saying.
For a moment, Hal just watched her through the window, remembering why he'd fallen for her all those years ago. It wasn't just her beauty, though she was undeniably beautiful, or her intelligence, though she could match wits with anyone. It was moments like this when she was completely herself, unguarded and genuine, laughing with his family like she belonged there. Which, he realized with a clarity that surprised him, she absolutely did. And he needed to make that official.
But there was someone else at the table. An older man with white hair and kind eyes sat between Tim and Steven, apparently in the middle of telling them some story that had both boys completely captivated. Hal frowned, his ring automatically scanning for threats before pulsing with something like recognition. The sensation was puzzling, almost familiar, like a half-remembered melody or a face glimpsed in a crowd, but he couldn't place it.
The man looked harmless enough. Grandfatherly, even, with the kind of weathered features that spoke of a life well-lived and stories worth telling. But something about his presence made Hal's ring respond, and after everything he'd been through, he'd learned to trust those instincts.
He pushed the odd feeling aside and approached the back door, his feet silent on the flagstone patio. Through the glass, he could see the warmth of the scene inside. His family safe, together, enjoying what looked like a perfectly normal dinner. The contrast with the cosmic battlefields he'd just left was so stark it felt almost surreal.
The moment his hand touched the door handle, conversation inside stopped as if someone had thrown a switch. Carol looked up first, and her whole face transformed with relief and something deeper. Joy, love, emotions that made his chest tight with answering feeling. For just a second, their eyes met through the glass, and he saw everything he needed to know reflected there: she'd been worried, she'd been waiting, and she was so glad to see him that she was fighting back tears.
"Hal!" Tim spotted him through the glass and exploded from his chair with enough force to rattle the dishes and nearly knock over his water glass. Steven was right behind him, both boys practically vibrating with excitement as they rushed toward the door.
By the time Hal got the door open, he was being tackled by forty pounds of enthusiastic nephew energy. Tim wrapped around his leg while Steven grabbed his arm, both talking at once in that overlapping way kids had when they were too excited to wait for turns.
"Uncle Hal! You're back! Did you fight more aliens? Are you okay? We missed you so much! Mr. Scott was telling us about flying planes in the war but we told him your flying is way cooler because you go to space and fight bad guys and save people and—"
"Whoa, whoa," Hal laughed, trying to steady himself as both boys threatened to topple him over. "One at a time, guys. And maybe let me get all the way inside first?"
But his protest was halfhearted. After everything he'd been through, the chaos of their excitement felt like the most beautiful sound in the universe. He ruffled Tim's hair with his free hand while Steven continued to cling to his arm like a koala.
"We thought you might not come back," Steven said, his voice suddenly small. "When you had to leave so fast, and you looked so serious..."
Hal's chest tightened. He knelt down so he was eye level with both boys, gently untangling himself from their grip so he could put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Hey, look at me. I will always come back to you guys, okay? Always. That's a promise."
"But what if the aliens are really, really bad?" Tim asked, his nine-year-old imagination clearly having run wild during Hal's absence.
"Then I'll fight really, really hard to make sure they can't hurt anyone," Hal replied seriously. "But more importantly, I've got the best team in the universe helping me. And I've got the best reason in the universe to come home." He squeezed their shoulders. "You two."
"And Mom and Dad and Uncle Jim and Aunt Jennifer and Grandma," Steven added solemnly, as if reciting a very important list.
"Especially them," Hal agreed, standing back up just as Jessica reached them.
"Boys," Jessica's voice carried gentle authority, but her smile was radiant as she moved toward her son. She was trying to maintain composure, but Hal could see the relief shining in her eyes. When she reached him, her hug was fierce and lingering, and Hal could feel years of accumulated worry in the way she held him.
"I'm okay, Mom," he murmured into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume—the same lavender one she'd worn since he was a kid. "I'm home."
"Thank God," she whispered, and he felt her tears dampen his shirt. "When you left... when you said you had to go handle something urgent... I wasn't sure if..."
"I know. I'm sorry I worried you." He pulled back to look at her face, seeing the relief there mixed with maternal concern that would probably never fully fade. Her hands came up to cup his face, the same gesture she'd made when he was seven and had scraped his knee, when he was fifteen and had crashed his bike, when he was twenty-two and had told her he was going to be a test pilot despite her fears. "But I'm okay. We're all okay."
"You look tired," she observed, her mother's eye catching details others might miss. "Thinner. Have you been eating?"
"Mom," Hal laughed, the sound rusty but genuine. "I've been gone for less than a week."
"That's plenty of time to not take care of yourself properly," Jessica replied with the logic that only mothers possessed. "You're going to eat a proper meal, and I'm going to watch you do it."
Jim approached next, and Hal was startled to see his usually composed older brother's eyes bright with unshed tears. His lawyer composure cracked completely as he grabbed Hal in a tight embrace that spoke of days of worry and sleepless nights.
"Jesus, Hal," Jim's voice was rough with emotion. "When you said you had to go back out there... when you looked so serious during that phone call..." He pulled back, hands still gripping Hal's shoulders. "We've been watching the news constantly, but there's been nothing about space or aliens or anything since you left. Radio silence from the government, no updates from anyone. We had no idea if you were alive or dead or—"
"Jim," Hal said gently, recognizing the spiral his brother was heading into. "I'm fine. Look at me. I'm standing right here, completely fine."
"Are you though?" Jim searched his face with those sharp lawyer instincts. "Because you've got that look you get when you're trying to convince everyone you're okay when you're really not."
"The government's pretty good at keeping that stuff quiet," Hal said, deflecting slightly. "But it's handled. The immediate threat is over. Earth is safe."
"Starting to worry, he says," Jennifer laughed, though her eyes were bright with tears as she stepped forward to hug him. Her embrace was warm and fierce, carrying all the affection of someone who'd become a sister in truth as well as law. "Jim practically wore a groove in the hardwood floor for the first two days. I thought I was going to have to sedate him or invest in new flooring."
"I did not pace," Jim protested, but his grin was sheepish and his cheeks flushed slightly. "I was... strategically walking. There's a difference."
"Uh-huh," Jennifer replied, clearly not buying it. "And I suppose you were 'strategically checking' your phone every thirty seconds too?"
"That was perfectly reasonable monitoring of potential communications," Jim said with wounded dignity, which only made everyone laugh.
The sound of their laughter, warm and familiar and so beautifully normal, made Hal's throat tight with emotion. This. This was what he'd been fighting for. Not abstract concepts of justice or cosmic balance, but this moment, this family, this love.
Thomas was grinning as he approached, his weathered test pilot face creased with genuine joy. Despite not being family, Thomas had been part of their lives for so long that the distinction had long since stopped mattering. He pulled Hal into one of his characteristic bear hugs that lifted him clean off the ground and spun him around like he was still the reckless kid who used to sneak onto the airfield to watch the test flights.
"Welcome home, space cop," Thomas said as he sat him down, his voice gruff with emotion he was trying to hide behind humor. "Please tell me you didn't single-handedly save the universe or something equally ridiculous that I'll never be able to top with my own flying stories."
"Would you believe me if I said no?" Hal asked, his own grin matching his best friend's.
"Not for a second," Thomas replied, clapping him on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. "You've got that look. The same one you had when you successfully test flew the Starjumper even though Carol specifically told you it wasn't ready and would probably turn you into a very attractive crater."
"Hey, it didn't kill me," Hal protested.
"Barely," Thomas shot back. "And only because you're too stubborn to die and too lucky for your own good. Carol nearly had my head for letting you anywhere near that prototype."
"You didn't let me do anything," Hal reminded him. "I'm your boss, remember?"
"Only on paper," Thomas grinned. "In reality, we both know Carol's the one who actually runs things around Ferris Aircraft."
"Uncle Hal," Tim interrupted, tugging on his shirt with the persistence only children possessed. "Can you tell us about the space fight? Did you use your ring? Did you make a really big dinosaur to fight the bad aliens?"
"Tim," Jim warned, but gently. They'd clearly had conversations about keeping certain topics quiet, but the boys' excitement was overriding their caution.
"It's okay," Hal said, though he shot a meaningful look at his family. "Maybe later, buddy. Right now I just want to spend time with everyone."
And then Carol was there, having waited her turn through the family reunion with admirable patience. She didn't say anything at first, just stood in front of him, studying his face as if memorizing every detail. There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling, and the combination made his heart do something complicated in his chest.
She looked so different from when he'd left. The sharp business suit was gone, replaced by jeans and that cream-colored sweater that made her look like the college student he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wasn't wearing the careful mask of CEO professionalism. She was just Carol, the woman who'd been waiting for him to come home.
"Hi," she said softly, her voice carrying everything she couldn't say in front of his family.
"Hi yourself," Hal replied, and then she was in his arms, holding him tight enough that he could feel her heartbeat against his chest, could smell the familiar scent of her shampoo, could feel the slight tremor in her hands that told him exactly how worried she'd been.
"Don't you ever scare me like that again, Hal Jordan," she whispered fiercely against his neck, her voice so low only he could hear. "When you had to leave so suddenly, when you looked so grim and serious... God, I thought I might never see you again."
"I'm sorry," he said, meaning it completely. He could feel the dampness of her tears on his neck, could hear the slight shake in her breathing that told him she was fighting to keep her composure. "I'm so sorry I had to leave like that. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere for a while."
She pulled back to look at him, her hands coming up to frame his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as if to reassure herself he was real. "Promise me," she said, and there was something almost desperate in her eyes. "Promise me you'll be more careful. Promise me you won't take unnecessary risks."
"I promise," he said, though they both knew it was a promise he might not be able to keep. But for now, in this moment, it was enough.
She kissed him then, soft and quick but carrying years of feeling, and he heard Tim make a disgusted noise while Steven giggled.
"Eww, Uncle Hal's got cooties now," Tim announced with the authority of a seven-year-old.
"You'll understand when you're older," Jennifer told him with a grin.
"No I won't," Tim replied with absolute certainty. "Girls are gross."
"I'll remind you of that in about ten years," Jim said dryly.
"Well," said an unfamiliar voice, warm with amusement, "I can see this is quite the homecoming."
Hal turned toward the stranger who had remained seated throughout the reunion, suddenly remembering he was there. The man was studying him with sharp green eyes, and there was something about his presence that felt familiar despite Hal being certain they'd never met. The man had the weathered look of someone who'd lived through interesting times, with white hair and kind eyes that seemed to hold depths of experience.
"You must be Hal," the man said, rising with surprising grace for his apparent age. "I'm Alan Scott. I've been hoping to meet you for quite some time."
The name hit Hal like a lightning bolt. Alan Scott. The name K'rok had mentioned during his training, when they'd been discussing the anomalous green energy signatures the Corps had detected from Earth. The Starheart, Tomar-Re had called it. An ancient artifact from the Guardians' early experiments with the emotional spectrum, cast into space eons ago and somehow ending up on Earth. His ring pulsed with recognition, confirming what his mind was already processing.
But before he could respond, a more immediate concern occurred to him. "Wait," Hal said, his expression shifting to alert wariness. "How did you get past the security perimeter? This location is supposed to be classified."
Alan's smile became slightly sheepish, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "Let's just say I'm an old friend of the organization. They've known about me for quite some time, and occasionally we've found ways to help each other out."
"An old friend?" Hal repeated, his mind racing through the implications.
"A very old friend," Alan confirmed, his tone suggesting there were layers to that statement. "With very old credentials that still carry some weight in certain circles."
The family exchanged glances, clearly not understanding the subtext but recognizing that something significant was happening.
"Alan's been keeping us company while we waited for you," Carol said, moving to stand beside Hal but keeping one hand on his arm as if she needed the physical contact to believe he was really there. "He stopped by a few days ago asking if we knew you. Said he was a journalist researching aviation history and had heard about the Jordan family."
"I was particularly interested in your father's test pilot work," Alan said with what seemed like genuine academic interest, though Hal was beginning to suspect there was more to it. "Martin Jordan's innovations in experimental aircraft were quite remarkable. I was hoping to interview family members for a piece I'm writing about unsung heroes of aviation."
Hal studied the older man's face, looking for any sign that this was more than it seemed. But Alan's expression was perfectly innocent, his story completely plausible. If Hal hadn't heard K'rok and Tomar-Re discussing the mysterious human wielder of the Starheart, he would have bought it completely.
"When we told him you were away on business," Jim said carefully, and Hal could hear the lawyer in his brother choosing words precisely, "he asked if he could wait. Said he was in no hurry and would love to meet Martin Jordan's son."
"The boys have been absolutely fascinated by his war stories," Jennifer added. "Though they keep trying to compare them to certain other kinds of... adventures."
She shot a meaningful look at Tim and Steven, who were clearly bursting with excitement about things they weren't supposed to talk about in front of strangers.
"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," Alan said with an apologetic smile. "Your family has been incredibly hospitable. Your mother's pot roast rivals my wife's, and that's saying something after sixty years of marriage."
"Not at all," Hal said, though his mind was still processing the security implications. If Alan Scott really was who he thought he was, then his presence here raised fascinating questions about how much various government agencies actually knew about enhanced individuals.
"Alan's got some amazing stories," Tim piped up, unable to contain himself any longer. "He was telling us about flying in the war and working with Captain America and everything!"
"Tim," Jessica said gently, a subtle reminder about appropriate dinner conversation.
"What? It's not like its secret stuff," Tim protested. "Captain America's in all the history books!"
"Among other things," Alan said with a smile that seemed to hold deeper meaning, his eyes twinkling as he looked at Hal. "Perhaps after dinner, you and I might have a private conversation? I believe we have quite a bit to discuss."
Hal nodded, already running through possibilities. The ring's reaction, K'rok's comment, the way this man carried himself, his mysterious access to classified locations—it all pointed to something significant.
"But first," Jessica announced with the authority of a mother who had waited long enough to feed her returned son, "we're having a proper family dinner. I made pot roast, and there's apple pie cooling on the counter. Alan was just telling us about his time as a war correspondent."
"And now that Hal's home," Carol added, her hand tightening slightly on his arm, "we can finally have that celebration dinner I've been planning for the past three days."
As they settled around the table, Hal found himself relaxing for the first time in weeks. The conversation flowed naturally. Jim updated him on a major case he was working, Jennifer shared stories about the boys' latest school adventures, Thomas described a new aircraft design that had him excited. Even Alan contributed easily, his wartime stories perfectly pitched for the mixed audience.
"So there I was," Alan was saying, "pinned down in a bombed-out church in France with half a platoon of Rangers. No way to get word back to command about the German positions we'd spotted."
"What did you do?" Steven asked, his fork halfway to his mouth.
"Well," Alan's eyes twinkled, "let's just say I had access to some unconventional communication methods. The important thing was making sure those Rangers could complete their mission safely."
Hal caught the careful phrasing, the way Alan's story danced around details while staying truthful. It reminded him of his own recent attempts to explain Corps activities without revealing classified information.
"Mr. Scott was just telling us about working with some very interesting people during the war," Carol said, giving Hal a meaningful look. "Apparently there were more heroes active back then than the history books mention."
"The official records only tell part of the story," Alan agreed. "Many of the most important contributions were classified for decades. Some still are. But the truth has a way of surfacing eventually."
Hal found his attention divided between the warm family conversation and his growing curiosity about Alan Scott. There were subtle things. The way the man's hand unconsciously moved to touch what looked like a ring on his left hand. The careful precision of his words when discussing the war. Most tellingly, the way Hal's own ring continued to pulse with recognition.
When Jessica brought out the apple pie, Tim immediately launched into an enthusiastic retelling of their earlier adventures with Hal's ring constructs.
"And then Uncle Hal made this huge dinosaur that could fly around the yard, and it looked so real I thought it was going to eat me!" Tim explained, his hands gesturing wildly. "But it was friendly and let me pet it!"
"A dinosaur?" Alan raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely puzzled. "I'm sorry, what kind of ring are we talking about here?"
Hal felt his chest tighten. He glanced at his mother, realizing they'd never actually discussed whether the family knew about his Green Lantern identity. From Alan's confused expression, it was clear he assumed this was still a secret.
"Oh, it's just a... family joke," Hal said quickly, shooting a meaningful look at Tim and Steven. "The boys have very active imaginations."
"It was totally real!" Steven protested. "Uncle Hal's ring can make anything! Cars and planes and animals and even a jungle gym we could actually play on!"
"Steven," Jim warned gently, picking up on Hal's discomfort.
Alan chuckled, apparently buying the cover story. "Ah, I see. Well, boys have always had the best imaginations for that sort of thing. When I was covering the war, I met plenty of soldiers who could spin tales that would make Hollywood jealous."
"Like your stories about Captain America?" Tim asked, clearly disappointed they were moving away from ring talk but still interested.
"Steve Rogers was exactly the kind of man you'd expect him to be," Alan said warmly. "Brave, dedicated, never asked anyone to take a risk he wouldn't take himself. He had a way of inspiring everyone around him to be better than they thought they could be."
"You actually met Captain America?" Tim's eyes went wide.
"Several times. Remarkable man." Alan glanced at Hal with what seemed like casual interest. "Some people just have that natural leadership quality, I suppose."
As dessert wound down and the conversation shifted to other topics, Hal caught Alan watching him occasionally with those sharp green eyes. There was an intelligence there that suggested the older man suspected there was more to the "ring" story than family jokes and childhood imagination.
After dinner, as the family settled in the living room, Alan approached Hal quietly. "Would now be a good time for that conversation? I believe you might find what I have to share quite illuminating."
There was something in his tone that made Hal think Alan had figured out more than he was letting on in front of the family.
Hal glanced at his family, who were getting the boys ready for bed and settling in for the evening. Carol caught his eye and nodded encouragingly.
"The study should be private enough," Hal said, leading Alan toward the small room at the back of the house.
The study was simply furnished. A desk, two chairs, bookshelves lined with aviation manuals, family photos, and classic literature. Alan moved to the window, gazing out at the darkened backyard.
"Nice family," he said genuinely. "They remind me of my own. My wife Molly would love your mother's pot roast recipe, and our kids would get along great with your nephews."
"You have a family?"
"Two kids, both grown now with families of their own. Molly and I celebrated our sixtieth anniversary last year." Alan smiled. "She still doesn't know everything about what I did during the war, but she's figured out enough to worry appropriately."
He turned to face Hal, and suddenly his demeanor shifted. The confused old man from dinner was gone, replaced by someone with sharp, knowing eyes.
"Now then," Alan said, his voice carrying new authority, "shall we discuss that ring of yours? The real one, not the 'family joke' you tried to pass off out there."