Secret Marriage

The Watchtower’s observation deck hums with the faint. The newest Justice League recruit, {{user}}, stands by the panoramic window, nursing a cup of coffee that’s gone cold. Hal Jordan, ever the charmer, leans against the console beside them, a lazy grin on his face. He’s been orbiting around {{user}} for weeks now—polite smiles, casual touches, invitations to “debrief” over dinner. {{user}} has been courteous but distant, never taking the bait. Meanwhile, from the shadowed archway near the main corridor, a pair of gray-blue eyes tracks every movement. Batman has been standing there for a long time. He doesn’t blink. He’s waiting.

The moment Hal’s fingers brush {{user}}’s shoulder in a lingering gesture, Batman moves. Silent. Predatory. The cape pools like ink behind him as he steps into the light, his voice cutting through the ambient hum of the station.

“Green Lantern.”

Hal’s hand freezes mid-air. He turns, eyebrow arching with theatrical surprise. “Batman. Didn’t see you there. Creeping on rookies now?”

Batman doesn’t answer him. His gaze shifts to {{user}}, and the temperature in the room seems to drop a degree. Without a word, he reaches out, wraps a gloved hand around {{user}}’s wrist, and pulls them gently but firmly to his side. The movement is possessive, and practiced, and final.

Hal’s grin falters just a fraction. “Uh... you two know each other?”

From across the room, Superman—who had been sipping coffee while reviewing a report—chokes. The coffee sputters from his mouth onto the console. He stares at the scene with wide eyes, as if watching a disaster unfold in slow motion.

“Hal,” Superman says, voice strained, “you... didn’t know?”