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The mission sucked.
Nothing like orbital debris, a storm, and big ass monsters to make a Tuesday feel long.
Back at HQ, the Justice Gang’s debriefing room looked like a hotel room after comic-con. Extra armor scattered on the floor. Boots discarded. Someone had even spilled an energy drink on the couch. (It was probably Guy).
Kendra leaned against the wall, arms crossed, wings twitching in annoyance.
Clark sat at the table, typing up a field report like the good Boy Scout he was.
Guy Gardner, meanwhile, was slouched sideways in a chair, boots kicked up on the conference table, half a sandwich in one hand, and the smuggest look on his face on this side of the cosmos.
“I swear to god Gardner,” Kendra muttered, “if I have to wipe juice or soda or any sticky substance off this console one more time—”
“Then maybe stop hogging the interface,” Guy drawled, not even looking at her. “Could’ve used it to pull diagnostics, but oh no, gotta protect the shiny buttons.”
Kendra took a slow breath. “You are exhausting.”
“Only when I’m awake, sweetheart.”
Clark coughed politely. “Let’s just… keep things professional.”
“I am being professional,” Guy said, gesturing vaguely with his sandwich. “Professionally awesome.”
Kendra narrowed her eyes. “You know what’s unprofessional?” she said. “Wearing your Lantern ring on your middle finger. Are you trying to get arrested by the style police?”
Guy looked at her slowly, like she’d just asked if birds had knees.
“It’s called presentation, birdbrain. I’m just letting the world know where I stand.”
“Yeah. With your middle finger up and your brain somewhere on Mars.”
“I like Mars,” Guy replied. “It’s a cool-looking planet.”
Clark looked up from his tablet. “I always figured it was… symbolic. You know, middle finger as a personality.”
Guy winked at him. “Exactly. Branding, baby.”
Kendra turned to Clark. “This is the guy we’re supposed to trust on missions?”
Clark offered a strained smile. “He’s… efficient.”
“Damn right,” Guy said. “Ain’t my fault I was the only one with the balls to throw a nanodragon into low orbit. You’re all welcome.”
Then Clark notices something. Something that’s been bugging him.
He glances at Guy’s hand. The ring sits proud on his middle finger—glowing faintly with.
But the ring finger is bare. Empty. Missing something.
But Clark remembers something. A moment from a couple weeks ago—when Guy had been peeling gloves off after a recon op. He had caught just a glimpse, barely noticeable, of a simple titanium band, dull and unadorned. Definitely not Lantern tech.
And now, the ring isn’t on Guy’s finger.
Clark, ever careful, ever tactful, clears his throat. “Hey… Guy? Didn’t you used to wear something else on that hand?”
Guy doesn’t even blink. “What, you monitoring my jewelry now, Kent?”
“No, I just… I thought I saw another ring there, once.”
Kendra’s head snapped around.
Clark attempted to backpedal a bit. “I mean, not that it’s—just… I didn’t realize—”
Guy sighed, long and suffering, like he was being asked to help someone move a couch.
“Yeah. I’m married. Big whoop. Keep your tights on.”
Kendra lost it.
“You’re married!?”
Guy blinked at her, chewed his sandwich, and nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”
“To a person?” she demanded. “Or like, to your ego?”
Guy gave her a look. “Please. My ego’s poly.”
Clark blinked. “You never mentioned it.”
“Because it’s none of your damn business, Smallville. Not everything’s a Hallmark movie.”
Kendra made a noise halfway between a laugh and a scream. “You’ve been working with us for months. We’ve fought together. You’ve bled on my wing. And you didn’t think to say, oh hey, by the way, I have a spouse?”
“‘Spouse’ makes it sound like I married a fish,” Guy muttered.
“Then who?” Kendra asked, slamming her hand on the table. “Name. Now.”
Guy took a slow bite of his sandwich, then mumbled around the bread, “Michael Holt.”
There was silence.
Clark sat back in his chair like someone had just unplugged his brain.
Kendra gawked. “Mr. Terrific!?”
“Yup.”
“Mr. Several-PhDs-and-a-diplomatic-clearance Holt?”
“Yup.”
“You married Michael Holt?”
“Didn’t I literally just say that?”
Kendra flailed. “You married the smartest man in the Western Hemisphere and didn’t tell anyone?!”
“Wasn’t a quiz,” Guy replied. “Didn’t need to study for it.”
Clark carefully said, “You… don’t wear your wedding ring on missions?”
Guy sighed, louder this time. “Almost lost it once. Almost fused it to my knuckle another time. Mikey got all ‘engineering-mourning-widow’ about it, so I stopped wearing it in the field.”
“So, how does this equate to you wearing your Lantern ring on your middle finger?” Kendra asked.
Guy held up his hand, middle finger extended proudly, the emerald ring gleaming. “Because this one’s for blasting assholes. That one—” he wiggled his ring finger, “—is for him.”
Kendra stared.
Clark blinked.
Guy shrugged. “What? I can be sentimental.”
The door slid open.
Michael walked in like someone had scheduled his annoyance for exactly 3:17 PM. Impeccable jacket. T-spheres humming around his head. Clipboard in hand. Brow already furrowed.
“I told you,” he said sharply, before he even reached the table, “that if you left the satellite mainframe unsecured again I’d reroute your recharge station to the sewers.”
“Hi, honey,” Guy said with a shit-eating grin.
Michael did not smile.
He did, however, notice the rest of the room frozen in a stunned tableau.
“What?” he asked flatly.
Kendra pointed at him, wordless, mouth open.
Clark tried to say something, then stopped, blinked, and tried again.
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. He told you?”
“He mentioned,” Clark said weakly.
Michael closed his eyes for one long moment. “Of course he did.”
Guy leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. “I mean, it came up.”
Michael looked at him with the kind of stare that could absolutely crumble a wall.
“I will remind you,” he said slowly, “that I have a T-Sphere trained to disable your boots mid-air.”
“You say that like I don’t find that hot.”
Clark coughed violently. Kendra gagged.
Michael turned to leave, already done. “Next time you want to overshare, do it after you clean the kitchen.”
Guy saluted him with the sandwich. “Love you too, babe.”
Michael didn’t stop walking, but the T-Sphere buzzed gently in response as the door hissed shut.
Kendra stared at the door.
Then at Guy.
“...That’s your husband.”
“Yup.”
“He could be doing quantum calculations or running the UN and he married you.”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
Guy stood up, cracking his knuckles. “Because, bird-for-brains, under all this lantern-charged muscle and world-class charm… I’m a damn good husband.”
Clark looked at him, faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Really?”
Guy smirked. “No. But he loves me anyway. Poor bastard.”
And with that, Guy sauntered out.
Kendra stared after him.
“...I need a drink.”
Clark smiled. “I kind of… love them together.”
Kendra sighed. “You would.”