It never failed to amuse Hal, the depths he would sink to out of some misguided sense of hope.
Not since the death of Martin Jordan had a civil word been exchanged between Hal and either his mother Jessica, or his older brother Jack.
In fact, the only proper application of 'civil' which could be applied to their relationship was 'civil war', a war which Jim had long ago ducked out of with his wife and kids.
It had been a long time since Hal had talked to Jim.
It had been even longer since he'd talked to Jack, or his mother.
One might think, given the wealth of evidence in the past, given the mountains of reasons why he should turn tail and run at the very thought of them…
It was Thanksgiving.
What could one meal hurt?
The first thing Hal noticed, and rather quickly, was that Jim wasn't there. He hoped the man would make an appearance later, to make this meeting bearable.
Hal shrugged off his jacket to hang it properly on the coatrack, before wincing under the realization that he had forgot to check his emails before leaving work. Oh well.
Hal plastered a smile over his face, and announced his presence with a 'honey I'm home', to be met enthusiastically by Jack's daughter Hellen. Hal's personal favorite from Jack's household. Hellen had a doll clutched in one hand as she ran to throw herself into her uncle's arms.
"Uncle HAL! Daddy, Uncle Hal's here!"
Jack strolled in behind her, plastic smile showing his teeth. "And so he is. I would never have believed it. Hal, you old jetjocky, I never would've thought you could've landed long enough to handle some family time."
Be nice. Be nice. "Well, I'm here now. I hope somebody brought a decent turkey."
"Yeah, we did. Somebody had to, anyway-"
"You said I shouldn't bring anything-"
"Right, right."
Jack smiled, all teeth, and as Hellen's excited jabbering faded into the background Hal felt his chest twist with the sinking realization that this had been a mistake.
"And how have you been, dear? Still flying those…" Jessica's voice trailed off as she obviously groped for an appropriately derogatory word for 'planes'.
It didn't escape Hal's notice that she never met his eyes.
"Yeah, I am, Mom. It's going great."
"'Flying' is one word for that crash Wednesday. All over the news," Jack drawled, eyes drifting to their mother. "Nearly gave your poor mother a heart attack."
"It was scary!" Hellen popped up, clearly missing all the tension at the table. "I hope it doesn't happen again!"
"Well, now," Jessica intoned, "just because he almost always crashes those dreadful things doesn't mean he always will. One day he's not going to be able to go back up-"
"I hear that's not the only crash in Hal's life," Jack interrupted his mother. "Who's that chick you're always hanging off of, Ms Ferris? I hear that's more of a trainwreck than any of those planes-"
"We're great." Hal nearly growled, slamming his hands against the table, back ramrod straight. He hadn't eaten anything, and his stomach was twisted in knots.
"...Uncle Hal?" Hellen glanced up at her uncle nervously, face twisting as if to cry.
"Now look what you've done!" Jessica bit angrily. "You keep tearing this family apart just like your father-"
Hal shot to his feet and whirled out the door, tossing a tight "Sorry, Hellen," over his shoulder.
He felt like throwing up as he grabbed his jacket and hustled out the door. Jim must've had something come up. He probably emailed about it too - if only Hal had thought to check his mail before he left.
He was hungry, he was sick, he was disgusted with himself… it was a bad idea, it was a terrible idea… and Hal was the master of terrible ideas.
Not many bars were open on Thanksgiving.
Hal knew his way to the ones that were. He didn't know how it made him feel about himself that the barkeep didn't even seem surprised to see him there (he'd known the guy for a few years - but what did that matter?).
From there, things got blurry, and, shot by shot, sort of dissolved into a flood of emotions and images. There was nothing but the glass in front of him, reflecting the eyes of his father. Hal saw his father in the glass. Dead and gone and 'Hal you look just like him' from everyone he's ever met.
Jessica saw his father in Hal. Martin Jordan - blew himself up flying planes, and blew his family up through his favorite son.
Being dad's favorite, Hal thought, as though it was some grand revelation, actually kind of stunk once dad was dead.
Hal took a moment to consider this, eyeing his father in the glass: that was his jawline right there, and how many times had Hal combed his hair to curl at the ears like Martin's had…?
Suddenly there was a presence beside him, and Hal startled, almost lashing out with his ring, before he met Barry's concerned blue eyes.
Seeing Barry sit in a bar, in his stupid jacket-sweater-cardigan thing struck Hal as the funniest thing he had ever seen, and tossed a glance to the rest of the bar's rough and tumble tattoed and pierced patrons to see if they found it funny too. Hal wondered what Barry would look like as a biker, or trucker. No one would be intimidated by him, Hal thought, unless maybe they said something mean about Iris or Wally.
"You weren't returning any calls," Barry murmured, reaching out to place a steadying hand on Hal's arm. It felt very nice there, and Hal clasped at it, in case Barry would try to pull it away.
And of course Barry was worried. Barry always worried when Hal did something dumb like try to talk to his family.
"She sees him," Hal whispered, because it seems very important that Barry understand this.
"Who sees who?" Barry's forehead creases as he tries to work through Hal's cryptic statement. Hal thinks Barry's probably run through a hundred different scenarios by now: he's very fast like that.
"Jes'ca. Mom. She sees Dad. She sees him wh'never she looks't me." Hal glances up, because he needs Barry to understand him, needs someone to understand him. "I have his eyes."
Barry makes some faces Hal can't decipher right now, and scoots closer to Hal. He looks concerned and vulnerable, which isn't how you're supposed to look in a bar like this: Hal will have to give him pointers later. Even though he doesn't think Barry drinks…
"They hurt you again, didn't they?"
"She sees him when she sees me, and she can' see him so she won' see me. It makes her sad an' scared and she gets angry an' hates me. She use' to try to be w' me, but now she dosn' try anymore."
"Hal." Barry sounds very nice and very concerned and like he loves Hal which is a nice way to feel after the way today has been. "I'm sorry she did that to you. It's wrong, okay? You can't help it if you remind them of your dad - they ought to appreciate you and love you, alright? I'm sorry." Barry reaches forward and pulls Hal into a hug, which feels like dry land in the middle of the ocean.
Hal latches on, fingers forming claws in Barry's sweater thing, which also is very warm and which also absorbs tears pretty well, which makes it great for hugs. Thank goodness Barry wears these things, since he hugs his family so much.
"You're okay," Barry murmurs, patting Hal gently. "Do you want to come back to my place for the rest of Thanksgiving?"
This, Hal knows that Barry knows, is a choice between being anywhere for Thanksgiving, and going back to his apartment to eat ramen maybe, because he forgot to pay the water bill so he'd need to get some from somewhere else.
After all, Carol flies out to have Thanksgiving with her father, and they have their dirty-rich-people fancy Thanksgiving, with important people and basically not Hal.
A while ago, there used to be a mechanic named Tom Kalmaku who Hal was kinda friends with at work, but Tom, an Inuit, had been picked on by some racist coworkers, and, feeling his work wasn't worth the struggle, had packed up and left with his wife Terga. This had been sad, and Hal had almost wanted to let the guy in on his secret identity, just to have some backup at work (plus a friend), but in the superhero-paranoid culture around all of Coast City… it just hadn't seemed worth the risk.
So. Barry's or nothing. Hal pulled back to inspect Barry closer, and leaned to the side to see if he could spot a vehicle parked in the driveway. He didn't see one, but Barry's hair was wind tousled, his face was flushed, and his fingers were cold.
Hal imagined Barry calling, only to receive voicemail after voicemail, and, worry lingering on his brow, take off running through the streets to find his best friend, just on the possibility that Hal needed a shoulder to lean on.
Hal smiled, and nodded, knowing good and well that he was going to get a lecture later on irresponsibility - he could've got alcohol poisoning, he could easily have blown his secret identity by accidentally using his ring - he had just generally made an irresponsible decision and should never ever have gotten drunk at all… but that would come after family and a good meal.
He felt warmer already.