DC2 Specials #3: "A DC2 Christmas"

One cold winter’s day, in a counting house in old England, Captain Marvel was sitting there, working on the books, trying to get the last few mortgage payments put up before the end of the day. Black Adam was sitting at his desk only a short way away with a small candle still remaining.

Captain Marvel looked up at Black Adam. “Sir, do you think that perhaps we can add some more coal to the fire?” he asked hopefully. “It is a bit cold in here?”

Black Adam looked up from his book and then over at the fireplace. “So, Marvel, you want to waste more of my precious coal, do you? Perhaps two more pieces will inspire you to work a bit faster then,” he said, and then harrumphed and went back to his book work.

“Thank you, Black Adam, sir,” Captain Marvel said as he went to the coal scuttle, took out two small pieces of coal and put them on the fire. As he was turning around, Osiris walked into the room.

“Good day, Captain Marvel, and a merry Christmas to you,” he said to Captain Marvel. “And a good day and a merry Christmas to you too, Uncle Black Adam,” he added with an equally cheery tone. “Uncle, I have come to ask if you would join us tomorrow evening for dinner at my house.”

“Bah, Christmas, it is just another day that the lazy people in the government give people off because they don’t want to work, is all Christmas is. And what makes it worse is that I am required to pay full wages on Christmas and no work gets done,” Black Adam said as he batted his hand at Osiris and then went back to working on his books.

Just then, two portly gentlemen entered the counting house. “Good day to you, sirs. I am Hoppy Marvel and this is my friend, Uncle Marvel. We are here looking for donations for the poor,” Hoppy Marvel said.

“Oh, put Uncle Adam down for a few crowns at least. You’re good for it, aren’t you, uncle?” Osiris said as he was about to walk out of the office.

“Money for the poor? What about all those workhouses and the prisons - what are they doing about all these poor?” Black Adam asked as he stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. He was looking down at the two portly men with disgust and anger.

Captain Marvel looked at Black Adam and shuddered in fear.

“But, good sir, most of the people would rather starve and freeze than go back to those places,” Hoppy Marvel responded to Black Adam.

Black Adam puffed out his chest and ran his hand through his hair. "If they would rather die ... they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population," he said with a huff.

Hoppy and Uncle Marvel pulled their coats tighter against themselves and marched right out of the office, mumbling as they left.

Captain Marvel shook his head and continued on with his work. He knew that it was getting near closing time and, as of yet, Black Adam hadn’t said whether or not he could have Christmas off.

“Captain Marvel,” Black Adam called from his office.

“Yes, Black Adam, sir?”

“I want you to finish up what you are doing, then close up the office, and I will see you back here bright and early tomorrow,” Black Adam said to Captain Marvel.

“But, sir, it is Christmas tomorrow. I was hoping to spend the day with my family,” Captain Marvel said as he lowered his head in defeat; he knew that Black Adam would never change his mind about something like this.

“Oh, so I guess that means that I must give you at least half the day then?” Black Adam asked and looked at Captain Marvel with a close eye.

“Well, a full day would be nice, sir, but I can deal with a half day,” Captain Marvel said as he bowed to Black Adam and started on his work to clean up the office and get it ready for the evening.

Black Adam looked at Captain Marvel and then at the other workers that he employed. He knew that most of them had families. “Alright, Captain Marvel, you may have tomorrow off but I want you in here that much earlier the following day,” he said as he put his coat, scarf and hat on and grabbed his cane.

Captain Marvel couldn’t believe it. “Yes, sir, early the next morning,” he said as he started to pack up everything in the office with the help of the other workers.

Black Adam marched out of the building and turned back for a second. He saw that his workers were happily packing up and he again started on his way for home.

While walking down the street, he came across a young homeless boy singing Christmas carols in hopes of getting some money or food. “A penny for a song, good sir?” the boy asked.
“No! Bah! Humbug!” Black Adam said as he kicked snow all over the boy after knocking him down with his cane. “Leave me alone, boy. I have no time for merry-making or for songs, nor for a boy like you,” he said as he stomped off down the street.

As the bells of the neighboring church sounded, Adam awoke, and feeling a presence in the room with him, jumped up to look, drawing aside the curtain that surrounded his bed. The first spirit had appeared there and introduced himself. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past, but you can call me Hill Billy,” he said to Adam.

“Tell me, spirit; are you the spirit that the wizard Shazam told me about?” Black Adam asked, a bit hesitantly.

Hill Billy nodded his head. “I certainly am,” he said as he reached out his hand to Black Adam. “Come, we have much to see and little time to see it in,” Hill Billy said as he took Black Adam’s hand in his. He pushed the window open and stepped up onto the window sill.

“Wait, Hill Billy, I can’t fly. I will fall and get hurt; I am mortal,” Adam said and refused to step up onto the window sill.

“Do not fret, Adam, for I will support you. No harm will come to you,” Hill Billy said, and he pulled Adam bodily up onto the window sill, then he leaned out and the two started to fly across the countryside in a blur.

This spirit led Adam on a journey into some of the happiest and saddest moments of Adam's past, events that would largely shape the current Black Adam.

“I have a letter for you, Master Adam,” the headmaster says as he hands Black Adam a letter.

Adam reads the letter, and his face crumples as he sits down on the cold wet steps.

“Is everything all right, Master Adam?” the headmaster asks.

Adam looks up at the headmaster and sighs and shakes his head. “Yes, sir. It’s just my father doesn’t want me to come home for Christmas again this year. He feels that I would do better if I stayed here and studied - that’s all, sir,” Adam says as he stands up, his shoulders slouched and his head held low. He picks up his suitcase and heads back into the dorm to unpack his things. It is another Christmas that Adam is spending by himself.

As Black Adam reached out to try to comfort his younger self, the scene changed and they were in a forested area where a teenage Black Adam was standing on a bridge with a very beautiful girl: Isis, the only woman who had ever loved him.

“Adam, when will we be married? You have said for the last few years that we were going to get married,” Isis says to Adam as she turns to face him.

“We will be married, Isis, I promise. I just want to get some money together so that we can buy our own house before we get married. You deserve to move into a house,” Adam says and he sees the great sadness in Isis’s eyes.

“Adam, I wanted to say this to you before now, but then your sister died and I didn’t want to hurt you even more at that time. I am leaving you, Adam. We have been engaged to be married now for over five years and each year you tell me the same thing. You don’t have the money to buy a house. I wonder if you ever did want to marry me,” Isis says as she starts to move away from Black Adam singing. “There was a time when we had it all. There was a time when you wanted nothing but me.” She moves off into the woods and the young Black Adam stands there watching after her for a moment, then he turns and walks the other way. Not a single tear falls for the loss of his one true love.

Black Adam looked up at Hill Billy. “Please, Hill Billy, show me no more. This is just too painful,” he said, and then, before he knew it, Black Adam was back in his bed. He hugged the sheets and lay back down to try and get to sleep.

Adam found himself back in his bed. He clutched his sheets to him out of terror. He lay down and before he knew it the clock was striking two. He again opened the curtains that surrounded his bed and there in the corner was a very tall man dressed in solid black. His hood wass pulled up over his face so no features could be made out. There was an air of cold and desolation about this spirit. The only thing that could be seen of this spirit was his bony pointing hand. He didn’t speak a word. “Are you the third spirit that I was warned about?” Adam asked the dark figure.

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come nodded his head and pointed.

“I take it then that you are Tall Billy?” he said, and again he saw the spirit nod its head and again point.

“Alright, I get it. I will go that way; just stop with the pointing will you,” He said as he walked in the direction that the specter pointed to.

Tall Billy took Black Adam to the Marvel house where the crutch of Kid Marvel stood leaning against the wall. Kid was nowhere to be seen. Black Adam got a very cold shiver down his back. “Tall Billy, what has happened to Kid Marvel? Is he alright?” he asked up to the tall spirit.

Tall Billy shook his head and pointed his hand.

“Spirit, why is it that you of all the spirits I have yet encountered fills me with such dread and fear? I will go where it is that you want me to go; just please tell me Kid Marvel is alright. Tell me that he didn’t die,” Adam said as the tears started to fall down his face and he followed the directions of the skeletal hand and headed out the door.

Tall Billy took Adam to a cemetery. There, he took him to a small tree, and under that tree was a small placard with the name ‘Kid Marvel’ inscribed on it.

Black Adam fell to his knees crying. He couldn’t believe what it was that he was seeing. He reached out a hand to the small placard and when he touched it he got a very cold shiver running through his body. He looked up at Tall Billy, who shook his head and pointed his hand. Black Adam turned and went in the direction that Tall Billy pointed him towards and he found that he was in front of his own house. He entered the house and found a whole group of people stealing from his house and fighting over the curtains to his bed. He turned and looks at Tall Billy and tears started to well up in his eyes.

Then, before he knows it, he is standing in front of a recent grave. There is a priest and two other people. The two other people are older men that are kind of chubby and they are laughing and joking around. “Why aren’t more people here, Crow?” Marky asks his fellow businessman.

“I don’t know. You would think that someone as old and rich as him would have had more friends,” Marky said to Crow.

Crow looks from Marky towards the priest. “Perhaps he should have treated people better before he died, but I guess now it doesn’t matter. I hear that his house was stripped bare even before the sheets were cold,” Crow says as he spots Charlie walking towards them.

“Yes, I got some of his bed linens - they’re nice. Old but still nice. You would think that a man with his wealth could have afforded better,” Charlie says to the two of them.

“Spirit, who is this man that these men talk so openly about?” Adam asked to the spirit. He had the odd feeling of severe dread when he saw the spirit point its dark skeletal hand at a gravestone.

The small gravestone had carved into it a name that was very familiar to Black Adam and the name on the stone frightened him more than anything he had yet seen that night. “Please, spirits, tell me this isn’t true. Tell me this can be changed; that this isn’t the way it will be, but only the way it could be,” He begged and, even as he asked the question, the large skeletal hand reached out and pushed him into the grave.

Thanks to Debbie and Kathy for the beta!

"Between Here and Gone" written by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Recorded by Mary Chapin Carpenter on her Between Here and Gone CD (Sony, 2004).

Note: Contains spoiler for GA/BC #3.

[/i]
Written by: Ellen Fleischer[/center]

The second phone call came to Wayne Enterprises some fourteen hours later. "I didn't know if this was a good time to reach you, but you're usually preoccupied at night."

Bruce checked the video display on his monitor, and grimaced. The budget director had been trying to get onto his appointment calendar for weeks. Now, the woman appeared to be camping out in his waiting room. "You're not interrupting anything important, Barbara," he answered. "What's wrong?"

There was a sigh on the other end. "It's that time of year again," she said. "It's going to hit him hard, you know."

The polite affability that colored most of Bruce Wayne's office conversations vanished abruptly. "Yes."

She waited. He wasn't asking what she expected him to do about it, but neither was he offering. The dilemma seemed to hang between them, suspended by silence. Finally, she changed the subject.

"What do you hear from Dick? Is he coming in?"

Bruce paused. "He was."

"Oh?" She would have heard if anything were seriously wrong. She was sure of it. Don't tell me they had another falling out. Not this close to Christmas. "What happened?"

This time there was no hesitation. "Hawke. Harper's taking the loss hard. Queen's in worse shape. Under the circumstances, Dick decided to spend the holidays in Star City. "

"Oh." Barbara waited. There really wasn't a need to point out the obvious parallels. Bruce had to see them for himself.

"Let me think on it, Barbara." He frowned. The budget director didn't look like she was going anywhere. Probably best to get this over with. "Thanks for calling," he added. "Take care."

"You too."

Bruce put down the receiver with a sigh, and buzzed Fiona to let the other woman in. His mind, however, was occupied with something other than the facts and figures that she was about to present.

"I still miss you." Jim set the potted poinsettia down before the monument. "I know they say it's supposed to get easier with time, and maybe it does for some things. I can walk by Bertoli's now without thinking about how you loved their bracioline ripiene. I can hear Lost in Your Eyes without breaking down. But tonight, all I can think about is that it's Christmas Eve and… and we should be spending it together." He bit his lip. "I suppose we are." For a moment, he was quiet. Then, abruptly, his hand flew to the holster at his belt. Nearly four decades on the force had given him the ability to sense when he was being observed.

"Show yourself," he demanded, as he fumbled for his cane. Slow. Too slow. If it was a hostile, he was a sitting duck. He tried to get the gun out anyway.

"It does," Batman said. "Get easier. But it doesn't stop." He looked away. "I didn't want to intrude."

Jim relaxed. "It's alright." His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing out here, anyway? Did Barbara…?"

"She's concerned." He hesitated. "I am too."

Jim snorted. "I'll survive. That's what folks do, isn't it? Go on? Live with our losses?"

He really wished he knew whether Jim had guessed his secret. It would make things so much simpler. "Yes. But this is a… hard time to be alone."

Jim eyed him searchingly. Then abruptly, he laughed. "You too, eh?"

Batman blinked.

"Your boys aren't around this time?"

He could have lied, he supposed. But Jim deserved better. For that matter, Batman admitted silently, so did he. "No."

Jim sighed. "I suppose I could join you," he allowed. "That's assuming that butler of yours made more of those gingerbread cookies Barbara gave me a few years back."

He waited for his words to sink in. "You're the damnedest person to shop for. You know that, right? Now seems as good a time as any for me to let you know you don't have to put on an act around me. Not anymore." His lips twitched. "Not unless you want to, anyway. Think of it as my gift to you. Merry Christmas."

Bruce absorbed that. Then, slowly, he smiled. "And to you, Jim." It looked like Alfred could set things up in the dining room, rather than the cave, after all.

Jim clapped him on the back. "Give me about an hour or so to get things in order down at Central, and I'll be on my way over." He hesitated. "Thanks."

"Any time." His voice turned serious. "I mean that."

"I know."

Bruce watched him walk away. He suddenly felt a lot warmer than he should have on a snowy December night. Abruptly, he turned and strode back toward the Batmobile. He didn't believe that Alfred had packed all of the cookies off with Tim, but he'd radio ahead to make sure.

Before he left, he cast a final glance over his shoulder at the gravesite. "Rest easy, Sarah," he whispered. "I'm watching out for him.”

Later: The Mailroom

“Heard about the ruckus you made in the lobby”, Lois said.

“Just in the right place at the right time Lois”, Superman said.

“How come you didn’t just fly in an open window or show up on the Chief’s window sill, like usual?”

“It’s Christmas Lois, I like to wish people a Merry Christmas and I can’t very well do that from several hundred feet in the air.”

“Ok, you two”, Perry interrupted. “We’ve got all this mail to go through for Superman to find a Christmas wish to grant.” Perry gestured encompassing the room. There were boxes and bags filled to overflowing with letters all addressed to Superman.

“Right you are Mr. White.” I’d better get to it.” Superman became a blur; letters seemed to be opened by a red and blue tornado. Lois and Perry would catch a solid glimpse of the man of steel as he stopped moving for a second to read each letter.

The letters ranged from the tragic to the downright absurd. Some told of alcoholic abusive husbands, others wanted Superman to provide them with lottery numbers, or turn coal into diamonds for them.

When all the mail was opened and stacked neatly into several large piles, the red and blue tornado stopped. “This one”, Superman said. He handed the letter to Perry.

Perry White looked up from the letter with a tear in his eye. Lois was already scribbling down the story in her notebook and the blinds rattled in the open window.

Superman flew up, straight up. He stopped when he could see the outline of the United States. The lights from the earth twinkled refracted by the atmosphere. The earth sparkled like a giant Christmas ornament. He looked down zeroing in on Texas, focusing his vision, Abileen, Aparo Drive, 8569, x-ray vision, through the roof of the house. There was Chris and his new family they were putting the finishing touches on their Christmas tree. The air was thin and the sound didn’t carry very well, he strained to listen, focusing, cutting out all other sounds. He could hear them, like a faint whisper across a room.

“You think, Superman got my letter”, Chris asked.

“I don’t know, Chris.” Patty replied. “I’m sure he’s got a lot of things to do this time of year and a lot of people to help.”

Kyle walked into the room carrying a tray with three cups of hot chocolate, it was impossible at this altitude, even for him, but Superman swore he could smell it. “He might not get to it this year Chris. But I’m sure Santa got your letter.”

“Yeah”, Chris replied as he hung the last bright red ball on the Christmas tree. “Santa brings toys and stuff, but I was hoping Superman could bring me a picture of my other family so I could remember them cause I’m afraid I’m going to forget.”

Margaret knelt down to the small boy and hugged him tightly, “Don’t worry Chris, we’ll always help you remember.”

Kyle tousled the boy’s light brown hair. “We’ll make some new memories of our own too, but you’re right, we have to remember where we came from in order to know where we’re going.”

Superman remembered a similar conversation Jonathon Kent had with young Clark years ago, soon after he had discovered that he was a strange visitor from another planet.

Tupelo street, New Orleans was no longer recognizable as a place that had once been inhabited by humans. Nature had quickly begun the job of reclaiming the now abandoned and storm ravaged area. Morning glory vines twisted and turned covering everything in a thick blanket of green. Small mountains dotted the flat landscape until the hint of brick chimneys poking from the highest plant infested summits, belied the fact that they had once been houses.

Aparo drive disappeared under the black inky water. Superman looked through the water with his x-ray vision; lead contaminates in the dark stagnant water baffled his vision, like a human trying to see through a dense fog. He counted the vague outlines of houses under the water to 8569. Superman took a deep breathe, tasting the odor of the foul dank water, and walked into the pitch black bog the water swirling up over his head.

New Orleans is a city set in two worlds, the modern age with computers, credit cards, cell phones, and all the trappings and tools that are need for living in this world. The other world is the dark, mystical and arcane world that most people have forgotten, or chosen to ignore. That world too, is filled with it own set of contrivances and tools for those that know how to use them. When the flood waters came they not only swept away the modern people and their modern tools, but the dark arcane world and its tools as well. One such tool lay under the dark stagnant water crusted over with the muck of the delta, swept by the recent storm surge to 8569 Aparo Drive.

Superman held his breath and searched through the debris. Water permeated everything inside the underwater house. The caustic acidity of the water had stripped everything to the bare bleached bones; there was no color only the blank walls and faceless photos that stared at him as he searched through scattered pictures and documents hoping to find something left for Chris to remember.

The talisman was forged centuries ago, its original owner long since forgotten, a simple round coin etched with four triangles and inscribed with a Latin phrase. The talisman began to glow as if it was aware of the man of steel sifting through the silt above it,

Superman saw the faint glow from behind, he turned as an outstretched hand almost touched his shoulder. The figure before him had once been human. Its form now loose and buoyant supported more by water than by bone. It moved forward clumsily slashing through the water at Superman. Startled Superman stepped backward, the rotten wood giving way under his foot and he fell backward. The clumsy flesh puppet jerked closer to Superman, the pale Swiss cheese flesh drooped from its bones and gaped at open holes. Through one of them Superman could see a small glowing amulet hanging on one of its ribs. It opened its mouth and waterlogged vocal cords hissed out.

“Cccccchhhhrrrriiiissss.”

Superman eyes widened, he looked closer, and the form before him was definitely female. Could this be Chris’ Mother? He wondered, somehow animated beyond her death by the talisman inside her.

Superman didn’t move but watched as the once was human thing lurched past him. It wasn’t trying to hurt him, just get past him. It clawed at what remained of a closet door, the hinges rusted in the water wouldn’t give and the door was fast in its place. Superman focused his heat vision on the rusted hinges and they disappeared in a flash of boiling water. Chris’s reanimated mother tore the closet door aside now easily. As she knelt toward the closet floor what remained of the house began to fall around her, weakened by the absence of the door. Superman moved to protect her, to see what she was up to, but it was too late, the house to fragile to hold together. They rest of the structure came down around them.

Superman shrugged off the debris that had fallen on him and made his way to where Chris’s Mother had been. He pulled away a portion of the roof and the several large beams. She was broken, scattered, her bones and flesh tenuously held together at best, had been shattered by the falling debris. Her hand was clamped around a small steel box. Superman picked up the box and the small medallion that lay nearby and flew up and out of the dark turgid water.

“Is this for a case you’re working on?” Batman asked, never turning from the large computer console. His fingers flew over the keys; he reached at controls at right angles to his left and right turning dials and switches. Superman chuckled at how much Bruce reminded him of a mad scientist like in the old movies.

“Something funny.” Batman asked.

“No, not really, just uh, thought of a joke.”

“This for a case?” Batman asked again.

“Not really, more like a favor.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not”

Batman stood up from the black computer console.

How is it he manages to look like he fills up this whole cave, Superman wondered.

“The photo was pretty degraded, the NSA software Waynetec developed for facial recognition should be able to do a fairly decent job of reconstructing it. The water damage was pretty bad. It only survived as much as it did because it was wrapped inside those other documents inside that metal box you brought in.”

Bruce removed the cowl and cape and hung it on a nearby peg.

Superman handed him the small silver medallion. “Know anything about this?”

“You’re an investigative reporter Clark, don’t you know how to do this own your own?”

“Sure I do, I ask a friend.” Clark smiled.

How is it I can look into the eyes of the Joker or the madness of the Scarecrow and not be phased, but this boy scout smiles at me, and I want to shake his hand and roast smores with him. Bruce wondered.

Bruce turned the silver medallion over in his hand.

It’s a magic charm, usually associated with voodoo, the inscription reads, this is now bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, and they shall become one flesh, a love charm.”

Bruce pulled a green sweater with little snowflakes on it, over his head, “you and Lois ok?”

“Huh, oh yeah, no it’s nothing. . . to do with uh.’ Clark noticed the sweater. “New look for you isn’t it?”

“Christmas party,” Bruce jabbed his thumb upwards, “upstairs.”

The computer spoke. “Restoration complete.” The printer spat out a picture. Chris, his Mother, Father and younger sister were hugged together. Behind them the warm water of the gulf lapped gently at the sandy beach.

Bruce picked up the picture. “Clark, what is this about?”

A large oak tree grew beside the house, its branches lazily reaching toward the sky. A crystal similar to the one Chris now held jutted out the side of the tree trunk.

“Put the crystal in the slot right there Chris.”

Chris slid the crystal in and the branches shivered as crystal walls grew from them twisting and turning till the form a crystalline tree house. A small platform grew at Chris’ feet.

“That’ll take you up to it. Chris. Just step on it.”

He did and the platform rose allowing him to step inside.

“Don’t worry; it’s only keyed to his genetic make up. When he touched the crystal and if you two will touch it now, your’s too, then no one else’s.” Superman said to the swans.

Superman stepped over to the crystalline tree house. “May I come up Chris?”

“Yeah sure!” The crystal responded and opened up allowing Superman to float up into it.
Pictures of Chris and his family and his current family were projected on the walls.

“This is your Fortress of Solitude, Chris, just like the one I have. You can come here to remember your family and record and share new memories with Kyle and Margaret.”

Chris ran to Superman jumping in his arms again, he hugged him so tightly around his neck that Superman could feel it.

“Thank you Superman, it’s the best Christmas present ever.”

“Merry Christmas Chris, You deserve it. I’ve got to go now, you better be getting into bed, Santa should be here soon, in fact I think I passed him on the way in.”

Chris stepped on the platform, it lowered him down to the ground and he ran into the house. You didn’t have to have super-hearing to hear him thudding up the steps to his room.

“And here’s something for all of you”, Superman handed a small envelope to the Swans.

Kyle opened it, a small card read. A scholarship has been reserved for Chris Swan in the amount of $50,000 for the college of his choice, signed, Thomas Kane.

“Friend of mine, wanted to help.” Superman said.

Kyle shook Superman’s hand. “Thank you, Superman, for everything.”

“No, thank you two, for taking in such a wonderful boy and sharing your heart and home
with him.” Superman floated up into the air.

“Merry Christmas.”