DC2 Special #5: "Another DC2 Christmas Special"

It had been almost a year since Arthur Curry had first come to Atlantis after spending his youth raised on the surface.

Almost a year since he had really breathed in the sweet smell of flowers that the man he had called his father had planted in the garden by the lighthouse.

Almost a year since he had celebrated any of the holidays; him and his dad, and occasionally his Uncle Rick, had always made sure to spend them together.

And though he tried to ignore all of this and look forward in his new life under the sea, Arthur missed the comfort of holidays.

The sea was growing far colder while snow no doubt fell on the surface world above and the longing for those holidays he used to love started to sink in even more. He missed the lights, the carols, the wreaths, and even those corny but enjoyable Christmas specials that had played on TV year after year. He missed hearing his father hum along to Jingle Bells and Santa Claus is Coming to Town. And most of all, he missed the comfort of sharing those special days surrounded by family.

And in that moment, Arthur wished he could have it all back somehow.

To regain that special feeling he used to get during the holiday seasons, if only for a day. And now, with the calendar marking December 21st, Arthur was alone to his thoughts, being the only one in the entire city who even knew what the word Christmas meant.

Then, as he gazed into the blackness of the surrounding sea, an idea struck him like a badly aimed baseball to the head. Christmas may not be something that would normally come to the undersea city of Poseidonis, but maybe it was something he could bring.

Arthur rushed from where he had been floating outside the domes of the city and rocketed away through the currents into the distance, his brilliant idea brightening his thoughts with every passing second.

Hours later, he returned home with a large metal box held tightly in his hands and when he entered Poseidonis through its transparent domes, a crowd of Atlanteans gathered around him, to see what he had brought with him.

“What’s that you’ve got, Orin?” One of the city guards questioned, with a look of worry on his face.

Arthur flashed a friendly smile at him while opening the box. Everyone watched in awe when the young man pulled out a strange looking circular bush from the box.

“Have any of you ever heard of something called Christmas?”

Many of them shook their heads no while others said they’d heard of it but were not sure what it was.

Arthur began to explain everything he had learned as a boy about Christmas. Showing them the wreath he held in his hands and then telling them everything from Santa Claus to eggnog. He watched as all of their eyes lit up with amazement with each and everything he told them about.

“And he flies from house to house with his reindeer, delivering presents and gifts to the people of the world.” Arthur said happily to which he noticed some of the Atlantean children’s mouths drop open.

“This Christmas festival sounds exciting!” One woman cheered from the crowd. “Why haven’t we ever taken part in it?”

“Because we don’t celebrate surface world nonsense like this.” Orm Marius, head of the royal guard and half-brother to Arthur suddenly emerged from the crowd, his face tightened sternly. “I know you are still not quite used to living here, Orin, but I must warn you that you’re bordering on treason.”

Arthur frowned for a moment before beginning to chuckle, patting his not as amused comrade on the shoulder.

“And you’re bordering on being called Scrooge, brother.” Arthur said with a laugh.

“What?” Orm questioned, baffled by his brother’s confusing remark.

“Relax. I think it’s time that we all expanded our horizons a bit.” Arthur said. He passed by his still stunned brother and looked back to the crowd. “I think you’re right. It’s unfair that you guys never got to have a chance to celebrate Christmas so what do you say we make our own?”

Cheers erupted from the mob of people and Arthur couldn’t help but smile. Orm stepped next to Arthur, whispering into his ear.

“This is a bad move, Orin. Bringing surface world magic here-“

“It’s not magic, Orm. It’s a holiday. And let’s just see how this goes, okay? If it completely fails then I give you permission to say ‘I told you so’. How’s that?” Arthur answered merrily.

“Fine. Don’t be too disappointed when it all ends up falling apart.” Orm said, walking away.

“Humbug.” Arthur called to him as he departed.

The people of Poseidonis hastily got to work and Arthur was incredibly impressed by how efficient they were when it came to coming up with their own form of Christmas. Sure, it may not have been exactly the Christmas he knew but they were trying.

They wove freshly picked threads of seaweed into intricate wreaths while a group of Atlantean soldiers had cut a large barnacle from the ocean floor outside and had brought it into the city, in hopes of having a Christmas tree. Children swam outside of the domes of the city, chasing around fish, hoping to catch one and put antlers on him but to no avail. One of the city’s scientists even approached Arthur with the idea of making a machine that could create snowfall over the city but Arthur told him to not overdo it and they could save that for next year.

After two and a half days of hard work, Christmas was upon the kingdom and everyone was singing along to a chorus of ‘Silent Night’ from one of the books Arthur had brought them from the surface. He sat on the steps of the palace, looking at all of the decorations that had lit up the city.

Beautiful lights brought an immense amount of color to each and every futuristic building that towered over the streets. Even some mer-folk from the neighboring and much more ancient city of Tritonis swam over to see what all of the ruckus was about.

Arthur gave a sigh of relief on those steps, finally beginning to feel just a spark of that old feeling of comfort. And then, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Um…hi, Orin.”

It was Mera, a young woman around Arthur’s age who he had developed a bit of a crush on since he had begun living underwater and he believed she had the same feelings for him. However, both were far too shy to admit it.

“Hi.” Arthur said when she sat beside him, her long red locks flowing past her shoulders. “You enjoying this new holiday?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great. Really different.” Mera said, looking out at the decorated courtyard. “I like different.”

Arthur turned to her with a smile and she returned it. They both lost themselves in each other’s eyes, bathed in the multi-colored rays of the ornaments and lights on the decorated barnacle tree on the courtyard below.

Suddenly, Arthur’s eyes wandered upward and he noticed a small plant leaf hanging at the top of the entrance way to the palace, just above where he and Mera were sitting. Mera followed his gaze and then looked back at him, her emerald eyes beaming.

“Is that a-“ Arthur started.

Arthur was interrupted when Mera leaned forward and locked her lips with his. It was a feeling like Arthur had never experienced, her warmth paralyzing him and for a brief moment, beneath the cold waters and surrounded by the wonders of Christmas, everything seemed perfect.

When she pulled away after a few moments, she finished his question for him.

“A mistletoe.” Mera said, gently pulling some of her hair behind her ear and biting her lower lip. “You said it was tradition to kiss beneath one.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Arthur said.

He was still in a daze when she stood up to leave. She grinned down at him and he stared blankly up at her, unsure of what to say.

“Um, Jolly Christmas, Arthur.” She said, going down the stairs and into the courtyard, out of sight.

Arthur’s face had contorted into a seemingly permanent smile and he let out a small laugh, finding her mistake to be cute.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mera.”

Christmas Eve went by fairly quickly and when Arthur awoke Christmas morning, he looked outside of his balcony and saw everyone gathered in the courtyard, happily exchanging gifts and hugs. He couldn’t believe how smoothly everything had gone and when he walked into the throne room, he even found some of the aristocrats and councilmen of the kingdom giving presents to one another.

He found Orm in the pack of men, looking rather grumpy.

“Looks like your display of surface world culture has been a great success, brother. Congratulations.”

“Don’t feel too bad about it, Orm.” Arthur said, picking up a large wrapped box that he had hidden behind the throne. He held it out to Orm who examined it for a moment, apparently not clear on what to do with it. “Open it.”

Orm unwrapped the gift, tearing the ribbon off first and then the rest. He looked at the long box for a few seconds and then at his brother who ushered him to open it up. Orm did so cautiously and when he did, his face stared down at the object in the box with tearful surprise.

“Well don’t just stand there gawking. Take it out.” Arthur laughed.

Orm took hold of the object and pulled it out of the box, revealing a long golden staff held tightly in his grip. The end of it formed into a circular design with two sharp ends on either side. He admired it in his hands, its glimmer shining brightly.

“I had it custom made by our forger here in the city. The circle on the tip means life while those two end points on each side of the circle represent the man you are now and the one you wish to be. And knowing that your dream is to become king someday, I wanted something that rivaled the beauty of even Neptune’s Trident.”

“It’s magnificent.” Orm said, turning back to his brother. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I did, Orm. That’s what Christmas is all about... giving” Arthur said. “It’s about showing people how much they mean to you and how important of a part they play in your life.”

“I didn’t get you anything though.”

“Well there’s always next year. And you’ve already given me something anyway. See, that’s my favorite part of the Christmas season; spending time my family. And you, Orm...you’re family now.”

Orm nodded and Arthur put his arm over Orm’s shoulder and led him toward the exit of the throne room while Orm still held his new staff in his hand.

“So let’s enjoy the day and promise me that we’ll have more great Christmases together as a family, okay?”

Orm smiled happily and for a moment, all his desires vanished and he felt that strange feeling of the holidays sweep over him.

“I promise, brother. We’ll have many more…”

HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM THE DEEPEST CORNERS OF THE WORLD!

“Hee hee!” cackled the World's Wickedest Scientist. “I, Thaddeus Bodog Sivana, have come up with the greatest comeuppance for that...that...Great Christmas Ham in the history of vengeances!”

The bald-headed, shriveled peanut of a man practically danced around the odd contraption set on a tripod in the fluffy white snow. It hummed softly, small blinking yellow and green lights indicating the steady flow of power within the metal box. On top rotated a small mesh dish, and transmitter pointed skyward.

”Father, I wish to let you know that I have alerted Captain Marvel to this scheme,” spoke the feminine voice through her father's earpiece.

“Oh so what? Even with his speed, he can't get here in time to stop me from flicking the switch that will begin my Epidermal Mythomerger,” Sivana shouted back with a sneer, and a sudden stop of his frolic. “And I must say, Beautia my dear, that I am less than thrilled you've found some way to evade my new anti-Red Cheese motivators in your programming.” He reached over and flicked the switch. “But too late!”

Just then came a whoosh and the sudden appearance of the World's Mightiest Mortal. Captain Marvel's small black eyes looked down at Sivana, muscled arms crossed over the red-garbed barrel chest. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. All this over an annual box of coal?” he chided his arch-foe.

“Too late! Too late, Marvel! Even if you stopped my machine, the commands have entered the ether! You can't stop it! Only I know how to reverse it!” He cackled again and poked his finger into Captain Marvel's chest, and then grunted in pain as he bruised the fingertip. “All those fools dressed up in their monster Krampus costumes will become the real thing!”

”Father! How could you? Captain, please, Krampus is a fun festival game, but if the mythomerger truly makes the costumes turn their wearers into creatures, they'll become horned monsters determined to punish whoever they imagine as naughty! Switches used to spank children worldwide!” Beautia reported in great concern.

Captain Marvel laughed and let the machine run. “Really? Well then, I'm just going to stand here and let Sivana have his way this time.”

“What? What are you up to? Didn't you hear my daughter? Santa's partner, turned into a genuine terror? Tarnishing his compassionate, charitable reputation? In this day and age, it will never recover, ever!” Sivana snapped back with his mouth set in a frown. “Why aren't you trying to stop it?”

“Well, honestly, because I'm going to need to stay here for your sake, you snake,” Captain Marvel said, and held his hand up. He counted off, a finger curled into his palm with each second that passed.

Sivana watched, and wondered, then his eyes widened behind the thick round lenses when he heard the noises in the distance. Hoof beats tramped through the snow, switching sounds floating through the cold night air, gleeful malevolent chuckles filtering into the scene. “Oh...no...”

“Oh yes, Sivana. Sure you don't want to reverse your machine now?” Captain Marvel asked with a grin as dozens of Krampus creatures poured in, all with their birching sticks, all charging for the most evil of mad scientists. “Let's face it, who else would attract these creatures more then you, the World's...”

“Yes, I think we have that established, you...you...Big Red Cheese!” Sivana said as he turned to his machine, tore open a panel and quickly reconfigured the wiring, all the while crying out from the occasional lash on his scrawny behind. “There! There...go away!” he demanded as he started the machine again, and the monsters turned back into confused costumed people.

“Now to get to work,” Captain Marvel said as he used his speed to return the people to their homes. When he returned to the scene of the crime after the last poor soul had been brought back, he sighed. “Merry Christmas, you twisted maniac. I'm sure I'll see you again.”

Sivana teleported into his room and tossed the failed machine into a corner with a scream of frustration.

”Father, while you were gone, he came! Look!” Beautia said as she used her robotic limbs to display the new external hard-drive she'd been given. ”And your present is over here.” She indicated the ribbon-wrapped high-grade lump of coal on his bench.

“Bah! Humbug!”

A light dusting of snow swirled off the busy Metropolis street as Lois Lane approached the crime scene, clutching her coat tightly around herself in the cold December air. The police cars had it blocked off, but with a quick wave of her press pass she was allowed through. Superman was already there amidst the wreckage of a battle that had all but demolished the street corner. He was talking to Inspector Henderson, but Lois’ attention was on the body. Where there was Superman, there was never a dead body. At least, never before.

“Who was he?”

Though she hadn’t spoken especially loud, Superman turned at the words, glancing from her to the dead man in some sort of high-tech battle suit.

“He called himself Shockwave,” said the Man of Steel, and in his voice was something Lois had rarely heard before, a kind of sad weariness that bespoke of discouragement. “I’ve never met him before today. His battle suit looks like LexTech, though.”

Taking a tentative step closer, Lois studied the anonymous visage of the dead man, looking up and down the remains of his shattered suit.

“What happened?” she asked, turning back towards Superman. He looked up at her, caught by the abruptness of the question.

“He started shooting up this street corner, taunting me to come out and face him. He has some sort of hypersonic cannon attached to the suit. I got here just as it was overloading. Unfortunately, his suit seems to be powered by a Kryptonite power cell, so I couldn’t get very close. Then he just… exploded.”

“He seems to be the only casualty,” Lois looked around, noting the lack of ambulances.

“Superman shielded us,” came the voice of a little girl, bundled up and waving her mittened hands at Lois. “He saved my friends and me.”

“That’s what Superman does,” Lois gave the little girl a wink, then knelt by the body, peering unflinchingly at the face. “Inspector Henderson, this man’s name is Atticus Wembly. He was a security guard for LexCorp for years. He disappeared after Luthor went underground. You shouldn’t have any trouble verifying this; guy’s got a record a mile long.”

“Mind telling me how you know that, Ms. Lane?” Inspector Henderson made a quick motion to one of his detectives, who immediately got on his mobile device to check it out.

Rising to her feet again, Lois shrugged, smiling ruefully. “I oughta know; he escorted me out of LexTowerOne on numerous occasions. We were practically on a first name basis. Would’ve been on my Christmas list if he hadn’t pushed me out of a moving car once. Nasty piece of work, this guy.”

Superman, who had been keeping his distance due to the lingering effects of the Green K power cell grunted and shook his head as he took to the air.

“Wait!” Lois called after him. “I have just one question…!”

But he was already gone, a red and blue blur streaking across the sky. Lois swore under her breath as the forensics team moved in. She made way for them, turning at the sound of her name called in a familiar voice. Clark Kent made his way through the crowd beyond the police cordon. He waved at her and tripped over a curb. People laughed but he ignored it, belatedly flashing his press pass to the uniformed officers who moved to keep him back. Nevertheless, they eyed him dubiously as he slid awkwardly past them, onto the crime scene.

“Sorry I’m late, Lois, traffic is awful during the holidays, but I came as soon as I heard. What happened? Looks like I missed the action.” He craned his head around, low and high, steadying the glasses on his nose.

“What else is new, Smallville?” Lois gave her colleague an affectionate, if patronizing, smile. “Luthor sent one of his goons after Superman again. Same old story. Except this one had a slightly different ending. Said goon was hoisted on his own petard.”

“Huh? No need to get vulgar, Lois…”

“Shakespeare, Clark. Means he was done in by his own villainy. No fault of Superman’s.”

“Oh.” Clark Kent watched as the crime scene investigators began removing Shockwave, AKA Atticus Wembly from the ill-fated battle-suit. “Well, knowing Superman, I doubt he feels that way.”

Remembering the tone in the Man of Steel’s voice, Lois could only nod. “I think you’re right. I think Superman takes this sort of thing very personally. I think he thinks he can save us all, good and bad alike, you and I along with poor dumb Wembly here--- maybe even Luthor himself. But every once in a while, I think he gets a good look at human nature for what it really is… and maybe that never-ending battle looks more and more like an uphill battle.”

For a moment the two reporters stood there in thoughtful silence, the snow drifting lazily before them. Then Clark cleared his throat, glancing at Lois sidelong.

“What did you want to ask him,” he asked in a voice more assured than his usual tone. “You said you only had one question.”

As if hearing something new in her colleague’s voice, Lois gave Clark an appraising look, but saw only the same old Smallville.

“Heard that, huh?”

“Well, I was pretty close-by when you called after him,” Clark hid his embarrassment of her sudden scrutiny by cupping his hands to his mouth and blowing, rubbing them together for warmth. Lois was always struck by just how big those hands were…

“It was nothing, Clark. A softball. He was looking down, and I wanted to cheer him up,” she jammed her own frozen hands into the pockets of her coat, and looked back up into the darkening sky, as if searching for signs of him. She seemed to be deep in thought, however, and it was a long time before she said: “I was going to ask him what he wanted for Christmas…”

~S~

The next morning, the Daily Planet carried an article by Lois Lane entitled: “What Superman Wants for the Holidays.” It was the type of story that folks read at the newsstand over their steaming morning lattes and passed around the office, asking each other: “Hey, have you seen this yet?” That edition sold out, and the newspaper went back to press for a Late Edition, much to the delight of Editor-in-Chief Perry White.

“We’ve got a bona fide phenomenon on our hands,” he waved the rolled-up paper around the bullpen, slapping it into his open palm with a satisfying smirk. His staff had caught his infectious excitement, and the newsroom bustled with enthusiasm and pride. Copies of the early edition were everywhere, and even sports writer Steve Lombard was caught reading it in his cubicle. “Lois, I just got a request from the AP to run the article nationally in tomorrow’s papers. You might just get that second Pulitzer out of this!”

Under most circumstances a declaration like that would have had Lois Lane beaming from ear to ear, but instead she remained hunched over in her chair, idly bouncing the tip of her pencil against her desktop, lost in thought. Across from her, Clark Kent cast surreptitious glances at her as Perry parked himself at her desk, unfolded the newspaper and quoted:

“… after years of seeing the worst humanity has to offer, after saving us from ourselves time and time again, after seeing us living down to our lowest expectations of each other, I simply cannot say what Superman wants for the holidays, but I can say what I would wish for him: that for once in our history of apathy and avarice, in our long struggle against each other instead alongside each other, I wish that for once--- if only for one day--- we could embrace the spirit of this season, and be the people that he sees, the people he wants us to be, the people he fights for and believes in. What do you give a man who has everything? A day off.”

There was a spontaneous smattering of applause, led by Perry himself. Lois acknowledged it with an uncharacteristic humility, waving away the attention. Perry let it continue for only a moment before he said over it: “Alright, people, that’s enough. We have a Late Edition to put out, so get back to work.

“Nice job, Ms. Lane,” Jimmy Olsen set a cup of hot chocolate down on Lois’ desk, grinning broadly. “My pal’s going to love this!” he said as he hurried after Perry, who was calling for him.

When they were gone, Lois looked over at Clark and asked, “Do you think he’ll see this, Clark?”

Clark Kent set down his copy of the Planet, looking bemusedly at it. “Oh, I’d count on it, Lois. I don’t see how he could miss it. All of Metropolis is talking about your article.”

Lois nodded thoughtfully, and began tapping her pencil on the desk again.

~S~

“Surrender, Superman! You will never defeat King Kosmos!”

The bulky behemoth towered over Superman, fists poised to smash downward. Superman caught the descending blow one handed, and he swung his other arm up into a crushing uppercut that sent the hirsute cosmic barbarian crashing backward across the blasted alien landscape of their battlefield, the third moon of Joxum. The insectoid people of the lunar mining colony cheered as Superman took a moment to catch his breath. He waved back at them with a relieved smile: King Kosmos was stirring slowly in the wreckage of the hover-cart he’d smashed into, making pitiful noises.

The distress call had come into the Fortress of Solitude from Joxum, a planet in the Ar-Kalian Star Cluster, where Superman had a few years earlier befriended a race of gentle ant-men who had aided him in destroying a large comet of Kryptonite heading towards Earth. He had told them if they ever needed him, all they had to do was activate the distress beacon and he would come. So when would-be intergalactic conqueror King Kosmos invaded, subjugating the planet and two of its three moons, they called--- and Superman came.

But he had hated leaving Earth and Metropolis unprotected. Was poor Shockwave the opening gambit in Luthor’s new assault on him, or just a wild shot in the dark? Nor could he stop thinking about Lois’ article. It had touched him, not just what she had written, but that she had read him so accurately. He had been disheartened. How long would he have to strive against the worst of humanity’s impulses thrown against him, how much longer would he have to save them from themselves? Would they ever learn? He didn’t often allow himself to think like that: he loved being Superman, indeed he could be nothing less. The melancholy had lasted only a few moments. What he really remembered was the look on Lois’ face, the heartfelt sincerity of her words as one soul reached out, yearning to understand and console another…

The glancing blow from behind caught him off guard. He whirled around, shaking off the energy blast that had shredded his cape. Descending from the sky was a garishly-clad figure much like the still-woozy King Kosmos, only this one was younger, with longer hair, and carried a Braalian magno-hammer.

The new arrival glowered down at Superman and said, “You may have found my father an easy match, Kryptonian, but you’ll rue the day you tangled with Kid Kosmos!”

Superman rolled his eyes and tossed back the tatters of his cape. This was going to take longer than he had first thought…

~S~

It had been a strange day.

Lois was all but alone in the newsroom, amidst the leftovers of the Planet Christmas party, most having gone home long ago; only one or two of the cleaning crew remained, and the lights had been dimmed.

To say it had been a slow news day was an understatement. It usually did quiet down around the holidays, but nothing came in that day, at all. Perry had been the first to notice it, thinking first that the wires had broken down, or the telecom system was on the fritz. But a few quick calls to the police precincts, hospitals and fire departments all told the same story: nothing to report.

At first, Lois’ reporter’s instincts told her something was up--- how could this be? No purse snatchings? No domestic squabbles? Not even a car accident or a kitty up a tree…? This had to be a statistical impossibility. And unless there was a chimpanzee typing out the Complete Works of William Shakespeare somewhere, she wasn’t buying it.

Then the letters started flooding in. And the emails. And the phone calls. Mostly from Metropolis, but from all around the world, too. All in response to her article. And it was all the folks at the Daily Planet could do that day to keep up with it.

“Listen to this one,” Jimmy had read to them a post from the paper’s website: “Dear Daily Planet, a few years ago Superman saved my life. I used to live in Suicide Slum, and I had fallen in with a bad crowd. We had just knocked off a liquor store when Big Blue cornered us. I didn’t go to jail because I was underage, but I got probation and put on work release: the judge made me clean graffiti off the streets for eight hours a day, five days a week, for a year. At first I was hassled by other gang members, who kept me busy cleaning their signs off neighborhood walls. Then one day I noticed that I was being watched, though I suppose ‘watched over’ is a better way of putting it. That first time, he shared a pretzel with me, and we just talked like normal people for a few minutes before he had to go save the world or something. The gangbangers stopped coming around, and eventually I was able to clean up my streets. I don’t have to do it anymore, but I still do. In fact, I started a street-cleaning company that employs neighborhood kids, and together we’re transforming Suicide Slum. He still comes around every Friday afternoon. He likes mustard on his pretzel. I would do anything for Superman, and I know I’m not alone. Thanks for the great article.”

And the outpouring did not stop there. A spontaneous movement had begun on the internet the day the Planet had published Lois’ article, involving people from every city in the world, to “give Superman a day off!” It called for everyone, young and old, rich or poor, to do their part--- if only ever for this one day--- to watch out for each other, to do good, in short, to be like Superman.

And that, Lois Lane supposed, was what had happened.

Sighing in contented, bemused disbelief, Lois Lane left the darkened newsroom, nodding cheerily to the cleaning crew and entered the gilded elevator. As the doors were closing, she glimpsed a familiar sight out the 38th floor’s window, and instead of pressing the button for the ground floor, she went to the roof.

He was there, standing with one foot on the crenellated roof’s edge, under the world-famous and softly illuminated globe of the Daily Planet, gazing out in wonder at the brightly lit city.

Taking in his slightly worse-for wear appearance, she quipped “Rough day at the office?”

“I was off-planet,” he told her, glancing quickly from her and back out over Metropolis. “I was gone all day… Lois, what’s going on out there?”

Sidling up next to him, she admired the panoramic rooftop view of the city. “I guess you are.”

He looked a question at her.

“It’s the most remarkable thing. You’ve touched so many lives. So many people are inspired by you. This is their Christmas present to you.”

“Are you telling me there’s peace on Earth?” He asked, incredulous.

Lois smiled crookedly. “I wouldn’t count on it lasting very long. We are a deeply flawed race.”

Superman laughed, and Lois could only hear genuine joy. In spite of the cold, she felt a warmness in her chest when his hand slipped into hers.

“You did this. It was your article---.”

She cut him off firmly. “No. This belongs only to you, Superman. You’ve shown us that great good is possible. You’ve given us something to strive for. And today, you just may have made us all better people.” That last was pushed out though a growing lump in her throat.

Superman could only stare at her wide-eyed, a profound humbleness on his open, honest face. After a moment, all he could manage was a softly-spoken “Thank you.”

Lois nodded and squeezed his hand tightly, leaning into his body. She rested her head on his shoulder. They stayed that way for several minutes, enjoying that singular sublime moment, as Metropolis and the world bustled peacefully below them. After a while, Lois sighed. “Of course, it is slightly ironic that you were gone most of the day, fighting space villains by the looks of you.”

Superman rubbed his still aching chin where Kid Kosmos had gotten in a lucky shot. “I wasn’t going to point it out. It’s the thought that counts.”

“No, I like it.” Lois averred in mock appreciation. “Adds a little O. Henry-type twist to the whole thing.”

Smiling ruefully, he asked, “Well, Ms. Lane, as it looks like I have the night off, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask…”

~S~

“… and all around the world that day, it’s said, there was no crime or villainy, and every man, woman and child honored Superman in their hearts and by their deeds. And for the last thousand years we have commemorated that day which came to be called Miracle Monday, when Superman showed us that it is possible to be as good as you could be--- even if it’s only for one day a year.”

Wynn Allon slowly closed the storybook on his lap, and looked over to his wife Marta. Between them, their son Gim had fallen into a happy slumber, a smile lingering on his young face.

“He never gets tired of hearing that story,” Marta Allon whispered to her husband, the small family basking in the low, warm glow of the nearby Menorah. “He always says he wants to be just like Superman when he grows up… To fight the never-ending battle, too. Maybe he’ll go into the Science Police Corps.”

“Happy Miracle Monday, my dear.” Wynn Allon leaned over their son to kiss his wife.

“Happy Miracle Monday, darling.”

Cyril Saunders woke up early on Christmas morning and glanced toward the window from his bed. His was a sleepy face, and he yawned and stretched, as he saw the snowy slopes toward the rear of his mansion. He sat up in the bed and stretched his arms out, then scratched the back of his head. He pulled himself out of bed and wrapped himself in his thick robe, jammed his feet into warm slippers, then shuffled out of his bedroom.

He stepped out into the hall and glanced around. Something felt off to him. It seemed bad enough that he'd not had his usual Christmas Eve adventure. That had disappointed him; made worse by the fact that none of his comrades came to visit. Nor had Kendra, and that made his shoulders slump. He was so sure he'd changed her around last year; her and her friend Dawn Strong, and the ghost Kit. They were grand company. His cousin Greg had mentioned being too wrapped up making sure the extended family that were the Law's Legionnaires were all given a grand Christmas, and that was understandable. But no Kendra? None of his other friends?

He had reached the foot of the grand staircase when he smelled the delicious breakfast aromas. This made him perk his head up, and he moved with a quicker step to examine the dining room.

“It's about time you were up, sleepyhead,” Harriet Cooper-Saunders chided Cyril with a joyous smile as she laid the breakfast food out. “Eat up, eat up. We've a lot of work to do before everyone shows up! I'll need lots of help with the dinner fixings!”

He watched his lovely Harriet scurry around the table, head over and hug him. She'd filled out in her old age, with her auburn hair curled up in a prim style, with laugh lines and rosy full cheeks, but she was still his beautiful...

“Harriet? But...that's not...”

“Not what? Did you have that awful dream again, Cyril?” She tsked as she guided him to his table and set his food before him. “Well, never you worry about that. Today is all glorious Yule and family, close and extended.”

His mind rolled back to the days of Speed Saunders, running the Danger Trail; the wars against Vandal Savage, the sad outcome of Harriet's betrayals-- “Get the door will you? I have my hands full with turkey gizzards!” Harriet called out from the kitchen.

Cyril staggered down the main hall, reached the double doors, and opened them timidly. “Argent? But...wait, I know...”

“You never get tired of that joke, do you, Uncle Speed?” the woman with the platinum locks said with a brilliant smile and a big soft hug. “Happy Yule!”

“Silver St. Cloud,” he mumbled. “It's...wonderful to see you.” He hugged her back, then held her even tighter.

“Great to see you too, Unc, it really is,” Silver said as she stood in shocked in his embrace. “Mind if I come in now? It's kinda chilly out here.”

“Of course, silly, silly me, where is my head, dear,” he said as he escorted her into the foyer and closed the door. “How are things back in that Green and Pleasant Land?”

“Under control, Unc, under control, thanks for asking,” she said with a laugh as they headed for the dining room. “Decided to come out early and see if Aunt Harriet needed some help with dinner.”

“I'm sure she'll be happy for it,” Cyril said, and began to enjoy the golden holiday morning, and watched Silver walk off to the kitchen as he settled in for breakfast. He chewed slowly at some sausage, sipped on the coffee and stared after the kitchen door. What next? he mused silently.

He finished and then went back to his bedroom to change into a fine suit of clothes to greet his guests. They slowly arrived through the mid-morning: King Faraday arrived first, as always, followed by Steven Savage, Jr., and then finally the Daughter of the Didi, Rima.

“How goes Societies, Steven?” King asked as they sat around the parlor, sipping sherry and admiring the tall green tree festooned with lights and bulbs; garlands of holly strewn across the rafters and lit candles adding to the flickering glow of the warm fire in its place.

“Very smoothly, now that the upstarts were put into their place, King, thanks for asking,” Steven replied in that velvet voice of his. He puffed at his cigar and looked back at his friend. “And how is the International Union? I heard about the Zandian disturbance, and all I could think of was the troubles that little dot of land has given us over the years.”

“True, true, but not after this last dealing, rest assured,” the thick-set master of politics answered with a raised glass. “This is a good Yule, I would daresay, with little left to roil the harmony of our world.”

“A wonderful achievement, I'm sure,” Silver said as she refilled her glass. “And long overdue. Grandmum would be so proud of you all.”

Cyril watched all of this, the four of them chatting so eagerly over past victories and current demands of office, and smiled, but only slightly. The warmth of the season, the joy of the day, undercut by a strange sense at the back of his neck.

“You're not wrong, my friend,” Rima said softly as she stepped behind his easy chair. “Not wrong at all. I know that I help my Amazonian counterparts to control the southern hemisphere, from my jungle home, but it's not right. Not at all.”

Cyril reached up over his shoulder to touch the jungle woman's hand, with a look of relief in his eyes. “So what now? How do we handle this? This must be my annual adventure, my challenge to the season's arrival for this year. Just have to get to the bottom of what's happening.”

Rima squeezed his hand firmly. “I don't think so, Speed.”

“Cyril, please. I've not been Speed in...”

“Speed Saunders, listen. I don't understand what is happening,” Rima said as she watched the others chatting happily, old friends one and all. She felt the papery skin that surrounded what was left of the flesh on Cyril's aged hand, and squeezed again, gentle and tender. “But this, I don't think this is your adventure. Not your trail. Not Danger, not Christmas, not...it's not your trail. Not anymore. This is a gift, of sorts. I think...” She choked on the words and he sensed the sorrow in his dear jungle friend. “I think this is for you to enjoy.”

Harriet glanced over at the two of them and toddled over to them. “What are you two whispering about over here? All hush hush? Cyril, are you misbehaving again?”

“No dear. No. Rima, she was just telling me how special this all is. And she's right, I...I should appreciate it.” He stood up and put an arm around Harriet's waist, guided her to the mistletoe, and kissed her, with decades of pent-up emotion pouring from him.

“Good, Speed. That's what I want to hear,” she answered, eyes wistful, and then she hurried off for the kitchen. “Silver, ready to help me serve?”

“C'mon, stop dragging your feet, will you?” Kendra Saunders, a.k.a Hawkgirl, said to her two friends as she stood impatiently inside the front hall of Jonni Thunder's house. “We're going to be late.”

“You know, last year, I had to send a Christmas Spirit to haunt you into going,” Dawn Make-Strong-Move reminded her friend as she looked up from the easy chair she sat in. Feet hung over the arm of the chair, swaying a little in their sandals as she spared Kendra an arched glance.

“You sicced your boyfriend on me,” Kendra countered with a snort. “He has a lot to learn about being a Christmas Ghost.”

“He worked the holiday whammy on your sleeping behind, girl,” the woman also called Manitou Dawn said with a smirk. “And can we not bring up my ex again?”

“Okay, okay, I'm here, I'm ready,” Jonni Thunder said as she finally arrived from her upstairs room, a bag in one hand. She was dressed in her typical tailored, impeccable look, coiffed and manicured, a stark contrast to her two friends. “I'm still not sure about this though. I mean, I don't even know your grandfather.”

“He's fine with it,” Kendra said with a playful tap to Jonni's shoulder. “He's looking forward to meeting you. Said something about wanting to meet the latest version.”

Jonni's eyes widened at that, and clutched her bag tighter. “Really? But...well...I guess. But I'm not a Christmas person.”

“Like I am?” Dawn joked as she stepped up to the others. “It's okay. Cyril's a cool guy, and it's not about all that stuff we see on commercials and read in papers. There's more to all of this. It's okay. You'll see.”

“I guess,” Jonni sounded unconvinced.

“Let's get going,” Kendra said as she wrapped her strong arms around her friends' shoulders and ushered them from the house and to the car. “I'm the butt-kicking tough-skinned action girl, but you know what? I've got family, and I'm finally getting to like the thought. And if you'll pardon the chick-flick moment, I want to add to it. So indulge me.”

Jonni chuckled, and gave a wry smile as she packed her bag in with Dawn's and Kendra's, then slid into the passenger seat. “Okay. I think I can go with that. I asked for it, after all, didn't I? But I warn you, I want to hear no dogs barking Christmas carols, got it?”

The car pulled out of the driveway and headed out; maneuvered through city streets, and merged onto the highways, left the city behind and motored out into the snow-covered rural lands. Christmas card-like in its images, even Jonni started to warm up to the trip as Kendra told her how she and Dawn discovered some of the strange magic of this time of year; and how her grandfather, Cyril 'Speed' Saunders would get wrapped up in it.

“I hope I got the directions right,” Kendra said as she looked around at the wintry wonderland. “This seems to be taking an awful long time.”

“Is it more than a little strange that Hawkgirl has lost her way?” Jonni teased as she carefully threaded her car over the snowy, slick roads.

“I'm Hawkgirl, not Homing-Pigeon Girl,” Kendra replied and stuck her tongue out.

“Thank goodness. Man, could you imagine trying to be a terrifying scourge of crime with that for a name?” Dawn continued to tease Kendra. “Kite-Man would finally feel cool.”

Kendra turned to pretend to threaten Dawn, and instead narrowed her eyes and stared out across a field. “Stop!” she said suddenly. When the car had halted, she climbed out and looked over the area. “I remember that big rock over there,” she explained. “The turn off to Grandpa's place should be right here.”

“But there isn't a turnoff,” Jonni pointed out.

“I'm beginning to think you're right, Kendra,” Dawn said as she stepped out of the car now and paced up into the deep snow. “I'm getting the sense that this is taking longer.”

“Hah! Though so!” Kendra said with a smug look. “Pop the trunk. I want my wings.”

Soon enough, the three women were headed across the snowy hillside, Hawkgirl flying overhead. “I see the house up ahead!” she called back down to the others.

“Thank goodness, because this wilderness is doing nothing for my Donna Karan slacks,” Jonni grumbled. “They weren't meant for hiking through frozen tundra.”

Dawn laughed and shook her head. “I'll take you to a real wilderness and we'll see how you do with the Donna Karan then.”

They crested the hill and looked down at the mansion, surrounded by men and women in black suits, armed and wary, on guard for intruders.

“Wow, your grandfather's guest list is bigger than you told me,” Jonni said with an incredulous look.

“That's not right at all,” Dawn said as she swung her arm in a sharp arc and let her tomahawk appear in her grip. “Something's very wrong with all of this. There's a spirit at work here.”

“That's your bailiwick,” Kendra said as she swooped closer. “Jonni and I will cover you.”

The three heroines sprung into action, with Dawn using the sudden eruption of combat from Hawkgirl and Jonni Thunder to slip into the mansion.

“Okay, I don't know what sort of villainy you're up to, but I've got...you...cornered?” Dawn stopped suddenly in the dining hall and looked at the feast that was underway. Cyril Saunders and Harriet Cooper-Saunders at the head of the table, food and drink and talk filling the chamber with warmth and the Christmas glow. All heads looked up from the table and stared at her, tomahawk out and ready for battle. “Speed?”

“Cyril, please,” he said as he looked at the young woman. “Kendra finally made it?”

“Yes.”

Rima stood up and stepped to one side, as Cyril saw how the Amerindian woman stared at his wife. He glanced at Harriet, then to Rima, then finally sighed heavily. “Saturnalia?”

Rima looked at Dawn somberly as the scene around the four of them slowed, everyone else as if frozen in amber.

“When did you figure it out, Speed?” Harriet asked as she stood up and moved from the table. Her image wavered, and slowly shifted to a young-looking woman in a Romanesque toga. She was slight of build, and short of height, even shorter than Rima.

“Pretty early on. Rima told me to enjoy, so I let things slide. King can be a jerk sometimes, but he's not going to set up internment camps for political dissidents. And Steven bossing around the likes of the Demon's Head in place of his grandfather?” He laughed at that.

“I see. You're not mad?” Her eyes were clear, and sparkled like diamonds as she watched him shake his head and give a wan smile. “Good. This wasn't revenge, or a trap, or some plot for world domination.”

“What was it then?”

“I've always liked you, Speed. You're heart is like my people, like a Lord of Misrule,” she said with a wide mischievous grin. “Even when you were spoiling my plans with your friends, it was all in good fun. You know that, right?”

“Some part of me, yeah.”

“I...I wanted to give you a Christmas present, for all the good you've done, Speed. Not just me.” She looked at him, her face quavering for a moment. “I got permission first. It was a present, Speed. A grand and glorious Christmas, picture-perfect, one for the painters and poets and carol-writers. Being who I am, I had to upend things, of course, thus your friends being the villains, but..but they were still your friends, and...I did have permission to be who I was, Speed.”

Cyril Saunders stood in place and looked at the mischievous young holiday trickster he'd met seven decades before, and felt Dawn and Rima each move close and support him as he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Merry Christmas, Speed.” Saturnalia stepped up and kissed him on the cheek. “You were one of my favorite mortals. Thank you.”

“Thank you, dear. Thank you.” He watched her fade from view, and the world shimmer and shift and the dinner started up again; King, Steven, Silver all returned to who they were, as Kendra and Jonni finally stormed the dining room doors.

“What's going on? Grandpa, are you okay? Everything good here?” Kendra asked as she floated over to Cyril, as the other diners rose in response, confused, trying to understand what had happened, where the sudden arrivals had come from.

“I'm great, Kendra. Wonderful.” Cyril looked over at Rima and met her gaze and then looked at everyone else. “One last grand and glorious Christmas adventure.” He hugged Kendra tightly, and looked over at Dawn and Jonni. “Cyril Saunders. You must be Jonni Thunder. I met your great-grandfather once. If you'd let me, I'd love to give you a present, and tell you about him.”

Jonni fingered the family heirloom in her pocket, the ancient, weathered wooden thunderbird and smiled. “I'd love that, Mr. Saunders.”

He looked over the room full of friends and family and felt at peace for the first time in a long, long time. “Speed. My friends call me Speed.”