DC2 Special #6: The Naughty or Nice List

It wasn't real. Batman kept repeating the phrase to himself even as he felt dozens of tiny feet and small soft bodies crawling over him, walking on his face, worming their way under his cowl, the neckline of the bat-suit, the edges of his gloves. It wasn't real. "Real" was hanging upside-down, hands bound behind his back, a badly-wrenched shoulder, at least one cracked rib, and a deep cut on his left arm. "Real" was Scarecrow gloating over capturing him so easily and boasting about spending the rest of the night "unwrapping" him.

But he could see the tiny spiders climbing; see the fine hairs on their legs at the very periphery of his vision. Something tickled the back of his neck. It wasn't real. The ropes felt tighter than they had before. The spiders-they weren't real-seemed to be adding their own webbing to his restraints.

He could feel them swarming downward now, toward his unprotected head, and he couldn't help himself. It didn't matter that he knew he was hallucinating and that the spiders weren't real. It didn't even matter that he wasn't arachnophobic - or at least he hadn't been when the evening had started; he shuddered. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still feel them scampering, clawing, preparing to feed. Only the thought that several of them might crawl into his mouth should he open it to scream kept his teeth clenched. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It was...

It was over. The crawling and tickling sensations vanished as though they had never been. His forehead was sticky with sweat, not with webbing. The hallucination had ended.

The nightmare, however, was just beginning. Dimly, he could hear a woman's angry tones. It sounded like... Vicki? What was she doing here?

"You're crazy!" She was snapping. "Why don't you leave him alone?"

Scarecrow laughed then. "Crazy? Me?" His reedy voice drew closer as he continued speaking. "You say that in defense of a man who dresses like a bat?"

Batman opened bleary eyes to see Scarecrow standing right next to him, a corked Erlenmeyer flask in one gloved hand. Helplessly, he watched as the lanky man removed the cork and set the flask down on the ground so that he would have no choice but to breathe in its rising vapors.

"I'm not mad," Scarecrow sounded miffed. "I just like fear." His voice dropped to a friendly whisper. "This is essence de trauma, by the way." He retreated a few steps away to watch his handiwork take effect. "Anything in your childhood you'd rather not remember...?"

Between his earlier injuries and his recent ordeal, Batman was too spent to put up more than a token resistance this time. His blood was pounding in his ears; his head was throbbing as he caught the first faint whiff of something metallic.

"Fight it all you want, Batman," Scarecrow cackled. "It won't matter in the end! By morning, I'll have peeled away everything you are," he rubbed his hands together gleefully, "and then I'll find out what demonic thoughts you've spent your miserable life repressing!"

Batman tried to fight the effects of the vapor, but it was a futile effort. His body forced him to inhale, and he smelled something that reminded him stale beer and of refuse, of the night air and of old cigarettes, of Vetiver Guerlain after shave and of L'Air du Temps parfum, of cordite and of powder... and of blood on pavement... His eyes flew open even as he stifled a scream. Not this! Dear Lord, NOT THIS!

He was back in the alley, eight years old, seeing a decades-old memory as clearly as though it were happening again before his eyes. It was happening before his eyes. He bent down toward the bodies and suddenly, the ground fell away. He was leaning over the edge of a rooftop as the rain beat down upon him. The wind whipped his cape around him. And below, a figure in red, green, and yellow plummeted, a stream of blood trailing from his arm. He flung his grapnel as Joker's laughter lanced through him like the needles of wind and rain. He'd been fast enough. He had him. He'd saved Robin... this time.

Around him, the scene shifted again to the Ethiopian desert, to another Robin, and to a time when he hadn't been fast enough. Jason...

Why? Why had he gone against his original inclination and taken on another partner? Dick had been right. The boy had been too young, too careless, and now he'd paid the ultimate price. And whose fault had that been?

Don't you DARE blame me for Jason's death! DON'T YOU DARE! ...I don't need a partner. I never should have had one, and I never will again! Was that his voice screaming that... bile? He tried to suppress the memories, but the hallucinogen kept finding new breaches in his defenses. Scarecrow was winning. He strained against his bonds. He had to get out of this. If he did, he swore that he would...

Something was happening outside of these visions. He fought to shake free, to find the source of the banging and the screams and...

"My puppy! You ran over my puppy..!"

"I'm not afraid! I'm not! I'm not! I'm not!"

"Ahh... Fear! Its essence is almost palpable..! Merry Christmas, Jonathan!"

And then, a new-but-familiar voice rang out, its clarity somewhat muffled as though coming from behind fabric. "I don't care if I am afraid - I can STILL act!"

Another crash, another scream... but this time, it was Scarecrow. A slight figure in a red ski mask was calling out to him. "Batman? Batman?"

Through the remnants of a hallucinogenic fog, he saw the mask come off and registered dark hair and blue eyes. Dick? "Robin?"





No, it wasn't Robin, he realized almost immediately. It would be, before the night was over, if Tim still wanted the job, but that hadn't been who he'd thought it was. But then, the present came flooding back to him, Dick wasn't Robin anymore.

Vicki was still in a bad way. Abruptly, Batman jerked himself out of his own musings to kneel next to her. "It's okay, Vicki," he murmured soothingly. "You'll be alright." He dimly registered Scarecrow whimpering in a corner. It looked like someone had given the villain a dose of his own medicine. Good work, Tim, he thought.

He looked up to see a uniformed police officer standing in the doorway, backed by several more. They advanced cautiously into the room. Two went over to cuff Scarecrow.

He helped Vicki to her feet and nudged her toward the officers. "Get Miss Vale to the hospital," he said. "Lock him up," he pointed to Crane. "They'll both come back to normal as soon as the drug wears off."

It wasn't until they were outside the building that one of the cops turned to him and said nervously, "you don't look in great shape yourself, Batman! You want to come...?"

He was already moving off. "I've other business." He had to find Tim. The boy had come against his express orders. He was probably expecting to get his marching papers tonight. Batman couldn't blame him for the expectation. That wasn't his only business, though. It was sinking in: he could have died tonight-would have, if Tim hadn't been there. And he would have left so much... unresolved. Or at least, there was one thing in particular that he'd been putting off for far too long. He knows. He understands. Besides, we've worked together without incident since then. Why should I go over there simply to bring up the past? It's just going to reopen old wounds. Except that if those wounds haven't healed properly... maybe that's what you need to do.

He rounded the corner of the chain-link fence, drawing closer to where he'd parked the Batmobile. Tim was standing there shivering, waiting for him. Batman nodded to himself. Between the residue of Crane's concoctions and his all-too-real expectation that he'd just scuttled any chance at the Robin costume, Batman had to give him credit for sticking around. He walked up to the boy, took a deep breath, and said, "They've gone..."




Bruce drove carefully, alert to any vestigial hallucinations that might still be creeping about the edges of his consciousness.

Beside him, Tim sat with a stunned expression on his face. He was still processing what had transpired earlier. He was Robin. He was really Robin.

Bruce was grateful for the boy's silence on the way home. The last thing he wanted to do was engage in conversation. He was doing some processing of his own.

"It's not as bad as it looks, Alfred," he said wearily as he and Tim got out of the car. "Scarecrow was just... lucky tonight."

"Indeed?" Alfred was already steering him toward the medical bay. "It would seem that he was far from the only fortunate one."

Bruce didn't flinch as Alfred saw to his shoulder, but he was unable to suppress a groan when the butler's hands probed at his ribcage. "Two broken ribs, Master Bruce," Alfred remarked reproachfully. "And so soon after the last ones healed, too."

"I'm going upstairs," Tim said softly. It was obvious that he wasn't needed here.

"A moment, young sir," Alfred turned away from Bruce and, with a speed and a strength that belied his age, grasped Tim's arm with one hand and jabbed a needle into it with the other. "Fear toxin antidote," he replied, cutting off the boy's protest before he could say a word. "Just a precautionary measure. Now, off to bed with you, Master Timothy." There was a definite twinkle in the older man's eye.

After Tim had gone upstairs, Bruce dropped his stoic facade with a groan.

"Putting on a brave face for the children, were we, sir?" Alfred asked as he swabbed alcohol over one of the still-oozing wounds. "I suppose it would be too much to hope that you would allow me to apply a local to that," he prodded another long cut, eliciting a hissing intake of breath, "before I stitch it up."

Bruce was about to demur, but he hesitated despite himself.

"I assure you, sir that your compatriots in the Justice League will never hear of the lapse from me."

Bruce glowered. Alfred patted his cheek-which rather spoiled the effect.

"Fine," he gritted through clenched teeth. Then, a moment later, "thanks, Alfred."

Alfred smiled. "You are most welcome, sir."

Bruce hesitated. "Alfred... did... did I get Dick something for Christmas, this year?"

"Most certainly," Alfred replied. "I'd telephoned him last month to ensure that your gift to him would be something that he would fully appreciate. "

"Ah." Bruce frowned. "So... what did he ask for? A car?"

Alfred shook his head. "This year, Master Dick requested that a donation in his name be made to the Showmen's League of America."

Bruce blinked. Certainly, the Showmen's League did good work providing financial aid to those injured, disabled, or retired performers who did not have funds of their own available, but hadn't Dick wanted something for himself as well?

Alfred regarded Bruce with a gentle smile. "It was a most generous contribution, sir. Master Dick was extremely grateful."

Bruce nodded. "Alfred, would you know where he is today?"

"Well, sir, he had mentioned to me that barring an alien invasion, a H.I.V.E insurgency, or a natural disaster, the Teen Titans plan to spend the morning at their Tower, and then disperse to bring cheer to various children's charities through New York City. Of course, given the Titans' usual activities, none of the aforementioned conditions can be ruled out."

"Of course." Bruce thought for a moment. "Alfred, get me on the first flight to New York-this morning, if possible." Seeing the butler's expression, he continued, "I want to get there today, my private jet isn't fueled, and I don't want to land the Bat-copter on the roof of Titans' Tower."

Alfred eyed him searchingly for a moment. "Very good, Master Bruce. I shall see to it directly, then. Just as soon as I finish patching you up."




Alfred outdid himself. Not only was Bruce airborne as of 9:15 that morning, but there was a Cadillac DTS awaiting him when his plane landed at LaGuardia, 50 minutes later. As he made his way through Manhattan, he noticed that the morning traffic was considerably lighter than it had been on any of his other visits. Even the "city that never sleeps" was evidently capable of a brief nap. The streets were clear of snow, although there was a light dusting of white covering the stoops and window sills as he drove past. It didn't take him long to reach the pier.

Bruce considered his options. He could take one of the T-Barges across. True, they required a Titans identity card to operate, but he had his own ways to get around that. Still, he was coming to visit Dick, not to invade his home-base-which was why he'd decided against landing his own aircraft on the Titans' helicopter pad in the first place. Looking around, he spied an intercom. "This is Bruce Wayne requesting access," he said when the electronic voice demanded his business.

There was a long pause. Then, a disbelieving, but familiar voice came on. "Bruce? What are you doing here? Why didn't you call, first?"

"I..." I wanted to surprise you. I thought there might be a better chance of your being in if you didn't know that I was coming. I thought that maybe if we spoke on the phone, I'd decide that it was enough and not come. "It's Christmas," he said simply.

It proved the right thing to say. There was a surprised chuckle on the other end of the intercom. "So it is. Hang on. I'll take a boat out to meet you." The intercom clicked off.




"So," Nightwing asked on the way back to the Tower, "You came all the way out here just to wish me a Merry Christmas?"

Bruce hesitated. "No," he said carefully. "Not entirely."

Dick sighed, but there was no real rancor in it. "I figured. Okay, is it something in Gotham that's leaking over into New York? Or did you need me to come back to Gotham with you?"

"What?"

Dick blinked. "I knew you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for business. So, what's up? Did you track some lead or other over my way? Or is there a problem in Gotham that you need my help with? Or our help? Or..." He glanced at the man sitting next to him. Then he did a double-take as the realization hit: "Bruce? You... Where's your costume?"

Bruce shifted position. "In Gotham. I wasn't expecting to need it today."

Dick brought the T-Barge over to the island dock. "Are you alright?"

He gave a slight nod. "I'm fine."

"Okay," Dick said dubiously. "We're here. I just need to moor the boat."

Bruce waited for him to tie the craft down before he disembarked. Dick followed. "You're sure you're okay?" He asked again.

Bruce hesitated.

"If it's not you... Is Tim...?"

"He's doing well," Bruce said quickly. "Extremely well. He's nowhere near your original skill level, of course. I..." It occurred to him that, perhaps, it would be best not to wait until they were both inside and surrounded by the rest of the Titans. He reached into his coat pocket and brought out the small gift-wrapped box. "This is for you."

Dick frowned. "I told Alfred I didn't need anything this year," he said, even as his hand stretched out to accept the package. He caught himself. "I mean... thanks. But, seriously, I've already got everything I want."

Bruce nodded. "I can understand that. Still, maybe you should open it anyway."

Dick gave an exaggerated sigh and began to work at the scotch tape that was holding the wrapping paper together. "Sure," he said with obviously-feigned nonchalance. "I guess I can see what was so important you had to get all the way out here to give..." he got the paper off in a single piece "...to me in pers..." his voice trailed off as he lifted the lid. "Oh. My. G-"

"I wasn't sure if you still had one after all," Bruce ventured, "but I couldn't think of another way to... to convey to..." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry that I ordered you to surrender it and... sorrier than you can possibly know about my... actions prior to making that demand." As if for emphasis, he brought his fingers to the corner of Dick's mouth and traced an imaginary line to his chin.

Dick shook his head. "I caught you off-guard. I was so sure you'd want to talk about-"

"I did want to talk about him," Bruce cut him off. "But not then. And that still doesn't excuse what I did." He paused. "When I found you in the cave," he said quietly, "I'd been trying to find Joker. He'd gone down in the Hudson, but they'd never recovered his body. I'd been visiting his known haunts in Gotham, trying to find someone who'd heard word of him, so I could make... make him pay." He gripped Dick's shoulder firmly. "I know you didn't come to Gotham to blame me for his death. I blamed me. I tried to lose myself in hunting for Joker - it was easier to have someone else to hold accountable, but... you didn't do anything other than state what had been at the back of my mind all the time."

"Bruce." Dick sighed. "If you thought I was blaming you, then you're not the only person with something to apologize for." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I didn't have the facts and I didn't know the details. I got back from a deep-space mission and basically got the news broken to me as 'Oh, by the way, guess who kicked the bucket while you were gone?'"

Bruce stared at him. His hand tightened on Dick's shoulder. He couldn't believe that anyone would have informed him that callously.

"So, when I heard," Dick continued, "I didn't think it over, I just..." His eyes widened. "I wanted to get the whole story, but the way I asked... Sheesh! No wonder you thought -"

"None of which, in any way justifies the manner in which I reacted." Bruce closed his eyes. "There was no excuse for my hitting you. None. You can try to approach the incident from various angles and you'll perhaps find various factors that can explain my actions, but not one that would exonerate them." He shook his head again. "I'm sorry."

There was a long pause. Then, Bruce felt a hand sink slowly onto his own shoulder. "We were just sitting down to breakfast when you buzzed," Dick said. "Or 'brunch', I guess. Did you eat, yet?"

Bruce opened his eyes.

Dick sighed mockingly. "You just flew in straight from patrol, didn't you?"

"Alfred patched me up first."

"Hold it." Dick frowned. "You got hurt last night?"

Bruce started to shrug. Then he thought better of it. "I'll heal. But there were a few moments when that was by no means certain. I... It occurred to me that this matter should have been resolved before and..." He looked away. Was he going to have to finish the sentence?

"So, you haven't eaten," Dick said, mercifully removing the necessity. "Fine. Let's see if there's anything left by this time. If there isn't, there's got to be some place in Manhattan that'll be open for breakfast, today." He winced. "Now, I'm sorry all I sent you was a card."

Bruce shook his head. "Don't be. I've been told, on more than one occasion, that I'm a difficult person to shop for. Alfred did tell me that you already have plans for this afternoon?"

"Yeah. Nightwing's due to put in an appearance at Morgan Stanley Children's Hospital." He looked apologetic. "If it was any other appointment, I'd try to get out of it, but they've got the kids all excited. I can't just..."

"Of course not." Bruce wouldn't have expected otherwise. "When you're finished, though, I thought perhaps you'd come ho - come back to Gotham? Christmas dinner won't be the same without you."

Dick grinned. "Sure. I'll be there. Around six?"

"Yes, but we'll wait if it takes you longer." He grimaced. "I'm not going to be up to patrolling tonight, in any case."

"You're sure you're alright?"

"Yes," Bruce nodded. "I just need a bit more time to heal." He hesitated. "I wasn't sure if you'd be able to get away, so I had Alfred book me on a return flight for two o'clock. I should be heading back to the airport in about an hour or so," he said apologetically. "I would have had him book a seat for you, too, but I wasn't sure -"

"Don't worry about it," Dick interrupted with a grin. "Almost nobody flies on Christmas Day. It won't be too hard for me to get on a later flight, when I'm done. And if you and Alfred are out doing something last minute," he took the house key out of the gift box and held it up, "don't worry about it. I'll just use my gift to let myself in and wait for you."

“Hey, what do you say we both be independent together, huh?”

“You wouldn't mind my… red nose?”

“Not if you don't mind me being a dentist.”

“It's a deal.”

“Fascinating.” Brainiac chipped in from his perch on a couch cushion, “My databases did not indicate that Earth’s rangifer tarandus possessed phosphorescent olfactory qualities.”

Kara Zor-el snorted from where she was sprawled out across one of Linda’s beanbags and wondered if she was going to regret finally removing Brainiac from her ship and jury-rigging him into a portable container so he could observe something other than the inside of a barn.

“It’s a cartoon!” she chided him and rolled her eyes. “Now be quiet! I’m trying to watch.”

Brainiacs lights flashed as he processed her reply. “I fail to see how entertainment designed for juvenile humans will help you understand Earth culture. If you are going to spend your time in front of this… television, you should be viewing adult material.”

Linda entered the room in enough time to catch the end of his reply. “Not in my house she isn’t!”

Kara buried her face into the beanbag and moaned into the vinyl as her skin flushed crimson.

“I was merely suggesting that Kara view age-appropriate programming to help her better gain a understanding of your culture, Ms. Danvers.” Brainiac replied.

“I think you know what you meant but I don’t think you know what you said.” Linda smiled. “Even so remind me to show you daytime TV sometime and let you rethink your statement. Besides, it’s Christmas Eve. Nothing wrong with a little holiday entertainment.”

Kara peeked over the indention in the bag. “Speaking of holidays, you still haven’t explained what this “Christmas” is anyway. And why don’t we have a lighted tree like everyplace else?”

“I’ve… never been one for decorating.” Linda said and her smile weakened. “I figured it’d be easier to show you what Christmas is. You want to go out?”

Kara deliberately tried to push the image of the dusty boxes in the top of the hall closet marked “x-mas decorations” out of her mind as she stood up. “Sure.”





Linda managed to weave her jeep amongst the congested traffic and find a parking spot in front of the Midnight Rooster coffeehouse. The wind loudly rippled the plastic that substituted for windows on the jeep in poor weather and, even though the bitter cold didn’t phase her, she was grateful for the warmth from the heater that the covering kept in.

“What are we doing here? This is the place we always go to,” Kara asked. “Did you want a drink first?”

“Nope. I wanted to show you something,” Linda said, opening the door as Kara hopped out her side. “Follow me around back.”

The two trudged around to the back of the trendy storefront to encounter several cafeteria style tables set up around back with large metal containers and a few of the store’s workers pouring out steaming coffee into styrofoam cups for a large group of shabbily dressed men and women.

“What is this?” Kara asked, puzzled.

“This is Christmas.” Linda replied.

“Coffee to the homeless?”

“Christmas is a time of giving,” Linda said.

“I thought Christmas was some sort of religious holiday?”

“To many it is,” Linda said, “but Christmas is a time of giving, no matter what your beliefs are.”

“So what about getting presents and Santa Claus?”

“Ah,” Linda said with a smile, “the pleasure there is as much for the giver as to the person receiving the gift. Take a look and see for yourself.”

Linda motioned again towards the tables and Kara could see that, despite the poor weather, none of the workers seemed unhappy and many were smiling, shaking hands and talking with the small group of people who had gathered.

“They’re doing good, Kara. Even if it is something as simple as a few cups of coffee, it means a lot to others who find it hard to stay warm or to even get something that we take for granted.”

Linda turned back and walked to the front of the store and took a left down the sidewalk, deftly making her way through the crowds. Kara followed although not without a few jostlings and hurried apologies.

“But what about Santa Claus?” she asked again as she finally caught up to Linda who was going into a department store.

“I’ll show you.”




The two entered the bustling store and Linda guided Kara towards the large center area where a long line of children and parents stood in line to see Santa sitting on a brightly colored throne as a photographer offered to sell pictures to their parents.

Kara shrugged. “I don’t see it, Linda. There isn’t any giving here. It’s just a bunch of children asking for things for Christmas.”

“You’ve got super ears. Use them,” Linda said, leaning against a garlanded railing. “We’ve got a few minutes to kill.”

Kara concentrated on filtering out the tinny carols coming through the store’s intercom system and the random noise from the crowd. After a few minutes of listening to requests for the newest video games and toys, a faint scared whisper of “I want my mommy back” reached her hearing.

Linda leaned in and said to Kara after observing her shocked reaction, “I don’t know what you heard but sometimes the fondest wish is nothing but selfless giving and wanting nothing more in the whole world.”

“But Linda…” Kara said. “That wish can’t happen.”

“Maybe and maybe not, Kara, but they believe it can. Christmas is also a time of hope. Where we believe the impossible can happen and who knows? It just might.”

“Great Rao, Linda, that’s terrible!” Kara exclaimed and drew a few stares before lowering her voice. “And what happens to that child when their wish doesn’t come true?”

“They keep hoping. It might never happen but you have to have faith that, if no other time of the year, Christmas is a magical time. If you can’t put faith in Santa, who can you trust?”

“There is that religious thing.” Kara pointed out.

Linda cracked a smile. “Try telling that to a kid. He has more trust in a guy in a red suit that comes down chimneys and leaves gifts. In the end though, what does it matter? A messiah, a talking snowman with a magic hat… as long as there is hope.”

“This is all very confusing” Kara mumbled.

“Buck up, girl. Christmas is best experienced than told.”

“Like a science experiment?”

“Kinda like that.”

They left the store and trudged down a few more blocks passing another Santa ringing a bell in front of a little kettle. Linda tossed in some coins from her coat pocket as did other passers-by.

“More giving?” Kara asked.

“More giving.” Linda nodded.




They walked along in silence for a few more blocks, Linda admiring the colorful decorations, the smells of the city’s food wafting out of eateries and the hustle and bustle of the holidays. Kara was deep in thought.

A woman’s shriek snapped both women out of their own thoughts. “Stop thief!” rang out as a man in a bulky coat rudely shoved his way past them, a box clutched to his chest. Kara’s arm instinctively shot out to grab him but she misjudged and came away with just air.

She was about ready to run after the man when a large fluorescent day-glo green spring leapt from the crowd and enveloped the man’s legs, sending him and the box sprawling. A small man in a brown suit and a polka-dot bow tie snatched up the Mr. Miracle Perilous Escapes Action Playset from the ground before it could be stepped on.

An older woman ran up, breathing heavily in the cold air and smiled in relief as the funny looking man offered her the toy back. “How could you, sir?” he berated the thief. “Stealing a child’s toy for Christmas? Have you no shame?”

The woman said, “This was for my grandson. Thank you so much, mister…?”

“Schott, madam. Mister Schott” he bowed.

Everyone’s attention was drawn to the arrival of a police officer who pushed his way through the crowd. “See here!” he said, “What’s going on?”

The woman told everything to the policeman but, when she got to explaining Mr. Schott’s intervention, the short man had disappeared into the crowd.

Kara and Linda left once they saw that the law had everything under control.

“That was really weird,” Kara observed. “Why’d you want to steal a toy of all things and who the heck carries around a giant spring on them?”

“Those Mr. Miracles are the hottest toy this year and they’re really hard to get one. They’re selling online for three to four times what they really cost… and I have no idea. We’ve been getting some really strange folks about lately.”

“Outside of voodoo masters, robot duplicates and a homicidal tree-man,” Kara smirked, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah,” Linda agreed. “Hard to believe it’s barely been a year. Time flies when you’re terrified for your life.”

“Please,” Kara brushed her off with a michevious smile, “You’ve saved my life more than I have yours.”

“Good thing for you I’m a crack shot with a flare gun.” Linda laughed.

“I’ll just call you ‘Deadeye’ from now on.” Kara grinned and they both shared a laugh.




They went a few more blocks and Kara began to wonder if Linda really did have a plan or if she was just wandering about. As much as she loved the city, she was really hoping to make it home in time to catch White Christmas.

The cough of a loud diesel engine caught their attention and they saw a camouflaged army truck turn the corner and inch forward along with the bumper-to-bumper traffic in this section of town.

“Trouble?” Linda asked.

“Dunno. I haven’t heard any giant rampaging monsters. I’d be our luck for Godzilla to show up on Christmas Eve wouldn’t it? I’ll find out. Cover me.” Kara shot as she ducked into a darkened alleyway only to fly out in her Supergirl outfit seconds later.

She swooped up into the sky and then looped around to fly alongside the cab. “Is there a problem?” she said over the traffic that was now getting even slower as drivers stopped to stare at the arrival of a genuine superhero.

“Toys for Tots, m’am.” The passenger, a young lieutenant, wearing a Santa suit and a BDU cap did a double-take but managed to stammer out. “We’re never going to make it to the orphanage in time with this.” He motioned to the snarl of cars ahead of them.

“No problem,” Kara grinned and glanced quickly over at Linda who got the message that she’d be gone for a little bit. “You guys are getting the express route tonight.”

Kara planted her back against the front radiator, gripped the front bumper and lifted the front of the two-ton truck off the road while she slowly walked backwards shouldering the rest of the weight until she had the vehicle’s weight balanced against her back.

They lifted slowly off into the air with Kara getting directions from the driver who was leaning out of his window and yelling them down to her, while trying to navigate by the unfamiliar aerial route.

Lieutenant Finney gripped his door handle tight but grinned over at his driver. “The Major’ll never believe this in a million years.”

“Doubt it, sir, but you might want to put on your beard. We’ll be coming in hot to a whole yard of kids and this is gonna make one hell of a show.”

And his hapless driver wasn’t wrong. Children streamed from the building after others spotted a truck coming down into their yard.

“Make way for Santa!” Kara grinned and yelled down at them.

In the end it was a complete toss up as to who got the most attention, Santa and his toys or the superhero who brought him. Neither of the two really seemed to consider it a contest and Kara had to beg the local reporter who was there to cover the story to not take her picture for the paper. She wanted the focus to be on what good was done for the children and not herself. Soon the children were hustled off to bed and Kara and the two soldiers left.

“Would you two mind doing me a favor?” she asked hesitantly.

“After tonight, you just have to ask,” Lt. Finney said gratefully.




Linda took the time while Kara was going to window shop and to secretly buy Kara a few CDs and a new pair of jeans she wanted. She showed up a bit later than Linda expected but she did so with a smile.

“I’m still not completely sure I understand but I’m getting there. Let’s call it a night?” She asked.

Linda agreed and they drove home listening to the radio station that had been playing Christmas music since Thanksgiving and both of them singing badly to carols.

All of the lights in the house were blazing as they drove up.

They exchanged looks. They hadn’t left any lights on.

“You take the front and I’ll take the back,” Kara said. “Wait for me first.”

Linda waited tersely, a heavy fallen branch from a tree gripped like a club, until she heard the back door slam open and she quickly rushed inside the front door.

And stopped dumbfounded.

Her artificial tree had somehow gotten out of the attic and the decorations from the closet had come out as well. In fact, her living room was now the epitome of Christmas. There was also four National Guardsmen there waiting as “The Best Things Happen While You’re Dancing” came from the TV.

Linda quickly shot a look at the back door to see Kara leaning against the frame in her Supergirl outfit again with a mischievous smile that sent the dread racing into Linda’s veins.

“Lieutenant Finney and his men here just couldn’t bear hearing that a nice lonely and single woman had no time to decorate.”

Linda smiled weakly. So help me God I’m going to kill her!

“Merry Christmas, Miss Danvers.” Kara smiled and flew off into the night.

This very Christmas Eve
Kendra Saunders nursed the heavy glass mug of beer in her hand. She slowly sipped at the golden liquid and just continued to stare at nothing. That was hard to do with this bar: set in the center of the Phantom Paradise Casino, lights glittered everywhere, rock music filled the air from another room, chips rattled and coins jingled. The raucous chorus of lights and sounds fought hard to separate people from the reality of Christmas outside, and engage the senses within, but none of it penetrated the athletic woman.

So much changes in a year, she mused inwardly as she drank her beer. She'd reconnected with her grandfather in a special way, just a year ago this very night. The other day, she'd been reminded of that so sharply when she learned she inherited the bulk of his estate. When she sprained her ankle; when she'd broken her arm; when she'd graduated high school after so many years of delinquent behavior, and with grades enough to get into a good school, with some minor scholarships. Speed had been there to help with the rest. When he needed her, he died alone.

She swallowed the rest of the beer bitterly, then slapped the mug onto the bar heavily. The girls had tried very hard to make Christmas happen at the offices of the Thunder Detective Agency, and the corner of Kendra's mouth twitched into the briefest of smiles. Cindy, Halo and Amy were getting along famously already. Kendra shook her head and gestured for another beer.

Dawn and Jonni planned a Christmas party for that night. They even got an invite to her cousin Greg Saunders, but business with the Seven Soldiers had kept him in Texas this year. She sighed at the thought and in her heart, she knew better. It wasn't business, Greg wasn't like that. He was all about family, she bitterly thought, and chugged at the new beer.

“You got someone wants to talk with ya,” the bartender said as he pointed over to the bar's street entrance. Only one of several doors into this section of the Casino, this one emptied out onto a side street, a little darker, less noticed, the perfect entrance for Kendra when she sought out where to drown her self-pity. “Good-looking blond guy too,” he added with a wink.

She glanced up to the reflective center post the bar wrapped around, and she saw him: slim and athletic, blond hair and bright eyes, friendly smile combined with a warm wave. She spun around to look at the youthful version of her grandfather she'd known through pictures and home movies, but living up to his name, he'd already slipped back to the door.

“Grandpa!” Kendra called out urgently. She leaped off the stool, and dashed through the door. She looked one way then the other, then back, desperately seeking out Cyril Saunders, young or not. He'd not be the first hero to return from the dead, and her heart leaped into her throat. It was cold, overcast, gloomy; the slate-gray clouds mixed with rust red reflected from the Nevada district of Platinum Flats, and it made the scene more surreal. Especially as she realized quite quickly that there was no one out there.

Then she heard a crash from around the corner, followed by more such noises, and instinct took over. She ran around to see into the alley, where a rough-looking gang staggered over hastily-tossed garbage cans and dislodged wooden pallets.

“C'mon, Ren, c'mere, we gonna get you anyway, and blondie here ain't stoppin' us,” the lead punk sneered as he slapped a heavy wooden bat in his hand, and she could make out a vicious spike pounded through it.

The other three laughed with him, each with some nasty, makeshift bludgeon in their hands, and Kendra looked past them to make out a younger pair of teens. The girl hobbled, her other foot dragging as a blond-haired youngster leaped up to grab a fire escape and swung his feet into one gang member who'd strayed too close. “Blondie? That's not my nickname, you morons!” he said with a laugh as he dropped back down in front of the girl.

“Why do you keep calling me Ren? My name's Katie, and I didn't mean to wander into the park, I just wanted to see the lights, and why are you doing this?” Katie cried out as she pressed up against the brick wall that ended the alleyway.

“Yer Ren 'cause it's Christmas time, and that's what Ren Boys do, we catch a pretty bird and break her up for the new year,” the leader said with a laugh.

“That's the most twisted up version of Christmas I've heard,” the boy said as he clenched his fists, ready for the last stand, eyes twinkling with mischief. Kendra knew that look, knew that even now, his mind raced with ways to get out of this.

“It's true,” Kendra called out past the gang as she stepped closer. She smiled now, a grimmer smile, as she felt something stirring in her. “Old, old tradition, from England. My grandfather told me about it. Wren boys, but that was about finding a little bird, a wren. And it was treated with respect at the end. And yeah, it was messed up, but nothing like this.”

“Listen, lady, just back off, or you'll get what's comin' to ya for gettin' between us and our bird,” the punk with the spiked bat grumbled, his weapon pointed at her.

Kendra rolled her eyes and shucked off her jacket, then dragged off her shirt to reveal the top of her costume. The four punks stared at the bizarre behavior, as the blond kid quietly helped Katie up the fire escape thanks to the distraction. “It may not look like it, but you're in big, big trouble. See, I don't have my wings, but I'm Hawkgirl. I don't have my helmet, or my mace, or my cestus, but I'm Hawkgirl. I kicked Starbreaker's ass. I knocked SPIDER out of commission, and punched it out with Prometheus, among a bunch of others. Look in my eyes.” She glared at them as she took a fighting stance, her fists high and ready. “Do you believe me?”

The Ren Boys stared back at her, and tried to be all strong, and tried to be all tough, swaggering as they looked at the woman. But slowly, each of their weapons dropped to the alley floor; and each Ren Boy shuffled quietly past Hawkgirl, and slipped out onto the street, then ran off into the night. “I still got it,” she muttered as she grabbed her jacket and shirt back.

“All clear,” she called up to the blond boy and Katie. She helped the girl with the sprained ankle down to the ground and then watched as the other one bounded off and landed with grace and a grin.

“Thanks so much,” Katie said with a big hug. “Thank you thank you!”

“No problem. It's what I do,” she assured Katie. “And you? Who are you?”

“My name's Sidney, but my friends call me Speed, 'cause I'm the fastest kid on the track team,” the blond boy said with a grin as he shook her hand. “You have to teach me that whole staredown thing, that was awesome!”

Kendra smiled at him, and shook her head at the impossibility. She shivered as she slipped back into her jacket. “Speed, huh? Okay then, well, you're welcome, and also...thank you.”

“Thanks? Me? I mean, I did my best for Katie, and happy to do it, but you? You saved us,” Sidney said with a quizzical look.

Kendra felt the connection growing; her grandfather's trail, his special time of year, that kept him young for decades, no matter how old he was. She felt something cold touch her cheek and noticed snowfall, and she smiled brighter. A year can make a lot of changes; last year, she bonded with Speed Saunders in a way she never thought she could. A year later, she bonded with him in a way she never could have expected.

“We're going to get you two to a rocking Christmas party with my family, and then we'll call your folks and tell them you're both okay.” She put an arm around each of their shoulders and slowly headed out to the street to find a cab. “And then maybe, if you behave, 'Speed', I'll explain to you what you did tonight.”