I just checked the calendar and it looks like it's that time of year again. Christmas Fic time!
The proposition was so absurd Crane wasn't sure he'd heard it correctly. When he asked the happy harlequin across the table to repeat herself, she confirmed his ears hadn't failed him.
"You'd like to recruit me for…secret Santa?" Crane asked. "Did every other human on Earth die without me noticing? I should be the last person you'd expect a nice gift from."
Harley fidgeted. "Here's the thing, Professor. I'm gettin' kinda desperate. I asked everybody I know, and I ended up with an odd number. That ain't gonna work for secret Santa, 'cause somebody's gonna end up with no gift."
"You asked Ivy?"
Harley nodded.
"Nigma?"
Another nod.
"Tetch? Wesker? Walker? Fries? Cobblepot? Dent? Day? Zeus?"
"Everybody! Well, everybody I'm not mad at. And I didn't ask anybody who tried to kill me this year. Not countin' them, everybody. I even found Killer Croc and asked him!"
Crane scoffed. "I'm sure your dedication was rewarded. Of this multitude you asked, how many agreed to participate?"
Harley counted on her fingers. "Me, Red, Eddie, Jervis, and Killer Croc. Moth Guy said he would have, but he was gonna spend Christmas with his family in Jersey."
"Harley, when someone prefers Jersey over- Wait, did you say Croc agreed? Are you sure? Does he still have the capacity to understand? Ugh, even if he does, what's he going to bring? A chunk of dead sealion? A severed human arm?"
"It'll be a surprise!" Harley replied, as though the thought of receiving dead meat of unknown origin for Christmas was just as nice as getting a shiny new toy.
"I don't want to shop for Croc."
"Does that mean you'll do it?" Harley asked.
"If I don't have to buy or steal a gift for a reptile, I'll consider it."
Harley jumped up and whooped. Before Crane could protest, Harley was hugging him. He endured that little indignity for as long as he could tolerate—about five seconds—before disentangling himself.
"To whom do I play Santa?" Crane asked.
"Let's find out," Harley replied. "We gotta do it fair, so I'll write everybody's name on a piece of paper, put 'em in a bag, and pick 'em out one at a time. Uh, Professor, you got any paper? And a pen? And a bag?"
After some rummaging, Crane produced everything Harley required. She tore the paper into six strips, wrote everyone's name on one, and then dropped the strips into the paper bag Crane had provided. Harley gave the bag a strong shake. Now that fairness was guaranteed, she reached a hand into the bag and pulled out the first name.
"It's Jervis," Harley announced.
That wouldn't be awful, Crane supposed. Tetch would be easy to shop for; in his twisted mental state, a packet of tea or a thrift shop copy of Alice in Wonderland would send him into spasms of joy.
Harley went questing into the bag again and produced the second name. It was her own. Her ear-stabbing squeal let Crane know she was pleased with this.
"Jervis makes the best cookies. And teacakes. And tea. And-"
"Yes, just be careful to inspect any headgear he might attempt to gift you," Crane said.
"Come on, Professor, Jervis doesn't have lice," Harley replied.
Crane sputtered. "Lice?! The little pervert is infamous for brainwashing blondes and your concern is for lice?!"
"Jervis would never try anythin' with me," Harley said, crossing her arms.
"That's what all the 'Alices' thought, I'm sure," Crane muttered. Given Harley's defensive posturing, he declined to say it any louder or push the issue. If Harley wanted to believe the Hatter was nothing but an eccentric purveyor of baked goods who happened to have a penchant for fancy top hats and white rabbits, she could do it at her peril.
"Forget I said anything. Who's next?" Crane asked, gesturing to the bag of names.
Harley dug out a strip of paper and laid it on the table. It bore Ivy's name. Crane considered how he felt about the prospect of being paired with Poison Ivy. No doubt it would end with him giving her a plant and taking one home himself. And then spending a great deal of time side-eying the plant, expecting it to attack him the first time he neglected to water it.
As much as Crane didn't look forward to the prospect of plant paranoia, it might be the best he could hope for. The remaining two candidates—Nigma and Killer Croc—would each be awful in their own way. With Croc, the issue was clear: he was a barely-human, hulking eating machine that would probably be better off in a zoo instead of an insane asylum. Nigma was an insufferable diva who would never be satisfied with anything Crane chose for him and would no doubt bitch profusely about it.
Crane still hadn't decided what his preference was by the time Harley dug out the match for Ivy. When Harley laid the paper on the table, Crane couldn't hide his grimace.
"I told you, no lizard."
"I didn't do it on purpose!" Harley protested. "You saw, I shook the bag a bunch!"
Crane sighed. "That wasn't an accusation. Just switch them around. Let Nigma deal with Croc."
Harley shook her head. "It should be fair."
"Damn it, have you been spending too much time with Dent? Fair? We're legally insane super villains playing Santa Claus to each other! All you have to do is tell a little white lie to the Riddler," Crane said.
Harley's lower lip began to tremble in a way Crane didn't like. He glared at her. How dare she come to his home, harass him until he caved, and then have the audacity to attempt emotional manipulation.
Lip still shaking, Harley turned on her puppy eyes. Crane grimaced at the display.
"I-I will leave!" Crane threatened.
"Please?" Harley pleaded. Her eyes grew impossibly larger and wetter. "Please, please, pretty please with sprinkles and ice cream?"
"Fine! I'll take the bloody reptile! If he chews off any of my limbs, I'm holding you responsible!"
"Yay!" Harley scurried away from the table to call everyone and let them know who their Santa would be.
Two days later, Crane stood in front of the meat counter of a local grocery store. He eyed steaks, chops, sausages, ribs, drumsticks, and massive roasts.
"Anything I can help you with?" the butcher behind the counter asked.
"I need meat…for Christmas," Crane explained badly.
"You mean you need something to cook or you're giving someone meat? Wait, let me rephrase that so I don't get fired. Is someone getting the gift of meat? That is even worse." The butcher winced. "I think you get my drift."
"The latter," Crane said. "I am giving someone meat."
"Do you know what they like? Pork, beef, chicken?"
"They are a garbage disposal. They will eat trash straight from the harbor."
"Uh-huh, so nothing fancy. Okay, if you're looking to get the best bang for your buck, we've got a nice sale on pork shoulder. We've also got whole chickens if you want something more versatile."
Crane bent down to examine his options. Seeing the chickens triggered memories of many nature documentaries. Crane could picture a zookeeper dangling a whole chicken over a crocodile enclosure and giant hungry reptiles erupting from the water to grab it.
"Chicken," Crane decided.
"Great." The butcher removed a plump, headless carcass from the case and placed it on the scale.
"I'm going to need more than one," Crane interrupted.
"How many more?"
"All of them. Might as well throw in that pork shoulder."
"You're really going to make someone's Christmas," the butcher said, piling on the meat.
It took several minutes for the butcher to weigh, wrap, and bag everything. Once he was done, he gave Crane the total.
Crane made a show of patting his pockets and, alas, finding no wallet. "Though you've been most helpful, I seem to be lacking funds."
Before the poor man could say a word, he found himself choking on a toxic cloud. As the butcher began to scream in terror, Crane grabbed the bags filled with meat and bolted for the door. He would have loved to stick around and witness the chaos his fear toxin delivered, but time was of the essence. He had thirty or forty pounds of perishable flesh and he needed a freezer.
On Christmas morning, at the appointed time and at the appointed deserted rowhouse, Crane came bearing gifts. He knocked on the door in the ridiculous code Harley had specified, and the door swung open before he was remotely close to finished.
"Professor Crane! Come on in." Harley gave him a quick squeeze before dragging him into the house.
Harley had worked her magic on the drab building. While the outside looked fit for demolition, she had decorated the hell out of the inside. She'd strung garland, tinsel, decorative lights and a menagerie of festive wreaths on the walls and ceiling. Harley led Crane through the decked halls and into the living room.
Crane found he was the second person to arrive. Poison Ivy was already seated in the least-decrepit armchair. She acknowledged Crane with a slight nod.
"Don't worry about the furniture, I fumigated it all," Ivy said.
"It's appreciated," Crane replied, selecting the second-least-decrepit armchair.
Over the next ten minutes, two more guests arrived. Jervis plopped down on the couch and was almost skewered by an errant spring. Upon seeing the state of the furniture Nigma grimaced as though he'd stepped in something that had come from the back end of a dog.
"I'll stand," the Riddler said when offered a chair.
Harley gave Nigma a thumbs up and then strolled back to her position by the door. Left alone to their own devices, the four villains entered an uncomfortable purgatory.
Except for Jervis, who was a fountainhead of cheer. "The time has come to talk of many things: of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings."
Ivy saved the day by producing a stack of colored construction paper and encouraging Jervis to fold it into paper hats. He forgot all about making conversation and got to work.
"Now we can go back to sitting here in silence like adults," she said.
The silence, punctuated only by an occasional happy exclamation from Jervis, stretched on for twenty minutes. Just when everyone had decided Croc was never going to show, there was a knock on the front door loud enough to rattle the plaster.
Moments later, Harley ushered the massive, scaly form of Killer Croc into the living room. He had a bag clutched in one claw. The bag was dripping.
"Hooray, now everybody's here," Harley said. "Let's get started."
Jervis and Harley exchanged first. She handed him a wrapped package. He pulled the present to his chest and hugged it.
"I love it," Jervis said.
"Does he know he's supposed to open it?" Nigma asked.
"He doesn't have to if he doesn't want to," Harley replied. She then grabbed the box Jervis had brought for her and gave it a shake. The box produced the sound of jingling bells. Harley, even more intrigued, tore into the box.
She pulled out a black and red jester's cap resplendent with gold bells. Harley lifted the cap into the air and, despite Ivy and Crane both urging caution, slammed it down on her head. She shook her head and unleashed a jingling cacophony.
"I'm gonna wear it forever!" Harley exclaimed. "Thanks, Jervis!"
Harley, her hat ringing with every small motion, urged the next pair to commence the gift-giving. Nigma and Ivy offered each other gifts wrapped in green paper. Ivy unwrapped hers first and discovered a tiny bag of seeds.
"Those came from the Siberian permafrost," Nigma said. "I have no idea what they'll grow into, but if anyone can make good use of mysterious ancient seeds from Russia, it would be you."
While Ivy planned how she would encourage the long-dormant seeds to germinate, Nigma opened his present. He found a toucan plush toy and a certificate.
"What's it say?" Harley asked.
"Hmm, apparently I saved a hundred acres of the Amazon rainforest for Christmas. And all I got was this bird," Nigma replied.
"You also got oxygen, a natural weapon against climate change, and protection for untold numbers of plants," Ivy said.
"I stand corrected. Which is my least-favorite way to stand," Nigma said sourly.
"You can fight about it later," Harley said, butting in before Nigma's big mouth could earn him an even bigger ass-kicking. "We still got two Santas left."
Crane gave Croc a long, wary look. Croc snorted and wiped his snout against his heavily scaled arm.
"Merry Christmas," Crane managed. He inched as close to Croc as he dared and held out the large duffle bag he'd used to transport the meat.
"Smells nice," Croc growled. "Here."
Crane grabbed the soggy bag Croc offered him. Croc swiped the duffle bag and brought it closer to his snout. Crane glanced at the bag he now held but didn't risk taking his eyes off Croc for long. If the huge reptile didn't like his gift, Crane had to be prepared to run.
After a few failed attempts, Croc managed to keep hold of the zipper. He opened the bag and, almost doglike, stuck his snout in and took a huge sniff.
"Mm, fresh."
There was a disgusting crunch and Croc tore one of the chickens in half with his jaws. He wolfed it down while everyone else looked on in blatant horror.
"What? Ain't you never seen National Geographic?" Croc asked. He devoured the rest of the chicken. After he was finished, out of respect for people who didn't routinely eat raw meat with their bare hands, he zipped the bag up and saved the rest for later.
After that display, Crane couldn't say he was eager to see what Croc had got him. His earlier guess that it was either a sealion or a severed arm seemed even more probable.
"Open it," Croc said. "Come on, hurry up."
Crane couldn't argue with that. To accommodate his claws, Croc had used a bag with a drawstring instead of a zipper. Crane loosened the drawstring and peered inside.
A face stared back up at him. Crane reached into the bag and pulled out the ugliest, creepiest doll he had ever seen. Its hair and clothes were waterlogged, its eyes were missing, and it smelled like the bottom of a cistern.
"You like scary, that's scary," Croc said.
Yes, Crane couldn't argue with that. The battered doll looked like it could have crawled from Chucky and Annabelle's nightmares. No doubt whoever had dropped the doll into Croc's aquatic domain had had good reason for getting rid of it.
"Thank you," Crane said.
"You like it?" Croc pushed.
"I think it's fantastic. I can't wait to incorporate it into human trials for my next batch of fear toxin."
Croc grinned and clapped Crane on the back. "I'm a good Santa. You ain't bad, either."
Not a bad Santa. Crane didn't think he'd ever be described as thus, let alone by a lizard man, but that was the magic of Christmas. Sometimes the best gifts came from the strangest people and places.
The End
Thanks for reading. Happy Holidays.
If anyone didn't know, Annabelle and Chucky are fictional killer dolls.