Please Come Home for Christmas

Mark stepped backwards, ahead of his mop, grateful this was the last hallway he had to do. . . He had actually managed to finish his work early, meaning he could be out of the place at six, and would be able to stop for coffee before he went downtown. The stores would not be open until at least nine o' clock anyway-and they would not even stay open that long today. He would have to be there as soon as possible . . . The splattering sound of the cleaning solution on the floor continued until he reached the automatic doors of the main monitor room. . . . But if he planned it right, he might even be the first one in the store, giving him a better shot at that new handheld baseball game his son wanted . . . Wringing out the last of the liquid in the bucket, he made his way to the closet to put it away. The beeping of the early shift using the computers punctuated the sound of his steps on the now clean floor of the round room.

"Looks like someone's got a case of the Mondays," Supergirl commented as she punched in her time and took a seat at the console next to a grumpy-looking Wildcat. He did not even break his glaring at the monitors to scowl at her.

"It's Sunday," Mr. Terrific transmitted from the Watchtower to the communication window on the screen in front of Supergirl.

"Whatever," she brushed it off, yawning. "So, anything yet?"

"If there was we would have told you to get up off your sleepy butt and get to work," Wildcat grumbled.

Supergirl rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Just because I'm from Krypton doesn't mean I don't need sleep."

"Well, do it on your own t—"

"Captain Atom in, sir," a silver face appeared, blipping in from another window on the screen. It looked like a broadcast from the inside of a Javelin. "The reactor meltdown's taken care of. Coming back your way, over."

Supergirl sighed, bored, and put her feet upon a blank space on the console. "It's going to be another one of those normal disasters only days, isn't it?"

Mark had no problem with that news. He took his time crossing the room to the closet, wanting to be seen working his full shift's hours. . . . So he knew that Kyle wanted that baseball thing—he would have to check with Jess first; she might have purchased it for their son already. That would certainly put him in a fix. It would be a repeat of that fifth birthday all over again with the identical soldier action figures . . .

"Nothing wrong with a little peace every once in a while," Mr. Terrific commented.

Slumping deeper into her chair, her red-booted feet still elevated, Supergirl looked wistful. She put her hands behind her head and looked toward the ceiling. "Yeah, well anyway, just two weeks from now . . . two weeks from the day and I can be back home, opening presents . . ."

"Maybe you can," Wildcat growled. "Some of us have duty during the holiday."

"It's not so bad," Mr. Terrific shrugged. "At least no one has a full day. Only half hours for anyone working. Besides, with the way things have been lately, it doesn't seem like there'll be trouble any time soon."

Wildcat crossed his arms. "I wouldn't get used to it."

"Aw, the pussy cat feeling grumpy since he can't get his shrink sessions with the Martian?" Supergirl teased with a smirk.

An explicative ready on his lips, the look Wildcat gave was murderous.

"Anyway," she managed to ignore him, "this inaction thing's a drag. If nothing's gonna happen, why don't we just let the computers handle it and signal us on the off chance something comes up?"

"We can't just leave everything to computers," Mr. Terrific said. "I mean, computers can be hacked into or malfunction."

"And heroes can go rogue," Supergirl pointed out. "I don't see much difference in the odds."

"We can respond faster if we're here and looking for the danger," Mr. Terrific lectured. "If we're safe at home in our beds and an emergency comes up, it'd take us a lot longer to get to the action."

Supergirl was insistent. "Hello? Super speed. I can get there just fine."

Wildcat looked at her askance. "For Superman's cousin, you sure don't have a lot of family resemblance. This team's based off integrity, kid. If you just leave it to machines and don't do things personally, we lose that."

A second window opened up on the screen again. "Javelin 9 requesting entry to hangar, over."

"Permission granted," Mr. Terrific said, opening the doors. "Welcome back, Captain."

"How come Nuke Boy gets to have all the fun?" Supergirl shifted to place her head on her fist with her elbow on the armrest of the chair.

"You sound like you want disasters to start happening," came the reply from Wildcat.

"Hey, I just want to feel like I'm actually doing something. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a frontline kind'a girl. Not exactly monitor duty material."

"You've got to spot the trouble before you can fight it," Mr. Terrific responded sagely.

Captain Atom's face appeared behind the man in the red-trimmed black and white jacket. Mr. Terrific turned round at the sound of his voice. "Good thing we got the warning while that thing was still contained. A full meltdown, and there would've been real trouble."

"But since you got there in all your silver-spandex glory, it was just your run of the mill chemical cooling job," Supergirl rolled her eyes.

"Listen here, kid," Wildcat stood up and looked down at her from behind his whiskered mask. "One more bratty word outta you and I don't care who your cousin is, I'll teach you a lesson." He leaned over her, ominously smacking his fist into his palm.

"Go ahead and try it," Supergirl matched his glower. "I dare you. But when you cry about how much your fist hurts, I'll just say I told you so."

"Whoa, take it easy," Captain Atom leaned over Mr. Terrific to be seen in the monitor window.

Wildcat looked like he would take just one swing at her for good measure, but, with an angry tick in his left eye, controlled himself and sat back down.

Mark heaved a sigh of relief, glad the crisis was averted. Finally reaching the janitorial closet, he dumped the dirty water down the drain with a splosh and wrung out the mop. Putting the equipment away, he impatiently checked his watch as he stepped back into the main console room. . . . Two more minutes. Just two more minutes and he could clock out for the full hour. Why did the clock move so slowly? When he was on commission selling vacuums he never had this problem-then again, when he was on commission, he never really had any initiative to stay that long after he made his quota. Good thing Jess did the carpets at home; even looking at another vacuum made him a little queasy . . . He stepped slowly and circuitously around the room, trying his best to look occupied with something important and cleaning-related.

"You'd think you'd take my side on the whole thing, Corporal," Supergirl addressed the screen.

"What makes you say that?" Captain Atom frowned at her. "I don't want to go out lookin' for trouble."

"Well, you're pure energy and whatever. Shouldn't you be bursting to get some action?" She looked at him with a wry glance. "Or does your protective suit inhibit your performance?"

The Captain's expression darkened. "Pardon?" he said in a tone that was certainly not asking for clarification.

"You heard me," she gave an evil smile.

"Quit picking fights," Mr. Terrific berated Supergirl, pushing a smouldering Captain Atom out of the window's screen space. "With you around, we don't need anything to call us to duty. You're your own fighting force of nature."

"Why thank you," Supergirl beamed, then promptly stuck her tongue out at the Captain, who was trying to wedge his way into the screen space get another shot at the Kryptonian.

Wildcat shared a look with very smug-looking Supergirl. "You know I'm gonna tell on you, right?" he said in a most serious tone.

The smugness wiped itself off her face.

The time on his watch blipping to 6:01, Mark finally ambled over to punch out his time. Despite the strangeness and the danger and the odd hours sometimes, he had at least one positive thing to say about his job-besides it not being vacuum sales on ten percent commission: it was definitely never boring here. He would need to try and remember the conversation he had heard. Granted, Mark would never reveal any important information to Kyle, but he felt talks like the one he had just overheard did not contain any real classified information. The boy loved to hear about the greatest heroes on the planet exchanging banter like normal people, and used a lot of Mark's reports to sound as authentic as possible in many chapters of his stories. What did he call them again? Fan fiction?

"I still am unclear about the relation of foliage to religion."

"It's just a tradition," Bruce said irritably. The cold snow was no match for his frosty attitude as the group trekked through the white mounds blanketing the edge of the forest near Wayne Manor. His breath wisped past him as he crossed his arms, showing his disdain and heating his hands in the warm grip of the leather jacket simultaneously. He pressed ahead of the other three, the whole of them leaving a dotted trail of footprints behind.

"I believe there is some dispute over the origins," Alfred walked behind the group, carrying a large saw, "but to recall one I'm familiar with, it is said there was once a Saint Boniface. He claimed that the fir tree was representative of the Christian faith."

"I was informed this holiday has broadened from a religious tradition."

"It has, but it seems certain rituals are too much fun to be rid of," Alfred answered with a smile.

"I'm with J'onn," Diana agreed. "I don't really see how a tree can be much fun. It's just going to make a mess when it gets inside."

"You mean to say Master Bruce didn't tell you about the decorating?" Alfred blinked. Bruce trudged on ahead, grumbling to himself with his fists shoved into his pockets.

"We place decorations upon the branches of the tree?" J'onn looked to Alfred. It hardly seemed a question, but Alfred had long realised the Martian had a knack for knowing things he never remembered saying.

"Precisely."

"What kind of decorations?" Diana paused, tightening the laces on her boots to prevent the snow from entering.

"Well," Alfred adjusted the saw in his hands to ease the weight, "there are many different kinds of decorations one can purchase at a store, but I've always preferred the homemade kind myself."

"But what on earth would you put on a tree?" Diana was still confused.

"Oh, a great many things: strings of popcorn, ribbons, bows, tinfoil shapes, candy canes, sometimes even candles—though I'm not quite so bold as to try such a fire hazard in the manor."

"What strange ways," Diana mused.

Alfred shrugged his shoulders with a chuckle, but had to stop to catch the saw before he dropped it from the shifting. "I suppose they are."

"He has stopped," J'onn stated, indicating Bruce's form some distance before them, placed petulantly before a large, but not too large, tree.

"Those keen observation skills certainly come in handy, Master Bruce," Alfred commented as the rest of the party finally managed to join up with the scowling billionaire. Alfred circled the tree, examining the fullness and strength of the branches. "It seems you've found just the right type."

"Let's get this over with," he grabbed one end of the large saw Alfred carried as the butler held the other end. Walking over to one side of the trunk, the two men brought the tool into contact with the bark and, heaving from one side to the other, began to cut.

Back and forth.

Pushing and pulling.

Back and forth.

"What do you think you're you doing?"

"Cutting. It. Down." Bruce exhaled between shoves.

Diana sighed and, shaking her head, walked over to the opposite side of the tree, amidst curious glances of the two would-be lumberjacks. She put her hands on her hips with a frown.

"I'd move if I were you."

Alfred and Bruce stopped cutting just soon enough to see a well-built leg sweep its way cleanly through the entire trunk of the tree, just inches above where the saw was inset. The tree rose quickly into the air, only to be snatched up and brought down gently.

Ponytail of black hair blowing gently in the chill wind, Diana held the tree above her head with one hand and raised her brow at the gaping looks she received. "What?"

Bruce paused for a moment before blinking himself out of his surprise—a state in which he never liked to remain long, if at all. Considering the source here, he berated himself for not expecting something of the sort happening. After a long gaze, he shook his head and smiled slightly. "Nothing. Let's get back."

"Indeed," Alfred stood himself up from where he had ducked during the seeming explosion of the base of the tree and brushed the snow from his suit. "Perhaps I can make a pot of tea or some cocoa to calm our nerv—ourselves after such . . . exertion."

"Cocoa," J'onn repeated. "That is what Wally said is a good drink for cold weather."

"Right," Bruce said over his shoulder as he followed the tree-toting Diana. "Except unlike him, Alfred tends to limit the marshmallows to four. He feels anything over thirty is excessive."

Sunshine peered between the narrow streets of Chelsea, peeking from behind buildings and seemingly weaving its way through the traffic continuing through the morning. From three stories above, the snowy, commuter-filled roads looked like trays of tightly packed, brightly coloured biscuits dusted with flour and slowly warming in the sun.

John's stomach growled.

"All right, all right," he looked down and held his bare abdomen. He turned and walked away from the full-length windows toward the kitchen. "Pancakes it is."

After scrounging around the kitchenette for pots, pans, and ingredients, John set to work whisking up a batch of late morning flapjacks, eggs and bacon. Frying the bacon and eggs in one pan, he picked up the spatula and flipped the pancake over with an unfocused eye. He sighed and added more butter.

"Dad?" he could hear the voice of the metal-clad young man now. Images kept popping up in his head: the dark and gritty future, the information that most of them had died, his son . . . "Hold the line!" he had shouted during that first fight. So much like himself, it was frightening. "I'm Warkhawk. Rex Stewart."

"You're letting them burn."

John snapped out of his reverie to the smell of crisped batter and the touch of a woman's hand on his wrist. Mari took his hand holding the spatula and lifted what could be salvaged of the pancake onto a plate.

"Next time you decide to leave home on one of your space-out trips, let me know," she smiled at him. "Then I can make sure you don't set my house on fire while you're gone."

John scraped the burned leftovers off the bottom of the pan. "Sorry."

"Don't be," she answered. "I think it's worth the risk if I get you to make me breakfast." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I don't suppose I could convince you to let us have our breakfast in bed . . .?"

"Mari, it's almost noon now," he looked at her.

"So brunch then."

He put the plate of pancakes on the countertop of the bar in the kitchenette and went to work on his bacon. Mari pouted, but went to get the silverware and put it by the food.

"Still too early to put pants on though, I see," Mari commented as they began to eat their breakfast/brunch platters.

John blushed slightly. "Your heater does a good job."

"Thanks for the compliment," she gave him a peck on the cheek, but he did not seem to respond.

Mari sat back in her seat, adjusting her negligee as she picked at her eggs, preoccupied with John's preoccupation.

"What are you supposed to do when you have the weight of the world on your shoulders?" It had just felt so natural for him to rest his hand on his shoulder, like he was really his son, and he, John, was really a father, and it was just so natural for him to try and guide him. It could not have been just a random shift in time—he really had a son with Shayera . . . the boy had her eyes . . . he was supposed to have a son with Shayera . . .

"Then why are you still with Vixen?" appeared Batman's voice, as unwelcome as ever in John's thoughts. John turned and looked at the woman next to him as she took a bite of her pancakes. The lavender satin negligee draped off her shoulders but was held up by her ample bust as she slouched her shoulders leaning over the counter as she ate. Resting her chin in one hand, her cinnamon eyes stared into her food distantly. The sunshine from the windows stretched from the other side of the room to illuminate her from behind, brushed with a fine trail of gold, as though painted. Her black lashes swept down to her cheeks as her full lips parted in an unvoiced sigh. Why was he still with her?

Was it right to be with Mari? Was he merely avoiding his destiny? Was he effectively killing his son by preventing his birth? John held his head with his hand, rubbing the smooth skin of his scalp as if he could soothe the turbulent thoughts rushing about.

He felt Mari get closer to him. "Boo, you okay?"

"I . . . just don't know," was all he could answer.

Mari put her hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. His head turned to her and, for a moment, an image of Rex flashed into his mind, looking so lost . . . his son . . .

Suddenly Mari grinned. "Let's go do something. Get out of here for a bit."

John looked away. "Where do we go?"

"Well, I've got a few hours before my photo shoot today," she pondered, lifting her hand from him and placing a finger on her chin, breaking the connection.

"But where can we go?"

Mari shrugged her shoulders and walked around the counter. Leaning forward on her elbows, nearly nose to nose with him, she said, "Wherever you'll be happy, John."

He blinked. "But . . . wh—"

"You always worry too much," Mari said. "You know, sometimes I think you forget what it's like to have fun anymore." She saw the downcast look in his eye and continued. "Look, I know this has been hard for you, everything that's happened. But you've got to keep moving forward. You managed to pull it off and put it aside when you had to go fight to save the world," she paused, pushed herself up further on the counter, and kissed his forehead. "So I know you can do it again; this time to save your spirit."

Her soft, brown eyes, normally so full of mischief, glinted a compassion and understanding he had somehow missed before.

She hopped off the counter, walking toward the door of the bedroom and slipping the straps of her negligee past her shoulders.

"What are you doing?" John asked as she stripped her way across the room, her impropriety snapping him out of his funk.

"Getting ready to suit up for the rescue mission," she glanced over her shoulder with an impish grin. "You coming?"

Not for the first time, the Vixen had left him torn between confusion, indignity, shock, and desire. "Do you ever take anything seriously?" he finally managed to say.

Vixen leaned a little on the doorframe before exiting. "That's what I've got you for. I'm just trying to lower the dosage."

Mark almost felt guilty for battling that old lady back at Toys 4 U . . . almost. Taking another glance at his brightly coloured, all-star covered, tightly packaged victory prize, he felt a deep sense of accomplishment; not everyone could hurdle over three people like that to make it to the end of aisle five in two bounds. He wondered why video game companies made their release dates so late sometimes.

I mean, Christmas is just two weeks from today, he thought as he stuffed the baseball game in his bag. You'd think they could release it sometime late November.

Walking briskly down the snow strewn street, Mark pondered what to get his little missus. Jess is always complaining about how slow the coffee maker is . . . or maybe she wants a new mixer . . . Up ahead he could hear happy laughter, and he began to slow down as he made his way through the pedestrian traffic to the source.

Through a spread of the snow-topped trees in the park, zipping children and twirling couples glided around the ice rink. Brightly coloured scarves flew behind as pairs circled round the ice, close together for warmth. Little boys whizzed past their older brothers, held back by snuggling girfriends, girls whirled in pirouettes and arabesques in the centre, and quiet couples slowly slid by. Mark stopped to sit on a bench beside the rink, taking in the holiday scene.

He heard a familiar laugh.

"You may have spent every winter learning how to slide down hills, but you sure can't skate."

"I thought you said we were going to do something I would like to do, Mari."

The two were not that far away, so close Mark could catch the embarrassment in the Lantern's eye, let alone his tone. Vixen extended a cream-coloured sweater-clad arm to the fallen hero. He held onto her with one hand while he dusted ice shavings from his pants and the back of his jacket.

"Oh, you will like this, I promise," Vixen smiled. "You just haven't gotten the hang of it, that's all."

"I swear, once I get myself out of these skate's I'll—"

"You'll what?" Vixen let him go and he fell promptly on his backside. She laughed again. "Honey, you ain't getting yourself nowhere."

"I may be down," GL rolled over, "but I'm not out yet!" Now on his stomach, he reached out his arms and yanked Vixen's leg. She fell on top of him with a surprised yelp.

"Un," Vixen rubbed her hip as she helped herself up using the wall of the rink. "Is that any way to treat a lady? Forcing her down on you like that?"

Green Lantern followed suit, though dragging himself up the wall with far less grace than his date. "Normally it's getting you to stop pouncing on me that's the problem."

"Oh, so we think we're all that then, huh?" Vixen looked evil. She held out her hand and began extending it toward his chest.

Anticipating what she was thinking, alarm flared up in the Lantern's eyes. "No, Mari! Don't—"

"Eat ice, tough guy," she tapped him with her palm and the Green Lantern, protector of the universe, fell on his butt with a thud.

"Mari, you little—when I get you—"

"You've got to catch me first," she teased, laughing as she sashayed away over the ice.

GL pulled himself up the wall again, turning around to watch the circle of skaters lap around the rink. "Oh, I'll catch you. You gotta come back sometime," his eyes followed her as she made the far turn, and his lips curled into a smile. "And when you do, I'll be ready."

Mark smiled too as he leaned back into the bench, watching the pair. After the cold snowstorms of yesterday, the sunshine and warm laughter were welcome scenery to him, and he still had the rest of the day to do his shopping. Watching as Vixen finished her lap and was caught in a quick lunge by Green Lantern, he pondered as the two skidded to the centre of the rink, still in a tangled embrace. He turned his head to look at the street and the shops behind him, his eyes focusing on the Jay's Jewels entrance.

Well, it's no mixer, he thought. But it's never too late to get romantic again.

So won't you tell me you'll never more roam

Christmas and New Year's will find you home

There'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain

And I'll be happy, happy once again