That Christmas Feeling

Whizzing down the halls of the Metro Tower, the fastest man alive slowed only partially to smile at the other League members he passed. His speed was hindered only slightly by the large stack of papers he carried in front of him as he made his way to the end of the corridor.

Upon reaching the entrance to the main console room, he struggled to relieve one hand to punch the necessary buttons. Precariously balanced in the crook of his left arm, he was just barely able to peek around the side of the pile as his fingers tapped the necessary code. The doors whooshed open and Flash gave a small sigh of relief as he now securely gripped the bulk and began to speed across the room. He was rather surprised that with his luck, he had not dropped a single—

"Oof!" he fell backwards onto his backside, papers flying everywhere. Through the shower of sheets, the shapely form of Supergirl now loomed over him. She leaned down and gave him a hand to help him up.

"You should watch where you're going, Flash," she smiled.

"Yeah, sorry," he said abashedly, embarrassed as all eyes in the room had turned to see him fall. He quickly snatched up all the papers back into a pile in a blur of red and white.

"What are all the papers for anyway?" she quirked an eyebrow at him.

The pile back in place, his face was hidden when he answered, "They're an 'I'm sorry' present for a friend."

"Oh? Who's it for?" Gypsy sashayed over to them. Her earrings jingled as she tilted her head curiously. "And who would want a plain old stack of papers?"

"It's not gonna be a plain old stack when I'm done," Flash pointed out defensively.

"Aww, he's gonna make something for her! How cute!" Supergirl squealed, attracting more attention.

"Hey, I never said—"

"Flash is going to make a present?" Crimson Fox sauntered to the group.

Fire and Ice appeared as well, completing the circle around the speedster. "Who is the lucky lady?"

"Hnbaee . . ." Flash's tongue rolled over itself at Fire's question.

The girls blinked at his response.

"I bet it's for Black Canary," Gypsy continued, ignoring their incoherent topic. "I heard he hit on her on their last mission."

"If that's true, he should be making a present for Green Arrow," Supergirl laughed.

"What are you making with all this paper anyway?" Ice peered around the pile to look him in the eye.

"Dn—I—nm, ah . . . sn—" he struggled as the ladies closed in around him to hear his answer. From behind the edges of the stack, he felt his resolve failing under the curious, pressing gazes; cool blues, slate greys, and fiery greens all surrounded him, boring into him. "Sn-snowflakes," he hung his head in defeat.

"Snowflakes?" Supergirl looked at him incredulously.

"How banal," Crimson Fox commented.

Gypsy giggled. "You're kidding, right?"

"I don't know, I think it's kind of cute," Fire winked at him.

Ice crossed her arms. "Yeah, but out of paper?"

"Well, not everyone can create the genuine article, Ice," Supergirl shrugged.

"I can't remember the last time someone made me a present," Fire moved her gaze from Flash to Ice.

Crimson Fox put a hand on her hip. "If you ask me, it's hardly an appropriate gift for an apology."

"Yeah, especially with your reputation for ticking girls off," Gypsy agreed. "If you got to her so bad that you need to get her a present, you'd better make it a big one."

Flash seemed to process this information, scrunching his face in thought, before asking, "Well, what do you think I should do then? Flowers? Candy?"

"Oh, no, no," Crimson Fox brushed the suggestions aside. "So typical—besides, those are for making her fall for you. Apologies have to be far grander than little love trinkets, don't they, ladies?" she looked to the other women in the group for confirmation. They all nodded in agreement. Crimson Fox gave a satisfied smile.

"So then what do I do?"

"An apology to a woman has to be a complete act of humility," Crimson Fox spoke as though she were quoting from a religious text. "Arts and crafts won't cut it. Her forgiveness cannot be won with anything short of spectacular."

Flash looked confused. "So I should . . ."

"Try something a little further up the price range. Opera tickets, a trip to Paris, something. You get a super heroine mad at you, you'd better have a super apology."

He tilted his head as fragments of the idea started to solidify. He set down the papers to be able to look all of his audience face to face. "So you girls got any places on your wish list I can use?"

"This is ridiculous," Bruce peered over the heads in front of them as they moved up one place in the queue.

"You were of a different opinion when the idea was first introduced."

"I was tired," came his curt response. ". . . of all of Alfred's blasted—this isn't going to work."

"It might be worth trying," J'onn continued. "The fond memories I felt both from him and yourself may be proof enough to—"

"Could you ask permission first before you go sifting through my head?" Bruce whispered harshly.

"Sorry."

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Bruce persisted, staring stonily at the long line in front of him. "I mean, what will a bunch of twirling around in fancy costumes prove? It's not going to help you or Diana understand anything any better. This is just a waste of time."

"Well bah humbug to you too."

"What?" Bruce whirled round to a shock of red hair and a wide grin.

"Hey, Ba—uh, Bruce. Can I have cuts?"

"Wally," Bruce greeted coldly. "What are you doing here?"

The younger man remained unshaken, nonchalantly adjusting the sleeve of his light blue sweater as he slid into the space between Bruce and J'onn. The queue moved forward, none the wiser. "Same as you."

"I never took you for the ballet type," Bruce lifted an eyebrow.

"I'm not. This is a present," Wally answered.

"For Shayera?" J'onn asked in that manner that indicated he already knew.

"Shayera?" Bruce looked incredulous. "I don't think she'd be very interested, no matter how well-meant a Christmas present it is."

"It's not really a Christmas present," Wally explained. "It's a kind of 'I'm sorry I screwed up and made you really mad' present."

"So? You do that all the time. You never gave any gifts before for that."

"Well, this time I think I've really done it."

"You've always really done it. Shayera's a big girl," Bruce commented patronisingly. "I'm sure she's not broken up about it."

"She seemed pretty upset to me," Wally insisted. "And I'd feel a lot better if I did something to try and make it right again."

"What did you do?"

"I . . . uh, kinda said that maybe she . . ." Wally put a hand to his mouth and coughed out quickly, "isn't-trusted-'cause-she-doesn't-want-to-be."

"I believe that constitutes as having 'really done it'," J'onn stated.

"I know, I know," Wally looked guilty. "Me and my big dumb mouth. But this is gonna make it all better."

"Hate to spoil your perfect plan," Bruce said dryly, "but I'm not sure Shayera has much interest in ballet."

"Why not?" Wally asked. "I mean, it's the Nutcracker; it's Christmassy and stuff. Plus girls like ballet."

"In case you hadn't noticed," Bruce gave a pointed look, "Shayera isn't exactly the most feminine of the female members in the league."

"Well . . . that—that doesn't mean she can't like girl stuff sometimes," Wally fumbled. "And maybe she just, uh, just maybe never gets a chance to be feminine. Yeah."

J'onn pondered. "Perhaps Wally is right that we have not treated Shayera in a manner which allows her to be more . . . womanly." The word sounded awkward. "But I must agree that, from what I've picked up, this activity is not one she would enjoy."

"You don't know that," Wally argued. "I mean, she's never tried it, right? She could—she could like it." His confidence faltered.

Bruce shook his head irritably as the group finally reached the front of the queue. He turned to face the box office window.

"How much are these things anyway?" Wally tilted his head to check the price listings behind the glass. His eyes widened in fear.

"Three, please," Bruce said blandly to the window.

"Hey," the redhead tapped him on the shoulder nervously, "y'think you could buy 'em all together now and I'll, ah, pay you back later?"

Bruce ignored him.

"Aw, come on. It's not that dumb an idea," Wally pleaded. "I mean, the more the merrier, right?"

He was answered by a disbelieving glance.

"C'mon, don't you wanna do something nice? For Shayera?" his voice was getting desperate.

Bruce grumbled in annoyance. "Fine."

"What?" Wally's eyes brightened at his quick acquiescence. "All right!" he pumped his fist victoriously.

"Four please."

Leaning over by J'onn and looking smug, Wally gave a self-assured smile before the math clicked in his head.

"Hey, wait, I'm coming too!"

Bruce gave him a glare. "You must be joking."

Wally tried to counter with as good an imitation bat-glare as he could muster. The two stood locked in an unblinking battle as the clerk at the window began to look bored after the fifth time asking, "Will that be all sir?"

Still they glared.

J'onn sighed, stepped around the showdown, and slapped a hand on the counter in front of the window, waking the attendant from his reverie. "Make it five."

Thunk.

"Hraaaaah!"

Thunk. Fwap. Thunk.

"Hraah! Huhn! Hraaaaah!"

Fwap. Fwap. Thunk.

"Hnn! Huhn! Hraah!"

Thunk.

"Hnnraaaaah!"

The full-sized punching bag swung through the air, slightly concave on one side. Panting with a sweaty grimace on her face, she raised her fist again.

"Y'scare off all the other dance partners? Or this a solo routine?"

She halted her attack at the new sound and turned to the door. Vigilante tipped his hat.

"Then again, y'have a nasty habit a' tryin' t'do things all by yer lonesome."

"If you want to use the gym," Shayera turned around again and gave the bag another fist, "I'll be done in five minutes."

"Didn't come 'ere to ruffle yer feathers, ma'am," he raised his hands defensively, "Jus' came t'put things at rest."

She looked at him stonily. "What do you want?"

"Wanted t'show ya somethin'," she could almost see a smile underneath the red bandana. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her, crossing his arms in a satisfied manner.

"Got myself certified in the Javelin," he beamed. "Thought I'd show y'first. What?" he asked at her unreadable expression. "Think I'm mule-stupid enough t'pick a fight with ya? Jus' provin' I finally learned when t'reset the vectors."

She handed the certificate back to him. "Congratulations," the statement was flat.

"Thank y'ma'am," he rolled it up, watching her as she resumed her attack on the unoffending punching bag.

She gave the bag two more punches and a kick before she realised she was not going to be rid of him that easily. "Anything else?"

"Well, now that y'mention it," he walked over to one side of the room and sat himself down on a bench, relaxing his arms on the backing, "I was hopin' for a little chat."

"So talk."

"Now, now," she almost saw a hint of mischief in his eye, "If y'aint in a mood t'listen, I ain't really in a mood fer talkin'." He scooted to one side of the bench, leaving plenty of room for her.

Shayera rolled her eyes, but, figuring the quickest way to get him out of her hair would be to get it over with, crossed her arms and sat down beside him. "Yes?" she said in a tone slightly less harsh.

"That's better," Vigilante nodded. He paused, as if to contemplate the exact words he wanted to use. "I know I wasn't the best t'work with, what with me bitin' yer head off ever' other word, but hear me out—"

"You don't have to apologise for anything you said," Shayera looked to the floor. "I know I deserved som—a lot of it. I—"

"Dagnabit, girl, lemme finish! I ain't apologisin' fer nothin' I said; I meant it all." She looked surprised at his outburst. "I don't like y', and I don't think that's gonna change none soon."

"Vigilante . . ." she began quietly.

"But jus' 'cuz I don't like y'don't mean I can't respect y'."

Shayera blinked. "Come again?"

"Don't git the wrong idea, but I guess I done been thinkin' 'bout what y'said," the gunslinger shrugged. "Y'know, 'bout understandin', and I figur'd 'cuz 'tis the season an' all, maybe I should try it out."

"Vig—I . . ." she formed a sideways smile, her eyes soft. "Thank you."

"Thank you," he emphasised, "fer provin' me wrong 'bout y'. Y'aint a traitor if y'stand fer what y'believe in. Guess since I got my eye so close t'the barrel all the time," he whipped out a pistol and put it to his face as though he were aiming at her, "can't see much outside the line'a fire."

Shayera smiled fully now and put a hand on his shoulder. "Good job on your pilot certification. Really."

"T'ain't nothin'," she could not tell if he was blushing or not beneath the bandana. He stood up quickly, changing the subject. "Y'happy jus' beatin' up on the bag, or y'still feel like takin' a swing at me?"

She smirked as he gave a hand to help her up. "That's okay, Vigilante. I wouldn't want to bruise your fragile ego." She grabbed a towel from the rack and slung it across her shoulders as she made her way to the exit. "I'm gonna hit the showers. See ya, cowboy."

"Ma'am," Vigilante lifted his hat.

The steam hissed as it poured out the opening doors. She towelled down her hair first, then followed the droplets' course down her body. Her wings puffed up, arced, and shuddered, sending a spray behind her. After securing the towel around herself, Shayera wrung out her hair with her hands as she made her way to the residence quarters.

Her feet padded softly as she thought. It had been an unexpected compliment Vigilante had given her, but, now that she began to think on it, his presence reminded her of the mission they had been on and, subsequently, the Thanagarians. Everything always goes back to that, doesn't it?

They hated her, she knew. But who could blame them? I condemned them all to death, she thought as she entered the elevator. She pushed the button for her floor with a sigh. Condemned him to death. Hro . . . you changed so much. There was a time when you'd never do anything to endanger the lives of the defenceless. But you were willing to sacrifice the entire planet—and in the end, were willing to sacrifice yourself . . .

The doors opened, and Shayera crossed an arm over herself from the slight wind they generated. Her hair dripped onto her shoulder as she continued down the hall. I must be the worst soldier in the universe, she thought morosely. I single-handedly delivered the entire Thanagarian Empire into the hands of the Gordanians. Maybe I should have surrendered myself to Paran Dul, her eyes looked downcast. She finally stopped at her door, but hesitated to punch the code for access.

But if I had, would that have made anything better? If I'd been gone, would the battle have turned out differently? Would the league have been able to take down Luthor and Brainiac if all seven of us hadn't been there? She absent-mindedly pushed the buttons for her door to open.If I wasn't there, would we have been able to save Wa—what in seven moons?

Suspended at varying lengths from the ceiling of her room, dozens of wispy snowflakes circled and swayed on their strings. Some had sharp triangles and jagged cuts around their edges, giving them a hard, icy image, while others were rounded, with curved and spiral shapes, giving them a look of lace. They spanned from one side of the room to the other, an artificial snowfall of delicate craftsmanship. In the centre, hanging slightly lower than the paper precipitation, a banner with bold letters arced its message down.

"'Sorry'?" Shayera read, bewildered.

"SURPRISE!"

Shayera had barely let out a yelp before she jumped and smacked the intruder square on the jaw. Barely managing to hold her towel on, she breathed heavily, recovering from the shock.

"Oww . . ." Flash lay at her feet, rubbing his jaw. He looked as though he were about give some quip, but his eyes widened for a moment at the view his new position gave him, and he scuttled himself up stammering.

This did little to improve her temperament. "I knew that lock override thing was a bad idea. First Diana and now this," her brow gave an irritated twitch. "What are you doing in my room?"

"What's it look like?" he gestured to the 'Sorry' streamer.

She brushed a wet strand of hair from her face. "Couldn't you have just talked to me, like Vigilante did?" she muttered. "Sure, he told me he hates my guts, but at least he would respect my privacy."

"What?"

"Never mind. Say what you need to say and then get out; I want to put my clothes on."

Flash blushed at the last statement, barely hidden by his mask. "Well . . . it's kind of a long—"

"Just wait outside and I'll change first," Shayera groaned, grabbing him by the arm and chucking him out the door.

Flash barely managed to pull his nose out of the way as the door closed. "Oookay, maybe four days isn't enough time to calm down . . ." he thought out loud. He tapped his fingers on the wall nervously. "Maybe I just gotta try a different approach. Maybe a—"

The door opened again, Shayera clad in a long-sleeved black shirt and blue jeans. "You can explain now," she walked back inside her room with an attitude that told him to follow. Once inside, she put her hands to her hips and gave a scowl. "Start talking."

Flash rubbed a hand behind his neck and looked away. "Well, see, you were really mad on Saturday after the orphanage thingie 'cause of what I said, so I thought I'd do something nice to say I'm sorry."

"That's it?" she raised an eyebrow and her face started to soften. "That wasn't a long story at all. Um, accepted, I guess . . . though I don't know what I'm going to do with all these sn—"

"Well, that's not all of it," Flash continued rapidly. "When I was gonna put these up, some of the girls—well, I figured I should do something more, so I changed out and went to Gotham and met Bats and we stood in line and he was all angry like normal and said it was a bad idea, but I said it would work and he said you weren't feminine and J'onn said we never let you and Bats said it wouldn't work and I said it would and I asked how much the tickets were and they were a lot so I got Bats to buy tickets for us."

". . . Huh?" Shayera blinked.

"So then I changed back 'cause I like my secret identity and all around here 'cause girls like that stuff and I cut out all the snowflakes but I messed up some of them 'cause I was doing them so fast since I heard you were training and didn't think I'd have much time to do them then I hung 'em all up and waited for you to come here but then you were all angry and wouldn't let me explain and—"

"Enough!" she stopped him from running out of air. "I get the snowflake stuff. What tickets are you talking about?"

"These."

He pulled out two white slips from somewhere she was not sure she wanted to find out. She took one and looked at it.

"Gotham Theatre of the Fine Arts: Annual Nutcracker Performance, December seventeenth?" she looked sceptical. "Nutcracker? Sounds painful. Is it a fight?"

Flash laughed. "Nutcr-painful-hehe. That's a good one. Nah, it's a ballet."

Shayera scanned her memory for knowledge the term she might have picked up when she researched Earth.

Seeing her blank expression, Flash intervened. "It's a kind of dance. Y'know, tutus and tippie-toes."

"Is it exciting?" Shayera asked curiously.

"Uh . . ." Flash tried not to lie. "It's . . . interesting . . . and Christmassy . . ." he suggested.

"If you don't like it, why did you get tickets?"

"Look, I just wanted to make you not mad at me," Flash shrugged his shoulders. "I figured I'd do something nice and maybe help you out with the holiday stuff, since you said you don't really understand it."

Shayera furrowed her brow in thought. "Is this the present you said you'd explain when we were at the orphanage?"

"Present I said I'd expl—oh! Oh. No, this is just an 'I should've kept my big mouth shut' present. Hn. I guess I have to get you another one too . . ."

"Wally, you don't have t—"

"No, I gotta! I mean, it's Christmas. It's just what you do."

"So," she handed back the ticket slowly. "I have to give presents too?"

"Well, you don't have to," Wally said. "If you want to, I guess. It's not like a rule or anything, it's just a tradition, really."

"So this annual Nutcracker thing is a tradition too?"

"In a way, I guess. I mean, it's really popular—the line went on forever! I was lucky Bats was there to give me cuts and when they got the tickets it was good that all five of them could be together—"

"Five? Who else is going?"

Flash halted his rambling. "Oh, well, since Batman was getting the tickets, we'd be sitting with him and J'onn and I think the Princess."

"So it's not a date then," she sounded relieved.

"You thought—I—and m—on a date?" he stuttered, then blinked back into his normal grin. "Would you have gone if it was?"

She looked at him with a sly smile. "You'd have to be a lot more convincing in order to get me to go."

"Hey," he said indignantly, but brushed it off quickly. "Well, anyway, you're coming? It's on Saturday."

"I suppose I'm not doing anything since I've got all this time off," she answered. "Except maybe scraping these snowflakes off my ceiling. Now get out of my room. I'm already spending a disgusting amount of time with you," she put on her best pretend angry voice.

"Okay, okay," he stepped out. "Saturday, seven o' clock," he said with a grin, loud enough to be heard down the corridor. She could see the look in his eyes that was a telltale sign that he was doing something childish purposely to annoy or humiliate her. "It's a date!"

"It is not!" she shouted as the door whizzed closed. She put a hand to her head in exasperation, but could not contain a slight smile.

"Yom shigureth," she chuckled to herself.

Christmas helps you to remember

To do what other folks hold dear

What a blessed place the world would be

If we had that Christmas feeling all year