Mistletoe

Clark/Chloe, Jimmy futurefic
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Prompt by tobywolf13: Chlark and DP office mistletoe.

"There's mistletoe hanging over there."

Standing in the midst of the crowded bullpen at the Daily Planet's annual Christmas party, Chloe Sullivan followed the pointing finger, then blinked in confusion at her friend and coworker, Jimmy Olsen. There had been a time, years ago, when the two of them had dated. They'd even, very briefly, been married... although the less said about that, the better, really.

But those days were long in the past, and she had no interest in kissing him-- and she didn't think he had any interest in kissing her, either. "So?" she answered.

"So," he said with elaborate unconcern, "Clark just happens to be over there, too."

She felt her eyebrows shoot up. "Are you trying to suggest I should kiss Clark?"

"Well, duh," he answered, smiling. "The two of you have been dancing around each other for years now. It's about time you made your move."

"Excuse me?"

She did her best to sound frosty, but she and Jimmy were still on very friendly terms, and he was too nice a guy for her to be really chilly with. He grinned at her, unintimidated by her tone, his mild blue eyes dancing with humor.

"You heard me. Aren't you tired of constantly staring at him when his back is turned?"

"Um... I don't stare at him. Clark and I aren't interested in each other that way."

"Please." He rolled his eyes. "You drool over Clark the exact way I drool over that Nikon at the camera shop."

"Oh, I most certainly do not."

"Oh, you most certainly do, and everyone knows it. Except the two of you, apparently. Look, Chloe, humor me. Go over there and plant one on him and just see what happens, okay?"

She squinted at him suspiciously. "Why do you care?"

He shrugged and smiled. "I'm just trying to get two friends to open their eyes. Clark is... well, he's a great guy, Chloe. And you deserve someone... super."

She blinked at him, startled by his choice of words. Jimmy Olsen was Superman's buddy, of course, and he was also Clark's friend, but Jimmy wasn't supposed to be aware that Clark and Superman were the same person.

But every so often... she wondered.

"What exactly do you mean?"

He smiled at her, the picture of innocence. "Just what I said. You and Clark would be great together. Give it a shot and see what happens."

He flashed her a last bright grin and walked away, and she stared after him, wondering if he really knew Clark's secret identity, or if his choice of words had been coincidental. Then she turned her head and gazed at Clark with something very like longing.

She and Clark had been working together at the Daily Planet for five years now. She'd always thought they might eventually become something more than friends, but the something more had never quite materialized. They were partners and best friends... but that was all.

But that didn't stop her from wanting more. A lot more. She heaved a sigh, and admitted to herself that Jimmy was right.

Deep down, all she really wanted for Christmas was Clark.

Clark glanced in her direction as if he could feel her gaze. Behind his thick, dark-framed glasses, his eyes were intense, and she wondered if he someties wanted more, too. She wondered if he thought about their relationship, if he recognized the potential it had to be so much more than just friendship.

Not that friendship was a bad thing, because it wasn't.

But it definitely wasn't all she wanted.

She stared a moment longer, looking from Clark to the mistletoe and back again, then shook her head slightly and looked away. She was being silly. Clark wasn't interested in her that way, and it was just too late for anything romantic to happen between them. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

Or maybe she just didn't have the nerve to try to change things. Maybe she was afraid to risk their friendship and their working partnership on a gamble.

Whatever the reason, she just didn't quite dare to try planting one on him. She turned away and slowly walked toward the punch bowl.

She passed through an open doorway, and suddenly Clark was standing in front of her, smiling.

"Hey," he said. "Look up."

She looked up, and saw that the red-ribboned bunch of mistletoe had mysteriously transferred itself across the room. It was hanging directly over her head now.

She blinked up at him, frozen in shock. He smiled down at her, and then bent to kiss her.

And it was nice. Very nice.

No. It was a lot more than nice. It was everything she'd ever imagined, and then some.

Heedless of the crowd, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. The kiss didn't stop, just got more and more intense, and people began to laugh and cheer for them, but she hardly noticed. She was totally focused on Clark... the feel of his arms around her, the scent of his skin, the way his mouth felt against hers.

We should have done this a long time ago, she thought, and kissed him harder.

*****

Ron Troupe, a reporter who worked in the bullpen, poured himself a cup of punch and frowned. "Wasn't the mistletoe over there?" he asked, pointing across the room.

"No," Jimmy said, shaking his head firmly. "It was always right there."

"You sure? I could have sworn it, well, moved."

"Riiiiight, Ron," Jimmy answered, grinning. "Because mistletoe always wanders around the room on its own power."

Ron smiled ruefully, acknowledging the absurdity, and turned away. Jimmy lifted his own cup of punch to his lips and watched Clark and Chloe kissing the hell out of each other, right in front of the entire staff of the Daily Planet.

A wistful smile curved his mouth. There had been a time when he'd thought he'd wind up with Chloe. But he'd slowly come to realize that what she and Clark had together couldn't be broken apart. Not by him, not by anyone. She and Clark had been too important to each other for too long.

Anyway, he admired the hell out of Chloe Sullivan. She was a strong, smart woman who'd overcome a hell of a lot of adversity to become the top reporter at the Daily Planet. She was an amazing person, and he knew he wasn't enough for her. He never had been.

And after all these years, he was okay with that. He didn't mind just being her friend. But as her friend, he wanted to see her happy.

Right now, with her arms wrapped around Clark's shoulders and her mouth apparently adhered permanently to his, she looked pretty damn happy. And somewhat to his own surprise, Jimmy wasn't jealous in the least.

He'd meant exactly what he told her earlier. Chloe deserved a super guy.

And Clark, he thought, smiling to himself, was definitely a Super guy.

-The End-

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Clark/Chloe
Sometime in the future
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Title screencap from Home of the Nutty.
Other screencaps courtesy of Dynamic Duo.

I ought to say no, no, no, sir
(Mind if I move a little closer?)
At least I'm gonna say that I tried
(What's the sense in hurting my pride?)
I really can't stay
(Don't hold out)
Ahh, but... baby,
It's cold outside
-The Brian Setzer Orchestra, "Baby It's Cold Outside"

"I really need to get going, Clark."

"It's snowing like crazy out there, Chloe. The roads aren't safe."

"Oh, it's only a few inches so far. I think the Yaris can make it. If it can't, I'll just call you for a little lift."

"Come on, Chlo. It's nice and warm in here. Who wants to go out into a howling storm?"

"Well... the fire is nice. Maybe just one more cup of coffee."

"Here you go. Hey... is there a draft over here?"

"I don't think so. It feels plenty warm in here to me."

"You know, I think there's some cold air coming in around that window. I've been meaning to take a look at that."

"Don't worry about it, Clark. It's fine."

"I just don't want you to get a chill. Here, let me grab the blanket off the back of the couch... is that better?"

"Mmmm. That's nice and warm."

"See, I told you there was a draft. It's really cold outside. You should stay for a while longer."

"But I've just about finished my coffee..."

"So? What's your hurry?"

"Well, I have to get up early tomorrow. I have an early shift at the Planet..."

"You are not driving all the way from Smallville to Metropolis in this weather, Chlo. I'll give you a lift. So don't worry about it. You can sleep in."

"I hate to put you to the trouble, Clark."

"It's no trouble. I really don't like you driving on the roads when it's snowy out."

"Well, okay. I guess I can stay a while longer."

"Good. You want some more coffee, or are you warm enough?"

"I'm pretty warm."

"Pretty warm isn't good enough. Here... let me kind of get under the blanket with you..."

"Clark."

"What? I'm just trying to make sure you stay warm."

"I'm warm. Trust me."

"Yeah. Me too. Oh, Chlo..."

"Hey. What happened to we're-just-friends?"

"Well, we can be friends underneath a blanket, can't we?"

"Yeah, except you're squeezing my boob."

"Oh, I am not. I would never do that."

"Uh-huh. Look, Clark, maybe I better get going..."

"But it's so cold out, Chlo. You really don't want to go out into a blizzard, do you?"

"I don't think three inches of snow constitutes a blizzard."

"It's getting worse, though. Listen to that wind. Really, you ought to stay here."

"You just want to squeeze my boobs."

"I told you, I would never do that. I would never even consider it. Honest."

"Please. If you're going to get to squeeze portions of my anatomy, then I think I ought to be accorded the same privilege..."

"Oh. My. God."

"I assume that was an utterance of approbation?"

"Huh?"

"You like?"

"God, yes, I like. Do it again."

"Well, okay. But let's get one thing clear. I'm just trying to keep you warm."

"Oh... God... I'm warm. Very warm."

"Yeah. Me too."

"And that's a good thing, Chloe. I mean, listen to that wind howl. It's getting awfully cold out there."

"But it's nice and warm under this blanket."

"Yeah. I think we should stay right here, and warm each other up."

"It really seems like the most sensible course of action to take in the middle of a storm, now that I think about it."

"Great. I'm glad that we see eye to eye on this matter."

"But I still think you're just using this as an excuse to squeeze my boobs."

"Um. Well. I guess I've been busted... so to speak."

"Don't worry about it. I really don't mind, as long as you don't mind me doing this."

"Unnnnhhhh. No... I don't mind."

"Good. Warm me up, Clark. It's cold outside."

-The End-

Home For the Holidays

Clark/Chloe
Season 8
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays
'Cause no matter how far away you roam
When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze
For the holidays, you can't beat home sweet home
-Perry Como, "Home For the Holidays"

There were presents beneath the Christmas tree.

That, in and of itself, shouldn't be surprising. After all, people typically put up Christmas trees so they could stack presents beneath them. Presents and Christmas trees went together like peanut butter and jelly.

It was the fact that the presents were beneath her tree that was puzzling.

In November, a disastrous wedding to Jimmy Olsen had ended in her being abducted by a monster, and her life had subsequently unraveled completely. 2008 had been a long, hard year, and the way things had finally fallen apart completely had freaked her out. Lost and frightened and alone, she'd left Smallville.

No. If she was going to be honest about it, she'd fled-- fled the ruins of her life, in the hopes of creating a new one.

She'd climbed into her little car, with a few of her most treasured possessions, and driven until she reached Fawcett City, where she'd managed to get a job with the major newspaper there. It had been too long since she'd worked as a journalist, due to an unjust firing and an alien supercomputer that had taken up residence in her brain-- it had really been a hard year-- but the Fawcett City Post-Standard seemed glad to have her. She'd buckled down immediately and begun working long hours, churning out story after story.

A month later, she still hadn't heard from any of her friends or family. She and her dad hardly talked anymore, since he'd moved to the sunny shores of Florida. He hadn't bothered to come to her wedding, and she doubted he even knew what had happened there. God knew she hadn't told him. Her former fiancee/almost-husband Jimmy was recovering at Metropolis General, with the support of her cousin Lois Lane.

She knew Lois was pissed with her, pissed at the way she'd just run off and left Jimmy to deal with the fallout from his injurites-- but the truth was, she didn't love Jimmy, and hadn't for a while. She'd been forced into marrying him, thanks to the supercomputer in her brain, which had been using her wedding to Jimmy to cover its own, much darker agenda. Left to her own devices, she would have broken up with Jimmy six months ago.

Even so, she hadn't wanted to leave Jimmy to face it all alone. But Jimmy hadn't wanted to see her. When she'd hesitantly stepped into his hospital room, he'd cracked open his bruised and swollen eyelids and uttered two words quite clearly: "Get out."

She'd stood in the sterile white hallway crying, while Lois coldly informed her that he blamed her for everything that had happened. Chloe could understand that. In some moments, she blamed herself. It hadn't been her idea to be taken over by an evil computer, of course, and it certainly hadn't been her plan to have a huge, armored monster rip their reception apart. Even so, she didn't have any trouble understanding Jimmy's aversion to looking at her.

The computer in her brain had led him on, used him, and then dumped him in favor of a big ugly monster. Naturally he was pissed.

Jimmy's anger and Lois' disapproval had all been too much for her to take, and she'd run away without letting anyone know where she was. Given all her recent bylines, though, it wouldn't be much of a challenge to find her on a Google search, and she'd figured her best friend Clark Kent would show up almost instantly, and demand that she come home.

But he hadn't.

And that was just as well, because she was still angry with him about the mindwipe thing. She'd lost all her memories as the computer in her brain took over. Clark had used his Fortress of Solitude to restore them, only he'd decided not to return the ones that were about his secret. So he'd Swiss-cheese-holed her memory, albeit with the best of intentions, and when she'd finally been fully wiped of the computer's programs, getting her memories back in the process, she'd been totally pissed with him.

The two of them had had... words. Ugly words. Angry words. And on her side, quite a few obscene words.

It was no wonder he hadn't come after her, really. She'd said some pretty horrible things to him. Of course, he'd deserved them. But still.

She'd alienated her last friend in the world, and now she was all alone on Christmas morning.

Her artificial tree was adorned with white lights, and pretty but anonymous decorations from Wal-Mart. She'd meant to plug it in, sit down with a cup of coffee, and look at the tree glitter for a while, while trying not to mope over everything she'd lost.

But when she'd walked into her tiny living room, she'd discovered that the formerly empty space beneath the tree was stacked high with presents.

She blinked at the packages a moment longer, then crossed over to them and sat down on the floor. They were all neatly wrapped in shiny green, red and blue paper, adorned with large bows. Someone had taken the time to do a really nice job wrapping them. But there were no tags.

Santa, she thought, and smiled a little sadly. She'd had occasion once before to suspect that Santa Claus actually existed. But even if he did, Santa had no reason to bring twenty or thirty packages by her empty apartment. Even when she'd been a little girl, "Santa" had never brought this much.

She picked up a small one on top, shook it experimentally, and then tore off the paper. It was The Golden Hum by Remy Zero, one of her favorite albums ever. Back in her freshman year, she and Clark had listened to it practically nonstop. But her first college roommate had swiped it, and she'd never quite gotten around to replacing it.

The next package opened to reveal a hefty volume: Tales of the Weird and Unexplained, by Aleya Naiman. She'd adored the book as a kid, but had left it behind when she moved to Smallville. Clark had found her a copy in the local library when she'd first moved to Smallville, but she'd never managed to find another copy for herself.

Intrigued, she picked up the next package and unwrapped it. It was a little green alien mug, like the one she'd kept pens and pencils in at the Torch. One day during senior year, she'd reached over for a pen without taking her eyes off the story she was working on, and knocked it off the desk. It had shattered against the industrial flooring, and she'd never found a mug like it again.

She kept opening packages, finding replacements for things she'd lost, things she'd once loved that had been destroyed or lost or that had simply fallen apart. When she opened one of the larger packages and found a teddy bear exactly like the one her mom had given her when she was little, which she'd somehow lost during her move from Metropolis U back to Smallville, she hugged it to her, blinking back tears.

"Clark," she whispered into the empty room-- because she knew who'd brought the presents now. Only one person on Earth knew her this well. Even Santa couldn't possibly know this much about her. "Clark... I appreciate it. But you can't replace everything I've lost. Not the big things. Not the things that really matter."

There was a whoosh and a rush of wind, and suddenly he was sitting next to her on the floor. He wore old jeans and workboots, and his familiar red jacket over a red and green flannel shirt. His dark brown hair looked slightly windblown, and she guessed he'd been some distance away, waiting to hear her speak his name. He might have been back in Smallville, for all she knew. She honestly wasn't sure how far away he could hear her voice.

"You're right, I can't replace the things that really matter," he answered, looking at her earnestly. "Only you can do that, Chlo."

She closed her eyes, still holding the bear to her chest. "Maybe I don't want those things back, Clark. Maybe I don't want my old life back."

"Chlo..." He reached out a big hand absently and set a delicate glass ball to spinning. He watched it, avoiding her eyes. "Look, I know everything got really screwed up. And part of that was my fault. Hell, maybe it was all my fault, if you want to get technical about it..."

"You didn't ask Brainiac and Doomsday to come to Earth, Clark."

"No. But I'm the one who wiped your memories of my secret and allowed Brainiac to take you over. I screwed up, and I'm sorry."

She was silent for a long moment. "Just because Brainiac took me over?"

"Hell, no," he answered instantly. "Because you told me you didn't want to forget my secret, and I had Jor-El take those memories anyway. Because I was so focused on protecting you and trying to make you happy that I forgot you're a grownup who gets to make her own decisions."

She blew out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She was glad to know that Clark understood what he had done wrong, and was sorry for it. "I appreciate the fact that you want me to be happy," she said softly. "But the truth is, I didn't want to marry Jimmy. It was all Brainiac's doing."

"Yeah. So what I did didn't make you happy, just forced you into marriage with a guy you didn't want. You explained that pretty clearly last month, while you were telling me exactly what you thought of my ancestry and reproductive habits."

She felt her cheeks redden slightly. "I may have been a little ticked..."

He laughed without mirth. "Chloe, you were a little ticked the way I'm a little fast. And it's okay. You had every right to be. I screwed up bigtime, and I'm sorry. I told you I was sorry then, but I don't think you were ready to listen."

"I was too freaked out to listen," she said softly. "My life was falling apart. I was scared."

"Yeah." His voice was very soft and very deep. "I was scared, too. I was scared I was losing you."

"And then I left."

"And then you left," he echoed. "And I don't know if you'll ever come back. And... I'm still scared."

She hugged the bear a little more tightly. "I'm not sure I want to come back home, Clark. Things are improving. I mean, things aren't great here, but they aren't awful, the way they were in Smallville. I have a job. I'm working as a journalist again. And I don't have a supercomputer taking over the dark recesses of my brain. So that's an improvement, right?"

He turned his head and looked at her. His green eyes were very serious. "But this isn't where you really belong."

She sighed again. "Maybe I don't really belong anywhere."

He looked at her a moment, then reached out a long arm and hauled her up against his chest.

"I miss you, Chlo," he said into her hair.

She tried, very hard, not to melt against his flannel-clad chest. He smelled like pine soap and fabric softener, and felt every bit as cuddly as the bear she held in her arms. She really wanted to drop the bear and wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. "I miss you too," she whispered into his shirt.

"Then come home. I know things got screwed up, but we can fix them. But we can't do much to fix things if you keep running away."

"I did not run away," she said with dignity, or as much dignity as a girl could have when her face was buried against a guy's shoulder. "I just thought it would be smart to fall back, regroup, and examine my options."

"Ahhhh." She heard a smile in his voice. "Well, you can regroup in Smallville, too, you know."

"I can't." She sighed. "I don't have anywhere to live..."

"Oh, yeah, that is a problem. Let me think about that. Oh, I know-- maybe you don't realize this, but I have this old rambling farmhouse with a spare bedroom and a hundred acres. I bet I could shoehorn you in there somewhere."

"But I have a job..."

"The Planet has some openings. And if you don't want to work for a Luthor publication-- well, I hear the Inquisitor is trying to clean up its act, believe it or not. Trying to become real competition for the Planet. I bet they could use someone like you."

"Uh, maybe. But I can't just leave... I'd have to give two weeks notice..."

"I can superspeed you back and forth for a couple of weeks, or even longer, if you can't find another job right away. No problem."

She sighed into his chest, feeling his arms around her. "Clark... what are we talking about here, exactly? Because I sort of thought you and Lois..."

"God, no," he said with such feeling that she could hardly hold back a chuckle. "I mean, yeah, okay, at your wedding I was feeling kind of lonely, and I did kind of, well..."

"Hit on her?"

"I wouldn't put it that way, exactly."

"You were about to kiss her, big boy."

"Yeah. It was a mistake. I thought I'd lost you for good, Chlo. I mean, you were married. But she's not the one I really want to kiss, trust me."

"Really?" She thought about that for a moment. "But you do in fact have someone in mind that you'd like to kiss?"

"Definitely," he said, very softly, and she felt his lips brush over the top of her head. She shivered.

"I guess I could come home if you really want me to," she murmured into his shirt. "But Lois... and Jimmy..."

"Lois will get over it," he assured her. "You know how she is. She holds a grudge for a few weeks, and then she's onto the next grudge. Once she calms down, she'll realize none of it was your fault. She's just upset because she hates seeing Jimmy so badly hurt. I think maybe she cares more about him than she likes to admit."

"Hmmm. Well, then there's Jimmy..."

He squeezed her waist. "Jimmy's a tougher case, Chlo. He got ripped up pretty badly by Doomsday. I don't know if he'll ever be able to look at you again without thinking about that day. But it's not like you want him any more, anyway. Do you?"

She thought she heard a trace of anxious insecurity in his voice. She shook her head firmly.

"I don't want him that way, no. But I don't want him to hate me forever, either."

He patted her back reassuringly. "Somehow I don't think Jimmy's the hating forever kind of guy, Chlo."

She thought about going back to Smallville, about facing the wreckage of her life and putting it back together. She thought of mending bridges with Lois, and Jimmy, and maybe even picking up a phone and calling her dad. She thought of talking with the people she loved most in the world, of seeing familiar places, hearing familiar voices.

A strange feeling clenched in her chest, and she slowly realized it was homesickness. She hadn't liked being all alone in the world. She missed her friends and her family and her life.

And more than anything else, she'd missed Clark.

Slowly, she lifted her head. He was watching her, his pale green eyes alert, but filled with an oddly vulnerable expression. She realized he was afraid she wouldn't come back.

She smiled into his eyes and tilted her face up, brushing a kiss over his lips. "You're right," she told him. "It's time to go back."

He broke out into a radiant, beaming smile and rose to his feet, sweeping her into his arms as if she weighed no more than air.

"Hey," she objected. "Don't forget my presents."

"Don't worry," he answered. "I'll come back for all your stuff later."

She frowned a little, suddenly embarrassed by the multitude of packages beneath her tree. "I didn't buy you anything, Clark."

"That's okay." He looked deep into her eyes and spoke very solemnly. "The only present I need is you."

There was a sudden blur, and then he was placing her carefully onto the tattered couch in the old Kent farmhouse. She'd spent more time in this house growing up than she'd spent in her own, and decked out for Christmas, it looked heartwrenchingly familiar. A fire crackled comfortably in the hearth, pine garlands lined the mantel, and in the corner a Fraser fir gleamed with multicolored lights and old glass ornaments.

She looked around at the comfortable, warm surroundings, and couldn't stop a smile from curling the corners of her mouth. Clark dropped down next to her and put an arm around her, smiling back at her.

"Welcome home," he said.

-The End-

Colored Lights

Clark/Chloe
Season 7
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

She bends over the present he just handed her, smiling as she rips the gold foil paper. He watches her, somehow unable to look away from her, and admires the way her hair, every bit as gold as the paper, glints in the multicolored light shining from the Christmas tree.

He thinks that her effect on his life is a lot like the lights on the tree. Without her, his life would be colorless, black and white and gray. Without her, his life would be dusk instead of daylight.

But her smile lights his days when he visits her at the Daily Planet, and the sound of her voice lights up his nights when he calls her before bed. Laughing with her, joking with her, talking with her, brightens the shadows in the dark corners of his life and fills them with rainbows.

Without her, he'd be a tree sitting alone in the forest, unadorned and lonesome.

But this Christmas morning, he's not lonesome, not at all. Because she's sitting beside him on the couch, giggling as she opens the box and finds a stuffed bear wearing a miniature Daily Planet t-shirt.

And as she leans over and gives him a warm, friendly hug, he doesn't feel like a fir alone in the dark, shadowed woods. He feels like a Christmas tree, dripping in tinsel and glittering with brightly hued lights.

Chloe Sullivan fills his life with color.

-The End-

Yes, Virgil, There Is a Santa Claus

Superman futurefic (spoilers for "Lexmas")
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

"This is totally lame, Dad."

Charlie Ashford grinned, thinking his son sounded just like he'd sounded when he was eight. Except he hadn't had a dad. He'd been what was politely referred to as an underprivileged child, which meant his mom had been working two jobs and still hadn't been able to scrape together enough money to afford Christmas presents for her five kids.

If it hadn't been for the kindness of strangers, he wouldn't have had any sort of Christmas for five years running. Which was why he and his son were now walking into Metropolis' biggest mall, their arms laden with wrapped gifts.

His son had never known what it was like to be poor, and Charlie hoped he'd never have to. But Charlie knew very well what it was like, and he realized some kids in Metropolis didn't get Christmas at all unless people like themselves helped them out a little.

"It's not lame," he said mildly. "Every year the Daily Planet runs this Toys for Tots drive. They've been doing it since I was a kid, and every year it gets bigger. I know it's hard to believe, but there are kids out there who won't get any presents at all if other people don't donate them."

Virgil scowled. Charlie thought wryly that if he'd had a name like Virgil, he would have had the shit beaten out of him in school. But a decade ago, the name had gotten popular, sort of like the names Noah, Connor, and Braden had when he was a kid. His wife was into what was cool and fashionable, so the scion of the Ashfords had been dubbed Virgil. So far, the kid hadn't gotten beaten up once, somewhat to Charlie's amazement.

But then, there were five other kids named Virgil in his class, so that probably wasn't really surprising. Probably a kid named "Charlie" would be the one to get beat up nowadays.

"Why don't their parents buy them stuff?" Virgil wanted to know.

Charlie heard the rumbling sound of a crowd close by, and he raised his voice a little to be heard over the noise. "Their parents can't afford it," he explained. "Not everyone has a job, you know."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "It's still lame. I don't see why I had to come along."

Because I want you to grow up to be a generous and decent human being, Charlie thought, but decided it was probably best not to say so. "Superman's supposed to be here," he said instead. "If you donate a gift, you get to shake his hand. That's cool, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Virgil admitted. "I guess that's pretty cool."

"Plus..." Charlie grinned. "You might even get to meet Santa Claus."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Dad. Everybody knows there's no such thing as Santa Claus."

They walked around a corner, and found a huge crowd. There was a long line of people waiting to meet Superman, and they moved to the end of it. Charlie craned his neck, trying to see over the crowd.

"Is Superman here?" Virgil demanded, hopping up and down.

Charlie craned his neck, looking over the crowd. "I think so," he said.

The line moved forward, and people shifted position a bit, and suddenly he saw a tall, dark-haired man in the familiar red, blue and gold suit, a Santa hat sitting on top of his dark hair. On his left a red-suited Santa sat in a chair, a small child in his lap, and to his left stood a blonde woman-- a reporter for the Daily Planet, Charlie thought, recognizing her photo from a column on the Planet's online editorial page. But it was Superman who drew his attention.

Oh, my God, he thought, shocked. It's Santa Claus.

Charlie had been a little kid, about Virgil's age, when he'd walked into his living room late one Christmas Eve and found a young, dark-haired guy wearing a Santa hat and leaving presents under the tree. He'd glared at the man with suspicion, because everyone knew Santa had white hair and a beard, and wore a red suit.

"You're not Santa Claus."

"Sure I am." The man had smiled, and pointed to his hat, as if it constituted incontrovertible proof of his identity. "I'm, uh... I'm the new, improved model."

Charlie's eye had been caught by movement on the roof across the street. "Liar," he'd said, pointing. "You can't be Santa. He is."

The dark-haired man had stood up and looked out the window, then left without another word, and Charlie had gone to the tree and poked eagerly at the presents he'd left.

The next morning he'd gotten the video game player he'd always wanted, along with a bunch of cool DVDs and toys, and for a while he'd wondered if maybe the young guy really was working for Santa. He couldn't have been the real Santa, of course, because he was too young. But maybe he'd been an elf or something.

As Charlie had gotten older, of course, he'd realized there was no such person as Santa, and eventually his mom had told him they'd gotten gifts from Toys for Tots for five years. At that point he'd realized the young man had just been delivering toys for Toys for Tots, and he'd realized there had been nothing magical about it at all. His Christmas that year had been due to the kindness of strangers, not Santa Claus.

Which in and of itself was pretty magical, really.

But as he stared at Superman, who was grinning beneath his Santa hat, he realized he'd seen him before.

Of course he'd seen plenty of photos of Superman, and he'd even seen the man fly overhead a few times, but he'd never put two and two together. But seeing Superman wearing the Santa hat, he suddenly remembered a long-ago night vividly.

Superman had been the "new, improved Santa" delivering presents to his house that Christmas Eve.

The line inched forward, and at last the blonde reporter-- who was dressed as an elf, and a pretty darn cute one, considering she was probably ten years older than Charlie was-- took his armload of presents, and Virgil's, too, adding them to the growing stack of presents behind Superman.

Superman stuck his hand out to Virgil. "Thanks for bringing the presents," he said, his deep voice ringing with sincerity.

Virgil shook his hand, looking impressed. "Wow," he said, very softly.

Superman flashed a bright grin, like he was used to kids being tongue-tied and awestruck around him, and offered his hand to Charlie. "Thank you," he said.

"Thank you," Charlie said. "For everything."

He could tell Superman didn't recognize him-- and really, there was no reason he should. Charlie been eight years old, after all. But it didn't matter. Because now he knew those presents hadn't entirely been due to the kindness of strangers.

There had been a little magic involved, after all.

"If you like," Superman said to Virgil, "there's a line over there where you can tell Santa what you want for Christmas."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "There's no such thing as Santa, Superman. Everyone knows that."

"Right," Superman answered, nodding solemnly. "Believing in Santa would be almost as crazy as believing in a guy who flies."

Virgil blinked up at him, looking confused, and then shrugged.

"Okay," he said. "I'll go talk to Santa."

"Merry Christmas," Superman said with a smile.

"Merry Christmas, Superman," Charlie said.

They headed for the end of the other line, and Virgil tugged on Charlie's sleeve.

"Dad," he said, very softly. "Superman's real. Is Santa real? Is there really a Santa Claus?"

Charlie looked at the Santa at the head of the line. He looked a lot like the guy Charlie had seen up on the roof that night, but really, all guys in Santa suits looked alike. That had been a long time ago, and for all Charlie knew that guy was dead by now.

Besides, Charlie was a grownup now, and he knew there was no such person as Santa Claus. Santa was just a sort of personification of the way people tried to be generous at Christmas, the way they tried to take care of one another.

He looked at the huge pile of wrapped presents behind Superman, presents that would make a lot of kids in Metropolis very happy, and he smiled.

"I don't know if that's the real Santa Claus or not," he answered. "But..." His gaze returned to Superman, and he remembered seeing a younger version of that well-known face, smiling at him as he put presents on a bare, empty floor beneath a tree. Superman had looked like a teenager then, just a kid, really. A kid who'd been trying to make other people happy, even before he'd put on the suit and cape.

A kid who'd helped make one of Charlie's childhood Christmases a lot brighter, the way he was still helping to make kids' Christmases brighter, even all these years later.

"Yes, Virgil," he answered at last, smiling. "There definitely is a Santa Claus."

-The End-