Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Lights All Aglow (1/1)

Summary: Christmas lights can mean so many things over the course of one lifetime.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make nothing. All Superman characters, plot points, and recognizable dialogue belong to DC Comics, Warner Bros., December 3rd Productions and anyone else with a stake in the Superman franchise.



***


I love my Christmas tree. The lights are so pretty. All the different colors make me happy. I like the red best. And the blue. And the green. And the yellow ones are nice too. And…pink is for girls. But…I guess they are okay too. Mommy likes pink a lot.

I asked Daddy about the lights. He says he puts them up after Thanksgiving every year because they make Mommy and him happy. He said that, for a long time, the lights made them sad, because they didn’t have any kids to share Christmas with. But then I came to them and now the lights make them happy again. The lights make me happy too. Sometimes, at night, we all sit with the lamps off in the living room and just the Christmas tree all lit up. I love that. It’s…snuggly.

Santa is going to love our tree, I just know it. This year, for the first time, I got to help Daddy shop down the tree. I used to only be able to help point out which trees looked nice. But this year, Daddy let me hold the axe while he guided my arms to swing it. He said I can’t tell anyone though. Most kids my age would probably get hurt on the sharp blade. But not me. Nothing ever hurts me. Mommy says it’s because I’m a special little boy. And, I guess, maybe it’s neat that I can’t get hurt and don’t get sick. But I don’t like having to keep secrets from my friends. That makes me sad. Sometimes, I even have to pretend to be sick or hurt. Mommy says I’m not really lying to people when I have to pretend. She says it’s just something we need to do to keep me safe from people who might be not like that I can’t be hurt. Maybe she’s right. But I still don’t like it.

What if Santa doesn’t like that I have to lie about stuff like that? I want to be on the good list. Not the naughty list. Naughty kids get lumps of coal, not fun toys to play with.

Mommy says Santa knows it’s not something I have a choice about. She says he doesn’t mind that I have to pretend and keep secrets.

I hope she’s right.

I was proud to help Daddy with the tree. I’m such a big kid now. I’m five now. A whole hand. Actually, I’m almost six. And I helped him put on all the new lights we bought for it. Most of last year’s lights broke and we couldn’t fix them. Then Mommy put on the garland and the three of us put on all the ornaments together.

But now Mommy says it’s bedtime. Santa can’t come until we’re all asleep. And I want him to come. I hope he brings me what I asked for. I can’t wait to wake up in the morning and see if he left anything under the tree with all its pretty lights!


***



The bright, cheerful lights on the Christmas tree feel like they are somehow mocking me. I usually love Christmas. But not this year. This year, I kind of hate it. Or, at least certain aspects of it. Like all the happy, smiling Santa decorations. All the big, fat lies. I know the truth. Santa, the reindeer, where the gifts all come from. None of it’s real. There’s no workshop. No elves. No flying reindeer. No magic. It’s all just…boring. I hate it. Believing was way more fun.

All those stupid Santa decorations feel so…pointless. A waste of money. Useless.

I get it. Why Mom and Dad have so many of them. Some have been passed down from their families. Like the ceramic statue of Santa with one of his reindeer, which belonged to my great-grandmother, and was passed down to my own mother. Or the crudely made Santa with his sack of toys, whittled out of wood by my father’s uncle. Others, my parents made or bought when I was younger, deepening and encouraging that belief in Christmas magic and a generous, happy-go-lucky fat guy who gives out toys to good kids.

What I don’t get is why they both put all those Santas around the house this year. They know I don’t believe anymore. They sat down with me and explained it all once I told them about my suspicions. That was back in the summer. It’s not like they decorated first, then learned that my belief is gone. Can it be that they just can’t break the tradition? Are they upset that the charade is over now? Are they having a hard time dealing with the fact that their little boy is growing up?

Or is it something else?

I asked Mom about it, last night before I went to bed. I wanted to know why she’d went to so much trouble to bedeck the proverbial halls with the army of Santas that we’ve accumulated over the years. I think I expected to see her be hurt that I asked. But she wasn’t. She smiled at me.

“It’s not about believing in one magical man that can visit every kid in the world over the course of one night,” she’d said, and her eyes seemed to almost sparkle as she’d talked.

“What do you mean?” I truly hadn’t understood what she was getting at.

“He’s…the embodiment of the spirit of Christmas,” Mom had stressed.

“Isn’t that what Jesus is for?” Perhaps I was too harsh when I’d scoffed at her explanation.

“Well…yes and no. He’s the reason why we have Christmas. But Santa? Santa represents the idea of giving selflessly. After all, he’s supposed to deliver toys to kids all around the world, at no benefit to himself.”

“He demands obedience and cookies,” I’d lobbed back, proud of myself for making such a perfect argument.

I felt stupid when Mom chuckled softly and shook her head. Her gentle hand lovingly cupped my chin for a moment. “Oh, Clark,” she said in a quiet, contented sigh. “You’re right that we leave out cookies. But that’s tradition, not a demand from some benevolent gift-giver. It’s our way to say ‘thank you’ to someone doing a nice thing for us. And as for asking kids to behave, well, that never benefitted Santa himself.”

“But there is no Santa! You and Dad give the gifts. All parents do!” I’d crossed the line from being upset into anger. “Of course scaring kids into behaving well benefits all the ‘Santas’ out there!” I’d spat. “Because you are Santa!”

“We are, that’s true. But doesn’t being good feel good?” she’d asked knowingly. “And isn’t easier, sometimes, to have a goal in mind when trying to behave well?”

Even I couldn’t argue that. “Well…yeah. I guess so. Like saving up money from my allowance to buy something I really want, instead of wasting it on a dumb of stupid little things.”

I guess it was around then that I started to be less angry. Mom and I had a good long talk. She made me promise to keep the secret of Santa not being real. She reminded me how some of my friends have younger brothers and sisters who still believe, and how important it is to them that no one shatter the illusion and rob them of the magic. I can understand that. I preferred being in the dark about it too.

Still, here we are. A week from Christmas. But even after that talk with mom, I still feel like all these Santas around the house are a waste. Like they are mocking me for believing in a fairy tale for so long. Like they are taunting me, reminding me of how stupid I was to blindly believe in something so obviously fictional. But more than anything…I feel…sad. I miss the magic. Even if it was never real, I miss it. And I wonder if Christmas will ever feel as special as it used to again.



***


Christmas lights. I never thought of them as being exhausting before. I know that sounds weird. And it’s not something that most people associate with the multicolored points of light. I’m honestly surprised by it myself. But working as a mall Santa will do that to a guy, I guess. It’s not that I dislike my job. I love it, actually. Seeing the pure joy on the kids’ faces when they come up to sit on my lap. The way they light up if I can use their name without having to ask – always, always so careful to make sure it’s something I could have overheard without the use of my enhanced hearing.

It’s brought me so much joy. I can’t even explain it.

It’s magical.

And yet…in a lot of ways…exhausting.

It’s not the demands of the job. Because of my…uniqueness, I don’t get tired easily. My boss appreciates my stamina – he appreciates how few breaks I take, allowing more parents to buy pictures of their kids with Santa. And it’s not dealing with the kids themselves. Sure, some of them are…ill-behaved, to say the least. I’ve been kicked and had to quickly duck out of reach before my fake beard could be yanked from my chin. I’ve been peed on and thrown up on art least a dozen times so far. But the vast majority of the kids have been genuinely on their best behavior when meeting “Santa.” A few have been absolutely terrified of the big fat, jolly man in crushed red velvet and trimmed with fake fur. When I told Dad about that, he laughed, then told me about how I screamed and cried the first three years they took me to see Santa. And then he pulled out the – admittedly funny – photos as proof.

But none of that is what makes playing Santa challenging. Staying in character is easy. I’ve been acting my whole life. Pretending to be something I’m not. Pretending to be normal. To blend in with the crowd. To pass myself off as someone much weaker and clumsier than I am. Faking sick. Faking injuries. Faking tiredness. All to uphold the illusion that I’m no one special, someone so completely unremarkable and ordinary than no one gives me a second glance, someone so plain and boring that they forget me almost as soon as they meet me.

No. Adopting the alter ego of Santa wasn’t challenging at all. It was actually ridiculously easy. It’s almost scary how easy it was for me to slip into the role and how effortless it is for me to become someone else while I’m in the suit.

It’s…the requests. Some of these kids…the things they ask Santa for when they’re sitting on his lap. Oh, sure, most of them want a new bike, or a new dollhouse, or what-have-you. But others…

What is Santa supposed to say to the kid who asks him to make the bank stop calling about the unpaid mortgage? What can I say to the kid who tearfully asks Santa to make his sick mother well again? How many more will ask me if Santa can bring them a baby sister or brother – a request I know all too well from my own childhood, before I knew of my parents’ inability to ever have children of their own? What words will take away the fear and pain of the little girl who’s only request is that Santa make mommy or daddy stop drinking or beating them? How do I explain that Santa can’t bring a military family member home from overseas? How can I promise a kid that the toy they want will be under the tree on Christmas morning, when it’s so painfully clear that mom and dad are almost dirt broke?

Most days, this job is the most uplifting thing in all the world. But on those days when I get a few of those teary-eyed kids begging Santa for miracles he can’t deliver…my heart breaks. And it’s that sadness that saps my energy and leaves me weighted down to the point where I feel like – my immense strength aside – I can barely stand, let alone drive Dad’s truck back home or use the cover of darkness to race the wind with my seemingly limitless speed.

Some nights, I lay in bed and wonder if I should hang up the plush red suit, heavy black boots, and itchy fake beard. I wonder how on Earth I’m going to make it through another shift. I dread the next earnest, but impossible, request that will come my way. And it’s not that I don’t want to hear them. I’m not trying to close myself off from the world. It’s just…I want to help. I wish I could make each and every one of those children’s Christmas dreams come true. But I’m just one measly teenager. Even if I had the money to buy them all the toy of their dreams, I’d still be limited. I can’t take away someone’s alcoholism. I can’t fly out to a foreign country and bring home someone’s father or brother from their military post. I can’t do anything about an abusive parent or step-parent.

Despite the ever-developing, ever-manifesting abilities I have…I am completely powerless.

And that absolutely guts me.

I wish I could find a way to help.

Maybe one day. But for now, I will have to be content to simply just be Santa, and give these kids at least a few moments of brightness in their day.



***


Christmas lights. So comforting. So full of promise. Beckoning me home. Tugging at my heart, making me yearn for simple, quiet nights back home on the farm. Making me dream about homecooked meals and midnight walks through the pitch black, barren fields, with only the glimmering stars and moon to light my path. Making my heart ache for meaningful conversations with my parents.

School is nearly out for the semester. Just three more final exams and I can pack my bags and fly home for the holidays.

And I do mean fly.

The power to defy gravity and soar through the sky is, by far, my favorite ability. I’ve been doing it for just shy of two years now, but I still get a thrill every time I lift off the ground and slice through the clouds. It’s freedom beyond imagining. And it’s been…helpful. With the power of flight and my immense speed, I can fly home for dinner any night of the week and be back before my night classes begin. I can zip home for a cup of coffee or tea and a much-needed pep talk if I’m feeling overwhelmed with something or feeling sorry for myself over some failed relationship. I can blitz by the house to pick up something I left behind but suddenly find myself wanting or needing.

But those short trips aren’t really enough. While I love college, I sometimes find myself longing for even just a few days back home on the farm. Listening to the sound of absolute silence on a cold winter’s night. Enjoying the chorus of crickets and frogs and other creatures of the night on a warm summer’s evening. Being free to use my powers, safe in the knowledge that no one will catch me doing so.

Soon.

Soon I’ll be home for Christmas break.

Soon I’ll be home for a few weeks, away from school, away from the friends I’ve made here, away from the constant need to keep my powers held back on tight reigns, away from the unending need to appear normal.

It’s more than just going home though. More than just being surrounded by the things I miss. It’s about being where I fit in. It’s about the promise of always being accepted for who I am, not for who I can pass myself off to be. Like the warm, familiar glow of the Christmas lights hanging in my dorm room, home and all its comforts call to me. I can scarcely wait to be home, enveloped in the love I’ve always had there.

So I plug in my lights every night with longing in my heart. Longing and anticipation. Because soon, I’ll be gazing upon all the things I love about home.


Christmas is here again. All the lights are so beautiful. Truly. And I’ve seen them in hundreds of cities in dozens of countries on six different continents. All of the lighted displays I’ve seen have been so unique, yet so familiar. All of them have taken my breath away as I’ve explored this vast and wonderful world. And I mean that. This planet…the people who populate it…it’s all so inspiring. I still can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be able to see it all.

As a kid growing up on a farm in Kansas, I figured the only way I’d see the world was though pictures in books and documentaries on television. There was no way a kid like me could ever afford to fly to all the countries that grabbed my interest. I’d seen how close we came to losing everything too many times to be comfortable. Sure, we had our good years, where the crops grew in abundance and we got just the right amount of sun and rain to make the farm flourish. When we had more than enough for ourselves, for selling at the market, for selling to the grocer, and to donate to those less fortunate than ourselves. When we had money to spare on frivolous expenses, even after paying back the loans we’d gotten behind on in the leaner years. But I’d lived through enough lean years to know that it would only be by the grace of God that I’d ever see much more than Smallville.

So I studied hard in school. Even with my exceptional memory, I applied myself to my studies as hard as I could. I joined as many clubs as I could. I played football. Granted, I truly loved playing the game. Out of all the extracurricular activities I’d participated in, football was always my favorite. That, and the school newspaper. All the rest? Yearbook and the debate team and my disastrous attempt at the art club? The time I failed soccer tryouts so badly I wanted to hide out at home for the entire summer? All of that was just to make sure I was a well-rounded, appealing choice for any college to consider as a potential student.

Football secured me my first opportunity to leave home for a new state entirely. I jumped at the chance, my misgivings over my still-developing powers aside. As much as I knew I’d miss home, I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to broaden my horizons. So I accepted the scholarship Midwestern offered me and, before I knew it, I was off on my first true solo adventure. I was simultaneously excited and terrified. I could hardly wait to see a new place. But I’d also never been all that far from home. Concealing my powers wouldn’t be too difficult – I’d been doing that for so long it was almost as natural as breathing. But there was still always that potential to slip up – especially during football games.

Once I graduated, I secured jobs working for one newspaper after another. I constantly moved from place to place. Mostly, I had to keep moving, for fear of being discovered as someone not quite normal. It was my own fault. It was always my fault. I’d see someone in trouble and my instinct was to help them. I’m still doing it, even though I know what a dangerous game I’m playing. Each time, I’ve thrown my meager possessions into my battered old suitcase, dashed off a resignation letter to my boss, and blindly flown to whatever country I happen to stop in – either by chance or through some desire to explore the culture there.

I’ve hated moving so much. And yet…it’s been fascinating all the same. I’ve seen places I could only dream about seeing as a kid. I’ve visited places I never knew existed before. I’ve gazed at modern wonders that have stolen my breath away. I’ve been humbled almost to my knees the moment I’ve set eyes upon the remaining, lasting wonders left behind by ancient civilizations – temples and tombs and statues and theaters from people who lived so long ago, it boggles the mind to even think about it.

Over the years, I’ve seen Christmas lights and displays in those far-flung places. And it never fails to inspire me and bring me a sense of awe that, as different as our cultures might be, some things transcend all of that to bring us all together. Some things feel like home, no matter what language is being spoken, or what the people look like, or how small or large the percentage of the population celebrates the holidays you yourself celebrate. For an outcast like me, it’s heartwarming.

And yet, there’s something missing. A piece of me that I haven’t found, that the glittering lights seem to remind me of.

Family.

Christmas is about family. Oh, I’ll fly home for the holiday. I’ll be with my parents and celebrate. We’ll do all the things we usually do, all of those wonderful traditions that I’ve always held so close to my heart. That’s one of the greatest benefits of my ability to fly. I can zip off at a moment’s notice and return just as quickly. I’ve flown home just to have dinner with my parents on some of my days off, or stopped by after submitting an article to my editor just because I miss them.

But, the older I get, the more I’m struggling with the fact that…it’s not enough anymore. Seeing the world. Experiencing so many wonderful, exotic cultures. Meeting people I never thought I would. Tasting cuisines that have delighted me beyond measure. Seeing sights I could only once dream about.

Even the simple comforts of my farmland home aren’t enough. My parents’ love…I’ll always need it, rely on it, treasure it. But it’s not enough anymore.

I want a family of my own.

This Christmas, more than ever, I’m struck with the fact that I’ve never really had a real relationship before. I’ve dated here and there, of course. And I was with Lana in high school for more than a year before I finally realized that we were not compatible at all – that I could never feel comfortable exposing my super abilities to her. But I’ve never met a woman I could envision a future with. Not one of the ladies I’ve gone on dates with has given me the sense of home and belonging and confidence I’ve always wanted to feel. Not confidence in myself. But confidence that I can be myself around her – without hiding anything. I want someone to grow old with. Someone to share everything with. Not just my super side. But my dreams, my hopes, my failings, my fears…everything.

I want kids of my own.

As much as I love my parents and as much as not sharing blood ties with them makes no difference to me…I still…want to know what that’s like. To have a family who is related to me by blood. To share DNA with. To perhaps share the same unique abilities with. To look into the face of someone and see an actual resemblance between us.

I know it’s the love that makes a family. I know that for some people, blood relatives are strangers and friends are the brothers and sisters they never had. I know it shouldn’t matter if I ever share a bloodline with another person or not. I know that I’d be capable of loving any child I might be a father to in the future – be they born of the love between their mother and I or adopted through an agency or plucked from a spaceship in a field one night. I know it in my heart of hearts. Selfishly though? I yearn for the chance to have a biological family.

Even if children aren’t in my future – as much as I hope and pray they are – I long for my soulmate. I believe in love – I always have. I’ve always heard that there is someone out there for everyone, as my mom has so often said. And I’ve always believed her. But now that I’ve wandered so far from home, met as many women as I have, seen so many places…I can’t help by question the validity of that belief. I know I’m still young, but if I haven’t found the right woman after all these years of traipsing around the globe…maybe there isn’t someone out there for me after all. And if there is…I wish I knew where to look for her.

So, with a heavy heart, I look at the lights, and prepare for another holiday with an incomplete heart.



Continued Below!

I’ve not sure Christmas lights have ever shone so brightly in the entire history of mankind.

Surely they’ve never had a reason to, until now. And maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe I’ve reading more into the situation than I have a right to. I don’t care. For the first time since I was a child, these lights twinkle and shine with promise. For the first time in my life, they bring me a sense of peace. When I was a kid, the lights drummed up anticipation in my heart. What would Santa bring me? Would I get that new toy I was so desperately aching for? And then, the illusion of Santa was shattered and the lights dimmed in my eyes, becoming empty and frivolous for a short time. Forever after, the lights never quite brought that childlike awe and wonder to me, not even when my breath was stolen away by Christmas displays around the world.

But this Christmas?

This Christmas, everything has changed.

Everything.

Because of her.

The woman standing beside me, her head on my shoulder.

The woman who often barges into my apartment in the middle of the night, moving frantically and speaking even faster as she tells me what break she’s found or what theory she’s concocted to help our investigations.

The woman who gave me a key to her apartment simply because we’re best friends and partners at work.

The woman who’s held my heart since the instant my eyes first beheld her as she stormed through my interview with Perry.

The woman I am committed to one day divulging my deepest secret to, regardless of if we ever move past the “just friends” stage.

The woman I want to spend every remaining second of my life with, even though we’ve never gone on so much as a single date.

Lois Lane.

In Lois, I see my future. I see hope. Goodness. An unrelenting zest of life. An unapologetic perseverance to see justice done. I see such blinding intelligence. And don’t get me started on her beauty.

In short, I see in Lois everything that I’ve always hoped to find in a woman. She embodies perfection. When I’m with her, I feel complete. Like all the missing pieces of my heart have been found and been put into place.

She is the miracle I always prayed I’d find.

She’s the soulmate I was never truly convinced existed. At least, not for some kid who fell from the stars to live on Earth.

For the first time in my life, I’m not going home for Christmas Eve. Instead, I’ve chosen to remain here, in Metropolis, my new home. It’s weird. I’ve been just about everywhere on this planet. And nowhere has ever felt like home to me, except for Kansas, where I was born and raised. Until I landed in Metropolis, that is. Instantly, this city felt more like home to me than the fields and comfortably small town I’ve known all my life. Meeting Lois merely sealed the deal for me. As soon as I met her, I knew I would never leave this city again. Not by choice, at any rate. I would do whatever it took to make sure I could live out the rest of my life here, even if it meant dressing up in a bright, distracting Spandex suit in order to use my powers without putting my identity – and my life – in jeopardy.

For the first time in my life, the idea of not going home for Christmas doesn’t bother me. I’m more at peace than I’ve ever been. I’ve known for a long time now that it’s not the packages all wrapped up in bright, shiny paper that make the holiday. It’s not the tree. It’s not the lights, beautiful as they are. It’s the people. It’s the love and the merging of hearts. Standing here with Lois brings that into sharp focus for me.

I love her.

And it brings my heart immeasurable joy to see her so happy. When everyone ditched her last minute for their own holiday plans, my heart broke for her. I watched the tentative hope for a memorable and wonderful Christmas die in her eyes. She held back her emotions as much as she could, of course. Lois Lane is not a woman who lets people see her be vulnerable – not if she can help it. Except, maybe, for me. She’s let me see her softer, more vulnerable, more emotional side quite often, especially once we truly became friends, right around the time we flew out to Smallville and I nearly lost my life to that lunatic, Trask.

Choosing to stay with Lois tonight was one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever made. I would rather die than leave her to sit home, alone and upset, on what should be the happiest, most magical night of the year. Especially given how crummy her Christmases were growing up. I was surprised at the stories she told me. Surprised and saddened down to my very soul. I’m determined to give her a reason to love the holidays once again.

I think I may have succeeded a little. When she opened her door and saw me standing there, her face lit up in a way that I’ve only seen a scant few times before. I was thrilled to be able to surprise her like that. And then, when I gave her my gift – a crystal star plucked from the very universe that somehow sent me to Earth and into her life – the raw emotion I saw cross her features is something I’ll never forget. I saw true wonderment in her eyes and, for a moment, I saw what she must have looked like on her earliest Christmas mornings, back when her parents had still been in love and attentive to their daughters. It was more beautiful than I can put into words.

And now, standing beside her at her window, listening to the distant sound of carolers out on the street below, watching the snow drift lazily down from the clouds, I can’t help but to think that this moment has been the most perfect moment of my life so far.



***



Christmas lights. So often taken for granted. Sure, we ogle over them when we first put them up. We ooh and ahh the appropriate amount as we remember once again how beautiful they can be. And then, within a few days, they merge into the background of our daily lives, to only occasionally be noticed and appreciated the way they should be. By the time New Year’s Eve rolls around, even those fleeting moments tend to be even scarcer than before and sometimes we even look forward to taking them all down and “reclaiming” the places where they’ve dutifully burned for a month or so, chasing away the darkness and promising us a magnificent holiday season.

We all do it, I think. Even me. As much as I love Christmas, I’m only human in the way that I perceive the world, even if I’m not actually genetically a human. I can sometimes get too wrapped up in my day to day life and forget to stop and savor all the sights, sounds, smells, and even feelings of the Christmas season until it’s too late and the holiday is already upon us.
But not this year.

This year, I know I’m lucky to be experiencing any of this.

I almost lost my life this Christmas season.

If not for the bravery of Lois’ father, and the selfless way Lois’ mother shoved aside her anger at - and mistrust of - her ex-husband to assist him, I would be dead right now, instead of sitting here with Lois, her parents, and my own. That Kryptonian virus would have stolen me away from this world. Away from Lois. It would have robbed me of my greatest desire – to become Lois’ husband. To add a wedding band to the diamond ring I already adorned her finger with. To say my vows and pledge my heart, my body, and my life to her in a formal setting before all our friends and family.

Coming so close to oblivion, everything seems brighter to me now. Newer. More wonderous. Far more precious and deserving of my attention than ever before. There’s a renewed sense of purpose inside of me, to enjoy even the simplest things because I know now how easily they can be yanked away in less than a heartbeat.

Lois.

She pulled me back from the edge.

It’s hard to explain, and even harder for most people to believe, I’m sure, but when I was in that coma, there was nothing but darkness. I was walking wide-eyed in a void where I couldn’t see a thing. But I could feel a steady decline, like walking down a mountainside. And I knew that, at some point, I would come to the edge of the cliff and tumble off without warning. When that happened, there would be no coming back from it. I would die. It was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever experienced. I was almost frozen with fear, but some force kept me moving through the darkness to my doom.

Just as I reached that sharp cliff, one foot suspended over the abyss as I fought to keep my balance and not pitch forward into nothingness, I heard her calling to me. Her voice cut through the void, clear as day, calling my name over and over as I called back to her – whisper soft and weak at first, but growing into a shout as I pulled myself back from the point of no return, breaking the hold the darkness had on me and propelling me back into the world of the living. How I heard her voice, I’ll never know. It was if though some kind of telepathic link existed between us at that moment, giving me the strength I needed to break my invisible chains and send me rocketing – literally – to her aid when she needed me.

Whatever it was, whatever explanation is out there for what happened, I’ll be eternally grateful for it. It saved my life.

Lois saved my life.

So this Christmas, more than any other, I celebrate the gift of having lived another year, of having my loving family around me, of being able to enjoy all the nuances that make up the holiday, of having a future to look forward to. And the lights – one of my favorite things about Christmas – remind me of how Lois’ voice destroyed the darkness I wandered in, just as they themselves brighten the early dark of the winter night.



***



Home for the holidays.

How sweet that idea sounds to me.

Finally, finally, Lois and I are spending our first Christmas together in our new home, as husband and wife, the way we were always meant to be.

Oh, sure, it’s just the day after Thanksgiving now and we’re home again after having flown out to Kansas to be with my folks for the day. But Lois and I are already in full holiday mode. Err, well, I am, at least. Lois is trying. And that’s more than enough for me. I can’t say I blame her for reluctance. She doesn’t have the best track record with Christmas. Too many of them were ruined for her as a child – warring parents, a drunken mother, a cheating father, a broken home. Most of them have been disasters as an adult – family and friends who never showed up to celebrate with her, atomic space rats who turned the city’s residents into greedy children, a fiancé who almost died.

I’m determined to make sure this Christmas is perfect for her. I’ll work double time to make sure the entire month of December leading up to the holiday is magical for her. I want her to see what I see when I look forward toward Christmas. I want to give her the Christmas she deserves but was always so cruelly robbed of. And I will. I swear on my life I’ll make certain she has an amazing holiday season.

That’s why I woke up with the sun this morning and started decorating, flying out to Kansas to retrieve the decorations I’ve kept stored there. I didn’t have room for it all in my old apartment, so Mom and Dad kept everything safe for me at home. But now that Lois and I have a house of our own, all of these amazing, priceless artifacts of my past will come to be stored in our attic, as they should be.

Let’s see. I’ve hung the wreaths. Festooned the mantel with our stockings. Trimmed every doorway with a drape of plastic evergreen garland bedecked with red bows and tiny, shiny red and silver ornaments. Cleared away a space in the living room for our tree. Stacked the boxes of ornaments just to the side, ready and waiting for the tree to be chosen and brought home. Changed the towels in the bathrooms to festive wintery themed ones. Hung strands of colorful lights in every window.

The lights.

They make me smile.

The warm light they throw off reminds me so much of the love I see shining in Lois’ eyes every single day. In fact, they seem almost dim in comparison to the spark of life and joy I see in my wife. Like so many multicolored stars, they twinkle and almost dare me not to make wishes upon them. And maybe it’s my inner child, but I succumb to that Siren call. I have but two wishes to make this year.

Firstly, I wish for Lois’ happiness. Whether or not she ever comes to embrace the holidays with anticipation and enthusiasm isn’t what I mean. I just want her to be happy in all aspects of her life. I want to be the one to make her smile and laugh, always. I want that alluring zest for life to always burn bright within her. I want to never cause her sadness of any kind – be it in getting too wrapped up in my duties as Superman or in letting an investigation we’re involved in distract me from her or in doing or saying anything that causes her pain or distress. I want to be her refuge from the sometimes too harsh world – her safe haven where she can feel loved and secure no matter what.

Secondly, I wish that, one day in the future, we have a family of our own, with whom we can share the new traditions we’ll be making and starting this year. Kids of our own to love and shower with gifts. A reason for me to go out and buy a Santa suit, fly up to the roof, and make a show of coming down to hand out gifts, though fitting down chimneys is not one of my powers. Tiny people to tuck into bed and read The Night Before Christmas to. A joyful reason to wake up super early on Christmas morning. Little tornadoes of activity that tear the wrapping paper off their gifts and squeal with delight as they uncover each surprise that has laid in wait for them beneath the tree.

We’ve talked about it, Lois and I, and we both agree. We’d love to welcome a child or children into our budding family someday. We’re not ready yet, of course. We’re only just married and settled into our home. We need time to be together as a couple first. Especially given what a long and torturous road it’s been to get to this point. A kidnapping. Amnesia. A Lois clone. Even worse amnesia. A Kryptonian wife. A duel to the death. A wedding destroyer. Lois being framed for murder.

And those have been the easy roadblocks to get around. Lois finding out my secret was unequivocally the hardest obstacle to overcome. Everything else I knew we could get through. But the hurt I’d caused Lois by deceiving her about Superman…I wasn’t sure she would ever forgive me. I spent many a sleepless night wondering if my lies were something our relationship would ever recover from. Until, one day, I saw a change in Lois and some small voice inside my heart whispered that everything was going to be okay after all.

Still, it’s been…a lot, to say the least. We need time to recuperate from all of those setbacks and just enjoy being married for a time before we even attempt to bring children into the chaos of our lives.

It’s silly, making these wishes on the artificial lights, newly unboxed and tacked up with tape, but I believe in Christmas miracles, and somehow, I feel like these wishes somehow have a better chance of coming true because of what these lights mean to me.



***


All the lights are out, save for the Christmas tree and the lighted garland on the mantel. The world is quiet, here in the private sanctuary of our home. Lois is asleep. Our boys are snuggled down in their beds, no doubt dreaming of the gifts Santa will be delivering overnight. Even our baby daughter is sleeping now, right here in my arms after yet another middle of the night snack and diaper change. She’s so tiny, just a month old, but she’s already got a personality as big as they come. She’s definitely her mother’s child, in the best way possible.

But she is asleep and still right now. I know I should put her back to bed in her crib, but I just can’t bear to put her down. What is it about a child’s first Christmas that eclipses all the others? Which is not to say that all the subsequent Christmases pale in comparison. All of them are special and tug at my heart in just as strong a manner. But the very first Christmas? There’s something just a little extra special about it. Perhaps it’s because we’ve spent so many months preparing for that child to be born, to meet them. Maybe it’s because we’ve envisioned the perfect holiday with our family. Or it could be that we’re just so grateful to have another new member of the family to rejoice with and love.

Whatever it is, I’ve savored that feeling brought about by each of our children’s first Christmases. I don’t ever want to forget that feeling.

My children aren’t supposed to exist. Dr. Klein said so. “Not compatible for reproduction.” Those were his exact words, stammered and gently delivered and apologetic as they were. Lois didn’t want to believe that…at least, not until her father looked over the medical records and confirmed Dr. Klein’s prognosis. The fact that these three little miracles are alive and healthy is beyond anything I once thought possible. When I think about those awful moments when I was told I’d never have children…when I recall how coldly the adoption agency slammed the door closed on our dream…I’m staggered by overwhelming gratitude that somehow, Lois and I are parents. Parents to perfect half human, half Kryptonian children. I don’t know how. Maybe our love was stronger than biology. Maybe both of the good doctors were mistaken in their prognosis. Maybe some small error somewhere threw off their results. Maybe God or fate or the universe took pity on us. “Man plans and God laughs,” I’ve heard it said. Perhaps it’s true. Lois and I were already making plans to pursue other possible avenues to parenthood – different adoption agencies, looking into private adoptions, even considering letting Dr. Klein in on my secret to see if he could offer any other ideas, like fertility treatments or the still very science-fiction sounding idea of genetic manipulation – when Lois became pregnant with our oldest son.

Six years ago.

It seems like a lifetime ago, like all the ages of the world have come and gone since we first knew we were going to be parents.

And yet, the time has flown by in the blink of an eye.

It feels like another time in another dimension since Dr. Klein refused to look me in the eye while he delivered his devastating news.

None of that matters anymore. The heartbreak. The tears I shed in private, away from Lois, hoping to spare her the pain of seeing how devastated I was. The way we tried to shove our hurt aside and make the best life we could for just the two of us.

All that matters is our family. All that matters is this perfect moment, holding my newborn daughter, listening to the deep, even breathing of my boys sleeping upstairs, finding the steady, comforting heartbeat of my wife. It’s moments like these that make me thank whatever lucky star or benevolent force allowed my spaceship to land on Earth and guided me to Metropolis so that I could meet Lois.

It’s so easy, in the daily chaos of life, to forget to stop and reflect on how lucky I am. Between work, the kids’ schedules, and my duties as Superman, sometimes it feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day to have a quiet, peaceful moment to myself. And that usually doesn’t bother me. I would much prefer to be kept busy with my family than have all the time in the world to be alone. But here in the middle of the night, with only the soft glow of the Christmas lights to illuminate my world, I have all the time I need to reflect. But, in a way, I don’t need to think too much. I know I’m the luckiest man alive.

I found my soulmate. The woman I wished I’d always find. The one person on this planet who I could open up to and be honest with about who I really am. The one woman capable of accepting me as I am – an alien posing as a human, except for the times when I fly around in a Spandex suit, using my powers to help people if I can. The person who has protected me the most in this life – or at least as much as my parents have, though in different ways. Because of Lois, because of the way she wrote that first article on Superman, the public embraced me, rather than feared me. Over the years, she has endured more than anyone ever should as she’s done whatever needs to be done to protect my identity. Being accused of cheating on me with Superman. Posing with an alternate dimension version of me so the world didn’t know I was missing. Covering for me when I felt obligated to leave the planet and fly to New Krypton with Zara and Ching, all while fumbling my way through customs that were completely foreign to me and feigning a relationship with the birth-wife I’d never even known about until then.

Lois is a rare woman indeed.

I’m a father to the most amazing kids in the world. The miracles who shouldn’t exist. The people who have made my heart – and my life – complete. The tiny versions of Lois and myself who are somehow more than us. My greatest reasons for living. Being their daddy is, without a doubt, the most rewarding, most fulfilling job I’ve ever had.

So, tonight, on this night of all nights, I sit and silently reflect and count each of my numerous blessings.



***


Dull. Flat. Uninspired. Dim. Almost non-existent. Faded.

It’s moments like this that make me sad.

My eyes are weakening. My body is failing. My life is nearly over.

I can barely see the colors of the Christmas lights now.

My eyes – once so sharp they could read the date off a penny on the ground from up in the clouds – are nearly blind. I can only hope that they retain what little sight they have left for the rest of my – admittedly short – time left on this Earth. Going completely blind scares me. I’ve been blind before – many years ago, thanks to a device some criminals were using. I was lucky to have Lois by my side during those terrifying days of sightlessness. Thanks to her, I was able to regain my vision. And while I put on a brave face and acted as if I were calm and accepting of my situation, internally, I was petrified that I might never be able to see again. I hated all the mishaps I had as I stumbled around in darkness, trying to retain my independence, fumbling my way through tasks I had always so easily taken for granted. I was scared that I might have to give up all my dreams – I would have had to come clean to Lois eventually since Clark couldn’t mysteriously lose his vision at the same time as Superman, and, though I’d vowed to be the best blind person I could be, I had serious doubts that I could continue being a superhero without my sight. I was simply too much of a disaster waiting to happen.

Even now – all but bed-bound and with my powers so faded I can scarcely call myself “super” anymore – I fear the loss of my sight.

I’m no longer worried about knocking holes in the walls simply by bumping into them or anything like that. No. This time, my fear comes from not being able to see my loved ones anymore. To have to rely solely on my, albeit still crystal clear, memories when I want to see the faces of my grown children, my grandkids, and my great-grandkids. To have to conjure up images of Lois in my mind, rather than having the simple solace of flipping through the old photo albums and seeing her smiling face again with my own two eyes.

It’s been more than a year.

400 days, to be exact.

An entire trip around the sun, plus a little extra.

Thirteen whole months since she passed on.

I miss her. I miss her like I’ve never missed anyone or anything in my entire life. I miss her so badly I’m absolutely certain my grief is what’s sapped my powers and is stealing my life away. Oh, I’ve tried to be strong. Tried to fight what’s happening within my body. Tried to shake off some of my anguish so I can be there for my kids. All in vain. My world came to a crashing halt the day my wife died. And it’s literally killing me.

I wish I had more time to be with my children. I love them so much it makes my heart ache with bliss to be with them. And my grandkids and great-grandkids? They’re just the icing on the top of the cake of my life. Forever would not be long enough to be with all of them.

But…I’m tired. And though the idea of dying should scare me, it doesn’t. I’ve had a long, long, full, rewarding life. I’ve seen everything there is to see. I’ve experienced more than most people ever get the chance to. I’ve done all the things I’ve always wanted to do.

I’ve loved and been loved in return.

It’s time I rejoined my wife on the other side of the veil of death. And if there’s an afterlife, the way I’ve always believed there is, I can hardly wait to see her waiting there for me. To take her in my arms again. To feel the softness of her lips on my own again. To see that private smile she always reserved just for me. To hear the wonderous sound of her voice again.

This is my last Christmas. I’ve come to terms with that fact. And I think everyone else knows it too, though I’m not convinced all of them are at peace with it. It may well be the last holiday I ever get to celebrate – I’m not certain I’ll make it long enough to ring in the New Year. I’m okay with that too. I’m ready for the next stage of my journey. I’ve ready to shed this failing, mortal body of mine, vulnerable now to time and hurts and sickness even without the influence of Kryptonite. I’m ready to cross the threshold of death and see what awaits me there, especially if Lois is what I find there.

But all of that doesn’t mean that I’m oblivious to all the sights, sounds, and smells of my favorite day of the year. I can still appreciate the gentle sounds of the Christmas songs playing soft and low on the radio. I can still savor the mouth-watering smells coming from the kitchen as cookies and cakes and pies are baked in preparation for tomorrow. I can still look with awe at the towering Christmas tree, adorned with ornaments – some of them new and some of them even older than I am. I can still bask in the glow of the lights, recalling from memory how bright and merry they should appear to my eyes. I can still remember how my heart used to flutter at the sight of them as a little boy – how they held the promise of Santa and gifts to come. Now, my heart anticipates a different gift – that of a long overdue reunion with the woman who will forever hold my heart.

I close my eyes, think of the lights all aglow all around this vast and awesome world of ours, and let myself drift away to a dream where the lights whisper their promises of eternal bliss with Lois.





The End.