Getting down the chimney was the hardest part.
It was getting a little harder every year. The costume, the flying, keeping the secret. Each year had to be a little more elaborate than the year before.
Not that he minded. These children needed a little something extra, a feeling of hope that had been missing in their lives.
It wasn’t as though he had anything else to do on Christmas eve.
The reindeer had been the hardest part, at least in the beginning. Figuring out which roofs they’d slide off onto the ground and which roofs would have cracked shingles had been hit or miss.
Getting inside the houses without chimneys had been easier than you’d think, with x-ray vision and a set of lock picks.
It was the houses WITH chimneys that were harder. Chimneys were generally tight, even when you weren’t wearing a padded suit. Also, although fire didn’t particularly bother him, this suit wasn’t as protected as his other, and he’d had to replace several after he’d burned holes in the pants from night time fires.
Luckily, most of the poorest children didn’t have fireplaces.
He could move pretty fast, but fast as he was, it was never enough. The Foundation bought the toys, but delivering them was overwhelming even to him.
And every year more and more letters came, heart wrenching letters that were even worse than those he got as Superman.
How did you tell an eight year old girl that even Santa couldn’t bring her grandfather back?
So he did the best he could, in secret, not asking for anything in return. The few reporters who had stumbled onto the secret had agreed not to publish, knowing that it would just overwhelm him.
The children got what they needed.
Sometimes he was caught by startled parents, their tired faces stunned as he appeared before them and disappeared almost as quickly with the sound of bells. He only slowed when he knew a child was watching.
Giving was it’s own reward.
The hardest thing had been not having anyone on Christmas eve. The woman he loved was on another world, with another version of himself. His woman was dead. The world knew who he was, and never gave him a moment of peace, except in this. He would always be alone.
He did this for himself, to remind himself of the reason he woke up every morning. If he stayed behind after the sun rose to see the faces that had been beaten down by life, children who’d learned to expect nothing, who could blame him? Nothing was as sweet as the expressions on their faces, as the bewilderment and gratitude on the faces of their parents.
They got what was forever denied him…families.
As he did every year, he headed slowly home, exhausted, yet exhilarated, watching the homes of those he’d helped along the way.
He slowly floated downward toward his townhouse when he noted two figures sitting on his stoop. One was dressed in curious antique clothing.
The other was dark haired and bedraggled, and the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was staring up at him, and it took him a moment to remember that he hadn’t removed the suit.
“I found her.” Wells said.
“You’re bringing me to meet Santa Claus?” the woman asked skeptically, her eyes mesmerized by the way he was floating off the ground.
The hardest part was not laughing out loud for joy.
He settled for a smile.
