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The thing was it had to be a mistake. It was as simple as that. A glitch, maybe in the program. User error. There was no way his pick was going to be attending their tiny office holiday party.
Clark looked down at the email on his phone and then back up at Jimmy.
"Hey, Jimmy?” He started gently, trying to get his friend’s attention, “I got—"
"No sharing! All draws are final!" Jimmy yelled a little too forcefully across from his desk. "And no switching! Or else Cat will just end up getting herself again. That's why we're doing the online draw. So Cat can't cheat. Again. Like she does every FREAKING year."
Cat chose that moment to shimmy out of her seat and wink at Jimmy as she headed to the break room. It did nothing to improve Jimmy’s mood. It did seem to distract Lois from her latest article until Cat was out of sight. He wasn’t sure if Lois realized she was not being subtle.
Clark nodded along through Jimmy's little tirade. Clark had recently taken a mandatory de-escalation seminar; it turned out it was only for managers, but Clark had somehow been mistakenly added to the email chain. They had probably meant to add Clara Kenny in accounting. It was probably a mistake like that.
The seminar had already been helpful, though. He had already used a few tactics when talking down desperate folks in his Other Job.
"Yes. I can see how that would be frustrating when someone ignores the rules. It feels like cheating. I completely understand where you’re coming from, Jimmy. And I agree with you. It's just that I got—"
Jimmy lunged across their desk and placed his pointer finger over Clark’s lips. Clark blinked at him silently. Looked over at Lois, pleadingly. She only shrugged her shoulders and went back to typing. Traitor.
"It's called Secret Santa, Clark! Emphasis on Secret!" Jimmy suddenly pushed his chair backwards and stormed off, mumbling about how Clark wouldn't know how to keep a secret to save his own life.
Clark looked down at his phone again and then back towards Jimmy's retreating form. Then over to Lois.
"Who did you get?" Lois asked, craning in her seat away from her monitor to try and read the name on Clark's phone.
"Bruce Wayne," he replied flatly. He turned the phone towards her so she could clearly read the name that had been haunting him since the draw picks were sent out last night.
Lois let out a bark of laughter before slapping him roughly on the back. He moved forward with it to keep her from fracturing any of the bones in her hand.
"Good luck with that one, Smallville. What are you supposed to get the man who has everything? And for under 50 dollars?"
Clark took in a deep breath, held it for four seconds and then exhaled.
"I haven't the slightest clue."
This was bad. This was very bad.
Christmas was Clark's favorite holiday and he had always prided himself on his gift giving skills, but this was impossible. A doomed mission. It had to be some mistake. There was no way Bruce Wayne was coming to the Daily Planet holiday party.
"Well, maybe he'll add something to his wish list. Or you could call his secretary. They know everything."
"Executive assistant," Clark corrected mostly to himself, "they're called EAs now."
He’d tried to talk to Wayne’s EA once to schedule an interview after the paper acquisition earlier that year. He was certain they were playing Mario Party on a Nintendo during the call while they told Clark that Mr. Wayne’s calendar was booked solid and the next available appointment was in March of the following year.
Only three more months now until he finally got his interview.
❆
Clark counted down the days approaching the holiday party with a growing sense of dread.
He checked the site once, sometimes twice, a day to see if anything had been added to the online wishlist.
❆
It hadn't. It stood empty, mocking.
❆
"Just donate 50 bucks to some charity on his behalf," Lois said around a mouthful of pad thai, her feet in his lap as the latest episode of Green Card or Get Out played on his TV. It seemed like none of the couples would be walking down the aisle this season. That was probably for the best.
Clark shook his head. That wouldn’t work either.
"Lois, he has his own charity. And he's on the board of more.”
“Well,” Lois said around another mouthful of noodles, “there's always a gift card.”
❆
Batman appeared behind Clark so suddenly that he had to pretend to not be startled.
He gave Clark Vaguely Disappointed Analytical Stare #6.
"Nothing,” Clark said without Batman needing to put his judgmental question into words, “Just… trying to figure out what to get someone for Christmas."
Batman grunted which sounded to Clark like: ‘Christmas is a Capitalist holiday perverted towards overconsumption. You're bad and should feel bad for liking it in the first place.’
“It's not impacting my work—” Clark argued against Batman's silence.
Batman inclined his head 12 degrees.
“Well,” Clark grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest in a way he knew was entirely too childish, “if you hate Christmas and joy so much you can kiss your present goodbye then, B. I’ll donate it to Gifts for Gargoyles. Find someone who will appreciate it.”
“Good,” Batman said, “I don’t need new batarangs.”
“Way off, pal. You’re never going to guess what it is.”
Batman tilted his chin slightly. It was his Challenge Accepted look. Clark rolled his eyes.
❆
“You could give him a bottle of scotch,” Lois suggested, barely looking up from her phone, “rich dudes love scotch.”
❆
Clark loved research. Loved a moment when he could just immerse himself in a thousand pieces of information and carve out the story there.
It felt like a superpower that had nothing to do with his birth or biology or the light of the sun. It was something Clark was good at, because he put in the legwork.
It was just research, Clark told himself, like he would do if he was working on any other story. He didn’t need to feel weird about reading through so many interviews and looking at some many pictures. He was at it for almost an hour before the pattern finally emerged.
And once he had that he knew what to start looking for. Soon enough, he knew exactly what to get Bruce Wayne for Christmas. He was going to give him something the entire world thought lost.
Clark was going to win Secret Santa. And also then Batman was going to have to admit he was wrong when Clark told him later how great of a gift giver he was and the other man would finally learn the true meaning of Christmas.
❆
The Daily Planet holiday party was well underway when Bruce Wayne walked through the doors, a small dusting of snow melting in his inky dark hair. Clark dropped his drink, but caught it in his other hand.
Bruce greeted Perry with a firm handshake. They chatted for a bit and then Bruce Wayne began to systematically work is way through greeting all staff members in attendance. Clark did his best to hide.
❆
Clark tried to keep his eyes off of him. It had been one thing staring at his photos, it was another thing entirely for him to be across the room from him.
Bruce Wayne was… stupidly pretty. And Clark needed to not look at him directly, like an eclipse.
Jimmy was taking his elf duties seriously. His hat jingled as he moved around, passing out each present in order.
"This one is for you, Mr. Wayne!" He called out happily.
Wayne smiled politely, a little bland, and took the present.
His hands moved deftly to unwrap the bow Clark had redone twenty-six times until it was perfect. The wrapping paper was next; Clark tried not to be distracted by the way Bruce expertly slid a knife from his pocket and ripped open the tape on the box with a flex of his bicep.
Bruce let out a soft breath as he looked down into the box. He lifted up the Gray Ghost action figure and something complicated flickered over his features. Lombard glanced over Bruce's shoulder and let out a bark of laughter.
"Is that a box of VHS tapes? Does anyone even own VCRs anymore? What's next? 8-tracks? Laser discs?"
A few other people joined in with polite chuckles.
"Wow. I…" his hands were steady as he examined the handwritten labels on each VHS, "I haven't seen these for a very long time." There was a sense of reverence there. He sounded younger for a moment.
Jimmy’s hat jingled again as he stood up and clapped his hands together.
“Now you guess who got you the gift."
Clark looked away, suddenly.
“I…. I don't know,” Bruce said after a moment.”
“It was Clark!” Lois called out, her words just on this edge of slurring. She and Cat had been sharing Cat’s thigh flask for the better part of the night. They’d also disappeared into the Wellness Room for a suspicious thirty-six minutes, but he’d done his best not to listen to anything happen in there. “He had his Ma mail the tapes all the way from Kansas so he could make copies!”
Bruce Wayne turned his attention to Clark, and for a moment, Clark forgot to remember to breathe.
“Thank you, Clark.”
Clark nodded, lips pursed, as Jimmy lifted up the next present for delivery.
❆
Clark fled towards the stairwell as soon as the gift exchange was finished. His new $50.00 gift certificate to Dave’s Donuts, courtesy of Max who wrote the entertainment reviews, was tucked into his wallet.
"Mr. Kent!" A deep voice called out behind him before he could flee.
Clark turned and was face to face with Bruce Wayne. He was even more handsome up close.
“Mr. Wayne! Hi! Hello! Happy holidays. I hope you're enjoying the party. What can I do you for?”
"I wanted to thank you again. For my present. It was very thoughtful."
"Oh, it was my pleasure, Mr. Wayne. I'm just glad I could get you something you liked! You're a difficult man to shop for."
“Bruce,” he said, “please.”
Clark nodded.
“Clark,” then he countered, “it’s only fair.”
"How did you know?" Bruce asked.
“That you were a Grey Ghost fan?” Clark was not about to admit he’d scoured through the internet until inspiration had finally struck, "I honestly can't remember where I read it. I did some research when I was looking into you for a story about the paper’s acquisition, but I remembered you were a fan too.”
“Too?” Bruce said, a bright sparkle in his ice-blue eyes.
“My Pa and I used to watch it together, but he is a farmer so he needed to get up early most mornings. We taped every episode and then watched them the next day after dinner. I was thinking about getting them digitized, but that would have been over the budget and Jimmy's been really strict about the rules this year, because the last few years Cat kept trading with other people so she would end up buying her gift for herself, and, anyway my folks still had some old tapes, so I just made another set of copies for you."
"I watched them with my father too. There are a few I never saw the end of because I fell asleep. It's impossible to find this anywhere. There was a studio fire where all the originals were destroyed."
Clark had learned about that fire recently, like after realizing Bruce was a Gray Ghost fan recently, but before deciding on the exact gift recently. It was the reason why it had never made it to syndication even though, in Clark's opinion, it would have done incredibly well in syndication. Simon Trent was living in Gotham though, so Clark had sent a polite letter to him offering to make him copies if he was interested in them.
"I sent a letter to Simon Trent through his agent a few days ago when I found out. I'm not sure if it'll make it to him or not, but I offered to give him copies. Oh! And if you don't have a VHS player, there are places that can digitize it for you."
"I can’t believe you solved a lost media mystery. You may be the reason a new generation of kids get to stay up too late watching the silent crusader.”
"I always wanted to be a detective like him,” Clark laughed, “Carry the torch of justice. I guess solving this mystery feels pretty neat."
“And the action figure?” Bruce prompted, “Where on earth did you find that?”
"Oh, well! I was visiting my folks back home in Kansas and there's this big antique and collectibles store in town. I figured they might have something fun." There wasn’t much of a secondary market for Grey Ghost merch compared to something like Star Wars. He could find some figures online ranging from a few dollars to some in mint condition going for three hundred. His had been out of the box and priced at $25.00.
"I had that action figure when I was younger. I don't know what happened to it. I lost track of a lot of…” The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched into a sorrowful smile, “after my parents died, I had trouble holding onto things that made me think about them. I put them away for a really long time. Thank you for this. It was in my stocking when I was six. I can remember playing with it all through Christmas breakfast. I got syrup on his cape and Alfred had to wash it for me. I held on to it when I watched the shows.”
“I’m glad I could help prompt some fond memories for you.”
“Did you ever have one?” he asks, “The action figure?”
"I still have mine," Clark admitted with a laugh. His was in worse shape than the one he'd given Bruce. "I got him for my seventh birthday. He’s on my desk back in my apartment. I have him consult with me when I'm getting tripped up on a story.”
"Does that work for you?" Bruce smiled at him, arms crossed over his chest as he casually leaned against the wall, settling in to chat longer.
"More often than you think!"
Being under Bruce’s direct focus felt like mainlining sunshine. He felt… powerful in a way he didn’t usually as Clark. Worthy of attention. Supercharged. Exothermic.
"You're going to have to stop by Gotham some time,” Bruce said, smiling so beautifully Clark had a moment where he forgot that this was not some Hallmark Christmas film where the handsome CEO of his company would fall in love with his buffalo check, Midwestern charm, and old pick-up truck. Bruce Wayne wasn’t going to come stay on the farm with him, he wasn’t going to blunder through an awkward ‘meet the parents’, he wasn’t going to fall in love with him. He was going to forget who Clark was as soon as this office party was over. “We can watch a few episodes together. I've got a pretty good theater setup.”
Clark hoped the journey he took his face on went unobserved. He smiled at the polite, but clearly meaningless invitation.
"That sounds wonderful,” Clark replied, humoring the social farce.
Bruce looked like he was about to say something else, probably his polite goodbyes, when the man’s phone began to ring. Clark’s own Justice League issued communicator let out a high frequency that indicated an all hands on deck situation.
Well, at least the gift exchange was over. No one would realize he skipped out early.
“I’ll let you take that. Merry Christmas, Bruce.”
❆
Despite the invasion of some extra-dimensional beings who had tried to kidnap and usurp the North Pole during the middle of his office holiday party, Clark was hoping for a quiet winter break. (Clark still couldn’t believe Batman knew there was an actual literal real life Santa Claus and didn’t tell him; nine year old Clark would feel so vindicated right now.)
On the last league meeting before Christmas, Clark handed out his presents to everyone on the team. Flash and Green Lantern tore into theirs at the same time, but Flash got his open first. Diana thanked him before opening her own.
When Clark handed over Batman’s present, Batman gave Clark a look that Clark filed away as Indeterminate Emotion #005.
“Go on,” Diana urged. Batman grunted, turned away, and left.
Several minutes later, from the safety of his room on the Tower, Batman growled out his thanks.
Clark couldn’t help but smile.
❆
No major work issues, for either of his jobs, popped up over the holidays and he got to spend his vacation time in Smallville on the farm for Christmas. He helped his Pa with some overdue maintenance, baked some treats with his Ma, and caught up with a few old friends who were in Smallville for Christmas.
It was quiet. It was relaxing. It was perfect.
❆
"Clark!" Lois barked out waving her arm frantically as he cleared the distance from the elevators over to his desk.
"Lo! Hi. How was your break?”
“Fine!” she answered quickly and then demanded, “Now tell me about yours.”
“Oh!” Clark pulled off his messenger bag, placed it down on his desk and started to remove his overcoat, “It was really nice. Ma sent along some pfeffernusse for you.” He grabbed his bag and pulled out the tupperware and offered it to Lois.
Lois snatched it and immediately popped the top off and started eating one.
“Great great, but what about this, though?” Lois gestured to a beautiful floral arrangement positioned between them on their shared desk. He tried to identify the flowers as he admired the expertly crafted arrangement, it looked like parrot tulips, red and white striped amaryllis, magnolia, peonies, and a few branches of fir.
“Oh! Someone sent you flowers?” Clark loved flowers. He felt a pang of unexplainable, unwanted, and unwarranted jealousy. He shoved down the feeling and tried not to think of that saying that most men only get flowers at their funeral, “that’s so nice and the fir in it makes it smell amazing.”
“No,” Lois answered, “someone sent you flowers and I want to know: who, what, where, when, and why, Smallville. You better not be holding out on me.”
Clark took a closer look at the card attached to the vase and slid it out of the envelope.
Clark— it read, Thank you for your thoughtful gift. We didn’t get a chance to schedule our movie night. It was signed Bruce and underneath that was a phone number with a Gotham area code.
“So?” Lois asked, shoving another cookie in her mouth, “Also, tell your Ma she outdid herself again. These are amazing.”
❆
Clark took the stairs up to the roof three at a time, fast enough that he was there in just a few moments, but slow enough security wouldn’t be wondering what was wrong with their equipment if they happened to watch this back one day.
He entered the number and deleted it. Re-entered and deleted it again.
He added it in again, saved to his contact list as Bruce. His finger hovered over the call button for far too long before he impulsively hit it.
“Hello,” the other voice answered, voice thick like he’d just woken up.
“Hi,” Clark said and then found his brain totally blank about what to say next.
“Clark?” He sounded, maybe… hopeful? Clark’s stomach flipped. This was… meant to be romantic, right? He hadn’t misread that? It was just, between the second invitation to come to his place, the flowers, and the personal phone number on the card urging him to call.
“Yes! Sorry. Hi, Bruce. I got your flowers. I wanted to say thank you. They’re beautiful.”
No one had ever bought him flowers before. This was going to be so embarrassing if Bruce was simply being nice. If he bought flowers as a thank you for all the gifts he received.
“You liked them?” There it was again, that almost imperceptible flicker of something insecure and wanting in his voice.
“No one has ever bought me flowers before,” it came out softer than he meant it to; Clark cleared his throat, “I loved them. Thank you.”
“Good,” Bruce sounded like he was smiling on the other side of the phone. “Your gift was so thoughtful. I wanted to give a proper thank you.”
“Did you know magnolias are older than bees?” Clark asked.
Bruce laughed then, and there was that rush of sunlight again flooding Clark.
“I did know that, actually.”
“Because you like bees?” Clark asked, “Or flowers? Or dinosaurs?”
“Yes,” Bruce replied, “a little of all of those, but I definitely had a dinosaur phase as a kid.”
“Who didn’t?” Clark chuckled, “It sounds like we had a lot in common as kids. Have you had a chance to watch any of the episodes?”
“No,” Bruce said, “about that. I was hoping you and I could… find a night for you to come out to Gotham. So we could watch the first episode. Together.”
There were a thousand reasons to say no. A thousand more reasons on why it would be a spectacularly bad idea. That he was misreading every single sign because he was stupid, and hopeful, and this was going to blow up in his face so wildly he might never recover.
“If you wanted to,” Bruce added a moment later to fill in the silence.
Clark could hear Batman’s voice telling him all the flaws in the plan, all the reasons that getting involved with a civilian, especially one so high profile, would cause him untold problems; Clark ignored every single one of them and smiled.
“I’d love that, Bruce,” he replied, “my schedule can be pretty flexible. Just let me know when.”
“Tonight?” He asked, that same edge of genuine nervousness creeping around the borders of his word, so subtle Clark could have missed it if he wasn’t who he was.
“I could do tonight.”