23 days to Christmas:

As it turned out, when Damian texted, "conference call," he seriously meant for them to have a formal conference call. With screen-sharing and everything.

"Do we need to, like, verify that they like each other?" Jon asked thoughtfully.

Damian, who had been tapping away on a tablet that he'd seemingly pulled out of nowhere, smirked into his webcam. "They do. I'd hardly have let you enlist me in a futile mission, Jon."

Jon rolled his eyes laboriously.

With a flourish, Damian pulled up an infographic full of statistics. The title helpfully stated, "Danvers-Luthor Social Interactions." A chart indicating their most frequently used emojis caught Winn's eye. At the top were the smirking face and the blushing smile. Typical.

"The average number of messages they exchange per day followed a positive linear trend from the point of their first meeting," Damian lectured, "to an event which I've cross-correlated with high confidence to be Luthor's betrayal of her mother. After which their daily interaction experienced exponential growth for several months and is only recently beginning to plateau. Not to mention their Snap streak is obscenely long."

"Okay, one: that's super creepy. Two: it also might be the coolest thing I've seen since my best friend told me she can fly. What are the chances your dad will let me look at his tech?"

"Minimal."

Winn sighed morosely.

"You didn't think to show me this before?" Jon complained.

"It wasn't relevant to the previous objective of the mission."

"Anything else you wanna share?"

"Not presently."

Essentially, Damian was just as forthcoming as usual. Being a brat shouldn't have been quite so endearing.

22 days to Christmas:

About three rings in, it occurred to Winn that he'd never had a direct or private conversation with Lois Lane-Kent before, and that was almost intimidating enough to make him hang up. Except he'd had this terrible thought and he needed to…

"Hello?"

"What if this is a terrible idea?" he blurted out.

"Winn? I'm gonna need some context. And maybe a, "Hi, Lois, how are you?" next time?"

"Hi, Lois. How are you?" he repeated obediently.

What had Winn on edge was that dating Lena would eventually lead to telling Lena, and it wasn't just Kara's secret and safety at stake anymore. Even if she wasn't explicitly told, Lena was far too smart not to deduce certain other secret identities from what she knew about Kara.

Jonathan was only ten, but, if the truth about him got out, there would be scientists and politicians debating whether to dissect him or lock him up. And Damian might act superior, but he didn't have superpowers. The Batman had made enemies of Gotham's most despicable and depraved; criminals like the Joker wouldn't hesitate to torture his kid to get to him. A thirteen year old—ninja prodigy or not—wouldn't stand a chance against every supervillain in the above-ground hellscape that was Gotham City.

When Winn finished saying as much to Lois, she was quiet for a few seconds.

"Look," she said finally, "I'm not gonna pretend worrying about that doesn't keep me up at night. But exposure is a risk that's indelibly tied to who we are, even if the entire Justice League hung up their cowls and their capes tomorrow and lived the rest of their lives as regular civilians. We can't make the world forget its heroes or erase all traces of them from history—believe me, you could go back to the very beginning of time and try. It doesn't work. And I really don't think anyone wants to go through that again, so…

"The point is, we've got to learn to live with the risks we can't control, and we've got to do our best to make the right choices about the ones we can. Isn't Lena your friend? Do you trust her?"

"Well, yeah," Winn confirmed, "she is. And I do. But…"

Lois hm'ed patiently.

"But why do you?"

"My father," she enunciated with obvious distaste, "is a powerful xenophobe who believes the end justifies the means in all cases, without exception. He's everything Clark and I oppose, but no one in our circle has ever questioned my loyalty because I share blood with General Sam Lane. I owe Lena Luthor that same consideration."

"Oh."

"Besides, do you actually think Bruce would've allowed this if he hadn't fully assessed all possible risk?"

19 days to Christmas:

In retrospect, Kara had always been very obvious.

Moments like this: the faint chorus of "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" piping through a small set of speakers while they watched footage of a malevolent "metahuman" in a Santa hat…yeah, that would take a lot more getting used to.

But, Alex's subsequent briefing being interrupted by Kara's cellphone? That didn't even garner mild surprise anymore. Neither did the fact that Kara was already retrieving the phone from her boot as her sister commanded, "Don't answer it."

"It's Lena," was an unnecessary clarification, because Lena was the only person whose calls still came through when Kara's phone was on Do Not Disturb.

How had he ever believed they were just friends?

"Luthor can wait."

"It could be an emergency."

"This is an emergency!" Alex insisted, but Kara had already disappeared down the hall. The brunette pinched the bridge of her nose. "For the love of—who would even call Kara Danvers in an emergency and not, like, 911?"

Winn decided this wasn't the right moment to point out that Kara Danvers was probably exactly who Lena would call for a last goodbye. Maybe Kara realized that, too, because she really seemed to hate missing Lena's calls. Even more than Alex hated being interrupted by them.

"Hey, Alex," he said hesitantly. "So, hypothetical question, because, you know, I don't have one, but sisters are supposed to always support each other, right?"

Alex's eyes narrowed. "What did she do?"

"Nothing! She didn't—I meant more like…emotional support."

She frowned and glanced toward the corner Kara had vanished around, then looked back at Winn with an air of reluctance. "Does this have anything to do with Lena Luthor being at Thanksgiving?"

"No! What? No…"

"Because it's obvious Kara has some kind of crush on her."

Winn crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look authoritative and feeling completely ridiculous doing so. "Would that matter?"

It wouldn't, she conceded with a special sort of resignation. What worried her was all the ways Kara could be burned by a relationship—platonic or otherwise—with a Luthor. For the first time in a while, Winn could clearly see the woman who'd devoted her entire adult life to keeping her little sister safe.

And Lena Luthor wasn't safe. Winn knew that. No one was really; not when something like a truth serum was a real possibility in this world. Not when holding even the tiniest piece of Kara's heart put a person in danger. And Lena had a whole lot more than a tiny piece.

But Kara returned then, and the conversation had to be tabled.

"Luthor's not in mortal danger?" snarked Alex.

Kara shrugged unapologetically. "She just called to talk."

Honestly.

8 days to Christmas:

The bartender wouldn't sell Winn alien alcohol, no matter how much he insisted he had no intention of drinking it himself. Something about fragile humans and not being held responsible.

To be fair, a scheme that could kill any human who inadvertently drank the wrong eggnog was likely not the most brilliant.

30 hours to Christmas:

"Winn," Kara whispered down the line.

Oh, god, she was sniffling.

"What's wrong? Are you okay? Is someone hurt?" As far as he knew, there were no ongoing threats at the moment.

"N-no, nothing like that. It's…Lena isn't coming to Christmas."

He should've been relieved that it was this and not something truly critical, but his stomach only tightened more. They had been doing so well. What happened?

"Are you home?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Don't go anywhere. I'll be right over."

When he arrived, he learned that the L-Corp representative who was supposed to attend some meeting in Hong Kong had apparently backed out last minute. Since Lena was too nice to make an employee cancel their holiday plans, she would have to go herself. Her flight was scheduled to board in less than 24 hours.

Kara sniffed again. "She said she can't ask someone to leave their family on Christmas. She said, "They have people they should be with," but…"

"But what about you—uh, us?" Winn guessed. "Shouldn't she be with us?"

She nodded, and he allowed himself a small moment to mourn what would never be. Because, from the pain etched into Kara's steel features, Lena was it for her, even if she hadn't realized yet. That was okay, though; he and Kara weren't meant for each other. Not the way she and Lena—two powerful, but isolated, orphans—were.

Oh.

Kara and Lena were meant for each other.

The relief finally came. He'd gotten so wrapped up in the mission that he'd forgotten they weren't living in a holiday movie. Lois Lane-Kent, queen of competitiveness, might be disappointed if they didn't manage the Christmas deadline, but there would be no real repercussions. They would all still be standing on December 26th. Kara's heart wasn't going to turn to stone, and Lena wasn't suddenly going to become an amnesiac. This relationship would work itself out eventually.

"You know she's right," he said, patting her shoulder and reaching for the aux cable. "It sucks, but it's the right thing to do. So. We're going to listen to some relevant Christmas music."

He played "Let It Snow" and "I'll Be Home For Christmas" and "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)," and Kara laughed sadly, but it wasn't until "Snow In California" that she perked up.

"Winn!" she exclaimed, bouncing eagerly. "Winn, she's not in California! She's already in Gotham for a meeting!"

And it was supposed to snow in New Jersey. A lot. Given that Wayne Enterprises was powerful enough to pull all the corporate strings in Gotham City, Winn wondered if there was maybe more to that meeting than fortunate coincidence.

How on (Prime) Earth did Batman have everyone convinced that he was just a brooding, misanthropic loner?

12 hours to Christmas:

Wayne Manor looked like the set of a Brooks Brothers Christmas photoshoot.

Selina, who'd opened the door, smirked at Winn's awestruck expression. "Damian insisted," she explained, ushering him inside. "Something about how, if we were going to make him celebrate a historically pagan bacchanalia, reappropriated to honor the savior of a religious group he doesn't even belong to, then we should do it right."

When Damian had said he'd take care of decorating, the cynical part of Winn had sort of expected a couple sprigs of mistletoe scotch-taped above a few key doorways. The boy was nothing if not methodical and utilitarian.

This was…not that.

The decorations looked extravagant but not overwhelming—nowhere near the tackiness of cheap LEDs or too much tinsel that Winn always had struggled to avoid. Just standing in the mansion made him feel like the Christmas spirit was seeping into his bones.

Having been raised in a region without seasons, Winn was plenty familiar with fake snow, but he'd never seen it as magical or realistic as on the branches of the Waynes' Christmas tree. Tinsel twinkled and gleamed in warm tones, accentuated by dispersed candlelight. Had the furniture and curtains always been that deep shade of crimson? Must've. They wouldn't have gone so far as to reupholster for the holiday. Probably.

On the mantle hung stockings for all of them, and Winn felt a relieved sense of belonging settle in his chest at seeing his own name up there. Stockings hadn't been part of their scheming, but the addition was a stroke of genius. Either Damian was treating this with the same intensity as a real mission out of habit, or he actually cared.

Weird.

11 hours to Christmas:

The mistletoe, however elegantly hung, seemed determined to fail them. It was honestly kind of terrifying that, the first time Winn saw Damian express an emotion besides impatience, it was fury. At him. For inadvertently ending up under an adorned doorway while mid-conversation with Lena.

Winn had been too distracted by relief over Lena's flight being cancelled to remember the peril, and Lena had been too eager to talk to someone who actually understood her scientific work to notice anything around her. Including the look of pure betrayal on Kara's face as Selina coughed, "Look up, nerds."

Lena rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and Winn gave an apologetic shrug and pecked her on the cheek as quickly and casually as possible. Kara's glare instantly dissipated, but Damian's didn't. If the mission failed that night, Winn would be sleeping with one eye open.

Later, Jon found himself caught between Kara and Lena under the mistletoe. It was hard to believe anyone could look so disappointed to receive simultaneous cheek kisses from those two women. As he was walking to the bathroom, Winn caught sight of Damian ripping down one of the sprigs and hurling it through an open doorway into the kitchen.

9 hours to Christmas:

At Jon's insistence, they all gathered round to read Christmas stories. Kara blushed and fiddled with her glasses as if preparing for her Broadway debut, not a semi-dramatic reading of The Polar Expressin the Waynes' living room.

Lena, only slightly reluctant, read for the narrator of A Christmas Carol with her Tiny Tim, a beaming Jon, sitting in her lap to share the book.

Kara gave a standing ovation.

While Jon and Damian bundled up to play outside, Lena stood off to the side with her and blushed at Kara's playful, complimentary teasing. They weren't standing very close or murmuring in low voices, like they sometimes did when there were fewer people around, but there was no questioning the slight angle of their shoulders towards each other or the gentle smile that Lena reserved for Kara.

8 hours to Christmas:

Dancing was one of those staple romantic situations that was really hard to instigate artificially.

Clark, for example, as a married man and established sentimentalist, had the freedom to spontaneously ask his wife to dance without fear of rejection or ridicule. Something about the fondness cushioning Bruce's eyeroll perfectly captured how it felt to be in the same room as Mr. and Mrs. Kent.

Then there were the Dick Graysons of the world, who had the enviable confidence and charisma to put themselves out there. Thankfully, he respected Kara's murderous glare and turned his winning smile quickly from Lena to Selina to ask, "How 'bout a mother-son dance?" Sure, inviting your future-stepmother to dance was much less intimidating than a near stranger, but he'd had the guts and intent, nonetheless.

But Kara wasn't Dick or Clark. And, as confident as Lena could be in a corporate setting, she was still socially awkward enough to have developed a lip-bitting habit. Which was almost worse than Kara's habit of fiddling with her glasses.Basically, they were hopeless wallflowers without a way to bridge the gap.

Until Taylor Swift.

"my reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me."

"This song…that lyric reminds me of you," Lena admitted quietly, worrying her lip between her teeth. "Of when we first met."

Bingo.

"Oh," Kara breathed, "yeah, I do like you for…do you want to…?"

"Certainly."

Winn didn't have X-ray vision, but he was pretty sure Lois was grinning wildly into Clark's shoulder.

6 hours to Christmas:

As they walked toward the dining room, Damian referred to Lena as Kara's girlfriend. Kara stuttered to correct, for everyone in earshot—so Winn, the boys, and Clark, who had already turned the corner—that they weren't dating.

"Why not?" Jon asked, the picture of innocence.

Kara blinked mechanically. "Why not?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Because! Because…Lena doesn't like women that way."

"Yes, and…" Lena stopped mid-nod and frowned. "Well, no, that's not strictly accurate." She bit her lip, and her eyebrows scrunched briefly. "Kara is my best friend, not—"

Jon grinned gleefully. "My mom and dad are best friends."

"What your parents have is special," Lena said slowly.

»TT« Damian interjected mutedly. Winn elbowed him lightly.

"Not all friendships are meant to be more. Sometimes, there's no, um…attraction. Or long-term aspirations—having children, for instance—are at odds," she said, as they rounded the corner. "And, sometimes—trying to turn a platonic relationship into a romantic one can strain or ruin it. Sometimes, a friendship is too valuable to gamble."

Kara nodded, moving to pull out a chair. "She said words I agree with…"

"You don't actually believe that?!" Lois exclaimed, plunking down the water pitcher she'd been carrying in. "Sure, if one person dreams of a manageable mortgage and the other of world domination…yeah, it's probably not gonna work out. But, if you've got all the ingredients to make apple pie, why the hell would you settle for half a bushel of apples and some frozen pie crust?"

Alfred grimaced as he came through the door from the kitchen hefting the Christmas ham. "Frozen? Humph. Some of us have more integrity than to consider that an ingredient, Mrs. Kent."

"Be gentle with Lois, Alfred," chuckled Clark, who had the mashed potatoes in one hand and green beans in the other. "She's barely domesticated."

As tangents continued to develop and the table filled with food, Kara stood, frozen, by her chair with Lena at her elbow. She seemed unsure if the moment of chastisement had passed. From the look of concentration on her face, she was struggling to craft a response to a topic that everyone else had already move on from.

"Aren't you going to sit?" Bruce asked, masking mild humor.

"Oh, uh, yeah," Kara squeaked, instinctively pulling out Lena's chair for her.

Even Lena seemed to notice the significance of that gesture.

4 hours to Christmas:

"I wonder what's taking Kara and Lena so long," wondered Clark as he stood and headed for the door to the kitchen.

Once he mentioned it, Winn realized it had been a while since the pair generously offered to retrieve dessert after dinner.

"Maybe they need help," Jon guessed, scampering after his father, with Damian at his heels.

"Actually," said a wide-eyed Clark, stepping back from the partially open door, "I think we should be a little more patient." He lifted both boys by their collars and turned them around.

Winn peered around his inhumanly broad shoulders to see that Kara had Lena pinned up against Bruce Wayne's undoubtedly expensive stainless steel refrigerator. Just before Clark eased the door closed, he noticed a sprig of mistletoe balancing precariously over the edge of the top of the appliance.