Author: Leynalynn
Season: 6
Song: Santa Baby
SS For: Kalara
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: I really got carried away with this as I do with most of my one-shots. This is my first attempt at writing in the first person POV. It's a little something I wrote for the holidays. This one-shot is a part of the DI Holiday Ficstravaganza. I hope everyone enjoys! Happy holidays!

Once Upon A December

I know that certain questions are unavoidable. Normally I love the questions. I'm trying to be a reporter. I know that questions are required and I know that all good questions need answers. What I don't understand is why I need to answer this question. This unavoidable question is the bane of my existence each and every year. Why does everyone have to ask it?

For example, when the average person finds out that a friend or family member is pregnant the unavoidable question is always about the due date, or those little details that a hormonal pregnant woman might not want to share. However, it is practically expected that the woman will just start gushing and spill everything an outsider might want to know. By the end of the conversation they might even be consulted on the little bundle of joy's name possibilities. That's just the way things are. If the pregnant woman would say that it was no one's damn business but her own, it would look bad.

This unavoidable question could have the same nasty side effects. When someone asks what you want for Christmas you can't glare, or grimace, or ignore them completely. Most importantly you can't throw your hands up in the air and scream 'I want nothing and if you buy me something I'll throw it at your head'. It's supposed to be the holiday season. I'm supposed to be happy and jovial and respond with something simple like candles, or clothing. I could simply say that I don't want anything, but no one ever takes no for an answer and they'll just keep bugging me until I come up with some lame idea for a gift that I'll end up returning anyway.

I go through the same thing every Christmas. As soon as the leftover turkey is consumed and the pumpkin pie is a fading memory, everyone gets into the holiday spirit and just has to know what gift to inflict upon me this year. To them it's impossible to fathom that someone might not enjoy the holidays as much as they do. To them I have to want something. Well, I don't.

As a child it's common to get out a box of crayons and compile a long, detailed list of everything you want to find under the tree on Christmas morning. I never really hit that stage. When my mother died my list became short and simple. All I wanted was my Mommy back and if Santa couldn't bring that, what was the point in asking for anything else? Each year I would hope that maybe she'd be there waiting by the tree when I woke up and each year I would be thoroughly disappointed. I learned to stop wanting Christmas presents. I couldn't see the point.

So here I am, standing in front of the Kent's house, about to walk in and deal with the question that's on everybody's mind. I give it two minutes after I walk in. Martha likes getting her shopping done early and I'm positive she'll be the first to ask. I've been putting this little trip off for as long as I could manage and now there's two weeks left until Christmas and I can't keep Martha and Chloe waiting any longer. I should've never agreed to go shopping with everybody. This was a horrible idea. I've always been able to slip under the radar before this dreadful holiday and avoid this situation with the Kent's. Now I'm stuck. I'm up against a wall of unopened Christmas presents with no means of escape.

Okay. I have to go in sometime. I just have to get this over with. I'll enter, play it cool, and hope that in the hustle and bustle of all the shopping, no one will remember to ask me what I want. As long as I remain calm and collected no one will have to know how much I hate this holiday. I'll open the door in one, two, three.

BANG!

"Owww!" My head hurts. What just happened? How did I end up on the ground?

"Lois!" Martha's voice calls my name. I think I'm still a little dazed. Did I get shot or something?

"I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and I didn't realize that you were standing outside. Are you okay, Lois?"

I know that voice. Just typical. I'm about to walk in and face the drama that is Christmas shopping and Clark Kent knocks me on my ass before I can step a foot through the door. This is going to be a very long day.

"I'm fine, Smallville. I didn't expect to be plowed over when I came to visit, but I guess I should start strapping pillows to my butt before I leave the house to prevent these sorts of situations. I feel like I walked into a brick wall."

"Are you sure you're okay, Lois? I could drive you to the hospital if you think something's broken. Can you get up alright?"

He's so concerned and sincere. He's always the Boy Scout. Maybe I can use this to my advantage. I might be able to get out of this whole Christmas shopping business.

"I'll be okay. My back is just a little sore. Just give me a hand off the ground." I give him my hand and he pulls me up to my feet with hardly any effort.

"Wow, that really hurts!" I place my hand on my back and give a dramatic, yet effective groan of pain and wobble on my feet uncertainly. He immediately is by my side trying to stabilize me. This is working perfectly!

"Maybe I should stay home with Lois. She doesn't look like she's up to spending the whole day shopping and carrying gift bags. I'll help her inside and get her some ice and aspirin," Clark offers.

I try not to jump for joy when Martha reluctantly shakes her head yes. I'm a genius. I'm an absolute genius. I've bought myself time to come up with a decent excuse why I don't need Christmas presents. Go me!

Just as I'm about to 'hobble' off into the Kent's house Chloe pulls up and honks the horn. Crap. She'll realize that this is all a scam to get out of Christmas shopping. I was so close!

Chloe pops her head out of the car. "Hey, Lo, ready to shop till you drop?"

"I haven't been able to shop and I've already dropped," I groan dramatically. Maybe my acting skills will be able to convince Chloe. She knows I hate Christmas and maybe she'll have mercy on my poor soul.

"What happened?" Chloe runs over to us looking rather concerned.

"Clark accidentally ran into her as she was coming in the house," Martha explains. I just keep up the whole charade. Chloe looks genuinely convinced. I'm almost there.

I notice Chloe exchanging a look with Clark. They do that a lot. Chloe has entered the world of the Kent's and their famous non-verbals. I'll never understand what some of those glances mean.

"Sure, Lois. Stay home and rest. I'll go shopping with you later," Chloe smiles at me kindly and motions for me to go into the house. I can't believe it was this easy to get out of shopping today. If there were Christmas miracles, this might be considered one of them.

Now all I have to do is deal with Clark for the rest of the day. This might be more difficult than I thought. If I know Smallville, he'll try to be all concerned and pushy until I yell at him to back off and hurt his feelings. Then I'll feel all guilty and dwell about how I shouldn't be so hard on him all he time. After a significant time of dwelling, he'll do something annoying and I won't feel so bad. This is the way it generally works with me and Smallville. We have a complicated relationship. Wait, did I say relationship? I meant friendship. We have a complicated friendship.

I go in and leave them all to their non-verbals and plop down on the couch. This is the life. I could get used to this.

I must've fallen asleep on the couch because suddenly I open my eyes and see Shelby's charcoal nose two centimeters from my nose.

"Achoo!"

Shelby snorts at my outburst and gives me a slobbery kiss. Why does this dog insist on following me around? I know we had that incident with me hitting him with my car, but does that mean that I'm now bound to years of allergy attacks?

I scramble to a sitting position. Apparently, Shelby hasn't been the only one watching me sleep. Smallville is sleeping on the floor next to the couch with his head propped up against the cushion. He actually looks kind of cute sleeping like that. I don't see him like this very often. Usually he looks like he has the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. Now he looks relaxed and peaceful, maybe even a little handsome.

Wait, what am I saying? I'm Lois Lane. The rules in the Lois Lane book of ethics state that Clark Kent is never ever considered cute or handsome. Maybe I hit my head during that fall. This is clearly not rational thought.

I must focus. How will I get out of the whole Christmas present thing? Can I say that something has come up with Lucy and leave town until the whole holiday cheer explosion passes? I doubt it'll work because I can just see Chloe looking into it and discovering that it's all a big fat lie. I'm screwed. There's no way out of this. I hate Christmas. Look what it puts me through every year.

I might as well have a little fun with it. Since I'm stuck here playing poor little injured girl with Clark and he decided to take a nap on me, I might as well vent some of my anger on him. I know it's mean and anti-Christmas but that's the point. I don't care about getting coal so just go and put me on the naughty list. I want to have a little bit of fun before I have to worry about the dreaded question again.

I get up and walk silently into the kitchen. I know exactly what to do to make my day interesting. I could have sworn that there was some whipped cream left from Mrs. Kent's pumpkin pie. Yes! I found it! This is going to be very interesting.

I walk back and fortunately Clark is still sleeping on the floor oblivious to my master plan. I eye Shelby carefully to make sure that he knows to stay away. I can't wait until Clark wakes up. That's something I don't think everyday.

I stare thoughtfully at the whipped cream and decide that since it's Christmas time I should stick with a theme. Clark would make a lovely Santa Claus. Off with the lid and look at that beard. Now where's my camera? This is perfect blackmail material.

I've waited here patiently for fifteen whole minutes. When will he wake up? I want to capture the look on his face when he sees his new makeover. He wears enough red. He'd be a good Santa.

"Look, Shelby. Santa came early this year!" I can't suppress the fit of laughter any longer.

"What?" he says sleepily.

"You need to shave, Smallville."

"What's so funny?"

I can't take the suspense any longer. I hold up a mirror and wait for the fun to continue.

His eyes widen but instead of the normal outrage or embarrassment that I'd expected, he starts laughing along with me. We both spend a good ten minutes laughing manically on the floor. Just when I think I can pull myself together he looks at me and swipes whipped cream off of his chin and smears it on my cheek.

"Hey! No fair! I can't be Santa Claus. I'm missing certain credentials for that job. "

"So you have been checking me out?" Clark's eyes glimmer back at me with a hint of mischief. I can't help but roll my eyes. I try to wipe the whipped cream off and smear it back on his face. He fights me the whole way. We kick and scream and laugh until we can't laugh anymore.

This is the most fun I've had in ages. I'll never tell him that. The two of us are just sitting here covered in whipped cream and I finally feel a bit happier. I smile and lay my head on his chest.

"That was fun."

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Lois."

Crap. I'm supposed to be hurt. This definitely doesn't help my cause. Maybe I can still keep this going.

"Well, I'm still a little sore. My back is kind of stiff."

Clark furrows his eyebrows and gives me an odd look.

"You sure seemed fine just a minute ago when you tackled me to the floor. Is something else bothering you?"

Oh no. Not good. He's going to start asking questions. How do I get out of this?

"No, nothing is bothering me. Actually, I'm feeling a little tired. I should probably wash up and take another nap. You know, so I can be rejuvenated and ready to help with dinner later."

"You help with dinner? Something is definitely wrong with this picture."

I slap him playfully. "My cooking isn't that bad!"

"Shelby, will you eat Lois' cooking?" Clark gives me a pointed look and turns to face Shelby.

Shelby glances between Clark and I, whines sadly, and runs away into the kitchen.

"I've proven my point," Clark says firmly.

"That dog is out to get me. If I didn't know better I'd swear you both where in cahoots to try and drive me insane."

"Shelby, she's on to us. We have to come up with a new strategy," Clark whispers in mock-secrecy to the dog who just poked his head out of the kitchen. Clark again gives me that famous Kent smile that's becoming more endearing to me as the day rolls on.

"You think you're so cute," I say as I begin to ascend the stairs. Most people don't casually use each other's showers, but showers at the Kent's have become a ritual for me ever since I started using them as an excuse to annoy Clark. Whenever I'm nearby and in a mood to bust his chops, I stop in, engage in some playful banter, shower, and I'm on my way. Lately, they've been a welcome relaxation. They're my little way to escape my thoughts and in this situation in particular, they serve as a perfect excuse to prevent Clark from prying into my feelings. Something about that farm boy always makes it harder for me to keep up the boundaries that I have formed around my personal thoughts and feelings.

"I know I'm cute. I'm naturally cute and you're naturally a horrible liar." I stop dead in my tracks. Clark raises an eyebrow at me, waiting for a response.

"What are you talking about?" I try to say casually. What makes him think that he knows me so well? Am I that transparent?

"Well, at first I really thought you had hurt your back during that fall, but then when I thought about it I saw a distinct pattern in your behavior. I remember you acting in this same aloof manner this time last year, right before you left town for a few weeks. Lately you've been avoiding the house more and every time a Christmas song comes on the radio you change the station. When it all started I put it off as you just not feeling festive quite yet. However, you've come up with elaborate excuses every time someone asked you about Christmas shopping. Now, as soon as we finally get you to make time in your 'busy' schedule, you fall and hurt your back. The only reason I've played along so far is because I figured that you'd tell me when you were ready. It seems now that you have no intention of talking about whatever it is that's bothering you and you'll continue acting like Scrooge until someone forces it out of you."

Okay, maybe I am that transparent. How did he get so insightful? You'd think that Chloe had been giving him secret lessons on becoming an investigative reporter. What do I do now?

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Smallville," I answer quickly.

Wow, that was a lame comeback.

Clark rolls his eyes at me. "I think your issues with Christmas might explain why you've been acting differently and why I've gotten numerous calls from Ollie concerning why you haven't returned his calls."

"What? Just because I'm not humming Christmas tunes and hanging mistletoe you think that I'm the next Grinch?" I try to act perplexed and offended. I doubt that this will work.

"Yes," Clark says simply.

"Maybe I'm just not that interested in Ollie. Maybe I'm just not in the mood to be dancing around the house thinking about snow and presents," I ramble on, trying to justify my actions. Wait what did he just say?

I'm taken aback. "What?"

"Yes. I think that you have some latent issue with Christmas and you'll hate and avoid the holiday until the day you die unless someone gets you to come to terms with it." He stares at me with a focused gaze and a new glow of confidence is radiating from him. He really thinks that I need him to do his whole savior routine in some odd attempt to save Christmas for me.

"You think that I want you to help me come to terms with my Christmas issues?" I ask incredulously.

"So you do admit that you have Christmas issues?" Clark grins back at me, knowing that I confirmed his suspicions.

"No. I don't have Christmas issues."

"I think you do."

"No, I don't and if I did I wouldn't want your help with dealing with it!" I shout back at him in a burst of uncomfortable anger as I rush up the stairs and into the bathroom. I need my shower. I need to get my thoughts off of Clark Kent and Christmas.

The water pours down on my head and runs down my face like the tears I refuse to let fall. What was supposed to be a relaxing shower has turned into a deep self-analysis. I keep thinking about what Clark said. I will avoid and hate Christmas until the day I die. It's actually kind of sad. I want to like Christmas, I really do, but there's something that repels me from the holiday. There's something that I've never been able to have and that I've always wanted. I want family. I think that if I gave in and just let the holiday spirit wash over me and spend this holiday with the Kent's I'd be neglecting the family I wished for as a child. I'd be giving up that last hope in my heart and my mom would be gone forever. I need something to hold on to and if all I have is resentment for Christmas then I'll just have to hold onto that.

I hear the door open and I can't help but gasp. This was the last thing I expected him to do. I peek my head out from behind the curtains to make sure that my mind isn't playing tricks on me.

"Smallville, what're you doing?" I ask in obvious confusion.

"I'm waiting to talk to you," he answers simply.

"I'm in the shower. Can't it wait?"

"You've never had a problem with sharing the bathroom before."

"Well, I do now. Get out!"

He glances at me and seems to ponder it over for a moment. "No," he replies.

"No? What do you mean? You're going to walk out of this bathroom right now."

"No, I'm not. I'm going to wait here until you are ready to talk about why you hate Christmas."

"Smallville, I don't hate Christmas."

"Like I said before, Lois, you're a horrible liar."

"I am not!"

Clark looks at me with all intentions of continuing this debate until the warm water disappears and I'm forced to flee the safety of the shower. I'm going to have to find some other way to avoid this conversation. "Hand me a towel," I demand as I turn off the water.

Clark calmly obliges and now I'm standing directly in front of him. His eyes are staring deep into mine, searching for some kind of answer. The intensity of his gaze makes me look down at my feet. I feel as if the towel that is wrapped around my body is my only means of defense. Somehow he has reduced my walls to a pile of rubble. This is going to be awkward. I have to say something to make him stop staring at me. I have to get rid of the uncomfortable silence. Why can't I think of anything to say?

"Are you ready to talk about it?" he asks gently, his hand rests on my shoulder and I flinch at the touch. I don't want his concern. I don't want to share my Christmas issues.

At my reaction Clark quickly retracts his hand. Now his gaze is even more intent. He's more eager to help. He doesn't take the reaction as something against him. He takes it for what it really is. He's one of the few people who can begin to understand me. He knows that I'm flinching away from this conversation. What I don't understand is why he can't understand me enough to back away.

"No," I finally respond.

I finally pull my eyes up to meet his gaze and I try to hold back the tears that are begging to break away from my watery eyes. I don't want him to understand. He doesn't need to help me with my burden. Doesn't he realize how much this is hurting me?

Without a word I turn away from him and escape the tension that was filling the bathroom. I march into his room and grab a flannel t-shirt that Martha had lain neatly on his bed after she finished the laundry. In one swift motion it's over my head and engulfing me in the warm comfort that Clark's flannel always seems to provide. I throw myself onto his bed and pull myself under the covers. I can't deal with this right now. I want time to propel it's way forward so that I can leave this cursed holiday behind me. I want to move on with my life and I want this awful aching to go away. I rest my head against Clark's soft pillow and breathe in deeply, allowing his scent to fill my lungs and ease me into what is sure to be a restless sleep.

When I finally return to the reality of my life I hear the faint sounds of Chloe and Martha chatting in the kitchen. I have no idea how long I slept, but several hours must have gone by. The light of day has long passed to allow another Kansas night to take its place. I open my eyes slightly and find that I'm again meeting Clark's soulful stare. He's sitting patiently next to the bed. A shadow is cast over his face giving off a mysterious mood to him that wasn't there before. His eyes barely blink as I slowly raise my head from the security of his pillow.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"I'm sorry too," I reply softly.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asks.

"Trust me when I say that there's nothing you can do."

He nods sadly and I continue to stare into his eyes. His eyes seem to pull me in and leave me breathless. There's something about the way he looks at me. It's scary and exciting at the same time. I want to pull my eyes away, but there's this draw that won't let me. Facing his gaze is almost as terrifying as opening myself up to reveal my insecurities. I feel so comfortable around Clark, but there are times when I feel like someone has pushed me off a cliff and now all that is left between me and the ground is an endless world of empty air. I'm realizing that I want Clark to catch me. I want him to save me from the endless air that will eventually lead to the cold, unforgiving earth. I can't let him catch me. I'm too afraid of what that might mean. I can't face this ominous uncertainty.

"I want to help you," he says.

"I know."

He moves closer to me and pulls himself up onto the bed so he's sitting by my side. I feel the heat of his thigh as it brushes against my own and I feel a small flutter deep inside my chest. I lean my head against his soft shoulder and sigh. There's nothing left for me to say.

I suddenly feel him turn his head and the warmth of his lips briefly touches the top of my forehead. I take a ragged breath, unsure of what do, afraid to move in any direction.

"Don't make any plans for Christmas. I'll find you and I'm going to do whatever I can to make this Christmas everything that you want it to be."

"Clark." I try to think of something to say to deter him but I know that there's nothing that will stop him from trying to heal my heart. Clark Kent is the most sincere man I've ever met and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he just left this go. He cares about me so much. He cares about me too much. I'm afraid he might actually do something that might challenge my feelings about Christmas. The idea of losing something that I've kept with me for so long is petrifying.

"I want to see you smile for Christmas and I won't rest until that happens. This year is going to be different, Lo."

Before I can even try to respond he brings his lips to mine, brushing against them softly, but not committing to an actual kiss. It feels as if a butterfly landed briefly on my lips before it flew away on its quest for happiness. My heart tingles in my chest and I can't find any form of logical thought. The world keeps on spinning and I'm just stuck sitting here on Clark Kent's bed wondering what just happened. When I finally regain a sense of time I realize that he has already left the room. In fact I can hear his voice mixing with the sound of Martha and Chloe's downstairs. I wonder if it's all a dream that I'll wake up from momentarily. Is this what my life has morphed into? Why can't I feel my fingers and why does my stomach feel so warm inside?

The darkness of the room hovers over me and fills me with uncertainty for my future. All I can think of is what will happen on Christmas? What is he going to do? Why is this happening to me?

I've succeeded in avoiding Clark Kent for the past ten days. I've been careful to venture out of my apartment only when absolutely necessary. I've been out only for a few major reasons. One of those reasons was to officially call things off with Ollie. I couldn't just leave him hanging, waiting for me to call him back. He was too great of a guy to deserve my issues, especially if I didn't feel the same way he felt about me. I'm just not feeling what I should be feeling. When we first met I told myself that there was chemistry between us but now I see that I never really knew the meaning of chemistry. I never felt that spark and I think Ollie knew it all along.

Now there are four days left until Christmas and I still need to do all of my Christmas shopping. Martha called several times in the past ten days to ask if I was okay but I didn't call her back. I didn't want to answer the dreaded Christmas present question. If I just ignore it she might get the hint and leave the topic out of conversation.

Thankfully, Chloe has been equally oblivious about my negative feelings toward the rapidly approaching festivities. I've only received a few quizzical looks from her when I wouldn't put up lights and when I refused to help her pick out a tree. I'm just glad she wasn't home when I flipped out on those poor carolers. She would've killed me if she'd seen me threaten to call the cops. In general she has been very quiet about the whole thing. It's almost as if she doesn't want to talk about it. This is very anti-Chloe. Usually she's the first one to nose her way into my business to try and figure out what is bothering me.

I'll be thankful for the little things. Now I have to do my Christmas shopping without running into anyone who might attempt to invite me to a Christmas party. Just because I don't like Christmas it doesn't mean I don't like shopping for other people. I love giving the Christmas presents, I just can't stand receiving them.

So far things have gone relatively smoothly. The first store I went into had a collection of these small glass figures that I'm sure Martha will adore. I bought her a small little bird sitting on what one can only assume is a pear tree, a dog that vaguely resembles Shelby that is wearing reindeer antlers, and a tree that has different colored ornaments dangling from each glass branch. With each figure I also bought a glass platform to showcase the delicate pieces.

In the stores that have followed since then I've picked out an interesting looking set of novels for the General, a charm bracelet to keep until I can find an address to send it to Lucy, a giant vanilla flavored dog bone for Shelby, and a basket of scented candles, bath salts and lotions for Chloe. Now all that is left is the present I've been the most concerned about. I've got to find something to get for Clark. My mind is completely blank.

I've been in so many different stores but I can't seem to find something that is good enough for him. I could go with a traditional gift like a tie or hat but that wouldn't describe the sentiment enough. I'm not all that sure what the sentiment I'm trying to describe is but I know that a tie just wouldn't do it. Ever since that night my mind has continuously drifted back to that kiss. Well, it wasn't really a kiss. It was an almost-kiss. Honestly, if I wouldn't have been so blown away by that odd tingly feeling I probably would've made it an actual kiss.

It is that truth along with the impending holiday that's really bothering me. I've never had these thoughts before. It was Clark Kent. I'm not supposed to have these thoughts. He's the plaid and flannel wearing farm boy that is supposed to be the bane of my existence. Wait, Christmas is supposed to be the bane of my existence. This is what that Smallville does to me. He makes me question my way of life and he throws my systematic, stubborn way of thinking all off center. Now I can't even shop for a simple Christmas present without feeling all frazzled. Christmas has teamed up with Clark Kent and now they're trying to turn my life upside-down.

I bet that Clark intentionally knocked me down. He probably thought that he needed to strike me when I was at my weakest. He knew all along how much I hated Christmas and he plotted to worm his way into my heart by trying to talk to me about the dreaded holiday. He figured that I'd be too busy defending my heart against Christmas questions to even think of defending against surprise kisses and hidden feelings. Hidden feelings? I did not just think that. What has he done to me?

I've had enough of this search for the perfect present. If I don't find something soon I'll just have to go buy him a cow or something. He lives on a farm and he's Mr. Compassionate. He'll never be able to say no to a poor homeless cow. How much do cows go for these days?

Crap. That cannot be who I think it is. That man in plaid talking on his cell phone absolutely cannot be Clark Kent. I must flee! I must run in the opposite direction. I must keep running until I reach the ocean and then I must swim until I get far enough away so that he can't hear how loudly my heart is pounding. Why can't I move my feet?

"Thanks for all your help, Sir. I really appreciate everything you and Chloe are doing to help me with this. Now that I've got everything I'll be able to work with Jimmy until the whole thing is perfect. I'll call you and report how everything went after Christmas. I- -"

Is my heart really pounding that loud? He just stopped mid-sentence. It's as if he actually knows I'm standing less than three feet behind him.

"I have to go."

In one fluid motion he closes his cell phone and spins around. I'm face-to-face with the man who has been dominating my dreams for the past ten days. Now I've admitted to the dreams. What happened to denial? I loved denial. It was my friend. I want to go back to denial so I don't have to deal with this emotional upheaval.

"Lois?" He looks so handsome. I love when he says my name.

"Huh?" I try to appear surprised to see him. I think I come off looking dumb.

"Are you Christmas shopping?"

"No, I'm shopping for Halloween. Of course I'm Christmas shopping. I'm allowed to buy Christmas presents." See that wasn't so bad. I didn't run away and I maintained conversation without jumping him.

He eyes me suspiciously, searching my face for something that he doesn't find. He shoves his cell phone into his pocket and smiles warmly at me. "I'm glad you're out and about. I haven't seen you in a couple of days and I wanted to make sure that you kept Christmas day free. I promised you a fabulous Christmas and now all I need is for you to show up and experience it."

Do I say yes? Do I go through with this perfect Christmas thing? Do I really want to put myself through this torture? One look into his eyes tells me the answer. "I'm not going to flake out on you, Smallville. I'll be there."

His whole face lights up at my lack of resistance and I feel my knees getting weak. Make it stop. Make it stop.

"That's great, Lois!"

"Yeah, great."

"Are you finished with shopping? I'll help you carry those bags out to your car if you'd like."

I have no control over my goofy grin. "Yeah," I smile back at him.

We are at the front door to the mall when I realize that I haven't found his perfect present yet. If he's giving me a perfect Christmas, he deserves a perfect present.

"Clark?"

"Yes, Lois?"

"Do you like cows?"

It's Christmas! It's Christmas! What am I going to do? Clark will be here in one hour and I don't have the slightest idea about what to wear. I don't even have a plan. How am I going to handle this day? There's nothing Clark can possibly do to make this Christmas a happy thing for me. I don't want to deal with that disappointed look when he realizes that his Christmas miracle didn't work. I don't want to break his heart. I don't think I could handle breaking Clark's heart. I'm doomed. I need help. Where's Chloe?

"Need help?" Chloe's voice asks casually from outside my door.

"Yes," I groan back in response.

Chloe carefully enters my room and steps over the piles of clothing that I've thrown on the floor while searching through my closet. "Interesting."

"What?" I ask back while holding up a red blouse.

Chloe scrunches her nose up and shakes her head in dismay. "You cannot wear that!"

"Then what can I wear?"

"What about that classy white top with the silver embroidery?" Chloe asks as she shoves her head into my closet.

"It makes my boobs look enormous."

"In this situation is that necessarily a bad thing?"

I feel my face blush and I'm tempted to shove Chloe deep into my closet. Maybe she'll end up in Narnia and I'll never have to acknowledge that question.

"I'll take your silence as a 'no comment'. What about this dress?" Chloe pops her head out of the closet and emerges with a red dress that I didn't even know I had.

I shake my head. "Too formal."

"Really?"

"I'm thinking something that'll go with this black skirt." I hold up a skirt I bought yesterday. It's so comfortable and has a silky flow to it that makes me look gorgeous. I just need something to go with it.

"Will this work?" Chloe holds up a burgundy top that pools elegantly at the chest and gently flows down to my waist.

We have a winner.

"Clark, you didn't have to make such a big deal out of this." I haven't been to the Kent farm since the Christmas shopping fiasco and as we pull up in Clark's truck I see that it's covered in beautiful white lights. He even went so far as to covering the barn in icicle lights. Their electric bill must be skyrocketing.

"You haven't seen the real surprise yet, Lois." He smiles and leads me up to the house.

As soon as Clark reaches for the door, Martha bursts out of the house. Clark's arm wraps around me just to make sure that I wouldn't make a repeat performance of what happened last time I visited. Surprisingly, Martha forgot to get cranberry sauce and had drive into town to get some as soon as we arrived. She still planned on having the big Christmas dinner and insisted that it would be ready by the time Chloe and Jimmy would arrive later on. She smiles a little too happily at me and I watch as she jumps into the truck and backs down the driveway.

"Are you coming?"

I follow Clark inside mutely, wondering what he has in store for me. The kitchen looks relatively normal. There're a few pots and pans waiting for Martha's return, but everything looks like it should. Nothing out of the ordinary here.

"Stop," he commands.

I look at him expectantly. Why did I have to stop?

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"I want to see the look on your face when you see it. Just close your eyes and I'll tell you when you can open them," he explains.

I close my eyes unsurely. I don't like the sound of this. I could be walking blindly to an array of Christmas cheer and I won't be able to brace myself for the onslaught.

"What the- -?" I'm swept off my feet. Literally. One minute I'm firmly planted on the ground and the next minute I'm being carried like a baby. Is Clark Kent carrying me like a baby? "Smallville, put me down!"

"We're almost there, Lois," he assures.

"I don't care. Put me back on the ground right now!"

I feel Clark take a few more steps and then I'm being gently set down on the floor. He sits down next to me and for a moment there's nothing but silence.

"You can open your eyes now." I feel his breath as he whispers in my ear and it sends shivers up and down my spine. I take one ragged breath and open my eyes.

The room is covered in small multicolored Christmas lights. Every square inch of the wall and every surface imaginable is decorated. I can't help but gasp.

"Clark, it's beautiful," I say in awe.

"Just wait," he says mysteriously.

The television is positioned directly in front of me and before I can form another word it flicks on. Clark is staring back at me from the screen. I turn to look at him.

"What is this?"

"Just watch," he replies.

"Hi, Lois. I bet you're wondering why I videotaped myself when I could easily talk to you directly," Clark's voice filled the room. "Well, I wanted to give you the best Christmas imaginable. When I figured out that you weren't particularly fond of Christmas it made my job a little bit harder than I anticipated. This videotape is my gift to you. I couldn't find a reason for you to fall in love with Christmas, so I thought that I'd make you a reason. From now on, whenever you feel that Christmas isn't worth your time or that you'll never be able to get what you really want under the tree, put in this tape and remember. Remember what Christmas used to be like and believe that it will always be with you. See yourself before you had the worries you have today and take comfort in the fact that you'll always have family with you at Christmas and that there'll always be people who love you. Merry Christmas, Lois. I hope these memories from once upon a December long ago will bring you joy and will inspire you to be open for making new Christmas memories with me."

The screen flashed away from Clark's picture and faint music began to fill the air. Clark was gone and now the screen was filled with the picture of a little baby propped up by a pillow sitting quietly by a decorated Christmas tree. It was a little baby that I recognized very well. Underneath the picture the words spelled out 'Lois Joanne Lane's First Christmas'.

"How did you find that?" I ask Clark.

He puts his finger to his lips and directs my gaze back to the television.

The screen flashes again and now I'm staring at a two-year-old version of me tearing wrapping paper off a present. My dark, wavy hair was put into two tiny pigtails and a big red bow rested on the top of my head. In the background of the picture the General was laughing happily at my endeavors.

The next picture I was three and I was dressed up in a dark green dress. My hair was pulled back in a small ponytail and I'm sitting awkwardly in Santa's lap telling him everything I want for Christmas.

More pictures flash by showing Lucy and I opening presents on her first Christmas, me riding on a horse masquerading as a reindeer, and my whole family bundled up in winter jackets out playing in the snow. I've never seen these pictures before. I thought the General threw away all of the pictures after mom died. How did Clark get these?

The video stops momentarily just as we get to the last Christmas with my mother. A beautiful picture with me sitting joyfully on her lap as she reads me a bedtime story. My mother is dressed in her favorite holiday apparel that was a radiant red decorated with white snowmen and I'm already dressed in my Santa Claus pajamas. The two of us sit there lost in a memory while reading the same Christmas story that we read each and every year.

Once Upon A December wasn't the type of story that you bought at a bookstore. It was a story that was made longer each year for generations. Every page of the worn, faded book contained a happy tale of what occurred during that year's Christmas. It dated back long before my mother was born and she always asked me to contribute with my favorite memory from the day's festivities. The collective of tales from past Decembers always made Christmas seem more magical. The happy memory fades away and the screen is left in darkness. Before I turn to question Clark the music gets louder and a new voice reaches my ears.

"Lois, are you going to sing your song?" a melodic female voice rings out.

It's my mother's voice. It's a voice that I haven't heard in years but that I've dreamt of hearing every night.

My six-year-old self runs over to stand in the middle of our old living room. I'm dressed in a red dress with white stockings and my hair is cut into a cute little bob. If you'd compare this little girl to today's me, you'd never be able to recognize the similarities. Her eyes are brighter, her cheeks are rosy and red with laughter, and her smile is wide and beaming. This little girl has no idea how much her life was going to change before the next Christmas. She was living in blissful ignorance.

"I'm ready, Mommy. Turn it up!" she yells.

The person holding the camera pans around the room focusing on each participant in the Christmas jubilation. Several old neighbors sat quietly at the back of the room, Uncle Gabe sat on a lounge chair while my Aunt sat on his lap drinking eggnog, my mother sat on the living room floor in front of me holding little Lucy, and other various relatives filled the room. Even a five-year-old little Chloe skipped around the room humming Christmas tunes.

"Go ahead, sweetie!" my mother called out as she hit the remote to select a new song.

Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me
I've been an awful good girl
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

My red dress swirled around my feet as I sang out in an innocent voice. I continued to beam at my mother as I swayed back and forth, dancing to the music. The chuckles of my small 'audience' could be heard in the background but I was oblivious to it all. Even six-year-old Lois Lane is stubborn enough to sing 'Santa Baby' to a bunch of murmuring adults without being intimidated.

Santa baby, an out-of-space convertible too, light blue
I'll wait up for you dear
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

I pretended to be driving a fancy car shaking my head back and forth to imitate the wind in my hair and I 'drove' through the crowd. I was a camera hound. Each lyric was sung while I spun around and performed pirouettes.

Think of all the fun I've missed

Chloe skipped by during my song and I reached over and pulled her into the camera's sights.

"Dance with me, Chloe!" the happy girl yelled.

My cousin's small blond curls bounced up and down as we grabbed hands and spun in a circle until both of up teetered backwards with dizziness. Chloe lost her balance and landed in a heap on the floor, her little legs tangled in her green Christmas dress.

Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed

I composed myself and smiled flirtatiously at the camera blowing it an exaggerated kiss. Uncle Gabe's wolf whistle could be heard in the background and Chloe squealed with glee and burst into a fit of laughter.

"Lois' blowing kisses!" Chloe shouted giddily.

Next year I could be oh so good
If you'd check off my Christmas list

I created an invisible halo over my small little head and smiled sweetly.

"Chloe, sing with me too!"

"I don't know the words!" Chloe shouted back to me.

"You know the next words, Chlo. They're easy."

Chloe's little voice yelled her favorite line loudly so that everyone could know that she could sing them.

Boo doo bee doo

The adults in the room burst into their own fit of laughter and the cuteness of the performance. Chloe frowned slightly.

"Don't worry, Chlo. They like it. You keep singing that part. Okay?" I said confidently while giving an irritated look to the adults for making Chloe feel insecure.

Santa honey, I wanna yacht and really that's not a lot
I've been an angel all year
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Chloe and I pretended to be flying little angels and we 'flew' around the room tapping everyone on the head with our invisible wands. Lucy soon became intrigued by the show and stood up on wobbly legs to join the action. Lucy shyly approached and laughed as I tapped her on the head too.

Santa cutie, there's one thing I really do need, the deed
To a platinum mine
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight

All three of us danced around in a little circle, laughing and singing to the Christmas tune.

Santa baby, I'm filling my stocking with a duplex, and checks
Sign your 'X' on the line
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

"Lois, what's a duplex?" Chloe asked while making an X in the air.

"I don't know. I think it's a type of candy. That's why she wants it in her stocking," I replied informatively, ignorant to my mother's small giggle.

Come and trim my Christmas tree
With some decorations bought at Tiffany's

I happily showed off all of my plastic dress up rings to my 'audience'. Each finger had at least one ring each with a different color 'diamond'.

I really do believe in you
Let's see if you believe in me

My mom stood up from her position on the floor and walked over to us. "Can I dance too?"

"Of course, Mommy!" I chirped.

Boo doo bee doo

Chloe excitedly shouted her line while acting like a little ballerina on the floor. She would jump, spin and kick, arms flailing wildly in the air. Chloe then went up to Lucy and the two began to try and slow dance to the song. When the toddler had enough of dancing she sat down unceremoniously on Chloe's foot.

"Hey, I'm still dancing. You're crushing my toes!" Chloe complained to Lucy.

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring
I don't mean a phone
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

"Mommy, this is so much fun!" I cheered as my mother pulled me up into her arms. I wrapped my little arms around her neck and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Can we do this every year?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Singing carols is my favorite part of Christmas."

"Yay! I can't wait until next year."

"Me too, Lois."

"Can we read our December story tonight?"

"As long as you help tell me with what to write this year. We want to be able to remember this day many years from now. Someday your little children will ask you what happened once upon this December and you have to be able to tell them your own story."

"Christmas is so much fun. I'll never forget," my young self says firmly.

"I certainly hope not."

"I love you, Mommy."

"I love you to, Lo."

Hurry down the chimney tonight
Hurry down the chimney tonight

"Merry Christmas, my little Lois."

"Merry Christmas, Mom."

The television screen went black and the General's image appeared.

"Merry Christmas, Lo. When Clark asked me for something to help you think fondly of Christmas I knew that this video was just the thing he needed. I'm sorry I didn't show it to you sooner. Smile, Lois, you haven't enjoyed a Christmas in such a long time."

The screen went black and Martha Kent's smiling image filled the screen.

"Merry Christmas, Lois."

Clark panned away from Martha's face and focused the camera on Shelby. "Shelby says Merry Christmas too," Clark's voice cut in.

The screen went black again and Jimmy and Chloe appeared.

"Merry Christmas, Lois!" they both shouted.

"Hey cuz, you know I wouldn't let you go through another mopey Christmas. Jimmy helped with restoring the video and I got those extra pictures. Weren't we so cute when we were little? Now all you have to do is give our favorite farm boy a big kiss and Christmas will be perfect for everyone!"

Tears pour down my face as I turn to face Clark.

"Merry Christmas, Lois," he says while wiping tears from my face. "I wanted to see you smile this Christmas. Please don't cry." He pulls me into a warm embrace and I just collapse into his chest sobbing for the six-year-old child I watched on the screen, for the young woman who lived her life hating Christmas, and for what I had lost by ignoring my feelings for so long.

I struggle to compose myself and finally pull away from Clark's embrace. "Clark I- -"

"I'm sorry. I thought that reliving good memories would help you see the good in Christmas. I never meant to make you cry, Lois. This was a dumb idea. I'm so sorry." Clark's eyes fill with tears and the defeated look in his eyes makes me start crying even harder.

"No, Clark. Please don't be sorry. I can't believe you did this for me. No one has ever done anything like this for me before," I choke out between tears. "I'm just so touched."

"Lois, I care about you so much. This is something I wanted to do for you. I couldn't stand seeing you in that much pain. Your tears make my heart shatter into a million tiny pieces. Your pain was so strong I just had to try to help make some of it go away."

"I love you." The word's spill from my mouth before I can even think about stopping them. Every word was true and I couldn't doubt myself now. I needed to say it because he needed to hear it. He needed to know how much I cared about him too. He needed to know that I've had dreams about him since the very first day I met him in that cornfield. I don't want to suppress it anymore and I want to express everything that he has made me feel.

"What?" he looks at me dumbstruck.

"I said that I love you," I say slower, staring him directly in the eyes with my own unwavering gaze.

"You don't have to- -"

"It's true," I interrupt.

He smiles at me in a relieved yet unbelieving look. I take my cousin's advice. If I can't convince him with my words, I'll show him with my heart. I touch my shaking fingers to his face, feeling his jaw quiver beneath my touch. Our lips mesh in an earth-shattering kiss. Our tongues battle for dominance and our passion consumes us until we can't breathe anymore. I can feel his heart pounding and I know that mine is in sync with his rhythm. This just feels so right. This was truly the perfect Christmas present.

I laugh somewhat bitterly. His eyes meet mine in curiosity. "What?" he says.

"I got you a stuffed cow with the picture of you and your whipped cream beard on its belly. How does that present even compare to this?"

"You're my Christmas present," he says as he pulls me into another passionate kiss.

Now I just can't wait until next Christmas. Maybe I'll get that ring I was singing about.