Somehow, this never got posted here. Go figure! Um... this was circa 2010, maybe? Fingers crossed that I can shake off the cobwebs one day soon.

~\s/~

So here's what you need to know about this little ditty: It was originally an assignment for the 2009 Ficstravaganza (shame!). I was assigned to InjuredAthlete, so if any of you see her, tell her she has a fic response (finally!)… and that she needs to get back here and finish Hurt (I'm still holding on for that one!). The prompts I was given were 'Season: 4, Rated: R, and word: Teammates. Only JD can judge if I completed the task or not.

Also, this fic has a narrator… and that narrator has a British accent. So that's how you need to read it. (Just watch The Grinch for inspiration.)

Finally, the finishing of this fic came from an impetus by VisionGirl. She wrote me a bday fic, so my muse felt obliged to respond (damn challenges!).

As always, enjoy! ~s

Reindeer Games: Command and Conquer by: SunRei
—

T'was the day of Christmas proper, when all through the land, Friends and families gathered nigh, to share gifts by the hand. Martha Kent bustled round the kitchen with care; Baking with haste, for her guests soon would be there.

The turkey was nestled, all snug in his pot; Martha saved ginger men, hitting hands with a swat. The kitchen was warm; outside was covered with snow; White painted fields reflected the sun with a glow…
—

A certain yellow farmhouse found in Smallville, Kansas, appears to be the perfect postcard rendition of a snow covered winter escape. The surrounding fields are blanketed in white, and the skinny fingerlike branches of naked trees offer glistening icicles as natural tinsel. While the recent drop in temperature demands gloves and scarves, the sun shines brightly in the morning sky.

As we descend upon said setting, we find ourselves entrenched in a domestic scene that is both heart-warming and charmingly intimate. An auburn-haired woman decked out in a holiday-themed, flour-brushed apron wipes her hands on a towel as she reads through the instructions of a hand-written recipe…

"Clark, would you take that pan of cookies out of the oven? And take the top rack out as well – I'm going to need the space for the turkey."

Moving to comply with his mother's request, Clark Kent opened the oven door and pulled out the rack holding the pan of spirited Gingerbread men – without the aid of oven mitts.

"I don't see why we have to have a party anyway," the lad commented as he lowered the rack onto an empty bit of counter space.

Martha turned just in time to insert an oven pad between the rack and her counter top. Fixing her son with a foreboding look she shook her head curtly at his apparent inhospitality. "We are blessed that we have a family and the ability to be together on the holidays. Not everyone can say the same. It shouldn't be a burden for us to open our house up to those less fortunate."

Obviously disgruntled with the answer but unable to challenge the argument, Clark sighed and reached for a cookie.

"Don't eat them all, honey."

"Mi' ont," was the reply, after the unfortunate ginger man had been rendered headless.

A fair-haired man entered the kitchen from the inner house and made his way over to the cooling rack. Before he was able to make a successful grab, the back of his hand received a flick from the corner of Martha's dish towel.

"Hey," Jonathan Kent exclaimed, holding the offended hand as if mortally wounded. He then pointed accusingly in the direction of his son, who was delightfully finishing off his prize. "Why does he get to eat them?"

"I only got to eat one," Clark corrected, "and that's because I'm helping."

"Helping?" Jonathan repeated doubtfully. He then turned to his wife for confirmation. "He's helping?"

Martha smiled at the two men in her life but remained protective over her baked goods. "He was my taste tester."

A light appeared in Jonathan's eyes. "Is there anything else that needs tasting around here?"

Martha swatted again with her towel, this time catching Clark's hand before another ginger man—or woman, for that matter—could be lost. "No. All of my pies are done, and the cookies baked. The turkey is stuffed and pretty soon I'll get started on the green beans, the gravy, and the yams. The mashed potatoes won't take long at all, and I can roast the corn after the turkey's done."

Jonathan stepped close to his wife and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. "You shouldn't talk that way to me, woman. I can hardly contain myself."

Martha tilted her head to allow for a kiss and Clark dropped his gaze, flushing slightly with embarrassment at his parents' actions.

"The two of you can help me out by straightening the den and making some lemonade, though. Everyone will start to arrive shortly."

Clark's expression clouded again at the mention of their impending visitors - something neither of his parents missed.

"Clark has some anxieties concerning the guest list," Martha informed her husband, stepping from his embrace to return to her Christmas-ly duties.

Jonathan frowned. "Is this about Lex coming over?"

Clark seemed to jump at the mention, as if relishing the opportunity to vent. "…Yes," he replied after the briefest hesitation. "You don't even like him. The tension is going to be unbearable."

The creases on Jonathan's brow seemed to furrow even more. "To be honest, I don't really know Lex. I know his father, and the problems that I have with the Luthors stem from Lionel. It's Christmas, and since Lex seems to be trying to reach out to you and you seem to be considering his friendship again, I figured that I could set my differences aside on this day for you."

Martha turned and shared a loving glance with her husband, after which he smiled sadly. "Besides, we found two boys in the fields that fateful day and I sometimes wonder how things would have changed for Lex had we kept them both."

Clark's responding sigh indicated that some of his vehemence died at his father's words, but his expression still appeared troubled.

"Are you concerned about Lana and Jason?" Martha inquired, seeing that there was more to Clark's protest than just the boy billionaire's reception by his father.

Clark blinked, almost as if surprised by the mention. "Well… I guess," he agreed, again after the slightest hesitation. "I mean she's moved on, and I support that," he quickly added, a frown creasing his own brow, "but it seems weird that she would even want to come over… And then there's Lois…"

Martha sighed, seeming to prepare herself for an old discussion. "Clark, I realize that the two of you have had some animosity in the past but I'm hoping that you will find a way to keep things genial today."

Clark grunted doubtfully while reaching into the cabinet to pull out a pitcher. "You gave her my room… *Again*!"

"Lois is flying solo this Christmas. Her father is on tour and I thought it would be nice to offer her a familiar place to stay while the University is on break."

"She has family. Why can't she stay with Chloe and Mr. Sullivan?"

"Because two people in a small apartment is cramped as it is, and we have space to spare."

"I don't consider me sleeping on the couch room to spare," Clark grumbled under his breath as he gathered the lemons his mother had purchased and cut them in half. "Why did you tell everyone to come over so early? Dinner won't even be started for another 6 hours. What am I supposed to do?"

Martha's reply held an obvious tinge of amusement. "Entertain."

"How?"

"These are friends, Clark, not foreign ambassadors. Talk, play games… It'll be fine."

Jonathan studied his son curiously as he passed to retrieve the sugar container from the pantry. Upon his return, he stared grimly at the lemons Clark had squeezed so effectively that the discarded peels were nearly flat as folded pieces of paper.

The sound of car doors slamming and excited voices alerted the family that visitors had arrived and the timbre of one voice in particular informed them of the identity of the first crew.

"The bed stealer is here," Clark remarked flatly.

Smirking slightly when Clark's head drooped, Jonathan slid the pitcher from in front of his son. "You go answer the door – I'll finish this."

Clark looked at his parents sullenly before pushing painstakingly away from the counter.

Clark's plans for the eve were thrown quite astray; When Lois turned Game Time into Judgment Day. The rules were quite simple, the rules were quite plain; Just form some snowballs, and protect your domain.

The commanders were named, the soldiers appointed; Some groups were cohesive, the others disjointed. The barriers were drawn and the borders were set; Each squad built a fort and prepared armament…
—

Reluctant host, though he was, Clark welcomed all of the guests into his home with the correct amount of politeness. Arriving with Lois Lane were Chloe Sullivan and her father Gabe; and just as they were sliding out of their coats, Lana Lang and her current beau, Jason Teague, pulled up in Lana's SUV. Lex Luthor arrived last, looking surprisingly comfortable in jeans and a zip-up sweater under the trademark black trench coat.

Martha's ginger cookies were an instant hit, and everyone mingled with holiday-tinged ease. After an hour had passed, and since the nationally televised football game was not scheduled to start for a few hours, Martha suggested that Clark bring out some board games. He had just pulled a stack of them out of the upstairs hall closet when Lois exited the bathroom.

"Whoa, Smallville," she greeted, using the nickname she seemed to thrill in teasing him with, "what have you got there?"

"Games," he replied warily, as if unsure whether one of the box titles that he held in his hand would become fodder for a new nickname.

The corner of Lois's mouth twitched and the resulting expression expressed either calculation or derision. From the grimace of uncertainty on his face, it appeared that Clark was unable to judge which.

"You have a problem with Pictionary?" he asked slowly, in the manner of a man attempting to dodge bombs in a minefield.

"No, I love Pictionary. Games are a great idea, actually," she answered, still giving him the assessing look.

"Then… what?" To Clark Kent, Lois Lane was the kind of person you always kept one eye on—no matter how far you turned your head.

Her face split into a wide grin and to the invisible observer, one such as you or me, it seemed that Clark shifted a bit uncomfortably once pinned by the brilliance.

"I was just thinking… There's something else I'd like to play first."

And then, in blink of an eye, Clark found himself trailing a tornado of color, energy and exuberance, as Lois, lit from within by the prospect of an idea she undoubtedly deemed genius, sped down the stairs to share her thoughts with everyone else.

"Command and Conquer," Lois declared brightly once she had the attention of the floor. "Three teams. Three flags. Three forts."

"Forts?" Lana questioned from the couch where she was neatly tucked next to—and nearly into, I'd venture— Jason's side.

Lois nodded curtly, looking much like the General's daughter that she was. She just needed the pointer and the map to make the transformation complete. "Snow forts," she clarified. "The snow is just the right temp for sticking."

"You are *so* on!" Chloe exclaimed, apparently delighted with the idea.

Clark's grimace appeared to be one of mild alarm as other faces around the room began to become entranced by the burgeoning plan. His spirits appeared to be buoyed at the sight of one frowning face and he lifted the blue Pictionary box, ready to offer an alternative.

Unfortunately, Lois saw the doubt in her audience at the same time and pounced before Clark could make his play. "Come on, Lex. When's the last time you had a good snowball fight?"

Lex's expression briefly turned thoughtful, and then a never-before seen light appeared in his eyes. "Never," he replied wondrously.

Lois's smile was victorious. "It's never too late to start," she said softly.

Clark lowered his box back onto the pile, obviously knowing he'd lost before the fight had even started.

"This is not your grandpappy's snowball fight," Lois said, latching her hands behind her waist and beginning to pace. "What we are about to commence upon is nothing short of war. The mind of the chessmaster," she eyed Lex, "the power of the athlete," she eyed Jason, "and the wiles of the fox," her eyes darted between Lana and Chloe, "will all be needed here."

She paused like a queen assessing her subjects and smiled. "The combat zone is the East Field. We will establish a battle ground of 100 feet in diameter, and each team will be lords over a section. Once the teams are set, we will have three minutes to gather tools from the barn that can be used to help build the forts. Be warned though, you can only take that which you can carry."

She smirked, glancing assessingly around the room, and then continued. "After that, we will have fifteen minutes to construct the forts before the war begins. Each team will have a flag, and the first team to capture an enemy flag will win. If you are hit with a snowball, you are considered injured and must fall in your spot. An injured soldier can only be brought back into play if a teammate physically tags him or her."

"So it's like freeze tag?" Lana asked.

"Yes," Lois answered. "Healing soldiers keeps them in the game, but medics need to be covered because they are the most vulnerable when they are trying to save their colleagues. Downed soldiers are off limits, but everyone else is not."

"Okay," Gabe Sullivan said, warming to the idea. "How do we divide up the teams?"

"We'll draw for them." Lois picked the pad of paper and pen from the table next to the phone and began writing down everyone's names. "The first three names I pull will be the captains, and then they will pull for their teams."

"I'll get a hat to draw from," Martha offered, laughing and moving toward the hall closet.

Clark's jaw dropped. "Mom, you're going to play?"

Martha returned with a baseball cap and looked up at her son demurely. "Of course I am."

"Don't let that look fool you," Jonathan quipped, nudging Gabe on the arm with his elbow. "She's got excellent aim."

Martha shot her husband a look. "I'll play as long as I can, but I'll need to watch the turkey's progress."

"Agreed. So, the captains are…." Lois announced as she reached into the hat and withdrew folded slips of paper. "Lana… Clark… and Mr. Kent!"

"Shouldn't you be a captain, since you know the rules?" Clark asked, seemingly a bit put out by his newly appointed position.

"What's the matter, Clark? Scared to play a game with me?" Lois smirked and held out the hat to him for his fist pick as he was the captain standing nearest to her.

Clark pulled a slip of paper out and opened it as Lois started to move away to let Jonathan pick next. "Wait! I grabbed two on accident," he said, quickly folding the paper back up and palming it. "I'll just put them back and pick again."

Lois looked at him oddly, an expression on her face suggesting he was being deceitful, but nonetheless held out the hat for him to return his paper without question. When Clark dipped his hand into the hat, she shook the papers around and let him pull again.

She appeared to bite back a smirk when he pulled out a paper that was more crumpled than how she had made them initially. To you, me, and our Lois, here, it would seem that he had inadvertently pulled the same name that he had tried to ditch the first time around.

Lois moved toward Jonathan, extending the hat once again in his direction.

"Well, Chloe, looks like you got me as your commanding officer," Jonathan said, chuckling as he read the name on his slip of paper.

"I think I can handle that," Chloe replied gleefully. "Who's your first pick, Clark?"

Lois arched an eyebrow in interest but didn't turn around as she moved the hat toward Lana. Whoever it was, Clark had attempted subterfuge to escape having them on his team.

"It's Lois," he replied in a voice devoid of all emotion.

The brief look of surprise mixed with insult that flashed across the face of Lois Lane at the realization that *she* was the name Clark had wanted to ditch, was only seen by the invisible observer… one such as you or me.

After the teams had all been set – Martha joining Lois and Clark, Lana aided by Jason and Gabe, and Lex added to the team of Jonathan and Chloe – the look on Lois's face had morphed into one of mischievous determination.

The battle raged that day, through minutes and hours; Each player schemed ways to fell enemy towers. Wounded men fell, while valiant warriors stood tall; Invasions were stopped with a single snowball.

As team members dwindled, the stakes started to rise; Defense morphed into offense – a flag now was the prize. Tensions were raised and focus was heightened; Actions were rash... and the future was brightened.
—

Two hours later, the once pristine blanket of snow covering the eastern most field belonging to the Kent Farm was no longer undisturbed. Team Lang had been eliminated; all of its members had been hit and had since decided to go inside the house for hot cocoa. The abandoned yellow flag was awaiting capture, and the two remaining teams were strategizing ways to obtain it before their opponents could. Team Kent Jr had lost its senior member to kitchen duty, leaving them with only Lois and Clark to attack the other team's fort, all while trying to repair attacks to their own without being hit. Team Kent Sr was still three strong, aided by the fact that they had procured a sled during the three minute tool gathering mission. Not only did the sled allow the other team to move quickly, it also could be used as a shield against snow missiles.

"How is it that *you* didn't think to grab the sled?" Lois demanded of her teammate.

The use of the sled had kept the Kent Sr medics from getting hit when they went to retrieve their wounded comrades. Lois had great aim, but every time she took an enemy member out, they were easily reactivated. It was quite frustrating for her.

"I didn't realize that it would be allowed," Clark replied, reaching to reinforce a side of the fort that had crumbled from a recent barrage of snowballs. He ducked when another white ball sailed toward his head.

"Of course it would be allowed!" Lois yelled, popping up long enough to send a snowball flying toward the other fort. "Everything is fair in a snow war… except when there are rules against it."

"But…"

"Did I say anything about not using a shield?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Exactly."

Clark sighed and began preparing more snowballs for Lois to throw. Despite his supposed 'Football King' status, he hadn't been very successful with snow that day. It was as if he hadn't quite gotten used to the weightlessness of it. "Why didn't *you* get a shield?" he asked.

Lois gave him a condescending look. "I don't need a shield," she answered. "It's hit or be hit out here… and seeing as you couldn't hit the broadside of your own barn – which is painted bright red so you don't miss it – the shield would be for you."

Lois crouched and looked through a peep hole she had fashioned with the use of a broom handle and swore. "Incoming!"

Clark turned his head to see his father making strides toward Team Lang's abandoned fort. The yellow flag was tied to a tree branch about ten feet behind the fort, like all the flags were. Chloe and Lex were throwing snowballs at Lois and Clark's fort in an effort to keep them from seeing Jonathan's advance.

While expertly ducking and dodging, Lois tried to get a bead on Jonathan. "Aim at the one's they are throwing at us so you can knock them out of the air," she instructed.

Seeing that Jonathan was blocking her attempts with the sled, Lois dropped back down behind the fort's protection. She reached out to pull Clark down next to her with disgust. Seeing her expression, Clark threw a snowball high into the air and sat down next to her with a smile.

"What are you grinning about? We just lost."

Clark's smile became a smirk. "I wouldn't count on that. The last one I threw is going to get him."

Lois rolled her eyes. "You mean the one you threw at the sun? Yeah, I'll believe that when I…"

"Wounded!" Jonathan's voice rang out interrupting her spiel.

Lois glanced at Clark curiously and peered through the peep hole again. Sure enough, Clark's father was no longer moving toward Fort Lang, having been downed by a snowball.

Lois gaped at Clark. "How did…?" Then she shook her head, as if dismissing her amazement. "Never mind. I'm not one to question luck." She immediately began to strategize. "Your dad has the shield, which means Chloe and Lex will be uncovered if they make a move. I say we take the offensive. Don't even let them get close to the sled."

She gathered an armful of snowballs and kneeled behind the fort, ready to fire at the first sign of the enemy.

"So, Smallville," she began in a businesslike tone, "were you hoping that you'd get Chloe on your team when you threw my name back in?"

Clark's expression seemed to freeze at the question. "Wha… I didn't…"

Lois eyed him briefly before turning her attention back to the eastern front – where all things seemed to be quiet. She waved at Jonathan, who flicked snow in her direction. "You lie about as good as you throw, Clark."

She glanced down at him again. "And for the record, that's not good."

Clark turned to kneel next to her, focusing his attention on the fort across the way. "I think they are working on a plan. We should pay attention."

"Pay attention," Lois repeated. "Like if I was paying attention when you only pulled one name from the hat, but claimed to pull two. Do I make you uncomfortable, Clark?"

Clark's expression appeared to harden. "They aren't even throwing snowballs out. Something's up…"

"I do, don't I? First, you do everything you can and call in favors from the resident billionaire to get me back in school. Then you don't want me on your team, when it's obvious I'm the best pick… Why is that?"

Clark shifted, leaning down and managing some one handed snowballs. "Hey, Dad!" he called, "You guys give up? Are you cold lying out there in the snow?"

"No way, Son!" Jonathan called back. "But I'll be willing to take your resignation any day! My team won't lie down without a fight!"

Lois chuckled at the words. "You're already lying down, Mr. K!" She turned to Clark. "Your dad's a fighter, Kent. Your mom's a fighter… Why is it that you aren't?"

"Just because I choose not to fight with you doesn't mean I don't fight, Lois," Clark replied curtly.

She smiled at the heated response as if thrilled to get a rise from him. "Well, let's see. Lana's here with her boyfriend after playing with your heart, and from what I hear, and you didn't fight her about it… Maybe that's how you react when you like someone – you lie down. Is that why you don't fight me, Clarkie? Because you like me?"

Clark's jaw tensed as he focused on not answering her. "Lex is a strategist. I wouldn't let your guard down if you want to win this thing."

"So you *do* like me. Ever heard the 'doth protest too much' qoute? Guess what I'm thinking right now."

Clark flicked a glance at her before refocusing just as Lex jumped to his feet and threw a snowball right at Clark's torso. Lois laughed as he moved in the nick of time.

"See!" Clark exclaimed. "We need to focus. We need to counter-attack or something."

"I'm sorry, Smallville. You're right. Enough about you wanting to kiss me, and about how you pretend to hate me all because you secretly like me, and that the real reason you tried to ditch my name was because you thought that if you let me close, I'd figure…"
Lois's words were abruptly cut off when Clark, seeking a way to shut her up, grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed his lips to hers.

Right after the action was made, both Lois and Clark seemed to immediately stiffen as if shocked at what was happening, and then something strange happened. Instead of springing apart as invisible observers would have expected of them, they both relaxed and became more involved in the kiss.

Clark's head angled and Lois's eyes fluttered close. The first few clasps of lips were brief and exploratory, but soon they were heated and full. Lois's hands flailed until they found purchase at Clark's waist, and Clark's gloved fingers slid up from her shoulders to pull at the scarf around her neck. Having uncovered some space, Clark lowered to kiss her neck and a slight groan – that only the invisible observer and Clark were able to hear – rose from deep within Lois's throat. He quickly returned his attention to her mouth.

It wasn't until their tongues began unconsciously seeking a dance that Lois snapped to attention. Her eyes flew open and she sprang to her feet, stumbling and tripping over the wall of the snow fort in an attempt to get her bearings.

When she finally righted herself and was struggling to regain her balance, she was standing out in the open, panting and holding a gloved hand to her mouth. Shortly after, two snowballs pelted her back and she lowered to her knees, still too shaken to even shout the required call for "Wounded!"

Chloe and Lex had just began the initial movements toward their celebratory high five when they were simultaneously hit by two snowballs they hadn't even seen coming. Their astonished expressions first looked down to see their new snow wounds, and then looked across to Clark, the assailant – and the last man standing.

"Crap!" Chloe shouted, aware that the game was over.

She and Lex laughed as they scooped up the rest of the snowballs and ran after Clark, the war over, but the fun just begun since now all bets were off. Lois blinked in quick succession and rose to her feet, brushing the snow off to the ground.

Twenty feet away, Jonathan Kent mimicked her actions with narrowed eyes. You see, it seems that more than just the invisible observer, one such as you and me, were witnesses to the heated kiss that won the war.

The games went inside; instead of cold the air was thick; The tension was heavy, weighing more than a brick. Most did not notice, but for three it was quite clear; More things were flying that night than just Santa's reindeer.

Next it was dinner, where plates and joy overflowed; Lois stayed scarce, afraid of being mistletoe'd. The eve came to an end and guests left amidst hugs; The awkward space that remained felt full of lighting bugs…
—

While the outcome of the snow war had been decided, dinner was not yet ready to be served, so the games continued indoors. Once again, teams had to be drawn, and as Clark was now the host, he was the one holding the hat.

"Wait! I pulled too…" Lois quickly moved to drop the slip of paper she had drawn back into the hat. "You know what? We're playing Charades, for crying out loud. Why don't we just pick teams?"

Clark frowned at her and then shot a confused glance down at the crumpled paper that had been thrown back into the mix.

"Sounds okay to me," Chloe quipped with a shrug.

"Great!" Lois said with flair. "I choose Chloe!"

"You can't choose Chloe," Lana quipped. "It's not your pick."

With a huff, Lois crossed her arms over her chest, and to the invisible observer, she appeared out of sorts. Her discomfort only seemed to rise when Lana added to her statement by saying, "The winner of the last game gets to pick first… Clark?"

And when Clark gleefully took the opportunity to pick Lois first, her eyes narrowed dangerously… if not warily.

As the teams were completed—this time with Chloe rounding out the trio with Lois and Clark—Lois's exasperation seemed to only increase. The rules had been set, as there was no simple way to play a Command and Conquer version of Charades, and her team was on the losing end… a side of the continuum she did not find familiar.

"The Lambada!" Clark shouted, ducking slightly when Chloe hit him with a pillow in response.

Ceasing the circular movement of her hips, Lois glared at him and the baton was passed to Team Sullivan (led by Gabe) for their guess.

Giggling, Lana supplied her team's guess for the steal. "Hula Hoop."

Dropping to her position on the couch next to her teammates, Lois mumbled an accusation regarding Clark's lack of skills under her breath.

The only ones to have heard that accusation—the invisible observers and a certain farmboy—were also the only ones to have been aware of the resulting twinkle in said boy's eye. It would be hard to name what kind of twinkle that was, and if I were a betting man (two things of which, as your humble narrarator, I am not), I would chance a guess that there was a speck of mischievousness in that eye. And if that were true, then it would appear that the tides—were there tides to be seen on the Kent Farm—had changed.

Especially when his next answers—all totally and completely off base and *wrong*—were (in this order) 'kisses,' 'cupids,' and 'trees.'

The Battle of Charades and Gestures went down to the wire but a winner had to be declared before plates could be served, and in the end it was Lana who had answered the most phrases correctly. The war was then paused, so that the turkey could be sliced, dished and eaten. The score being '1' for Clark, '1' for Lana… and most importantly to the person in question, 'none' for Lois.

The family meal was hearty, boisterous and full of laughter-inducing stories, but something was a bit amiss… Something of which only a few seemed even aware.

First, there was you and me, the invisible observers, who noted the awkward exchange made when Lois and Clark arrived simultaneously at the same chair at the table. We noted that Lois seemed to relax a bit when, gracious host that he was, Clark backed away from the seat to allow her to have it… Simply moving to the chair across the table from hers instead.

Next, there was Mr. Kent, who seemed to be watching the two youngsters with great interest. And finally, there was Mrs. Kent, who seemed to watching her husband watch the two youngsters with great interest.

When the final pie had been tasted—for everyone was much too full for a complete slice at this time—losing teams were dispersed to assist with the cleanup. The 'More Hands the Merrier' was the modus operandi for getting the place in order before Turkey-itis and NFL could set in. And while, as a card-carrying point owner, Clark had every right to sit this one out, he graciously remained part of the clean-up crew, helpfully handing Lois plates as she stood with elbows and hands in soapy dishwater.

"Wouldn't you rather go and watch wheat grow or something?" Lois offered, accepting a plate.

"It's winter," Clark replied. "And I'd rather watch you…"

When he paused her eyes cut across him like lightning, so he smirked and finished, "…lose graciously."

She seemed to jump on the closing clause of his sentence, safer ground—some might say. "I only lost because you cheated. You used me as bait!"

"You told me to do it. You liked it."

"I did not!" she protested. Then she said it again, although the second time much less loudly. And then reinforced it with a wet finger jabbed into the center of his chest. "And don't do it again. Ever."

Clark handed her another plate. "What if we're standing under mistletoe?"

"Burn it."

Across the room, Jonathan was carving leftover turkey from the bird onto the platter, and he subtly hinted to his wife about his growing concerns.

She however claimed he was mistaken when they both looked over in time to see Lois angrily pelt Clark with a wet dishcloth—apparently realizing that she'd been washing the same five dishes multiple times.

After the televised game was over and those winners bestowed, Lois declared that the final round of Command and Conquer would be played.

"Last one standing wins the hand. Every man for herself…" she said, after giving the stakes. And by this, it was apparent to all who had ears that she meant she was sure to win.

The game was called 'Spoons' and with one less of the title item than of the players sitting around the table, four cards were given to each player for the round to begin. In all, three decks of cards were shuffled and passed from person to person, one card at a time. The first player to get four cards with the same face in his or her hand, was to surreptitiously remove one of the spoons. Once one had been taken, all the others were free to be claimed. The first round ended with Lex being eliminated first, as he failed to notice all of the spoons were gone.

With the final winner being the player who won three total hands, Lex was able to redeem himself by watching the spoons instead of the cards when the next rounds were played.

Ultimately, that strategy didn't work when it came down to the final two. It was Luck and Luck alone who determined the ways the cards were dealt, and in the end it was Gabe Sullivan—who might have been part Leprechaun or the owner of a patch of four-leafed clovers—who walked away with the Spoon trophy… which was really just a symbolic thing, in that all it was, was a point.

And so, it was with no Ultimate Winner declared that departing guests began to depart with full hearts and full doggy bags. Soon enough, all the hugs were dispersed and the car lights faded down the drive. Clark watched with a soft smile as his parents ascended the stairs to head to their room.

Only the invisible observer, one such as you or me, would notice that a similar smile graced his face as he watched Lois follow in their wake.

To bed each one went, drained from fight and from flight; But sleep would not come until all was set right. A friendship once young would never be the same; Undercurrents said something no one wanted to name.

For, if words were said and actions discussed; The collision of worlds would leave behind cosmic dust. But once set in motion, some things cannot be stopped; Destiny is not a balloon which can merely be popped…
—

Later at night, all snuggled close together in bed, Martha chuckled softly as Jonathan frowned at the ceiling.

"Are you sure we should have let her stay the night?" he whispered.

"Oh, honey, I thought you were the least of my concerns when it came to being hospitable today." The covers resting on her shoulders shook a little with her continued mirth. "Between you and Clark…"

"You didn't see it! He kissed her. *Kissed her* kissed her. Emphasis on the kiss," he grumbled.

Martha patted his chest, smoothing the final pat into a caress. "You told me that it appeared to be strategy," she recalled. "A way to make it so he could win."

"Appeared to be," he agreed. "But I don't think our boy is that clever."

He rolled to face his wife; worry renewed in his face. "And he is a boy. A boy very close to becoming a man." A raised eyebrow hinted at the meanings-left-unspoken. "We *just* got rid of Lana…"

"Jonathan!"

He shrugged it off as if to say no harm or mal-intent meant. "…and she's a girl… in his bed."

Martha gently pushed her husband's shoulder to get him to lay down. As he rolled, he sighed what sounded suspiciously like relenting.

"Are you saying that I have nothing to worry about?"

Martha smiled into the darkness that was only permeated by the glow of stars in the night's sky showing through the window. "I'm saying that you have nothing to worry about." For good measure, she added, "Whatever happens will be what needs to be."

Abruptly, he rolled to face her again. "And what do you expect to happen?!"

This time, Martha laid her head on his chest so he was forced to recline. "Nothing, honey. Nothing."

Silence encompassed the room and the night became heavy with the settling of restful breaths and minds... And then there was creaking…

A creaking so faint it could have been the stirrings of a mouse, but Jonathan sprang from the bed as if it were a clatter.

"What? What is it?" Martha inquired, rolling to turn on the bedside lamp.

Jonathan was busily slipping on his kerchief and slippers (items which he traditionally donned in honor of the season, you'll note). "I don't know. I heard something…"

Tying her robe, Martha followed him into the hallway where a family meeting of sorts was staged to take place. Poised with one foot aloft, Clark was seemingly frozen from the shock of his sudden audience to his climbing of the stairs. Also frozen was Lois, whose eyes flitted back and forth among the faces of the other three people in her view. Her hand was paused in mid-motion where she was pulling the bedroom door shut behind her.

And finally there was Jonathan, holding his flashlight in a manner akin to that of an interrogator.

"Kids?"

His gruff demand seemed to break the unseen ice, and both young adults responded at the same time.

"I was coming up to use the bathroom!" "I wanted some pie!"

Martha gently flicked the switch so the stairs were illuminated and everyone blinked the sudden intrusion away. With the same gentle touch, she gently removed the flashlight from Jonathan's grip and turned it off.

"See, Jonathan, everything is fine. No fat man in the chimney… no reindeer on the roof. No Dancer, no Vixen… no Donner or Blitzen."

She rubbed her cheek against her husband's shoulder and shooed the other two away with a flick of the wrist. "Lois you know where the pie is… and Clark…"

"I know where I'm going!" he cut in, blushing in way that only mothers can incite.

"Let's go to bed," Martha invited, tugging her husbands hand.

"Hold on." Jonathan's eyes narrowed, seemingly not yet assuaged given the flushed pallor apparent on both Lois and Clark's faces.

He pulled away from Martha, descended a few stairs past Clark, leaned over the railing and pulled something up by its thread.

Brandishing a sprig of forgotten mistletoe as he returned to his wife's side, he nodded. "Now we can go to bed." He gave one last look over his shoulder. "Each of us. To our *respective* beds."

The last comment earned him a swat, but he appeared to not mind in the least.

With the older couple tucked away behind their bedroom door, Clark silently followed Lois as she descended the stairs.

For a heavy and silent moment they stood facing one another at the base of the landing, looking everywhere but at the other's face.

Finally, it was our gallant Clark who bridged the gap. "I'm sorry," he offered. "I shouldn't have teased you."

Lois's gaze sprang to his. "So you *were* giving suggestive answers!" she exclaimed, vehemently but quietly—probably so as not to obtain interest from additional parties.

"I shouldn't have kissed you either."

Lois wasn't quite as quick to respond to that. "I hate to lose," she finally said.

"No!" His was a mock-surprised reply.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't usually get flustered."

"No?" It was still mocking, but less surprised.

"I'm not easily moved."

"No?" This time, there was no mocking, but considerable interest.

"And… I *might* have started it with all that goading…"

Just as it appeared that Clark was about to form another version of his recently patented response of 'no', Lois cut him off. "Shut up."

They eyed each other for a moment before Lois's eyes narrowed. "Why did you kiss me?"

"You just kept talking about it…"

"Is that the only reason?"

"It was a good strategy…"

"Um hmm. That all?"

He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he rubbed his jaw. Then the back of his neck again. "Yeah… at first…"

Lois stepped closer. "And then?"

He smirked. "And then I kinda liked it."

She shuffled backwards, offended. "Kinda?" Her response was not mocking at all. In fact, it was surprised. Baffled, even.

But given the resulting self-satisfied smile that graced Clark's face with her action, an invisible observer, say someone like you or me, would venture that a new game was afoot. And the score was '1' in Clark's favor.

Lois, apparently coming to a similar deduction, stepped forward again to crowd his personal space. "Maybe we should try again?"

Flushing, Clark's reply revealed that he was now a bit less sure-footed. "Maybe."

Lois frowned. "There's no going back, you know?"

"I know."

She pressed her lips together, hesitantly reaching out to place a hand on his t-shirt clad abdomen. "Either way, something's changed…" she said.

"I think everything's changed," he said.

They remained there, standing still, for a few moments more—neither willing to take that final step across a line that had already been drawn and moved—until Clark finally looked up. "My dad took the mistletoe."

Lois allowed her fingers to trail down to the hem of his shirt, which she quickly grabbed and used to tug him closer. "I don't think we need any."

At the end of our play, a new game was won; A victory achieved that was more than good fun. A farm boy received a gift to ward off the mope; A kiss birthed a secret that carried new hope.

A city girl learned that truth is better out than held in; A kiss taught her that sometimes it takes two to win. Thus ends the story, and as the scene fades from thy sight; I bid to ye friends "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night."
—

Fin.