On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
"This is nothing but crap. I hate Christmas!" Lois grumbled.
"You've only said that for about the millionth time, Scrooge," Clark replied.
"I can't help it if this is a stupid assignment, writing on the Christmas traditions of the average Kansas farm family. It's a stupid story, and I wouldn't call anybody in Smallville average. Grant would have never made me do this."
Lois saw Clark stiffen, and she doubted it had anything to do with the cold. He'd never been a fan of her boyfriends and with Grant, she conceded he had been a jerk. The Luthor blood in him she supposed. The one boyfriend she needed Clark to chase off, excluding Graham, and he'd been too preoccupied with his own love life. A love life he was still preoccupied with. It was her turn to stiffen. Here of late she liked Lana less and less, but she was convinced it had nothing to do with her feelings toward him and more to do with that for over a year now she'd seen very little of one of her closest friends. She knew Lana played a part in that, but they had to be together now for this story.
Clark, Kara, Martha, and grudgingly Lana, as they all called the Kent farm home, were her assignment thanks to her new editor, Perry White. She did like the new editor though, just not this story. Grant had been a puppet for hiding Luthor corruption stories, hence why he never published her stories. She shuddered to think she'd actually kissed a Luthor. It was apparent something in their genes made them evil scumbags, who were good at hiding it. Now that he was gone, her stories were finally getting published for the most part. However, Perry had said it was well and good to be bringing in hard hitting stories, but it took a true reporter to take a mundane, overused, fluff piece and turn it into a good story. It was a mini-column, where she would spend the 12 days leading up to Christmas, reporting on a different tradition each day. She also had a feeling Perry knew it was the only way she would take a break, however, it wasn't a true break because she found the holiday stressful.
Besides, tracking up the foot of a mountain in freezing temperatures all in pursuit of a real Christmas tree was not her idea of fun. "Clark, this is stupid. It's cold. The snow is making it difficult to walk. I could be in front of a roaring fire with a cup of hot chocolate right now. Let's just go back to Smallville, where there is no snow I might add, and buy a plastic tree."
"It wouldn't be true to your article. It would be the tradition of a typical apartment-dwelling city girl. "
"That's where you're wrong. I don't put up a tree."
"It seems to me you were the one who brought that little Charlie Brown Christmas tree for your apartment last year."
"Shut up, Smallville," she said, annoyed he remembered that. She just hoped he didn't know she felt a weird sympathy for little trees nobody wanted, but she had a feeling he did. "The needles shed all over the house, you have to change the water, and it's a fire hazard. Get with the 21st century. There's a lot to be said for putting together a fake Christmas tree. It can be a fun family project. The tree can come pre-lit, so there's no hassle over untangling lights. You spray a little pine scent and it's as good as the real thing."
"A real tree is a real tree."
"Oh, that was deep, Clark," she said with a roll of her eyes. "If you insist on a real tree, why can't we just pick up a tree at the local tree lot?"
"The Kent family has been getting their trees from this mountain for generations."
"Let me tell you a story, Smallville."
"Oh, boy," he sighed, clearly not looking forward to it. "If it'll keep your mind off the cold, go ahead."
"It won't but thanks anyway. Once upon a time there was this little girl named Anne. She was fixing a ham with her mother and they had to cut it in half to fit it in the little pan. This doubled the time because they had to bake twice. Puzzled, the girl asked, 'Mommy, why don't we just get a bigger pan?' Her mother replied, 'I don't know, Anne. It's just the way it's always been done, tradition. The pan's always been this size. Maybe if you ask my mother, your grandmother, she'll know. I learned it from her.' So Anne went to her grandmother and repeated the question, 'Why do we use such a small pan to roast the meat in when we could just get a bigger one?' 'I don't know Anne. It's just the way it's always been done. My mother, your great-grandmother, taught it to me. Why don't you ask her?' Anne went to see her great grandmother and repeated the question, 'Why do we use such a small pan when we could use a bigger one?' 'I don't know-"
"Is there a point to this story?"
"Patience, grasshopper. Anyway, the great-grandmother didn't know either, 'It's just the way it's always been done, Anne. My mother, your great-great grandmother, may know the answer.' So Anne approached the oldest member of the family and asked, 'Why do we use a small pan instead of a big one?' 'Because, Anne, in my day the stoves were smaller and a big pan wouldn't fit in it.' The moral of the story is just because something's always been done that way doesn't mean it's necessarily the best way."
"And sometimes it's nice to have family traditions that get passed down. It makes you feel connected to the past."
"Fine, but if I get frostbite or hypothermia, my death will be on your hands."
"I can live with that."
She picked up a snowball and nailed him in the back.
He laughed. "Relax and take in your surroundings. It's a beautiful place."
"Not in the winter, it isn't. Hey, look there's a nice tree," she said, pointing.
He followed her finger to the tree she was pointing at, "Lois, that's an oak."
"So?"
"So it's not green."
"Put on some lights and ornaments and no one can tell the difference."
He shook his head, "You're insufferable, you know that?"
15 minutes and a few 100 footprints later, they ran into the first pine.
"At last," Lois cried, "Now chop it down with your axe."
"It's too small."
She pointed at another one a few feet away, "Then that one."
"Are you kidding me? It's bigger than our house."
"Then cut the top off."
"Lois."
"Clark, I can't feel my feet anymore."
He quickly scanned the vicinity, "That one up there looks good."
It didn't take long to chop it down. Lois was impressed. It took some strength to bring the tree down in 3 strokes but she didn't tell him that. "I hope you know I'm not helping you drag that thing. It's your tree, you take care of it."
"Fair enough," he started going off to the side, instead of back down.
"I've heard of a bad sense of direction, but this is ridiculous. Follow the footprints, Smallville."
"We're not going back down yet," he said with a smile. "Follow me."
"Clark, I wasn't kidding about my feet. If we're out here any longer, I'm going to turn into a human popsicle."
"Would you just trust me? It's a surprise."
She followed him, but she wanted desperately to get back inside the heated car. It wasn't long before they came upon a cute, little cabin. It looked like it was right off of a winter scene on a coffee mug. "Is this yours?" she asked dumbfounded.
"No," he said, laying the tree down and fishing for a key. "It belongs to a friend of the family. He always lets us borrow it when we come up here to give us a chance to thaw before we have to hike back down." He got the door open and then tried to shake off the key, but it was stuck to his hand.
"Sap on the sap," Lois laughed, but she helped him pull it off.
Clark went to get a fire going.
"I'm surprised nobody else came along," Lois commented.
"Well, Kara doesn't really see the point of all the Christmas traditions. Lana doesn't like hikes unless it's on horseback. Mom's still stuck in Washington. Everybody else is working."
"I bet you Lana didn't know about the cabin."
"What does that mean?" he asked, pumping air on the fire.
"Nothing. I just meant she might want to see the cabin." What she really meant was that Lana was extra possessive of him as of late, particularly around her, and that if she knew they were going to be alone together in a cozy, little cabin, instead of the freezing wilderness, she might have wanted to tag along. However, Lois didn't want to jeopardize her relationship with Clark. It had become so fragile lately because they hadn't seen much of each other and because of Lana.
"I think there's cocoa in the kitchen," he said going over to the tiny kitchenette, "Yep. See, Lois? It's part of the magic of Christmas. You wanted a roaring fire and hot chocolate, and now you have it."
"Magic my foot," she said, warming her hands next to the fire.
"What, don't believe in Christmas magic?" he asked, putting the hot chocolate on the stove to warm up.
"No, I don't."
He handed her a miniature tree with a fake bird in it. It had been sitting on the coffee table.
"What's this?"
"It's a partridge in a pear tree. It doesn't get more Christmassy than that."
"What a tacky decoration," she said, taking the tree and frowning.
"Don't you know the song. On the-"
"I know the song. I just think it's a nonsensical song."
"Not really. All the things in the song stand for Christian symbols. The true love is God and the partridge is Jesus. A partridge is well known for protecting her nestlings."
"Really?"
It's a theory. Some people think somebody made it up and it is just an earthly suitor giving a bunch of weird gifts. There's not really evidence for either one. Technically, the 12 days don't start until Christmas day, but only liturgical churches actually celebrate the 12 days. I can tell you what all the symbols mean if you like."
"That's okay. I believe you. You know, it takes a real geek to know all that or at least someone who's way too into Christmas. In your case, I'd say it's both."
He went to get the hot chocolate off the stove and brought her back a mug.
"It's good," she said, after she took a sip. She set her mug down and felt the plastic bird in the tree and laughed. "Now I can actually say I got a partridge in a pear tree for Christmas."
