Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Lex stood in front of his desk, his bag packed for the next couple of days, staring at the list Chris Harris had emailed him earlier today. He was torn between shaking his head, rolling his eyes, and laughing out loud, though he shouldn't be surprised by her lists and antics anymore.

She had included three things that didn't exist, one thing he'd never heard of, and a footnote marked 'just trust me.'

Lex had known Chris for more than two years now—eight hundred and fifty-three days, but who was counting?

Ever since their first meeting, she had brought chaos into his life. Had finalized contracts with wit and charm. And had reduced his caffeine intake immensely—mostly because she would pry the coffee out of his hands before he could even have a sip.

And that had been before he had hopelessly fallen for her.

It hadn't been a head-over-heels situation. God knew, he didn't do head-over-heels anymore. Not after Desirée. Or Victoria. Or all the other women…
Chris Harris had slowly carved herself a place in his world, in his life, and he didn't want to miss her anymore.

Even if it meant chaos and crazy were constant companions from now on.

He glanced at the list again when the creaking of the study's double doors announced a visitor.

Lex didn't bother to turn around. He could basically feel the Golden Retriever energy filling the room. A smile tugged at his lips.

“Lex. I feared I'd miss you.”

“Your timing is impeccable—as always. I was about to leave.” He turned around to face Clark, who flashed him a bright smile.

“I'm just here for moral support. Last-minute briefing. Giving you a cheat sheet to navigate the Harris-Morris holiday madness.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked on the balls of his feet. “Christmas invitation at the Harrises… big thing.”

Lex arched a brow. Indeed, Chris' father, the General, had personally invited him during Thanksgiving. If “You won't be spending the holidays brooding in a LuthorCorp penthouse, or the mansion, or sitting at a ridiculously long table with your father at the other end, glaring daggers at each other” was to be counted as an official invitation.

“Clark, are you offering to be Virgil to my Dante?” He folded the list in half and then again before shoving it into his pocket. “I've survived the Fourth of July, I'll survive Christmas.”

Clark cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “You got a list, right?”

When Lex didn't reply, Clark began to grin. “Take it seriously. And the Nutcracker is not for cracking nuts.”

Lex still didn't reply. Just looked at Clark until the younger one's eyes began to widen.
“No! No, no, no. I mean an actual German nutcracker. You know those wooden ones? Looking like soldiers, or knights?”

Lex kept looking at Clark until he began to squirm.

“I figured as much, Clark.”

“That wasn't meant to be a pun.”

“Of course, not,” Lex answered, barely hiding his smirk.

Clark rolled his eyes.
“I liked you better when you were still broody,” he said with affection and perched on the billiard table. “It's just… I actually once used that to crack open some walnuts. I was like ten. Chipped it. Chris nearly killed me.” He paused to look at Lex. “She's scary when she's upset.”

“I've noticed.” Lex tilted his head. “Was that before or after…” He let the sentence hang, assuming Clark would get it.

He did.

“Before,” he said quietly. “It was Aunt Henri's last Christmas… She made us sit down in the kitchen, and we fixed it together. Said that it now had a personality…”

Lex's gaze drifted to the fireplace, focusing on the flames dancing around in an erratic pattern. He couldn't help but frown. Aunt Henri… He'd never referred to Chris' mother like that before. But Chris would call Clark's mother Auntie occasionally. Her mom and Martha Kent had been friends since college. Lex knew the story. Chris had told him—even asked if he needed a flow chart.

“Clark, was Chris' mother by any chance your godmother?”

“Why, of course. Didn't I tell you?”

“Must have slipped your mind.” Lex told himself that it wasn't a big deal, which it wasn't. Yet he couldn't shake off the old familiar feeling of being deliberately left in the dark. “So, you do actually have intel on the Harrises' Christmas traditions? Many years of celebrating together…”

Clark grinned and shrugged. “Not actual Christmas, but the time leading to Christmas, and… They take Christmas seriously. Especially Chris.”

“The three different Advent calendars—including the one she made for me—already gave that away.”

Clark chuckled. “Did she make you clean your shoes and put them out the evening of December the Fifth?”

Lex blinked.

“Take that as a warning for next year.” Clark grinned and tapped his chin. “Oh, don't interfere with her Christmas playlists—”

“That's a year-round warning.”

“True.”

Lex laughed. “Clark, I appreciate your concern, but I'm certain I can handle it. As I said, I survived the Fourth of July.”

And he did survive it. It'd been the first actual meeting with Chris' extended family and the Morrises. It'd been loud, wild, and chaotic—just like her. But he'd felt welcomed. Included. As though he'd been part of that group for ages.

Clark raised his brows and glanced at the Christmas tree sitting in the corner of the study. The maids had set it up—probably on Matthew's orders.

“Chris hasn't seen that, right?” Clark said and moved over to it, carefully picking tinsel out of the branches. “Of course not… Tinsel, Lex. Seriously?”

Lex inhaled through his nose, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
“It's just decoration. But let me guess: it's a war crime according to Chris.”

“That and setting up the tree way before Christmas,” Clark replied, still picking at the tinsel until Lex stopped him. “Uh, right… Sorry. It's just… Chris really likes Christmas.”

“I know.”

“And she has these weird little rules and traditions.”

Lex smiled. Of course, she had. He hadn't discovered all of them yet, but those he had were equally disturbing and endearing. Like the giant Santa mug, which was solely reserved for mulled wine.

“She'll expect you to help decorate the tree,” Clark continued. “Don't. That's a trap. No one's allowed to touch the tree once it's set up. You'll likely have to do that. But then… It's off limits. And don't comment on it being last-minute.”

Lex blinked. “She's been decorating for weeks. Her apartment looks like the North Pole. She's been at her Dad's house every other day to decorate. There's only so much decoration—”

“That's the seasonal decoration. The Christmas decoration is for… well, Christmas.” Clark shrugged helplessly. “I stopped trying to make sense of it a long time ago. It's a German thing. Or a Chris thing. Or a Harris thing. Hard to tell.”

Lex pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't sure if he was about to celebrate Christmas or step into a lion's den.

“Maybe she'll cut you some slack. It's your first Christmas together after all,” Clark muttered, utterly unconvincing. “She'll probably forgive you a lot of things this Christmas. Unless…”

“Unless… what?”

Clark squirmed a little and tilted his head. “You're not exactly good at making gifts… Do I need to remind you of the truck?”

Lex huffed. “That was me showing gratitude for you saving my life. And if I remember correctly, I already told you back then that there was a concerning lack of 'Thank you for saving my life' cards.”

Clark grinned. “So, what did you get her?”

“Let's just say, I have it covered,” Lex replied vaguely, not interested in discussing Chris' gift with Clark—or anyone for that matter.

Hell, he didn't even know whether Chris would like the gift he had ordered from Australia. A giant, wearable fleece… thing. But it had the Cheshire Cat on it, and it seemed like a sign. Once it arrived, he'd begun to doubt his decision and had commissioned a necklace at his go-to jeweler. Nothing too fancy, nothing too over-the-top. Just something understated, Chris would like…

“Okay, you won't tell me,” Clark said, raising his hands. “I'll ask Chris on the twenty-sixth. By the way—that's actually why I'm here—Mom wants to know your favorite dessert.”

Lex was too surprised by the sudden change of topic—and he had been dating Chris for ten months now—that only a daft “Huh?” escaped his lips.

“Didn't she tell you? The General and Chris always have Christmas dinner at the farm on the twenty-sixth. It's a tradition. And since you and Chris are… a thing now. Well, Mom's expecting you, too. So… what's your favorite dessert?”

Lex simply stared at Clark for a moment, wondering what else Chris hadn't mentioned and what other Christmas surprises awaited him.
At this point, he seriously considered spending the holidays with his dad.

“I… never thought about it,” he slowly said. Did people actually have favorite desserts? He was still digesting that Christmas wouldn't end on Christmas Day but would last on.

Would Chris insist on the entire Twelve Days of Christmas?

He shook his head. That wasn't even a question. He knew she would…
He'd better get his hands on a partridge and a pear tree before it was too late.

“Lex? Are you alright? You look a little… green.”

Lex cleared his throat and checked his watch.
“I'm good, but… uhm, I'd better get going now.”

“Yeah, sure… But what do I tell Mom?”

“Clark, your favorite dessert is mine, too. Just tell her that.”

Clark laughed and grabbed Lex's shoulder.
“You'll be good. And Chris won't expect doves, and French hens, and… there are a lot of birds in that song.” He laughed again. “Tell the General and Chris I said hi. See you on the twenty-sixth.”

When he turned to leave, Lex stared at his back for a second. Was it possible that he'd packed on even more muscles? What was Martha Kent feeding her son?

“I got her a blanket. A giant, wearable fleece thing from Australia…” He blurted out before he could stop himself. “She's always cold,” he added as if he needed justification.

Clark stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around, a wide smile appearing on his face.
“A wearable… blanket?”

“She's always cold. She's basically just bones and—”

“Caffeine.” Clark grinned. “Oh man. She'll love it. Trust me. She'll live in that thing.”

Two hours later, Lex stood in front of Chris' door, waiting for her to open. He could already hear Christmas music—not the traditional kind, but rather the bizarre guitar riffs he only associated with German punk rock.

Smirking, he shook his head, and when the door opened, his lips curled into a smile. She wore a green paisley bandana over her hair, her cheeks dusted with flour as she bounced to the music.

“Hello, you,” she said, her smile wide, as she reached for his shirt, pulling him inside.

Her apartment smelled like a bakery, but Lex barely had time to register it since Chris launched herself into his arms, full koala-attack.

He staggered a little, but managed to shut the door behind them.

“Finally, you're here,” she whispered at his lips. “Now, Christmas can begin.”

He chuckled as he held her tighter, returning her kiss.

“It's only the twenty-first,” he murmured when their lips broke apart, and brushed some flour off her cheek.

“Already a day late,” she replied, releasing him from her koala-hug and setting her feet back on the ground. She reached for his hand and pulled him with her to the kitchen. “We need to pack and move camp.”

He froze in the doorway. The place looked as though Santa's bakery had been through a nuclear attack. The counter was buried under mixing bowls, measuring cups, spice jars, and what appeared to be the remains of five different doughs.

Chris was already buzzing through the kitchen, closing lids on Tupperware, and loading the dishwasher.

“I'm almost done here,” she said without looking at him, but gestured toward the Tupperware. “Get those in the car, will you?” She rushed past him, pecked his cheek, and began to pack up some things in the living room while singing off-key to Kidnap the Sandy Claws.

He stood frozen on the spot, unable to follow her train of thought—not that anyone really could. Her brain had always operated like a server farm on espresso. Even now, he could see the ENPS driving her; she wasn't just baking, she was experiencing a surge of cognitive hyperactivity that allowed her to connect the dots of five different recipes while simultaneously loading the dishwasher.

It was a brilliant, dizzying display of her 'gift', but Lex still felt that old, protective instinct kick in. He knew that for every moment her mind allowed her to see the bigger picture and remember things with more clarity than his own eidetic memory, there was the looming threat of a crash.

“Angel,” he said calmly. “You let me out of a couple of steps here.”

When she darted past him again, he reached for her wrist, gently curling his fingers around it. He needed to see her eyes—to ensure the spark he saw was Christmas joy and not the haunted glimmer of a mind taking the better of her.

She looked up, and when he saw that her eyes were clear, he was relieved.

“Dad's got the better stove,” she said as though it would explain everything.

Lex blinked and looked at the plastic containers again.
“You made the cookie dough here, and plan to bake at your Dad's?”

“I have the better kitchen supplies,” she replied, kissed his chin, and whirled around to rush into the bedroom. “There's a list for you on the sideboard.”

He shook his head. God help him, but he was in love with this woman.

He turned toward the sideboard and picked up a piece of paper, skimming the list Chris had scribbled down in her usual bold, casual flourish.

“Do I need to worry that you used different languages?”

“How many?” Her voice came muffled from the bedroom.

“German and English.”

“Nope! That's Christmas-ian.”

Lex exhaled slowly through his nose. Of course, she had a language she would use for the holidays. Why was he even surprised?

He looked at the list again, smirking. She had written 'Weihnachtsbaum' instead of 'Christmas tree', and he could already hear her telling him that the German word was more efficient than the English one.

“So, want to start with number seven of the list?” Chris returned and rested her chin on his shoulder. She had removed the bandana and changed into a knitted Nordic sweater.

Lex glanced at the seventh item on the list and felt something twist in his chest.

Integrate Lex's Christmas traditions!!!—underlined, triple exclamation marks, as though it were the most critical part of the list.

He swallowed. After his mother's death, there hadn't been any Christmas celebrations anymore—apart from the annual LuthorCorp office parties for board members and employees. And even with his mother still alive, there hadn't been many traditions.

But he couldn't tell that. Chris loved Christmas so much. She loved her family so much. It wasn't as though she was naive, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth. Not on Christmas, so he turned to her and smiled.

“When I was… I think I was about three years old… Shortly before Christmas,” he began, looking at her, “my father returned from a business trip to Europe, bringing this ridiculously pickle-shaped ornament with…”

Chris gave him a soft smile and squeezed his hand.

“Ever since then, we let one of the staff hide it in the Christmas tree, and whoever of us found it first was granted an extra gift,” he continued, and Chris let out a soft sound.

“I think they let me win most of the time.” He chuckled, almost believing himself. “Dad called it the Pickle Hunt. Said it was an old European tradition.”

“It's a very old German Christmas tradition,” Chris said softly, still smiling. “We start pickling them after the Fourth of July celebrations, wearing Dirndl and Lederhosen.”

She watched him solemnly for a moment before she punched his shoulder.
“You're so full of shit. You don't have to make stuff up, Lex. If you don't want to tell me, it's okay. If you don't have traditions, fine. But don't mess with me.”

His jaw tightened, but before he could say anything, Chris reached up and brushed her fingertips against his cheek.

“It's Christmas, Lex,” she whispered. “You get a clean slate. We can make our own traditions.” She moved in closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. “What about this year, you are allowed to try any tradition you've ever heard of? See what you like. What's fun…”

His heart clenched; however, he forced his mask back on. He didn't deserve her.

“What if I always wanted to decorate the Christmas tree with a popcorn garland?”

For a second, Chris' left eye twitched ever so slightly, but then she smiled.
“Well, then I'll start popping that corn. Sweet. Salty. With chocolate. I can make it rainbow-colored. Your call.”

By now, Lex was almost unable to breathe. He cupped her cheek and placed a kiss between her eyes. But he couldn't help himself. He looked her in the eyes, kissing the tip of her nose.

“What if I said I liked tinsel?”

“We'll get tinsel,” she replied, her eye twitching violently.

Lex brushed his thumb over her brow. Clark hadn't been exaggerating; she hated tinsel.

“I'm just kidding,” he whispered. “No tinsel.”

“We could, though—”

He closed her mouth with his lips. Spending Christmas with her was all that he wanted. And frankly, that was the only tradition he wanted to establish.

It wasn't surprising that Chris ran Christmas like a well-planned military operation. They'd barely entered her father's house when she began bossing him around. She'd sent him to the attic, to the garage, and down to the basement to get the remaining Christmas decorations.

Then, without ceremony, she'd dressed him in a barbecue apron—only that this one read 'I kissed Santa Claus'—and pushed a bowl with icing into his hands.

And the worst part? He'd enjoyed every single moment of it. The baking, the decorating, watching Chris glowing with joy…

Now, she sat curled up next to him on the couch in the living room, sipping at her beer, humming occasionally.

“You followed my orders surprisingly well,” she muttered, glancing up at him. “And you didn't once comment on the Christmas tree—or the lack thereof.”

“Well…” He took a measured sip of whiskey. “Your list says we pick up the tree tomorrow, set it up, and let it 'feel at home' before you decorate it the day after.”

Blinking, she sat up and eyed him suspiciously.
“You sound… skeptical. More than usual… We decorate it together. Of course.”

Lex just hummed. He trusted Clark's words more than hers. Chris needed to be in control; she rarely ever gave it up—not outside the bedroom, anyway. He most definitely wouldn't want to ruin her Christmas by placing two baubles next to each other, even though they'd clearly been feuding since 1991.

“Hey, you don't believe me.” Chris nudged his shoulder.

“I just know you, Angel.” He pulled her in close again, brushing his lips against her temple. “You tell me what to do, and I'll follow suit like the obedient boyfriend I am.”

That made her shudder, and she hid her blush by taking another sip from her bottle.

Lex smirked. He had long discovered that she enjoyed it when he referred to himself as her boyfriend. So did he. It was easier to say than 'I love you'.

She rose so suddenly, she almost made him spill the rest of his whiskey. She took the tumbler from his hand, set it on the slate coaster on the table, placed her bottle on another coaster, and reached for his hands, pulling him up.

“Let's go to bed. It's been a long day.”

Indeed, it had been a long day, and Lex followed her willingly upstairs. They stopped at the end of the corridor. Her childhood room on the right, the guest bedroom on the left.

Chris opened the right door. He had seen her room before. On the Fourth of July. Frozen in 1997 when she had left for Harvard, aged only fourteen.

When he looked at her again, there was a flicker in her eyes that made him want to pin her against the nearest wall. He inhaled sharply when he realized that this was her intention.
In her childhood bedroom.

Involuntarily, he took a step back, firmly shaking his head.

“Lex…?”

He took another step back, still shaking his head.

Chris began to laugh and tugged at his hand.
“Come on, I know you want to… You want me…”

She licked her lips, and Lex's brain short-circuited for a second. He followed her inside the room, melting into her when her fingers slid beneath his sweater, trailing across his abs. Her lips found his, coaxing them apart. He was like a Swiss fondue in her hands.

Fondue… There'll be fondue on Christmas Eve. With the General. And her entire family. And the Morrises.

His eyes shot open and instantly fell on the green Care Bear plush sitting on her childhood bed.

Panting heavily, he grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her away.
“Stop!”

Chris watched him, puzzled.
“Oh… that's a… first.”

He forced himself into his most nonchalant smile—and failed. He felt judged by the Spice Girls, the Backstreet Boys, and… Buffy. And worst of all, he could almost feel the General's disapproval.

“Lex? You okay?” Chris watched him, confused. “You look as though you're standing trial—Oh. Oh!” She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You do have a moral conscience.”

He blinked several times before he looked at her again. She was teasing him—as always—but not mocking him.

He inhaled deeply, trying not to look at the posters on the wall or think of her father. Impossible.

“I can't… It's your dad's house.”

“He isn't even here,” she said, smirking, pulling him with her towards the bed. The very bed she had slept in as a teenager. A child, actually.

“Angel…”

“I've never snuck a boyfriend into my room,” she whispered, her voice coaxing. “We can keep it PG-13.” Her hands roamed over his chest, down his abs, until they rested on his belt. “Just some smooching, and maybe some fondling…”

Lex almost choked, unable to glance around the room again. The Care Bear was definitely judging him.

He reached for her hands and clasped them firmly between their chests.
“Chris… I'd do anything… but not this. Not in here.”

“You're quoting Meat Loaf.”

“We're standing in a literal time capsule, so forgive me.” He huffed. “I won't do anything in here.”

“So, you do want to do things to me,” she whispered, leaning in closer.

Lex's fingers tightened around her wrists. Chris shuddered, a slight moan escaped her lips, and she looked down at her hands. He forced himself to loosen his grip, but he couldn't. Chris loved him for restraining her. She always became so pliant in his hands.

Her chest was heaving heavily, and she pressed herself against him, smirking when she felt his erection pressing against her hip. Of course, she knew what she was doing to him.

“Will the guest bedroom work, or do I have to drag you down into your car?” She rolled her hips against his groin, already making him back out of the room. “We need to create Christmas traditions for you.”

He let her back him into the guest bedroom, never letting go of her hands while trying to keep his composure.
“Sex is hardly a Christmas tradition.”

“Not if we wear elves' hats.”

Lex groaned. “Don't! Just don't!”

But Chris was only just beginning. She was already wriggling out of his hands, darting to her carpet bag with that deadly little bounce he knew meant trouble.

She pulled something out of her bag and shook it out with a wide grin.
A silk scarf. With reindeer printed all over it.

Lex closed his eyes. He was doomed. Beyond saving.

Chris wrapped the scarf around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
“This is very Christmassy,” she whispered at his lips. “And look, the headboard has bars…” She tugged gently at the scarf, stepping back just enough to make him follow. Her voice dropped to a mischievous purr.
“I'm a bit feral tonight… I might need some restraining.”

She wasn't asking. Not openly. She never did. But her eyes glittered with something that made his pulse stumble.

“Chris…” His voice came out lower than intended. And Chris? She just beamed. Joyful. Triumphant.

“Come on, Lex. It's Christmas. Traditions. Memory-making. We have this entire house for ourselves. And you did say you were my obedient—”

Something in him snapped. As though a string was pulled too tight.
He caught her wrist mid-sentence and turned her, guiding her back a step until the backs of her thighs brushed the bed. Not rough. Not even forceful.
Just deliberate.

“Enough,” he said quietly.

For a moment, her breath hitched, but then the mischievous glim returned, and she pursed her lips. Dragging her free hand slowly down his chest, fingers teasing the buckle of his belt.

“Oh? Did I misbehave?” she breathed, her eyes wide with faux innocence.

He should've stepped back. Should've laughed it off. Should've done anything except what he did next.

His hand snapped to the side of her thigh—a sharp, precise slap. Not painful. More sound than force. He hadn't even meant to do it. But for a split second, the part he always tried to keep at bay took over.

Both of them froze.

Chris' lips parted slightly. Her pupils blew wide. She didn't even seem to breathe anymore.

Lex's world tilted.
“Chris…” He swallowed. “I didn't mean to… Sorry—”

“Do it again.”

Lex blinked, unsure whether he heard right. She had whispered it, barely a breath.
“Angel…”

Her entire body went pliant in his hold, like she'd been waiting for this very moment without knowing it.

“Do it again,” she said again, this time a little louder. Barely.

Lex's pulse hammered, and every fibre in his body screamed to turn and leave before he crossed a line for good, but Chris already reached for his hand and placed it right back on her thigh.

“You're not the only one discovering things tonight,” she murmured, looking up at him. There was no fear in her eyes. If anything, it was curiosity and determination. “Please.”

He exhaled shakily, the last of his restraint dissolving. It was the first time she'd ever used the word like that. Soft. Bare.
Intentional.

He studied her for a moment. There was no need to ask her. He did it anyway.
“Are you sure?”

“Is Christmas the best time of year?” she asked in return, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I'm sure.” Her hand was still on his and made him lift it. “Do it again.”

He nodded slowly, placing his right hand firmly on her hip before bringing his left hand down on the side of her thigh again.

Chris' eyes widened. She gasped, her entire body vibrating. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with joy.
“Again, but vary the impact this time. I think… I like this.”

Lex almost forgot how to stand upright and breathe at the same time. He swallowed a few times, unable to digest what was happening. And granted, there wasn't even time to try.

Just when he looked back at Chris, she was already climbing onto the bed. She positioned herself in perfect cow pose—the wiggling hips had to be Chaos Gremlin yoga, though—and looked over her shoulder as if to say, 'What are you waiting for?'

He blinked. Once. Twice.
She swiggled again. That wasn't even a word — but it was exactly what she did. With even more intent. And his feet shuffled toward the bed before he even made the conscious decision.

“You've got to be kidding me,” he finally said and closed his eyes for a moment.

He took a deep breath before he placed a well-measured slap across Chris' gluteus maximus. She squealed in delight.

“Ooooooh, I'll never behave ever again… Why does it feel so goood? Again, Lex. Please!”

He tried to suppress a laugh and let his hand land on the back of her thigh anyway. She let out an almost obscene sound and begged for even more. This time, however, Lex stopped himself. Instead, he pulled the scarf from his neck and let it drop on the bed.

“I think you've been feral enough, Chaos Gremlin,” he said in a low voice, smoothing his palm over the curve of her lower back. “Let's not go overboard.”

Chris stared at him for a moment, then flopped onto her belly and buried her head underneath a pillow. She groaned and tried to bury herself even further. Her voice was muffled when she finally spoke—or rather spiraled.

He only caught a few words. 'Freak' and 'Horror show' among them. His jaw clenched.

Why hadn't he stopped before the first, unintentional, slap? He knew how fast she could go from adorably horny to scarily insecure.

Rubbing his face, he sat down next to her on the bed and lifted the pillow.
“Angel,” he said softly, but she turned her head. “Angel… talk to me.”

“Leave me. I'm trying to will myself from this universe. Start over again somewhere new. Narnia, or Neverland, maybe.”

Lex chuckled and moved a little closer. “Those are full of children. After the sounds you just made, Westeros might be the better place.”

Chris howled and curled herself into a ball.
“I can't bring myself anywhere.”

“At least not when you are a Christmas gremlin. Come here.” Smiling, he pulled her into his side and held her tight. “You're not a freak.”

She hid her face against his chest. “I asked you to spank my ass. And I liked it.”

Her voice was subdued, but he could hear how mortified she was. He hugged her a little tighter.
“Lots of people do. Just like having their hair pulled, or being tied.” He pressed his lips against her temple before he rested his chin on top of her head. “Remember the flavor wheel? You just discovered a new taste.”

Chris meeped.
“Don't say that. It was already horrible the first time.” She pressed her forehead against his collarbone. Slowly, her breath evened out, and she relaxed further into his side. Then, her head shot up.
“How do you even know about Westeros?”

Obviously, her brain was back online and instantly focused on the important things. Lex huffed, amused, and cupped her cheek.
“I do read the books you subtly leave out for me.”

“Hmm, you're good at this boyfriend thing.” She stretched out and cuddled up against him again.

“I try to.” He slipped his arm around her, fingers brushing the same spot he'd slapped. Careful. Testing.
She didn't flinch but hummed happily.

He forced his fingers into a relaxed position. She wasn't the only one who had enjoyed the spanking. And maybe, he had enjoyed it a little too much.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

When Lex woke the next morning, he found the bed empty. The reindeer scarf lay curled on the bedside table. They hadn't used it. At least not in the intended way.

Chuckling at the memory, he shook his head. Of course, Chris had insisted on making a Christmas tradition just for him. Once she'd overcome her mortification, she'd undressed herself, then him, and had looped the scarf around his neck. She'd straddled his hips and taken him. Slow. Reverent.
In her father's house.

Lex shot up straight, a wave of panic washing over him. The first since… He had no idea. Since ever, possibly.

He rubbed his face and drew in a deep breath. This was ludicrous. They were two consenting adults. They'd been in a committed relationship for almost a year now. The General liked him. He'd approved of their relationship. He'd even encouraged Lex to take things slow and let Chris set the pace—and what a pace she set at times…

Sex. With Chris. In her father's house.

The words played in loops, and for a second, Lex wondered whether he'd developed his own Mildred.

He placed both feet firmly on the floor and stood up. Chris called her brain Mildred. Technically, he'd started it, but there was no way he'd begin to talk to his brain in the same way Chris did.

It worked for her. Helped her keep the ENPS in check. Made her spiral faster than a spinning top.
His mind, however, was analytical. Logical. Scientific.
And logically speaking, it was absolutely normal and healthy for two consenting adults to have sex. In a bedroom.

In her father's house.

Lex willed his thoughts silent and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. A really cold shower.

When he walked downstairs ten minutes later, the smell of coffee and something unmistakably Christmassy welcomed him—cinnamon, clove, and peppermint.

He heard Chris before he saw her. She was singing along to a surprisingly traditional song. A German one he'd never heard before. Neither had he heard Chris actually singing—a deep, rich Contralto.

He raised his brows in surprise and entered the kitchen.

Chris stood with her back to him, preparing breakfast. His brain short-circuited. Her legs, bare. The sweater he'd worn yesterday draped as if it belonged to her. The contrast of candy cane socks — absurd, and yet... deadly.

He chuckled, and Chris turned around, still singing.

“Sankt Niklas war ein Seemann.
Er liebte Wind und Meer…”

She moved to greet him, but didn't stop singing. Only when the song ended, she reached for the remote control on the kitchen island and lowered the volume.

“Sorry, Weihnachten mit Freddy is sacred.” Smiling, she rose on her toes and kissed him. “Did I wake you?”

“No. My brain managed that on its own,” he replied as his eyes fell to her thighs again. No marks. No signs of having slapped too hard.

Thank God.
Chris normally bruised like a peach.

“Lex?”

He blinked.

“You're staring. Want a moment with your brain?”

He blinked again until Chris came into focus. She still stood close, studying him with a knowing look.

“Your brain is talking to you, isn't it?”

Lex huffed and moved around her to get himself a cup of coffee. At least, that was always a given with Chris—freshly brewed coffee.

“Oooh, it's so talking to you,” Chris sing-sang. “Let's name it.” She tapped her chin with her finger. “Hmmm, what about Lawrence? Clarence? Leroy?”

“We're not naming my brain.”

Chris snorted and returned to the stove, flipping a pancake.
“Yeah, that's what I said when you named Brain Mildred.” She jiggled the pan and opened a cupboard to retrieve a plate. “And ever since, she's developed an attitude. Oh, and she's wearing a hooded cape by now. Possibly velvet. Definitely judgmental.”

She whirled around, opened another cupboard, and pulled out a second pan. Then, she paused for a second, totally still, as if she was listening to someone. Then, she began to chuckle as she reached for the eggs and cracked them open.

“Eugene,” she declared. “Mildred agrees.” She turned around again and let the pancake slip onto the plate. “Eugene and Mildred. Mildred and Eugene. It has a nice ring to it, doesn't?”

Lex set his mug on the counter and reached for her wrist, exhaling slowly.

“Chris…”

“Lex…”

“Seriously.”

“Always.”

He rolled his eyes and reached for her other hand, making her look at him.
“Angel… are you okay?”

She looked up at him, her eyes clear and steady.
“Are you okay?” She cocked her head. “Lex, I'm fine. You spanked me, and I liked it. Okay, I freaked out a little, but you know how to make me instantly stop. And then we made love.” She paused and grinned. “Yes, I said that. Love… Not sex. It's Christmas. And you can't have sex with me in my dad's house. I get that. That's why I made love—Oh, shoot! The eggs!”

She spun around and reached for the spatula, but Lex kept studying her for any signs of discomfort, while definitely ignoring the voice in his mind.

“Sit. Eat. And then you can open the next door of your Advent calendar,” Chris said, nudging him with a plate full of scrambled eggs toward the breakfast nook.

Lex took it from her and was about to set it on the table—unless there was basically any space left. There were waffles, bacon, fruits, bagels, French toast, and Chris just returned with the pancakes.

“Is someone coming over for breakfast?” he asked warily as Chris took his plate and set it along with the pancakes onto the already overloaded table.

“No, just you and me. Why are you asking?” She turned to get their mugs and the coffee pot.

“No reason,” he muttered and slowly sat, the ghost of last time still very active in his mind.

He barely noticed Chris returning and only looked up when she brushed her lips against his scalp.
“Dig in. It's gonna be a long day. Tree picking is serious work,” she declared, her eyes roaming across his face before she rolled them at him.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she pulled up the hem of the shirt she was wearing and made a full turn.
“See? No marks, no bruises, no nothing.”

Lex blinked and stared at her for a moment. Not because she was presenting herself like an Apple event, but because of her panties.

“Are those… gingerbread men?”

Chris let the shirt's hem drop and stepped closer, whispering into his ear, “Wait till you see the actual Christmas panties. They come with a matching bra.”

Lex had tried to help Chris clean up the kitchen after breakfast, but as soon as he'd picked anything up, Chris was already at his side, taking it from him. It was like trying to help a hummingbird organize a hurricane.

So he'd stepped aside and tried not to get in her way while she was singing along to Cindy Lauper's 'Feels Like Christmas'—off-key. Apparently on purpose.

Now, he stood perched against the kitchen island, arms crossed in front of his chest as Chris wiped one last time over the table. Then she hung the cloth over the faucet and clapped her hands together.

“Okay, soldier, time to move. The perfect Christmas tree won't magically appear in the living room.” She paused and tilted her head. “Oh, that face again… God, Lex. Dad knows that we're sleeping with each other. He won't kill you. Not because of that, at least.”

Lex flinched only a little. She had a point. But that wasn't even what he'd been thinking about. He reached for her hand and pulled her closer.

“I was just wondering,” he said, remembering Clark's advice not to mention the lateness. “Where do we go for tree shopping? Two days before Christmas Eve? In a city as big as Metropolis.”

Chris lifted her right eyebrow ever so slightly.

“I'm just evaluating the possibility of—”

“We're not getting a tree here,” Chris said. “Hell, those trees they sell here are probably already needle-less. We're getting a tree in Pine Hollow. Start with Frost Hollow Farm, then check out Evergreen Acres, and finish at the Blackwood Plantation.”

Lex watched her warily. Was she messing with him again? Those names sounded like the fever dream of a Hallmark screenwriter. Pine Hollow? Frost Hollow? Blackwood Plantation?

Chris began to laugh. “Of course, we could go to the Blackwood Plantation in the first place, but that'd be only half the fun.” She leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. “Chop-chop. Get ready. I'm gonna get the car. We leave in five.”

With that, she turned around and dashed out of the kitchen, leaving him behind. Exhaling slowly through his nose, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his BlackBerry. Still convinced Chris was playing with him once again, he opened the phone's browser and googled for Pine Hollow.

To his great surprise, he actually got results. Many results. Pine Hollow was an actual place. And apparently a proud one. 'Pine Hollow—Where we love the Tannenbaums' was the town's slogan, and Lex involuntarily flinched at the butchered inflection of the German word. He hadn't endured six years of German classes at Excelsior for this.

But before he could even consider calling the town's mayor, someone honked. He frowned. When Chris had sent him to the garage yesterday, he'd seen her dad's black 2000 GMC Yukon Denali. However, the honking outside didn't sound like that of a full-sized SUV.

Another honk, followed by the buzzing of his BlackBerry. Chris called, and he answered almost out of reflex.

“Get your perfectly shaped ass out here. ASAP! Stat! Better today than tomorrow.”

Then the line went dead, and Lex shook his head but was already moving. He grabbed his coat from the rack in the hallway and stepped out of the front door.

He stepped onto the driveway—and froze. Then he almost choked.

Yes, Chris had gotten the car. But it was…
Maroon in color.
Old in age.
And very, very Swedish.

Chris sat in the driver's seat, grinning like a Cheshire cat as she cranked down the window. Actually, manually rolled down the window.

“Hop in,” she shouted. “The perfect Christmas tree isn't waiting just because you look like a Roman statue.”

Cautiously, Lex approached the Volvo. It was massive. A brick on four wheels. A relic of time and Swedish reliability.

“What about your dad's car? The not-so-old, but very respectable SUV in the garage?”

Chris snorted. “Please… That's Dad's car. Have you seen that man? He's moonlighting as a lighthouse. I can't even reach the pedals. This is Móraí's car. Now, move. We don't have all day.”

Out of habit, he reached for the door, but Chris already jerked her head toward the passenger's seat.

“Snowball's chance in hell that you're driving any of my family members' cars,” she said, still grinning.

“I'm a… good driver,” he said as he took the passenger's seat—half-amused, half-humiliated.

“Reckless is the word you're looking for,” she replied as she engaged a gear. The motor sputtered, and Chris grinned again. “This old lady has her quirks, but she's perfect for Christmas tree transportation.” She yanked the shifter with a little more force, and the Volvo set into motion. “Seatbelt, if you please.”

That wasn't a question, and Lex buckled up without further questions. And then it hit him. While he'd been chauffeured his entire life, he'd never sat in the passenger's seat next to Chris.

He glanced at her. She was focused on the street, her hands in perfect ten-to-two position, though he could see her fingertips itching. Rather sooner than later, she'd slip to eight-to-four. This car was a damn ship.

“Are you about to combust?” Chris asked, glancing at him for a second before she locked her eyes on the street again.

“I'm… adapting,” he admitted, his gaze on the green Little Tree dangling from the rear mirror. Of course. Nothing screamed middle-class more than those darn scented paper trees. Unless Chris and her family were anything but middle-class.

Lex knew that. While not as rich as his father, Chris had all the privileges as him, if not even more. She came from old money. Her German grandmother was a goddamn Gräfin—a countess. Her American relatives weren't just soldiers; they held ranks. And her family stuck together like glue.

“I've learned to drive in this thing,” Chris suddenly said. “Mom was shocked when Daideo gave me driving lessons at thirteen. Which was ridiculous, actually. She drove a tractor at the age of ten… Oma Lotte thought it was practical.”

She kept babbling about her German family, which Lex actually found endearing. Even when she suddenly switched to German in a case of severe road rage.

“Hast du den verdammten Lappen im Lotto gewonnen?”

Something about winning one's driver's license in the lottery.

He chuckled but began to relax once they left Metropolis and took K-9 on to Pine Hollow. Despite her German road rage, Chris was a safe driver, and after a while, he resisted the urge to hit the imaginary brakes whenever she did.

“Hey, what about some tunes?” she asked after a while. “Can I interest you in Daideo's massive collection of sea shanty tapes, or wanna pick a playlist from my iPod?”

“Are we supposed to share your headphones?” He raised one eyebrow. “This car is… a senior.”

“A senior?” She scoffed. “You've got older cars in your fleet—my purse's on the backseat.”

“I prefer the term collectibles,” he replied with a smirk and reached for her purse. For a moment, the absurdity of him, looking through her handbag as if they were an old, married couple, was abundantly clear.

He took the little white device and used the click wheel to navigate through her playlists. Occasionally, he stopped to check a promising one, only to freeze a second later.

“'Broody Billionaire Beats'?” He looked at her, half-amused, half-indignant. However, he had a closer look and couldn't help but approve. Depeche Mode, Radiohead, Massive Attack… He could actually live with it.

“Just songs that remind me of you,” she said, not even trying to hide her smile. “The adapter's in the glove box.”

When he reached for the adapter, he couldn't help but laugh. Of course, it was a tape. The Volvo still had a cassette deck.
“I haven't seen a cassette since—I don't know. 1992?” Still laughing, he slid it into the ancient head unit.

“Careful, we got it straight out of Tut's tomb. Might be cursed.”

“Then I'd better work on my counterjinxes,” he deadpanned, and when Chris burst into laughter, he looked at the iPod again to hide his smug smile.

Broody Billionaire Beats didn't exactly sound festive, so he kept scrolling until he stopped again. Chrexmas Vol. I.

He stared at it for a moment before realizing that Chris had created a portmanteau of their names and Christmas.

His thumb hovered over the click wheel as he tried to calm his racing pulse.

Getting the perfect Christmas tree had been.. an experience. Apparently, Chris had precise expectations about the perfect tree, its needles, its branches, its smell, and its height. Furthermore, 'perfect' didn't mean 'without flaws' but 'with personality'.

Lex had rolled with it. Not that he'd had much choice—she was the one with the car keys, after all. But, as always, her chaos had a method, and eventually, after hours, Chris had declared her winner.

An eight-foot-two Noble fir that, in Lex's opinion, looked like it had unresolved trauma and a potential for alcohol abuse. But Chris called it “charmingly flawed.” Which, come to think of it, explained a lot.

They'd secured the tree with the help of a farm hand on the Volvo's roof. But didn't head straight back to Metropolis. Instead, Chris had insisted on stopping at a questionable roadside diner for mulled wine milkshakes.

Lex had opted for black coffee, already outlining how to handle the non-negotiable food poisoning that clearly came with anything that the diner served.

However, now that they were back at her father's place and the tree stood tall at its assigned place—Keith and his father, David, had helped get it inside and upright—Lex finally saw what Chris had seen. The tree did look perfect. The weird little branches that stuck out on one side were no problem at all. They faced the room's corner now.

“So… Do you think Carl will like it here?”

Blinking, he turned around. Chris had joined him in the living room, handing him a glass of whiskey.

“Carl?”

“The tree.”

“You name the Christmas tree?”

“You don't?” She watched him innocently and sipped at her Heineken.

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. Only Chris Harris would name inanimate objects with the solemnity of a Catholic priest.

He brought the glass to his lips and frowned. That wasn't whiskey at all. That was Scotch. He caught Chris' expectant gaze, and he arched a brow.
“You got me Scotch?”

She shrugged. “It's Christmas, and we're a Jameson family. I put Kim on beverage duty for today and… yeah, now we can open an Irish pub. She'd made a great German. I'm pretty sure they're already organizing her naturalization and letting her handle the Oktoberfest.”

Lex laughed. Kim Morris was Chris' best friend since childhood. Next to Keith. And they'd both grown on him—once it was absolutely clear that Keith regarded himself as Chris' honorary brother and nothing else.

“So, we won't die of thirst but alcohol poisoning? Sounds promising.” Smirking, he raised his glass and took a sip.

A Glenfiddich. At least eighteen years old. A good, solid choice.

“Any good?” Chris still watched him, slightly insecure by now.

Smiling, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in, pressing his lips against her temple.

“Perfect,” he whispered. “Like the tree. Like the playlist. Like you.”

He could feel her melting into him, but she was still Chris, so he already braced himself. Knowing, she wouldn't let it just sit there. And sure enough, not even five heartbeats later, she lifted her head, looking up at him.

“Careful, you almost sound Chrismassy.”

“I was aiming for cheesy—”

The ringing of the landline cut him off, and Chris shot him a look that left no room for interpretation before she dashed off to answer the phone.

Chuckling, Lex turned to face the tree again. He tilted his head.
“Carl… Sure. Why not?”

“Lex, get over here,” Chris shouted. “It's Dad!”

Chris had answered the call in the kitchen but was already halfway across the room, the coiled landline cord stretched from age and usage.

“He's to make a detour to Wisconsin. On the president's orders,” she said, and rolled her eyes, as she held the receiver between them.

“Bumblebee, I could hear you rolling your eyes. The president is my commander-in-chief. Show some respect.”

“And I'm a taxpayer. Basically, I'm his boss.”

Lex eyed Chris. She seemed to be utterly relaxed at the news that her dad wouldn't come straight home. A detour definitely wasn't on one of her many lists. Besides, he'd seen her flinching when he brought the marshmallows she had insisted on because he'd once mentioned that hot cocoa needed marshmallows.

“Lex, you there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If she goes too feral before I get back, check the garage. Left side, top shelf. Reindeer harness. Don't let her bite you.”

Chris scoffed loudly, but her eyes were gleaming with joy.

“You should have told me about that sooner, sir,” Lex said. “Might have saved me from a challenging tree hunt and questionable milkshakes.”

Chris growled and punched him in the shoulder while the General laughed out loud.
“When I get back, I'll give you a strategy briefing. This year she's still tame compared to what will come.”

“Dad! I'm a well-behaved and totally adjusted—”

“Christmas gremlin,” Lex finished for her, and the General laughed again. Lex couldn't help but smile. Of course, he wanted to earn himself a place in her father's good books, but for the first time, it didn't feel like hard work.

“Oh, you two should get a room,” Chris said and huffed. “A padded one.”

Lex let her have her moment before he addressed the General again.
“Wisconsin… Does that mean you…” He hesitated for a second, glancing at Chris. “You will be late for Christmas?”

“Of course not!”

“Of course not!”

Both Harrises spoke at the same time, their tone identically indignant.

“I might be late for the hanging of the stockings, but I'll be home. I'm always home for Christmas. Isn't that right, Bumblebee?”

Chris smiled—this wide, bright smile that had lit up Lex's life since they had met more than two years ago. She believed her dad. She believed in him.

“That's absolutely right, General, sir.” Laughing, she lifted her hand to her temple, even though her father couldn't see her saluting. “See you Christmas Eve, Dad.”

“Always, Bumblebee!”

When the call ended, Chris untangled the cord and put the receiver back into the wall mounting. She was still beaming as she wrapped her arms around Lex's waist, looking up at him.

“Can't wait for Christmas. Spending it with my two favorite men in the world.”

He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone.
“Your Dad and Santa?”

She pursed her lips, challenging, but her eyes and the way she leaned into his touch told a different story. He pulled her a little closer and kissed her—soft, steady, deliberate. Making her feel what he still couldn't say.

Still, a tingle of unease simmered low in his spine. Not because of his feelings for Chris. Or hers for him. Or even the idea of spending Christmas with her family.

Just the faintest prickle of worry—probably embedded somewhere in his nervous system's long memory.

He ignored it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

“So, what's on today's agenda?” Lex asked, reaching for the list Chris had made for him days ago.

They'd just finished breakfast—less opulent than yesterday's, but apparently that'd been the Christmas tree shopping breakfast, which differed from the day before Christmas Eve breakfast. However, Santa-faced pancakes seemed to be mandatory now.

Chris stretched in her chair, cradling a mug between her hands, and playfully nudged his knee with her toes.

“Well, we dress Carl, obviously,” she said, watching him over the rim of her mug. “Yes, we. You and I. Whoever said you weren't allowed to help is a lying liar. Besides, I need you and your long arms.”

Pursing his lips, he inclined his head.
“I and my long arms are at your service.”

“And, obviously, you'll worship me all day,” she continued. “I mean, just because it's the day before Christmas doesn't mean you can stop that.”

“Obviously.”

With a satisfied hum, she sipped her coffee.

“Oh, and the family and the Morrises will drop by like Dickens' ghosts. Bring food and the presents for the kids. They are allowed to open one early on Christmas Eve.”

Lex raised an eyebrow.
“Just one? I could've sworn you'd go the Weihnachten route and…” He paused for a moment until he remembered the word Germans used for exchanging gifts. “Had Bescherung on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh, we did that when we still lived in Germany. We tried to keep that tradition alive when we moved back to Metropolis, but that clashed with the cousins. Aidan and Sean specifically. Emily, Alicia, and Blake were too small to complain… And Jenna and Jesse were still liquid.” She laughed and took another sip. “Anyway, that's why we sort of merged the traditions.”

Lex smiled and stood to refill their mugs. When Chris had begun to tell him about her family, he'd thought he'd need a spreadsheet, but the puzzle pieces fell into place easily enough.

Chris had two uncles, Ross and Ryan, and an aunt named Rosheen. Her cousins Aidan and Sean sandwiched Chris in age, while the rest of the bunch was significantly younger.

“I could've sworn the Unholy Trinity were responsible for this,” he said as he sat down again.

“You remember that name?”

“I remember Emily, Alicia, Blake, and the Fourth of July,” he replied. “Somewhere in my father's realm, a hellhound is looking for its pups.”

Chris kicked his leg.
“Come on. They aren't that bad.”

“I caught them trying to put cayenne pepper into the soap dispenser.”

Chris gasped. “What? What'd you do?”

He leaned back, sipping his coffee.
“Handed them each a pack of bang snaps and told them to keep Keith occupied.”

She almost toppled over with laughter.
“You're evil! You enabled them. You are the hellhound, and they are your pups.”

Smirking, Lex raised his hands.
“I was thinking strategically. Hand soap and pepper are a bad combination. And Keith—”

“He's just my honorary brother. He likes you.”

“I know,” he replied, and reached for her hand to pull her onto his lap. He used to be jealous of Keith Morris, but not anymore. He'd even consider him a friend by now. “That's why I gave him a warning.”

Chris cuddled up against him, and he buried his face in her hair. God, it even smelled Christmassy.

“You let me know when it's getting too much, right?” she mumbled at his neck.

Involuntarily, Lex held a little tighter. He knew where this was going, and he didn't like it one bit.
“You're not too much, Angel. You'll never be.”

She began to snicker.
“That's not what I meant. Though it's nice to hear it occasionally.” She kissed his cheek. “I meant the family. It won't be your average family getting-together. More like two football teams. With substitutes. And the coaching team. And—”

“I know. We'll be twenty-six. Just like we were on the Fourth of July. I'll survive it.” He studied her for a moment and began to smile. She really wanted to make this year's Christmas perfect. For him. For them. For the families, too. “Besides, you've already shown me the time-out closet. I didn't need it in the summer, and I won't need it this Christmas.”

“God, I love you! Have I already told you how much I love you?”

“Come to think of it… Not for a solid seventy-two hours. I demand reparations.”

They'd cleared the kitchen and moved into the living room, both carrying a box each. Christmas lights, ornaments, and God alone knew how many other decorations Chris was planning to put up. At this point, Lex wouldn't even be surprised if an actual Christmas elf showed up for an intervention.

“Herrschaftszeiten!”

Lex looked up to find Chris fighting with the tree lights. He smirked—no intervention elf, but intervention Yule electronics.

“You okay over there?”

“Dad had put the lights away, confusing them with a ball of wool. Apparently, he's a cat.”

Helplessly, she held up the tangled string of lights, and Lex moved closer, studying the mess her father had created.

“He's doing that every year,” she groaned. “I'm gonna get scissors.”

“So, it's going to be a dark Christmas?” He looked back at the string and soon enough found the knot. Once that was untangled, the rest basically solved itself. “That should do the trick…”

Chris stared at him, her mouth half open.
“How'd you do… Lex—yer a wizard!” She took the lights from him, examining them in awe. “I really want to see you in your Ravenclaw robes. Just your Ravenclaw robes.”

“Ewww! Kim, I told you we should've used the front door.” Keith stood in the doorway, carrying some Tupperware boxes. “They're doing their thing again. Being all sweet, and couply, and ruining pop culture for their dirty talk.”

Lex let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Ah, we start with Marley's ghost.”

Next to him, Chris snorted and was about to say something when Kim showed up behind her brother.
“Stop waffling on.” She punched Keith in the ribs. “Put the meat in the fridge. Then get the rest. Seriously, fondue for more than twenty people should be prohibited—Hey, babe!”

Kim squeezed past her brother and gave Chris a hug before she turned to hug Lex, too.

“Whiskey Goblin.”

“Soup Witch.” Smiling, Lex returned her embrace. Ever since the horrendous Memorial Day weekend, Kim had been growing on him. Sometimes, she was a little too blunt, too bawdy for his liking, but she was someone to rely on.

“She easy on you?” Kim jerked her chin toward Chris. “Sometimes, she gets a little carried away before Christmas.”

Chris made a hissing sound and pretended to snatch at Kim, who only shrugged.

“Hey… I never applied for Christmas elf.” She glanced back at Lex. “She did, you know? Wrote to Santa. Cover letter, CV… All that stuff. I wish I could say she did that when she was seven—”

“Ki-im!”

Lex smirked and watched the two women, amused.
“When did that happen? Two years ago?”

“Last Thursday.” Keith returned to the living room, glancing at his younger sister as though she might eat him alive. “Kitchen fridge's full. The garage one almost. Fondue for more than twenty people should be illegal.” He looked at Lex. “Yeah, the letter? She wrote it last week. After-work drinks. We'll never have those in December again. Ever!”

Chris narrowed her eyes at the siblings, almost snarling.
“You two encouraged me.”

Lex stepped a little closer and put his hand in the small of her back.
“You would've made a wonderful elf,” he whispered and brushed his lips against her temple. That was the most PDA he allowed himself. Even in front of the Morris siblings. Some habits die hard.

“Eww, what is it with you two and the dirty talk in front of other people?” Keith screwed his face, mock-gagging.

“Keith, when you're done there,” Lex said, “you might want to clarify the fridge situation.” He couldn't believe that all the fridges in the Harris house were already filled with food and beverages for twenty-six people.

On one of her lists, Chris had handed him shortly before Halloween, she'd requested to borrow a beverage cooler from O'Malley's. But once he'd spotted the dented boxes that must've been in use since his dad's early childhood, he'd turned away, telling himself to never set foot into O'Malley's again.

Instead, he'd met with the manager of Centennial Imports & Logistics, Metropolis' regional distributor, and came to an 'understanding' regarding the LuthorCorp summer gala. In exchange, they'd provided an industrial-grade glass-front refrigerator unit.

“Lex, it's okay,” Chris said, placing her hand on his, which still lay in the small of her back. “I'll check the fridge situation later. Rearrange, Tetris around… It'll work out.”

“I don't mind,” he replied quietly. “You dress up… Carl, and I take care of the rest.”

Behind him, he heard Kim squealing.
“He plays along, naming the tree? Oh, we're soooo totally keep him. I promise, I'll feed him and walk him every day. Twice.”

Sighing, Lex handed Chris the Christmas lights he was still holding.
“I hate your friends.”

“They're yours, too, now. And you heard Kim: she'll take good care of you.” Chris rose to her toes and kissed him. “Thank you. You're awesome.”

Shaking his head, he turned toward the door and gave Keith a nod to follow him.
“Oh, and Kim? I demand treats. And back rubs,” he said over his shoulder. “Maybe even belly rubs.”

Both Kim and Chris burst out laughing.

Once the fridge situation had been cleared—Keith pretended not to have seen the six-foot-five refrigerator with LED lighting, but was not-so-subtly checking on Lex's well-being—the preparation madness continued.

Chris' family members kept showing up just as she had warned him. The Ghost of Christmas Past was her grandmother and her aunt Rosheen. Apparently, it was important to have a Christmas cake that looked like it had sat in the oven for way too long, but Lex had reached the point where he'd simply stopped questioning anything.

He helped where he could, found himself reorganizing the kitchen to make room for the food, and discussed seating with Aunt Rosheen.

“The dining table has room for twelve,” Lex mused. “We'll be twenty-six, all in all.”

Rosheen laughed. “It's extendable, Lex. If we cram together, it'll fit twenty people. Easily. Chris' mom had commissioned this table. She was… She came from this huge family, and her mother… Old-world. They know how to host big crowds.”

“Is that your professional, surgical opinion, Dr. Harris?” Lex pursed his lips and looked at her. They were basically the same height, and with her red hair, Rosheen was the only one of her siblings who actually looked Irish.

“Years of celebrating Christmas Eve in this family,” she replied. “Also, we'll have a kids' table. Mark and Ross are already loading up the extra furniture.”

Lex nodded. Husband and youngest brother, respectively. However, he still wasn't quite convinced that this would work out. The more he thought about it, the more madness it became. This wasn't a family gathering anymore. This was a goddamn military operation.

But before he could say anything, the Ghost of Christmas Present arrived—Chris' least-liked aunt Sharon and one of her younger cousins, Jesse.

“I brought my fondue pot, Chris,” Sharon's voice echoed through the house. “We really shouldn't mix the meat.”

“What? You mean, I can't make chocolate fondue in the pot we've used for fish?” Chris' voice carried from the living room. Sweet. Way too sweet. Deadly-sweet.

“Oh boy,” Rosheen sighed.

Lex had already clocked that apart from Ryan, Chris' other uncle and husband to Sharon, no one in the family seemed to be fond of Sharon. Not even her own children. She was a narcissist who used Chris' brain for her own convenience, and Lex had a bad time holding back during the Fourth of July celebrations.

Rosheen jerked her head, smiling.
“Go, be her knight in shining armor. She doesn't need one. If anyone can handle Sharon, it's Chris. But she'll like the backup.” She hesitated for a moment, but then squeezed his shoulder. “I love all my nephews and nieces, but Chris… I'm glad she found you… Now, go! I'll handle the table. That's my specialty anyway.” She elegantly waved her hand. “And maybe, one day I'll be allowed to operate on Sharon's vocal cords…”

Lex blinked and studied her for a second. He couldn't deny it. He'd always liked Rosheen. Her dark humor. Her no-nonsense attitude. Her protectiveness of Chris.

“In that case, I'd like to assist.”

“Huh? What's your expertise?”

“Bachelor's in bioengineering.”

“Yup, that'll do. Wouldn't want to butcher with Sharon's precious vocal cords,” Rosheen replied, her smile beyond wicked. Then, she shooed him away.

Lex found Chris in the living room. The Christmas tree—Carl—was almost finished. And it looked amazing. He'd expected something kitschy; instead, it was a perfect blend of tradition. Red and gold baubles. Straw stars. Electric candles woven through the light string. Almost the same way his mother used to decorate the tree.

When their eyes met, he gave her an approving smile, and Chris began to beam.
“You like?”

He nodded, and Chris reached for a little box. She opened it for him to see. Inside were four more ornaments. Different from those that already hung in the tree. A small horse, a Rottweiler, a barn owl, and a white rabbit.

No. The White Rabbit. Alice in Wonderland had become the central theme in their lives ever since day one.

“That's Mom's,” Chris said quietly, holding up the horse. “And that's Dad's.” She pointed at the Rottweiler. “And that's…” The rabbit. “That's mine. So…” She reached for the barn owl. “That'd be yours.”

For a second, he felt as though someone had thrown an uppercut straight to his ribs. He'd expected a lot of things, but never that Chris would get him his own ornament. That she'd made room for him—especially at Christmas. Which was ridiculous, because that's what Chris had been doing the entire time. Made room. Included him. Tried to weave in his non-existent traditions.

And he? He simply stared at her. Probably open-mouthed.

“Oh, well… Yeah, it's silly, really,” she said, and was about to turn away when Lex cupped her face in his hands, kissing her gently.

Chris gasped into his mouth, but didn't pull away.

“It's not silly at all,” he whispered at her lips, not caring who might be watching them right now. “So, where do you want to put it?”

Chris beamed with joy and held her arm to the upper branches of the tree. But of course, an eight-foot-five tree and a five-foot-seven woman didn't correspond too well. But instead of letting her get the small step ladder, Lex wrapped one arm around her thighs, right underneath her ass, and hoisted her up.

She let out a small, scandalized laugh, but her eyes were filled with joy and love. Then, she carefully hooked the ornament onto one of the branches and adjusted it until it sat straight, watching over the rest of the tree.

“There,” she said softly, her hand resting warm on his shoulder. “Perfect… You can let me down again.”

Lex hummed, having no plans of letting her go anytime soon. Only when Sharon's voice cut through the house again, demanding to know whether Chris had bought enough coffee filters, did he put Chris on her feet again.

“Rosheen mentioned something about a vocal cord operation,” he murmured. “What are your rules for maiming family members on Christmas?”

“We only do that on Easter Sunday after sunset.”

“Something to look forward to, then,” he deadpanned, and Chris laughed out loud.

She briefly pressed her palm against his chest as if to brace herself, then looked towards the door.
“Well, I'd better tell Sharon that we won't snort coffee grounds this year.”

“Let me handle her. I'm familiar with this kind of family member.” He pressed his lips against her forehead and left for the kitchen.

He'd barely set foot into the hallway when he almost ran into something puffy, downy. He looked down and saw nothing but a bobble hat and a thick down jacket.

“Jenna, eyes front. And take that stupid hat off. We're inside.”

Lieutenant Colonel Ross Harris, Jenna's dad and Chris' youngest uncle, entered the hallway, carrying a couple of folding chairs.

“Hey, Lex.” Ross greeted him with a nod. “I swear, we've raised that one better. Jenna, have you apologized to Lex for running into him?”

“Actually, I ran into her,” Lex said, and carefully pushed Jenna's woolen hat back so that she could look at him. “Isn't that right?”

“Yeah… you totally did.”

“And will you accept my sincere apology?” he asked gravely.

She glanced at her father and back to Lex. Then, she began to nod.

Lex smiled and inclined his head before he turned to Ross.
“You need a hand, or anything?”

“Don't worry. Mark and I have it covered.” He set the chairs against the wall and stepped closer, covering his daughter's ears with both hands. “Sharon's here. We've already heard her in the driveway. Wouldn't let that one run around unsupervised. She's… nosy.”

Lex pursed his lips but didn't reply. That much he'd already discovered.

“Daddy, I'm cold. Can I get a hot cocoa?”

Ross turned back to his daughter, telling her that they were only dropping off the extra chairs and table. It was the entire litany that parents told their children, but before he could come to the 'We have that at home', Lex decided to chime in.

“Actually, I was just about to make some hot cocoa. Would you do me the honor of joining me for a cup?”

Before Ross could protest, Lex offered Jenna his elbow, which she happily took, making the same squeaking sound Chris did when he was acting silly. He smiled at himself and escorted Jenna to the kitchen.

The words 'hot cocoa' had stirred something in him. Matthew used to make it for him when Lex was still a kid—and he still did so whenever he deemed it fit.

Still smiling, he entered the kitchen with Jenna—and froze.

The place looked like a battlefield. Cupboards and drawers wide open. A radio blurted out Christmas songs in the background. Half the drinkware on the counter. Boxes of cereals, bakeware, and things Lex couldn't even name were splattered across the room that had looked perfectly clean before Sharon's arrival.

Jesse, her eleven-year-old son, stood pressed against the wall, holding the German nutcracker that used to sit next to the coffee maker. He was clearly embarrassed by his mother, but too young to actually say anything.

Lex cleared his throat as he helped Jenna out of her jacket and folded it over a kitchen chair.
“Mrs. Harris. How wonderful to see you.”

Sharon whirled around, mid-licking her thumb. Lex's eyes fell onto the wine glass she was holding, then switched back to her thumb. He arched a brow, reminding himself that she was part of Chris' family.

“Mr., uh… Lex… I-I was just.. Making sure everything's fine for tomorrow. Chris has so much to do.”

“And you thought, it'd be helpful to… re-organize her father's kitchen? How very considerate.” His eyes fell on Jesse, and he forced himself to keep things civil. “Hey, Jesse. Jenna and I were about to have a cup of hot cocoa. Can I interest you in one, too?”

The boy's eyes lit up, but instantly flicked to his mother.
Lex knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror, in every reflection, throughout his childhood. His fingers curled into fists. But only for a second. This wasn't his battleground.

“Well,” Sharon said, setting the glass down, “we were going to leave, anyway. Come on, Jesse. Grab your coat. We're heading home.”

“But… cocoa. And I haven't even talked to Jenna yet—”

“We're leaving. Now. And what's cocoa without marshmallows anyway? I'll make you real hot chocolate with marshmallows, sweetheart. Just the way you like it. You'll never find marshmallows in a house Chris lives in.”

Lex clenched his jaw so hard that he could almost see his dentist's bill. And still, he told himself to stay polite. At last, growing up with Lionel paid off.
He put up his most charming smile and looked at Sharon.

“But we do have marshmallows,” he said and glanced at the kids. “The tiny ones. You could have six, maybe even seven, with your cocoa.” Then, he turned back to Chris' aunt, his boardroom smile in place. “Why don't you let Jesse stay? Chris and I'll drive him home later.”

“…Blizzard warning… Who had that on their Christmas wish list? Sometimes, White Christmas can be too white. Not that Metropolis had to worry about that. We'll have another Green Christmas…

“In your Jag?” Jesse's eyes widened in excitement. “Mom, please? I'll be no nuisance. I promise. I'll do whatever Lex says. Please?”

A part of Lex's brain had latched onto the radio jockey's words, but Jesse's words… They'd hit too close to home.
And still, he told himself, this was her family, and not his fight to fight. But before he could even begin to strategize, Sharon obviously already was a step ahead, clearly remembering who Lex was and what he could bring to the table.

“You're never a nuisance, sweetie,” she told Jesse. “But we can't make Mr. Luthor go out of his way for you.”

“You don't make me do anything, Jesse. I offered,” Lex replied smoothly. “Besides, the Jag needs to stretch its legs. It's a Panthera, after all. A big cat.” He winked, and the kids giggled.

Sharon gave him a bright smile—one of those Lex had seen way too often. Smiles like these were solely reserved for billionaires.
“In that case… Thank you, Lex. I'd better get going now. There's always so much to do before Christmas.”

Good riddance… Can't wait to see you never again.—I can do this. For Chris. Every family has this one, annoying member.

Jenna's hand tugging at his sleeve pulled him out of his thoughts, and smiling, he looked down at her.
“Right… I offered you two hot cocoa, and I'm a man of my word.” He glanced around, taking in the mess Sharon had left. “We should clean at least the counters first. We need some room to operate. Would you like to give me a—”

There was no time to finish his sentence. Jenna and Jesse already darted off, dragging chairs from the breakfast nook, and began to put the boxes, cans, and God knows what else back in their usual place.

Lex raised his brows. This family was even tighter than he'd thought. He barely knew what the cabinets in the mansion's kitchen held.

“Is that enough room to operate?” Jenna asked and gestured around. The counters were emptied, and Jesse was just wiping them off.

“Okay, you two are very efficient.” He laughed and rolled up his sleeves. “Then let Operation Cocoa begin.”

The house was quiet—finally. The kids had been wiped out, and Lex had to carry Jesse to the car. He didn't mind. Not one bit. Surprisingly enough, spending time with the kids had been his favorite part of today. He'd thought it'd be harder. That he wouldn't know what to do with two kids younger than twelve, but it seemed like instinct just took over.

“Whiskey or wine? Scotch? Mulled wine? Hot milk with honey?”

Lex sat on the couch, not turning his head even though he knew Chris was standing right behind him. He hadn't realized it before, but he was equally exhausted as Jesse.

“Wine, maybe. I don’t think I could lift a tumbler.”

He heard her giggling, then the clinking of two glasses, and, a moment later, the soft, plopping sound of a cork being removed from the bottle. Cracking one eye open, he watched Chris pour them each a glass of red wine so dark it looked like the night sky.

“Oma sent a case of Dornfelder,” she said and sat down next to him, handing him a glass. “And when I say a case, I mean half a dozen. Apparently, it's a 'good vintage'—why does it sound so weird in English? Anyway…” She curled up against him, eyeing him. “How wrecked are you—aside from being too tired to lift your favorite drink?”

He let the warmth of her voice settle against the noise still rattling inside his skull. It wasn't just exhaustion. It was the way she kept showing up, kept giving, without ever demanding anything back.

“On a scale from 'one glass of wine' to 'carry me like Jesse'? Somewhere in the middle.”

Chris chuckled into her glass before she took a sip.
“You did great today. With the kids. The family… With Sharon… I think that was her quietest exit since… Ever.” She let out a sound—half-laugh, half-sigh—and cuddled closer. “She went through all the cabinets, didn't she?”

“She might have thumb-cleaned the glasses,” he replied, groggily. “Don't worry. I put them in the dishwasher.”

“God, you’re perfect. I’m totally keeping you.” Smirking, she kissed his chin. “Seriously, though, next time, I'll set up mouse traps in the cabinets. Or maybe LuthorCorp creates some anti-nosy-aunt devices?”

Lex put his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer.
“Consider it done.”

For a while, they sat in silence, the kind Lex never knew he needed until her. No pressure to fill the space. No expectations. Just the hum of central heating and the faint clink of wind chimes outside. The tree—Carl—was fully decorated but not lit yet. Apparently, that was another tradition; no lights before Christmas Eve.

Lex didn't try to get to the bottom of it anymore. Traditions didn't follow logic but emotion. But before he could get to the core of it, Chris set her glass on the coffee table, studying him. Her head slightly tilted, she bit her lower lip. He knew that face.
That face meant trouble. That face meant Chaos Gremlin going feral.

“Chris…”

“That's my name,” she said and took his glass from him, setting it with a soft thud next to hers. Then, her hand brushed his thigh. “You know… I've been thinking…”

“I was afraid you'd say that.”

Her hand slid a little higher, making him swallow, but Chris only smiled. This wicked, devastatingly beautiful smile of hers.

“You know… this'll be the last time—in a very long time—that we're alone.” As her hand slid up even higher, she slid down and settled on her knees in front of the couch. Between his thighs. “Just you… and me…”

She began to unbuckle his belt, taking her time, and Lex knew he should stop her. She'd given him head before, but she wasn't a fan of the 'grande finale' as she called it.

“Chris… You don't have to do that,” he managed to say. God, he was already hard.

“God, Lex.” She glanced up, mock-affronted. “Do you honestly think I'd get on my knees unless I wanted to?” She unzipped his pants, licking her lips. “Just let me be festive. Hmm, look, I'm not the only one.”

Lex let out an amused huff. Festive, he was. That was one way to put it. Thick, flushed, and already twitching under her touch by the time she freed him.

“Angel…” It was his last half-hearted attempt to stop her; however, the way she looked at him—all mischief and tenderness—made him forget to think altogether.

She took her time. Her fingers warm and soft like a feather. Not to tease but to measure. Like she wanted to do it right. For him.

Lex tilted his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as he focused on every breath he took. Each one was tight, shallow, and already too fast.

A rush of warmth surged through him as her mouth closed around the head of his cock. Gentle and tentative at first. Almost testing. She pulled back a little, her tongue flicking over his tip. Then she closed her lips around him again. Slower. Deeper. More confident.

God.

He wasn't supposed to react like this. Not to something he'd done before. Not when he'd trained himself to stay composed in boardrooms and bedrooms alike. But Chris wasn't anyone else. She wasn't any of them. She wasn't even in the same category. She made him feel

Lex bit down on a moan—because if he let it out, he wasn't sure he'd stop.
Her mouth was warm and careful. Her lips soft. Her tongue tracing the underside of his shaft with utterly focused intention as though she were solving a puzzle only she could see.

He didn't dare look down at first.
But when he finally gave in and looked, he caught her glancing up at him, eyes wicked and shining and full of smug satisfaction. It nearly undid him.

He clenched a hand in the throw blanket beside him. Anything not to reach for her. Anything to thrust up into that perfect heat and lose every last thread of control.

“Jesus, Chris…” he managed, his voice hoarse.

She responded with a low hum around him that sent lightning up his spine.

This was… deliberate. Not chaos. Not her usual ambush-kiss-pounce combo. This was slow destruction. Intentional, focused, devastating. A silk rope around his brain.

God, she likes doing it.

He could feel it in the way her hands gripped his thighs for balance. In the tiny pause before she took him deeper again. In the faintly mischievous tug of her lips as though she was cataloguing every one of his reactions.

She probably was. A part of her brain already putting everything down on a clipboard.

His hand twitched against the couch cushion. He still didn't touch. Didn't move. Couldn't.
If he let himself go, even for a second, he'd grab her by the hair and thrust deeper into her throat.

And God help him, he wanted to.

Because this wasn't about performance. She wasn't doing this to seduce him, or prove something, or manipulate. She was doing it because she wanted to. Because she'd decided—on her own, in that brilliant, chaotic brain of hers—that he deserved this. Right now. Like a gift.

Here he was. Lex Luthor. Getting head on a couch. From the smartest, most independent woman he'd ever met. On her knees. With enthusiasm.

It was enough to fry every neuron in his prefrontal cortex.

He groaned as she took him in again—deeper this time—and his hips jerked without permission.

“Sorry,” he hissed, his breath ragged.

Chris pulled back, her lips slick, her smile filthy.

“Why? That was hot.” She ran her thumb up the length of his shaft—absurdly light touch, as if she was testing the pressure gauge. “So tense? Afraid you might lose control?”

He made a broken noise, and she laughed again before she took him deeper than before. And stayed there.

Lex's hands finally gave up pretending to behave. One slid into her hair, fingers tightening just slightly, every fibre of him screaming to set the pace—but this was her giving, not him taking. He let out a shaky breath as his other hand curled around the arm of the sofa, useless against the tide that was crashing through him.

Her tongue moved in rhythm. Her hands steadying him. And when he dared look down again, she met his gaze and… winked.

He whimpered—actually whimpered—to let her know that he was close, but she didn't pull away as usual.

His grip in her hair tightened, and when he came with a broken gasp, his hips lifting despite himself, she stayed. Took it. Accepted it.
And then, she pulled off with a small cough, wiping her mouth delicately on the back of her hand, making a face that was part grimace, part triumph.

Lex was still reeling, breath shattered, bones hollow, when she climbed into his lap, smug and smugger and satisfied with herself in that way that made him simultaneously want to strangle her and wrap her in velvet.

Her limbs draped over him like she weighed nothing. Her face was flushed, her hair wild. She looked like mischief incarnate—and proud of it.

Lex exhaled slowly, trying to ground himself. His heart still hadn't settled. Neither had the rest of him, yet he reached for one of the wine glasses.

“You're drinking that,” he murmured.

Chris blinked. “I just—”

“Exactly.” He made her take the glass. “You're drinking that. Right now.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because you just swallowed the culmination of my entire nervous system, and I know you still don't like the texture. So drink.”

With a dramatic sigh and a muttered, “Bossy,” she took a sip. And another.

Lex watched her closely, just to make sure she didn't fake it. He wasn't above holding her nose if it meant she wouldn't gag on the aftertaste of what had just been the most generous holiday gift he'd ever received.

When she finally lowered the glass, she gave him a long look.
“'Culmination of your entire nervous system'… I like it when you talk dirty.”

He rolled his eyes in mock-annoyance and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.
“You okay? Why didn't you pull away? I warned you.”

“Yeah… I heard you whimpering.” She smirked and swirled the remains of the wine around in the glass like a villainess in a film noir.

Smug little shit…

He leaned back into the couch and decided to pull the Fifth. Almost instantly, Chris came closer, cuddling up against him.

“I didn't pull away, because I didn't want to,” she said after a while. “I mean… swallowing---while I'm still not a fan—is the only logical and practical solution. So… I practiced.”

Lex pulled back just enough to catch her side-eye. “Practiced?”

She nodded. Too innocent. Way too innocent.
“The swallowing thing. Textures and all that.”

For a moment, Lex was sure his brain flat-lined. “You… practiced swallowing?”

Chris took another sip of wine, nodding as though she was just walking him through a merger.

He already hated himself, but he asked anyway, “With what, exactly?”

Smiling, she stood, handing Lex the other glass, and got herself a refill. When she cuddled up against him again, she was still smiling. That unhinged, chaotic smile he didn't want to live without anymore.

“Sharon's homemade mayonnaise.”

Lex almost choked on his wine.

“Yeah, I always wondered why the swallowing part freaked me out. I mean, I don't mind sperm anywhere else,” she said, matter-of-factly, and sipped her wine. “So I talked to Kim about it.”

He made a soft, strangled noise in his throat. Something between a groan and a prayer. Of course, she'd talk to Kim about their sex life.

“Turns out, what Sharon calls mayonnaise is very close in texture to sperm. The taste is worse, though.”

“You practiced… swallowing mayonnaise… because you thought I'd like to come in your mouth.”

“I said it's the logical and practical solution.” She shrugged. “I know you don't care where you come as long as I make you come.”

He rubbed his face with one hand. “God, Chris—”

“Don't blaspheme. I went to war with Sharon's pseudo-sauce for you.”

He squinted at her. She was still cuddled up against him. Still glowing like a misbehaving star. Still occasionally wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like she'd just stolen cookies, not giving him the most unhinged, intimate gift imaginable.

“You're absolutely deranged, Chris Harris.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Christmas Eve morning. Lex woke up in the empty guest bedroom. Of course. Chris' list for today had read, 'Get up 0630. Fuel on coffee. Let Lex sleep in before the madness starts at 0900 sharp.'

Not that he'd memorized her little list; he just remembered it. He glanced at the little clock on the bedside table. A quarter past eight. He cursed under his breath. That was, indeed, letting him sleep in. He headed for a quick shower before he walked downstairs ten minutes later.

Chris hadn't mentioned anything about a dress code for today, so he'd opted for charcoal slacks and a burgundy cashmere sweater. Not quite as festive as last night on the sofa, but it'd do.

When he entered the kitchen, he wasn't surprised to find Kim sitting next to Chris in the breakfast nook. Chris stared into her mug as though it owed her at least two lengthy business contracts.

He smiled. Chris was a lot of things—an early bird, however, she wasn't.

“How many?” He glanced at Kim.

“Her third. You may approach her,” she replied and stood. “Very, very carefully. No sudden movements.” When she passed Lex, she squeezed his shoulder. “Morning, Whiskey Goblin.”

“Merry Christmas, Soup Witch.”

“Ah, not yet. There are rules in this house—Here, drink. You'll need it.” She handed him a mug of freshly brewed coffee, which smelled faintly of cinnamon and nutmeg. “The madness rolls in slowly, but by tonight it'll hit full force—Chris, babe? How far are you?”

“Mornings happen too early in the morning.” Chris groaned and sipped at her coffee. When her eyes fell on Lex, she began to smile. “That one is nice. And handsome. That one may come nearer.”

Lex laughed and bent down to kiss her forehead.
“I really don't like waking up without you,” he whispered.

“You need your sleep,” she replied, equally low. “I sucked you dry last night, and today's gonna be a long day.” Her eyes flicked between the clock on the wall and the landline. A small crease appeared between her eyebrows.

“Angel?”

She looked up at him, her eyes confused, but then she began to smile.
“It's nothing. Well… normally, Dad would call to give his ETA, but… maybe he texted. Gonna check my cell. But first: breakfast. We should start prepping.”

She finished her coffee and stood to join Kim at the kitchen counter.

Lex stared into his mug, trying to ignore the prickle of unease that was running down his spine. It was probably nothing. Just the annual anticipation for Christmas to implode. High expectations and all.

He took a sip and turned to Chris when the backyard door opened, and a young man, roughly about his height and age, entered. He carried two huge bakery bags. Lex instantly recognized the logo. It was that of the little bakery from the Old City.

“Every fucking Christmas the same,” the young man said, dropping the bags onto the kitchen island. “You send me across half the town to get some fucking rolls.”

“They are the closest to actual Brötchen, and 'every fucking Christmas', you're the one who eats most of them,” Chris said, peeking into the bags, and then turned to hug the young man. “Doing the tour of the Terrazzo? Right before Christmas? God, what have you done to deserve that? Was it at least worth it?”

The young man grinned.
“Twenty-two hours of the finest scenery Colorado has to offer? Definitely! Daideo already approved. Said he's got worse punishment for breathing too loud during inspection, but… well, he was in and out. That damn dementia.”

Eventually, his eyes fell on Lex.
“That's Paddy? The boyfriend?”

Chris chuckled and waved Lex to come over.
“That's Lex. We're still trying to figure out why Daideo calls him 'Paddy'—Lex, come. Meet Aidan.”

Right, the prodigal cousin, currently attending the Air Force Academy. He'd missed the Fourth of July BBQ because, apparently, he'd been earning his 'Jump Wings'.

Lex shook his hand and looked at him for a moment, taking in the North Face fleece and boot-cut jeans. Only the high and tight said, 'The Air Force decides my hairstyle.'

“You seem to have a penchant for choosing the most uncomfortable ways to spend your holidays, Aidan,” he said. “Jumping out of Twin Otters in the Colorado heat during the Fourth of July, and now you are marching in circles for twenty-two hours in the snow. Have you considered a career in corporate consulting? The hours are similar, but the food is significantly better.”

Aidan laughed and winked at Chris.
“I can see how two could end up. Your verbal sparring must be amazing.”

“Oy!” Chris punched her cousin's shoulder, but Aidan already looked back at Lex.

“First official meeting and I already owe you an apology and a thank you,” he said. “Jesse told me about yesterday. Yes, Sharon's my mother… She's not that bad, she's just…”

“Someone with an inquiring mind?” Lex offered, making Chris snort and Aidan smirk.

“I really like the way you pronounce 'nosy bitch'. But my mother will behave today. And Jesse… he'll probably follow you like a shadow today. He couldn't stop talking about you. Compared you to Warrior Angel—”

The front door's bell cut him off, and with a, “On it!” Kim rushed into the foyer. A second later, the laughter of three teenage girls filled the house.

Chris raised her mug.
“Let the madness begin!”

Slowly, the house began to fill with aunts, uncles, and cousins. By nine o'clock, there was a constant stream of people between the kitchen and dining room. In the middle of it: Chris. Her cheeks glowing, her smile bright, and her joy infectious.

Soon, she was flanked by her cousins, Aidan and his other brother Sean. Lex quietly dubbed them the counterpart to the Unholy Trinity. Just like Emily, Alicia, and Blake, they'd been born a year apart each.

“It's nice to see them like this again.” Mark, Rosheen's husband, joined Lex at the kitchen counter, observing the scene. “They were really close as kids, but when Chris went to Harvard, she and Aidan kind of… fell out. I guess, Aidan's ego cracked when his younger cousin graduated before him.”

Lex pursed his lips.
“Well, she's cracked a lot of egos by simply existing.”

Mark laughed.
“True… I only met Chris after Rosheen married me. The General was still stationed in Germany back then. I think they returned the summer after Chris finished second grade… Anyway, I always ask the kids what they want for Christmas, and that first year I asked Chris what Santa was supposed to bring her. And…” He made a dramatic pause to sip at his coffee. “I got lectured for thirty minutes that Santa doesn't exist, that the Christkind makes more sense, because it's invisible and thus easier for parents to pretend, and then she asked me for Alicia in Terra Mirabili.”

Lex couldn't help but laugh. Asking for a Latin copy of Alice in Wonderland sounded exactly like Chris.
“So, did you eat the humble pie?”

“Even got whipped cream with it,” Mark replied with a wide grin before he fell silent for a moment, studying Lex. “I've got to say, you're handling this madness extremely well. My first Christmas was a mess. And there were fewer children—” He raised his mug out of harm's way when Blake suddenly made a dive roll between the kitchen counter and island.

She jumped back on her feet, took a bow, and dashed away.

Lex reached for his coffee and took a sip.
“You know,” he said slowly, “this isn't much different from a board meeting at LuthorCorp. You'd be surprised by the hoops the board members are willing to jump through to impress my father.”

He caught Chris' eyes across the room and smiled. They were already at the non-verbal stage in their relationship.

She raised her brow. “Did Blake just somersault in front of you?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Just the ordinary Christmas madness.”

She crinkled her nose. “You're still okay?”

He gave a tiny nod. “I'm right where I belong.”

Chris began to beam again and blew him a kiss before she hurried after Blake, yelling, “The kitchen's no place for gymnastics. Use the hallway like a civilized person!”

The morning began to blur, and even though Lex tried to stay in the background and not interrupt the Harris/Morris Christmas Eve morning dynamics, they were having none of it. He couldn't help but wonder whether Chris had given them little lists, too. With just one item: Make Lex have the best Christmas of his life.

He wouldn't put it past her. But then again, maybe she didn't have to. Neither of her family members nor the Morrises approached him out of obligation. Every conversation he had this morning felt natural. Almost as though he'd been a part of the extended family all along.

Eventually, he found himself in the dining room, sitting between Jesse and the Major, Chris' grandfather, who still called him Paddy—for whatever reason. Lex didn't mind. The man lived with dementia. He had good and bad days, but Chris loved him, and since he'd never wet himself since Lex knew him, he was willing to play along.

“Da, you okay?” Ryan, one of Chris' uncles, approached them, placing a hand on the Major's shoulder.

“There's no white pudding. Why don't we have white pudding?”

Ryan opened his mouth as if to correct his father, but then sighed and shrugged in Lex's direction.
“I'll ask mum about it…”

“Dad,” Jesse said, tugging at his dad's arm. “Did you know that Lex has the first issue of Warrior Angel? He said I could read it if I wore gloves.”

“Yeah… Paddy, remember when we bought it back in the day? Saved our last penny for it,” Chris' grandfather chuckled and sipped at his orange juice, the white pudding already forgotten.

Before Lex could say anything, there was the ringing of the landline, followed by Chris shouting from the staircase, “Can anyone answer that? I'm having a stocking crisis here. Vicious, attacking stockings.”

From where Lex sat, he had a perfect view of the kitchen, and he saw Ross almost launching toward the phone.

“Dibs!” he called and reached for the receiver.

Next to Lex, Ryan chuckled. “Typical…”

“Harris residence. Colonel Harris speaking.”

Ryan snorted. “Did you just give yourself a fifteen percent pay raise, Lieutenant Colonel?”

Lex already knew that the family used to make fun of Ross, calling him a 'light bird' and 'short colonel'. Chris' dad was a general in the Marine Corps, and Ryan was a captain in the Navy, so an LTC in the Army was meant to be mocked.

However, while Lex was watching Ross answering the call, he couldn't help but notice his body language. His posture changed. He straightened up. All holiday, civilian attitude gone.

The crowd in the kitchen fell silent. Ryan, his hand still on his father's shoulder, let out a small curse. Jesse shifted next to Lex in his seat. And even Daideo, Chris' grandfather, turned his head.

“It's Ric, isn't it?”

“Understood,” Ross said into the receiver. “Thanks, Captain. We'll let her know.”

The house fell silent. In the background, Elvis sang 'I'll be home for Christmas', and Jesse clawed Lex's forearm. He ignored it but focused on Ross, who slowly set the receiver back into the wall mounting, shaking his head.

“The General… He won't make it. He's stuck at Fort McCoy. Blizzard.”

You could've heard a needle drop, and yet, Chris was still humming happily on the staircase, talking to the stockings without a care in the world.

Lex was on his feet before he realized he'd moved. Goddammit, he'd heard the blizzard warning yesterday. He should've clocked it sooner.

He rushed past Jo, mother to Kim and Keith, who just clapped her hands. He didn't care to stop and listen to her. He was on his way to Chris. She met him halfway, frowning.

“Why's everyone so quiet? Oh my God, did the Unholy Trinity set the tree on fire?” She watched him in mock horror and kept walking. “Did Keith eat a cheese bagel? Keith! You know you'll fart like a gelding.”

She stopped in the doorframe to the kitchen, still frowning. Realization slowly dawning on her face. Lex saw her swallowing hard.

“Ross? Who was on the phone?” She tilted her head, eyeing her uncle.

“Chris… Muffin,” Ross began, but Chris shook her head, backing away.

“No! Uh-uh. Don't! It's Christmas! Don't. Just don't say it! I dare you!”

Lex's chest clenched in a way he'd never felt before. Her hurt. Her denial. Her desperation. It hit him like a bulldozer.

“Chris,” Ross said again. “Your dad… He can't make it. He's stuck in Wisconsin. There's no way out. I'm sorry, Muffin. He'd beat the weather if he could, but… There's a snowstorm.”

A row of curses went through the house—some civilized, some not so, but the family was already moving. Damage control. Emergency protocol. Lex had no idea. He was focused on Chris.

He'd seen her standing tall against his father. Against opposing counsels. Negotiating mergers. Hell, he'd watched her strong-arming the IRS, and yet, she looked… lost.

“Angel…” He reached for her hand, but she pushed him away.

“No! Dad's always home for Christmas. Always! If he's not…” She trailed off and shook her head again. Then, she turned on her heels, headed back to the staircase, and began to rip off the stocking from the railing.

And Lex? He found himself reaching for his BlackBerry, texting and emailing to call in favors.

The house didn't erupt into chaos.
It reorganized.

Jo and Rosheen began ordering people to move food and beverages to the Morris residence next door. Their instructions were brief, measured, as though they were standing in an OR. He remembered how Chris once told him that Kim's and Keith's mother was an OR nurse. She'd probably worked with Rosheen before.

Lex registered it dimly at first, the way one notices movement at the edge of one's vision while focusing on something else entirely. Voices lowered. Hands reached for bags, for keys, for coats. Someone began stacking Tupperware containers with quiet efficiency.

No one argued. No one asked what to do. No one addressed Chris directly.

Chris…

She stood still at the staircase, stockings dangling from her fingers, her jaw set tight.

He didn't approach her again. Not because he was offended that she'd pushed him away earlier. That wasn't personal. He got that. She needed space. He'd give it to her.

Still, he stood close, his phone already warm in his hand while his thumb hovered as he scrolled through contacts he hadn't meant to use today—or ever. He listened to Chris breathing next to him. Fast. Shallow. But not crying.

Not collapsing.

And that worried him even more.

“Okay,” she suddenly said, too loudly. Too precise. The word cut through the room like a bullet. “We're… we're not doing Christmas. Not here. Not today. Not without… Dad.”

No one dared to argue. Effectively, no one dared look at her. Only her grandmother reached out, quietly talking to Chris. Lex caught a few words like 'hurt', 'angry', and 'the White House', but he didn't look up from his BlackBerry's screen.

He stepped away from the wall, closer to the window, and typed quickly, deliberately. One message. Than another. Short. Direct. No explanations.

'Need uplink. Weather critical. Time-sensitive.'

He hit 'send' and waited.
A reply didn't come.

Chris stood very still at the center of the family going full emergency protocol, arms wrapped around herself. Decorations remained where they were—apart from those Chris had already ripped down. The tree stood awkwardly proud in the corner of the living room as though it hadn't yet realized that it was no longer needed.

Lex tried another number.

'Any access. Anywhere. I'll take responsibility.'

Once more, he hit 'send'. A bit aggressively this time. He closed his eyes for half a second, then opened them again and stared at his phone.

He stepped into the small study off the hallway and closed the door just enough to mute the noise without shutting it out entirely. His phone buzzed once.

No signal at this time.

He stared at the screen in disbelief and exhaled slowly through his nose before he tried the next number. It went straight to voicemail. He clenched his jaw and dialed again. The third call rang longer. Too long. He pictured it bouncing through towers that were already choking under weather alerts and holiday traffic.

“Pick up,” he muttered under his breath. “Pick up!”

That didn't help, and Lex decided to shift tactics. Emails instead of calls and texts. Short subject lines. No pleasantries.

'Need temporary bandwidth. Military contact stranded. Blizzard conditions.'

And another message, more pointed.

'Any satellite access. Private location. Ten minutes would be enough.'

He checked the time. Ten minutes had passed since Ross had hung up the phone and crushed Chris' festive joy. It felt longer.

From the hallway, he could hear coats rustling, voices drifting away toward the front door. Then, the study's door opened behind him.

“Why are you in here?” Kim asked. “Chris needs you.”

“That's why I'm in here,” he replied without looking up from his BlackBerry.

“Oh, you're trying to bribe a blizzard, or what?”

“No, I'm trying to call Santa so he can give the General a lift on his way to Metropolis,” he snapped and stepped past her out of the small room.

Kim called some profanities after him. He didn't care. His phone buzzed again.

'Out of office.'

He suppressed a groan. Of course, they were all out of the office. It was Christmas Eve after all. People wanted to spend time with their families.

He typed another message, his fingers moving faster now.

'Who do you know who can say yes without asking permission?'

He paced once in the hallway, then stopped himself. Pacing was pointless. He leaned against the wall instead and skimmed the weather reports. Wisconsin was a mess. Roads were closed, visibility down to nothing. Fort McCoy was locked down tight.

He thought about the General. He had to hate this. Not being able to muscle through the weather; not being where he was supposed to be.

Lex hated it for him. He hated it for Chris.

He resumed making calls. Another call finally connected.

“Yes?

“I need an uplink,” Lex said. No greeting. No introduction. “Not public. Not commercial. Somewhere in the Midwest. Now.”

“That's not—”

“I know what it's not,” he cut in, still calm. “I also know you can route me to someone who can make it happen.”

There was a pause. A sigh.

“I'll take responsibility,” Lex added. “Put it all on me.”

The line crackled.

“I'll see what I can do. No promises, though.”

Lex didn't thank his contact. He hung up and immediately dialed another number.

Móraí was still talking softly to Chris. “Bumbín, it had to happen eventually. You were lucky that you could spend every Christmas with him so far…” She cupped her cheek. “You're always the one who holds everything together. You're allowed to fall apart once in a while. That's okay… We'll be next door.“

Móraí gave Lex's elbow a quick squeeze when she passed him, and then she left the house, too. What had felt like a circus show on amphetamine mere twenty minutes ago was now pure silence. And way too large for just the two of them. A half-lit, half-finished Christmas gathering, caught between intention and abandonment.

When he looked back at Chris, he found her sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, elbows braced on her knees. She was staring at nothing in particular. She hadn't cried. She hadn't spoken, either, beyond the necessary. It was as though she'd folded in on herself, careful and precise, conserving what little energy she had left.

Lex checked the weather one more time. Metropolis was fine. Wisconsin was still buried—and by the looks of it, would be for another couple of days. Smallville, however, was clear.

The realization settled in his chest with the quiet certainty he trusted more than instinct. Staying here would turn the silence into something heavier. Something that would calcify around her if he let it.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and walked over to her, sitting down on the bottom step right next to her.

“We should head out, too,” he said.

She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were red, but dry. Focused. Still functioning. The joy, the sparkle, however, had almost faded entirely.

“I'm okay,” she whispered. Probably not on purpose. Her voice sounded raw. “You don't have to stay.”

He nodded slowly.
“I know… But I want to.” He let the words sit between them for a moment before he gently added, “And I really don't want you here alone tonight.”

Chris exhaled, long and shaky, and looked around the house—the stockings half-missing, the tree still undecided, the echo of something that hadn't happened almost deafening.

“We could go to Smallville,” he said. “The mansion is perfect for being melancholy. Or broody. Or just angry. Trust me, it'd seen way too much of it. It wouldn't mind.”

That earned him a shaky laugh.
“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Give me five minutes.”

Lex pressed his lips against her temple and rose before she could change her mind.

Outside, the cold bit sharply, clean and grounding. He moved on autopilot—opening the car, setting the temperature. Then, he returned inside, locked the back door, checked the windows, and headed upstairs to get his luggage.

Chris stood in the doorway to her father's bedroom, a carpet bag next to her feet. He saw her shoulders quivering slightly and turned away to head outside again. He put his bag in the trunk of the Jag and waited for Chris.

When she finally came out, her eyes were still red, albeit more glassy now. He didn't say anything. Just took her bag and opened the door. Once she sat on the passenger's seat, he stored her bag next to his, shut the trunk closed and sat in the driver's seat.

As they pulled away, Metropolis fell back into the rearview mirror, the city's silhouette with its skyscrapers blurring into something distant and unimportant.

Lex kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on the console between them so that Chris could reach for it whenever she felt like it.

His phone buzzed once. A new message.

'Might have something. Limited window. Call me when you're stationary.'

He put his phone away and briefly glanced at Chris, who was now staring out of the window, her chin resting in her palm. His hand curled around the leather. He'd never seen her this quiet and withdrawn before, and he'd burn the world if he had to see her like that ever again.

It had been a quiet ride back to Smallville. The quietest he'd ever had with Chris in the car. He didn't blame her. Didn't force a conversation. Just held space, letting her know he was there.

Chris still hadn't spoken by the time he pulled into the driveway to the mansion and stopped the car in the Porte-cochère.

Sighing, he disembarked the car and walked around it to open the passenger's door for Chris. She frowned and looked around.

“No Matthew?”

“No Matthew,” he replied as he opened the trunk to get their luggage. “The staff is on their well-deserved holiday break.”

Not all of them, though. There was at least one security guard left to make sure everything was in order, and of course, the Williams family, who took over as house- and groundkeeper after Lex had to let go of the Palmers.

He set one bag on the ground to reach for his keys, unlocking the front door. He pushed it open to let Chris step in.

For a moment, she simply stood in the large foyer, obviously not knowing what to do with herself. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands and shrugged to no one in particular.

“I'm a bit tired, I guess,” she finally admitted.

“Okay… let's get you upstairs.” He walked her to the private rooms just above his study and watched her curl up on the couch in his living room.

He brought their luggage into the master bedroom, and when he returned to the living room, Chris was already hidden beneath a throw blanket. Sighing, he stepped closer and cupped the back of her head.

“I'll be in the study if you need… anything.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes already watery, but she managed a little smile.
“Thank you.”

“Always,” he muttered and left the room.

He didn't bother to walk all the way to the grand staircase, but used the hidden door next to the living room that led straight to the mezzanine in his study. He rushed down the last twelve steps—still counting them as though he was still a kid—and sat down at his desk, reaching for his laptop.

His fingers hovered over the keys. Occasionally, he cursed under his breath. His contact hadn't made any promises, and still Lex had hoped—

Finally, after almost an hour, a little icon in the corner of the screen began to blink.

A message followed.

'Limited uplink. Ten minutes. No retries.'

Lex exhaled once, slowly and in control. That would have to be enough. Frankly, it was more than he'd hoped for.

He lowered the laptop's lid halfway, grabbed the power cord, and stood. Climbing the twelve steps to the mezzanine, through the hidden door, back to the living room where Chris lay still curled beneath the blanket.

He set the laptop on the low table in front of the couch, adjusted the angle, plugged the cord in, and checked the clock. Eight minutes left.

“He's on,” he said, causing Chris to blink.

She slowly sat up and studied him, something fragile and startled crossing her face. Then her eyes flicked toward the laptop.

“Lex, what… What's going on?”

“The connection might crash within the next five minutes, maybe it'll hold longer,” he said. “I can't say, but right now, he's on.” He cupped her cheek. “I'll be in the study.”

Just before he left the room, he heard a shaky, incredulous, “Daddy?”

Lex had been waiting for ninety minutes now. He had no idea how long the connection eventually lasted, nor what it had even done to Chris, seeing her father on a laptop's screen instead of in person.

Maybe his meddling with things once again had made everything worse. Perhaps it would've been the better decision to let her stay with her family. They loved her after all. They knew how to handle her. They were used to family members being unavailable during holidays. They knew what duty actually meant.

He stood and walked over to the bar, pouring himself two fingers of Scotch. He swallowed back a large mouthful and turned to face the windows. It had been hazy all day, and even though sunset wasn't for another hour, it was already getting dark.

Slowly, he turned on the lights, his eyes flicking toward the mezzanine. He knew he should give Chris time. Wait until she'd approach him. After all, that'd been the advice the General had given him last year during Thanksgiving at the Kents'.

A year… It feels longer. Just stay put. She'll come.

But his feet were already moving toward the stairs, upwards to his private rooms. When he entered the living room for the third time today, Chris was still sitting on the couch, hugging her knees. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Lex swallowed. Of course, he'd made everything worse. As always.

When she looked up, she sniffled. Loudly. Un-ladylike. But began to smile.

“Happy tears. Now those are just happy tears,” she said and patted the place next to her.

Carefully, Lex stepped closer. Not sitting down yet.

“We had twenty minutes before the line crashed,” she continued, still sniffling a little. “He won't make it this year, but we had twenty minutes.”

She reached for his hand and pulled him down. Once he sat, she cuddled up against him.
“When the connection was stable enough, some Army tech, or Santa, or Dumbledore worked wonders, and we had twenty minutes.”

She sniffled again, and Lex reached for the box of Kleenex that sat on the little table behind the sofa. He offered it to her, and Chris blew her nose, giving him an impish grin.

“He told me what you've done. George lassoed the moon for Mary, but you… You lassoed a satellite for me.”

“Borrowed… briefly.” He couldn't hide his smile at the It's a Wonderful Life reference. Last year, they'd watched it together. Remotely. Over the phone since he had to leave for Asia the next day.

She laughed at that. An actual, honest laugh.
“Dad wanted me to let you,” she began, still fighting a little with tears, but she was clearly in a better place now. “He wanted me to let you know that as of today, you're his second-favorite person in the world.”

“Second-best to you?”

“That you even have to ask.”

“Before the end of next year, I'll make sure that I'll be his favorite person.”

Huffing, she rolled her eyes but wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Thank you. I'd totally kiss you right now, but I'm all puffy, and half my face is probably still covered in snot, and—”

He didn't bother to let her make a decision or let her justify herself any longer. He simply pulled her closer and pressed his lips against hers.

She melted into him immediately, and that was all the confirmation he needed. She'd be okay. She'd survive this. And if anything, she'd probably grow even stronger.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Lex woke up alone—again. That seemed to have become a pattern these past few days. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Thinking about yesterday. He was still surprised by how many feelings twenty-four hours could hold.

After the video call with her dad, Chris had been more like herself again. She wasn't fixed. She still missed him. And she still wasn't in that cheerful Christmas mode she'd been during the last couple of days, but she felt Christmassy enough to let him read A Christmas Carol to her.

They'd settled in his mother's library—the smallest of the mansion. The one with the books that had actually been read. To their great surprise, they'd found a little Christmas tree in there. Not taller than two feet, decorated rather clumsily with rustic straw ornaments Lex had never seen before in his life.

“There's a card,” Chris had said, picking it out of the tree.

They'd read it together and laughed.

'Heard what happened. Figured Chris'd eventually feel like Christmas again. C.K.
P.S. Darius let me in. Don't hate him. Or me.'

Clark had even scribbled a little stickman with a halo.

Shaking his head, Lex had switched on the tree lights, and they'd curled up on the sofa. Chris tugged herself against his side, daring him to give the ghosts distinctive voices—which he'd done. Of course.

Later, they'd made some pasta—nothing fancy. Just the two of them, cooking like they'd done many times before.

Christmas Eve had ended with them watching It's a Wonderful Life, and frankly, this was becoming Lex's favorite holiday tradition. That, and the reading out loud to her.

Actually, it was Chris. Just talking to her was his favorite holiday tradition.

He rubbed his face, rolling his eyes at himself. What a hopeless romantic sap he'd become.

He rolled onto his side to get up when the bedroom door creaked open.

“Oh, shit. No, you stay here. And you stay inside. And you don't even dare…”

Chris entered, carrying a tray, which she threatened in German, wearing nothing but one of his button-downs and mismatched socks.

“Oh, you're already awake.” She beamed at him. “I made us breakfast. Might have wrecked the kitchen. When does Mrs. Blackwell return?” she asked, way too innocently.

Lex sat up, glancing at the tray. Coffee, orange juice, and of course, the obligatory Santa-faced pancakes. He couldn't help but smile.

“You know, you could've woken me. We could've made breakfast together.”

She carefully placed the tray on his thighs and crawled back into bed with him, kissing his bare shoulder.

“I wanted to make something nice for you. Something nice I didn't have to down with a glass of Dornfelder,” she added and reached for a mug. “Besides, you looked as though you needed the rest. The past few days… were a lot.”

Lex took a sip of coffee and shook his head.
“They were not. Yesterday… let's just say that one won't make my Top Five.”

“Mine neither.”

“And I like your family,” he continued. “There are many of them. And they are loud. And all over the place. And they don't understand the concept of boundaries—”

“That's just Sharon,” Chris mumbled, munching on some pancake. “She can be really nice—”

“In case she gets something out of it.”

She screwed her face and shrugged.
“What are we supposed to do? Ryan loves her. That's family. You have the good, the bad, the… Sharons.”

Smiling, Lex kissed her forehead.
“Well, who am I to judge? My family… we have the Lionels. Anyway, I like your family.”

“Because Jesse compared you to Warrior Angel?”

“That certainly was an ego booster. “ Lex smirked and took another sip. “He's a good kid. I offered to let him read my comics.”

“He's probably already building you a shrine!”

They sat in comfortable silence, finishing breakfast, until Chris suddenly jumped to her feet.

“So…” she grinned. “Presents?”

She said it as though she were proposing something dangerous, and, if Chris were her usual self, it certainly would be, but right now, Lex was just relieved to see her acting again—not just reacting.

“It's Christmas Day. I believe that's how it works,” he said, eyeing her. “Do you want to unwrap them underneath Clark's tree?”

“More like hovering over it.” She smirked and slipped out of bed, rushing toward her carpet bag. “It was incredibly nice of him, though. Cute, little tree. We should call it Benny. He's too small for already being a Benjamin.”

“Obviously.” He watched her pull out a flat, carefully wrapped package as though she were Mary Poppins herself.

“I wasn't sure if this was… too much,” she said, suddenly uncertain. “But I wanted you to have it. Merry Christmas, Lex.”

He sat up properly before opening it.
It was a photo album. Not store-bought generic—this one had weight to it. Texture. Chris' fingerprints all over the choices.

He didn't flip through it quickly but took his time. It was more than just a photo album; it was a scrapbook of their first year: receipts, tickets, pressed leaves and flowers, Post-its… Photos she'd taken without him realizing. Kim must've taken some, too.

He couldn't believe how utterly at ease he looked in each frame. How perfectly they looked together.

He swallowed and looked back at her.
“You made this…”

“Sometimes you look as though you still can't believe any of this… So I thought… I give you proof.” She crinkled her nose, brushing her fingertip over a dried tulip. “It's stupid—“

“It's perfect.” His voice was hoarse as he pulled her into his arms, kissing her. When he let her go, he closed the book and carefully set it onto the bedside table. Treating it as something precious and fragile, which, actually, it was.

“Okay,” he said and stood. “My turn.” He moved to his weekend bag he hadn't bothered to unpack the night before. For a moment, his hands hovered over the smaller package with the necklace, but then he reached for the bigger, softer one. Without much ceremony, he handed it to Chris.

Slightly puzzled, she unwrapped it.
“A Cheshire Cat blanket? No.. Wait… That's not… It's a hoodie!” Grinning, she pulled it over her head immediately. It swallowed her whole. “It's huge. And warm. It's perfect. I want to be buried in it.”

They spent Christmas Day quietly. Just the two of them. Chris was practically glued to his side, almost as though she was scared he'd disappear, too. However, Lex knew that wasn't the case. Not really.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Once. Then again, a few minutes later. He ignored it, silencing it without looking. Whatever it was could wait.

After meeting her family, he doubted that she'd ever had a Christmas this quiet. So she needed reassurance that she wasn't alone, and he was more than willing to give that to her.

They'd spent most of the morning cuddled up together. Chris bundled up in the ridiculous hoodie she genuinely seemed to love. At some point, his phone buzzed again, insistently this time. He caught a glimpse of the screen before turning it face-down.

Kim.

He exhaled through his nose and left it there.

At around noon, Chris couldn't keep her feet still any longer. Lex took it as a good sign and let her coax him into taking a stroll through the grounds.

He hadn't done this since his childhood, and even though the gardens and the park were way less impressive during winter, Chris' eyes lit up.

“You could walk here every day of the year and still find something new,” she said, twirling around. “Why did we never take a walk in here before?”

“Because you're normally busy undressing me when you're here…”

“Right… That's even better than taking a walk.” Grinning, she reached for his hand and dragged him further along. From the Rose Garden to the Italian Garden, all the way to the Japanese Garden.

Everything was impeccable, and Lex made a mental note to give the new groundkeeper a pay raise.

By the time they returned to the mansion—Chris' fingers and the tip of her nose pink with cold—his phone had vibrated enough times to qualify as harassment.

He drew her a bath, joined her when she insisted—apparently his bathtub was far too big for her not to drown unless he held her—and only checked his phone once Chris had fallen quiet again, relaxed and warm against his chest.

Kim's messages stacked neatly on top of one another. The tone had shifted somewhere between the third and fifth text, from pointed to concerned. From 'I will find you' to 'Please just tell me she's okay.'

He still hadn't replied yet.

When they later relocated to the library, Chris switched on her phone. She chuckled quietly and waved him closer, showing him a grainy picture of Jesse and Jenna, who were forming a heart with their arms. A second photo showed them holding a sign: 'We miss you. Merry Christmas, Lex and Chris.'

“They are adorable.”

“They definitely are,” Chris agreed, and then frowned slightly. “Kim's been clogging my voicemail. I should call her.”

Lex eyed her for a moment before he sat down next to her.
“But you don't want to. Not yet, at least.”

She bit her lip and slowly shook her head. He pulled her closer and reached for her phone. She didn’t stop him. He switched it off and set it aside.

“Don't worry,” he whispered. “If your dad can't reach you, he'll call my phone.”

Chris' head shot up.
“He's got your number?”

“Of course, he does. Probably ran a complete background check on me as well.” He laughed. “He asked me for it when he invited me for Christmas. Also, for my email. And my blood type.”

She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed quietly.
“He likes you a lot,” she muttered. “I hate that he couldn't make it. I hate that I miss him so much.”

Lex pressed his lips against the top of her head, rubbing her shoulder. If there was only more he could do to make her feel better. He should've ordered a snowmobile to get the General out of Wisconsin. Or a Yeti.

Rolling his eyes at himself, he held her a little tighter.
“Of course, you miss him. And you're allowed to.”

“It sucks, anyway.”

They sat in silence until Chris began to shift next to him. She turned her head and looked up at him.

“Would you… Would you mind reading to me again?”

“Not at all. Any preferences?”

She shrugged, shook her head, then shrugged again. Lex simply nodded and stood, scanning the shelves until his eyes fell on a small book he hadn't touched in years. He knew that the book didn't matter to her—he could've read the Yellow Pages of Metropolis to her—she just needed to fill the silence, and he was glad that she'd asked for his voice instead of music or a movie.

She curled up against him once he sat down, and he cleared his throat before he opened the book. Then he began to read, “He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream, and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish.”

“Seriously?” Chris looked at him after he finished the first sentence. “This should come with a daiquiri.”

He hummed. “Just say the word.”

“Nah… keep on reading. Please.”

Lex didn't know how long he read. A chapter, maybe two. His voice settled into a rhythm, low and even, until the words began to blur together.

At some point, he realized Chris had gone still against him—not asleep, just quiet in that particular way she got when her thoughts finally slowed enough to stretch out.

He finished the paragraph he was on and let the book rest open on his knee.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable but warm and unhurried. When he shifted slightly, Chris stirred, but instead of settling back against him, she straightened slowly, as if listening for something he couldn't hear yet.

Something about that made him frown.

“I'll be right back,” she murmured as she slipped from his side.

He didn't question her. Whether she needed a moment alone or simply the restroom, he trusted her tone. He watched her leave the room before he rose. Pulling open a drawer on the small side table next to the sofa, he took out a bookmark and placed it in the book before he moved over to the bar cart, pouring himself two fingers of Scotch.

He thought about the last thirty-six hours. How everything changed from festive joy to sadness in such a short time. Had he done enough? Had he weighed all his options? Did he miss anything?

He took a sip and exhaled through his nose. A blizzard… that was out of his hands. No matter how he twisted and turned it. No one could control the weather.

He looked out of the window. It had gone dark. Outside, in the Rose Garden, lanterns flickered in the dark. He hadn't noticed them earlier today, but vaguely remembered that Mr. Williams, the groundskeeper, had installed them earlier this fall.

Lex closed his eyes. While he was attuned to Chris, he was awfully indifferent to his own surroundings.

He was about to turn when suddenly a ray of light caught his attention. The balcony door in the East wing slid open, spilling light into the dark. The pink hoodie with the Cheshire Cat on its back almost glowed in the night.

She just stood there, staring in the night sky, or the Rose Garden, or maybe at nothing at all. Lex watched her for almost five minutes before he set his glass down with a curse.

“It's freezing out there, for fuck's sake. It's like herding sheep.” But he wasn't really angry with her, just… frustrated. With the Christmas that wasn't meant to be.

He hurried over to the small balcony and found her still standing there, wearing nothing but the oversized hoodie, leggings, and fuzzy socks.

“Angel, get back inside. You have to be cold.”

“I'm fine. I'm wearing Hagrid's hoodie,” she replied and waved him closer. “Come here. Take a deep breath. Do you smell that?”

Lex frowned and stepped closer.
“All I smell is the inevitable VapoRub coming your way.”

She let out a small, almost happy laugh and leaned back against his chest. She reached for his hands and pulled his arms around her middle.

“See? I'm not freezing. My hands are all warm.”

Indeed, they were. Yet he pulled her closer, trying to warm her with his own body.
“What about your feet? It's below thirty-five degrees, and you're just wearing socks.”

“But fuzzy ones…”

“You're a menace. What are you even doing out here?

“I smell snow.”

He blinked. That was new. Especially since the weather forecast hadn't predicted any snow for Lowell County within the foreseeable future. And God alone knew how many times he'd checked the forecast since Ross had answered that damn phone yesterday morning.

“I smell snow,” she said again and turned into his arms. “My parents used to say that snow was something magical. That good things happen to us.” She paused, and all of a sudden, her features hardened. “I'm not a fan of snow anymore.”

Lex swallowed. That wasn’t a childish complaint. It wasn’t sulking.
It was something quieter.

Something she'd let go of.

Chapter Text

>Chapter 6

For once, Lex woke up before Chris since all this Christmas madness had begun. He turned his head slightly without shifting too much.

She lay next to him on her stomach. Hair spilled in wild waves all over the pillows, her bare shoulders, her back. Not even in winter did she wear pajamas, or at least a shirt. He'd never complained, and he wouldn't start now. Yet he couldn't stop himself from brushing a strand out of her face.

Her features were relaxed, almost peaceful. Quite a contrast to last night on the balcony.

He closed his eyes again and took a deep, controlled breath. He still hoped last night's quiet fracture had just been a spur-of-the-moment thing. The thought alone—Chris abandoning her almost childlike joy for life—stirred something inside of him.

By God, she was anything but naive. She could be ruthless if necessary. But last night… It was as though something inside her had died. Or deliberately stored away. One way or another, he'd hated it.

“You're staring,” she mumbled into the pillows. “I'm still asleep. That's creepy.”

He didn't reply at once, but reminded himself that her world had been shattered when her dad didn't make it home for Christmas. She was allowed to doubt the world. He just didn't want her to do it alone.

“Good morning, Angel.”

She rolled into his side, wrapping herself around him.
“Morning,” she mumbled against his chest. “God, we haven't woken up together in days.”

“No, we haven't.”

“Let's not do that again.”

He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead, glancing toward the window. They hadn't bothered to close the curtains last night, and—of course—there was no snow. It was a bright day, the sky blue, and not a single cloud in sight.

“Let's not,” he agreed, resting his cheek on top of her head. “How are you?”

“I'm good. Caffeine-deprived. Dangerously, by the way.”

Lex knew her long enough to know what she was actually saying: “I'm still miserable, but I don't want to talk about it yet.”

He kissed her again and stood. “Then I'd better get you some coffee. Do you prefer a mug or a bucket?”

“Barrel.” She reached for her new hoodie—Clark had been right when he'd predicted she'd live in it.

God, that felt like a lifetime ago, even though it'd only been five days.

“I'm coming with,” she muttered. “Making sure you won't slip in some decaf.” She wrapped one arm around his waist and leaned into him.

He didn't say anything, just held her as they walked downstairs to the mansion's kitchen. Still abandoned. The staff wouldn't return before the next day.

He made Chris at the kitchen island before he began to set up the coffee machine, but she was already at his side again, seemingly brushing his shoulder by accident. Lex closed his eyes for a moment. She still needed to make sure he wouldn't vanish.

“Wait, we need the good stuff,” she said and rushed toward the pantry, Mrs. Blackwell's sanctuary.

He raised a brow. “What do you mean by that? I get my coffee straight from St. Helena.”

Chris laughed. Loud and free. The first time since Christmas Eve morning. A second later, she came back from the pantry, holding a bag of coffee grounds.

“That was the most billionaire thing you said since calling your cars 'collectibles',” she said, pecking his cheek, and set the bag on the counter next to the coffee machine.

Lex blinked when he saw the Talon's logo, and underneath, written in bold letters, he read, 'The Pharao's Curse'.

“What—exactly—is that?”

Chris was still beaming as she tried to set up the coffee machine.
“Couple of weeks ago, Lana was in Metropolis for a coffee blend testing,” she said as she fumbled with the buttons on the machine. “For some weird reason, they wouldn't let her attend without an adult—apparently, caffeine is a horrible drug when you're under eighteen.”

When she kept fumbling with the buttons, Lex gently took over before she could begin comparing the machine to a spacecraft again.

“Anyway, I had a hearing canceled and some time, so I joined her,” she continued, still beaming. “I'm an adult, you know? So… we had a good time, and were able to make a special Talon blend.”

Still frowning, Lex sniffed at the coffee grounds. An earthy, spicy scent with a hint of cinnamon. He glanced back at Chris, who was still utterly chipper. Even though she still hadn't had a single sip of coffee.

Was she pretending? Still holding herself together, so that he needn't worry about her?

He started the machine and turned back to Chris, eyeing her.

“Anyway, last time I spoke to Lana, that blend was selling like mad,” Chris continued. “She'll make a pitch to you, soon. Selling beans and grounds at the Talon. Don't tell her I already spoiled it.”

The machine began to gurgle and hiss. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen, but Lex kept studying Chris. Her expression, her posture, the tone of her voice. And then it hit him; she wasn't pretending to be okay. She wanted to be okay.

He stepped a little closer and gently cupped her face in his hands, brushing her cheekbones.
“You're amazing,” he whispered and kissed the tip of her nose.

“Lex, not in front of the coffee!”

“I mean it.” He didn't let her go. “You are amazing. But you are allowed to hate the world at times. You don't have to pack yourself away. Not with me. Never with me.”

He noticed how her body wanted to pull away and stay close at the same time. He didn't let her go. Didn't retreat, either. Just stayed where he was until she could decide on her own terms.

The fight between trust and keeping up appearances was visible in her features. Eventually, she leaned in, sighing quietly.

“I'm a grown-up. Lots of grown-ups don't have their parents around during Christmas,” she whispered. “It shouldn't hurt so much. It didn't after… mom died.”

Lex pulled her closer, rubbing her back the way he knew she liked.
“Of course not,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You already knew she wouldn't be there. You missed her nonetheless, but your dad… He wanted to spend Christmas with you. And he would've… So, be angry at the world.”

He kept holding her until she began to sniffle at his shoulder. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were glassy but determined.

“I don't want to be angry at the world anymore. I want to… I want to rewind time and let us have a perfectly imperfect Christmas, but…” She sniffled again, but began to smile. “I never thought that our first Christmas would have so many firsts.”

And all of a sudden, she began to laugh, and even Lex had to laugh at the irony. Spanking, blowjobs, swallowing, family madness, satellites… It was insane, cynical, and ironic.

“We're such a mess. I am such a mess,” she said, almost choking on her laughter. “And somehow you've held everything together.”

Lex swallowed. Had he? It had felt more like catching plates in a wind tunnel while keeping them spinning. And yet, for Chris, he'd do it again. Anytime.

Chris straightened her shoulders and looked up at him, taking a deep breath.
“Okay, here's what I want to do.”

“I'm listening.”

“I want coffee—”

“Shocking.”

She punched his chest. “Oy! Be nice, or I'll use you as a punching bag, because that's what I want to do next. Punch something.”

“Understandable.” He let her go for a moment to pour each of them a cup of coffee. “And then?” he asked as he handed her the cup, watching her take a sip. Her shoulders relaxed almost instantly.

“Then, we go to the Kents' annual post-Christmas dinner. Martha always invites Dad and me… Yeah, another first. No Dad this year—”

“We don't have to go.”

Chris' eyes widened as though he just told her that there was no coffee left on this planet.
“And miss Martha's Bratäpfel? She took Oma Lotte's recipe and turned it into something divine.” She took another sip and watched him expectantly until he drank himself.

His brows shot up, making her smile.

“That is a good blend,” he said.

After breakfast, Chris had abandoned the Cheshire cat hoodie for some yoga pants and a T-shirt, and Lex had taken her downstairs to the mansion's gym. He doubted that the sterile room would help her relax and gather her thoughts, but if she wanted to punch something, he'd rather have her at the punching bag than his ribs.

He'd handed her the small bag mitts Lana usually wore, and held the bag so that she could throw a few jabs. Clumsy, frustrated things that lacked her usual spark. After a few more jabs, he'd stopped her and steered her toward the rack where Matthew kept a noteworthy collection of wooden swords in various sizes. He'd let her pick one and sat down on the bench.

As soon as she grabbed for a bokken, her posture changed, and he could almost feel the tension leaving her as she lifted the sword. It was a dance of angles and breath. She'd stopped fighting the world and started mastering herself again. The 'server farm' in her head seemed to finally power down, leaving only the rhythm of the wood cutting through the air.

He'd watched her for almost an hour, mesmerized by the deadly grace he so rarely saw outside of her legal battles. When she eventually lowered the bokken, setting it back onto the rack with a reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts, she turned to him. She was flushed, strands of damp hair clinging to her neck, but her eyes were clear for the first time in days. She was radiating.

“Thank you,” she said as she stepped closer, reaching for his hands. “I really needed that.”

“You're free to come down here whenever you need to. Your fingerprints are already in the system.”

That made her laugh.
“Eventually, you have to tell me why your gym is protected as though you'd train Bond villains down here.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, his voice dropping an octave. “Or maybe I just like the idea of you being the only person in the world who can break into my fortress. Come on, I’ll draw you a bath, and then it's almost time to go to the Kents.” He put his arm around her shoulders and walked her back upstairs.

One day, he'd tell her why even the gym had a special security system, but not today.

They were almost late for the Kents' post-Christmas dinner. It hadn't been his intention, but somewhere between the gym and the bathroom, they'd somehow lost their clothes, and one thing had led to another.

Of course, it had been Chris who'd initiated. He rarely ever did. Not with her. He only took what she was willing to offer, and after the gym—she'd offered a lot.

He glanced at her as he pulled into the farm's driveway. She was still radiating. Not with Christmas joy. That hadn't returned. But her old spark was still there, slowly reigniting.

“You look smug,” she said.

Lex huffed. “Pot. Kettle.”

“What? Are you complaining now?”

“Au contraire.” He got out of the car, walked around it, and opened the door for her. “I'm just happy that your chaos gremlin is still there,” he said before he kissed her. “And remember, we can leave whenever you want.”

She leaned into him. “Don't worry, Jonathan will show us the door eventually.”

Lex did not doubt that. Likely, Jonathan Kent was already grinding his teeth at the thought of spending yet another dinner with Lex. Though, admittedly, the farmer had thawed somewhat lately.

Lex opened the back door of his Jag to retrieve a bottle of wine—Chris had told him there was no need for presents, but he'd be doomed if he didn't bring a hostess gift. Besides, it was just a Bordeaux. Nothing fancy, but something he thought Martha Kent would appreciate.

Chris chuckled and reached for his hand.
“You're always so… you.”

She pulled him with her toward the front door and rang the bell. They heard Martha's voice echoing through the house, calling for anyone to open the door since she was busy with the marzipan.

“Bratäpfel,” Chris muttered next to him, grinning.

Then the door opened, and they were greeted by the smell of roasted potatoes, green beans, and something unmistakably Christmassy. Clark stood in front of them, eyeing them for a second, before he pulled Chris into a hug.

“We heard that your dad is stuck in Wisconsin,” he said. “When you didn't call Mom on Christmas Eve, she called Rosheen, and… How are you?”

Chris looked at Lex, smiling. “I'm good. Had the best company I could ask for. Hey, thanks for the Christmas tree, by the way. It was… cute.”

“Yeah… well…” Clark rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought… I mean, you're welcome.”

“Clark, were you raised in a barn?” Jonathan appeared behind his son. “It's cold outside. Let them come in.”

He let them step inside and pulled Chris into his arms, “Hey, kiddo. How you holding up?”

“I'm really good… Now.” Once more, she glanced at Lex, still smiling.

“Lex!” Jonathan held out his hand. “Happy belated Christmas.”

“Right back at you,” he said as he shook his hand.

Clark took care of their coats, and they followed Jonathan Kent into the house. The dining table was already set, and Martha waved to them from over the kitchen. She put something into the oven, then hurried over to them. She didn't ask how Chris was doing. She just gave her a knowing look and cupped her cheek before she turned toward Lex.

“I'm glad you're there for her,” she said quietly, hugging him briefly. Then, she told everyone to take a seat.

Dinner was surprisingly relaxing and light-hearted. The food was excellent—though that didn't come as a surprise. Martha Kent was an excellent cook who'd easily outshine a Paul Bocuse.

At one point, Clark asked about Christmas at the Harrises, and instantly froze.
“I mean… before. Sorry, Chris.”

But she already waved it off.
“It was the usual chaos,” she laughed. “Apparently, Sharon went through all the kitchen cabinets again.”

Martha let out a choked little sound.
“Oh, she's always done that. Your mom always wanted to put mouse traps in there. Never did, though. She feared you'd hurt yourself.”

Chris grinned, her eyes searching for Lex's.
“Well, I was considering mouse traps, but it turns out we have a Sharon-whisperer among us now.”

Lex didn't react, and when Chris kept on telling about their pre-Christmas adventures, he glanced at the window over Martha's shoulder. At first, he thought it was a trick of the light. A speck of white against the black glass. Then another one. And another one. And even more.

It began to snow. The magic Chris had almost given up on.

“Lex Luthor? In a 1995 Volvo 960? In the passenger's seat?” Jonathan laughed. Apparently, they were now talking about the tree shopping. “I would've paid money to see that.”

“It's a surprisingly reliable car, and Chris is a very prescient driver,” he said smoothly, and sipped at his wine.

“He hated every minute of it, didn't he?” Clark said, his eyes darting between Lex and Chris.

“Every single second.” Chris grinned. “However, eventually, he stopped hitting the invisible brake.”

The conversation continued like this until Martha rose to serve dessert. Chris jumped to her feet to help her. Apparently, Clark hadn't been kidding when he'd visited him a couple of days ago, asking about his favorite dessert. Everyone seemed to get their preferred one. Clark had cinnamon rolls, Martha and Chris Bratäpfel, Jonathan got ice-cream—vanilla, unsurprisingly—and Lex almost expected to be served cinnamon rolls, too. After all, he'd told Clark to tell his mom that he'd have whatever Clark was having.

Instead, Martha served him a generous slice of pecan pie. He raised his brows in surprise.
“I've noticed that you had two slices last year during Thanksgiving dinner,” she whispered. “Despite everything that was going on between you and Chris.”

He smiled, genuinely touched by her thoughtfulness, and reached for his fork.

That was when the back door creaked open, bringing a gust of freezing air and the scent of damp wool and starch.

Next to him, Chris froze, a piece of Bratapfel halfway to her mouth. She didn't turn around but slowly lowered her fork, reaching for Lex's arm.

Only when the voice—gravelly, exhausted, and impossibly real—drifted across the room.

“I heard someone was complaining about the lack of snow in Kansas.”

Lex turned around and sure enough, there he was: General Richard Harris. Still dressed in his service uniform as though he'd taken advantage of the first window to get back home.

Lex patted her hand, leaning in.
“Looks like your parents have been right all along. Magical things do happen to your family once it begins to snow.”

She slowly looked at him. “You didn't, did you?”

Lex shook his head. “I wish I could take credit for this, but… No.”

Chris was so fast on her feet that her chair almost toppled over, and she almost launched herself at her father. However, she stopped short in front of him, taking in the uniform, and the General had to pull her into his arms.

“Sorry, I'm late, Bumblebee.”

Lex watched the snow pile up on the windowsill, white and heavy and real.

He had tried to lasso a satellite for her, thinking that power was the only way to save her. But as he watched her face go bright with a joy he hadn't been able to buy, he finally understood the lesson.

He didn't have to be the one to bring the miracle. He just had to be the one who stayed until it arrived.

And for Chris Harris? He'd wait forever.

—The End—

Chapter Text

The Harris Family

• Major Réamonn Harris (USAAF/USAF, *1923) married to Laura (*1924), known as Daideo and Móraí
  • General Richard Donovan Harris (USMC, *1950) married to Henrietta Eleonore (1955–1998)
    • Christine Laura (*1983)
  • Captain Ryan Brendan Harris (USN, *1954) married to Sharon
    • Aidan (*1982), Sean (*1984), Alicia (*1990), Jesse (*1994)
  • Rosheen Nainsí Harris M.D. (*1958) married to Mark Hamilton
  • Lt. Col. Ross Uinseann Harris (U.S. Army, *1960) married to Julie
    • Emily (*1989), Blake (*1992), Jenna (*1995)

The Morris Family

• Captain David Morris, firefighter, married to JoAnne (aka Aunt Jo), an OR nurse
  • Katherine Leigh (Kate, *1975)
  • Detective Keith Alexander Morris (*1978), Chris's best friend
  • Kary Elisabeth (*1980)
  • Kimberly Harper (Kim, *1982), Chris’s other best friend