Season 6 (based on spoilers and my imagination) - based on "Lexmas"
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me
"Come on, Smallville. Time to haul your lazy ass out of bed."
Clark opened his eyes, blinking against the sudden bright light. Weird, he thought sleepily. He felt kind of befuddled, but he was almost certain it had been dark. It had been night... hadn't it?
In fact, hadn't he been outside in the snow?
All of a sudden the memory of a kryptonite rock slamming into his chest, the memory of agonizing pain, came rushing back to him. He sat up, clutching at his ribs.
But there was no rock there.
"Hey. What's wrong? Did you have another nightmare?"
He blinked and looked around, discovering he was in a four-poster cherry bed that took up most of a small bedroom. Judging from the noises he could hear through the windows, the bedroom was in a big city like Metropolis. And there was a scantily clad brunette draped across the other side of the bed.
He averted his gaze, really fast, and stared at the wall. "Lois," he said, wondering what the hell was going on. Was this some sort of bizarre kryptonite dream? It felt real, but... "What are you doing here?"
She sat up, and he risked another glance at her, seeing that she was dressed, sort of. At least she was wearing some sort of lacy nightgown that covered her to a certain extent. But she looked distinctly pissed. Well, no surprise there. Lois always looked that way, in his experience.
"We agreed to give it another chance, remember?"
He blinked at her. "Huh?"
"Bastard," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "You're the one who wanted to try again, not me. I should have known you didn't really mean it. After six years of marriage, you'd think I'd know better, but I guess not."
What the hell?
He stared at her blankly, his mouth hanging open, and then looked away. His bewildered gaze fell on his hands, and he saw a plain gold band adorning his left hand.
Apparently he was married to Lois Lane.
All things considered, he thought he'd rather have a shard of kryptonite in his chest.
"Where the hell is Clark?"
Jimmy Olsen sat in the Sullivans' small living room, on a shabby old couch, watching Chloe Sullivan as she stalked back and forth. "I'm sure he'll be here soon," he answered, amusement in his mild blue eyes. "Chill out, Chlo."
"He promised to bring a batch of his mom's cookies," she said irritably. "The guests are going to start arriving soon, and I've got no freaking cookies."
"I don't think a party is doomed to fail because of a lack of Martha Kent's homemade cookies."
"This is Smallville. No one would dare host a party without offering Martha's cookies." She frowned and looked at her watch again, for the fifth time in as many minutes. "I just don't understand why he's late. He's never late."
"He's probably doing some last-minute shopping or something. Guys never get their shopping done till Christmas Eve, you know."
She looked at him sharply. "But you got yours done, right?"
"Of course." He gave her his big, dorky grin, a toothy smile she'd grown kind of fond of over the past few months. She liked Jimmy, she really did. He was a nice guy. A sweet guy. The kind of guy any woman would be happy to have.
Assuming the woman in question hadn't gotten used to having a superhero around, anyway.
She shoved the thought of Clark right out of her mind. Yeah, Clark was something special, but he wasn't interested in her that way, and never would be. Sitting around pining for a guy who didn't want her was so totally not her style.
Well, okay, it had been her style, for a while now. But she didn't want it to be her style. Hence Jimmy. Jimmy was a great guy, and she was really happy to be dating him.
And if the occasional thought about Clark flickered through her mind, well, she did her level best to ignore it.
But right now she was mad at Clark, and getting madder with every passing moment. It wasn't like Clark to leave her in the lurch like this. He was supposed to have been here half an hour ago, with two-thirds of the refreshments for her party. And yeah, it was only about two seconds from the Kent farm to her house at Clark speeds, but still. She wanted those cookies, damn it.
She yanked her cell phone out of her pocket and punched in his number. The phone rang a few times, then Clark's voice mail picked up. She hung up with a snarl.
"You know," Jimmy said, his cheerful grin still in place, "you need to quit worrying so much. The party's going to go just fine, whether Clark shows up or not."
The thought of a Christmas party without Clark made her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. She had a bad feeling he'd decided not to come. She thought about all the times she'd blown him off lately, and wondered if he felt their friendship slipping away the way she did.
Maybe he had someone else he'd rather be with tonight.
Like I care, she thought with a mental toss of her head. Clark Kent is not my problem any more. Some other girl's welcome to him.
Once Lois had flounced off, Clark got out of bed. He was somewhat horrified to discover he was only wearing boxers and a white t-shirt-- he'd been lying in bed with Lois, wearing boxers? Ugh.
He hastily pulled on a pair of jeans and rummaged through the closet. There wasn't a single flannel shirt to be had. He growled and pulled out a burgundy collared shirt. Not his color, and not his style, but it looked like his options were limited. Apparently someone with really bad taste had been doing his shopping lately. How the hell could a guy live without flannel?
The shirt fit just fine, so he guessed maybe it was his. Assuming this was all real, and not just some sort of bizarre nightmare. He paused at the dresser and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked about the same, but there was a sort of maturity to his face that he didn't remember seeing before, a more chiseled and angular look to his features. He did look older.
But his hair was still a mess. Well, since Hair Cuttery didn't use kryptonite shears, he had to "cut" his hair with his own fingernails, so he'd never had a really fashionable 'do. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to get some of the annoying wave out of it.
Suddenly he saw a face over his right shoulder, a weathered face surrounded by graying blond hair, a faint smile crinkling the corners of gentle blue eyes. The man in the reflection wore a familiar-looking plaid flannel shirt.
Clark spun around, but no one was there. He stared wildly around the room for a moment, wondering if he was going nuts.
Nuts? Me? Just because I awakened at least six years into the future, married to a woman I can barely stand, and now I'm seeing things that aren't there? No, there's nothing crazy about that. Not at all.
His father had disappeared, assuming he'd ever been there at all. Since he was dead, of course he hadn't been. Just wishful thinking on Clark's part, or part of this crazy dream. He sighed and turned back around, and his mouth fell open.
Once again, Jonathan Kent was smiling at him in the mirror.
Read Chapter 3 here.