Dear Reader,

You are cordiality invited to the wedding and union of

Miss, L. Lang


Mr, P. Ross

To be held at 2:30 on February the 14th 2012 in Smallville Chapel.

Reception to follow.


A cold winter wind blew ­­across the state of Kansas. Dead leaves swirled over porches in miniature whirlwinds. In one small house in one small American town the ghostly fingers of a beech tree tapped softly on the windows, as if asking to be welcomed into the warmth of the indoors.

In a bedroom two adults sat, cuddled on the delicate violet bed, around them lay scattered lists, magazines, cards and photographs. The man finished writing on one of the cards and passed it to the beautiful brunette sitting next to him. "Here, what d'ya think?" He grinned.

"Well," His partner looked the card over. "If anyone asked, we can say Laura wrote them." She laughed.

"That's the plan." He said back, picking up another blank card. "So, the future Mrs. Ross, how did the dress fitting go?"

"Well, the future Mr. Lang, it was great. The dress is perfect, and Laura loved her flower girl outfit so much; I had to fight her out of it. They faxed the bridesmaid details to the stores in Metropolis and Sydney." Lana said. "I hope Chloe and Lois like them."

"I'm sure they will." Pete said, enveloping another invite and placing it in a pile on the bedside table. He caught a glimpse of the bedside clock. "I'd better go sort Laura out; she'll be falling asleep on the couch again."

"Tell her I'll be in in a minute to say goodnight." Lana called as Pete headed out the bedroom door. Sighing, she put down her own pile of invites and picked up the old high school year book at the end of the bed. She smiled as she flicked through the old memories, while she cringed at others knowingly. Her fingers stopped at the 'voted most likely section.' Voted most likely to be a cover girl. She smiled, looking at the picture of her younger self. Maybe not.

She traced the pictures of the 'most likely to become a world-class journalist', 'most likely to become a football star' and the little scribble Lois had drawn in the corner labelled, 'most likely to become a political prisoner.'

She smiled down at the youthful faces of her three best friends, and at the ignorance of those who had cast the votes.

Chloe had eventually given up journalism to pursue a career as a novelist, a career that had very swiftly taken off with her first best seller, 'Tales From Nowheresville'. The critics had called it the new Harry Potter, people who knew Chloe called it a selective auto-biography, to which Chloe would just smile and say, "Well, aren't all great stories."

Lois had ended up as a political prisoner, but not of the State as she had always protested. After leaving Smallville, she had gone on a one woman crusade to Afghanistan to prove her worth to the Daily Planet; the details of which she described in her Pulitzer Prize nominated article, 'Behind the Mask of Terror', which was only outdone at the last minute by the President's inter-marital liaisons; a grievance she had recently put to rest with the scoop of the century, which led Lana to look down on the final smiley youth staring up at her from the page of the yearbook, and then to the silhouetted figure gracing the front page of the Daily Planet. Lana had known Clark since they were both three and felt both privileged and proud to be able to call him a friend and God Father of her child.

Smiling graciously, she closed the book and hopped off the bed to say goodnight to her three year old daughter.

A/N: The reason behind this story is simple. I wanted to write a story that couldn't really be classed as Clana or Clois. I wanted to show that you can have a Clois fic without sacrificing Lana, and vice-versa. Bear with me on this.

Disclaimer: One of these days, I plan to rule the world so then, and only then, will anything in this fic belong to me. Currently I don't own a thing.