I'm going to write this all before Christmas, and probs post it to Tumblr. Also, check out my 25 Days of Swanfire one-shots, darlings :DDDD

"Okay—" Neal shut the driver's door, and turned in his seat to look at her. "You ready?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't think I'm ever going to be ready."

"It has to be done."

"We could fake our deaths," she suggested hopefully. "Get the word out that we died horrible, tragic deaths before we could see any of them."

"And then they'd complain that we didn't invite them to the funeral." Neal smiled encouragingly at her as he started the car. "It's only once a year, Em."

"But we have to do this four times," she insisted. "And it's the first time we're meeting the other's family? I mean…" She broke off, shaking her head helplessly. "We might as well fake our deaths, there's no way we're going to survive this."

"Okay, yes, it's going to be a bitch," Neal allowed. "But it's also killing two birds with one stone: we get the first meeting and Christmas out of the way in one shot. And in twenty-four hours, it'll all be over, and we can go back to the apartment, and pretend we never have to see them again."

Emma propped her chin up with one hand and looked miserably out the window, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. "Fine…"

Four Christmases. That's what they were looking at here: four times the usual misery and chaos; four times the psychotic relatives they liked to pretend were a bad dream; four times the amount of drinking they would have to do to get through the day. Four. Times.

They were still debating over who had the worst time of it. Personally, Emma thought it was ridiculous for Neal to even try to compete, seeing as he only had his father and sister to worry about. Emma's parents, on the other hand—the good Mr. David Nolan and Ms. Mary Margaret Blanchard—were still not over the very ugly, very bitter divorce they'd gone through fifteen years ago: yes, fifteen years ago. Emma and Robin, her older-by-three-years-brother (who Neal had met once by accident at a wedding), had been splitting Christmases between them since she was twelve years old. Which basically meant, a few cheery holiday traditions centered around an in-depth interrogation about the other parent, under the harsh light of the dining room chandelier. And because she loved him, Emma had invited Neal to partake in the traditional Christmas-Day-Guilt-Fest—peace and goodwill, pain and emotional scarring, to all men on this holiest of days.

But before that, they had to get through Neal's family, who lived much closer to the city (thus, Emma and Neal) than David and Mary Margaret. Normally, Neal only had to resign himself to one Christmas: a few hours of brunch and arguing between his father and sister, and then whoever of his father's friends decided to drop by and comment on how grown-up the kids were (because wrinkly old men still thought that made for interesting conversation). Of course, the day wasn't over until Ruby had gotten thoroughly drunk and treated them all to one last dramatic speech on all the injustices in her life, before slamming the door behind her, leaving Neal to deal with his father's, "You see how she talks to me? There's your sister for you. Nice, huh?"

This year, however, the two of them weren't even speaking: they'd each invited Neal for brunch separately, urging him to, "bring your girlfriend! I want to meet her!" So, now he was stuck with dragging Emma along to spend Christmas morning with Ruby and whatever guy she was currently sleeping with, and then again with dear old Dad and his motley crew of high-waisted-pants-wearing smokers.

Neal glanced over at Emma, who was still staring glumly out the window, watching the snow-covered trees blur as they passed them. "Hey, you know what?" he said, leaning forward to turn on the radio. "Let's listen to some Christmas music."

"Let's not," Emma complained as Mariah Carey wailed into the microphone. Neal pretended not to hear her, and sang along with "All I Want For Christmas Is You".

"'Cause I just want you here tonight… Come on, Emma, this is your favorite part!"

Emma rolled her eyes, but reluctantly sang along, "…holding onto me so tight…"

"There you go! All I want for Christmas is—HOLY SHIT!"

Neal slammed on the brakes as a deer sprang into the middle of the road; Emma screamed, digging her nails in his arm as the wheels made a horrible skidding sound and the car skated sideways on the (thankfully empty) road.

"Shit," Neal breathed, his hands still braced tightly on the wheel. The deer had frozen in the middle of the road, and was now staring at them; Neal stared back with wide eyes, his heart hammering in his throat.

"What the hell?" Emma whispered shakily. "He's just staring at us."

"Shh," Neal whispered back. "They can smell fear."

"But…what do we do?"

"We wait," he said in a low voice, not breaking eye contact with the deer. "We wait for him to pass judgment on us, and then leave."

They waited, but the deer didn't seem to be inclined to be going anywhere. It continued to gaze, almost as though it were challenging them.

"It's a sign," Emma whispered.

"What?"

"A sign," she insisted. "Something sent him to stop us on the road. It's a sign, we never should have left the apartment."

"We drove this far, we are not turning back!" Neal hissed back furiously. "I am not going to be intimidated by Bambi!"

"Wait—what are you doing?" Emma asked wildly as he put the car in "park" and tugged the handle to open the door. "Neal, don't!"

"I got this, Em!" He stepped out of the car, his shoes crunching into the snow. He glanced over his shoulder through the window at Emma, who was clutching her head anxiously and watching with wide eyes. He raised his fist, giving her a nod before he went into battle. I love you, Emma.

She raised a shaky fist. I love you, too. Please don't die.

Neal turned back, exhaling slowly to steady his nerves. The deer still refused to move: it blinked at him as he carefully approached.

"All right, bro," he said, taking slow steps toward it. "Get out of here." He waved his arms at it. "Shoo!"

The deer stared at him. Neal gulped: they were a lot scarier up close. From a distance, they'd always looked like fuzzy little woodland creatures who pranced delicately in Disney-animated meadows; up close, it looked like something that could rush at him and knock him back, with terrifyingly powerful limbs and dangerous hooves.

"Go!" Neal waved his arms a few more times, and took a threatening jump toward him. "GO!"

The deer's head snapped up, and he scampered away, darting across the road into the woods on the other side. Neal smiled triumphantly and turned around, giving Emma a thumbs-up. She smiled back, returning the thumbs-up.

"I'm so proud of you!" she beamed as he slid back into his seat and shut the door. "You were so brave!"

"Nah," he shrugged, smiling modestly. "It was just a deer."

"It was a sign, but okay. Either way—" Emma leaned over, pressing a kiss to his curly head—"I'm proud of you."

Neal sighed, starting the car and turning the wheel to straighten it. "It's not a sign, Emma."

"Oh, it's a sign," she assured him, looking out the window. "It's a sign."

I NEEDS YOUR REVIEWS. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DARLINGS.