"Aren't your coming, ma?" Henry Swan-Mills was really hoping that this year, his biological mom would join the family at the annual Christmas Eve service at Storybrooke Chapel. He went every year of the thirteen years of his life, led enthusiastically by his adopted mom (and current wife) Regina. "It'll be 's leading the service...Polly's going to speak...and Ariel, Elphie and Mom are going to sing carols...c'mon!"

It had been a long year...dealing with Pan, Elphie's redemption, the return and renewal of the town. It was a time for celebration on the most Holy day of the year. But Emma didn't feel it. Really she never did.

Oh, the Sheriff bought and gave presents. And any chance that she had to get her wife, or their other partner Tink under the mistletoe she took gladly. But she'd feel like a hypocrite.

"Like I told you last year, kid, I just don't believe in the Christmas story...you know...the baby in the manger deal...I just don't want to lie to anyone.." Emma felt guilty about it all, but like she said, she wanted to be at least intellectually honest. Thankfully, her ever growing family understood.

"It's all right," said Regina, "we understand. Service should be over at 9, and we're all heading to Granny's for Christmas dinner...you can join us then." Regina gave her true love a quick kiss on the lips.

"And Granny is serving her special apple-cherry cobbler...and I know you like that!" Tinkerbelle, like Regina, knew the two quickest ways to Emma's heart. One is her stomach. The other she wouldn't say because young Henry was in the living room.

"I'll be fine. Just me and Stephen King tonight." Emma was set, and the other three knew it. Regina, Tink, and Henry all gave Emma kisses and good nights, and when the door was shut, there were no other sounds except the crackling of the fire. Other than that, blessed silence.

Emma kept the TV off. She sat with a cup of hot cinnamon-laced cocoa and she was at the third chapter of "The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon" when she heard a sound.

Like mewing.

The Sheriff got up to check. She looked through the peephole. No one there. So she opened the backdoor to find the quivering ball of golden fur standing at the door.

"Hey little kitty!" Emma, like most women, had the "cute gene"...the whatever-it-was that makes some women squeal with delight when they see something cute like a sloth or...in this case...a kitten. It was snowing, and it was, as Maleficent's Boston Girlfriend Holly would say "wicked cold." The blonde wanted to pick the kitty up and bring her in so the little booger would get all nice and warm and toasty...then she'd set the cat free...no need to add another mouth to feed...even if it were a little.

So Emma bent down and tried to pick the cat up...but the cat backed away. It was like the little kitten was scared.

Emma tried shooing the cat inside, cajoling the cat. Nothing worked. And it was so cold. And the snow was starting to come down real hard. And Emma didn't want the cat to freeze.

The sheriff became frustrated. The poor cat was shivering in the cold, and Emma had this nice warm house the the cat could come into. With a roaring fire. And milk and whatever scraps Emma could come up with. The kitten would be safe.

But the kitten would not understand any Emma's hand gestures and any attempt to pick up the little animal would be met with more fear.

"I wish I could make this little kitty understand," Emma thought, frustrated and near tears at the plight of the small animal. If only...she thought...If only she can make that kitty understand that she don't want to hurt the little critter, that I want to help him. If she were a kitten herself...if she could BE a kitten and SPEAK a cat's language, then she can show him that there was nothing to be afraid of and that I want to help him.

And she could lead the kitten...into the safe...warm...home.

Emma stood there for the longest time and just looked out.

It was 8 o'clock. The bells of the chapel were ringing.

And Emma heard the bells. "O Come All Ye Faithful."

Emma heard the bells. Pealing the glad tidings of Christmas.

The cat had long scurried away. Leaving the blonde woman standing alone near the door of the mansion.

And as she heard the bells, with tears in her eyes, Emma Swan sank her knees in the snow.

The service had already begun. Nova was playing "Carol of the Bells" on the Wurlitzer when a blonde woman walked in wearing a cloth coat covered in new snow.

She walked to the pew where a young boy, three women, and two men sat. It was Emma's family.

Henry hugged her ma. "I'm glad you could make it!"

Henry's other mother Regina smiled her wife. Emma simply mouthed "I love you."

Waving vigorously were another couple, Mary Margaret and David, equally happy that their daughter could make the service. And between them all was Tinkerbell, still her coat, shaking almost as much as Emma.

"Cold, Tink?" asked a concerned Emma.

"Nah," said the fairy. "Just stepped out before you showed up."

Emma held Regina's hand as the service got underway, not seeing the sly wink that the brunette gave to the fairy.

A very knowing wink, indeed.

Merry Christmas.

This story was based on the "Man and the Bird," a tale that was the annual Christmas story told on the radio by Paul Harvey.

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