AN: Sorry I can't answer reviews right now...FF is being weird...Ever had those moments when you are so stressed before holidays, you're on edge over most anything? I certainly have and I thought P and D probably have, too...I intended on this being a Thanksgiving/Holiday oneshot, but it ended up becoming a three shot...and who knows? Somewhere down the line it could be more...I'll let you all decide! ;) Happy Holidays, everyone! Love, Kricket

Chapter 1

"Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother's house we go," Penelope sang out loudly in the passenger seat of Derek's Ford. It was toasty and cozy in his front seat with the heater on full blast, and the smell of her homemade apple and pumpkin pies permeating the interior. It was snowing lightly, as it had been for the past twenty four hours, the fluffy snow coating the trees making the world look like a winter wonderland. It was a perfect set up.

However, those were the only perfect things at the moment.

Derek had chosen the absolutely wrong moment to irritate the crap out of Penelope. He'd been late picking her up. He'd gone out the night before, and because of that, he overslept. Not only that, he showed up completely empty handed. He was supposed to bring ice cream to top her pies, but Mr. Sleepyhead didn't bring it.

Yeah...she was pissed, and she knew he knew it, too.

"P, there's no rivers anywhere nearby," Derek said, looking in his rearview mirror to change lanes. "Wrong song."

It only took a second, before Penelope began singing, "Ohhhh, over the highway and through the woods, to Grandmother's house we go..."

Derek shook his head. "Nope. Won't work." He shot her a teasing grin. "We're going to Rossi's cabin, and knowing his taste in women, ain't a grandma in sight there."

She glared back at him, and then began again, "Over the highway and through the woods, to Hugh Hefner's house we go."

Derek chuckled. "That's a little much, baby, don't you think?"

"No," she snarled, her patience as thin as a soaked rice paper, "since you are trying to paint him that way."

He paused for a moment, and then said, "Hey, I was just teasing-"

"Nooooo," she snapped, drawing the one syllable out. "You are trying ruin my holiday spirit."

"No," he argued through gritted teeth. "I was trying to lighten it, since all you've done is sing nonstop carols on the radio since you stepped into the car."

"I'm avoiding talking to you!"

"Obviously," he muttred. He was sick to death of Jingle Bell Rock, which made her dance in her seat usually, and The Christmas Shoes, which made her tear up always…because this time she wasn't. Because he was in a mood, too, he hit the button on the stereo, only to get another channel playing nonstop carols.

That just added insult to injury.

"See?" she cried, outraged for herself. "That's what I am talking about...being snarky and changing the channels, you mood blackener!"

"Your mood is your own damn fault," he muttered under his breath.

"What!" she gasped, staring daggers at him. "Say that to my face, buster!"

"I'm trying to cheer you up!" he growled. He turned to look at her. "Your mood was pissy before I even-"

That was all he got out when he suddenly felt the car lose traction.

"Derek!" Penelope cried in fear.

His eyes widened and he gripped the wheel. "Shit, baby...hold on!"

Dread filled Derek as they roared along. He fruitlessly hit the breaks, clenching the wheel tightly. He was so rattled, he made the fatal mistake of oversteering his car against the direction of the slide. The car turned began to spin and skid, and then slid into a farmer's field on the side of the road.

Derek said, "God, P…are you alright?"

At the same time, she said, "Derek! Are you okay?"

Their panicked and concerned faces matched each other's perfectly, which caused them both to smile somewhat despite their mood and the trauma of what just happened. Neither of them answered the question…and neither said sorry.

Derek turned back to the wheel and put the car in reverse, and then drive, and then reverse again. The tires just spun and spun, like Rumplestiltskin weaving gold for the princess.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Trying to rock the car out of this snow," he answered, lightly tapping the gas pedal. "I'm a native Chicagoan; we know how to get out of snow."

On an impulse, Penelope rolled down her window, saw snow and mud up to the floorboard of Derek's car. "D...I don't think you're getting out of this."

He frowned, and then tried to open his door. "Let me take a look…"

Penelope watched intently as he opened the door and mud immediately began to ooze into the car. "Oh, frack," she moaned pitifully.

Pulling the door shut the inch he'd managed to open it, he rolled down the window, and was greeted with blowing snow in his face. He undid his seatbelt and pushed himself up to hop out the window, Dukes of Hazard style, but then looked all around the car.

They'd slid into the field a good fifty feet. The tires of the car were buried in mud, and mud was splattered all along the sides of his Ford. It would've been funny, if it had happened on tv, but because it was happening to him in real life, he didn't find it humorous at all.

"I'll call a tow truck," he grumbled, sliding back into his seat and rolling the window up.

Derek clicked his phone. Both of them stared silently as it rang, and realized it could be a very long few hours...