The room was dark and silent when Neal slipped through the door, but he knew it was not unoccupied. Accustomed now to the kind of quiet that meant she was trying to fall asleep but hadn't succeeded, he could feel her breathing somewhere deep inside him, could sense how she must be laying on the left side of the bed (his side, although he never complained). He smiled and closed the door softly behind him; it whispered on the carpet slightly before enclosing him fully in the stillness.

She, too, could feel him enter, could imagine the mass of his silhouette gently making its way over to join her. She lay still for a moment more before stirring, raising her upper body and pulling herself into a sitting position, back pressed against the wall. "Is he asleep?" she asked, voice only increments over a murmur.

"Out like a light. About time, too. He kept asking me questions about Christmas in the Enchanted Forest." Neal chuckled softly. "I told him he'd see for himself soon enough, but he still wanted to know every detail."

"That's my boy."

"Don't you think surprises are nice once in a while?"

"No. I like to know exactly what I'm getting myself into." Emma's voice was not without a hint of irony.

"Well, that's unfortunate. It definitely makes holidays harder," he said, alluding to a previous argument.

"Good. I take great pride in being difficult."

"I know you do."

He took off his slippers and got into bed carefully; she shifted to allow him to lean into her in that perfect complementary curve they had mastered years ago. He touched her shoulder, and she rested her head on his. "I suppose I don't mind a few surprises," she whispered. "Special cases."

"Oh, like me?" Neal said teasingly. "Well, that's a relief."

"Idiot," Emma said, but snuggled closer. "You're just lucky I believe in second chances."

"That I am."

They sat in silence for a few moments, synchronizing their breathing and heartbeats without really trying, feeling the darkness of the room and the absence of emptiness. Remembering a year ago, the two vastly different memories and rooms but with the same level of lonely. Then Emma found herself staring at the clock on the wall. 12:07 AM. Then, 12:08.

"Neal?"

"Yeah?" His body angled unconsciously towards her.

"Merry Christmas."

He, too, looked at the clock, then smiled – her eyes had now penetrated the unknowable dark and clung on to his features – and said, "Merry Christmas, Emma."

"Should we go tell him?"

He thought a moment before answering. "No, I think he can wait until morning." Then he laughed and added, "Though it wouldn't surprise me if he already knows."

"True." Then, "I hope he likes it."

"I know he will. He's got us, hasn't he?"

"Yeah. And we've got him."

"We do," Neal agreed. "And so much more." He raised his hand from where it lay on top of the sheets and carefully lifted her chin from his shoulder, then leaned over and kissed her – slow and undemanding, yet underlined by a desperate promise – a vow that they always would have this, their own small piece of perfection, their home with and within each other. And it would have gone on forever, perhaps, had not the door been suddenly and audibly opened, breaking them away from each other as they both turned to look, half-knowing already, half-smiling.

Henry's feet never could be completely quiet, though he had tried countless times and both parents had spent fruitless hours trying to teach him. He bounded through the door, whispering, "Mom? Dad? It's Christ- oh, whoops." He stopped a couple yards from the bed. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Watch it, kid," Emma said warningly, then sighed. "Okay, okay. Come in," she said, shaking her head half in wonderment and half amusement. "Close the door, will you?"

He did so loudly, then clambered into the bed earnestly. "Whoa, there," Neal said, laughing and reaching over to stroke his hair. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping? Santa Claus won't come if you're awake, you know."

Henry rolled his eyes and nestled in between the two of them. "Dad! It's officially Christmas. Plus, you're awake. Plus, Santa Claus? Really? That's obviously a hoax."

Neal raised his eyebrows. "So you can believe all the fairytales stuff, but you draw the line at Santa?"

"Duh. He lives at the North Pole and yet somehow manages to get millions of brand-name toys to millions of kids in commercially overflowing countries? In one night? Please."

Emma laughed. "He's got some fair points." She leaned over and kissed her son on his forehead, and he closed his eyes. "Between you and me, Henry, I never believed in any of that, either."

"So I can stay?"

Neal looked at Emma. She shrugged and said, "Why not?"

He sighed. "I suppose so. But you've gotta try to go to sleep, okay? Or at least pretend to. Certain people are tired, and I suspect you're not so immune to it either."

"Okay!" Henry snuggled down further in the blankets, and Neal covered himself with them as well, sliding into his usual sleeping position, albeit with a restless twelve-year-old boy pressed into his side instead of the usual softness of Emma.

The silence lasted about thirty seconds, then –

"Do they have Santa Claus in the Enchanted Forest?"

"Henry!" came from both sides of the bed.

"But do they, Dad?"

"No," came the muffled reply. "They don't. Now go to sleep."

"Okay, fine. Goodnight, Dad. Goodnight, Mom."

"Goodnight, Henry."

"Goodnight."

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too, kid."