Neal yawned as he twisted the handle and bumped his shoulder against the door, instantly letting his bag drop to the floor. It was late—probably close to midnight—and the house was completely dark, other than the Christmas lights outside and the fireplace in the family.
Damn it, Emma, he thought wearily, trudging over to turn it off. She always fell asleep with it on—she was going to set the whole house on fire, one of these days.
"Gotta stop doing this, Em," he muttered, running his hand over the wall to find the switch. "How many times do I have to—?"
"Neal?"
"Jesus!" Neal yelped, putting a hand to his heart. He turned around wildly, staring at her with wide eyes. "Emma, you scared the hell out of me."
Emma smiled vacantly, stretching her arms. "I was waiting for you," she slurred. "You're late."
"Yeah, I know. I had a thing…" Neal trailed off, only just now taking in her outfit. "Why are you dressed like a hooker?"
"I'm not a hooker." Emma gestured vaguely to her ensemble: a very short red, satiny dress with white faux fur attached to the hem. "I'm a festive hooker."
Neal raised an eyebrow. "Yeah…look at that."
"It's sexy Mrs. Claus!" she said delightedly, struggling to stand up. "I was going to have 'Santa Baby' playing, but I couldn't find the—whoa!"
Neal caught her as she staggered on her wobbly legs. "Okay, you are drunk," he said, his voice strained. "Come on, stand up—stand up…there you go."
Emma laughed softly against him, hanging off his neck. "Kiss me, I'm Irish."
"No, you're not."
"Kiss me, I'm not Irish."
"You gotta get to bed, Em. Come on, walk—"
"Kiss me, I'm not Irish!" she insisted.
"All right." Neal dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Now, come on—I'm too tired to pick you up, you gotta walk."
"Nah, man, nah," Emma complained, pushing away from him. "I had the fireplace going, I had the wine, I was working the sexy-Mrs.-Claus thing…and you want to go sleep?"
Neal looked at her wearily. "Look, Em, it's been a long day, okay? I'm exhausted, you're exhausted…and not gonna lie, the Mrs.-Claus-thing kinda freaks me out."
Emma looked down at herself, and back up, crinkling her brow. "How does this freak you out?"
"Mrs. Claus is, like…you know, like someone's grandma or something." Neal wrinkled his nose, shaking his head. "It's too weird."
Emma scoffed, holding her arms out and angling her body awkwardly. "Are you saying you think you can resist this?" she asked, wobbling slightly.
Neal rubbed his eyes tiredly, sighing. "Maybe tomorrow, okay?"
"But—wait—" Emma turned around, rummaging through the couch cushions. She fished something out and whirled around triumphantly, holding it high over her head. "Look! Mistletoe."
"That's not mistletoe, that's a car air freshener," he said exasperatedly.
"Mistletoe!" she insisted, tottering toward him. "Come on, Neal!"
Neal caught her a second time as she fell against him, one arm wrapped tightly around his neck, the other raised as she dangled the air freshener over them.
"Come on," she urged. "I had the whole thing all set up. Don't bail on me, man."
Neal struggled to support her as her legs gave way. "Honestly, Em, you're so drunk right now, I feel like it would be borderline date rape at this point."
"I'm not drunk, you're drunk," she grumbled.
"Okay," he sighed, walking backwards to drag her toward the stairs. Emma started to hum "Santa Baby" under her breath, scrabbling as she struggled to place her feet in front of each other.
"Santa Baby…something something….I've been an awful good girl, Santa Baby…something sexy and I don't know the rest…"
"Very nice. Lift your foot."
Emma squinted at the floor, trying to match her foot to the stair. "Why does it keep moving?" she frowned.
"What, your foot?"
"The floor."
Neal looked at her for a long time; then up the stairs; then back at Emma. She raised her eyebrows, following his gaze as he considered the stairs again.
"I don't know if we're going to make it all the way up there," she said in a loud whisper.
"Yeah, I think you're right."
"Couch?"
"Gonna have to."
"Come with me?"
"If you want."
"How's that for irony?" she yawned, smiling as he half-carried, half-dragged her back to the couch. "You said you were too tired to sleep with me tonight."
"Cheap shot, Em. I award you no points for that joke."
"I'm drunk off my ass, dude, what do you want?"
