#cssecretsanta2019

She dunked an admittedly delicious homemade gingerbread man into her coffee, then bit its head off. “I don’t see why he has to be such a show off. It’s not like he can actually win the contest. He doesn’t have his own class, you know? Not really.”

“Maybe he’s just really into Christmas?” Mary Margaret shrugged. “Honestly, I think you may be taking this whole ‘Deck the Halls’ contest a bit too seriously.” 

“Says last year’s winner.”

“Or maybe there’s more to your fixation on Mr. Jones than just this contest?”

“Don’t start. It’s only about the contest. I wanna know what his evil plan is, that’s all.”

Ah, the annual Deck the Halls contest. Every homeroom teacher at Storybrooke was enthusiastically encouraged by the school principal to decorate their classroom door and hallway in festive winter style. The winning teacher’s class got some kind of prize, usually a special field trip. This year, students would be treated to a Polar Express themed ride on Storybrooke’s fully restored historic steam train. The kids could wear their pajamas and drink hot chocolate while they watched the snowy town pass by, and at the end of the ride, they’d get a chance to meet “Santa”. Emma’s fifth graders all seemed to think themselves too grown up for such a thing, but still… A little Christmas magic never hurt anyone.

Mary Margaret finished her tea and gave Emma’s shoulder a maternal pat. “Time to go pick up my little guys from the cafeteria.”

After her friend left, Emma let her gaze drift back to the object of her ire. Mary Margaret was right. Emma was definitely taking the contest too seriously, but that Killian Jones was just so damn infuriating. Ever since he’d transferred - no, swaggered - in from Misthaven Prep, he’d been the bane of her existence. He and his stupidly perfect hair. And his ridiculous flirty comments. And his stupid, ridiculous, unreasonably attractive face. The man may as well have had a banner over his head that read, “I’m sexy and I know it.” 

That was bad enough, but then came the first day of school after Thanksgiving break. Emma walked her class to Mr. Jones’s room for their music lesson to find he’d decorated the entire fine arts hallway to look like a giant gingerbread house with lights, human-sized gingerbread people and enough craft glitter to choke a reindeer. Between that and the caroling and the freaking cookies, how was anyone supposed to compete? 

And Emma really, really wanted to win. She had a competitive streak, sure, but it was more than that. It was-

Oh, crap. He caught her looking. And there he went with the eyes and the smile, and oh god he’s walking over to her. 

“Swan! I noticed you’ve been sampling my goodies. Fancy the flavor?”

Emma bristled. Killian Jones had a unique ability to say perfectly innocent things and somehow make them sound dirty. And also vaguely appealing, but that was beside the point.

“A little bland for my taste,” she lied. “They needed more cinnamon.”

“So the lady likes things a bit spicy. Duly noted.” He grinned at her, eyes alight with mischief. That smile of his was infectious - like the plague, Emma told herself - and she fought against the instinct to return it.

“My spice preferences are none of your business, Jones.” 

“Quite right, Swan.” He glanced downward, seeming appropriately chastised, but it only lasted an instant. He flashed those devilish blue eyes at her again with a wicked smirk to match. “Spicing up your life would be my pleasure, not business at all.”

Emma felt the blush begin to rise up from the back of her neck. It was bad enough that he could make her blush. She sure as heck didn’t want him knowing that.

She managed an unimpressed lift of her eyebrows and muttered something vague about picking up her class, before turning on her heel and exiting the lounge. At a perfectly calm and casual pace, thank you very much. 

—-

Later that afternoon, Emma sat at her desk grading papers. Or rather, sat behind a stack of papers that needed to be graded while staring around her classroom in an attempt to visualize a masterful decorating theme. Ugly Christmas sweater? No, that’d be a hot mess. Frozen? No, Ms. Arendelle the art teacher was already doing that. The Nutcracker? Nope. Mary Margaret won with that one last year. 

A knock on her door shook Emma out of her Grinchy brooding. “Ms. Swan? Can I come in?” Without waiting for a reply, Henry Mills barged in with an anxious smile on his face and a stack of printer paper clutched in his hand. “You said you’d read over my writing sample, remember?”

Emma pushed aside her grading and took the proffered essay. “How’s the scholarship application coming along?”

“The Sisters are doing most of the paperwork for me,” Henry answered. “I just need one more recommendation letter from a teacher and then my essay.”

The “Sisters” meant the nuns who ran the group home where Henry lived. It wasn’t the posh life that most of Henry’s classmates at Storybrooke Prep enjoyed, but the nuns cared deeply for the children in their charge. A better situation at least than Emma ever had during her years in the foster system. 

Emma read through the essay, all about the power of storytelling and how Henry aspired to be an author someday. He was capable of great things, that kid, but he needed the scholarship to pay his tuition so he could continue on at Storybrooke. 

“This is wonderful, Henry. I’m sure the scholarship board will approve you.” 

“Thanks, Ms. Swan.” Henry beamed at her for a moment, then glanced back toward her undecorated door. “Are you going to enter Deck the Halls this year? The judging is on Monday, right?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and leaned toward him as if confiding a secret. “Sure am. I’m just waiting until Monday morning so it’s a surprise.” Yeah, that sounded plausible, right?

Henry nodded, unconvinced. “It’s just that, well, I was really hoping our class could win this year. I’ve never been in a class that won before.” His focus shifted to a chipped spot on the edge of her desk. “I know it’s more for the little kids. I mean, it’s not like I believe in Santa anymore or anything, it’s just…” he picked at the chip making it worse. “The Sisters can’t really afford to take us anywhere, you know? And I thought it might be kind of fun to ride a real steam train and meet Santa just like in The Polar Express.”

He met Emma’s eyes finally. She knew that look. The I-want-to-be-a-part-of-something look. The I-want-to-be-a-regular-kid look. Her heart twinged with the familiarity. That. That right there was why she needed to win this year.

“Don’t worry, Henry. I’ll get you that train ride.”

—-

That Friday after school, Emma hit the local craft store. She bought tinsel and bows, little strings of lights and fake snow spray, garlands and non-breakable plastic ornaments. She even bought a sprig of freeze dried mistletoe for good measure. Come Monday morning, she had every intention of turning her hallway into a winter wonderland. 

As she and Mary Margaret walked to Emma’s classroom Monday morning, their arms laden with shopping bags, it quickly became clear that they were too late. Someone had beaten them to it.

Emma nearly dropped her parcels. “What the hell is this?” 

Wide-eyed, Mary Margaret took a hesitant step toward Emma’s classroom door. “I’d say it’s a train.”

Emma took in the sight before her, the initial shock slowly morphing into anger. Her classroom door had transformed into the front of a huge black steam engine, featuring a smoke stack that nearly reached the ceiling and a cardboard cow catcher protruding out at the bottom. Black duct tape train tracks laid neatly from the door clear to the end of the hallway. Blue butcher paper covered the walls on either side of the door setting a backdrop for a winter forest scene, complete with three dimensional evergreens made from layers upon layers of construction paper and fluffy white batting for snow drifts. Delicate tissue paper snowflakes had been hung painstakingly from the ceiling.

The Polar Express. Someone had turned her classroom - hell, half her hallway - into the Polar Express. It was beautiful. Perfectly executed. Emma hated it. 

She hated it because she didn’t need anyone’s help. She had it under control. Okay, so maybe her craft skills were not in the same league, but she had determination, damn it. Not to mention six bags of tinsel which she now had to shove into her supply closet for next year.

She hated it even more because she had a pretty good idea who the perpetrator was. There were only two teachers in the school capable of that level of Pinterest-worthy crafting, and since Mary Margaret looked as stunned as Emma, that only left Killian Jones. The one thing she couldn’t figure out was why he’d done it. 

“Looks like someone is trying to impress you, Emma,” Mary Margaret said with a sly smile. 

Emma shook her head. She couldn’t deal with her friend’s needling right now. She wanted to storm over to the music room right away and interrogate him, but she knew she needed to cool down first. Rationally, she told herself that the whole reason she became so invested in this silly contest was for Henry’s sake, and these decorations were sure to win. Irrationally, she simply did not want to deal with Killian’s smug, perfect face and whatever double entendre he was sure to throw her way. 

But it bugged her all day. 

Was Jones trying to be some kind of white knight swooping in to save her ass? Well too bad, mister. No one saved Emma but Emma. Did he want two chances to win? That didn’t make sense. As music teacher, he didn’t have a homeroom class so the prize didn’t apply to him. Maybe it was just the bragging rights? That could be. That was way more likely than Mary Margaret’s suggestive suggestion. Wasn’t it? 

She had to stop that train of thought right away before she devolved into the ten year-old mentality of her students and sent him a note: “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” Not that she thought he actually did. Not that she would want him to. It was only a point of curiosity. 

—-

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Emma’s classroom won the Deck the Halls contest. She waved sheepishly at her students as she walked to the front of the school assembly to accept the prize tickets from Principal Hopper, but one look at Henry’s bright smile had her grinning for real. 

As she scanned the crowd, her eyes locked onto another face. Jones’s bright blue eyes met hers with an unreadable expression. Wasn’t this his moment of triumph? Wasn’t he going to claim the glory? She raised her brows in question at him. Was it you? He gave a small nod. Yes. She subtly bobbed her head to the side. Meet me outside. The whole silent conversation only took a couple of seconds. 

After the assembly ended, the students were dismissed for the day. A small group of teachers herded them outside to the bus lanes, but Emma noticed Jones wasn’t among them. Her stomach began to flutter as she ducked out a side door from the cafeteria. She shivered when the crisp December air touched her face and shrugged on her coat, thankful she’d remember to bring it to the assembly with her. Why did she feel nervous? No, she wasn’t nervous, she just wanted answers. Right.

Emma heard the door creak open again, and Jones stepped out clad in a black leather jacket  that couldn’t have been much insulation against the winter chill, but did a marvelous job of framing his broad shoulders and lean torso. He looked… wait, did he look nervous, too? She needed to say something. Anything. Right now.

“What the hell, Jones?” Okay. Solid start. “You hijack my classroom, but you don’t take credit for it. I don’t get it. Did I seem like I needed saving? Because I’ve got news for you, buddy-”

“I didn’t do it for you, Swan,” he interrupted. 

“Then why?”

“I did it for Henry Mills.”

For Henry? Her student? Emma blinked at him, trying to formulate a response to this twist, but all that came out was. “What?”

“I happened to overhear your conversation with him last week. I had written him a letter of recommendation for his scholarship application, and I was bringing it to him when I noticed him going into your classroom. I figured I would wait outside your door until he finished talking to you. I wasn’t eavesdropping exactly, but the door was open.”

“So you heard him talk about why he hoped our class would win. And just what? Took it upon yourself to make that happen?” 

“Aye.” He ducked his head, looking almost shy. “I suppose the lad reminds me a bit of myself. I shan’t go into detail, but suffice to say my childhood was less than idyllic.”

Emma huffed a laugh. “I know the feeling.”

A tiny smile tilted the corner of Killian’s lips. “I thought you might. At any rate, the thing that made my young life bearable was my brother, specifically his insistence that no matter what, we would have a special Christmas. I simply wanted to be able to do the same for young Henry. I apologize if I overstepped, but a bit of Christmas magic never hurt anyone, did it?”

He reached up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, and that right there did it. The vulnerability of that simple gesture shifted something into place in Emma’s heart. She regarded him for a second longer, looking for any trace that this was an act, but could find none. So, she raised up on her toes, placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him softly on the lips.

Killian froze at the contact, and Emma was sure she’d made a terrible mistake, but then his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. He returned her kiss with exuberance, smiling against her mouth. Oh, god she’d never in her life been kissed like this. For all the sin his lips usually promised, this kiss held more joy than lust and an almost unbearable sweetness. His smile lingered even as they separated again.

Emma shook her head in a bit of a daze. “Wow, that was…” He seemed to stop breathing, waiting for her to finish the sentence. “-really unprofessional of me. Sorry.” Emma cleared her throat, but saw Killian’s expression droop. He took a step back.

“Of course. You’re right, Swan. That will ne-”

She reached out and touched his arm, halting his retreat.  “No, what I meant to say was, would you maybe want to get a cup of coffee with me sometime?”

No display of Christmas lights could have been brighter than the way his eyes lit up for her, and Emma thought fleetingly that she could get used to basking in that glow.

“Aye, Swan. I’d love to have coffee with you.”

----

Emma Swan has always been good at avoiding people. Avoiding drunk foster parents, avoiding teachers, avoiding police. She was really good at blending in so she wouldn’t be noticed, which was really helpful as a bail bonds person. But being the Savior and the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming make the avoidance of people much harder. Especially when it comes to Neal (who taught her many of those avoidance tactics) and Hook (open book as he would say). She tries to busy herself with planning the biggest Christmas celebration ever, but they both seem to find her every day.

“You’ve got to eat, Emma.” Neal whines for the third day in a row. He’s been trying to do a family lunch with her and Henry ever since the Curse that Wasn’t (as it’s being called in town).

“Neal,” Emma says through gritted teeth, “I don’t know how many times I need to remind you of this, but I am the sheriff. I have things to do. Henry is at school, and I will not pull him out just because you want to have lunch with him.” She continues to walk past him, hot chocolate in hand, towards the sheriff’s station, where she hopes to hide herself in paperwork. She’s convinced David to take any of the calls that might come in while she’s taken on the task of digitizing all the files (because they are in the 21st century, regardless of how old the computers are; she also mentally makes a note to upgrade their computers at some point). Neal doesn’t follow her, thank goodness, and she settles herself at her desk, ready to tackle old files and her Storybrooke Christmas Extravaganza (as Mary Margaret has dubbed it) list. Which is, of course, when Hook walks in.

The prospect of almost losing her seems to have made Hook lose some of his trademark swagger. Oh, he’s still good with an innuendo here and there, but he almost seems humbled by the fact that Emma is still in his life and he didn’t have to part with her by going back to the Enchanted Forest. And then, of course, there’s the fact that she really wants to kiss him again, which is why she’s avoiding him. It’s hard to avoid someone when they casually walk into your place of business though.

“If you’re not here to report some kind of incident, please leave,” Emma says a bit forcefully.

“Actually,” he says, producing a greasy bag that smells delicious from behind his back, “I brought you lunch.” He smiles triumphantly as he sets the bag down on the desk, careful not to get it near any of her paperwork. “Grilled cheese, just the way you like it.”  Emma opens the bag and sees a grilled cheese sandwich plus onion rings from Granny’s.

“I know you tend to forget to eat when you’re working.” He gives what Emma supposes is a wink, before he starts to head back out the door.

“You’re not joining me?” she asks incredulously. He turns back to look at her.

“You look like you have a lot on your plate, Swan. I didn’t want to be in your way.” He gives a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and then leaves.

Well, now. How is she supposed to work after that?

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It continues like that for the rest of November. Neal trying to get Emma to do anything with him and Hook just being there for her. It’s a testament to how different these two men are. Neal is still the selfish bastard that he has always been. If Henry isn’t available on his terms then he tends to throw a fit about it. Even Regina notices it which eventually gets Emma to confess all of Neal’s past misdeeds toward her. Considering the awful things Regina did as the Evil Queen, she’s appalled at how much of an ass Neal was… is. She refuses to let Henry see Neal when he’s staying with her, which Neal accuses Emma of orchestrating somehow.

Thanksgiving is a complete disaster with Neal and Regina coming to blows over Henry.  Emma isn’t sure why Mary Margaret and David thought it would be a good idea. Maybe they watched too many YouTube videos of the perfect Thanksgiving dinner, but hosting a dinner that includes a variety of former enemies (Regina and Gold, and by extension, Belle, were all invited by Henry) couldn’t be anything but a catastrophe.

“Henry is my son!”  Neal shouts as Regina says no to another request to have him stay over at his apartment that weekend.

“More mashed potatoes anyone?” Mary Margaret says, trying to defuse the tension.

“You didn’t even know he existed until a few months ago!” Regina says rudely. She is refusing to get into a screaming match during Thanksgiving. Emma can see how she is working to control not only her temper, but her magic. Little flares of fire sparking at her fingertips that only Emma seems to notice. Emma can see Belle trying to tame Gold’s temper as well, reminding him that Neal is a grown man and can fight his battles.

“Cranberry sauce?” Mary Margaret tries again.

“That’s not my fault!” Neal yells back at her, his face practically purple with rage. “Emma, tell her that’s not my fault!” Neal pleads.

She’s been trying to hold it in. She really has. With the exception of Regina, no one knows much about her’s and Neal’s past. Just that they were together and then somehow apart when she went to jail and found out she was pregnant. No one has ever asked why Neal didn’t know. No one has asked why she lied to Henry originally about who his father was. Everyone was just so happy that Neal could be in Henry’s life and that he, coincidentally, happened to be from the Enchanted Forest.

But Emma is tired of all the lying. She’s tired of tiptoeing around her parents because of their stupid hard-ons for Neal. She’s tired of Mary Margaret and David asking her to give Neal a chance. She knows David is doing it because he still doesn’t like or trust Hook, but Mary Margaret has deluded herself into thinking that because Neal was Emma’s first love, he’s also her True Love, and Emma hopes to God that isn’t true because what kind of True Love leaves you to rot in jail for their crime?

And Emma finally realizes why she’s been avoiding Neal since the Curse that Wasn’t. It’s not because she doesn’t want to choose between him and Hook. That was never a choice she needed to make. It’s because she doesn’t want to put up with all his bullshit, and specifically, having to explain to her parents exactly how much pain he caused her. Except he’s just asked her to explain to her family why him not knowing about Henry wasn’t his fault, when it is, in fact, all his fault.

“Neal!” Emma says standing up from her seat so fast that her chair topples over. Mary Margaret audibly gasps. Regina smirks.

“It’s not your fault that you didn’t know about Henry?” Emma’s trying to sound calm and collected with just a hint of a raised voice, but instead it’s coming out angry and vindictive. But she doesn’t care. She’s played his games and she’s done. “Then tell them, Neal. Tell them why you didn’t know about Henry. Why I had to give him up.” Emma’s voice wavers. The room is completely silent. All eyes look from Emma to Neal. This is not how Emma wanted this to go down. Not at all, especially not with Henry there hanging on every word, but Neal has forced her hand.

“Well, I...I mean, that is…” Neal bumbles around for something to say.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret cuts in trying to steer things back to Thanksgiving dinner, “maybe we should…”

“Could it be because I was in jail when I found out I was pregnant with Henry?” This is not news to anyone. Babe birthed behind bars is how the Storybrooke Mirror had worded it when she’d first come to town. “And why was I in jail, Neal? Hmmm? Why was I sentenced to 11 months in juvie?” Emma’s voice is getting louder and louder with each question asked. Neal seems to shrink back in his seat while Emma continues on her tirade.

“Could it be because you framed me for stealing watches that you stole? That you called in a tip for the police to catch me with one of them? That you did that because August had discovered you were from the Enchanted Forest and you were afraid to see your father again? Is that why you didn’t know Henry existed?” Emma is practically screaming now. She sees the looks of pity and then shame wash over Mary Margaret’s face, as anger starts to rise in David’s. She sees Regina’s smirk and Henry’s look of utter horror while looking at his father. Gold’s face, as usual, holds no emotion, but Belle is now in tears.

And Emma does what she does best, she runs.

She swears as she grabs her coat, hat, and scarf she hears David whisper to Mary Margaret, “I told you Thanksgiving would suck.”

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Emma feels like the debacle at Thanksgiving should have eased some of the tension she felt about Hook. She’s not worrying about what Neal thinks anymore, she’s not trying to appease everyone, and wasn’t that why she had started the whole Storybrooke Christmas Extravaganza in the first place?

She hasn’t seen Neal since Thanksgiving. If he wants to see Henry he either asks Regina or he has Belle ask Emma. Henry, on most occasions, does not want to see Neal though. After finding out exactly why Emma went to jail, Neal was ousted from the loft by David, who physically picked him up and threw him out. Neal at least looked chagrined, according to Mary Margaret, but did not try to explain himself whatsoever. Gold and Belle made a hasty exit after David threw Neal out on his ass.

The Rabbit Hole is the one place open on Thanksgiving, for those who don’t feel the need to celebrate a holiday that is not from their realm. And after leaving the sham that was Thanksgiving dinner, Emma needs a drink, badly.

She sidles up to the bar and orders a whiskey.

Then another.

And another.

She feels pleasantly buzzed by the time Hook comes in. He sits down next to her and orders himself a glass of rum and sips it. He doesn’t say a word, just watches her. Emma’s pretty sure someone sent him to watch over her, make sure she doesn’t drink herself to death. She’s not sure who, but she’s pretty sure David’s feelings towards Hook are a lot friendlier now than they were before.

“I guess you heard about Thanksgiving dinner?” Emma asks debating whether to get a fourth drink. The whiskey had been making her feel good, but now it is sitting like a stone in her belly.

“Nothing specific.” Hook says as he takes another sip of his rum. “Was just told that you might need a friend right now.”

“Is that what we are, Hook? Friends?” She’s right in his face now, batting her eyelashes, and lowering her voice to sound more seductive.

“Emma.” He warns. He brings his glass up in between them as a barrier. “I promised I’d make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

“And would kissing you be stupid?” Emma asks. She sees a hint of surprise in Hook’s eyes, but his features immediately change into the cocksure pirate.

“With the amount you’ve had to drink and from what I gather happened at dinner,” he takes a breath, “yes, I believe it would be stupid.” He finishes his rum and sets the glass on the bar, then takes out some money and leaves it next to the glass.

“I’m not going to force you to go home, but I know your parents are worried about you, Emma.” It’s that he calls her by her name and not Swan or love or the other myriad of nicknames he has for her that does it. She grabs some money from her coat pocket and leaves it next to Hook’s.

“I don’t want to go home yet.” She says slumping against Hook. He’s warm and he smells like leather and sea salt.  He just nods and leads her out the door.

They walk to the Jolly Roger. Emma starts to wonder if this was a bad idea and she should have just gone home and dealt with the consequences. The walk has sobered her up slightly, but not enough.

They walk up the gangplank onto the ship and down the ladder into Hook’s quarters. Emma feels like she has butterflies bouncing around in her stomach, and she’s not sure if it’s nerves from being in Hook’s personal quarters, or if it’s from the three glasses of whiskey she consumed in less than 20 minutes.

Hook seats her on the bed and heads over to the leather wingback chair that is at his desk. He gets out his flask and takes a swig and then offers her some. She shakes her head, she’s had too much as it is.

“Care to talk about it, Swan?” He asks.

“I outed Neal to everyone in my family and his family.” Emma says as quickly as she can. She tells Hook about meeting Neal when she was 16, about stealing the bug, about losing her virginity to him in the damn backseat, about the wanted poster. Hook’s expression grows serious when she tells him about the watches and the jail time. About finding out she was pregnant and then having to give Henry up because she was a 17-year-old kid in jail, all because she trusted the wrong person. Emma can see he’s reining in the anger, can see his jaw ticking and his fingers tapping. She sees in his eyes that he wants to pummel Neal within an inch of his life. But he doesn’t. His expression turns from anger to sorrow.

“Of all the things I imagined for Bae and his future, him setting up the woman he purported to love for a crime and with child in jail was not one of them.” His expression has now become somber. Like he could have stopped what Neal did in some way. And Emma begins to realize that is exactly what he’s thinking. If things had ended differently for him and a young Bae in Neverland, none of this would have come to pass. And Emma intends to tell him this, except those butterflies in her stomach start climbing up into her throat and Hook sees it a few seconds before it actually happens and manages to get her something to vomit into (some kind of chamberpot she assumes). He holds her hair back while she pukes up all the whiskey and part of her Thanksgiving dinner and then tucks the blankets around her when she passes out from sheer exhaustion.

When she awakes the next morning she sees Hook asleep in his desk chair. She quietly sneaks off the Jolly Roger and spends the rest of the day holed up in bed with a wicked hangover.

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She and her parents talk. Really talk. Mary Margaret can’t apologize enough for trying to push her toward Neal. David expresses much interest in beating Neal to a pulp. And as much as Emma wants to run away, she stays. They talk all day and into the night, Emma telling them her story of growing up in the system and her life with Neal and after. David calls Ruby to bring over food at some point. Mary Margaret cries, a lot. But Emma has put everything out on the table. Mary Margaret and David also tell them about their pasts. About all the terrible things that occurred before the curse, but all the happy times they had. Emma has seen it in the book, but hearing first hand accounts is a whole other ball of wax. The fact that Mary Margaret and David forgave Regina and are working through things with her blows her mind. Mary Margaret’s optimism flabbergasts her, but Emma realizes that she’ll need that as well to live in the same town as Neal now.

Emma starts calling Mary Margaret and David Mom and Dad. She feels they’ve earned it after everything. David beams with pride. Mary Margaret cries, again.

The Storybrooke Christmas Extravaganza starts consuming much of Emma’s days. When she’s not patrolling or dealing with the denizens of the town (specifically Leroy and his drunken antics), she’s working on the placement of pop up shops for the Christmas Market. Mary Margaret has posted flyers around town looking for people to compete in a Christmas talent show. Both Emma and Mary Margaret have gone around to all the businesses around the center of town to coordinate Christmas lights and decorations. Regina finds a whole stash of Christmas decorations in one of the town hall supply cabinets (“It’s called supply and demand, Miss Swan. How else would a magical town have food and goods when no one can find us to deliver those things?” Regina scoffs at her, like it’s common knowledge how curses work) that they use to decorate the 15 foot fir tree David and Hook cut and brought back to town.

And speaking of Hook, Emma notices he’s keeping his distance after Thanksgiving. He has become good ‘mates’ with David though.  He and David seem to hang out all the time and Emma is perfectly fine with that. At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. She’s not jealous that her father is hanging out with the man she wants to kiss again... and maybe more.  She tells herself that she’s too busy to start anything with Hook. Being sheriff and planning Christmas is too much on top of starting a possible relationship.

Whoa, where did that come from?

Relationship? She just wants more kisses, right? Maybe an orgasm...or two? She doesn't ...She can’t want ….

But now that Neal is completely out of the picture, she doesn’t feel so guilty about wanting to be with Hook. She’s lost the guilt she had for kissing the ever-loving daylights out of him in Neverland. She hopes he still thinks of her every day like he promised he would when Pan’s curse was pressing upon them, even though she hasn’t given him any reason to.

And it’s Christmas Eve, and Emma realizes that she wants to share that with Hook. She wants to see his eyes filled with wonder at all the lights, and the tree, and the present that she bought for him (yes, she bought him a present).

Everything has been going off without a hitch. The Christmas Market opened a week ago and Mary Margaret... Mom (she’s still getting used to that) made a speech and put Emma in the spotlight since this whole thing was her idea.  And Emma has been laying low at the station again, but not to avoid anyone this time, no she’s just trying to understand her feelings for Hook.

Because she suddenly feels like Harry when he realizes he wants to be with Sally for the rest of his life. And she kind of wants that life to start now.

“Dad!” Emma yells grabbing her coat, scarf, and beanie from the station coat rack. David comes out from the office with a huge grin on his face. He’s still so happy every time she calls him Dad. “I’m going out. Please only call if it’s an emergency.” He nods. She’s almost out the door when she realizes his present is still in her desk. She plucks it from the drawer, shoving it into her coat pocket, and she can see the understanding dawning on her father’s face. Emma runs out before her dad can either deter her or congratulate her on what she’s about to do.

She runs over to Granny’s where Hook’s been staying since the snow started. With no way of heating the Jolly Roger, he needed a warm place to stay. And because Granny is wrapped around his little finger, she gave him a pretty good deal on housing as well.  Of course with the Christmas market being right there, many people try to talk to her or tell her what a great job she did. But Emma doesn’t have time for that. Even Ruby gives a big, wolfish grin when Emma bypasses her to go directly to the stairwell.

Emma takes the stairs two at a time, barely noticing the garland strands and various decorations all around. She gets to Hook’s door and doesn’t even hesitate to knock. It’s in the two seconds that it takes him to answer the door that she starts wondering if she’s crazy.

He opens the door wearing just his leather pants and his linen shirt untucked. Emma notices bare feet, and eyes free of his sexy eyeliner. It strikes her how young he looks when he’s not all made up.

“Swan?” Hook asks concerned. “Has something happened?” She can see how this might look. Out of breath and knocking at his door. He probably thinks they’re under attack again.

“No, nothing has happened. Storybrooke is still getting ready for Christmas.”

“Oh.” He says confused. “Well, I’m sure it will be great, Swan,” he says. He looks at her, waiting for an explanation for why she is there.

Emma realizes that she has no plan. She just walked out of the sheriff station with a hazy idea and a When Harry met Sally quote in her head and expected… she’s not even sure what.

“Fuck it!” she says, surprising Hook, who gets even more surprised when she grabs his shirt and kisses the ever-loving daylights out of him. It’s similar to their Neverland kiss, a lot of heat and teeth, hands in each other’s hair, but this time it’s Hook who pulls away.

“Emma” He says, sounding completely wrecked.

“Killian,” she says sounding just as wrecked. He jumps a little at the sound of his true name and dares to look at her. Emma hopes he can see the love shining in her eyes; she can definitely see it in his.

“Do you know why I started this whole Christmas Extravaganza?” she asks him.

“I assumed it was so you didn’t have to deal with either myself of Henry’s father,” he says, grinning as her mouth drops. “Open book, love.” He smirks.

“Well, yes. That’s how it started out. But, Killian,” he shivers when she calls him that, “I realized that I never wanted Neal back. It wasn’t ever a contest. It’s always been you.” This time he surges forward and kisses her. The kiss is once again full of heat, but softer, more loving this time.

“Am I dreaming?” Killian asks nipping at her bottom lip. Emma pinches his side and he yelps in surprise. “I guess not, minx.”

“Look, Killian, I was sitting in the sheriff’s station and it just hit me. You’re who I want to be with. You’re who I wanted to be with even before Neal came back. I just-- I just had to figure it out for myself and it took a little longer than I expected. But I’m in now. All in.” Emma smiles at him.

Killian looks like he could be bowled over by a feather. He’s in complete and utter shock. “Swan, are you sure I’m not dreaming? Because this seems very much like the best dream I could be having.” Emma kisses him in response. He drags her into his room, kicking the door shut behind him.

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The next year, the Storybrooke Christmas Extravaganza is even bigger than it was the first year. David and Killian get a 20 foot tree this year and have an official tree lighting ceremony in the center of town, just like Rockefeller Center.

On Christmas morning, Mary Margaret, David, Regina, and Henry are not surprised to see Hook with them when they open presents. Emma remembers back to last year when they were surprised to see him, announcing their relationship to all on Christmas morning. He presents Emma with a carved wooden swan from Marco and August’s shop. He’d known the minute he saw it that he had to get it for her.

Emma gives him a glassy-eyed smile when he hands it to her, trying very hard not to let the tears fall. While her parents presents are heartfelt, she still has that feeling that they’re trying to make up for lost time. Killian’s present simply says he’s thinking of her.

“Thank you.” Emma says and gives him a kiss. “Here,” Emma pulls away but gives him another kiss on the cheek. She pulls a wrapped present out from behind her back. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

Killian takes the present from Emma. He carefully unwraps the paper from the box, opens it up, and looks at the gift nestled in the tissue paper inside.

It’s a compass, like the one he and Emma had to steal from the giant. A memory of their first adventure. It’s not the same one of course, but it’s the fact that she thought about it. He’s speechless.

“It’s so you can always find your way home.” Emma says kissing him again.

Emma can vaguely hear David say something about breakfast pastries and coffee being served, and she’s pretty sure she can hear Mary Margaret sniffling in the background, but she’s too busy looking at Killian.

“I think I finally found it with you, love.”

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