#csss fic

So, instead, she had strung some simple white lights up the stairway bannister, gotten Henry a small fiberoptic color-changing tree for his own room that he seemed fascinated with watching as he settled in bed each night, and they had gone out seeking brand new stockings, claiming the old ones were in bad shape, and treating him to hot chocolate after that job instead. Henry hadn’t seemed much phased by the alteration, and she fared much better only having to see the gaily twinkling tree when she bid her son goodnight. She felt nothing even close to the holiday spirit herself.

Dr. Jones - Killian - true to his word, had stayed with Henry that night in the hospital; though they must have seen her go by when she left the room where Graham’s body had lain and looked for her together until finding her in the chapel. He’d accepted her embarrassed apologies without asking for further explanations, and she had been grateful. It was clear Henry had already taken a liking to the man as well. Looking up at him as if they were already old friends, and pulling him into their mournful huddle when Emma had finally broken the awful news.

It had seemed wise, when the hospital recommended and Emma found her insurance would cover it for at least a couple months, to seeking counselling sessions with Killian - particularly since Henry was already comfortable with him. She wasn’t about to put herself on his couch and open up her own cache of trauma, but she wanted to be certain Henry was coping and healing properly, and though she couldn’t fully explain it, even to herself, she trusted Killian Jones in that regard. Henry had seen him for a first session not long after the funeral, and had been to Dr. Jones’ office twice more since then, once a week.

Just then, Henry wasn’t at home. He had gone to the sledding hill at his school with one of his friends. Their family had gladly offered to take him along, and Emma had been relieved to see his excitement bubbling over at the afternoon’s opportunity. Once he’d been properly bundled up and out the door, Emma had devoted a couple hours to researching and tracking down leads for one of her current cases - petty theft and stalking and other such misbehavior took no holiday vacation - she set herself to the task of making something hearty and warm for supper when Henry returned.

She had just checked on the tuna noodle casserole that she was pleasantly and surprisingly pleased with the appearance of (cooking had never been her strongest skill, but she had been giving it a concentrated effort in the last few years and was getting better) when she heard the doorbell ring out in the hall. Emma closed the oven door, reset the timer, and headed that way calling out to the unknown visitor that she was coming. It seemed too early for Henry yet, so she was curious just who she might find on the other side of the door.

Peering through the peephole, Emma saw that Killian Jones waited patiently in the second floor hallway, and though she couldn’t figure why he was there, she had no qualms in opening the door to greet him.

When she swung the door open, Killian smiled warmly, nodding his head slightly to acknowledge her hello. She could see that something was on his mind though, as the easy good humor of his usual smile didn’t stretch across his face, some unspoken concern evident in his eyes. Even as she beckoned him further into the hall, Emma felt a weight in her chest wondering what could be wrong.

Shrugging a bit uncertainly, she attempted a bit of a playful half-smile, trying to either gloss over or alleviate the anxious energy present between them. “Not that I’m not happy to see you,” she tried lightly, “but I hope you haven’t come to make a house call. Henry isn’t here.”

Killian managed a light huff of laughter at her weak joke, but was already shaking his head ‘no’, making clear that his concern was elsewhere. “No lass, I was hoping to speak to you. Henry told me of his sledding adventure, and I picked this afternoon with that in mind.”

Emma’s brow furrowed with confusion, “You did?”

Jones still seemed unnecessarily discomfited, dipping his head for a moment to study his scuffed boots and the color pattern of her carpet before releasing a sigh and seeming to square his shoulders. When he raised his face to meet hers once more, Emma was pinned where she stood, unable to move or look away, her breath suddenly caught in her throat. A sort of knowing skittered down her spine at the conflicting emotion in those blue depths; she wasn’t going to like what he had to say, that must be why he was so reluctant, and yet he seemed determined to speak regardless.

Opening her mouth in an attempt to stop whatever he was attempting, Emma shook her head but couldn’t force out anything audible.

To his credit, Killian Jones was a better shrink than any Emma had encountered in her youth, and he read exactly what she was trying to do as if it were printed across her face. “Aye, I did,” he exhaled, and then ploughed forward, needing to get it all out before he could rethink the action or she could interrupt. “I felt compelled to discuss my concerns with you after seeing Henry for a third visit. I hope you know, I don’t say any of this to upset you, Swan. It’s clear you care very much for your boy and want what is best for him, but…” he wet his lips, pausing for a moment to draw courage before continuing, “I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t share that it seems Henry still feels under a pall. He opened up that he misses your usual live tree in the living room, and other yearly traditions. He also admitted that he hesitates to fully celebrate this Christmas, because he knows you are unhappy.”

Emma blinked rapidly as she stumbled back to lean against the kitchen island. Though Jones said he didn’t intend any affront, it was impossible not to go on immediate defense. Crossing her arms tightly across her chest like a shield, Emma knew the sharp pitch to her voice was unmistakable. She couldn’t help it. It stung thinking that she hadn’t been as careful, as convincing as she had thought, and that Henry had been worried by it. Her knee-jerk reaction was to lash out, and to flounder for a convincing argument that this man who had known them mere weeks must be mistaken. “What do you mean he can’t celebrate?! We’ve hung stockings and watched Frosty. He loves his new tree - it’s in his room!! Wouldn’t I know if he were missing something else? If he’s still feeling down, isn’t that to be expected? Graham hasn’t even been gone a month! You don’t need to dig up problems under the surface!”

Killian looked down again, biting back a quick retort as if trying to rein in his temper. It made Emma’s rising frustration even more volatile. “Don’t pretend you’re all patient and understanding! You come in here, acting like you know just what I should be doing for my own kid, or that you know what he needs better than I do. You don’t know me, or all that Henry and I have been through together. Three half hour sessions don’t make you the expert on my son!” She was getting worked up now; she could feel it. Yet, there didn’t seem to be a way to bring her emotions back under control. She felt cornered - both angry that he would question her parenting and sinkingly afraid that he might be correct. Henry was sensitive and attuned to others; he could easily have picked up that her heart wasn’t in the holiday, no matter how she had tried to disguise the fact. Her sweet boy would worry over her, along with shouldering his own sadness and loss. He wouldn’t want to ask for something he thought might hurt her. While she was internally castigating herself for not coming to the realization sooner, it only made her upset at the man standing before her grow. She knew, logically, that she wasn’t being fair to him, but logic didn’t have control in the moment.

Those blue eyes were fixed on her once more, looking pained but resolute, as Killian tried to follow her backward steps, even reached out as if to take her hand and attempt to soothe the reaction he had caused. soothe the reaction he’d caused.

But Emma sliced her hand through the air, narrowing her eyes in warning. “Don’t,” she stated firmly, stopping him in his tracks. “Whatever you’re about to say, Doctor,” the emphasis she put on the title was scathing, “save it.” Her face stopped the words on his tongue. He was the one momentarily frozen as she had been before. Her lowered voice hissing, “You’ve done enough,” brought him back into motion, only to flinch from the pain and anger equally clear as it radiated from her hunched form.  Before his eyes, the indignance that she’d held herself up with dissipated. The fire that she’d spat at him moments ago extinguished, and she shrank inward with it right before his eyes.

When he could catch his breath, Killian couldn’t help but fire back. He’d only been thinking of the young man who had already burrowed into his heart, but if this was how his concern was met, he was wrong to have tried. “Pardon me for thinking I could be of help,” he growled, words wrung from his throat grudgingly. “You may think I cannot possibly understand, but you don’t really know me either, Miss Swan. As it turns out, I’m actually quite perceptive… and your boy is hurting.”

As she shook her head that time, it seemed more like a frantic denial. No more words were said, as they both panted, trying to put their protective walls back in place. To see tears streaming down her cheeks pierced right through his defenses again, more than it had any right to. 

Seeing, at least in the moment, that there was nothing else he could say or do, Killian bowed his head, admitting defeat. “I’ll see myself out,” he murmured.

And when the door clicked closed behind him, Emma finally discovered that her tears had not yet run dry.

~~*~~

Killian found himself aimlessly walking the city streets for some time that evening. After leaving Emma’s place, he was too worked up to go home and sit alone, reading or watching television as he usually did. He had nowhere to be, but perhaps he could burn off his excess energy and tame his ricocheting thoughts. The lights strung up in store windows and along the sidewalks twinkled merrily, but none seemed to glisten as brightly as the silent tears on Emma Swan’s face in his mind’s eye - tears that came in response to his words.

He still didn’t think he had been in the wrong as a counseling professional, and simply as an adult who cared about him, Killian had needed to share his concerns over Henry’s mindset with his mother. There had been the distinct possibility that his words would not go over well, but it had seemed what he had to do all the same.

Nevertheless, he had caused hurt - intentional or not. As he had seen the emotions flash across Emma Swan’s face, it had suddenly driven home to him a deeper layer he had not realized. She spoke up with a show of anger, claiming offense that he would question her parenting or wonder if Henry were missing something, but beneath that outward reaction, and under the obvious layer of grief and sadness, he recognized something else, an emotion he’d glimpsed in her once before, but dismissed as improbable and all in his imagination. If he’d had to label it, he’d called it guilt. Still, just as before, that hardly made sense. Could she be blaming herself for the loss of her love somehow? Why would she? And, if so, was the poor woman punishing herself, feeling she should not be allowed to move on and find happiness again?

Though she was clearly not about to open up to him anytime soon, Killian Jones had already long since deduced that Emma Swan was a woman of strong self-sufficiency who had clearly been made a survivor by Fate’s often capricious vagaries. Her mistrust of his chosen profession was also telegraphed in her so clearly she might as well have said it out loud. He might not know the details of her history - as she had so forcefully reminded him - but he could not help but wish for the ability to help, and that she would let him. That glimpse of pain and guilt had brought him new focus and understanding; his goal now clear. There would be little healing under bitter self-condemnation… and whether she now wanted anything to do with him or his advice, Killian knew all too well how misplaced blame weighed a person down. For the sake of his young charge, and his mother, he could find a way.

As he was pondering all this, Killian noticed that he stood outside a small shop still open despite the later hour; an old fashioned looking shop of decor and handicraft items. His feet had turned to enter almost before his mind gave signal to do so. A bell chimed over the door as he stepped inside, while cinnamon and cloves pleasantly invaded his senses. His lips twitched upwards despite the deep thoughts engrossing his attention, and he gladly gave into the full smile and the warmth spreading in his chest at the friendly greeting offered by the gray-haired woman at the register who looked up over her glasses to greet him upon his arrival.

He assured her he was merely browsing and began to meander the crowded but charming aisles, drawn to all the engaging and unique items filling every available nook and cranny, even if he wasn’t yet sure exactly what had so definitely pulled him to this place in particular. Each new display he encountered was delightful and entertaining, catching the eye in a simple but irresistible manner.

Killian turned the corner into the final row, toward the back of the small shop, where a fully decked Christmas tree was lit and stood shimmering in all its finery from a cozy alcove, when he saw it. The very thing he needed without even knowing it was what he’d been seeking. The perfect gift to present as a peace offering the next time he saw Emma Swan - if she would accept it from him at all. Dangling from an upper branch, delicately catching the lights and sending dazzling rainbowed reflections out across the room, was a crystal swan, as graceful and lovely as Henry’s mum, in spite of the woman’s added fierceness.

Reaching up to remove the fragile ornament from its perch, Killian was momentarily taken back to the brightly lit, small but well-loved cottage of his youth. He could see his own mother beaming at him as they’d decorated a tree together while the snow fell heavily outside. He had not known it then as he’d sat curled beside her on the sofa with hot apple cider and snickerdoodle cookies while admiring their handiwork, but he was not meant to have many more Christmases with her. It would be years before he could properly navigate his own anger and grief at how quickly sickness had taken her and left Killian and his older brother alone in the world; even longer before he could fully appreciate the prophetic wisdom of the words she had whispered to him that night in the golden glow of that fragrant spruce tree. “Enjoy the moments like this one, my Killy.” The love in her eyes made his younger self feel like the most important person in the entire world, so much so that he didn’t even mind her use of the nickname he had recently begun to find rather childish. She’d ruffled his dark hair that matched her own with tender fingers as she continued, “We must make the most of the good times we are given in this life; they can be fleeting and far between, but they make all the rest of it worth the struggle.”

The memory faded away, back into the haze of his past, as Killian cradled the small object in his hand and moved back to the front to purchase the swan. He thanked the shopkeeper genuinely, complimenting her lovely collection, and she winked playfully in response, almost as if she bore some sort of Mrs. Claus magic or perhaps just a hint of extra knowing, “Thank you, Dear. You come back anytime. We aim to have just the thing a person needs.”

A bit dumbfounded, Killian nodded his agreement and walked a bit dazedly out of the store, clutching the bag that contained his purchase tightly… like the rare gift that it was. He felt rejuvenated, back on course. He would at least have the opportunity to see Henry again, and he now had an offering as well, to go with a sincere apology for any offense he might have caused despite his noble intentions. If nothing else, he would have one more chance to help Emma Swan see that she deserved a second chance at happiness - and that a person had to live and enjoy the time he or she does have.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssecretsanta2020 @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose

@laschatzi @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @spartanguard @optomisticgirl

@xarandomdreamx @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jonesfandomfanatic @bluewildcatfanatic