#csss17

The Other Hook lets out another groan and winces when he touches the gash at his temple. Emma sees the other version of herself gently move his hand away, and cup his cheek tenderly. “Here, let me heal it,” she says.

But Other Hook shakes his head, “You can heal me later, Swan. We have to go.”

“No, I’m going to heal it now,” Other Emma insists. “You’ll be no help with a bleeding wound.”

She hears Other Hook mutter, “bloody, stubborn woman,” but acquiesces to her request.

This Emma has magic. Just like her. She obviously knows how to use it. Unlike her.

The Other Hook gives the woman in front of him a loving smile, as they rise from the ground. “Thanks, love.”

“Killian, he has Liam,” Other Emma says with tears gathering in her eyes.

“We’re going to find him, Swan. I promise, we won’t let anything happen to him,” Other Killian tries to reassure her.

Emma can’t even think straight right now. All she sees in front of her is a version of herself and Hook, holding onto each other as if giving the other strength, and talking about some boy. She can’t wrap her mind around it all. You know exactly what this looks like, the pesky voice says to her.

“Find who?” Henry asks, looking at the newcomers in fascination. She can see the curious and excited glint he gets in his eyes every time something new is revealed about fairy tales and magic. She’d be proud he’s the first one brave enough to speak if she still wasn’t in a state of shock.

Other Emma and Other Hook seem to break out of their bubble and notice the whole group in front of them for the first time. When their eyes land on Henry, the look they give him can only be described as nostalgic.

“Henry,” Other Emma whispers in reverence. “You’re so young,” she lets out a quiet laugh.

Henry gives her a confused look, but she clears her throat before he can ask what she means. As she takes a deep breath, the Other Killian wraps his arm around her waist. And then she says the last thing Emma would have expected to hear.

“We need to find Liam,” she says. Then looking directly at her she continues, “our son.”

Future Emma POV

She thinks she’s going to give her past self a heart attack by the expression on her face. And Killian’s past self doesn’t look any better. They haven’t even explained anything yet, and the two look like they’re about to pass out.

Killian tightens his hold around her waist and she draws strength from him. She remembers herself at this point of her life, how guarded and closed off she was. But right now she doesn’t have time to placate the past version of herself. They need to find Liam and get him away from Pan’s clutches. Her heart constricts painfully at the thought of her baby boy in the hands of that psychotic teenager.

Sensing her restlessness, Killian takes matters into his own hands.

“We know this is a shock, and we will explain everything once we get our boy back,” he begins. “Right now what you need to know is that we’re from the future.

“And yes crocodile, I know it’s not possible. But that’s in your time. Obviously there is a way since we’re here,” Killian explains when he sees Gold about to interrupt.

Everyone listens carefully, and Emma nods for Killian to continue.

“Our son, Liam was kidnapped by Pan. A few days after we made it back to Storybrooke after saving Henry, we discovered Pan had followed us back. He almost cast a curse where we would forget our memories and he would rule Storybrooke. Regina was going to stop it by sending everyone back to the Enchanted Forest except for Emma and Henry, who had to stay here in order for it to work.”

At this she sees her parents flick their eyes to Past Emma, and Regina places her hand on Henry’s shoulder, as if he’s going to be taken away from her.

“We were able to stop him before his curse could take effect and imprisoned him in Pandora’s box. In our time he’s found a way to get out, kidnapping Liam.” Killian’s voice cracks as he speaks. She places her hand over his heart to soothe him. They’re both about to lose their minds if they don’t get a move on.

“We need your help to get our son back because now there’s two Pan’s running around Storybrooke,” Killian finishes.

“Good job bringing another Pan over,” Regina glares at them.

“We didn’t bring him here, your majesty,” Killian replies in a clipped tone. “Pan kidnapped our son and opened the portal. This was part of his plan. He wants to change the past and cast his curse. Obviously when he had our son, we jumped in after them.”

“Why does he need to come back to cast the curse? Can’t he just do it in your time?” asks Henry.

“As we all know, to cast the dark curse you need the heart of the thing you love most. Since we stopped Pan’s curse after it was already enacted, he already used a heart. Felix’s. Which means in our time Felix is dead. And since he’s been stuck in Pandora’s box all these years, he hasn’t had a chance to make new friends,” Emma explains.

Any other explanations could wait, they were wasting time. Emma was never a patient person and with her son’s life on the line she’s not waiting any longer.  

“Enough talking. We need to find Liam. Now.”  

Past Emma POV

Gold and Belle make their way to his shop to get squid ink that will help freeze Pan long enough for them to entrap him in Pandora’s Box once again. They need to check they have enough for both Pan’s. Gold, as much as anyone, wants his father gone and most definitely does not want to deal with two of them for long.

Regina’s gone off to prepare in case Pan manages to cast the curse quicker this time, following the instructions Future Emma and Hook gave her to stop it. Regina wondered whether Pan would do something different this time around, but they assured her he didn’t know how they stopped him.

Her parents left to fetch their swords and bow and arrows to help in the fight. As they were walking away she could see them talking in furtive whispers, no doubt Mary Margaret lamenting over the fact she doesn’t get back together with Neal, and David trying not to freak out that a pirate ends up marrying his daughter.

Future Emma and Killian are at the front of the group, leading them to the well where Pan cast the curse the first time. They’re holding hands as Henry walks next to Future Emma, talking a mile a minute.

She’d smile at her son’s enthusiasm if she wasn’t so caught up in her own thoughts.  

Neal left with his father and Belle, his shoulders hunched and a frown on his face. Honestly, she’s not surprised she doesn’t get back together with Neal. She can’t see herself trusting him that way again after what he did to her. As messed up as this situation is, it’s solved one problem for her - getting Neal off her back.

But it’s created a new one with Hook. She can feel his gaze on her, but since the arrival of their future selves she hasn’t been able to meet his eye. She’s sure she’d see the yearning look that’s been etched on his face since their first kiss in Neverland. That was the best - and hottest - kiss she’d had in her life. She shakes her head as if the act could rid her of such thoughts.

 But seriously, she and Hook? Married? And with a son? She has another son. With Captain Hook. It’s not that hard to believe. Stop it! Great, now she’s yelling at herself. This is what living in Storybrooke (and pushing away feelings for a certain pirate) does to a person.

Emma lifts her eyes from the pavement to look at her future self. She looks the same, yet different. Her smiles come more easily, less guarded.

Actually not guarded at all. She just seems open.

Happy.

Even with the worry etched on her face, she can see happiness underneath it. It’s all Emma’s wanted her whole life; to find happiness. And this Emma has it.

The answer to her unhappiness is on her left side, still trying to catch her eye. And she can literally see it right in front of her. It’s her future. With Hook.

But as much as she wants it, and as how obvious it is that it works, Emma still can’t take that last step. She’s still too afraid to open up her heart again.

Future Emma POV

They finally make it to the well and Emma hurries her steps, clutching Killian’s hand tighter to lead him to the clearing. She can hear voices and she looks around anxiously for any sign of Liam.

She sees him curled up on a log on the forest floor, crying softly with fear in his blue eyes.

“Killian,” Emma says with a sob stuck in her throat.

“I know.” She sees his jaw clench in anger.

Storybrooke is relatively peaceful now, and they will get a random creature here or a magical mishap there. But since Zelena (who’s now on good terms with her sister), this is the biggest threat her baby boy has faced in his five short years. Her heart breaks seeing him like this, but she takes a deep breath to focus.

She turns on her “Savior Mode,” as Henry likes to call it. Okay, they can’t just barge in. They need a plan.

It’s time to face her past self directly. She hasn’t talked to her this whole time, knowing she needs time to process (and probably still hasn’t finished processing) everything, but she needs her help to get her son back.

She glances quickly and sees both Pan’s and Felix talking. She turns back to her past self.

“I’m going to need your magic to help me,” she says.

Past Emma looks at her with wide eyes. “I ca- can’t use magic,” she stutters. “Not well.”

“Well you’re going to have to tap into it,” she says a bit harshly.

She can see her past self’s eyes harden so she softens her voice. “Please, I can’t do this without your help. You just need to believe in yourself and in whom you’re protecting,” she looks at Past Emma imploringly. “I know you don’t know him, but that’s your son over there. And you just came back from Neverland, we both know how it feels to have our son taken by that psycho teenager. Think back to how you felt when he had Henry and use that to activate your magic.”

She sees Past Emma relax, sympathizing with her. She nods to herself and closes her eyes in concentration. She holds her hand up, but nothing happens. Taking a deep breath, she tries again. Past Killian comes up and whispers, “you can do this, Swan” and then a white light finally hovers in her palm.

Emma smiles to herself, knowing Killian’s encouragement is a big source of her strength, even back when she had her walls up. Her past self looks at the white light in her hand in awe.

“Good job, mom!” Henry tells her.

Past Emma gives him a warm smile. “Thanks, kid.”

Then Past Emma looks at her. “You’re a good teacher.”

“I have to be, I’m the one who teaches Liam how to control his magic.”

“He has magic?” Past Emma asks surprised.

Emma nods. “Being the son of the savior and the product of True Love will do that,” she says carefully.

Past Emma and Killian’s eyes widen and they gape at her, but she can deal with them later. When she sees her parents make their way toward them, she turns to her past self.

“Are you ready?”

Past Emma snaps out of her thoughts, giving her a firm nod.

“Thank you.” Emma unearths a hand from her blankets to accept a steaming mug of coffee from her newest friend, setting it atop the quilt covering her knee. She’s long since traded the lounger chair for a seat on the couch, but her muscles are sore now that her nerves are thawing out.

She tries to say more, but just the breath draws up a cough. The cold had scratched rawness into her throat, drying and chilling all it could reach. The back of her hands still feel like ice as her body warms from her core to her extremities — even she can admit she’ll be out of commission for a day or two. Emma takes a swig from the mug to stifle her cough, and the next noise from her is one of surprise. Whatever Elsa’s made her, it does not taste like Swiss Miss.

“Did you put something in this?”

Elsa’s cheeks faintly color. “My sister and I love to drink hot cocoa when it’s cold. It’s not Arendelle chocolate, but I tried my best.”

“It’s incredible.” The smell wafting up from the mug is rich, like the whole thing is filled with melted chocolate. It’s ridiculous that Elsa looks unsure, even if she understands the apology behind the offering. Emma nearly manages to ask about the sister she’s looking for when Henry comes tumbling back down the stairs, pajama-clad and towing the quilt off his own bed.

“I promise you, kid, I have enough,” she chuckles, fighting back another cough.

“I brought it down for me,” he tells her, pretending it was his plan all along. He seems intent on sleeping at her side for the night, and she doesn’t quite have it in her to tell him no — especially since he’s not the only one.

Save for taking off his own boots and following her to the couch, Killian has yet to leave her side. At first he’d knelt next to the chair, watching nervously as her mother and father warmed her with blankets and an electric heater. He’d hung back quietly while the rest of them debated calling Doctor Whale, the quiet brush of his thumb against her hand the only reminder he was even in the room.

Slowly, feeling returned to her fingertips and toes, and somewhere along the way she’d ended up here — Killian’s arm around the three layers of blanket surrounding her shoulders and the rest of her family filling the room.

It was a little overwhelming, the way each of them kept trying to find ways to take care of her. If it wasn’t the mug of cocoa it was an extra layer of socks on her feet. If it wasn’t the socks, it was her father adjusting the angle of the electric heater every five minutes.

She can feel the rumble of another small laugh in his chest when her mother gets up in search of another pillow for her. It’s the least serious noise he’s made since they got back, which is another good sign, but it doesn’t lessen her own annoyance.

“Think Elsa would mind freezing anyone else?” she mutters, watching Henry wrestle his own quilt as he folds himself into the chair.

“It might not hurt to ask.” He turns and considers her, clearly glad that her family is all she has to complain about. There’s still a fair amount of relief in his eyes, but there’s tenderness too, a softness that matches the gentle weight of his hook brace on her knee. It remains long after her family manages to calm down and divert their focus toward settling Elsa up for the night.

Granny’s more than willing to take a new resident without causing a commotion. Her parents take her, along with a few hastily grabbed clothes from Emma’s room, and for a while everything in the loft is entirely quiet. Henry’s long since fallen victim to the combination of his own cocoa and blanket. The hiss from the electric heater and the quiet snores from her son are all she hears, and for the first time she almost feels warm. Emma lets herself daydream, thoughts wandering until a particularly amusing one tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“We’ve got to get you something with a higher collar.”

“Pardon, Swan?” Killian answers, sounding half-asleep himself. Without the flurry of her parents and Elsa around them he’s relaxed against the back of the couch. If it weren’t for all the black leather, he’d look perfectly at home.

“I know the cold doesn’t bother Elsa, but the rest of us have to buy coats.”

“I have a coat,” he insists, a little stubbornness working its way into his voice. He sounds like Henry does when she wakes him up for school, and suddenly it’s hard not to picture him here, especially knowing he traded away his own home to bring her back to hers.

“Does it actually keep you warm?” she counters.

“Neverland had a decidedly warm climate, love. Besides,” he shifts, fiddling with a lock of her hair that’s come free of the blankets, “I’m far from cold at the moment.”

A whisper of a smile makes its way across his mouth, and she can’t help but agree. She can feel the warmth in his thumb as it brushes her jawline, in his eyes as they follow the motion and linger on her lips, in the soft anticipation building in her stomach as she watches to see what he’ll do.

Her father picks that moment to walk through the door, and then its the warmth of embarrassment coloring the tips of Killian’s ears pink that she lingers on. Mary Margaret gently wakes Henry, nudging him up toward his room, but David’s concern is laser-focused on her.

“I think it might be best if we all got to sleep,” he says pointedly, nodding up the stairs. “Emma, I can help you up the stairs if you need it.”

Killian takes the hint, squeezing her shoulder before moving to stand. He reaches toward his boots, seemingly intent on putting them back on, and Mary Margaret nudges her husband in the small of his back, a not-so-subtle hint of her own.

“Killian,” David relents with a long-suffering sigh, as if they’ve been arguing about this on the entire trip back from dropping Elsa off, “We’ve got an extra pillow or two if you want the couch for tonight.”

“I’m sure Granny has a bed to spare, mate, but thank you.”

“It’s the least we can do,” Mary Margaret insists, laying her hand on David’s shoulder before he can accept Killian’s reply. “We insist.”

Killian turns to see how Emma feels, whether it’s too much, but he only catches her smirking in amusement at her father’s dubious expression. It’s the quiet joke between them, the shared connection she’s only beginning to let herself explore, that has her memorizing his answering nod for a moment when she’s alone in her bed.

“All right,” he answers softly, setting his boots back down. “If you insist.”

Snow, real snow, falls softly on the windowsill in the morning when Emma awakes. Soft voices filter up from the kitchen, along with the smell of honey and syrup, and she realizes she’s almost swelteringly warm. Someone — she’s not sure which of her parents are to blame — set another heavy blanket over her as she slept, and it’s more than done its job.

Her legs are sore when she swings them out to set her feet on the floor, but they hold steady, carrying her down the stairs. Henry and Killian are at work in the kitchen, the younger flipping a pair of pancakes on the griddle as the older frowns at the coffee machine.

“The light keeps flashing. It’s not pouring the water out.”

“You’ve got to push it down at the top, like this,” Henry instructs, leaving the spatula behind. He’s genuinely patient with the pirate, which is its own source of amusement as she moves closer.

“The bloody Ice Queen got it to work,” Killian grumbles, stepping away to give Henry room.

“Maybe she used her magic,” Henry suggests, pushing the mug beneath the dispenser just as hot water begins to pour out. He notices her when he turns back to look at his pancakes and lets out a loud groan of disappointment at her presence, even as he steps forward to hug her.

“Good morning to you too, kid,” she laughs, tucking her arm around his shoulder.

“We were gonna surprise you with breakfast,” he explains, sighing heavily. “You weren’t supposed to wake up yet.”

“It smells too good. I couldn’t stay asleep.” She catches Killian’s eye, taking in the softness a night’s sleep has laid on his face, and just like before, it feels right. He fits in perfectly amidst her mom’s kitchenware and her son’s bedhead.

“Morning, love,” he smiles, not even pretending he’s disappointed. “Are you hungry?”

“I guess I’d better be,” she replies, looking at the formidable stack of pancakes they’ve already made. “Weren’t you two tired?”

“I woke up and came down here and Killian was already awake. I knew he didn’t know where we kept the cereal or the bowls, but he asked me if I was hungry, too, and then he said we should make everyone breakfast!”

“It was the least I could do,” he admits, echoing her mom’s words from the night before. Killian reaches behind him and holds the steaming mug out for her, stepping closer so she doesn’t have to cross the kitchen to speak to him. As far as either of them can tell, David and Mary Margaret are still asleep across the loft.

“Thanks for helping him,” she tells him, slipping her hand over his rather than simply taking the mug from him. She leans in and presses a soft kiss to his cheek while Henry’s distracted with plating more pancakes, and then she tugs him over to sit at the countertop.

Henry insists they make breakfast a big affair, going so far as to lament the fact that Elsa couldn’t join them. If her father feels uncertain about having Killian at the counter with them, he doesn’t say a word. It’s about the closest thing to normal that they’ve ever had in Storybrooke. With her family surrounding her and Killian’s foot nudging hers every so often, she eats slowly, letting herself hope it’ll last.

Emma still found it a bit unnerving to be in the house, their house. Although, it didn’t feel like their house yet. It didn’t help that most of Killian’s belongings were still on the Jolly Roger, Emma hadn’t asked him to move in, yet. Plus, there were still stark reminders of their times as the Dark Ones before their trip to the Underworld.

She cringed at the thought, everything that had happened and that was said between them. Emma thought she had lost her chance of her happy ending, again, when she had to leave him there. The elevator ride was the most painful moment of her life. Even worse than the times Killian had died, maybe because she knew somehow, he’d always come back, he was a survivor after all. But then? Then she thought that was really the end of their love story. Thank god - eh Zeus - that it wasn’t the end though.

They hadn’t really talked about what had happened, granted it had only been a few days and they were separated by another damn portal, still, they needed to talk. Wow, Emma Swan wanting to talk out her issues? Needless to say, Killian Jones truly brought out a different side of her.

She made her way over to the kitchen, although infamous for her lack of cooking skills, she decided she wanted to make something special for Killian. She figured it would help ease their way into the difficult night ahead. While racking her brain of something to make, she remembered that even though he was a seafaring man, he did love Italian food, and she just so happened to have the ingredients to make them some chicken parmesan. She had a few hours to put everything together before he would be home.

Since their return, he decided it would be “good form” to get a job and help be a law-abiding citizen, especially since he fancied the sheriff and wanted to get in her good graces. He took Henry with him to the docks to help make sure all the ships’ licenses were up to code. She was thankful that after everything, Henry and Killian still seemed close. She knew he missed his father, but it was nice for him to have Killian to look up to as a… pirate.

Before Emma put the chicken into the oven she got a text from Snow, asking if they wanted to go out for dinner, but Emma told her that she and Killian were having a night in. Snow offered to take Henry for the night, but Emma informed her that he was spending the weekend at Regina’s house. Since her split from the Evil Queen, she’s been on edge and Henry helped her.

Emma looked up at the clock, she still had about half an hour left, she set everything on low and decided to change into something a bit nicer than sweats. When she went upstairs the first dress she pulled out was the pink dress she had worn on their first date. She smiled at the memory, but then she remembered. That wasn’t the only time she had worn the dress, she had poofed it on when they were on his ship when he had told her, he had loved her. She pressed her lips into a thin line, a single tear slipped from her eye, only by thinking about that evening. Suddenly she heard the front door open. She shook her head slightly and tried to get it together. The one glass of wine she had while cooking had not prepared her for this night. Maybe she should’ve had a swig of rum.

“Swan? Are you home? Where are you, love?” She could hear the worry in his voice, it was a common occurrence around the house. Maybe one day they wouldn’t have to fear about the others’ life as much.

“Yeah, I’m upstairs. I’ll be right down!” She decided to forgo a dress, instead she went with some jeans and a violet V-neck shirt that made her eyes pop ever so slightly. Emma rushed downstairs hoping he did not spoil her dinner surprise. However, she was surprised herself, when she saw he had a Granny’s to-go bag in his hand. Seemed as though they both had the same idea for the night.

“Hello there, love. I thought I would try and help out with dinner, but it seems as though you beat me to it.” He reached up and scratched his ear, a nervous tick of his she desperately missed seeing.

“I was trying to surprise you with a nice dinner, but we can-”, he cut her off with a kiss.

“No, Swan, this looks perfect. Thank you, darling.” A quick blush graced her face, she took a few quick strides over to the kitchen to make their plates.

Dinner was-, well, it was downright awkward. Usually, the silence between them wasn’t so uncomfortable, but both knew where this evening was leading to and neither wanted to start off. Killian tried to lessen the tension by mentioning how Mr. Haydock’s license was expired and it was Henry who caught it, but Emma had enough.

“Killian, I killed you.” Not exactly the elegant touch she was going for, but when did Emma Swan ever shy away from being blunt?

“Aye Swan, that you did, only after I told you to. You wouldn’t have needed to do that if I hadn’t given into the darkness.” The shame overflowing from his face, the disgust in his voice evident.

“Yeah, well if I had listened to you and not turned you into the Dark One or lied about Excalibur that wouldn’t have happened.” She didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, she couldn’t look at him at all. She finished her glass of wine and poured a rather healthy amount back into her glass. This conversation was only beginning and Emma knew she shouldn’t be drunk for it, but she needed some liquid courage.

“Emma, I’m not going to play this “what-if” game with you all night. Aye?” Emma shook her head, knowing that this was going to get them nowhere if they just kept at it. “Emma, please look at me,” his smile failed to reach his eyes, “I have done unspeakable things during my life, but nothing as heinous as what I did as the Dark One. I put everyone you love in danger, because of my thirst for revenge. I don’t expect you to forgive me anytime soon.” He took a deep breath, finally, he searched for her eyes. “Maybe, uh, I think it’ll be better if I left for a little.”

Emma’s head shot up again with his last statement. “You- you’re kidding, right?” Killian didn’t even bother to try and look her in the eyes, she could see he was holding back tears. “After everything, you’re the one who’s going to run? That’s rich, Hook.” She spat out his moniker back at him, not feeling an ounce of guilt.

“Emma, please, I have caused so much pain I need to leave you, let you heal without a constant reminder of who ruined your life.” He didn’t even wait for her rebottle, instead, he got up from his chair, walked over to the coat rack for his leather jacket (the one Emma had bought him), and without even looking back at her walked out the door.

Staring at the now closed door, she couldn’t hold back anymore, the tears came rushing out. Emma thought she had cried out all her tears after he died, but somehow there were still some left in her. Her sobs turned into her convulsing on the couch. No matter what she tried she could not seem to get in control of herself. Instead of fighting it she let it all out, there was no need to hide now. Growing up, Emma thought crying, hell showing any emotion, made her weak, but she has learned that it’s healthy to let it out. Granted she wished she was expressing happier emotions, but she knew she needed to let her body run its course.

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She had made him bloody dinner, one of his favorites too. And like the git he was, has he messed it up. Emma, his Swan, wanted to talk. The woman with the walls as high as that damn beanstalk, they once climbed, wanted to communicate, to work through things. But he couldn’t though.

Killian was far from forgiving himself for what he had done to her and their - her family. He knew he shouldn’t consider himself as a part of the Charming’s, he was far from any hero. A hero wouldn’t have lied to the woman he loved, hurt her and her family to seek revenge on the bloody crocodile, or have them risk their lives to save him from the blasted Underworld.

Although he shouldn’t have walked out on her, he knew that. Killian thought it was a bit late though to turn around, but he needed to be the man Emma knew he could be. So, he walked back to the house. Before he could open the door, he heard her - she was sobbing uncontrollably.

He moved over to the porch and he could see her on the couch. He saw what he had done to her, he was to blame. His own tears started teasing his eyes, he lifted his right hand swatting them away - with no luck. He quickly ran from the house not being able to stand the sight of seeing his true love in so much pain.

They were true love. Dammit. Why was he acting like this? She still loved him, she had told him outside of Granny’s after his return. She saw the good in him, she still wanted to be with him after everything.

He needed to go for a walk, to get out of his own head. As he made his way pass Main Street he could see into Granny’s, her parents and Neal making their way to the exit. Killian tried to hurry along. He could barely look Emma in the eyes, let alone her parents who he had tried to kill and who had risked their lives several times to save him.

“Oh! Killian!” Dammit. Snow had seen him, he knew better than to try and ignore the royals so he made haste to catch up with them.

“Your majesties, lovely to see you.” He gave a short bow and a sly smirk as if that would fool them. Snow shot a look over at David and handed him Neal then, with much more strength than he realized she possessed, took him to the middle of the street by his arm.

“Alright, spill it. What happened? Emma told me you two were having dinner tonight and here you are Emma-less and with tear-stained cheeks.” Her voice softened towards the end of her declaration, knowing that tonight had not gone to plan for her daughter and the pirate.  

“Aye, no getting by you, is there m’lady?” His charm was failing him yet again., Besides Emma, Snow always could see right through him, maybe she got the lie detector ability from her mother. “It seems as though I have broken my promise I made to you and the Prince all those months ago. I promised I would never hurt Emma, but I did. I also hurt you, your entire family. I never truly apologized for all the mayhem I caused, m’la-Snow, I am sorry. What I did is-”

“Human. Killian, yes you messed up, but you’re human. You might’ve been immortal, but still. It’s not your fault, and I’m not saying it’s Emma’s fault either. You can’t beat yourself up for your sins forever, you know?” She grabbed his arm, trying to elicit some sort of response from him.

He looked up at her, tears in both of their eyes now. He didn’t know why but suddenly he blurted out with the truth. “I thought it would be better if I gave her space, let her heal in peace without me around, but that was a horrible idea. I hurt her again, tonight. She tried to make us dinner, she wanted to talk, but I ran. I keep hoping I can outrun my past, but it seems as though I’m not fast enough. I don’t know what to do, I’m so scared to let her down again.” He choked on his last word, Snow then reached out and pulled him into a hug. Although she was significantly shorter than him it felt comfortable, familiar almost.  

They just stood there, in the middle of Main Street with Killian finally opening up and letting his emotions spill out from him. Snow never let go, she rubbed his back with such a maternal touch, it caught him off guard. He had gone without a family for so long, but now he was here, hugging Snow White, the mother of his true love. He took a deep breath and stepped back from her, both wiping their eyes.

“Killian, for what it’s worth, David and I forgive you. We have for a while, no one holds any ill will against you. You need to stop beating yourself up for something you could not control, okay? As for you and Emma, when people are supposed to be together they’ll find a way. Now, go find my daughter, I’ll see you both at family dinner tomorrow.” His eyes must have shown his shock, he had joined them for dinner plenty of times, but never ones deemed “family dinner”. Perhaps he still stood a chance. He walked her over to the truck where David was waiting for the two of them.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, mate.” Killian didn’t expect him to say anything, and although “mate” had been tossed around between the two of them, he looked into David’s eyes and saw he was being sincere. For the first time, all night Killian felt a smile grace his face, a sincere one. David did something surprising, he brought him in for a hug. They were a touchy bunch these Charmings, but he would never complain. The hug was significantly shorter than the one experienced with Snow, but yet just as meaningful.

He decided he needed to clear his head properly and figure out how he was going to make everything up to Emma. The docks seemed like the perfect place for him.

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After what seemed like ages Emma woke up, she must have passed out after her cry. She looked over at the grandfather clock, it was three in the morning. She should have gone up to the room, but she couldn’t imagine going to what was supposed to be their bedroom alone. No one would be up, so she figured her best bet was to go for a walk to try and clear her head.

She shouldn’t have been really that surprised that she ended up at the docks. Killian always took her here whenever she was upset. He said it was his job to protect her heart, but right now she felt as though her heart had been ripped from her chest. She knew that there were still a few hours from sunrise, but it was a cool summer night and sitting out here for a while would probably do her some good.

Emma knew she had already forgiven Killian, for everything. She just needed to figure out how to express that to him, before he could run away again. Not that she blamed him for running away. She had run away from the conversation over the last few days, just not physically like he did. As Emma kept walking she noticed a figure sitting in her usual spot, she knew exactly who it was.

“Killian?” She said tentatively, not knowing if he would really want to see her after everything. He turned around startled by her voice, even in the pale moonlight she could see how distraught he was. His eyes rimmed with redness, his hair messier than normal as if he had been running his fingers through it all night.

“Aye, love. What are you doing here at this late hour?” He sounded guilty, knowing that he was the reason she couldn’t sleep, which was partially true. She took a few steps towards him looking at him as if she was asking permission to sit down so he swiftly nodded. They sat on the edge of the dock in silence, much like they had done during dinner.

“Killian, I-”

“Emma.” Both said at the same time, Killian raised his hand, hoping Emma would let him go first and she did.

“Emma Swan, I feel like I owe you a million apologies. I should have never run out on you like that. I was scared, but that’s not good enough of an excuse, nothing is. Your mother and I had a bit of a chat tonight.” Emma looked over at him to see if she could read how the conversation between them went. When Killian gave a quick smile, a rush a relief overtook her.

“Your mother said I needed to stop trying to run, that I cannot beat myself up forever for what I have done. Although I understand, I don’t know if I can ever forget what I did. But I want to promise you that I will move on and will learn from my past mistakes. I want to be this better man for you, Emma.”

She reached over for his hook, holding it as she always did, but Killian still weary flinched at the contact. Emma couldn’t handle it anymore, she decided to pull him in for a hug. Both started crying once more, suddenly she realized the last time he saw her cry was when they were in the Underworld saying what they thought was goodbye.

No.

She had to stop living in the past, living in those dreadful moments. Her dad once told her life was made up of moments, good and bad, but that it was worth it all. It was then she decided she was ready to start making some of those good moments.

“Killian,” she pulled back from his arms, fear quickly spread across his face, “I am tired of living in the past. You, flaws and all, are the man I want to be with. We can’t keep running. I know I am just as guilty of it, but you come to me Killian, you lean on me, you trust me when things go wrong. We work through things together. You said we make quite the team? Let’s prove your theory. I still want that future with you, the house the yard, the kids-”

Emma didn’t mean to make it slip, but she couldn’t lie, watching Killian with Neal made her feel some type of way, something she never expected to feel again. He seemed to have caught that admission and she was surprised to see the pure joy that now danced upon his face. It seemed as though she wasn’t the only one who thought about their possible future family.

“I can’t promise that this will be easy, there will be times that I drive you crazy and you’ll question your sanity, and you’ll probably-” for the second time tonight, he had cut her off with a kiss. This kiss, however, was full of promise. Promise for their future, together.

“Swan, as much as I’d like to watch the sunrise with you, I think it’d be best if we head back.” She looked over at him, a big smile appeared on her face. The man she loved, the man who loved her, he was back. For good.

They walked home, hand in hand just as they had done a million times by this point, but Emma felt different about it. As they walked in silence it was no longer uncomfortable, it was actually quite relaxing. There were no underlying tensions to take away from their moment, their happy moment.

Killian opened the door for her and stepped to the side, always the gentleman, even adding a bow to really sell the moment. Emma stood there watching her true love.

“Move in with me.” It wasn’t a question, she knew this is what she wanted, what they both wanted. She heard Killian let out a small gasp, his eyes grew wide, and his smile took over his face.

“Killian will totally pay you,” Henry promises and Marco’s eyes get even wider as if he’s personally offended by the idea. “I mean he was willing to bribe everyone into silence so…” “We agreed to stop calling it bribes,” Killian mutters, but it doesn’t do him any good and Marco’s already drawing sketches and mumbling under his breath about working through the night. “And you don’t actually have to spend all night working. This is…” Marco gapes at him as if he’s just suggested he start working in steel instead of wood and Killian bites his tongue. Henry laughs. He’s going to do damage to his throat. “We’re working under a deadline, Captain,” Marco says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world and he wasn’t half a step away from his bed a few moments before. “And if her majesty would be so kind as to help locate some wood, I’m sure my boy would be happy to get it for me. After that, it’s more muscle memory than anything else. I’ve made plenty of these in the past.” He nods back towards the sketches he’s already finished and Killian’s not even surprised to see several different ideas already and maybe everyone in this blasted town has some hint of magic. Or maybe they all simply want Emma to get a present.

It’s probably the latter.

Killian nods, finger tracing over the graphite sketch and Marco tilts his head as if he’s being inspected. “You really can get this done by the morning?” he asks, nerves clawing at the back of his brain still and he’s already watched enough of those films to know that there is something particularly impressive about Christmas morning.

“Of course,” Marco nods. “As I said, the design is the tricky part. But if Henry might be so kind as to bring the old piece here, I could even use some of the cushioning from that to help construct this. Might cut down on time.” Henry twists his mouth when Killian glances speculatively at him. “I mean... I guess?” he shrugs and it’s not the certainty Killian was hoping for. Although, he supposes, neither one of them began this day believing one of them would be asked to push Emma’s office chair down Main Street. “It seems like it’d be kind of obvious. You’re probably going to have to give everyone like two-hundred doubloons or something to shut ‘em all up if they see.”

“You’re just picking out numbers now aren’t you?” “I have no idea what the conversion rate of doubloons to normal money is.” “Far higher than whatever mathematics you’re doing.”

Henry scowls, but he’s already got his phone out of his back pocket and pressed against his ear, mumbling words under his breath when, presumably, Regina answers. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says. “I don’t know...I’m not the one making the chair.” He shifts his shoulder, holding the phone with it and glancing in Marco’s direction. “Mom wants to know what kind of wood she’s supposed to be looking for and…” He turns towards Killian, smile tugging on his lips. “Wanted to point out that Mom and Grandma were just seen leaving the library and very much on their way home.”

Killian’s whole body droops with the force of his sigh and even Marco laughs lightly at the dramatics of it all, but he’s not sure how quickly he can run and they were supposed to be home two hours ago.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles, tugging on his hair. “Alright, are we…” Marco grins, grabbing a set of tools and nodding in response to a question Killian hasn’t actually finished. “What do you say to ten o’clock on Christmas morning, Captain?” “You can do this that quickly?” Henry asks before Killian can even begin to think about nodding. Marco shrugs. “It’s a rather easy design. And I’m not chopping the wood. Ten o’clock seems more than manageable.” Killian blinks, compliments and thanks sitting on the tip of his tongue, but there’s a flash of smoke in the workplace and Regina appears in front of them, August in tow and there’s suddenly a distinct lack of space in the room.

And what appears to be several stacks of wood.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” Regina gapes at Killian, waving both hands through the air and August grunts when she nearly elbows him in the side. “Emma was turning down your street five minutes ago. You’re supposed to be home.” “Where are you getting this information from?” Killian asks. Regina shrugs. August tries to shift his weight so he doesn’t damage his back while keeping a hold on the ridiculous amount of, what might actually be, birch tree in his hands.

“Snow has been texting me updates because everyone knows both you and Emma have spent all of Christmas Eve lying to each other.”

“This is not a lie.” “It’s a calculated move against Christmas,” Henry mutters and Regina quirks an eyebrow.

“That almost sounded rehearsed,” Regina says. The entire room jumps when August dumps the wood on a nearby table and he mumbles a quiet apology while Killian wonders if he can just will himself into his own living room. “And,” she adds, nodding pointedly in Killian’s direction. “You really need to get home. Because you’re not the only one with issues. So go play distraction.” Killian narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Oh my God,” Regina groans. “You are here. Emma was, clearly, not at work all day and spotted by no less than five dwarves, one former cricket and her father is sitting in the station pretending like he’s ready to exercise some authority sooner rather than later. It’s obvious what’s going on isn’t it?” He shakes his head slowly, but it only takes half a moment to realize and Henry’s words seem to ring his head –  you weren’t the only one who ordered things online.

Goddamn internet.

He curses several sea monsters again.

Henry laughs.

Marco hammers something.

Regina makes a noise that almost resembles a growl in the back of her throat, kicking at his ankles, when Killian doesn’t automatically move, but it’s all starting to make sense and he runs a hand over his face when his mind can’t seem to settle on a particular point.

“Marco,” he says suddenly and the man’s eyes snap up towards him. Regina practically hisses. “We just need to add one more thing to this design.” It takes a few more seconds and Regina is seething by the time Killian closes his mouth, but it’s important and this is important and Emma’s, apparently, spent the better part of her day running around Storybrooke as well.

He realizes somewhere around the halfway point of his near-sprint home that he probably could have asked Regina to just magic him there, but that absolutely feels like cheating and just arriving in the middle of the house would probably terrify Emma.

The front door is already unlocked when he twists the handle and Killian squeezes his eyes closed when he realizes he didn’t make it back on time.

There's humming coming from the kitchen when he toes out of his boots and his keys make a quiet noise when he dumps them on the tiny plate he still can’t quite believe actually exists for such a thing in this realm.

She’s standing in front of the sink, rocking back and forth and there’s music coming out of one of the speakers. It’s one of those carols she’s been singing under her breath for weeks – even if she won’t admit to it.

She’s clearly been home for quite some time already – hair pulled up and standing in her socks with a spoon in one hand and a bowl resting on her forearm.

“And here I thought we’d be dining on popcorn and malt balls,” Killian mutters, stepping into her space until his chest is half an inch away from her back and Emma doesn’t flinch. She probably smiles. He assumes she smiles

He absolutely knows she smiles when she leans back, resting her head on his shoulder and her hair threatens to find its way into his mouth.

“You’re late,” she mumbles, eyes twisting up to try and stare accusingly at him. She only manages to cross them and he’s laughing before he can stop himself, an arm wrapped around her middle to try and pull her even closer. “And a great, big, giant liar.” “I resent the implication, love. You were supposed to be at work, filing non-existent paperwork.” “Yeah, well, if you weren’t so weirdly efficient that would have been a plausible excuse.” “Once again, these insults seem to sound like compliments, Swan. What are you making?” “Baking,” she corrects, swiping her finger through the mixture and it’s equal parts endearing and distracting. “Or, well...eventually when the oven heats up.” Killian hums, but he’s suddenly far more interested in that small bit of Emma’s jaw and the way her breath hitches slightly when his lips land on it and they’re alone in that very large house with an oven that isn’t quite prepared to bake whatever’s in that bowl.

“You need to put the bowl down, love,” Killian says, fingers tracing over the curve of her hip and just underneath the hem of a shirt that is, at least, two sizes two large. It might actually be his.

She laughs, turning slightly and trying to drop the bowl on the counter without dumping batter all over the floor or, he’s quick to realize, move too far away from him. It does something absurd to his ability to take a deep breath and his lungs still aren't entirely recovered from his sprint across Storybrooke.

Emma presses up on her toes, slinging one arm over his shoulder and letting her fingers drag across the back of his neck and he can just barely make out her slightly smug smile before his eyes flutter shut. “You going to tell me the truth now?” she asks, voice low in his ear, but he’s far too busy kissing the side of her neck to be worried about consider the words.

And the words get a little strangled when he nips at skin.

Killian grins.

“God, you’re the worst,” Emma sighs and there’s a distinct lack of frustration in that insult. She tugs lightly on the charms around his neck and he’s already done enough damage to his lungs, he’s not sure any of his other internal organs can hold up to a slightly different fight. “C’mon, I’m serious. Did you talk to Regina too?” He pulls back slightly, narrowing his eyes and Emma’s expression is cautious at best, like she’s worried she’s giving up a particularly damning secret. “Yes,” Killian says slowly, not sure if he’s answering the right question. “But I’m fairly certain we’re talking about two different things.” “How is that even possible?” “At this point I really have no idea.”

Emma lets out a slightly shaky laugh, smile more tremulous than it should be when they were just a few moments removed from kissing in their kitchen. The oven timer dings. “Were you also thinking about bribing the citizens of Storybrooke into silence today? Because I feel like that kind of goes against whatever sheriff duties we have or whatever.” “Why were you considering bribes, Swan?”

“You’re answering questions with more questions. That’s against the rules.” Killian grins, eyebrows lifted and his fingers tighten around her waist when he pushes his hand completely under her shirt. Emma bites her lower lip. “I wasn’t aware of the rules, love, just the general idea of Christmas,” he says.

“And Solstice?”

It is, easily, the last thing he expects to hear. He blinks, at least, several hundred times and Emma’s smile returns to that realm of cautiously optimistic, like she’s certain she’s said too much or too little and she yelps when he tugs her back up towards him, lips slanting over hers and this entire holiday has been nothing short of infuriating and exhausting and an incredibly blatant reminder of how much he absolutely loves the woman in front of him.

She gives as good as she gets, fingers in his hair and hand flat on his back and her hips cant up when they actually run into the counter, laughing against his mouth as he makes some kind of strangled sound.

“How did you know about that?” Killian asks in between kisses and sounds and it takes several years for their oven to reach actual cooking temperature, but it’s become some sort of heat source in the corner of the kitchen and the room has reached almost tropical levels.

Emma shrugs, tugging her lips back behind her teeth and half her hair has fallen out of the tie it was in. “Mom,” she answers. “We were...well the internet is the worst and a bigger liar than you and I was complaining all day and talking about Santa Claus and Mom is, like, weirdly really ani-Santa which seems almost out of character, but....” She shakes her head when she starts to trail off and Killian’s smile gets wider and Henry’s going to be home any minute. “So she told me that Christmas here isn’t even remotely like Solstice and there are little presents and that sounds really nice and way less stressful and…” “The internet is the worst?” Killian finishes and Emma shrugs slightly, letting her head fall against his chest. He kisses the top of her hair.

“You really didn’t talk to Regina about it?” “Did you?”

She nods, twisting the fabric of his shirt slightly with the crown of her head. “Yeah, a couple weeks ago when I realized the offerings on Main Street were anchors for tourists that my mom thought we should put in our bathroom.” “You’ve lost me, Swan.”

“I asked Regina about ruining someone’s memories if they delivered presents across the town line, was met with several sarcastic responses, got an e-mail this morning that none of my presents were coming and then spent the last few hours contending with dwarves, my mother’s eternal optimism and wooden anchors that tourists can get personalized in that one knick-knack shop and...trying to avoid you. All day.

And the lying thing, which just seemed wrong on Christmas or Solstice or whatever. But then you were also lying and not doing it very well and I’m still kind of confused about who told you to buy presents on the internet.” Emma huffed when she finished talking, eyes wide with something that felt a bit like holiday-based defiance and it looked entirely like Henry and discussions regarding curfew.

Killian smiled, bumping his nose against her cheek and she hadn’t actually moved her fingers away from his neck, scratching lightly when he didn’t respond immediately. “Henry,” he says, mostly into her hair and she does flinch at that, surprise coloring the movement. “Who felt very guilty about the woeful incompetence of your mailing services. Although he seemed rather concerned about whatever points I was going to lose if I did not provide a present on Christmas morning. And what he was going to do.” “I don’t need a present from Henry. Or you, if we’re being technical.” “We’ve covered this already, Swan. It’s not about needing it. It’s about wanting it and doing this...well, it’s about time we were able to actually celebrate something, don’t you think?” She nods slowly and he can feel her lips tick up when the thought seems to almost audibly hit her. “And he was totally worried about not having a gift for Violet, wasn’t he?” “I believe that was part of the concern as well, yes.”

“God, shouldn’t she have cooties or something? When we did we move into the buying our girlfriend’s gifts at Christmas territory?” “Would it be better if it were Solstice?” Killian asks, wincing dramatically when Emma’s swats at his arm and they’re both going to sweat to death in the middle of their kitchen because their oven doesn’t make any sense at all.

“You’re being difficult on purpose.”

Killian shakes his head, grabbing her hand and kissing across her knuckles, just above her rings. “Charming, love,” he counters. “There’s absolutely a difference. And, if we’re still on that particular train of thought regarding presents, you didn’t have to buy me anything either. I’m more than happy with a few uninterrupted hours with you.” “Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen on Christmas,” Emma grumbles, twisting slightly until she’s more comfortably tucked against him and the counter isn’t pushed into her back. “And I wanted to. I thought we’d decided on that.” It’s like the words sink into him and the heat in the kitchen isn’t quite as stifling, just like some kind of ember sitting in the pit of his stomach that seems stretch through his limbs and into his muscles and Emma smiles at him when he meets her gaze.

“See,” Killian mutters, ducking his head and he can still feel the turn of her lips when he kisses her. “Charming. I’m absolutely charmed, Swan.”

Emma rolls her eyes and groans, but her fingers find the front of his shirt and she tugs him back towards her without much ceremony, the sound of laughter lingering in the air even when he’s a bit more focused on whatever noise she makes when his tongue traces over her lower lip.

And, after everything else that’s happened that day, it shouldn’t really surprise Killian that Henry finds them in the middle of the kitchen.

“Jeez,” he groans, crossing his arms and rocking back on his heels and neither one of them heard the front door open. “You know you guys do have a room. And a door to that room.”

Emma makes another noise, somewhere between frustrated and not even remotely embarrassed and the only movement she makes to pull away from Killian is to drop back on her heels and twist around his side to stare appraisingly at her son.

“What’d you get your girlfriend for Christmas, kid?” she asks. Killian nearly chokes. Henry looks as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to run out of the kitchen or just drop onto the floor. Emma lifts her eyebrows – waiting and smiling and she’s won whatever competition none of them realized they were staging.

Henry mumbles out a string of words that are, perhaps, meant to be English, but just sound a bit like bracelet and shiny and dessert.

“Did you say dessert?” Emma asks, voice catching slightly and Killian’s lungs are never going to work correctly again. He keeps trying to swallow his laughter, but that serves to make it even more obvious and every one of his muscles is protesting at how tightly he’s holding himself up.

Henry’s face is as red as the lights they hung on the house weeks ago. There’s snow in his hair. Of course it’s started to snow.

Emma gapes at Killian. “Did he say dessert?” “I think he means the lass will be joining us at your parents’ house for some form of after-dinner dessert,” Killian says. Henry lets out a breath of air he was absolutely holding and Emma’s shoulders sag slightly when she realizes she’s jumped to several absolutely incorrect conclusions.

“That’s not what I meant at all,” Henry grumbles, stuffing his hands in his pockets and the snow in his hair is starting to melt. “Why is it so hot in here?”

Emma nods towards the forgotten bowl still sitting on the counter. “We were making cookies. For tomorrow night. Dessert.” “Right, right, dessert.” “Exactly.” Killian’s well aware he’s missing something, some idiom he hasn’t quite gotten a grasp on yet, but from everyone’s tone and matching blush, he assumes it’s something less-than-festive. “It’s a perfectly good present, Swan,” he says and his attempts at regaining control of the conversation miss their mark when Emma’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead.

“You helped him pick it out?”

He shrugs and Henry makes some kind of warning noise, but that only draws attention to him when he tries to grab a spoonful of cookie batter out of the bowl. It clatters back against the side when he drops it, looking almost scandalized when both Killian and Emma shout hey at him.

“God,” Henry laughs, shoulders shaking as he tries to catch his breath and jump onto the edge of the counter in the same moment. “That was almost crazy impressive. And the only reason we were in the store was because Killian was trying to steal treasure or something.”

Emma turns to look at him, something that feels a bit like amusement flashing across her face. “I haven’t stolen any treasure in quite some time, love,” Killian says. “We left a note.” “Wait, wait, wait,” Emma stammers. “You went into a store for…treasure?” “Jewelry,” Henry corrects softly and Killian’s still not sure he understands why they call it grounding, but he’s already considering several days in the brig and a distinct lack of Violet and the couch.

Emma tilts her head. “Jewelry.” “This is not going where you think it is, Swan,” Killian promises.

“And where do I think it’s going?” The kitchen is silent for a few moments, save whatever it is their oven is doing and whatever it is Henry is doing, sounding as if he’s trying to scrape batter off every inch of that bowl. And he’s half a mind to just tell Emma what the present is, even when it’s not ten o’clock the next morning, but she’s already smiling softly at him and she’s very good at reading him.

And telling when he’s lying.

Or not.

“Is it snowing outside, kid?” Emma asks, glancing up at Henry’s slightly damp hair. He shrugs. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Alright, well, let’s go.” “What?” Henry balks. The spoon is halfway to his mouth.

“Stop eating all the cookie batter. You think I can make snowballs fly with my magic?” Henry nearly falls off the counter, spoon falling onto the surface and the batter seems to fly everywhere, landing on the floor and the door to the cabinet by his head and Emma shakes her head in disbelief. She flicks her wrist and the mess is gone as soon as it’s arrived and Henry’s already sprinting back towards the front door, shouting about rules and points for hits and it already sounds far more complex than any of the plans they’ve attempted that day.

“What do you say, Captain,” Emma says, turning back towards him and letting her hands trail over his shoulders. “I can’t imagine you’ve been in many snowball fights. I feel like I’ve already won.” Killian quirks an eyebrow, one side of his mouth tugging up and they still haven’t actually moved out of the kitchen. “I think you’re suggesting I’m not capable of holding my own in a fight, love,” he mutters, lips ghosting over hers. “I’ve spent all day contending with a holiday I only slightly understand and learning about some strange elf man who breaks into houses. I think I can deal with the weather.”

The smile on her face seems to light up the entire house – and there are already more lights on the house than usual.

Emma beams, eyes bright and smile easy he’d fight several different holidays and, at least, half a dozen different forms of weather if he got to see that every day for the rest of his life.

“Did you really get a present?” Emma asks softly and Killian nods before she’s even finished the question. “And wrapping paper?” “We didn’t actually get to the wrapping paper portion of the day, but I’m fairly certain this would have required quite a lot.”

He’d done it mostly for the reaction and he’s happy to see the way she stutters slightly when the words make sense. And then she smacks at his shoulder again. “Are you serious?” Emma shouts and that was not the reaction he was expecting. “Seriously, what the hell? God, why didn’t we talk about this! This is a normal thing, normal couples talk about. They set gift-giving budgets and they stick to them!”

“I didn’t pay anything for it,” Killian says immediately, rushing over the words because Henry’s already calling for them and he really is curious to see if Emma can enchant snow.

“But you said…” “That your thoughts were going in a direction that was not quite correct.” “So what was the note for?” “The jewelry.” “And you didn’t buy a ridiculous amount of jewelry?” Killian shakes his head, pressing a kiss to Emma’s cheek and she doesn’t blink when she stares at him. “No, Swan,” he says. “It doesn’t seem quite...you, does it?”

Emma licks her lips, eyes darting around the kitchen like she’s looking for certain the present, with or without whatever wrapping paper actually is, will appear in front of her. “Wait,” she says suddenly and Henry’s walking back into the kitchen because you guys are taking forever, jeez. “Did Henry buy his girlfriend jewelry? Is that what’s going on?” Henry freezes, eyes wide and mouth agape and Killian tries to remember all the reasons this seemed like a good idea a few hours before. “A bauble, Swan,” he reasons. “For her wrist. There weren’t even any gems in them.” “Tennis bracelet,” Henry corrects quietly, hands stuffed back in his pockets. “It was...it’s nice. I think she’ll like it.” Emma nods slowly, head snapping back and forth between her son and Killian and he’s fairly certain they’re both holding his breath. “You took Henry Christmas shopping?” she asks softly, a note in her voice he wasn’t entirely expecting, but isn’t opposed to either.

And that time, he licks his lips.

Henry groans.

“Aye,” Killian says and Emma seems to sag against him, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Her hair is in his face again. He doesn’t say anything.

He smiles.

“Can we go throw snow at each other now?” Henry asks impatiently and Emma laughs into Killian’s shirt.

“I mean I’m totally going to throw them at both of you with magic, but, yeah, we can do that.”

It takes her a few moments to get the hang of it – something about the shape of the snowball not holding up to the magic when she tries to move it and her first few attempts end with snow landing on her head, somehow, but Emma is nothing if not determined and by the time she figures it out both Killian and Henry are running back towards the side of the house, searching for shelter from a barrage of enchanted snow.

They settle into some kind of team and it’s a battle as intense as any he’s ever been a part of, snow and laughter flying through the air in equal measure as Henry provides ammunition for Killian and they both try and duck behind trees to avoid Emma’s attack.

And at some point, Henry decides the best plan of attack is to, well, attack, but there’s a slope on the side of the house and Emma has the higher ground and Killian dimly remembers both of them quoting something with those string of words. He barely gets his warning out before Henry is dashing up the ground, a small arsenal balanced in the curve of his elbow and it takes, exactly, four seconds for the first snowball to hit him squarely in the chest.

He falls to his knees when three more arrive, toppling back down the hill towards Killian’s feet.

He’s still smiling.

Even when Killian starts throwing the snowballs he made at him.

“That is cheating,” Henry shouts as soon as Emma comes around the corner, flakes in her hair and a blush in her cheeks and they’ll probably all have frostbite by the time this is over. “We were supposed to be allies!” “Pirate,” Killian says, throwing another snowball. It misses when Henry twists away, grabbing a fistfull of snow and tossing it at Killian’s knees.

They stay outside until they’re shivering and in desperate need of hot chocolate and food and they’ll have to make more cookies to bring to David and Snow’s because they eat most of the batter while waiting for the oven to reheat again.

Henry falls asleep on the couch, head propped up awkwardly on the arm with his legs stretched out over both Emma and Killian. They fall asleep too.

And none of them should be very comfortable, but all of them are incredibly comfortable wrapped up in blankets and each other and the warmth that seems to permeate every single inch of that house and by the time Killian blinks awake to find that it’s nearly four in the morning, he half considers staying there.

“What time is it?” Emma mumbles, from where she’s laying with her head on his thigh and the words land mostly in his stomach.

He brushes his fingers over the back of her neck. “Early. Or late rather. You want to move, love? We should probably get the lad into bed or he’s going to dislocate something.” “Or kick me in the head,” Emma adds, pushing up off him in just enough time to avoid a particularly well-placed foot. She tugs on the bottom of Henry’s shirt. “C’mon, kid, you’ve got to go upstairs. If you don’t brush your teeth at some point, you’re going to get like eight-hundred cavities.”

Henry grumbles, something that might be an objection and Killian can never decide who is worse when they just wake up – the teenager draped over him or his wife. It takes a few more moments or prodding and muttering about dental hygiene before Killian twists his arm underneath Henry, tugging him up when he stands and they’re a strange, four-legged monstrosity up the stairs and into his room.

“If you don’t brush your teeth, I’m not going to pretend I didn’t find about that whole milkshake thing, like two seconds after you left Granny’s,” Emma warns. Henry clomps towards the bathroom, but there’s little argument and he might even smile when he moves past their bedroom door minutes later, mumbling something that sounds like Merry Christmas under his breath.

And Killian falls asleep smiling.

She wakes up at some point, dimly aware that she’s not where she expects to be.

She’s supposed to be on the couch.

She remembers the couch and how comfortable she was – exhausted, but in the kind of way she’d been certain only existed in Reese Witherspoon movies after montages with laughing and smiling and, apparently, enchanted snowballs. She can still taste the mint of her toothpaste on her tongue and the hint of hot chocolate, but she can’t remember how she got to bed and she’s momentarily terrified because, well, she’s her and this is Storybrooke, but then there’s suddenly an arm around her waist and warm air on her neck and she can feel his smile when he presses his lips to her skin.

“We’re fine, love,” Killian whispers and Emma exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, closing her eyes lightly.

He’s impossibly warm, voice still tinged with sleep and fingers drifting over her stomach and she lets him curl against her, like he’s trying to wrap up with her, but that only leads to thoughts of wrapping paper and Emma suddenly remembers it’s Christmas morning and he never learned what wrapping paper is.

She laughs, burying her face into one of the pillows propped up against the headboard and under her and Killian’s hand stills momentarily. He hisses slightly when her body presses against his, mumbling something that might be words, but also might just be the request to stop and continue at the same time.

Emma flips over, hair flying everywhere as she moves and his eyes are slightly darker than normal when she meets his gaze.

“You really don’t know what wrapping paper is?” she asks and Killian’s eyebrows fly up at the question he quite clearly wasn’t ready for.

“I was admittedly a little distracted trying to stop the entire town from telling you my Christmas plans and shortcomings.”

He’s grinning when he says the words and she knows he’s joking, but the sentence still cuts across her like some kind of knife and Killian’s hand starts moving again, tracing patterns over her spine when he tugs himself closer to her.  

“I’m really mad at the internet,” Emma grumbles. She lifts her own hand, resting her palm on his cheek and he leans into the touch, letting his eyes flutter shut when her thumb brushes over the scar just below his eye. “And I can’t believe we were doing the same thing. That’s just…” “Rom-com?” Killian suggests and Emma’s whole body shakes when she laughs.

“Yeah, exactly like that. How did we get upstairs?” “Do you not remember that?” Emma shakes her head, but it only serves to get more hair in her eyes and Killian’s whole face does something stupid when he reaches up to card his fingers through the strands. “We fell asleep downstairs. I have no idea what exactly the Miracle on 34th Street ended up being, you were very nearly concussed by Henry’s feet, I woke up, you made some kind of milkshake threat and I’m fairly positive the lad did, actually, brush his teeth.” “That might be the miracle in Storybrooke.” “Indeed.”

She bites her lip lightly, trying to to document the moment for posterity or something because her husband keeps staring at her like she’s the center of the goddamn universe and it’s Christmas Day and they all fell asleep on the couch the night before.

Like a family.

With presents.

And snow.

The lights looked fantastic in the snow.

Emma shifts under the small mountain of blankets she’s tugged on top of herself at some point in the middle of the night – or, well, technically the morning and memories of marching her kid up the stairs are starting to flicker through her mind and she can almost remember one of Killian’s hands on Henry’s shoulder.

“You look like the Cheshire Cat,” Killian comments, ducking his head until he’s in her eyeline and he grimaces when her feet brush up against his thigh. “Although I don’t think he was ever an actual piece of ice. How you manage to stay freezing cold after stealing all the blankets is a marvel I’ll never quite understand.”

“Is that a compliment?” “I’m not entirely sure. You are incredibly talented at stealing the bedding though, love.”

She grins, something shooting down her spine and it seems strange to flirt with her own husband in their own bed, but they’ve always been particularly good at this and the banter is easy to fall into even before coffee and, hopefully, presents.

“Pirate,” Emma mumbles and his eyes flash, some kind of emotion she can’t quite name before coffee flashing across his face.

“Aye,” he agrees, barely getting the word out before he’s kissing her and the blankets twist in between them, a mess of high-thread counts and hands and freezing-cold feet.

She, somehow, ends up on her back with her hair splayed out over several different pillows and Killian hovering over her, weight resting on his forearm and blankets pooling at his waist. And her hands move like there are magnets in her fingertips or possibly in him and neither one of those thoughts are particularly romantic or holiday-appropriate, but then she’s tracing her fingers over his chest and he’s not objecting and there’s more kissing before Emma can continue to consider the idea of magnets or how they work.

He’s trailing kisses across her neck – and it must still be early because there are no footsteps in the hallway or knocks on the door and Emma’s only slightly worried about scaring her kid for life sooner rather than later – when she realizes what he called her.

“Hey, that was a reference,” Emma says suddenly, jerking her head to the right and nearly slamming her forehead into Killian’s.

“Excuse me?” “You just made an Alice in Wonderland reference! Was that supposed to be a joke?” “Swan, I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

“You called me the Cheshire Cat. That’s from Wonderland, right?” He nods slowly as if she’s lost her mind and Emma rolls her whole head, growling low in her throat when she understands. It’s not a reference. It’s a...fact. “For real? That’s a real thing?”

“You know that Wonderland is a real place, love.” “I know, I know, but I just figured it was all kind of twisted the same way all these stories are and I hoped hallucinogenic cats were kind of off the table.” Killian shakes his head in confusion, eyes wide and it’s almost enough blue to distract her, but really that might just be the slight weight of him on top of her still and she’s got so many questions. “You know...like plants and smoke and they make you see things. The Cheshire Cat is kind of like that.” “I promise he’s not.” “No?” “No,” Killian repeats. “He’s, well, truth be told he’s rather obnoxious. All talk, little fact. Spends most of his time smiling like a fool and bouncing from place to place. Quite good at teleporting. Without the smoke.” “And you were comparing this jerk cat to me? That seems kind of like an insult, actually.” Killian hums, smile just as confident as ever and it’s absolutely because he can see the goosebumps on her skin when he brushes his lips over that particularly sensitive spot behind her ear. “I’m hoping the rest of the day makes up for my fault in judgement,” he mutters and her whole body moves out of instinct and several other verbs they probably don’t have time for. “There was some success to the rather hastily formed plan yesterday.”

“Yeah?” He nods again, fingers dipping dangerously low on her hips and she’s not sure who groans more when she rolls away.

Killian looks vaguely scandalized.

“We do not have time,” Emma grins, pulling one of the blankets with her and wrapping it around her shoulders, shivering as soon as she’s out of the cocoon of warmth that she’s fairly certain is just Killian.

He eyes her dubiously, as if he’s trying to come up with all the reasons they can make time, but they’re really going to do damage to Henry’s psyche at some point and they ate all the cookies they’re supposed to bring to her parents’ house.

“Maybe you’re the Cheshire Cat,” she accuses and she can’t quite cross her arms when she’s trying to hold a blanket that is almost too large to be practical. Her mother bought it when they moved into the house. The second time. It’s incredibly soft. “Trying to distract me,” Emma continues, but her words lose some of their venom when she nearly trips over her own feet and incredibly soft fabric.

She’s always vaguely impressed by his reflexes, certain it’s something to do with the ocean and The Jolly and a few seconds to make a snap decision, but the cool steel of his hook wrapping around her wrist and keeping her balanced sends a shockwave of emotion down Emma’s spine all the same.

Killian shifts his eyebrows.

It’s distracting.

“I never said the Cheshire Cat was a distraction,” he argues and she digs her heels into the floor so he can’t tug her back towards the bed. “And this was clearly a misplaced choice of words.”

Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, eyes flitting across his face and they’re just...very good at the banter. It makes her pulse pick up. “Yeah, something, like that,” she mumbles. “Well, luckily for you, I’ve got a way to redirect the conversation so to speak.”

He lifts an eyebrow, pushing himself up against the pillows and maybe they need more blankets if he’s just going to sit there and look like that while she’s trying to maintain a certain level of festive. “I’m intrigued, Swan,” he says and she rolls her eyes because that’s the only response she can think of that isn’t just...jumping him or something.

She shakes her hand and he pulls his arm back to his side, lips pressed together and eyebrows lifted and his patience is some unspoken challenge.

Emma is very determined.

She tugs one of the dresser drawers open and she wasn’t really surprised to find that there was no wrapping paper in their house, but Happy tried to sell her more anchors when she went back into the store the day before, just a bit out of breath because she’d absolutely run there.

“Belle wouldn’t actually take any money,” Emma says, turning on the spot and thrusting her arm out into the space in front of her. Killian blinks. “Which, you know, I guess is good because you really do have another gift coming once the internet decides to do its actual job and…”

She trails off when she realizes Killian’s gaze has drifted away from her face to the package in her hand and Emma bites her lip because he looks somewhere between stunned and amazed and it’s a pretty good mix on a face that she was already considering spending most of the morning kissing.

“So,” she continues, taking a step forward and sinking onto the edge of the bed. “I was thinking about what Mom was saying about Solstice and little gifts that are supposed to be, you know, like super meaningful or something and when we ran into the library…” “You ran into the library, Swan?” Killian asks incredulously and of course that would get his attention.

“You were running down the street. I...I was supposed to be doing paperwork.” “Ah, but I already knew you were lying.” “And I knew you were lying as soon as you tried to tell me you were sick. You’re woefully out of practice at all of this.” “Seems like a good thing, don’t you think?”

Emma nods, twisting her legs underneath her and there’s still a blanket draped over her shoulders. “Yeah, it does,” she agrees. “We were really bad at that yesterday.” “Exceedingly.” “Good word.” “Have we circled back around to you running into the library, Swan?” “No, no,” Emma objects, turning the gift in her hands and Killian keeps waiting because she doesn’t know how to do this without it sounding overly sentimental, but maybe that’s what holidays are for. “I love you,” she says suddenly and, maybe, a bit too loudly and he blinks again because she’s shouting feelings in his face. “Just...I couldn’t just get something nautical because it was too obvious, but, well...you’re you and so we were going to go buy something for The Jolly because Granny kept making suggestions and being scandalized by my eating habits…” “Did you dunk your onion rings in your milkshake?” he asks knowingly and just a bit smugly and Emma’s eyes bulge. Killian shrugs. “You’re rather a creature of habit, love. And some of those habits are disgusting food choices.” “I’m not going to give you your gift now.”

Killian laughs softly, blankets shifting again when he moves closer to her and she’ll probably never understand the physics of him pulling her close enough that she’s not actually sitting on him, but her legs drape over his anyway and he still smells a bit like snow.

She’s not sure what snow smells like until that moment.

“I haven’t thought about Solstice in…” Killian starts, voice a little ragged and maybe it was alright to start shouting feelings in his face. “A very long time.”

“Mom said it wasn’t really the same exact thing.” “It’s not. No strange elf man.” Emma makes some kind of strangled noise, pushing her face into Killian’s chest and she’s fairly certain he kisses the top of her hair. She can’t really focus on anything except whatever his fingers are doing along her back. “It’s...quieter, I suppose. A chance to reflect after the harvest ends and eat quite a bit after the harvest ends.” He laughs softly to himself, like his mind is several centuries away and Emma is still filled with questions, but she bites her tongue to keep silent. He’ll tell her.

She knows.

“I wasn’t...there wasn’t much time for those kind of frivolous things when I was a lad, but even after my mother was gone and my father…” His chest moves with the force of his deep breath and Emma blinks so she won’t actually start crying, fairly certain that will ruin the moment entirely. “Well, after he left, Liam did his best to keep things as normal as possible. As normal he could when there was...nothing. He used to try and get me pieces of parchment. Little stories I could keep in my pocket. Must have cost him a fortune.”

Emma snaps her head up, breath catching in her throat and any thought of crying flies out the windows that are absolutely locked behind her.

She’s still not much for fate or plans or anything that isn’t absolutely in her control, but this entire stupid town keeps trying to call her princess and this is just a bit too perfect to be anything except the fairytale it absolutely is.

“What?” Killian asks cautiously.

She grabs the gift next to her, nearly pushing it into his chest and he chuckles softly when he finally sees wrapping paper in real life. “Ah, that’s what you meant by designs,” he mutters and Emma nods dumbly because her mind can’t quite keep up with any of this.

It was just an idea.

A haphazard, sentimental, product of the goddamn dysfunction of the internet idea.

God, she hopes he likes it.

That is...if he ever opens it.

“You can just rip it,” Emma explains and Killian makes a noise that sounds like of course tugging on edges and she’s not even remotely surprised to find he unwraps gifts like he’s unfolding a map. It’s almost perfectly on theme.

He doesn’t say anything at first and for one incredibly long moment, Emma’s almost terrified that he doesn’t like it, but that thought joins the other ones and she’s too busy kissing him back to be worried about anything else.

Her legs are already over his, so it’s only a matter of moments before she’s got her knees on either side of his hips and her fingers in his hair and his hands are heavy on her waist, some kind of rhythm that’s almost too easy to fall into settling between them.

“I’m going to assume you like it,” Emma mumbles, but the words get caught somewhere between her mouth and his and Killian barely answers before he starts kissing her again.

She’d seen the book what feels like several million years ago, researching some crisis she can’t quite remember perfectly, but even then she knew he’d love it because he’s such a nerd and so curious about everything in this realm and he wants to know.

It’s not a textbook, but it’s certainly denser than any of the other books in the library – a history of seafaring and the age of exploration and tales of ships and captains and, Belle was quick to point out when they finally found it the day before, several different maps that were, apparently, to scale and vaguely ancient and Emma knew Killian would spend at least several weeks examining all of them.

“I love you,” he says, pressing the words against her lips and her cheeks and just under her eyes and Emma can’t help but believe him because he can’t seem to stop touching her and repeating himself. “Did you….” Emma shakes her head. “No, no, no, I didn’t even know Solstice was a thing until yesterday. Why didn’t you say anything?” “Why didn’t you say anything about this elf man or being able to purchase gifts off the internet?” “Because you keep calling Santa an elf man. That’s not really how it works.”

“Emma.”

She groans when they transition out of one feeling to another and she’s glad she’s still wrapped in blankets because discussing this part of Christmas is a bit depressing – like jumping in ice water. “I...well I really wasn’t sure if the internet thing would work. I mean it didn’t, obviously, but more that I wasn’t sure if I’d ruin someone’s life by asking for things and, you know...that’s not really me and I’ve never…

They gave us presents some times in the houses and things like that, but there weren’t traditions and certainly no magic snowball fights or gift requests and it was more just hoping there’d be enough pie to go around by the end of the night and I know that’s different now. I know you’re here and Henry’s here and you went on some crazed present rush to make sure this was perfect, but it seemed kind of selfish to ask and...Santa’s totally an elf. Like it’s weird if he’s just a guy up there with only elves, right?”

It’s as depressing as she expected it to be and then some and she just wants to get back to the kissing and, maybe eventually, some coffee and some more cookie batter.

And Killian already knows.

Of course he does.

“Aye,” he nods. “Absolutely weird.”

Emma sighs, but she’s not biting her lip and that seems like a step in the right direction. “I’m glad we’re on the same page about that.” “Same book in fact.” “That was almost as bad as your lies.” “Charming, Swan,” Killian corrects, nosing lightly at her cheek and they’re never going to get out of bed. “We’ve discussed this already.”

She’s about to say something – something witty and romantic and absolutely endearing, she just hasn’t figured out what yet, but there’s suddenly a knock on their door and Killian’s already opened the book, eyes flitting along lines and nautical terms and Henry’s shouting something in the hallway.

“Guys,” he yells. “Mom! Killian! You guys need to come out here! Like, now!” He starts kicking the door when they don’t answer immediately and there’s a dull thud against the wood that might just be his whole body at some point. “Seriously, this is a big deal!”

Emma laughs, swinging her legs back over the side of the bed and Killian closes the book lightly when he shouts are we under attack, lad towards the half-open door.

Henry doesn’t even look entertained.

“You guys are seriously going to want to see this,” he says instead, already halfway down the hallway and Emma lifts both hands in a move that’s equal parts confused and slightly impressed.

“We’re apparently being summoned,” she mutters, grabbing the t-shirt at the foot of the bed and tossing it towards Killian. He catches it. “Don’t think a vague bit of athletic talent and making out is going to make me forget that you actually called me the Cheshire Cat this morning.” He flashes a smirk at her, hair slightly worse for wear when he tugs the cotton over it. “I’m more than willing to test out several different make out attempts again, darling,” he laughs and Emma sticks her tongue out.

The smirk gets more pronounced.

“Insufferable,” she mumbles and Henry’s shouting demands again from the foot of the stairs.

Killian, finally, moves out of bed, but not before leaving the book on the nightstand next to him and the care he takes with it does something absolutely ridiculous to her heart and, at least, twenty different internal organs. “C’mon love,” he says, bumping his shoulder against hers. “Let’s make sure whoever is attacking us doesn’t come into the house.”

Henry’s still screaming for them when they finally come up short of the front door and Emma opens her mouth to make some quip about heat \, but all the words seem to get lost on their way from her brain to her tongue.

She freezes.

And she’s fairly certain she sees Killian wink at Henry.

There’s a not-so-small pile of presents sitting on their doorstep – bags and boxes and brightly colored wrapping paper and Emma nearly trips over the thermos at her feet when she steps forward, the scent of hot chocolate and cinnamon wafting up towards her.

There are dozens of packages, all of them with tags and she can make out a different name on each and every one, every person she knows and know her leaving something on their doorstep as if that’s where the tree is and…

Emma spins, hands flying up to land on Killian’s chest when she nearly crashes into the gifts. He smiles at her – brighter than any lights or the top of a Christmas tree and it’s slightly disconcerting, but Henry’s already reading off names and guessing what’s in gifts and staying upright is suddenly a very specific type of challenge. “Oh there’s food too,” Henry exclaims. Emma’s fingers tighten, but Killian’s gaze doesn’t move away from her face and his fingers are a bit colder when they cup her cheek, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She’s not entirely certain this isn’t some kind of dream.

Some kind of crazed Christmas dream.

It’s far too cold to be a dream.

“We just have to heat it up,” Henry continues. “I guess it is kind of like a freezer out here, but...oh, no, no, there’s another note. Mom did it. Poofed it here.” “What?” Emma asks sharply, twisting and she’s breathing louder than she probably should. Henry nods. “There’s another note, but it’s from Grandma. Here.” He pushes the piece of paper towards Emma and her hand trembles slightly when she pulls it out of his grip, her mother’s loopy scrawl obvious even from several inches away.

Emma,

You deserve it and more. I barely even had to ask. I mentioned something to Granny weeks ago and the entire town rose to the occasion. I think some of them actually managed to get the internet to work correctly for them, but that’s neither here nor there.

Granny says it would be insulting to the food if you reheat in the microwave. Her words, not mine. Merry Christmas and Happy Solstice, sweetheart. We’ll see you this afternoon.

- Mom and Dad

She’s not crying – some kind of actual Christmas miracle, she’s sure – but her breathing isn’t quite even either and there are so many gifts and so much paper and one very large gift right in the middle of it all that’s missing both a note and any semblance of paper.

It’s a chair.

An actual chair made of actual wood and the cushion on the seat looks incredibly familiar.

It looks suspiciously like the fabric from her office chair. Her torturous, uncomfortable, doing permanent damage to her spine office chair.

Only this chair doesn’t look anything like a torture device – it looks comfortable and soft and that doesn’t even make any sense because it’s made of wood, but Emma isn’t convinced her brain is getting the oxygen it needs to form coherent thoughts.

She brushes her finger over the back and there aren’t actually any arms on it because she likes to sit cross-legged at her desk and Killian teases her about it endlessly and…

“You’re the only one who knows I sit like that,” Emma says, glancing over her shoulder to find him staring at her expectantly and just a bit warily and both emotions seem to fall off his face as soon as she licks her lips.

Killian nods and Henry laughs and it’s some kind of picture-perfect moment that she’s fairly certain can’t get better until her eyes flit over the top of the chair and something that looks a little bit like a carving and Emma’s positive her heart actually stops.

Buttercups.

The very same as the one on her wrist that matches up, almost perfectly, with her father’s crest.

“Do you like it?” Killian asks softly and Emma tries not to actually jump, but she can’t pull her eyes away from the chairs and the details and she doesn’t actually turn around.

He got her a chair.

In one day.

With buttercups on it.

Sentimental, indeed.

“Swan?” Killian prompts. The whole house creaks when he moves, hand falling on her shoulder and she hardly considers what kind of affect this is going to have on Henry’s psyche before she launches herself at her husband.

Henry laughs. At least she thinks that what that noise is. Emma’s far too busy being festive. And making out. But, if asked, she’ll definitely claim festive.

“How did you do this?” she asks, somehow managing to retain enough oxygen in her lungs that she can actually get words out. Killian looks somewhere close to overwhelmed, but in a good sort of way and their front door is still wide open.

There is still a mountain of gifts on their front porch.

One of them should turn on the oven if they’re going to use it. Otherwise they’ll never eat.

“I didn’t really do anything, Swan,” Kilian says, eyeing her meaningfully when she scoffs. He got her a chair. An office chair. It might be the single most romantic thing she’s ever received. “The case in the jewelry store squeaked,” he continues. “Reminded me of your chair.”

She laughs and it’s slightly manic and sounds a bit like disbelief and Killian’s mouth twitches. “So you were actually pillaging the jewelry store?” “We left a note.” “Did Sleepy know that?” “He was asleep, love.” “Oh my God.” “Inspiration struck, we had to leave. Time was of the essence. Marco can only work so fast.”

Emma’s eyes widen and her kid is still laughing, moving presents around her and Killian and she hears the telltale click of the oven. “You went to Marco?” she breathes and he nods again.

“I’ve no idea how he managed to finish this in a few hours, but a ten o’clock deadline was his idea, so I’d imagine he spent most of the night.” “That’s….” Killian doesn’t let her finish. “Merry Christmas, Emma,” he says and there’s more kissing and Henry yells some more and eventually they do close the front door.

They get to her parents’ house – with only two dozen cookies because a full bowl of cookie batter was too much temptation and most of the morning was spent with flour all over the counter and spoonfuls not-so-subtly snuck in between detailed decorating plans and Emma’s certain the muscles in her face will ache for at least a week from overuse.

Most of the town piles into the farmhouse by the time the sun sinks behind the clouds and it starts to snow again, but there’s more food than any of them can eat and Regina waves her hand and there are even more desserts and steaming apple cider and rum goes pretty good with that as well.

Emma’s teetering just on the edge of pleasantly buzzed a few hours later, tucked against Killian’s side while Henry plays with her brother in front of a TV that’s showing some Christmas classic and she might fall asleep on this couch too.

“I love you,” she whispers, pressing the words into the curve of Killian’s neck and she’s fairly certain she doesn’t imagine his lips turning up.

His chest shakes when he laughs, but he definitely kisses her and his arm tightens slightly. “I love you too, Swan. Don’t fall asleep.”

She does.

Because Christmas and Solistice is hectic and crazy and nothing like any of those VHS movies promise her it would be.

Killian slowly trudged up the stairs to his home after a long shift at the sheriff station. He had been there since dawn, after David had phoned him saying he couldn’t cover his shift due to illness. 

Seems like David had caught the stomach bug that his younger brother in law, Neal had caught from his kindergarten class. Killian had warned David to stay away until he was fully clear, as he did not want to catch it, with the possibility of passing it on to his heavily pregnant, almost full-term wife, who had not long finished up with work in preparation for giving birth. 

David had naturally been the one to cover Emma while she would be on leave, now that Neal was in kindergarten, he could spare more time to do so.

Killian opened the front door, and was greeted to almost darkness, save a lamp on the table at the bottom of the stairs. The hour was late, and Emma would more than likely already be sleeping, as she had been for the past few nights.

Killian was missing her, even though he slept beside her every night. She always tried her hardest to stay awake for him coming home, but she was just so exhausted. 

He switched the lamp off then made his way up stairs towards his bedroom, but stopped to the room next to theirs, where the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it opened further took a few steps inside, and instantly a warm smile appeared on his face.

Emma had been busy again. More additions had been placed in the nursery they had started to decorate. A few ornaments had been added, some of the baby clothes that they had received at their baby shower were no longer laid on the chair, and upon inspection, they had been put neatly away. The last thing he saw, placed in the crib, was a stuffed toy of the Disney version of himself. 

Killian smiled at the memory when she bought it, and his protests towards it. But when Emma had said it would comfort her knowing that the little Captain Hook would be with their child while they slept, he couldn’t say no. He took once last glance around the room before leaving the room, closing the door gently behind him. 

As he entered his and Emma’s bedroom, his eyes laid upon the empty bed, and his heart skipped a beat. It was over very quick though when he heard the shower running and light was spilling out of their adjoining bathroom. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and removed his shoes, placing them neatly in their closet, before approaching the bathroom door and knocking. 

“Emma?” She didn’t respond, but Killian didn’t just want to go barging in, so he knocked again and said her name a little louder. 

“Killian?” Emma responded. 

“I’m coming in,” Killian said, eager to check on his wife, not giving her enough time to protest. His was met with his wife standing in front of him, not one item of clothing on and his eyes went wide with awe. 

She was beautiful and glowing, round with carrying their child and he could not stop staring. 

“Can you pass me a towel?” She asked suddenly, Killian hearing her voice wafer.

Over the past few weeks Emma had become very self-conscious, with Killian, where she wore as much clothes as possible and had been considerably less intimate. He tried his hardest not to let it get to him, but she was so beautiful, that he hated that she would hide that beauty from him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, he hadn’t seen Emma like this in what he felt like forever, and she had gotten so much bigger towards the final stages of her pregnancy. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. 

“Emma, you’re,” He started, his eyes running all over her, drinking her in. 

“Killian,” She interrupted. “Please, pass me a towel.” 

“Emma, please don’t hide from me.” He almost begged, stepping towards her. “You are so beautiful.” 

“Look at me!” She said then tried to reach round him for a towel, but he quickly took her hand and gently kissed it, then pulled her towards him. 

“Emma, I love you.” He said, his voice lowered, his hand sliding down towards her belly. “You have no idea how stunning you are. How perfect you are.” 

“You’re just saying that because you’re my husband.” She said, trying to lay her hand over anything she could cover until Killian nudged it away, and led her back to the bedroom, leaving the shower running. “Killian what….” 

“Shhh, I’m talking.” He said with a slight smile then stood behind her, getting her to face the full-length mirror in their bedroom. 

“Can’t you see what I see?” He asked, stroking her arm with his Hook, his other hand starting to undo the buttons of his shirt. 

“A beached whale?” She huffed, and he shook his head. 

“I have seen many of them in my time…” Killian said with a chuckle, as he pulled the shirt from his body, tossing it away, bringing his hand and hook to rest on her belly. 

“But you, my love, are the most beautiful woman in all the realms.” He dipped down to kiss her neck, before trailing small kisses along her shoulder. “And you’re carrying my child, our child, and I just….I look at you, and I almost forget to breathe.”

Emma looked at Killian in the mirror, seeing the he meant every word, and relaxed into him. Her head rolls back to rest against his collarbone, face pressing into his neck, as he continues to stare at the mirror, taking in his wife appearance. 

They still like that for a few moments, Emma taking in Killian’s warmth, and Killian looking at what he was missing for the past week or so. It was movement of their baby who brought them back, as a foot pressed against Killian’s hand. 

He pressed in a little, and the kick back was much stronger.

“He’s definitely got strength, don’t you think, love?” 

“She definitely does.” Emma murmured into Killian’s neck, and he chuckled at her comment. The ever-lasting debate of whether their child would be a boy or a girl. They wouldn’t have to wait much longer now; the due date is only a few weeks away. 

Killian placed a kiss on top of Emma’s head. “Thank you, Swan.” He whispered, “Thank you for this life you have given me.” 

Emma lifted her head and turned to face him, not feeling as uncomfortable as she once did, and almost kicking herself for ever thinking that Killian would ever feel anything other than love and adoration towards her. She looked into those blue eyes, then a small smile appeared on her face, as she lifted her hand to cup his face affectionately, pulling him closer so they were pressed up against each other. 

“I love you, Killian. I couldn’t do this without you.” 

“I love you too,” He replied with a smile, loving the skin to skin contact that he had desperately missed. He felt a sharp poke against his stomach, and Emma giggled, and looked down, placing a hand on her stomach. 

“Your daughter wants your attention.” Killian smiled, before kneeling in front of Emma, his head against her stomach. 

“Now, listen here my boy,” He started, and Emma smiled, shaking her head. “I am trying to remind your mother how beautiful she is, especially when she is carrying you.” 

Emma threaded her fingers through his hair, as she felt another kick from their child. She tried not to shiver when Killian’s warm breath hit her stomach, but to no avail. It was a sharp contrast to the cold that was starting to creep upon her naked body. 

Killian looked up at Emma briefly, and noted the goosebumps starting to appear over her skin. 

“How about I get your mother in for a shower to warm up and I’ll tell you a story before we sleep?” He asks, and their child gives one last kick.

 “Come love,” Killian said, standing up. “Let’s get you warmed up.” He pulls her towards the bathroom, to the waiting shower, which was still running. (Thank goodness for Emma’s magic, supplying the constant hot water in their house.)

 She pulls him back a little, back to their view in the mirror. “I think we should get our photos taken like this.” 

“What, naked?” Killian asks in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up towards the sky. 

“Well, not completely.” Emma said, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Couples get their photos taken late into their pregnancy, and mostly topless, but they’re strategically placed to you can’t see anything too revealing” 

“You would do that? Photos we can keep forever?” 

“Well, if your goal is to make myself feel good in this stage of pregnancy, I see no better way to do it” She said, interlocking her fingers with his, bringing it to rest on her belly. 

Henry finally pulls his gaze away from the screen in front of him, something that feels a bit like placating practically rolling off him and Killian still wants to hit something.

There isn’t a Christmas equivalent in the Enchanted Forest, per se, but he understands the basic idea of something vaguely festive and the thought of being able to buy gifts for Emma and Henry, even under the guise of holiday requirements, left him feeling excited and hopeful and determined to do all of this right.

And after everything – curses and Dark Ones and altered memories and timelines and death and, well, everything – a few days of uninterrupted peace with Emma smiling at him the same way she had when she’d explained Christmas was, suddenly, the single most appealing thought in the entire world.

Plus several other realms.

So, perhaps, he’s gone a little overboard. Perhaps he’d asked Henry for help and Henry’s first suggestion was to order it all online because then it’ll be a surprise and, well, that made sense too. The last thing Killian needed was every single purchase announced in the middle of Main Street like a brand-new bit of magic set to descend on the town.

It didn’t take long – clicking on links and sites and he’d gotten fairly good at research over the last several crises, so finding the perfect gift was an undertaking Killian was more than willing to shoulder, particularly when Henry informed him that everything would just be delivered to their front door.

“It’s honestly a little like magic,” Henry promised a few weeks before, slinging his legs over the side of the couch with the laptop balanced on his knees. Killian twisted his hand, eyes wide and the unspoken command to sit up practically hanging in the air between them.

Henry rolled his eyes.

And moved his legs.

“You can’t possibly be comfortable like that,” Killian said, dropping onto the far corner when Henry put the laptop on the coffee table in front of them.

“That’s not the point of this conversation.” “And what is the point of this conversation?” “Getting Mom a good gift, obviously,” Henry sighed as if it were the clearest thing in the world. It was. “This is...well it’s important. And Mom said since people could cross the town line without, you know…” “Forgetting themselves completely?” Henry scowled at him and, that time, it was Killian who shrugged. “Yeah,” Henry muttered. “That. Well, you can order stuff online and someone will show up with the packages and then you can totally get a ton of bonus points with Mom.”

“I’m not sure I’m in need of any bonus points.” “Ew. I’m just saying. You order a bunch of stuff online and then you don’t have to worry about Leroy or Archie spilling your gift-giving secrets the first second they see Mom. Plus, you know, more variety.” Killian quirked an eyebrow, gaze darting from the slightly over-enthusiastic teenager next to him to the images on the screen – a site that promised New and Interesting Finds and 12 Days of Deals, whatever that meant.

Henry didn’t seem troubled by any of it, tapping on keys and shouting out ideas and, a few hours later, Killian was buying things and agreeing to plans and getting order confirmations that promised his packages would be delivered by December 23rd at the latest.

Only now, it’s December 24th and there are no packages sitting at the front door and he's inching closer and closer to discouraged with every passing moment.

“It still says what it did before,” Henry grumbles, sinking onto the arm of the couch and at least he’s not draped over it like usual. It’s, Killian has found, a strange habit both he and Emma share – twisting their body parts over furniture in a way that certainly can’t be comfortable or beneficial for any of their muscles. Neither one of them ever seem to mind.

“That, and I’m quoting here, due to unforeseen circumstances at the distribution center, there is a delay on all arrivals and that you should anticipate your orders on…..” Henry clicks his tongue, making a face and squeezing one eye shut. “December 29th. At the latest.”

Killian heaves another sigh, head thrown back in frustration and Henry makes a sympathetic noise because December 29th is not Christmas and this Christmas is supposed to be something special and now they’ve all been outsmarted by magic.

It’s incredibly frustrating.

“I mean, you know, at least they’ve given you a new date,” Henry reasons, tilting his head and doing his best to smile. It’s an almost movement-for-movement replication of the way Emma looks when she tries to reason her way out of anything.

“Several days after Christmas,” Killian points out. “You know your gifts were part of that order as well.” Henry nods despondently. “Yeah, I know, but, well…” He trails off and, finally, flops back onto the couch, knocking over several different and incredibly patterned pillows at the same time he tugs on the blanket draped over the back. Killian immediately regrets every single sigh he’s made, or thought about making, in the last ten minutes and they’re going to fix this.

He’s battled monsters and magic and krakens and can pick out constellations in more than half a dozen different realms. Surely he can conquer Christmas presents.

Even if that requires him to bribe all seven dwarves into silence.

On pain of death. Or hook.

He’s still not convinced he won’t destroy the computer with his hook.

Killian takes a step forward, balancing on the edge of the coffee table and Henry eyes him like he’s just broken every single rule in the house. No one is supposed to sit on the coffee table. It’s an antique.

“This is not your fault, lad,” he says, tugging the phone away from Henry and tossing it without much thought into one of the other chairs.

Henry growls. It’s becoming a more and more frequent noise. “Yeah, I know,” he mutters. “But…” “But?” “You weren’t the only one who ordered things online.” Killian feels his eyes widen slightly and it’s probably not the best response because Henry immediately makes another noise, mumbling a string of curses under his breath that are almost verbatim to what he said earlier. He’s fairly certain Henry wouldn’t know where to send a particularly troublesome sea monster otherwise.

“That so?” Killian asks, smirking out of instinct and interest and Violet was at the house two days before. Both she and Henry leapt several feet in the air when Killian and Emma came home from patrol, laden down with grocery bags and he’d never seen the poor lass move quicker than she did while attempting to leave.

Henry’s face may still be slightly flushed.

“Can that table hold you?” Henry counters speculatively and Killian’s eyebrows shift again.  

“The table is perfectly fine. The same may not be true, however, for the entire Christmas event if we don’t do something about the gift situation.” Henry’s lips twitch like he’s trying to bite back a smile and his hair falls towards his eyes when he flips his head to stare at Killian. “You don’t have to call it the entire Christmas event every time you mention it,” he says, but there’s a note of excitement just on the edge of his voice that brings back memories of picking a house and, eventually, filling a house with antique furniture that they aren’t supposed to sit on. “You can just call it Christmas.” “Noted,” Killian grins. “Now what do you say to a gifting operation?” “It needs a good name.” “Of course it does. That’s up to you though.” “Why? My first plan went to crap.” Killian narrows his eyes and he’s still not sure if he’s got a very firm grasp on discipline , but Henry seems to sag a bit further into the couch cushions and maybe neither one of them will send particularly troublesome sea monsters anywhere for the rest of Christmas.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Henry mutters. “I know. And don’t you have to work? Mom said something about some report of a weird snowstorm just….like in the middle of the woods.” “We’re fairly certain that was all speculative. And possibly some drunken story passed around the Rabbit Hole a few days ago because every time we’ve heard about it, it changed. And snow is rather common this time of year, isn’t it?” Henry shrugs, an impressive feat considering the twisted way he’s still lying on the couch. “I’m just saying. If you blow off work, Mom’s going to know something’s up.” “No one is blowing anything off. We’ll come up with an excuse.” “A lie? On Christmas?” “It is not a lie,” Killian argues, but the words already feel heavy on his tongue and Henry’s getting very good at lifting one eyebrow. It does something ridiculous to his stomach. “It is...a calculated move.” “Against who, exactly?” “Christmas.” “You’re making moves against Christmas?”

Killian tries not to sigh again, but it probably wouldn’t matter because Henry is already hysterical, whole body shaking with laughter and eyes closed tightly and they’re wasting valuable shopping time. “We,” Killian corrects pointedly. “Are going to purchase things because this realm can’t seem to get its dates correct or a workforce that values timeliness.” Henry will probably never stop laughing.

“You’re a pirate,” he chuckles. “You’re not supposed to be advocating for a productive workforce.”

“Do you think a ship will simply sail itself if the crew isn’t willing to work? Or if one of the crewmembers skirts his duties? That’s how ships sink, lad.” “Alright, well, this took a decidedly not-Christmas turn.” “Then it seems like it’s time for you to come up with an operation name, don’t you think? And find my phone so I can call your mother.” Henry’s shoulders shake again, but he swings his legs back on the ground and grins at Killian with a look that’s both conspiratorial and something that feels a bit like allegiance. They are, it seems, ready to make a bold move against Christmas.

“Operation: Wrapping Paper,” Henry intones and he’s clearly done it for the reaction because the grin that breaks out on his face when Killian tilts his head in confusion is far too big to be anything but planned.

“You’re going to have to explain that one, lad,” Killian says, standing up and he can almost make out his phone ringing somewhere. It’s probably in the kitchen.

Henry’s grin gets wider. “Your phone’s definitely not in the kitchen. That’s coming from upstairs.”

Bedroom it is then. “And,” he adds. “That is a crazy loud volume. You should probably fix that. Did you not get wrapping paper yet, though? For real?” “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re telling me,” Killian mutters, taking the stairs two at a time and his phone is sitting in the middle of the bed when he all but sprints into the room.

It’s stopped ringing.

It’s dinging instead.

“Bloody fu…” he hisses, grabbing the stupid thing off the blanket and he’s got two missed calls from Snow and one from Emma and, it appears, they’re working together because the phone starts ringing in his hand.

He doesn’t even have a chance to open his mouth before there’s a slightly frantic voice in his ear.

“Killian?” Emma asks and his eyes widen immediately, defense rising and he’s already half a step closer to the door than he was a moment before. “Where are you?” “Home, Swan and uh…” “Oh, ok, good.” “Is something wrong, love?”

She makes a dismissive noise on the other end and he’s fairly certain he can hear Snow muttering something, but it all sounds a bit jumbled and some of that noise might just be Emma pacing in the sheriff's office.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” she says quickly. “Totally fine.” “You’re a rather terrible liar, you know that? Did something happen with this snowstorm?”

He can almost see her shaking her head, the sound of her hair brushing against the screen making it nearly impossible to hear her footsteps. There’s a third voice in the sheriff’s station. It’s, absolutely, David.

“Swan,” Killian starts and she must nearly jump to attention on the other side of town because he hears her curse softly when she slams into, what sounds like, her desk. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on because I’m thinking I may just stay home if there isn’t anything else…” He can’t finish the sentence and he has no idea what he’s going to say because he doesn’t really want to lie to Emma, on Christmas or any other day, but she’s so clearly distracted he’s already got half a mind to walk to work.

He doesn’t get a chance to move.

Emma’s already shouting things again.

“Yes,” she yells and it sounds like David has started laughing, ignoring his daughter’s not-so-quiet reprimands. “Yes! You should absolutely, definitely stay home.” Killian makes a face at the open air in front of him, not sure why he feels the warning bells in the back of his head, but Emma’s voice is just a bit too enthusiastic. It sounds suspiciously like Henry’s when he promised he and Violet were just hanging out alone on the couch.

Emma inhales sharply when she realizes what she’s said and he can picture her, right there in front of him, eyebrows pinched and lower lip tugged tightly between her teeth and David is certainly related to Henry because he can’t seem to stop laughing either.

“Wait,” she says suddenly. “Why do you want to stay home? Are you ok?” “You called me, Swan,” Killian counters. “And told me I should be staying home.” “Yeah.” “Yeah? No explanation? Just...yeah?” “Uh….” she stammers. “Yes?” He barks out a laugh before he can stop himself, something flashing through his whole body that feels a lot like love , but might just be whatever festive spirit both Emma and Henry claim exists in this realm. “That’s not much of a change, darling,” Killian says and Emma sighs, the sounds of her decidedly squeaky desk chair working through the phone. “And you need a new chair.” “We need a new everything in this office, we’ve been over that eight-hundred times.” “True,” he agrees. “That’s still not an explanation though. Why do you want me to stay home?” “Why do you want to be staying home?”

They have, apparently, reached some kind of not-quite-lie, hopefully Christmas-type stalemate. This holiday is far more trouble than he anticipated. “Killian,” Emma prompts and he needs to say something because he can still hear Snow talking and David mumbling something about tomorrow night and  gifts and this is supposed to be important.

“It’s nothing,” he says, but it sounds as obvious as anything and she tuts quietly when he doesn’t immediately continue. “Just feeling a little under the weather and I don’t want to miss any of your parent’s plans tomorrow.”

It’s, naturally, not the worst lie he’s ever told.

He’s told more lies than he can even begin to fathom and this is far from the most devious.

It’s not even a particularly well-executed lie – there’s stumbling and elongated pauses and Henry’s arrived in the hallway with a knowing smile on his face and his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

It’s also quite obvious that it is, in fact, a lie.

Emma doesn’t even try to hide her scoff and Killian can feel the blush rising in his neck, the desire to tug on the hair behind his ear somewhere close to overwhelming. “That was almost painfully bad,” she mutters, but there’s still a note of amusement in her voice and a distinct lack of the overwhelmed it held just a few moments before.

“She totally figured you out, huh?” Henry asks. His attempts at whispering the question come up woefully short.

Killian shakes his head. “If you don’t need me in the station or questioning dwarves about weather patterns than I’m happy to stay home for the day, love,” he continues. “Although I think we both need to work on our excuses.” “It’s not an excuse,” Emma says. “It’s...whatever. There are no weather issues because that snowstorm thing was a total lie and Dad went to go check it out already anyway. So there’s...you know...not a ton going on here.” “Of course.” “You are infuriating when you’re all-knowing.” “I’m not anything, Swan. Except possibly learning what something called wrapping paper is.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Henry mumbles and Killian flashes him a warning look and he’s going to have bribe every single person in town so no one else learns about the present debacle.

Emma laughs, free and easy and they need to go buy things. Hours ago. “Wrapping paper, huh?” she asks and her grin is obvious even without her in front of him. “Interesting. Any particularly good patterns on this wrapping paper?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, we haven’t gotten that far in the instructional period, huh?”

“Not as such, no,” Killian answers, taking a step out of the room and pushing lightly on Henry’s shoulders until they’re both moving back down the hallway. “But I’m sure we’ll get to that part of the rules eventually.” She’s quiet for a moment and Killian freezes, halfway between tugging on one boot and hoping his keys are still in his jacket pocket. “What?” he asks.

“I just...I mean there aren’t rules to this, you know. It’s not like I’m…” Killian waits for the rest of the sentence, but it doesn't come and his legs are starting to ache from crouching. “Swan?”

“I mean presents are good, but you know we didn’t really talk about gifts and you don’t have to…” “I want to,” Killian corrects. She probably scrunches her nose. She absolutely scrunches her nose. Henry makes some kind of vaguely insulted face.

It’s silent for another moment, save for the very squeaky, absolutely torturous chair behind Emma’s desk. He refuses to sit in it.

He can hear her sigh softly, but it doesn’t sound disappointed, it sounds a bit surprised and, perhaps, just a little hopeful and it makes his chest ache because they’ve waited for this and wanted this and there need to be presents.

He’s going to buy her a present come hell or high water.

And he’s already been to hell.

This, by comparison, should be relatively easy.

“See, saying things like that out loud is just absolutely unfair,” Emma says. Killian’s heel pops into his boot. “What am I supposed to think about for the rest of the day?” He grins. Henry gags. “Hopefully that,” Killian admits. And that time David might gag. Maybe Henry should just go shopping with David.

“Ah, that was even worse.” “You’re telling me these things like they’re an insult, Swan. I’m failing to see that point of view at all. It all seems almost romantic.” “Almost,” she echoes and his keys are still in his pocket. Henry is practically sprinting out the door. “You really don’t have to come in today. We’ve got everything taken care of and I’m just going to get caught up on some paperwork while things are still quiet.” “You’ve told me several times I don’t have to come in today, love, I understand.”

He doesn’t move – dimly aware that the wind will pick up on his phone and he’s already told enough Christmas lies for one day – and Emma hums distractedly at the explanation. “Right, right,” she says. “And, you know, paperwork. Lots of it.” Killian doesn’t have any magic, at least not anymore, but actual centuries spent on the Jolly Roger left him with a fairly strong sense of reading people , particularly insubordinate crewmembers with visions of mutiny and control and while he might not consider himself Captain Hook anymore, he hasn't completely lost the talent.

And Emma Swan, savior and princess and the love his very long life, isn’t planning a mutiny is, but she is, quite clearly, up to something.

He’d finished all the paperwork two days before.

“Right,” Killian agrees, curiosity lingering in the back corner of his mind even when he knew he didn’t have time for an interrogation over the phone. “Paperwork.”

Emma makes another noise and he can hear it for the dismissal it absolutely is. “Exactly,” she says, snapping her jaw on the word. “So, uh….I’m going to go do that and you’re going to stay home and probably read, like, twenty books.” “Seems rather ambitious, don’t you think, love?” “The paperwork or the books?” “Either or.” She laughs softly before the chair squeaks again and she’s standing, the sound of her boots echoing off the walls of the otherwise uneventful office. “I’ll see you later,” Emma says. “For movies and hot chocolate.” “I look forward to it, Swan.” “Yeah, me too. I love you.”

He’s lost track of the number of times she’s said it now – the words that were, at one point, some kind of insurmountable challenge now seem to just roll out of her as easy as breathing and just as important – but the sentence never fails to make his heart stutter and his breath catch and Killian swallows before he responds.

“I love you too,” he says and it feels bigger than that because there are traditions to be started and presents to be bought and it’s going to be easy to find exactly what she deserves.

It is, Killian is loathe to find out, not easy to find...anything in the middle of Storybrooke with only a few hours before Christmas.

It is, he’s discovering, close to impossible.

And it is, possibly, because he’s so goddamn picky.

At least that’s what Henry tells him when they leave the one clothing story Storybrooke has to offer with nothing in hand and no idea where to go next.

“You’re really horrible at this, you know that?” Henry asks, all judgement and little suggestion just a few steps removed from the store windows that are decorated with something, apparently, called garland. “That one jacket wasn’t that bad.” Killian runs his hand through his hair, frustration sinking into every inch of him and they’re running out of places to go. The one store that particularly cheerful dwarf runs filled with knick-knacks and, what Henry referred to as tourist stuff, was a waste of nearly forty-five minutes and the idea of recreating his first date with Emma seemed to personally offend his stepson and, now, the clothing store was also a failure, with apparel that didn’t just seem impractical for this realm, it felt far too similar to what was going to land on their doorstep on December 29th.

Hopefully.

If whatever magic that made sure the packages got where there were supposed to go decided to do its job.

“That one jacket wouldn’t have lasted a single crisis here,” Killian argues. “The stitching was coming undone right in front of us. I’m surprised it didn’t simply fall apart in my hand.” Henry raises his eyebrows at him, what looks like several dozen questions waiting to be asked at the same time sitting on the tip of his tongue. Killian waits. And he’s not disappointed. “How do you know that?” Henry asks, voice picking up and he barely gets one word out before he starts on the next one. “Did you...do you know people who made clothes? Like the shoemaker?” Killian narrows his eyes and Henry makes a slightly disappointed noise. “You know with the elves,” he says as if that’s a clue.

“I’ve never encountered a single elf,” Killian says. “Although there were rumors about a land outside of the Enchanted Forest where the elves there made impenetrable armor. That always seemed rather appealing.” “Did you ever go there?” Henry’s eyes widen to an almost comical size and Killian flashes him a grin, never one to turn down a captivated audience.

“I’m not sure there was much truth to it, my boy. Just an old story to keep sailors occupied at night. After all, there’s something to be said for pillaging when you can’t be injured.” Henry nods quickly, eyes still wide and Killian rests his hand on his shoulder. “You know, elves are a pretty big part of Christmas too.” “That so?” “Yeah, I mean, they’re not making armor for pirates, but they help make the toys. Or at least that’s what parents tell their kids when they’re younger.” Killian tilts his head and there is, apparently, far more to this Christmas event than he originally realized. “Ah, we didn’t get to Miracle on 34th Street yet, did we? Well, when we’re little, parents here tell their kids that if they’re good then Santa will bring them presents.” “And Santa is...also an elf?” “No, no, no, he’s some guy.” “Some guy?” Killian repeats skeptically and the storytelling tables seem to have turned rather abruptly. Henry shrugs, as if that’s an appropriate answer. “So what you’re telling me is that fabrications are part of Christmas?” “What?”

“Parents are lying to their children to get them to behave. This Santa fellow, he doesn’t really exist does he?” “At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if he did in some other realm, honestly,” Henry admits, shrugging again and Killian is momentarily worried about the state of his neck before his eyes catch sight of something yellow and a flash of red and he swears he can hear her boots crunching on the snow.

“Bloody hell,” Killian growls, moving his hand away from Henry’s shoulder to tug on his wrist and he’s dimly aware of a disgruntled jeez, Killian you’re going to dislocate my arm before they’re moving into the alley behind the store.

They’re a mess of stumbling feet and twisted up limbs and he tries to keep his left arm pinned to his side in an attempt to avoid some other catastrophe. Henry gapes at him like he’s lost his mind, mouth open and questions threatening, but he snaps his jaw shut when he hears the voices moving across the street – directly onto the sidewalk they were just standing on.

“I’m just saying,” Snow says and it doesn’t sound like it’s the first time she’s tried to make her point. Emma’s breathing gets a little louder, footsteps falling with a bit more determination as if she’s trying to work out some residual energy and Killian bites back a smile.

Paperwork. Of course.

“Yeah, well, I’m just saying,” Emma argues. Henry slams his hand over his mouth so he doesn’t start laughing. “Mom, this needs to be good. It can’t just be…”

She stops talking and, by the sound of it, stops walking and Snow mutters something that sounds like a question. “Those are recent,” Snow says. “And moving back into the alley. Why would anyone be going back there?”

Killian rolls his eyes skyward, trying to keep his breathing as quiet as possible and his frustration as low as possible, but both seem decidedly impossible because, apparently, Christmas Eve exists only to test his patience.

He widens his eyes towards Henry when he feels an elbow in his side and they both try to occupy the same four feet of slightly shadowed space.

“Do you think they know it’s us?” Henry whispers and he shakes his head, determined to will it into being because he absolutely wants to believe it.

Emma clicks her tongue a few feet away. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Why would anyone want to be in this alley? You think there’s a door to the store back there?” Snow doesn’t answer and Killian barely hears Henry’s frantic oh shit before he’s the one being pulled further down the alley, Emma’s footsteps echoing in his ears because, of course, she’s come to investigate.

She probably went to double check on the weather reports in the woods herself.

Killian makes a mental note to discuss that with David at some point tomorrow.

They barely make it around the corner – and Killian only has half a chance to thank several deities that this alley connected to something – when some other voice calls for Emma and she mumbles what sounds like several increasingly creative curses under her breath before marching away.

“Do not repeat those,” Killian mumbles, glancing meaningfully at Henry whose shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

“That’s exactly what you were saying this morning,” Henry contends. “Mom learned that one about King Triton from you. That’s something she just knew.” “Even so.” Henry smiles. “So...uh, you guys are just both great, big liars, huh? Mom out with Grandma and thinking people are trying to break into Modern Fashions.”

“That just means we need to be better at covering our tracks. Quite literally.” “And you want to go bribe that cashier some more to make sure that he doesn’t tell Mom it was us out here, right?”

Killian nods deftly and Henry might mutter I knew it when they duck around another corner and back in front of the store – only to find Emma and Snow already inside. “Gods,” he sighs, dimly aware of how much he’s tugging on his hair when his scalp starts to ache.

“I don’t know that he’s going to be silenced with a few doubloons,” Henry says.

“I’m not actually carrying any doubloons right now.” “Well then that guy is totally going to tell Mom and Grandma we were in there like...five minutes ago.”

Killian hums, that frustration he was trying so desperately to avoid feeling as if it’s actually slinking down his spine. “What do you say to some fries? And possibly pie?”

“Fries and pie?” “Fries and pie.” “Milkshakes?” “Fries and pie.”

Henry deflates slightly, but Emma and Snow are walking back towards the door and they don’t really have much of a choice except sprinting back across the street and skidding into Granny’s with enough force that they nearly take out a waitress.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Granny shouts, hands on his and eyebrows pulled low and Henry, immediately, blushes. “You’re going to pull my door off its hinges.” “Sorry, Granny,” Henry mutters, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the linoleum floor at the same time Killian tilts his head and says “Apologies, ma’am.”

Granny’s eyes flit across them, like she’s taking stock or inventory or, just possibly, reading their minds. It’s most likely the last one. “Fries or pie?” she asks, moving her hands away from her hips to cross her arms over her chests.

“We were thinking both,” Killian answers. Granny’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline and one side of her mouth twitches slightly.

“Ah,” she says as if everything about this incredibly hectic holiday suddenly makes sense. “So the rumors were true then.” Henry groans, taking a step towards the counter and sinking onto one of the open stools. He spins on the spot. Killian tries not to actually rip his hair out.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, ma’am,” he says instead, taking up residence on his own stool and grabbing a menu like it’s changed since the first time he stepped into the restaurant. “We’re simply looking for some fries and pie. Whatever most recently came out of the oven.” Granny’s mouth moves again. “Yuh huh.”

“You’re out of ketchup,” Killian says, tapping one finger on the empty glass bottle in front of him.

“Yuh huh.” Henry stops spinning, resting both elbows on the counter and his chin on his hands. “Did somebody rat us out, Granny?” “Depends on what you two are trying to hide, I suppose.”

“Somebody totally ratted us out. Was it Happy?” He glances towards Killian and the stool squeaks nearly as much as Emma’s office chair. “I told you we should have offered to buy all the dwarves drinks for the rest of the week.”

Granny throws her whole head back when she laughs, drawing a few suspicious stare and Killian does his best to melt into the ground. “Are your bribing the people of Storybrooke, Captain? In pursuit of gifts?” “Bribe is a very strong word,” Killian says and Granny’s laugh, somehow, gets even louder. “Suggested at most.”

“Naturally. While brandishing that hook of yours?”

“There were no threats involved.” “Only because we haven’t seen Leroy yet,” Henry adds. Granny smiles, placing two steaming mugs in front of both of them and maybe she’s the one with lingering magic because Killian hadn’t even noticed her move. “But it’s still fairly early.” “Your certainty that this isn’t going to work is disheartening, lad,” Killian says. “And if we’re all going to be so honest, it should be acknowledged that you haven’t found anything to gift either.”

He glances meaningfully at Granny, her lips pressed together tightly and tilted down slightly and they’re probably not ever going to get any pie. “We both agreed we didn’t want to buy that touristy stuff,” Henry mutters, hissing when he takes a gulp of whatever the scalding liquid in the cup is. Probably hot chocolate.

“Where else have you two been today?” Granny asks. “The last I heard you were trying to get Bella Note to open up on Christmas Day.” Killian rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I was trying to do at all.” “Seems like cheating to just repeat the one date you have been on, don’t you think, Captain?”

Henry snorts into his hot chocolate.

“It is not cheating,” Killian says, but it might have been and that coat that was supposed to show up on their doorstep was perfect. It was warm and red and, admittedly too expensive, Henry’s certainty that Mom’s going to freak when she sees how much that cost ringing in his ears, but it was exactly what Emma needed and she was never going to get it for herself.

Her current coat was in worse distress than the one in that shop.

“And all of these ideas were mostly born out of something a bit closer to…” “Lack of present panic?” Granny asks archly, tugging the menu out of his hand.

“Something like that.”

“The cherry pie came out of the oven not even twenty minutes before both of you barreled in here. It may still be warm.”

“And fries too?” Henry asks. His mug is empty.

Granny reaches out, patting his cheek. He doesn’t try to pull away. “Fries too,” she promises. “And you may want to think a less outside the box on this one, Captain. You’ve missed some very important courting lessons in this realm.” He knows his eyes do something and it’s probably a bit closer to impolite than it should be, considering the woman in front of him is, presumably, going to get them pie and fries and, hopefully, keep their shopping secret.

They stare at each other for a breath before Henry makes some kind of noise that more resembles the sea monsters their entire family was determined to curse earlier in the day. “Jewelry,” he groans. “She’s talking about jewelry. God, how did we not think of that? It’s almost too in character.”

“I’m not quite in the habit of buying jewels,” Killian says, flashing a smile and a quick eyebrow shift towards Granny when she scoffs. “Seems like cheating don’t you think, ma’am?”

She leans forward and for half a moment he thinks she’s going to refill his now-cold mug of hot chocolate. She doesn’t. She flicks her fingers against his shoulder.

“Not when you’re discussing Christmas presents for your wife, pirate,” Granny says. “And, most importantly, not when you’re distinctly lacking on the present front. You are, after all, under a bit of a time crunch.” “It’s not a bad idea,” Henry shrugs. “I mean...maybe a little rom-com, but you know…” Killian narrows his eyes. “Rom-com.” “When Harry Met Sally, all those Reese Witherspoon movies Mom likes but won’t admit to, anything Grandma would watch ever.” “Ah.” “The sparklier the better, Captain,” Granny says, now with two plates in her hand and she must know how to teleport. There’s usually smoke involved. Killian is not surprised that she, apparently, doesn’t need it. “We’re back to that then?” She shrugs and a waitress puts down a third plate, fries sitting in a small pool of grease that seems to thrill Henry more than anything else that’s happened throughout the day. “Looks like you’re already wooing with even the thought of jewelry. You do have good taste. Emma’s ring was the talk of the town for weeks. Even after…” Granny cuts herself off and Killian digs his fork into the slice of pie in front of him. This needed to be perfect. “The sparklier the better, you say?” he asks and Granny’s shoulders shift when she takes a deep breath.

She puts a new bottle of ketchup on the counter. “Exactly.”

They eat all of the pie and all of the fries and he’s as far away from the threatening pirate he once was because he agrees to the milkshake when Henry promises he’ll still eat dinner later. Of course he will. He’ll probably eat Emma and Killian out of the house by the New Year.

And the jewelry store at the other end of Main Street is the only option they have left.

It’s nearly going somewhere according to plan when Granny promises it’s on the house today and squeezes Henry’s shoulder and they don’t run over any other waitresses when they open the door.

They nearly run over Emma and Snow instead.

“Swan?” “Killian?” “Mom?” “Henry?” “Hey,” Snow says, waving one hand awkwardly on the step and they’re blocking the entire walkway. She’s nearly drooping under the weight of the bags she’s holding. “Happy Christmas Eve!”

Henry laughs softly, pushing around Killian to walk towards Snow, nodding towards the assortment of bags in her hands. “What are you guys doing here?” “We thought we’d get some food.” “In between stacks of paperwork?” Killian asks, eyes flitting from the bags back up towards Emma. She presses her lips together. “Is that right, Swan?”

She won’t meet his gaze, staring a hole into the tiny bit of stair that’s left with all of them still standing there. “We’re taking a break,” she says and she’s in desperate need of a new coat. “And I’m starving. And Mom was...you know, boosting the town’s entire economy in one day. It’s...we did not plan this.”

“Naturally.” “Did you guys eat?” “Pie and fries,” Henry answers immediately. Emma’s head snaps up.

“Pies and fries?” she asks. “Did you unearth some kind of world-ending evil or something?”

Killian moves before he considers it, but she’s standing there and shivering slightly and that coat really is horrendous, so his arm moves out of instinct or possibly want and he tugs Emma against his side. She rests her head on his shoulder. “I promise it’s not that serious, love,” he says, but she glances up at him in disbelief. “It’s not.” “We were just hungry,” Henry continues. “And there was new pie. Or fresh pie. What would you call still-warm pie?” “I think fresh is the correct term,” Mary Margaret says.

“Yeah, that makes sense, right?” “What are you guys doing here though?” Emma asks, pulling back to stare at Killian. “What happened to wanting to stay home?”

He shrugs and he’s clearly out of lying practice because his mind is blank save for his curiosity regarding the variety of colors in the bags Snow is holding and why Emma came up with the paperwork story when it was so obviously false.

She widens her eyes when he doesn’t answer immediately.

“There’s only so much reading you can do in one afternoon,” Killian reasons. “And not much food at home.” Henry yelps – out of surprise or disagreement or something, but he slams his lips together when three confused stares turn towards him. “Nothing, nothing, nothing, I mean...nothing. We should probably go though.”

They are a family of horrible liars.

“Go?” Emma repeats. The door to Granny’s is still open. She’s shouting about heating costs. “Where do you guys have to go?” “Home,” Killian and Henry say at the same time and he breathes a silent sigh of relief that they said the same thing.

Snow nods as if that’s the absolute truth, but Emma tilts her head, twisting to stare at both of them. It speaks volumes. “Did you two practice that or…”

“Back to the books, Swan,” Killian says. “This was just a break, right?” They’ve, quite clearly, reached another conversational impasse, but Emma is stubborn and Killian is vaguely determined and he’s not sure how much longer Snow can hold all of those bags before she does permanent damage to her fingers.

“So, uh…” Henry wavers. “We going to go or….” “Aye,” Killian says, pressing a kiss to the top of Emma’s head and she’s wearing one of those hats she’s so fond of when it turns colder. She twists to look back up at him, like she’s trying to read his mind or figure out who he’s spoken to that day. “I’d suggest the pie, Swan,” he adds, pulling his hand down to squeeze her hip and she nips at his lip when he kisses her.

“Our refrigerator is filled with food,” Emma whispers.

He’s fairly convinced his blood runs cold. Until he remembers.  He kisses her again before he speaks – because, at least in some things, he’s still a selfish pirate.

“I finished all the paperwork two days ago,” Killian says, resting his forehead on hers. “And we haven’t arrested anyone recently.”

He appreciates the way Emma’s eyes widen slowly, the words taking a moment to process and Snow hisses in a breath of air. Henry is halfway down the sidewalk already.

“I’ll see you at home, Swan,” he grins, turning to take a step and he nearly trips over himself when he feels a tug on the front of his jacket.

She kisses him that time.

“I’ll see you later,” Emma mumbles, the hint of a smile still on her mouth when she doesn’t pull away to talk.

She closes Granny’s door behind her when she walks into the restaurant, questions about apple pie lingering in the air behind her.

They have to circle through another alley because, for some reason Killian can no longer remember, they’re trying to do all of this in secret, but they make it to the jewelry store eventually and the dwarf that runs that particular shop because it can’t be part of the Storybrooke economy if a dwarf is not explicitly involved.

He’s sleeping when they open the door.

“Gods,” Killian groans and Henry slams the door closed a bit louder than necessary. The dwarf jumps off his chair, hands thrown into the air like he’s preparing to defend himself against some unseen enemy and he actually gasps when he sees who’s standing in the doorway.

“You really can’t threaten him,” Henry cautions. “We’ve got to actually buy something before we go home.” Killian nods, pressing his hand flat on Henry’s back and pushing him forward. The dwarf drops back onto the chair, yawning every other breath and this is already a disaster.

“Can...ah...can I help you Captain Jones?” he asks, drawing a snicker out of Henry. “Are you looking for something in particular for the princess?” In the weeks and months after the Final Battle, the majority of Storybrooke seemed to find some almost happy medium between their current selves and their Enchanted Forest selves, a change that left most of the population referring to Killian as Captain and Emma as Princess and it’s both jarring and slightly unexpected and it regularly makes Emma blush.

Killian blinks once while his brain tries to remember that princess is, in fact, the same woman who lied about paperwork and bit at his lip. Henry elbows him – if they don’t keep talking the blasted dwarf is going to fall asleep.

“We want to buy something for my mom,” Henry answers. “It should be sparkly.” “Or so we’ve been reliably informed,” Killian says, taking a step towards the cases in front of them and he can’t quite mask the disappointed sound that seems to fall out of him.

Henry hums in agreement. “Not very piratical, huh?” “I’ll admit I’ve seen more impressive treasure before.”

The dwarf almost looks offended, but it’s gone in a yawn and a few fluttering eyelashes and Henry raps his knuckles on the glass case. “What about a necklace? That red one’s not bad. It’d almost match the jacket whenever that decides to show up.” Killian considers that for a moment, examining the necklace through the pane of glass, but it’s not quite sparkly and the only necklace he’s ever seen Emma wear wasn’t for particularly good reasons. “What about ear bobs?” he counters and Henry lifts his hands in unspoken question. “Jewels for her ears.” “Earrings?” “If you say so.”

Henry rolls his eyes, tapping on the glass again. “Those ones,” he says, nodding towards the diamond pieces in the corner of the case.

The dwarf has fallen asleep.

Killian’s whole body sags forward when he groans and Henry can’t even bring himself to laugh over the absurdity of it all. It takes less than a full second for Killian to decide he’s tired of it all.

Not tired enough to simply fall asleep, but...that’s beside the point.

“You didn’t watch this happen,” Killian says, jumping over the small barrier just to the side of the case. The lock is relatively simple and it only takes a few twists of his wrist and two attempts with the tip of his hook until he hears the telltale click.

Henry beams at him.

The earrings aren’t really all that sparkly – even in the lighting of the shop reflecting off the stones as soon as Killian pulls them out of the case. He and Henry stare at them for what feels like several Christmases, but they don’t change or, suddenly, feel like the perfect gift.

He’s not so sure the jacket was the perfect gift either.

It’s a holiday disaster on a holiday he’s only slightly certain he understands.

“Yeah,” Henry breathes. “Doesn’t really scream, Mom, does it?” Killian shakes his head, disappointment settling on his shoulders like a particularly heavy fog. Maybe that’s what was lurking in the woods on the edge of town. “As much as I’d like to believe that your mother would be interested in receiving jewels as a gift, I can’t see her truly enjoying these...earrings?” Henry chuckles lightly, nodding quickly. “Earrings,” he confirms. “Yeah. It should be more...her. Especially from you.” “Exactly.” “Do you have a specific pirate-type curse for pirates who can’t find good Christmas gifts for their savior wives?” “I don’t,” Killian says, running his hand through his hair before returning the earrings to their spot in the case. “Unfortunately.” “I mean it’s kind of a specific emergency.” “That it is.”

Henry huffs out an exhale, closing his eyes lightly and the dwarf is still asleep. Killian considers his options and he’s going to have to just tell Emma about the apparent ignorance of whatever a distribution center is, but the feeling leaves him decidedly dejected and this is not the idyllic holiday he’s been led to believe Christmas is.

There are far too many films about it for it to be anything except perfect.

They deserve a bit of perfect.

Henry’s eyes open, flitting towards a gold strand, twisted into a delicately intricate pattern and, well, that’s perfect.

“We’ll leave the money,” Killian says, answering a question Henry hasn’t asked yet.

“What?”

He smiles, tugging on his back pocket to grab the clip Emma bought him when she realized he was actually carrying funds in a bag he kept inside his jacket. “Is there a tag on it? Or some indication of how much it costs?” “You don’t...you don’t have to do that.” Killian’s already pulling the piece of metal towards them, certain the tale of how red Henry’s face has turned will entertain Emma for most of the evening. “It’s done,” Killian says, tossing a wad of bills on top of the glass. “Should we leave a note?” “Probably.”

“Aye, you’re right. We don’t need all seven of the dwarves raiding our home later.” “That’s very practical.” They write a note on the back of a receipt they find stuffed into the corner behind the register an Henry adds a lot of exclamation points and underlines and Killian has, more or less, resigned himself to coming home empty-handed when he closes the door to the glass case.

It squeaks.

And he suddenly knows what he can get Emma.

“You look like you’ve just invented the lightbulb,” Henry says. “Or just realized how much we overpaid for that bracelet.” Killian shakes his head, mind racing and heart racing and this is going to work. “Neither. And we paid what we should have.” “So….what’s happening right now then?” “I know what to get Emma.” Henry’s eyebrows jump and his mouth turns down, lower lip jutted out slightly in a way that is almost too familiar. “How quickly do you think Marco can work?” Henry shrugs. “Probably depends on how much money you’re willing to overpay him.” “Plenty.” “And you know...if you tell him it’s for Mom he’ll probably do it for free.” “Come on,” Killian says, jumping back over the barrier and they leave the note with the still-sleeping dwarf.