#csss2025

Last Christmas had been less than ideal. 

Henry’s usual enthusiasm had been dampened by a rejection letter the week before from the college he’d applied to as his early-decision. They all had known that Brown was a “reach” school, but he’d had such a vivid picture in his head of himself as an Ivy League student, and his disappointment was a blow to his holiday spirit. 

Hope, meanwhile, had recovered from the virus she’d picked up at her preschool (which Emma called the “germ factory”) by December twenty-third, but not before passing it on to both of her doting parents. (“She gave it to you, and you passed it to me!” insisted each of them once they’d recovered, with a grin and a friendly shove). Between the illness and her age – barely three years old in December – her parents wondered how much of the season she’d even remember. 

To top it all off, there had been a heat wave, with temperatures hitting the 50s. The expected snow had been replaced with gray skies and rain. 

No, last Christmas hadn’t been the kind they write carols about. 

But this year was a fresh start. Henry would be home from college, and he was bringing a friend. “Not a girlfriend,” he added quickly (and unprompted). “Just a friend… who is a girl. Make sure Killian knows that too, Mom. Tell him not under any circumstances to use the word girlfriend, okay? And please don’t embarrass me.” 

It was a good thing Henry couldn’t see how high Emma’s eyebrows were over the phone, or the size of her smile. “We would never! But doesn’t her family want her to spend the holidays with them?” 

“She will! But Hanukkah is super early this year, so she can spend the end of it at home and then come stay with us from like, the fifteenth, if that’s okay…?” 

Emma took a moment to confer with her husband, although she knew he wouldn’t object.

“Will she be needing her own room, do you think?” Killian asked, in a voice loud enough to carry through the phone. “Or would she be sharing Henry’s?” Emma gave him a look, while trying not to laugh audibly. 

“Hilarious,” Henry said flatly. “She says she’s cool with the fold-out couch in the den. But maybe I should give her my room and take the couch myself? I do want to be a gentleman… I’ve gotta go study for my final tomorrow, but tell Killian I’ll call him about this later if he lays off the room-sharing cracks.”

Emma conveyed the message to Killian, who looked very pleased to be consulted. “See you soon, Henry!” she said. “We can’t wait to meet your friend-who-is-a-girl!” 

“Mo-oom!” Henry groaned, reminding her forcefully that although he was living on his own on the other side of the country, he was still very much a teenager. “Look, this is her first time doing Christmas, and I just want it to be perfect.” 

Great. He just wanted it to be perfect.

No pressure.

Emma had been keeping an eye on Henry’s flight status all day. His ticket included a layover in Atlanta. He and his mother had been texting back and forth as his flight to Atlanta got more and more delayed, and she got more and more nervous about his connection. The plan had been for him to arrive in ATL with two hours to spare. When his first flight finally got off the ground, it was two hours late. And Emma hadn’t heard from him since. 

All anyone waiting for Henry Swan in Maine knew was that the flight from Atlanta to Maine had taken off on time. There’d been some anxious discussion about whether they should wait to hear from him before leaving for the airport, but Storybrooke was a 45 minute drive away with good traffic. They’d weighed the risk of a fruitless 2-hour round trip to Portland with a 4-year-old if Henry had missed his flight, with the risk of not being there to greet Henry when he arrived home for the first time since Thanksgiving.

So here they were, camped out by the baggage claims, as the sky darkened through the windows. Traffic had been unexpectedly light, which was usually good news. But since they still hadn’t heard from Henry, all it meant was that they’d had to park and come in instead of driving up to meet him. Now, they sat, watching suitcase after suitcase being picked up by a throng of travelers who all seemed to be suffering from a severe case of Not-Henry Disorder. Killian was stroking the back of his little daughter, who had gotten increasingly cranky for every hour past her missed nap, but whose pouty questions about her brother’s whereabouts had finally turned to Zs. She had fallen asleep in the middle of yet another “Where’s Henryyyy?” 

Emma was distracting herself from the dwindling luggage on the carousel – not one of which seemed to be the distinctive green suitcase she’d bought as a going away present – by texting Henry for probably the forty-eighth consecutive time with no response. 

“I’m sure he’s perfectly fine, love,” Killian said softly. 

“Of course he is,” Emma said, trying to make herself believe it. “I just want him to be perfectly fine at home, not perfectly fine and stranded in Atlanta for Christmas.” 

“He’s a clever lad,” Killian assured her. “I’m certain he can manage to find his way home sometime in the next two weeks.” 

Emma managed a weak smile, but looked intently back down at her phone. Killian shifted to glance over her shoulder at the text chain, but he must have jostled Hope awake. Immediately, she started another high-pitched “Henryyy!”  Emma closed her eyes for a moment, praying for patience. 

“Hey, kid! Miss me?” 

Emma’s eyes shot open even as Hope shoved her way out of Killian’s arms – only his finely honed dad-reflexes saved her from falling straight to the floor. Hope didn’t seem to notice, launching herself at her brother, who caught her with an “oof!” He spun her once, making her squeal with delight, and finally turned to the incredibly relieved adults of the family. 

“Hey Mom!” he said, kissing Emma on the cheek. And surely he hadn’t just leaned down to do it, right? She held him tight for a moment, so glad he was safe. When she let him go, he finished up his greetings. “Hey Killian!” he said, throwing the arm that wasn’t full of Hope around his stepfather.

“Welcome home, lad.” Killian said, clapping Henry on the back in a way that reminded Emma of how he’d so recently been patting Hope. She wiped her eyes surreptitiously, just so glad her family was safe and together. She was pretty sure she hid it successfully under a yawn. Killian put an arm around her, either because he thought she was tired or because he’d noticed. 

“So,” Killian said, “you made your connection after all.” 

“Had to run for it,” Henry grinned. “But uhh… my luggage wasn’t so lucky. The lady over there says it’s still in Georgia.” He pointed behind him at the information desk, which explained why he’d come from the wrong direction. “I filled out a form to get it mailed to me. But hey!” he continued, ever the optimist. “I’ve got my laptop in my carry on. And I have plenty of clothes at home, right?” He smiled sheepishly. “And maybe a spare toothbrush? Oh, and a coat… it was almost 70 in Santa Barbara when I left, so I packed it.” 

“I think we can scrounge those up,” Emma said, “but real quick –” She held up her phone to show a screen full of one-sided texts. “Why haven’t I heard from you for the last eight hours?” 

Henry winced. “When I got to Atlanta, I had to sprint for my plane. I was like the last one on, and the captain made the airplane mode announcement… By the time I remembered to text you, we were in the air!” 

“And after you landed in Portland?” she prompted. 

“Okay, so… you know how you told me last night to make super sure my phone was charged?” 

“Vividly,” Emma said flatly.  

“Well, I did! I was so careful to charge it that I left the charger plugged in in my dorm. And then my flight was delayed so long, that I might have… started playing Hearthstone on my phone.”

“Henry!” 

“So by the time I got here it was pretty much dead.” He gave her his most wide-eyed, innocent face. “But what else could I have done? I was so bored!” 

“You didn’t bring a book?” 

“Mom. That was for the plane!” 

“What about your laptop?”

“Oh…” Henry thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah.” 

The brief silence that ensued was broken by a little voice from the vicinity of Henry’s shoulder. “Henry is going to tell me a story now,” she pronounced. 

It had been perhaps an hour, maybe two; the time was starting to stretch unrecognizably as Emma waited for word and stewed in her own regret. Henry had dozed off, and she had maneuvered his feet up onto another empty seat and his head to her lap to rest more comfortably, and that was the only thing keeping her from pacing the small, stark room like a caged animal in nervous anxiety. When someone else entered the room quietly, hands in pockets, head down, and crossed to sit against the opposite wall, Emma was startled into staring at the man blatantly, blinking at the reminder that she and Henry weren’t in their own little world, but that the hospital and all inside it still hummed around them, impervious to the personal island of fear upon which she had landed in her mind.

The gentleman facing them was kind - or discreet - enough not to call attention to or embarrass her for her staring, though he must have felt the weight of her eyes upon him. Despite her worry and fear, her restless unease, Emma couldn’t help studying the only other person in the room - if only for a few moments. He was objectively handsome - there was no denying that, even if she were far from registering true interest. The thick, dark hair, the crystal-blue eyes that flashed across the room at her when he glanced up from the small, leatherbound book in his hands, and the half smile which crooked adorably and put a dimple in his cheek when he shot it towards her quickly from beneath dark lashes; all were virtual catnip to anyone with eyes. She wasn’t far gone enough to miss that. Flushing, she ducked her head, checking to see that Henry was still resting comfortably, trying to busy herself and not have to look back after having been caught out.

A few tensely awkward moments passed with the silence in the air of the waiting room hanging heavily, before the man cleared his throat and spoke to break the tension. “Hello there, Lass. Apologies for being forward, but it seems we may both be here for the long haul this evening. Should we introduce ourselves? I’m Dr. Killian Jones, hospital psychologist.” He extended his right hand to her across the small space, and to her own surprise, Emma found herself spanning the distance to take it, and answering him warmly, regardless of her usual reserve, to introduce herself and her sleeping son.

“My name is Emma Swan. I don’t work here. My - my partner was in an accident earlier this evening, and we - we’re waiting for word…” She couldn’t really bring much else from her rapidly closing throat, so she pulled her hand back, nervously interlocking and unlocking her fingers in her lap and once more avoiding his gaze. When she finally looked up again, this Dr. Jones hadn’t moved; he only watched her quietly, the look on his face telegraphing a deep empathy that needed no words, yet made her feel warmed somehow with the clear knowledge that he wished to help if there was anything he could do.

‘Of course he’s watching you,’ her guarded nature hissed meanly. ‘He’s a shrink, and he’s already trying to get inside your head.’ Suddenly skittish, Emma tried a fleeting smile, anxious not to give away more than she already had. After growing up in the foster system - in and out of group homes and the homes of prospective families that hadn’t worked out - Emma had known numerous case workers, therapists, and other mental health professionals since she was much younger than Henry, and while they had been mostly well-intentioned, she had been left with a lingering doubt of their practical helpfulness.

“And this is my son, Henry,” she tacked on awkwardly, with a gesture toward the sleeping form stretched out beside her. “He’s had a long day, as you can see.”

Killian Jones merely nodded kindly, acknowledging her words but not pressing for details or further conversation, unless she initiated it, for which Emma was grateful. She could feel herself fraying at the edges, seeming to come apart even as she tried to hold herself together. After the anger and disappointment, the tension and worry, and now the interminable waiting and not knowing, she just needed to sit still and try not to think at all if she could manage it.

“Well,” he spoke again, gentle and low in the still waiting room, “it’s nice to meet you, Emma Swan… though I wish it weren’t under such painful circumstances. Here’s hoping you receive some good news soon.”

Emma looked across the small space at him, trying to measure his sincerity. She couldn’t help the only half-teasing barb that slipped out before she could stop it. “Trolling for new patients, are you, Dr. Jones?”

He jerked back abruptly at her mistrustful assumption, then drew in a steadying breath and shook his head. “Hardly, Lass. I merely wanted to wish you well. I am on call tonight, it’s true, but I wasn’t trying to force you into any admissions. Fact is, the holidays are a hard time for many people - even without unforeseen circumstances. I was simply hoping to be where my presence might be needed.”

Emma dipped her head quickly, biting her lower lip and wishing she could take back the unguarded words she’d unleashed. “I’m sorry,” she offered meekly. “That was uncalled for, especially when you’ve been nothing but kind.” Chancing a swift glance back up, she offered a tentative smile. “Truce?”

“Aye, of course,” Dr. Killian Jones accepted easily. “Truce.”

They settled into a comfortable silence then, punctuated only by occasional calls over the loudspeaker, the squeaks of sneakers on the linoleum floor of the hallway nearby, or the distant wail of ambulance sirens and the beeping of machines in other rooms more close at hand. Emma wouldn’t have called it relaxed by any stretch of the imagination, but it was at least comfortable between them. In fact, it was calm and peaceful enough that Henry was still resting when a white-coated doctor entered somberly, the grim look on her face making Emma sit up straight and her heart pound wildly, leaping into her throat as the doctor came to stand before her. 

“Ms. Swan?” the older woman asked. Deep lines etched around tired eyes made the stress the capable-looking professional had been under all too clear.

Emma carefully eased Henry’s feet from her lap and onto the chair behind her as she stood to face the news she needed, but had also been dreading. “Yes,” she nodded shortly, “I am Emma Swan. You have news about Graham Hunter?”

“I do,” the doctor responded, her voice clipped and terse and causing Emma to tense a bit more with each syllable. When she continued, Emma knew even before the pronouncement was made that this was the sort of nightmare moment which would remain cemented in the recesses of her mind for the rest of her life. “Mr. Hunter was brought in with a thready pulse and other signs of a cardiac event, likely brought on by shock and impact from his vehicle being struck. The resultant chaos and damage made it hard to remove him from the wreckage and he was weakened even further. He fought hard, but never fully regained consciousness. His injuries were simply too severe. Mr. Hunter coded, and it was too much for his failing system to withstand. I’m sorry, Ms. Swan, but we couldn’t save him. He’s gone.”

Emma nodded, blindly trying to indicate that she understood, and yet at the same time, she was unable to process the words. Though she had feared ever since the hospital’s call that this would be the outcome, it seemed now like she was moving through a thick, obscuring fog, unwilling to comprehend that he was truly gone. That he wouldn’t know how sorry she was for her earlier harsh words, that he’d never again ruffle Henry’s hair, or give her that sweet boyish smile that had long since won her over and levelled her defenses. It just couldn’t be possible. It wasn’t right or fair. Graham didn’t deserve this, to be cut down so swiftly and violently - gone in an instant.

She bareely registered the doctor’s offer of a few more conciliating words, or even that the woman had moved away, shooting a meaningful glance toward the psychologist as she did so. There was too much happening at once. Her knees wobbled, sheer will keeping her upright. Her stomach lurched, and she needed space - air - desperately. It felt as though the room was closing in, and she had to get out, to run somewhere - anywhere - else. But her eyes lit desperately on Henry, still lying in blissful ignorance. She couldn’t leave him.

That was when, just as she began to gulp frantic mouthfuls of air, she felt a steadying hand on her upper arm, the warm pressure grounding her for a moment in surroundings that whirled madly about her.

“Lass?... Ms. Swan?… Emma?” the gently lilting voice coaxed. “Slow down a moment, aye? Take a deep breath.” 

Where she might have bristled at such instruction in normal circumstances, Emma was so desperate to breathe and right herself in that moment that she merely did as Killian Jones instructed, realizing belatedly that he had risen from his seat and come to stand at her side to offer aid. “That’s it,” he continued soothingly, the low voice almost a croon, and something to follow in the bleak darkness that had nearly engulfed her. “Now another…”

Doing as instructed, without thinking any further than the next breath in, then out again, Emma finally felt a bit less lightheaded, a shaky sort of equilibrium reestablishing itself as she was able to draw enough air into her lungs once more. She managed to stand straight after a few more moments, and - if not exactly capable of a reassuring smile - she was able to meet her waiting room companion’s eyes and nod her thanks, hopefully showing him that she was at least no longer in danger of immediate collapse.

Neither of them spoke for several long minutes as Emma focused on breathing and watching her son sleep, while dreading his waking up to learn their lives as a family were forever changed. To his credit, Dr. Killian Jones didn’t push, didn’t offer empty words of comfort; didn’t speak at all, in fact, or try to force it from her, but he lingered at her side, his presence there if she needed him.

When, a few minutes later, an orderly came to show her to where Graham was - to see him once more and offer her goodbyes if she wished, and to receive the effects found in his car, Emma felt the tremulous grasp on reality she had gathered begin to waver. Straightening her shoulders, she forced herself to hold her shield together. She turned to Killian Jones, not someone she knew well - an hour ago, he had been a stranger - and yet, after the rollercoaster she was still careening through, she also felt as bonded to him as anyone else in the world, now that Graham was gone. He worked for the hospital too, and he couldn’t really do anything shady at his place of work. Beyond that, Emma just sensed she could trust him. She had no other options, at any rate.  Chewing on her lower lip worriedly, she asked, nodding at Henry with a hopeful glance, “Would you mind…?”

“Of course I’ll stay with your lad,” the dark-headed gentleman assured her, before she could even get the rest of her question haltingly asked. “I won’t take my eyes off him for a second. You do what you must.” Should it sound like a duty he took so fervently to heart? Emma wondered, something she didn’t have time to decipher fluttering through her chest and settling in her stomach. 

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper sincerely, grasping his hand for a moment. There weren’t adequate words to convey that she was entrusting him with priceless treasure, that Henry was all she had in the world now, that she didn’t usually trust anyone with her son - and yet she was trusting him… and despite the inability to voice any of it, she sensed Dr. Jones already understood. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she rasped hoarsely, then turned on her heel to follow the orderly quickly from the room.

Left alone with the slumbering youth, Killian couldn’t help feeling a bit of nervous energy. If the young man woke in a strange place, with only someone he didn’t know nearby, he could be frightened and things might become more than a little awkward. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to regret his offer to Ms. Swan - even if it might mean his own discomfort. The conflict in her eyes as she’d tried to decide how to care for her son and also say her farewell to the man she had clearly loved had called to him as plainly as any siren song. If he wasn’t mistaken, though, he had glimpsed something else beside the hurt and worry lodged deep in her expression. He couldn’t fathom why, but it read as self-recrimination, even…guilt?

His mind had wandered down the hall after the woman who had captivated his attention, his curiosity, and his sympathy, wishing her strength for what she was facing, when her lad - Henry, he reminded himself - began to stir. Killian could see the confusion settle in as bleary brown eyes blinked open and looked around the room uncertainly, obviously seeking his mother, or at least something familiar. When that didn’t happen, his gaze came to rest on Killian, his little brow furrowing with curiosity as he mumbled, “Who are you?”

“Hello there, Master Henry,” Killian answered calmly, giving a small nod and what he hoped would come across as a reassuring smile. “My name is Killian Jones. I work as a psychologist here at the hospital. Your mum and I had just been getting to know each other when she was called away for a moment. She asked if I would stay with you, since you were asleep.” He waiting, almost holding his breath in the hope that the boy wouldn’t ask too much more about what they had needed his mother to do. That was not the sort of news that should be broken by a stranger - even one who was a professional counselor.

Young Henry Swan surprised him, however, a mischievous sparkle lighting his eyes when he smiled crookedly and asked, “Why do you sound funny? And no one’s ever called me ‘Master Henry’ before. What does that mean?”

Genuine humor laced the chuckle that escaped from Killian’s chest, even in the midst of the stark and sobering surroundings. The boy’s frank manner and open curiosity were bracing somehow, and it allowed the man to simply answer those queries rather than worry about the ones that might follow. Offering another half smile, he replied, “Well, I suppose the answer to both is that I am originally from the United Kingdom and a few of the more formal terms of address, and my accent as well, have never fully left me.”

Henry nodded at this sagely, looking for all the world like some student mulling over an intriguing new formula rather than the youngster he was. This was their first conversation, but Killian could already see the youth’s thoughtful intelligence as he mulled the answer over. 

“What brought you to America then?” was the next inquiry, one that Killian hoped he masked the stab of painful memory by which it was accompanied. “I mean, don’t people always want to travel over there? You were there already, so why’d you leave?”

Killian breathed out a long sigh and scratched behind his ear, not sure exactly how in-depth this conversation ought to become. Henry might be quite obviously precocious, but they had just met, and he was still a child, despite his startlingly mature behavior. And yet, he wasn’t about to withhold from or mislead the boy. Seeing as he was the hospital’s psychologist, the young man was about to learn he had suffered a devastating loss, and he might well be seeing Killian professionally at least once before all was said and done, it seemed best to start on honest footing. “Let’s just say,” he finally settled on as a response, “that I made a rather foolish choice in love when I was younger. It led to quite painful disappointment and bitterness on my part. I was looking for a change and a fresh start when this job offering came my way. It took it, crossed the pond, and found I rather like it here.”

Henry nodded again, seemingly drinking in every word. “That’s good,” he stated succinctly, his dark head bobbing with a certain affirmation. “You’ve found something you enjoy and a place where you’re happy. Mom says that’s hard to find, but the best thing you can have when you do.”

Killian feels the curiosity those words prompt within, already much more intrigued by the lad’s mother than he has any right to be. “It sounds as though she knows a bit about such things,” he notes. “Those are indeed wise words.”

Henry shrugs his shoulders as if growing a bit impatient with such heavy conversation, some of which must go over his head at such a young age, but then he knocks Killian flat with his astuteness again. “I don’t think she’s quite found her place yet,” he observed matter-of-factly. “She’s always saying, ‘We’re almost there, kiddo’ …whatever that means.”

Killian has to fight the urge both to reach out and ruffle the brown hair affectionately at that - too familiar and not his place, his inner voice chides - and not to wince in painful recognition that part of the near-happy belonging Ms. Emma Swan had spoken of to her boy must have been at least partially due to the man who has just died. He manages to simply nod at the boy’s words, letting him steer their conversation and merely listening for the moment. As the boy tells him about the story he is writing for his school English class, how his mom is a tough and smart private investigator, and how his mom’s partner is teaching him to ice skate on the frozen pond behind their apartment complex, and how the both of them are trying to convince Emma they should move out of the city, maybe near some woods and some open land, and definitely get a dog. Killian finds that any earlier awkwardness he felt at staying with the lad has dissipated completely. If only he didn’t know the hurt that is about to descend on such a happy outlook…

Both man and boy have fallen quiet for a few minutes when a flurry of motion, and then the clatter of items falling to the floor as someone backs into the cart outside a room, startles them and grabs their attention. Killian has just gathered that the careening figure clutching a small canvas bag with the hospital’s logo in a white-knuckled grip is Emma Swan, before she has shot one wild look around and bolted down the hall. It is still too late to keep her tormented eyes and tear-stained cheeks from searing their impression on his memory.

He turns to look down into Henry Swan’s concerned face; the boy had stood at the sight of his mother in distress, just as Killian had done. The lad holds his tongue, but the anxious look in his cocoa-colored eyes asks all too clearly, ‘Is she alright?’ 

Killian speaks gently, praying his words are soothing enough to provide what comfort is possible. “I am sure she will be alright, Lad… given time. But… perhaps we should go to her?”

Henry nods firmly, just once, and moves forward right at Killian’s side as he begins to follow the path they had seen her take moments before. When, a few seconds later, the boy takes his hand, clinging to it in his uncertainty, Killian’s heart lurches with tenderness, and the desire to shield Henry from what cannot be avoided. He merely returns the press of small fingers with a squeeze of his own, and they carry on.

~~*~~

Emma, meanwhile, clasping Graham’s few possessions that had been on him at the time of his accident, was merely seeking sanctuary. She had to find a place away from sympathetic eyes, and bleating machines, and the sight of Graham’s beloved face ashen and cold; those eyes that used to light up whenever he could make her laugh, permanently closed in death. She shouldn’t have said she wanted to see, to offer her farewell in person, her mind repeated incessantly, pounding against her forehead. That horrible final image was there now, threatening to replace all the warm, happy ones that had come before. If she could just find somewhere to hide for a moment, somewhere quiet and secluded where she could maybe, somehow, recover her strength before she had to figure out how to break this to Henry… and how they were going to get through.

It’s her 24th birthday, October 23rd. It’s a cold, windy, and rainy day in Storybrooke, Maine, but Emma is just glad to be celebrating with her son, Henry, and her close friends. She’s just watching Henry play with the Jukebox in the back of Granny’s when the bell over the door chimes, signaling another patron of the small restaurant has entered. She turns her head to see none other than her boss, Killian Jones, walk in the door with a wrapped gift in his bad arm. They lock eyes, and he gives her one of his rare soft smiles, usually reserved for her, Henry, or Killian’s best friend, David Nolan. David happens to also be at Granny’s tonight because he’s also Emma’s friend, and his wife, Mary Margaret, is Emma’s best friend.

“Killian,” Emma breathes. “You stopped by.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Swan. Happy birthday, love,” Killian responds. He sets the gift down by her chair and stands awkwardly by her side.

“Killian! Glad you could make it, man,” David says from across the table, standing up to give Killian a bro handshake. “Sit down, man! Have something to eat or drink!”

Killian reluctantly obliges and pulls out the seat next to Emma. Just then, Henry seemed to notice their new guest and ran over.

“Hook!” Henry exclaims, and basically throws himself into Killian’s arms.

“It’s Killian,” Emma chided her son. Henry just beamed at her. Killian looked almost as excited as Henry to see the seven-year-old.

“It’s fine, love. Lad, it’s lovely to see you!” Killian commented and directed his attention to the child in his arms. Henry starts rattling off the things he’s done today and at school, and “Hey, Hook! Did you know today’s my mom’s birthday?” Killian obliges him good-naturedly. It’s probably been two or three months since the two have seen each other, and Killian asks how Henry’s doing every time he sees Emma at work. Killian owns the Jones Brothers’ Fishing Factory and part of the dock in Storybrooke. He is responsible for overseeing all the fishing that occurs from Storybrooke Harbor and has a factory that cleans, prepares, and packages the fish and shellfish caught. Even some fish and shellfish from other local areas send their fish to Killian’s factory and warehouse to be packaged. Killian’s older brother, Liam, started the company after he got out of the Navy. When Killian finished his tour in the Navy, he joined Liam, and they were very successful in the business for several years.

Three years ago, tragedy struck, and Liam was killed in a sailing accident. Killian nearly lost his left hand and wrist in the same accident. Since the accident, Killian hasn’t been the same. He pushed all of his close friends, including Emma, away while he grieved for his brother. During that time, Emma basically ran the company in Killian’s absence. Killian became a workaholic after the accident and came back to work too soon after his injury. He still had over 50 stitches in his left hand and was working nonstop. David still sees Killian regularly, and he still comes to birthdays and parties at David and Mary Margaret’s house, but he is still guarded in a way that makes Emma sad. She and Killian were very close before the accident. They flirted with each other relentlessly, and Killian was Emma’s best friend. Killian was practically a father figure to Henry because they were together so often. The accident has been hard on everyone who knew Killian and Liam, including Emma and Henry.

“Love?” Killian said, pulling Emma from her thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink before she could help herself.

“Sorry, just thinking. What did you say?”

“The lad wants you to open your present,” Killian responded, both boys looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, right. Of course. You really didn’t have to get me anything, Killian,” Emma replied.

“Nonsense, Swan. You and the lad purchased me a birthday gift this year, and I’ve been looking forward to returning the favor.” Emma picked up the present and started opening it carefully, while her memories pulled her back to Killian’s 30th birthday party in January of this year.

David threw Killian’s birthday party at Killian’s giant house, and when Emma arrived, she couldn’t find Killian anywhere. She had gotten Granny to watch Henry for the evening so she could go to the party, and she was looking forward to a nice night out and spending time with Killian. Only, there were so many people there that hardly knew Killian. Nearly everyone from Killian’s company had shown up, even though Killian had most certainly not chatted with these employees outside of strictly business. Emma had dressed up for the occasion and had worn ripped jeans, black ankle boots with a heel, and a nice blouse with a V-neck that showed off all of Emma’s good assets. She searched all areas where party participants were gathered, and even asked a few if they had seen Killian. She had a wrapped gift she had to give him that she and Henry had picked out together. She promised Henry she would get Killian to open his gift in front of her so she could recount his reaction to her very curious son.

Except, she walked the halls of Killian’s giant house and couldn’t find him. It finally dawned on her that he was probably sulking alone in his study, where he went to work and think. And in this case, avoid people. She went up the split-level stairs and opened the small door, where she followed another hallway until entering the door to his study. He specifically had his study hidden away from anyone who didn’t know how to get to it. Emma, however, knew every room in this house like the back of her hand, even though she hadn’t been in the house in over a year. She found Killian in his study, with a fire in the fireplace, and dressed in his usual: all black. He had a glass of rum in his right hand, and he turned his head slowly upon hearing her enter the room.

“Swan,” he had said. He smiled appreciatively at her as she walked closer to him and sat in the leather chair next to him.

“Drinking alone, are we?” She had asked, setting his present on the coffee table in front of them. Emma could see the hurt behind his blue eyes, as only someone close or used to be close to Killian could do.  

“Well, the festivities weren’t exactly my idea. Dave insisted, saying 30 was a big deal. So here we are. What brings you here, Swan?”

“Uh, I came to see you. Looked for you all over the house. Luckily, I know about your study and your brooding habits,” She replied, looking at him pointedly. “Henry and I picked out a gift for you, and he begged me to have you open it in front of me so I could recount your reaction to him in the morning.”

“The lad picked something out for me? It must be quite special,” Killian winked. He set down his rum between them and gingerly started opening the wrapping from the box. Emma took the time then to down Killian’s rum. She needed all the liquid courage she could get while Killian opened the emotional gift she and Henry had picked out for him. After opening the box, he gently pulled out the ship in the bottle. Not just any ship- but his beloved Jolly Roger replica in a bottle. Tears formed in his blue eyes, and he tried to blink them away, but Emma caught a few tears slip down his rosy cheeks into his black stubble.

“Emma, it’s” Killian started, but couldn’t finish.

“I know,” she replied, reaching her hand over to clasp onto his battered left hand. He looked up at her sharply then, and she could see the wrecked expression on his face.

“It’s perfect. I, I love it so much. It’s the most lovely gift. Please, tell Henry how very grateful I am for this.” He said, while staring into Emma’s green eyes.

“Of course,” she managed, holding back some of her own tears at this point.

“Where on Earth did you find such a magnificent vessel in a bottle?” Killian said, smirking at her while still looking at her with wonder. It made Emma feel like old times before the accident.

“Henry had the idea last fall. I went to Geppetto, who promised he could make your ship. He told me he was friends with Turtle Heart, the glassblower. They worked together to make it. It turned out really magnificent. Henry was ecstatic and kept asking when we could give it to you.” Emma finished. “I told him you were busy, but that I could give it to you tonight.”

“Thank you, Emma, and thank Henry for me. It’s perfect. I’m going to display it here in my study. Maybe even take a picture of it to put in my office at work. You should have told me, and I could have stopped by to see Henry myself. I miss the lad.”

“He misses you, too. Asks about you almost every day.” Emma smiled sadly.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around for him, Emma.”

“Hey, it’s not your responsibility. You’re not his dad. But, he does enjoy your company.” They spent the next hour or so talking quietly, and Killian poured Emma her own glass of rum. After a while, David came into the study to talk to Killian, and Emma excused herself and drove home. She was hopeful that this was the olive branch they needed to begin their friendship once again, but it almost seemed like Killian avoided all personal conversations while at work after the party. She saw him every day at work, given that she was the dock manager. She managed all the fishermen and fishing boats coming into the harbor. She was over their payroll, oversaw their weigh-ins each day, and managed all communication between the dock and the factory. Emma was Killian’s right-hand woman when it came to the dock and the fisherman. She also worked with the city during holidays to decorate the dock with round string lights during the late spring and summer, and Christmas lights during the winter. Besides Emma, the only other right-hand man was Mr. Smee, who was the assistant manager of the factory, second in command only to Killian.

Emma’s pulled out of her reverie when her fingers land on soft wool, and she pulls out a thick, red sweater. It’s a beautiful color, and it matches her signature red leather jacket to a tee. It feels warm, and it has a nice Aran fisherman style.

“Killian, it’s” she breathes, unable to finish her thought as she takes in the beautiful sweater that must have cost a small fortune.

“I know,” he says, repeating her own words from months ago at his birthday party back to her. She looks up sharply at his words, and he has a genuine smile that has been all too rare in the last few years. He smirks at her, the bastard, before giving her additional information about the sweater.

“I have a friend back in England who specializes in these sweaters. I know how much you love your sweaters and your red leather jacket. Thought this would be a nice addition to your wardrobe.” He says, still gazing into her eyes.

“Thank you, Killian. I love it.” She says, tears brimming in her eyes. Despite them not becoming closer since his birthday party, this did feel like his version of an olive branch. Maybe they can finally try to repair their friendship. David, Mary Margaret, and Henry are all talking about the sweater. Why her son knows the words “merino wool” is beyond her, but she takes it all in for a moment. She reaches her hand out to take Killian’s hand in hers and gives it a light squeeze. He reciprocates.

“Of course, Swan. I was also wondering if we could talk for a moment, alone?” Killian requests, suddenly looking sheepish. Emma nods before sending a pointed look to Mary Margaret and David, who nod and assure her they’ll look after Henry for a few minutes. She stands up from her chair and follows Killian down the hallway towards the bathrooms in the back of Granny’s. It’s one of the only places where there’s any resemblance to privacy here.

“So, what’s up?” Emma asks as she turns around to face Killian once they are alone in the back hallway.

“I uh,” Killian starts, while reaching his hand up to scratch his head by his ear- a tell that he was particularly nervous for this conversation.

“Killian, just spit it out. What’s wrong?” Emma demands, knowing he could stall when nervous. “Is something wrong at work?”

“No, well- no. Nothing is particularly wrong, so to speak.” Killian says, still avoiding the actual conversation.

“Then?”

“I have a proposition for you, Swan,” Killian finally says, staring directly at her, finally. Emma swallows hard, but keeps his gaze. A proposition? From Killian Jones? Her used to be best friend and super big crush, but most importantly- her boss- has a proposition for her?

“What, uh,” Emma clears her throat. “What is it?”

“You know that investor, Gold?”

“Like, Robert Gold? The mega-wealthy dude who owns like nearly all other fishing factories in the Northeast and is slowly making his way down the East Coast?” Emma says, thrown off that in a short conversation, Killian would use the word ‘proposition’ and Mr. Gold.

“That’d be the one. He’s uh, interested in coming to Storybrooke to see our operations.”

“Your operations. You own the company.” Emma points out.

“Well yes, but I couldn’t do it without you. You're my go-to for all business things.”

“Mr. Smee is assistant to the factory; shouldn’t he be here to discuss this, too? Should we talk tomorrow at work?”

“No, no. This doesn’t involve Smee at all, Swan. Mr. Gold has been trying to come and observe our operations for months now. I’ve stalled him for as long as I could, but he’s insisting. He’s offering a large investment in the company in exchange for viewing our operations for a few weeks. He wants to essentially come and go from Storybrooke to his other nearby factories. He wants to see why our factory and business are successful, despite not being in a metropolis like some of his other factories.” Killian explained.

“Okay, I’m still not sure what your proposition is about,” Emma said, unsure of where exactly this conversation is going. There’s the obvious- all employees need to be showing their best selves when Gold is in town, and all rules and regulations need to be especially monitored. There’s also the clean-up that needs to be done around the business- in the factory and Emma’s side of things at the dock and her building- but this still could have been a conversation for tomorrow at work.

“Gold has a clause in his offer. He will only financially support a business if they are a family-oriented business.” Killian says while looking at the ground.

“Okay, but everyone agrees that you are really lenient about people having to leave or come in late or whatever if they have a family emergency. I mean, Henry and I are a prime example.” Killian just looks at Emma like he can’t believe he has to actually put the pieces together for her.

“Emma,” Killian says pointedly, maintaining eye contact with her. “Gold wants me to be family-oriented. Like, have a family myself and be a family man. Not just my work practices for my employees.” Emma just stares back, not quite sure what he’s insinuating at this point.

“I don’t have my own family, Emma. You know this. My mother died when I was young, my father abandoned and neglected Liam and me, and Liam is dead. I’ve never married, and I’ve no children. I’m a bachelor, and I live in my stupidly large house by myself. Gold has asked as part of this deal to stay at my house as he comes and goes, and I’ve already picked a room on the first floor for him. He needs to see that I have my own family, living in my home, that I care about and cherish.” Killian takes a breath before stepping closer to Emma and taking her hands in his.

“My proposition, Emma, is that you and Henry pretend to be my family. It’s only for the next few months, until early December, I think. In exchange, I know you’ve been saving up for a down payment on a home, and I will be providing you with more than enough money for a down payment.” Emma was speechless. Pretending to be a family with him? A down payment? How did he even remember she was saving up to buy a house for her and Henry? She mentioned it during their conversation at his birthday party, but that was months ago.

“I uh,” Emma started, not sure how to respond to such a big favor.

“Listen, I know it’s a lot. This is why I’ve been brushing Gold off for so long. Dave and I were talking about it last week, and you and Henry came up. I know you both, and I am comfortable with you and Henry. I hope you are both comfortable with me. Henry can pick whichever bedroom he wants, and we can bring all his things from your place to his room at mine. He can decorate the room however he wants, and-”

“Killian,” Emma said, stopping his rambling. “Of course, we are both comfortable with you. I mean, Henry would love it. He’s a great little actor, and he loves you. He misses spending as much time with you as we used to before, uh, anyways. I just- is Gold going to believe us? I mean, there are so many logistical things like how we met that you or, or we are going to have to tell him. And how are we going to get everyone else at the factory to know this without spilling the secret? I mean, Gold is a huge deal. And Gold’s not stupid. He won’t believe you live with a family with your current decorating style. We’ll need pictures of us, and we’ll need to take pictures of us together. And we need to put them up and make your mansion like, homey, you know? It’s just a lot and-”

“And he’s offering a lot of money. And we can figure all the logistical aspects of this out- together. You are an integral part of our company, Emma. But this isn’t about that. We were friends, are friends. And we used to be really close, and I know it’s my fault because of what happened with uh, yeah. I don’t want just any woman and her child posing as my fake family and living with me. I know the family part won't be real, but I at least want my connection to you both to be real. I think because we know each other and used to be comfortable with each other and possibly can become comfortable with each other again, Gold will buy it. Because you aren't some random person, Emma. And Henry isn't some random kid. I already care deeply about you both, which is why I'm asking you.”

They stare at each other, just inches apart, still holding hands, both taking uneasy and shallow breaths. Finally, after what feels like an hour but is probably only a minute or so, Emma exhales a long breath before nodding her head.

“Okay, we’ll do it. But I'm telling Henry first. You can tell him later. How soon do we need to get this process in motion?” She asks.

“Uh, this weekend? We need to be ready by Monday.” Killian says sheepishly.

“This weekend?” Emma repeats, bewildered. “It's Thursday night!”

“I know, I know. It's, it's my bad. I've known for two weeks. I've been trying to figure out how to tell you.”

“Fine, fine. We'll figure it out, starting with a plan at work tomorrow. But right now, I need to take Henry home and get him in bed for school tomorrow. And figure out how to tell him you'll be his fake father for the next two months.” Emma says, shaking her head and stepping away from Killian towards the restaurant again. Killian follows her awkwardly, but stays for dessert and helps Emma get her few belongings into her bug. He's the last to leave Granny's, giving Henry a goodbye hug and telling him, “See you soon”. This time, Killian actually means it. He gives Emma a long hug outside of her bug, before whispering in her ear, “Thank you, Emma.” He kisses her cheek as they break apart, and he walks off towards his car. Emma's left to watch him walk as she touches her cheek gently. Maybe, just maybe, this proposition will be a good thing. Maybe she'll get her best friend back finally, and maybe Henry will have a father figure again.

---

Emma told Henry about Killian’s proposition on their way home from Granny’s last night. He was ecstatic to say the least. He promised he understood that it was really important he didn’t mess up when the businessman, Mr. Gold, was in town. Emma tried to set ground rules with him.

“This also means you have to listen to what Killian tells you, not just what I tell you. He’s going to be like your dad, and dads have to give kids directions too, just like moms.” Emma had said to Henry.

“I know, Mom. Hook was already like my dad before Uncle Liam died. But, this will be like we have a real family!” Henry had said excitedly as Emma unlocked the door to their tiny, shitty apartment. Living with Killian the next two months is going to feel like living in a mansion. Emma’s just excited to not have to share her bathroom with her 7-year-old anymore.

“We do have a real family,” Emma said, grumbling that her son didn’t consider her “real” family.

“I have a real Mom, and I’m a real kid, but we need another person to make a family. Like a Dad,” Henry said, looking at her pointedly. “I’ve always wanted to have a real family.”

Emma finally just nodded and smiled sadly, knowing how badly her son has always wanted to know his father. “I know, kid. Me too.”

“We’ll finally get our chance with Killian! I can’t wait!” Emma just smiled at him good-naturedly before hurrying him into the shower and getting ready for bed. But if Emma was completely honest with herself, she couldn’t wait either.

That night, on her 24th birthday, she dreamed that she, Killian, and Henry were a real family, and that it wasn’t just for show for Gold. She dreamed it was real.

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