#imharryaf

“Ems!” shrieked Ruby, pushing Killian away and yanking up her dress. 

Killian turned to glare at her, clearly displeased by the interruption. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he growled. “Barging in like this…”

“‘Barging in’? To the bathroom of my own apartment?”

He regarded her more closely, interest sparking in his eyes as he took in her habitual honey-trapping outfit of tight red dress and sky-high heels, her blonde hair in loose curls tumbling down her back. (“It’s— maybe a bit much for a friendly Christmas party?” Mary Margaret had said, but Emma knew that if she were going to survive a whole night with her sister’s very friendly friends then she needed her armour very much intact.) 

“Ah, you must be Swan, then,” said Killian, his blue gaze now fixed on her as though Ruby and the party and the entire rest of the world didn’t exist. 

“Emma Swan, yes.” She resisted the urge to squirm under his intense regard. The accelerated heartbeat and sudden hot flush across her skin she attributed to outrage. She simply wouldn’t allow them to be due to anything else. 

“And do you not knock on bathroom doors here in your apartment, Emma Swan?” he inquired mockingly. 

“I did knock,” hissed Emma, unconsciously moving closer to him. “You clearly didn’t hear me.”

“Well, I was rather occupied, love,” he said with an arrogant smirk that made her blood boil. 

“I am not your love!”  

“No, indeed. Although that could certainly be remedied, should you wish it… Swan.” His smirk turned lascivious as he leaned into her space, his gaze roaming her body. His tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip and Emma actually shivered, suddenly overcome by images of that tongue and those lips on her skin. 

What is wrong with me?

“You’re disgusting,” she hissed. 

“Bit harsh, love.” 

“Coming on to me in front of your— of the—” she gestured angrily at Ruby, who had been watching the interplay between Emma and Killian with extreme interest.

“Chill, Ems, it was just a bit of fun,” she said, “I took the opportunity to get some hot pirate action, but now that you have completely killed the mood, I’ll be getting back to the party. Maybe another time, Captain.” 

“Aye, love,” replied Killian, his eyes still locked with Emma’s. 

Ruby shook her head and squeezed behind Emma to get to the door, forcing her to take another step closer to Killian, who favoured her with a smile she would have found charming on a man she didn’t loathe. 

“Now then, Swan, care to pick up where she left off?”

“I would rather rip out my own fingernails,” she retorted, the breathiness of her voice revealing the lie of her words. Why couldn’t she breathe?

 He laughed, completely unperturbed. “I’d heard you were a tough lass.”

“Woman.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lass means girl, right? I’m not a girl.” 

The smirk returned. “That you certainly are not,” he purred, his voice dark and velvety and dripping with sinful promise.

There was that shiver again. Emma ground her teeth, struggling to think over the pounding of her heart, barely aware that she was biting her lower lip and shifting on her feet, squeezing her thighs together in an attempt to quell the tingling between them. What the hell was happening? There was no way she could be physically attracted to this jerk. 

Killian closed the remaining distance between them, leading with his hips, one thumb tucked under his belt. With the other hand he reached up to grasp a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. 

“So what do you say, Swan…” Maybe, she thought wildly, maybe I could… just this once… “…shall we see just how much of a woman you are?” 

And the spell was broken.

Ugh, he was the worst, and now she was furious. Furious with him for ruining his gorgeous face by being such an asshole, with herself for being prepared to overlook it. How could she ever have even considered letting him touch her?

Quick as a flash, she grabbed his hand from her hair and whipped him around, twisting his arm behind his back, smiling in satisfaction at his grunt of pain. 

“I would not fuck you,” she hissed in his ear, “If you were the last man on earth and the last hope for continuing the human race.” She wrenched his arm higher. "Do you understand?”

“I do,” he replied, through clenched teeth, “You needn’t press the point, Swan.” 

She released him, and he immediately stumbled away from her, wincing as he reached up to massage his shoulder. He turned towards the door, twisting the knob and opening it a few inches before suddenly pausing and closing it again. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

She blinked in surprise. “What?”

He turned to look at her for the first time since she’d released his arm, his expression free of suggestion or innuendo. Instead he looked… ashamed?

“My behaviour just now, it was… uncouth. Bad form. I apologise.” 

“Oh.” She had not been expecting that. “Uh, fine. Thanks. Still not gonna fuck you.” 

The smirk returned, this time merely a wry twist of his mouth, an eyebrow slightly quirked. “I’d never dream of suggesting you would,” he said. “See you around, Emma Swan.” 

And with a small, slightly mocking bow, he was gone. 

She saw him several more times that night, watched him actually, if she was honest, as he chatted and laughed and charmed his way through her friends and acquaintances. She waited for him to slip up, to show them the nasty, leering side of himself she’d seen in the bathroom, but he never did. In fact, they all seemed to love him. 

It really pissed her off. 

“So who is this Killian guy anyway?” she asked Mary Margaret when they went to the kitchen together to get drinks for everyone. 

“Uh, he’s a friend of David’s.” Mary Margaret was distracted, trying to remember all the drink orders. 

“Yeah, but how do they know each other? They seem… kinda different.” 

“They met during David’s year abroad. You remember he studied in London? Killian was there too, I think they met in a pub or something.” 

“Yeah, he seems like the kind of guy to hang out in pubs,” said Emma, wrenching the cap off a bottle of beer with perhaps slightly more force than was strictly required.  

Mary Margaret gave her an odd look. “Killian is definitely a character, but David says he was miserable in London before they met. Killian helped him feel more at home, introduced him to his friends, invited him to parties and stuff. He’s really a nice guy, Emma.” 

Emma snorted. Nice guys didn’t come on to strange women in bathrooms. 

“David’s been trying to get him to Storybrooke for Christmas for years now, but he’s always busy. He has to leave again tomorrow, actually. Something to do with his work.”

“What does he do?” Why was she interested? 

“I don’t know exactly, he works on some kind of ship. Modern piracy, or something, David said.” 

Ruby had called him a pirate too. 

As she helped Mary Margaret carry the drinks, Emma found her attention drawn back to Killian, who was sitting on the arm of the sofa talking to… well, everyone, it seemed. He was telling a story, illustrating it animatedly with his hands —nice hands, she noticed, damn it— obviously coming to the punch line just as she arrived because the entire room burst into laughter. 

Emma gritted her teeth as she handed him a beer. 

“Thank you, Swan,” he said, with a polite smile. She nodded brusquely and turned away. She did not stomp off. She didn’t. 

“So you’ve met Emma then,” said David.

“Aye, though I fear I’ve made rather a poor first impression,” Killian replied. 

“Yeah, that’s not hard to do. Emma can be a bit prickly. She wasn’t my biggest fan at first either.” 

“She’s Mary Margaret’s sister, you say?”

“Half sister, yeah. It’s a sad story. Their dad had a fling with Emma’s mom right after Mary Margaret’s mom died. When Emma’s mom found out she was pregnant, she freaked out and ran away. Their dad tried to find her, but she’d completely disappeared. Emma was found abandoned on the side of a road when she was less than a day old, and no one ever saw her mother again. She got swallowed up by the system then, spent years in foster care before their dad finally tracked her down.”

“Bloody hell.”

“You said it.” 

Killian watched as Emma distributed drinks to the rest of the guests. Although she wasn’t unfriendly, her body language was decidedly closed off and unwelcoming, a clear warning to anyone who might try to get too close. Yet she couldn’t quite hide the yearning in her eyes as she watched the easy way the others interacted. She wanted affection, he realised, longed for intimacy, she just couldn’t open herself up to it, couldn’t bring herself to let anyone in.  

Fascinating. 

He wished he could tell her that he understood, that he’d also been abandoned by a parent, and that after his brother’s death followed closely by his girlfriend’s he’d closed himself off from people too. It was hard to let anyone in when your only experiences with intimacy had ended in loss and betrayal, no one understood that better than he. Unfortunately, he feared he’d destroyed any chance to connect with her before he’d even really known he wanted to. 

Killian kicked himself mentally for what must be the hundredth time in the past hour for having been such a boor in the bathroom. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. 

Although no, that wasn’t quite true. The problem was that he hadn’t been thinking. At least, he hadn’t been thinking with his brain. With his body already worked up by his dalliance with Ruby and his wits dulled by alcohol he had simply not been prepared for Emma, for the sharp green eyes that had pierced clear to his soul even as her soft gold hair had begged for his fingers to sink into it and pull her mouth to his. Immediately Ruby and the party and the fact that they were in the bloody bathroom had flown right out of his head, leaving only Emma and the hitch in her breath that he could feel on his cheek, the way her eyes had darkened as she bit a bright pink hue into her lower lip completely overwhelming his common sense and all his filters. 

Oh, and he was a complete arse. That hadn’t helped matters either. 

If only he didn’t have to leave early the next morning, he thought in frustration. Given enough time, he might be able to salvage the situation —salvaging wrecks was his job, after all— but instead her negative opinion of him would only solidify in his absence, and she’d probably spend the rest of her life thinking he was a creepy jerk. 

He had no idea why this troubled him so much. All he knew was that he’d never felt so drawn to a woman before; even beyond the sexual attraction he sensed a kindred spirit in her and he couldn’t bear the idea of her despising him. Even if they never saw each other again. 

He managed to speak to her once more, as he was leaving the party. She had fetched his coat for him (at Mary Margaret’s request and clearly under protest, he couldn’t help noticing), and he allowed his fingers to brush hers, lightly, as he took it from her. 

Her sharp intake of breath and the way she snatched her hand away was balm to his soul. Whatever else, she wasn’t indifferent to him. 

“So, you’re leaving tomorrow,” she blurted out, as he was shrugging the coat on. 

“Aye. I have to get back to work.” 

“On Christmas Eve?” 

“Much of my work is… time sensitive. And I’ve no family anymore, so there’s not much point in taking the time off when I’d just be spending it alone.” 

He had no idea why he’d told her that. 

Perhaps he just wanted her to know that he too knew what it felt like to have no one. 

Understanding and a hint of sympathy flashed across her face. “You could spend it with David,” she said, in a friendlier tone. “The holidays, I mean. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” 

“Aye, so he keeps telling me. But I don’t wish to impose.” He hesitated a moment before adding “Perhaps next year.” He zipped up his coat and slung his satchel over his shoulder, then turned and smiled at her, offering his hand. To his surprise, she took it. 

On impulse, he lifted hers to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard, licking her lips as she did, and Killian cursed the gods and the fates, and his own idiot self for ruining whatever chances he might otherwise have had with this woman. 

She also wanted to fling herself from the moving car and flee back to the safety of her apartment, high heels and thin leather jacket be damned. Anything would be better than an entire evening spent in the company of Killian Jones, whose blue eyes and wicked smile had crept unbidden into her thoughts far too often over the past year, and into her dreams in ways that had her jerking awake in the middle of the night, sweating and breathless and aching. She had spent far too much time trying to reconcile the asshole who’d tried to fuck her ten seconds after meeting her —ten seconds after he had been in the actual process of fucking someone else— and the almost… gentlemanly?.. man with a deep sadness behind his eyes who had kissed her hand at the door, and whose body her body was insanely attracted to. 

“Yeah, David actually managed to convince him to take some time off, so he’ll be here until the day after Christmas,” said Mary Margaret, blissfully unaware of the turmoil of her sister’s thoughts. “David is so excited.” 

Emma was not excited. She wasn’t. That little flutter in her belly was revulsion. It wasn’t anticipation. It wasn’t eagerness to see him again. 

Damn it, it wasn’t. 

She was suddenly very glad she’d chosen to wear her new dress. The deep burgundy velvet hugged her curves and set off her pale skin and green eyes beautifully. It had long sleeves and an off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline that framed her cleavage in a highly satisfactory way. Mary Margaret naturally thought it was too sexy for a family Christmas dinner, but Emma was grateful for every ounce of sexy she could manage. She needed Killian to be on his back foot a little bit—if he was fully in control of his faculties she wasn’t certain she’d be able to hold him at bay. 

And if she had to suffer in his company then he was damned well going to suffer in hers. 

As they turned into the long driveway to David’s mother’s house, both sisters breathed a small sigh of wonder. Ruth had gone all out with the Christmas decorations, and although she normally didn’t care for that sort of thing Emma had to admit that the effect was magical. Fairy lights twinkled through the hedges that lined the driveway and around all the edges of the house, and outlined the shapes of the pretty pine trees in front of it, which were also decked out with tinsel and bright red and gold ornaments. Combined with the gently falling snow and the ornate wreath on the door, the small, cosy house resembled  a winter wonderland from a fairy tale. 

Mary Margaret rang the bell and abruptly the sisters were engulfed in a flurry of hugs and fuzzy sweaters and offers of eggnog. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to try it, Emma?” asked Ruth for the third time as she bustled them into the living room. “It’s an old family recipe.” 

“No, thanks,” replied Emma with a forced smile, suppressing a shudder at the very idea of raw eggs mixed with cream. No amount of brandy could make that not disgusting. 

Hot chocolate with rum, on the other hand…

“Well, you must have something to drink,” said Ruth, her eyes lighting up as she caught sight of something just over Emma’s shoulder. “Ah, perfect. How about some hot chocolate, Emma?”

Emma’s smile was genuine this time. “You read my mind,” she said. 

As if by magic, a mug appeared in front of her, piled high with whipped cream and sprinkled liberally with cinnamon. And also— she breathed deeply, taking in the aroma. Was that…

“I put a tot of rum in there as well, lass,” rumbled a low voice in her ear. “I thought you might need it.” 

Emma turned to find the bright blue eyes of Killian Jones way, way too close to hers and twinkling merrily, his smile warm and friendly and without a hint of innuendo. Her heart leapt and then began to gallop, and she blurted out the first words that came into her head in a desperate attempt to conceal her reaction to his sudden presence. 

“How did you know?”

“Know what, love?”

“That I like rum in my hot chocolate. And cinnamon on the top.”

“Dave told me about the cinnamon. The rum I guessed.” His expression shifted slightly. “Perhaps I hoped.”

“H-hoped? Why?” There was that breathlessness again. She wished he would back the fuck off so she could breathe. 

“Because it’s my favourite, though I’ve never tried it in hot chocolate before.” He tilted his head at her mug, raising an eyebrow. “May I?”  She nodded, and he wrapped his hand around hers, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a long sip. Whipped cream clung to his upper lip and a spark of flirtatiousness glinted in his eye (finally) as he licked it off. “It’s good,” he said.  

Emma’s whole body was tingling, and the room had become much too warm. She wished he would stop being so damned attractive when she wasn’t even sure if she didn’t still hate him. 

Steeling herself against her stupid body’s reaction to him, she smiled tightly and raised her mug in a small salute. “Well, thanks,” she said, then turned away. 

“Swan, wait!”

Emma didn’t want to wait. She wanted to get away, to find someone to talk to who wasn’t so confusing. Yet somehow, her feet stopped moving and she turned back. 

“What?” she snapped. 

He seemed unfazed by her curt manner. “You have cinnamon on your nose,” he said. 

“Oh. Thanks.” She rubbed at her nose, and made to leave again. 

“No— you missed it. Here.” He put one hand on her shoulder to steady her, then with the other tilted her chin up so her face was in the light. His fingers cupped her cheek as he rubbed his thumb across the tip of her nose. She drew in a sharp breath, and when she dared to catch his gaze she saw that his expression was slightly dazed, the smile slowly sliding off his face and being replaced by a dark intensity as the moment drew out.  

He looked like he wanted to kiss her, and dammit she wanted that too, to kiss him right here in front of her sister and their friends and the spirit of Christmas itself. She hated how much she wanted him when she knew, from her own experience, what a douche he could be. Would she never learn to stay away from this kind of man? 

To her relief —or was it regret?— the tense moment was shattered by David’s voice calling from the other side of the room. 

“Killian! Come tell Mary Margaret’s dad about that time we lost Will’s keys at the bottom of the Serpentine.” 

Killian blinked rapidly and took a step back, his hands falling away from her body. She shivered, missing their warmth. 

He attempted another smile, though his eyes were still blazing hot and he looked oddly troubled. “There you go, Swan,” he said, in a voice that wasn’t quite steady, “all cinnamon free.” He stared at her for another few seconds, looking like he wished he could say more, then nodded at her and headed for where David was sitting with Mary Margaret and Ruby and her own father. 

She definitely didn’t need to be sitting next to her dad in her current state. 

Emma retreated to the kitchen where she closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a minute before sitting down at the table and drinking her hot chocolate. 

It was perfect, the proportions of rum and cream and cinnamon just right. 

Damn him. 

🎄 🎄  🎄  🎄  🎄  

Killian was glad the story David wanted him to tell was one he’d told so often he could recite it in his sleep, because his blood was still thundering in his ears and he was struggling to think of anything other than Emma in that dress. Over the past year he’d very nearly managed to convince himself that he couldn’t possibly have been as attracted to her as he remembered. He’d been drinking a lot that night, after all, and much of the evening was hazy. 

But one thing persisted, despite his best efforts, in standing out absolutely crystal clear in his mind, and that was Emma and her eyes and her hair and her face and how damned much he had wanted to touch her. Seeing her again through sober eyes he realised that his memories had in fact not been accurate—the attraction was far stronger than he recalled. That she clearly wanted him too, though equally clearly didn’t want to want him, made things somehow both better and worse. The look in her eyes a moment ago when he’d wiped the cinnamon from her nose had nearly broken his resolve. 

No flirting, he reminded himself. No innuendo, no sex. Nothing to put her on the defensive or make her take refuge behind those walls. He’d spent three hundred and sixty five days thinking about how to handle the situation when he saw her again, and he’d be damned if he lost his focus now, so close to the goal. Killian intended to get Emma Swan to like him or die in the attempt. He just had to remember that. 

🎄 🎄  🎄  🎄  🎄  

Dinner turned out to be not nearly as bad as Emma feared. She sat between her dad and Ruby, with Granny across from her and Belle to Granny’s left. Killian was on Belle’s left, putting him far enough from Emma that she could easily avoid looking at him. 

She didn’t avoid it, but she could have. She could stop sneaking glances at him any time she wanted. She could. The problem was that Killian wasn’t just good to look at but actually really interesting. And her dad was interested. 

“Tell me more about what you do, Killian,” said Leopold, as he passed Emma the potatoes. Her eyes flew to her father’s face, wondering if he had somehow sensed how curious she was on this topic and was doing some investigating for her, but he simply looked like his usual kind self, accepting the gravy from Ruth and smiling at Killian. “Marine salvage, you said it was?”

“That’s right,” said Killian. “Basically I have a ship and a crew and we go in search of wrecks with salvageable goods still aboard. We recover the goods and anything else we find, then we claim a reward based on the value of what we recover.” 

Modern piracy, thought Emma. I get it now. 

“And that’s time-sensitive?” she found herself asking.

Killian turned to look at her, clearly surprised she had spoken.“I beg your pardon?”

Emma tried to shrug, to be casual, but she felt uncomfortably like she was laying herself bare with the question. “Last year, you told me that your work was time sensitive…” she  trailed off, blushing. Why the fuck was she blushing. 

Gathering her courage, she looked up to find him watching her, his eyes warm. “Good of you to remember, Swan,” he said. “It’s time sensitive in the sense that winds and tides and weather can have a major impact on how accessible a wreck is, so when the conditions are favourable you have to get on it right away before they change.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that there were enough shipwrecks these days to keep you in business,” remarked Leopold, fortunately not seeming to notice his younger daughter’s confusion. 

“Oh, we don’t just salvage recent wrecks,” replied Killian. “In fact, I vastly prefer going after the historic ones. My crew isn’t always in agreement, especially when it’s been a while since our last haul, so I take as many of the recent ones as I can to keep the income flowing but the truth is that I like the hunt, and the thrill of finding something that’s been lost for centuries. That’s actually what I was doing in London when I met David, I was studying maritime law with an emphasis on historical marine salvage.”

“Yeah, and he used to bore the pants off all of us there by talking about all the old wrecks he’d like to find,” piped up David from the other end of the table. “I now know more about the history of piracy and shipwrecking than anyone needs to.”

“You loved every second of it,” retorted Killian. “When are you going to admit that you have a soft spot for scoundrels?”

“I am a small town sheriff and former police detective,” said David. “Scoundrels are my natural enemies.” 

“You keep telling yourself that, Dave.” 

They grinned at each other, then Leopold asked Killian to tell them about his favourite haul and although Emma tried not to listen, she soon found herself transported by the tale he told of how he had followed a series of obscure clues to the location of a merchant ship that had been sunk by the pirate Blackbeard in 1716, before he and his crew had narrowly escaped an oncoming storm with their haul still intact. His passion for his work was evident in every syllable, and she was so enthralled that she forgot her anger at his steadfast refusal to resemble the smarmy creep she’d met a year before. It was impossible to hate someone when you knew that underneath the scruff and charm beat the heart of a true and earnest nerd. If anything, that made him even more attractive, she thought in despair. She couldn’t hate him, not anymore, but the idea of liking him made her itchy. He was far too dangerous to like. 

As the evening wound down, David and Mary Margaret made plans to go for a walk to look at the Christmas light displays around town. They invited Emma and Killian along but both declined, knowing that David and Mary Margaret would be wrapped up in each other and the invitation was more politeness than actual desire for their company. 

Plus, Emma really wanted to be alone. She needed to think. 

Killian smiled at her as he said goodbye, but didn’t try to kiss her hand again. She was not disappointed by this. Definitely not. 

She had said her goodbyes and was just opening the door to leave when Ruth cried out “Oh, Emma, don’t go without the presents!”  

“What presents?” 

Ruth hurried to the door carrying two large plastic bags full of wrapped gifts. “Just a few things for you and Mary Margaret and Leopold, from me and David,” she said. “I nearly forgot them!”

Emma was touched, which made her uncomfortable. “Uh, thanks, Ruth. You really didn’t need to do that.” 

“Nonsense, dear, you know I think of all of you as family. Now, I’ll see you at your father’s for lunch on New Year’s Day?”

Emma nodded, managing a small smile. “We’ll be there,” she confirmed. 

Ruth handed her the bags, then pulled her into a hug. “Merry Christmas, Emma,” she said. 

For a brief moment Emma held herself stiffly but then she relaxed into the hug, letting herself imagine just for a moment how different things might have been if she’d had a mother like Ruth. “Merry Christmas,” she said, blinking frantically to hold back tears. She turned away quickly before they could fall and headed out to the car where Mary Margaret was waiting. 

Arriving back to her quiet apartment, Emma kicked off her heels and dropped the bags of presents next to the Christmas tree. Turning on the tree lights, she took a moment to admire them before kneeling down to remove the presents from their bags and arrange them with the others under the tree. They were all wrapped in the same cheerful red and gold paper except for one, a largish rectangular one which was wrapped in white with silver snowflakes. Curious, she picked it up and looked at the tag. 

For: Emma

From: Killian

Killian had gotten her a Christmas present. Emma stared dumbly at it for a minute, trying to process such an astounding development. What the hell was she supposed to make of this? 

She should put it under the tree with the others, she knew. They always opened their presents on Christmas Day. Their dad was coming over and bringing breakfast. She should wait. 

But she couldn’t. Somehow, she didn’t want an audience when she opened it; didn’t really want her father and sister to even know she had it. Carefully she removed the wrapping paper, slicing the tape gently with her fingernail and unfolding the paper to reveal a book, bound in rich blue leather. She caught her breath as she read the title. 

The Princess Bride. 

For the second time that evening Emma felt tears spring to her eyes, but this time she couldn’t blink them back. They rolled freely down her cheeks as she stroked her fingertips across the soft leather cover with its gold-embossed lettering and silhouette of Westley and Buttercup. 

How did he know? She thought. Her favourite movie, her favourite book. The tattered paperback copy of it that she had carried with her through half a dozen foster homes until it fell apart. How could he possibly have known? 

Before she could think better of the impulse, she was in her bug and out onto the snowy streets, pulling into a parking space in front of David’s apartment just minutes later. Taking a deep breath, she rang the bell. 

Killian opened the door, the surprise on his face quickly giving way to pleasure. 

“Swan,” he said, “This is unexpected. Would you like to come in?” 

“No, I can’t stay, I just— I wanted to thank you, Killian. For the present. It’s— it’s perfect. I love it.” 

To her fascination a pink flush bloomed across his cheekbones and he reached up to scratch nervously behind his ear. It was adorable. 

Damn him. 

“I’m glad you liked it, love.” 

“How did you know what to get me?”

“I— may have asked David to ask Mary Margaret what you loved best in all the world. She said The Princess Bride and books, so the conclusion was an obvious one.”

“Why would you go to all that trouble?”

“I have spent the last year writhing in shame over my conduct during the first five minutes of our acquaintance, I simply wanted to do something to show you that I can be more than a boorish lout.” 

She smiled at that, looking up at him a bit shyly. 

“I feel bad now that I didn’t get you anything.” 

“It’s no matter, love. If you’ve forgiven me for our first meeting, that’s all the gift I need.” 

She nodded. “It’s forgiven. And forgotten.” 

“Then perhaps… your phone number, if I might be so bold?”

She hesitated. “Aren’t you going back to your ship soon? We won’t— I mean, I won’t— we can’t— see each other…” 

He chuckled. “I’m asking for your number, Swan, not your hand in marriage. I’d like to be able to text you from time to time, perhaps even hear your voice. That’s all.” 

“Really? I mean, you really want to talk to me?”

“Aye.” 

“Why?”

He smiled, his dimples winking at her, and she was proud that she managed not to melt into a puddle of goo on the floor. “Because I like you,” he said simply. 

She opened her mouth to ask why again, but managed to stop herself when he raised an eyebrow, clearly anticipating that very question. Instead she leaned towards him, watching his eyes widen as she reached around him to slide his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, thrilling at the way his breath caught when her fingertips caressed the tight curve of his ass. She held it out for him to unlock and when she finally tore her gaze from his to program her number into his contacts, she heard him exhale in relief and it made her smile.  

The smile was still on her face when she handed the phone back to him, and when she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. 

“Merry Christmas, Killian Jones,” she whispered in his ear. 

Her hand had barely touched the handle of her car door when her phone beeped with an incoming text. 

She’d told him about growing up in foster care, how no one had ever really wanted her in those houses, about the apathy, the neglect, the borderline abuse. How she’d been both thrilled and terrified when her father had finally found her and brought her to live with him and Mary Margaret, how she had spent the first years with them just waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for them to realise that she wasn’t worth it, that they didn’t want her either. Waiting for them to send her back. How it had taken her so long to accept that they actually did love her and want her that she feared she’d strained her relationships with them forever, but that Leopold and Mary Margaret had refused to waver in their patience with her or their love. How she’d broken down and wept for the first time in years when she’d learned how hard her father had searched for her and how he still struggled with the guilt he felt at not having found her sooner. 

For his part Killian told her about his mother, who had died when he was six and of whom he had only the vaguest memories. He told her of his father, and how he had abandoned young Killian and his brother Liam, left them to the tender mercies of his creditors rather than face the men himself and attempt to pay his debts. How Liam had fought for custody of Killian although he was underage himself, and how when his brother had eventually joined the navy Killian was left alone at boarding school for months on end, seeing Liam only rarely when he was able to get leave and come home. He’d told her of how his own dreams of following his brother into the navy had been dashed when Liam had volunteered for the dangerous mission that had led to his death. How the navy had disavowed any knowledge of the mission and painted Liam as a rogue agent to cover their own asses, and how Killian in disgust had turned to the profession as far removed from the navy as possible while still being on the sea. 

She told him about Neal, how she’d thought she loved him and how he’d promised to be with her forever. How he’d fled when she told him she thought she was pregnant, and how she’d waited in vain for him to return. How she wore the swan keychain he’d given her still to that day, to remind herself of the dangers of trusting people. 

He told her of Milah and their affair, how he’d begged her to leave her abusive husband and when she finally had, how the man had hunted her down and murdered her, using his money and influence to evade justice for that crime. How his guilt over her death had nearly drowned Killian and how he’d nearly drowned himself in rum to cope with it. 

She knew that in his own way Killian was as guarded with his emotions and cautious with his trust as she was herself, and she treasured every confidence he offered her. 

Gradually, their texting had evolved into phoning and then video calling, and for the past eight months as long as Killian was near enough to shore to get a signal, not a day had gone by without some communication between them. 

She was pretty sure she was in love with him, and not at all sure how she felt about that. 

Nor was she sure about how he felt. She knew he liked her, considered her a friend —he would never have confided so much in her otherwise— yet he’d never given the smallest hint that his feelings had deepened. 

But then, neither had she. 

She knew that she was waiting until she could see him again, to gauge the effect of his physical presence on her feelings. 

There was a small but worrying chance that once she had him in front of her she would simply jump him, throw herself into his arms and kiss him senseless as she’d been wanting to do for what felt like forever, then drag him to bed and keep him there until he’d done every single thing that she had imagined him doing to her over the past two years.

And that would take some time. She’d have to get a mini-fridge installed in her room to keep them stocked up on the energy drinks and protein bars that they were both going to need.  

But first things first. First he had to get himself to Storybrooke.

🎄 🎄 🎄 🎄 🎄

10.25 and still no word from Killian, aside from a brief “landed safely” text hours before. He should definitely have arrived by now. Emma had worried her bottom lip so much it bled, and she had just begun to slip from concerned to angry when her phone buzzed. 

K: Look outside 

What the fuck did that mean? 

She was composing a snappish reply when the sound of pebbles hitting her window made her jump. She pulled the curtain aside to reveal Killian standing in the snow outside, waving at her. Excitement surged through her; she felt almost sick with it. Trying not to appear too eager, she waved back to him and nodded her understanding, then hurriedly shrugged into her coat and shoved her feet into her boots before racing outside, screeching to a halt right in front of him and grinning like a fool. 

His grin was equally foolish. “Swan,” he breathed. “It’s good to see you. You look— you look good.” 

Her throat was tight, her heart racing. “So do you,” she managed to say, clenching her hands into fists to stop herself from grabbing him. “But— I mean, I’m definitely not complaining, but what are you doing here?”

“I came to request the pleasure of your company on an adventure.”

“What sort of adventure?”

“Come with me and find out,” he challenged, quirking an eyebrow at her. 

She couldn’t suppress her eager smile. “Okay. Lead on.” 

He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, leading her down the sidewalk towards the edge of town. 

“So how’s life as a deputy sheriff?” he asked.

“So far it’s been great, actually. I know it’s only been two weeks, but I feel like it’s gonna work out. Mary Margaret and my dad are thrilled, they’ve wanted me to give up bail bonds for forever.” 

“David’s not being too much of a pain in the arse, I hope?”

She snorted. “Not any more than I can handle. He’s a good boss. And… it’s weird to say this about my sister’s boyfriend, but he’s almost like a father figure sometimes.” 

“Aye, old Dave’s always been irritatingly paternal. You should have heard some of the lectures he used to give me when we were at uni together in London.”

She laughed. “I have been on the receiving end of a lecture or two. I have to admit I kinda like it. I never had that kind of father.” 

Conversation flowed easily between them and Emma didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Their friendship was clearly safe and solid, as comfortable in person as it was via technology, but friendship simply wasn’t enough for her anymore.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at their destination. 

Emma looked around her, confused. “The baseball field?”

“Aye. But take a closer look.” 

She did, and what she saw made her gasp. Snow had been built up into hard-packed walls forming a large oval that stretched from the home-plate area into the outfield. Inside the oval smooth ice glistened in the faint light from the streetlamps. 

“Is it—” 

“An ice rink,” Killian confirmed. 

“I thought they stopped doing this!” The last time there had been an ice rink in Storybrooke Emma had been no older than fifteen. Budget constraints had made it ‘no longer feasible’ according to Mayor Mills. 

“They did. I may have suggested to David that he start it up again.” 

That must have been what David had been whispering about on the phone for the past two weeks. “Why?”

“I know how you love watching figure skating. Don’t you want to have a go yourself?”

She did, but trying new things made her nervous. “I’ve never done this before,” she objected. 

“Neither have I,” he replied wryly, “We’ll like as not break both our necks. But come on, adventure, remember?”

“I don’t have any skates.” 

Killian pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the equipment shed behind the home team dugout. He rummaged inside for a moment before pulling out two pairs of skates and another key, which he used to switch on the field’s floodlights, illuminating the rink in a bright white glow. 

With an encouraging grin Killian handed her a pair of skates then took the other pair and sat down on the bench, kicking off his shoes. Emma sat beside him, suddenly excited as she pulled off her boots and replaced them with the skates. Once they were on and tightly laced she took Killian’s hand and they wobbled together past the bleachers and onto the ice. Immediately, her feet went out from under her and she grabbed Killian by the lapels of his coat, causing him to overbalance and topple over, landing on his back with a grunt as she came down atop him. 

“Oh my gods, are you all right?” she asked worriedly. “Killian? Are you—”

“Aye, love, I’ll be fine, just give a man a minute to get his breath back.” He made an attempt to sit up, and Emma was suddenly aware that his hands were on her hips, his fingers curving around her ass, warm through the thin fabric of her leggings. She was plastered against him from knee to shoulder, their faces close enough that she could count his individual eyelashes. They lay like that for a long moment, his fingers flexing on her hips, hers clenched on the lapels of his coat, their eyes locked. 

Kiss me, damn it, thought Emma, before I kiss you. 

But then Killian blinked and swallowed hard, and the warmth of his hands was gone. 

“I—” he began hoarsely, then cleared his throat. “I think you’ll have to move first, love. Use the fence to pull yourself up. I’ll follow.” 

“Right,” she replied, rolling off of him and grabbing hold of the chain link fence that surrounded the baseball field. She managed to get to her feet then turned to see that Killian had done the same. He grinned at her. 

“All right, there, Swan?” She nodded, and he held out his hand. “Shall we give it another go, then? This time, don’t try to walk. Push off with one foot and let the blade on the other glide across the ice.” 

“I thought you’d never done this before!”

“I haven’t, but I have watched many YouTube videos on the subject.” 

“YouTube? Seriously?”

“A good Boy Scout is always prepared, darling.” 

She snorted. “You were never a Boy Scout.” 

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my skeptical Swan. I was a Boy Scout for eight years.” 

“Really?”

“Indeed. From age 7 to 15. Liam said it kept me out of trouble.” 

“So why did you quit when you were 15?”

“I discovered girls,” he replied with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Or perhaps I should say that they discovered me.” 

She laughed delightedly, then looked over to see him watching her with such deep affection in his eyes that it stole her breath. “What?” she asked, almost shyly. 

“Look down,” he said, and she followed his gaze, gasping in astonishment at the sight of her feet gliding smoothly across the ice. “I’m doing it!” she cried, shooting him a dazzling smile. “We’re doing it!” She squeezed his hand as his eyes blazed with an emotion that excited and terrified her because she thought she might know what it was. 

“Emma,” he whispered, and her heart clenched because he never called her that… “Emma, I—” 

“Hey, Emma and Killian!”

“What the—” Emma spun around at the sound of her sister’s voice, almost sending her and Killian tumbling onto the ice again but he managed to catch her around the waist and keep them upright. “Mary Margaret, what are you doing here?” She knew she sounded surly, but damn it they were in the middle of something. 

“David and I saw the lights go on,” Mary Margaret was bouncing with excitement, oblivious to her sister’s mood. “He told me about the rink and we decided to come join you. Ruby and Dorothy are on their way too.” 

“You all have skates?” asked Emma. 

“Yeah. They used to flood this field every year when we were kids. You remember when you first moved here I used to invite you to come skating with us but you never wanted to.” 

She had wanted to, Emma remembered, but she’d felt awkward and self-conscious because she hadn’t known how. If only she’d had Killian back then. 

You don’t have him now, whispered an indsidious voice in her head, but she ruthlessly shoved it aside. Killian’s hand was still in hers and his arm was around her waist and he’d looked at her just now with… with something, and if Mary Margaret hadn’t interrupted he might have said—”

She looked up to find him smiling wryly at her. “Well, I suppose we’d best go socialise,” he said.

🎄 🎄 🎄 🎄 🎄

They skated for another hour, miraculously managing to stay on their feet the whole time. Emma even skated backwards, albeit with Mary Margaret pushing her, and the look on her face as she did made Killian glad he’d followed through on his crazy idea, despite all the ribbing he’d had to take from David. He’d take just about anything, do anything, suffer anything to see that look and know that he was responsible for it.

He was a goner.

Later they returned to Emma and Mary Margaret’s apartment for some hot chocolate. Killian was sitting in a corner watching Emma laugh with her sister and Ruby when David plopped down next to him.  

“You should just tell her,” he said.  

“Tell whom what, mate?”

“Tell Emma that you love her.” 

Killian flushed and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He closed it again, then reopened it. Then closed it. When he opened it for the third time he finally managed to croak out one single syllable: “How?”

David smirked at him. “It’s not so hard to figure out. You asked me about a present for her last year, you asked me to build her a freaking ice rink. I notice that you haven’t asked for any present advice this year—” 

“Perhaps I didn’t get her anything this year.” 

“No, you just didn’t need any advice because you know her well enough now to choose your gift yourself. I assume you’ve been texting?”

“Aye, though I didn’t realise I was being so bloody obvious about it.” 

“Come on, man, I worked as a detective for years. And you’ve been smitten with her from the moment you met.” 

“Smitten?!”

“Yep. Your word. And it’s not like you not to do something about it. Aren’t you always saying that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets?”

Killian sighed. “Aye,” he replied, “I do say that. But the stakes have never been quite this high before. If I fight for Emma and I fail… it will break me. Perhaps I don’t deserve more than her friendship.” 

David clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I think you should let Emma decide what you deserve from her. She’s a woman who knows her own mind.” 

“Aye, that she is,” Killian agreed, his mind all in a whirl. He’d been so close to telling her when they’d been skating, his anxiety overpowered by her joy and the knowledge that he was the one who had made her so happy. He wanted to make her happy every day for the rest of their lives. There was nothing he’d ever wanted more. 

“Excuse me, mate,” he said to David, standing abruptly and grabbing his coat from the back of the sofa, pulling a small item from its pocket. 

Emma was headed into the kitchen to heat some more milk when he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her away from the gathering, past the bathroom where it had all begun and into her bedroom. 

At least, he hoped it was hers. 

“This is your bedroom, right?” He asked. She nodded, eyes wide. 

“Look, Swan, I just wanted— I know Christmas isn’t until Tuesday, but I wanted to give you your gift today, away from prying eyes. It’s just— it’s a bit— well, here.” 

Killian handed her a small parcel wrapped in the same silver snowflake paper as last year’s, and Emma smiled to herself, thrilled by both the gesture and his demeanor. He was clearly nervous, and that made her unaccountably happy. For this smooth, self-assured man to stumble over his words, he must be in the grip of some strong emotions. 

She took the gift from him and carefully removed the paper. Inside was a jeweller’s box, and Emma held her breath as she flipped up the lid. 

Within lay a silver filigree pendant, the delicate swirls and whorls of metal twisting and twining about each other to form the image of an elegant swan. 

She stared wordlessly at it for a moment, overwhelmed by her feelings. 

“I thought perhaps it was time to replace this one,” said Killian, reaching out to trace his fingertips over the swan pendant she currently wore. “Perhaps the symbolism of it is no longer relevant to your life?” He sounded so hopeful and at the same time so agonisingly uncertain that her heart broke a little even as it soared. 

She reached up to grasp the old pendant, breaking its chain with a sharp jerk, and tossed it carelessly aside. 

“Will you help me put it on?” she asked, offering him the box. He took it with trembling fingers and managed to withdraw the pendant, fumbling a little with the clasp. She turned her back to him, brushing her hair aside to reveal the curve of her neck. He stepped forward to drape the chain around it, his breath uneven on her skin, and once he’d closed the clasp he let his fingertips trail across her collarbones and over her shoulders. 

“Emma,” he whispered, and the sound of her name in that deep, wrecked voice was more than she could take. 

She spun around and grabbed a fistful of his shirtfront, pulling his lips to hers, swallowing his heartfelt groan as he wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed her back like he was drowning and she his only source of air. 

When they broke apart, gasping, several long moments later, Emma rested her forehead against his and struggled for the words to express the raging confusion within her. 

“You’re right,” she said. “I wore that thing for too long. It isn’t relevant to my life anymore. It was a reminder not to trust, not to get too close to anyone, but now… with you…” she paused, suddenly unsure, hoping she wasn’t reading way too much into a simple gesture of friendship. “I mean, if that’s what you want, if that’s what you meant by giving me this—”

“Emma.”

“If you didn’t that’s okay, I get it, but it feels like you did, and I mean, I do too, I mean I— I—” 

Killian pulled back slightly and waited for her to look up at him. When she did she saw every one of the emotions she herself was feeling simmering in his eyes.