The Pirate's Swan

January 26, 2019, around 4:00 pm

Emma cursed as she dropped the cake pan and then shook her burned hand as tears filled her eyes.

Everything was going wrong today.  Everything.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  Last May, she’d won the final battle, and the entire town had finally gotten their happy beginnings.  She and Killian had taken a well deserved honeymoon, sailing the Jolly Roger down the coast and to the Caribbean.  No new villains had shown up, no existential crises.

Wasn’t their happy beginning life supposed to be perfect now?

Don’t get her wrong.  She was happy, happier than she’d ever been.  She had a husband she loved, a family, good friends, a strong community, and a town where the worst crisis she had to deal with was Doc disturbing the peace after one of his brothers crashed into his Miata.  She wouldn’t give up this life she and Killian had built for themselves for anything.

But into every life–even the happiest–sometimes the rain would fall (or more appropriately, the snow).  Today was one of those days.

Last fall, when Killian and her parents had planned and organized an elaborate, town-wide 32nd birthday party for her, something had occurred to Emma:  In all the time they’d known him, they’d never had a birthday celebration for Killian.

The thought made her incredibly sad.  After all he’d done for the town, after all he’d done for her, after all he meant to all of them, they’d never even taken the time to ask him when his birthday was, let alone celebrate it.

That night, after the party as they lay cuddling in bed together, she’d asked him about his birthdays, and his answer had only increased her sadness.

“I hardly remember my birthday anymore, Swan,” he’d said, his hand rubbing her back as he held her to him.  “It’s been so long since I celebrated it, so long since anyone gave a damn about it, that even I forget to mark the day most years.”

It had taken some prompting from her, but in the end, she’d gotten him to admit that he’d been born on January 26, 1781, and from that moment on, she’d been planning it–the most amazing 238th birthday party anyone had ever had.

Granted, it was probably the only 238th birthday party anyone had ever had, but that was entirely beside the point.

She and Henry had spent hours planning the party–to be held at Granny’s on his birthday night, with the whole town present–a huge cake, gifts, his favorite meal, the rum flowing freely, the whole nine yards.  She’d come up with some excuse to get him there that evening, and then everyone would jump up and yell “Surprise”

The only problem?  She hadn’t accounted for the fact that January was right smack-dab in the heart of a northeastern winter, and what tends to happen in the heart of a northeastern winter?  

Snowstorms.

It was just her luck, that one of the biggest ones their area had seen in decades blew in the day before Killian’s birthday.  What the rest of the Land Without Magic had named the storm, Emma neither knew nor cared, but they’d christened the storm Winter Storm Ingrid–for obvious reasons.  They’d been under a Winter Storm Warning, a Blizzard Warning, and a Cold Weather warning for nearly 48 hours by the time Killian’s birthday dawned cold and white.

She and Killian had been working nearly around the clock for the last two days, being the town’s only law enforcement.  Oh her dad still stepped in to help out from time to time, but after he’d pulled a double shift, she’d finally sent him back home to be with her mom and the kid while she and Killian soldiered on, responding to the endless calls to the sheriff’s station–slide offs, small fires from faulty space heaters, the electricity failing, drunk and disorderly conduct.  It was utter chaos–so much so, it made Ingrid’s spell of shattered sight seem like a walk in the park.

Finally, at 11 am on Killian’s birthday morning, her dad had returned to the office with reinforcements–all seven of the dwarfs–and absolutely insisted the two of them get some rest.

“We got your back, sister!” Leroy said.  “This storm is nothing a little hard work and dwarf ingenuity can’t handle!”

They’d returned exhausted to their house, only to find the second disappointment of Killian’s birthday–the freezing rain that had kicked the winter storm off had downed a powerline, leaving them utterly without power–or heat.

Killian winked at her and made some over-the-top innuendos about ways they could keep each other warm, but in the end, they were both too tired to make good on any of them and had fallen fully clothed into bed, asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow.

When Emma awoke at 2 pm on Killian’s birthday afternoon, the third disappointment of Killian’s birthday became glaringly obvious.  It was still bad out there.  Really bad.  Regina had just declared a level 3 travel restriction and warned that she would start throwing fireballs at anyone who was stupid enough to be out on the roads for anything less serious than a heart attack.

There was nothing for it. Killian’s birthday party would have to be cancelled.

It was quite a blow.  All their hard work, all their planning, ruined.  With the travel restriction, even Henry, who had spent the last few days at Regina’s, would be prevented from celebrating with them.

Undaunted, Emma had decided to make the best of the far-from-optimal situation.  Maybe they couldn’t have a town-wide birthday party.  Maybe they couldn’t celebrate with their son or other family.  Maybe they couldn’t even leave their house until their next shift at the sheriff’s station, but they were together.  They could have their own birthday celebration, right?  She could whip up something for dinner and they could eat it and then cuddle in front of the fire.

And what was a birthday celebration without a cake?  Granted, her culinary skills were….less than gourmet…and baking would be made even more difficult by their lack of electricity, but she was resourceful!  She had a fire, basic ingredients, a cake pan and the internet to search for no-oven cake recipes.  She could do this!

Or so she thought.

She’d managed to mix cake ingredients and fashion a makeshift oven out of a dutch oven over the fire.  All seemed to be going well until she noticed thick smoke seeping out of the pot. She’d pulled the whole concoction out of the fire, only to find not a fluffy vanilla cake, but a charred, black monstrosity.

And it was at that moment that she discovered the hitherto unbeknownst to her hole in her oven mitt.

So here she was, sitting back on her heels in front of the fire, her hand burning, tears of pain and frustration streaming down her face, finally ready to admit defeat. 

“Swan?” Killian called in alarm, rushing to her side, “what’s wrong?  Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said, before looking down at her smarting appendage and amending her answer, “well, technically yes.  I did burn myself, but that’s not….Killian, it’s ruined!  It’s all ruined!”

Killian helped her to her feet and over to the sink, where they discovered the fourth disappointment of Killian’s birthday–given the fact they had well water, when the electricity was out, they didn’t even have running water.

“Can this day get any worse?” she ground out.

Killian chuckled. “Don’t tempt fate, Darling.  Here, wait a moment, I’ll be right back.”  She watched him step out the front door and gather a large pail full of fluffy, white snow before returning to her and placing her burned hand in the icy pile.

It felt good, so good against her burning skin, and she let out a quick sigh of relief before the tears started flowing again.

“Killian,” she said, “It’s your birthday, and I wanted everything to be so perfect for you.  We planned a party, and then the blizzard happened.  I was going to make you a cake, and then…well”

She gestured aimlessly toward the dutch oven where her confection was still listlessly releasing wisps of smoke.

Killian glanced skeptically toward it.  “That was meant to be a cake?”

She glared at him, and he raised his hands in surrender.

“The point is,” she continued, “I wanted you to have a birthday that made up for all the lonely ones in your past.  Killian, you mean everything to me–to Henry, to our family–and I wanted to do something to show you that.”

Killian kissed her softly, and when he pulled away, she saw tears in his eyes.  “Swan…” he swallowed hard, taking a moment to contain his emotions, “I’m honored and humbled.  I don’t need a fancy party.  I don’t need a cake.  I don’t need any of it, as long as you’re by my side, but the fact that you would go to such trouble just for me…I don’t even have words.”

She leaned forward and kissed him hard, her non-injured hand coming up to pull him toward her.  “You really aren’t disappointed?”

He chuckled.  “Disappointed is the last word I’d use.  Swan, you are bloody brilliant. Amazing.”

“But your party….”

He waved her concern away.  “It’s been a few centuries since my last birthday party.  Postponing this one for a few days is no hardship.  In the meantime, I have you all to myself on my birthday, and that is a delicacy far more enjoyable than even the most delectable cake.  What say we dress your hand and then adjourn to our bedroom where I can properly express my gratitude.”

Notes:

–Surprise, I’m back!  I don’t even know how long it’s been since I last added to this collection, but one of my New Year’s resolutions was to write at least 2500 words per week.  (I have spectacularly failed pretty much all month…but the year is still young!)

–If you live in the United States, you probably are well aware of where I got the idea for this fic.  Last weekend, a powerful winter storm slammed a good 40 states, leaving devastation in its wake.  Luckily my area didn’t have the freezing rain or the power outages, but we did get a lot of snow, followed by bitter cold, all of which trapped me in my house for a good 4 days.  What better way to spend the time than to make my favorite fictional pair suffer the way I was suffering.

–Add to that the fact that Monday was Colin O’Donoghue’s birthday, and I had all the perfect ingredients for a Fluffy Friday fic!  With regard to the date I came up with for the day of Killian’s birth, that required a bit of math. (Ew!  math!)  I decided Killian would physically be the same age as Colin, so I figured out the year Colin was born and subtracted 200 years.   As to “238”--Colin was 38 in January of 2019, the winter after OUAT ended.

“Mom!  Wake up!” Henry said, shaking her shoulder.  “It’s Christmas morning!”

Emma groaned as she woke up.  It was early.  Way too early.  By the look of the sky from her bedroom window, it would still be Christmas morning for another several hours yet.  It could barely even be called dawn.

“Alright, Kid, I’m up,” she said on a yawn, reaching for her robe and slippers.  “I know you’re all about opening the rest of your presents, but you’re going to have to wait for the coffee to brew.  You know I’m not awake before I’ve had my first two cups.”

“Don’t worry about that!” Henry said, “Killian already made coffee.  Now he’s working on breakfast.”

Emma froze.  Killian.  How had she forgotten the handsome stranger was still there?

Not long after Henry opened his gifts, Emma had glanced out the window to see it snowing with a vengeance.  Turning on the TV, she quickly found out why.  They were in the opening stages of a monster blizzard.

Emma shot Killian a concerned look.  “You have a place to stay?” she asked.  “Your home close?”

“I’m afraid not, love,” Killian said.  “I’ve yet to secure lodgings for myself.  It’s no matter, though.  I’ve weathered many a storm.”

The thought of turning him out into the blizzard had seemed beyond heartless.  Who let a guest of theirs go out and freeze to death in a blizzard?  Particularly one her son seemed to have an inexplicable bond with—especially after getting that storybook?  Particularly one she felt such a tie to. 

“Look,” she’d said stiffly.  “It’s nasty out there.  If you want, you can crash on our couch.  Can’t guarantee it’s the most comfortable bed you’ll ever sleep on, but it’s bound to be better than wandering around on the streets of New York in the middle of a blizzard, right?”

His eyes had lit up as though she’d offered him the best gift of his life.  “It would be an honor to sleep on your couch, Swan,” he’d said in wonder.  “You’ve no idea how much it means to me that you’ve offered.”

Now, in the (still barely there) light of day, Emma began to second guess her magnanimous gesture.  What did she even know about this Killian guy really?  What kind of a mother lets a strange guy—who could be a serial killer for all she knew—crash on her couch with her son in the apartment.

You’re safe with him.  He’d never harm you.

Now where had that thought come from?  It made no sense that she’d know that, but somehow she could feel the truth of the statement all the way to her bones.  Killian Jones was no threat to her or to Henry.

(Well…except perhaps to her heart.  Only one night in the man’s company—one very platonic night—and she could already feel herself falling for him.  What was with her?  Emma Swan did not get crushes like that!  She had her heart locked up as tightly as Fort Knox.  No way she lets feelings in!)

Emma took a tentative step from her bedroom and couldn’t help the groan of appreciation that escaped her.  It smelled amazing out there.  Coffee—strong coffee from the scent of it—percolating, bacon sizzling, pancakes on the griddle.  She took it back.  Not only was Killian no threat to her, she may have to just invite him to live with the two of them.

“Morning love,” He called with a cheery smile—how did he look that chipper after only getting a few hours of sleep on a lumpy sofa?  “I trust you slept well?”

“What little amount of time the kid let me sleep,” she said on a yawn.  “He’s lucky it’s Christmas or no way I’d let him get away with waking me up at the butt crack of dawn.”

Killian chuckled.  “No I suppose not.  I know full well a man is taking his life in his hands when he wakes you.  There was one morning on Never…er…I mean…you look like someone who enjoys her sleep.”

“Nice recovery,” Henry said under his breath.  “Making her think you’re crazy is definitely not how you make headway with Operation Captain Swan.”

“Never?  Operation Captain Swan?” Emma asked in bewilderment.  “What are the two of you talking about?  How do you know my sleeping habits?  And when did you and Henry suddenly become best friends? ”

“Not to worry, Swan,” Killian said, scratching away at that spot on his neck again.  “This morning the lad merely told me that the way to your heart is through your stomach.”

“The way to my…Are you…are you saying you want to get to my heart?” No way she was telling him that very organ was pounding so hard at the very notion she was surprised he couldn’t hear it.

In a blink Killian’s embarrassment faded away to be replaced by pure flirtatious mischief.  “Oh darling.  You have no idea,” he purred.

She held his gaze for as long as she could (which…ended up being less than five seconds), and then she hid behind her favorite defense—sarcasm.  “Yeah, well, you gonna take that bacon out of the pan or just let it burn while you act like an idiot?”

He shot her a wounded look.  “Of course I had no intention of burning your victuals, Swan!  It took me quite some time to determine the proper way to utilize your cooking box, and now that I have, I have no intention of ruining a perfectly good breakfast.”

“It’s called a stove, Hook,” Henry muttered under his breath.

Seriously, when did the two of them become all buddy-buddy?  And where was this guy from that he didn’t even know what a stove was?

She had no further time to ponder the big questions of her life, though, as Killian slid a plate of food and a mug of coffee in her direction.  At the first bite, Emma moaned in ecstasy.  The man could cook.

Looking up, she caught the positively sinful look in Killian’s eye.  “I quite like that sound Darling.  Perhaps I might endeavor to elicit it once more…sometime when we’re alone.”

“La, la, la,” Henry said, sticking his fingers in his ears.  “Kid in the room guys!”

Emma felt her face flame, so she did the only reasonable thing, she turned a withering glare at the idiot in leather currently seated at the head of the table.  “In your dreams Jones.”

“You have no idea.”

Emma glared again, expecting to see the same sinful look in his eyes, but what she found instead floored her.  Pure, unvarnished longing.  It was the look of a man desperately in love.  One who feared he’d never have a chance with the girl of his dreams.

The look called to her, and she suddenly had the insane urge to reach over, grab his hand and reassure him that he would find happiness one day.

Fortunately her hand closest to Killian was currently occupied shoveling as much food as possible into her mouth.

Breakfast was a short affair, eaten hastily.  While Henry was normally a pretty patient kid, waiting to open presents on Christmas morning would test the patience of any kid.

“Why don’t you go get your presents organized,” Emma said, getting to her feet.  “I’ll just take care of these dishes and I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Nonsense, Swan,”  Killian said with a hand to her arm…a soft pat that felt almost like a caress.  “Go have Christmas morning with your son.  I’m perfectly capable of righting the galley.”

“You sure?  I hate to have you cook breakfast and then stick you with dishes too.”

“Aye,” he said with a tender smile.  “Believe me when I say your happiness…yours and your lad’s…ensure my happiness.”

She smiled, impulsively reaching over and squeezing his hand.  “Thanks.”

“You are most welcome.”

The following hour passed in a veritable blur, Henry moving from present to present.  She supposed maybe she spoiled him with all the Christmas gifts she’d gotten him, but he was such a good kid and so genuinely grateful for everything he got.  And then, of course, there was always that little lost girl inside of her that would never forget what it was like to wake up on Christmas morning to a bare tree and a lack of family.  If it made her go a little overboard with her kid…that was just the way it was.

Just as the last gift—a brand new journal and gel pen (the kid liked to write)—was unwrapped, the couch seat beside her sagged, and Emma looked over to see Killian by her side.  Not only by her side, but close enough she could feel the heat of his body against her.  It was…distracting to say the least.

“Um…” she said, clearing her throat and trying not to sound like a complete fool, “I guess that’s it.  The gifts are all unwrapped.”

“Not quite, Swan,” he said in a low, caressing voice.  “I’ve one yet to bestow on you.”

“Me?” she asked.  “You got me a gift?”

“Aye,” he said with a nod, turning away to rummage through his satchel once again.  I saw this and thought of you.”

“Th…thank you,” she said, taking the long, thin velvet-covered box he held out to her.  Opening it, she found a diamond and opal pendant in the shape of a swan attached to a fine, silver chain.  It was gorgeous.

“I know you don’t remember, love,” he said softly, “but this pendant reminds me of our first adventure…one of the most satisfying adventures of my life, and it belongs with no one but you.”

“The beanstalk!:” Henry said from his place on the floor, still surrounded by his Christmas loot.  “It reminds you of the beanstalk.”

“Aye,” Killian said.  “That it does indeed.”

It should have been completely nonsensical this conversation her son was having with her…pirate (No!  Not her pirate!), but somehow it simply wasn’t.  Something deep within her wanted to nod along and agree with them.

Before she could second guess herself, Emma leaned over and impulsively hugged Killian.  “Thanks!  I love it.  And…I mean, it’s still snowing out there.  If you, you know, want to keep crashing on the couch for the next few days, I’m okay with that.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Hey Hook,” Henry said from his spot at the kitchen table a week later.  “Tonight’s the big night!  The moment of truth!”

Killian looked around in alarm, afraid Swan had overheard the lad’s impetuous words.

“Don’t worry,” Henry said, noting the direction of his gaze.  “She’s not here.  She had a quick bowl of cereal and then headed out after her latest skip.  She said she had a really promising lead.”

Killian nodded in relief.  Tonight might be the moment of truth; the moment he took a chance; the moment he tested the lad’s theory that Swan had feelings for him as well, but he wished to remain as circumspect as possible until the big moment.

One week prior, on Christmas Eve, Killian and Henry had remained awake long after Swan retired for the night.

“You remember, Henry?” Killian asked, as soon as Emma entered her bed chamber.  “Truly?”

“Yeah!” Henry said.  “I remember everything—Storybrooke, my other mom, Neverland, Pan’s curse, everything!  Killian, how did you get to us?”

“Never mind the details, lad,” Killian said, waving off the question he was not yet ready to answer.  “Suffice it to say it’s a wonder what one can accomplished when he is sufficiently motivated.”

“And you wanted to get back to mom.”

“In part,” Killian said, “but I’m afraid there’s a far more pressing concern.  A curse.”

“Again?” Henry asked, with a sigh.  “Who cast it this time?”

Killian shrugged.  “I’ve no idea.  I…found myself separated from the group quite soon after our return to the Enchanted Forest.  I’ve no idea what your grandparents and the others got mixed up in after I left.”

“Then how did you know to come for us?”

“I received a missive, perhaps from your grandmother,” Killian said.  “I set about securing passage back to your realm the moment I read the news.  I know nothing aside from the fact that the entire realm has once again been transported to Storybrooke.  I can only assume the need for your mother’s savior services is quite urgent.”

“So let’s wake mom up, tell her what’s going on,” Henry said.  “We could be headed back to Storybrooke as soon as this snowstorm stops.”

Killian shook his head.  “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as all that, Henry.  What do you imagine would be your mother’s reaction should I tell her she’s the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming and she must go back to a town called Storybrooke to break a curse, no doubt cast by a fairy tale villain?”

Henry grimaced.  “Good point.”

The two were silent for a moment, and then Henry brightened once again.  “I know how you can make mom remember!” he said.

“Aye?  What do you propose?”

“True Love’s Kiss.”

Killian sucked in a long breath.  “Come again lad?”

“True Love’s Kiss!  It can break any curse.  It’s perfect!  All you have to do is kiss her and she’ll remember who she was,” Henry said.

“Henry…” Killian began.

“No, really!” Henry said.  “You love my mom, don’t you?”

“Aye, more than you know, but at present your mother doesn’t even know me, let alone love me.”

“Well that’s no problem,” Henry said.  “I think she was starting to have feelings for you back in Storybrooke.  All you have to do is get her to fall in love with you again!  We could call it…Operation Captain Swan!”

Was that all he must do?

Killian had to admit to more than a bit of skepticism in his ability to win Swan’s heart in a short period of time, but as no other solution occurred to either of them, Killian finally agreed to the plan.

It was a two-pronged approach.

Over the ensuing week Henry and Killian worked in tandem to help Emma remember her true identity.  It was little things—short vignettes from their true lives.  Discussions of the storybook.  Talk about home and family.

While this was occurring, Killian wooed Emma as tenderly as the most ardent lover—procuring her flowers and small trinkets, preparing her meals, giving her a listening ear, supporting her, praising her, spending quality time with her and Henry.

He was making headway; he knew he was.  Sometimes he’d look up and find her gaze on him—happy, speculative, ardent.  He knew that look.  It was the look of someone falling in love.

Then, of course there was their sleeping arrangement.  Killian had spent the first three nights on the couch in Swan’s living quarters, but just after dinner on the evening of the fourth day, Emma approached him, her eyes looking anywhere but at him.

“Look, Killian,” she’d said, after being sure that Henry was otherwise occupied, “I know that couch can’t be comfortable.  If you want, you can, you know, share my bed.”

His eyes had widened in shock.  Had she just suggested….?

“Just to sleep!” she quickly clarified.  “I wasn’t, you know, propositioning you.  I just thought..”  She shrugged.  “I just thought there’s plenty of room in my queen sized bed.  If we each keep to our own side it doesn’t have to be awkward.”

Killian grinned slowly, ducked his chin and swaggered in her direction.  “Oh I assure you, darling.  There would be nothing awkward about it.  If you wished to share your bed with me, you needn’t use the excuse of my discomfort on your couch.  You need only ask.”

“Killian!” she growled.

He grinned and then sobered.  “Thank you for your offer, Swan.  I swear to be a perfect gentleman.  I’m always a gentleman.”

For a moment, Killian could swear Emma remembered the last time he’d uttered those words—at the top of the beanstalk where their story had begun, but then her eyes had cleared and she’d nodded.  “Good,” she said.

But despite her words about remaining separate, the next morning, Killian had woken with Emma in his arms, her head pillowed on his chest, her arms around him, her hair spilling over his arm.

It was pure bliss.

The next night when they retired for bed, Swan had made no mention of the arrangement—or any changes she wished for it.  She’d merely lain on her side, reached for him, and pulled his hand around her middle.  He’d had the luxury of holding her through the night, this time with her full knowledge and desire.

Aye, Killian was making progress in fulfilling his vow to win her heart; there was no mistake about it, but his progress was far too slow.

“You need to make a big gesture,” Henry finally said on the morning of New Year’s Eve.  “Really put all your cards out there.  I’ve got the perfect idea.”

“Aye?  And what might that be?”

“A New Year’s kiss!”  Henry said.  “It’s a tradition here in our realm.  People kiss each other just as it turns midnight on New Year’s Day.  The person you share your New Year’s kiss with is supposed to be with you all year long.  It’s perfect.”

Killian had put forth a token protest at first, but he couldn’t deny the idea had merit.  He knew his Swan.  He knew that she was afraid to give her heart—but he knew she craved love and commitment even more.  She held herself at a distance because she feared the people she allowed herself to care for would leave her.  Perhaps if he bestowed this “New Year’s kiss” on her, it would show her that he was in this for the long haul; that he would never willingly leave her.

Aye, tonight would be the night.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Emma settled on the sofa, pulled her legs up beneath her, and ducked under Killian’s arm.  It should scare her how comfortable she’d become with him, how much she’d opened up to him, how very close she was to giving her heart to him.  It should terrify her and make her run as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

The thing was…it didn’t scare her.  Not at all.  It simply felt right.

The room was bathed in darkness save for the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree and the light from the TV.

“So, I’ve been to Times Square for the ball drop a time or two,” Emma explained, “but, I don’t know.  It’s overrated.  It’s so crowded you can barely move, and it’s freezing…and then trying to get out of the crowd and go home afterward…just more of a headache than it’s worth.  Why go through all the trouble when I can just catch it from the comfort of my own living room?”

“I must admit,” Killian said, shooting her a warm look.  “I’d far prefer watching these events unfold here, with you in my arms than in that crush of humanity.”

Emma felt her stomach swoop.  It was uncanny how Killian Jones managed to say these things—that would sound like the worst of clichés if spoken by anyone else—and make her melt like a pile of goo at his feet.  She caught his eye and held it for long moments—she had no idea how long, until Henry caught her attention.

“Hey guys!” he said, “pay attention!  They’re going to start the count down any second!”

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!…”

The excited crowd had just finished chanting “five” when Emma’s entire world turned on its axis.

“Emma,” Killian said softly, urgently, “I’m in love with you.  I love you with everything within me.  I’d like nothing better than to spend the remainder of the year, the remainder of my life with you.”

And as the ball dropped amid the shouting crowd, Killian leaned over and joined his lips with hers.  For a moment, Emma sat frozen, and then she was kissing him back, caressing his stubbled cheek, running a hand through his hair, moving so close she was nearly in his lap.

Emma felt the strangest energy bubble up within her, and suddenly it burst from her—burst from both of them, forming something resembling a rainbow colored shock wave.

Emma pulled away with a gasp, memories rushing in one after another.  “Hook!” she said, finally.  “I remember!”

On the other side of the room Henry cheered, pumping his fist in the air.  “Yes!”

Beside her, Killian grinned.  “Miss me?”

“What do you think?” Emma asked…just before kissing him so thoroughly Henry was soon making gagging sounds on his side of the room.

Over the next several years there would be plenty of curses to break, villains to defeat, even time to travel through, but during that night, that magical night when Emma and Killian shared True Love’s Kiss, nothing could have dampened their spirits.  With the magic of the night and the magic of their love, Emma knew whoever cast the latest curse didn’t stand a chance.

Emma shouldn’t complain; she really shouldn’t.  She had a job she loved, she had a roof over her head (a really nice roof at that), plenty of food to eat, a son she loved more than she thought it was possible to love another person, and it was the day before Christmas Eve.  She should be perfectly happy.

But she couldn’t help but think something was missing.

At first she thought she was just dealing with the inevitable melancholy that comes after the breakup of a longtime (well…longtime for her.  When you’re used to one night stands, having a boyfriend for eight months seems like an eternity) relationship, but that wasn’t quite it.  Honestly?  She’d barely even thought about Walsh since she broke up with him just before Halloween.  He’d been okay she guessed, but…well, there was no spark there.

No, it was more than breakup blues.  It felt more like loneliness. She glanced over her shoulder at Henry who sat at the breakfast table garnishing their mugs of hot cocoa with both cinnamon and little mini candy canes (in honor of the season), and the guilt hit.  She loved Henry, of course she did, but she couldn’t help but feel like someone…maybe several someones…were missing.

Emma had just passed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes to an excited Henry when the knock came at her apartment door.  That was…odd.

“We expecting someone?” Henry asked, already beginning to dig into his breakfast.

“No,” she said, her brow furrowed.  “Just…stay here kid while I see what this is all about.”

Emma didn’t know what she expected to see when she opened her door, but a pirate in full black leather and guyliner wasn’t it.  Nor did she expect the look of utter joy—like she’d just given him the best Christmas gift in the world—that crossed his face at the sight of her.

“Swan,” he breathed, blue eyes lighting up.  “At last.”

The pirate stepped forward, looking like he was about to embrace her.  For a moment, her mind went blank.  There was something familiar about this man, although she was pretty sure she’d remember meeting him before.  Aside from his odd choice of clothing, he was hot.  Not just kind of hot.  Like burn-all-of-New-York-to-the-ground hot.

For half a second, she almost let him envelope her in a hug, and then common sense returned.  Emma Swan did not just stand there and let crazy guys touch her.  She put a hand to his chest, warding him off.  “Do I know you?” she asked in a voice she determinedly made hard and unyielding.

“I’m…an old friend,” he said.  He wasn’t being entirely truthful, though he wasn’t lying either…not exactly.  What was going on here? 

“Look, Swan,” he said urgently, taking a tiny step forward once more, “I know you don’t remember me, but I need you to trust me.  Your family is in great danger.  They need you; they need the savior.”

“Look buddy,” Emma said, “I don’t know who you are or what kind of delusions you have, but my whole family is right there at that breakfast table.  My son is the only one who needs me.”

“You simply don’t remember, love,” he began, “I can help you…”

“It’s time for you to go,” she said, giving a little push to his chest until he’d crossed her threshold, “go peddle your crazy to someone else.”

With that she shut the door in his protesting face.

“Who was that?” Henry asked around a bite of pancake.

“No idea,” Emma said.

“Really?” Henry asked.  “Are you sure?  It’s just…something about him seems really familiar.”

“Must be a coincidence,” Emma said with a shrug as she sat down to her breakfast.  “But enough about psychos who show up at our door.  Let’s talk about the weekend!  We’ve got a lot of Christmas-ing to fit into the next three days that I have off.  What do you want to do first?”

Emma tried to forget the handsome pirate, she truly did.  She tried to forget him as she and Henry went ice skating.  She tried to forget him as they rolled out Christmas cookies and cut them into festive shapes.  She tried to forget him while Henry played his video game and she covertly wrapped his presents.  She tried to forget him when she and Henry sat down to watch Elf that night.  She tried to forget him as she lay in her big, lonely bed.

But somehow the mystery pirate man wouldn’t leave her thoughts no matter what she did.  When she woke up on Christmas Eve morning after having a weird dream where she and the pirate guy were in this weird jungle place and she kissed the living daylights out of him, she gave up.  Clearly she was going to get no peace until she found him again and heard him out, found out what the hell he’d meant by “your family needs you”.

As luck would have it, Emma didn’t even need to dig into her bail bonds person bag of tricks to locate her target.  She’d promised Henry she’d take him to the zoo in Central Park that day to see the Christmas festivities. And who should she see sitting on a park bench just outside the zoo’s entrance, but pirate man?

The man got to his feet as soon as she was in sight.  “Emma!” he said in excitement.  “Fancy seeing you here, love.”

“Seriously?” she asked, adding extra briskness to her voice to counteract the way the butterflies had started to swoop in her stomach the moment she saw him.  “You are a stalker.”

“Not at all,” he said.  “It was you who followed me here.  Perhaps you, Swan, are the stalker here, aye?”  Turning to her left, the man nodded at her son.  “Henry!  Good to see you!  Enjoying your Christmas holidays?”

Henry gave the man a suspicious glance and then broke into a smile.  “Yeah, it’s been great!  Three full days with mom before she has to go back to work…amazing!  But…do I know you?”

The man ruffled his hair.  “I’d wager not, at least not to your knowledge.  Killian Jones at your service, lad!”

“Cool!  Where’d ya get the pirate costume?”

The man looked down at himself and then shrugged.  “I’ve been wearing this attire for such a long time I don’t recall where I acquired it.”

“So, Killian, would you like to come to our apartment for Christmas Eve tonight?” Henry asked before Emma could stop him.  “We’ll light up the tree and watch Christmas movies and hang our stockings and everything.”

The man…Killian…shot her a questioning glance.  “I don’t wish to impose on your family traditions, lad, but if your mother doesn’t object I’d like nothing in all the realms more than to accept your invitation.”

For long moments, Emma stood in indecision.  Her brain was screaming at her to run away as fast as possible.  People did not invite strange men dressed in crazy attire into their homes—not unless they had a strange desire to be murdered, that is.  But her heart…well, her heart kept (illogically) insisting that not only could she trust this Killian Jones, somehow she actually knew him.

What came out of her mouth surprised even her.  “Sure.  Come by the apartment around 7?”

But really, no one should be alone on Christmas Eve, should they?

Killian’s brows rose almost to his hairline.  Safe to say that was not the answer he was expecting either.  “I shall look forward to it, love.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian felt an unaccustomed stab of nervousness flow through him as he walked the steps leading toward Swan’s abode.  He knew very little of what was transpiring in Storybrooke, only that the kingdom had once again been transported to the Land Without Magic via a curse and they needed the savior. 

Much was riding on Killian’s success in restoring Emma’s memories, and he felt the weight of the responsibility placed upon his shoulders.  While he’d have traded away the Jolly and done all in his power to find Swan simply for her own sake, the fact that her parents were counting on him spurred him on even more.  It had been centuries since he’d truly belonged anywhere and he had no intention of mucking this up.

Truthfully it was a minor miracle she’d invited him to spend the evening with her and the lad at all, but from what he’d gathered as he’d wandered the streets of this strange place called “New York” Christmas was a time for miracles.

Taking a deep breath, Killian raised his artificial hand and wrapped on her apartment door promptly at 7:00 pm.  He tapped his fingers against his leg as he waited, and then suddenly the door was opened and she stood there and literally took his breath away.  She wore a soft green sweater that brought out her eyes, jeans and brown boots, her hair was pulled back into a soft pony tail.

“You’re stunning, love,” he said in wonder—almost reverence.  His heart rate picked up as he saw her color prettily at the compliment.  If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Emma Swan was flustered by his presence in her home.

“Thanks,” she said, “you look pretty good yourself.”

Killian looked down at his black jeans, his blue button down shirt and his leather jacket, glad he’d thought to find attire more suitable to his environs. 

“Aye, well..” he said, giving her a flirtatious grin, “I have been called dashingly handsome, love.”

She rolled her eyes but laughed softly, breathily.  Killian leaned toward her, drawn to her, wishing nothing more than to repeat their mind-blowing kiss on Neverland.  For a moment, Emma leaned forward, lifted her head.  Was she actually going to allow him to kiss her?

“Hey guys, are you coming in soon?” came Henry’s voice from the kitchen, “I’m starving.”

And with that the spell was over.  Emma took a healthy step back, held onto the door and waved him in.  “Yeah, um…” she said, “come in.  Dinner’s ready.”

Killian obliged, shedding his jacket and placing it on the rack beside the door.  He looked around in interest, admiring the large, open feel of the apartment, impressed with the large, well decorated pine tree in the corner near the windows, enjoying the delectable aromas wafting in from the kitchen.

“It smells tasty, love,” Killian said, taking the seat Henry indicated at the head of the table.  “Did you prepare our meal yourself.”

Henry laughed.  “Mom doesn’t cook; especially on Christmas!  Of any day of the year, we ought to at least have edible food on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

“Excuse me?” Emma said feigning great offense.  “You better watch yourself, Kid.  Santa’s still watching.  Don’t want to get on the naughty list.”

Henry grinned.  “Hey, I’m only telling the truth.  I’d say being honest ought to keep me on the nice list.  But seriously, Killian, we had our dinner catered from this little Italian place down the street.  They have the best spaghetti and meatballs you’ve ever eaten!”

Killian smiled at the playful ribbing between mother and son.  Though he knew his Swan would wish to have her memories and know the truth, he was grateful to the Queen for giving her and the lad such pleasant memories and such a close relationship in their false life.

“I’ve no doubt but that you’re right, Henry,” Killian said, taking the bowl of long, thin pasta Swan passed him. He placed a healthy serving on his plate, and then topped it with the red sauce placed before him on the table.  “As it happens, this is the first time I’ve ever consumed this particular dish.”

Both Swan and her lad stopped what they were doing and shot him astonished looks.  “You’ve never eaten spaghetti and meatballs before?” Henry asked.

“Not even once.”

“Well are you in for a Christmas treat!” Henry assured him as he began to eat with typical preteen gusto.

And as Killian ate his meal of spaghetti and meatballs, salad and garlic bread, he had to admit the lad was correct—although whether it was the deliciousness of the food or the pleasantness of the company he enjoyed most was a matter for some debate.  As the evening continued, Swan lost the last hint of her nervous awkwardness and began talking and laughing with him—far more open than she’d ever before been in his presence.

After dinner, Killian followed the lad into the living room to choose a movie for the evening, after which came a ritual that left Henry nearly writhing in excitement.

“We open most of our gifts on Christmas morning,” Emma told Killian as Henry rushed toward the tree, carefully picking up each of the brightly wrapped packages which bore his name, shaking them, looking them over, weighing them in his hands, “but a few years ago, the kid talked me into starting a Swan family tradition of him getting one of his presents on Christmas Eve.  Choose carefully, kid.”

And suddenly, with the mention of gifts for the occasion of Christmas, Killian came up with a plan.  What if he was able to jog the lad’s memories?  With Henry on his side, perhaps the two of them could find a way to remind Emma who she truly was.

Killian grinned as Henry opened his chosen gift.  The lad’s enthusiasm and exuberance were contagious.

“The video game I wanted!” Henry said as soon as the bright, colorful paper was ripped away.  “Thanks mom!  This is great!”

Emma ruffled his hair.  “No problem kid,” she said.  “And just you wait.  You may be an expert at the other games, but I’m determined I’m going to beat you at this one!”

“Sounds like a challenge to me, lad,” Killian said teasingly, reaching over to playfully squeeze Swan’s shoulder from her perch beside him on the couch.  “Are you going to let it go unanswered?”

“No way!” Henry said.  “You’ll see, mom!  You may be good at catching real bad guys, but I’ve got the video bad guys quaking in their boots!  Can I play it now?  Please?”

Before Emma could answer, Killian put a up his artificial hand.  “Just a moment, lad,” he said.  “If you please, I have my own gifts to bestow.”

“Killian,” Emma said, looking over at him, “you didn’t need to…”

“Nonsense, love,” he answered.  “You were so kind as to allow me to share your holiday.  The least I can do is offer a few small tokens of my gratitude.”

“Seriously, we don’t expect…” Emma began again, but this time she was interrupted by her son.

“Did you bring me something?” he asked Killian, stepping up to him.

“Indeed I did, lad,” Killian said, reaching for his satchel.  “If I don’t miss my guess, you have the heart of a true believer.  The truest believer, even.  I thought perhaps you might find joy in perusing the stories of other heroes and believers.”

With a flourish, Killian pulled Henry’s old storybook from his bag and presented it to the boy.  It was this book that had ignited Henry’s belief the first time.  Was it possible the item would do the trick for a second time?

Henry accepted the offering, muttering a quick “Thank you,” before peering in confusion at the tome.

“A storybook?” Henry asked, brow furrowed.

“Aye,” Killian said, “a storybook, but I hope you’ll find it so very much more.  Go on lad, open it.”

Killian watched eagerly as Henry opened the book to the story of his grandparents.  He hadn’t long to wait.  Henry couldn’t have read more than a paragraph before his eyes got wide as saucers and he quickly looked up at Killian.

“Hook!” he said slowly.  “I…I remember!”

Waves of relief covered Killian like a blanket.  He may still have quite the uphill task in front of him, but for the first time since finding his beloved Swan in her apartment home, Killian knew without a doubt that he would.

December 22

“Excuse me,” came a voice behind her, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Emma Swan froze, one hand on the knob of her boss, Regina Mills’ office door, the other holding a hair pin an inch from the lock.

Oh no, oh no!, OH NO!!! This couldn’t be happening to her. She was so getting fired!

Emma slowly turned around, thinking hard for an excuse, any excuse, she could give Sidney Glass, Miss Mills’ personal assistant, for why she was currently trying to break into her boss’s office.

This was all Killian Jones’ fault, and if she went down, she’d be taking him down with her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

1 week ago

Emma Swan liked her job; she really did.  She’d been hired a year ago at the Mills Ad Agency under the direction of the world-famous Regina Mills.  Companies far and wide came to Boston to meet with the advertising mogul to secure her services.  On average, after a Regina Mills campaign, a company saw a 100% jump in profit.

This was the big leagues.  Emma had finally made it.

True, she’d yet to be put on any significant account, but that would come.  In time, one of the big wigs would notice her hard work and dedication and give her the chance to prove herself.

Emma gathered up her briefcase, stepped out of her office and locked the door.  The agency always closed from Christmas to New Year’s, so she had only a week left of work before she was off for the year.

Good thing too!  Christmas had snuck up on her this year.  So much to do to get ready.  Today’s objective: get to the post office before it closed in order to mail a couple of Christmas gifts. 

She was just turning away from her office, when she heard voices–Regina Mills herself, and her nephew and second in command, Killian Jones.

Just the sound of that British accent made her blood boil.  The man was a menace!  As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was an obvious nepo-hire, he seemed to have designated himself as her personal babysitter.  Every time Emma turned around, Killian was there.  Stopping at the water cooler near her desk fifteen times a day (seriously, invest in a water bottle!), humming along to her favorite music, sitting near her in the break room.  He was always around.

It didn’t help that he was hot as all hell.  The fact that her heart rate picked up every time her eyes met his was utterly infuriating.  Oh she knew men like him.  Too sexy for his own good, and knowing it, he flirted with anything in a skirt   Well, anything but her that was.  With her, he did nothing but…hover.

“I think I’ll put the new hire, Emma Swan, on the Nottingham account,” Regina said. “What do you think?”

There was a moment of silence, before Killian responded.  “I…don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said finally.

“Really?” Regina asked, a hint of surprise in her voice.  “She’s been doing good work.  Seems like it’s time to give her a little more responsibility.”

“No,” Killian said firmly.  “She’s not right for the Nottingham account.  Big account like that…no.  We need someone else on it.”

As she listened to the conversation continue, and then move to other topics, Emma’s fury grew, blossomed, nearly erupted. She wasn’t right for the Nottingham account?  She wasn’t ready?  The son of a bitch was actually actively sabotaging her now?  

She was going to kill him.  She was going to drive a stake of holly through his cold already-dead heart.  Where the hell did he get off screwing her over like this? 

She had to get out of here; had to leave before she did something stupid like stomp into her boss’s office and punched Killian Jones in the face.  Repeatedly.

As she stormed to her car and then drove to the post office, her anger grew.  A stake of holly through the heart wasn’t good enough for him. She was fairly certain she wasn’t a violent enough person to think of a torture worthy of his betrayal.

She made it to the post office five minutes before closing time and just barely was able to slap labels on her two packages–one for her best friend Ruby Lucas and the other for her boss–and toss them in the mail chute before a voice came over the loud speaker.  “The post office is now closed.  Please return at nine a.m. tomorrow morning for any future postal needs.”

But as frustrating as overhearing her boss’s nephew sabotaging her was, what happened five days later was worse.  So very, very much worse.

“Hey, Emma, you ready for the Naughty Christmas exchange?” came Ruby’s voice over facetime on the Saturday night before Christmas.

It was a tradition they’d started when they were roommates during their freshman year of college. Every year, they got each other the most over the top, ridiculous, not-safe-for-work Christmas gift they could find, and they always did their exchange the weekend before Christmas.  It was something only Ruby could have dreamed up, but Emma had to admit, it was fun.

After Emma opened her gift–laughing over the thong her friend bought her–complete with Captain Hook’s face stamped across the front, suggestive leer on his face, it was time for Ruby to open hers.

Emma watched, grinning as Ruby pulled the paper from the box with abandon….but her grin faded and then slowly turned to dawning horror, when her friend held the unwrapped box before the camera.

Instead of the sour apple flavored edible underwear with “taste my forbidden fruit” across the butt, Ruby held up an expensive, tasteful box of chocolates.

The chocolates she had intended to give to her boss for Christmas.

Somehow, between the rage at Killian and the hustle and bustle and hurry as she tried to make it in under the wire at the post office, she’d switched her two packages.

And if Ruby got the chocolates, that meant she’d sent Regina Mills….oh no!  This couldn’t be happening!

She’d sent her boss a pair of edible underwear for Christmas.  She was sooooo getting fired.

And so she found herself at the office dark and early Monday morning, a good two hours before anyone else normally arrived, desperately trying to break into her boss’s office and retrieve her mistaken gift

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”

Emma spun around to face Regina’s oily, sycophantic secretary, mind racing for an excuse that sounded plausible.  “I uh…I wanted to….you see I think I forgot to sign the card I put on my gift for Regina.  I wanted to check and make sure.”

Sidney frowned at her for another moment, before saying something that chilled her to the marrow of her bones.  “You won’t find her gifts there.  Miss Mills has all of her work gifts forwarded to her home in Storybrooke.  It’s her tradition to open them at her annual Christmas Eve party.”

At her Christmas Eve party?

Emma suddenly had visions of a swanky room packed with elegant people watching as Regina Mills opened her gift.  Her stomach dropped to her toes.  Regina wouldn’t just fire her when she opened the gift in front of all her friends and family, she’d kill her.  Conjure a fireball in her hand and incinerate her.

This morning couldn’t get any worse.

“What seems to be the problem?” the bane of her existence asked in his smooth (sexy) accent.  The universe hated her.  That was all there was to it.  It despised her.

“Nothing,” Emma stammered, turning tail and nearly running in the opposite direction.  “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“Wait!” he called after her, jogging to keep up, finally reaching her and stopping her with a hand to her arm.  “It’s not nothing.  Love, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.  What happened?”

Emma groaned.  She knew that tone in his voice.  He wouldn’t give up without an answer.  Well, might as well get the whole sordid thing out there.  It wasn’t like she could keep it from him anyway.  In a couple days the whole fiasco would be the talk of the office grapevine.

“Your aunt is going to kill me,” she said simply.  “You see, there was a mix up at the post office last week…”  

She went on to lay it all out for him. 

“And so, you see, if she opens that gift at her party, in front of everyone…”

He nodded, his eyes dancing as he valiantly tried to subdue his smile at the ridiculous situation she’d gotten herself into.  “I see your dilemma.”

“Intercepting the gift here was my last hope,” Emma said, defeat heavy in her voice.  “And now….well, now I’m just screwed.”

For a moment, Killian was silent as he scratched at a spot behind his ear.  When he finally spoke, it was the very last thing Emma expected to hear.  “As it happens, I may be able to help you.”

“Really?  How?”

“I attend my aunt’s party every year,” he said.  “Perhaps I can intercept your gift before it reaches her.”

Emma’s eyes widened.  He was offering to help her?  What happened to constantly looking over her shoulder?  Sabotaging her?  “You would do that for me?  What’s the catch?”

There was that ear scratch again.  This time it was accompanied by a blush–an actual blush–that went all the way to his pointy ears.  “I….uh…I need you to come home with me for Christmas, go to Regina’s party as my plus one.”

Emma’s jaw dropped.  “You…you need me to what?”

He wouldn’t look at her now.  “I may have implied to my family that I have a new girlfriend, and they may have gotten the impression I was bringing her home for Christmas this year.”

“And you want me to pretend to be that girlfriend?”

“It would be a win-win,” Killian said.  “You take back your gift before Regina opens it, and I get my family off my back.  We’d head to Storybrooke this evening and then return on the 26th.  At a respectable time after Christmas, we can have a fake break up. What do you say, Swan?”

What did she say?  On the one hand, it would give her a chance to save her job (and her life), but on the other–3 days with Killian Jones?  Pretending to be his girlfriend?  This could be the worst Christmas of her life!

But if she didn’t, there would be no way to intercept the gift.  She did really love her job….and, well, Killian was offering to help her.  She supposed she could put up with him for three days.  It might not even be the end of the world to pretend to be his girlfriend.  What did she really have to lose?

“Fine,” she said on a sigh.  “What time do we leave?”

By the time Emma pulled up in front of her best friend, Mary Margaret’s cabin two days before Christmas, it was snowing so hard she could barely see three feet in front of her.  The weatherman had predicted a Christmas blizzard, and for once he’d been right.

She parked, grabbed her bag and made her way through the howling wind and pelting snow to the front door.  As Mary Margaret had promised, it was unlocked, and Emma entered to an absolute haven of Christmasy comfort.  A fire was roaring in the hearth, colorful lights twinkled from the Christmas tree, garlands and holly hung from every available surface, and in the corner of the room, the very comfortable looking queen-sized bed was draped with a very festive red and green duvet.

It kind of looked like Christmas had thrown up in here, but it was cozy, and after the ridiculously frozen drive here, cozy sounded pretty damn good.

Normally Emma loved Christmastime, but a big part of that love was due to the excitement her ten-year-old son Henry felt surrounding the holiday.  This year, Henry was spending the holiday with his dad, and Emma had only half-heartedly done the whole Christmas thing.  (What was the point when you’d be spending the holiday alone?) 

When a stakeout went wrong a couple days ago, Emma decided it was the last straw.  She needed to get away.  She needed a break from…well…everything.  Luckily Mary Margaret had offered Emma the use of the cabin she owned with her new husband, David.  (Well, technically, she’d offered to have Emma stay with her and David over Christmas, but it was their first Christmas together, and Emma didn’t want to intrude.)

Emma set her bag on the bed, and had only just stepped into the bathroom when she heard it.  The door opened again, and she distinctly heard the stomping of boots.

She was not alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian Jones had a problem.  He was the best selling author of the immensely popular novel Neverland, which was a rather dark and gritty reimagining of the Peter Pan and Captain Hook story.

The problem?  His editor was breathing down his neck for a new book.  Regina Mills was a good editor (she was not the slightest bit shy about criticism), but she was quite short on patience.  If Killian didn’t produce something to show her soon, she might just show up on his doorstep and start throwing fireballs.

Unfortunately his muse had gone completely silent, and he had no idea where he wanted to go with his sequel.  He’d ended his first book with the rather psychotic Peter Pan finally allowing Captain Hook to leave his island, and Hook leaving to once again pursue his revenge.  What more was there to be told about Neverland?

His readers enjoyed his unique take on the classic story, but they wanted more.  There seemed to be near universal agreement that Hook should transition from morally gray anti-hero to full on hero, and more than a few had suggested the pirate needed a love interest, but Killian had no idea where he might go with either of those suggestions.

At any rate, he had to do something.  He simply had to have at least a few chapters to give to Regina by the new year.

Christmas was always a hard time for Killian.  Had been ever since he’d lost Liam and then Milah nearly a decade ago.  Christmas had been by far his favorite time of year when he’d had a family and loved ones to share it with, but now that he’d lost them, Christmas only reminded him of what he no longer had.

And so when his mate David Nolan had offered the use of his cabin over Christmas, Killian had jumped at the opportunity.  Perhaps alone in the idyllic setting, he could not only weather the heartache of a lonely Christmas, but also get a good start on his newest novel.

The final mile or two to the cabin had been rather treacherous as the snow fell so fast his windshield wipers could barely keep up with it, but fortunately he made it in one piece.  He stepped into the cabin, stomped the snow from his boots…

And promptly found himself face to face with a very formidable blonde woman holding a thick, cast iron pan, poised to pummel him with it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing here, but I suggest you turn your ass around and walk out of my cabin.  Now.” Emma growled at the man standing in her friend’s cabin.  

The man eyed her weapon of choice (the only one she could find in the moment), and then grinned at her, unbuttoning his parka and brushing snow from his hair.  “I think you’re mistaken, love,” he said in a delicious accent.  “This happens to be my cabin for the weekend.”

“Are you kidding me?” Emma asked.  “Listen, bud, I’ve taken down guys a lot bigger and stronger than you, so unless you want me to bash in what few brains you have with this pan, I suggest you change your tune.”

“What tune would you like, Darling?” he asked with a quirk of his brow as he pulled off his coat and hung it on the rack by the door.  “I’ve been told I’ve a rather appealing voice, and I’m at your disposal for whatever Christmas song you might desire.”

Emma growled, raising the pain higher, and the man seemed to finally decide caution was the better part of valor.  He raised his hands in surrender, and took a step away.  “Look,” he said, “apparently there’s been some misunderstanding.”

“Yeah, there has,”  Emma said.  “You came to my cabin and refuse to leave.”

The man rolled his eyes.  “This cabin belongs to my mate, David, and he’s offered me use of it for the next week.”

David? This guy got permission from David?

“Yeah, well,” Emma said, “Mary Margaret gave me the use of this cabin for the next week.”

A quick phone call cleared up the situation.

“Emma, I’m so sorry!” Mary Margaret said as soon as Emma explained the situation.  “Turns out  David and I both offered the cabin without talking to each other.  Why don’t you and Killian just share the cabin?  He’s a good guy, and I bet the two of you will hit it off.”

Emma groaned as she finished the call and turned back to the man who remained patiently waiting by the door.  “Yeah, so apparently the Nolans double booked the cabin.  Obviously one of us is going to have to leave.”

The man–Killian, apparently–glanced out the window, and then back at her before shaking his head.  “Love, I don’t think either one of us is going anywhere tonight, and probably not for a few days by the look of this storm.”

Emma crossed her arms and glared at him.  “So what exactly do you propose we do?  I’m not just going to share a cabin–and its only bed–with some guy I don’t even know.”

Killian offered his hand.  “Killian Jones, at your service.  You’ll no doubt know me from my world-class novel, Neverland.”

“Emma Swan,” she said, shaking his hand briefly, “bail bonds person, and sorry.  Haven’t heard of you or your book.”

“Pleasure to meet you Emma Swan,” Killian said, bringing her hand to his lips and briefly kissing it before letting it go.

The touch of his lips to her skin started butterflies dancing in her stomach.  He really was far, far too hot for her own good.  Her reaction annoyed her, and she stepped back, crossing her arms again.  “Look, how about we just…divide the cabin in half.  You get that half over there, and I get this half.  We each stay to our own side of the cabin, and then maybe we can both get through this week without bloodshed.”

“If that’s what you wish,” he said with a grin, “although I’d be careful if I were you.  I’m rather charming, and I’ve a feeling I’ll win you over by the end of our stay.”

She snorted.  “Don’t plan on it.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was an hour before Emma realized the flaw in her rather ingenious solution.  She had the bed and the kitchen on her side of the cabin…but he had the one and only bathroom on his.  She’d downed a large hot cocoa on her way to the cabin, and her bladder was beginning to protest.

She glanced over at Killian and noticed he was engrossed in whatever he was doing on his laptop.  Perhaps she could simply slip into the bathroom without him being any the wiser.

She’d no sooner taken a step across the unofficial dividing line between their respective halves of the cabin, when Killian looked up at her and grinned. “Breaking our accord already, are you love?” he drawled. “That’s quite bad form."

She rolled her eyes.  “Bad form?  Who are you, Captain Hook?”

A delighted look came into his eyes.  “You have read my book!”

“Yeah well,” she said, “maybe I have. Must not have been memorable enough for me to remember earlier.”

He laughed. “Well, if you read my book and you believe I’ve patterned the protagonist after myself, you know I’m rather a stickler for good form.  You insisted on the dividing of our land, so to speak, and you appear about to break our deal.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Look, maybe I didn’t think this thing all the way through.  I have to go to the bathroom, okay?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a grin.  “I believe I spotted an outhouse just behind the cabin.  I’m sure it will suffice for your purposes.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

He shrugged. “I’m perfectly willing to dissolve our deal, love,” he said grinning down at her.  “After all, spending time in the company of a beautiful woman is no chore.  You’re the one who insisted on boundaries, and as a gentleman I’m bound to respect your wishes.  The question is…are you?”

Emma growled.  “Fine!” she said turning toward the cabin door.  “I’ll, use the stupid outhouse, but if I freeze to death out there, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

He stopped her before she could reach the door.  “I’m not such a cad as to make a lady use an outhouse in the middle of a blizzard.  Of course you can use the indoor facilities.”

“How generous of you,” Emma said dryly.  “But just because I’m breaking our ‘accord’ as you so ridiculously call it, don’t think that means I’m open to flirting.”

“Why Swan,” he said, mock innocence plastered all over his admittedly handsome face, “I wouldn’t dream of it.  And as I recall, you’re the only one of us who’s mentioned flirtation.  Could it be the lady doth protest too much?”

Emma was rather proud of herself that she managed to not punch him in the face.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After the bathroom incident Swan had finally acknowledged the ridiculousness of her insistence upon dividing the cabin.  They'd agreed to dissolve their accord--although Swan was quite insistent they continue keeping to themselves.

Killian turned over yet again, still searching in vain for a comfortable position on this torture device Dave called a sofa.  As Killian promised, he’d been a perfect gentleman last night, and as a gentleman, he’d of course offered to take the sofa so she could have the bed.

In the somewhat dull light of day, his neck was rather regretting that decision.  Could his mate have possibly purchased a more uncomfortable piece of furniture than this couch?

Killian sat up and stretched, groaning at the crick in his neck.  This vacation was turning out to be far more painful than he’d anticipated.  Wandering over to the kitchen area, he found that Dave and Mary Margaret had stocked it quite well.  Whatever else was in store for Emma and him over the next few days, they certainly didn’t need to worry about starving to death.

Killian set about brewing coffee, frying bacon and scrambling eggs.  He’d only just popped some bread in the toaster, when he heard the other inhabitant of the cabin stir, and start moving in his general direction.

“Something smells amazing,” she said, stepping beside him and eying the coffeepot with undisguised longing.  “I’m not exactly the best in the kitchen.”

Killian poured a steaming mug of coffee and handed it to her.  “I’ve made far more than I can eat.  You’re welcome to share my morning meal with me.”

She looked conflicted for a moment, and then nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. “Wouldn’t want the food to go to waste.”

“No we wouldn’t want that,” he said with a grin.

Breakfast, as it happened, was a surprisingly enjoyable meal.  Killian found he rather liked Emma Swan when she wasn’t yelling at him.  She was positively pleasant after she’d been fed.  Perhaps the holiday spirit–it was Christmas Eve morning after all–had infected her.

Killian was far more intrigued with the woman than he’d like to admit.   This was the first time he’d felt any real pull toward another woman since Milah’s death, and a portion of him felt disloyal to her memory.

But a bigger part of him was so captivated with the woman sitting across from him at the cabin’s only table that he didn’t care.

“So, tell me a little more about yourself,” he said as he reached for another piece of bacon.  “Who exactly are you, Swan?”

She grinned rather teasingly up at him, and the look actually made his heart stutter before it began racing.  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asked.

“Perhaps I would.”

As breakfast progressed, Killian learned quite a bit about Emma Swan–more, he’d wager, than she’d intended to tell him.  She was the single mother of a sweet, precocious ten year old named Henry.  Things had ended badly, to say the least, with her ex-Neal, who’d not only left her while she was pregnant but set her up to take the fall for his own crime.

The longer she spoke about the son of a bitch, the more Killian wanted to hunt him down and pummel him.  One could not find much worse form than that, nor more stupidity.  What absolute imbecile would leave a woman like Emma Swan?

Neal, as it happened, was the reason for her rather bad mood this year. A year after the relationship had ended, Neal had shown back up, and though Emma had no intention of ever rekindling the relationship, she did want Henry to have the opportunity to get to know his father.  They'd fallen into a reasonably cordial situation as co-parents.  This year it was Neal's turn to have Henry for Christmas.  

Christmas without her lad simply didn’t feel like Christmas at all.

“I don’t grudge him the chance to spend time with his dad,” Emma said as they worked together to clean up the kitchen.  “It’s just.  I miss him, you know?”

He smiled gently down at her.  “Aye,” he said simply, “and you’re perfectly within your rights to miss him.  I regret that I’m not the guy you wished to spend the holidays with, but I’ll attempt to at least not make your week worse.”

She glanced over at him.  “Yeah, well feeding me goes a long way toward that goal.  Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

After breakfast they lapsed into silence, each retreating to their own chair before the festively decorated tree.  Emma lost herself in a book, while Killian booted up his laptop and tried to begin his novel.

The cursor glared back at him in the midst of a sea of blank, empty Word document.  

“So how’s it going?” Emma asked an hour later.  “Want to give me a preview of what Captain Hook is going to do next?”

“I’d love to,” he said with a wry grin, “if I had even the first bloody clue.  I’m afraid my muse has definitively deserted me.  I haven’t any idea what is next for the good captain.”

She glanced off into the distance for a moment before turning back to him.  “You know,” she said, “it seems to me one of Hook’s biggest regrets in the first book was giving up Baelfire to Pan.  Maybe you could revisit that theme again.  Maybe, I don’t know, Bae grew up after he left Neverland and had a kid of his own.  What if that kid got taken by Pan too?  What if Hook decided to go back to Neverland to save him?”

The ember of an idea lit within him as soon as Swan made her suggestion.  “It has merit,” he said, fanning the flame that had taken hold.  “Perhaps he assists the child’s mother in rescuing her son from the bloody demon.”

“Exactly!” Emma said.  “He could complete his hero transformation, make amends for past mistakes and find love again all at once!”

In his mind's eye, Killian saw the dark jungles of Neverland, a rag-tag group of heroes on a rescue mission, Captain Hook slowly and inexorably falling in love with a strong woman with long blonde hair and flashing green eyes.

His fingers danced over the keys as the story began pouring out of him.  It would seem his muse wasn’t gone after all; she’d merely needed Emma Swan to coax her out of hiding.

He must make a note to thank David for the scheduling mistake.  This was shaping up to be one of the best Christmases he’d ever had.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear the next day, sun streaming through the cabin’s windows, snow glittering on the panes like tiny diamonds.

Emma was warm and comfortable and oh so cozy.

Suddenly she realized just why she was so cozy.  An arm was draped over her middle and a warm, solid man held her to him.

How had she and Killian ended up so tangled together?

Last night as bedtime approached, Emma had noticed Killian eying the sofa with clear regret.  That thing couldn’t have been comfortable the night before, and Emma felt no small amount of guilt that she’d been the cause of that discomfort.

It was the guilt that inspired her next suggestion.  That was it.  Guilt and nothing more.  It wasn’t that she found herself genuinely enjoying Killian’s company.  It certainly wasn’t that a big part of her wondered what it would be like to share a bed with him–even in the most innocent sense of the word.

Nope.  That couldn’t be it at all.

“Look, the bed’s plenty big,” she said a bit awkwardly. “‘If you want to, you know, share it with me tonight, I wouldn’t have a problem with it.”

He glanced up at her in surprise before a teasing glint entered his eyes.  “Why Swan, are you propositioning me?”

Her heart raced far too quickly at the thoughts those words elicited.  There was a distinct possibility she was in significant trouble here.  

“Boundaries, Jones,” she said.  “We’re both adults.  I think we can manage to share a bed and keep our hands to ourselves.”

“Shame,” he said with a rather adorable little pout.

She laughed.

They’d fallen asleep last night with a good two feet of space between them.

Clearly sometime in the middle of the night they’d sought out each other’s warmth.  Emma waited for the fear to seep in at the closeness, but it never came.  She was just so damn cozy.

Oh gods, she’d somehow wandered into a Hallmark movie.

Her stirring must have woken Killian, and a moment later he opened his eyes, and nearly jumped away from her, his cheeks staining bright red.

“My apologies, love,” he said in a soft voice, gravelly from sleep (a voice that did things to her.  Serious things.) “I didn’t mean to take advantage; wasn’t aware I had.”

She smiled, charmed at how flustered he’d become.

“Don’t apologize,” she said.  “You’re warm….and it’s really cold out there today.”

He grinned, and she saw the mischief in his eyes.  “If you’re cold, I’ve no doubt I can think of ways to remedy that.  I’m endlessly resourceful.”

The way his voice lowered to a very suggestive growl on the last phrase made her shiver.  She wasn’t even going to pretend it was due to the cold this time.  “Think I’ll have to take a rain check on that,” she said, far more breathlessly than she’d like, “but it’s still early.  More sleep sounds good.  If you wanted to, you know, go back to the way we were, I wouldn’t object.”

He looked surprised at her suggestion.  She was surprised at her suggestion.  It wasn’t like it meant anything; it wasn’t like they’d ever actually see each other again after they were finally able to leave the cabin.  What would it hurt to take a little innocent comfort in each other while they were here.

What happened in the cabin stayed in the cabin.

“As you wish,” he said, scooting closer to her and once again wrapping his arm around her middle.  It felt so good; so right.  Maybe when she was back to reality it would hit her what a bad idea this was, but for now, she would just enjoy her warm human blanket.  Smiling at the comfort, she drifted back to sleep.

An hour later she woke again, feeling Killian’s even breathing against her neck.  Carefully she maneuvered out of the bed, leaving him peacefully sleeping.

Donning her fluffy, warm slippers and an equally fluffy black robe, she padded over to the kitchen area.  If she knew Mary Margaret, she’d have stocked the kitchen with everything a vacationer could want.  Opening the first cabinet she smiled.  Boxed pancake mix.  Bingo.

As previously acknowledged, culinary skills Emma did not have, but anyone could manage a “just add water” mix, and in no time she’d poured her first pancakes into the skillet. 

Emma heard rustling, and a moment later, she felt Killian step up behind her.  “Something smells delicious,” he growled.

She shuddered, the sound of his low voice making her stomach swoop.  “It’s just from a box,” she said, her voice far from steady.

He stepped even closer, until she could feel his warmth against her back.  “I wasn’t talking about the pancakes.”

Emma nearly groaned, and no small part of her wanted to just turn around, say “to hell with the pancakes” and kiss him senseless, but fortunately she hadn’t lost her mind completely. Yet.

“Behave yourself,” she said again, grinning at his antics in spite of herself.  “Go make yourself useful and start the coffee,” she said, waving her spatula in the general direction of the device in question.

He let out a long-suffering sigh and turned to do as she asked.

Dramatic idiot.

Breakfast turned out quite well if she did say so herself.  The pancakes were warm and fluffy, and slathered in butter and syrup, were everything she could have wished for.

“I must say, Swan,” Killian said, sometime later, setting down his fork and dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, “for someone who claims to be hopeless in the kitchen, you provided a rather delectable breakfast.

Emma felt her heart squeeze, and she glanced aside.  “Yeah, well, it’s always been our tradition that I make Henry anything he wants for Christmas morning.  Nine times out of ten, that’s pancakes.  Making them now…well it just makes it feel a little more like he’s with me.”

A moment later, she felt his hand cover hers.  She turned to meet warm, sympathetic eyes.  “I’m sorry you can’t be with your lad for Christmas morning.  I know how hard that must be.”

She shrugged.  “Neal may be a bastard, but it’s clear he loves our kid and he’s doing everything he can to be a good dad.  I’d be a pretty crap mom to complain about my kid getting a chance to have a real relationship with his father.”

“Perhaps,” Killian said, “but it’s only human to miss him on such a special day.”

She didn’t respond to that.  What, after all, was there to say?  It was what it was.

“We’ve had breakfast,” Killian said a moment later.  “Were you with your boy, what else might Christmas Day entail?”

“Well, presents, obviously,” Emma said, “and then assuming we had snow, we’d probably go out and make a snowman.  Maybe come in for some cocoa and Christmas movies.”

Killian got to his feet, gathering up both his plate and hers.  “Very well,” he said, “As you so generously prepared the meal, I’ll clean up.  In the meantime, go on and get ready.”

“Get ready for what?”

Killian gestured to the window.  “By my calculation, we got a good foot of snow yesterday.  More than enough to make a most impressive snowman.”

Emma laughed.  “Are you serious?”

“Why not?” he shrugged, before turning serious. “Swan, you deserve a happy Christmas, even if it can’t be with your lad.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Impressive,” Emma said, taking a step back to survey their masterpiece. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

Killian looked over at her, noticed the way the joy sparkled in her eyes and the cold made her cheeks rosy.  She was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her.  “Magnificent”, he breathed.

She turned toward him, and if possible, the color on her cheeks deepened at his admiration.  Quickly, she turned back toward the large snowman they’d spent the balance of the morning constructing.  “He needs something though.  He looks cold, doesn’t he?”

Killian grinned. “Cold is rather a requirement of a creature made of snow.”

She rolled her eyes at him.  “You know what I mean.  He needs a hat or a scarf or something.”

Killian unwound the simple black scarf from around his neck and drew in a deep breath at the chill suddenly surrounding him.  “Better?” he asked after he’d properly clothed the snowman.

“Better for Frosty,” she said, giving Killian an assessing look, “but you’ve got to be freezing.”

“Offering to warm me up, darling?” he asked with an exaggerated wag of his brows.

Emma laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully.  “You really need some new material.  You’ve used the same innuendo on me like three times this weekend.”

“Why Swan,” he said with a feigned look of innocence, “What a dirty mind you’ve got.  I simply meant to inquire after the hot cocoa you promised would follow our morning in the snow.”

Killian thought he could listen to the delightful sound of her laughter for the rest of his life.  

As they trudged back into the inviting warmth of the cabin and set to work on the aforementioned cocoa, what he’d just thought hit him.  He genuinely enjoyed Emma Swan’s company, and he’d like to have it for longer than simply a snowed-in weekend.

Was there any possibility that she’d be agreeable should he one day ask to court her?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that night, as the shadows began to lengthen and the sunset painted the sky in lovely shades of pink and purple, Emma sat cross-legged in front of the entertainment center, rifling through the DVDs the Nolans had stocked the cabin with.  It seemed they had every Christmas movie ever made.

After some debate, it was decided that Emma and Killian would watch “A Christmas Story” as an end to a surprisingly enjoyable Christmas day.  After making their snowman and drinking their cocoa, they’d made Christmas cookies, and then Emma had settled in with a good book while Killian typed away at his latest novel, the muse finally deciding to cooperate, it seemed.

The truth was that Killian was surprisingly good company.  He had a wit and charm that was truly genuine once he dropped the endless flirting and innuendo (that Emma was coming to realize was as much his armor as anything else.  You can keep people at bay when they dismiss you as a player.)  The conversation today had been easy, effortless, and congenial.

Emma found that despite her initial impression of him, she actually liked Killian Jones, and she would be disappointed when this weekend was over and they had to go their separate ways.

Maybe….maybe the end of the weekend didn’t have to be the end of their new friendship (or whatever it might develop into).

That night, after the movie, there was no discussion about sleeping arrangements.  They simply climbed into the bed together, Killian gathering her toward him with an arm around her middle.  The fact that she loved the way this felt was something she’d need to examine more closely at some point, but for this night, she was just so comfortable she drifted immediately into a happy, peaceful sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian’s cell phone buzzed first thing the next morning, and he rolled reluctantly away from the woman in his arms to grab the device and peer at the caller ID.

Dave

“Killian,” David started as soon as he’d answered sleepily.  “Again, I’m sorry about the mix up.  I hope it hasn’t been too much of an inconvenience.”

“Not at all, mate,” Killian said.  “I’ve found Swan to be rather enjoyable company.”

There was silence for a moment, and Killian could nearly feel the suspicion bleeding off of his friend.  “I certainly hope you’re not having too enjoyable of a time.  She’s not one of your conquests, Killian.”

Killian rolled his eyes.  He knew David Nolan was protective of his wife’s best friend; viewed her almost as the sister he never had.  “Relax, Dave.  I’ve been the perfect gentleman.”

“Good,” David said, “Keep it that way.”

Killian rolled his eyes again.

“Anyway,” David continued, “I’m just calling to let you know that the plows have been through and your path should be clear whenever you want to leave.  Oh, and Merry Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to you too.” Killian said in lieu of a farewell.

“David call with good news?” Emma asked sleepily as she rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows.

“The best,” he said, though a part of him felt a pang of regret that the happy bubble they’d been forced into was about to burst.  “The roads are clear.  We can leave whenever we wish.”

“Oh,” she said, glancing aside and looking (dare he hope) a mite disappointed.  “Yeah, that’s good.  I…I guess I should gather up my stuff and hit the road.  I’ve got a few things I need to do before Henry gets home the day after tomorrow.”

“Aye, I suppose it’s for the best,” Killian agreed, though a large part of him wanted nothing more than to object.

Over the course of the next half hour they worked in silence gathering their things and preparing to depart.  When all was put to rights and there was nothing left to do, Killian stopped Emma from turning toward the door with a hand to her arm.

“Before we leave, I have a Christmas gift for you, love.”

She looked surprised at the sheets of paper he handed her.

“It isn’t much,” he said, “but in between working on my novel I wrote a bit of a short story for you.”

She murmured her thanks, and immediately began reading.  Not a paragraph in, a delighted smile covered her face, and she met his eyes.  “It’s our story!  The story of this weekend.”

“Aye,” he answered, smiling back at her warmly.  “Go on.  Read it.”

She nodded in agreement, settling in on the sofa and pulling her feet up beneath her.  She read steadily for a quarter of an hour, and when she reached the final page, she frowned, turned it over, and then looked up at him, confusion in her eyes.

“Killian, it’s not finished,” she said.  “How does it end?”

Killian took a deep breath.  Now was the moment of truth.  Now was the moment this Christmas either became one of the best of his life…or one of the most disappointing.

“That’s rather up to you, Swan,” he said.  “I was hoping it would end with you giving me your phone number and agreeing to a date in the very near future.”

Her eyes rounded, and Killian had a moment of anxiety as he waited for her answer.

She didn’t answer with words.  She answered by scooting closer to him, grabbing his lapels and pulling him down to her for a long and rather thorough kiss.

As it happened, that was all the answer he needed.

“Thanks, Killian!  Maybe we could go out on your boat again sometime,” Henry said as he bounded into their room at Granny’s.

“Anytime, lad,” Killian said softly, and Emma felt her heart turn over at the affection she heard in Hook’s voice toward her son.  If she stopped to think about it too closely, it would scare the daylights out of her, how much she was coming to depend on him and lean on him in the midst of the latest craziness.

But that was a concern for another day.  For right now, she just wanted to celebrate another day where they were still standing and the villain of the day hadn’t succeeded.

“How did the queen fare against the witch?” Killian asked, as though reading her thoughts.  It was kind of unsettling how effortlessly he was able to do that..

“She survived, but the rest is definitely more than a doorway conversation,” Emma said, suddenly feeling tired as she recalled the showdown in the middle of town square.  

She was about to thank him again, when suddenly her phone rang.

“Hey Mary Margaret, what’s up?” she asked, seeing her mother’s picture on the screen when she pulled the device from her back pocket.

“Can you and Hook meet us down in the parlor in say five minutes?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Sure?” she said, the word coming out more of a question than a statement.  “What’s up?  Is everything okay?  Did the witch–”

“Oh nothing like that,” Mary Margaret said.  “Don’t worry.  Your father and I just had an idea.”

Killian gave her a concerned look as she hung up the phone.  “Another crisis, Swan?”

“I don’t think so,” she said slowly.  “That was Mary Margtaret and she sounded….excited.  She wants us to meet her in the parlor.  Just give me a second to tell the kid where I’m off to.”

Five minutes later, they found themselves seated on a loveseat in front of a merrily roaring fire in Granny’s parlor, an equally confused–and annoyed, from the look of it–Regina sitting across from them.

Before any of them had a chance to speculate what was up, Mary Margaret and David breezed in, cheeks reddened from the cold and a few stray snowflakes in their hair.

“Brr!  It’s cold out there,” Mary Margaret said with a smile, “and it’s starting to snow–which is just perfect.”

Emma shot Killian a bemused look, and he shrugged, clearly as at a loss as she was.

“Mom,” Emma said, hoping to win some favor by using the familial term.  “What’s all this about?  Is there a new threat from Zelena?  Did something else happen?”

“Oh nothing like that!” Mary Margaret said.  “We called you all here because, well, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”

“Tomorrow’s….Christmas Eve?” Killian said blankly.

“Oh come on, Hook,” David said, “we had Christmas back in our land.  Surely you know what it is!”

“Of course I bloody know what Christmas is,” Killian bit out.  “What I fail to grasp is why that warrants a meeting of the heroes.”

“We have to plan a celebration, of course!” Mary Margaret said, nearly bounding on her chair.  And there’s no time to waste!”

Regina gave her erstwhile enemy a look of disbelief.  “My insane half sister is running around, trying to steal hearts and courage and who the hell knows what else, and you want to plan a party?”

A look of steely determination came into Mary Margaret’s face.  “Yes, that’s exactly what I want to do,” she said.  “I don’t know what the witch has planned.  I don’t know how she plans to go about getting what she wants, but I do know one thing: when this town comes together we don’t fail.  I refuse to let her steal the joy of the holiday from me or my family–or my town!”

“And the best way to stop her is to set up a Christmas tree and drink eggnog and give each other presents we don’t want anyway?” Regina continued.

“Couldn’t hurt,” David said.

“Of course it could!” Regina exploded.  “Who knows what she’ll get accomplished while we galavant around town like idiots!”

“Swan?  What do you think?” Killian asked, turning toward her.

She thought for a moment before formulating her answer.  “I say, screw her,” she said finally.  “Whatever insane plot she’s hatching, she’s basically acting like a spoiled kid, and what do you do with a spoiled kid?  You ignore them.  She wants to throw a temper tantrum, we’ll be ready for her.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, Zelena adjusted her hat, and then poofed herself out of her farmhouse to the edge of town, curious to see the effect her showdown with her pathetic younger sister had on the rest of the town.

She’d defeated her handily, thanks in part to her secret, Dark One, weapon.  

Would the town be cowering in fear?  Would they be huddled together trying to prepare for whatever new hell Zelena planned for them?

She looked around, and her brows furrowed in confusion.  There was no spirit of fear or concern in the air.  There was an air of excitement, of festivity.  Grumpy and the rest of the dwarfs were dragging a huge pine tree onto the square and untangling strands of lights.  Marco and Archie hung decorations on light posts.  Belle sang a Christmas carol as she strung garland on the door of the library.

Zelena huddled farther into the large coat she’d donned to hide her identity for her reconnaissance mission.  Stepping into Granny’s, she noticed the core group of heroes–along with Granny and Ruby were engaged in a strategy meeting.

But it wasn’t any kind of strategy meeting she would have expected.  They seemed to be planning….a party.

“Should there be a gift exchange?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Put together in one day?” Regina asked skeptically.

“Why not?” Mary Margaret said.  “What kind of Christmas party doesn’t even have a gift exchange?  We could make it a game.  A white elephant gift exchange!”

They were planning a party?  The morning after she’d so soundly defeated her younger sister?  Had they all gone crazy?

Wordlessly, Zelena slipped out of the diner.  They thought to ignore her and the threat she posed?  She’d see about that!

As she made her way back to her farmhouse, an idea came to her mind. A wonderful, terrible idea

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So….the whole town is having a Christmas party?” Henry asked as he, Emma and Killian walked from their rooms toward the diner bright and early on Christmas morning.

“That they are lad,” Killian said, smiling delightedly. “Replete with gifts, games and holiday treats.”

“But…but weren’t you all just working to find the person who killed my dad, and now you’re having a party?” he asked.

Emma stopped and put a comforting hand on her son’s shoulder.  “Kid, don’t worry, we’ll catch her.  We just can’t stop living while we do.  We can’t let her steal our joy.”

“Your father would want you to enjoy the season,” Killian added.

“But….are we safe?” Henry persisted.

A steely look came into Emma’s eyes.  “The only person who isn’t safe is the w–I mean the killer, if she tries anything today.”

He looked closely at her for a moment.  The kid had an unsettling way of looking for lies–much like she’d always had.  Finally, he nodded.  “Cool.  So what does this town do for Christmas?”

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Emma said.  “And kid…this town is….different, so don’t be surprised if some of their…traditions…are kind of weird.”

“Hey, I’m a kid,” Henry said. “As long as there are presents and sweets I’m happy.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The party went off without a hitch–until late in the afternoon.  Frankly Killian was shocked how long it took for the witch to strike.

They’d just finished a delectable Christmas dinner and were setting up for the white elephant gift exchange–which would no doubt prove to be interesting, given the fact at least four of the dwarves were well into their cups by that point, and Happy was fully inebriated–when a tremendous clatter was heard outside the diner.

As one, the residents of Storybrooke fled to the door and windows to see what was happening.

Zelena, in full on green skin, black dress and hat walked purposely toward them, while a band of flying monkeys screamed to each other, tearing decorations from windows and doors, destroying the carefully decorated tree.

A loud murmur of concern and fear went through the assembly as the witch approached.  Henry, for his part, gave his mother a bemused look.

“Uh…” she said, thinking hard, “this is….this is…”

“The traditional Christmas interactive play,” Regina said, coming to her aid. 

“She looks like the Wicked Witch of the West,” Henry said, skeptically.  “What does she have to do with Christmas?”

“It’s the green skin,” Emma said.  “She’s like… the grinch.”

“So….you do an interactive Grinch play starring the Wicked Witch of the West?”

Fortunately, Swan was saved answering that question by the arrival of the witch herself.

“Well, isn’t this a festive assembly?” Zelena said, walking in confidently.  “Didn’t get enough the other night, sis?”

Without further ado, Zelena raised her hands, called on all of her magic, and…..nothing happened.

“What the hell?” she asked, looking down at her hands.

“Protection spell,” Regina said, gesturing around the diner.  “Covers the whole place.  Sorry to ruin your greatest Christmas wish, but your annoying green hands are tied here.”

“You can’t keep a spell that powerful up forever!” Zelena thundered. “Sooner or later I will break through.”

“Maybe so,” Regina continued.  “But it won’t happen until after Christmas.”

“Look, greenie,” Emma said, “It’s Christmas.  We’re all here to enjoy ourselves.  You’ve got two options: leave us the hell alone, or get over yourself, grab an eggnog and act like an adult, rather than a spoiled child.”

Zelena looked murderous for another moment, and then her facade crumbled.  “You’d really let me join your party?  Knowing who I am?  What I’m capable of? That I’m planning to destroy you all?”

Mary Margaret approached her with a cup of eggnog.  “It’s Christmas, Zelena.   Everyone deserves a little grace and a second chance at Christmas.  I bet there’s even a gift for you under that tree.”

“Come join us,” David said.  “After all, you can always go back to trying to destroy us tomorrow.”

Perhaps the magic of the season touched her.  Perhaps she, like all the rest of them was simply tired.  Perhaps her heart grew three sizes that day. Whatever the reason, after a long silence, in which it felt like no one so much as moved, the witch nodded and the party went on.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Much later that evening a bemused Zelena returned to her farmhouse.  What manner of witchcraft had her spoiled sister used upon her?  She’d gone to the town to destroy their Christmas, and instead they’d invited her in, allowed her to make merry with them, treated her as one of their own.

Was it possible she’d been wrong about them–wrong about everything?

No, she finally decided, sitting before the fire. No, she wouldn’t let a little reverse psychology derail her like that!  Tomorrow it was back to business as usual.  Tomorrow she went back to getting the ingredients she needed.  Tomorrow she took the next step toward getting what she truly deserved–a life in which her sister had never been born.  A life in which she was the favored and only daughter.

And, after all, tonight hadn’t been a complete waste.  She’d gained some useful intel.  It seemed the Savior and the pirate were quite close.  The way they looked at each other.  The way they sought each other out.  Quite the budding romance there.

Perhaps she could use it to her advantage.  Perhaps it was just what she needed to neutralize the savior.  Just a little bit of manipulation, a little bit of deception, and she had no doubt she’d succeed in cursing the pirate’s lips and letting him do the rest for her.

Until then, she had a bigger problem.  The whole noxious town had come together to work as one.  She couldn’t have that.  Couldn’t have that at all.  She had to do something to wipe the warm fuzzies from everyone’s consciousness.

Looks like it was time for one last memory spell.  Taking a vial from her bag, she uncorked it and let the fog waft from it toward the town.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So kid, what did you think of Storybrooke Christmas?” Emma asked as the three of them headed back toward their rooms.

“Mom, this town is really, really weird,” he said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered under her breath.

“But,” he concluded, “it was a really good Christmas.  Thanks for bringing me.”

She gave him a quick hug.  “Kid, there’s no one in the world I’d rather spend Christmas with than you, no matter where or how we do it.”

“Me too, mom,” he said, returning her hug, before yawning loudly.

“Okay, time for bed, kid,” she said, opening their door, and gesturing inside.  “I’ll be in in a moment.  Just want to talk to Killian.”

She waited until the door was closed after him, and then turned back to Killian.  “Well, it looks like a Christmas disaster was averted, and the kid’s no worse for the wear.”

“Your lad is stronger than you think, love,” Killian said softly, taking a step closer to her and hooking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “And you did a fantastic job giving him a joyful and memorable Christmas.”

“You really think so?” she asked tentatively.  “Killian, I never really had Christmas growing up the way I did, and so I always want to make sure Henry doesn’t feel the loss the way I did.”

“And he never will,” he said with a gentle smile, “because he has a mother who loves him.  It makes up for any….less than perfect Christmas moment.”

Her heart turned over at the look he gave her.  The look he was always giving her.  He believed in her, really, truly believed in her.  He was on her side and in her corner, no matter what.  It didn’t matter what she did, what she said, how much she tried to push him away.  He’d once told her he was in it for the long haul, and she was finally, finally beginning to suspect that he meant it.

She looked up at him for long moments as her heart pounded.  If she didn’t step away soon, she was going to do something stupid. Like kiss him.

She should turn around, walk back into her room.  Bid him good night.

But it was Christmas.  The day had been magical.  She was feeling good–and he was a big part of it.

Screw it.  Tomorrow she’d go back to guarding her heart.  For tonight.  For one night only, she’d show him what his support meant to her.

Reaching up, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss.  If he was surprised at her actions, he didn’t show it, merely pulling her close, and kissing her back just as fervently as he let his hand tangle in her hair.

Just how long the kiss would have gone on–and how passionate it would have become–Emma didn’t know, because just as she turned her head to deepen the kiss even further, she caught a faint wisp of–something (smoke? Fog? A spell?) out of the corner of her eye.

She pulled away, watching as the fog billowed toward them, and then overtook them, so quickly, she didn’t even have time to cry out.

But no sooner had the cloud overtaken them than it dissipated, and suddenly Emma couldn’t remember what they’d been doing or why.

She shook her head.  The showdown between Regina and Zelena must have rattled her more than she’d thought.

“How did the queen fare against the witch?” Killian asked, 

“She survived, but the rest is definitely more than a doorway conversation,” Emma replied.  “Thanks again for taking him out on your ship.”

Killian woke with a gasp, taking a moment to let his heart rate return to normal.  It had been a while since he’d had the dream, but when he did he woke absolutely bloody terrified.

Six months ago Emma had won the final battle, and the residents of Storybrooke had begun their happily ever afters.  It had been good, so, so far beyond good since then.  He and Emma had taken a two-week honeymoon on the Jolly.  They’d had no real destination in mind; they’d merely chosen to sail somewhere warm and tropical.  Two weeks of uninterrupted time together had been better than even his fertile imagination could have dreamed up.

When they’d returned home, they’d set up house and then begun the process of deciding just what they would do with the remainder of their lives (besides spending copious amounts of time in bed, of course.  They were newly-weds, after all).  When Dave had decided to pursue his life-long dream of owning a farm, the decision had been simple.  Killian would take the position of Emma’s deputy.  Now he and Swan were partners in everything–life and work.

As he said, life was good.

But the fact that life was now as close to idyllic as it could get didn’t erase the years and years of trauma they had all been through over the past few years, and for the first couple of months, Killian had the same nightmare nearly every night.

They were back there on the streets of Storybrooke, Swan facing Gideon and the final battle about to commence.  He’d known what she was going to do a split second before she did it.  She’d turned back toward him, agony and regret in her eyes.  Before he even had time to scream in horror, she’d dropped her sword, letting Gideon run her through.

It was the only way to truly escape the trap the Black Fairy had set for them.  The strategic part of Killian’s brain knew that to be true.  But his heart, a heart that had lost everyone it had ever loved, rejected the idea.  He couldn’t lose her, his true love, the best part of his very self, his beloved wife.  Not now!  Not ever.

He’d watched as Gideon’s sword made contact, and Swan grunted in pain, falling to the ground.  Her lad went to her, told her he loved her, kissed her.

And nothing happened.

Henry tried True Love’s Kiss again.  Still nothing.

Killian tried, kissing her until his lips were bruised.  She remained still and dead.

He’d lost the most important person he’d ever had in his life, and he was sure the agony really would kill him.

Killian took a deep breath, shaking his head to clear the distressing images from his mind, and then turning onto his side, tears of relief coming into his eyes as his gaze took in the peacefully sleeping form of his wife.

She was here.  She was alive.  She was well.  They’d gotten their happy beginning, and he need never fear the final battle again.

They’d been married long enough for Killian to know waking his sleeping Swan was a rather unwise proposition, but still he leaned over and softly caressed her cheek, pushing aside her tangled hair.  He needed to touch her, needed to reassure himself that it was just a dream; that she was here and that she was well.

She was so beautiful, so vibrant.  He leaned down and kissed her, softly, gently.  She stirred at the touch of his lips to hers, smiling in her sleep and whispering his name.  After a moment, she wrapped her arms around his neck and began kissing him back.

He’d feared she’d be angry at him for waking her, but it seemed she had another form of sweet torture for him instead.  The fire built up inside of him as the kiss continued and Swan’s hands began wandering.  This wasn’t necessarily how he’d planned to begin Christmas Eve morning, but Killian was so very far from complaining.

He’d only just reached for the hem of Emma’s pajama top when her talking phone began blaring “Jingle Bells.”

She groaned, reluctantly pulling her mouth from his.

“Ignore it, Love,” he whispered, kissing down the column of her neck.

“Good plan,” she responded in a far-from-steady voice as she pulled his mouth back to hers.

But the wretch on the other end of the phone seemed quite insistent.  No sooner had the talking phone gone silent than it started up again.

Emma growled, rolling away from him to reach for the phone.  “Sounds like they’re not giving up.  I better see what it is.”

Emma tapped at the screen for a moment, and then barked. “What?”

She listened for a moment before rolling her eyes.  “Just a second, Dad.  Killian’s here too.  Let me put you on speaker.”

A few more taps at the screen and then Dave’s voice came through the speaker.

“Like I said to Emma, Killian, I’m really sorry for the interruption; I know I offered to cover the station so you two could have a couple days off, but we’ve got a bit of a situation here.”

Killian sighed.  They’d had six months of peace.  He supposed it was the best run they could hope for.  “Just what kind of situation?”

“Well,” David said slowly. “I…don’t know exactly how to describe it.  I know it involves lots of birds.”

“Birds?” Emma bit out.  “Dad, you interrupted us because of birds?  Isn’t that more Mom’s department?”

“She doesn’t know what to make of it either.  Besides, some of the birds don’t seem to even speak English.” 

Emma shook her head.  “I kind of hate that a sentence like that almost makes sense to me.  Still, why are you bothering us for birds–no matter what language they speak?”

“It’s not just the birds,” David said. “There are other oddities. Women dancing, people playing instruments, men randomly jumping up and down, cows being milked. Full-grown trees suddenly appearing.  I don’t know what’s going on, but it is truly bizarre, and you know how this town is.  The usual suspects are already starting to freak out.”

“I’m assuming Leroy has begun heralding the news?” Killian said.

David chuckled. “Obviously.”

In the background, Killian could hear the dwarf himself yelling “The bagpipers!  They’re here!”

“Anyway,” David said, “I’ve tried to calm everyone as best I can, but the rumor has already begun circulating that we’re under attack.  I wouldn’t ask it unless I really thought it was necessary, but I really think I need back up.”

Emma sighed again, pushing aside the covers and reaching for her jeans.  “Alright Dad, we’re on our way.”

“Never a dull moment, is there, love?” Killian asked, climbing from his side of the bed….just as the sound of a full on drum line began playing outside their bedroom window.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I think we need to go on the attack!” Leroy shouted from the back of city hall, as the impromptu town hall meeting began.  “This is our town, and we need to defend it!”

Emma rolled her eyes–she’d  been doing that so much already today that she feared she’d go blind.  Just when she thought things in Storybrooke couldn’t get weirder, something like this happened.

As she and Killian had driven into town, she could tell her dad hadn’t been exaggerating.  Everywhere she looked was something else out of place.  Fully grown pear trees, each with a bird perched on one of its limbs, blue birds with–if one could believe it–cell phones held to their heads.  Hen’s wearing berets and waving French flags.  Groups of swans performing some sort of synchronized swimming routine in the harbor.  Pairs of turtle doves nestled together, cooing sweet nothings in each other’s ears. Geese lying around in the street.

And that was only the birds.  As they neared the center of town, Emma began noticing the groups of people–people she’d never seen before–behaving in distinctly odd fashion.  There were the maids milking, the men in three-piece suits playing leap-frog with each other and the scantily clad women (shouldn’t they be freezing dressed like that in December?) seductively dancing to the music of a pipe and drum corp.

Right in the center of town, a set of five, huge golden hoops  sat upon the ground.  

(“Stay away from the rings!” she heard someone shout.  “Probably portals to some dystopian hellscape!”)

Regina, as the newly reinstated mayor, had taken control, promptly calling a town meeting and magicing the word out to all the town’s residents.

And so here they were, huddled together in town hall, trying desperately to make sense of…well, anything that was going on today.

Seriously, though.  Couldn’t whatever villain or whatever had done this have at least waited until after Christmas.  Rude.

“Who precisely do you suggest we attack?” Regina asked with a sneer.  “We don’t even know what is going on, let alone who has perpetrated it.”

“I might be able to answer that first question,” Belle said, from her place in the back next to her husband and sleeping newborn. 

“Yeah?” Emma asked.  “What do you think is going on?”

Belle got to her feet and looked over at the assembled town.  “Well, it’s Christmas Eve, and we’re seeing everything from partridges in pear trees to drummers drumming.  Think about it!  Every weird thing going on right now has something to do with one of the gifts from the Christmas song.”

Emma groaned.  Of course.  Of course someone had decided to mess with them by sending the twelve days of Christmas.

“So who do we think’s doing it?” Henry asked.  “Can anyone think of a Christmas related villain that might want to attack us?”

Various suggestions were thrown out there–from Ebenezer Scrooge to the Grinch, to Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life, but none seemed to quite fit the bill.      

“Well, we aren’t getting anywhere just speculating,” Emma said.  “If there is some kind of psycho Christmas villain going after us, we’ll have to wait until they make another move.  For the time being, it doesn’t seem like any of the birds or….performers…are causing any harm.  I guess just…don’t panic.”

“We’ve defeated much worse than eleven pipers piping!” Snow chirped up in a way-too cheery voice.  “This town will get through it the way we get through everything!  Together!”

The meeting had only just adjourned, when Emma’s cell phone began ringing. She looked down and frowned.  It was a long distance number.  A very long distance number.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma curled up on the sofa, bringing her legs up beneath her and leaning into Killian’s open arm.  She chuckled as she brought her mug of cocoa to her lips and glanced over at their huge, brightly decorated Christmas tree.

“Did you see Leroy’s face when that goose suddenly decided to stop lying around and started chasing him through the streets?  I thought he was going to start screaming like a little girl.”

Killian laughed, turning his head to give her a quick kiss on the forehead.  It was one of her favorite things about being with Killian, all of the simple, casual signs of affection.  “I’d pay an entire pouch full of doubloons for a moving picture of that moment.”

Emma laughed again.  “It’s amazing how quickly everyone’s mood shifted, though once we found out we weren’t in fact under attack.  Seems like nothing can dampen the Christmas spirit for long around here this year.”

No sooner had the town hall meeting ended, than Emma got a video call from Arendelle.  “Emma!” Elsa had said as soon as the call connected. “I’m really sorry about this.  I had no idea!”

Emma’s brow furrowed, and she exchanged a mystified look with Killian.  “You’re sorry about what?  I’d really like to chat, but we’ve got a bit of a situation here–like always.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Elsa said.  “Apparently Anna…”

“Did you get it?” came Anna’s perky voice as her excited face popped into frame.  “Did you get our gifts?  I mean, technically, they’re supposed to be for your true love, so maybe I should have given them to Kristoff, but I figured you wouldn’t care, even if Storybrooke isn’t my True Love.  I mean I like Storybrooke, but True Love is kind of a strong term.”

Elsa rolled her eyes.  “What my sister is trying to say is that she–without consulting me–decided to send Storybrooke the twelve days of Christmas, compliments of Arendelle.”

Killian nodded before taking a sip of his own steaming beverage.  “It was rather impressive how quickly and efficiently the town was able to rid the town square of the well meaning, if rather annoying gifts once they were assured that there was nothing nefarious going on.”

“And can you believe how quickly Granny was able to put that town-wide Christmas party together?” Emma asked.

“This town truly is a wonder,” Killian said, draining the last sip of his cocoa before turning his full attention toward his wife, “but I have rather a different idea of how I’d like to celebrate Christmas Eve with my wife than talking about the town.”

“Yeah?” she asked, setting her mug on the end table and turning to face him.  “Care to tell me what that is?”

He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows before shaking his head.  “Oh darling, I don’t plan to tell you.  I plan to show you.”

And he did just that–quite thoroughly, long into the night.

Just before they fell asleep, exhausted and exquisitely sated, Emma heard Leroy’s shout far in the distance.  “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Killian sighed in contentment as the sofa beside him dipped and Emma curled up beside him.  Wrapping his hooked arm around her, he pulled her to himself and gave her a quick kiss before she laid her head against his shoulder.

It had been about as close to a perfect day as he’d experienced in a long time.  He’d woken up, as always, in his wife’s arms, smiling as she softly snored, burrowing into his warmth.  After taking a few moments to simply enjoy the comfort, he’d carefully maneuvered out of the bed.  He’d learned quite early in their marriage that a man was taking his very life into his hands when he was foolhardy enough to wake Emma before she was ready.

After a pleasant morning spent with Swan and her lad, she’d shooed the two of them out of the house, citing the fact that Christmas was fast approaching and she needed to wrap presents in peace without prying eyes

“I thought kids were bad, when it comes to looking for their hidden Christmas present,” she’d said with a grin, “but you, Killian, have them all beat.”

He’d grinned, leaning down to give her a loud, smacking kiss, before straightening and raising one eyebrow. “Pirate,” he stated simply.

She laughed, shoving him toward the door.

“Don’t forget my parents are coming over for dinner tonight,” she’d said, “and then they and little Neal are helping us trim the tree.”

He’d promised to return in plenty of time to help with dinner preparations, and then after one last lingering kiss (prompting Henry to make exaggerated gagging sounds behind them), he and the lad had taken their leave.  They’d hardly walked a block toward town before they were met by Emma’s father and little brother.

“You guys get kicked out of the house too?” Dave asked.

“Aye,” Killian said with a nod.  “It seems the Charming and Jones men are due for another of  those–what did you call them?--guys’ days.”

And so they’d spent the afternoon enjoying the snow and the company–helping the lads build a snowman, waging an all out snowball war (which the Charming’s had won handily–but only because neither he nor Henry had the heart to toss a snowball anywhere near three-year-old Neal.  Killian smiled as he recalled the tiny lad’s peals of laughter as his snowball connected with Henry’s shoulder and Emma’s lad had staggered, clutched his heart and then dramatically fallen to the ground), and then retired to Granny’s for some much appreciated sustenance.

“Well, I suppose I should get this little guy back home for his n-a-p,” Dave said as mid afternoon approached, making sure to spell the word he knew would result in a mutiny from his little lad, “but we’ll see you in a couple hours for dinner.”

It had been a pleasant evening with the family, as they set up the Christmas tree, trimming it with twinkling electric lights and bright, colorful baubles.  Henry, with great fanfare, had presented him with a new ornament to mark his first official Christmas as Henry’s step-father.  Killian groaned good-naturedly as he’d opened the box to reveal a small likeness of his Disney counterpart.  He’d played up his disdain at the assassination of his character, before placing the ornament on prominent display.

It had been an ordinary day, spent engaging in ordinary family activities, and Killian wouldn’t have changed a moment of it.

The Charmings had remained until it was time to put the little prince to bed, and then they’d taken their leave, with many promises for more festivities in the coming days.  Soon after, Henry had taken his leave, as he was due to spend a few days at Regina’s

“It really is a pretty tree, isn’t it?” Emma asked, as they lounged on their sofa looking up at the brightly lit fir in question.

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “A lovely tree, and a lovely evening.”

“Can you believe it?” she asked. “Our first Christmas together as a married couple and we get to spend it with no looming crisis hanging over our heads, no villains threatening us.”

“I rather think I could get used to this ‘Happy Beginning’ business we’ve found ourselves in,” he’d agreed.

Emma laughed, reaching up to absently run her fingers through his hair.  She was so affectionate now, never passing up an opportunity to give him little signs of her love, and he found it utterly delightful.

“You must have a lot of stories from past Christmases,” Emma continued with a grin.  “After all, you’ve celebrated like a million of them.”

“Oy!” he stated with mock offense, “It couldn’t have been more than two hundred fifty.”

She laughed joyously, and he grinned, turning to give her a quick kiss on the top of her head.  “So what was your favorite Christmas, Killian?”

He thought about it for a moment, several memories running through his mind like one of those moving picture shows Swan and her lad enjoyed watching of an evening.  One rather surprising moment stood out above all the others.

“You’ll think me mad,” he said finally, “but I think my favorite Christmas was actually last year.”

Emma sat up and looked at him with astonishment.  “Last Christmas?  But last Christmas we were in…”

He nodded.  “Aye, quite so.  Who would have believed my favorite Christmas memories would occur in the Underworld?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Everything hurt. Everything.  His bones, his muscles, his sinews; he'd swear even his hair hurt if that were possible.  Hades may be a bloody bastard, but never let it be said he wasn't skilled in the art of torture.

It was nearly Christmas. Killian likely wouldn't have marked the occasion, save for the festive elf costumes Hades insisted his demons wear as they went about their masochistic ministrations.

The demons themselves had heartily enjoyed themselves, singing Christmas song parodies as they whipped him and burnt him with hot pokers so brutally it had taken everything within him to keep from screaming in pain.

We wish you an awful Christmas, 

We wish you an awful Christmas

We wish you an awful Christmas

and a hellish New Year!

…

Lord Hades is bringing the pain!

He sees you when you're sleeping

He knows when you're awake

He don't care if you've been bad or good,

He'll still throw you in his lake!

And so, it seemed he would.  Angry that he couldn't break Killian, angry that despite it all, Killian refused to extinguish that last spark of hope he'd learned to foster, thanks to Emma and her family, Hades had decided to stamp it out of him in the only way he could--by lowering him bit by bit into the sickly green lake in which he would finally lose himself forever.

He supposed it was only just that it should all end this way.  After his centuries of villainy he deserved nothing better.  Once he was finally gone and lost forever, Emma and her family could return and build a happy life for themselves free of the pain and suffering he brought to everyone who came in contact with him.

His heart lurched at the thought of Emma.  How he loved her!  For one bright, shining moment, he'd allowed himself to believe they could be together, that he would achieve the happiness he'd fruitlessly searched for for so many decades, but then it had all gone to hell…literally.

The crane lowering him into the River of Lost Souls lurched downward yet again, and Killian focused on her, on his Emma.  He was determined she would be the last thing he thought of before he could think no more.

"Killian!"

He would swear he could hear her beloved voice, but it was clearly a last trick of his deluded mind.

"Kilian," she said again, softer this time, tenderly. "Hang on. I’m coming for you. I got ya."

And then she was there holding him, freeing him from the chains, cradling him in her lap.  Killian couldn't bite back the soft groans as his injuries complained of the contact.

The hope and joy Hades had failed to root out of him flared to life for a brief moment, but then reality set in once again.

"I told you to let me go," he said. "You shouldn’t be here; no one should."

She gave him a wry smile as she cupped his face, then gently swept the bangs from his forehead. "I never listen."

He smiled in spite of himself.  "You’re impossible."

She grinned in response. "And you love me for it."

And gods but he did.  More than she could ever know or comprehend.  Soon enough he would have to send her home, protect her from himself and the absolute misery he brought to everyone with whom he interacted, but for now, for this one bright shining moment, he could do naught but enjoy the comfort her presence brought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that evening, promontory beside the lake of fire

“Liam! Please! Hold on!” Killian pleaded, holding onto his brother’s hand with all the strength within him.

If there had been any question at all before, it was gone now. This was well and truly hell.

Everything was crashing around him. Everything. His entire world was imploding, everyone he loved facing unimaginably horrific fates, and it was all his fault.

After rescuing him from the River of Lost Souls, Emma had poofed him back to the Underworld version of her home. She’d taken a seat on the musty sofa, calling him over to join her, patting the seat beside her.

“Come, sit down,” she cajoled, “Let me look at you.”

His wounds ached and throbbed. It was hard to breathe; hard to think; hard to keep from crying out with every movement. He couldn’t imagine what he must look like, his visage marred from the beatings he’d endured.

“Are you sure you want to?” he said wryly. “Hades sort of knocked the handsome out of me.”

She grinned playfully at him. “No one’s that powerful.”

Were their situation different, he’d have flirted back, made her laugh with his nonsense, but presently it was all he could do to shuffle over to the sofa and collapse beside her.

No sooner had he taken his seat than Emma waved her hand over him, and it felt as though a shower of pure, warm sunshine washed over him, taking with it the pain and injury and leaving him whole. Even yet, the strength and power of her magic astounded him.

For a moment, Killian felt nothing but relief.

And then reality set  in yet again, as it always did in this terrible place. Emma was here, in hell itself, because of him, because of his weakness. Waves of self-loathing like nothing he’d ever experienced washed over him.

She leaned in toward him, lips moving toward his.  He pulled back, turning his head. He was unworthy of her love, unworthy of anyone’s love.

“What’s the problem?” she asked, pulling back to get a better look at him.

“It’s just…” he began, struggling to even put into words the depths of his hatred of himself and what he’d done. “A lot has happened between us.”

“What’s the problem?” she asked again.

How did she not see it? How was she still looking at him with love? Agitated, he got to his feet and paced away from her.

“I’m the problem,” he bit out. “Emma, you were the Dark One for six weeks and only gave into the darkness out of love. I plunged in head first in a second for revenge. I was weak.”

“Not in the end!” she insisted.

A single moment of heroism didn’t make up for centuries of villainy, and he well knew it. “You raised the bar very high, Swan. The fact is, I don’t measure up.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” she said, her voice insistent. “If you didn’t, would I have come all the way down here to try to save you?”

She would, and he knew it, because she was good. She was a hero. He was anything but.

“That’s my point. I’m not sure I deserve saving.”

Their conversation had been cut short in the most unexpected way–by the arrival of his brother Liam. What had followed were a few blessedly joyous and peaceful hours, as Killian introduced his first true love to his second. The two best people he’d ever known, together in one place. Despite his guilt and misery, he couldn’t suppress the joy the meeting brought.

But even this was destined to crash down around him.

It started with Emma’s superpower telling her something was amiss with Liam. Something had happened between the two of them, but Killian didn’t know what it was; didn’t want to know what it was.

He didn’t understand how Emma could think Liam, the most moral and straight-laced man Killian had ever known, could be anything but on the up and up, but she was quite convinced.

The moment Silver’s crew had shown up and proven Emma right had been the most disorienting moment of his life. It felt as though he were suffering from vertigo, his entire world turning upside down as the horrible truth settled in around him–Liam had lied to him, and not only that, he had entered into a deal with Hades, allowing the entire crew to be lost at sea in order to save Killian.

My fault, my fault, my fault! The words echoed in his mind like a mantra.

If it hadn’t been for Killian, Liam would never have fallen. Killian wasn’t merely cursed, he was the curse. He infected and destroyed everyone around him.

Everything had moved quickly after the horrible revelation, and Killian had been so shell-shocked he could do nothing but move with the inexorable tide.

Silver’s crew had marched Liam and himself to the lake of fire, intent on making the brothers Jones walk the plank, but their intentions were upended by the arrival of Hades himself.

Liam had, once again, attempted to shield Killian from his just punishment, and the result had brought them to the moment they now found themselves in–Liam slipping inexorably toward the lake of fire, Killian more terrified than he’d ever been. He couldn’t lose Liam again. Not now. Not like this.

“Liam! Please! Hold on!”

“I’m sorry brother, for all I’ve done,” Liam shouted above the flames threatening to consume him. “Can you forgive me?”

It wasn’t even a question. Like Emma, Liam had only fallen for one reason–love of him. His guilt was quite misplaced. “Yes, but that’s not what’s important. You need to find a way to forgive yourself.”

“I can’t, not after what I did to you.” The look in Liam’s eyes made Killian’s heart sink like a stone. “The only way to make amends is to pay the price.”

And then Liam let go.

Shear panic and aching horror took over, as Killian reached down, trying fruitlessly to stop what was happening.

But the panic was short-lived. A moment later, the flames disappeared to be replaced by a serene sea. Liam rose above all of it upon a little rowboat, a smile gracing his lips.

Killian felt the tears prickle behind his eyes, tears of relief this time. “Liam! You’re safe!”

Liam’s smile widened. “Yes, it appears I am. I suppose this is the sacrifice I should have made long ago. I can finally depart.”

Killian looked beyond his brother. Where once had stood the rocky wall of the cave, now was nothing but open waters and a port city which appeared stocked with all the provisions Liam would need for his next mighty adventure.

Liam had truly redeemed himself, and now his own personal paradise awaited him.

“Then go. All of you,” Killian said, gesturing to the remaining crew, “Now that you know the truth, your unfinished business is complete as well.”

“Get on board, men,” Liam said, offering the sailors a hand. “What about you, brother?”

Killian turned away. Liam deserved this. Silver’s crew did as well. He, most certainly, did not.

“I think not,” Killian said finally. “There’s nothing for me but the lake of fire. I deserve no better.”

Liam stepped out of the boat, instructing the first mate to leave without him. Insisting his everlasting reward could wait.

If anything, the pit in Killian’s stomach grew wider, into an abyss there would be no crossing. “Why would you do that?” he shouted. “Why would you delay your paradise? I’m. Not. Worth. It!”

Liam frowned. “That’s nonsense, brother. You’ve become a true hero in a way I never could.”

Killian scoffed. “A hero?” he scoffed, putting every ounce of derision he could muster into those two syllables. “I’m anything but. I’m a pariah to all who meet me. Everyone who has the misfortune of coming into contact with me is worse off–much worse off–for having known me. You would all be better off if I flung myself into that lake of fire, perishing once and for all.”

“You really think those who love you would be happier knowing you burnt to death in a lake of fire?” Liam asked softly. “Emma? Her lad? Me?”

Killian glanced aside. “Well, maybe not. Maybe it would have been better if I’d never been born.”

Liam was silent for a moment, thinking. “That’s an idea,” he muttered to himself. “What do you think, Zeus? That could work.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “What are you on about?”

“Done, Killian,” Liam said, clapping his hands together. “You’ve never been born. You don’t exist.”

There was a flash of light, a clap of thunder, and then all went silent. 

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For a moment Killian merely looked at his brother.

“Pardon?” He said finally.

“You’ve never been born,” Liam repeated. “You don’t exist.”

“Then…who am I?”

“You’re no one,” Liam said. “Killian, you’ve been given a great gift, the opportunity to see what the world would look like if you’d never been in it. Are you ready to explore? To see the impact you have no longer had?”

Killian wasn’t sure he was ready for this. After all…it was altogether possible everyone was infinitely happier and more fulfilled without his toxic influence. 

Still, he’d never been a coward. He didn’t intend to start now. “Very well, lead on.”

They made their way from the cave back to the filthy streets of Underbrooke. The first thing Killian noticed was that the town appeared far more crowded than it had when they entered the cave. Dozens, maybe hundreds of men dressed in uniforms he recognized as belonging to some of the rival kingdoms he had fought as part of the Royal Navy, milled about.

“Who are these men?” Killian asked. “Why have they suddenly arrived?”

“They haven’t suddenly arrived,” Liam said as they began making their way through the crowds. “They’ve been here for more than 200 years–ever since our corrupt king used dreamshade on them.”

“But that’s impossible!” Killian insisted after mumbling a quick apology to a man he bumped into. “We discovered the King’s plans for the dreamshade and we refused to turn over the poison!”

Liam shook his head. “You weren’t around to question the king’s command.”

“But surely you discovered the plant's properties and did the honorable thing,” Killian insisted.

Liam stopped suddenly, giving Killian a long look. “I wasn’t around either. Come. I have something I need to show you.”

Killian followed Liam back to the bar he’d tended since his death, questions swirling in his head.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

Liam was behind the bar, but he looked nothing like the Liam Killian knew and loved. This man was young, likely no more than eighteen or nineteen. There was a hard look about him, that of a man who had seen and endured far too much in the short time he’d lived.

A man who hadn’t had any hope.

Killian turned toward his guide, his Liam. “How are you…there and…here?”

“Properly speaking, I’m not,” Liam said. “As I’ve already, for all intents and purposes, moved on, I, like you, don’t exist here.  The man you see behind the bar is Liam Jones as he would have been had you never been born.”

“Why is he so…young?”

Guide Liam sidled up to the bar, waving Killian over to join him. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“What’ll it be, gentlemen?” Young Liam asked in a bored voice, continuing to wipe down glasses as he eyed his new customers.

“I’m rather partial to whiskey myself,” Liam said genially, “and my brother here has a preference for rum, if I remember correctly.”

Young Liam nodded, and had just turned around to fulfill the request, when Killian finally found his voice. “Liam! It’s me!” he said. “It’s Killian!”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

“Killian,” Killian insisted, “your younger brother.”

Young Liam frowned. “Never had a brother. Never had any family save for a mother who died far too young and a worthless arse of a father who sold me into servitude.”

“But–” Killian tried again, “even without me, all of your men, all of those who sailed under Captain Liam Jones loved you. They were a family to us…to you.”

Young Liam laughed bitterly, before leaning in, his lips turned down in a scowl. “I never had any men under my command. I never had command over so much as a cabin boy. I lived a slave, and I died one, just another nameless sot who drank too much and went down in a storm.”

Liam banged two tumblers of liquor in front of his patrons. “Now, you can either drink up or get the hell out of my bar. I’ve no stomach to relive my failures.”

When the bartender had turned away to wait upon another customer who had arrived, Killian turned toward his brother. “What is he talking about?”

Liam shrugged. “Without you in my life, Killian, I was utterly rudderless, lacking in any ambition to better myself. I never escaped Silver’s command, never even tried.  I died in that storm, Killian. I along with that entire ship of hopeless men.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They consumed their beverages largely in silence after that, Killian’s unease growing the longer he thought about Liam as he would have been had things been different.

Was there any truth to what his brother said?  Had Killian’s very brokenness inspired Liam to be a better man?

Taking the last sip, Killian got quickly to his feet, no longer interested in the bar or hearing any more sad tales about the bartender.

“Alright Liam,” he said to his guide, “where next?”

Liam thought for a moment before paying their tab and leading Killian out the door, the words “The Rabbit Hole” illuminated as it swung shut.  “I think there’s someone else here you need to see,” he said finally.

Killian followed obediently behind his brother as they walked through the streets of town until they came to the sheriff’s station.

“Some prisoner here you wish me to see?” Killian asked as Liam opened the door and waved him inside.

“Patience, brother,” Liam said. “The purpose of our visit will soon become apparent.”

Killian looked around the office as they entered.  So similar in some ways to its Storybrooke counterpart–yet so different in others.  This sheriff’s office sported a myriad of medieval torture devices, and at the far wall stood none other than Rumplestiltskin’s cell itself.

It was only once he’d stepped fully inside, that he noticed the man lounging in the swivel chair behind what back home would be Emma’s desk.

“David?” he asked. “What are you doing here, mate?  Shouldn’t you be helping the others?”

The man rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically before getting to his feet.  “Not David. James,” he bit out. “If you’re looking for my brother, he should be back any moment once he finishes his latest utterly fruitless task of arriving at a crime scene just too late to save anyone.”

“What?” Killian asked, trying to make some sense–any sense–out of what was happening.

The man–James–smiled nastily.  “Quite a clever punishment Hades devised for him, wasn’t it?” he asked. “My hero of a brother, wanting nothing more than to save his subjects and the people he loves, forced to spend an eternity down here never quite able to save anyone.”

“But…but why is Hades punishing him?”

James looked at him as though he had two heads. “Because that’s what the Lord of the Underworld does–punishes those poor, unfortunate souls who show up at his doorstep after their demise.”

Killian’s heart sank. “David’s dead?”

“You new here?” James asked. “Of course he’s dead.  Only way people end up here.  Now is there something you need, or are you just here to annoy me?”

“We’ll take a seat outside and wait for David’s return,” Liam said, ushering Killian to a very uncomfortable bench in the hallway.

“How? Why?” Killian asked after a moment of silence.

Rather than answer, Liam pointed toward the doorway, a little bell ringing as a very dejected David stepped through the door.

Killian noticed it immediately, the blackened veins traveling from his chest up to cover his face.  “Dreamshade,” he whispered.

Liam nodded

David gave them a look as he walked past, but there was no recognition in his face at the sight of them.  Too overwhelmed by what he’d just seen to think straight, Killian didn’t even attempt to call out to him.  

Just before the office door closed again, Killian heard James greeting his brother. “Ah, David.  Back from another unsuccessful rescue mission, I see.  There’s a mountain of paperwork for you on your desk.  It’s grown by a foot since you left.  Should keep you nice and busy until the next crisis you can’t avert.”

“But this is wrong,” Killian said after a moment of silence.  “All wrong.  David should be alive.  Water from the springs of Neverland saved him!”

Liam shook his head. “You weren’t there to save him, Killian,” he said quietly. “Being resourceful, Emma and her family found a way to Neverland and succeeded in saving the lad, but without you to save him, David died of his dreamshade poisoning.”

The pit in Killian’s stomach widened. Wrong, wrong! This was all wrong!

“How did the Lady Snow–not to mention Emma and Henry–handle David’s passing?” Killian asked, not entirely sure he wanted the answer.

“Again, perhaps it’s best if I show you,” Liam said.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Liam led him this time to a building with a big display out front and a sign proclaiming it to be the cinema.

“This is one of those places that projects those moving pictures Emma and Henry are so fond of, isn’t it?” he asked, after Liam purchased two tickets from a bored teenager at the ticket booth.

“Indeed,” Liam said, peering at the tickets and heading toward the theater indicated, “but as with other establishments here in the underworld, the theater serves a bit of a different purpose than it does back on earth.  The theater allows Underworld residents to catch a glimpse of those they left behind when they died.”

The lights in the room dimmed, and blazoned across the huge screen in front was the single word “Storybrooke”.  A moment later, the screen changed, and Killian found himself looking at the Charmings’ flat.  Snow sat at the kitchen table, a full bowl of cereal and an untouched cup of coffee in front of her.

She looked terrible.  Dark circles under her eyes proving she hadn’t been sleeping.  Her hair hanging dull and lifeless.  Her eyes–her eyes were the worst of all.  They were dead, hopeless.  It was a startling sight, seeing the woman usually so optimistic looking so defeated.

“Gone,” she muttered. “They’re all gone.  I’ve lost everything.”

Henry took a seat beside her, his eyes troubled–not only at the sight of his grandmother, but also, it seemed, with his own grief.

“Grams, you have to eat something,” Henry said, his voice wobbling slightly.  “I can’t lose you too.  I can’t.”

Henry’s distress seemed to snap Snow out of her stupor, at least temporarily.  She pasted a false smile on her face.  “You’re right, Henry,” she said before forcing herself to take a spoonful of her cereal. “Thanks for making breakfast.”

Henry shrugged, digging into his own bowl. “It’s what family does.”

“Where is the child?” Killian asked. “Little Neal, where is he?”

“There is no baby Neal,” Liam said simply.  “Killian, with David perishing on Neverland, the little lad was never conceived.  Like you, he does not exist.”

Killian pulled in a quick breath, aching for Emma’s mother.  She’d wanted so much to have a second child, had loved her son to distraction.  Her loss was palpable–although Killian hardly knew how one could miss someone they’d never had or known.

“You see, Killian,” Liam said as the screen went to black and the house lights came up once again, “everyone’s life creates a ripple, and without that ripple, nothing is ever the same.”

Killian waited for a moment, expecting the scene to change again; there was one last person he was desperate to see.

“Liam, why didn’t the moving picture show us Emma?” he asked, somehow both needing and dreading the answer. “Where is she?”

Liam gave him a long look before blowing out a breath.  “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes!” Killian said insistently.  “Show me Emma.  Show me my true love.”

“Very well,” Liam acquiesced, “but I warn you–you’re not going to like what you see.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian resumed his seat in the Underworld theater, steeling himself for the sight Liam assured him he would not like.

“What are you doing?” Liam asked, “didn’t you say you wanted to see Emma?”

“Aye,” Killian said slowly.  “I had assumed we would once again need the moving picture machine for that.  After all, if I was never born, Swan would have never come to the Underworld after me.”

Liam shook his head gently, his eyes sorrowful.  “I think you need to come with me.”

Killian felt his heart drop, a sense of foreboding washing over him as the implication of Liam’s request sunk in.  Surely Emma was not down here.  Surely.

And yet, as Liam led him deeper and deeper into the underworld, that sense of foreboding only continued to grow.  When Liam led motioned for him to enter the cave where Killian knew Hades’ most sadistic torture chamber sat, it all became too much.

“No!” he moaned, taking a step back.  “She can’t be there!”

Liam placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “I know this is difficult, Killian, but you must see this.”

Killian wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run.  If Emma was in this chamber, he couldn’t bear it.  He couldn’t.  “Please, brother.  Please tell me this isn’t real.  Please tell me she’s not here!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Liam said gently. “Come, we must hurry.  For the moment Hades and his minions have let her be, but we mustn’t be caught when they return.”

For another long moment, Killian resisted, but finally, realizing Liam was right, no matter how horrific, he must know the truth, he nodded.

The first thing he noticed upon entry into the cave was the intense, overbearing heat.  There was no relief, no respite.  Then came the overwhelming stench of sulfur. For a moment, the darkness was so absolute, so oppressive, he couldn’t see anything, but as his eyes became accustomed to the lack of light, he noticed a single, flickering candle along the back wall–the wall where Hades had chained Killian when he was in the midst of his worst tortures.

The sight that met him would have brought him to his knees if Liam’s strong arm hadn’t been there to support him.

“No!” he shouted, the sound echoing off the cave walls.

For it was indeed Emma who was chained to the wall, her face so bruised and cut and swollen as to be almost unrecognizable.  Her hair hung limp around her, damp from the sweat born of the oppressive heat and the physical trauma.  Hades had stripped her of her signature red leather jacket, and Killian could see cuts and bruises all along her arms.  One arm, in fact, hung at an odd angle, giving evidence of a nasty break.  Her jeans were tattered and bloodied.

In short, it appeared she’d suffered every torment he had, and perhaps even more.  He had to save her.  Had to!

Killian rushed toward Emma, gently cradling her head and brushing a strand of hair from her face.  He murmured her name and words of comfort and he eyed her restraints, trying to determine how best to loose them.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked in a voice she was obviously trying to make sound defiant.  Instead, it merely sounded exhausted.  Hades was so very close to breaking her, and Killian wanted to rip out his entrails and strangle him with them.

“It’s Killian,” he said.  “I’m going to get you out of here love, just as you did for me.  You had to know I love you too much to leave you here to suffer.”

Emma scoffed and rolled her eyes.  “Just how stupid do you think I am, Hades?” she asked in a voice dripping with scorn. “You think I’m some naive, damsel-in-distress, starry-eyed teenager who’ll fall for any line a handsome stranger throws my way?  Hardly.  I grew up real quick on the streets and learned that love is a lie sold by greeting card companies.  It’s certainly not in the cards for the Savior.  So just stop with–well, with whatever you’re trying to do.  Get back to the torture or leave me the hell alone.

“Swan–” Killian started, before he was interrupted by a noise in the corridor.

“Killian, we’ve got to go,” Liam said, grabbing at his arm.  “Someone’s coming and we can’t be caught here.”

Killian pulled his arm free and tried to hack at the chains holding Emma.  They wouldn’t budge.

“It’s useless, brother,” Liam insisted, grabbing at him again. “The chains of hell cannot be broken.  We’ve got to go. Now!”

It went against everything inside of him to leave Emma there, leave her to Hades’ devices, but Liam was right.  There was no way to free her.  Finally he nodded, following his brother out of the cave and through the streets of town until they reached what was once Underbrooke’s version of Emma’s house.  It was different now, fallen into complete disrepair–windows broken, wood rotted, cobwebs hanging from every surface.

This house was the physical manifestation of everything he was feeling now.  Everything, everything was crumbling in around him.

“Why?” Killian moaned in anguish, falling to his knees.  “Why is she here?  She shouldn’t be here!  I should!”

“You don’t exist,” Liam reminded him, getting to his knees and placing a comforting arm on his shoulders.  “She couldn’t make you a co-Dark One.  You weren’t there to take all the darkness on yourself and sacrifice yourself to end it.  Emma had to do that herself.”

“No!” Killian moaned again.

“And I think you know why Hades is making her torture so much worse than anyone else’s if you truly think about it,” Liam continued.

“She’s the savior,” Killian said, his voice breaking. “She defeated Hades in a way no one else ever could.”

Liam nodded. “She did,” he agreed, “and she did so because she is good and valiant, but she is also broken.  Without you, she never again found love.  She was never able to allow her heart to heal and her walls to come down.  She was a light to all around her, but she was never blessed with that light for herself.”

And suddenly it all began to make sense.  In his long life, Killian had done many terrible things, but he’d also had a positive impact on others.  His life had mattered, and its absence left a tremendous hole.

“We are none of us fully good nor fully evil,” Liam continued, as though reading Killian’s thoughts, “but every one of us is important and necessary to so many people.  Our impact is something we may never know, but it is vital, and when one of us is missing from the fabric of time–the resulting tear leaves the garment irreparably harmed.”

The tears began to flow, and Killian let them, making no attempt to stop them or wipe them away.  He wanted to fix this.  He needed to fix this.

“Please brother,” he said through his tears, “help me.  I want to live again!”

Liam smiled. “Done!”

~*~*~*~*~*~

There was no flash of lighting, no crack of thunder this time.  Nothing earth shattering happened.  One moment they were in the broken-down shell of the Underbrooke version of Emma’s house, and the next they were back in the cave where this whole thing had started.  Even so, Killian knew it had worked; he could feel it.  All was back to the way it should have been–well, as close as anything could come in this terrible place.  His life was restored to the fabric of time.  Joy bubbled up. 

As Killian’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the cavern, he noticed the dinghy docked to the cliff, the peaceful waters in which it bobbed, the pleasant port in the distance that was to be Liam’s eternal reward, and a touch of bittersweetness mixed in with his joy.  No doubt the time of parting with his brother was almost upon him.

“Not quite yet, brother,” Liam said, once again reading his thoughts. “This vessel will be waiting for me in due course, but it’s Christmas Eve.  I can see nothing wrong with celebrating this one last holiday with my brother and the family he’s amassed for himself.”

Killian’s smile widened. “You’d put off paradise for me?”

“Of course,” Liam said. “Haven’t you learned by now I’d do anything for you?  You, little brother, are worth it.”

Killian wrapped his arms around his brother, feeling the tears rush to his eyes once again.  He’d always known his brother’s first statement was true, but now, maybe for the first time in his life, he was beginning to believe the truth of the second as well.

After a long moment, Killian stepped back, clearing his throat. “Younger brother,” he corrected gruffly.

Liam laughed. “And, if I don’t miss my mark, there’s someone else out there who would also do anything for you; who also believes you’re worth it.  Perhaps it’s time you go to her.”

Emma’s beloved face came to mind, and a rush of love and longing filled him.  He’d left her on a rather bad note, his self-loathing pushing her away.  He wanted–needed–to make things right, to let her know how very much he appreciated her coming here to save him.

“Will you not come with me, Liam?” he asked.

Liam chuckled.  “I rather think your reunion is something I don’t need to be privy to.  I’ll return to the loft, spend some time with your Emma’s son.  Perhaps we can plan and start preparations for our Noel celebrations.  You and your love can meet me there.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian rushed back to Swan’s Underbrooke house, his heart leaping to see it whole and reasonably intact, as opposed to the broken down hull he’d seen last.  It was further proof that all was back as it should be.

He found Emma standing in the drawing room looking confused and slightly out of sorts.

“Hook!” she said, as he rushed toward her.  “Where the hell have you been?  First you and Liam left, and then Henry ran off…somewhere.”

There was so much he wanted to do, so much he wanted to tell her, but he started by simply giving her a long hug, which she returned warmly.

When he pulled back enough to see her face, it was obvious his gesture, while not unwelcome, had certainly done nothing to banish her confusion.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said finally. “You were right about Liam.  He destroyed those pages because of a deal he made with Hades years ago, a deal that almost got us thrown into that boiling sea.”

Her eyes widened and her grip tightened on his arms.  “Are you okay?  Where is he?”

“He, uh, sacrificed himself,” he said, struggling to find the words to tell her what had happened to him–to both of them–over the last few hours.  “But his sacrifice helped a crew we once sailed with.  They finally moved on thanks to him.”

Her alarm grew.  “Did he move on too?”

Killian shook his head.  “Not yet.  A boat is waiting to usher him on when he is ready, but he wishes to spend Christmas with us first–it is, after all, Christmas Eve.”

He didn’t miss the slight look of unease in her eyes, which she quickly masked.  “That’s–that’s good,” she said, a bit too cheerfully.

“He was wrong about you, Swan,” Killian said, “and he knows it.  I think one reason he wished to remain was to have an opportunity to apologize to you and make amends.”

Her smile became far more genuine.  “There’s no need, Killian.  He was just trying to protect you.  I get that.”

“Nevertheless,” Killian said, “I need no protection from you, and now he knows that.”

They were silent for a moment, merely enjoying the quiet and peace of each other’s company.  Finally Emma looked around.  “So if he didn’t move on, where is he?  Didn’t he come back here with you?”

Killian grinned.  “He returned to your parents’ flat, hoping to conspire with the lad to make our Christmas one to remember–at least as far as is possible in this hellish place.”

They shared a smile, but then Killian grew serious, looking at her with intensity.  This was important; he needed her to hear him.  “But he helped me to see the truth before he went.  I’m glad you came down here, Emma.  Perhaps I do deserve saving after all.”

 She lit up, her face showing a joy he hadn’t seen since he’d gotten down here.  “Does that mean when this is all over, you’re planning to come home?”

When this is all over.  It was a stark reminder that there were still substantial obstacles they must face before they could return to their white picket fence life, but face them they would.  He was sure of it.  Not only would they face them, they would win, and their happiness afterwards would be all the sweeter from the struggle they had to endure to get there.

“Yes,” he answered definitively. “Everything Liam did was to ensure that I had a future, and I damn well intend to have one.”

With that, he swooped in for a long passionate kiss, the likes of which he’d dreamed about ever since this ordeal began.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Storybrooke, Present Day

Killian toyed with the ends of Emma’s hair as her head lay on his shoulder.

“And then we returned to your parents’ flat–or what passed for it in that bloody place–to find Henry and Liam had made a valiant attempt at decorating for the festive occasion.”

Emma chuckled.  “I remember.  The only tree they could find made Charlie Brown’s look amazing.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Killian said with his own chuckle, “but I catch the gist.  It was quite pitiful.  Its sad state only rivaled by the wilted poinsettias and the crumbling mistletoe.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Emma said, “I think the mistletoe still worked perfectly well, if the exaggerated eyerolls from Henry when we made use of it were any indication.”

He chuckled again. “And all your mother could find to prepare for our Christmas feast was grilled cheese on stale bread and PopTarts for dessert.”

“I’ll admit it wasn’t the greatest grilled cheese I’ve ever had, and unfrosted brown sugar cinnamon PopTarts are just wrong,” Emma said, “but I’ve gotta say, I kind of liked the menu.”

Killian shot her a disgusted look with a muttered “bloody hell”.   She collapsed against him as she laughed.

“However,” Killian said after a moment, returning to the subject at hand. “It was a pleasant evening filled with joy and laughter.  The two people I love the most in this or any world together and reconciled, your family–our family–together to support us.  It was the very essence of what makes Christmas magical.”

Emma sat up to look at him and there was sadness in her eyes. “But the next evening we had to say goodbye to Liam for good.”

Killian sighed. “It was a bittersweet moment to be sure,” he agreed, “but I got a proper farewell this time, something I was denied when he died in my arms all those centuries ago, and I know he’s in a better place–I saw it for myself.  One day we’ll be together again.”

She gave him a stern look. “That day better be decades and decades away.”

He grinned before leaning down to kiss her. “Fear not, Swan.  Have I not proven that I’m a survivor?  Even death couldn’t hold me forever.  At any rate, though we were in an awful place and the decorations and provisions were less than ideal, that was a Christmas that I will always hold in my heart, because I got a second chance, and it’s been sweeter than anything I could imagine.”

They were silent for a moment, and then he heard a small sniff beside him.  He leaned over to see tears in Swan’s eyes.  “Love, whatever is the matter?”

“I had no idea, Killian,” she said after a moment, “no idea you went through all that.  You never told me about the visions Liam showed you.”

He shrugged. “There never seemed to be time; we were always moving from one crisis to the next, and I didn’t want to upset you with my own internal crises.”

She sat up again, looking into his eyes. “Killian, we’re true love, husband and wife,” she said, “We should help each other through our crises.  Don’t ever feel like you have to keep anything from me because I might find it upsetting.”

He smiled tenderly at her, cupping her cheek and letting his thumb caress her face.  “Nor you with me, my love.”

She nodded. “And for the record, Killian, you have nothing left to prove.  You are a good man, and all of us are better off for having you in our lives.  Don’t ever doubt that. 

She was going to kill him.  She was going to drive a stake of holly through his heart or strangle him with a strand of Christmas lights or…well, some other holiday themed method of homicide.

Emma worked hard all day chasing down the scum of the earth and hauling their worthless asses back to jail where they belonged.  Was it really too much to ask that she have a little peace and quiet downtime to relax once she got home.

According to the idiot who lived in the apartment directly above hers, apparently so.  Every damn day since Thanksgiving he’d blared his Christmas music loud enough to wake the ghost of Christmas past.  Sometimes he even enthusiastically belted along with it.  (She had to admit his voice wasn’t half bad, but that was entirely beside the point.)

Emma hissed as she dabbed at the cut beside her eye where tonight’s skip had clocked her.  She’d gotten him in the end; Emma Swan always got her man, but now that the adrenaline of the chase was over, her cuts and bruises and sore muscles were screaming at her.

And the guy in the apartment above had just started singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” at the top of his lungs.

Emma growled, tossing the bloody cotton ball into her bathroom trash and getting to her feet.  Enough was enough.  This stopped now.  He could take his merry little Christmas and shove it up his south pole.

Two minutes later, she stood before his apartment.  Pounding on the door felt extremely satisfying if she did say so herself.

The music suddenly stopped, and a moment later the door opened, and for the first time Emma got a glimpse of the man who’d been the bane of her existence for the past two weeks.

Her jaw dropped.  He was drop dead gorgeous, melt-an-entire-population-of-snowmen hot.

“Well hello, there, Love,” he said with an appreciative grin-and in an accent that had her toes curling in her boots.  “How can I help you?”

Emma’s stomach swooped and her heart stuttered and then started racing.  She blinked and the spell was broken.  She wasn’t some teenager who drooled over hot guys.  Especially hot guys that she’d been seriously contemplating murdering five minutes ago.

“If you don’t stop with the Christmas crap, I’m going to punch your stupid, festive face,” she gritted out.

His eyebrows raised.  “Pardon?”

“Your music!” she said.  “Every freaking day, every time I get home you’re blaring the Christmas music, and it got old about five minutes after you started.  I don’t think it’s too much to ask that I have a little peace and quiet in my own home.”

He huffed a breath.  “Darling, I had no idea anyone was even in the building in the middle of the afternoon.  Did it ever occur to you to come to me and ask me to turn down my music?”

She had to admit he had a point there.  Maybe yelling at him and threatening bodily harm wasn’t the best opening salvo, but it had been a long day, and she was in pain, and she wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable.

“Look, just turn it down,” she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

“Your wish is my command,” he said with biting sarcasm, sketching a mock bow.  “Now is there anything else you wish to yell at me about or may I get back to my tasks at hand?”

“Nope.  That’s all,” she said.

“Good,” he said and then tacked on a biting “Merry Christmas” before shutting the door in her face.

The next morning, Emma was rather embarrassed about her interaction with Hot Christmas Guy upstairs, as she’d been calling him in her mind.  She’d had a frustrating day–the skip she’d gone after had left his wife and kids just before Christmas, taking every penny of their Christmas fund.  

It hit too close to home for a girl who had grown up with no family, with no one.  Hard to get into the warm and fuzzy Christmas spirit when no one gave a crap about you.

She’d been too harsh with Hot Christmas Guy, but at least the results were in her favor.  He’d been as good as his word, and if he’d continued playing his Christmas music, he’d done it at a low enough volume that she didn’t even hear it.

Emma had only just begun to think she should go upstairs and apologize, when suddenly there was a knock at her door. 

She opened the door to find the man himself, standing there holding a large plate of cookies. Her stomach not only swooped this time; it did cartwheels.  The guy looked even better in the bright light of morning with his slightly disheveled black hair, his reddish scruff, his blue button down that highlighted his even bluer eyes and his black leather jacket.

“I’m afraid we came to rather a bad start, yesterday,” he said.  “Perhaps we might start again, Aye?  My name is Killian Jones, and I’d like to offer you these Christmas cookies as a token of my apology for the excessive volume of my music.”

Emma took a step back and gestured for him to enter her apartment.  “Hey, I’m Emma Swan, and no apology is necessary.  In fact, I kind of think I owe you an apology.  I shouldn’t have just come out swinging like that.”

He smiled at her, the fine lines around his (beautiful) eyes crinkling with the gesture.  “Apology accepted Love.  I’ll leave you to your morning.”

He turned to leave, but suddenly, Emma didn’t want him to go.  “Killian, wait!” she said.

Obediently he stopped, eyebrows raised in question.

“Would you like to stay and help me eat these cookies?”

He shot her a skeptical look.  “Dessert at nine in the morning?”

She shrugged.  “Can’t be much more unhealthy than my normal blueberry PopTart.”

Killian laughed then, taking a step back inside.  “Do you at least have milk to wash them down with?”

“Of course.”

Killian ended up staying for two hours, and it amazed Emma how quickly they fell into conversation.  It was like they were old friends catching up rather than relative strangers.  Emma learned that Killian was a novelist.  His music helped him with the creative process, jump started his creativity as it were.

The conversation had then turned to the upcoming holiday.

“Swan, do you not celebrate Christmas?” he’d asked, looking around her apartment.

She shrugged.  “I mean, I guess I do.  I’m not, like, opposed to Christmas or anything.  Why?”

“I can’t help but notice you have no tree, no decorations of any kind, and your opposition to the music of the season is well established,” he said.

Emma looked around her neat but rather sterile apartment and shrugged.  “I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t see the point of going to all that trouble.  I mean, it’s not like I’m going to have any presents under the tree or anyone to share the holiday with.”

She had expected him to look at her with pity at her admission of just how alone she was, but instead, the look on his face was knowing, understanding.  “The holidays are difficult when you’re alone, aren’t they?”

That surprised her.  Was he speaking from personal experience?

“Aye love,” he said, answering her unasked question, “I suspect we have more in common than you might have supposed.  Ever since my brother passed a decade ago, I’ve been on my own.  The holidays always bring with them a special kind of melancholy.”

“But…” she began, “but you play Christmas music.  From the glimpse I got of your apartment yesterday, you have all the decorations and trappings.  Doesn’t that make the loneliness worse?”

He shook his head.  “It helps me to remember the good memories, and there are always good memories if you dig deep enough.”

The conversation stuck with her long after she and Killian had said goodbye and gone their separate ways.  Maybe…maybe he was right.  Maybe if she let a little Christmas cheer into her life, it would help, even in a small part, to soothe the pain of a lifetime of loneliness.

The next morning, bright and early, there was a knock on Emma’s door.  This time she smiled as she went to the door, knowing instinctively that she’d find Killian on the other side.

What she wasn’t expecting was the large, beautiful, fragrant pine tree he was holding in front of him.

“What’s this?” she asked, opening the door wider so that he could awkwardly maneuver himself and the tree inside.

“This, Swan,” he said with a teasing grin, “is called a Christmas tree.  Traditionally people set them up in their houses this time of year and decorate them with lights and colorful baubles.”

She grinned, rolling her eyes at him and playfully swatting his shoulder.  “I know what it is, smart ass.  I’m wondering why you brought it here.”

He propped the tree against the door, and then reached up to scratch at the spot behind his ear.  “I got to thinking after our conversation yesterday.  I wanted to bring you some of the Christmas joy that has helped me through the season for years.  I hope I’ve not overstepped by bringing this.”

Emma smiled gently, stepping up to place a hand on his arm.  “This is really sweet, Killian,” she said.  “Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, stepping outside to gather the boxes of lights, ornaments and tinsel he had waiting for him.  “If you’ve the time and inclination, I thought perhaps we could decorate your apartment together.”

She took one of the boxes from him and set it on her living room floor.  “As it turns out, I have the day off, and decorating a tree sounds like the perfect way to pass the time.  If you play your cards right, I might even let you play some Christmas music while we work.”

They’d spent the entire day together, first decorating her tree, then splitting a pizza from the place down the street, talking, laughing, and genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

The next day he was back, and the day after that she went to his apartment.  Barely a day went by that they didn’t see each other.  Each day brought a new holiday themed activity.  

For the first time she could remember, Emma felt the magic of Christmas.  For the first time she woke up looking forward to what the day might bring–and it was all due to Killian Jones.  It should scare her how comfortable she felt with him.  It should scare her how much she was coming to look forward to their time together, to their daily phone calls and text conversations.

But somehow it didn’t.  She could read people; it’s what made her so good at her job.  And Killian?  She read him loud and clear.  He was the real deal.  She could trust him.

And so it was that when the idea occurred to her she didn’t let herself think too hard, merely acted.

“So I was thinking,” she said, turning toward him on the couch where they sat together watching Christmas movies on Christmas eve.

“Dangerous prospect, love,” he said with a teasing grin.  She smacked his shoulder.

“I think that we should spend Christmas together,” she said.

This shouldn’t be that big of a deal–after all, they’d spent the last two weeks together–but somehow it was.  Somehow spending Christmas together felt huge. Like this-could-be-the-start-of-something-life-changing huge.

Killian’s eyes widened.  He clearly understood how momentous this question really was.  After a moment, his look of surprise softened into a gentle smile, and he reached up and cupped her cheek.  “Emma, I’d like nothing better than to spend Christmas with you.”

The relief, the joy that came over her at his answer overwhelmed her, and so she did the only thing that seemed to make sense in the moment.  She leaned forward and kissed him.

On Christmas, they made plans to spend New Years together, and on New Years, they made plans for Valentine’s Day.

And on the following Christmas, Killian got down on one knee and asked her to make plans with him for the rest of their lives.

It seemed only fitting that for their wedding several months later, they play Christmas music.  After all, without the sounds of the season, the beautiful, perfect life they’d built for themselves may never have begun.

Killian Jones neatly folded what felt like the one-hundredth sweater today, and stacked it on top of the pile.  He prided himself on running a clean, neat, ship-shape establishment, and he hated when his clothing went askew.

Of course, given the fact that it was twelve days before Christmas, keeping things neat and tidy was a constant battle.

Killian never would have believed he’d find himself here.  He’d had a promising career in front of him.  He’d joined the Navy fresh out of high school, determined to follow in his older brother Liam’s footsteps.  Liam had been his hero, he’d been brother and father and best friend to him after their mother died and their father abandoned them.  

If only he hadn’t had to be a hero to everyone else.  When Killian was seventeen, Liam had perished at sea after a terrible storm.  He’d sacrificed his own life, saving seven of his crewmates before finally succumbing to the ocean’s fury.

After several months of aching grief, Killian had decided to live a life to make his brother proud.  He’d decided to go into the Navy himself.  He’d been a natural, taking to the water like a merman, never more content, never feeling closer to Liam than when he was out on the water.  Things were looking up.

Unfortunately, tragedies rarely come on their own.  When it rains it pours, and all that.  Two years into his naval career, Killian got into a catastrophic automobile accident.  Not only had he lost his love, his Milah, he’d also lost his hand.

And so he’d found himself alone, his promising career down the drain and with no idea what he was to do with his life.

Killian took a deep breath as he picked up yet another sweater to fold.  Such dark thoughts had no place on this beautiful, snowy day, less than a fortnight before Christmas.  Suffice it to say, after spiralling for a time, Killian had picked himself up and started on a new venture:

Revenge

He’d come across the clothing store quite by accident.  He’d been passing through the small, sea-side village of Storybrooke, Maine one day, and just happened to step into the store.  It was intriguing; had something of an edgy, pirate theme to it.  It was run by an eccentric man named Edward Teach, who went by the moniker “Blackbeard”, no doubt due to the bushy mass of facial hair he sported.

Something about the store spoke to him, excited him in a way nothing had in months.  Perhaps he could run an establishment such as this, combine a theme he was passionate about with goods people needed, and voila!  The perfect business venture.

He hadn’t been in the store ten minutes before he’d made a promise to himself: Revenge is going to be mine.

It almost felt like fate the way everything worked out after that.  As it happened, “Blackbeard” was looking to retire.  Within a month, Killian had used the last of his inheritance from Liam to purchase Revenge and make it his own.

Nearly ten years later it was still going strong.  He’d even managed to expand, turn it from something thoroughly niche into something more mainstream--while still maintaining its edge and its roots.

Revenge was Killian’s baby, and he was incredibly proud of it, and never more so than at Christmas.  He prided himself on having everything the discerning Storybrooke customer could want for their holiday clothing needs.

The bell over the door sounded, and Killian looked up to see an angel with soft waves of sun-gold hair, tight jeans and a red leather jacket walking purposely toward him.

More like stomping toward him.  The way her green eyes glittered dangerously as she approached proved that she was quite the angry angel.

She was utterly magnificent.

“Lost a bet,” she said curtly.  “Point me in the direction of your ugliest Christmas sweaters.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma Swan should have known better than to make a bet against Ruby, particularly about something outrageous, and if there was anything Ruby’s clothing choice today was, it was outrageous.

Emma liked Christmas--within reason.  Who didn’t like time off and peace on earth and all the holiday goodies you could eat?

But there was nothing reasonable about the sweater Ruby had chosen to wear for her shift at the diner this morning.

Emma groaned as her roommate sashayed out of her bedroom into the shared living room of their apartment..

“Ruby, it’s too early for this,” she groused.  “You look like Christmas threw up all over you.”

Ruby poured herself a mug of coffee, and then sat opposite Emma on the couch.  “Hey don’t knock it.  Everybody loves a good ugly Christmas sweater.”

“More like loves to hate it,” Emma muttered.

A sudden gleam came into Ruby’s eye.  That really should have been Emma’s first clue to turn and run.  Nothing good ever came of Ruby looking at her like that.

“Wanna make a friendly wager on that?” Ruby asked.

“A wager on how many people will hate your clothing choices?”

Ruby rolled her eyes.  “The opposite.  I bet you I get more compliments today wearing this sweater than I’d get on any other day.”

“How would we even quantify that?” Emma asked.  “You usually keep count of the compliments you get?”

“Fine,” Ruby conceded.  “How about this: Come into Granny’s on your lunch break and sit in my section.  I bet you I get a genuine compliment on my sweater during your meal--totally unprompted too.”

Emma considered it.  “What are the stakes?”

Ruby thought for a minute and then smiled.  It was not a reassuring sight.  “You win, and I clean the apartment for a month.  But if I win….if I win, you have to wear an ‘ugly’ Christmas sweater every day until Christmas.”

Emma didn’t even take a moment to consider it.  Getting out of cleaning for an entire month?  So worth this bet, and it wasn’t like she was going to lose anyway.

“You’re on.”

Later that day when Emma and her partner, Sheriff Graham Humbert, stopped by the diner for lunch, they hadn’t been seated for five minutes before Emma realized she’d made a profound mistake.

“Hey guys!” Ruby smiled at them as she reached their table and pulled out her pencil and pad of paper.  “How’s your day going?  It’s been crazy around here this morning!”

“Pretty quiet at the sheriff’s station,” Graham said, smiling as he looked her over.  “That’s quite a sweater you’re wearing today, Ruby.  Very festive; I like it!”

Emma groaned as Ruby shot her a triumphant look.  Rookie mistake.  She should have known better than to bring Graham with her to lunch.  It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Graham had been more than half in love with Ruby for years.  She should have brought someone like Leroy to lunch.  She doubted that man had ever complimented anyone in his life.

But Emma was a woman of her word.  She’d lost the bet fair and square, and pay up she would.

Which is why she currently found herself talking to the owner and proprietor of Revenge.  

“Lost a bet,” she said curtly.  “Point me in the direction of your ugliest Christmas sweaters.”

The man behind the desk--Killian, his name tag said--grinned at her.  “Love, I’d wager the term ugly could never be applied to you no matter what you wear or don’t wear.”

Emma rolled her eyes.  The guy was hot, she’d give him that--with his artfully messy black hair, piercing blue eyes and reddish scruff.  And all the leather.  It really should be illegal for a man to wear that much leather and to wear it so well.  Still, Emma was in no mood for being hit on--handsome man or no.

“You’re hilarious,” she said dead pan.  “Now about those sweaters…”

He grinned again and then winked.  Actually winked.  “Hilarious?” he asked, stepping around the corner and gesturing for her to follow him.  “I prefer dashing rapscallion, scoundrel.”

Her stomach did not swoop at the way he almost growled that last word.  It didn’t!  

The fact that she was totally lying to herself annoyed her more than every aspect of this ridiculous bet.  “How about you be ‘shop owner who does his job and points the customer in the right direction’?  Think you could manage that?”

The rest of Emma’s shopping experience went without a hitch.  She grabbed the plainest Christmas sweater she could find--a simple powder blue v-neck covered tastefully with snowflakes. 

Maybe Ruby would take pity on her and call her bet paid off if she wore this thing.

Probably not, but one never knew.  It was the season of miracles, after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, Killian opened the store as usual, taking a moment to be sure everything was ship-shape before unlocking the doors and turning the sign in the window to read “open”.  He glanced over at his “ugly Christmas sweater” display and smiled wistfully to himself.

He’d spent a fair amount of the evening thinking about her, Emma Swan, her credit card had proclaimed.  She was beautiful, aye, but there was more to it than that.  Though their interaction had scarcely lasted a quarter of an hour, though their conversation had been relegated to Christmas sweaters and the bet that had forced her to purchase one, he had the strangest sense that they were the same deep down, that they were kindred souls.

He was utterly captivated by her.

Killian sighed as he turned on the cash register and checked his supply of cash in preparation for what would likely be another busy day.    It was the first time he’d had any meaningful glimmer of interest in a woman since Milah’s death, and he was surprised at how nervous it had made him to interact with her.  For probably the thousandth time since yesterday afternoon he mentally kicked himself for not getting her number. 

A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.  Liam had told him that five hundred times if he’d told him once.  

Well, there was no sense dwelling on it now.  Emma Swan had walked out of his life when she walked out of his store, and there was no changing that.

Or so he thought.

Not a quarter of an hour after opening his doors, who should arrive, charging forth in all her wrathful glory than the lovely Miss Swan herself?

Killian grinned at her teasingly.  “Back again, love?  Couldn’t resist my dashing self, is it?”

She rolled her eyes.  “You wish.”

He did.  He really, really did.

“Well, Swan, what can I help you with this lovely morning?” he asked.

She looked surprised.  “You remember my name?”

Killian chuckled and scratched behind his ear.  “I never forget a face, and yours, love, is exceptionally beautiful.”

“Not your love,” she said, but Killian took note of the way her cheeks reddened at the simple endearment.  “Anyway, I’m not here to flirt.  I’m here for another sweater.”

“Another Christmas sweater?”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh.  “Apparently that blue one with the snowflakes I bought yesterday won’t fulfill my bet.  Ruby told me it barely even fit the category.  Got anything uglier for me?”

“You, darling are in luck,” Killian said.  “Revenge just so happens to stock some of the ugliest ugly Christmas sweaters in the state.”

Today, after a fair bit more banter and pleasant small talk, she’d decided on a red, woolen zip-up cardigan.  Featured prominently on the sweater were several applique snowmen playing musical instruments.  It was...it was quite something.

“This is actually kind of perfect,” Emma said, trying it on and looking herself up and down in the floor length mirrored column next to the sweater display.  “Definitely fits the category, plus it’s a cardigan.  I can take it off after I’ve shown Ruby I actually wore it.  I’ll just say I’m too hot or something.”

He grinned teasingly at her and wiggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner.  “You certainly are, love.”

She laughed at that before removing the sweater and setting it on the counter to be rung up.  “Do those exaggerated lines actually work on anyone?”

“You’d be surprised,” he answered.  “At any rate, they seem to have served their purpose today.  You seem to be leaving my establishment in better spirits than you entered it.”

She smiled.  “I guess I am.  Thanks, Killian.”

He inclined his head.  “A lady in distress needs my assistance, and her wish is my command.”

She laughed again.  “Alright, well I have to get to work.”

He rang her up and wished her a good day.  Just before she stepped out the door, he called out to her again.  She turned toward him.

“Any chance I might see you again?” he asked, feeling like a tongue-tied young lad with the lass he fancied.

“With Ruby being the way she is,” Emma said, “probably a really good chance I’ll be back.”

And so she had.  She returned the next day, settling on a sweater bearing the visage of The Grinch, the day after, choosing one that depicted all twelve gifts from the famous song, the one after that in her own, colorful words, looked like Christmas exploded in woolen form.

Each day their conversations lasted longer, and each day he fell a little bit more for the lovely Miss Swan.  He came to look forward to her visits every day with eager anticipation, mentally thanking whatever brilliant soul invented the “ugly  Christmas sweater”.

On the fifth day, Killian managed to unearth a gem of such glittering ugliness and ostentation, he felt the need to pat himself on the back.

“Yep, that’s certainly a disaster,” Emma said grinning at the garment covered in a large Christmas tree, filled with ornaments and a banner along the bottom that read MERRY CHRISTMAS! In huge letters.

“Oh, but love, you haven’t even seen the best part,” Killian announced.  “This particular sweater comes with a battery pack.”

She shot him a disbelieving look.  “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what exactly does the battery pack do?”

Instead of answering, he turned the device on.  LED lights flashed in every tiny ornament on the sweater, and the MERRY CHRISTMAS! nearly had a strobe light effect.

Emma groaned before dissolving into laughter.  “This is it.  This is the ugly Christmas sweater of all ugly Christmas sweaters.  If this doesn’t satisfy Ruby, I admit defeat.”

Killian watched her go that day with more than a little melancholy.  What if that was the sweater that would do the trick?  What if she didn’t return again?

He needn’t have worried.  Emma Swan showed up at his door bright and early the next morning.

His heart leapt at the sight of her.  He’d fallen hard and fast for this woman, and he saw no likelihood that would change any time soon.

“What? Even the monstrosity with the flickering lights didn’t satisfy the demanding Miss Lucas?” Killian asked by way of greeting.

Emma laughed.  “Oh it did,” Emma assured.  “I think I actually managed to render her speechless with that one.  It’s just...well my bet was for a different sweater every day until Christmas, and I’m a woman of my word.”

And for that he was profoundly grateful.

So it continued.  Each day she came in, each day she bought a sweater, and each day he fell a little bit more in love with her.

When Christmas Eve arrived, Killian noticed a change in Emma’s demeanor almost instantly.  She looked...uncomfortable.

“Is something the matter Love?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“No,” she said, drawing out the syllable, “It’s just..well...I’m here to ask you out.”

Killian choked on the sip of coffee he’d just injudiciously taken.  “Pardon?”

“Okay, first I have a little confession to make,” Emma said.  “Remember that ridiculous sweater with the battery pack around day five or six?”

“Aye,” he said carefully.

“Well, after I wore that, Ruby actually released me from my bet,” she said, looking bashful.  “She told me I’d fulfilled the spirit of it or something like that.”

Killian felt the smile creeping over his face.  “And yet you continued coming in and making your purchases every day.  Whatever for, darling?”

She tried to look stern.  “Look, don’t make a bigger deal of it than it is, but, I don’t know.  I kind of enjoyed our daily shopping sessions and conversations and all of that.”

His smile grew.  “You enjoy my company!”

“Don’t let it go to that over-inflated ego of yours.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, making a cross-my-heart motion over his chest.  “And for the record, I have greatly enjoyed our little...retail dalliances...quite a bit as well.  Now what was that about asking me out?”

She suddenly looked bashful again. “So the sheriff’s department is throwing this Christmas bash and ugly sweater contest tonight, and I was hoping maybe you’d...I mean, I know it’s Christmas Eve, and people want to spend it with family, and I totally get it if you’re not interested or it’s not your thing or whatever, and don’t feel obligated, but I just thought--”

Killian leaned across the counter and kissed her.  “Swan, I would like nothing better than to accompany you to your party.  Just tell me when and where.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ruby watched Emma walk into the diner hand in hand with Killian Jones later that evening.  She smiled broadly, reaching over to slap Graham’s arm as he sat beside her.

“Ow!” Graham groused.  “What was that for?”

“Look!” Ruby said.  “It worked!  I told you it would work!”

Graham obediently followed her directions and then grinned.  “I can’t believe you talked me into helping you rig that bet just to play matchmaker!”

“I told you!” she said again.  “Didn’t I tell you?  I knew Killian would be perfect for Emma.  She just needed a little push.”

“That she did,” Graham said with a laugh.  “Remind me to never doubt you again.”

They watched for a moment as Emma looped her arms around Killian’s neck and the two began swaying gently to the music that was playing.

Who would have known that an ugly Christmas sweater would lead to what was sure to become a romance for the ages?

Killian Jones had been in love with Emma Swan since the moment she moved into the apartment across the hall three years ago.  The day she’d moved in would stand out in his memory forever, like a pivotal moment in his life where everything suddenly stood still and came into focus.

It had been a snowy, bitterly cold day in early December.  He’d been enjoying his morning cup of coffee while he read the newspaper when he heard a commotion out in the hallway.  A commotion, and a string of language that would make a sailor blush.

Curious, Killian stepped outside to see a gorgeous blonde woman in a red leather, fleece-lined jacket struggling to drag a sofa down the hallway.

“You look as though you could use a hand, love,” he’d said, quickly moving to the opposite end of the couch and lifting it.

“What I could use,” she said through gritted teeth, “is for the idiot mover I hired to actually do his freaking job and bring my stuff into my apartment instead of dumping it at the building entrance and slinking away.  Serves me right for picking a moving company called ‘Grumpy and Brothers’, I guess.”

Killian laughed as they maneuvered her couch through her doorway and then set it against the far wall under a set of windows.  “Is that the company with the tagline ‘We whistle while we work’?”

Emma groaned, swiping a bead of sweat from her forehead.  “Yep.  That’s them.  Anyway, next time you’re moving, pick a different moving company.  Any different moving company.  I guess I’m lucky I live on the ground floor, right?  Can you imagine what a bitch it would have been dragging that thing up a flight of stairs?”

Killian groaned at the thought.  “Anything else I can help you with?”

“I don’t want to put you out,” she said, hesitating.  “It’s Saturday, after all.  I’m sure you’re busy.”

“Hadn’t a thing in the world to do today, save for finishing the decorating of my Christmas tree,” he assured. “I’d be happy to help my newest neighbor move in.  My name is Killian Jones, by the way.  I live in 109 across the hall.”

Emma shook the hand he extended to her, and just the touch of her hand against his sent a jolt of electricity through his system.  Killian didn’t believe in love at first sight, but this meeting certainly had the feel of destiny.  “Emma Swan,” she answered, “in 108, obviously.”

“Well, Swan,” he’d said, “I’m at your service.”

They’d spent the better part of the day together moving her in to her apartment, and Killian was surprised at how easy it had been to talk to her.  It was as though they’d known each other all their lives.  When the day came to an end, Emma had tried to pay him for his help, but he’d steadfastly refused any remuneration.

“It was my pleasure, love,” he’d insisted, quite sincerely. “I’ve enjoyed the company.”

They’d parted not long after that, and Killian went home buoyed by the hopes and dreams of years to come living less than ten feet from the woman who could very well be the woman of his dreams.

The next morning, Emma had knocked on his door around 10:00 am with a tin of Christmas cookies and the intention to return the favor.

“Since you spent your whole day helping me yesterday,” Emma said, “today I’m here to help you.  It was your tree you were going to decorate yesterday, wasn’t it?”

It had been a pleasant, beautiful day spent decorating, watching Christmas movies and consuming an unconscionable amount of Christmas cookies.

They’d been fast friends ever since, rarely going a day without seeing each other.  They’d been there for the good times…and the bad times.

Killian had known from the moment she introduced him that Neal Cassidy was not nearly good enough for her.  Killian had supported her, trying to feign happiness for her when she told him she and Neal had started dating.  When Neal cheated on her with a woman named Tamara six months later, Killian had been there for Emma, doing all in his power to help her heal her broken heart.

He’d longed to confess his feelings, longed to tell her he’d never treat her so badly, that he’d love and treasure her forever, but she wasn’t ready.  She didn’t need a rebound.  She needed a best friend, and so that’s what he was to her.

Aye, Killian had loved Emma since the day he met her, which was why when she showed up at his door at seven a.m. on the Saturday before Christmas looking agitated and asking for a favor, he’d agreed without hesitation, no questions asked.

“What’s troubling you, love?” He asked.

“I’ve got to make a gingerbread house,” she said. “It’s got to be from scratch, and it’s got to be the best gingerbread house to ever gingerbread.”

“That’s quite the tall order,” he said. “What precisely has brought on this culinary endeavor?”

She’d glanced aside then, and the pain on her face was unmistakable.  Frowning, he turned her to him with a gentle hand to the side of her face.  “Swan, what is it?  You can tell me anything.  You know that right?”

She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked up at him.  “Storybrooke has this gingerbread house competition every year,” she said.

Killian nodded, remembering the day she’d told him about her hometown of Storybrooke and some of its quirkier traditions.  “Aye, I recall you mentioning.  I was under the impression you thought the contest was rather silly.”

“Well, yeah, it is,” she said, beginning to pace, “but…but this year Neal entered.  Neal and his brand new fiancee, Tamara.”

Killian took a deep breath and slowly blew it out, feeling sympathy for her. “And you wish to challenge him.”

“Yeah,” she said in a small voice.  “It’s just…I’ve wasted way too many tears on that son of a bitch.  I just want to show him that I’m not, you know, pining after him or anything.  He did me a favor showing me who he really is before things got too serious.”

“I quite agree,” Killian said with a decisive nod, “although I do wish you’d allowed me to put my fist through that bastard’s face after he cheated on you.”

She’d smiled at that.  “Trust me, I was tempted,” she said, “but if I’d decided to take the high road and not punch him, I certainly wasn’t going to let my best friend risk an assault charge just to, I don’t know, defend my honor.”

“Still,” Killian said, “the offer stands.  Give me the word, and I will gladly beat the fool to a bloody pulp.”

She’d stood on tiptoes then and kissed his cheek.  He’d closed his eyes, savoring the gesture, wishing he could turn his head and turn the friendly gesture into a true kiss.  Instead, he patted her shoulder.  “At any rate, I am at your disposal, love.  How can I help you win this contest.”

“Well, my first problem,” she said dryly, “is that I don’t have the first idea how to make gingerbread.  My second problem is that I don’t have the slightest idea how to construct a house, so obviously I came to the best architect I know.”

Killian grinned.  “I’m fairly certain I’m the only architect you know, love.”

“Still,” she said, “I’m pretty sure you’re the best out there.”

He felt his chest swell with pride at her compliment.  It was always like this with her.  She had always believed in him, and when she gave him her support, it made him feel invincible.  “Swan, I promise you this.  I will help you win this contest or I will perish in the attempt.”

She’d given him a stern look then.  “Oh no you don’t.  You aren’t allowed to ‘perish’, like ever.  I really don’t know what I’d do without you, Killian.”

His smile turned tender, and he’d cupped her face, caressing it with his thumb before he could rethink the gesture.  “You’ll never have need to find out.  Now, I propose we go all out.  Why stop with a gingerbread house when we can build an entire gingerbread castle?”

It had taken them three days, but when Emma put the final gumdrop “rock” on the lowered drawbridge and they surveyed their completed work for the first time, Killian had to admit they’d done a damn good job.  The castle was two feet tall with magnificent crenelated turrets on all four corners of the keep.  It was surrounded by a curtain wall, and contained an inner bailey with two knights practicing their swordsmanship.  (Killian had wanted to rig up a motor of some kind to make the two figures, made out of modelling chocolate, actually move, but Emma had insisted it was overkill).

It was magnificent if he did say so himself.

“Killian,” Emma said, stepping back, “I wanted to thank you for this, all of this.  Not just helping me design and make the castle, but, you know, being there for me through everything.”

The lights of his Christmas tree flickered over her face, as he looked over at her, feeling like his heart would burst.  “Neal Cassidy is a bloody fool, Emma,” he murmured, stepping up to her, and cupping her face in both hands.  “Any man who would fail to see what an extraordinary woman you are doesn’t deserve you.”

She was silent for a long moment, looking intently at him, as though looking for a lie.  After a moment, a single tear fell from her eye and he wiped it away with his thumb.  “I think maybe I was the fool, Killian, to ever fall for him in the first place when…”

“When what?” he prompted.

“When I had the real deal, Mr. Right himself living right across the hall,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Killian felt his heart turn over at her admission.  Was…was it possible that he’d been mistaken?  Was it possible his feelings weren’t unrequited after all?

As though to answer his unasked question, Emma took the final step toward him, brought his head down to hers and kissed him as though her life depended on it.

The kiss went on and on.  One kiss melting into two and three, and then they were engaged in a full blown make-out session on his couch.

“Will you come home with me this year?” she asked in a breathless voice when they finally came up for air.

“Of course,” he said, running a hand through her hair.  “I have to witness our moment of triumph when our gingerbread castle wins the grand prize, after all.”

She grinned up at him.  “That the only reason you said yes?”

He turned serious.  “Swan, you know it’s not.”

“Good,” she said, “because I was kind of hoping I could introduce you to my parents as my boyfriend.”

He leaned over and kissed her again, couldn’t help it.  That first kiss seemed to have opened the floodgates, and he suspected he’d never be able to get enough of this woman.  When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “Nothing in this world would please me more than to go home with you as your boyfriend.”

They did, of course, win the grand prize in the gingerbread house contest.  Killian suspected he would have found great joy in the disappointment and frustration and outright jealousy on Neal Cassidy’s face, but as it happened, he didn’t even see it.

He had eyes only for the woman who he hoped would be his present, his future and his everything.

Perhaps he ought to send Grumpy and Brothers a thank you.  Turns out, their incompetence was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Emma looked around, feeling her frustration rise.  This room was massive, and it was filled floor to ceiling with junk.  Finding one lousy compass was going to take forever.

She didn’t have forever; she needed to get back to Henry.  Now.

She turned to ask Hook where he thought they should start their search, only to find him fingering a gold coin, bringing it to his nose and then turning it over and over in his hand.

“They hoarded all of their greatest stolen treasures in here.  Piles of jewels and every room filled with coins,” he said.

She rolled her eyes.  Great.  She should have known bringing a freaking pirate on a treasure hunt would be a mistake.  It would be like bringing a kid to a candy store and then telling him to focus.

“Let’s get to it, the compass,” she said brusquely.

He shot her a rakish grin, and totally against her will, her stomach swooped.  Bad enough she was stuck on this adventure with a pirate.  Why’d her body have to betray her too?  Of course the real Captain Hook was hot as hell, because of course he was.  That’s just the way her luck ran. 

“What’s your rush?” he asked languidly, continuing to eye the treasure around him.

That snapped her out of whatever hormonal response she was having to him.  She was so not in the mood for his nonsense.

“How long do you think magic knockout powder lasts?”

“I’ve no clue.”

“That’s my rush.”

He smiled at her again, this one looking less flirtatious and more genuine.  Setting the gold piece back on the pile, he strode forward with purpose.  “Too right, lass.  Come; everything we need is right in front of us.”

They hadn’t been searching for ten minutes before Emma’s frustration bubbled up again.  Not only was this stupid giant’s treasure room filled to capacity, it was also a total wreck.  This search was going to last forever.

“They kill all the giant housekeepers too?” she asked. “Where we gonna find a compass in all this mess?”

He winked at her, and her traitor of a  stomach swooped again.

“By looking.  Start searching.” 

For an hour they searched in silence, and Emma had to give it to Hook.  He really was a help in this endeavor.  He was systematic in his search, picking a pile of junk, looking through each item, and then stacking it neatly before moving on to his next pile.

His presence was unsettling, though.  It was…too much.  He made her feel things, and not just the typical “wow, this guy is hot and I’m not gonna lie; I want to do something about it” feelings.  Those she could handle.  What she couldn’t handle was this totally illogical feeling that they understood each other, that in some weird way they were the same.

She’d been burned before when she succumbed to feelings.  She wasn’t doing it again.  Once burned twice shy and all that.

Emma groaned softly under her breath.  She wasn’t doing this–not the feelings, not the thinking, not even the never-to-be-resolved sexual tension.  She was up here for one reason and one reason only: to find the damn compass and get back to her kid.

Probably best if she put some distance between her and Hook.  Moving to the other side of the room, Emma, began sifting through a dusty pile of what appeared to be decorations–candles, brightly colored bows, streamers, and in the back–was that a Christmas tree?

“You guys have Christmas here in the Enchanted Forest?” Emma called over to Hook.

He stopped what he was doing and ambled over in her direction.  “Of course we have Christmas, Swan.” She could hear the smile in his voice. It made him seem younger somehow, more innocent. “Some of my best memories as a lad involve Christmas morning.”

“Yeah well our giant seemed to go all out for it,” Emma said. “Take a look at that tree!  I didn’t even know they grew them that tall.”

He looked in the direction she was pointing, and then his expression changed to one of concern.  “Swan be careful!  Look out for–”

He reached her side, and she suddenly heard a sound like the tinkling of bells.  A fine mist of dust smelling faintly of evergreen settled over both of them.

“–mistletoe,” he finished dryly.

Emma looked up to see that, of course, there was a healthy sprig of the stupid weed directly above her and Hook.  She rolled her eyes, moving to brush past him.

“Well, shall we get this over with then?” he asked. 

She scoffed.  “Nice try Hook, but I didn’t come up here to make out with a hot pirate.”

His grin turned wicked.  “A hot pirate, am I?”

She felt her face flame in spite of herself.  What was it about this man that made her feel like a teenager with a crush?

“You know what you look like,” she said, giving him a wide berth and moving on to the next pile. “I’m not stroking your ego…or any other part of you.”

She expected another round of innuendo, but instead, he stepped in front of her, stopping her searching with a hand to her arm and a concerned look on his face.  “You can’t seriously be thinking of ignoring what just happened.  You know full well that mistletoe can’t be ignored.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, hands going to her hips.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have mistletoe in the Land Without Magic!”

She growled.  “Yeah, obviously we do.  Stupid weed and even stupider tradition.”

“It’s far more than a tradition in this land, Swan,” he said.  “It’s a deadly poison.  The couple who is caught below its tendrils is cursed, the only antidote being a kiss.”

“Seriously?” she asked, feeling her ire growing.  They had a job to do and all he wanted to do was hit on her.  It was getting old.  Really, really old.

“No one born and bred in the Enchanted Forest would joke about mistletoe,” he insisted.  She had to give it to him; she couldn’t detect a single lie in what he was saying.  He really believed this crap.

“Okay, fine, I’ll bite,” she said, “what exactly happens to a couple if they refuse to kiss?”

“They slowly go completely mad,” he said simply.  “Most infirmaries in this land have an entire ward dedicated to mistletoe poisoning.”

Now that he mentioned it….she did have this strange urge to kiss him.  What would it be like?  Would he be a good kisser?  He looked like he’d be a good kisser.  For a moment Emma was tempted to give in, to find out the answer to those questions for herself.

But then reality reasserted itself.  She’d only given them ten hours before Mulan would cut down the beanstalk and strand them up here forever.  Turning away, she began searching again.

“Look, I don’t know if that mistletoe poison story works on other women,” Emma said, “but I’m not falling for it, and I’m not wasting anymore of our time on this stupid conversation.  And if you even think about trying to steal a kiss–”

He stepped in front of her, looking absolutely sincere.  “Swan, I’ve never once forced my attentions upon a woman, and I don’t intend to start now.  I simply warn you that the longer we delay the inevitable, the more uncomfortable we’ll both become.”

“Yeah, well I’ll take my chances.”

Within a quarter of an hour, Emma was starting to rethink her stance.  His story about mistletoe poison was ridiculous, of course it was, but she had to admit–whether it was due to the power of suggestion or something else–her urge to kiss him hadn’t gone away.  

If anything it had grown.

Her heart began pounding, her palms becoming sweaty, her breathing fast and shallow.  More than once she considered just doing it, just getting it out of her system once and for all, but something stopped her.

She knew, could feel it deep within her soul that a kiss with Hook would be no simple matter.  She’d kissed–and done far more with–several hot guys in her life, and it had never been more than a quick scratch of an itch, but she was drawn to Hook, almost as though he were a black hole and she was approaching the event horizon.  A kiss would change everything, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to come back from it.

Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  She would not lose control; she would not give in. Best she focus all her energy on the search.

Of course that would have been a lot easier if Hook wasn’t searching right beside her.

“Did you know that there is one more tradition regarding mistletoe?” Hook asked, his voice tight as though he were gritting his teeth.

“Yeah?  What’s that?” she asked in spite of herself.

“Oftentimes couples seek it out in order to determine if they are soulmates,” he continued.

“Soulmates?  Really?”

“Aye,” he nodded before turning back to his pile of junk. “It’s said that if two people are soulmates, when they kiss under the influence of mistletoe poison they get a glimpse of their future and then promptly forget it–any of it–ever happened.”

“Convenient,” she deadpanned.

He looked as though he wanted to say more but resolutely shut his mouth, and the two of them returned to the task at hand.

After half an hour, the desire to kiss him had gone from uncomfortable to almost painful.  After an hour it was close to unbearable.  After Emma caught herself standing stalk still and imagining a full on makeout session with Hook, she finally gave up. 

She was wasting precious time that they didn’t have.  Maybe he was right after all.  Maybe they needed to just get this stupid kiss out of the way so they could get on with their search.  Hardly believing what she was about to do, she walked purposely toward Hook and tapped him on the shoulder.

When he turned toward her, she stood on tiptoe and kissed the living hell out of him.  It was obvious she’d shocked him by the way he stiffened as her lips made contact.

But he recovered quickly, and soon he was kissing her back just as fervently as she was kissing him.

She’d meant it to be a quick peck, just a way to disperse the “poison”, but once she started kissing him, she couldn’t stop, tugging on his collar, running a hand through his hair, turning her head to deepen the kiss.  When the kiss started to slow, to turn into something soft and gentle and thorough, rather than quick and hot, Emma finally forced herself to pull away.

She looked into his thoroughly gobsmacked eyes, and suddenly her vision blurred.  In her mind’s eye she saw herself.  She was wearing a white dress, her hair in soft waves around her shoulders.  She was in some sort of castle’s great room or something.

It looked like Mary Margaret was about to put a crown on Regina’s head.

What the hell?

Emma looked more closely at the scene, and her heart began to pound.  She wasn’t alone.  She held a baby in her arms and beside her stood Hook.  He had his arm around her, and he peered down at the baby with such love it brought tears to her eyes.

Emma gasped, coming out of the trance or whatever that was to find herself once more looking at Hook in the giant’s treasure room.  Suddenly there was a burst of light, like some sort of rainbow tinted shockwave, and she shook her head as the memories quickly fled.

She shook her head, looking around them.  Had something just happened?

Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath, realizing the almost unbearable urge to kiss Hook had finally gone away.

She scoffed.  Mistletoe poison her ass.  She should have known Hook was just trying to get into her pants.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian watched as Emma went back to searching with renewed vigor, but for a long moment he found himself rooted to the spot.  The fact that he and Emma had been caught under the mistletoe was indisputable and yet his desire to kiss her was no greater than the normal pull of a hot-blooded man to a beautiful woman.

It could mean only one thing.

They’d succumbed to the mistletoe and been proven soulmates.

“Hook get your ass in gear!” she growled at him. “This stupid room isn’t going to search itself!”

Killian shook his head and went back to the task at hand.  This was quite the development.  Maybe–maybe after his revenge was accomplished, there was hope for a life after all.