Captain Swan Secret Santa 2025 Story: "Next Year All Our Troubles Will be Out of Sight"
Hello there @cocohook38 !!! I hope that your Christmas Day has been a wonderful one, and that the rest of this week and holiday season will be full of fun and coziness as well. I apologize that this did not get posted earlier today - my computer and I had some disagreements - but I have really enjoyed getting to talk with you and know you a bit better through being your Santa this year.
I am a bit nervous about this, as it isn't the first story idea I started off with, and it is heavier on the angst than I originally thought it might be in a gift for you. I have (hopefully, I think) gathered that you may be okay with that. If I am wrong, here's hoping you'll forgive me and still like this. It does end well, and it will have more Christmas-y touches as it goes along too, but it does start off more than a bit blue. Also, this prologue is mostly Emma's perspective, but Killian will appear in the next chapter, a full-length one. This is no longer a one shot either, there will probably be between three and five parts, if all goes to plan, hopefully coming to you without much delay in between. My aim is for you to have the next part by Saturday - fingers crossed!
This is a modern AU, no magic fic, and it begins very briefly with a Gremma relationship, but please don't let that put you off. It is a Captain Swan story, with hearty helpings of Captain Cobra and Swan Believer for good measure!
Okay, I'll quit explaining now and give you the prologue! I hope you will enjoy... @cssecretsanta2020
(Fic art to follow soon as well)
"Next Year All Our Troubles Will Be Out of Sight"
by: @snowbellewells
Prologue: I’ll Be Home for Christmas
“No, Graham, it’s you who doesn’t understand!” she spit harshly, her words sharper even than she had intended. “When it’s you, of all people, who should!” The hurt and anger coursing through her at her boyfriend’s proclamation that he wouldn’t be home that evening as planned, that he had taken on another shift at the station despite knowing what the holidays and their special tradition meant to her. She then bit her tongue hard to keep herself from taking the pointed accusation. She was trembling all over from adrenaline and high emotion - nearly enough to make it hard to keep hold of the phone - there was no keeping him from hearing just how upset she was.
The quick intake of breath on the other end of the line let Emma know her words had struck their target. She could hear a sigh escaping Graham’s lips - sad and resigned - but he didn’t fire back. When his low, accented murmur came through the phone to her ears, it sounded defeated and genuinely apologetic. “I know you’re angry, Emma… and that we’ve always had Thanksgiving dinner together. But the overtime was too much to turn down. You know we have to get your car tuned and fitted with snow chains before the cold weather hits. Plus, these few hours alone will be enough to get Henry new gaming system he’s been talking about half the year.”
“Don’t put this on Henry!” she retorted hotly, despite the quiet whispering of her conscience that Graham hadn’t made his decision to hurt her, that he was undoubtedly trying to do what he thought was best. In the nearly three years they had been together, he had never done anything less, and she trusted him. All the same, her emotions were getting the best of her. Both of them had been so alone for so long, scraping and clawing to barely get by in the world, that when they’d found one another, they had sworn to always spend the holidays together, to make those precious days and weeks special… and now he was just going to leave her and Henry to their own devices? “He isn’t the one going back on his promises,” she huffed for good measure. For some reason, she just couldn’t let it go, even as she felt the worst of the fire leaving her fury. When she paused to catch her breath, a little sob - her truest emotion - slipped out.
“Oh Emma, darlin’... don’t cry…” Graham’s husky burr resonated through the phone so clearly she could practically see him shoving a hand through the untidy mass of curly, honey-colored hair he couldn’t ever quite manage to tame. His voice sounded so pained; no lashing back at her or fighting spiteful words with barbs of his own. It simply wasn’t his way.
Biting her lip, Emma nearly took her harsh recriminations back, hating to have put such guilt and hurt in his voice. She had even opened her mouth to do so when she pictured Henry’s disappointed face when Graham wasn’t there to share turkey, stuffing and pie with them. Before Graham had come into their lives, it had been just the two of them, trying to ignore how pitifully small and spare their two-person holidays had been. Images flitted through Emma’s mind that went even further back, to the first holiday she had spent knowing Henry was about to enter her life, just after his father had bolted, when she scrounged just enough spare change to buy a pack of dinner rolls and turkey lunch meat that she had eaten hunched over and shivering in her Volkswagen Beetle, pregnant and all alone again.
Though it might be unfair, those visions solidified her resentment, and the conciliating words she had almost offered were held back. She didn’t want to start that horrible tradition again. They’d promised - one lost soul to another.
“I’m not crying,” she lied obviously, snuffling against the tears that had started and acting as though she were only clearing her throat. “Henry and I will have a great time. We’ll hang the stockings and watch Polar Express, maybe we’ll even go ahead and start looking for a tree.”
She was just congratulating herself on how nonchalant she’d sounded, like they didn’t really need his help, wouldn’t miss him at all, when she heard Graham blow out a long sign before answering, low and reluctant, “Of course…if you’d like, Sweetheart. I wouldn’t want to spoil the evening for either of you.” She could hear the longing in his words, heavy with disappointment of his own. She knew it was his own special tradition with her son, the boy he had gladly accepted as his own, to go out and find their tree - just the two of them - and haul it back together proudly.
‘Good,’ her slighted ego snipped,‘serves him right! He hurt you, didn’t he?’ But she sighed as well, missing him already and the way his calloused fingers sifted through her hair as they sat alone in the darkened living room of their apartment each Thanksgiving night, lit only by the lights strung on the tree when decorating was done and the whole Christmas season was before them. It was hard to stay angry with a man so strong, but gentle too. Who had come along and provided the steady support she and Henry had needed, and filled in all the cracks and holes that had been gaping open in her psyche pretty much all her life. Especially if he wasn’t going to fight back.
Finally, tired of all of it, and especially of being angry with him when deep down she could admit he didn’t deserve it, whether or not she was ready to admit it out loud. Quietly, she said, “I guess we’ll see you when you do get home then,” and prepared to end the call.
“Wait, Emma! I wanted – ” he started.
But she only shook her head and cut him off. “Just finished your shift, okay? You’re there now, and you obviously thought it was important enough to volunteer for, so go ahead. We’ll talk about it later.” She then hit disconnect and the line went dead, even as her shoulders fell thinking about trying to pretend for Henry that all was well and the evening was normal.
She knew Graham must still be hearing the silence on the other end of their call; somehow she didn’t care and felt horrible for that in equal measures. If she had known what the next few hours would hold, known that things would never again be the same, she would have let him finish talking. She would have listened to whatever he’d wanted to say and held onto every word.
---- A very Merry Christmas ---- ------- @anmylica -------
Hope you will enjoy your Captain Swan family present 🎄🎁 ...
And a big thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this event.
Without further ado..
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Alright, my love, here we go,” Killian explains while lifting up his 5-year-old daughter to carry her on his shoulders.
--- Traditions ---
He's making sure she finds a comfortable position before they embark on the journey from the kitchen to the living room area, where the object of their quest is waiting for them. Bare and still a little covered in what's left of the powdered snow that had buried it underneath overnight — several small puddles of meltwater have started to form around it on the wooden floor already, though — it guides them to their destination with its distinctive smell.
His spirits are high; he's been looking forward to this particular tradition ever since he got introduced to it. So when he finally starts to move, he can't resist initiating a little playful scenario…
“You're swaying like the Roger,” Hope says, giggling loudly when her father is dramatically imitating a ship's movement, leaning his body from one side to the other with every step he takes, making an extra round or two around the kitchen table before he changes his course.
“Apologies, but there's bumpy waters ahead, my little first mate,” he calls out to her before he stops next to the stairs that lead to the second floor of their house. “Now, should we head “port” or “starboard” to reach our destination?”
“Starboard!!! Starboard!!”
“Aye aye!” He exclaims, turns to the right, and heads for the bay-window corner where his enchanted telescope is usually located at…
And there it finally was in all its glory — the Christmas tree Hope had been holding a topper for in one of her small hands the entire time.
After they reach the bottom branches, Killian tightens his grip around her legs and leans forward to give his daughter better access to reach the top to add the star-shaped ornament to the tree.
“Steady… steady now.” He advises, watching her fumbling to complete her task, some of the needles lightly piercing the skin of his hands, neck and face, a small twig of the fir nearly snapping into his right eye when he adjusts his position a little.
“Done, Papa,” she proudly states, and they're finally able to retreat a little from the needle-leaved plant to check the position of the tree topper.
“Perfectly even, well done.” Her father praises, secretly happy that he doesn't need to get too close to it again and risk any more irritations to his skin, let alone losing an eye.
“After all these years of experience in decorating the tree, you're still starting with the finishing touch?” Emma suddenly quips from behind with a smug grin on her face.
She had been busy searching for the rest of the decorations in the basement but was drawn to the scene by the laughter filling their house. So she snuck back up and watched them quietly, leaning at the wall next to the stairs, arms crossed with a smile on her lips.
“So you'd rather want to see us keel over into that thing after all the decorations are done?” Her husband responds jokingly with a raised brow.
“I'd rather have you not crash into it at all…but you have a point there.”
Killian sets Hope down, and she runs off to rummage through the few boxes her mother had already brought upstairs, looking for her favorite decorations.
“What brought you here, love?” He asks in a genuine tone, wondering if she needs help with the boxes.
“Oh, you know, just that “second star to the right” thing,” she explains, pointing at the top of the fir where the star-shaped ornament is glistening in the reflection of the light shining through the windows.
The way she said this wasn't casual; it definitely carried a tint of a flirty undertone — at least to him. For all the ones he never understands, he at least gets this reference. Neverland. The place he truly fell in love with her. He had never thought there'd be a single chance that he'd one day possess a good memory of that cursed island, but here he is now, looking at his wife in front of him, remembering their shared moments and first instance of real intimacy.
So he tilts his head a little, a small cocky smile appearing on his lips, and convicts suspiciously, “Of course.”
A small laugh escapes her at his reaction, knowing that he understood. Then she pushes herself off the wall and ventures to the kitchen, leaving him wondering what she's up to.
Killian’s gaze briefly wanders to where Hope had been checking the content of the boxes, realizing that she's not there anymore. She must have gone searching for her favorite ornaments because they haven't yet been included in the boxes Emma had brought.
It's the same every single year — the order in which the tree needs to be decorated is extremely important to their daughter, and he won't bloody mess with that by continuing the task alone. Not that he would want to without her present anyway…
“You know,” he calls out to his wife while cleaning up the puddles underneath the tree before they ruin the floor, breathing in the aroma of the freshly cut fir. ”As much as I didn't know anything about this,” he gets up, straightens his clothes, and gestures at it with his hand, “prickly tree tradition, I must admit it is my favorite now.”
“You mean after the one that allows you to drink as much as you like once a year?” She cheekily inquires while presenting an eggnog to him.
He briefly looks at the creamy, yellowish beverage before his face falls and he retorts with a raised brow, "Joke’s on you, Swan. You know I wouldn't touch that thing made of raw eggs ever again…”
Whatever went down the first year he tried it, they swore to never talk about it again. Yet, it became somewhat of an insider joke, and she wouldn't miss a single year to make it…
“Just a bit of a reminder.” Her eyes smile in a challenging fashion when she says this over the rim of her glass, taking a sip.
She wants flirty banter? He had mastered this particular skill centuries before she was even born…
“More like teasing, I'd say…” He steps closer, his face coming to a halt next to the left side of her face, breathing a whispered, “There are certain places I'd rather want you to, though,” in her ear, which sends a pleasant shiver down her spine.
“Can we put these on first?” The married couple gets suddenly interrupted by their daughter, who presents a small box of assorted ornaments to them both.
Emma is caught a little off guard at the sight, a tint of disappointment present in her voice, “Oh, sweetie, I thought those were supposed to be much more of a surprise?”
Her husband, on the other hand, gasps when the choice of said ornaments dawns on him…
“You didn't,” he whispers, stunned.
“What? Did you expect us to bury this like treasure first?” His wife retorts a little cheekily after having taken his hand in hers.
But she'd already seen it; already acknowledged that for once he's at a loss for most of his words, eyes glassy from being moved to the brink of tears.
Killian feels their love and appreciation for him every day, but this early present now is somewhat of an added physical proof of it. He carefully takes out one ornament after the other and aligns them on his hook, analyzing all details of the four small objects dangling slightly in front of his face.
The tiny steering wheel, ship and compass are made of wood and beautifully painted to resemble the Jolly Roger and the compass Emma and he went to get during their first shared adventure. A literal compass led him to his true love? Kind of poetic, he briefly thinks, remembering their quest.
The fourth item is a small replica of his hook and — like its bigger counterpart — made of metal, reflecting his face on its polished surface.
“We thought it's about time you get your own set, too.” Emma explains in a soft voice, her head resting on his right shoulder, and left arm slung around his waist.
His own set. Four ornaments to represent him. Four items to join the ones that they'd been using for years… There are the glass unicorns of Emma's crib’s mobile Snow was always wary about ever since that ghastly premonition she received all those years ago. Her daughter, though, wanted them for Hope's nursery, refusing to let the past dictate their current lives and wanting to break the curse of generational trauma. And when Hope outgrew her crib, they ended up as decorations for their trees and were joined by a bunch of red, glass, swan-shaped ones two years ago, when Emma received them as a present from her mother. One set of decorations for Hope and one for Emma. And now one for him, too.
“Merry Christmas.” She says while planting a kiss on his cheek.
“Merry Christmas!” Their daughter chimes in happily. “Can I hang them on the tree, Papa?” She asks, pulling lightly at the cuff of his hooked-arms dress shirt.
“Of course, my love.” He beams at her joyfully, lowering his arm to give her access to his hook. "You pick the spots and tell me if I need to lift you up again.” He adds while she slides the first ornament from the bent metal substitute for her father's missing hand.
“Okay, you two get to this,” Emma states, adding in a whisper to his ear with a wink, “And I go get you a glass of spiced grog to atone for earlier.”
“Mmmhhh, this will truly forever remain my favorite tradition.” He remarks contentedly before she makes her way to the kitchen, and Hope is about to get the next item from his hook to add to the fir.
And who knows, maybe they'll get ornaments representing the rest of their family members and add them to the trees in the future, too? Because for them a Christmas tree isn't just that; it’s a family tree — literally.
________
Since I asked if you'd rather wanted anything written or drawn and you left it up to me, I just decided for ....both! 😅 (Sadly my time wasn't sufficient enough to color the illustrations...)
This event welcomes all santas! Old, new, santas that haven't made anything in a while, santas that have never made anything.
The gifts don't have to be fanfic or art. It can be anything from icons, gifs, playlist, fic recomendations, poem, anything! As long as its Captain Swan related/inspired and based off what your giftee likes!
You can sign up HERE.
Is this your first time? You can learn a bit about this event HERE. Gives a general summary, rules, gift ideas, and a rough schedule.
Not up for being a Santa, read up on being a Santa's Helper HERE.
(i needed a way to make the sign up's posts more fun, plus there might be a liiiittle something from me to all of you based on the choices! if there is something i forgot, you can write it below!)
You can sign up HERE.
Is this your first time? You can learn a bit about this event HERE. Gives a general summary, rules, gift ideas, and a rough schedule.
Not up for being a Santa, read up on being a Santa's Helper HERE.
This event welcomes all santas! Old, new, santas that haven't made anything in a while, santas that have never made anything.
The gifts don't have to be fanfic or art. It can be anything from icons, gifs, playlist, fic recomendations, poem, anything! As long as its Captain Swan related/inspired and based off what your giftee likes!
You can sign up HERE.
Is this your first time? You can learn a bit about this event HERE. Gives a general summary, rules, gift ideas, and a rough schedule.
Not up for being a Santa, read up on being a Santa's Helper HERE.
