It’s the Thought That Counts (3/3)
It was, in theory, a good idea. It was, in theory, an absolutely fantastic idea. Because there was still, sometimes, a crisis or two in Storybrooke and nothing would be more chaotic than trying to find a Christmas present on Main Street, while also trying to keep said Christmas present a secret. Ordering gifts on the internet makes sense. It’s just a few clicks and online sales and the presents will be there in plenty of time for Christmas to be perfect.
Emma and Killian are positive.
Except then the presents don’t show up and it’s Christmas Eve and plan B isn’t so much a plan as it is just a bit of pre-holiday desperation and the entire town knows what they’re up to.
Rating: Mature’ish. There’s kissing. CHRISTMAS KISSING. Word Count: 11K’ish. And two POV. And fluff. So. Much. Fluff. AN: Merry Christmas everyone!! I hope everyone got what they wanted and then a few things they didn’t know they wanted and gets to eat all the candy canes all day. This story was so much fun to write and @theonceoverthinker deserves all the words and emotional payoff and fic makeouts. Here are some fic makeouts. A particular shoutot to @distant-rose for sharing the same brain as me and suggesting Killian’s present for Emma after I already wrote myself into that scenario. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.
Marco is not, in fact, asleep by the time Killian raps on his door – but it’s close.
It’s late and cold and the old man’s eyes get wide when he realizes what exactly it is Killian is asking of him, but Henry is already adding to the request and discussing design options and how long everything will take and my mom will probably be able to help…you know with magic or finding you magic...wood or something.
Killian chuckles under his breath, but he hasn’t really been able to catch his breath yet because he and Henry absolutely sprinted the last few hundred yards down the street and it’s after dark and, even with the detour for onion rings and grilled cheese at Granny’s, Emma’s going to be home soon and there is a Christmas Eve plan.
There are movies to watch and some popcorn monstrosity to eat and he can’t wait.
“Killian will totally pay you,” Henry promises and Marco’s eyes get even wider as if he’s personally offended by the idea. “I mean he was willing to bribe everyone into silence so…” “We agreed to stop calling it bribes,” Killian mutters, but it doesn’t do him any good and Marco’s already drawing sketches and mumbling under his breath about working through the night. “And you don’t actually have to spend all night working. This is…” Marco gapes at him as if he’s just suggested he start working in steel instead of wood and Killian bites his tongue. Henry laughs. He’s going to do damage to his throat. “We’re working under a deadline, Captain,” Marco says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world and he wasn’t half a step away from his bed a few moments before. “And if her majesty would be so kind as to help locate some wood, I’m sure my boy would be happy to get it for me. After that, it’s more muscle memory than anything else. I’ve made plenty of these in the past.” He nods back towards the sketches he’s already finished and Killian’s not even surprised to see several different ideas already and maybe everyone in this blasted town has some hint of magic. Or maybe they all simply want Emma to get a present.
It’s probably the latter.
Killian nods, finger tracing over the graphite sketch and Marco tilts his head as if he’s being inspected. “You really can get this done by the morning?” he asks, nerves clawing at the back of his brain still and he’s already watched enough of those films to know that there is something particularly impressive about Christmas morning.
“Of course,” Marco nods. “As I said, the design is the tricky part. But if Henry might be so kind as to bring the old piece here, I could even use some of the cushioning from that to help construct this. Might cut down on time.” Henry twists his mouth when Killian glances speculatively at him. “I mean... I guess?” he shrugs and it’s not the certainty Killian was hoping for. Although, he supposes, neither one of them began this day believing one of them would be asked to push Emma’s office chair down Main Street. “It seems like it’d be kind of obvious. You’re probably going to have to give everyone like two-hundred doubloons or something to shut ‘em all up if they see.”
“You’re just picking out numbers now aren’t you?” “I have no idea what the conversion rate of doubloons to normal money is.” “Far higher than whatever mathematics you’re doing.”
Henry scowls, but he’s already got his phone out of his back pocket and pressed against his ear, mumbling words under his breath when, presumably, Regina answers. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says. “I don’t know...I’m not the one making the chair.” He shifts his shoulder, holding the phone with it and glancing in Marco’s direction. “Mom wants to know what kind of wood she’s supposed to be looking for and…” He turns towards Killian, smile tugging on his lips. “Wanted to point out that Mom and Grandma were just seen leaving the library and very much on their way home.”
Killian’s whole body droops with the force of his sigh and even Marco laughs lightly at the dramatics of it all, but he’s not sure how quickly he can run and they were supposed to be home two hours ago.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbles, tugging on his hair. “Alright, are we…” Marco grins, grabbing a set of tools and nodding in response to a question Killian hasn’t actually finished. “What do you say to ten o’clock on Christmas morning, Captain?” “You can do this that quickly?” Henry asks before Killian can even begin to think about nodding. Marco shrugs. “It’s a rather easy design. And I’m not chopping the wood. Ten o’clock seems more than manageable.” Killian blinks, compliments and thanks sitting on the tip of his tongue, but there’s a flash of smoke in the workplace and Regina appears in front of them, August in tow and there’s suddenly a distinct lack of space in the room.
And what appears to be several stacks of wood.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” Regina gapes at Killian, waving both hands through the air and August grunts when she nearly elbows him in the side. “Emma was turning down your street five minutes ago. You’re supposed to be home.” “Where are you getting this information from?” Killian asks. Regina shrugs. August tries to shift his weight so he doesn’t damage his back while keeping a hold on the ridiculous amount of, what might actually be, birch tree in his hands.
“Snow has been texting me updates because everyone knows both you and Emma have spent all of Christmas Eve lying to each other.”
“This is not a lie.” “It’s a calculated move against Christmas,” Henry mutters and Regina quirks an eyebrow.
“That almost sounded rehearsed,” Regina says. The entire room jumps when August dumps the wood on a nearby table and he mumbles a quiet apology while Killian wonders if he can just will himself into his own living room. “And,” she adds, nodding pointedly in Killian’s direction. “You really need to get home. Because you’re not the only one with issues. So go play distraction.” Killian narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“Oh my God,” Regina groans. “You are here. Emma was, clearly, not at work all day and spotted by no less than five dwarves, one former cricket and her father is sitting in the station pretending like he’s ready to exercise some authority sooner rather than later. It’s obvious what’s going on isn’t it?” He shakes his head slowly, but it only takes half a moment to realize and Henry’s words seem to ring his head – you weren’t the only one who ordered things online.
Goddamn internet.
He curses several sea monsters again.
Henry laughs.
Marco hammers something.
Regina makes a noise that almost resembles a growl in the back of her throat, kicking at his ankles, when Killian doesn’t automatically move, but it’s all starting to make sense and he runs a hand over his face when his mind can’t seem to settle on a particular point.
“Marco,” he says suddenly and the man’s eyes snap up towards him. Regina practically hisses. “We just need to add one more thing to this design.” It takes a few more seconds and Regina is seething by the time Killian closes his mouth, but it’s important and this is important and Emma’s, apparently, spent the better part of her day running around Storybrooke as well.
He realizes somewhere around the halfway point of his near-sprint home that he probably could have asked Regina to just magic him there, but that absolutely feels like cheating and just arriving in the middle of the house would probably terrify Emma.
The front door is already unlocked when he twists the handle and Killian squeezes his eyes closed when he realizes he didn’t make it back on time.
There's humming coming from the kitchen when he toes out of his boots and his keys make a quiet noise when he dumps them on the tiny plate he still can’t quite believe actually exists for such a thing in this realm.
She’s standing in front of the sink, rocking back and forth and there’s music coming out of one of the speakers. It’s one of those carols she’s been singing under her breath for weeks – even if she won’t admit to it.
She’s clearly been home for quite some time already – hair pulled up and standing in her socks with a spoon in one hand and a bowl resting on her forearm.
“And here I thought we’d be dining on popcorn and malt balls,” Killian mutters, stepping into her space until his chest is half an inch away from her back and Emma doesn’t flinch. She probably smiles. He assumes she smiles
He absolutely knows she smiles when she leans back, resting her head on his shoulder and her hair threatens to find its way into his mouth.
“You’re late,” she mumbles, eyes twisting up to try and stare accusingly at him. She only manages to cross them and he’s laughing before he can stop himself, an arm wrapped around her middle to try and pull her even closer. “And a great, big, giant liar.” “I resent the implication, love. You were supposed to be at work, filing non-existent paperwork.” “Yeah, well, if you weren’t so weirdly efficient that would have been a plausible excuse.” “Once again, these insults seem to sound like compliments, Swan. What are you making?” “Baking,” she corrects, swiping her finger through the mixture and it’s equal parts endearing and distracting. “Or, well...eventually when the oven heats up.” Killian hums, but he’s suddenly far more interested in that small bit of Emma’s jaw and the way her breath hitches slightly when his lips land on it and they’re alone in that very large house with an oven that isn’t quite prepared to bake whatever’s in that bowl.
“You need to put the bowl down, love,” Killian says, fingers tracing over the curve of her hip and just underneath the hem of a shirt that is, at least, two sizes two large. It might actually be his.
She laughs, turning slightly and trying to drop the bowl on the counter without dumping batter all over the floor or, he’s quick to realize, move too far away from him. It does something absurd to his ability to take a deep breath and his lungs still aren't entirely recovered from his sprint across Storybrooke.
Emma presses up on her toes, slinging one arm over his shoulder and letting her fingers drag across the back of his neck and he can just barely make out her slightly smug smile before his eyes flutter shut. “You going to tell me the truth now?” she asks, voice low in his ear, but he’s far too busy kissing the side of her neck to be worried about consider the words.
And the words get a little strangled when he nips at skin.
Killian grins.
“God, you’re the worst,” Emma sighs and there’s a distinct lack of frustration in that insult. She tugs lightly on the charms around his neck and he’s already done enough damage to his lungs, he’s not sure any of his other internal organs can hold up to a slightly different fight. “C’mon, I’m serious. Did you talk to Regina too?” He pulls back slightly, narrowing his eyes and Emma’s expression is cautious at best, like she’s worried she’s giving up a particularly damning secret. “Yes,” Killian says slowly, not sure if he’s answering the right question. “But I’m fairly certain we’re talking about two different things.” “How is that even possible?” “At this point I really have no idea.”
Emma lets out a slightly shaky laugh, smile more tremulous than it should be when they were just a few moments removed from kissing in their kitchen. The oven timer dings. “Were you also thinking about bribing the citizens of Storybrooke into silence today? Because I feel like that kind of goes against whatever sheriff duties we have or whatever.” “Why were you considering bribes, Swan?”
“You’re answering questions with more questions. That’s against the rules.” Killian grins, eyebrows lifted and his fingers tighten around her waist when he pushes his hand completely under her shirt. Emma bites her lower lip. “I wasn’t aware of the rules, love, just the general idea of Christmas,” he says.
“And Solstice?”
It is, easily, the last thing he expects to hear. He blinks, at least, several hundred times and Emma’s smile returns to that realm of cautiously optimistic, like she’s certain she’s said too much or too little and she yelps when he tugs her back up towards him, lips slanting over hers and this entire holiday has been nothing short of infuriating and exhausting and an incredibly blatant reminder of how much he absolutely loves the woman in front of him.
She gives as good as she gets, fingers in his hair and hand flat on his back and her hips cant up when they actually run into the counter, laughing against his mouth as he makes some kind of strangled sound.
“How did you know about that?” Killian asks in between kisses and sounds and it takes several years for their oven to reach actual cooking temperature, but it’s become some sort of heat source in the corner of the kitchen and the room has reached almost tropical levels.
Emma shrugs, tugging her lips back behind her teeth and half her hair has fallen out of the tie it was in. “Mom,” she answers. “We were...well the internet is the worst and a bigger liar than you and I was complaining all day and talking about Santa Claus and Mom is, like, weirdly really ani-Santa which seems almost out of character, but....” She shakes her head when she starts to trail off and Killian’s smile gets wider and Henry’s going to be home any minute. “So she told me that Christmas here isn’t even remotely like Solstice and there are little presents and that sounds really nice and way less stressful and…” “The internet is the worst?” Killian finishes and Emma shrugs slightly, letting her head fall against his chest. He kisses the top of her hair.
“You really didn’t talk to Regina about it?” “Did you?”
She nods, twisting the fabric of his shirt slightly with the crown of her head. “Yeah, a couple weeks ago when I realized the offerings on Main Street were anchors for tourists that my mom thought we should put in our bathroom.” “You’ve lost me, Swan.”
“I asked Regina about ruining someone’s memories if they delivered presents across the town line, was met with several sarcastic responses, got an e-mail this morning that none of my presents were coming and then spent the last few hours contending with dwarves, my mother’s eternal optimism and wooden anchors that tourists can get personalized in that one knick-knack shop and...trying to avoid you. All day.
And the lying thing, which just seemed wrong on Christmas or Solstice or whatever. But then you were also lying and not doing it very well and I’m still kind of confused about who told you to buy presents on the internet.” Emma huffed when she finished talking, eyes wide with something that felt a bit like holiday-based defiance and it looked entirely like Henry and discussions regarding curfew.
Killian smiled, bumping his nose against her cheek and she hadn’t actually moved her fingers away from his neck, scratching lightly when he didn’t respond immediately. “Henry,” he says, mostly into her hair and she does flinch at that, surprise coloring the movement. “Who felt very guilty about the woeful incompetence of your mailing services. Although he seemed rather concerned about whatever points I was going to lose if I did not provide a present on Christmas morning. And what he was going to do.” “I don’t need a present from Henry. Or you, if we’re being technical.” “We’ve covered this already, Swan. It’s not about needing it. It’s about wanting it and doing this...well, it’s about time we were able to actually celebrate something, don’t you think?” She nods slowly and he can feel her lips tick up when the thought seems to almost audibly hit her. “And he was totally worried about not having a gift for Violet, wasn’t he?” “I believe that was part of the concern as well, yes.”
“God, shouldn’t she have cooties or something? When we did we move into the buying our girlfriend’s gifts at Christmas territory?” “Would it be better if it were Solstice?” Killian asks, wincing dramatically when Emma’s swats at his arm and they’re both going to sweat to death in the middle of their kitchen because their oven doesn’t make any sense at all.
“You’re being difficult on purpose.”
Killian shakes his head, grabbing her hand and kissing across her knuckles, just above her rings. “Charming, love,” he counters. “There’s absolutely a difference. And, if we’re still on that particular train of thought regarding presents, you didn’t have to buy me anything either. I’m more than happy with a few uninterrupted hours with you.” “Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen on Christmas,” Emma grumbles, twisting slightly until she’s more comfortably tucked against him and the counter isn’t pushed into her back. “And I wanted to. I thought we’d decided on that.” It’s like the words sink into him and the heat in the kitchen isn’t quite as stifling, just like some kind of ember sitting in the pit of his stomach that seems stretch through his limbs and into his muscles and Emma smiles at him when he meets her gaze.
“See,” Killian mutters, ducking his head and he can still feel the turn of her lips when he kisses her. “Charming. I’m absolutely charmed, Swan.”
Emma rolls her eyes and groans, but her fingers find the front of his shirt and she tugs him back towards her without much ceremony, the sound of laughter lingering in the air even when he’s a bit more focused on whatever noise she makes when his tongue traces over her lower lip.
And, after everything else that’s happened that day, it shouldn’t really surprise Killian that Henry finds them in the middle of the kitchen.
“Jeez,” he groans, crossing his arms and rocking back on his heels and neither one of them heard the front door open. “You know you guys do have a room. And a door to that room.”
Emma makes another noise, somewhere between frustrated and not even remotely embarrassed and the only movement she makes to pull away from Killian is to drop back on her heels and twist around his side to stare appraisingly at her son.
“What’d you get your girlfriend for Christmas, kid?” she asks. Killian nearly chokes. Henry looks as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to run out of the kitchen or just drop onto the floor. Emma lifts her eyebrows – waiting and smiling and she’s won whatever competition none of them realized they were staging.
Henry mumbles out a string of words that are, perhaps, meant to be English, but just sound a bit like bracelet and shiny and dessert.
“Did you say dessert?” Emma asks, voice catching slightly and Killian’s lungs are never going to work correctly again. He keeps trying to swallow his laughter, but that serves to make it even more obvious and every one of his muscles is protesting at how tightly he’s holding himself up.
Henry’s face is as red as the lights they hung on the house weeks ago. There’s snow in his hair. Of course it’s started to snow.
Emma gapes at Killian. “Did he say dessert?” “I think he means the lass will be joining us at your parents’ house for some form of after-dinner dessert,” Killian says. Henry lets out a breath of air he was absolutely holding and Emma’s shoulders sag slightly when she realizes she’s jumped to several absolutely incorrect conclusions.
“That’s not what I meant at all,” Henry grumbles, stuffing his hands in his pockets and the snow in his hair is starting to melt. “Why is it so hot in here?”
Emma nods towards the forgotten bowl still sitting on the counter. “We were making cookies. For tomorrow night. Dessert.” “Right, right, dessert.” “Exactly.” Killian’s well aware he’s missing something, some idiom he hasn’t quite gotten a grasp on yet, but from everyone’s tone and matching blush, he assumes it’s something less-than-festive. “It’s a perfectly good present, Swan,” he says and his attempts at regaining control of the conversation miss their mark when Emma’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead.
“You helped him pick it out?”
He shrugs and Henry makes some kind of warning noise, but that only draws attention to him when he tries to grab a spoonful of cookie batter out of the bowl. It clatters back against the side when he drops it, looking almost scandalized when both Killian and Emma shout hey at him.
“God,” Henry laughs, shoulders shaking as he tries to catch his breath and jump onto the edge of the counter in the same moment. “That was almost crazy impressive. And the only reason we were in the store was because Killian was trying to steal treasure or something.”
Emma turns to look at him, something that feels a bit like amusement flashing across her face. “I haven’t stolen any treasure in quite some time, love,” Killian says. “We left a note.” “Wait, wait, wait,” Emma stammers. “You went into a store for…treasure?” “Jewelry,” Henry corrects softly and Killian’s still not sure he understands why they call it grounding, but he’s already considering several days in the brig and a distinct lack of Violet and the couch.
Emma tilts her head. “Jewelry.” “This is not going where you think it is, Swan,” Killian promises.
“And where do I think it’s going?” The kitchen is silent for a few moments, save whatever it is their oven is doing and whatever it is Henry is doing, sounding as if he’s trying to scrape batter off every inch of that bowl. And he’s half a mind to just tell Emma what the present is, even when it’s not ten o’clock the next morning, but she’s already smiling softly at him and she’s very good at reading him.
And telling when he’s lying.
Or not.
“Is it snowing outside, kid?” Emma asks, glancing up at Henry’s slightly damp hair. He shrugs. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Alright, well, let’s go.” “What?” Henry balks. The spoon is halfway to his mouth.
“Stop eating all the cookie batter. You think I can make snowballs fly with my magic?” Henry nearly falls off the counter, spoon falling onto the surface and the batter seems to fly everywhere, landing on the floor and the door to the cabinet by his head and Emma shakes her head in disbelief. She flicks her wrist and the mess is gone as soon as it’s arrived and Henry’s already sprinting back towards the front door, shouting about rules and points for hits and it already sounds far more complex than any of the plans they’ve attempted that day.
“What do you say, Captain,” Emma says, turning back towards him and letting her hands trail over his shoulders. “I can’t imagine you’ve been in many snowball fights. I feel like I’ve already won.” Killian quirks an eyebrow, one side of his mouth tugging up and they still haven’t actually moved out of the kitchen. “I think you’re suggesting I’m not capable of holding my own in a fight, love,” he mutters, lips ghosting over hers. “I’ve spent all day contending with a holiday I only slightly understand and learning about some strange elf man who breaks into houses. I think I can deal with the weather.”
The smile on her face seems to light up the entire house – and there are already more lights on the house than usual.
Emma beams, eyes bright and smile easy he’d fight several different holidays and, at least, half a dozen different forms of weather if he got to see that every day for the rest of his life.
“Did you really get a present?” Emma asks softly and Killian nods before she’s even finished the question. “And wrapping paper?” “We didn’t actually get to the wrapping paper portion of the day, but I’m fairly certain this would have required quite a lot.”
He’d done it mostly for the reaction and he’s happy to see the way she stutters slightly when the words make sense. And then she smacks at his shoulder again. “Are you serious?” Emma shouts and that was not the reaction he was expecting. “Seriously, what the hell? God, why didn’t we talk about this! This is a normal thing, normal couples talk about. They set gift-giving budgets and they stick to them!”
“I didn’t pay anything for it,” Killian says immediately, rushing over the words because Henry’s already calling for them and he really is curious to see if Emma can enchant snow.
“But you said…” “That your thoughts were going in a direction that was not quite correct.” “So what was the note for?” “The jewelry.” “And you didn’t buy a ridiculous amount of jewelry?” Killian shakes his head, pressing a kiss to Emma’s cheek and she doesn’t blink when she stares at him. “No, Swan,” he says. “It doesn’t seem quite...you, does it?”
Emma licks her lips, eyes darting around the kitchen like she’s looking for certain the present, with or without whatever wrapping paper actually is, will appear in front of her. “Wait,” she says suddenly and Henry’s walking back into the kitchen because you guys are taking forever, jeez. “Did Henry buy his girlfriend jewelry? Is that what’s going on?” Henry freezes, eyes wide and mouth agape and Killian tries to remember all the reasons this seemed like a good idea a few hours before. “A bauble, Swan,” he reasons. “For her wrist. There weren’t even any gems in them.” “Tennis bracelet,” Henry corrects quietly, hands stuffed back in his pockets. “It was...it’s nice. I think she’ll like it.” Emma nods slowly, head snapping back and forth between her son and Killian and he’s fairly certain they’re both holding his breath. “You took Henry Christmas shopping?” she asks softly, a note in her voice he wasn’t entirely expecting, but isn’t opposed to either.
And that time, he licks his lips.
Henry groans.
“Aye,” Killian says and Emma seems to sag against him, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Her hair is in his face again. He doesn’t say anything.
He smiles.
“Can we go throw snow at each other now?” Henry asks impatiently and Emma laughs into Killian’s shirt.
“I mean I’m totally going to throw them at both of you with magic, but, yeah, we can do that.”
It takes her a few moments to get the hang of it – something about the shape of the snowball not holding up to the magic when she tries to move it and her first few attempts end with snow landing on her head, somehow, but Emma is nothing if not determined and by the time she figures it out both Killian and Henry are running back towards the side of the house, searching for shelter from a barrage of enchanted snow.
They settle into some kind of team and it’s a battle as intense as any he’s ever been a part of, snow and laughter flying through the air in equal measure as Henry provides ammunition for Killian and they both try and duck behind trees to avoid Emma’s attack.
And at some point, Henry decides the best plan of attack is to, well, attack, but there’s a slope on the side of the house and Emma has the higher ground and Killian dimly remembers both of them quoting something with those string of words. He barely gets his warning out before Henry is dashing up the ground, a small arsenal balanced in the curve of his elbow and it takes, exactly, four seconds for the first snowball to hit him squarely in the chest.
He falls to his knees when three more arrive, toppling back down the hill towards Killian’s feet.
He’s still smiling.
Even when Killian starts throwing the snowballs he made at him.
“That is cheating,” Henry shouts as soon as Emma comes around the corner, flakes in her hair and a blush in her cheeks and they’ll probably all have frostbite by the time this is over. “We were supposed to be allies!” “Pirate,” Killian says, throwing another snowball. It misses when Henry twists away, grabbing a fistfull of snow and tossing it at Killian’s knees.
They stay outside until they’re shivering and in desperate need of hot chocolate and food and they’ll have to make more cookies to bring to David and Snow’s because they eat most of the batter while waiting for the oven to reheat again.
Henry falls asleep on the couch, head propped up awkwardly on the arm with his legs stretched out over both Emma and Killian. They fall asleep too.
And none of them should be very comfortable, but all of them are incredibly comfortable wrapped up in blankets and each other and the warmth that seems to permeate every single inch of that house and by the time Killian blinks awake to find that it’s nearly four in the morning, he half considers staying there.
“What time is it?” Emma mumbles, from where she’s laying with her head on his thigh and the words land mostly in his stomach.
He brushes his fingers over the back of her neck. “Early. Or late rather. You want to move, love? We should probably get the lad into bed or he’s going to dislocate something.” “Or kick me in the head,” Emma adds, pushing up off him in just enough time to avoid a particularly well-placed foot. She tugs on the bottom of Henry’s shirt. “C’mon, kid, you’ve got to go upstairs. If you don’t brush your teeth at some point, you’re going to get like eight-hundred cavities.”
Henry grumbles, something that might be an objection and Killian can never decide who is worse when they just wake up – the teenager draped over him or his wife. It takes a few more moments or prodding and muttering about dental hygiene before Killian twists his arm underneath Henry, tugging him up when he stands and they’re a strange, four-legged monstrosity up the stairs and into his room.
“If you don’t brush your teeth, I’m not going to pretend I didn’t find about that whole milkshake thing, like two seconds after you left Granny’s,” Emma warns. Henry clomps towards the bathroom, but there’s little argument and he might even smile when he moves past their bedroom door minutes later, mumbling something that sounds like Merry Christmas under his breath.
And Killian falls asleep smiling.
She wakes up at some point, dimly aware that she’s not where she expects to be.
She’s supposed to be on the couch.
She remembers the couch and how comfortable she was – exhausted, but in the kind of way she’d been certain only existed in Reese Witherspoon movies after montages with laughing and smiling and, apparently, enchanted snowballs. She can still taste the mint of her toothpaste on her tongue and the hint of hot chocolate, but she can’t remember how she got to bed and she’s momentarily terrified because, well, she’s her and this is Storybrooke, but then there’s suddenly an arm around her waist and warm air on her neck and she can feel his smile when he presses his lips to her skin.
“We’re fine, love,” Killian whispers and Emma exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, closing her eyes lightly.
He’s impossibly warm, voice still tinged with sleep and fingers drifting over her stomach and she lets him curl against her, like he’s trying to wrap up with her, but that only leads to thoughts of wrapping paper and Emma suddenly remembers it’s Christmas morning and he never learned what wrapping paper is.
She laughs, burying her face into one of the pillows propped up against the headboard and under her and Killian’s hand stills momentarily. He hisses slightly when her body presses against his, mumbling something that might be words, but also might just be the request to stop and continue at the same time.
Emma flips over, hair flying everywhere as she moves and his eyes are slightly darker than normal when she meets his gaze.
“You really don’t know what wrapping paper is?” she asks and Killian’s eyebrows fly up at the question he quite clearly wasn’t ready for.
“I was admittedly a little distracted trying to stop the entire town from telling you my Christmas plans and shortcomings.”
He’s grinning when he says the words and she knows he’s joking, but the sentence still cuts across her like some kind of knife and Killian’s hand starts moving again, tracing patterns over her spine when he tugs himself closer to her.
“I’m really mad at the internet,” Emma grumbles. She lifts her own hand, resting her palm on his cheek and he leans into the touch, letting his eyes flutter shut when her thumb brushes over the scar just below his eye. “And I can’t believe we were doing the same thing. That’s just…” “Rom-com?” Killian suggests and Emma’s whole body shakes when she laughs.
“Yeah, exactly like that. How did we get upstairs?” “Do you not remember that?” Emma shakes her head, but it only serves to get more hair in her eyes and Killian’s whole face does something stupid when he reaches up to card his fingers through the strands. “We fell asleep downstairs. I have no idea what exactly the Miracle on 34th Street ended up being, you were very nearly concussed by Henry’s feet, I woke up, you made some kind of milkshake threat and I’m fairly positive the lad did, actually, brush his teeth.” “That might be the miracle in Storybrooke.” “Indeed.”
She bites her lip lightly, trying to to document the moment for posterity or something because her husband keeps staring at her like she’s the center of the goddamn universe and it’s Christmas Day and they all fell asleep on the couch the night before.
Like a family.
With presents.
And snow.
The lights looked fantastic in the snow.
Emma shifts under the small mountain of blankets she’s tugged on top of herself at some point in the middle of the night – or, well, technically the morning and memories of marching her kid up the stairs are starting to flicker through her mind and she can almost remember one of Killian’s hands on Henry’s shoulder.
“You look like the Cheshire Cat,” Killian comments, ducking his head until he’s in her eyeline and he grimaces when her feet brush up against his thigh. “Although I don’t think he was ever an actual piece of ice. How you manage to stay freezing cold after stealing all the blankets is a marvel I’ll never quite understand.”
“Is that a compliment?” “I’m not entirely sure. You are incredibly talented at stealing the bedding though, love.”
She grins, something shooting down her spine and it seems strange to flirt with her own husband in their own bed, but they’ve always been particularly good at this and the banter is easy to fall into even before coffee and, hopefully, presents.
“Pirate,” Emma mumbles and his eyes flash, some kind of emotion she can’t quite name before coffee flashing across his face.
“Aye,” he agrees, barely getting the word out before he’s kissing her and the blankets twist in between them, a mess of high-thread counts and hands and freezing-cold feet.
She, somehow, ends up on her back with her hair splayed out over several different pillows and Killian hovering over her, weight resting on his forearm and blankets pooling at his waist. And her hands move like there are magnets in her fingertips or possibly in him and neither one of those thoughts are particularly romantic or holiday-appropriate, but then she’s tracing her fingers over his chest and he’s not objecting and there’s more kissing before Emma can continue to consider the idea of magnets or how they work.
He’s trailing kisses across her neck – and it must still be early because there are no footsteps in the hallway or knocks on the door and Emma’s only slightly worried about scaring her kid for life sooner rather than later – when she realizes what he called her.
“Hey, that was a reference,” Emma says suddenly, jerking her head to the right and nearly slamming her forehead into Killian’s.
“Excuse me?” “You just made an Alice in Wonderland reference! Was that supposed to be a joke?” “Swan, I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”
“You called me the Cheshire Cat. That’s from Wonderland, right?” He nods slowly as if she’s lost her mind and Emma rolls her whole head, growling low in her throat when she understands. It’s not a reference. It’s a...fact. “For real? That’s a real thing?”
“You know that Wonderland is a real place, love.” “I know, I know, but I just figured it was all kind of twisted the same way all these stories are and I hoped hallucinogenic cats were kind of off the table.” Killian shakes his head in confusion, eyes wide and it’s almost enough blue to distract her, but really that might just be the slight weight of him on top of her still and she’s got so many questions. “You know...like plants and smoke and they make you see things. The Cheshire Cat is kind of like that.” “I promise he’s not.” “No?” “No,” Killian repeats. “He’s, well, truth be told he’s rather obnoxious. All talk, little fact. Spends most of his time smiling like a fool and bouncing from place to place. Quite good at teleporting. Without the smoke.” “And you were comparing this jerk cat to me? That seems kind of like an insult, actually.” Killian hums, smile just as confident as ever and it’s absolutely because he can see the goosebumps on her skin when he brushes his lips over that particularly sensitive spot behind her ear. “I’m hoping the rest of the day makes up for my fault in judgement,” he mutters and her whole body moves out of instinct and several other verbs they probably don’t have time for. “There was some success to the rather hastily formed plan yesterday.”
“Yeah?” He nods again, fingers dipping dangerously low on her hips and she’s not sure who groans more when she rolls away.
Killian looks vaguely scandalized.
“We do not have time,” Emma grins, pulling one of the blankets with her and wrapping it around her shoulders, shivering as soon as she’s out of the cocoon of warmth that she’s fairly certain is just Killian.
He eyes her dubiously, as if he’s trying to come up with all the reasons they can make time, but they’re really going to do damage to Henry’s psyche at some point and they ate all the cookies they’re supposed to bring to her parents’ house.
“Maybe you’re the Cheshire Cat,” she accuses and she can’t quite cross her arms when she’s trying to hold a blanket that is almost too large to be practical. Her mother bought it when they moved into the house. The second time. It’s incredibly soft. “Trying to distract me,” Emma continues, but her words lose some of their venom when she nearly trips over her own feet and incredibly soft fabric.
She’s always vaguely impressed by his reflexes, certain it’s something to do with the ocean and The Jolly and a few seconds to make a snap decision, but the cool steel of his hook wrapping around her wrist and keeping her balanced sends a shockwave of emotion down Emma’s spine all the same.
Killian shifts his eyebrows.
It’s distracting.
“I never said the Cheshire Cat was a distraction,” he argues and she digs her heels into the floor so he can’t tug her back towards the bed. “And this was clearly a misplaced choice of words.”
Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, eyes flitting across his face and they’re just...very good at the banter. It makes her pulse pick up. “Yeah, something, like that,” she mumbles. “Well, luckily for you, I’ve got a way to redirect the conversation so to speak.”
He lifts an eyebrow, pushing himself up against the pillows and maybe they need more blankets if he’s just going to sit there and look like that while she’s trying to maintain a certain level of festive. “I’m intrigued, Swan,” he says and she rolls her eyes because that’s the only response she can think of that isn’t just...jumping him or something.
She shakes her hand and he pulls his arm back to his side, lips pressed together and eyebrows lifted and his patience is some unspoken challenge.
Emma is very determined.
She tugs one of the dresser drawers open and she wasn’t really surprised to find that there was no wrapping paper in their house, but Happy tried to sell her more anchors when she went back into the store the day before, just a bit out of breath because she’d absolutely run there.
“Belle wouldn’t actually take any money,” Emma says, turning on the spot and thrusting her arm out into the space in front of her. Killian blinks. “Which, you know, I guess is good because you really do have another gift coming once the internet decides to do its actual job and…”
She trails off when she realizes Killian’s gaze has drifted away from her face to the package in her hand and Emma bites her lip because he looks somewhere between stunned and amazed and it’s a pretty good mix on a face that she was already considering spending most of the morning kissing.
“So,” she continues, taking a step forward and sinking onto the edge of the bed. “I was thinking about what Mom was saying about Solstice and little gifts that are supposed to be, you know, like super meaningful or something and when we ran into the library…” “You ran into the library, Swan?” Killian asks incredulously and of course that would get his attention.
“You were running down the street. I...I was supposed to be doing paperwork.” “Ah, but I already knew you were lying.” “And I knew you were lying as soon as you tried to tell me you were sick. You’re woefully out of practice at all of this.” “Seems like a good thing, don’t you think?”
Emma nods, twisting her legs underneath her and there’s still a blanket draped over her shoulders. “Yeah, it does,” she agrees. “We were really bad at that yesterday.” “Exceedingly.” “Good word.” “Have we circled back around to you running into the library, Swan?” “No, no,” Emma objects, turning the gift in her hands and Killian keeps waiting because she doesn’t know how to do this without it sounding overly sentimental, but maybe that’s what holidays are for. “I love you,” she says suddenly and, maybe, a bit too loudly and he blinks again because she’s shouting feelings in his face. “Just...I couldn’t just get something nautical because it was too obvious, but, well...you’re you and so we were going to go buy something for The Jolly because Granny kept making suggestions and being scandalized by my eating habits…” “Did you dunk your onion rings in your milkshake?” he asks knowingly and just a bit smugly and Emma’s eyes bulge. Killian shrugs. “You’re rather a creature of habit, love. And some of those habits are disgusting food choices.” “I’m not going to give you your gift now.”
Killian laughs softly, blankets shifting again when he moves closer to her and she’ll probably never understand the physics of him pulling her close enough that she’s not actually sitting on him, but her legs drape over his anyway and he still smells a bit like snow.
She’s not sure what snow smells like until that moment.
“I haven’t thought about Solstice in…” Killian starts, voice a little ragged and maybe it was alright to start shouting feelings in his face. “A very long time.”
“Mom said it wasn’t really the same exact thing.” “It’s not. No strange elf man.” Emma makes some kind of strangled noise, pushing her face into Killian’s chest and she’s fairly certain he kisses the top of her hair. She can’t really focus on anything except whatever his fingers are doing along her back. “It’s...quieter, I suppose. A chance to reflect after the harvest ends and eat quite a bit after the harvest ends.” He laughs softly to himself, like his mind is several centuries away and Emma is still filled with questions, but she bites her tongue to keep silent. He’ll tell her.
She knows.
“I wasn’t...there wasn’t much time for those kind of frivolous things when I was a lad, but even after my mother was gone and my father…” His chest moves with the force of his deep breath and Emma blinks so she won’t actually start crying, fairly certain that will ruin the moment entirely. “Well, after he left, Liam did his best to keep things as normal as possible. As normal he could when there was...nothing. He used to try and get me pieces of parchment. Little stories I could keep in my pocket. Must have cost him a fortune.”
Emma snaps her head up, breath catching in her throat and any thought of crying flies out the windows that are absolutely locked behind her.
She’s still not much for fate or plans or anything that isn’t absolutely in her control, but this entire stupid town keeps trying to call her princess and this is just a bit too perfect to be anything except the fairytale it absolutely is.
“What?” Killian asks cautiously.
She grabs the gift next to her, nearly pushing it into his chest and he chuckles softly when he finally sees wrapping paper in real life. “Ah, that’s what you meant by designs,” he mutters and Emma nods dumbly because her mind can’t quite keep up with any of this.
It was just an idea.
A haphazard, sentimental, product of the goddamn dysfunction of the internet idea.
God, she hopes he likes it.
That is...if he ever opens it.
“You can just rip it,” Emma explains and Killian makes a noise that sounds like of course tugging on edges and she’s not even remotely surprised to find he unwraps gifts like he’s unfolding a map. It’s almost perfectly on theme.
He doesn’t say anything at first and for one incredibly long moment, Emma’s almost terrified that he doesn’t like it, but that thought joins the other ones and she’s too busy kissing him back to be worried about anything else.
Her legs are already over his, so it’s only a matter of moments before she’s got her knees on either side of his hips and her fingers in his hair and his hands are heavy on her waist, some kind of rhythm that’s almost too easy to fall into settling between them.
“I’m going to assume you like it,” Emma mumbles, but the words get caught somewhere between her mouth and his and Killian barely answers before he starts kissing her again.
She’d seen the book what feels like several million years ago, researching some crisis she can’t quite remember perfectly, but even then she knew he’d love it because he’s such a nerd and so curious about everything in this realm and he wants to know.
It’s not a textbook, but it’s certainly denser than any of the other books in the library – a history of seafaring and the age of exploration and tales of ships and captains and, Belle was quick to point out when they finally found it the day before, several different maps that were, apparently, to scale and vaguely ancient and Emma knew Killian would spend at least several weeks examining all of them.
“I love you,” he says, pressing the words against her lips and her cheeks and just under her eyes and Emma can’t help but believe him because he can’t seem to stop touching her and repeating himself. “Did you….” Emma shakes her head. “No, no, no, I didn’t even know Solstice was a thing until yesterday. Why didn’t you say anything?” “Why didn’t you say anything about this elf man or being able to purchase gifts off the internet?” “Because you keep calling Santa an elf man. That’s not really how it works.”
“Emma.”
She groans when they transition out of one feeling to another and she’s glad she’s still wrapped in blankets because discussing this part of Christmas is a bit depressing – like jumping in ice water. “I...well I really wasn’t sure if the internet thing would work. I mean it didn’t, obviously, but more that I wasn’t sure if I’d ruin someone’s life by asking for things and, you know...that’s not really me and I’ve never…
They gave us presents some times in the houses and things like that, but there weren’t traditions and certainly no magic snowball fights or gift requests and it was more just hoping there’d be enough pie to go around by the end of the night and I know that’s different now. I know you’re here and Henry’s here and you went on some crazed present rush to make sure this was perfect, but it seemed kind of selfish to ask and...Santa’s totally an elf. Like it’s weird if he’s just a guy up there with only elves, right?”
It’s as depressing as she expected it to be and then some and she just wants to get back to the kissing and, maybe eventually, some coffee and some more cookie batter.
And Killian already knows.
Of course he does.
“Aye,” he nods. “Absolutely weird.”
Emma sighs, but she’s not biting her lip and that seems like a step in the right direction. “I’m glad we’re on the same page about that.” “Same book in fact.” “That was almost as bad as your lies.” “Charming, Swan,” Killian corrects, nosing lightly at her cheek and they’re never going to get out of bed. “We’ve discussed this already.”
She’s about to say something – something witty and romantic and absolutely endearing, she just hasn’t figured out what yet, but there’s suddenly a knock on their door and Killian’s already opened the book, eyes flitting along lines and nautical terms and Henry’s shouting something in the hallway.
“Guys,” he yells. “Mom! Killian! You guys need to come out here! Like, now!” He starts kicking the door when they don’t answer immediately and there’s a dull thud against the wood that might just be his whole body at some point. “Seriously, this is a big deal!”
Emma laughs, swinging her legs back over the side of the bed and Killian closes the book lightly when he shouts are we under attack, lad towards the half-open door.
Henry doesn’t even look entertained.
“You guys are seriously going to want to see this,” he says instead, already halfway down the hallway and Emma lifts both hands in a move that’s equal parts confused and slightly impressed.
“We’re apparently being summoned,” she mutters, grabbing the t-shirt at the foot of the bed and tossing it towards Killian. He catches it. “Don’t think a vague bit of athletic talent and making out is going to make me forget that you actually called me the Cheshire Cat this morning.” He flashes a smirk at her, hair slightly worse for wear when he tugs the cotton over it. “I’m more than willing to test out several different make out attempts again, darling,” he laughs and Emma sticks her tongue out.
The smirk gets more pronounced.
“Insufferable,” she mumbles and Henry’s shouting demands again from the foot of the stairs.
Killian, finally, moves out of bed, but not before leaving the book on the nightstand next to him and the care he takes with it does something absolutely ridiculous to her heart and, at least, twenty different internal organs. “C’mon love,” he says, bumping his shoulder against hers. “Let’s make sure whoever is attacking us doesn’t come into the house.”
Henry’s still screaming for them when they finally come up short of the front door and Emma opens her mouth to make some quip about heat \, but all the words seem to get lost on their way from her brain to her tongue.
She freezes.
And she’s fairly certain she sees Killian wink at Henry.
There’s a not-so-small pile of presents sitting on their doorstep – bags and boxes and brightly colored wrapping paper and Emma nearly trips over the thermos at her feet when she steps forward, the scent of hot chocolate and cinnamon wafting up towards her.
There are dozens of packages, all of them with tags and she can make out a different name on each and every one, every person she knows and know her leaving something on their doorstep as if that’s where the tree is and…
Emma spins, hands flying up to land on Killian’s chest when she nearly crashes into the gifts. He smiles at her – brighter than any lights or the top of a Christmas tree and it’s slightly disconcerting, but Henry’s already reading off names and guessing what’s in gifts and staying upright is suddenly a very specific type of challenge. “Oh there’s food too,” Henry exclaims. Emma’s fingers tighten, but Killian’s gaze doesn’t move away from her face and his fingers are a bit colder when they cup her cheek, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She’s not entirely certain this isn’t some kind of dream.
Some kind of crazed Christmas dream.
It’s far too cold to be a dream.
“We just have to heat it up,” Henry continues. “I guess it is kind of like a freezer out here, but...oh, no, no, there’s another note. Mom did it. Poofed it here.” “What?” Emma asks sharply, twisting and she’s breathing louder than she probably should. Henry nods. “There’s another note, but it’s from Grandma. Here.” He pushes the piece of paper towards Emma and her hand trembles slightly when she pulls it out of his grip, her mother’s loopy scrawl obvious even from several inches away.
Emma,
You deserve it and more. I barely even had to ask. I mentioned something to Granny weeks ago and the entire town rose to the occasion. I think some of them actually managed to get the internet to work correctly for them, but that’s neither here nor there.
Granny says it would be insulting to the food if you reheat in the microwave. Her words, not mine. Merry Christmas and Happy Solstice, sweetheart. We’ll see you this afternoon.
- Mom and Dad
She’s not crying – some kind of actual Christmas miracle, she’s sure – but her breathing isn’t quite even either and there are so many gifts and so much paper and one very large gift right in the middle of it all that’s missing both a note and any semblance of paper.
It’s a chair.
An actual chair made of actual wood and the cushion on the seat looks incredibly familiar.
It looks suspiciously like the fabric from her office chair. Her torturous, uncomfortable, doing permanent damage to her spine office chair.
Only this chair doesn’t look anything like a torture device – it looks comfortable and soft and that doesn’t even make any sense because it’s made of wood, but Emma isn’t convinced her brain is getting the oxygen it needs to form coherent thoughts.
She brushes her finger over the back and there aren’t actually any arms on it because she likes to sit cross-legged at her desk and Killian teases her about it endlessly and…
“You’re the only one who knows I sit like that,” Emma says, glancing over her shoulder to find him staring at her expectantly and just a bit warily and both emotions seem to fall off his face as soon as she licks her lips.
Killian nods and Henry laughs and it’s some kind of picture-perfect moment that she’s fairly certain can’t get better until her eyes flit over the top of the chair and something that looks a little bit like a carving and Emma’s positive her heart actually stops.
Buttercups.
The very same as the one on her wrist that matches up, almost perfectly, with her father’s crest.
“Do you like it?” Killian asks softly and Emma tries not to actually jump, but she can’t pull her eyes away from the chairs and the details and she doesn’t actually turn around.
He got her a chair.
In one day.
With buttercups on it.
Sentimental, indeed.
“Swan?” Killian prompts. The whole house creaks when he moves, hand falling on her shoulder and she hardly considers what kind of affect this is going to have on Henry’s psyche before she launches herself at her husband.
Henry laughs. At least she thinks that what that noise is. Emma’s far too busy being festive. And making out. But, if asked, she’ll definitely claim festive.
“How did you do this?” she asks, somehow managing to retain enough oxygen in her lungs that she can actually get words out. Killian looks somewhere close to overwhelmed, but in a good sort of way and their front door is still wide open.
There is still a mountain of gifts on their front porch.
One of them should turn on the oven if they’re going to use it. Otherwise they’ll never eat.
“I didn’t really do anything, Swan,” Kilian says, eyeing her meaningfully when she scoffs. He got her a chair. An office chair. It might be the single most romantic thing she’s ever received. “The case in the jewelry store squeaked,” he continues. “Reminded me of your chair.”
She laughs and it’s slightly manic and sounds a bit like disbelief and Killian’s mouth twitches. “So you were actually pillaging the jewelry store?” “We left a note.” “Did Sleepy know that?” “He was asleep, love.” “Oh my God.” “Inspiration struck, we had to leave. Time was of the essence. Marco can only work so fast.”
Emma’s eyes widen and her kid is still laughing, moving presents around her and Killian and she hears the telltale click of the oven. “You went to Marco?” she breathes and he nods again.
“I’ve no idea how he managed to finish this in a few hours, but a ten o’clock deadline was his idea, so I’d imagine he spent most of the night.” “That’s….” Killian doesn’t let her finish. “Merry Christmas, Emma,” he says and there’s more kissing and Henry yells some more and eventually they do close the front door.
They get to her parents’ house – with only two dozen cookies because a full bowl of cookie batter was too much temptation and most of the morning was spent with flour all over the counter and spoonfuls not-so-subtly snuck in between detailed decorating plans and Emma’s certain the muscles in her face will ache for at least a week from overuse.
Most of the town piles into the farmhouse by the time the sun sinks behind the clouds and it starts to snow again, but there’s more food than any of them can eat and Regina waves her hand and there are even more desserts and steaming apple cider and rum goes pretty good with that as well.
Emma’s teetering just on the edge of pleasantly buzzed a few hours later, tucked against Killian’s side while Henry plays with her brother in front of a TV that’s showing some Christmas classic and she might fall asleep on this couch too.
“I love you,” she whispers, pressing the words into the curve of Killian’s neck and she’s fairly certain she doesn’t imagine his lips turning up.
His chest shakes when he laughs, but he definitely kisses her and his arm tightens slightly. “I love you too, Swan. Don’t fall asleep.”
She does.
Because Christmas and Solistice is hectic and crazy and nothing like any of those VHS movies promise her it would be.
It’s better.