Finally! Finally I can post this - and no, I wasn't lying when I told you I thought I wouldn't finish in time, but then my muse suddenly woke up from hibernation and here I am! ohmakemeahercules (feck, I can't tag you, dammit) you made me do something I usually don't do, aka writing canon. I cannot say it wasn't a pleasure, despite the writer's block! You wanted Christmas fluff and, ah, well, I managed to put it in there, perhaps with a bit too much angst, but I also granted another of your wishes ;)
I hope you like it!
Title from "She move through the fair" for reasons. Yes the one in the banner you can find on my tumblr is Bryce Dallas Howard. And if you squint there's a bit of bashing for some characters... or others that I've deliberately forgotten. It's set between season 6 and 7 for my sanity purposes only, sorry not sorry.
And then she turned homeward with one star awake like the swan in the evening moves over the lake
Winter in Storybrooke was cold. No, scratch that: it seemed like Elsa had come visiting and had suddenly lost control over her powers again.
Emma shivered as she entered the police station, the heat immediately enveloping her and fogging her glasses. Damn, she thought, immediately removing them, probably worsening the situation. Damn Killian.
Ah, yes, Swan, let's blame me for your snuggling habits, Emma could clearly hear his voice say in her mind. Which was strange and a bit creepy, but he wouldn't be completely wrong: Emma was a snuggler, even if she would never admit it out loud.
With the temperatures dropping, she'd started to add more blankets to their bed, and it didn't help that her husband was a human heater himself. Burying herself under tons of blankets and being a heavy sleeper meant she was deaf to the world outside, which led to not hearing the alarm on the nightstand. Killian – god bless him, seriously – was always up with the sun, the sailor in him rarely allowing him so much time in bed after sunrise, though Emma had slowly started to convince him to sleep in at least on Sundays or when neither of them had a shift at the station. He was also too good to be true, always preparing her a mug full of coffee or going to Granny's to pick up fresh bear claws for her.
As a consequence of her "snuggling habits", Emma was sometimes late and today was no different. Killian was too good to laugh at her, but he was very much expressive anyway, his eyebrows quirking and his eyes telling what he wouldn't dare say. Unlike Killian, Emma was messy, and not the "I'm messy but I do know where I've put my stuff" kind of messy, but more like a "I was sure it was there, where is- oh, I thought I'd lost this in 1524" messy.
But even if she didn't remember where her stuff was and he knew it all too well, it was good. Killian never made fun of her with bad intentions, he always tried to cheer her up instead. That was the first reason why she was struggling to come up with a good first Christmas gift for him.
It wasn't because Killian had everything, because he hadn't, but he didn't want anything.
She sighed, dropping onto the chair. She had a long day ahead of her, made of fake old cases that had never happened. Oh, but it was fun: somehow, Regina had managed to give almost everyone in town a record of sorts for the silliest things. Of course, not having actually happened, Emma had just decided to destroy those files: nobody deserved a record for a crime they didn't commit. Oh, she couldn't help but snort at the irony.
Not having much to do at the station, though, meant she had a little too much time to think about what she could do for Killian – there were just too many solitaire games one could play.
Emma wasn't worried about her family's gifts, she had already bought them all. Her husband's, though, was a problem. Before her father had decided to gift Killian the Firebird, also known as the Chevelle, after he'd successfully gotten his driving license – David had taken the test again, under Emma's insistence since, after a snarky comment about Killian not faring well with modern technology, she'd pointed out that his driving license was a result of the curse – Emma had thought about buying him a car.
Sighing, Emma pulled out her phone, the lockscreen catching her attention as it usually did, never failing to pull a smile from her lips. It was a photo of Henry and Killian asleep on the couch, two empty mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table and Star Wars playing in the background. Emma couldn't resist and had snapped that photo, one of the most precious treasure she had of her two True Loves.
A thought suddenly hit her. Maybe… Yes, if she could find the right spell…
With a wave of her hand, the materials appeared on her desk, a bright smile on her face as Emma cracked her fingers and started to make her own kind of magic.
He wondered if it looked too presumptuous. It probably was. Bloody hell, Killian thought, sighing. Henry had assured him it wasn't, at all, and that Emma would love it. The lad was too kind, though he had to admit, Henry's reaction to the sketches had made his heart swell in his chest. Sure, Killian knew he was skilled, yet his art had always been something he ever made for himself. The only one to really appreciate his works had been Liam, but he wasn't here anymore to calm him down.
Killian closed his eyes, the image of his brother smiling warmly at him clear behind his eyelids. He missed him, he always would. As much as Killian had found a family in Emma, Henry and the Charmings, he couldn't help but miss his. After all, he still was a person who had lost everyone he loved; centuries had passed, but the pain was still there, an indelible scar left on his heart and soul.
Opening his eyes, he went back to work, knowing he just had to add the final touches. Emma's present had been in the works for quite some time, more precisely when he'd found himself flipping through the storybook, his attention landing on the illustration of him and Emma dancing at King Mida's ball.
Henry had helped him, writing more about that evening, more a description of the evening than their feelings, something of which Killian was extremely grateful. There were always things he didn't want people to know, namely how he felt. After losing so many people he loved, Killian had spent centuries hiding his feelings, protecting himself. Though people often saw him as a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, he wasn't. Yes, he had courted Emma practically since the beginning, but nobody knew how difficult it had been for him, how difficult it still was, because no matter how much he showed he was a good pirate, many still shied away from him. It was… draining.
Sure, he now had a family who finally didn't treat him as if he was just a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem anymore, yet, Killian couldn't help but miss the two people in his life that had always believed in him, someone in his corner when he was unfairly judged for his past deeds, someone who would always make him see straight.
Unfortunately, though, those two people were dead, and as much as he loved his little brother, Liam had a life aboard the Nautilus, they didn't need each other anymore. A grimace found its way to Killian's mouth at the thought that he'd once been the one to walk away from the child that needed him and had grown hating him.
Killian shook his head, gripping the brush tighter between his fingers, the lanterns there reflecting their lights onto his rings. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes fell on his wedding ring. Marrying wasn't a strange concept to him; to be fair, many seafaring men had married, and though it'd been long since naïve fantasies belonging to a young naval officer had crossed his mind, Killian would be lying if he said he never once thought about marrying a lass. Those fantasies had perished along with Liam.
Or so he thought. Probably, it just took him Emma to show him he still was good enough for her to commit the rest of her life to him.
His visits to Doctor Hopper's office helped, one doesn't simply live for centuries, losing everyone he loves, just to brush it away with a simple wave of his hand. Killian had tried that approach before and it backfired. Now, instead, he was accepting he couldn't just change the past, no matter how the time travel portal he'd crossed twice would prove him wrong, but he was also accepting he was worthy of love. Decades of self-loathing and loneliness damaged a soul despite the efforts of masquerading the scars.
Focusing on the canvas in front of him, he started to attentively spread a delicate brush stroke of ochre for a darkest shade of yellow. He had almost created a halo around Emma, which wasn't exactly intentional, but it perfectly held what Emma meant to him: light.
The light scratching of the bristles onto the canvas filled the brig – because yes, he had to paint in the brig since Emma visited the Jolly as much as he did, the ship always a dear place in their lives, and that was the only place she never visited.
Suddenly, as he hummed an old shanty under his breath, the air inside the brig became chiller, as if a cannonball had ripped a hole through the hull and a snowstorm was raging outside. Killian frowned, putting down the brush in the glass he kept separated from the mug of warm coffee, thankful for the fact that he'd never mistaken the two, both him and Henry worrying what would happen to him if he drank water mixed with the paints. Right now, the man's primary concern was finding out what the source of such drop in the temperatures was.
Standing from the stool he was perched onto, Killian walked slowly out of the brig, closing carefully the door behind himself, cutlass drawn and ready to strike. He strained his ears in search of some unnatural noise, met only with his soft footsteps and the sloshing sound the waves made against the Jolly.
He considered the possibility of calling out for Elsa, the Queen the only one he knew could manipulate the weather like that, but didn't; his instinct was telling him that was no mere sorceress, the hairs of his arms raising beneath his winter clothes, and not just because of the icy temperature.
As he neared the Captain's quarters, the cold seemed to worsen. There was something, or someone, in his cabin, someone who certainly didn't belong to his family.
Pushing the door open with his hook, Killian peered inside. Hadn't it been attached to his skull, his jaw would've hit the floor.
It was as if a snowstorm had raged inside his cabin, the cold white flakes covering every surface, and where it couldn't reach, the ice had taken care of it, climbing up the walls and the ceiling. Hell, it covered even the lanterns, fire still burning behind it but unable of melting the substance.
In the middle of the room, sat a young girl.
She couldn't be more than ten, long, dirty, blond locks framing her young and pale face, the undernourishment state she was in hollowing out her cheeks and making her deep blue eyes even bigger. Though she was wearing merely what could be considered a rag due to the ruined state her dress was in, and that she was barefoot in the snow, the girl wasn't shivering.
Even if it was just a little girl, Killian didn't lower his sword, knowing all too well what evil a child could bring.
«Who are you?» he inquired, tightening the grip on the hilt of the weapon as he momentarily felt his fingers go numb.
The girl didn't answer him, her hands coming up in front of her holding a box of matches. Killian couldn't help but notice of her frail hands were covered in chilblains. He guessed that, though covered by the snow, her feet were too.
Without a word, she pulled out a match, twirling it between her skinny fingers.
Killian knew a fire would of course destroy his beloved ship, yet he'd not been around for centuries for nothing: he knew the girl didn't want to set the Jolly on fire.
Before he could do anything, the girl spoke.
«You are a lonely man, Killian Jones.» The icy temperature and the snow surrounding him hadn't managed to make him freeze, her words did.
Instinctively, his mind shouted a loud no. He wasn't lonely, he had a family, he wasn't alone, he wasn't lost. Not anymore.
«Your soul still longs for the people you lost.»
«It was nothing but a fleeting thought!» he roared through clenched teeth. Aye, he wanted his family back, but he'd lived long enough to understand he couldn't: no magic, no wish could ever bring back his loved ones. Killian knew that, everyone knew that, but it didn't mean they didn't long to see them again, even just once. Knowing he had to stall, at least until he knew who he was dealing with. «Who are you?»
The girl smiled faintly. «Nobody's used my name in decades, centuries, even,» she murmured, still twirling the match with ability. «My Nana, I remember her, she used to call me Christine.»
Slowly, Killian lowered his sword, knowing all too well he still was in danger. «Why are you here, lass? What's the meaning of all this?» He waved at the snow with his hook, his eyes never looking away from the child.
«It's my curse,» Christine replied with a light shrug. She blew onto the match, lighting it up. The small flame grew and grew, becoming as big as a fist, and Killian could see something inside, as if it was a sorceress' crystal ball. He titled his head, wary yet a bit curious, both about the flame and the girl's curse.
«Why don't you put that away and tell me about your curse? Perhaps I can help you; I've seen many a curse be broken, lass, there must be a way to break yours.»
Her sad smile turned into a snarl, her eyes became as hard as ice. «With True Love's kiss, perhaps, Captain? No one in this land without magic truly loves me, nor in any other land for that matter,» she explained bitterly, gritting her teeth.
Killian knew the little lass was way older than she looked, her demeanour one belonging to someone who had seen many atrocities not to be scarred by them.
The fire was slowly consuming the match, grazing the child's fingers without burning them. Her eyes shifted, looking enchanted at the dancing flame; the match now a thin black line, making it look as if she was holding the flame herself.
Silently, Christine let the match fall onto the snow, the flame extinguishing with a hiss. Before Killian could move, she had already lit another one.
«Once upon a time, I only had my Nana,» she started with a longing sigh, this second flame somehow bigger than the previous one, in which he could see the face of an old woman staring back at him. «She was too old to work her magic with the wool, no one commissioned her anything anymore, but we needed food to live. I started selling matches, with winter fast approaching people would need them, I thought. Then Nana got sick, and needed medicine, so I asked for help, but nobody wanted to help her, nobody cared enough about us.» A lone tear ran down her pale cheek, falling onto the snow where it turned into ice instead of melting it. Inside the flame, her story unfolded, showing her trying to sell the matches and her grandmother bedridden.
Killian could understand her pain; despite having been years since that fateful night, he remembered all too well what it meant to watch over someone who was too ill to even stay sat up in bed. His eyes stung with unshed tears, the memory of his dying mother assaulting him, her lifeless red hair he'd tied in a loose but perfect braid, her bright blue eyes hidden behind her pale eyelids as she struggled to breathe.
«That's exactly how I felt, Captain.» Christine's voice startled him, a new match between thumb and forefinger showing him the burial, the only one to mourn the old woman the lass herself.
It was just a glimpse, a flicker that lasted not even an instant, but Killian could swear he'd seen the scene shift to accommodate two children, one a bit taller than the other, and an adult behind them. A whiff of oranges filled his nostrils, his mother's favourite fruit.
He shook his head, clearing his mind. There was no way that was them, just a mere illusion orchestrated to lure him and make him surrender to pain.
«One night, after I'd lost the little home I used to live in with my Nana, I dared trying to sell a matchbox to a witch,» the girl continued, and as the words left her now almost-blue lips, sounds and perfumes seemed to fill the cabin.
At first, Killian almost felt sick, it was as if a rotten carcass had been hidden somewhere, the flavour of freshly baked goods, specifically gingerbread, couldn't mask it. He could hear children singing in the streets, someone fighting or chatting, church bells ringing… His head was spinning so much dark spots clouded his vision.
A scream pierced the air, but the girl in front of him had not opened her mouth. «I didn't realize it was a curse, I just kept trying to sell the matches until the snow-covered streets were empty and the shops closed and I was all alone in the dark. Not even the taverns wanted me, nobody took pity of me.» A gust of wind ruffled his hair, sending shivers down his spine as if a drop of cold water or snow had found its way inside the collar of his shirt. «It was so cold I thought maybe a small flame could warm me up, even just a little. But then the flame showed me my Nana. It didn't last long, so I lit up another match, and then another and another until I ran out of matches. But at least I got to see my Nana again.»
Killian felt his heart broke at the story. No child should suffer like that, especially not as pure as he bet Christine had been before her curse.
«I thought I'd died,» she whispered with feeble voice, a new match burning before her, showing a girl lying on the fresh snow, more falling all around her, just like it started to fall inside the cabin.
Killian didn't even notice he'd started to not feel his fingers anymore, as if what Christine was telling him was distracting him from her dark power, from her curse. The cutlass slipped from his numb fingers, falling in the snow without making a sound, its fall deafened by the sounds still filling the cabin, sounds that weren't there.
«You don't have to do this,» he forced himself to say, his lips numb, too. If he could see his own reflection, Killian would see his face as pale as a ghost's and his lips blue. His wasn't a beg, he was trying to convince her to not let the darkness win, even if it was whispering in her ear to take another life. He knew all too well how much devious the darkness could be, how it could twist one's mind and bend one's will. Another thing he knew, though, was that it didn't come out of nowhere, that it still anchored itself onto sensations its vessel felt, just like it'd happened to him. For Christine, though, it was worse, because she had not cared if she died alone, she'd only cared about reuniting with her grandmother, and that had been ripped away from her, forcing her on a path on which she lost herself.
The second to last match fell on the snow. «But I have to, Captain. You called me, you wanted to see your family again, and I'm here to bring you to them. It's not painful, I assure you, it's actually quite peaceful: I didn't feel a thing.»
One thing that made him shiver even more than the growing cold was her nonchalance when she talked about death. How many lives had she taken? How much darkness had filled her tiny heart against her will?
«I don't want to go,» Killian said with a half-smile, trying a different approach, «you don't need to take my life because I want to live, lass. Aye, I'd love to see my mother and brother again, but I know I won't, hopefully for a very long time.»
Christine shook her head, shaking the snow off her hair. «You don't understand: the curse is irreversible. I... I've never encountered someone like you, Killian Jones. They are always willing to go.»
At that, Killian couldn't help the grin that lifted the corners of his lips. «What can I say, love, I'm a survivor.»
Her eyes grew sad. «I'm sorry,» Christine whispered, «I only thought it would make you happy.»
No matter how twisted her reasoning was, Killian did understand what she meant, because yes, when he thought all was lost, he too had wondered why he was still alive. It wasn't until Emma that he discovered the meaning of life once again, and now he would not let go. But aye, he understood many would.
«Don't worry, love,» Killian tried to comfort her. Absurd, wasn't it, the victim trying to console its killer? A thought crossed his mind as he felt his knees about to give out under him. «What happens next? Where… do I go?»
Killian had experienced death before and, honestly, he still thought he would end up in the Underworld again, mostly because his unfinished business would always be Emma, because he would wait to move on until they were together. Not that he wanted to leave her, not so soon, but he had an idea. After all, the lass had been cursed, so what if she didn't kill the desperate souls that called to her, but cursed them? It was a long shot, for sure, but he had to try. Captain Hook always survives, Killian thought with a weak smirk, his skin so numb he struggled to just move his lips.
His question made Christine stop, the last match still unlit in her hand. «You die,» she replied, furrowing her white-blonde eyebrows.
If possible, his grin widened. «I don't' think so, lass,» he whispered, his voice thin and his breath coming out in white puffs. Suddenly, his knees gave out and he hit the snow with a soft thud. This must be how Emma felt like when she was behind the ice wall with Elsa, Killian mused, suddenly tired. The scent of spices in the air, of oranges and someone was humming a melody he remembered all too well, but the voice wasn't quite right.
For the first time, Christine stepped towards him. «What do you mean?» she asked hesitantly, as if she wanted to believe she'd not been the cause of many people's death, but too scared to actually do so. Killian understood how she felt, the regret paining her, making her feel like she wasn't worth saving.
Honestly, Killian didn't want to talk, mostly because of the increasing clattering of his teeth, worried he might lose his tongue as he tried to explain his theory. Sure, he didn't have any rational reason to believe his idea was true, but he'd dealt with magic long enough to doubt and said doubt would save his life.
«You were cursed, were you not?» Killian asked, seeing confusion marring her young face. «What if you have not killed them but put them under a sleeping curse?» He kept getting more and more tired, slowly rubbing his left arm with his numb hand to try and warm himself up, rationally knowing it wasn't possible since it was magic slowly slowing his heartbeat.
Christine's eyes were wide open, as if she understood what he meant but unable of actually grasping the concept. He couldn't blame her, his reasoning was quite a pipe dream, but he had to have faith in Emma.
Unable of staying kneeled down in the snow anymore, Killian slowly laid down on the floor, his numb cheek touching the cold snow, feeling it burning the skin. «Bring me to my wife, she- she'll know what to do,» he breathed, closing his eyes and falling into a frozen limbo.
Her fingers were working fast, she could even close her eyes and let them move and she would end up having a perfect dreamcatcher anyway. Creating a dreamcatcher wasn't a pleasant memory: it brought back flashes of her time in Camelot and what happened after, the pain she'd endured and put others through.
This new dreamcatcher, though, was meant to have a new, happier meaning, just like Killian had shown her a chain around her neck could hold the promise of a future together instead one that represented a broken heart and sky-high walls.
She only hoped Killian wouldn't be mad at her.
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Emma tried not to think about what she had done to Killian, instead preparing a speech in her head in which she explained what the dreamcatcher would do.
At first, she didn't notice the temperature in the room getting colder, not until a freaking snowflake landed on her hand. With wide eyes, Emma looked up, actually expecting a portal in the middle of the station from which Elsa would appear. What she decidedly did not expect, was a child appearing in a swirl of snow along with the insanely pale body of her husband at her feet.
«Killian!» Emma exclaimed, standing up and rushing to him, her chair falling backwards in her haste as she fell to her knees next to Killian. He was so cold beneath her fingertips, his long black eyelashes covered in fresh snow. A memory flashed through her mind, reminding her of how cold she was when trapped with Elsa behind the giant ice wall.
No, not again, Emma cried in her mind, touching his face with trembling fingers. Killian was so still, so unresponsive and she couldn't lose him again. She could not. She wouldn't.
«What did you do?» Emma seethed, looking up at the girl, barely a child, probably a few years younger than Henry, but a child nonetheless. It didn't diminish her fury, her anguish, her pain, because she knew how much death a demon disguised as a child could bring.
«He told me to bring him to his wife,» the girl said, not looking at her once, her ice blue irises never moving from Killian's face. «The Captain… he thought I didn't kill the souls I've taken, but put them under a sleeping curse.» Christine shut her mouth once again, before adding, in a low whisper: «please, let him be right.»
Emma's gazes shifted back onto Killian and she'd never seen him so pale, not since that fateful day in the middlemist field when she'd filled him with darkness. «If you're wrong,» she promised him, fighting the lump in her throat, «I'm going to bring you back and then kill you again, alright?»
With those chocked words, Emma bent her head and pressed her tears-stained lips onto Killian's cold and blue ones.
It was both different and identical to when she'd kissed Henry and broke the first curse, much more pressure because she now believed it was a curse and if she couldn't save him…
A pulse rippled through the air, part of her brain remembering that day at Zelena's house when she'd sacrificed her magic to revive him, and said part wondered if that hadn't actually been a True Love's kiss already. She couldn't bring herself to think about it much because Killian gasped, gulping in a mouthful of air and opening his eyes, searching for hers.
The corners of Killian's lips curled up in a smile. «I would despair if you didn't,» he breathed, and Emma couldn't stop the tears anymore as she kissed him, not noticing how much he was shivering, showering him with kisses everywhere.
«You are so going to sleep on the couch tonight,» Emma threatened him in a dead serious tone, both of them knowing she wouldn't let him leave her side. Slowly, she helped him up, noticing how much he was trembling, immediately poofing heavy blankets and leading him towards the couch.
«Wait,» Killian protested, one of the blankets wrapped around his shoulders, and turned towards the child. Due to the relief she was feeling, Emma had completely forgotten about her.
Christine was looking at her hands, now completely healed, the snow around her feet melted. She couldn't speak, opening and closing her mouth as if she couldn't believe her eyes. «You did it,» she breathed, fat tears sliding down her cheeks.
Killian was smiling, which surprised Emma, because the girl was the one who'd put him under the curse. «Nay, lass, you did it, you trusted me, even when you spent years not trusting anyone.»
The little girl launched herself at Killian, circling his neck tightly with her skinny arms, and Emma's heart fluttered in her chest, much like it did every time she saw him with Henry, acting like a father. He already was a wonderful father to Henry, that was for sure, but she wondered how he would be with a smaller child. Wonderful, he'd be wonderful, her mind supplied.
That one, though, was a discussion they had to have privately. Now, instead…
«Wait, wait, wait, can somebody please explain me why did I just rescue my husband from a sleeping curse?»
And with that, while sitting on the station's couch wrapped in thick blankets and with a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon warming all their hands – well, Emma was just being supportive, alright? – the duo began telling Emma about their little adventure together.
Emma was totally, completely, utterly glad she'd not needed to go to Arendelle.
Although both she and Killian had developed a soft spot for Christine during her stay at their home, they'd soon discovered a side effect of her curse. Apparently, although she didn't feel the need of taking souls anymore, she still had powers, powers that reminded them all of Elsa's. Her powers weren't a problem, not at all, not when Emma was still mastering her own and it wasn't like Christine was plotting the town's demise.
For two weeks, though, they lived together, Emma teaching the young girl how to control her powers, definitely not trusting Regina enough to deal with a kid – who knows what she could've done to teach Christine how to control her magic when she'd basically pushed Emma down a cliff to teach her.
They were alright, and Emma would lie if she didn't feel as if they were a family, playing games together and Christine and Henry went along so well though she was so shy with him at first, finally won over by his Author powers when he started to have her read his new stories before anyone else.
Alas, it didn't last forever. When Elsa, Anna and Kristoff came visiting a few days before Christmas, Elsa immediately sensed Christine's powers. Saying that the lass was enraptured by Elsa's magic would be a euphemism, but pretty much everyone was, but the moment a little snowman named Olaf came into view, there was no going back.
Neither Killian or Emma didn't pretend it didn't hurt, because bloody hell it hurt, but they also knew it was for the best. Had it been up to them, they would've never let Christine go, but they also needed to respect their wishes. In fact, it had been the girl to ask Elsa if she could teach her; after all, Emma's knowledge in magic was pretty limited and she knew just tiny bits about ice magic.
Elsa, being the good friend she was, had not overstepped Emma and Killian's authority, asking if she could teach Christine how to master her powers. That had then led to a serious discussion with Christine, in which she told them she felt at home with them, but that she'd done too many bad things in her life that she felt as if she had to earn her happy ending. Of course they'd protested, but the young girl had lived probably as much as Killian, and was as stubborn as they were, giving them no other choice but letting her go with the promise of visiting as much as they could, promising her she was still part of their family.
Biting back a sigh, Emma placed two mugs of hot chocolate spiked with rum on the coffee table, joining Killian on the couch, his stare lost somewhere between himself and the wall. She sat on her bent knee, burying her hand into his silky black hair, her nail slightly scratching his scalp.
Killian closed his eyes, trying to relax under her ministrations yet his shoulders were stiff still. In the short time they'd spent together he'd become very attached to Christine, especially because their pasts were alike enough to form a strong bond.
«We'll see her again,» she tried to comfort him, placing a kiss onto his shirt-clad shoulder.
He nodded his head, taking her hands in his and kissing her knuckles. «It just doesn't diminish the emptiness,» Killian confessed against her skin, his stubble scratching it slightly.
«I know.» Resting her forehead against his cheek, his words made a lightbulb go off in Emma's mind. It was still Christmas Eve, and she knew presents would be opened tomorrow – not that she'd opened many presents or had a family to which create new traditions until now – but this situation called for her present.
With a kiss on his cheek, Emma stood and rushed upstairs in their room, lifting the cloaking spell over the already-wrapped present. As she entered the living room once again, she noticed Killian hadn't moved an inch. Yep, now it's perfect, she thought, settling back next to him.
Her arrival caught his attention, making him turn towards her and lift an eyebrow. «I believed gifts were to be exchanged tomorrow.» The confusion in his tone was cute, making Emma smile, but she felt a note of anxiety: he too had not had a good Christmas in centuries, probably, and the fear of not doing something right haunted him.
Emma nodded. «Yes, but some exchange them on the Eve. But this isn't it, I thought this would be the perfect time to give you my gift.» With a small smile, she offered him the box wrapped in blue paper, anchors – of course – decorating it.
Carefully balancing it on his knees, Killian unfolded the paper, a frown setting on his face as he moved his fingers, never once ripping the paper. Emma bit back a snort at that, smiling at the dorkiness of her husband.
She'd put the gifts in a box, all three visible the moment Killian lifted the lid. He stiffened at the sight of the bright red dreamcatcher, as predicted. «It's not for what it's been used before,» Emma reassured him, squeezing his arm. «Well, it still is needed to access your memories but… do you trust me?»
Killian turned towards her, a glint of anguish in his eyes. «Of course I trust you,» he told her, his voice strong and unwavering.
Smiling softly, Emma leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. «Close your eyes,» she ordered gently, taking the dreamcatcher with her left hand and placing her right on the photobook still in the box. «Now, I want you to think about your mother and brother, not a specific memory, just about them, let me do the rest.»
A smile bloomed on Killian's face. «Ah, you want to be in charge?» he tried to joke, clearly uncomfortable when it came to memories and dreamcatchers, and understandably so.
Emma laughed lightly. «All you need, Jones, is a partner who knows what she's doing. Now shush, let me work my magic.»
Both the dreamcatcher and the photobook started to glow, and soon images filled the dreamcatcher, memories Killian probably didn't even remember clearly, memories of strawberry hair and homemade orange marmalade, of loving blue-green eyes and warm smiles, of bed-time stories and a lullaby sung to lull the young lads to sleep. More memories came, memories of two dark-haired children playing outside a little cosy cottage as a young redhaired woman watched over them, of the two brothers swordfighting with wooden sticks, of them playing on the beach, catching fishes or picking up shells or bringing starfishes back to the sea.
The memories turned sad, and Emma quickly moved past those, picking up when she saw two silhouettes walking among the remains of a shipwreck, the brothers now grown up and ready to continue their lives as heroes. Once again, happy memories turned sad, there was no more happiness to be found, not like the one she'd just experienced by reliving Killian's memories, not until their meeting. That, however, wasn't part of the gift.
Emma didn't realize she'd started to cry until Killian wiped her tears away with his thumb, smiling at her with watery eyes. Mirroring his smile, Emma tapped her fingers onto the photobook, "Jones Family" written in cursive blue letters, anchors, buttercups, swans, ships and other things that represented them – she, Killian and Henry, too – doodled all over the cover. «Apparently, I could be the next Leonardo Da Vinci thanks to my magic.»
Killian chuckled, his fingers moving to open the album. His breath caught in his throat.
The first photo portrayed the beautiful woman she'd seen in Killian's memories. She was utterly beautiful, strawberry curls and freckles all over her creamy skin, gentle eyes Emma could see on Killian's face and had seen on Liam's. Somehow, Alice Jones seemed regal, as if she was of royal blood, which was just a sensation, but there was something telling Emma she wasn't too far from the truth.
«She's beautiful,» Emma murmured.
«Aye, she was,» Killian confirmed, tracing with trembling fingers the photo. «She always smelled of oranges, and her voice was beautiful.» He turned the page, and more photos followed, photos of Alice with both Liam and Killian, of her as she prepared pies and read to them. «Sometimes she told us stories she'd read when we didn't have the books, or she would make up stories.»
Emma smiled. «She sounds like the perfect mother.»
Killian hummed. «Perfect doesn't quite cover it, my mum was everything for me and Liam, she loved us and tried to stay with us for as long as she could.» He breathed in a shaky breath. «I never thought I could see her again, not so perfectly, not when she left us when I was so young.» He looked her in the eyes. «Thank you, Emma, thank you so much for these, I can't possibly express how much they mean to me.»
«Well,» she began, casting a glance at the item still in the box next to the photobook, «there's one last gift for you.»
Frowning, Killian picked up the flask, Celtic knots decorating it. «Am I correct to assume there isn't rum inside?»
«Yep. I actually had to ask an old acquaintance of ours for this. Merida is a just Queen, she bows her head to no one, and to be fair I feared she wouldn't give it to me, but I think I'm growing on her.»
Killian chuckled fondly, pressing a kiss to Emma's temple. He knew Emma had put the redhead Queen through a lot, but she regretted it and had made amends, hoping Merida would forgive her. Looking back down to the flask in his hand, he frowned, realization hitting him hard and taking his breath away as he understood the meaning behind Emma's words. «Is this the ale of Seonaidh?» he asked in a murmur, not daring to hope.
The corners of Emma's mouth curled up in a smile. «Oh yes, and, apparently, the curse did something good, so to speak, and while I couldn't find Liam's grave, though perhaps the sea might be our answer for that one, I did find one Alice Jones. She was barely twentyfive, according to the tombstone, but I gather she was young when you lost her.»
Dumbfounded, Killian could just stare at her, his mouth hanging open as his mind tried to process her words, unable of understanding how lucky he was to have someone so bloody brilliant like Emma in his life.
The more she stared at his expression, the more Emma felt about the burst. At last, she did, erupting in a giggle and bending forward to kiss him. He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her as close to his body as his gifts allowed him. «You're bloody brilliant, amazing,» he declared against her lips. «I love you.»
Her heart fluttered in her chest and her cheeks tinged red; it didn't matter how many times he told her he loved her, it always made her feel as light as a feather and as if she could do everything. Love is strength indeed. «I love you too,» Emma said, resting her forehead against his.
After one last, sweet kiss, Emma stood, a playful smile on her face. «Now come, Captain,» she told him in her best commanding voice as she held out her hand out for him to take, «I cannot wait to finally meet my mother-in-law.»
A smile pulled at Killian's lips. «As you wish.»
There it is! If you want to completely ignore canon like I do, you can still see Christine being adopted by Emma and Killian lol Name's taken from Hans Christian Andersen since I've based her on the story of the Little Match Girl - another reason why I sent her with Elsa. But, like I said, feel free to ignore canon *whistles*