This was a CS Secret Santa fic for tumblr user howemmafoundherhome. Merry Christmas and I hope you have a lovely holiday, whatever you celebrate!
Sometimes things happen out of the order they're 'supposed to'. Meet someone, go on dates, first kiss, first time you invite them in after a date, first time you see them with sex-and-bedhead and wearing rumpled clothes from last night and drinking out of your favorite coffee mug. You know, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage.
Well, doing things out of order seems to be their M.O. and it honestly Emma prefers it their way.
(Unearth someone from a pile of corpses and then threaten him at knifepoint, first beanstalk, first kiss, first curse, first time travel adventure to ensure she was actually born… and so on. Their M.O. is, admittedly, weird.)
Her parents, on the other hand? Well, they might have preferred things to go the more traditional route. She sighs as she gets out of the Bug, slamming the door with a little more force than is truly necessary, reminded of the fact that her family is coming over for dinner tonight and will likely broach the subject of marriage once again. She knows they mean well - they always do - and they just want her to be happy, but it feels a lot like meddling and she really doesn't care how things look to anyone else.
Besides, she's perfectly happy with how things are.
There's a short snowman in their front yard, wearing one of her beanies - the one with the big puffball on top - and Henry's old scarf; Emma smiles at it as she unlatches the gate and trudges up the front walk. She stamps her feet on the steps to knock off the slush and the snow from her boots, and just as her hand goes to open the front door, it opens for her and she's nearly taken out at the knees by her four-year old daughter Eleanor. "Mama! Me and Papa made a snowman!"
Emma smiles, gently unwinding Nory's arms from her legs so she could pick her up. "Oof, you're getting too big too fast, kid. I saw the snowman, did you tell Henry you borrowed his scarf?"
Nory's face changes then, the smile slipping into something more contrite. "No."
Henry's off at Harvard, finishing up his finals, and Emma knows he won't give a damn about a scarf he hasn't worn in years anyway. "You didn't take a picture for him?"
"Love, you know the camera on the phone is hard enough to manage with one hand, let alone involving a glove." And there's Killian, leaning on the doorframe, giving her a rakish smile and looking sinful in a green sweater and his usual black jeans.
(The sweater was a gift from Granny last Christmas, hand-knit and perfectly fitted, and Emma swore Killian had almost shed real tears over it.)
"No excuses, Nory can use the phone better than I can half the time," Emma retorts, but leans into his kiss anyway. He's warm and the tip of her nose is about to freeze off.
He scoffs and she knows he's only pretending to be annoyed with her from the way he's nuzzling her slightly, no doubt trying to warm her up. He ushers them inside and Nory wriggles to freedom so Emma can remove her own outerwear. "When are my parents coming over?" she asks as she hangs her coat up in the closet.
"Should be here soon. The roast is just about done, I was about to mash the potatoes when Nory saw you coming up the street."
There's the unmistakable sound of pine needles scraping against ornaments, then the sound of hard plastic against the wooden floor, and then Nory's quiet "Oops" and Emma holds in a sigh. "I'll keep her from destroying the tree while you work on dinner," she says, heading into the living room.
They know better than to keep the fragile stuff within Nory's grasp - she's got sticky fingers like both of her parents, though Emma happily blames Killian for encouraging it - so it's only a plastic bauble from Harvard that's lost a battle with gravity. Emma replaces it, smiling fondly at the painted scene at Johnston Gate; she then scoops her daughter up and together they sit near the tree with a few toys - namely, Nory's new favorite obsession with the Christmas village that lives under the tree and the electric train, but a few of her dolls come into play as well. It's distracting enough that Emma's able to relax about dinner and forget her worry about any potential conversations her parents might want to have.
Yes, they've done things a little out of order, but so what? She wouldn't trade what they have for anything - they have a love that's proven true, they've got two great kids in Henry and Nory, they have a beautiful house, and they have their friends and each other. She doesn't need marriage to seal anything - she's not running, not anymore, and Killian's proven that absolutely nothing will keep him from her or their family.
This is home. This house that he and Henry chose. Being at one another's side. There's nowhere better to run to, because this is the best possible life that she could ever hope for.
Emma holds in a sigh, thinking of Snow and the wistful way she talks about seeing her only daughter walk down the aisle. She tries to ignore her mother when she gets on one of those tangents; she doesn't care in the least what people think of the crown princess shacking up with a pirate and bearing his illegitimate child. That makes her snort: Nory's as legitimate as Neal - more, since Emma knows Snow and David aren't even married in this world, and David might technically still be married to Katherine. (She's been tempted to check the records, but that requires telling Regina why she needs the keys and she doesn't want to get into the whole first-curse thing again with her.)
David's almost worse in that he doesn't talk about Emma's theoretical wedding, but she knows her dad and knows how the guilt over not raising her or being there for all her milestones eats at him. He doesn't talk about it, but he gets real quiet when Snow starts talking and there's this look in his eye and Emma just knows he's thinking about walking her down the aisle. And she knows that if she thought about it, she'd want to get married to Killian just to give David this one thing, and that's not fair to her or to Killian about something so important in their lives.
And anyway, it's not that important. Not really. She has everything she could ever want, right here, in the form of a wonderful partner humming sea shanties to himself while mashing potatoes in the kitchen, and in the form of their daughter currently playing Giant People-slash-Dinosaurs Invading Christmas Town.
Dinner is not a quiet affair; Neal and Nory are close enough in age that their chief source of entertainment comes from an ongoing game of who can annoy the other more. All of the parents trade off trying to keep the kids from turning a verbal argument into a physical altercation, and Emma's never been more grateful for both of these kids inheriting their parents' inability to keep their mouths shut during a fight. Snow had come in with the look in her eye, the one that said she'd been scrolling through Pintrest again and had wedding ideas, and the last thing Emma needs is her mother publicly convincing Killian that a Christmas proposal would be perfect timing for a June wedding.
(Privately is another matter; Killian and Snow have a standing lunch date every Thursday when she brings her class to the library and Emma has no control over what they talk about during it.)
It gets to the point where even pulling the "Do I have to call Santa?" card doesn't work anymore and David calls it a night. Snow shoots them an apologetic look as they bundle Neal into his jacket and head back to the loft; Emma's relieved, though, and doesn't even feel guilty about managing to avoid her mother's favorite topic. She'd realized midway through dessert that Nory's attitude was coming more from being tired than a genuine desire to be a pain in the ass to her uncle, so Emma offers to take care of kitchen duty while Killian puts their daughter to bed.
"Out like a light as soon as her head hit the pillow," Killian tells her half an hour later.
Emma glances over her shoulder, just about done scrubbing out the stoneware while the dishwasher hums next to her. "Someone wore her out in the snow earlier," she comments as he goes to the wine rack. "What's the occasion?"
He shrugs, picking through a few bottles before selecting one. "It's Christmas, our little duckling's asleep with nary a fight, and we just suffered through the most aggravating dinner party this century's seen thus far."
Emma chuckles, giving the stoneware one last swipe before rinsing it and setting it in the drying rack. "Christmas is three days away, and I doubt that the kids fighting makes it the most aggravating dinner party this century."
Killian pours them each a generous amount of wine and Emma takes one. "Then perhaps," he says, holding out his glass for Emma to tap against hers, "I merely need this to dull the headache the children caused."
She smiles over the rim of her glass. "Rum's better for that, wine hangovers suck."
"Ah, but I said nothing about drinking so much we'll induce hangovers, love."
Ever the gentleman, he offers her his arm and she takes it, resting her hand on his brace as he escorts her to the living room. She flicks her fingers to ignite the fireplace and sits down with a happy sigh. "So I'm being wined and dined," she observes as he sits; she runs her finger around the rim of her glass. "Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that you're up to something?"
He gives her a wounded look. "Swan, I'm hurt, truly."
Her smile widens and she sees the corners of his mouth twitch. Instead of saying anything, he sets his glass down and takes her free hand, pulling her in close. Emma settles into the crook of his arm with another happy sigh. "Whatever it is, just don't move," she says, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"Believe me, love, I have no intention of letting you go," he murmurs.
The wine helps her relax only a little less than the feeling of being safe in his arms. The fire warms the room to a cozy temperature, the popping logs a soothing soundtrack to the end of a long day. She's happily dozing, the wine glasses sitting empty on the coffee table, when Killian says something. "Hmm?" Emma asks, struggling to open her eyes.
"Sorry, darling, I didn't realize you were asleep," he says, and he does sound apologetic.
"I wasn't, just… almost was," she mumbles, shifting to sit up straighter. "What were you saying?"
She looks up in time to see him shaking his head. "Nothing, let's get you off to bed. I'll take care of the -"
Her hand on his knee stops him from getting up. "Killian."
His eyes meet hers and she sees a flicker of hesitation there. The muscle in his jaw jumps and she realizes he's trying to find the right words for whatever it is he wants to say. There's only a handful of times she can remember when he was ever at a loss for words and it makes her uneasy to see him like this now. "Killian, it's okay, just tell me what's wrong."
Her mind is jumping to curses and dark magic and a thousand other things they've faced over the years together; she wonders if something happened that day while she was at work, if Nory's magic went awry and Killian didn't know how to tell her until now. Emma's turning over a million different possibilities in her mind and he must notice because his hand goes to cup her cheek. "Hey. Hey, stop that, it's nothing bad. I promise. It's just - quite difficult to decide on the right thing to say," he tells her, stroking her cheek in that way that makes her lean into his touch more. "I've spent a long time pondering it, but nothing I've come up with has felt quite right."
"Come up with for what?"
There's that little smile of his, the brief flash of teeth as he gives her a look as if to ask, don't you know, Swan? "I love you, Emma."
She blinks. "I love you too, what's going on?"
His hand falls away from her face and he turns to rummage - is he digging between the couch cushion and the arm? Emma pulls back, shifting so she's facing him squarely. When he turns back, she feels the color drain from her face. There's a small, black, velvet box in his hand. "Killian-"
"Emma, please let me speak." She closes her mouth and tears her eyes away from the box and up to meet his steady gaze. All hesitation is gone now, though she does see the muscle in his jaw twitching again and she thinks it's because of nerves - God, he's actually nervous about this. She's overcome with the urge to laugh - does he honestly think she'd say anything else? - but holds it in. He glances away briefly and clears his throat. "Now, I know your mother's been on about this for ages, but this was not her idea. I purchased this some time ago, before we found out you were pregnant with Nory. You were so overwhelmed with the prospect of having a baby that I put off asking; then she arrived and our lives became more of a whirlwind than they already were - and so it turns out that it never seemed to be the right time.
"Please understand that I have not been unhappy living as we are. Emma, I love you and I am delighted every day that you choose to love me in return. I love waking up next to you in the mornings, I love falling asleep holding you. I love our daughter and I love Henry as if he were my own. I care not a whit what your mother says about propriety, because I feel you've been just as happy as I have been all these years together. I ask not for any other reason than the selfish one in my heart, the desire to truly call you mine and for you to call me yours."
Emma does laugh at that and she hears her voice break because goddammit he's making her cry. Not six hours ago she was thinking about how unnecessary it was for them to get married and now he's making proposal speeches at her. "Pirate," she says affectionately.
He grins and glances down, bashful pirate that he is. "Aye, that I am. But you stole from me long before this, Emma, and I have no desire for you to ever return to me what you took. But I would be honored, love, if you would consent to becoming my wife."
She practically pounces on him then, cupping his face between her hands as she kisses him. One hand slips don, tracing the line of his neck to rest over his heart. All these years later and it's still reassuring to feel it beating steadily under her palm. "What do you think?" she asks quietly when they part.
"A man likes to hear the words, darling," he says and she can hear the nerves in his voice.
"Yes," she whispers, her lips brushing his in the most tantalizing way. "I would love to be your wife."
The ring's pretty, white-gold with a simple, single stone setting. Emma admires the way it shines in the firelight, twisting her hand this way and that to make the diamond catch the light, and Killian takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. "All the times Mom brought it up and you never mentioned you were already planning on proposing?" she asks, turning her hand over in his to lace their fingers together.
He shrugs, a sheepish look on his face. "We've discussed it in the past, but we both agreed that you had to come around to the idea."
Emma almost scoffs, settling for giving him a mock-offended look instead. "So literally years of Mom going on about this Pinterest wedding and that person being offended about an illegitimate heir, and all because I needed to come around to the idea?"
He levels another look at her and this one she also knows - it's the one that means he thinks she's full of it, and she has to admit that he's kind of right. "Okay, well, maybe. But honestly, Hook, I was dreading dinner tonight because I knew she was going to bring it up again and I didn't know how to tell her any other way that I don't need it."
His face falls a little then, but she cups his cheek and lightly drags her thumb through his scruff. "Hey. I said I don't need it, not that I don't want it. You were right, I've been perfectly happy with you like we've been. I don't need a ceremony or flowers or a dress I can't breathe in to know I love you and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you." She rarely does speeches, but he'd given one to her, one that laid everything out so plainly and reassuring her that this was his choice and he was making it her choice, and she feels the need to reassure him as well. "All I need is you. Everything else is a bonus. And if you want to be selfish, well, then I'm more than happy to be a little selfish with you. You're mine, and I'm yours, okay?"
He grins and leans forward to kiss her. Her hand slips, cupping his neck and toying with his hair, and she moans as he slips his tongue between her lips. "Besides," she says when they come up for air, "if you want to shower me in jewelry then I'm probably not going to say no to that either."
He laughs, loud and long and carefree in a way she hasn't heard in too long. Emma grins, lightly scratching her nails along the back of his neck as he laughs. "And I'm the pirate," Killian says when he finally stops.
She steals another kiss, mostly to prove a point but also because she could.
Yes, they've done things a little out of order, but Emma wouldn't have it any other way. She has her pirate, her children, and though she doesn't need to have a ceremony to tell the world that she loves him… maybe it won't hurt to give her mom a wedding, her dad that one milestone, and to give herself fully to Killian and receive him fully in return.
"Happy Christmas, love," Killian murmurs.
She's about to reply when he pulls one of those pirate moves, swiftly lifting her into his arms as he stands, ignoring the way she yelps in surprise. "Pirate," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carries her towards the stairs.
Killian grins and Emma rolls her eyes affectionately, waving her hand to magically douse the fire and all of the lights so neither of them have to leave their warm bed after they've thoroughly pillaged and plundered in celebration.