She sees him in the snow sometimes.
On quiet nights when the flakes are tumbling down from the canopy of clouds above, Emma would stand by the window, a long plaid shawl covering her shoulders and a mug of hot chocolate in her hands, and in her mind he'd be standing there-a spirit of warmth in the icy world around her. Tears would begin to fill her eyes but she blinked them away as soon as she heard movement.
Henry had his own room upstairs and on this night, when the world was a flurry of white and ticking seconds, he was maniacally tidying up the place. It was the first Christmas Eve in the new house and despite the warmth of the fire and the lights on the tree (which Emma had discouraged but relented to get for Henry), there was always a coldness, a missing glow in her heart. Her parents would be over soon, as well as Violet and her father (the thumps of Henry's feet as he hurried to get dressed in time quickly escalated), and Robin and Regina. A festive gathering was Emma's idea, a way to distract herself from her thoughts of snow and silhouettes. Now that everything was done, the plates were out, the decorations finished and she was left alone with the bay window and the telescope looking out to the sea, he began to haunt her again.
She heard the rap of the knocker - her father, he liked to be funny and not use the doorbell ("what's the point of having a fancy knocker, then?") - and Killian's reflection in the window disappeared from her sight.
"I'll get it!" Henry yelled down as his feet pounded the stairs.
"It's just grandma and gramps, you can breathe," she joked. He came down, smoothing his hair. She noticed that he had begun to let it grow out a little, parting it to the side, letting the lengths fall along his forehead. The resemblance created a stone in her throat. He wore a red, checkered shirt and slacks, inversely matching her leggings and long, black blouse. Like mother, like son. At this, a smile crept in the corner of her lips. She opened the door and couldn't help but laugh at her father's open-mouthed greeting, his arms clutching to a pyramid of wrapped gifts. Snow rolled her eyes, smiling all the while and nudging David to move forward so she could bring Neal out of the cold. Regina and Robin followed closely behind.
"The place looks great," Snow complimented, her eyes reflecting the white lights snaked around banisters, beams and the mantle above the fireplace. In the corner, a snowglobe with a ship inside sat solemnly in a blanket of frozen, confetti sea.
David placed all the presents under the tree, humming to himself and clapping the imaginary dust from his hands once he had successfully arranged them to his liking. He walked over to Emma and kissed her temple. "How are you doing?"
"Okay. Better now that you're here." She was trying to be more honest. Killian liked bringing down her walls - the least she could do was keep them lowered. He hugged her close. He smelled like wintergreen.
In the corner of her eye, she saw him again - a ghost of Christmas past and present - shuffling his feet back and forth, his fingers feeling the seams of the stockings that Snow had made for them a few weeks before. His thumb traced the loop of the 'E' in her name before he walked away. Emma let out a shaky breath. The rest of the night felt like a blur.
She welcomed Regina and Robin, Roland in tow.
They all sat down to dinner, eating way too much.
Henry and Violet giggled in the corner together, averting protective eyes from both Regina and Violet's father.
Emma saw Killian outside, his face looking up at the stars as the flakes collected on his shoulders.
Emma cleaned up the dishes while Snow sang and David played the piano. She laughed when David snuck in a few impromptu lyrics.
She felt her chest tighten.
She put down the kitchen rag and closed her eyes, feeling the pangs in her heart. It was only half now and it hurt with thunderous claps. When they came up from the Underworld and he didn't, she felt it was all lost They said it would take time but it had been over a month. Only his echo remained. She whispered pleas to empty rooms, asking him to stay. He always disappeared with the changing of wind.
She felt the echo of his hand cover her knuckles. She shivered. A real hand slid into her other one.
"Mom? Are you alright?"
Emma squeezed Henry's hand and softly shook her head. "I thought I could do it, Henry. I really thought I could get through tonight without...I wish it would stop, but at the same time..." She wiped away a falling tear and huffed out covered sob. Henry clutched her side, his head falling on her shoulder. When did he get so tall? Emma thought. Time was fleeing from her. "I'll be okay," she told him. It was a lie, for now. "Can you serve the dessert? I'm just going to get some fresh air."
Henry nodded, watching the snow fall outside. He constantly worried. "I'll have a cup ready for you when you get back."
"Thanks, kid," she whispered, clutching her shawl close to her chest. She took the back door and walked the steps into the small yard. The remnants of her cherry trees swayed with the weight of the snow. It was quiet with the exception of whispered carols coming from the house next door. She walked to the bench and closed her eyes, breathing in the December night.
"Well, it's much warmer in Hell, I'll tell you that," she heard him say. She smiled, her eyes still closed. It was an empty melody that caused the storm in her chest to start up again.
"I miss you," she whispered. "I failed. I know I can't save everyone but I should have saved you. I should have thought of another way, any way..."
"Emma." She heard the snow crunching around her. The branches were beginning to give way to the boulders of powder.
"I needed more time," she told him.
"Emma."
"Please," she begged the space surrounding her, covering her ears. "I don't want your ghost. I want you, here, where you're supposed to be, in our home."
"Emma."
She felt warmth on her hands, as if they were suddenly covered in gloves. A hot breath blew on her cheeks and the rosiness originally from the cold deepened into something else that she knew. "Killian."
"Open your eyes, Emma."
"You're not there."
"The bloody hell I am. I didn't make it all this way with half a heart for nothing."
Emma opened her eyes too quickly. It was all a blur at first. Slowly things began to focus - the turrets of the house, the glow from the windows, the falling snowflakes and finally, the face of Killian Jones. There was a gray tone to his skin but life was starting to fill in the cracks. His cheeks were flushed, his lips the color of apricots in the spring, his eyes a lost sea. Always the sea.
His hands were real and touching hers. She reached out her hands to touch the lapels of his jacket, then his neck. She traced the lines of his jaw with her fingertips, the cold making his skin rise in bumps in between his facial hair. She pressed two fingers to his bottom lip. His hand reached up to wrap hers, pressing his lips to it, the curve of his cupid's bow softly moving to her palm and wrist. "Emma."
"You're real, you're here, how...?"
"You know me, love. Better fashionably late than never," he joked, his eyes finding hers in between kisses. She thought of the beanstalk, the scar on her palm tingling as he pressed a final kiss into it. Small flakes gathered on his lashes. "Gods, I've missed you."
She grabbed his lapels and brought her up to him, releasing all of the building thunder into her lips. She felt her soul come back to her, her heart becoming one, a fire in the heart of the blizzard around them. He picked her up off the bench, her legs circling his waist, her arms around his neck. She never wanted to be free of him. His hair still smelled of brimstone but it was there, tangled in her fingers, tickling her forehead.
"Killian!"
Emma looked up, Henry running towards them, shadows slowly starting to come out of the house. Emma laughed as Henry collided with Killian, the three of them falling into the snow bank, the excited shouts of her family coming closer. It filled her up like warm apple cider, dissolving the past few weeks away. Muffled voices gathered around them, her face still snug tight against his jacket.
"Welcome back, mate."
"Good to have you back, Killian."
"Did the Underworld get that sick of you, already?"
She heard the rumble of his voice in her ear. "Give me a warm glass of rum and I'll tell you all about it." They began walking back inside, excitement sparking in the air, but Killian slowed his step before entering the house. His hands touched her face again, his eyes devouring hers. "Emma Swan, I love you, more than anything in this world or the next."
She kissed him softly, his smell of saltwater and cotton returning back to him. A tear escaped onto her cheek, softly crystallizing on the way down. "I love you, too. Merry Christmas, Killian."