It is the holiday season and that means time for Secret Santa. This story is part of my gift to my secret santa on tumblr – thedarkoneswan. This will be several chapters, which will include some of the things I hope she likes. To give a little perspective, this is set after Killian and Emma are back to themselves from their adventures as the Dark Ones. There will be mentions and head canon about spoilers for the rest of the season. Enjoy! Happy holidays!

Somewhere families were sitting down to eat turkey and dressing, their plates piled high with aunts' favorite concoctions and grandmothers' traditional fare. Fathers would be carving the bird, telling embarrassingly corny jokes, and sneaking in a few of their own dishes to the mix. There are hugs from grandparents and comments about children having grown over the past year. Football games blared from televisions and someone is already starting to hum Christmas carols as families come together as though they have not seen each other in eons. Fragrant scents of delicacies wafted through the air as people chatted about old times and new. Fireplaces blazed with light and the first Christmas decorations were dusted and placed with care upon mantles and tables. That's what she had explained when the pirate in her bed that morning had asked what this holiday was all about.

Emma Swan had been looking forward to that, having never actually celebrated the holiday in such a way before. Foster homes did not have that sense of togetherness, as she always wondered what would go wrong next or when the next shoe would drop. However, this year was supposed to be different. She was supposed to have the chance. And yet as the turkey was coming out of the oven, Emma's phone sounded and broke through the reverie. She had sighed and reached into her pocket to grab it, her body still warm from the way Killian was holding her with his chin resting on her shoulder and her back against his chest. Her father was stirring up some concoction of punch and her son was helping his grandmother carry the roasted bird to the counter in the kitchen.

That phone call had sent Emma and her father, the town's only two law enforcement officers, speeding down the two lane road toward some unknown event. A loud noise had been reported at the edge of town, a car accident probably but everyone's whereabouts confirmed, it was a mystery in its own right. It was just a one person job, but her father, David, had offered an opportunity for father and daughter time. So far that had included David's chatter about her little brother who was trying so hard to take his first unassisted steps.

"He scrunches his face up each time he tries," David mused, his hands gripping the steering wheel under his thick winter gloves that his wife, Mary Margaret always insisted that he wear. There was a certain regret in his voice as he realized he was talking to the daughter he had only spent moments with after her birth, the daughter who had lived a difficult and almost impossible childhood because of a curse. He had not cast that curse, but sometimes when he was at his lowest moment, he wondered if he could have done more to have protected and taken care of his only daughter.

"I'm betting he's walking by the end of the weekend," Emma said, taking a glance at the phone and text message she had been reading. "He gets that determination as a family trait."

David's hum of contentedness broke as he cast a sidelong glance at his daughter. "Do you ever think about it?" he asked, broaching the subject in a careful way. "Kids I mean."

Emma's eyebrows raised in surprise that her father was asking her such a question. Her mother often hinted, saying that she wanted to experience being a grandmother from the start. However, her father was less enthused about such things and usually just spoke of wanting his eldest to be happy, healthy, and secure in her life. "I have a kid," she said with a defiant air to her protest. "Henry, remember him? He's about 13, dark hair, always got his nose in a book or playing a video game. I'm sure you've met him."

Her father rolled his eyes at the sarcasm that his daughter seemed ready to spew at any moment. It was a defense mechanism, but one she wheeled out with ease when the situation called for it. He knew that many found her to be quick witted, which she certainly was, but he sometimes feared that her sarcasm was just another of the scars that her early life had left her with. "I seem to recall," he said, rattling his voice so that he sounded older than his appearance would suggest. The fact that he did not appear to be any older than his daughter was strange, but he did manage to create that bond between them with jokes and embarrassing moments so she could turn the three letter moniker of Dad into a sixteen syllable word as she buried her face in her hands. "No, I was just thinking that you might be considering children at some point."

Flexing and contracting her fingers on the denim of the jeans she was wearing, Emma concentrated on the soft feel of the fabric and let his question truly sink over her. "I always swore I never would have children after I couldn't take care of Henry. He deserves better than me going out and starting a new family…" She broke off, as the situation could nearly be described as identical to hers. "I don't mean that…"

"No," David said with careful consideration. "I don't suppose it would be easy. I know your mother and I worried how you would react to Neal. He's getting everything that you never did."

"Dad, I'm not 13. I'm not jealous of my baby brother." The idea was absurd, which was saying something after all she had been through. Just two years earlier she was a bail bondswoman with a career, a handful of acquaintances, an apartment, and a solitary life where fairy tales were books and Snow White was a cartoon not her mother. Captain Hook was a comical villain with bad hair and fashion sense, not her boyfriend. The Evil Queen was someone you hissed at and rooted again, not your step-grandmother and friend. In two years she had slayed dragons, fought off witches, enacted spells, and survived any number of curses. The lives of she and her family and loved ones had been in jeopardy again and again, the life of everything she had come to hold dear in the balance of good versus evil. Her life seemed so much more out of control now, bordering on insane. But yet it seemed fuller too and somehow like home.

"Never said you were," David chimed in with his overly fatherly tone. "I'm just saying that you might look at this lull of quiet time as an opportunity. Your mother and I were thinking you might want to consider things."

"Things?" she asked, not completely sure she understood where her father was coming from with this conversation. "What kind of things?"

"Well, if we were in the Enchanted Forest, we'd have had a ball for you when you were about 21 or 22 to find a suitable husband. There's nothing wrong with dating, but you have to admit you aren't getting any younger. Perhaps you should consider something more stable." Running a gloved hand under his chin, David kept his eyes trained on the road ahead of them.

"Killian and I just moved in together. That's a pretty big step," Emma huffed, her arms crossed over her chest. "I'd like to remind you that you were against that. You said you didn't want me 'shacking up' with a pirate. Now you're talking about me marrying him and even having kids? That's a big leap."

Her father's eyes squinted as though he was searching for just the right words to say. "I didn't say Hook. There are other men who might be more suitable for marriage and all of that."

Emma shifted in the passenger seat so that she could face her father, her knitted cap pulled tightly over her head and the tips of her ears as her curled blonde hair floated over her back and shoulders. "You're kidding me, right?" she asked, incredulous to her father's apparent inability to accept her choice in a boyfriend. "I thought you liked Hook now. Dad, he sacrificed himself to rid us of all that darkness. He was willing to die for us. He's saved my butt more times than I can count. Do I need to list for you all the things he's done to prove himself not only to me but to every person in this town?"

David let out a shaky sigh. "I do like him, Emma," he said. "I do. I'm just not sure he's marriage material for my only daughter. You're the Savior, Emma, the daughter of royalty. You could have any man you wanted." He laughed nervously. "Are you sure that Hook is the man you want?"

With a frustrated grunt she turned away from her father and stared out the passenger window, her forehead resting on the cool glass. "I don't believe we're having this conversation. Who else would you suggest I date? One of the dwarves? Dr. Whale? Archie? This town is not exactly teeming with bachelors. Besides, I love Killian. We're happy together." Her hot breath steamed up the window, obstructing her view until she pulled the warm sweater over her fist and wiped it away. "This conversation is giving me whiplash. You're talking about me having kids and getting married, but telling me to break up with my boyfriend and start over. You can't have it both ways, Dad."

Keeping one hand on the wheel, David threw the other up in mock surrender. "I'm not telling you anything, Emma. I was just trying to gauge your state of mind on the matter. You and Hook have chosen to live in one of the largest houses in this part of Storybrooke. It just stands to reason that you might want to have some kids to fill up those rooms."

Emma's head lolled back on the seat as she groaned in loud irritation. "Dad, I think you've lost the right to talk about this."

"Alright, alright," David responded, pressing a little harder on the gas. "Maybe your mother is having better luck with Hook."

***HOHOHO***

Mary Margaret's hands shook with maddened frustration as she attempted to peel apart the plastic wrap she was attempting to place over the mashed potatoes. She did not want the meal to become inedible while her husband and daughter raced to the rescue of who knows what, but the battle against the static cling of the plastic was proving a challenge.

"I would offer to help, milady, but I'm not sure what you are attempting to accomplish," Killian said, his face contorted in confusion at the sight.

"This plastic," the brunette explained to him as though talking to one of her students, "is supposed to lay over the food and help keep the heat inside. But it is clinging to itself and not where it should." She exhaled dramatically, the hair over her forehead billowing up at the effort. "And I'm seriously considering alternatives."

The blue eyed pirates laugh was deep as he reached out and attempted to help his girlfriend's mother peel back the clinging plastic. It took a few tries, but soon the wrinkled and clear layer was snug over the bowl and fogging up with the steam that would otherwise be escaping. Looking moderately proud at his effort, Killian rocked back on his heels and gestured his chin toward the potatoes. "I'll never cease to be amazed by this realm's contraptions."

"Yes," Mary Margaret answered him, her eyes wearily tired from the job of trying to save their meal as others had abandoned her to put babies down for naps or to take walks to curb their appetites. "The technology of Storybrooke does have the Enchanted Forest beat, but I do miss it sometimes."

"Aye, there are certain differences that cannot be made up for by these conveniences. But I would say that Emma and Henry are more comfortable here in Storybrooke, though they certainly have made efforts to fit in when necessary." He spun to his right, grabbing one of the dishes that she pointed to and placed in on the oven rack to keep warm. Hearing her clear her throat, he almost asked if she was coming down with some kind of cold or malady, but realized it was her way of broaching a subject.

"That's important to you, isn't it?" she asked, lacing her fingers together and placing her chin at the intersection. "Emma and Henry being happy and comfortable."

One edge of his mouth turned upward slowly. "Emma's happiness is of the utmost importance to me. If I must learn to use a few devices to fit into her life here, I will surely do so without complaint. And as her lad is first in her thoughts, I shall do my best to make his life happier too." He said it very nonchalantly, as if there was no question about his devotion or desires. Maybe it was the way he busily put away the covered dishes and followed the woman's implicit directions to save the meal, but Emma's mother was impressed that he was trying so hard.

"You know that this," she said, making a sweeping gesture with her arm, "wouldn't exist in the Enchanted Forest."

His lips pursed with wonder at what she was talking about. "I'm afraid I don't understand. This house? No, I would imagine it would be a bit more rustic and simple, though Emma was born to live in a castle. So no, the house would not look as this one does." He leaned his hip on the counter and watched the princess turned teacher grope for her words.

"No, I mean living together. Her father and I would have insisted on something more formal given her title and role in the kingdom. But I realize she wasn't raised that way here and these are much more modern times here." Mary Margaret bent to lift the tray of Neal's high chair, snapping it into place with a single motion. "I guess I sound like I'm asking about your intentions toward my daughter."

Killian joined in with her nervous laughter. "Aye, you do. But I see nothing wrong with the idea that you are worried about the welfare of your only daughter. As I told your husband, what happens between Emma and myself is up to her as much as it is up to me. She has agreed to make a home with me here. If she would be so inclined, I would marry her immediately. I assure you, milady, my wanting to live with your daughter was not meant to be a slight to tradition. I was merely finding a way that Emma would be comfortable but would continue moving us forward."

It seemed like so long ago that Emma had confessed her reluctance for anything long term with anyone, telling her that she had more experience with one night stands than second dates. Learning that they were mother and daughter had dampened that comradery and candor, but those conversations they had as friends had offered the teacher more insight into her daughter than she had ever imagined. "You would want more?" she asked, feeling that knot in her stomach again. She knew that she had given up much of the rights to interfere with her daughter's life when they had made the decision to place her in a magical wardrobe. Emma had survived for 28 years without their guidance, love, or direction, something that was not easy for any of them to fully understand or step back into without effort.

As Killian had mentioned, it had not been that long ago that David had asked after his intentions on a dark and icy road. He'd given a flippant response in return and then showed his own colors when Emma had been in danger of freezing. While David was formidable as a prince and Emma's father, Mary Margaret was even more so. The woman's eyes were very much like Emma's with their ability to penetrate through a man. While David seemed all bluster and little bite, Mary Margaret's quiet dignity was off putting to even the pirate.

"I feel as though I should have a drink to continue this conversation," he said, raking his hand over this back of his hair.

***HOHOHO***

Reaching the town line, Emma ignored the tension of the conversation with her father and kept her sea green eyes peeled for any sign of the trouble reported. The trees were bare of leaves except the evergreens, creating an almost scraping sound as the growing wind made the branches rub together. She was out of the car as soon as David pulled to a stop, her gun at her hip and a hand on the curved end of it as she took measured steps toward the shoulder. Brown grass crunched under feet as she stepped off the asphalt.

"See anything?" David asked, his voice muffled as he leaned into the cruiser's trunk to retrieve a bag with their gear in it.

She didn't answer right away, her steps slowing and eyes honing in on whatever signs she could find. Then she saw it, the tracks that had pressed down the grass and mud to create two matching lines that left the road and headed toward the thicket of woods there behind the welcome to town sign. Waving her father over, she followed the tracks that indicated someone had lost control of a car, the scent of rubber from the tires faint among a sickening familiarity of burning oil. Her steps quickened as she realized what she was seeing, David's movements quick behind her own.

Just at the far edge of the woods a car sat overturned, windows busted and one of the wheels still turning in a fruitless effort to continue on the unpaved path. With the sickening realization, Emma and her father knelt by the glassless windows to confirm their fears that the couple in the front of the car were no longer living. Not recognizable to Emma or David, the couple appeared young but not among those who belonged in the Maine town of Storybrooke.

David shot a sympathetic look toward the car's occupants, staggering up from his knelt position and pulling out his phone. "I'll call for the coroner," he advised quietly, leaving her to stare helplessly at the mangled heap. His conversation was hushed as Emma took note of the situation.

They clearly didn't belong in town, as outsiders were not even aware of the town's existence. No one ever ventured over the town line from either direction, something they would have to study to understand the presence of this couple. Swallowing the familiar pangs of loss, Emma reached into the car to search out identification for the couple. It was then that she saw the car booster seat in the back. A plush toy sat buckled in beside it, clearly a ploy they had used to convince the child to ride while strapped inside.

"Any clue about who they were?" David asked, startling her as she stared at the stuffed mouse. "Driver's license? Photo id? Anything?"

She shook her head almost violently. "There's a child somewhere," she announced, backing away from the car. No child was in the booster seat, which meant to Emma that there was a boy or girl somewhere nearby. "We've got to search."

Leaning forward, David took in the sight, scanning the same clues that had led Emma to this conclusion. "Maybe the child wasn't with them? Maybe they were dropping off or picking up?" His voice sounded strained as he searched for plausible explanations, undoubtedly thinking about Neal in such a situation.

"No, the child's here," Emma declared, her sureness coming somewhere deep inside. Hands fisted at her side, she ignored the stench of the blood and gasoline mixing. Her expression growing darker as spun on her heel and walked purposefully away from the wreckage. Eyes shifting from side to side, she began her search in as organized a fashion as she was capable. From the size of the seat, the child was probably 3 or 4 years old. The stuffed animal and floral pattern of the seat indicated a girl. That was about all that she had to go on as she crunched through the brown leaves.

Only minutes old she had been found just off the road, her tiny body wrapped in a blanket that bore her name. It was the only clue she had to her identity for 28 years, the only tether to a world she did not know or remember. She was too young to be frightened or realize the infinite loss of being separated from her family. While they had suffered under the curse for just as long, they had no memory of her. She had known they existed, known that somewhere there were people who shared her DNA. And this child, whoever he or she was, would have such thoughts too.

The cold air was beginning to have a sharper bite to it, indicating that the weather reports predicting the season's first snow might be right on the money. That was not good news when there was a child wandering about in the cold without the proper attire. The mere thought that this child could be hungry, cold, and alone made Emma sick to her stomach. She could remember those sensations well. The hours at a police station at age six when she had run away from the drunken man who was threatening her while her foster mother had been in a stupor too deep to care. She remembered her first night sleeping under her jacket in the park when she was 13, not sure if anyone even cared enough to look for her.

"Emma!" her father called, breaking through the racing thoughts of her mind. "Over here. There's something this way." Boots sliding on the leaves, Emma ran in the direction of her father's voice to find the man staring down at a black Mary Jane, the leather shining against the browns of the leaves on the ground. "I'd say this hasn't been there long."

Emma knelt to grab the shoe, holding it to her chest as she advanced along the covered path in that direction. Her theory seemed to be right, the child – presumably a girl – had escaped unharmed and wandered from the scene of the crash. The images of the girls' parents flashed in Emma's mind. Both were sandy haired with fair complexions. Nothing extraordinary about either. She surmised that the girl might look the same, light features rather than dark. She wished she had carried the stuffed mouse with her, as it might have been a way to calm the child, but she hoped that it would not be necessary. Considering the situation more, Emma thought she would tell David to meet the coroner while she took the child around a different way to avoid traumatizing her with another view of the accident scene.

David and Emma only walked a few feet more until they found the little girl. Blonde hair tangled with velvety red ribbons holding it back, the little girl was curled into a ball and halfway under a bush there beside a large oak tree. Her red dress was embroidered around the collar and dusty with remnants of leaves clinging to the fabric. She was missing just the one shoe and had a large tear in the white tights she wore on her legs. Her eyes were shut on her tearstained face that boasted a scattered array of freckles.

David took two steps toward the child before Emma placed a shaking hand at his elbow. "No," she said quietly. "Let me."