In honour of National Christmas Jumper Day here in the UK. The charcters are not mine. The sweaters sadly are.
Fifteen minute festive fluff.
Sartorial Elegance
"Swan, no."
"Swan, yes."
Killian was eyeing the bundle of fabric with an expression better suited to a man being offered Granny's mystery lunchmeat special, or maybe one of Neal's dirty diapers. Emma thrust it closer towards him and it jingled gently. Killian's eyebrow, already high, made a break for his hairline.
"Come on," she wheedled, "it's traditional!"
"Traditional like the dwarves absconding with the Queen's apple tree was traditional? Because I seem to recall you had a few choice words for such traditions then yourself, Swan."
Emma winced. Not having Christmas as such in their own land, the Storybrooke residents had latched on to whatever aspects of a land-without-magic festive season most appealed to them. This had led to the dwarves discovering Wassailing, which had in turn led to Regina's prize apple tree being dug up, strung with toast, and held hostage until Regina had come barrelling into the Sheriff's station demanding a recipe for 'figgy pudding'. Emma had spent very little time carousing and several hours on paperwork that night.
"Please? For me?" She wasn't above batting her eyelashes.
Killian huffed and rolled his eyes skyward, and she knew she had him.
"Give up Killian, she's going to win. She always does," Henry groused, coming down the stairs with his hands thrust deeply in his pockets and an enormous woollen Santa Claus emblazoned on his chest.
"Hey!" cried Emma in semi-mock offence, "You loved your sweaters in New York!"
"Those memories were fake, mom. This… this is very real. As was my dignity, which I will never see again."
"Come , lad," Killian looked from Emma's pout to Henry's heinous sweater, clearly torn between cheering up his love and acknowledging the truth of Henry's statement, "it's not so bad."
Henry quirked his own eyebrow in reply, before poking himself solidly in the stomach.
"HO, HO, HO," said the sweater.
"Ho, ho, ho," echoed Henry morosely.
Killian span back to face Emma, "My love, that's cruelty."
"That's Christmas," Emma countered, "now take your ugly sweater and suffer with the rest of us."
He took it from her and allowed it to unfurl. From the back it was a sensible forest green knit, if a little conservative for Killian's taste, but the front was decorated with a foot high stylized pine tree, complete with tiny bells and baubles stitched in place of decorations. He opened his mouth, but seemed at a loss for words.
"I think yours is actually worse!" crowed Henry, with rather more relief than sympathy.
Emma beamed.
"It's perfect, put it on!"
"I would rather die. Again."
"That's a low blow and you know it," Emma scowled, "Everyone else will be wearing one too, you should see what mom's picked out for dad."
"Is it worse than this?"
"Oh, considerably," nodded Henry, whose opinion was the only one Killian was really interested in.
Killian took the sweater and tromped off to the bathroom to change with the expression of a man headed to the scaffold.
"Grandpa is never going to let him live this down, you know that right?" accused Henry.
"Your grandpa has antlers and a light up nose, he won't be calling anybody out tonight I promise you," Emma brushed her hands down her own sweater, the robin's huge googly eyes determinedly pointing in entirely different directions, "and anyway, this is only the start of it."
"What do you mean?" Henry side-eyed the bathroom door, from behind which was coming the sound of thumping and muffled curses, followed by a tinny electronic rendition of 'Oh Christmas Tree'. The cursing grew louder.
Emma winked at Henry.
"Wait till you see the hat."