And A Teaspoonful Of Love
CSSS gift for killiancarstairs
Snow's voice is more than just a little stern. "You are not putting that in my Christmas pudding," she says firmly, "that's disgusting."
Killian can't believe it. "What are you talking about?" He gestures vividly in the direction of the huge bowl his soon-to-be mother-in-law is protecting with both hands held over it. "You can't make a proper pudding without–"
"Watch me!" she cuts him off.
He tilts his head. "I'm not planning to. If we're serving a pudding on our first Christmas in this house–"
She narrows her eyes. "Listen, pirate. Let me tell you how it works in my kitchen–"
"With all due respect, Milady," he interrupts dryly, "this isn't your kitchen."
Snow gives him one of her legendary eye rolls. "You know what I meant."
"I do," he replies, "and still, the only way to do this right–"
"Please," she snaps, "who are you, masterchef of the Enchanted Forest?!"
Killian is taken aback. "Master-what?"
She snorts. "Boiled mackerel is all I say."
His expression is only a little wounded, but he wouldn't be Killian Jones if he didn't have an adequate comeback. "Your daughter has never complained about my boiled mackerel – or anything else, for all that matters." He can't help but smirk, to which Snow raises her chin in that stubborn gesture Emma has definitely inherited from her, like the stubbornness itself.
"That's what you think," she fires back.
That throws him a little off track. "What does that–"
Before he can inquire any further, Emma rushes into the kitchen, obviously alerted from her Christmas decorating by the rash voices of her mother and her pirate fiancé. "Guys!" she exclaims. "Really?"
Snow and Killian exchange a sheepish glance, but his gaze quickly sweeps to Emma again when he assures her, "Don't worry, love, just a little culinary skirmish." Snow's eyes soften when she sees how he looks at her daughter. The sight of True Love on display never fails to make her emotional, especially if it's her daughter's.
The latter frowns suspiciously. "I really don't want to–"
"Baby, we got this," Snow jumps in just as quickly and smiles, "just leave it up to us."
Emma raises a skeptical eyebrow, looking to and fro between the other two. "You sure?"
Killian walks over to her, kisses her on the forehead and puts his hand and hook to her shoulders to turn her around and gently usher her out of the kitchen. "Absolutely certain," he confirms, "Now go back to your decorations." With regard to the presence of her mother, he refrains from smacking Emma's bottom and turns around to his future mother-in-law, drawing a deep breath. "So, I suppose we'll use butter then?" he asks matter-of-factly.
"Wait." Snow folds her arms. "You seem pretty confident that you know how to do it the right way. Who taught you?" It sounds more curious than challenging.
He scratches behind ear. "I'm just a good observer."
She leans a little forward, not willing to let him off the hook that easily. "And you observed... your mother?" she inquires.
Killian sighs and averts his eyes for a moment. He didn't mean to let this turn into an inquisition of his childhood memories, damn the intuition of the princess bandit, something else Emma has inherited from her. He can see that she won't let it rest until she gets a satisfying answer from him. He shrugs. "I... I don't remember much about my mother," he admits a little reluctantly, "I just remember she always used to put beef tallow in her pudding, and in my mind it was the best thing I ever tasted." Suddenly, his mind seems ages away. He tilts his head. "But then, of course, butter was very rare back in the day, so that was probably the reason she didn't use it. Never mind."
Snow still cringes at the thought of beef tallow in a sweet dish, but her heart also goes out to that little boy growing up without his mother and with only very little memories of her to cherish. And it's Christmas, after all. "Hey," she says, "What about we make them a little smaller, and make two of them?" Killian frowns in confusion, and she elaborates, "One with my recipe, and one with yours."
His eyes light up a little. "And then we have a friendly competition?" he suggests eagerly. She knows he always loved a challenge. Well, this one he's gonna lose.
She smirks like the bandit she still is. "You're so doomed, pirate."
Killian winks. "I guess we'll find that out on Christmas Day, Milady."
Half an hour later, they are both stirring the concoction in their respective bowls, and Snow isn't really surprised to see Killian stir like a pro while nonchalantly securing the bowl at the edge of the kitchen counter between his hook and hip. She smiles to herself while she's watching his almost solemn face. He is, of course, dead wrong about this beef tallow thing – but an 18th Century pirate who delights in cooking? He proves once more that he's anything but an ordinary man.
He stops stirring and reaches to open the kitchen cabinet right in front of his face where he pulls out a bottle with a warm brown liquid, and she has no doubt what it is. She gasps in surprise when she sees the amount of it he pours into his bowl.
"Are you sure your mother put all that liquor in her Christmas pudding?!" she asks skeptically.
He chuckles and tilts his head. "Now, that's my own addition."
Snow raises her chin and taunts, "Do you really think getting the family drunk will make them like your pudding better than mine?"
Killian raises his eyebrows indignantly. "Let me tell you, Milady, I never use trickery when it comes to love or food."
She just rolls her eyes in response.
Later that evening, when he slips into their bed where Emma's already waiting for him, she puts away her book with a sigh; she can't concentrate on it anyway when there's still something on her mind. She turns to him.
"Okay," she starts, "are you going to tell me what the thing with my mom was all about? Or do I have to torture it out of you?"
She should have known, of course, that was the wrong approach to the matter. He tilts his head and runs his tongue through his mouth, its glistening tip sinfully tempting her behind his slightly parted lips. "Hmmm, I wouldn't object to the latter, love," he replies in a low voice.
"Come on," she huffs, "I'm serious–"
"So am I."
She decides to ignore his amused interjection. "You didn't really fight?"
"Don't worry, Swan," he tells her a little more seriously and assures, "It was really just a little culinary disagreement." She continues to look at him questioningly, and he gesticulates vaguely, but elegantly with his hand which distracts her for a second. "I suggested a little variation for the Christmas pudding," he explains.
Emma raises her eyebrows in surprise. "Seriously? You must have a true death wish this time if you interfere with my mom's Christmas pudding." He just smirks, and she elaborates, "Let me tell you that no one ever interferes with my mom's Christmas pudding and lives to tell the tale. It's sacrosanct," she adds.
It was clear what he would reply, "Well, you know I'm a survivor."
She rolls her eyes. "I just don't want any stupid fights troubling our first Christmas in this house. Please?"
"I promise it's all good," he assures almost solemnly.
After a last probing look she caves. "Okay."
Killian raises his hand to twirl one of her locks between his fingers. "Now, just for future reference..." He lifts his eyes to hers, and the expression in them makes her feel all warm and tingly inside as he asks, "Which method of duress exactly would you have used to obtain information from me?"
She smiles at his slightly pompous but oh so very Killian choice of words and leans in a little closer, purring, "Well... I'm all for the subtler forms of torture, so I'd probably do this..." She slips her hand underneath his t-shirt, her searching fingers finding and teasing his nipple with just the right pressure to make his eyelids flutter a little. "...and then..." She leans in to press her lips against the side of his neck while her hand glides downward over his flat stomach, easily slipping underneath the waistband of his sweatpants now. She smiles against his skin when she notices that when he took off his jeans for the night, he must have taken off his boxer briefs as well. "Probably this," she goes on and lets her fingers crawl further down, skimming them through the coarse hair she finds there, but when she hears him draw a sharp breath, she takes a detour in the last moment and caresses the tender skin of his groin instead of touching him where he's already throbbing for her.
"Emma..." he murmurs in a rough, pleading voice.
She raises her face to his, smirking and delighting in the wrecked expression and the stormy dark blue his eyes have turned to. "See?" she chuckles, "You would have revealed just about everything to get me to do... this."
He groans in relief when her fingers finally close around him.
"A very effective method indeed," he manages and raises his hand to comb his fingers through her hair and pull her closer. "And I solemnly swear I told you the truth."
"Good," she whispers against his lips, "I can release you then..."
"Don't you dare."
On Christmas Day, it's a colorful bunch of their weird, extended family gathered around Emma's and Killian's big, wooden dinner table, even if not everyone's there who should be. Killian surely would have loved to have his younger half brother with him, but he understands that this would be too much too early for the still confused and traumatized young man – and probably for himself, too. It will take a bit more time for him to settle int his new world, and to really make peace with his older half brother who killed their father and left him grow up as an orphan. They still have much things to work through, and to add a completely new family to the mix would be too much – especially one that includes the woman who was responsible for Killian coming after their father in the first place. So, Killian spent some time with Liam alone earlier on Christmas Day, far away from prying eyes and questioning looks.
When they are setting the table, Killian is baffled that he's supposed to sit at the head of the table – and cut the turkey, a task that he would attribute first and foremost to Emma's father like no other. Emma is more touched than amused.
"This is our home, Killian, mine and yours," she points out, "so yeah, of course you're gonna be the head of the table – and the one to cut the turkey."
He just scratches behind his ear and swallows with an almost curt nod. "I'll be honored," he murmurs in a thick voice, and Emma just shakes her head to herself with a touched smile, not pressing any further, because she knows he still has some way to go before he's fully used to his new role in the heroes' brigade, in the family. Used to the fact that he actually does have a family now.
Later, when they all sit down, she can tell that he's still a bit self-conscious at first, but that doesn't last long when he notices that everyone is taking it as naturally as it is and should be, because he has earned a place of his own now as a valuable member of their community and family. David gives him a barely perceptible, encouraging nod when he positions the big knife to cut the holiday roast, and if he isn't mistaken, Emma's father even has some hint of pride in his eyes.
The meal is a full success, they all get along wonderfully, no holiday drama in sight that shakes so many of the ordinary families in this realm around this season, or so Killian has been told. There might have been a little awkwardness at the beginning, because family is family, and so Regina has been told to bring along her sister, and well – not everyone's sure yet if the Wicked Witch will ever be a valuable and reliable member of the community, too, but it's Christmas, and she is family, sort of, and they are all willing to give it a try. Besides, as Regina pointed out when they discussed this matter before, Zelena hasn't been half as wicked as Regina was evil, and with the many chances Regina has been given it would have been quite hypocritical to deny her sister the same.
Zelena bringing along her baby daughter solves a bit of the initial tension, and they accept that, somehow, nearly everyone has hurt everyone else at some point, so either they put it in the past and make a new start, or they hold their grudges forever. Killian and Regina are the ones who know best that the latter only leads to wasted years and endless torment. So, they put Baby Robyn in the spacious play pen next to little Neal and don't waste a word over the fact that Zelena once stole Neal for her wicked purposes and also threatened Henry, and Emma, when she was at her darkest, stole her away from her baby daughter to kill her. The balance feels a bit fragile in the beginning, but the more time passes on, the more the general confidence and consensus seems to grow that this can actually work out. By the time dessert is served, a general chatting in every direction is going on, nobody is excluded, and no interaction feels awkward or forced.
Also, nobody comments on the fact that two smaller Christmas puddings are served this year, instead of one larger one. Emma cuts them and puts a bit of each on everyone's plate. Killian just told her they were trying out two different recipes this year; he hasn't revealed anything about the nearer circumstances, let alone about any competition between him and her mother, friendly or not, but Emma wouldn't be Emma if she didn't smell bullshit ten miles against the wind. She knows something's up with those puddings, and it doesn't take much to make the scales fall from her eyes.
It's a completely innocent remark from her father. "This is delicious!" he exclaims after he's finished his first bit of pudding – the traditional one his wife made – and delves into the second one, the one Killian made. Only, he doesn't know about that insignificant little detail. "Did you change anything this year?" He beams at Snow, in all innocence thinking he's paying her an extra compliment. Killian's lips purse into a smirk, and Emma covers her eyes with a sigh.
Snow raises her chin and glares at her husband. "I thought you liked my Christmas pudding just fine as it always was," she remarks pointedly, her voice almost threatening.
David frowns in confusion. "What?"
Killian clears his throat and starts to fidget with his fingers in what seems to be eager anticipation, but Emma kicks him under the table. "Don't," she warns.
Snow throws her hands in the air in an almost theatrical gesture. "No no, Emma, it's fine." She waves towards Killian. "Go ahead, Killian, say it." Her stoical expression is supposed to show haughty annoyance, but also a very ostensible indifference that says go ahead and brag if you must, pirate, I don't care.
Everyone's attention is on the Christmas puddings by now, or more, on what's obviously going on between Emma's mother and fiancé. Killian scratches behind his ear, looking at his own plate for a moment. "Well, what I was going to say was..." He plucks an invisible lint from the tip of his hook before he continues, "I wanted to recreate the taste from my childhood – which you all know was a long time ago – but I remembered only a few ingredients my mother used to put in the pudding, I had no idea how to concoct the thing itself." Snow frowns in confusion about this unexpected turn and scrutinizes him closely. "So," he goes on, "Emma's mother was generous enough to let me interfere. You could say, both of these puddings were made with mutual effort." He tilts his head in a shrug, "That's all." When his eyes meet Snow's, he averts them, and when he meets Emma's fond smile instead, the tips of his ears turn slightly pink.
"Ah, now that's indeed nice," Regina comments sarcastically, turning to her stepdaughter, "so Captain Cook gets to interfere with your kitchening, but I don't?"
"Welcome to my world, sis," Zelena can't help but throw in.
"We all know your specialty is the apple pie, Regina," Snow retorts dryly.
"Oh yes, I've heard it's to die for," Killian adds pointedly, with a chuckle, and Henry of all people snorts with laughter and points both index fingers at Killian in appreciation.
"You might experience it first hand," Regina shoots his way, but with a humorous glint in her eyes.
"Well, merry Christmas anyway," David finally interferes, because he feels like someone has to keep up the peace, and because he suspects that his innocent remark about the Christmas pudding somehow triggered something he doesn't really understand. But it also seems like the peace at the table isn't endangered anyway, and weird as that is in itself, he's happy about that fact and also kind of proud. And he thought those dinners would suck.
Everyone raises their glass and agrees, and then they resume once more their general chatting and laughing.
They have leftovers of everything for everyone, and when the guests start to leave, they say their goodbyes combined with a "see you tomorrow", as the following day it will be Regina's turn to host everyone for a slightly lighter meal.
While Emma says goodnight to Henry who is going to spend the night at Regina's, and David packs the baby stuff for Neal, Snow sneaks into the kitchen where Killian is meticulously loading the dishwasher with plates.
"Hey," she says to get his attention, to which he turns around immediately. He grins a little sheepishly because he suspects what's coming, and he isn't wrong. "It was nice of you to share the praise," she tells him.
He scratches behind ear. "It was actually true, you know?" he replies. "I mean... I did watch my mother, but I don't remember all the steps of the concoction." He tilts head. "So, I secretly watched you."
Snow flashes him a contagious grin; a bandit and a pirate, they understand each other. "I'll tell you something. What about we scratch the whole two versions thing and just try to find the recipe for next year." She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Christmas pudding to end all Christmas puddings. One pudding to rule them all."
Killian raises his eyebrows, his confusion evident. "Excuse me?"
She doesn't even bother to elaborate any further; leave his education about modern literature up to Belle. "We'll have to secretly experiment with the ingredients throughout the year, of course," she goes right down to business. "The beef tallow for example tasted much better than I thought, and the liquor actually adds a nice touch to it." She crinkles her nose for a moment. "Even if a little less would probably suffice."
Killian's mouth curves into an amused smirk. "You suggest that we team work? You think that will turn out well?"
"As long as I get to have the last say," she tells him firmly – to which he chuckles – and then adds, "and we don't forget the most important ingredient."
He tilts his head in question. "And what would that be, Milady?"
She elbows him benevolently. "A teaspoonful of love, Killian. Good night and Merry Christmas!"