Hello, my fellow CS lovers and others! I hope you enjoy this little holiday treat I've written.

This had been one of the few Christmases she'd spent with her newly-discovered family, yet Emma had never before felt as alone as she had now. Not even back in those loveless foster homes. Not even in her own little old empty apartment she'd used to spend her days in when she wasn't hired by some rich woman to track down her cheating, money-stealing husband and catch him red handed.

Hell, not even in prison.

She'd been sitting at the small oak table; it had been tiny, not really a table you'd put plenty of food on to greet your family for she'd had a lot of those as of recently, but perfect for two.

Emma had only been only one.

A candle slowly burned atop the polished wooden surface, its glow casting a dark, solemn shadow across the Savior's face that had borne no emotion. Her stare was blank, focused solely on the nearly burnt down candle, tracking the hot, uneven trails of wax that had slowly been sliding down the slick white surface.

Thoughts of things that should have been flooded her mind, memories never to be, dreams never to become real. The clock had almost ticked midnightand still, she'd been there, wearing the same formal clothes she'd worn this afternoon for lunch at Regina's.

The former Evil Queen had suggested they gather at her place for her home was big enough for a family as large as theirs. Everyone had brought a little something of their own, a bit of food that had, once put together, formed quite a lunch for the starving crowd.

The atmosphere was nice and relaxing, a strange experience for Emma, who had been used to numbness. Stories were shared, laughs echoed throughout the large estate, little quips and comments and jokes spoken to lighten up the already bright mood.

In the end, after consuming the dessert consisting of several cakes and cookies various guests had brought over, gifts had been exchanged. Emma had to admit, for such a cheery bunch, those people really had a creative streak, and that was not necessarily a compliment.

David had given her one of those ridiculous knitted holiday sweaters, colored ugly beige no less, with a plush reindeer head sticking out in the front, its beady, slightly creepy eyes sparkling red like lasers when given a light touch of a finger. Snow had supplied her with a matching set of antlers and a Santa cap – so Emma can, as her mother had cheerfully explained, switch styles from time to time.

How thoughtful of her.

Henry's present was a coffee mug that said You're A Decent Mom; pictures of silly reindeer heads suspiciously similar to the one on the ugly-ass sweater surrounding the inscription. Well, she thought to herself with a silent chuckle, it could have been worse. He could have gotten her an actual hideous sweater, as her father had.

Explaining her refusal to wear that ugly thing, along with the antlers (the Santa cap, she'd had to admit, looked nice. Cheesy, but nice. Very holiday-y), will be a nightmare. She'd already pictured her parents' disappointed and hurt faces, and had almost instantly started to think up possible excuses. Just in case.

If only she were more like Regina; sharp and to the point, no sugarcoating things, no grief over possibly hurting people's feelings.

Too bad she was Emma Swan, the queen of keeping quiet and sparing others the harsh truths.

Speaking of the former Evil Queen; Regina had gifted her with a bottle of her finest apple cider, if her words are to be believed. Knowing the brunette, Emma had no doubts the drink actually was of the highest quality. Once a queen, always a queen. And being royalty came with class that allowed no less than the best of the best.

Robin Hood's present was an extremely elegant looking bow, and a set of very sharp and very dangerous looking arrows. In all honesty, Emma had no idea what to do with them. She had never even fired an arrow before. Perhaps, she mused as she blankly stared at the strange gift, she could use them for target practice in case anyone is to get on her nerves when she happens to be in one of her moods.

Moods she's been in quite often lately. Ever since…

Emma shook her head furiously, refusing to even think of that moment. Tonight was a special night; the last few minutes of Christmas were slowly flying by. She wouldn't allow herself to spend them reminiscing about the worst thing she'd ever had to do. Reminiscing about the moment that had shattered all her dreams of a better future.

She couldn't, however, help thinking about what could have been if Killian were here. For starters, she would not be sitting at a tiny, empty table, staring at a candle. He'd have been right there across from her, downing his rum, telling dirty jokes she'd always laugh at even if they happened to be the unfunny kind, and sharing a story or two of his long gone glory pirating days.

And his present…

She chuckled at the thought. He would have probably given her something perverted in true Killian Jones fashion. Something like sexy Mrs. Claus lingerie she would have no problem wearing for him in the privacy of their bedroom, teasing and taunting him by swaying her hips like an exotic dancer, until he'd had enough and ripped it off her with his hook that Emma had found quite practical when it came to things done behind closed doors.

He should have been here. He should have spent this holy, silent night with her. He should have asked her millions of questions and demanded thousands of explanations of this world's strange customs, and she should have been telling him every single thing.

That ignorance had sometimes used to annoy her; now she'd wished more than anything that she could answer every question, tell him all he wanted to know, and watch as his expression changed from genuine confusion to that of pure wonder.

Oh, how she missed him!

Emma's eyes fell to her hands where a small vial was safely tucked. Its contents were pale and light, a mixture of brown and orange and yellow strangely reminiscent of a drink she'd sometimes enjoy after a particularly hard day of fighting the newest evil force that threatened the town.

That was Gold and Belle wishing her a merry Christmas. They'd told her to drink it today, before midnight, assuring her she would love the little surprise, both of them smiling like schoolchildren who'd just given a handmade present to their favorite teacher.

Emma frowned at the little thing, unsure of what to do. Was it safe to drink something given to her by Rumplestiltskin himself? After all, it was only a few months ago that she'd sent Merida to kill Belle and had her torture him.

Though all parties involved made sure Emma knew they'd forgiven her, the blonde still had her doubts.

But then, she thought, it was Belle's present as well. The beauty had been known for her extremely forgiving personality, a trait Emma was sure would be the end of her one day. While they were more accomplices than friends, Emma doubted Belle would have allowed her husband to give away a harmful present.

Deciding to take the chance (after all, what was the worst that could happen?), Emma downed the drink in one swift gulp. She cringed at the bitter taste; was that beer she'd just drank? Had the newlyweds given her a vial of beer?

She frowned in confusion. What was the point of such a present? Would it not have been easier to get her the whole bottle, or at least a cheap can?

"Swan."

The Savior froze at the sound of the familiar voice, one she'd never thought she'd hear again so soon. Had that been the purpose of the drink? To get her instantly drunk and make her hallucinate the man that she loved?

Surely the present could not be so cruel.

She dared to turn her head, and her eyes fell on the gorgeous pirate poised behind her. He bore his usual confident stance, his eyes that beautiful, heavenly blue that haunted her dreams, his one hand posed on his hip while the other, hooked one, hung loosely down his side. The leather he'd been famous for clung to him like armor; the very same leather she remembered, the leather that made him look all the more dashing and gorgeous.

The leather that once promised danger, and now just represented him.

"Killian," Emma whispered, his name a sweet melody to her lips shaky. She hastily stood up, looking him up and down, eyeing his every feature, absorbing every single detail to make sure that what she'd been seeing was real. "How is this possible?"

"I presume that ale had something to do with it," Killian said with a small smile.

Emma raised an eyebrow at the now empty vial in her hand. She'd set the object down onto the table before turning back to her beloved, not able to take her eyes off him. After all this time, he was back. She'd been given a chance to see him again.

And by Rumplestiltskin, of all people. Had that been his idea, she wondered, or had Belle put him up to this? Either way, Emma had made a mental note to send them the best thank you card she could find.

Not wanting to waste another second, she dashed straight into his arms, wrapping her own ones around him so tight she was sure had hurt him. But he'd said nothing, instead hugging her back with just as much force, his healthy hand gently caressing her hair like he'd used to do every time she'd fall into his embrace like this.

"I missed you so much!" she told him as she buried her head in the crook of his neck, tears gathering in her eyes despite all her protests, for she promised to keep this night as crying-free as possible.

He pressed a small kiss to her hair, whispering: "Me, too," over and over again, until the two simple words became more of a promise than a statement. A promise that he would forever miss her just as she'd missed him; that he would love and cherish the memory of her, of their times together, of their kisses and hugs and laughs, of unspeakable things they'd done in that flower field back in Camelot, even in death.

His finger found its way to her chin, gently lifting it to face her. Emma's eyes had filled with tears, the ones of joy at the sight of him. He truly was back. Not forever, but still, he was here, and he was holding her in his arms, and whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

There was still that fire in his eyes, the one he'd always looked at her with, to show her just how much he loved her. A sign of true love; the kind that never dies even if literal death attempts to sever its silver cord knitted by fate itself.

Killian leaned in for a kiss, and Emma let herself get lost in his soft warmth, in this feeling of security and hope his mere presence awakened within her.

"How long do we have?" Emma uttered in-between kisses.

"Not long enough," Killian replied.

God, how she missed him! His accent, the way his lips puckered whenever he expected a kiss, his hook she'd sometimes hold onto as a joke, the roll of his eyes whenever someone would come up with a stupid plan to battle the current evil plaguing the town…

She wished this would last forever, but she knew the ale she'd drank had only had a temporary effect. He would be gone any minute now.

So she decided to use the little time they'd had left to the fullest.

"Come here," she said, flashing him a joyful giggle.

Linking her hand with his, she led him to the table. The candle had still been burning, albeit barely; a few more minutes and its light will forever lose its soothing glow.

Emma had missed the sensation of Killian's skin against hers, the way his lean, strong fingers would entwine with hers in a loving knot. Hell, even the scratching of those large rings he'd always worn had been welcomed, for it was something that had been his and his only.

The reunited couple sat across from one other; their arms instinctively reached across the tiny table and locked together in a new, tighter knot. Just sitting there in silence, holding onto each other was enough for the both of them.

Giggling like a schoolgirl, Emma looked up at the mistletoe hanging over their heads. It had been a fantasy of hers as she sat here tonight by herself, wallowing in self-pity, imagining him alongside her, kissing her under the mistletoe. Just a harmless little wish that meant the world to her, a wish of how everything should be instead of how it actually was.

Only now the daydream had turned into reality she'd thought would never come alive.

"What?" Killian inquired, raising an eyebrow, his lips curling into a mischievous smile.

"Look up," Emma instructed.

He did as told, frowning at the sight of what he perceived as withered leaves hanging over them, wondering just what was so special about it to make his girl smile like that. A pang of guilt bit at his heart; he'd still known so little of this world, unfamiliar with most of its customs.

The only thing he did know was Emma. And that was enough for him. Still, there were times he wished he wasn't so helpless when it came to things like this realm's holidays and festivities. He was sick of annoyed looks other people would give him whenever he'd ask about something he found strange.

Even Emma had seemed bored of his frequent confusion. He didn't hold it against her, though; he, too, would go mad if someone kept pestering him over different things in his home realm.

"I presume the plant has a meaning of some sort."

"It's mistletoe," Emma explained, that satisfied smile never leaving her lips. "You're supposed to kiss underneath it. It's a tradition thing."

Killian raised an eyebrow suggestively, prompting Emma's smile to widen. Now that was a custom he actually liked. "Let's get to it, then."

They gave into a short, sweet kiss before, once again, falling into the deafening silence. Their eyes locked together, never once flinching, just observing one another in mutual adoration.

What Emma wouldn't give for it to last forever.

"How is, you know…" she suddenly spoke up, trailing off, not exactly sure how to approach the issue. As much as she enjoyed simply looking at him, there were things she wished to discuss.

She'd hoped, for his sake and her own sanity, that he hadn't been tortured mercilessly or something as cruel as that. If mythology was to be believed, all souls went to the Underworld, no matter good or bad. It was just a place for the deceased; nothing more, and nothing less.

She'd hoped that part was true; after all, stories made Peter Pan out to be a good guy, and look at how that turned out for them.

"Hell?" Killian finished. He gave a casual shrug. "It's Hell. Could be better."

Emma raised a cautious eyebrow. "Are you doing okay in there?"

"You mean, are they torturing me?"

She nodded.

"No." He smiled as a sigh of relief escaped her lips. "It's a dark place, but that's all there is to it. Don't you worry about me, love."

"How can I not?"

His grip on her hand tightened. "I'm fine, Swan," he assured her, suddenly growing serious.

His words appeared to relax her, if only for a bit. "Do they at least give you rum?" she inquired in an attempt to bring the mood back up, feeling guilty for ruining their moment.

"Yes!" he said excitedly, almost proud of his answer. "Lots of it."

Emma laughed. "That's good!"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Look, Killian…"

She gulped; these were hard words she'd been preparing to say. He needed to know she'd never stopped trying. Ever since that day, she'd been furiously digging through old books, researching centuries old scriptures, and generally rummaging through Gold's shop, despite both his and Belle's protests about silly things like scaring away customers and making them uncomfortable, in search of something, anything, that could help.

She didn't have much, but there were clues. And she was on her way to uncovering the answer she'd been looking for.

"I'm trying."

"I know you are," Killian told her.

He'd expected nothing less from his girl. She'd already proven she'd do anything for him, and for her, everything meant literally everything. His only hope was that she doesn't put herself in danger in order to rescue a soul that should have been in the Underworld since centuries ago.

"Soon this won't be just a one-time thing, okay?" Emma said, her words strong and decisive, promising absolute truth. "I will find you. That is a promise."

And when she does, they will have many more mistletoe kisses; so many they'll eventually grow bored of them as they grow older. They will kiss each other each and every day, use every moment they have to exchange a hug, and never let go of one another's hand ever again.

They will have their promised future, their forever they'd dreamed of.

"I know, love," Killian said softly, leaning down to press a light kiss to the top of her hand. "I will be waiting for you."

They pulled themselves to their feet, pushing the table aside before they flew into each other's arms again, their grip tight, inseparable as they stood frozen under the mistletoe. Wishing the moment of bliss would last forever

"I love you," Emma whispered. Tears began to fall, the protective walls she'd built falling apart like a fragile row of dominos.

Killian brought his finger to her cheek, wiping one of the salty droplets away. "I love you, too."

With that he pulled her into a kiss she'd given into without even a thought of resistance.

She could have stayed that way forever, she'd come to realize. Safe in his arms, with his lips on hers, his fingers clutching her own…

It was like her own little moment of paradise, a prelude to things to come. Not as soon as she wanted them to, but those dreams will come true. She will find him, and they will get their happy ending.

Together.

Emma opened her eyes, reality hitting her hard after having lost herself in thoughts of a better future. As the clock ticked exactly midnight, there she was, standing in the middle of a dimly lit room, the small table in one and a tiny, poorly decorated Christmas tree in the other corner.

Alone.

Kissing the air that had moments ago been Killian.

Emma brought her hand to her mouth, her finger tracing her lips, still feeling the rough, passionate touch of her beloved's as more and more tears spilled down her cheeks.

Merry Christmas, Killian, she thought, looking up, hoping her silent words would somehow reach him. I love you.

That was a bit modified version of Merida's ale.

Happy holidays, and spread the CS (and OUAT in general) love!