A/N: Here it is, my loves, the New Year's Eve sequel to the Christmas fic I posted a couple weeks ago. If you haven't already, you'll want to go check out "Merry not Christmas" first. This won't make much sense without it. I hope that 2016 is full of health and happiness and love and laughter for each and every one of you!
A month ago, if someone had told her that not only would she have multiple plans for New Year's Eve, but that she would also have a date for said plans, Emma Swan would have suggested they be checked for head trauma, possibly committed to a mental institution.
She would have thought they were crazy.
Of course, that was before Killian Jones tumbled down the mountain, collapsed at the door of her cabin, and, busted ankle or not, all but waltzed right into her heart.
So, as it is, she's the one feeling a little bit like she's lost her mind as she stands here, in nothing but a matching coral panty-set, staring into her closet and trying to figure out just what the hell one is supposed to wear when first having dinner with a co-worker/friend, his wife (also a friend), and their four year old son, followed by a visit to your as yet undefined – lover? boyfriend? She has no idea what to call him... Killian...
She takes a deep breath and tries to collect her jumbled thoughts.
Killian will be joining her for dinner at David and Mary Margaret's, will be meeting her friends, and not only does she have no idea what to wear; she also has no idea how the hell she's supposed to introduce him. 'Hey guys, this is Killian. He fell down at the door of my cabin like ten days ago and we've been having fabulous sex for most of the last week and I really like him, but it's me, so it doesn't have a label yet and can we just keep it that way?' isn't exactly the opening she's gearing for...
And then there's the fact that afterwards, they'll be heading to his brother's to ring in the new year with his family.
She still hasn't quite figured out how to process any of it. She'd agreed to it, sure, back on the 28th (the night before they'd left the cabin), curled naked in bed, with Killian's fingers smoothing over her skin as he had nervously asked if she had any plans for New Year's Eve. She had, of course; she does New Year's with the Nolan's every year, but something about the hopeful look on his face had prompted her to agree to a slight change in plans.
They'd left the quiet solitude of the cabin the next morning; Killian's ankle healed enough to borrow her skis. She'd taken the sled; Eira yapping and howling, eager in her harness, and when they'd reached Killian's resort at the bottom of the mountain and exchanged contact info, she'd been a little bit shocked to discover that he lived all of ten minutes away from her in the same snowy little town.
But hell, when fate (serendipity, kismet, whatever...) sees fit to throw two people together in a remote cabin on an uninhabited mountainside, it may as well make sure that when they leave, they live close enough together for the relationship to flourish.
Relationship: the term is almost foreign to her and she's still standing there pondering it when the doorbell rings and Eira hops off the bed to run down the stairs.
A peek out the window confirms that it's Killian at her door; she recognises the sleek black SUV parked next to her bug in the driveway and quickly slips into a robe so she can hurry down the stairs to let him in.
She hasn't seen him since they parted ways at the foot of the mountain two days ago and it's a little bit disconcerting how much she's missed him; how excited she is to see him now. They've texted off and on, talked on the phone to finalise plans last night, but she hasn't been able to just reach out and touch him, and after their time at the cabin, the lack of physical contact these last couple days has been quite the adjustment.
Eira sits patiently, whining quietly at the door as Emma pulls it open and ushers Killian in. Icy wind and flurries follow him, cold against her bare legs, and she closes the door before turning to face him.
"Hi," she whispers, reaching for him instantly, her fingers against the rough snow-dusted wool of his jacket. His beard is trimmed neatly now, just a shadow of what it was two days ago, and she lifts her fingers to gently inspect the last of the yellowing bruise around the mostly-healed cut above his eye.
"Hello, love," he whispers back, a smirk on his lips (probably at her lack of actual attire) as he dips his head to kiss her.
His lips are cold in contrast to hers, the snow on his jacket melting beneath her fingertips, but he tastes like peppermint and his tongue is hot against her own as his fingers wrap around her waist, tugging her closer.
"Bloody hell, love," he sighs against her lips, breaking the kiss. "I know it's only been two days, but I've missed you something fierce."
She hums in agreement, going in for another kiss and groaning when his hand drops to squeeze her ass, his fingers teasing their way down to the hem of her short robe and dipping beneath to ghost up the back of her bare thigh.
He breaks the kiss a second time and shakes his head with a little chuckle, as if he's laughing at some joke she isn't quite privy to. "As much as I'd like to continue this, darling; it's already 5:30, you're not yet dressed, and I'd rather we not show up late for dinner with your friends, looking thoroughly ravished." He presses one more quick kiss to her lips and then steps back to greet Eira, scratching behind the dog's ears.
Her originally standoffish husky absolutely adores Killian now and Emma can't say she blames Eira one bit.
"I can't figure out what to wear," Emma admits when Killian looks up at her again and toes off his boots. He unbuttons his jacket too, shrugging out of it, and she takes it to hang on the hooks by the stairs. He's dressed in dark-wash blue jeans with a plaid button-up and a dark grey cardigan. It's simple and looks ridiculously good on him, but she's still no closer to figuring out what she should wear.
He's never been in her home before, but he ushers her toward the stairs with his hand at her back as if he's done this a hundred times. "I'm sure whatever you choose will look wonderful, love. I can't speak for your friends, but Liam and Laura won't be expecting anything fancy."
Sighing, she leads him into her bedroom, laughing when he takes a seat at the foot of her bed and Eira jumps up to perch next to him; the two of them an eager audience. He slings his left arm over the husky's back and it's only then that she notices his left wrist is still empty – hidden within the sleeves of his shirts – but empty nonetheless.
He must catch her staring because he just shrugs with a forced smile. "I've ordered a replacement for the one I lost, but it's not something they can make and deliver in a matter of days."
There's worry, an unspoken question in the blue of his eyes and she steps forward to stand between his legs, her fingers settling over his wrist where it still rests over Eira's back. "David and Mary Margaret won't care, and if Leo even notices, he'll probably just think it's the coolest thing ever. He's got a bit of a Captain Hook and Peter Pan obsession, so just lie and tell him a crocodile ate it."
He bows his head to press a kiss against her sternum before straightening his spine and smiling up at her. "Thank you, love. Now why don't you put some clothes on and then tell me what's really vexing you?"
With a groan she decides to stop overthinking the clothing aspect of things. She pulls a pair of burgundy jeans out of her closet, followed by a grey tank top and an ivory sweater. She nods toward the bathroom. "I should change in there or we'll never get out of here."
The warmth of his laughter follows her into the bathroom, and while she dresses, touching up her hair and her make-up, she wonders just how exactly someone who has known her for less than two weeks, can so easily tell when something is bothering her.
She can hear the soft lilt of Killian's voice through the door as he praises Eira for something unknown, and when she steps out of the small room, she decides to just come right out with it. "What am I supposed to call you when I introduce you to Dave and Mary Margaret?" she asks, her fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of her sweater. "I mean, I told them I was bringing a friend, but they'll see through that in a second."
He holds his hand out to her and she crosses the room to clasp it. "Let me ask you a question first, love; have you ever brought anyone, friend or otherwise, to such an event?"
She shakes her head.
"Then it's probably safe to assume that they've already seen right through it, aye?"
She nods again and bites her lip. "I'm worrying too much, aren't I?"
He smiles and stands to kiss her. "No more than I, Emma," he reassures. "I think introducing me as Killian will suffice. I'll follow your lead, love, and we can simply allow your friends to come to their own conclusions regarding the nature of our relationship."
She wants to ask him for clarification on the exact nature of their relationship, but a glance at her alarm clock confirms that they really need to get going if they want to make it on time, so she kisses him once more in response, and takes his hand to pull him out of the room.
He lets Eira out into the backyard, watching with a smile as the husky frolics about in the snow. She grabs a couple bottles of wine from the rack and pulls a large tin of cherry cheesecake squares from the freezer.
"What've you got in there, love?" he asks curiously, nosy as he steps closer to the counter.
"Dessert; should be plenty for left over to bring to your brother's."
He picks up the bottle of white wine, reads the label, sets it down, and then does the same with the red. "I've a bottle of white in the car already, love, was going to bring it to your friends'. How about you just bring the red to my brother's? I know for a fact he enjoys a good shiraz."
"You think it'll be enough?" she asks, tucking the tin and the wine into a reusable grocery bag.
Killian opens the door to let Eira in; wiping the husky's paws with the paw-print towel that hangs on a nearby hook, and it strikes her again how at ease he seems in her home. It probably shouldn't come as so much of a surprise; they did spend the better part of a week living together up at her cabin.
"I'm sure one bottle is fine; I'm not planning to drink much." He looks at the clock, double-checks that the back door is locked, and then steers her toward the front door. "We should be on our way."
David and Mary Margaret only live a few streets over and usually she would just walk, but they're planning to head to Liam's shortly after dinner, and Killian tells her it's a bit more of a drive. It doesn't make sense to waste time going back for the car.
She climbs into the passenger seat of Killian's SUV, buckles in, texts Mary Margaret that they'll be there soon, and gives Killian verbal directions as they drive through the snow covered town; turn left at the top of her street, take the next right, the second left after that, and it's number 10 on the right; the one that looks like the Griswold house from 'National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation'.
Killian pulls into the driveway behind David's truck, shifts into park, and ducks his head, tilting it for a better view out the windshield. "You weren't kidding; it's like Christmas vomited all over the poor house."
She rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly in the arm. "Be nice."
He sits back to look at her with a grin. "Aye, love, I'll hold my tongue." He reaches for her hand and links their fingers together. "Shall we?"
With a deep breath, she leans in for a quick kiss, a tight smile on her lips as she gathers her purse, the wine, and the dessert; preparing to exit the vehicle.
She precedes Killian to the front door, their boots crunching over the salted walkway. They both chuckle at the slightly lopsided pirate of a snowman on the front lawn, and Killian reaches out to ring the doorbell, saving her the trouble of shuffling the load in her arms.
There's quiet for a moment as they wait for someone to answer the door, the too-bright Christmas lights almost blinding, and then they're being swept into the warmth of the house.
David takes the wine and dessert tin from her hands, setting them aside before sweeping her into a crushing hug. Her protests are muffled, going unheard against his shoulder, and she simply concedes defeat, allowing the closest thing she's ever had to a brother (to family) to nearly crack her back with the force of his embrace. When he finally releases her, she punches him in the chest and shakes out her shoulders. "You do realize you just saw me yesterday at the station, right?"
David doesn't reply to that. Instead, he turns toward Killian, sizing him up. Emma rolls her eyes and unzips her coat. "David, this is Killian. Killian, David."
Killian holds out his hand and David shakes it firmly. "The friend?" David asks, his tone holding a healthy amount of scepticism.
"Aye." Killian chuckles and nods, working to undo his jacket when David releases his hand.
Emma notices the exact moment that David takes stock of her new friend's disability. His gaze flickers quickly from Killian's empty sleeve to meet her eyes. She nods almost imperceptibly with a little smile and David seems to soften noticeably, quickly offering to take both of their jackets.
"I'll hang these up. Straight down the hall; Mary Margaret is in the kitchen and Leo should still be obsessing over that pirate Lego set you got him."
"He likes it?" Emma asks, nodding for Killian to follow her further into the house.
"He's refused to sleep without his Lego Captain Hook for the last six nights," David calls out with a laugh that sounds almost pained. "After the third night we conceded defeat."
"Emma!" Mary Margaret exclaims. "So glad you could make it!" The petite woman slips off the oven mitts and almost skips around the counter to wrap her in a hug equal in ferocity of that of her much taller husband's.
"Eee!" Leo screams, abandoning his Lego to thunder over and throw himself at her legs.
Emma hoists the boy up into her arms when Mary Margaret steps back. "Lee!" she quietly screams back, tickling the squirming munchkin as Killian introduces himself to Mary Margaret.
She wants to stay in the kitchen, possibly referee the conversation, but Leo is adamant that she come play pirate ships with him, and Killian nods for her to go ahead. The boy tells her the intricate story of each of his Lego characters, and she does her best to listen while also keeping an eye on what's going on in the kitchen.
Killian seems to be helping Mary Margaret out for a short while, discussing something Emma can't quite make out, but when David returns to the kitchen, Mary Margaret shoos Killian away.
Killian joins them on the carpet in the living room, and Leo automatically hands him a Lego character, accepting his presence without so much as the blink of an eye.
"Hey, Lee," Emma says, getting the boy's attention. "This is Killian; he's a friend of mine."
Leo looks up at Killian, scrutinizes him for a second with that comical intensity that often only a child can manage, and then offers his chubby little hand in the most adorable handshake Emma has seen to date.
"I'm going to call you Kee," Leo decides with a tone that leaves no room for discussion.
"Right then, Captain Lee; care to show this scurvy sailor around your ship?" Killian replies in the most ridiculous pirate voice she's ever hear.
Leo bursts into gleeful giggles and when she's sure that the two of them have hit it off, Emma stands, unconsciously running her fingers through both of their hair, and heads into the kitchen to see if there's anything she can help with.
David is outside on the deck barbequing ribs, and Mary Margaret is just pulling her cheesy hash brown casserole from the oven. It's one of Emma's absolute favourites; creamy, melted cheese with a crunchy cornflake topping, and Mary Margaret has made it every New Year's since she learned how much Emma loved it.
Emma's about to open her mouth to ask if she can help, but Mary Margaret speaks first. "You two seem close."
Stuttering a little bit, Emma tries to come up with a response to that. "Really? We're just… I mean I've only known him for like ten days."
Mary Margaret lifts an eyebrow. "You didn't even notice you did it, did you?"
"Did what?" She tries to think back to her actions since arriving here and can't seem to pinpoint anything out of the ordinary.
"When you stood up, you ruffled his hair." Mary Margaret points out. "And you can't stop looking at him." Something seems to occur to her then. "Ten days ago you were up at your cabin. Emma? How did you two meet?"
Emma chokes on a laugh, recalling the feel of Killian's hair between her fingers just moments ago, but also several far less innocent occurrences while they were snowed in at her cabin. Fairly certain she's blushing, she figures it's pretty pointless to avoid Mary Margaret's knowing gaze. Looking up at her friend, she pinches the bridge of her nose and shrugs. "Funny story actually."
Mary Margaret's face all but screams 'Do tell!' and Emma sighs, trying to figure out where to start. "It was back on the 22nd. I was curled up by the fire with Eira, reading a book. A storm had come out of nowhere earlier that afternoon with no sign of stopping. At first I thought I was imagining things; that it was just the wind, but Eira got up and went to the door, started whining. I opened it and there was Killian, collapsed at my door, concussed and barely conscious with a nasty cut on his face."
"So naturally you hauled a total stranger inside…" Mary Margaret concludes, skilfully julienning carrots while somehow still maintaining an unnerving level of eye contact.
Emma grabs a bowl from the cupboard and slides it next to the cutting board for her friend. "I couldn't leave him outside; he would have frozen to death. I'm a cop; I can't exactly have a count of negligent manslaughter on my plate."
"I guess not, but still; welcoming a strange man into your home is an act worthy of due caution." Mary Margaret hands her a container of dried pineapple rings. "Grab a knife and dice those up, please."
"I didn't exactly welcome him in; it was more like instructing Eira to drag him in the door by the hood of his jacket while I went to retrieve the smelling salts from the first aid kit so I could have him conscious enough to strip him out of his wet clothes and get him into something dry."
Mary Margaret finishes with the carrots and moves on to rinsing a bowl of snow peas. "Let me guess; you got one good look at him…" Emma snorts and Mary Margaret gives her a look that says 'I'm married, not blind.'
"You got one good look at him," she continues, "he swept you off your feet, wooed you with that terrific accent, and the two of you spent the next several days doing things that we probably shouldn't mention while David's around?"
Shaking her head in incredulity, Emma pops a sugary piece of pineapple into her mouth. "At no point was I swept off my feet. He twisted his ankle pretty good and could hardly put weight on it for the first few days."
Mary Margaret nudges her with a knowing smile, and Emma flicks a piece of pineapple at her. "But yeah, the rest of that is pretty accurate."
Mary Margaret adds the last ingredient to the salad bowl and reaches for the dressing. "And you brought him here," she states as if it's some super significant act.
It is.
"And I'm going to meet his brother later," Emma adds, hoping that maybe saying it outloud will make it all seem a little less like a dream.
"That's a good thing, Emma," Mary Margaret encourages. "We only talked for a few minutes, but he seems like a nice guy. I'll hazard a guess and say he's already a little bit in love with you."
Looking over the counter out into the living room, she notices that Killian's now got Leo perched on his lap and is reading a kid's book to him with the same enthusiastic theatrical approach he used when reading to her. The sandy-haired boy laughs, smiling wide and flipping the pages whenever Killian nods for him to do so.
And fuck, because there's a chance she's already a little bit in love with him, too.
She turns back toward Mary Margaret. "I told him about Neal," she admits in an almost whisper. "Killian… he's been through a lot too. I don't know; we just connected. He can read me so easily; it's kind of terrifying."
Mary Margaret squeezes her arm. "But in a good sort of way?"
Emma nods. "Really good; that's why it's so scary."
"Scary isn't always bad, Emma," Mary Margaret reminds her before moving to the back door. "Think you two can get Leo to wash his hands? David should be almost done with the ribs."
Mary Margaret sets about moving the food to the table while Emma shifts back into the living room. "Supper's almost ready; whaddya say Lee, should we go wash our hands?"
"Can Kee come with us?"
Emma looks at Killian, knowing that the process for him washing his only hand is quite different from what Leo is used to, but Killian just smiles at her and scoops Leo up as he stands. "He sure can."
The three of them squeeze into the tiny powder room, Leo standing on his step stool in front of Killian while Emma hovers in the doorway.
Apparently the two of them have already had a discussion about Killian's missing hand, because Leo simply pushes up his own sleeves and then does the same for Killian's right arm, before turning the water on.
Killian dips his fingers below the stream to test the temperature before nodding. "All right, water's good. Soap me up, Lee."
The boy gets a little overenthusiastic with the number of times he pumps the lever, liquid soap spilling over the side of his small hand, but Emma figures that in this case, more is better than too little, so she remains where she is, watching as the boy runs his tiny hands over Killian's much larger one, lathering until Killian tells him that it's time to rinse.
They pat their hands dry together and Emma has to blink back sudden tears at the sight of it, at the image of something she's never really allowed herself to want or even hope for.
"Do you want help too, Eee?" Leo asks, the perfect little gentleman.
Emma laughs, blinking harder. "I think maybe Kee can help me. Why don't you go see if mom needs help setting the table?"
Leo takes off from the bathroom and Killian reaches for her instantly, his fingers finding hers. "You all right there, love?"
She nods and pulls him in for a chaste kiss, mindful of the fact that the bathroom door is still wide open. "I'm good," she tells him honestly. "I'm just not used to all this."
She doesn't have to clarify that by 'all this' she means him; he seems to understand.
With a smile, he turns her toward the sink, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "Did you want help washing your hands, darling?" he whispers against her ear.
A shiver snakes down her spine and she resists the urge to press back against him. "That's a terrible idea and you know it."
His eyes sparkle. "Aye, love. Later," he promises with a kiss pressed to the back of her head before he turns and leaves the bathroom.
She's the last one to arrive at the circular table, but Killian remains standing until she's taken her seat. One look at Mary Margaret and Emma can practically see her friend jump into wedding planning mode. With a shake of her head, she does her best to ignore it.
"Dinner looks amazing," she offers. It smells delicious too and she can't wait to dig in. The ribs are candied, practically falling off the bone, and she salivates at the sight of them. She doesn't reach for them just yet though; David and Mary Margaret are pretty far from religious, but she's never sat down to a New Year's meal with them without David first saying a few words.
Wine gets passed around, glasses filled, and then David clears his throat. "Emma, Killian, I'm glad you could join us. Just a quick toast, and then we'll eat. To family and friends, both new and old. To another year almost past, and a new one waiting in the wings. Health and happiness to all. Mary Margaret, please cover Leo's ears for a second." Mary Margaret does and David turns to face Killian. "Hurt her and I'll shoot you."
Emma and Mary Margaret both whack David in the chest at the same time.
"He doesn't really mean that," Mary Margaret apologizes.
Emma just groans at the entire exchange. "Cheers!" she exclaims sarcastically, clinking her glass against David's and then Killian's. "Can we eat now?"
Killian laughs and David nods. "Let's eat."
Conversation throughout dinner remains entirely civil, and Killian tells his side of the story of how he ended up at the door of Emma's cabin. There's discussion of Killian's work with search and rescue, and David is as surprised as Emma was to discover that most of the time, unless it involves a minor, the sheriff's department rarely gets involved with the actual retrieval of injured or lost persons from the mountainside. Emma hadn't realized just how many accidents take place each year until hearing a number of Killian's stories. Mary Margaret works as a school teacher, but is also on the town's health and safety committee, and talk quickly snowballs into brainstorming a potential mountain and wilderness survival and safety campaign.
With the food finished, Leo returns to playing on the floor, Mary Margaret moving to find something kid-friendly on the TV.
Emma's spent enough time in this house to know the ins and outs of the kitchen, so it's not hard for her to locate Tupperware containers for the leftovers. Killian packs the extras away, loading the dishwasher, and David heads outside to close up the barbeque while Emma gets started on washing the few remaining pots and pans.
With Leo entertained, Mary Margaret returns to help dry, and it's not long before they're all settled around the table again with coffee and dessert.
"So, Killian; Emma says you'll both be heading to your brother's later this evening," Mary Margaret comments when Emma tells her to cool it with the shop-talk for the night – they can pick up campaign plans another day.
"Aye, Liam and his wife Laura live about twenty minutes away, just over in the next town. Neither Emma nor I wanted to cancel our original New Year's plans so we figured a compromise was in order."
"Laura Jones?" Mary Margaret asks, recognition flittering across her face. "She's not a social worker, is she?"
Killian grins. "About five-foot-nothing, red-headed spitfire? The type to strike a flame beneath your arse if she finds you slacking?"
Mary Margaret laughs. "That's the one! I've worked with her a number of times over the years regarding kids in my classes. She's no-nonsense, but she cares for those kids as if they were her own. She has a little boy, right?"
"Ben, aye, he'll be four this spring."
"And what does your brother do?" David asks, jumping into the conversation.
"He's a bit of a jack of all trades; a licensed structural engineer and electrician, currently working as a building inspector," Killian says proudly.
"Any chance he has experience with building a deck? Mary Margaret and I have been thinking about tearing ours out and having it rebuilt in the spring."
Killian finishes his coffee and sits the mug down on the table. "We actually rebuilt mine last summer. If you want, I can grab my boots and we can step outside to have a look at yours? Perhaps I can offer some insight."
David nods and Emma sits there, a little bit in shock as the two men step outside, chatting like old friends.
"What just happened?" she asks Mary Margaret.
Her friend laughs. "I'd say David approves. So do I, by the way. Maybe next year you and Killian won't have to split up the evening; we could all celebrate together. I'm sure Leo and Ben would have a great time playing together."
Emma stares at her friend and reminds herself to breathe. "Can we not with the planning for a year in the future shi-" she stops before completing the profanity and substitutes something a little more appropriate for impressionable ears, "stuff? It's bad enough those two are out there making plans for the spring. Can we just slow it down a little bit?"
Mary Margaret seems to visibly rein in her excitement. "Okay, okay, no more discussion of the future, but at least answer me this; can you imagine a future with him? It's okay if it scares you, I'd be worried if it didn't, and I know it's only been ten days, but if you close your eyes, can you imagine it?"
Emma closes her eyes and thinks back to the moment in the bathroom earlier; this time though, she pictures Killian being older, and instead of Leo, she imagines a little girl, a daughter with auburn hair containing hints of the same red that highlights Killian's beard, an almost perfect replica of her freckled face and green eyes, smiling back at her in the mirror.
Biting her lower lip hard, she opens her eyes, the image fading, the dark swirl of her coffee taking its place. She looks at Mary Margaret and nods. "I can."
"Then be scared, terrified even, but don't run from it, Emma, because whatever you just pictured there; I've never seen you smile quite like that."
With that, Mary Margaret rises from the table and squeezes her shoulder supportively. "I'll go call those two in. It's almost nine o'clock; I imagine you'll want to be on the road soon."
In an effort to take her mind of off the giant maybe that is the future, Emma cleans up the coffee mugs and packs away the cheesecake squares, making sure to leave extras behind for David and Mary Margaret.
Leo is asleep on the couch by the time they're ready to leave, and they all say their goodbyes quietly in the front hall, exchanging hugs and best wishes for the coming year.
The snow is still falling lightly, and on their way down the snowy driveway to Killian's car, Mary Margaret calls out and reminds them for the third time to say hi to Laura for her.
Killian turns the heat up and switches on the heated seats before backing out of the driveway, and when Emma takes a look at the clock on the dash reaching 9:17 and yawns, she wonders how the hell she's still going to be awake at midnight to ring in the new year.
"Tired, love?" Killian asks, looking a lot like he wishes he could reach out and hold her hand.
She nods, lifting her arm to comb her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I love Mary Margaret like a sister, but she can be exhausting. I'm currently hoping I don't fall asleep before midnight and make a fool of myself in front of your family."
Killian chuckles and steers them carefully to a stop at the lights leading out of town. He leans into her touch, turning to look at her for a moment. "You'll not make a fool of yourself even if you did fall asleep, but if you're concerned, Liam's got a fantastic espresso machine; might put some hair on your chest," he jokes, "but you're guaranteed to stay awake."
Emma laughs and reaches past the open collar of his shirt and jacket to scratch her nails through his generous chest hair. "Is that how you wound up with all this?" she asks and then directs his attention forward again, "Light's green," glad that the town is quiet enough that most people who are out for New Year's Eve have already reached their destinations.
David is technically on call tonight, but one of their younger deputies, having pulled the short straw, is stuck hanging around the station in case anything comes up.
There are a total of fifteen of them manning the county made up of three small towns, and the only reason Emma is able to take so much time off each December, is because she works almost nonstop throughout the year.
She'll be back to work tomorrow evening, back to paperwork and mostly uneventful patrol. Normally she'd look forward to it, but now, now she just wants another week alone with Killian…
Holding in a sigh, she turns her attention back to the road, and before she knows it, Killian's pulling up a winding driveway to a large but cozy, chalet style house. The wooden A-frame is decorated modestly with colourful lights, and smoke rises from a sturdy stone chimney.
"Here we are, love. You ready?" He shifts in his seat to face her, his smile reassuring. "I promise, they'll love you."
She's not backing out, not at all, but still, insecurity roils in her stomach and she has to ask, "How can you possibly know that?"
He reaches over the console to cup her cheek with warm fingers. "How could they not?" he answers with a smile, as if it should be obvious, and it's not an 'I love you' – she thinks he knows better than that, knows it's far too soon for such weighty words – but it's something, and it's terrifying, yes, but it quiets the nagging little voice in her head that's spent most of her life telling her that she's just a lost little girl who doesn't matter and never will.
"Okay, I'm ready." She unbuckles, collects the bags, and steps out of the SUV. "Let's do this."
Killian reaches for her hand on the way to the door, and she takes it, twisting their fingers together against the cold. They don't even have to knock; the door swings open as soon as they reach the top step of the porch to reveal a man who is without a doubt Killian's older brother, Liam.
They're hurried in out of the cold and Emma watches the brothers share a lengthy hug. Liam whispers something into Killian's ear, causing the tips of his ears to redden, and then the older man is turning to face her.
"You must be Emma," he says, surprising her by also pulling her into a hug. It doesn't last long, but it's warm and welcoming and not nearly as awkward as she thinks it probably should be. "Thank you for ensuring my fool of a brother didn't perish on the mountainside. We're so glad you could join us, please come in, make yourselves at home. Laura will be down shortly."
Liam takes the wine and desserts from her hands and after hanging up their jackets, Killian escorts her in with his palm warm against the small of her back.
"Did you actually convince Ben to nap? Killian asks Liam as they follow him into what amounts to a huge open-concept kitchen, dining room, and living room. Floor to ceiling windows fill the A-frame, offering a spectacular view of the snowy forest outside, and inside, Liam steers them toward a large sectional facing a roaring fire.
"Aye, though it was a fight, he's like you were in that regard," Liam says, "told him if he slept for a couple hours after dinner, that we would wake him when you got here and that he could stay up to watch the ball drop." Liam wanders into the kitchen for a moment, still talking, and returns with a corkscrew and a few wine glasses.
Emma doesn't pay much attention to the number of glasses that Liam sets out, too busy admiring the stonework around the fireplace, taking in the pictures on the mantle, but Killian must notice something amiss, because he speaks up with a knowing grin. "Laura's not drinking, is she, brother?"
Liam shakes his head with a matching grin. "We just found out last week; she's due at the end of July. I'm to be a father again."
Congratulations are exchanged, Emma gets wrapped in yet another hug, Liam practically overflowing with joy, and when Laura and Ben make it downstairs, the yawning boy stumbles right to Killian and makes himself at home on his uncle's lap, almost immediately falling back to sleep.
The TV above the fireplace plays the Times Square New Year's feed on low volume while they chat; conversation ranging from how Emma and Laura both know Mary Margaret, to work, play, and then to Killian's stupidity while skiing and sailing; Liam sharing a number of embarrassing stories that have Emma clutching her sides with laughter.
Killian gets in a few stories of his own, and when Liam offers to refill their wine glasses, they both opt for espresso instead; Killian because he has to drive later, and Emma because she knows that a second glass of red wine will likely have her joining Ben in slumber on Killian's lap.
Laura and Killian are deep in discussion about one of the troubled kids he frequently gives skiing lessons to, so Emma rises to help Liam in the kitchen.
She helps wash and dry the wine glasses and a few other dishes while they wait for the espresso machine to heat, and after a quiet moment in which she's fairly certain they've both been watching Killian, Liam turns to her and speaks over the rush of running water. "It's been a long time since I've seen him this happy, this at ease."
Emma nods. She has no real frame of reference for what he was like before, but even she can see the subtle changes that have occurred over the last week and a half.
It's just the running of water and the white noise of shifting soap suds for a second before Liam speaks again. "I hope I'm not too far out of bounds saying this, and you may already be well on your way to figuring it out, but Killian, he loves fast and hard, and once he's fallen for you, and I believe he has, he'll go to the ends of the earth just to see you smile." There's a pause where Liam briefly touches her arm, lending weight to the request that is his next words. "Be gentle with his heart; I'm not sure it can handle much more loss."
At some point during Liam's little speech, her eyes must have lowered to focus on the dishtowel wound tightly in her hands, but now she lifts them, not to meet Liam's eyes, but to find Killian's already watching her from across the room. A crooked little grin tugs at his lips and she feels an involuntary one rise to her own in response. He winks at her, runs his fingers through his sleeping nephew's hair, and then turns his attention back to Laura.
The espresso machine beeps and she neatly folds the towel, hanging it up on the oven before facing Liam. "I'll do my best," she promises. She doesn't know if that will be enough, if she will be enough, but she's determined to try.
Liam smiles softly, reassuring as he reaches into an overhead cabinet for the glass espresso cups and plates. "That's all any of us can do."
When they return with the espresso and an assortment of both Emma and Laura's desserts, Ben is awake again, playing on the floor with a train set. There's just over half an hour until midnight, and when Emma hands Killian his espresso and retakes her seat on the couch, she starts to wonder if he plans to kiss her when the clock strikes twelve and the countdown ends.
The double shot of espresso is fantastic; bold and rich, thick and flavourful on her tongue, but it's hard to properly appreciate it when she's busy trying to follow the conversation whilst also overthinking her every action. She wants to reach for Killian's hand, for some sort of reassurance (an urge that itself is a little strange and unsettling; she's never been one to reach out for much of anything), but he's busy sipping at his own drink and really, she's just being silly. It shouldn't matter if he kisses her at midnight, should it?
Why then, does she want him to so badly?
With only ten minutes left on the clock, Ben moves to sit between his parents on the couch. Killian finally finishes the last of his espresso, sits it down on the coffee table, and reaches for the remote to turn up the volume on the TV. Jessie J steps up on stage to perform, and Killian lifts his arm to tuck Emma against his side.
The volume on the TV is probably a little louder than necessary, but she understands his reasoning for it when he leans a little closer and whispers against her ear. "I do hope Liam didn't say anything to make you uncomfortable, love."
She turns slightly to look at him, firelight catching the red in his beard, brightening the blue of his eyes. "Nothing I can't handle."
His gaze flickers down to her lips for a split second and for a moment she thinks he might kiss her, but he just smiles, the beating of his heart pounding against her shoulder where it presses against his chest. A question shines in his eyes and she lifts a prompting eyebrow, waiting for him to speak.
His fingers find hers and he looks at her lips again before whispering, "Would it be amenable if I kissed you at midnight, darling?"
She has to bite down on her lip to prevent her smile from growing to ridiculous proportions. Nodding in answer, she turns back to face the TV before she can ruin the whole thing by kissing him right now.
Eight minutes. She can wait eight minutes.
Liam comments on the performance and she does her best to pay attention to whatever the hell Jessie J is singing about.
Five minutes. Killian squeezes her hand, his thumb tracing distracting patterns over her knuckles. She squeezes back and stares resolutely at the TV.
Four minutes. Laura asks her for the recipe for her cherry cheesecake squares and Emma's momentarily distracted from Killian's touch just long enough to consider how bizarrely domestic this all is.
Three minutes. Killian's leg starts bouncing, setting off an increase in jittery anticipation in her as well. She elbows him lightly in the gut, hoping that he'll stop, but his hot breath of laughter against the shell of her ear only makes matters worse.
Two minutes. She's considering distancing herself from Killian slightly when an excited Ben jumps from cushion to cushion to land upside-down in their laps, giggling breathlessly.
One minute. Laura manages to wrangle her son in time for the final countdown, the large crystal ball beginning its descent.
Emma still finds it a little bit ridiculous that something that has occurred almost every year for over a century, can still be capable of captivating millions of people around the world, but despite that cynicism, she finds herself joining Killian and his family for the last ten seconds of the countdown.
"Ten. Nine. Eight." She stands with the rest of them, her fingers tight in Killian's grasp.
"Seven. Six. Five. Four." Liam has his arm wrapped around Laura, Ben on his hip between them. The boy screams the numbers, nearly loud enough to drown them all out.
"Three." Killian whispers it in her ear.
"Two." She looks away from the TV and at him instead.
"One." His fingers unwind from hers, finding her waist and turning her completely.
Cheers, and what she's sure, in reality, must be a near deafening chorus of 'Happy New Year!' ring out from the flat screen; horns blaring, fireworks echoing, but Emma hears none of it. She's a little too lost in the sparkling blue of Killian's eyes; a sight far more spectacular than anything happening around the world right now, especially when paired with a smile that dimples his cheeks and threatens to steal her breath.
When he kisses her, it's with more force than she anticipates and she staggers backward a step, clutching at his sweater, his arm wrapping around her waist to steady them both. He tastes like the espresso he only just finished, the chocolatey peppermint from one of Laura's desserts, and a beginning that she never wants to see end.
She's never been what one might call an exhibitionist and should probably pull back a little, keep it chaste and exercise some restraint, because Killian's kissing her a lot like he intends to take this further, and for several rather obvious reasons, that cannot happen right now.
With the firm press of her lips, she meets him one more time before pushing against his chest, over his thundering heart. "Easy there, tiger; we're still with company," she whispers against his lips, resting her forehead against his as he blinks and pulls his lips from hers to take a shuddering breath.
It's not as if they haven't kissed before; hell, they've already kissed a number of times in the past several hours, but there's something different about this one and it's only a hearty chuckle from Liam, clearly directed at them, that finally prompts her to step further back, swaying out of Killian's embrace.
With a bit of a sheepish smile, she turns to face them. "Happy New Year?"
Laura echoes her husband's laugh. "It certainly seems to be!"
Putting Ben to bed turns out to be a group effort and Emma hesitantly follows them all up the curved wooden staircase. First, to linger in the hall while the boy uses the bathroom, and then, to a bedroom full of bright blue walls and stars. Liam and Laura only stay for a minute; until Ben decides that Killian and Emma are to read him a story and that his parents are no longer required for the completion of his bedtime routine.
With his nephew tucked beneath dino-print bedding, Killian plucks a book from the shelf, takes a seat to the right of Ben's pillow, and then reaches over the boy to pat the matching spot on the other side of the twin bed. "Have a seat, love. Join us."
She almost refuses, wanting to give Killian some alone time with the kid, but Ben throws a pleading little grin her way (one she's starting to suspect he learned from Killian), and pats the bed in near perfect imitation. "Join us!"
She shakes her head at their persistence and claims the spot on the other side of the pillow. "All right, what are we reading?"
Killian clears his throat and opens the book over the boy's lap so that they can all see the illustrations. "An Awesome Book of Thanks," he answers with a wide grin.
Emma reaches out to steady the other side of the book, flipping to the first page so Killian can start reading.
"There didn't used to be boats."
She catches the next page when Killian's thumb releases it, but when Killian starts to read again, Ben shushes him. "Her turn!" he insists emphatically. "You hafta take turns!"
Not one to turn down such a simple request, Emma reads the next sentence. "There didn't used to be cars."
"There didn't used to be people," Killian continues.
"There didn't used to be stars. There didn't used to be anything."
"But now there's a lot, so when I look around at all that we've got..."
"I say thank you."
"THANK YOU!" Ben echoes her loudly, snuggling deeper into his bed.
Meeting Killian's eyes over Ben's head, she smiles. Clearly this is a regular occurrence for them – no wonder the man's got such a fantastic reading voice.
They continue on, flipping pages and saying thank you for a number of things; silly things and important things, the big and the small, and it may be a children's book, but she's fairly certain she knows a number of adults who could do with absorbing the message it puts forth.
She catches the next page under her thumb and Killian nods for her to continue even though Ben's eyes are closed and he seems to be sleeping. "We should finish it," he whispers, "the lad's got an unfortunate habit of somehow knowing and waking up to demand that you read the entire thing again from the start if you don't."
A shared breath of quiet laughter and she looks back down at the page. "Even the bad things."
Killian's lips quirk up in a half-smile. "Those bad things can turn out to be good."
"Like falling down a mountain?" she asks as she thumbs to the next page, already knowing the answer. The twinkle in his eyes is response enough, so she reads on. "Those bumps and bruises that turn couldn'ts into coulds."
"Thank you to those for they make us all stronger. They make us all smarter. They make us last longer."
And it's a little bit ridiculous that a simple children's book has her close to tears, her voice dangerously close to wavering as they work their way through the last couple pages.
"Because thank yous are what make this whole world keep spinning, so thank you the end," Killian says quietly, and she doesn't need to look up to know that his eyes are on her; she can feel his gaze, his intent, as she studies the last page, reading the words silently, scoffing quietly at them and their appropriateness before speaking them aloud.
"And thanks new beginning."
Unable to meet the intensity of his gaze just yet, she closes the book and stands to return it to the shelf, ducking her head to watch as Killian presses a kiss to Ben's forehead and tucks the blankets in a little tighter.
A new year.
A new beginning.
Emma Swan hasn't spent much of her life looking toward the future. She's never been one for making plans beyond figuring out where her next meal might come from or how she's going to divvy up her next pay-cheque between her mortgage and a number of other essentials. She keeps it simple; if she doesn't entertain thoughts of some white picket fence future; she won't be disappointed when it doesn't come to pass. Except now, she's doing more than just entertaining thoughts of it; she's outright hoping for it, craving it, and god help her – she finally meets Killian's eyes and sees something similar reflected in them – it might actually be more than just a possibility.
He nods silently for her to follow him out of the room, and she does, flicking the light switch off on her way out the door. He closes it behind them, leaving just a crack for the light from the hall to sneak through before reaching almost shyly for her hand and pulling her toward the top of the stairs.
Laughter and muffled voices drift up from the kitchen, words she can't make out, and she stops Killian as his feet land on the first step, softly tugging on his hand, not enough to upset his balance, but enough, that when he turns to face her, his eyes questioning, she stands even with him and pulls him into a hug.
His arms wrap around her, warm and welcoming, and it's stupid because she's never had a person feel so much like home. Hell, she's not sure she even knows what home feels like, but this, here in his arms, she thinks it must come pretty damn close.
His nose digs into her neck and she feels him inhale; the expansion of his ribcage and the widening of his back beneath her palms, long and drawn out, a little bit shaky when he finally exhales, hugging her tighter. She squeezes back and presses her lips to the thick silk of his hair, closing her eyes and taking a moment just to bask in the feel of it all; in the way he holds her almost desperately, as if he's as afraid as she is that it'll all just disappear.
"Killian," she murmurs after a moment. It's something between a sigh and a question and it prompts him to pull back enough to meet her eyes. "Thank you," she breathes into the space between them, the words hanging there for a moment; loaded, weighted with so much more than eight simple letters, sounding a lot, perhaps, like another eight letter phrase that she isn't anywhere near ready to give voice.
He grins then, jacks up an eyebrow to match the quirk of his lips. "Whatever for?"
She'd probably pinch him or punch him if they weren't both precariously balanced at the top of the staircase. Instead she just rolls her eyes. "For being stupid enough to fall down my mountain."
"Your mountain, is it?" he teases quietly, aware of the sleeping boy several yards away.
She doesn't dignify that with answer, just leans her forehead against his, bumps their noses together, and kisses him...
For all of three short seconds before Liam interrupts them from the bottom of the stairs. "Blimey, little brother, just can't keep yer hands off her, can you?"
Emma feels Killian still, shaking slightly with something she assumes is a mixture of laughter and frustrated exasperation. She places another unhurried kiss against his lips before leaning sideways to peer over his shoulder and down the steps to where Liam stands chuckling. She grins at the older man. "'fraid this one's actually my fault."
Killian winds up tickling her and scraping his scruff over the sensitive skin of her neck, quietly claiming that it's always her fault for being so bloody irresistible, before she hurries him down the stairs, not wanting to undo the effects of their storytelling and wake Ben.
Liam invites them to stay longer, tells them that they're welcome to spend the night in the guest room, but Emma's got Eira at home, and knowing it, Killian saves her the trouble of declining the offer. "Perhaps another time, brother. Emma's got her dog at home and I've a few ski lessons scheduled for the afternoon; we should probably head out and rest up."
"Rest," Liam emphasizes with a laugh as he guides them toward the door and hands them their coats. "Right, well, I supposed I should allow the two of you to get to that."
There's laughter, more hugs, farewells and best wishes before they finally pile out the door and into the night. It's nearly 1:30 by the time Killian shifts into park in her driveway, but despite the late hour, and thanks to the espresso, she's still wide awake and nowhere near ready for the night to end.
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she turns to face Killian. "I know it's late, but is there any chance you'd like to go for a walk with Eira and I?" The poor dog's been cooped up for most of the day and Emma's the one who insisted on owning a high-energy breed; it's only fair that the dog gets some exercise.
Killian looks like she just offered him a million dollars. "I would love to."
She doesn't bother taking her boots off, doesn't even bother with stepping in the door, she just unlocks it, pushes it open slightly, and calls through the crack. "Eira, grab your leash!"
Killian gives her a funny look, clearly sceptical, and she grins smugly. "Just wait."
Ten short seconds later, Eira is shoving her way through the gap in the door to sit on the front porch with the leash dangling from her jaws.
"Good girl," Emma praises, clipping the leash to the husky's collar. After locking the door, she pulls her toque down over her ears, takes the leash in her right hand, and offers her left to Killian, tugging him forward between their cars and left along her street.
They don't really talk; the softness of the snow-covered town is almost magical in its stillness, its quiet, and it seems a shame to break it up with something as hollow as conversational drivel.
Most of the houses on the block have gone dark for the night; their occupants sleeping, unlit Christmas lights on timers that have long since switched off. The world is lit by the warm amber of street lights and the wonderfully refractive nature of snow, lending unnatural brightness to everything it touches.
They walk past the town's cemetery and some tactless part of her – the child who never really had anyone to teach her that such questions are inappropriate – wants to ask Killian if that's where she's buried... his dead fiancé.
As a child, she would have asked, but now, as an adult, she knows better than that and she certainly has no intention of ruining a lovely night with her own ill-timed and rather morbid curiosity. He must read it on her face though, as their feet track through the powdery snow, following the path past the glittering cling of icicles on the wrought iron fence that separates them from the frosted graves beyond, because he breathes out with something that sounds a lot like heavy resignation.
"You don't have to hold your breath, love," he tells her, humour wrapping around his words for a moment before he grows serious again. "She's not buried in there; she was cremated, her parents took her ashes back with them to London after the funeral."
He doesn't say anything more and she doesn't ask, just squeezes his hand and allows Eira to pull them along, away from melancholy and questions she's not sure either of them want answers to.
The darkened mood follows them though, rattling around in her head like water in her ear, a stubborn pebble in her boot, and when they reach the open expanse of the off-leash park, she releases Eira, trying to come up with some way to shake it.
Killian seems less affected, quickly falling into a game of fetch with Eira, throwing the stick each time the husky returns with it, but there's a tension in his shoulders, even through the wool of his jacket, and silence stretches larger than the several feet between them, so she does the only thing she can think of to break it.
Cupping her hands together, she gathers snow from the picnic table beside her, packing it into a tight little ball before taking aim and hitting Killian square in the left ass cheek when he bends to retrieve the fallen stick from the ground.
There's another moment of silence in which she fails spectacularly to stifle a laugh, just waiting for him to turn around so that she can see the expression on his face.
It ends up being something halfway between a disgruntled frown and the most brilliant smile she's ever seen.
"That's bad form, love; hitting a defenceless man in the back."
She cackles, already gathering another ball of ammunition. "Yeah? What're you gonna do about it?"
It's unfair, she knows, he can't exactly pack a decent snowball with only one hand, but she can't help herself and her next throw meets his shoulder, a powdery explosion against the dark of his coat.
"Are you certain you wish to play this game, love?" he asks, a warning, dangerous intent a feral grin on his lips.
She nods and whips another snowball his way. He dodges it though, stalking closer to her. Bending to form another ball, she jogs a few steps away to distance herself before throwing. She's misses again, manages to clip his thigh, and then misses again, breathless with laughter as she tries to stay several steps ahead of him, running through the deep snow to take shelter behind the trunk of a towering pine.
He hasn't even tried to throw anything at her, but the chase alone has her blood pumping, her hands warm despite the chilled dampness of her mittens, and she's just about to make her next move when she hears a solid –thwack– of wood meeting snow covered branches. The tree shudders and she looks up in time to meet the face full of snow that falls from its branches.
Sonofabitch.
She shakes the snow from her head and her hair, wiping the moisture from her eyes, probably smudging her mascara horrifically in the process, and looks up just in time for Killian to appear, wrap his arm around her waist, and shove a handful of snow down the front of her jacket. The bastard gets it below her sweater too, and she shrieks at the cold of it against her skin. She tries to bat him away, free her hands and her torso from his grasp, but he's surprisingly effective at restraint for a man with only one hand, and hell, by this point the snow is mostly melted, cold wetness saturating her tank top and bra, so she simply hooks his ankle with her foot and throws her weight against his chest to topple them both into the soft cushioning of the snow.
She lands with an –oomph– against his chest, still laughing, still near breathless, wet with snow in places there definitely shouldn't be snow, realising that Eira is barking loudly at the both of them and that she should probably shut her dog up because it's 2 o'clock at night and being sheriff doesn't really excuse her from noise complaints, but first, before she worries about any of that, she needs to kiss the stupid grin off this loveable idiot's face.
Sitting up to straddle him, she finds his lips cold and his tongue hot, his muffled laughter sweet as he sits up as well, his jeans undoubtedly caked with snow.
Shaking off her wet mittens for a better grip on his lapels, she kisses him like she wanted to earlier; full of contradictions, gentle force and languid urgency, heat blossoming between them even as an icy gust of wind wraps around them, pushing them closer until her shins grow cold, her knees numb, and she breaks the kiss with a happy sigh to find Eira silent and content, chewing on a stick next to them in the snow.
Getting to her feet, she offers Killian her hand, pulling him up and back into her arms so that she can turn him and brush the worst of the snow from his clothing. When he's facing her again, his fingers catch in the tangle of her snow-mussed hair and he looks at her like she's some kind of eighth world wonder.
She's still a little bit worried that he's going to come right out with an 'I love you' or some sort of heartfelt speech, but he simply smiles and reaches up to straighten her hat. "Shall we be on our way?"
They take the long way back to her house; she doesn't want to pass by the cemetery again, and when they reach the steps leading to her front door, he seems to hesitate a little, fumbling with his car keys in his pocket.
She's got the door unlocked and Eira off the leash before she notices that he hasn't followed her inside. Turning to face him, she realizes that he's obviously waiting for a clear invitation.
Now that she stops to think about it, she realizes that inviting him in, inviting him to stay the night here in her home, it's different than being cooped up with him in her cabin by force of circumstance. She has a choice here, and as she holds out her hand and requests that he "stay", she thinks it might just be the easiest decision she's made in a long time.
And as she leads him up the stairs and into her bedroom, walking backwards until her thighs hit the mattress, her fingers at work on the buttons of his cardigan, his full of intent at the clasp of her bra, she breathes out a silent thank you to the universe for sending him to her; this new beginning.