"What's this?"

"What does it look like?"

Emma eyed the small box wrapped in paper with reindeer wearing plaid sweaters, a bright red bow on top, then looked back at Killian. "You got me a present."

"Just something that made me think of you."

It was an effort not to groan. The phrase I saw this and thought of you was most often tagged onto gifts of the ugly sweater or singing Santa paperweight persuasion. Not that she had much gift-receiving experience.

Killian extended his already outstretched hand. If only to erase the pitifully optimistic lift to his brows, Emma took the box but didn't open it. "I didn't get you anything…" she said with sudden shame.

"The night is young, Swan—Christmas doesn't officially begin for a full six hours yet."

It wasn't right. Wasn't in the holiday spirit or whatever. But when he grinned like that, it kind of made Emma want to punch him in the throat. It was easy for Killian to be happy. Easy for him to look forward to all the potential that evening promised. He didn't have to get dressed up, didn't have to curl his hair, paste on a fake smile as he sat opposite a complete stranger or strike up conversation about what a magical season it truly was. Are you visiting family or are they coming to you?

Emma glared at her fairy godfather, taking some small pleasure from the moniker he so hated, even if she hadn't said it out loud. "Can we get this over with?"

"Well don't sound too excited. It's only the most wonderful time of year, I've been told."

Emma rolled her eyes and retreated into her apartment, leaving Killian waiting in the hall. She dropped his gift on the counter and reached to turn off the kitchen light, but not before she'd glimpsed the Charlie Brown Christmas tree perched beside her coffeemaker and the cardboard box labeled C. Decorations that contained a single red stocking she'd bought one year in the After Christmas Clearance section at the local drugstore, a string of lights she'd gotten one aisle over that hadn't been taken out of the plastic bag since it was purchased, and more holiday themed mugs than she'd use in a month. She didn't understand the impulse, but she bought a new one every year despite never using any of the old ones.

"Not very festive in here, is it?"

Emma jumped, swearing as Killian came up behind her. "Aren't you required to enter by invitation only?"

"That's vampires." Emma turned to him with a scowl. "Right. Apologies, Swan. Only I just remembered, you and your gentleman friend are to identify one another by the possession of a single red rose."

"Seriously?" Killian shrugged like it hadn't been his idea, but Emma wasn't fooled. What was it he'd once said? Clichés are my bread and butter. "I guess we'll pick one up on the way."

"No need." He snapped his fingers and moments later he was pressing a long, thin stem into Emma's hand, mindful of the thorns.

"Will that ever not be annoying?"

Emma thought of a dozen ways to erase the smirk from his face, one method causing a twinge of nerves she promptly tamped down. It liked to resurface every so often, bringing the memory of Killian's sleep-addled voice with it. I should've kissed her.

"Let's get this over with."

"You keep saying that," said Killian, catching up to her as she tried to stomp away, "but it's my experience that any undertaking is only as unpleasant as one makes it out to be—"

It wasn't a conscious choice to slam the door, but Emma was pleased that the resulting sound cut off her guide's attempts at encouraging her.

—

They stopped outside the double doors of a hotel her date had suggested as a suitably neutral meeting place. Through the glass, Emma could see the lavish decorations—the professionally decked tree that took up half the lobby, complementary wreaths hanging on every door. Carolers made the dining room their stage for the night, crooning Christmas classics so overdone even Killian could've recited a lyric or two.

The sidewalks had been shoveled free of snow, the trees and lampposts adorned with strands of white lights that seemed to flow from one to the next. When they'd left their building and Emma had shuddered from that first assault of below-freezing wind, Killian had offered his coat even though Emma had her own. She'd immediately, and possibly a bit rudely, declined. An action she regretted as the cold snaked up her bare legs, froze her toes inside their high-heeled shoes. The next time Killian got that glimmer in his eyes—that spark of an idea coming to life—she was walking away. Screening his calls, ignoring his texts. Cutting off communication completely until inspiration and all its friends had passed him by.

First Thanksgiving, now Christmas Eve. If she didn't know any better, she'd think there was a method to Killian's madness. It was as if he knew she wouldn't have plans for the holidays and had gone out of his way to ensure that she wouldn't be alone. Emma stole a sidelong glance in his direction, allowing her gaze to linger a moment on the light dusting of snow atop his dark locks, then shook her head.

"I'll be right next door if you run into any trouble."

"I can take care of myself."

Emma flung open the double doors and entered the hotel. She felt Killian's eyes follow her, just as they'd done the night of the carnival—that subtle heat on the back of her neck. But she must've imagined it because when she turned around, he was gone.

Another twinge. Not of nerves this time, but frustration. In a part of her that hated the dress she wore and the makeup she'd painstakingly applied and the red rose placed atop a vacant stool beside a well-dressed man currently engaging the bartender in conversation. She looked down at its duplicate, clutched tightly in her hand. That same part of her resented just how well Killian had done his job these past weeks, slipping back into his role of guide as though it was a pair of slippers he'd temporarily set aside. Did his eagerness to match her up come from a desire to be rid of her that much sooner?

She reminded herself as she took a step toward the bar that it didn't matter when Killian left or what state she was in when he did. They were nothing to each other, barely even friends. Which was how she preferred it—she was used to being on her own. Had excelled at it, in fact. Being alone was the one thing in her life she hadn't managed to screw up, so why start now?

She walked past the bar, to the nearest trash receptacle, tossed the rose inside, and headed out the way she'd come in.

—

The swell of irritation that'd overtaken her, that'd asked what Killian hoped to accomplish by sitting idly by while Emma waded through the shallows of Boston's dating pool—what was the point of having magic if it was good for absolutely fucking nothing?—subsided as soon as she spotted him through the window of the coffeehouse where he'd promised to wait should any part of Emma's evening go awry.

It happened much the same as it did the day they'd met. Seeing Killian seated alone at a table, looking around at all the happy couples and the families with their puffy sweaters and their knit beanies and the hot chocolates cupped in their mitten-covered hands…

She might as well have been staring at herself for all the longing in his eyes. The envy towards those blessed, contented souls who hadn't needed to wish on a cupcake for happiness—or a falling star. She'd endured thirty years of loneliness, she couldn't imagine the toll three hundred would take.

Her heart sank at the sight of him. At how angry she'd been all day when he'd just been trying to make her holiday a little bit brighter. That twinge, though growing slighter, pushed back against her guilt. Because a not-so-small part of her, kept in far too shallow a grave to be ignored for long, hated being just another name on a lengthy list of clients. Absolutely fucking hated how short a year was when it marked the end of something good.

She stepped back from the window, away from the coffeehouse and the most unguarded glimpse of Killian she'd ever gotten, and looked down the road at what shops might still be open.

—

"Is this seat taken?"

The smile Killian gave her faded fast as he realized that her being there meant another date he'd arranged had gone south.

Before he could ask what happened, Emma said, "I got you something," and placed a gift bag on the table by his drink.

He eyed the red and silver tissue paper and then Emma, seeming at war with his better instincts. In the end, he gestured toward an empty chair and Emma happily took it.

"Just something that made me think of you." His smile returned in full force as he admired the craftsmanship of a flask the store clerk had sworn was authentically vintage—Emma hadn't decided if he was lying or if the holiday season made her more prone to suspicion than usual. "Something every pirate needs, right? Even reformed ones."

"Aye. It's of a fine caliber, Swan—thank you. I can't remember the last time…"

"What?"

He lay the flask gently in its bag and set them both on the floor by his feet. "It's just been a while since I've had cause for celebration. Or anyone to celebrate with."

"But you did at one time?" Killian nodded. "What was that like?"

"Don't you know?"

Emma cleared her throat against a surge of memories. Car cushions for a mattress, her knapsack for a pillow, a fogged-up windshield her only view to a wet and wonder-less winter landscape. "I came close one year. I was placed with a nice family—one of the good ones, I'd thought. Or at least, not one of the bad ones. But they sent me back a few days before Christmas. Said I wasn't the right fit." Emma shrugged her shoulders like the hurt wasn't there. Like it didn't sting with fresh intensity—a wound reopened like a portal to the past. To the first night she'd slept inside a stolen car.

"There are no exact parallels between the festivities here and the realm where I was raised, but we did have our holidays," said Killian just before Emma was swallowed whole by unhealed heartache. "My father never had much need for them. Nor Liam, to be sure. But my brother always encouraged my curiosity for such things. It wasn't much—a homemade gift here, a pilfered treat there, but…it's the little things you miss the most, I suppose." Killian sat back, ran his hand along the base of his neck, then laughed softly to himself. "What a cheery pair we are."

"That happens a lot around here."

"What's that, Love?"

"There's so much pressure to be happy at Christmastime that it sometimes has the opposite effect."

"And how is it a curse like that is counteracted?"

"Isn't curse-breaking where your expertise comes in?"

"There's really only one tried and true method that comes to mind." Killian's eyes shot to hers and then away as he sat up straighter. "Not applicable in this case." He took a long swig from his eggnog as though having forgotten there'd been no liquor added. "However, that doesn't mean we should let tradition get the upper hand."

"I'm open to suggestions."

Killian pursed his lips, lost in thought. "There is a clause in your contract that allows for a secondary wish to be utilized in the event of an emergency—life threatening situations, for example—that would have no effect on the finalization of your primary wish."

"How does that apply to us?"

"I can always alter the paperwork after the fact. Wouldn't be the first time—if my employers at the wiser, they haven't let on."

Emma grinned conspiratorially. "I have always wanted another tattoo. A skull and crossbones shoulder-to-shoulder across my back."

"I heartily approve."

"I thought you might," Emma said with a laugh. "So how have I never heard of this clause before?"

"It's uncommon that the protocol is ever put into practice. As I've said before, most clients don't take advantage of the allotted time, so a secondary wish becomes superfluous."

Emma thought over this new information. "There is one thing I've always wanted."

"Let's have it, then."

"But it wouldn't mean as much if it came from magic."

Killian regarded her silently for a minute. "You're certainly not like other clients."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

He looked like he wanted to smile but one never fully formed. "An observation." When Emma was left unsatisfied by his answer, he said, "It's neither good nor bad, it simply is. You, Emma Swan, are a rarity."

Having no response to that, except to ask if he wanted a refill on his drink, Emma got up from the table and traversed the throng of last-minute shoppers that crowded the register. On the walk back, to-go order in hand, she realized with no little annoyance that she'd come full circle. All she wanted was for the night to be over.

"It's getting late," she told Killian upon her return. "We should probably go."

"It's a quarter after eight."

"On Christmas Eve."

Appearing confused, yet ever aiming to please, Killian nodded once and got to his feet. Emma refused his offer to help with her coat, but waited for him to don his own. They pushed through the shuffling crowd that stopped to aww at a couple kissing under mistletoe. Emma hastened her pace, not allowing Killian the opportunity to hold the door, and hoped he hadn't spotted the second batch of mistletoe suspended above the exit.

—

After the sensory overload that was the city, walking into the starkness of Emma's apartment was like hitting a wall of ice. Immersion in the holiday atmosphere made her wish she'd taken the time to decorate her—

Before the thought was complete, Emma heard a snap of fingers, saw a flash of light in her periphery. And the world was transformed.

Shelves once barren were now draped with garlands, stocked with pinecones and cinnamon scented candles, the windows with an array of colored lights. Her sad little tree had grown to ten times its height and now sat in the corner of the living room closest to the mantle from which Emma's stocking now hung. And it wasn't the only one. Beside it was a second, newer stocking, the same shade of red, with Killian's name stitched into the white trim.

"I hope it's not too presumptuous…"

Emma took in all the little details she wouldn't have thought to include, from the touches of tinsel on the tree to the plate of sugar cookies on the windowsill—beyond the snow that'd started up again, Boston was reduced to splotches of light through the frosted glass. And to their names, side by side above the fireplace that hadn't worked in all the time she'd lived there.

"It's perfect."

Without thinking, Emma turned to Killian and kissed him on the cheek. And the softness stirred memories from a dream she'd tried and failed to forget.

That moment of contact, brief as it was, had her falling prey to a familiar pull. That want to move in, to close the final hairsbreadth that'd been a barricade between them since that night in the rain. She saw the same hesitation staring back at her through his eyes.

Neither of them moved or dared to breathe too deeply. She felt herself leaning in, and she wasn't alone.

They stood motionless for what could've been eternity. In that time, Emma contemplated the far-reaching effects of giving in. Abandoning the struggle. Permitting herself a moment of weakness—one miniscule measure of stolen time.

The longer they remained like this, the longer the quiet weaved sweet nothings like a web through her thoughts, repeating the one word that walked hand-in-hand with ruin.

Killian was the first to speak. Thunder clapped loudly overhead as the heavens unleashed an onslaught of wind and rain…

"It's late. I should probably…"

…that struck with enough force to pry them apart.

"I should go."

"It's a quarter to nine," Emma said—somehow an apology, somehow a plea.

"On Christmas Eve." Killian smiled and Emma followed suit, though her heart wasn't in it and she'd wager the same was true for him. "About tonight…" he started to take tentative steps away from her. "Don't let it get you down. I'll have a slew of suitors lined up after the holiday."

The last traces of Emma's smile disappeared so thoroughly she couldn't imagine them ever finding their way back. "Yeah, sure. Great."

"We'll have you well on your way to Happily Ever After in no time. Rest assured."

They stood motionless for what could've been eternity. In that time, Emma contemplated the far-reaching effects of giving up. Abandoning the struggle. Permitting herself the freedom of severing every connection she never should have made.

She wondered if Killian had sensed her desire to decorate when they'd first arrived, or if it'd simply been coincidence. Had this been the fulfillment of her back-up wish? Did a plain apartment on Christmas Eve constitute an emergency? She wondered if he could sense what she was thinking now. If he knew how badly she wanted to wish him away just so she wouldn't have to deal with how conflicted he made her feel.

She told herself it was temptation. That was all it had ever been. The lure of the unattainable. They'd been set on this path as soon as he'd said any relationship between a client and a guide, beyond the professional, was forbidden. It was human nature to want what you couldn't have and to wreck yourself in ill-fated pursuit.

"I'll just…say goodnight, then."

Emma didn't try for a smile. She didn't have it in her to pretend. "Goodnight."

Once she was alone, she stared around at the splendor of an unspoken wish and chided herself for the solitary sentence she'd just laid upon her holiday. There wasn't a chance in hell she'd see Killian on Christmas after what'd just happened.

Her gaze landed on the small square package and its bright red bow, and she moved toward it like a beacon in the night. When the reindeer and their plaid sweaters were a crumple of paper on the counter, Emma peered inside the open box and smiled. She tipped its edge and let the object fall out into her palm, ran her thumb over the hand-painted surface.

She thought of hanging it on the tree, where it was sure to stand out among the red and green and gold Christmas balls. But she knew her attention would be drawn to it far too often—a constant reminder of all the things she wasn't meant to keep. So she dropped the anchor back into its box, closed the lid, and placed it at the back of a cluttered drawer.

In a year's time she wouldn't even remember it existed, much less who it was from.

—

It wasn't Emma's alarm that woke her. Or the sounds of a parade on a TV she didn't remember leaving on. It wasn't the sizzle of batter hitting a heated pan, or the sound of fresh coffee brewing. It was the knowledge that someone else was in her apartment, and who that someone was. What it meant that he was there. That he'd come back.

It wasn't curiosity that led her to the kitchen, where Killian was in the midst of pulling homemade pastries from the oven. It wasn't the fear that she might've been trapped by a trick of her unconscious. It was knowing that she had yet to succeed at scaring him off.

It wasn't the presents under the tree—having appeared overnight as if by magic—that'd made this Christmas morning one she never wanted to forget. It wasn't the tos and froms assigned to each—some from Killian to Emma, others from Santa to them both. It wasn't the stockings on the mantle being stuffed to capacity or the whipped cream and caramel drizzle that'd topped their coffees. It wasn't even the fact that they'd recovered from their second near-kiss far better than the first.

It was the answer to a wish she hadn't shared with him.

It was having someone to spend the day with, even if that day was no different from a dozen others they'd whiled away. It was being curled up at opposite ends of the couch, their legs every so often intertwined, and falling asleep to It's a Wonderful Life. It was Killian saying, "Happy Christmas, Emma," just as her eyelids became too heavy to hold open. It was Emma's sleepy reply, "Merry Christmas, Killian," as the reality of where they'd both be at this time next year was the furthest thing from her mind.