Just a fair warning: This story isn't kind to Captain Hook. At. All.
He will only appear/be mentioned in a few chapters but it won't be positive. Sorry if that offends anyone!
Emma dropped Henry off back at the mansion after dinner. She was still replaying the conversation they had in her mind, so she decided to take the long route home. Driving had always eased her mind a little. Especially in the dark with little to no other cars around.
She was glad she started off with something small like coffee. Regina didn't even know she was participating in the Secret Santa. How would Regina handle getting a real gift? Good thing Emma didn't go all out on the first gift. It would sure have ended up on fire or something.
She could just take the easy way out and stop now. Regina wasn't expecting anything, so she could just quit. But the truth was, she couldn't. Quitting was not an option. It had never been an option, if she was completely honest.
Now that Henry revealed how he had orchestrated the whole thing, her son served as an extra motivation to get it right. Henry trusted her. He believed in her. He thought she could do it. She had to try. She couldn't let him down. And she wasn't going to let Regina down.
Having everything out in the open between her and Henry, was good. She might be able to work that to her advantage. "Having someone on the inside." The kid would probably call it. It was an advantage she was probably going to need.
Her mind was no longer racing when she finally pulled up to the apartment building. Tomorrow, she vowed, she was going to come up with a second gift. Tonight, she was going to not think about the Secret Santa, take a hot shower and maybe help her mother some more with the Christmas cards she was making.
Mary Margaret spent about a month every year making her own Christmas cards for about the entire town. Emma didn't understand why she put so much effort in a card everyone was going to throw out anyway, but the simple task of cutting snowflakes and other figures from paper was actually pretty relaxing. No need to use your brain, just cut along the lines Mary Margaret already drew.
That might actually be the exact reason she did it. Not because of the result, but because of the process. The more Emma thought of it, the more plausible it seemed. If anyone loved sprinkling glitter, drawing mythical creatures and writing cheesy notes, it sure was her mother. There was no way she's passing on an opportunity to go all out.
Emma was already mentally planning out her shower routine, complete with the color of her fuzzy socks and the brand of sweatpants she was going to wear when she walked into the apartment.
The whole dining table was littered with vials of glitter in every color imaginable, stacks of cardstock, scissors, glue and some other items from Mary Margaret's extensive craft supply. Due to lack of space on the table's surface, David was standing at the counter, fawning over a toolbox Emma had never seen before.
"Emma! You owe me 10 bucks. My Secret Santa wasn't a bust after all. This incredible toolbox just came in this afternoon."
Emma grumbled as she dug up the money from her pocket and slammed it on the counter. She had been so sure David's Secret Santa would be a no show. It should've been easy money.
"See? A little faith can get you places." That was her father alright. "Faith" was everything in the Charming household. Another way Emma didn't really fit in. She had lost her faith a long time ago. When she was little, she had been filled with it, hoping against hope for miracles to occur. But in the end, it had been too hard to remain hopeful when year after year you were being rejected, sent back and left to fend for your own. After a while she had stopped believing in others. She had stopped expecting anything, that way she wouldn't be disappointed. It was what had kept her alive. How many more disappointments would she have been able to take? She had never cared to find out. No, instead, she started relying on herself and on plain and simple facts. Don't believe what people say, believe in their actions.
She really needed that long shower now. No such luck. Her mother came barging in. One hand clutching a sheet of stickers she had no doubt just went out to get somewhere, and the other was carrying a gift bag from the local liquor store.
"Well, that's an interesting combination," Emma commented. "I can't wait to see the creations you make when you're drunk. I was going to call it a night early tonight, but I think I might just stay up to witness this."
At first it seemed as if Mary Margaret didn't understand what Emma was getting at. But then her eyes followed Emma's to her hands and she remembered the gift bag in her hand.
"Oh, o no no,." She shook her head. "I ran into the delivery man outside. He was on his way up. This is yours!" Would Mary Margaret ever not be excited about this Secret Santa thing? Emma wondered.
She reached for the bag. Maybe this was a present that she would actually like. She was more of a beer kind of person, but a bottle of wine every now and then was much appreciated as well.
This morning she had spent hours trying to talk a drunk Leroy down from the transmission tower he had climbed up on. Her afternoon was spent patrolling, breaking up a fight between the Lost Boys and some other teenage thugs and a lot of filing paperwork. After a tiring shift like that and the dinner she just had, she was absolutely in the mood for some alcohol.
She stuck her hand in the bag, immediately feeling the cool glass of a bottleneck. She wrapped her fingers around it pulled it out. Her hopes instantly fell at the sight of the bottle. It wasn't wine. It wasn't even something stronger but still nice like tequila.
Rum, that's what it was. A plain old bottle of rum. Not even the coconut flavored version, that Emma would maybe consider drinking if she was left with no other options. This wasn't even in her top 10. In fact, it wasn't even on the list of acceptable drinks. She had never voluntarily drunk rum and she wasn't about to start now.
The taste always reminded her of nail polish for some reason. The way the strong smell attacked your nostrils in a very unpleasant way, was exactly the way rum tasted. No one smelled nail polish for fun. And no one drank rum for fun. Well, except if you live on a pirate ship, obviously. She added that last part with a mental snicker.
It took way too long for the penny to drop after that last thought. A pirate ship. A pirate. O. My God. She set the bottle down on the kitchen counter so she had her hands free to turn the gift bag upside down. A small note fluttered to the ground. As soon as it landed, she bent to snatch it off the floor.
Sometimes all you need is a little help to loosen up. The best memories aren't made sober. Bottom's up!
Merry (Yo) ho ho and a bottle of rum
She couldn't stop her hand from balling into a fist, crumbling the note. Rum. Inappropriate notes. Roses. O man. Killian Jones, Captain Hook, it was him. It must be. Suddenly it made sense what Leroy had yelled at her that morning when she was putting cuffs on him.
"I'm glad I traded with the pirate for booze. I wasn't going to be in the mood to play happy Santa for you after this."
She had just written it off as drunken rambling at the time, not even paying much attention to the words. But now, it became significant. They say drunken words are sober thoughts right? Sure, it was usually said about a very different kind of words, but it was still true.
With a town full of fairytale characters, there was an astonishingly low amount of fate involved in this Secret Santa thing. Her own slip had been manipulated into her hand. And Hook had taken matters into his own hands, or well… hand, as well. If she had heard right, he had traded Leroy some alcohol for his slip.
However it had gone down, she was stuck with him now.
Yo ho freaking ho.
