We are introducing a new character this chapter. I had a poll on my blog awhile back, and OQ fandom was lovely enough to choose the new character's name. (I also see you, people who submitted punny names. I'm watching you! ;) )
Thank you as always to idoltina for beta'ing and telling me which parts are actually good. :)
Emma's half-under Leo's bed when she hears him sigh for what has to be the hundredth time that afternoon. Every time she's asked what's wrong he just shrugs, so she ignores it now in favor of her task. She winces as her shoulder protests the odd angle she's at, but she manages to grab the stuffed monkey that had fallen and gotten stuck under the bed. She rights herself as she brushes all the dust bunnies off the monkey; maybe she'll get ambitious with all this free time on her hands and clean the whole house.
There's pang in her chest when she remembers Belle. It's been four days since the arrest and no one can tell Emma anything. Neither Killian nor Will know what's happened since, and Regina hasn't been the most forthright with answers - not that Emma's surprised. Still, they've only talked on the phone twice since the arrest - the first time Emma had tried to get answers and the second when Regina had invited Emma to Christmas Eve - so Emma plans on grilling her tomorrow night in person.
Regina wouldn't toss her out on Christmas Eve, right?
Leo sighs again and Emma fights back a sigh of her own. "Alright, kiddo, something's bugging you. You gotta tell me what it is, though, you can't just sit there and be dramatic and hope I guess what's wrong."
Leo shrugs. He stares at his hands and kicks his feet a little, his heels hitting the bed frame lightly. Emma's mouth twists in a resigned way and she sits next to him on the bed. She reaches over and rubs his back a little, trying to coax him into talking. "You know you can tell me anything, Leo," she says softly. "Whatever's bothering you."
She watches as the frown gets deeper on his face and bright red spots bloom on his cheeks, until finally he bursts out, "Why aren't you coming to Gramma's for Christmas?"
Emma blinks. Of all the things she thought he might be upset about, this wasn't even in her top ten. "Leo, Gramma Ava isn't my grandma. Or even my mom, she's your mom's mom."
"So? It's not fair!" Leo jumps off the bed, only to sit hard on the floor next to his toys. "You never got to be here for Christmas before," he mumbles, his voice sullen as he picks up one of his dinosaurs. "And now you're here and we're going away."
"Oh, Leo." Emma tries to think of a way to explain her complicated feelings about family and Christmas, let alone her limited patience with Ava. For one thing, he's only six, and he's known the love of his parents his whole life. She and David had decided a long time ago that it wasn't necessary to tell him - or any of David and Mary Margaret's future kids - about Emma's past. They were family and that's what really mattered.
And maybe that was a mistake, but she's not sure if Leo's old enough to really understand. Maybe in another year or two she can explain how she never knew her parents, how she'd never had a real family until David, how Christmas was at its heart about family and togetherness and for fourteen consecutive Christmases she'd never had that.
She doesn't know how to explain that sometimes she still has that creeping feeling that she doesn't fit in anywhere, that even after five years away and searching for home she's still afraid of finding it and somehow screwing it all up.
Go find Tallahassee.
She doesn't always understand it at 29, even though she's lived it her whole life. She wouldn't expect a six-year old to come close.
Instead, she moves to sit near him on the floor. "Someone's gotta make sure the farm is okay while your daddy's gone," she says softly. "And Phillip's really good at his job, but you know how your dad worries?" Leo nods, still pouting. Emma smiles a little. "Well, he put me in charge while he's gone. I have to make sure nothing bad happens while you guys have a nice Christmas."
"Like what happened to Uncle 'Ian and Henry."
There's a lump in her throat and her heart feels full to bursting. Neither Leo nor Roland have really talked about what happened, though in fairness Emma hasn't seen much of Roland since September. This is the first time that she really knows of that Leo's openly referring to the accident. Silently, Emma opens her arms and Leo scrambles over to sit in her lap. Emma wraps her arms around him and kisses the top of his head. "Yeah," she says, her voice cracking. "We don't want that to happen again."
"That was really scary."
"It really was, kiddo."
"And they're okay now?"
She rubs his arm, resting her cheek against the top of his head. 'Okay' is a relative term. Henry seems to be bouncing back much faster - helping Dr. Lucas on her rounds and in her clinic the last few days seems to have done a lot more to help than Regina's restrictions. And Killian… His bruises have faded and his jaw has healed, but for as touchy-feely as he's been lately she knows he's holding back. As easily as she knows her own name, Emma knows Killian isn't really okay yet; he's just pretending for everyone else's sake. "They're working on it," she says instead. "Some hurts take longer to heal than others."
She feels Leo nod. They stay like that for a long moment, Emma rocking slightly from side to side. When she feels Leo wiggle and free his arms enough to awkwardly hug her in return, she smiles. "How about this?" she asks. "I asked your mom and dad to bring my presents for you to your grandma's house. You can leave mine here, and we'll Facetime on Christmas morning and open them together that way."
"Are you even gonna be awake?" Leo asks skeptically.
Emma laughs just as Mary Margaret pokes her head in the door. "All packed up?" she asks. Leo scrambles to his feet, yelling something about toys he hasn't packed yet, and Emma gets to her feet with a grunt. Mary Margaret raises a curious eyebrow at her while Leo tries to fit three more things into his already-full duffel bag. "Everything okay?" she asks quietly.
Emma nods. "We had a little issue but I think we're good now," she explains. "There's probably something we need to talk about after you guys get back, but it's nothing that can't wait until after the holidays."
The other eyebrow goes up, but Mary Margaret doesn't ask. "Okay." She glances at Leo. "Come on, Leo, grab your monkey and leave the rest of that here - unless you don't want Santa to bring you new toys tomorrow?"
Emma smothers a laugh as Leo yelps. Figuring Mary Margaret can handle her own kid, she ducks out of the room and goes downstairs to help David finish packing up the car.
The ground's thankfully frozen over by now, which makes the prospect of hauling Mary Margaret's bags outside less daunting, and the sky's a steely gray color that hints at the prospect of snow to come. Emma's breath comes out in little huffs and clouds; it's going to be freezing in her room tonight. David's crawled in the back of the car through the hatch, no doubt trying to hide as many of Leo's presents - and probably Mary Margaret's - as he can before stacking the luggage in front of them. "Here's one," Emma says with a grunt. "Dunno if there's rocks in here or what, but good luck with that."
"Ah, the one with the blue luggage tag? That one's full of precious metals. We're smuggling them across the border," David deadpans, making Emma snort.
She glances up at the sky. "You guys think you'll beat the snow?"
"Hope so. I'm more worried about the storm that's supposed to blow through next week, but we'll take that as it comes." She's heard people grumbling about this supposed huge snowstorm, but she'll believe it when she sees it. This is coastal Maine, not Colorado. David backs out of the hatch with a grunt. "Alright, let's get the rest of the bags out here. Faster we get on the road, faster we get off it."
It takes them three trips to bring everything down, but the upside is by the time they're finished Leo is all bundled up and ready to go. He sprints down to the car while Mary Margaret fusses in the kitchen one last time. "There's enough food for you - oh and Regina will probably send you home with leftovers tomorrow - and don't forget to unplug the tree every night, at least you don't have to water it - oh and the outside lights too -"
"Mary Margaret." Emma and David share a smile when they realize they've spoken at the same time. David wraps one arm around his wife's shoulders and picks up the last box of cookies with his other. "Come on, sweetheart, let's get out of Emma's hair."
Mary Margaret gives her a watery smile, then opens her arms for a hug. "Oh, I wish you were coming, I hate the thought of you by yourself at Christmas."
Emma hugs her as tight as she can around the bulky coat and baby bump. She's not going to let her sister-in-law get her all emotional; one of them needs to have their hormones under control. "Don't worry about me, I was just in Boston. Have a good time at your mom's." She hears Mary Margret take a breath to reply, but then the baby kicks Emma square in the stomach. Emma lets out a startled laugh. "I think someone's telling me to go away," she jokes, stepping back. "I wouldn't be allowed to come anyway."
Mary Margaret laughs, and swipes at her eyes briefly. Then she leans in to kiss Emma's cheek. "Merry Christmas, Emma."
"You too."
Mary Margaret thankfully slips out the door before she can make Emma any more emotional. David, in true brotherly fashion, wraps her in a loose headlock and kisses her forehead. "Try not to cause any mayhem," he says.
"I promised Leo we'd Facetime for presents on Christmas morning," Emma tells him.
"And you'll be awake for that?"
Emma rolls her eyes and shoves him towards the door. "You and your son. Yes, I'll be awake."
She stands on the porch and watches as they get into the car, lifting a hand and waving as they drive past and down the long driveway. She sighs as they turn onto the road and into the fading daylight, then plugs in the outside lights before heading inside.
At first, things are fine. She does run around the house a little with the Swiffer and the vacuum, if for no other reason than she knows Mary Margaret will appreciate coming home to a clean house. Emma tosses a sandwich together out of some leftovers for dinner, and then heads down to the barns to help out with evening chores. Phillip has everyone divided up between the main stables and Mary Margaret's, so Emma doesn't have to worry about handling that part of the farm all on her own.
She could do it. She just appreciates that she doesn't have to do it.
With so many hands on deck, she finds herself without anything else to do much too early in the evening. She putters - takes a long shower without worrying about using up all the hot water for anyone else, actually remembers to shave her legs, makes sure the space heaters in her room are on, dries her hair while blaring music on the radio - but the house that feels stuffed to the gills most days is too quiet. It feels enormous and empty, and Emma doesn't know how to deal with that.
Weird that a year ago she was living by herself on Long Island and found no problem with the quiet. Granted, her apartment wasn't as big as the Point, but it's still amazing to think how things change in a year.
A year ago she'd been sick to her stomach over Graham, over how he died and if she'd played any part in forcing Neal's hand. A year ago she'd been figuring out what she needed to do to help put his murderers to justice. A year ago she was just starting to pack up her life - again - and come back to the place she'd run away from so many years before, to so many people who were no more than ghosts in her memory. And now? Now she's forgiven herself for something she hadn't had a hand in at all. She's laid a lot of her old ghosts to rest, healed hurts she never realized were still hurting, reformed her family and found new people to love, too.
Emma's curled up on the couch, weighing her phone in her hand while something plays on the TV purely for background noise. She smiles wryly as she realizes that she's had home all along; it was just waiting for her to come back to it. And maybe home is something a little more, too. Maybe home isn't a place - it's people.
Thirty-six hours from Christmas, several hours after pushing her family out the door to celebrate without her, and only now does she realize that might have been a mistake. Emma almost chuckles to herself as she realizes she's living a freaking Hallmark movie.
And maybe it's the sappiness she feels at that thought that makes up her mind for her, unlocking her phone and tapping out a text. 'Hey, are you busy rn?'
It takes a few minutes of watching TV - an earlier season of Law & Order: SVU, it looks like, if Mariska Hargitay's short hair is to be believed - before her phone buzzes with a reply. 'Not as such, no'
She smiles and asks 'Mind if I call?'
Instead of a reply, Killian calls her first. Emma bites the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. "Hey," she answers.
"Hullo, Swan," he says and her smile fades when she hears how down he sounds.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
He exhales slowly and Emma sits up a little straighter. "'S nothing I can fix, a mhuirnín."
"Yeah, well, maybe talking about it will help."
Killian doesn't respond for a minute or so, then he chuckles. "You know, I don't have therapy this week, the holiday and all. I was thinking earlier how it would have been an assuagement to actually have a session and now you're all persistent to have me speak up."
One corner of Emma's mouth curls up. "Yeah well, whatever your regular sessions cost, I charge double."
He laughs a little more genuinely this time and it eases the slight hurt in her heart. "I'll bear that in mind, love." He falls silent again and she waits him out. "It's too bloody quiet," he says finally, his voice soft.
Emma blinks, thrown for a moment, then it hits her. "I can't imagine Belle being very noisy," she says.
He huffs a little. "No, not as such," Killian says. "But I grew used to having someone else in the house. It's a peculiar feeling, to go from being used to no one's company but your own, to suddenly having another constant presence, to then having it stripped from you once again. I'm not entirely sure how to feel."
She hugs her knees to her chest. "I was thinking the same thing a little bit ago. I can't move around here without tripping over someone, but suddenly this place could be a freaking castle for what it feels like without everyone around."
"Strange, how time can change a person."
Emma smiles as she rests her head against the back of the couch. It shouldn't at this point, but it never fails to surprise her how he always voices her thoughts. How in sync they are, even when it's sad.
She misses him.
He's right here - almost, anyway - but she misses him. It's not even the sex she misses most; she just misses him. The quiet cadence of their talks in the evenings, making him laugh when she made fun of whatever they were watching on TV. Running down to the barns with him to help with feeding, both of them disheveled from an afternoon quickie and ignoring Will's smirk. The crows feet around his eyes when he smiles that gentle smile just for her, the pointy tips of his ears…
"Didn't hang up on me, did you, love?" Killian asks.
Emma blinks out of her reverie, wondering how long she was out of it. "No. Sorry, got - got caught up in a thought, I guess."
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Her stomach flutters with nerves, but he did ask. She hates how hard this is for her to admit out loud, wishes she was better at opening up, but it's Killian. "Just." She takes a deep breath. It's Killian. She can talk to him. "I'm just lonely, I guess."
"Emma…"
She bites back the rejection she feels at the regret in his voice. She keeps her grip tight on her phone so she doesn't give in to the urge to rub at the itch spreading across her skin. "No, I know. Not like - not like that. It's weird, after the last few years of being on my own and being okay with being on my own, now that I have that space again… It's weird. And I just really wish I wasn't alone right now."
He doesn't say anything but he doesn't have to. She suspects he'd probably like to come over, probably wants to fix the feeling of loneliness they share. But Emma knows just as well as he does what would happen if either of them went to the other's place. It might start off innocently enough, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions. This whole thing between them hadn't ever been wholly innocent, but in the end, neither of them had been particularly good at resisting this draw between them.
If he's being cautious about it, he's not ready. She can respect that boundary.
"Hey, so speaking of being all alone," she says, trying to put some pep into her voice.
Killian barks a laugh and the anxious knot in Emma's chest loosens. "Love, that's awful."
"Yeah, well," she says, shifting her weight in her seat. She's starting to feel tired. "Regina's having a Christmas Eve thing tomorrow. She usually makes enough food to feed an army, so I'm sure you turning up wouldn't be unwelcome. You know, if you wanted to."
She hears the smile in his voice and her fingers itch with the urge to trace it. "Emma Swan, are you attempting to ensure I'm not alone on Christmas?"
Heat flares in her cheeks, rushing down her neck and up to make her ears burn. "No," she protests. "It's Christmas Eve. Completely different day. With food, and no presents. Well, there might be a dog. Robin said they might have the dog by now -"
"Swan - Emma," Killian says over the rest of her rambling, making her fall silent. "Regina already invited me," he says in a quieter voice. "She took me in at Thanksgiving as well. Seems as if she's decided to adopt me."
Emma feels a quiet rush of affection towards Regina for that. She doesn't remember Regina ever extending this sort of invitation to Graham, but Emma was younger then, caught up in herself and her own problems. Emma's relationship with everyone had been on a less even field, even though her mentorship with Henry giving her a little more access to the Mills household. But even then she'd never had Christmas with them. No, there'd always been David and James and Ruth, then just David and Ruth, and then David and Ruth and Mary Margaret. Some years had involved Neal, but most of the time not.
And now, apparently, there would be Regina, Robin, Henry, Roland, maybe a dog, and Killian.
Not bad for someone who'd spent last Christmas alone.
"She probably knows the only way to keep you out of trouble is by keeping an eye on you," Emma says, shoving her sentimental self to the side.
There's a disbelieving snort on his end. "I'd think the same should be said of you," Killian retorts.
She smiles: he's not exactly wrong. "Maybe. So I guess I'll see you there, then."
"I guess you shall." Emma shifts again, moving to stretch out on the couch. She grunts when she hits her elbow on the arm of the couch, then tucks her feet under the blanket on the other end, rolling onto her side to face the TV with a sigh. "Swan, what the blazes are you doing?"
"Getting comfortable." He makes a strangled sort of noise, like he's trying to clear his throat and failing badly, and Emma realizes what she's said. "Crap, not like that. Mind out of the gutter, Jones."
"If you insist on leaving yourself wide open, I can't help but -"
"Oh, shut it," Emma grumbles, making him chuckle. "I was going to tell you to turn on whatever this channel is and watch TV with me, but if you're going to be a jackass about it…"
She hears him grunt under his breath and then the sound of the TV on his end. They figure out something to watch together - Die Hard, as it turns out, a perfectly acceptable seasonal movie even with the edits. "'Yippee-kie-yay, my friend' just doesn't have the same punch," Emma mumbles. It's hard to keep her eyes open, but she wants to at least make it to the PC bomb in the elevator shaft.
"American censorship is a strange business," Killian comments.
"Mm."
Emma, despite her best intentions, doesn't make it to the elevator shaft scene. She falls asleep to Killian's soft grumbling about whatever cheap product is being advertised during a commercial break, his voice in her ear and lulling her into a soft sense of safety, and she doesn't wake up until the infomercials are running. She sits up, groggy and achy from the old, worn down couch and fumbles for the remote. The silence is almost deafening, but Emma ignores it in favor of picking up her dropped phone. She wonders how long she'd been out before Killian hung up.
There's three texts waiting for her.
'I can't believe you fell asleep during Die Hard. Who falls asleep during Die Hard?'
'You missed a brilliant explosion, love. Several, actually.'
'And no, you didn't snore. See you tomorrow. X'
Emma blames her sleepiness and the lingering sentimentality for the way she traces that X with her thumb. He's getting there - slowly, but surely - but Killian's getting better all the same.
"Officially, Belle is an anonymous source," Regina says, shoving a casserole dish into Emma's hands. "He can't pin the charges against him on her completely, but he can claim that because the evidence was on paper only found within their house, she was knowledgeable about the events and didn't come forward with it. That would frame her as an accomplice. It's complicated, but we're working on it."
Regina blows a bit of hair away from her face before picking up the platter of turkey. It's the most information Emma's gotten out of her in a week - and likely the most she'll ever get Regina to say on the subject - but it's enough to satisfy her curiosity. "So the call came from inside the house?" she asks, following Regina into the dining room.
"Or throwing her under a bus. Take your pick."
It makes sense. He might be an asshole, but no one could say Gold was a stupid man. And judging by the way Belle had gone quietly with her head held high, Emma had probably been right to think that Belle had almost expected this to happen. She'd planned for it, made her peace with it.
Together, Emma and Regina finish putting the dinner table together; Henry had set the places earlier, so now all that was needed were bodies in seats. "Go tell everyone dinner's ready," Regina said, grabbing the lighter for the candles in the middle of the table. "And tell Roland the dog gets to come only if he doesn't feed her table scraps."
Truthfully, Roland's the least likely suspect. No, when Emma had arrived earlier that afternoon, the newest member of the Hood-Mills household seemed to be most enamored of Robin, shamelessly pawing at him to play fetch or tug at every turn. And, just as Emma had teased him a few weeks ago, Robin seems just as crazy about her in return. But when Emma goes into the living room, Sadie isn't with Roland over by the tree or playing with Robin on the floor, but sprawled out on her back and getting a good tummy rub from Killian. "Oh, I'm going to be in such trouble when I get home," he tells the dog, and Emma leans against the doorframe as his grin widens. "I've two lovely ladies waiting for me at home and they'll be mighty jealous when they get a whiff of you."
Sadie - a golden retriever/duck toller mix, according to Henry - is completely shameless, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she wriggles on the carpet. Her tail alternates between thumping the floor and Killian's leg. Emma clears her throat, bringing everyone's attention to her. "Not to interrupt this shameless ploy for attention, but dinner's ready," she says. "Roland, your mom says no feeding Sadie table scraps. This warning also extends to everyone else present," Emma adds, meeting Henry, Robin, and Killian in the eye one by one. They at least have the grace to grin sheepishly.
Emma tries to flatten herself against the doorframe to let Henry and Roland pass, and then starts to follow. Warmth presses at the small of her back and she glances over her shoulder to see Killian; the warm feeling starts to tingle and spreads up her spine as his hand presses harder against her. "I still can't believe you fell asleep during Die Hard," he says, gently guiding her to the dining room.
"I can't believe it's been almost twenty-four hours and you're still making fun of me about that," she retorts. "I was tired."
"Aye, as was I, yet I stuck it through until Herr Gruber's bitter end."
Emma makes a face at him even as he pulls out a chair for her; she doesn't instantly miss his hand on her back at all, nope. She almost makes fun of his German accent, even though it strangely makes her stomach flip over even more than his normal accent, but she catches Regina giving Henry a look instead. Emma glances between Henry and Regina as she sits; she can't see Henry's face while sitting next to him, but they're definitely having some sort of silent conversation. "Hey, wanna clue the rest of us in, or is this a private party?" she asks pointedly.
Regina glances at her, then smiles serenely. "It's nothing, Miss Swan. Roland, do you want sweet potatoes or regular?"
Emma side-eyes her but doesn't comment.
Dinner goes smoothly. Henry seems to be back to his usual self, talking across the table at Killian about his time with Dr. Lucas. Emma makes a mental note to talk about that with him later. She bounces between idle conversation with Robin about how his semester went and answering Regina's questions about Princess - Emma had forgotten Regina's plans to breed Heart come February. First Princess, then Mary Margaret's baby's due in February, now Heart... "It's the freaking circle of life around here," Emma says, taking a sip of wine.
"Why?" Roland asks.
Emma glances at Robin and Regina, slowly grinning at the mix of exasperated and resigned looks they're giving her. "Tag, you're it," she says cheerfully, standing and taking her plate and silverware to the kitchen.
She's rinsing everything off in the sink when she hears someone else enter in the kitchen. "That was cruel, love," Killian says, setting his used dishes on the counter next to her.
"They're not actually explaining where babies come from, are they?"
He takes the plate from her hand and loads it into the dishwasher. Emma glances at him askance, smiling a little as Henry and Robin come in with more dishes. They work in tandem for cleanup, Emma rinsing and Killian loading the dishwasher, while the kids disappear into the living room and Robin and Regina dole the leftovers out into containers. Sadie comes in and lays herself across Emma's feet, no doubt hoping for someone to drop something savory for her. "You act like I'm never going to feed you," Robin says, looking down at the dog, who just sighs forlornly. "You'll get your dinner in a moment, pup."
Regina points between Emma and Killian. "Neither of you are setting foot out of this house without an armful of food."
"Aye, you don't want to see hide nor feather of a turkey for weeks," Killian says, sounding like he's heard this speech before.
Regina smiles in a very self-satisfied way before making her way towards the living room. "Good, you're learning," she calls over her shoulder.
"Only from the best, Mrs. Hood."
Robin catches Emma's eye, rolling his in a very exaggerated way as he goes to get Sadie's food bowls. She smirks as she washes the grease from her hands, accepting the towel Killian hands her when she's done.
They're on their way back to the living room, Killian allowing Emma through the doorway first, when Roland screeches, "Mistletoe!"
Emma freezes, then glances up. Sure enough, there's a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the top - a sprig that definitely hadn't been there earlier. Her eyes narrow; she definitely smells a rat somewhere. "Son of a…"
Her gaze drops back to him when Roland giggles. "You gotta kiss, that's tradition!" he explains.
Right. Of course.
Carefully ignoring Killian's presence behind her - and definitely not thinking how he's reacting to this - she glances around the room, Emma spots Henry looking entirely too interested in whatever's on his phone; kid's got a terrible poker face. Her mouth twists as she swiftly puts the pieces together; she'll have a conversation with him later about this. Her gaze finds Regina, who has a careful mask of mild interest in place, but her eyes give her away. Oh, we are going to talk about this... Holding back a sigh, Emma looks back at Roland, crouching down to his level. "You know what, kiddo, I'm pretty sure the rules mean that whoever catches you under the mistletoe has to kiss you. And I think that's you."
She reaches forward and pokes him in the chest; Roland makes a face, but rushes forward to give her a very wet kiss on the cheek anyway. Emma turns slightly to kiss his cheek in return, then quickly blows a raspberry, making him giggle and squirm out of reach. "Okay, now Killian," he says, pointing over her shoulder. "He's stuck under the mistletoe too."
Emma closes her eyes in resignation, desperately hating the position this puts him in, but Killian reacts first. "Ah, lad, I believe the rules still apply in regards to who does the catching and the kissing."
Roland sighs heavily, his shoulders dropping dramatically, and he looks very much like Robin when he rolls his eyes. Emma stifles a laugh despite herself. But Roland goes to give Killian a kiss on the cheek anyway. Emma takes the momentary distraction to get up and go sit next to Henry. She glances down to see him furiously typing a text, studiously ignoring her. "Seriously?" she asks quietly, nudging him.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Henry replies, just as quiet.
Emma nods, humming in agreement. "Sure. And I don't know that you're texting Grace, even though she's at church right now."
Henry quickly turns off his phone display. "She's just bored," he says, shoving his phone under his leg, as if Emma's going to snatch it from him. She wouldn't - he's allowed to have privacy - but she's his Big Sister, she's allowed to tease him a little about a girl.
"Right, because Mass is boring when you're fifteen, and all girls definitely risk getting in trouble for texting a boy during Christmas Eve Mass," Emma says, recalling the futile struggles between her and Ruth during that first year or so with the Nolans. "So, Operation Mistletoe failed. Any other tricks you and your mom have up your sleeve for tonight? Of the terrible matchmaking kind?"
Henry snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. "It only failed because Roland's six and hasn't had time to learn all my tricks yet. Or subtlety."
"And don't forget who taught you those tricks, buster," Emma says, nudging him again. He begrudgingly smiles. "Look, it's not - it'll happen. Eventually. Some of us are just waiting for the other to catch up. So just… let it happen on it's own, okay?"
"We were just trying to help."
He says it so quietly, so sincerely that Emma's heart melts a little. She reaches over and wraps her arm around his shoulder, giving him a one-armed hug. "I know," she says. She feels eyes on them and looks; Regina's watching them over the rim of her coffee cup, a slight frown wrinkling her brow and worry in her eyes. Emma makes a face and Regina scoffs, rolling her eyes as she looks away. Emma smirks. "I appreciate it," she tells Henry. "But when it happens, maybe it's better if it's not in a room full of other people."
"Okay, gross," Henry says and Emma laughs, letting the subject drop for all of their sakes.
Sadie comes back in, flopping down with a sigh next to Roland on the floor. Her tail thumps on the floor when he starts to pet her, but she seems to be sated and sleepy from all the attention and dinner. Roland grins - Emma just notices that he's missing two more teeth - and lays against her, somewhat engrossed in some transforming toy and ignoring the grownups changing the subject.
Emma and Henry mostly listen as Killian and Robin start talking soccer - football, whatever - and Emma is surprised when Regina offers up a few opinions herself. She supposes being married to a fan of the sport means you pick up a thing or two. As the conversation turns to American football, Emma asks Henry, "So, how do you like working with Dr. Lucas?"
The genuine smile on his face alone is enough to tell Emma how it's going, but she's more than happy to listen as he launches into all the nitty gritty details of what the vet's allowing him to do. It seems like Dr. Lucas had been right: Henry wants to learn. He's happy and eager, and not even the prospect of doing a botfly flush seemed to gross him out. Emma's stomach rolls a little, remembering that fun experience, but if there's one more person in the world who doesn't mind it the better her chances of never having to treat bots again. "Sounds like you're having fun," she says during a pause.
"Yeah," Henry says. "Honestly, more than I thought I would. Not that I thought it wouldn't be interesting, but Dr. Lucas tries to make it fun for me. Even the not so good stuff."
Emma hopes he feels the same way when racing season picks back up, when worse injuries become more common and most owners don't have the money for a costly rehab, when there will be more Prides and less rescues in Mary Margaret's stables, but time will tell there. "Well, good."
"I even talked to Mom about Cornell."
He says it quietly, like he doesn't want Regina or Robin to hear. Emma turns to face him a little better. She knows they've fought about Henry continuing school - both high school and college - but if he'd been the one to bring it up, maybe this was a good thing. Maybe he was starting to take the blinders off about this jockey thing, look around at his options. It's not as if there aren't a ton of other things he could do and still work with horses. "What's at Cornell?" she asks, keeping her voice just as soft.
"It's got one of the best veterinary programs in the country."
Emma's eyebrows go up. She knows Henry and how he tends to throw himself into something one hundred percent, but at the same time she can see where Regina might have questioned it a bit, why Henry might not want her to hear him talking about it. She's glad Henry's reconsidering his career options, but two weeks of helping the local vet does seem like it's jumping the gun in completely revamping his future. Still, she doesn't want to discourage him. "Okay. So you've started looking at that?"
He shrugs. "A few. I mean, I know it's new and all and I don't want to give up riding but… I think I should look at it? If I like it, right? I dunno. Mom's - I think she's okay with it, more than the jockey thing anyway, but I think she's worried because the ones close by are private schools and the public schools are really far away."
"Like how far?"
"Like California far. Or Texas far. Or Ohio far."
Emma raises an eyebrow. "Okay, well Ohio isn't as far as Texas or California, but I see your point. Maybe stick to this side of the Mississippi if you want to go out of state."
"Well, that's the thing," Henry says and Emma can tell it's a struggle to keep his voice down. "She thinks I should do a year or two at Bowdoin and then transfer."
"Kid, free tuition at a private college?"
"Going to school with my step-dad?" When Emma looks at him expectantly, Henry rolls his eyes. "Okay, well, it just feels weird. Like, would I bother to make friends if I commuted? Or if I knew I would only be there for two or three semesters? Or what about when I transferred, what if everyone in the program already made their friends and I don't know anyone?"
He starts to go on, but he's forgetting to keep his voice down and Emma knows he'd rather not bring his parents' attention to this right now. She reaches over and puts her hand on his. "Hey. Okay, take a breath." He does. "First, you're a sophomore. I know they're after you about college apps, but you literally don't have to make a decision for another year or so. Second, I am the shittiest person you can talk to about college."
Henry pretends to look offended. "I can't believe you swore on Christmas Eve."
"I can't believe your girlfriend texted you during church."
"She's not -"
"Yeah, yeah, not your girlfriend," Emma says as Henry rolls his eyes again. "Third. Your mom's pretty smart. And I have no idea how long veterinary school takes, but if it's anything like being a human doctor then you're going to be in college until you're my age. So it's a thought to hang on to, saving money where you can. And fourth, you're a sophomore. Let's wait to have a meltdown about choosing schools until you go on visits next year."
He sighs, sinking back against the couch and crossing his arms. She expects some sort of retort, but he only says, "I'm telling Mom you said she was smart."
"She'll never believe you," Emma says.
-/-
Killian glances away from Emma and Henry, failing to hide the smirk on his lips. Perhaps they'd meant to be more discrete, but he'd been well within earshot for most of their conversation. He's glad to hear that Henry's rethinking his future; Killian's had a few worried thoughts that even after everything the lad might still be considering a jockey career. Though, it does seem Henry's over-thinking quite a bit of it at this stage in the game.
Then again, Killian's quite in the same boat as Emma - complete shite when it comes to discussing uni - so what does he know?
"Will Scarlet's the man to ask about that, mate," Killian tells Robin, mostly out of truth but also due to him not quite hearing the question. "Man's bloody mad for the aul' footy, blathers me ears off every time he's not goin' on about the horses. Gets cheeky when I tell him I don't have a bloody clue what he's saying."
Robin grins. "We've had a chat now and again," he says, then glances up as Regina gets to her feet. "Need a refill, love?"
Killian twists, looking over his shoulder as Regina smiles. "I was going to grab a game, but sure," she says.
"Your accents get thicker the more you talk to each other," Emma remarks.
Robin laughs, getting to his feet. "It's a Christmas miracle, the English and the Irish have managed to set aside their differences."
Killian catches Emma's raised eyebrow, the bemused look on her face. "Bit of bad blood, love," he explains, remembering her terrible memory for geography. "Much like you Yanks, we had a bit of a scrap for our freedom, too. You want something to drink?"
"Hot cocoa?"
"With cinnamon," Henry adds.
Killian gets up with a grunt. "Anything else for you, sir?" he asks, layering on the accent as he bows slightly. "A saucer upon which to rest your cuppa?"
Emma's biting her lip in the most delicious way, holding in a laugh that makes her eyes sparkle, but Henry's rolling his eyes in his most dramatic teenage fashion. "You asked and didn't specify. Please."
Killian glances at Emma and winks, then follows Robin and Regina into the kitchen. He slips behind Robin through the gap between him and the wall, trying not to notice as the pair exchange a brief kiss. He's familiar enough with the general layout of the kitchen to find the right ingredients to whip up two mugs of cocoa while Robin refills Regina's coffee mug. "Hands will be a bit full, mate," Robin observes as Killian sticks the two mugs into the microwave. "What'll you have?"
Killian shrugs him off. "I'm fine, just needed to stretch me legs a bit. Getting sleepy, your wife makes a fantastic meal."
Robin chuckles. "That she does." He seems content to wait for Killian, though he stares at the coffee maker in contemplation. "Sorry, by the way, about the mistletoe. I think Emma caught on to Regina and Henry trying to matchmake a bit."
Killian smiles ruefully. "Aye."
There's a moment of silence, and then Robin exhales heavily. "Tell me to piss off if it's none of my business, but I thought the two of you were…" He gestures, as if trying to make the words come out on their own. "I suppose the best way to put it is on the mend?"
The microwave beeps, allowing him to think over how to answer Robin's question. Killian putters with the whipped cream and the cinnamon, hoping he's done it right, then braces himself against the counter. "In a way," he admits. "But I - I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to realize down the line that I wasn't ready, that I've messed her around and brought her nothing but grief. I'm - I'm not ready."
He glances at Robin out of the corner of his eye, and the other man is nodding solemnly, his posture much the same as Killian's. "Understandable, of course," Robin says. "But, ah, if I might offer a bit of advice? Again, tell me to bugger off if I'm out of line, but... Take her into consideration."
Killian raises an eyebrow, looking at him full-on. "Pardon?"
The insinuation that he's done anything but take Emma's feelings into consideration over the last several weeks is absurd. Robin folds his arms across his chest, planting himself firmly on the other side of the counter. "You're saying you don't want to hurt her, or mess her around or upset her, which is all well and good. But if she's willing to jump in, doesn't that say more about her acceptance of the possibility of these things?
"I'm not saying go and muck it all up now if you're truly not ready for a relationship. But the way you say it means you think things will be all peachy keen once you're there. I'm on my second marriage, mate. I can tell you that things are not peachy keen twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. You'll hurt her without even thinking. One day the peanut butter jar will be in the cupboard and there will hardly be enough left for one spoonful and you'll just have a go at each other. One of you will work too much, one of you will feel like you carry too much of the burden of the home or the relationship." Robin's smile is a bit wistful. "You might try to have a child to save your marriage and fail spectacularly at it."
Killian thinks of Roland in the other room, so in love with the dog he's using as a pillow, a mischievous little lad who would be too young to understand such a confession from his father. Killian looks down, feeling a pull of empathy towards the lad. "Aye, I might - I might know a thing or two about that," he admits quietly. "My parents died hating one another, it's all I knew. I wondered… later, of course…"
Robin comes around the counter, clapping his hand on Killian's shoulder. "If you've seen the bad, then you know how to be better. In theory, at least" he amends. "But if you're willing to try, if you're willing to suffer the hurt for all the good that comes of loving someone, then you'll do alright. Only if you're ready."
Killian nods, smiling his thanks briefly, and Robin steps away. They carry their beverages back into the living room, where Regina has set up a game of Cluedo - pardon, Clue - on the floor. Killian hands off the cocoa to Emma and Henry, then settles on the floor next to Roland.
It turns out the masterminds of this game are Emma and Henry; Regina is abysmal at it, something Killian takes enormous delight in teasing her about. Henry has a penchant for adding dramatic - and often gruesome - twists on the hows and whys of the tragic demise of Mr. Boddy. Robin's tactic seems to be naming himself as the killer (even with bulletproof evidence that his character is completely innocent, which almost came to a shouting match between him and Henry) and the most ridiculous methods of murder possible - which almost works out for him once, but Emma snipes the win out from under his nose.
They make it through three games, with Christmas cartoons playing on the TV behind them, before Henry notices that Roland has fallen asleep on top of Sadie. Regina glances up at the clock. "That might be our cue to turn in for the night," she says softly. Emma and Henry pack up the game while Robin carefully hefts Roland up to carry him up to bed. "Come on, Sadie," Regina says, snapping her fingers gently.
"She sleeps with Roland," Henry explains as the dog follows Regina out. "Though last night she tried to sleep with Mom and Robin, and took over Robin's whole side of the bed. He wasn't too happy about that."
"I bet she doesn't snore, though," Emma says, setting the game on the table.
"You would lose that bet."
Killian gathers up all of the mugs and takes them to the kitchen, letting them soak in the sink. It is getting rather late, he notes, thinking of the check-in he'll have to do with those who drew the short straws overnight. Will and one of the younger lads will be popping by tomorrow, but for the most part it's just going to be Killian and the horses for a quiet Christmas at the Horn.
Yesterday, he'd been alright with that prospect. Today…
When he leaves the kitchen, he pauses when he sees Emma with Henry in a headlock under the mistletoe. She laughs as he tries to wriggle away, settling for kissing the top of his head. "Merry Christmas, kid," she tells him, shoving him towards the stairs.
"Yeah, yeah," Henry grumbles, but on the fourth or fifth stair he pauses. Then he turns and jogs back down the stairs and practically throws himself at Emma, hugging her tight. "I'm glad you're here," he mumbles, just loud enough for Killian to hear from his place in the shadows. "Merry Christmas."
Emma swipes at her eyes when Henry goes upstairs, starting when Killian draws up next to her. "Sorry, just," she says, sniffling a little, "must be allergies or something."
"In December, aye," Killian says amicably.
She laughs, dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. "He's a good kid," she says softly.
"Aye."
It doesn't escape him that she's standing under the mistletoe still, and he has a good feeling that she knows it too. Robin's advice is still fresh in his mind, but even so. Part of him wants to back her up against the door frame and kiss her until she can't stand on her own, hefting her up into his arms and whisking her away with him without so much as a goodbye to their hosts. And part of him knows how they fell into things before, how rushed and sloppy it was, how quickly things shattered when put under pressure.
He loves her. He wants to build something with her that will last.
He grips her hand in his, taking in the feel of her smooth skin against the roughness of his fingers. He slides his thumb down her fingers as he brings her hand up, meeting her eyes. There's caution there, and if he's not mistaken, hope. She gives him a tentative smile. "Mistletoe," he says quietly, before pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
Her eyes search his, a hundred emotions flickering through her face. His heart sinks as the hopeful look in her eye dies, the smile fades. Instead, confusion reigns supreme, with a side of hurt as he releases her and steps back.
You'll hurt her without even thinking.
"Happy Christmas, Emma," Killian says softly, dropping his gaze and backing away from her towards the door.
Robin was right.
Killian shoves his feet into his boots, slinging his coat over his shoulder as he opens the door and steps out. It's started to snow, just a bit, and the wind is brisk on his cheeks as he closes the door behind him, feeling Emma's eyes on him the whole time.
-/-
Emma is up in time to open presents with Leo over the phone. She sets aside her hurt and her confusion over Killian's behavior the night before in favor of making her nephew happy. She accepts her presents with thanks, she gives the appropriate amount of admiration to Leo's new toys, and after she wishes her family a merry Christmas, she leaves them to their day.
And then she lets the hurt and confusion flow.
She tries not to mope, tries to put this energy to good use. She throws away wrapping paper and sweeps up fake pine needles that have given up staying on the tree. She puts her new things away and makes herself a good breakfast.
She ignores the bag of leftovers in the fridge meant for Killian.
Regina had been pretty pissed to find that Killian had left both without saying anything and empty-handed. Now it's Emma's job to deliver them to him at some point before they go bad. Part of her is seriously contemplating just leaving them on his porch - it's cold enough, and they're only calling for it to get colder. Let him stew in confusion over why there's just a bag of food on his porch, let him wonder what the hell is going on -
Emma throws her used dishes and silverware into the sink and storms into the mud room, shoving her feet into her boots and bundling up. Barn chores. She needs to work to get rid of some of these feelings.
She stops to check on Princess before talking to Phillip; Dr. Lucas still thinks it will be another week or two before the foal is born, but Emma doesn't want to take any chances. It's anything-could-happen time. She gives Princess a careful once-over, crooning softly and stroking her side the whole time, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. The foal is a bit active, which makes Emma smile. "Stay in there a little longer, okay?" she tells it quietly, patting Princess' belly once more before heading down to the office.
Barn chores turn out to be mostly taken care of between those who drew the short straws, so Emma's regulated to long lining in Mary Margaret's barn. There's a bitter taste in her mouth as she leads one of the newer horses out to the arena: Belle had been the one doing long line rehab lately. She'd been reteaching Emma - five years turns out to be just long enough to forget the finer points of the exercise - but Belle was always better. "Be patient with me, alright?" Emma asks softly, rubbing the horse's nose before tapping the arm extender on the sandy floor.
It takes most of her focus, lengthening and shortening the lead, keeping her eyes moving to watch for favored legs or missed steps. She doesn't have to think about Killian or the way she thought he might have actually kissed her last night. She doesn't have to think about the overwhelming disappointment when he didn't, the confusion about why he'd even bothered to kiss her hand at all, the stupid rejection she'd felt when he'd just walked away.
She doesn't have to think about any of that at all.
By the time she gets to the third horse, though, she's got the hang of things. She has a feel for it again, can go through the motions a little more, even as she watches for signs of injury. And those little creeping doubts come back.
She'd deflected everything the first time. She'd given him an out. So why look at her like that? Why make her think he's getting better and then take seven steps backwards? Why get all handsy while teasing her before dinner? Why take her hand so gently, keeping one hundred percent of her attention on him with featherlight touches and intense eyes? Why make her think he just didn't want everyone watching? Why just up and leave?
Why the hell is she so bent out of shape over a goddamn kiss on the hand?
Emma's moody again by the time she gives in to the hunger pangs and goes back up to the house. Nothing in the fridge looks the least bit appetizing, but that bag of food for Killian feels like it's glaring at her to get rid of it. She stares at it for a long time, not really caring that the fridge keeps beeping at her about the door being open, debating with herself about whether or not to just dump it all on his porch and leave him to clean it up. Or, you take it to him, leave him standing there like an idiot this time, and go get Chinese takeout, part of her says.
That part makes a really good argument.
She takes the bag out to her car, grouchy and daydreaming about dumplings the entire drive to the Horn. She's going to drizzle them in soy sauce and duck sauce and definitely not eat them while sulking on the couch and watching a movie where more things explode. To think that two days ago she was feeling wistful and sappy about Christmas.
Emma's slightly surprised when she pulls up to the house: there's a small tree in the window. If she's honest with herself, she hadn't thought much about how Killian might feel about Christmas. She normally assumes people are fine and dandy with it, while she usually made the effort to downplay the holiday as much as possible. But there's a small part of her that thought he might be like her, another lost kid who might avoid it as much as possible.
Despite herself, she smiles slightly. As usual, Killian Jones defies expectations.
The smile fades as she bangs her fist on the door twice. She hears his muffled voice - is he talking to himself? To the cats? - through the door, and then it opens rather abruptly as he says, "Will, I thought I - oh."
Killian stares at her like he's never seen her before. Emma tries to look annoyed, rather than bewildered, but feels like she's failing. She thrusts the bag at him. "You left," she says shortly. "Regina got pissed and made me bring this for you."
He accepts the bag slowly, still staring at her. "Aye," he says slowly. "Apologies for the inconvenience, love. Thank you."
She nods, then turns to go. She doesn't hear the door close and the vindictive part of her is quite thrilled that she will, in fact, be leaving him standing there like an idiot. But once her feet hit the path to the driveway, she stops.
She's still angry about this.
"You left," she says, whirling on her heel and storming up the porch steps. "You left."
"I did," Killian says quietly.
"You - you did that - that thing with my hand, and you made me think - and then you left!"
"I'm sorry, Emma."
Emma huffs out a breath, the anger melting away and just leaving hurt in its place. Killian doesn't look away, looking every bit as sorry as his voice implies. "Why?" she asks, hating the way her voice cracks and how her eyes sting, how she cares so much about a stupid nonevent to begin with.
He reaches up and scratches under his ear, and some of her hurt fades at that familiar sign of his discomfort. "I - I don't have a good reason," he says. "I've been trying to think - Tink once told me I was terrible at communication. I believe this is the sort of thing she was referring to, sending mixed signals when truly I shouldn't be equipped to send any sort of signals at all." Emma frowns, but waits for him to get his words out. Killian sighs. "I didn't want… to hurt you. I didn't feel it right to raise your hopes as such, and I know I hurt you regardless, and for that I am sorry, Emma. I'm not - I just don't want to realize later that what we've built together isn't strong enough to last."
Her heart skips a beat, or possibly three, over his words. Her mouth feels dry as she tries to take that in, and it is a lot to take in - strong enough to last, he's not just trying to make himself a better boyfriend, he's thinking long-term, like - like white picket fences and two-point-five kids kind of long-term. Her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth when she tries to open her mouth, but whatever words she was going to say (meaningful ones, important ones) don't come out. She swallows, then manages, "You signed your text with an X."
"Perhaps that was too forward."
That coupled with the wince on his face, makes Emma laugh faintly, because that's the most absurd thing she's ever heard. "It's a single letter, Romeo, not Sonnet 55." At his inquiring eyebrow, Emma waves him off. "Henry wanted my help with English, they're doing a section on Shakespeare, I was flipping through his notes."
As he nods his understanding, Emma tries again. Words are his thing, but it's not fair that he has to try and read her all the time. She wants to give him this. "Here's the thing. It's not - I like that you don't want to screw me over. In fact, I really like it, it's one of your best qualities. But I - I think I get a say in that. If you want - If we want this to work again, then we both need to share that. I know I'm going to upset you," she says, and he chuckles, looking down. "But I think that's just part of the deal. And not even giving me the chance to decide if I want you to kiss me and then walk away from me isn't giving me my share of this - this partnership."
God, she's got a long enough string of bad relationships that she shouldn't be trying to spout off advice, particularly to someone she wants another chance with, but Killian's nodding like whatever she just said makes sense. "I know, Emma, and I truly am sorry." His mouth twists, and then to her immense surprise the tips of his ears turn bright red; she's fairly certain it's not from the cold. "But, in the spirit of honesty, you should probably know that if I had kissed you last night, there wouldn't have been any walking away."
After everything they've done - all the things that she's let him do to her and vice versa - she shouldn't be blushing at that insinuation, but she is. "Oh."
"Indeed." The blush has spread from his ears and down to his cheeks, and he scratches under his ear again. "And it's not as if I don't - believe me, I do - but I want us to have a solid foundation upon which to build this - us. We already know how tumbling into bed together worked out."
"You're really into this construction metaphor," Emma says, trying to deflect a little with humor. She's hungry and her wrists itch and she's definitely reaching a limit on feelings talk for the day.
Killian smiles, that lopsided one she likes so much. "I find it works for me."
Emma glances down to hide her own smile. "I'm really glad you didn't use a construction pun there."
He chuckles. "I tried to think of one, truly."
She looks up, then closes the gap between them, her arms going around his middle as his free arm closes around her back. "Apology accepted," she mumbles.
She hears him start to reply, but her stomach decides this is the time to remind her - loudly - that she hasn't eaten in hours. "Sorry," she says, stepping back. "I should go -"
"Swan, let me make you something," Killian says, stepping back, probably to let her come in.
"Oh, no, it's -"
"It's Christmas. What sort of Scrooge would I be to turn away a lady in need?"
Her shoulders drop as she glares at him. "Oh, I'll show you lady in need," she grumbles, striding into the house past him and jabbing him in the shoulder as she does so.
One of the cats - Am, probably - twines around her legs, yowling the whole time as Emma takes off her coat. Her heart feels full, if a little sad, glancing around the living room - from the little tree on the end table under the window to the familiar mess on the coffee table and his comically old furniture. She follows Killian into the kitchen, half-listening as he wonders aloud what he's going to make; mostly, she's remembering her thought from the other day.
Maybe home isn't a place, it's people.
And maybe it's a little early to say, but being here like this makes her feel more at ease than she'd been at the Point. Sitting at his kitchen table feels comfortable, like it hasn't been months since the last time she sat in this chair. Emma smiles at Killian when he glances over his shoulder.
Slowly but surely, they're getting better.
Two more proper chapters, then the epilogue! With a lighter summer class load, (I got out of spring semester with a 4.0!), I'm really hoping to finish this up quickly. (she says innocently, naively, and 16 months into writing this story, still having not learned her lesson) Thank you as ever for reading and favoriting and commenting and kudosing and reblogging and all the other feedback, I appreciate it so much and it keeps me powering through until the end!