winter writing prompt: you're the asshole of our group and we don't get along, but then i find out you make soup for the local shelter

This is definitely getting a part 2 later this week but I was too excited to share and hear what you think :D

As always, if you like this, check out all of 'Tis The Season and if you really really like it, check out my brand new book (chapter 26) which also contains a selection of Christmas stories. :*


"Love, you know I steer clear of all that."

Emma suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at his deep timbre, the way he rolls the word "love" around and flutters his eyelashes slightly – all obviously meant to charm Mary Margaret and let him have his way. As always.

"Oh, come on, Killian. You can let me have this one. It's just a fortune, you don't even have to show it to us."

Jones sighs as if drawing a fortune slip out of the Christmas hat MM has been thrusting at each of them in turn is the biggest sacrifice he has ever been asked to make. Emma feels only slightly petty about the way she pointedly strides over and plunges her hand into the red felt.

Truth be told, Emma isn't the biggest fan of MM's numerous Christmas activities either – the Secret Santa, the cookie exchanges, the ostentatious dinners, and now the Christmas fortunes, but there are few things she will not do for the sake of her best friend. There are also few things she will not do to spite Killian Jones.

If the way he doesn't suppress his eyeroll at her actions is anything to go on, he knows it too.

"What did ya get, Ems? Please, let it be one of the saucy ones I wrote!" Ruby somehow manages to clap with the glass of wine in her hand.

Emma pulls the piece of paper out of its miniature envelope and groans at how many times it's folded – by the time she has managed to get it all smoothed out Ruby is making dying noises.

"Alright, alright. I swear this is made for people with miniature fingers. Here – A selfless good deed is the thing to make a heart sweet."

This time she doesn't suppress her eyeroll. Her only consolation is that Ruby huffs in displeasure and drops back into her armchair, clearly displeased with Emma's less than "saucy" fortune.

"Oh, that's lovely, Emma!"

She puts on a smile for Mary Margaret's sake and looks back at the piece of paper. She has no desire to "sweeten" her heart but doing a good deed over the holidays doesn't sound like such a bad idea actually. Truthfully, Emma feels a little bad about how impersonal most of her holiday "good deeds" have been. She usually donates to some organization aiding homeless people and sends some presents to an orphanage of her choice – both close to her heart, but she has never actually gone and gotten involved personally. Maybe this will be the year.

She is drawn out of her thoughts by the little jingle of the Santa hat that Mary Margaret is now literally shoving in Jones' face. If the guy wasn't such an asshole, Emma would actually sympathize with him.

"Come on, Killian."

Especially when MM breaks out her most winning smile. It's as effective as Jones' charms, if not more so. Not that those have ever worked on Emma.

Honestly, she has no idea how such an arrogant man as Killian Jones wormed his way into the friend circle of people such as David and Mary Margaret Nolan, Belle French and Graham Humbert. Sure, she and Ruby aren't without their thorns but their places in the group were solidified by their statuses – hers as Mary Margaret's best friend and Ruby's as Belle's girlfriend, and they are always willing to take part in any group activities and eager to be with their self-made family.

The same cannot be said about Killian Jones. Sure, he is a friend of David's but he seems to accept their invitations about as often as he turns them down. He never takes part in the Secret Santa. He never hosts movie nights at his place. He rarely joins on day trips. He rarely joins them for dinner celebrations, choosing to slink in when they are already at the bar instead. He has even missed a birthday party on occasion. Emma – with how much this group of people means to her – thinks he is not nearly as appreciative as he should be of how David has allowed him into their family and how they continue to invite him to everything despite his flakiness.

At least he got over himself enough to draw a fortune. Mary Margaret is positively beaming at him. Emma is trying to put a limit on her eyerolls allowance for the evening.

"Well, what does it say?"

Jones seems startled by her question. His cough is incredibly uncomfortable and he looks around as if—

"Would you mind, love?"

He extends the little envelope toward Mary Margaret and she and Emma both look confused for a moment. MM seems to get with the program much faster.

"Oh, of course!"

She thrusts the hat with the rest of the fortunes at Emma and takes Jones' fortune. It's only when her slim fingers work their way into the small envelope and start on the tedious process of unfolding the tiny slip of paper that Emma realizes that's a pretty not one-hand job.

"Do you want me to read it out loud?"

Killian shrugs.

"If you wish."

Mary Margaret looks down at the fortune and Emma has just enough time to get confused by the slight blush that quickly works its way into her cheeks before MM glances at Ruby and it becomes clear that Killian has drawn one of Ruby's "saucy" fortunes. Figures.

"Ummm," MM swallows and passes it to him and Emma is shocked to see that whatever is on the piece of paper makes even Jones' ears turn a little bit pink.

He stuffs the fortune into his back pocket and he and MM share a look that obviously swears them both to secrecy in seconds. Emma's curiosity is warring with her desire to show no interest to the extend that she even considers sneaking the thing out of Killian's back pocket. Which she will never do. Of course not.

"More wine, Ems?"

"Eh."

With obvious reluctance she holds her glass toward Ruby and one of the bottles of red Jones brought. Emma is not a snob. Not by a long shot. But Killian Jones has truly horrendous taste in wine. Or, more likely, he truly cannot be bothered to pick and buy a good one. It's just another little thing that shows her how little he cares about the group of people who have welcomed him so warmly.

/

Emma has spent a shocking amount of time thinking about ways to fulfill her fortune. She has settled on getting more involved with the two initiatives that she generally just donates money to. So three weeks before Christmas she finds herself at a shelter in a less than thriving neighbourhood, dressed in her oldest jeans and a dark hoodie under her thick winter jacket.

"Hello, may I help you?"

Emma looks at the blonde woman before her and her first thought is that she looks like she is running a law firm rather than a shelter's kitchen. Her hair is pulled back into an immaculate braid and her white sweater is absolutely spotless. Emma feels like it's mocking the safety of her hoodie.

"Hi, I'm Emma? I called beforehand to ask when you might need volunteers?"

"Oh, yes, Emma! Thank you so much for coming! We're still setting up in the kitchen but I can introduce you to everyone and show you to the station. We should be opening in another 15 minutes or so," the woman gives a brisk nod and starts walking. "Oh, I'm Elsa, by the way."

By the look and sound of Elsa, Emma is sure they will be opening in exactly 15 minutes.

"So, tonight you'll be manning the station with Leroy – he is a veteran here so if you have any questions, he will know the answer."

The short man gives Elsa a nod while Emma just receives a suspicious once-over.

"Don't let the scowl fool you, he is here every Christmas and will never refuse to show you the ropes," Elsa assures her and continues on, deaf to Leroy's grumbling behind them. "My sister Anna and her fiancé Kristoff should be joining you any minute. They have the bad habit of cutting it pretty close quite often."

Elsa's pursed lips are not exactly frightening but they sure don't invite one to consider tardiness a virtue. Emma would be more put off but she considers that it probably takes a strong hand to organize and run such a thing.

"And don't worry – if they are a bit late, Killian will come out to help you start off."

Killian? Wha-

"Jones?!"

The guy stirring the enormous pot of soup gives a little jump and whirls around, the spoon in his hand splashes a little and Elsa must have put some sort of magical protection on her sweater because it remains miraculously white and spotless despite her proximity to the stove.

"Swan?!"

"I see I don't have to make introductions here," Elsa seems pleased by this development.

Emma is still stuck on the fact that Killian Jones is making soup at a homeless shelter.

"So I'd say you can direct any questions at Killian. He has just as much experience as Leroy and he is much nicer to newcomers. Or just much nicer, period."

Elsa laughs for the first time since Emma met her. Killian seems uncomfortable with praise for the first time since Emma met him. Emma has no clue what is happening and before she can truly absorb it all Elsa waves at some place where the aprons are kept apparently and floats out, leaving her alone in the small kitchen with the last man she expected to find there.

"You'd better grab one of those before you get started, Swan. Can get quite messy after a couple of hours."

"What are you doing here?"

She cringes a little. That was a bit too accusatory when asking why someone is being charitable around Christmas.

"Same as you, I'm guessing."

She looks at Killian Jones and tries not to think that she is seeing him for the first time. It's hard though – especially when the tension in his shoulders is clear as day and she can tell that his tongue is running restlessly over his lips even though he has turned his attention back to his soup. The soup that he apparently made. That he often makes. For the homeless.

"You do this?"

His shoulders do this rippling thing and now they are tight with another kind of emotion. Frustration, if she has to guess. Emma is surprised at how well she can read Killian's emotions right now.

"It's not the Ritz, Swan. You can chop some vegetables and stir some soup even with one hand."

That's not what—

"That's not what I mea—"

"You meant why I'm doing something other than throwing back beers and flirting my way into women's panties for a change?"

She opens her mouth. Then she closes it again. Well, it kinda is what she meant, she just didn't think he—

"Yes, I'm well-aware of what you think of me. I'm sure finding Graham or David here wouldn't have been such a shock."

No, it wouldn't have. But the bitterness in his tone is almost as much of a shock as his presence.

"I just—"

She is really not sure what she would have said, she is really grateful for the girl that suddenly storms in – Anna she will soon learn – chattering a mile a minute.

"Oh, you must be Emma!"

Somehow, in the span of a second, Anna manages to introduce herself, give her a quick and very unexpected hug, whirl around, kiss Killian on the cheek and whirl back around in time to introduce Emma to her fiancé.

"You should really put on a—"

"Here," Killian thrusts the worn apron into her hands and turns back to his soup.

Anna beams at Killian's back, oblivious to the tension that still lingers in the room.

"Lesson number 1, Killian is a lifesaver, if you fuck up – spill something, burn yourself, cut yourself, just come here and he'll fix you right up."

Emma is almost certain that Killian mutters something along the lines of "I'm sure she'd rather not" but Anna is already dragging her out the door and talking about how Elsa's schedule is law and must be abided at all costs.

/

She spends three hours ladling out soup that Killian Jones made for the less fortunate. It gives her plenty of time to think about things. Or more like, to keep going in circles. As soon as she has convinced herself that she has wrongfully labeled Killian Jones an asshole, the cynical voice in her head pipes up and insists that one good deed does not a good person make. As soon as that happens, another smooth or wrinkled face beams at her as she hands them their full bowl.

The thing is that this isn't just "one good deed". Killian is obviously an almost permanent fixture here. Elsa, Anna and Kristoff obviously know him quite well and think nothing but the best of him. Some of the people that come in even ask about him personally. Anna lets a particularly excited little boy back into the kitchen and Emma is pretty sure he was clutching a handmade Christmas card and—

Her cynical voice is really losing this one.

/

She heads to the back to leave her apron and take her jacket, still lost in thought, convinced that Jones must have gone home by now and she has some time to consider what the hell she should say the next time she sees him.

"You can leave that over there with the rest. Elsa will collect and wash them."

She doesn't yelp but her eyes almost pop out of her head. Thankfully, Jones has his back to her again, though he has now moved to the sink.

"Jesus. What are you still doing here?"

He sighs and Emma mentally slaps herself. Maybe it's time she stops questioning his presence.

"As I pointed out earlier, Swan, this is not the Ritz. The "chef" and the dishwasher are one and the same."

"I got that, I'm not some spoilt princess that stumbled here by mistake, you know?"

"I'm not questioning why you're here," he says emotionlessly.

Right. That's her job.

"I can help with the clean up before I take this off."

She motions to her apron and before Killian can approve or disprove of her suggestion, she reaches for one of the huge pots. That's her first mistake. Her second one is assuming it's empty.

"Shit!"

Water with bits of vegetables spills all over the floor and her shoes. And her old jeans. Fuck.

"Bloody hell!"

"Shit! Sorry! Shit, shit!"

"Go find Elsa. She'll find you a change of clothes."

"I'll clean this and—"

"Swan," Killian fixes her with a serious look that looks surprisingly calm and not angry. "It's not anywhere near warm in here. Go get changed, I'll clean this up and we'll get you a cab."

She opens her mouth to protest but snaps it shut and actually does as she is told.

/

Killian finds her outside ten minutes later – soaked jeans and all.

"Before you start berating me, Elsa had just left – some engagement with her aunt."

Jones sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. His hand is very pink, probably something to do with washing a mountain of pots and ladles.

"And cabs seem to be allergic to this street."

"The neighbourhood in general," he mutters and his hand reaches toward his hair again when Emma feels the full body shiver wrack through her.

Killian's hand freezes half way up and he sighs in resignation and drops it back to his side.

"Come on, Swan."

He starts walking before she can so much as blink at him in confusion. Emma is only a little put out that she feels compelled to follow.

"Where are we going?" she asks as she catches up to him and tries to ignore the way the cold wind plasters her wet jeans to her flesh.

"I live just around the corner."

"You do?"

Killian doesn't say anything.

/

It's not a nice neighbourhood and it's not a nice building. But Emma is much too cold to consider much of anything until Killian Jones is waving her into his apartment.

"Sorry, it's not—" he doesn't finish, just waves his hand in the air and hurries to turn up the heat.

He really doesn't have anything to apologize for – the place is tidier than her apartment has ever been. Everything seems to have its place and nothing is just thrown around even though it's basically one room – his bed and wardrobe at the far wall with two precariously high columns of books instead of a nightstand, a worn couch and a small IKEA table in the middle and a kitchen corner to her right.

It's not exactly pleasantly warm inside but Emma is not numb with cold anymore. She is aware enough to read the new tension that has settled on Killian's shoulders. Not the strange and unfamiliar one that Elsa's praise put there earlier but one that Emma is a bit more acquainted with – the one that always seems to fall over him when he is faced with some task that he cannot perform one-handed. Shame.

"I think these will almost fit you."

She snaps her head around and looks down at the sweatpants that Killian is holding out to her.

"You can…" he waves at the only door in the apartment that probably leads to the bathroom. "I'll try to get you a cab or an Uber."

"Thanks, I—" she looks helplessly between him and the sweatpants, then she takes them and feels a bit silly over the way she clutches them in front of her chest. "Thanks."

His bathroom is just as spotless as the rest of the place and just as small and sparsely decorated. Emma puts down the toilet seat and leaves her jacket, wallet and phone on it before she bends down to unzip her boots.

She cringes at the muddy footprints that she has left on the blue tiles.

"Great."

Is it something about tonight in particular or has she always been the worst? Now, Jones is definitely never inviting them to—

The position she freezes in must be comical to an outsider. In her socks, trying to avoid her own muddy footprints, one hand tugging the wet jeans off one leg and the other clutching at the sink. It's not comical to Emma. Emma is too busy having an epiphany about Killian Jones.

Killian Jones who regularly helps out at a homeless shelter. Killian Jones who lives in a small apartment in a bad neighbourhood. Killian Jones who never hosts movie nights. Killian Jones who never takes part in the Secret Santa. Killian Jones who never joins them for dinner in the kinda trendy restaurants that Ruby makes them spurge for from time to time. Killian Jones with the busy schedule. Killian Jones with the cheap wine.

Fuck.

"Fuck."