Emma woke up to the sound of the phone ringing. Judging by the sound, she had left her phone in the kitchen last night. Killian, lying beside her with his arm tight around her waist, groaned into the pillow.

"Your turn," Emma muttered. It was probably Ariel, their next-door neighbor with absolutely no concepts of boundaries, probably asking to come over and watch Netflix. There was literally no one else in the world save their boss who liked risking the wrath of the Joneses prior to 10:00 a.m. on a Saturday. And literally no one else in the world save their boss knew that they were, in fact, part of the CIA. The go-assassinate-someone part.

"Nope," Killian whispered back. She pinched his back. "Fine," he muttered, standing slowly and kissing her briefly before slumping to the kitchen. Emma grinned after her husband. His hair was gorgeous all scruffy, and he really needed to shave. Adorable.

She heard him pick up her phone up just as it completed its last ring. "Who is it?" he asked in a half singsong voice. Clearly, his thought was the same as hers. Ariel probably wanted to finish binging Parks and Rec.

Emma waited. "May I ask who's calling?" His voice had sharpened into the tone of CIA Agent Killian Jones. Emma sighed. She kind of loved that voice, but didn't appreciate it on their first free weekend together in four months. She really hated working for the CIA sometimes.

Killian strode into their bedroom, the phone clasped in his hand in such a way that the caller wouldn't be able to hear their conversation, no matter how hard they tried. There was the faintest hint of a grin on his mostly grim face. "Emma, it's your parents."

Emma stared at Killian's face for a moment. He looked both terrified and ecstatic. She didn't like it at all. Then she slowly took the phone. "Hi, Mom," she said cautiously.

"Emma!" an overly enthusiastic voice practically shouted from the phone. Emma held the phone away from her ear for a moment. "Emma?"

"No need for such enthusiasm, Mom," Emma said. Slightly awkward pause. Killian waved his hand in a "continue" gesture. "How are you?"

"We're all doing very well! Missing you, of course, but that's natural after having hardly heard from you in six years!" Her voice was still enthusiastic and happy, but there was that edge of iron underneath that Emma had learned to fear at the age of four months, probably. Mary Margaret Blanchard was going for the passive-aggressive. Wonderful.

Emma pasted on a grin that would help with her voice over the phone. Killian crawled back into bed and she curled into his arm around her shoulder. "So sorry, Mom, work is insane. Haven't been able to keep in contact with anyone, really." This was in fact the truth. The CIA didn't appreciate much outside contact and insane was a tame way to describe her job, generally. Right now, it wasn't. The Joneses had the month off.

A gentle sigh. "You really need to do better about contact, Emma. Some of the neighbors were sure you were dead, since we didn't have any news for them. Haven't had any news for them in months."

"Sorry?" Killian was rubbing circles into her shoulder. He always knew when Emma needed stress relief, even back on that first mission. Sometimes she really hated him. Or loved him. That line was always so blurry.

"Well, that won't be an excuse for a while. You're coming up here for Christmas."

Emma pulled away from Killian and sat up straight. Killian sat up and leaned against the headboard, and Emma could tell that he was fully on the alert, but she couldn't focus on him. "What?"

"You heard me, Emma. You're coming to Storybrooke for Christmas. You will take off at work, and you will stay for one week. Two if possible."

Emma turned and faced Killian, who must have heard that last part. He was shaking with laughter. She glared at him. "Might be difficult, Mom, work's crazy right now." This was an outright lie. Regina had given her and Killian most of the entire month of December off. Killian had almost died from that one assignment in November, and Regina thought it was high time, after Emma's six years of faithful work and Killian's seven years of mostly faithful, that both of them should get breaks.

"Well, do something about it." This was her mom's I am a fourth-grade teacher; I will take no nonsense voice. "Also, who was that man who answered the phone? He sounded British!" This was her I want to talk about all the cute boys with you as if I'm your age voice.

Emma groaned. Sometimes she also hated her mother. All relationships in Emma's life were blurred between love and hate. That probably wasn't a good thing, she mused. "It's Killian. I work with him. And he's British, yes."

"Why was he answering your phone?"

"I made him answer it." Killian was actually pressing his hand to his mouth to muffle his laughter. She kicked him in the shin. "Anyway, I'll try to come for Christmas. What days?"

Mary Margaret blessedly dropped the subject of Killian the Lovely Brit. "I want you here on December 20 or before then, and you aren't allowed to leave until your boss demands you back. I miss you, Emma." Her voice had gone into that sweet sad voice that usually left Emma's father on his knees begging for forgiveness and sometimes had left Emma pleading for her to stop, just be happy again.

"I miss you too, Mom. And Dad, since he's probably sitting close enough to hear me. And Henry, fine." Emma couldn't help grinning when she mentioned Henry. Goodness, the kid was probably so big by now. Like 15 years old or something like that.

She should have defied the CIA and kept in touch better. It may have gotten her and her family killed. But at least it would have prevented this phone call.

There was a sniff from the phone that sounded more like her dad. "Come see us, Emma. Please." Yep, definitely her dad.

"I'll do my best," Emma promised. Then she hung up before her mom could get her to actually promise. She tossed the phone away from her onto the bed and collapsed backwards, which turned out to be onto Killian's chest. He grunted in pain and Emma moved away, mindful of his healing ribs.

"Are you going to go?" he asked.

"I think I should," Emma groaned. He slowly pushed his fingers into her hair and started working through the tangles. "I haven't seen them in four years."

"Aye, you should go," Killian replied softly.

Emma tilted her head back and Killian resolutely didn't meet her gaze. She moved her head to look at his eyes. He slowly moved so that he was staring at the ceiling. She rolled her eyes. "For heaven's sake, Killian, what is it?"

"Do they not know I exist?"

"Nope," Emma replied, relishing the feeling of his fingers pulling their way through her hair. "I hadn't mentioned you before we got married, and we had gotten married like a month before I went to Storybrooke before. You were in—"

"Belarus, I think," Killian inserted.

"—Belarus, when I went for Mom's random party that she insisted I needed to be at. Interrogation, of course. I—"

"Didn't see fit to mention me then?" Killian's voice was curious and slightly hurt.

"I couldn't figure out how to, Killian," Emma replied, slightly exasperated. "You're also my partner, too. I couldn't say anything about the wonderful and dashing Agent Jones since you were actually on assignment at the time."

"Mrs. Jones, you could have mentioned that you'd since bound yourself in holy matrimony to a 'dashing' man who was on a work trip."

"Probably could have, but I didn't. I also didn't want any more loving interrogation than I was already getting," Emma admitted, finally realizing what sort of mess she was in. "You know I was gone for nearly a week before? The extra interrogation would have made it another week at least, and I would have missed you coming home and the joy of getting to take you to the emergency room to set your broken leg."

They sat in silence for a moment. That had been a good homecoming. Once Killian's leg had been fixed, they spent a week in bed or at least near it. Finally, Killian laughed again. "We've been married for five years and your parents didn't know that I existed until about ten minutes ago, let alone that we're married."

"Yes."

The monotone, one-syllable answer made Killian laugh even more. Emma pulled away, wincing when her hair got caught in one of his rings. She turned around to face him. His face was positively glowing with his amusement. Emma grabbed her pillow and whacked him lightly.

"Shut up," she muttered.

Killian suddenly sobered and gracefully fell off the bed with only a slight wince at the ribs. He straightened and took her hand, pulling her to the edge of the bed so that her legs dangled over. He knelt down on one knee before her. "Killian—"

"Will you, Mrs. Jones, consent to something?"

"What?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

He looked down at the ground for a moment and then back up at her face. Emma couldn't help grinning, because Killian's face was the please I beg of you marry me because you make every star in the sky shine at night that he'd used when she's tried to dramatically hesitate before agreeing to marry the idiot. "Will you, Emma Swan Jones, as my truly and lawfully wedded and most beloved wife, take me to Storybrooke, Maine, to meet your family over Christmas?" He ended with a slight pout and a higher notch on the heart eyes scale.

Emma felt her grin fall off her face and shatter somewhere next to Killian's knee. She had, for the few minutes she'd known about this trip, planned to go to Storybrooke alone. Killian read that in her face and his smile started to drop and she rushed to recover. "What will we tell them? That we've been married for five years and decided not to tell them? Mom's going to kill me, then you, then probably me again."

"Or we could pull a little fake dating thing in which we pretend to be dating and I get to propose to you again about halfway through, insist on being married before we come back, let your mother give us another wedding when she doesn't know about the first one." Killian grinned and kissed her palm before standing and grasping her hips. She could feel the scars and ruined skin on his left hand through her thin shirt, and she couldn't help taking that hand and kissing it herself before returning it to her hip so that she could put her hands around his waist.

"That's ridiculous," Emma scoffed. "My life is not a sit-com. Neither is yours, much as you like to pretend it is."

"It's either admit to your five years' worth of lying and get a terrible scolding and debilitating guilt trip or outright lie and have a bit of fun, darling. No other options," Killian said happily, tapping his fingers against her hip bones.

Emma sighed.

On the one hand, another wedding was terribly appealing. Killian in a tuxedo was, quite frankly, one of her favorite sights, along with the chocolate ice cream currently in the freezer and fields just outside of London in the spring. It would be fun to be dating again, and her parents wouldn't be quite so upset.

On the other hand, the wedding would be expensive, and she didn't want her dad to have to pay that. Also, Emma had been married to the one guy for five years, and she and Killian had only dated a year before they knew, without a doubt, that they were the loves of each other's lives. She was going to have to learn how to date Killian Jones again.

Darn. Emma hated decisions. But unfortunately, at least one thing was clear. Mr. and Mrs. Killian Jones were going to Storybrooke over Christmas. She sighed resignedly.

She rose to her toes and kissed her husband quickly, then pulled herself away to the kitchen. She really wanted that chocolate ice cream.

"What are you going to do?" Killian asked as he struggled to get his shirt on, trying to avoid snapping the ribs again.

"I'm going to make an ice cream waffle sandwich for breakfast, and then I'm going to tell Regina we're going to Maine."

"Regina? It's Emma."

A baby screamed across the phone. "Hi, Emma, it's Robin. Let me get Regina." Robin then probably handed baby Audrey off to her barely older brother Roland, then spoke into the phone again. "Sorry about that. The baby's a bit hungry and Roland needs to get to school—Regina!"

Emma sighed. Killian had gone off to the store to replenish the pantry and she was sitting on the couch, waiting to inform her boss that she and her husband were going essentially AWOL for nearly a month. Yes, they were on vacation, but the terms of the vacation essentially said "be ready to be called in at any moment. You're employees of the United States government against the rest of the known world, and the known world never sleeps, Swan, remember that."

"Emma?" Regina finally got ahold of the phone.

"Regina, hi." Emma said. She paused for a moment.

"Talk now, Emma. I have one child to feed, one to take to school, and one husband to drive to work. I don't have time for anything you and Jones may have managed to screw up." There was a faint "Mommy?" in the background. "Just a minute, Roland, go ahead and get your backpack. And don't forget your crayons, please."

"My mom called. And she wants me to go up to Maine for Christmas. For like three weeks."

"Why are you telling me this?" Regina's voice was clearly not amused. "Robin, get the bottle."

"Because I haven't told them I got married, and Killian wants to go."

"Again, why are you telling me this? Go on and get in the car, Roland. Robin, you're just going to have to get her the bottle going down the road." A faint "but that's not safe!" "Right now, we're just going to have to deal with it. I'll talk to any police officers we see. Agent Swan, what is your point?"

Emma tried not to laugh. The Hood-Mills family never ceased to amuse her. "Just wanted to tell you that we can't do any work for the next three to four weeks. Also, how do I tell my parents?"

"Your problem, Emma," Regina said exasperatedly. "I'll put it in that my two best people are leaving for a month. I only hope the Ukraine can manage without you. Good bye now. Roland, please, don't do that—" She hung up without another word.

Emma couldn't help laughing. Perfect example of a morning in the Hood-Mills household, really.

She heard a scuffle at the door. Probably Killian with the groceries, but she couldn't help checking for her gun in her waistband anyway.

The door clicked open. "Help me with the bags, will you, love?" Killian managed around an armful of bags.

"For heaven's sake, put some of those down before you—" Two cans of tomato soup clattered to the ground. "—drop something."

Killian staggered in and put everything on the kitchen counter. "Sorry, love," he said as he reached down for the wayward cans.

"Regina said we could go. We're leaving the fate of the Ukraine in lesser hands, though."

Killian grinned. "The Ukraine can survive without us, love. Storybrooke may not be able to." He hugged her, let Emma bury her face in his neck for a second and breathe. This was stressing her out unrealistically; it was only her parents meeting her husband for the first time, nothing unusual with that. "It's going to be okay, my love." He pulled away to start on lunch.

"Let's do the dating arrangement," Emma said as she watched Killian work on the pizza. "It'll probably backfire but—"

"—it won't be hard," Killian finished.

"We already have a real how-did-you-meet story and all that," Emma continued.

"We're going to tell your family we met when Regina neglected to tell us we had been assigned as partners and you mistakenly thought I was your mark and you tried to kill me?" Killian asked drily. He tossed some sausage in with the onions.

Emma laughed. "I can see how that would go, and the moment I add 'he put me in a headlock and tried to dislocate my shoulder' you're getting thrown out on your pretty face by my father, brother, and Mom's strange Uncle Leroy."

Killian smiled in a sort of pageant pose, holding the spatula aloft and twirling his apron. "So what's our lovely story?"

"May as well make it dramatic as well as realistic. You're good at dramatics," Emma sighed. "Hated each other in the insurance office, got crushes on each other alarmingly quickly, went out—"

"—and the rest is history," Killian cut in. He leaned across the counter and kissed her soundly for a few seconds. Then the timer for the pizza crust sounded and he pulled away with a grin as Emma tried to follow his lips. "Would you like me to propose halfway through?"

"You're the one proposing, Killian. You act as you will." Emma stood to spread the sauce on the crust. The sauce and the cheese were the only parts of cooking Killian let her perform. For goodness' sake, one burned loaf of bread while they were dating that nearly burned the apartment down and Killian never let her cook again. Her husband's lack of faith in her culinary skills was astonishing. Which was perfectly fine; Emma had no trouble with that. The man could cook.

The pizza was done five minutes later and they sat down at the table with the whole thing. "Put your mother on speaker when you tell her we're coming, love," Killian said with a grin. "I'm really rather looking forward to this."

Emma called her parents that night, sitting on the couch with Killian's head on her lap, her fingers carding through his hair. "Hey, Mom," she said with forced cheerfulness.

"Hi, Emma! How has your day been?"

"Fine, Regina gave me and Killian the day off so we've been doing nothing. Speaking of him, we can come for Christmas."

Killian grinned at Mary Margaret's happy squeal. "David! Emma's coming for Christmas!"

"I know, dear, I heard," Emma's dad replied. "Emma, did you say 'we'?"

"Yeah, I'm bringing Killian. My boyfriend." Killian sighed and Emma pressed her hand over his mouth.

"The British one?" Mary Margaret asked. Killian raised an eyebrow questioningly. Emma nodded her agreement; Killian was about to purposefully talk to her parents. Milestone.

"Aye, that's me," Killian said in the general direction of the phone. Emma knew from experience that his accent sounded even thicker over the phone. Her mom was probably quite impressed.

"Well, we'll be pleased to have you over as well, Killian," Mary Margaret said. She ended "Killian" with a question mark. Emma wasn't sure if it was the pronunciation or the complete shock that Emma was bringing a boyfriend home at all. Probably the latter; her mom had dealt with plenty of unusual names throughout the course of her years as a teacher.

"He'll be coming, Mom," Emma said. "Anyway, looking forward to seeing you all, love you, bye!" She hung up quickly. Then she let her head fall to the back of the couch and her hand with the phone fall haphazardly onto Killian's face.

Killian took the phone out of her hand and pushed it behind a couch cushion. "Don't worry, love. We can handle it."

The next week saw Mr. and Mrs. Jones packing and getting Ariel to watch the apartment—they had done this before: essentially telling her to live there for a few weeks, pretend it was hers, but please take care of it—and arranging everything. Emma reminded Regina and Robin that they were really truly leaving for a few weeks. Killian convinced Will to try to stay off the alcohol to be ready if the Ukraine really needed help. Emma couldn't help believing that if something wrong happened over there, the Ukraine was screwed.