Deck the Halls—or Maybe the Neighbor

CS Genre: Enemies to Lovers AU

She was going to kill him. She was going to drive a stake of holly through his heart or strangle him with a strand of Christmas lights or...well, some other holiday themed method of homicide.

Emma worked hard all day chasing down the scum of the earth and hauling their worthless asses back to jail where they belonged. Was it really too much to ask that she have a little peace and quiet downtime to relax once she got home.

According to the idiot who lived in the apartment directly above hers, apparently so. Every damn day since Thanksgiving he'd blared his Christmas music loud enough to wake the ghost of Christmas past. Sometimes he even enthusiastically belted along with it. (She had to admit his voice wasn't half bad, but that was entirely beside the point.)

Emma hissed as she dabbed at the cut beside her eye where tonight's skip had clocked her. She'd got him in the end; Emma Swan always got her man, but now that the adrenaline of the chase was over, her cuts and bruises and sore muscles were screaming at her.

And the guy in the apartment above had just started singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" at the top of his lungs.

Emma growled, tossing the bloody cotton ball into her bathroom trash and getting to her feet. Enough was enough. This stopped now. He could take his merry little Christmas and shove it up his south pole.

Two minutes later, she stood before his apartment. Pounding on the door felt extremely satisfying if she did say so herself.

The music suddenly stopped, and a moment later the door opened, and for the first time Emma got a glimpse of the man who'd been the bane of her existence for the past two weeks.

Her jaw dropped. He was drop dead gorgeous, melt-an-entire-population-of-snowmen hot.

"Well hello, there, Love," he said with an appreciative grin-and in an accent that had her toes curling in her boots. "How can I help you?"

Emma's stomach swooped and her heart stuttered and then started racing. She blinked and the spell was broken. She wasn't some teenager who drooled over hot guys. Especially hot guys that she'd been seriously contemplating murdering five minutes ago.

"If you don't stop with the Christmas crap, I'm going to punch your stupid, festive face," she gritted out.

His eyebrows raised. "Pardon?"

"Your music!" she said. "Every freaking day, everytime I get home you're blaring the Christmas music, and it got old about five minutes after you started. I don't think it's too much to ask that I have a little peace and quiet in my own home."

He huffed a breath. "Darling, I had no idea anyone was even in the building in the middle of the afternoon. Did it ever occur to you to come to me and ask me to turn down my music?"

She had to admit he had a point there. Maybe yelling at him and threatening bodily harm wasn't the best opening salvo, but it had been a long day, and she was in pain, and she wasn't in the mood to be reasonable.

"Look, just turn it down," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

"Your wish is my command," he said with biting sarcasm, sketching a mock bow. "Now is there anything else you wish to yell at me about or may I get back to my tasks at hand?"

"Nope. That's all," she said.

"Good," he said and then tacked on a biting "merry Christmas" before shutting the door in her face.

The next morning, Emma was rather embarrassed about her interaction with Hot Christmas Guy upstairs, as she'd been calling him in her mind. She'd had a frustrating day-the skip she'd gone after had left his wife and kids just before Christmas, taking every penny of their Christmas fund.

It hit too close to home for a girl who had grown up with no family, with no one. Hard to get into the warm and fuzzy Christmas spirit when no one gave a crap about you.

She'd been too harsh with Hot Christmas Guy, but at least the results were in her favor. He'd been as good as his word, and if he'd continued playing his Christmas music, he'd done it at a low enough volume that she didn't even hear it.

Emma had only just begun to think she should go upstairs and apologize, when suddenly there was a knock at her door.

She opened the door to find the man himself, standing there holding a large plate of cookies. Her stomach not only swooped this time; it did cartwheels. The guy looked even better in the bright light of morning with his slightly disheveled black hair, his reddish scruff, his blue button down that highlighted his even bluer eyes and his black leather jacket.

"I'm afraid we came to rather a bad start, yesterday," he said. "Perhaps we might start again, Aye? My name is Killian Jones, and I'd like to offer you these Christmas cookies as a token of my apology for the excessive volume of my music."

Emma took a step back and gestured for him to enter her apartment. "Hey, I'm Emma Swan, and no apology is necessary. In fact, I kind of think I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have just come out swinging like that."

He smiled at her, the fine lines around his (beautiful) eyes crinkling with the gesture. "Apology accepted Love. I'll leave you to your morning."

He turned to leave, but suddenly, Emma didn't want him to go. "Killian wait!" she said.

Obediently he stopped, eyebrows raised in question.

"Would you like to stay and help me eat these cookies?"

He shot her a skeptical look. "Dessert at nine in the morning?"

She shrugged. "Can't be much more unhealthy than my normal blueberry PopTart."

Killian laughed then, taking a step back inside. "Do you at least have milk to wash them down with?"

"Of course."

Killian ended up staying for two hours, and it amazed Emma how quickly they fell into conversation. It was like they were old friends catching up rather than relative strangers. Emma learned that Killian was a novelist. His music helped him with the creative process, jump started his creativity as it were.

The conversation had then turned to the upcoming holiday.

"Swan, do you not celebrate Christmas?" he'd asked, looking around her apartment.

She shrugged. "I mean, I guess I do. I'm not like opposed to Christmas or anything. Why?"

"I can't help but notice you have no tree, no decorations of any kind, and your opposition to the music of the season is well established," he said.

Emma looked around her neat but rather sterile apartment and shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I just didn't see the point of going to all that trouble. I mean, it's not like I'm going to have any presents under the tree or anyone to share the holiday with."

She had expected him to look at her with pity at her admission of just how alone she was, but instead, the look on his face was knowing, understanding. "The holidays are difficult when you're alone, aren't they?"

That surprised her. Was he speaking from personal experience?

"Aye love," he said, answering her unasked question, "I suspect we have more in common than you might have supposed. Ever since my brother passed a decade ago, I've been on my own. The holidays always bring with them a special kind of melancholy."

"But…" she began, "but you play Christmas music. From the glimpse I got of your apartment yesterday, you have all the decorations and trappings. Doesn't that make the loneliness worse?"

He shook his head. "It helps me to remember the good memories, and there are always good memories if you dig deep enough."

The conversation stuck with her long after she and Killian had said goodbye and gone their separate ways. Maybe...maybe he was right. Maybe if she let a little Christmas cheer into her life, it would help, even in a small part, to soothe the pain of a lifetime of loneliness.

The next morning, bright and early, there was a knock on Emma's door. This time she smiled as she went to the door, knowing instinctively that she'd find Killian on the other side.

What she wasn't expecting was the large, beautiful, fragrant pine tree he was holding in front of him.

"What's this?" she asked, opening the door wider so that he could awkwardly maneuver himself and the tree inside.

"This, Swan," he said with a teasing grin, "is called a Christmas tree. Traditionally people set them up in their houses this time of year and decorate them with lights and colorful baubles."

She grinned, rolling her eyes at him and playfully swatting his shoulder. "I know what it is, smart ass. I'm wondering why you brought it here."

He propped the tree against the door, and then reached up to scratch at the spot behind his ear. "I got to thinking after our conversation yesterday. I wanted to bring you some of the Christmas joy that has helped me through the season for years. I hope I've not overstepped by bringing this."

Emma smiled gently, stepping up to place a hand on his arm. "This is really sweet, Killian," she said. "Thanks."

"It was my pleasure," he said, stepping outside to gather the boxes of lights, ornaments and tinsel he had waiting for him. "If you've the time and inclination, I thought perhaps we could decorate your apartment together."

She took one of the boxes from him and set it on her living room floor. "As it turns out, I have the day off, and decorating a tree sounds like the perfect way to pass the time. If you play your cards right, I might even let you play some Christmas music while we work."

They'd spent the entire day together, first decorating her tree, then splitting a pizza from the place down the street, talking, laughing, and genuinely enjoying each other's company.

The next day he was back, and the day after that she went to his apartment. Barely a day went by that they didn't see each other. Each day brought a new holiday themed activity.

For the first time she could remember, Emma felt the magic of Christmas. For the first time she woke up looking forward to what the day might bring-and it was all due to Killian Jones. It should scare her how comfortable she felt with him. It should scare her how much she was coming to look forward to their time together, to their daily phone calls and text conversations.

But somehow it didn't. She could read people; it's what made her so good at her job. And Killian? She read him loud and clear. He was the real deal. She could trust him.

And so it was that when the idea occurred to her she didn't let herself think too hard, merely acted.

"So I was thinking," she said, turning toward him on the couch where they sat together watching Christmas movies on Christmas eve.

"Dangerous prospect, love," he said with a teasing grin. She smacked his shoulder.

"I think that we should spend Christmas together," she said.

This shouldn't be that big of a deal-after all, they'd spent the last two weeks together-but somehow it was. Somehow spending Christmas together felt huge. Like this-could-be-the-start-of-something-life-changing huge.

Killian's eyes widened. He clearly understood how momentous this question really was. After a moment, his look of surprise softened into a gentle smile, and he reached up and cupped her cheek. "Emma, I'd like nothing better than to spend Christmas with you."

The relief, the joy that came over her at his answer overwhelmed her, and so she did the only thing that seemed to make sense in the moment. She leaned forward and kissed him.

On Christmas, they made plans to spend New Years together, and on New Years, they made plans for Valentine's Day.

And on the following Christmas, Killian got down on one knee and asked her to make plans with him for the rest of their lives.

It seemed only fitting that for their wedding several months later, they play Christmas music. After all, without the sounds of the season, the beautiful, perfect life they'd built for themselves may never have begun.