NEXT CHAPTER IS ACTUAL THANKSGIVING DINNER, WE'RE ALMOST THERE! And trust me, it's a doozy.

So. Review, comment, stay awesome, whatever.

"And now, everyone, Santa Claus is coming to town! Here he is, coming down in the North Pole float, jingling those bells! We've got Mrs. Claus in the front here…!"

Emma watched with half-lidded eyes as Al Roker delightedly announced every detail of the Santa Claus float. David and Snow were in the kitchen, preparing one of David's fancy dessert recipes (something French-sounding, really fancy). And since Neal and Regina had really taken to the sibling thing, and Henry had decided to spend the morning with them, Emma had watched the entire parade by herself.

She'd been disappointed: she'd been hoping at least Hook would come over, but he hadn't shown up, either. Where was he? Not with Neal, she hoped. She didn't think she'd be able to stand it if they were all hanging out without her, and she had to be stranded here with her parents.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, idly texting Hook: Where are you? I'm bored. Come be bored with me.

She put the phone down on the table, and watched Santa wave at people and pretend to be jolly while Al Roker continued to marvel at the scene. She was vaguely wondering whether or not Roker knew that he wasn't actually Santa Claus when her phone buzzed.

On my way.

Emma smiled half-heartedly, and tossed her phone back on the table. She wished Henry was here. They could have mocked the ever-loving shit out of the parade, just like they did every year. Together. As a family.

The parade was just wrapping up when there was a knock at the door.

"Could you get that, Emma?" David yelled over the sound of the mixer.

"Yep," she said, hopping off the couch and going over to the door. She tugged it open to see a less-than-chipper Hook standing outside, wearing one of Neal's scarves around his neck. Emma raised an eyebrow.

"You better get that back in his room before he notices it's gone," she told him, stepping aside so he could walk in.

"I've commandeered it. This scarf is mine now," Hook declared, walking into the kitchen. Snow entirely ignored him; David looked over and gave him a bro-nod, before going back to his concoction. Hook wandered over, frowning into the bowl.

"What is that?" he asked, sniffing dubiously.

"Get out of here," David said, swatting him away. "Come on, get out."

Hook held up his arms in mock surrender, walking backward around the counter. Emma dropped into the stool next to him, leaning her elbows on the counter.

"So," she said. "You talk to Neal?"

"Not a lot," Hook said vacantly, watching David beat eggs. "A little last night, but that was…" He trailed off, transfixed as David poured foamy egg whites into the bowl. "So fluffy," he said in wonder. "So…fluffy."

"What did you talk about last night?" Emma asked, trying not to sound too eager. It wasn't like she was hoping that Neal had confided anything in Hook about her or Henry or the Graham-situation… except she really really really was. "Hook?" She snapped her fingers in front of his face.

Hook blinked at few times, shaking his head to clear it. "What? What do you want?"

"What did you talk about last night?" she repeated patiently.

"Oh." Hook rolled his eyes. "Nothing about you, love, don't worry."

"Hey," she frowned, lightly hitting his shoulder. "Don't get sassy."

Hook propped his chin on his folded elbows."I'm not being sassy."

"You are. And you're pouting."

"Not pouting, either," he said stubbornly. "I'm broken-hearted."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "Again?"

"Not again," Hook said, turning his head toward her. "Still."

He closed his eyes, giving a forlorn sigh, and buried his head in his arms. Emma looked at David helplessly. He glanced up, shaking his head. I don't have time for this, his eyes said.

Emma looked at him pleadingly, but David shook his head again, gesturing toward his mixture. Emma looked down at the top of Hook's head, heaving a sigh.

"You want to talk about it? I think we still have a couple hours before we have to go."

"Doubt that's going to be enough time," Hook said miserably, correctly interpreting what she wasn't saying, but got up from his stool nonetheless. "I can give it a go, though."

Emma stood up, and gestured toward the family room. "Couch?"

"Bedroom."

"No."

"Oh, very well. Couch."

He followed Emma to the couch, glancing at the screen as Santa waved his goodbyes and the credits rolled. "Seriously, you watched the parade again?"

"It's a tradition," Emma shrugged, deciding to leave the television on for background noise.

"It's the same every year," Hook argued, although his heart didn't seem to be in it. "Why do you keep watching it? It's never going to change."

"You want to complain about the parade, or you want to talk about your broken heart?" Emma patted the seat next to her. "Come on, sit down."

Hook sat down obediently, letting his head fall back against the couch. Emma propped her head up with one hand, resting her elbow on the back of the couch.

He stared at the ceiling for a long time. "Why does this keep happening to me, Emma?" He shook his head slightly. "I mean…"

Emma waited, not saying anything.

"First you… then Ruby…" Hook frowned at the ceiling, swallowing hard. "This really sucks."

She sighed, lifting her head so she could rub his shoulder sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, waving away her apology. "It's not your fault, love." His voice became tenser, colder, like the edge of a knife. "It's Graham's."

"Graham." Emma passed her hand over her eyes, sighing. "I know… I know having someone to blame makes it easier—"

"No, Emma, it's literally his fault," Hook said, turning to look at her. "He's ruined everything. He's the reason we broke up, he's the reason we're not back together." He went back to glaring at the ceiling, folding his arms. "Last night, she told me…"

Emma waited patiently, but he didn't finish the sentence: he seemed to be lost in the memory, a dark look spreading on his face. She waved her hand, prodding him to continue. "Last night, she told you…?"

Hook scoffed. "Just some nonsense about an unhealthy relationship…shallowness. Completely ridiculous."

"I never got the impression you two liked each other all that much," Emma shrugged."You guys broke up at least twice a week."

"And got back together twice a week," Hook said indignantly.

"Yeah, but you were drunk," she pointed out. "And you know what they say about drunk decision-making."

"We were probably drunk when we broke up, too," he argued back.

"Have you two ever been sober together?" Emma asked curiously. "Do you spend all your time drunk?"

"No, it's just…" Hook waved his hand. "It's generally more fun that way."

Emma opened her mouth, her tongue clicking against her teeth. "See… I think that's where she gets 'unhealthy' from."

"You're not helping," he told her, his eyes narrowed.

"I'm just saying, maybe this was a good thing, you know?" she said. "Maybe it was getting to be one of those bad-habit-relationships, and you just needed a good, clean break."

"No, it's not—" Hook made a frustrated noise, putting his fingers to the corners of his eyes. "You don't understand."

"I really don't."

"I don't know how to explain it, I just…" Hook dropped his hand, sighing helplessly. "Bloody hell, I don't know."

"You just need some time," Emma said soothingly. "It's still fresh, you just need some time to get over her."

Hook laughed contemptuously, shaking his head. "I don't see that happening."

"You got over me," she said brightly. "You never thought that could happen."

"Yeah, but…it's not the same." Hook looked over at her, creasing his forehead. "I'm not explaining this well."

She shrugged. "Try."

"I don't want to. Not right now." He looked at her for a long time, frowning slightly. "I don't like this. Make me feel better."

"Make you feel better?" Emma repeated, a little taken aback by the abruptness.

"Just…" Hook waved his hand. "I don't know. Say something nice about me."

Emma blinked. "Um…" She looked at the ceiling, thinking hard. "You've got good teeth?"

Hook raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, yeah, that was lame," she agreed. "But I don't know what you want me to say."

"Just something nice. Is it really that difficult? Because I have to tell you, it rather hurts me that you're having such a hard time."

Emma blew out a breath. "You pull off that scarf pretty well?"

"That's something nice about Neal's scarf. Not me."

Emma looked at him for a long time, searching her mind for something, anything, she could say. But it was difficult to think of something with him staring at her, waiting.

"You're pretty good at online solitaire."

"Brilliant."

Emma sighed. She really wasn't very good at this comforting-thing. She expected Hook to make some sort of crack about it, but he just stayed silent for a long time, staring at the screen without really seeing it.

"What's so wonderful about Graham, anyway?" he asked finally.

Emma chewed her lip. "Do you want the honest answer or the one that's going to make you feel better?"

"Both," he said decisively. "Give me the honest, first."

"He's sweet, sensitive, kind, smart, hardworking, mature, and crazy-hot," she said bluntly. "Plus, he can cook."

Hook nodded slowly. "And now the one that's going to make me feel better?"

"I don't know what she sees in him." Emma gave him half a smile, nudging him. "How'd I do?"

"Not bad," he shrugged. "Belle's better at this than you, though. She usually makes me tea."

"Do you want tea?"

"No, it's too early for tea," he said, pulling out his flask. Emma rolled her eyes as he took a long swig from it.

"Too early for tea, so he goes for rum," she muttered. "You're an alcoholic."

Hook swallowed, exhaling loudly. "Ah…" he said in relish, holding up the flask to look at it. "Now that's how you mend a broken heart."

"That's how you encourage an alcohol addiction."

"I'm not an alcoholic," he said stubbornly. "I'm an alcohol appreciator."

"Just don't get too drunk, okay?" she warned. "We have to leave in a few hours, and I need you to behave yourself today."

"And why's that, Swan?" Hook grinned, raising a roguish eyebrow. "Afraid you might have to punish me?"

Emma raised her eyebrows. "You know, you did that the other day, too. Seriously, what is going on with you?"

"I don't know, I keep doing that," he frowned. "I'm starting to think I might have a psychological issue."

"Like…compulsive sluttiness?"

"Yeah, it's just like a reflex." Hook looked at her wonderingly. "You think I should talk to Archie, after all?"

"Maybe…." Emma studied him. "Something I notice—you keep calling me 'Swan' when you do that. You haven't called me that since…" She waved her hand. "You know, two years ago."

"Curious…." Hook thoughtfully rubbed his thumb over his lips. "What do you think it means?"

"I think it means, call Archie."