To mark the beginning of December properly I have something new for this verse. Whether you enjoyed this last December as part of my 'Tis The Season series, found it later on or are just now stumbling upon it - I hope this starts off your holiday fanfic endeavors just right (I sure hope it does the same for mine 'cause I have plans for this fic).
Happy beginning of Christmas and welcome back to New Tales of the Old Forest!
She stomps back to her car through five feet of snow, feeling the coldness slither in through the zipper and the little hole on the inner side of her left boot. Wet socks. The last thing Emma Swan needs at 8 pm on the 24th of December.
Henry is in the backseat where she left him 15 minutes ago, his fingers moving rapidly over the screen of his phone now that it is too dark for him to be reading his book.
Emma sighs at the memory of that Golden Age of 15 minutes ago. Back when hope and excitement and that warm fuzzy feeling that she had been making tentative friends with over the last year had kept her from realizing exactly how fucking cold and windy the coast of Maine was in the smack-dab middle of winter. Yes, her nerves had been pulled pretty tight back then but not like this. Not like now.
15 minutes ago it felt like Dasher, Dancer... Patter? Pranter? Ugh. All of Santa's prats of reindeer were making her insides their new holiday runway. Led by that Cupid bastard.
That's it. She is blaming it all on some freaking Christmas reindeer possession or... yeah, that sounds good.
Because there is no way she would be in this situation, if she was in possession of all her faculties. Nope, no way. This situation is exactly the kind of situation that Emma Swan is an expert at avoiding. Or she was. A year ago.
And yet. Here she is. At 8:07 pm now, on the freaking 24th of freaking December, with a trunk full of presents, a 11-year-old in the backseat and three Americanos buzzing through her system.
In Storybrooke, fucking Maine, in front of Killian fucking Jones' house. His very dark. Very empty house.
How did she end up here again?
Oh, yeah.
/
It's official. Emma Swan is a moron. An absolute fucking idiot. It takes exactly 2 days, 1 hour and oh, 20 or so minutes after Killian kissed her goodbye and got into his cab to the airport for-
It's the middle of February and it's not freezing or anything but the wind is giving a vicious whipping to any and all skin she was foolish enough to leave exposed. And she would like nothing more than to take Killian's hand - his very gloveless, very cold hand - and squeeze them into the cab waiting in front of her apartment (yes, they had dinner at her apartment and she royally screwed it up and what else is new in Emma Swan's world).
But Henry is waiting for her inside, hopefully (but highly unlikely after an evening spent in Killian's presence) already in bed and she has a honey trap to set tomorrow and her homework to do before that and a drive to the airport and back really doesn't sound that appealing.
So instead she sways a little on her feet and quirks up an eyebrow and says she'll get him a calendar for next time and she lets him pull her in so that she kinda steps on his toes but also ends up with his lips on the corner of her mouth. She lets her hands frame his face and regrets the long coat that she was so grateful for a moment ago because she can barely feel his hand on her waist through the thick wool. She opens her mouth and tastes her Bechamel sauce (which is sadly inferior to her Bolognese). She sighs into him and digs her nose into his cheek when he goes to pull back. She plays with the soft part of his left ear and makes him kiss her again, less tongue, more teeth, more pressure and the very first licks of regret for not taking this further when she had the chance. She lets him let her go and get into the cab. And she waves when he is already almost out of sight.
It takes exactly 2 days, 1 hour and oh, 25 minutes or so now after Killian kissed her goodbye and got in his cab to the airport for those licks of regret to become a full-on raging fire of 'Emma Swan is an absolute fucking idiot for not banging Killian Jones when she had the chance'.
/
It's official. Killian Jones is an idiot. A complete and utter bonehead. It takes precisely one solid night of sleep and two days without hearing from Emma for him to realize that.
Of course, he heard from Henry but he highly doubts that Emma knows that and that… well…
"How how did you manage to mess that up?"
Killian scrubs his good hand down his face and tries to blink his eyes properly open. Getting in at 'I don't want to look at the clock 'cause my head knows I won't like what I see' o'clock and getting up for a meeting with Regina the next morning (because some people know how to tell days and some other people are too stubborn to admit their stupidity and ask for a re-schedule) is really not conductive to him being ship-shape in the late afternoon.
Which, unfortunately, is when Henry gets home from school and wants to know precisely why Killian showed up at Emma's door two hours after him on the 15th of February.
"I assure you, lad, I keep asking myself the same thing."
"I convinced my teacher to organize a Valentine's Day sleepover just so you guys can have a..." Henry stammers a bit here and if Killian was more awake, he'd be able to tell if it's the light in his room or the boy is actually blushing. "You know... grown-ups sleepover.."
He... does not know what he is supposed to say to that. What would Emma want him to say to that? What would he tell his own son, if he-
"Well, unplanned as it was, I'm glad that my miscalculation-"
Henry snorts at that but Killian chooses to ignore it.
"-meant I got to spent time with both your mother and you."
Yeah, that… that was nice. Talking to Henry always is. Nice and rejuvenating and inspiring and life-reaffirming and many other things that Killian will keep to himself so that he doesn't completely freak out the poor boy.
His mother however is a whole different ballgame. Obviously. Would be concerning, if she wasn't…
He is losing his bloody mind. It has been scattered all over ever since he got back but now that he's had a good night's rest, it's even worse. Because now he gets to think about it. His little impromptu surprise. He gets to think and analyze and rationalize and all those things he knows make his characters compelling on page but make his own life bloody miserable on practice.
And the more he thinks about it, the more he wants to get up and go bang his head against the tiles in his bathroom.
What the hell was he thinking?!
Flying over on Valentine's Day? Showing up a day late with a bloody bouquet of bloody paper flowers. Paper flowers! Lord, could he be more of a walking cliché? At least he left the poem attempts on his desk where they are merrily mocking him right now.
What did Emma do on Valentine's Day (the actual day, bloody buggering-)? She simply called him.
"Of course she did, she is a bloody normal person, who hasn't spent the last seven years in minimum contact with humanity."
He remembers the obvious surprise on her face when he showed up on her doorstep. Even after he had blurted out his plans to her over Skype the night before. Perhaps even after that she didn't expect him to show up. Perhaps she thought he was a somewhat normal and well-functioning person.
"Well, joke's on her, ain't it?"
He remembers her slight discomfort at having him in her apartment – her eyes darting this way and that way, her hand aborting its movement as she reached to brush something off his shoulder.
He remembers Henry's shock at his arriving just after he had gotten home himself – the way his eyes grew wide – surprise and then glee (bless the lad's pure heart, not finding anything weird about him just showing up on their doorstep at 11 in the morning).
He remembers the awkwardness at trying to figure out what to do now that they were obviously spending the day together – movies seemed too time-wasting, skating seemed like too much activity, a simple walk seemed aimless and why was this so bloody hard, he had been talking to both of them on the regular for over a month.
He remembers other things too. Still feels them rather. He feels the brush of her fingers as she handed him a cup of coffee while listing places in New York City that had good coffee. He feels the brush of her shoulder against his as they walked down a narrow sidewalk and he struggled to always stay on her right. He feels her breath just below his ear where it tickled him every time she leaned to supply any crucial information that he might need to comprehend the infinite amount of school stories that Henry seemed to be set on regaling him with. He feels the way their couch bounced as the lad dropped next to him, while Emma was getting dinner ready, and broke his words-per-minute record again, this time asking Killian for stories from book signings and the casting for the movie and everything else that he imagines any self-proclaimed 'fan' will eventually lose the battle with trying to keep locked inside.
And then he remembers the expression on her face. The utter horror that washed over when she realized that she'd prepared a steak dinner for a one-handed man.
It's been years. It's not… well, it's never not a shock but it's not a surprise anymore. When he discovers something new, something old that he can't do anymore. Of course, he came across the fork and knife issue a long time ago – has it mostly figured out by this point.
Funny how he didn't see this new thing coming – disappointing the girl you like. It probably has something to do with the fact that he hasn't actually liked a girl in the time he has been operating with one hand. Not like that. Not a girl like that.
And she seems beyond embarrassed or annoyed or worried, she seemed on a whole other plane, holding court with herself over the soundness of her decision. Whether the one to make steak for dinner or to let him into her house (her life) – Killian really isn't sure he wants to know, even while his brain insists on probing and guessing and analyzing and basically bloody torturing him.
"You should just let mom cut it for you. I always do. Steak is a bitch."
"Henry! Language."
"Sorry. Steak is a pain."
The lad's expression is so droll, it somehow manages to make him chuckle and draw him out of his plans to just spear the steak on his fork and risk doing his best impersonation of the dining scene from Beauty and the Beast.
And then he remembers the pinkness of her nose in the cold evening air and the press of her warm tongue so in contrast with that chilly little nose and the way she seemed to shuffle into him every time he considered pulling back and the almost wistful glow in her eyes when he finally did.
He remembers something and reaches for his phone and then he remembers another and drops it like it's burning his only remaining fingers.
And that's how 2 days pass. And then another 2. And then a week.
And during the second week he starts reaching for it less and less because it doesn't really take that much thinking and analyzing to figure out what it means that she hasn't called him either.
/
Henry is no fool. He knows that they are being idiots. He knows they probably had one of those 'possible True Love alert' moments that all of Killian's True Love couples have at some point in the books and probably got all freaked out because he can't remember his mom dating anybody like ever and Killian doesn't look like he even knows how to use the word 'date' correctly.
The problem is that Henry has no one to bet against on who will break first.
The bigger problem is that he has no one to help him figure out when he should stop humouring them and step in.
/
She is high on life. Yup, Emma Swan is actually feeling pretty damn good about herself for once.
She caught her perp with minimum effort for a maximum paycheck. Henry got an A on the art project she helped him prepare. There is a new pizza place down the street and it is divine. Her kid has great taste and chose her favourite Indiana Jones movie for tonight and then promptly went to bed after it with almost no whining at all.
Oh, and she is having a great hair day.
Realistically it's probably not much. But dammit, Emma feels good about herself. She feels good enough to pick up her phone and hit Killian Jones' name. More impressive yet, she feels good enough not to hang up as it starts ringing.
For once she feels good enough to shut up the thought of 'well, he was obviously just trying to get into your pants and then that didn't happen so it's-
"Swan?"
She almost swallows her fucking tongue. Literally. And people actually do that. And Emma thinks she might have a slight phobia of swallowing her tongue. And why is she thinking about that now?
"Emma?"
"Are you afraid of swallowing your tongue?"
"Are- I beg your pardon?"
Pillow in the corner of the couch, meet Emma's face.
"Emma?"
"Yup. Hey. Hi."
"Hi."
"I'm sorry. I mean… Well, no, I just… Umm…"
"Swan, I-"
"Did we break up?"
Pillow, kindly suffocate Emma to death.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Stop begging and actually answer one of my questions!"
"Right. Sorry. I am. Sorry. I'm very sorry, love. We did not break up. I mean, if we are- If you thought we were- Not that I didn't- I mean- Bloody hell!"
"Yeah, I thought we were."
"Right. Good. That's… me too. So we still are. We didn't, we definitely didn't break up."
"Good."
"Good."
Pillow, muffle any whiny sounds Emma might make.
"I just wanted to give you some time… space."
"We live in different cities."
"Right. I just wasn't sure how happy you were about me just showing up in yours."
"What?!"
"Well, I… well…"
Pillow, try not to die while Emma takes out her frustrations on you, you were kinda expensive.
"Killian, I… OK, I'm sorry, if I wasn't... I just… No guy has spent time with me and Henry and had dinner with us and all that jazz."
"Oh. Alright. I guess… I didn't think you might have… not been seeing anyone for awhile as well."
"No, I mean… never."
"Never?"
"I mean, I have- of course, but… No one's ever spent the day with us like that. Ever."
"And I made you."
"What? No. I mean- I- we wanted you to. I would've told you not to come, if I didn't. I… I didn't think it went that bad. I mean, I-"
"No. No, it didn't! It was… I had a lovely time, Emma, I just…"
"Right. Well, me too."
"That's good. Good, we both enjoyed spending some time together."
"Sounds like it."
"That's…"
Pillow, sorry for being catapulted across the room as Emma finally allows herself to fist-pump the air at Killian's quiet chuckle.
"So what was the other question?"
"Huh?"
"We've established that we haven't broken up. So what was the other question that I was supposed to answer?"
"Oh. Uhhh… Oh, oh! Aren't you afraid of swallowing your tongue? I don't mean like getting tongue-tied but like literally swallowing your tongue. Just like-"
/
He gets finding her on the couch. He gets the dead phone. He gets the empty cup of coffee. He gets the tangled hair and slight smile.
But for the life of him Henry can't explain the decorative pillow thrown half across the hallway.
/
Right, ok, this is not exactly how she ended up in front of Killian Jones' house on Christmas Eve but… we're getting there.
'Patience is a virtue' as Killian would say.
The ass.
