A/N: Sorry for the super long delay on this! My muse was just not working, but it seems to be coming to me again. So have an update to a Christmas fic at the beginning of February!

Emma had just donned a knit cap and was buttoning her red wool coat when Mary Margaret barged into their room, uncharacteristically forcefully.

"M&M? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," her sister practically shouted as she slammed her book on the nightstand and dramatically threw herself down on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Um, this is something." She's never been this worked up; not since Neal.

Emma sat on the edge of the bed. "Seriously, tell me what's wrong?"

Mary Margaret responded by grabbing a pillow and holding it over her face. "I've been stupid," Emma heard muffled through the goosedown. Emma tried to pry the pillow away, but her sister held firm.

"There's no way you could be stupid about anything, Mary Margaret," Emma assured her. "You're the smartest person I know."

"Not always," Mary Margaret grumbled.

The time on the clock on the nightstand told Emma she should be going—and so should her sister. "Well, quit moping; aren't you supposed to be going horseback riding with David?" (She may have added a sing-song voice to his name.)

Mary Margaret just groaned. "Not anymore. Have fun with Killian; I'll see you later."

"No, I'm not leaving you like this. What hap—"

"Go!"

Despite her concern, Emma knew when to give her sister space. I'll try again tonight; let her cool down. "Alright; love you, see you later."

She slipped out as quietly as she could (not that it really mattered) and headed out, down to the docks, where Killian was going to show her their ship. On the way, she mulled over everything with her sister over the course of the day: Emma had been asleep when Mary Margaret came back to bed last night, but she'd started out the morning humming songs from Snow White, which could only be a result of something wonderful happening between her and David. But then she seemed so angry and hurt just now, and she grumbled at Emma's mention of the man. So what happened?

"Ahoy!" Killian's shouting voice pulled Emma from her thoughts; she had reached the docks before she realized. And there he was on an old-fashioned tall ship, like something from one of her father's pirate tales. The memory and the image before her made her grin.

She stood at the end of the gangplank. "Permission to board?" she called out.

"Permission granted!" She carefully made her way up the snow-covered ramp, partially for safety but mostly to enjoy the view of snow falling against wooden planks, and maybe more than admiring the way it stuck to Killian's dark hair, thick lashes, and trim beard. His eyes sparkled with glee just like they had the night before, and a spark of thrill raced down her spine when he took her hand to escort her down the steps to the ship's deck.

"Behold: the Rolly Joger!" he introduced, with a grand sweep of his free arm, before realizing his error. "Er, the Jolly Roger!" he corrected bashfully. She couldn't tell if the rosy color in his cheeks was from the cold or embarrassment, but either way, it was adorable, and she giggled at his gaffe.

"Jolly Roger, eh? You don't look like much of a pirate," she teased. She had to bite back a laugh at how quick his expression became one of indignation (far closer to real than mock than she would have expected).

"I'm the scourge of the high seas, I'll have you know. Quite the dashing rapscallion!"

"Dashing, really?" Well, it's true; she couldn't deny it, but she wouldn't let him know that. "If that's what you were going for, then I wonder why you'd name your ship after Captain Hook's? I don't recall him being much of a ladykiller, unless you're into perms or waxed mustaches."

"See, Disney would have you believe Hook was a buffoon; but in the original story, he was handsome and cunning. That," Killian paused before leaning in and whispering, "and you might be surprised at just how many people would pay to travel aboard a pirate ship."

"I'll believe it when I see it. Give me a tour?"

"My pleasure," he replied with a slight bow. He led her from one end of the deck to the other, explaining the ship's workings and looking far too at home at the helm.

"So did you learn all this in the Navy?" As much fun as she was having just in his presence, she wanted to know more about him.

"Aye, a good bit, but I've been around ships my whole life. I grew up in a small port town in England; most people spend more of their lives on water than on land there."

"And the Navy was the logical choice once the war started?"

He was leaning against the wheel in a cocky manner, but glanced down and sobered at her question, making her instantly regret asking. "Something like that. My brother had already joined several years prior, so I would have followed him into service even without the war. Our mum died when we were small and Dad left a few years later, so it was just us." He swallowed. "I don't know where I'd be without Liam."

She could certainly identify with that level of sibling admiration; it had just been her and Mary Margaret for almost a decade now. She also sensed there was more to the story, but she'd probably dredged up enough wounds for one day. Stepping forward, she grabbed his hand and squeezed gently. "Show me below deck?" she asked with a soft smile.

"If the lady insists," he replied, returning the gesture. A bit of sparkle came back to his eyes and he guided her down a hatch to the hold, which was surprisingly modern. A few well-furnished cabins, one small but clean bathroom, and a fully equipped galley were a sharp contrast to the rest of the ship.

"Impressive," she commented. "I may just have to book a trip someday."

"Aye, she's a marvel," he agreed. "And you, Swan? Just name the date." They'd reached a pair of doors at the back of the ship.

"So where are we now?"

"My quarters." In one swift motion, he pushed the door open and gestured for Emma to enter. She took off her snowy cap as she entered, taking in the surroundings; he followed suit, adorably shaking the melting flakes from hair. The room was a bit spartan—just a bed and a desk, with a few book-lined shelves built into the wall—but homey nonetheless. A few framed photos of ships were hung up, but she stopped in front of one of a smiling man in a naval uniform with all-too-familiar eyes.

"Is this your brother?"

Killian strode over to her. "Yeah, that's him. Don't let the grin fool you; he was a stubborn arse." His use of past tense didn't escape her.

"Did you two serve together?"

"For a short while, we did. I was his lieutenant and first mate, but I was eventually reassigned." He glanced down, studying the dark wood floorboards. "A few weeks after I left, they were attacked by a U-boat."

A pit formed in her stomach as she immediately realized the reason for his soberness: not just that his brother was gone, but the survivor's guilt was written all over his face. "I'm so sorry, Killian." Unsure what else to do, she ran a reassuring hand over his arm.

He gave a tentative nod back. "I'd have followed him to the ends of the earth. He was the bravest man I knew; far better than I." Continuing, with a half-smile, "So all I can do now is try to honor him. And Dave is actually a lot like him, so if I ever need a reminder of my brother's bullheadish-ness, it's right there."

Emma chuckled back, partly at the joke, and partly in relief that she hadn't ruined their day with awful memories. "I definitely know how that goes. My sister may seem easygoing, but she's as stubborn as they get."

"You know, I'd try to argue, but given Dave's adventures in wooing your sister, I believe it." He wandered over to his bookshelf and began rummaging around.

Emma's thoughts immediately returned to the scene in their room earlier. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know if something happened between them, would you?"

Killian turned back around, having produced a bottle of rum and two glasses, with his eyebrows nearly sky high in disbelief. "You mean she didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" He gestured for her to take a seat on his bed, which she obliged, but was anxious to hear whatever he knew.

"They kissed last night." He said it all-too casually as he placed their glasses on his desk and poured their drinks. "David is mad about her."

Emma gasped in surprise and joy, but it quickly faded to annoyance as he handed her a glass. "That girl…"

"What about her?" Killian enquired, taking a sip and a seat in his desk chair.

"She came in all frustrated this morning. She's always done this—put my needs and my love life above hers. It's like she's too afraid to settle down until I'm off and married. So now she's trying to get out of it, so she can keep being a mother hen to me." Emma sighed and downed the rum in one gulp, earning an impressed smirk from Killian. "I just wish there was some way to convince her that I'll be fine on my own; that she's free to go after whoever or whatever she wants."

Killian was curiously silent for a moment after her rant, but she could practically hear the wheels spinning in his head. "I...I may have an idea, love."

She was intrigued. "And what might that be?"

"Just hear me out first." Her heart rate rose out of curiosity and maybe a tiny bit of concern. "What if...what if we told them that we were engaged?"

Now her heart really was racing out of fear. Oh, anything but that.

Killian had very little idea what possessed him to say it, and he immediately regretted it upon seeing her panicky response. Bloody buggering idiot. She stood and began pacing the room, so he quickly hopped to his feet to apologize.

"Emma, I'm sorry; it was just an idea—just forget I even—"

"No, no, it's not your fault, Killian; it's just...just…" She collapsed back on the bed with a sigh. "I was left at the altar once."

"Oh, Emma." Who could do such a thing to someone like her? He sat down next to her; now it was his turn to do the comforting, after she did her best when he told her about Liam. "I'm sorry, love."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Killian; you didn't know." She took a few deep breaths, before telling him the story of her ex-fiancee and his misadventures with the law that culminated the day they were to be wed. "So, love—marriage—I've just been a little wary of the whole thing ever since."

"I understand, Emma. I don't have the greatest track record either."

"You've had your heart broken?" She sounded like she didn't believe him.

"Aye; I didn't pop the question soon enough, so she found someone else who would." (But if he was being quite honest with himself, the sting of Milah's breakup had lessened immeasurably in the time he'd spent with Emma.)

"Well, don't we make a team?" she half-joked, but they both knew she was right.

"That's what I'm saying, Swan; perhaps if we convinced your sister that you were about to settle down, she'd be so inclined herself. And if it gives me a bit of a break from Dave, I'm all for it."

"He can't be that bad," she ribbed.

"Don't get me wrong—I love the bastard. But I can only deal with him for so many days at sea before I'm ready to throw him overboard."

She laughed, but then glanced down, nervous again. "It's only temporary, right?"

"Of course." Though I certainly wouldn't mind if it wasn't.

"Can I add that we only tell them if it's absolutely necessary?"

"Certainly."

"And we use any other means we can think of first?"

"Totally."

She pondered it a moment more, before taking a deep breath. "Okay, I'm in."

He couldn't hold back his grin. "Excellent."

They spent a bit more time chatting over another glass of rum and the sandwiches he'd procured from Granny's, and both were far more relaxed and forward with each other. Emma told him of growing up in Storybrooke with Mary Margaret and Ruby; he told her of his childhood in England with Liam.

Perhaps he'd had a bit too much rum—perhaps they both had—but he found himself increasingly closer to her as the day wore on. And neither of them seemed to mind. Feeling particularly bold, he threw out another of his more crazy ideas, though he didn't know how it could get any more insane than the one he'd already proposed and she'd agreed to.

"You know, Swan, if people are going to believe we're in love, we better act like it." He tapped a finger to his lips. "Maybe we should practice?"

The corner of her mouth ticked up in an amused smile. "So you're that insecure about your kissing skills, huh?"

"Oh, I've no doubt I'm skilled. But I'm just saying that maybe it's a good idea for a first kiss to not have an audience."

Her green gaze flitted to his lips before looking back up at him. "Please. You couldn't handle it," she dared with a slight shake of her head.

Two can play that game. He leered in towards her. "Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it," he threw back, popping the 't'.

She stared back in his eyes a moment more, before glancing down to his lips, and then he lost all concept of what was going on because she'd grabbed the lapels of his navy peacoat and pulled him into her, their lips crashing against each other. She tasted of rum and cinnamon, sweet and wet and hot against his mouth and he was more than happy to spend the rest of his days drowning in and devouring her flavour. He didn't know how he'd managed for fall for Emma so fast, but his last shred of reservation dissolved with her kiss.

Far too soon, she pulled back for air; both were breathing heavily, chest to chest. "That was…" he started, but no words came to him that could possibly describe how mindblowing it was.

"...good practice," she finished in between breaths. Quickly, she pulled back, avoiding his eyes. "You're coming to the party later, right?"

"Of course." He immediately missed her presence in his personal space.

"Wear something nice," she didn't say so much as commanded, glancing up at him coquettishly through her eyelashes.

"As you wish," he replied, in something of a daze.

"I need to go get ready. I'll see you later." And in a flash, she was gone; out of the cabin, up to the deck, and off the ship. As he listened to her gentle footfalls fade overhead, eventually disappearing altogether, his fingers drifted up to his kiss-swollen lips. He exhaled in disbelief, not even aware he'd been holding his breath. Bloody hell, mate; what have you gotten yourself into?

Whatever it was, he was eager for more.

It took a few moments longer, but eventually he regained enough composure to recall her order—Wear something nice—and, military man through and through, did what he could to comply.

He popped back into their room at Granny's, after prepping and dressing on the ship, to grab his cuff links; David was finishing his own bow tie in the long mirror when he arrived.

"Every now and then, you clean up well, Jones," David quipped, pulling the knot tight.

"Same to you, mate; I can hardly tell you were raised in a barn."

"Ha. Ha."

As he attached his cufflinks, Killian decided to do some reconnaissance for his and Emma's (well, mostly his) plan. "So how did your day go after you saw Kathryn?"

David ducked his head. "Oh, you know, fine." However, David was a terrible liar.

"Nothing special happen?"

"I mean, things are done with Kathryn, for good. But nothing exciting past that." He glanced around, almost nervously. "Ooh boy, look at the time; we better head down."

No mention of Mary Margaret was not a good thing. Killian felt a slight pang of guilt that this whole operation was getting him closer to Emma when it was really about those two, so he knew they'd need to double down on their efforts tonight.

The diner and dance floor were almost unrecognizable; red and green streamers hung everywhere and white cloth mimicked fresh snow across every tabletop. Emma hadn't been lying when she told him—Granny really got into her Christmas Eve Eve party. A small band was playing dance and Christmas tunes in one corner and everyone was dressed to the nines, even Agent Lucas.

She was manning the bar when they got down there, still looking commanding even in her long, blush-pink gown. "As beautiful as ever, Agent—Mrs. Lucas," he greeted, resisting the urge to salute. She gave both of them a narrow stare for a second, before breaking into a grin and pulling them across the counter into her embrace.

"Merry Christmas, boys! But the real beauties are over there." After releasing them, she pointed at a booth on the far side of the room, where Emma and Mary Margaret were conversing with Ruby. "Go," she commanded with a wink and a shove.

Killian had to work to suppress his grin as they crossed the space, but he quickly noticed the unease in David's manner the closer they got. He made to make eye contact with Emma, try to tell her in a glance that things were not going as well as they had hoped, but as soon as they connected, his breath hitched in his throat for the second time that day.

She was a vision in red. A form-fitting gown, long sleeved, flaring out at the waist and ending just past her knees, showed off her wonderful figure, and her hair was elegantly done up in a bun. "Swan, you look stunning."

She quickly glanced him over top to bottom, evidently as much in awe as he was. "You...look…"

"I know," he interjected cockily, coming to his senses lest he boldly kiss her right there in front of everyone. He knew he cut quite the figure in his tailored black suit, but he couldn't help but admire the way his red brocade waistcoat matched her ensemble.

He glanced back over at David, who had exchanged quiet but awkward pleasantries with Mary Margaret. The lass had on a simple but elegant green velvet frock, which matched the color of David's bowtie (a bold contrast to his light gray suit). "You are looking marvelous this evening as well, Mary Margaret," he commented, hoping to break some of the tension. A sideways glance at Emma told him that she'd more than noticed it, too.

"Thank you, Killian. Would you care to dance?" She held her hand up to him, waiting. He tried to steel his features from his surprise at her request—it was rather bold for her, based on what Emma had told him and his own experiences with her. But an idea quickly formed in his mind.

"It would be my honor, love," he replied with an over-dramatic bow as he took her hand, earning an eyeroll from Emma. But as surreptitiously as he could, he caught her eye and jerked his head in David's direction, hoping she got the message, and led Mary Margaret to the dance floor, where a big band tune was playing.

She was a more than amiable partner, although her mind was clearly elsewhere and not on any conversation they might have. They weren't dancing long, though, when he saw David and Emma take to the floor, just as he'd hoped. Alright, time to play matchmaker.

He manouevered himself and Mary Margaret in their direction as subtly as he could. When they were close enough, he made eye contact with Dave and nodded—their longstanding sign to switch partners, a tactic they'd used at bars and dance halls countless times. Before anyone could protest, he extended Mary Margaret's hand toward his friend and grabbed Emma's, guiding the girls around each other until Emma was in his arms. With a smile and a wink at David, he led Emma back across the floor.

"I'm impressed, Jones," she commented as they swayed away. "That was smooth."

"Can't say that's the first time I've done it," he chuckled. But hopefully one of the last. Even though the music was a bit fast-paced, he and Emma were extremely close, moving in time with the tempo and lining up perfectly with each other.

Both kept a watch over the other couple, but Emma was clearly enjoying herself too, giggling infectiously when he spun her out and pulled her back in tight to his arms. It felt far too comfortable.

But after a song, they watched as David and Mary Margaret—who had barely done more than shuffle and avoid eye contact for the duration of the dance—broke apart and headed to different corners of the room.

"I don't suppose Granny has any mistletoe hiding about that we can arrange them beneath?"

"No; that's the one thing she's banned. Ruby tries to get her to relent every year, but she never does. Probably because Ruby would spend all of her time underneath it." The girl in question was busy flirting with a brown-haired, bearded gentleman at the moment; he couldn't tell if it was going in her favor or not, but he knew Emma was right. "Order drinks and force them to sit together?" she suggested.

"Isn't that basically what we just did?" Her only reply was a huff of frustration. "I hate to say it, Swan," (no I don't,) "but it may be absolutely necessary."

Fear sparked in her eyes for a split second, but was quickly replaced by resolve. "Okay. Let's do this."

Mary Margaret had been having quite a day and it looked like the same would apply to tonight. She'd successfully managed to avoid David after what happened at breakfast, promptly blowing off their date in favor of helping out their former classmate Belle at the library. It was nice to catch up with her old friend, but the semi-mindlessness of returning books to shelves gave her a chance to think over everything that had happened in the past 24 hours.

All signs from the night before told her that David liked her; that he wanted to pursue something with her. And she had thought that was what she wanted, too. That kiss...the memory of it still sent a warm shock down her spine and flutters in her heart.

But he looked far too comfortable with the woman in the diner. Their conversation looked intimate, and then he hugged her...and kissed her. (Okay, only on the cheek, but still. You don't do that when you're interested in someone else.)

It hurt that he'd lead her on like that. And it was a solid reminder of what could happen if you go too far in with disreputable fellows. She saw what happened to Emma; she didn't want that to happen to either of them ever again.

So avoidance it was. And it was going spectacularly until the boys showed up at Granny's Christmas Eve Eve party. She should have expected it—the whole town showed up to the annual shindig, and guests of the hotel were always invited, too. (That, and Emma couldn't stop grinning after her afternoon with Killian.)

But they were all friends, right? So it wouldn't hurt if she asked Killian to dance, especially when he complimented her appearance.. He was a splendid dancer, even if her heart wasn't completely in it, and she was more than happy to follow his lead. To his credit, he did try to start up conversation a couple times—even tempting her with a story of Granny's secret past—but she really just didn't want to think about anything related to David at all tonight.

Which was fine and dandy until suddenly, they were on the opposite side of the room from where they started and she was being gracefully guided away from Killian and into the arms of the one person she wanted to avoid. She watched as Killian and Emma happily danced away from them, while she and David awkwardly shuffled in place.

"Sorry; he does that a lot," David offered as a weak apology. She could feel his gaze on her but refused to meet it.

"I can tell; that seemed pretty rehearsed." Even if she was mad at him, she wouldn't be rude. She'd finish the dance.

He didn't try to say anything else, but she could tell he wanted to. How she even noticed that was a surprise, because she was spending most of her energy focusing on the steps of the dance and not thinking about how perfectly his arms fit around her, about how easy it would be to place her head on his shoulder if she wanted, about how the warmth of his palm on the small of her back was practically an inferno.

Finally, the music ended. She glanced up at him, pointedly ignoring the hurt and desire in his eyes, and wished him a good night before turning her back on him. She thought she heard him say her name as she walked away, just like he had this morning, but her resolve propelled her away from him.

She found Belle and another friend, Ashley, by the Christmas tree, and joined in their conversation. But she did hazard a glance across the room; David had joined the woman from the diner, and was in conversation with her and another man. See? It's a good thing you're not with him.

It wasn't long before the piano chimed, calling the room to attention. Emma and Killian were standing by it, looking rather cozy; the perfect picture of a happy couple.

Killian cleared his voice and the room quieted. "Hello, everyone," he stammered, uncharacteristically nervous. "Emma and I wanted to say, well, um." He scratched behind his ear and glanced at her sister. What is going on? "I don't know if the best things happen while you're dancing, or if they just happen in Maine, but, ah, Emma has—well, I—"

"We're getting married!" Emma interrupted excitedly. Mary Margaret's jaw dropped while the rest of the room burst into applause and hoots and hollers of congratulations. She was shocked, but the more she thought about it, the more her surprise wore off. Emma had never talked about Neal the way she did Killian, and though she hadn't known him long, she could tell he really cared for Emma. In fact, she was overjoyed that Emma had finally let down those walls around her heart; about damn time.

Before she realized what she was doing, her feet were carrying her to the happy couple, who were already being swarmed with well-wishers, but she dove through the crowd straight to Killian, grabbing his hand.

"You know you're getting the best girl in the whole world, right, Jones?"

"Aye, Miss Blanchard, the very best."

"And you'll take care of her? You won't break her heart?"

"I'd wish for my own death before I ever dared hurt her." His serious tone told her he was telling the truth.

She squeezed his hand, smiling, before pulling him into a hug. "Welcome to the family!"

Emma was next, and Mary Margaret threw herself at her sister, whispering her congratulations. Part of her never wanted to let go, but of course, Ruby chose that moment to speak up.

"Kiss her already!" came the shout from across the room, along with a few echoes.

Emma was the one to let go of her sister and reach for her beau. They exchanged a glance Mary Margaret couldn't quite read, but then he pulled her into a deep yet chaste kiss; any doubts Mary Margaret had about them disappeared then.

Somewhere outside the throng, Granny exclaimed, "I think this calls for champagne!" Out of the corner of her eye, Mary Margaret could see David coming into the group of people; still wanting to stay away from him, she volunteered to help pour as an out.

She'd never seen Granny so bouncy as they got the first round ready and was half convinced the tray would topple when Granny took them out. She was chuckling to herself when the door to the kitchen reopened moments later.

"Need some help?" David. Of course. Just to see what happened, she didn't respond.

And, ever the nice guy, he grabbed a bottle and began to fill glasses, too.

"Mary Margaret, I…" he began, but then trailed off. She hazarded a glance at him; the furrow of his brow suggested he was piecing together something in his head, but she wasn't quite sure she wanted to hear it. He can't just bounce around from girl to girl; it's not fair.

"Mary Margaret, if I did anything to upset you, I apologize. I don't know what happened, but—"

"It doesn't matter." She set her now-empty bottle down with a little more force than was necessary. How can he not know?

"It does. What about last night?"

"What about last night?" Really? He's going there?

"I thought…"

"Well, you thought wrong." She had to take a deep breath, lest she lose her composure altogether. "Maybe I was right about Prince Charming."

His mouth hung open; whatever he was about to say escaped him. "What does that mean?"

"It means you shouldn't mix fairy tales with liverwurst and buttermilk."

Calmly, but as quick as she could, she made her way to her room through the back of the kitchen, ignoring the awful sense of deja vu that was pricking tears at her eyes.