American Thanksgiving was very likely Killian's least favorite holiday except for Christmas, though at least Christmas had formerly been enjoyable. He had lived in the States for fifteen years, and had even been a citizen for a few years now (though he loathed that, without Milah and her husband's power and connections, it would have taken him much longer to become a permanent resident in the first place). And yet Thanksgiving irked him, partially due to the horrific genocide the holiday celebrated, and partially due to the frenzied and obsessive Christmas shopping, a full month in advance.

It was also frustrating, given the holiday's intense family focus, that he had no one to spend the day with. Graham, being one of the few non-Americans in his department, always volunteered to work on Thanksgiving, so that his American colleagues could have time off with their families. Jefferson and Grace were always in Connecticut, visiting her grandparents; Jeff had actually been gone since Tuesday and had left the hat shop in the hands of his capable assistant, Alice. And while Belle had been free to spend time with him in years past, she was occupied this time around; Elsa was hosting a small get-together at their apartment, and Belle could hardly decline an invitation to an event in her own home.

And this year, to his dismay (but not surprise), the holiday would be even more disappointing than usual.

O Captain my Captain,

I'm heading home Wednesday night for Thanksgiving. I should be back by Sunday night at the latest. We'll see, though; my brother-in-law has been hinting that he wants to leave early to visit his mom, in which case I might be back by Friday. Are you sticking around for Thanksgiving, or traveling?

This is awkward, but I feel weird not talking to you for a few days. Seriously, man, look what you're doing to me.

Swan

He smiled sadly to himself. It was strange, spending a few days without speaking; that hadn't happened since her father's heart attack.

It was strange as well, he realized, that the thought of not speaking to one particular person for even such a short period of time was so discomfiting. Jefferson, Graham, and Belle were the closest he had to family, and while he frequently did not go a day without speaking to at least one of them, there had been plenty of occasions where he'd gone several days without speaking with any of them.

So, why was this any different?

He unfolded the second sheet of paper that had been left inside the main note. It was another printed selfie, of Swan wearing an exaggerated expression that was clearly meant to indicate misery. Underneath, she'd scrawled, See? Seriously, look what you're doing to me.

He wished he could telepathically influence her brother-in-law to ensure her early return. He immediately felt selfish—it would be the first visit she'd made to her parents' home since her father's heart attack. He should want her to spend quality time with her family. And yet he wished she could do that and still keep him company. It was times like these that the anonymous email accounts would have been useful.

In the meantime, he'd need to wish her goodbye, and answer her questions.

My Princess,

What little family I've got left is a six hour flight away and they don't like me very much. So while I've got time off for Thanksgiving, I'll be here.

I absolutely agree with you; I don't wish to go so many days without talking to you. For the first time, you've actually caused me to dread upcoming vacation time. Look what I'm doing to you? Look what you're doing to me, love.

I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed that your brother-in-law follows through and returns you to my (metaphorical) arms on Friday. In the meantime, have a lovely holiday with your family, and you can be assured that I shall be thinking of you.

Your Captain

Captain—

Is it terrible that I'm kind of hoping that I'm back by Friday night, too? I haven't seen my parents since my dad's heart attack, so you'd think I'd want to spend as much time with them as possible. But even though they've renovated the house and expanded it (I even get my own room now—score!), it just feels like I'm always a bit underfoot. And having my own room isn't the same thing as having privacy.

And I don't know, I guess there's this guy that I really like talking to, and I don't want to go half a week without talking to him. I'm a gal with her priorities in order.

I will miss you, but I'll be back soon.

Happy holidays,
Your Princess

Killian arrived home Wednesday afternoon and stared longingly at Swan's doormat, sans yellow paper, before heading into his own flat. A strange feeling he couldn't quite name was twisting his insides, and he was glad that it was much too early for dinner anyway. At a loss regarding what to do with himself (had letters from Swan truly become this crucial to his routine?), he headed down to the fitness center. Perhaps he could work up an appetite.

He couldn't. He resorted to a protein bar and a glass of juice before calling it a night early, falling asleep around eight o'clock with Swan's copy of Good Omens still in his hand.

He awoke on Thanksgiving with a growling stomach, which was to be expected. Typically, when he had the day off work, he enjoyed making a substantial breakfast, but he was still feeling quite under the weather, at least in terms of his mood. And with how little he'd eaten the day before, especially after exercising, he needed something that wouldn't take extraordinary amounts of preparation: he settled for scrambled eggs and toast.

As he ate, he mulled over possible plans for the day. His lovely Princess indicated she enjoyed spending holidays in bed watching television, but while he might enjoy such an activity occasionally, especially in the presence of such a lovely companion, it was too likely that today, he'd simply end up brooding. He needed a true distraction, where he could get his mind off of Swan's absence.

Heading to the Jolly was an option, but not the most attractive one. It was now cold enough that sitting on deck wasn't terribly relaxing, and he wasn't interested in dealing with any holiday traffic, either on the streets or on the train.

He went to his desk in the little office alcove and opened his laptop. Perhaps he could be productive; he could imagine how impressed Spencer would be when he arrived on Monday with so much done. After all, during the extended holiday, the other associates would be spending time with their families and wouldn't have as much time to get ahead in their casework. Soon, he was able to push Swan to the edges of his mind (it would be impossible, of course, to push her out entirely) and make some progress with his work.

He was extremely focused when the phone rang; he answered without bothering to check the caller ID. "Killian Jones."

"How formal!"

"Oh, Belle! Is everything all right?"

"Of course. Are you free tonight?"

He chuckled. "I am. Why?"

She sighed, and he heard rustling. "Don't laugh." Her voice was a bit muffled. Was she trying to avoid being overheard? "Remember the date Elsa tried to set me up on?"

"Kristoff? Darling, you do remember that I know the fellow."

"Right, well anyway, he and Anna are an item right now, and Anna wants to return the favor by setting Elsa up with someone."

His heart sank. "I'm not that someone, am I?"

"I tried to tell her no, but she told Elsa that we should invite you, and Elsa was appalled that you were spending the holiday alone."

"I take it Elsa is unaware of her sister's ulterior motive?"

"She has no idea. But obviously, you don't have to try to flirt with her." She paused. "Well, I guess you don't have to really flirt with her. I know how you're incapable of avoiding some innuendo."

"I can control myself, love." He sighed and looked at the clock; it was already three in the afternoon. "Will you be terribly disappointed if I beg off?"

"Only a little, because I know you're alone. And your neighbor isn't home."

How on earth could she have known? "What makes you say that?"

"You answered your phone the way you always do when you're totally engrossed in your work. You wouldn't have thrown yourself in it so deeply if you were waiting on a letter. Besides, you've mentioned she's American, so I would assume she has plans on such an American holiday."

He scratched the back of his ear with his free hand. "What time should I arrive?"

He could hear her smile on the other end. "Any time. We're eating around five o'clock and we've got plenty of food."

The T was hell getting there (although driving would have been worse), but Killian arrived promptly at five o'clock with a bottle of wine; he was relieved he'd had a bottle stashed in his liquor cabinet he hadn't opened yet. He greeted Belle warmly before politely doing the same with Elsa, who was in the kitchen, getting ready to serve the meal. Her face showed none of what he would consider the telltale markers of interest; if she suspected that he was supposed to be a potential paramour, she didn't let on.

Kristoff and his girlfriend the matchmaker were in the dining room. It was good to see his sometime associate, who introduced him to Anna. Her eyes sparkled with barely contained glee; she was probably thrilled that the man she thought might sweep Elsa off her feet was reasonably attractive. Well, more than reasonably attractive. Devilishly handsome seemed much more accurate.

Not that it mattered. Even if not for Swan, Killian had no intention of pursuing Elsa Agnarson. Besides his complete lack of interest, she was his dear friend's roommate. Engaging in a one-night stand with her would be the epitome of bad form.

And then, of course, there was Swan.

But … what was there with Swan?

He was pensive throughout the meal, which had the dual effect of making him a mediocre guest, which was embarrassing, and nixing Anna's attempts to engage him in very directed conversations with Elsa, which was not. Belle continued to throw him concerned glances from across the table, while Kristoff carried on pleasantly with Elsa and whoever else spoke up. He continued to take sips of wine. What on earth was the matter with him? It wasn't even as though he could really even name what he was feeling, or pin down what he was thinking.

After the meal, Kristoff made his excuses (something about needing to feed his dog, Sven); Anna gave him quite the goodbye kiss before heading into the kitchen to help Elsa clean up. Killian tried to offer his assistance, but he was quickly shooed out by the sisters; Belle joined him in the living room shortly thereafter, holding additional glasses of wine. They were far enough away from the kitchen that, even in such a small apartment, they couldn't be overheard over the sisters' own conversation and the sounds of running water.

"What's going on, Killian?" She handed him one of the glasses.

He took a generous sip as she sat beside him. "I don't know."

"Is it work? I know you were busy before you came over, but I thought—"

"No, it's not. Don't worry about that. You haven't taken me away from anything important."

She smiled sympathetically. "Your neighbor?" He didn't reply, but clearly, his body language gave him away. "What's been going on? I thought everything was fine."

He sighed heavily. "It is fine. We talk every day. It's lovely. Still haven't met up yet." Saying it aloud felt absurd. What sort of grown man shared notes for an entire month with a woman he fancied, and didn't make the move to meet in person? And, of course, what sort of grown man shared notes for an entire month with a woman he fancied in the first place?

"How do you feel about that?" Belle had spent years in therapy after her broken engagement, and it was times like this that it showed. But he supposed he'd humor her; it wasn't a bad question.

"Uncertain." He leaned back and took another sip of wine. "I can't really imagine how it would feel to have this sort of relationship off paper at this point. As though losing the magic of anonymity and being forced to be physical—even non-sexually—would change how I feel."

"It does seem very romantic, getting notes from a secret admirer," Belle said kindly. "Does she want to meet?"

"Last I checked," he admitted. "I've been avoiding the subject religiously. She suggested anonymous email accounts a couple weeks ago and I was relieved when she changed her mind."

"Why? I mean, why did she change her mind?"

"She said she would get too distracted if I could contact her more frequently than I already do. So, not the same reason I was relieved, but I'll take it."

Belle pursed her lips. "Killian, I don't know how long this could be sustainable. She's going to want to meet sooner rather than later. She's not going to want to fall in love with a stranger."

"This isn't about falling in love," he replied, suddenly irritated. Who was Belle to give romantic advice? "I just know that if we meet now … I just can't even imagine." He was glad that he'd eaten lightly; even the small portions he'd taken suddenly felt too large for his stomach. He took a gulp of wine.

"Fine, fine." She held up a hand defensively. "I'm sorry. You know I'll support you, whatever you choose to do. I just hate to see you unhappy."

"And you think I'm unhappy?"

"Belle, do you mind tossing the table cloth into my hamper?" Elsa called out from the kitchen.

"No problem!" She turned back to Killian as she stood up from the couch. "I think you're unhappy right now because you miss her. I don't think this is as simple as you thought it was. Not that it's a bad thing." But she declined to clarify, instead heading into the dining room to take care of her assigned chore.

Killian left shortly after that, all offers of assistance refused, unwilling to overstay his welcome.

He did miss Swan. He'd known that would be the case, but even so, how much he missed her was unprecedented. How could he feel so empty and lethargic when she had been gone hardly a day?

Could this be more than he'd insisted to Belle that it was? Was she right?

Things were going well, but he and Swan were still in the process of learning about each other. He did know that she loved hot cocoa with cinnamon and bad television, and that she had three favorite books she reread at least once a year. He knew she had a mother, a father, a sister, and a brother-in-law, and that she was local to New England.

But he still had no idea what she did for a living, except that she had coworkers and a direct supervisor. He had no idea what her romantic history looked like at all, and whether she was even interested in a committed relationship. While he knew she wanted to meet in person (although she hadn't expressed that desire since her father's heart attack), he wasn't sure if she wanted to meet up for a first date type situation, or for a single night of passion, or if she wanted to pursue something more serious.

And what of his own apprehensions? So long as he still felt this fear (dare he name it as such? Was he a coward?) when he thought of proposing a meeting, he knew it was not yet time to meet.

But, bloody hell, did he miss her.

Sorry about the delayed update! I was gone all weekend and just got home tonight. For those of you who asked, yes! Most of the letters in the previous chapter were new. I hope you enjoyed them!