Just a little holiday-themed fic I did for CS Secret Santa. For story purposes, Storybrooke is a suburb of San Diego, CA. Title from the song by The Dramatics.

Brrr! Emma Swan hastily zipped up her fleece jacket as another current of icy air hit her. This was really not how she thought she'd be spending Christmas Eve. But this year, luckily, Henry was hers and she'd do whatever made him happy. She just hadn't thought—hoped was more like it— going on the camping trip out to Anza Borrego with all the Storybrooke Elementary Cub Scouts from first through fifth grade would be on his wishlist.

And all the Scoutmasters. One in particular, if she was being truthful with herself.

"Still not speaking to me?" a familiar, deep voice murmured in her ear, while a leather-gloved hand circled in front of her with a metal thermos. She rolled her eyes, snatching the thermos against her better judgment, and lifted the lid for a whiff. Hot chocolate. Not just that, with cinnamon. Henry must have told him. That was nice…I suppose.

She turned around. "Who brings cinnamon on a camping trip?"

"Only the most well-prepared of Scoutmasters," Killian Jones grinned at her, "Ones who're prepared for a range of calamities—heat, cold, floods, insects, bears, and angry mothers."

Emma rolled her eyes, taking the smallest of sips. "There're no bears in the desert."

"Ah, well, 'spose I could've lumped them in with the 'angry mothers' category."

She pointedly glanced down at his left hand, swathed in an Ace bandage, and up at the gauze taped over his right eyebrow. "Henry could've been killed." And you, too.

Most of the Scouts and leaders had gone out the other afternoon, taking turns on each others' dirtbikes along the rocky terrain. Killian and Henry had been sharing a bike, when one of them—she wasn't sure, both refused to give the other one up—had the bright idea to hop across a "narrow" crevasse. Naturally, it turned out to be much wider than at first glance, and they'd both skidded several feet along the sharp granite. It could've been so much worse than the few bloody scratches and sprains they'd ended up with, but she'd still yelled at Killian for it in front of the whole pack. Now everyone else seemed slightly afraid of her, and Henry was grumpy about her "overreaction".

Killian looked down, gave a scratch behind his ear. "I don't mean to belittle the concern you have for your boy, lass, but no lad escapes childhood without a few bumps and bruises."

Emma pressed her lips together tightly. "I'm sure you think I'm an uptight shrew, Mr. Jones, but when your only family consists of a single other person you've sworn to protect, maybe you'll understand my stance."

His eyes hardened. "Actually, I think I understand that viewpoint perfectly, Swan."

God, when would she stop to think before opening her mouth? She didn't know what he'd been through before he'd wound up in Storybrooke. "I—I'm sorry," she stammered. "That was…super rude of me."

"S'alright."

Do not let this turn awkward again; he's just a man. Possibly the most gorgeous man in existence…but still, a man. Just make conversation. "Is this a remnant from those rough 'n tumble years of yours, Jones?"

She'd meant to simply indicate the scar on his cheek (which certainly didn't make him more dashing, not at all) verbally, but her hand seemed to float towards him of its own accord, stopping just about a half inch from his face. Even Killian looked startled at her uncharacteristic move, though he didn't move away.

Oh my god, you almost touched Killian Jones. Reign it in, psycho.

"Shit, I'm sorry," she said hurriedly. "You know, I—I think the boys may need some help with dinner. I'm, uh…I'm gonna go check on them."

Killian smirked. "Swan, it's chili from a can—"

"Yeah, uh, right. I'll just go on and see if—oof!" Her backwards walk had earned her a butt-plant right on the rocky ground, courtesy of a folded-up lawn chair. "I'm fine!" she insisted when he reached out his good hand to try and help her, moving away in an ungraceful crab crawl for a few paces. He watched her stumble to her feet, his arms crossed, obvious amusement reflected in a wide grin.

"Alright there, Swan?" he called loudly.

"Just perfect!" she yelled back, stomping away, embarrassed.

"Getting dark; don't forget your headlamp! Don't want you to trip into the campfire and ruin everyone's meal!"

"Yeah, thanks for the tip!" Emma made the mistake of glancing back over her shoulder, and he gave her an exaggerated wave, fanning his swaddled hand from one side to the other as though he were painting a mid-air rainbow.

"I'll see you later, Swan! Perhaps you'll join the post-supper activity I have planned?"

"Fat chance!"

Well, she'd stalled far too long, sulking in her tent after dinner until even Henry had ditched her for one of the Scoutmasters' activities or games. Emma grudgingly strapped her headlamp on and trudged out of the camping circle, peering at the silhouettes leaping around in the darkness. She was definitely not joining some desert night crawler hunt (gross), and the low temperature certainly sapped her drive for an evening hike. She scanned the spread-out group, finding a smaller lump of them who looked like they were planning on staying sedentary, and started trekking over. It looked like a good number of boys were all gathered on a large, spread-out workblanket overlying a tarp, though she couldn't tell what was going on.

Ugh, great. She'd found Henry, but sitting right next to him was the object of her bad mood.

"Ah, Swan, I knew you'd come 'round."

"What's all this?" she asked.

"Scoutmaster Jones is showing us how to find shapes in the stars," one boy volunteered.

"Huh?"

"Constellations, lad, that's the term." Killian turned his phone screen towards Emma. "There's, as the young'uns say, an app for that." He handed it off to Henry, looked back to her. "I'm pretty savvy with them already, but it's a fantastic learning tool for beginners."

"Hmph," she grumbled, plopping down on Henry's other side. He held the phone in front of her face, aiming it at a particular section of sky. On the screen, lines started to connect a couple different points of light.

"Look, Mom, that's Ursa Major."

She tilted her head at the shape, trying to remember the rudimentary facts from her high school astronomy class. "And what the heck is that supposed to be?"

Henry rolled his eyes like she was being purposefully thick. "A bear!"

"And there's the Little Dipper!" one of his pack mates volunteered, pointing above.

"Close, m'boy. That's the Pleiades, though it does look like a dipper," Killian corrected generously.

Emma did her best to blend into the background, chin on her knees, while the boys asked Killian questions and gave loud whoops when they identified a particular constellation correctly. As the half-moon dipped lower in the sky, the boys started to trail back to camp, one-by-one, as the started to feel the strain of the full day. Within an hour, only she, Henry, and a particularly infuriating British transplant remained.

Henry raised his head from where it had slumped against her shoulder. "'M'tired," he mumbled, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm going to our tent, Mom."

"Er, are—are you sure?" Emma hoped her panic didn't reflect in her voice. "But you could just—"

"Mom, are you afraid of the dark, or something?"

Or something.

"There's nothing out here—just owls and coyotes. And Kil—Scoutmaster Jones will stay with you, won't you, sir?"

Killian gave him a salute. "You have my word, lad. No harm will come to your mum while she's in my care."

Henry gave him a satisfied nod, then started off in the direction of camp. "'Night."

The silence stretched agonizingly, until Killian finally had enough and ended it.

"So, Swan…what's your sign?"

"Excuse me? Does that line ever work for you?"

"Relax, darling. I have much more refined ways to a lady's knickers. I merely wanted to find your zodiac sign for you up above."

Right. Chill out, Emma, he hasn't been anything but nice since the accident yesterday. "It's—it's Scorpio."

"Hmm…" he did some fiddling with his phone for a minute. "Sorry, Swan. As it's not summer, you're out of luck—unless you'd like to take an impromptu trip to the Southern Hemisphere?"

That finally got a laugh out of her, and she settled onto her back, hands clasped over her ribcage. "I think I'm good for now."

"Ah-ah, don't give up yet. Let's find your namesake." He leaned back on his good hand, squinting upwards.

"I've, uh…got a namesake?"

"Cygnus—the swan formation. There it is!" Killian moved towards her too speedily for her to deflect, wrapping an arm over her shoulder to pull her up, and gesturing with his bandaged hand. "See?"

"Not really."

He moved his hand from her shoulder to under her chin, gently inclining her head. "And now?"

How the hell did he expect her to concentrate on some flickering stars when she just knew he was looking right at her, his nose barely nudging the soft skin next to her ear, a smile in his tone. He was too close, too fucking close. She slid a hand between them to give her face a nervous scratch, accidently rapping her knuckle right between his eyes.

"Y-you know, I think I do see it." She did, too. "Those ancient Greeks, or whoever, must've had some imagination, huh? To see those pictures—" She was babbling, she knew it, she just couldn't seem to stop around him.

Killian chewed lightly on his bottom lip, trying not to let his face betray the annoyance he felt, noticing Emma's gaze dart down to the motion before she averted it again. Whatever her problem with him was, he couldn't say—he'd caught the blasted woman sneaking peeks at him other times as well, so he knew she wasn't entirely immune to his charms. He couldn't help letting out a low grumble as he eased back over to the opposite side of the worn quilt.

Emma squinted at him. "What?"

Killian fell back on the blanket, an exasperated sigh escaping him. "You know, we get on well when you forget you hate me. We could have a grand time if you just let things…take their course."

"Yeah, I had a grand time once."

"And?"

"Now I have an ex-husband who lives across the country, and tries to use our son as a bargaining chip." She paused. "And I don't hate you." Emma rolled towards him, bending an elbow and resting her head on her fist. "I guess I'm just wary now of cocky, good-looking guys who seem to skate through life on their smile. I know it's not fair, I just…can't help it sometimes." She chanced a glance at Killian, who'd rolled to face her as well, waiting for him to call her a judgmental bitch, rail about how not all men were like her ex—things she'd heard before.

"So," Killian said, a sly smile stealing over his face, "you think I'm good-looking?"

Now she was the one to flop onto her back, turning again to the sky view. "Really? That's what you took from all that?"

He shrugged. "I was just focusing on the positive. But in all seriousness, Swan, I—well, don't automatically decide that I won't comprehend. You're afraid to open up, to trust me, I realize that. But…I'm ready to listen when you're ready to talk."

She cupped his cold fingertips sticking out of his bandaged hand, gave a quick squeeze. "Thank you." She looked over; his attention was back on the stars, good arm folded behind his head. Well, I've opened the floodgates, might as well keep pushing my luck. "So…what brought you to our little part of the world…Killian?"

"What brought me?"

"Well, you're obviously not from San Diego, or even America. So…."

"Ah. When I was an oceanographer back in my Navy days, I suppose the travel opportunities that came with that implanted the wanderlust bug in me. Didn't…didn't have anything tying me to England, so once my enlistment was up, I went on the road. Eventually, when I was world-weary and broke and needed a place to rest for awhile, I stopped in Monterey. Beautiful town, worked at the aquarium. But I always had more of a liking for the San Diego harbor. I'd visited on assignment several times, and my background made it easy finding work here, too. And coming on three years later, here I remain—senior wildlife biologist at the Nature Center by day, and gallivanting, star-gazing Scoutmaster by the cover of night."

"And how long are you planning on remaining this time?"

"Why, Swan—would you miss me?"

She pretended she hadn't heard him. "And where does chasing around six-to-ten year olds on permanent sugar highs come in?"

"School administration asked me if I'd like to get involved with the Scouts after they heard my guest Junior Naturalist programs I did. Thought Henry might've mentioned it?"

"Nope, I didn't know. Hey, you never told me your sign. What is it?"

"I'll see if you can deduce it by my brief history I just gave you. Trust me, it's quite fitting."

She had to think for a moment, truthfully going by her foggy recollections of the Sunday newspaper's horoscope corner rather than her limited knowledge of astronomy.

Emma turned, gave him an incredulous look. "Pisces?"

His smile was answer enough.

"You've got to be shitting me—the fish—a water sign? It's like you chose it yourself!"

"I like to think the stars aligned just right the day, or night, Killian Jones was conceived."

Emma only let out a nervous little titter in response, and looked away; no matter how easy-going the mood was now, there would be no 'conceiving' talk with this guy, whatever the context. They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes more, with Emma interrupting it sporadically to ask about particular stars that caught her eye. Finally, she sat up, hating to break the easy atmosphere.

"Sorry, Killian, but I didn't stick around for s'mores after dinner," she said with a rub of her stomach, "and now I'm feeling kinda peckish." She started to push herself up. "I'm going to go find a snack back at—"

He reached out and laid a hand on her wrist. "Uh-uh, Swan, I think I've finally broken through your bristly exterior, and…well, I don't think I'm ready to have you go running off just yet."

Emma looked down at his grip, then up at his face, eyes narrowing. "How do you mean?"

"It's really quite pointless of you to play the fool, lass. You don't pull off the poker face well."

"Fine, I liked talking to you, too, okay? You're not a complete jerk. Just come along back to camp, too, then."

Killian wasn't too keen on that idea, not ready to have anyone who was still awake distract from…whatever this fragile link between them was, that seemed, at last, to be heading in a positive direction. "Despite that glowing review, I've a better idea…I do have some chocolate on me. However, I'll share on only one condition." He gave her a wink, tapped his lips.

Emma stared. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Scared? Can't say I blame you, I'm a lot for mere mortals to—" Emma grabbed with both hands on his jacket collar, and hauled him to her, crushing his lips to hers. There was only a momentary surprised 'mmph' from him, before he responded, his uninjured hand threading through her hair, keeping her close as he continued what she'd started. Even in the cold, his lips were smooth and soft and warm. The tip of his tongue ran along the seam of her lips, and she opened for him embarrassingly quick. His touch was gentle, but insistent and thorough, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss, and her faithless hormones allowed a needy little moan to escape her throat, only spurring Killian on more. And Emma was really trying to muster up some kind of reason to stop, or a shred of embarrassment—but then his lips were leaving hers and finding that spot on her neck, and it all just felt so goddamn good.

Neither were sure how long it went on, but eventually the need to breathe had to trump their desire to continue. They broke away, their exhales coming out in hot pants, turning to white vapor in the frigid air.

"I hope—" Killian took a moment to try and catch his breath. "I hope you don't think me some sort of deviant, Swan, but—I've wanted to do that for some time."

She looked down, concentrating on where her hands were fisted into his black-and-gray plaid flannel shirt. "Only if you don't think I'm some shameless hussy for wanting the same thing."

He opened his mouth to reply, but then a small figure leapt out of the darkness, landing on the blanket at their feet. Emma let out a shriek.

"Gotcha!" cried Roland, Cub Scout and Scoutmaster Locksley's son. "I know what you were doing!" he declared. "Kiiiiissing."

Crap. "N-no we weren't," Emma began. "It's hard to see out here, and—"

"Alright, lad, you've caught us. What'll it take to procure your silence?"

Roland folded his arms. "My daddy already said if I caught you guys kissing this trip, he'd give me a Hershey bar. He said it was 'just a matter of time'."

"Locksley," Emma heard Killian growl, but she turned back to the problem at hand. They really did not need it getting around that the surly Swan woman and Scoutmaster Jones had been caught necking in the great outdoors like a couple of horny teenagers at summer camp.

"Look, kid," she said, fishing in her back jeans pocket. "What's one candy bar—when you can buy five?" She held out a crumpled $5 bill, and knew she'd won as Roland's eyes widened.

"Really?"

"Yup. But only if you keep this our little secret."

"I promise!"

"Smart kid. Now, scoot!" He did, running pell-mell back to the cluster of tents.

"Tsk, tsk, bribing a child. Bad form, Swan. Though it's a good thing you stepped in, " Killian said, taking a slightly smushed package out of his jacket pocket. "I wasn't too keen on parting with my Milky Way."

She couldn't help it; a snort escaped her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Do I still get some?"

He raised a brow. "More?"

She smacked his shoulder, grabbing the bar from his hand. "Of this, you dope."

"Well, by all means, help yourself," Killian replied, waving at it as Emma took a huge bite. She chewed quietly, thinking on how they could move past this. But do you really want to move past him—or together, in the same direction?

"Killian," Emma began, "Can we…can we talk about this, when we get back to civilization tomorrow?"

"Depends," he replied, clicking off his headlamp so the only main light on them was the illumination from the moon. "Will there be more of…what we just did? Or are you going to go back to acting like you barely remember my name except when you're screaming it?" He slapped a hand to his forehead, sliding it down his face. "That came out wrong. What I meant is, I'd rather you didn't scream it in a bad way, just a good way…oh, bloody hell, just stop listening to me!"

Emma bit her lip to hold her laugh in, tugged his hand down. "I get the gist. But you were right earlier—we get along well when I'm not fighting you tooth and nail." She linked her fingers with his good hand. "I'm sorry for being a harpy without a reason for so long."

"You're not—" he began; Emma quirked her brow. "Well, maybe you were a harpy—just a wee bit!"

She took a few steps, her arm stretching behind her, and she turned. Killian flashed a smile that warmed her down to the tips of her hair. "C'mon, Jones—let's make sure the kids put the fire out properly before I topple into it."

"Lead the way, Swan."

A/N: Thanks for reading! Thoughts?