#Margaret Hou | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

let-it-raines · 6 years ago

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How about a twist on neighbors for a prompt? Killian is David's neighbor, and that's how he meets Emma! You can fill in the rest! Love your stories!

He bought a house. He bought a damn house. It’s a bit of a fixer upper, which he definitely spends his weekdays and weekends and occasionally late nights (see: early mornings) fixing up, but he takes pride in watching the rotting siding replaced with fresh white panels and the small windows taken out only to be swapped with large floor to ceiling windows that allow him to look out at the neighborhood park that’s behind his house, children running and people walking their dogs always in his view but just out of grasp for his own life. Just outside the door really.

(Eventually he gets around to replacing the doors, French paneling with brass knobs that match the hanging lamps that grace the porch’s ceiling.)

He probably should have started with the interior, but something about being able to get the outside done in the spring and the summer called to him, not wanting to freeze to death building the porch railing when fall and winter come to pass.

That’s how he finds himself sitting on his mattress, which is decidedly not on a bed frame, in a room that’s covered in dust from construction with three different colors of paint sitting in gallon cans in front of him.

“Well bloody hell,” Killian says to himself, because he most definitely lives by himself, “I hate all of these. Who knew I cared so much about damn paint colors?”

Because he does care about paint colors, he rises from his mattress and throws on his black leather jacket over his plaid button up so that he can go to Home Depot to peruse their selection. He’s pretty sure the guy at the paint counter knows him by name at this point.

He’s pretty sure that he knows all of the paint colors by name now.

It’s only the slightest bit pathetic.

A slight chill catches in the air when he walks out of the door, but he doesn’t mind. October is the best time of the year to him, and just because he doesn’t want to freeze to death while working on the exterior of his house doesn’t mean he hates the briskness of the air as he walks outside or goes for runs in the morning.

Three hours later he’s returning home with a simple light gray gallon of paint, just anxious to put something down and finally be able to have a bedroom that’s more than just a mattress with some sheets. It’s unfinished, and that bothers him more than he’s willing to admit. He’s tired of things in his life being unfinished, incomplete, and unsatisfactory.

He’s Killian Jones, a currently self-employed architect who’s also a thirty-four year old British expat now living in a seaside town in Maine because he couldn’t stomach the thought of living in England anymore. That’s where his girlfriend died in a car accident and where his brother died serving in the Royal Navy three months later. It’s like the entire country went dark after that, even the brightest of lights fading into a dreary gray that he saw even when looking out at the vibrant blue of the ocean.

He’s not proud of himself for how he acted after their deaths, not proud of the drinking or the women or how he’d hole himself up in his flat and not bother to shower for days, only bothering to when the smell of rum became too much for even him.

His mourning period didn’t last for long…well, that’s a lie. He’s still in mourning, but his feeling sorry for himself didn’t last long. Milah and Liam wouldn’t want him to be some despondent shell of a man, so he decided to move on. He just had to do that by actually moving.

So after a hell of a lot of paperwork, he’s settled down in a small town in Maine with a name straight out of a children’s book. Storybrooke. It’s the oddest little place, and he’s not sure how he found it. He was looking in Portland, but then he found this place that was right over the water and small enough to be quaint but large enough that it wouldn’t be overwhelming for him.

He’s been here for a few months and eventually he has to find a job, but right now he’s living on settlement money from Liam and savings that he had been hoarding away in the hopes that he and Milah would find a home together. It didn’t happen.

They’ve left him with money and memories, but all he really does is miss them.

A job would likely help that, a steady career to get back to designing houses and focusing on the mathematics of it all, but for now, he’s fine simply focusing on his own house and making it a home.

It means that he doesn’t have to leave his house much, which means that the only people he really knows are the employees at the Home Depot right outside of town.

Sad? Yes.

Pathetic? Yes.

Does he mind? No.

Oh, that’s kind of a lie though. He knows his neighbors, David and Mary Margaret Nolan, who are basically the poster couple for what neighbors should be. They don’t make too much noise, even when they have their weekly dinners with friends that he’s discovered are on Wednesdays (but not this previous Wednesday oddly enough), and Mary Margaret brings him leftovers while David offers to help with some of his construction projects when the two of them are tending the lawn at the same time he is.

That’s where he finds them this morning as he walks back to the house, Mary Margaret with a sun hat and gloves on as she pulls weeds while David mows the grass. He gives them a nod and a smile, thinking that he can just slip away and into his house without much else, but Mary Margaret Nolan is nothing if not persistent.

“Killian,” she calls, slipping off her gloves and standing from the ground, wiping her hands on her jeans before walking over to where he’s placing his paint cans down.

“Good morning, milady,” he greets, and like clockwork the woman giggles as blush paints her pale cheeks a rosy red.

She’s rather fond of when he calls her that. David is not.

“Good morning, Killian. I know that this is last minute, and I’m sure you’ve got Saturday plans, but David and I are having friends over for David’s birthday tonight and we’d really like for you to come.”

“Oh,” he reaches to scratch behind his ear, polite smile forced on his lips, “that’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“But we want you there! It’s just a dinner. I’m cooking the lasagna you said you liked so much last time, so if for nothing else, you have to come for the food.”

She’s looking at him with a smile and wide green eyes that are practically pleading for him to say yes, and he’s really got no reason to say no. He should have friends. He should branch out. There’s no harm in talking to others, he reminds himself. He’s fine living his life alone after so much loss, but he can’t. He’s experienced great love in his life, and as much as it’s cost him, he knows that something is missing without it.

It’s just dinner. He can do this. After all, he did come here to start a new life, didn’t he?

“If you insist, lass. I’d love to come.”

“Perfect,” she claps her hands, “and don’t worry about bringing a gift. Just bring yourself around six thirty, okay?”

He nods his head in agreement before lifting the paint cans and walking into his own home, so empty compared to the brightness of the Nolan’s. He’s getting there. He really is. It’s simply going slowly.

He finds himself not thinking about the party as the day progresses, getting lost in the repetitive motions of rolling paint on the walls and the sounds of the music emanating from his phone’s speakers. But then his phone is ringing to let him know that it’s now six in the evening, and he needs to shower and find something to wear that’s better than the paint covered sweatpants he has on.

Deciding on just his trusty black jeans and a t-shirt, plaid button down left open because that’s all he’s really comfortable with, he gets dressed and runs his hands through his hair, making it stick up instead of laying flat on his head. Mary Margaret said not to bring anything, but that feels wrong, so he grabs a potted plant that he was going to put in his yard tomorrow and takes it with him as he walks next door.

Their front door is open, so he walks in, hearing the noise of people chatting and laughing in what he soon discovers is the kitchen. He doesn’t know how to interrupt and make his presence known, everyone in the room obviously well acquainted with each other. He definitely shouldn’t even be here.

“They don’t bite,” a female voice says next to him, and he whips his head around to, and he’s not exaggerating here, see one of the most attractive women he’s ever seen smiling up at him. She’s got blonde hair that runs all the way down her back and green eyes that remind him of his mother’s. He’s immediately taken by her, and that hasn’t happened since…it hasn’t happened in awhile. “But I understand. It can be kind of intimidating if it’s your first time at a Nolan house party.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“There might as well be a sign that says ‘it’s my first time’ flashing on your forehead. But don’t worry, we’ll be gentle.”

He can’t help but laugh at her innuendo, his eyes lighting up for the first time in a long time, as he snakes his free hand around to offer it in greeting. “Killian Jones, neighbor.”

Her eyes seem to light in recognition, but he’s not sure why. Maybe the Nolans have talked about him before. “Emma Swan,” she takes his hand, shaking it twice before releasing it, “friend.”

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma Swan, friend.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Killian Jones, neighbor.”

He’s not sure what else to say, his conversational skills sorely lacking as of late, but he’s saved by the metaphorical bell when Mary Margaret spots them, hugging both of their necks before taking the plant out of his hands and the gift he didn’t notice out of Emma’s and leading the two of them further into the house, Emma veering off on her own to kiss a short middle-aged man on his cheek, throwing her head back in laughter at whatever the man said. He has no right to know her relationships with the people in this house, but he finds himself watching her for the rest of the evening.

She’s vibrant, obviously full of joy and fervor, things he’s sorely lacking in his own life, and he’s fascinated by her. He’s fascinated by the way she throws her entire head back when laughing, hair cascading down her back as snorts (she snorts) pass through her lips. He’s fascinated by how she seems to be the life of the party, always telling some kind of story, her hands wildly gesturing as she speaks, captivating the room. Or maybe that’s just him. He’s not really sure because he’s so distracted by her that he has to make a pointed effort of not paying her any attention just so he doesn’t seem like some kind of creep.

The last thing he needs is to be painted as the town creep when he’s trying to branch out a little bit.

It’s a nice night, the lasagna is as good as he remembers, and he finds that he likes spending time with a large group of people after spending so much time alone. It does get to be too much for him at one point, but instead of excusing himself from the party entirely, he just slips out to sit on the Nolan’s front porch swing, fall air surrounding him as he takes a moment to breathe.

“Hey,” Emma greets, seemingly having popped up from nowhere. “Are you okay, Killian Jones, neighbor?”

“Aye, just getting some air.” He nods at the empty seat next to him before he can even consider his actions. “Would you like to sit?”

She tilts her head as a soft smile graces her face, silently accepting his invitation before she sits down, her thigh lightly brushing his. That’s not distracting at all.

“So your first time around a big crowd in awhile, huh?”

How the hell could she possibly know that? He can’t help but scratch his beard, trying to figure out how to answer that question without delving into some kind of deep, emotional territory.

“You seem to be very perceptive of my first times tonight, lass.”

“Well, you do have the look of a virgin.”

Like hell he does. He’s about to say something about it, but then he looks over to her and she’s smiling at him, a full grin that causes the dimple in her chin to be more prominent. She’s beautiful and kind and…light, and he’s out of his league just by sharing this porch swing with her.

“I understand what it’s like to be new to a crowd.” She’s staring over at his house, the porch lights flickering on with the timer, and he wonders if she knows that’s his house and what she thinks of it. Why would he even care? “Let’s just say that I was going through a horrendous break up when Marg and David came into my life, and it’s terrifying coming into their house and being surrounded by people who know each other and are disgustingly happy with their lives.”

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know why she’s offering up this information to him. So he doesn’t respond, just continues to stare straight ahead as the swing lightly sways, their feet pushing them at the same pace.

“So that’s your house right there?”

Apparently she does know that’s his house.

“Aye.”

“It’s nice. You’ve made fast progress on the upgrades.”

He nudges her thigh with his own, a surge of playfulness coursing through him. “So you’ve been watching me, Swan?”

She nudges his thigh back. “I’ve been watching your house. I’m an interior designer, so I’ve got an unnatural obsession with how houses look.”

“Huh,” he scoffs, laughing a bit to himself at the similarities. “I’m an architect, so I understand. The obsession with how houses look, I mean. That place is basically my baby.”

“It’s beautiful. I’d love to know the rest of your plans for it.”

The words are out of his mouth before he even has a chance to stop them. “Would you like to see?”

She tilts her head to look at him. “If you murder me in there, David and Mary Margaret will hear my screams.”

“Damn. I’ll have to think of other nefarious plans.”

“Alright Jones, take me to your humble abode.”

So by some weird happenstance or miracle he ends up in his kitchen/dining room/living room (it’s an open floor plan, okay?) with a woman he just met who’s inspecting his fireplace, her hands tucked into the back pocket of her rather delightful jeans as she stands on her tiptoes to give her enough height to look above the mantle.

“Killian, this place is fantastic. I mean, it’s still totally bare bones, but you’re doing a great job. I just can’t believe you’ve been sleeping on a mattress on the floor for months. My bedframe was the first thing I had moved into my apartment.”

“I just hadn’t found the right bedframe yet. I haven’t figured out what I want. This is the first time I’m designing a home that’s for me instead of someone else, and I want it to be perfect.”

“Do you want help?”

“Help?”

“Yeah, like, I decorate homes for people for a living. I can help you find the things that are right for you.”

“Lass, I don’t really want to be paying extra for anything, as great as I’m sure you are.”

“I’d do it for free.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to bump Killian Jones, neighbor, up to Killian Jones, friend. Plus, no man your age should be sleeping on the floor.”

“How do you know how old I am?”

“I mean, I don’t, but I’d have to guess you’re at least my age.”

“And how old are you?”

“Twenty eight.”

He laughs, swaying just the slightest bit closer to her. “I wish I was twenty eight. I’m thirty four.”

“Oh damn,” she chuckles, “then you really shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor. Your back could go out any minute.”

He reaches to scratch behind his ear because her laugh, even when she’s not snorting, is one of the most adorable sounds he’s ever heard. He told himself he wouldn’t fall for another woman, not after the last one, but he can already tell he’s in trouble here. But no, he won’t be charmed by one night. he won’t let himself fall. They can be acquaintances, friends maybe if what Emma says is true.

He can simply let himself talk to people again without the fear of having them ripped away from him.

“We should go back to the party. Wouldn’t want to miss the cake.”

“Oh it won’t be a cake. It’ll be this nasty pie that Marg makes.”

“If it’s so nasty,” he starts, he locking his front door behind the two of them and ghosting his hand over the small of her back as they make their way down the front porch steps, “then why does she make it?”

“Because she made it for David for his birthday the first year they were together and because Prince Charming over there can’t hurt a fly, he told her that he loved it. So now we’re all subjected to it every year.”

“Wow,” he whistles as they step around Mary Margaret’s rose bushes, “that’s either decidedly romantic or decidedly stupid.”

“I like to think you can’t be romantic without a little bit of stupidity.”

“Are you a romantic, Swan?”

They’ve now reached the Nolan’s front porch, and she stops at the step above him, making them eye level with each other.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

And then she’s walking away and into the house while he’s left saying, “perhaps I would,” to the flowers in the garden.

It’s not until the next day that he realizes he never got Emma’s number. For the help decorating and designing his home, of course. Not for anything else. But despite that fact, he can’t bring himself to ask either David or Mary Margaret for it, not wanting them to get the wrong impression about him. He thinks about it, though, every day that he sees them that week, but the words never pass through his lips.

So he spends his week as he normally does, working from what’s supposed to be the guest bedroom but is instead his office and the only fully completed room of the house. In the evenings he finishes painting the rest of the walls and moves onto applying backsplash in the kitchen. He’s waiting for someone to come in with his new marble countertops. That’s one of the few things he can’t install himself, but he figures he can at least work on the backsplash.

Things are the way they are in his life, and he doesn’t expect anything about that to change and that’s exactly where he goes wrong. Friday evening he’s sitting on his couch watching television (yes, he does at least have those two things) when there’s a knock at his door. He’s not yet got curtains on the windows so he can clearly see that Emma Swan is standing outside of his front door with her bottom lip between her teeth and a box of pizza in her hands.

What in the world?

“Hi,” she squeaks when he opens the door, and it’s possible that he’s even more smitten with her than he was last week because the beanie gracing her head has a pom pom bigger than her face attached to the top.

He is not supposed to be smitten with her. He can’t be. He can’t get hurt again.

He is undoubtedly charmed by her.

But not smitten.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Swan?”

“I’m sure you have plans or whatever, but I was just bringing David and Mary Margaret some pizza from the shop next to me while I was on my way home from work and I wanted to check in with you, see if you were still interested in my services.”

He cocks his eyebrow, and he’s not even ashamed when he says it the way he does, voice deep and low as he enunciates all the right words. “I’m most definitely interested in your services.”

She snorts, and he really likes that snort, and he’s glad he didn’t just come off as a creep because he definitely could have. “I’m not that kind of pizza delivery service, but I see where your mind is, Jones.”

“Would you like to come in and discuss your very wholesome services?”

“Well, that’s what I was aiming for.”

He doesn’t quite know how he got to the point of Emma Swan, this woman who he met not a week ago, sitting on his kitchen counter talking about crown molding and window features and if he prefers modern versus classic design, but here he is answering all of her questions and putting in more effort into decorating this house than he was ever planning on (and he was planning on a lot). It’s nice getting to go back and forth in what is obviously both of their elements, the two of them bouncing ideas off of each other while they eat the pizza she brought over and drink the water he had in his fridge. He wishes that he had something else to offer her, but he hasn’t been to the grocery store in two weeks. Sometimes things like that get away from him when he’s focusing on his projects.

Emma is just as charming as she was the first time he met her, even if he adamantly does not agree with her on her light fixture choices, something she’s sure to let him know. But it’s easy to get caught up in the simplicity and ease of it all. It’s been a long time since he was comfortable talking to someone with no awkward gaps in conversation, and he lets himself get carried away as they make all kinds of plans, some of which he knows he can’t afford until he gets a job again, but he lets Emma take notes, her sprawling handwriting littering a notebook that she leaves on the countertop before she eventually goes home that night.

And right at the top is her number with a note to meet him at Geppetto’s Furniture at ten in the morning on Monday.

-/-

“So do you like this frame?” Emma asks him while he sips on his coffee, eyes scanning over all of the bedframes in front of him.

“I like the color, but I worry about the headboard.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to knock my head on wood.”

Emma runs her tongue over her bottom lip, words very obviously on the tip of her tongue, but instead of she holds her tongue and doesn’t take the bait. He was kind of hoping she would. She’s amusing when she gets a little flustered.

“Okay, so beds where you can knock your hard head against them are a no go, so I’m thinking a fabric covered headboard.”

“Swan,” he protests as she takes off to a different part of the store, the heels of her boots clicking on the ground, “I really don’t need a frame right now.”

“You are a grown ass man. You cannot keep sleeping on the floor. You need a bed.”

For hours, Emma guides him around this store, the two of them testing out frames and dining chairs even though he doesn’t have a table yet. But they look at tables too, the ones already made and the book of customized ones that the owner of the store apparently handcrafts with his son. And as if it’s not overwhelming enough, Emma guides him to the backroom of the store where he meets Marco and his son August, the two of them more than excited to see Emma. He thinks they must work together frequently for how well they know each other, but if the look in August’s eyes is any indication, he and Emma either dated or August wants them to date. He’s always been good at reading people, and from what he can tell, August is not happy that he’s there.

But he is there, and he sits and talks to Marco about the house and his plans, letting Emma interrupt with her visions that immediately gets the two of them off on their own little tangents about things to do. Somehow by the end of it he’s bought a bedframe, ordered a customized table and chairs, and he’s getting a swing to put on his back deck so that he can spend some time in his yard even though it’s mostly the public park.

He most likely needs a fence sometime, but that would hamper with the view.

Marco will most likely end up making one for him.

All of that is after one day with Emma and as the weeks go by, he ends up accumulating more and more things, his house suddenly full of furniture even if some of the walls still need a second coat of paint from his original painting. It’s the weirdest thing to have life brought back into this home, even if it’s little by little, but it’s even more strange to feel and see the changes in himself and his openness to talking and spending time with more people.

It happens slowly, really. He knows that he’s charmed by Emma, that he thinks she’s witty and someone nice to talk to, but he keeps it mostly professional, a few little jabs every now and then. Life would be utterly boring without jokes. But as the weeks pass, October chilling into November and November freezing into December, he realizes that he might have made a friend for the first time in a long time. He still speaks to a few of his mates back home, but he can feel the distance between them. And not just the physical one.

And in becoming friends with Emma, he learns that she likes margherita pizza and prefers whiskey over wine. She’s got an unhealthy obsession with watching HGTV, mostly so that she can point out everything that they do wrong, but when she’s not watching it, she’s usually watching documentaries about literally anything and everything. They watch one on the ocean one day. She’d been over late helping him install his bookshelves into his wall, and instead of going home afterward, she’d put on Netflix and sat with him, stretching her feet out on his coffee table and wiggling her socked feet whenever a shark swam across the screen.

She’s bloody terrified of the creatures, and if he changed her ringtone to the Jaws theme song, well, no one has to know that but him. He’s not sure if she’s heard it yet, but sometimes he’s tempted to call her while they’re in the same place simply to see the look on her face.

That night is also the night that he learns that she’s never been sailing despite the fact that she’s lived in Maine for her entire life, and he promises to take her when spring comes. It’s a simple statement, one that really doesn’t mean anything, but he realizes that he’s making plans for the future. He’s been doing it this entire time, but this one seems different.

So being friends with Emma has brought a lot of changes to his life, but the most notable is that she drags him along to Wednesday night dinners with the Nolans. Even though he went to David’s birthday dinner, it’s a bit odd to be back in this place that’s so full of life and conversation. He’s introduced to at least ten different people, all of them kind except for Leroy. Emma swears that he’s prickly but sweet, but he’s not entirely sure if that’s true. Maybe if he keeps coming around, it will be.

He realizes that he wants to keep coming around. He wants to be around people, wants to have friends, and it’s that same reasoning that has him applying for a job at the only local architecture firm in Storybrooke. He’s not sure how much business they get that’s not commercial for the local businesses that attract tourism in the summers, but they’re hiring…and they hire him.

Emma: Are you leaving your humble abode tonight or am I going to have to drag you to Marg’s to celebrate Christmas?

He laughs at the message on his phone before he looks up around the office to make sure no one is looking. He doesn’t think they really care that he uses his phone, but it’s his first week and he wants to make a good impression.

Killian: I’ll be there with my figgy pudding.

Emma: Are you actually making figgy pudding?

Emma: You’re very British.

Killian: Nah, I made a coffee cake. It’s sitting in the fridge.

Killian: That does not mean you can break in and eat it before the party.

Emma: Wasn’t planning on it, but now the seed is planted.

“Jones,” Jefferson calls out, making him look up from his cubicle, “you’ve got a client wanting to talk to you about building a secondary house for his mother-in-law.”

Oh the joys of his job.

-/-

“Hey,” Emma greets him when he opens his front door, still buttoning up his shirt. He was half dressed when she started ringing the doorbell, and she wouldn’t stop until he came down. He should have never installed the thing. “You ready to go?”

“I’m still getting dressed, love,” he sighs, finishing the button he’s working on while his eyes flicker up and down her body. She looks different tonight, and it only takes him a moment to pinpoint that it’s the black eyeliner on her lid that makes her eyes look impossibly bigger. Everything else is the same, tight skinny jeans and boots with a sweater. This one hugs her curves instead of draping over her body, and he has to keep himself from looking too long. “You were being bloody obnoxious.”

“You’re old, so sometimes you’re hard of hearing.”

“So funny.” He rolls his eyes at her, but he lets her in the house anyways. It’s mostly put together, colors coating all of the walls and furniture filling the place. He knows that mostly he’s lacking the personal touch, and Emma has encouraged him to put up photographs, but he’s not sure that he can quite yet. “If you’ll get the cake out of the fridge, I’ll go get my shoes and we can make our long journey over.”

“I was only here for the cake, not for you.”

“I would have expected nothing less.”

They’re out of the house in five minutes, and when they walk into the Nolans’, it’s a complete contrast. They have Christmas decorations everywhere, almost to the point of tackiness, but with how much Mary Margaret seems to love the season, he knew to expect this. It’s nice in a way. These are people who welcome what he’s come to realize are misfits and stragglers into their home, and if they want to have a stuffed Santa that hangs from the ceiling, they can.

“How’s your first week at work?” David asks him once everyone has settled down into the living room, plates of food on their laps as he can hear nothing but the dull roar of conversation and music in the background.

“It’s good, a bit slow paced, but it’s nice to have something to focus on besides the house.”

“Are you going home to see your family for Christmas next week?”

In all of his busyness, in getting caught up with work and his house and living a life that was more than moping, he somehow didn’t think about this. He didn’t think about the questions that would be asked of him now that the holidays are here. It’s weird to have friends, to have people who know him without actually knowing him, and his stomach churns and twists as he tries to keep the tears from stinging behind his eyes. It’s only been two years since Liam and Milah died, and he’s avoided people around the holidays. This is the first time he’s ever really been asked.

“I decided to stay here,” he tells David as his eyes glance across the room to see Emma talking to Graham, their bodies close to each other as Emma laughs at whatever it is he’s saying. His stomach twists again, flames flickering across his skin, and he needs to get out of here before he vomits. “I’m going to go get some fresh air,” he tells David, ignoring the look of confusion on his face. It’s probably because it’s far too cold for anyone to be out there, but he can’t be inside anymore.

It’s too suffocating.

He doesn’t know where to go, though. He could stay here, could simply take a minute to calm himself down, but the swing on his back deck is calling his name. It’s close enough that he could still come back to the party without anyone noticing, but it’s far enough away that he can be by himself for a few moments.

He needs to be by himself.

His brother was the most important person in his life. He was there when their dad left, when their mum died, and through every good and bad situation in between. Liam went into the Navy to support him, to make sure that he had a place to sleep and food to eat, and even when Killian turned eighteen, Liam stayed so that Killian could go to university. Liam stayed for him, always, and the niggling voice that always tells him that Liam died for him starts to make its way past the layers of doors and windows that he’s locked to keep those thoughts away.

And Milah…God, he’d loved her.

He still can’t believe they’re gone.

“You’re going to lose your elf ears, Jones.”

He looks up from his lap to see Emma walking toward him with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her beanie with the tufts on her head. She’s bundled up like a burrito, and it warms him a bit, especially when he sees that she’s holding two plates of cake.

“I’m tougher than you when it comes to the cold.”

“That’s because you’re crazy.” She quickly walks up the steps and sits down next to him, making the swing sway a bit more as she hands him the plates so that she can spread the blanket out over their legs. It doesn’t quite reach his toes, but he doesn’t have to point that out to Emma. “So you want to talk about what’s got you all broody?”

“I am not.”

“You are,” she promises, nudging his shoulder and taking her cake back from him. He notices that she takes the bigger piece. “I saw you stalk off after talking to David. Did he say something dumb?”

“No, Swan, he didn’t. I, um, I – the holidays are hard for me, and I guess I didn’t really think about it until now.”

She hums next to him while she pops her fork in her mouth. “I kind of figured.”

“How?”

“You’re almost thirty-five years old, you live alone, and you never talk about friends or family. You’re obviously not from here, which makes me think that maybe you were running away from something.”“Perceptive, aren’t we?”

“I am.” She twists a bit, the swing moving with her, and then he’s looking into wide, beautiful green eyes that brim with understanding. “Look, I like to think we’re friends. I’ve seen your bedsheets and your underwear drawer.”

“Does that make us friends?”

“It does. It’s on the list of how to make friends or whatever.” She flashes him a bright smile, and the tightness in his stomach lessens while he returns it. “I think we’re friends, but I also know that you hide things from me. I don’t know what because I don’t believe in making people talk when they’re not ready to, but I also know what it’s like to be alone. I’m an orphan, and it’s not a dirty word. I don’t have parents or siblings, and if I do, I don’t care about them anymore. I’ve spent more holidays alone than with people, so I know how much it sucks, how hard it is. So I don’t know exactly what your story is, but if you don’t want to be alone on Christmas, you don’t have to be.”

He should have known that Emma doesn’t have any family. She never talks about her family either, never talks about her past except for when they first met, and it clicks with him that maybe they’re more similar than he thought. Maybe she understands him in a way that’s more than simply how to decorate his house.

“Thank you, love,” he mumbles, wrapping his arm around her shoulder without thinking about it. “I don’t – my brother was my best friend, and he died two years ago in an accident on his ship at sea. Three months before that my girlfriend died in a car accident that she was only in because we’d gotten into an argument and she’d decided to go home. It’s crazy because I don’t even remember what the argument was about. It was that small. But I had this full life, one marked by a shitty childhood, but I had a full life. And then I didn’t.”

It’s not saying a lot, just the bare minimum, but he’s not sure that he can say more without completely losing himself.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Killian,” Emma whispers, scooting her body a little closer as they continue to sway. “You’re – I’m…”

“- I know. I am too. So, yeah, holidays are hard for me, and you’re – you’re the first friend I’ve had since then. I’m sorry that I’m not always great company.”

“Nah, you’re wonderful company. Who else tells me their deepest darkest secrets with the plan to let me die of frostbite when there’s a fun party going on thirty feet away?”

“Well, I do strive to always provide a unique experience.”

“That you do.”

Something changes after that night, and like most things in his life recently, he doesn’t really notice until the changes have established themselves into his daily routines. Emma makes an effort to talk to him far more often, even though his house is mostly done, and they’re more open and honest with each other, even when it’s hard. It’s still mostly lighthearted teasing and jokes, but there are nights when Emma comes over or when he goes to her place where they have conversations more like the one out on his back deck.

She tells him that she got into interior design because it’s important to her for people to have a home that they feel comfortable in. She could have gone into something like social work, but it was just too hard for her, too many bad memories tainting it. She likes the brightness of homes, of watching people get excited over the smallest things. She likes giving people the homes that she never had, even if it’s in the most roundabout way.

Emma is light when she should be dark, and even though he can see the hardened edges in her occasional defensiveness, he wonders just how she’s managed to drag him into her light as well.

He wonders about it even more when she tells him about Neal one night when they’ve had a little too much to drink. They’d been together when she was a teenager and all throughout university, and when she had a pregnancy scare, he bolted in the middle of the night never to be heard of again. It breaks his heart a little more for her, but it also endears him to her even more. Emma’s been left by everyone who should love her. They’ve all left on their own, and while his father did leave on his own, everyone else was taken from him far too soon.

They’ve both been left, no matter the circumstances, but Emma makes him feel hope that maybe scars don’t always have to stay fresh. He can keep them, wear them proudly, but they don’t have to define every decision he makes for the rest of his life.

And six months into knowing Emma Swan while she’s helping him plant some shrubs in his front yard, he realized that he is absolutely falling in love with her. The initial attraction was always there. He’s never denied that he was charmed by her. He’d simply avoided the fact that it could ever evolve into something more.

It has, and he’s got no bloody clue what to do with that information. If anything that David says is correct, she’s been dating Graham for the past two months. She’s never said anything, and he realizes now as he watches her try to get dirt out of her hair, that he didn’t ask because he was terrified to know the answer.

It makes his flesh heat and his stomach twist into knots that will never come untied. He’s jealous. Logically he knows this, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, especially because Emma is his friend. She doesn’t owe him anything. She should be happy.

He wants to rip the curls off of Graham’s head.

He should probably go running or something to work out his frustration.

A marathon or two sounds good.

Maybe three.

Maybe he’ll take up boxing.

Maybe he’ll try to be a grown man and deal with it.

“Can we eat lunch soon?” Emma whines, standing up from the ground and taking her gloves off before she wipes her hands on her leggings. “As fun as this is and all, I’m dying to eat something.”

“Why don’t you go order something while I finish up here?”

“What do you want.”

He winks. “Surprise me.”

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Emma orders them pizza, the delivery guy showing up while he’s finishing up planting some lilies. He pays the man and takes the box inside, plopping it down on the coffee table in the living room where Emma is watching a documentary on what he believes is music in the seventies.

“Did you pay John?”

“I did. Do you know the name of every pizza delivery man in town?”

“You bet I do,” she laughs, leaning forward and opening up the box before she grabs a slice. “I find that making friends with the people who deliver you food is the best way to make sure they give you good pizza.”

“You are the most brilliant woman I’ve ever known.”

“Don’t appreciate the sarcasm there, Jones.”

“Didn’t think you would,” he chuckles as he takes the few steps over into his kitchen and washes his hands, letting the sound of the water fill the room. His house is so full of life when it was once nothing, and that still surprises him sometimes. “Do you need a plate?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t mess up my furniture.”“I would never.”

He and Emma never make it back out to his front yard, getting lost in lounging around in front of the television and flipping through the channels, not really caring what’s on the screen. It’s a lazy day, even when it started out as productive, and by the time ten at night rolls around and Emma’s still there, the question that’s been on his mind for weeks now practically rolls off of his tongue.

“Why are you here?”

He regrets it immediately, but he regrets it even more when Emma mutes the television and turns to him with her eyebrows practically in her hairline and her mouth gaping open.

“Because this is what we do on Saturdays?” she questions, the confusion obvious in her voice as the lines on her forehead increase. “Do you want me to leave? Because, I mean, I can, but that’s kind of a jackass move.”

“No, no, no,” he protests, raising his hands in the air before clicking his tongue. Hell, he might as well just ask. He’ll rip of the band-aid and then need about ten new ones after the answer. “I just, ah, did you not have plans with Graham tonight?”

“Graham? Why would I have plans with – oh my God,” she groans, throwing her head back before sitting up, her bun bouncing the slightest big. “You’ve been talking to David, haven’t you? I’m going to kill him.”

“Why?”

“I went on three dates with Graham,” she mumbles, continuously readjusting on the couch while his stomach continues to flip, “and he’s a super nice guy. Like, there’s nothing wrong with him and we’ll probably always be friends, but I don’t like him in a way that makes me want to date him. But Mary Margaret has been pushing us together for years, so she and David were likely already planning the wedding.”He shouldn’t be relieved, but he is. Most definitely.

Maybe he’s a bit of an asshole.

He should punish himself a little by running that marathon.

“That makes sense. They’re great, but they can be a bit intense when it comes to romance.”

“True love and all that.”

“Aye.”

“Wait,” Emma starts, the corners of her lips curling up into a smile, “are you jealous?”

“I’m too old to get jealous,” he huffs, trying to control the clench in his jaw. “That is so not true. Killian Jones, do you have a crush on me?”

She’s teasing him. He knows that she is. No part of her is being serious. If she thought he was actually jealous, thought that he actually may like her in some kind of school boy type of way, she wouldn’t be teasing like this. Logically he knows this, knows that he could simply tease her back and this would go down as nothing more than a conversation, but now that he has the opportunity, he realizes that he doesn’t want to mess around. He’s old enough to be over these types of games.

“Aye.”

He doesn’t feel any kind of relief saying the word out loud, but it’s mostly likely because all of his focus is on the way that Emma’s lips part and press together, a repetitive motion that he can tell she’s trying to control. He’s most likely shocked her, and he knows that moment she collects her thoughts because her eyes bulge the slightest bit before her face goes back to normal, shoulders only shaking the slightest bit.

“I’m sorry – what? Did you just say that you have a crush on me?”

“I wouldn’t use the word crush. I’d say I have feelings for you, but yeah, crush can work.”

“You don’t…I don’t – I…do you…oh damn. I was not expecting that tonight.”

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, love,” he promises, flashing her a feeble smile while his heart finally begins to pound against his ribcage, contrasting feelings of hopefulness and despair making everything the slightest bit uncomfortable. It’s just that I, uh,” he stutters as he scratches behind is ear, “don’t see any point in lying to you when I do have feelings for you, when I’m fond of you whether you’re yelling at me for my choice of light fixture or not.”

Her lips press together in a genuine smile then, and before he can gather himself, Emma is scooting closer on the couch, inching as close to him as possible without actually touching him. He can feel the heat of her breath on his skin, and gooseflesh breaks out across his arms. It only gets worse when Emma’s hand reaches up to caress his face, soft fingertips tracing just under his eyes.

“I’m not going to write it on my notebook or anything, but I have a crush on you too.”

She captures his laugh with her lips, their smiles pressing together, and even though it’s only the briefest of slides of their lips, it is everything that he’s secretly wanted for months now. It’s comfort and pent up feelings and a sense of belonging when he hasn’t belonged anywhere in so damn long.

He belongs.

“You taste like pizza,” Emma says when she pulls back, their foreheads still pressed together and all of her usual eloquence on full display.

“Is that why you kissed me?”

“Yeah, and I think I’ll only keep kissing you when you taste like pizza.”

“I best sell this house and go live in a gym so that I can eat pizza for every meal.”

“That’s cheesy.”

“Literally.”

He doesn’t sell the house or live in a gym or eat pizza for every meal, but Emma does spend more time in his house after they go out to dinner and the movies and ballgames and any type of date he can think of. It’s exactly like it was before, but it’s different, more intimate, and as weeks and months go by, he falls a little more in love with Emma than he ever thought possible. It’s not easy, especially because the more time they spend together, the more he learns of the darkness that Emma tries to stay away from. He’s always known it was there, but she trusts him enough to let him see more of it now.

He does the same to her.

Emma knows all about his dark days with the anniversaries of the deaths of his loved ones, but for the first time, he has someone to help him through both days. And he realizes on the second go round, when Emma listens to him tell stories of Milah and how she used to love to sing in the car even if she didn’t know the words to the songs, he realizes that he wants her by his side for the rest of his life.

And as pictures finally get put in the frames of his home, ones of Liam and Milah, of David and Mary Margaret, of Rob and Roland and all of his friends at work, he realizes that there was no reason to be scared of life when it feels this good to live.

His favorite picture, though, is the one of he, Emma, and their son that sits on his bedside table.

He bought a house, and it became a home.

#cs prompt #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic

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stegulus · 5 years ago

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i was tagged by @bachusbitch ages ago and only just remembered hehe

rules: tag 9 people you’d like to get to know better

top three ships: um.... idk jonmartin and myself x mental stability

lipstick or chapstick: chapstick or lipgloss

last movie: cant remember ive only watched bon appetit test kitchen for the last 48 hous

last song: so long frank lloyd wright by simon and garfunkel

reading: i just (FINALLY) finished catch and kill by ronan farrow and just started margaret atwood’s the testaments :)

watching: BON APPETIT TEST KITCHEN

totally spies or powerpuff girls: is this a question powerpuff girls obvi

bonus question: how do you take your tea? black :/

I tag: @demuregay @1892 and literally anyone that wants to rowan already tagged my usual mutuals hehe

#:)#personal #fun!

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rebrandtdebibls · 2 years ago

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P RINSES Elizabeth was net 13 jaar oud en haar suster, prinses Margaret. nege toe die Tweede Wêreldoorlog in 1939 uitbreek. Destyds is talle Britse kinders uit Lon den weggestuur om hulle teen hugsanvalle te beskerm. Die

plan was dat die prinsesse Kanada toe sou gaan en daar wag tot die oorlog ver by is, maar hulle het geweier om van hul ouers geskei te word.

"Die kinders wil nie sonder my gaan nie, het hul ma, koningin Elizabeth, gesê. "Ek sal weer nie die koning verlaat nie, en die koning sal Engeland nooit ver laat nie.

Die meisies is dus eers na Balmon kasteel in Skotland gestuur. Daarna he hulle in Windsor-kasteel in Berkshire gaan woon, wat darem net sowat 36 km van hul ouers in Buckingham-paleis af was.

skaars 'n tiener, is daar van haar ook ver g om 'n rol te speel.

By Balmoral is sy en Margaret gevra om tee en koek uit te deel aan die vroue wat bymekaargekom het om as deel van de oorlogspoging naaldwerk te doen en

En omdat daar van almal verwag is om spaarsamig te wees, het die koningin daarop aangedring dat Elizabeth vir haar 14de verjaardag net 'n gewone sponskoek kry.

As tiener was Elizabeth se eerste for mele bydrae- en eerste toespraak-'n

radio-uitsending op 13 Oktober 1940 Sy het op die BBC se Children's Hour met kinders gesels wat na hul ouers verlang

"Duisende van julle moes jul huis ver laat en van jul ma en pa geskei word." het sy gesê. "Ek en my suster. Margaret Rose, voel dit saam met julle, want ons weet uit ervaring wat dit beteken om weg te wees van die mense vir wie ons die liefste is.

Onthou: As daar vrede kom, rus dit in ons, die kinders van vandag, se hande om die wêreld 'n beter en gelukkiger plek te maak.

Sy het haar toespraak afgesluit met: "My suster is aan my sy en ons gaan vir jou goeienag sé. Goeienag en sterkte vir julle almal."

Die toespraak was 'n enorme sukses en die BBC is oorval deur oproepe van luisteraars wat dit weer wou hoor.

IE oorlog het voortgeduur en in Januarie 1942 het prinses Elizabeth 'n ereko lonel geword van die Gre nadiers, 'n infanterieregi ment van die Britse leer.

Op 21 April - haar 16de verjaardag - het sy haar eerste plig in dié nuwe rol uitgevoer toe sy by Windsor-kasteel saam met haar pa die wagte in hul for mele rooi uniforms en kenmerkende beervelhoede ge��nspekteer het.

Vroeg in 1945 is besluit dat die prin ses, toe 18, by die Hulpgebiedsdiens (ATS) moes aansluit. Dit was ook as die vrouetak van die Britse leër bekend.

Sy is geregistreer as tweede-luitenant Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor met die diensnommer 230873. Dit was 'n ererang, maar die werk was eg

Elizabeth het 'n kursus van ses weke in voertuigbestuur en -onderhoud ge volg en was net gereed om haar finale eksamen af te lê toe haar ouers besluit die werk is te gevaarlik. Dit sou behels het dat sy 'n vragmotor in die bedrywige

strate van Londen sou moes bestuur. Toe hulle die besluit met haar .

"Al ons kinders wat nog tuis is, dink onophoudelik aan ons vriende en fami lie oorsee - kinders wat duisend.

Een van die take van die koninklike fr milie tydens die oorlog was om die Brit te moedig te hou en al was Elizabeth.

deel, was sy reg om eksamen te gaan skryf en wou sy niks van kop uittrek hoor

Sy't gesê sy wil nes al die ander mense behandel word wat alles vir die oorlog in

die stryd gewerp het. Die toekomstige koningin het die toet

se met vlieënde vaandels geslaag. Daarna het die tienerprinses haar daarop toegespits om met enjins en kleppe te werk en het sy dit sewe uur per dag gedoen voor sy laatmiddag na die Windsor-kasteel teruggekeer het.

In Maart 1945 is sy afgeneem waar sy 'n ambulans se band help omruil. Miljoe ne mense oor die wêreld heen het aan klank by dié foto gevind en dit het haar net nog meer gelief by die Britse publiek

gemaak. Sy is spoedig tot junior bevelvoerder

bevorder.

Kort daarna het haar pa aangekondig die oorlog is verby. Op die middag van 18 Mei 1945-Europese Oorwinningsdag het die koninklike familie agt verskil lende kere op die balkon van Bucking ham-paleis verskyn om te waai vir die jubelende skare wat onder saamgedrom het.

Elizabeth (toe 19) en haar suster, Mar garet (14), het later hul ouers gesmeek om hulle toe te laat om die paleis te ver laat en die oorwinningsvieringe stille tjies saam met die skare te deel,

Die koning en koningin het ingestem en 'n vriend van Elizabeth wat saam is. het vertel die meisies het eers die vol gende oggend sesuur die trein terug pa duidelik

leis toe gehaal. Almal het die feesvierings

gate uit geniet.

#gutemorgen #goodmorning #bonjour #buenasdías #goedenmorgen #dzieńdobry #buongiorno #dobréráno #καλημέρα #доброе_утро #bomdia #ohayo #স #bonummane

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therainypizzacollector · 6 years ago

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elcinelateleymickyandonie · 3 years ago

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ROBERT YOUNG.

Filmography

1954-60 Father Knows Best

1961-62 Window on Main Street

1969-76 Marcus Welby, M.D.

1972 All My Darling Daughters

1973 My Darling Daughters' Anniversary

1978 Little Women

1984 The Return of Marcus Welby, M.D.

1987 Mercy or Murder?

1987 Conspiracy of Love

1988 Marcus Welby, M.D. A Holiday Affair

Movie theater

1931 The Black Camel

1931 The Sin of Madelon Claudet

1931 The Guilty Generation

1931 Hell Divers

1932 The Wet Parade

1932 New Morals for Old

1932 Unashamed

1932 Strange Interlude

1932 The Kid from Spain

1933 Men Must Fight

1933 Today We Live

1933 Hell Below

1933 Tugboat Annie

1933 Saturday's Millions

1933 The Right to Romance

1934 Spitfire

1934 The House of Rothschild

1934 Whom the Gods Destroy

1934 Paris Interlude

1934 Death on the Diamond

1934 The Band Plays On

1935 West Point of the Air

1935 Vagabond Lady

1935 Calm Yourself

1935 Red Salute

1935 Remember Last Night?

1935 The Bride Comes Home

1936 It's Love Again

1936 The Three Wise Guys

1936 Sworn Enemy

1936 The Bride Walks Out

1936 The Longest Night

1936 Stowaway

1936 Secret Agent

1937 Dangerous Number

1937 I Met Him in Paris

1937 The Emperor's Candlesticks

1937 Married Before Breakfast

1937 The Bride Wore Red

1937 Navy Blue and Gold

1938 Paradise for Three

1938 Three Comrades

1938 Josette

1938 The Toy Wife

1938 Rich Man Poor Girl

1938 The Shining Hou

1939 Honolulu

1939 Bridal Suite

1939 Maisie

1939 Miracles for Sale

1940 Northwest Passage

1940 Florian

1940 The Mortal Storm

1940 Sporting Blood

1940 Dr. Kildare's Crisis

1941 Western Union

1941 The Trial of Mary Dugan

1941 Lady Be Good

1941 Married Bachelor

1941 H.M. Pulham Esq

1942 Joe Smith American

1942 Journey for Margaret

1943 Sweet Rosie O'Grady

1943 Claudia

1943 Slightly Dangerous

1944 The Canterville Ghost

1945 The Enchanted Cottage

1945 Those Endearing Young Charms

1946 The Searching Wind

1946 Claudia and David

1946 Lady Luck

1947 They Won't Believe Me

1947 Crossfire

1948 Relentless

1948 Sitting Pretty

1949 That Forsyte Woman

1951 Adventure in Baltimore

1951 That Forsyte Woman

1951 Bride for Sale

1951 And Baby Makes Three

1951 The Second Woman

1951 Goodbye My Fancy

1952 The Half-Breed

1954 Secrets of the Incas.

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manipaldigital · 3 years ago

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Ten Women Photographers Who Continue to Inspire us

Every March 8 we at Manipal Technologies recognize the 3,500 women in our workforce that play an integral role in our company’s success, by choosing one field where we are successful because women, past and present played a role. Finally, we decided to seek out those women photographers who inspire our own staff.

"Ash", Digital Marketing Manager- Ash is Manipal Tech’s Digital Marketing Manager, responsible for all our outward marketing.

Dorothea Lange: Who doesn’t know Dorothea Lange? Perhaps the most famous depression era-photojournalist , Lange is perhaps best known for humanizing that great economic meltdown, focusing on capturing the despair but also resilience on the faces of hundreds of ordinary men and women across America.

Margaret Bourke-White: Bourke-White had many distinctions- Life Magazine’s first female photographer, America’s first female war correspondent, the first American photographer allowed to photograph life in the Soviet Union, and photographer of subjects as diverse as the Nazi-controlled Buchenwald Concentration Camp shortly after its liberation, and India’s Mahatma Gandhi, shortly before his assassination. She was as intrepid as she was talented, with the result that her work has become a continuing source of inspiration for every aspiring photojournalist. Anna Atkins: Anna Atkins was truly remarkable. Not only was she the first female photographer back in 1843, she was also a trained biologist. Her photos of plant life became the subject of the first book with photographs every printed. Shadi Ghadirian: Shadi Ghadirian is remarkable not only for the art she produces , but also for the fact that she is such a courageous woman, practising her art in the environment of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Fatoumata Diabate: Fatoumata Diabate is from the African country of Mali. She is a modern photographer who focuses on everyday life in her favorite Mali as well as other parts of the world.

Kopal Goel: Kopal is a mountain climber and adventure photographer. She represents a new breed of women around the world that are both doers and chroniclers. Victoria Volchenko is a Russia based photographer who specializes in drone photography. She is starting to make waves in International markets.

Hou Bo: In modern Chinese history, Hou Bo held unique positions, including movement autonomy. She was a chronicler of Mao Zedong.

Victoria Volchenko is a Russia based photographer who specializes in drone photography. She is starting to make waves in International markets.

Gerda Taro: Gerda Taro had a short, yet remarkable career.At one of the most tumultuous eras in history, Gerda Taro (real name Gerta Pohorylle) was not only a woman and a war photographer, but also a Leftist and German Jew, all dangerous tags to possess when the Nazis were in power. Ultimately Greta died in line of duty, making her the first female journalist to do so.

Shadi Ghadirian: Shadi Ghadirian is remarkable not only for the art she produces (9 series of photos till date), but also for the fact that she is such a courageous woman, practising her art in the environment of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Brooke Shaden: This fine-art photographer and photoshop artist is one of the most respected and viewed photographers on the world’s biggest photo-sharing network, Instagram. And that’s all for now. Remember- the camera doesn’t care whether it is a man or a woman behind it, but the viewers sometimes do.

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hetevrouwen · 4 years ago

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Margarethe/Margarete heet in Coevorden hardcore Hou van ballen https://bit.ly/3iuXfnD Auf Telegram folgen: https://ift.tt/3pBvGwG

#😍😍 Vrouwen Vandaag 😍😍 (@vrouwen_vandaag) - Telegram

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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 7 years ago

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December 15, Christmas Caryl

@freefromthecocoon sent me a prompt asking me to write a Christmas Caryl based on The Gift of the Magi short story. Here’s my humble attempt (also on 9L)

The Gift of Us

Carol had wracked her brain for days trying to decide on the perfect present for Daryl. She really wanted to make this Christmas—their first together as a couple—special, but with the world given over to the dead, her options had drastically diminished: weapons (a necessity, but not an exceptional gift), clothes (giving him shirts or pants or shoes that had once belonged to someone else didn’t feel special, no matter how much they needed attire), food (stale, canned, jarred, or a fave made with paltry substitutions hardly seemed worthy), something for his motocycle (Aaron had assured her he had everything Daryl could need for the bike), and good loving (well…that was already a given).

For the time being, they had walls, relative safety, a home, gardens, weapons, and food, all the things that mattered now, and she desperately wanted to give him something that would last, something he’d appreciate, a gift to convey just how much she cared about him.

From the en suite bathroom where she stood brushing her teeth, she stared at his side of the bed. His nightstand, stark compared to hers, held a lamp and a box of bullets that matched the gun inside the drawer. His pillow, undisturbed for nights now with his absence, remained fluffed but askew. The duffle he’d recently started using—“Don’t need a closet,” he’d explained in that gruff voice of his when he’d set it on the floor near the bed. “Got nuthin’ to fill it with. And…just in case we gotta leave quickly…”—held his few possessions: some clothes, a sheathed knife, extra bullets, a few tools. He’d lay his angel-wing vest over the bag like a gothic sentinel when he wasn’t wearing it, but its absence only deepened the longing in her chest for him. The room held other traces of him—a lighter and motorcycle gloves on the dresser, a pair of shoes next to it, and a pack of energy drinks she couldn’t stand the taste of sitting in the corner—and an overwhelming sense of emptiness engulfed her.

She missed him. He’d left nearly a week ago with Tara and Rick to scavenge, and though she expected their return any day now, Christmas, according to the calendar the Alexandrians had kept, was only two days away.

Rick had promised Michonne, just as Daryl had promised her, that they’d return in time to celebrate. She only hoped they hadn’t run into any trouble that would prevent them from keeping their word.

Carol finished brushing her teeth and stopped at the threshold of the room again, scanning it for ideas once more.

And then it hit her.

She’d need materials, several hours of free time, and a few lessons from Margaret over at the Kingdom.

Tomorrow, she determined. She’d trek over there, ask Margaret for help, and, if lucky, complete the project early enough to return home. She’d rather lose sleep than have Daryl arrive home, on Christmas Eve no less, without her there.

Snuggling down into her lonely bed, she smiled contentedly to herself, relieved to have finally settled on a gift both unique and meaningful.

Now if she could only pull it off…

******

Avoiding an overhanging branch as he traipsed through the frozen forest, Daryl blustered a sigh, wondering yet again what he could give to Carol for Christmas. Over the years, he’d brought her treats and trinkets from the runs and hunting trips he’d led: a few shirts in her favorite shade of red; a lamp for her cell when she’d mentioned the prison felt cloyingly dark; a pair of earring studs when she’d realized one of hers had fallen out of her ear somewhere along the way; warm, fuzzy socks when it got cold. But this gift needed to exceed any of those trifles; he wanted it to communicate how much Carol had come to mean to him.

He’d considered the usual (clothes, jewelry or accessories, chocolate, or books or puzzles, her favorite pastimes) but nothing struck him as significant enough.

What would relay to her how she’d helped him grow into a person, a man who’d learned how to love and let others love him? What could he possibly give her to let her know how gratitude filled him when he recalled her dragging him back from his destructive path after he’d failed to bring Sophia back to her?

He’d watched her grow, too. From a quietly brave woman to a revered leader, experienced in strategy and with weapons, and light years beyond any of their family and friends in the art of war.

And then it hit him. A gift to illustrate how far she’d come and sentimental enough to portray his love for her.

He’d just need to stop at the Hilltop before returning to Alexandria.

“Should be home by tomorrow,” he threw over his shoulder at Tara and Rick as they followed in his tracks.

He quickened his pace, his footsteps lighter now that, not only would he be back with Carol tomorrow, but he’d have the perfect gift to give her on Christmas.

*****

“It’ll cost you that knife.”

Carol’s hand flew to her hip, the focus of Margaret’s pointing, and wrapped her hand around the hilt. She drew her brows together. “My knife? The Kingdom has plenty of weapons. What do you need this one for?” She asked amiably, but she didn’t like the sound of someone asking for her weapon. Besides, she’d had her knife since the prison. Using it felt like second nature, and she’d be loathe to give it up. “I thought you’d be willing to help me…” ”I am,” the woman, not much older than Carol, assured. “But seems we’re running low on weapons lately. And now that the communities are bartering and bargaining with each other, it’s kinda the rule. I can help you—and I will. Today, since that’s what you want.—but it’ll cost you the knife. Been needin’ something I can hold on to when I’m out there running and fighting. It’s easy to lose your weapon. Suppose that’s why you got a knife with a knuckle guard. Seems that’d suit me just fine.”

Carol eyed Margaret cautiously, furiously debating in her heart whether to give up the knife that had nearly become a part of her or simply walk away. There were others Carol could ask to assist her with her gift for Daryl, but she’d seen Margaret’s supplies and handiwork firsthand, and no one would do a better job. She couldn’t mess this up. Not over a knife. Not when she could just as easily use or claim one of Alexandria’s many knives as her own.

Daryl—and his Christmas present—meant more to her than any hunk of metal.

“Deal,” she conceded, removing the knife and its worn-out sheath from her belt loop.

Margaret turned the weapon over in her hand, then gripped it for good measure. “It’s perfect,” she noted.

Carol nodded regretfully, her mind now focused on Daryl’s gift. “So…how long do you think it’ll take to complete the project?”

“Oh, we’ll be done in a few hours,” Margaret assured her. “Now, let’s go pick out the right color.”

*****

It hadn’t taken much to get Rick and Tara to agree to stop at the Hilltop. They wanted to check in on Maggie (he did, too) and see what, if anything, the community could spare for trade.

Daryl spent time with the woman he saw as a sister—she thrived here as the leader, and the Hilltop seemed just as healthy—before he excused himself and headed toward the line of huts against the compound’s wall.

“Hey there,” Boyd, a teenager Daryl remembered from his brief stay at the community, greeted as he approached.

“Hey,” Daryl returned, his eyes quickly roaming the three-sided shack they used for blacksmithing and hide-tanning. “Your dad around? I could use his help with somethin’.”

“Whaddya have in mind?”

Daryl spun to see Trevor, the tall, lean Southerner in his 40’s who knew more about hides and tanning than any man he’d ever met.

“Got somethin’ I was hopin’ you’d help me make. Today if possible.” Daryl described exactly what he had in mind.

“Sure will be nice,” Trevor stated. “But…it’ll take some time.”

“I’ll stay as long as it takes,” Daryl assured. “Think we can finish it today?”

“I already got the materials, but…you know I got a schedule to keep, what with the trade items for the Kingdom due soon and the snow comin’ off and on.”

“I could help you?” Daryl suggested, praying Trevor wouldn’t take him up on the offer. He much preferred the woods and hunting over a kiln and pelt work. Besides, he wanted to make it home to Carol, the sooner the better. And definitely before Christmas tomorrow like he’d promised her.

The man chuckled. “I know you ain’t any good with that stuff. You lived here for a short time, remember?”

Daryl’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Yeah, I know. Well…what can I do?”

Trevor considered it for a moment, then said, “Tell you what...I’ll help you—guaranteed we’ll get it done today—if you trade me for your vest.”

Daryl’s brows knit together. “My vest?”

“Yeah. That thing’s a rare beaut, what with those angel wings and braided panels on the sides.” Trevor leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. “Works like a magnet on the ladies, too. I seen ‘em checkin’ it out.”

Daryl reared back slightly. “The vest?”

“Or you,” Trevor smirked. “But since I ain’t you, I’ll try the vest.”

He’d never known the vest to help him with the ladies before, and he’d had it since long before the turn. As much as his crossbow, it was almost a part of him. He hated the idea of seeing it—yet again—on someone else and thought it a steep price for what he was asking.

Still, the gift he’d have for Carol would be well worth it if she liked it half as much as he thought she might.

“Alright,” he conceded ruefully, shedding the beloved vest like a second skin. “Let’s get started. I wanna get home as soon as possible.”

*****

Carol carefully withdrew Daryl’s gift from her knapsack and laid it on the bed. It looked perfect, the color an identical match, the handiwork exquisite, the details refined. Not a curve or stitch out of place, it would replace the old set nicely.

And she could hardly wait to present it to him.

She’d returned after nightfall to an empty house but had no doubt Daryl would make it back by tomorrow like he’d promised, as long as nothing untoward had occurred out on the road.

With one last satisfied look at the gift, she folded it up and tucked it into the small Christmas bag she’d finagled from the stash Carl had found. Downstairs, she snipped a piece of string from the kitchen catch-all drawer and tied the handles together, then set the gift on the coffee table.

Carol hummed as she heated up a pot of lentil soup (the only kind left in the pantry), wondering where Daryl was right now. Several miles out? Approaching the gate? Walking up the street? Had they run into any trouble? Were any of them hurt? Even now, after months on end without enemies tearing at their compound, innumerable dangers abounded. Wounds and starvation, random enemies and thirst, nature and mistakes…just a few of the pitfalls that could befall them. They both worried when without the other.

She knew he and Rick would have kept track of the days, and Tara likely kept them in line with her sass and wit. Carol smiled at the thought, stirring the pot one last time before turning off the stove.

She heard the front door rattle, then Daryl’s voice reached her. “Carol?”

“In here,” she exclaimed as she rushed to the front of the house.

Daryl barely had time to close the door before Carol threw herself into his arms. She radiated warmth in contrast to the biting cold outside that had seeped into his clothes and his bones. “Hey,” he murmured against her hair, wrapping his arms snugly around her.

“Hi.”

Her breath teased his ear, and he nuzzled into her embrace, gently kissing her neck.

She felt like home: safe, warm, welcoming. Unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Each time he left or she set out somewhere, his arms—his heart—felt bereft. But coming home to her, reuniting with her after an absence, made up for all the lonely days, frigid nights, and dastardly deeds he had to endure to get back to her.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, we’re all good,” he answered as he withdrew to give her the once-over. “How ‘bout here?”

“Status quo.” She looked up at him, this man she loved. His bright eyes stared heatedly at her, his cheeks pink from the cold. He looked tired but no worse for the wear of having been gone for nearly a week. “You made it back for Christmas.”

“Promised you I would,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss her.

Even now, after months of being with her, allowed to kiss her, hold her, touch her, love her, she made his blood boil, his heart race, and he didn’t know how this hell of a world granted him the treasure of loving Carol.

His lips, like the rest of him, were cold, but firm as she welcomed him home, and she sunk into his embrace, pressed herself against the solid wall of his chest. Unlike those who’d come before, the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, the muscles of his chest, the rapid beat of his heart sent a thrill through her instead of a ripple of fear. She doubted she’d ever get used to the haven of his embrace.

“Merry Christmas to me,” she pronounced as he pulled away.

He chuckled, the pink in his cheeks deepening slightly, and he kissed her forehead. “To me,” he corrected. “But let me shower this week off’a me and we can get back to the merry-making.” He winked at her.

“Then hurry it up,” she encouraged, lightly pushing in the direction of the stairs. “Merry isn’t all I’d like to be making.”

“Impatient, aren’t ya?” he teased over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m patient,” she punned. “Been waiting for a week now. I’m tired of being patient.”

She heard him chortle as he headed up the stairs, and a smile spread across her face at their banter, her heart light and happy.

She turned the soup back on to simmer, keeping it warm for them, and toasted some of the bread they’d bartered from the Kingdom. She couldn’t make him a feast after his trek, but she could have a warm meal ready.

Fifteen minutes later, Daryl’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he came into the room, looking clean and refreshed, his hair wet. He’d donned black sweat pants, a long sleeve, dark blue shirt, and a clean pair of socks.

“Somethin’ smells good,” he complimented, turning toward the stove and peeking into the pot in order to hide the gift he’d brought down with him.

“I think that’s you,” Carol stated, running her hand across his back as she moved around him to grab bowls from the cabinet.

He turned as she moved, heading toward the living room, but stopped abruptly when he saw a small gift already sitting on the coffee table. Unsure who else would’ve brought Carol a present—she deserved them all, but times what they were, he hadn’t expected anyone else to go out of their way—he did a one-eighty and stood watching her.

Unaware of her audience, Carol set the bowls on the counter, withdrew spoons from the drawer, and began ladling soup into the bowls. “I made dinner.” She looked over her shoulder, unsure where Daryl had gone, and did a double-take when she saw him standing watching her, one hand behind his back.

She stood up, facing him. “What?”

He cleared his throat and slowly stepped toward her. “I…got you somethin’.” He withdrew the gift from behind him as he neared her, watching her face for her response.

Carol’s eyes slid over the gently-wrapped present, the simple tan cloth giving away a two-inch thick, one-foot long shape, before sliding up to Daryl.

“Merry Christmas,” he declared.

Her face broke out into a smile that reached her eyes, and his heart sped up. “You didn’t have to… I can’t believe you did this.”

Pleased by her genuine joy, he held the gift out to her, and she reverently took it, sliding down into one of the dining room chairs. He sat in the chair next to her, and they half-turned toward one another.

Carol gently pulled the strings of twine until the bow untied, slid it off the package, then unrolled the cloth from a sanded pine box. Her eyes, a question mark, flicked to his, but he remained silent, waiting for her to open the box.

She snapped open the latch and lifted the lid to find a knife sheath, tan in color, with a belt attachment. Carol picked the sheath up to get a better look at the brand on the long, blade-end.

A Cherokee rose.

Daryl watched emotions play across Carol’s face. Surprise, curiosity, awe, then…sadness as she noticed the rose?

His heart fell. For so long, he’d imagined the Cherokee rose as their…thing. A symbol of hope, it’d become a marker of them, their relationship. From Sophia and that grave he still thanked the Powers That Be was empty, to a blackened forest and the memory of all that white-petaled flower represented to him. To them, he’d thought. But now tears filled her eyes, and…well…he felt at a loss.

He watched her eyes slide up to the lighter brand, more of a drawing than an impression in the leather, and she held the sheath closer to her face. Recognition dawned as she took in the monochrome rainbow, and she grasped the sheath to her chest in both hands, squeezing her eyes shut.

To the best of her knowledge, Daryl didn’t do leatherwork. He’d gone out of his way to make this. And the added details of the Cherokee rose and the rainbow…her heart broke at the time and effort he must’ve spent to make such a wonderful gift. And she couldn’t even use it.

Daryl sat, riveted to the chair and so confused he was afraid to breathe. He thought for sure she’d like it. Personalized and safer than that old raggedy one she had now with the seams falling apart, he knew it’d keep her safe and her knife handy. He hadn’t meant to hurt her with the symbols…only to keep Sophia and him with her, close to her. A sort of…talisman of protection.

He swallowed hard, believing he’d made a colossal mistake. “Carol…I…I’m sorry. I just…”

“It’s gorgeous.”

Her voice came softly, filled with wonder, and he sat in silence once again.

She stared at him, his body tense with uncertainty, and she realized what he must be thinking. “I love it,” she whispered, her voice still filled with tears. She looked at the sheath once again. “The Cherokee rose…us. And the rainbow…Sophia. So you’ll both always be with me. Protecting me.”

Daryl felt relief sweep into his body. She didn’t hate it, understood it just as much as he’d wanted and hoped.

“It’s…amazing. I love it. But…”

But…? His heart fell again, afraid of what she’d say.

“Daryl, I…I don’t have my knife anymore.”

Of the many scenarios that had quickly crossed his mind, that wasn’t one of them. He shook his head, clearing away cobwebs. “Whaddya mean you don’t have your knife?”

Carol set the sheath back in the box and, without a word, got up, retrieved the gift bag from the coffee table, and set it in front of him. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

Her words, though stained with tears, sounded genuine, but Daryl still gave her a quizzical look as she wiped tears from her face.

“Open your present,” she entreated.

None of this made sense, but Daryl dutifully untied the twine from the bag and removed a handful of neatly-folded, flaxen-colored material. He raised his eyebrows as he unfolded it to reveal angel wings. Wings that looked exactly like the ones on the vest he’d just traded.

Just before he’d left, Carol had told him exactly what she thought of that vest. “Those wings are starting to fray,” she’d said as he’d thrown it on.

“They’ll be alright,” he assured himself more than her. “Cain’t exactly go to the store and get another. Or the tailor and get ‘em repaired.”

“No…but I can’t imagine you without them. You’ve always been there to swoop in and bring me back to safety.”

He’d met her gaze. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Just seems like any time I was too far gone or on the brink, you’d come in and bring me back to myself…and you. Like my own personal angel.”

He’d leaned to kiss her then. “Ain’t no angel.” Another kiss. “But I’ll be back soon, and I’ll take you to heaven.”

She giggled as he kissed her again. “See you soon,” he’d promised, then he’d headed out the door to go meet Rick and Tara.

Now, he stared at the details of the wings, the arches of the tops, the layers of feather-work, the long, swooping plumes that would’ve covered most of his back. An exact replica of the wings that adorned the vest he’d given up to ‘buy’ her sheath.

“It’s only part of the gift,” Carol explained. “I’ll remove the old ones and affix these.” She saw his reserved hesitation. “If you want…?”

Daryl gently laid them out on the table, admiring the handiwork, the details, the thought she’d put into this. And hated the words he spoke next.

“I don’t have my vest anymore.” Before the shock on her face wore off and she could ask, he said, “I bartered the vest for the sheath. Wanted to give you somethin’ nice for Christmas. It’s our first…ya know, together.” He took her hand in his. “And I know that sheath you got is comin’ apart. Afraid you’re gonna accidentally get stabbed. And I’d like to keep you around for a good, long while.”

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

“Oh, Daryl. I traded my knife for the wings. I wanted your gift to be special, too. I know how much you love that vest—and I do, too. I just want my angel around.”

With her free hand, she pushed the hair away from his face and laced her fingers through his now-dry locks.

“What a pair we are, huh?” Daryl scoffed, stunned that they’d both bartered away the exact items the other had gotten a gift for.

She nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “I guess so. But this is still the best Christmas ever.”

He quirked his head. “How so?”

“You gave up your most prized possession for me. I gave up mine for you. And the gifts we got one another? Here? At the end of the world?” She raised her tone with each question, indicating how ridiculous it should’ve sounded. Instead, it made perfect sense: the two of them, together, giving up all they had for one another. “Look how much love we have.”

He nodded, conceding her point. “’Spose so.” Then, his expression turning playful, he leaned toward her. “And there’s more where that came from.”

“That’s right…you promised me a trip to heaven.”

“Ummhmm,” he murmured against her lips, and proceeded to take her there with touches as soft as rose petals and angel wings.

#caryl #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #christmas caryl #caryl fanfiction #christmas caryl 2017 #caryl fanfic #my writing #personal

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captainhookcaptainfreedom · 7 years ago

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The Worst/Best Christmas Ever - CS Christmas AU - CS AU Week 2k17

Okay, so I FINALLY finished this monster that was supposed to be only about 1k (at most) but then ended up over 4K because why the hell not?

I'm actually pretty proud of this little thing. It's a fluff monster tbh. There is plot...I'm just not sure where it is.

So, in honor of Day 1 of CS AU Week 2k17, here is my Captain Swan Christmas AU!!!!

(also FYI no beta on this! very rough!)

This had to be the worst day of Emma’s life. Well, maybe not the worst day (she’d had a lot of bad days after all) but this was definitely one of the worst.

Pull yourself together, Emma she thought to herself. It’s not like you haven’t spent Christmas alone before.

Even knowing that this wouldn’t be any different from just 4 years before, Emma couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She’d been looking forward to Christmas for ages. It was the first time in months that she’d get to see them in person. See her family. She’d been busy with work and getting her degree and of course Henry was always a handful just like any six year old.

Oh yes. She wasn’t spending Christmas completely alone. How was she supposed to tell Henry that he wouldn’t be seeing his Aunt and Uncles this Christmas? He’d been just as excited as Emma. He’d been even more excited.

Emma had always tried to make Christmas a happy time for Henry even when they didn’t have much. He was too young to remember those years though. He only remembered driving to Storybrooke, Maine each December to spend Christmas at his Uncle David and Aunt Mary Margaret’s house. It was always special. It was magical. Emma even thought so.

What was she going to tell him?

“You alright, lass?” A concerned voice interrupted her panicked thoughts.

She had been standing outside her apartment door when she’d received the notification of the flight cancellation. She’d then done a quick and desperate search of road conditions and knew that it would be near impossible for them to get from Boston to Storybrooke safely.

So, it did make sense that it was their neighbor, one Killian Jones, who would stumble upon Emma.

Emma pushed herself away from the wall and glanced over at Killian. “I’m fine,” she quickly and automatically responded. She watched as his brow furrowed as he watched her.

“You are most definitely not fine, love.” he responded, easily spotting her lie. He took a step closer to his apartment door and gestured with his head for her to come along inside with him. “Come on to my flat and tell me your troubles over a cuppa. It won’t be the first time. You know I won’t judge.”

Emma rolled her eyes at him but followed, silently grateful. “It’s an apartment and I will not be have a “cuppa” unless it’s hot cocoa.”

Emma found herself curled up on the familiar black leather sofa (which was covered in the slightly less masculine, but just as familiar blue knitted afghan) of her neighbor, Killian Jones.

“Here you are, love. Hot cocoa as requested,” he handed the steaming mug to her carefully. “With cinnamon of course.” He smiled and Emma nodded her head gratefully at him.

She hummed as she felt the warmth of the cocoa seep into her hands and smelt the delicious combination of chocolate and cinnamon.

He sat down beside her on the sofa, tilting his body so he faced her. He let her just sit for a moment as he sipped his tea and she sipped her cocoa. He’d learned that the warm drink did wonders to help Emma calm down whenever she was worried. The warmth was likely what did it. A warm cup of tea had always had the same effect on himself and his brothers.

“So, do you want to tell me your troubles?”

Emma sighed. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. It’s nothing really.”

Killian shook his head. “You’re not getting out of it that easy. You know it’s no bother to me if you want to share whatever’s on your mind. And obviously it is something. It’s been months since I’ve seen you this upset. I’m here and I’m listening, Emma.”

“It’s silly.”

Killian rolled his eyes and gave her a pointed look

“Our flight, Henry’s and mine, back home got cancelled. With the weather conditions the way they are, there’s no way we’ll be able to go home for Christmas.”

Killian looked at her, a confused expression crossing his face. “I thought - Isn’t this home? Boston?”

Emma offered a small smile. “Maine is. A tiny little town on the coast of Maine is home. My brother lives there with his wife. Henry and I spend every Christmas there with them. It’s something incredibly special.”

“Family is what makes it home, isn’t that right?” Killian offered her a sad smile.

“I shouldn’t be complaining about this to you. You’re so far from your family. It’s hardly fair of me to be upset over not seeing them this one day when it’s a reasonably short drive whenever we want.”

“Love, I’m exactly the one you should be complaining to. I get it. Being away from family, especially around the holidays, is hard. And, for the record, my family isn’t nearly as far away as you think they are love. Yes, many of my relatives live in Ireland still, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have family here in the states.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Emma leaned back into the sofa with a frustrated sigh. “I just don’t know what to tell Henry. I mean, of course I’m upset myself, but he’s the one I’m worried about. He hasn’t stopped talking about Christmas for weeks. The Christmas he knows is all about going and seeing family in a snow covered town and waking up to the smell of cinnamon pancakes and seeing glittering lights on a giant natural tree. David and Mary Margaret go all out. I’ve barely done anything.” Emma groaned. “I’m such a failure as a mother. I should have the apartment all decorated and I should’ve bought him more gifts. I’m just used to relying on them to figure out the Christmas magic. I’m the one who should have been doing it, but I didn’t and now it’s too late.”

Killian shook his head. He places his mug down on the coffee table then reached over, took Emma’s mug from her hands, and did the same with her mug. Then, he hugged her. Eventually she gave in and hugged back.

“You are not a bad mum. You are wonderful with Henry. None of this is your fault. Most days, you’re barely scraping by. I know you don’t like to admit it, but I’ve witnessed it, alright? You somehow still manage to always have a smile on your face for your lad. You always have time no matter how tired you are, no matter how much work you have left to do. So maybe this Christmas isn’t going to be like Henry’s previous experiences. That doesn’t mean it’s going to be bad.”

“I just don’t even know where to start.”

Killian smiled at her and stood up. “Start by telling Henry that your plans have changed. Explain to him why.” He paused. “Have you called your family yet? Let them know that you can’t make it?”

Emma shook her head, guilt written on her face.

“Well, maybe start by calling them and then tell Henry. Then, I’ll swing by your place and let the young lad know that he and his mother are both invited to spend Christmas eve and day at the Jones residence next store.” Emma’s mouth opened and she looked ready to fight him on that but Killian just charged right through the rest of his instructions. “Also, as long as this works for your relatives of course, let him know that you’ll be calling or video-chatting with his Aunt and Uncle sometime over Christmas. It’s not the same, but it is nice to be able to see them, I can speak from experience.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Emma finally spoke up as Killian paused. “We’re not spending Christmas with you.”

Killian looked at her with a smug smirk on his face but he played innocent. “Why not? Henry knows me. I’d maybe even venture to say that he likes me. And I will have you know that Christmases in the Jones households are always wonderful. No matter what. You would be more than welcome to join.”

“Killian, no. We’re not going to intrude.”

Killian let out a frustrated grunt. “Swan, you are not intruding. I’m inviting you. My brothers are coming with their respective significant others and we’re somehow all going to fit in this small flat. That’s one that hasn’t been figured out yet, but I assure you that no one is going to mind it if there’s more people. The more the merrier and all that. Plus, I guarantee you that my sister-in-law will be incredibly grateful to have another woman around. She loves us all dearly, but I’m sure she’d love you even more. Before you even say anything, no one would mind Henry. They’re all fond of children. There’s nothing wrong with you spending your Christmas with my family and with me.” He looked at her a moment but then looked down shyly, his hand coming up to his ear. “I’d be quite happy if you did.” His roguish smile returned as he looked back up at her. “Plus, I already bought you and the lad gifts anyway. It’s almost serendipitous that you’ll now be here to receive them.”

“Killian! You shouldn’t be getting us-”

“Oh Swan, really? If I have the extra money and want to buy my favorite little man and his mother Christmas gifts, I am allowed to.”

“We shouldn’t spend christmas with you.” Emma refused again but it was obvious she was starting to come around.

“Says who?” He said wearily. “C’mon. For once in your life Swan,” Killian reached forward and grabbed her hands, pulling her up from the sofa to stand in front of him, “take a chance and have some fun. You deserve it.”

“Henry, Henry sweetheart. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

The waterworks had started almost as soon as Emma had broken the news that they wouldn’t be headed to Storybrooke. Henry’s little face had screwed up,his eyes squeezed shut, and then he’d let out a heartbreaking wail.

“Oh,come on, Henry,” Emma wrapped her arms around Henry and brought him close to her. She ran her hand up and down his back. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be fine. I know this isn’t what we planned. I know you’re upset, but it’s still Christmas. We can still have a wonderful Christmas here in Boston.”

Henry continued to cry.

It was two hours later when Emma had finally coaxed Henry to dry his eyes. He now sat on the plush love seat, his small body swaddled in three blankets. Emma had slipped a warm mug of cocoa into his hands with firm instructions for him to drink carefully and slowly.

There was a soft knock at the apartment door before it swung open and Killian stepped in. He followed the sound of little sniffles coming from the living room. He rapped his knuckles on the doorway, capturing the little boy’s attention. Henry looked up with a pout.

“What has you so upset, lad?” Killian walked over and crouched down in front of Henry.

Henry’s frown deepened. “I - I don't -” he stumbled over the words as tears threatened to begin flowing again, “I don’t get to have Christmas.”

Killian looked at the boy with kind eyes. “Hush now,” he gently wiped the stray tears from Henry’s cheeks. “You’ll get to have Christmas. We all get to have Christmas.”

“But we can’t get there,” he protested.

Killian laughed kind heartedly. “Christmas isn’t a place. Christmas is everywhere. Christmas will happen right here in this building. It’ll be in this very flat. Mine too.” He smiled at the boy. “And that’s exactly where you’ll have Christmas. That is if you want to.”

Henry looked at Killian and then up at Emma who was standing by the doorway. His round eyes returned back to the man in front of him. “Christmas at your house? Can Mommy come too?”

“Of course your mum can come!” He replied with a laugh and a smile.

“But-But there’s no snow here. How can it be Christmas with no snow?”

“Well,” Killian started, “lucky for you, I have a friend coming for Christmas who is quite the expert when it comes to snow.”

“Really? A snow expert?”

“Really, truly.”

Henry thought for a moment and then looked over at his mother nervously. “Can we?”

Killian looked over at her too, his eyes wide and innocent. “Yes, can we?”

Emma fought back a smile. “Yes, we can.” The edges of her lips pulled up just a little.

Henry turned back to Killian, a happy look on his face. “We can have Christmas with you!” he squealed excitedly. He then reached out to wrap his arms around Killian’s neck in a hug. “Thank you Killy,” the little boy said.

Killian smiled into the boy’s soft hair. “You’re very welcome lad.”

The next day, Christmas Eve, Emma and Henry could be found in the apartment of Killian Jones at an hour far too early for Emma’s tastes.

“There aren’t any decorations,” Henry said. He sent a confused and accusatory look towards Killian.

“Not yet,” Killian said. “It’s tradition in my family to do all the decorating the day before. Now, my brother and his wife are bringing the tree so we won’t be able to start on that until they get here. We can, however, turn on some Christmas carols, drink some eggnog, and start the rest of the decorating. How does that sound, lad?”

Henry enthusiastically nodded his head. “Yes, please.”

The happy trio almost didn’t hear the doorbell when it rang at noon. They were having too much fun. Emma had been surprised by Killian’s taste in music. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t his chosen playlist of holiday tunes that varied between classic Bing Crosby and classic rock. Laughter surely did fill the air. Killian’s flat looked a great deal more festive since their arrival there that morning. Currently, the three of them were in Killian’s small kitchen decorating Christmas cookies.

The bell rang again and Killian hurriedly licked the icing from his wrist and headed towards the door, calling out to whomever was on the other side, “Coming! Coming!”

He opened the door and a giant smile spread across his face. “Liam!” he shouted. “Elsa!”

The pair on the other side of the door smiled at him. “Brother!” Liam called back, clapping a hand on Killian’s shoulder.

Elsa smiled and tried to contain a laugh. “Um, Killian?” She tapped her nose.

He looked at her confused for a moment but then wiped his finger against his own nose. It came back with a smear of blue icing. He laughed. “Huh. I’m sure this could be blamed on a certain little elf in the kitchen.”

Elsa laughed again. “So, do we get to be introduced?”

“Of course, of course, sorry. Come on in.” Killian opened the door wider and let his older brother and sister-in-law inside. They shed their coats and handed them over to Killian followed by hugs all around. Killian guided them towards the kitchen. “Emma. Henry.”

Emma had managed to wrangle Henry away from the sweet treats and forced him to turn towards the new arrivals even as he attempted to hide behind his mother. “Hi,” Emma said, nervousness clear in her voice.

“You must be Miss Swan,” the curly haired man said to her with a bright smile. “My little brother’s mentioned you more than once. It is an absolute pleasure to finally meet you.” He walked towards her and grasped both of her hands.

“Oh,” Emma said surprised. Killian had mentioned her? What had he said? “I - It’s very nice to meet you too!” She stumbled over her words in surprise.

“Killian laughed from behind his brother. He reached a hand onto the older man’s shoulder and pulled him away from Emma a few steps. “Emma, this is my older brother, Liam.” He motioned to the elegant blond woman behind them. She stepped up closer and placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “This is his wife, Elsa.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Emma.”

“You too.” Emma said, relaxing a bit in response to Elsa’s kind and casual smile.

“And who is that charming young man with you?” Elsa asked playfully, pointing towards the shy Henry.

“That,” Killian began with a smile, “would be young Henry.” He leaned down towards the boy and nudged him forward. “You remember me telling you about my friend the snow expert, don’t you Henry?”

He nodded his head.

“Well, Elsa is that snow expert. I am sure she would love to help you make some snow to celebrate with.”

“I would love to.” She smiled at the little boy. “Snow is one of my favorite parts of Christmas.”

“Me too.”

Elsa took Henry’s small hand and moved him out towards the living room after getting a nod of permission from Emma.

“So,” Killian turned to his brother. “Do you need some help bringing up your bags?”

Liam nodded. “That would be fine. We also have something a bit bigger that you’ll need to help me bring up.” Liam smiled brightly at them both, mischief in his eyes.

Henry sat in front of the big tree, his eyes wide and his mouth dropping open just slightly.

“It’s a beautiful tree, Liam, really. Thank you.” Killian told his brother.

“Well, we couldn’t show up empty handed,” Elsa said. She sat next to Henry and was still busy cutting out paper snowflakes. Henry had momentarily forgotten about the promise of snow while he was still enamored by the giant pine tree.

The sound of the doorbell rang out again throughout the apartment.

“Ah, that must be our brother. Late as always,” Liam joked.

Killian laughed and moved to open the door. “You’re finally here,” he laughed as he motioned for the men outside to come in.

“Come on, Florida is a bit far from Boston, okay? And god, did we have delays or what trying to get here?” the younger man said, turning to his companion. “And bloody hell is it cold up here.”

Elsa rolled her eyes and shouted to the youngest of the brothers from where she sat in the living room, not even turning around to look at him, “Maybe if you wore something warmer than a t-shirt you wouldn’t have that problem.”

“How does she-?” he started, but shook his head, deciding to drop it. After all, this did happen every year.

A rumbling laugh responded. “I try to tell him, Elsa. Every year.” the other new arrival finally spoke up.

Killian joined in the laughter at his brother’s expense. “He just can’t learn.” He leaned over and ruffled his brother’s hair.

“Oh, Killian, really?”

He laughed. “Your hair’s longer.”

“Is it?!” came a surprised shout from Liam and he darted out towards the entryway to catch sight of his other brother and his supposedly longer hair.

“Come off it!” the younger Liam groaned. “I like my hair. Dakkar likes my hair. The two of you are the only ones who feel any need to poke fun.”

“We’re your brothers, Brennan. Of course we’re going to poke fun,” Liam responded.

The two Liams continued bantering as they made their way farther inside the apartment. Killian lingered by the door with his brother’s partner. “It’s good to see you Nemo,” he said as the darker man pulled him into a hug.

Introductions were made. Very confusing introductions were made.

“Yes, my older brother is named Liam and so is my younger brother. I thought I’d told you this Swan.”

“I’m Liam David.”

“And I’m Liam Brennan.”

“I get just plain Liam because I’m older. He’s Liam Brennan. Or Brennan. Or LB. Or Little Liam.” Older Liam smirked. “Little Liam is my personal favorite.”

The Younger Liam let out what could almost be considered a growl but was quickly placated by the arm that wrapped around his waist and the firm body that accompanied it.

“I’m Dakkar Nemo,” the man that arm and body belonged to said, introducing himself to Emma. He smiled honestly and amicably at her.

Emma smiled back at him. “Emma Swan.”

He nodded at her and turned back to the other men.

Elsa leaned over towards Emma. “Nemo is Liam’s partner of seven years. Think of them as a married couple,” she whispered to her.

Emma nodded and smiled her thanks at the other woman. She hadn’t been 100% sure what the relationship was between Liam Brennan and Nemo, but Elsa’s explanation matched up with Emma’s suspicions.

She was very glad that Henry knew enough to not comment on the relationship between the two men. She wasn’t homophobic by any means and it’s not as if Henry was a judgemental little boy. He was, however, always questioning and curious. Emma was now very grateful that when she and Henry had gone up to Storybrooke this past July, Henry’s Uncle August had currently had a boyfriend. It was much easier for an uncle to answer his nephew’s questions than Emma assumed it would be for a stranger, even one that seemed as nice as Nemo.

It was almost midnight.

The guest room had been set up for Liam and Nemo. Killian’s own bedroom had been arranged for Liam and Elsa. Killian had set up the sofa bed for his own use.

The tree glittered with lights, ornaments, garlands, and tinsel. Liam Brennan had laughed along with Henry as the two struggled together to make a homemade popcorn garland. Elsa had needed to intervene in order to make sure the garland got finished.

Emma had found herself getting along well with all of Killian’s family, especially his in-laws Elsa and Nemo. They’d all instantly brought her (and Henry) into their little circle.

When the Jones family had gathered around Elsa’s laptop to skype her sister and brother-in-law along with some other family members, Emma had taken Henry back to their own apartment next store in order to skype their own family in Storybrooke. Henry had initially whined at having to leave Killian’s but had quickly brightened back up when his Uncle David had answered the video call. Henry had proceeded to tell David and Mary Margaret all about the “Best Christmas Ever” they were having and his new friends, Liam and Elsa.

When Elsa popped her head in to let the Swan duo know that their calls were done and that they hadn’t needed to leave, Henry had quickly blown kisses goodbye to his favorite Aunt and Uncle, shouted an “I love you!” followed by a “Merry Christmas!”, and barrelled towards Elsa and back over to the Jones home. That left Emma alone on the video call with her brother and sister-in-law.

“So,” Mary Margaret had said with a knowing smile, “are you ready to trade in the Nolans for the Joneses?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Hmmm, yeah, of course not,” David rolled his eyes. “I better meet this Killian guy first, okay? What kind of name is Killian anyway?”

“David,” Emma affectionately whined, “there’s nothing between Killian and I.” She paused. “And it’s Irish.”

Now, as it approached the very start of Christmas day, Emma stood back in Killian Jones’ kitchen. She stood beside him. Each held a glass of eggnog (with just a splash of rum). Henry was asleep in front of the tree, wrapped up in the afghan that usually covered Killian’s sofa.

“So, Swan,” he spoke quietly to her as to not wake the others. “How has this Christmas been so far?”

She smiled at him. “It’s been wonderful Killian. I can’t thank you enough. You, and your family, are absolutely incredible.”

Killian gave her his trademark smirk. “You think I’m incredible, love?”

Emma snorted.

“In all honesty, Emma, this has been my best Christmas in years. You’re the incredible one, love. A part of me hopes that your flight gets cancelled next year. And the year after that. And every year as long as you and Henry live next door.” He stepped closer to her and reached his free hand out to tangle with hers.

Emma didn’t know what to do. Emma didn’t know what to say. He was so close. He was always so close. He was always there whenever she was upset. He was always there to make her smile and to make Henry laugh. He was always there. Always so close. Yet, it never felt too close with him.

“Killian, I-” A dong noise came from by the door. It was the antique grandfather clock Killian had in the entryway.

Killian smiled at her, his eyes practically sparkling. “It’s Christmas,” he whispered, childlike excitement clear in his voice. He leaned forward, Emma held her breath, and he place a soft kiss upon her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Swan,” he breathed. He backed away, a small smile still on his face.

Emma watched him turn and start to walk out the kitchen. No. She rushed forward. “Killian.” She grasped his hand and pulled him back towards her. His blue eyes looked so sad and so hopeful. She pulled him towards her and then she stepped closer. She kissed him. She kissed him on his lips.

Killian wrapped his arm around her. She was it. She was everything.

When they broke apart, Killian couldn’t have worn a happier expression on his face. Emma stepped back but didn’t let her hands leave his. A small smile was playing on her lips.

“Merry Christmas, Swan,” he repeated.

She nodded at him. “And to many more,” she laughed.

Ta-dah! That's all for the Holiday AU! Happy Day 1 of CS AU WEEK 2k17!!! (Now I just have to figure out what to do for a crossover!)

Merry Christmas in September Everyone!

#captain swan #CS AU Week 2k17 #cs #ouat #once upon a time #emma swan #killian jones #henry #christmas #Christmas au #holiday au #day 1 #liam jones #liam jones II #elsa #captain nemo

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