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The call from his brother isn’t necessarily unexpected. It is Christmastime - the one time of year one starts reflecting on the past year and thinking about all the important people in one’s life. But since getting married last winter, shortly after Valentine’s Day, Killian’s barely heard from his brother or new sister-in-law. A postcard from the honeymoon, the occasional tag in a Facebook post, but otherwise, nothing.
It’s been difficult, he will admit, watching his brother go from bachelor to husband, but only in that selfish way where now Liam has to ask if he can accompany Killian on bar crawls or can’t make it to every football game during the season.
So when Liam does call as he walks in to his apartment after work one afternoon, Killian gladly answers it. It had been a long, trying day at work - depositions for most of the morning, then a conference call that lasted five hours with little time to eat or even use the restroom in between. Killian cannot wait to get out of his stuffy suit and tie, throw on his sweats, and watch T.V.
ESPN, he tells himself. There’s that important college game on tonight.
It’s a losing battle, though: it’s Christmastime, which means corny, completely unnecessary, totally unoriginal Christmas movies. The perfect remedy to the problems practicing the law could bring up.
Killian flips the light in his room on before immediately turning on the T.V. and muting it before answering his phone. He greets his brother just as some woman silently giggles at a man holding a dog.
Haven’t seen this one before .
“Little brother, my god, you are alive!” Liam says instead of hello.
“In the sense that I’m still alive and breathing, yes,” Killian quips back, putting his phone on speaker and proceeding to change out of his clothes. “Other than that, I’d hardly say I’m alive.”
Liam groans and Killian can just imagine his older brother slapping himself on the forehead. It’s his own fault, the sarcastic streak Killian has, though it does both of them wonders during certain situations, particularly during hard court cases.
While Killian chuckles, Liam’s groan transforms into a sigh. The change in mood is as unexpected as Liam’s phone call, but instead of asking about it, Killian lets the quiet ensue. If there’s one thing Killian’s learned about his big brother in his time on earth, it’s that, if something’s bothering Liam, he’ll say it.
So when Liam says, “I apologize for being an arse,” his younger brother can’t imagine what he’s managed to do wrong if they haven’t truly spoken in months.
“About what exactly, may I inquire?” Killian asks, changed and taking a seat at the edge of his bed. His eyes sort of glaze over as he stares at the screen. Another man’s face is contorted into some slimy smirk or grimace or something akin to that, looking after the woman with the puppy.
This plot would be so much simpler if I could hear what they were saying.
Killian fiddles with the remote, trying to find the button for subtitles or captions, while Liam continues. “I know I’ve been sort of…” he pauses just as the captions begin scrolling along the bottom of the screen, “neglecting you since I married.”
Shrugging, Killian reasons, “Your priorities have changed. You’ve got Belle now. All that marriage stuff. Honeymoons and thank you cards and on and on.”
“Yes, but you’ll always be my little brother.” This time, Killian groans, but it’s in the same way that he bemoans cheesy pickup lines and corny Christmas movie plots. It’s a sentiment he doesn’t exactly always feel this time of year, but when he does, it makes his heart grow like the Grinch’s.
“I’m still learning how to balance brotherhood with marriage, alright?” Liam says, his voice a bit gruffer. “So I’m sorry if I made you feel poorly. I never meant to.”
“Worry not, Liam. I’ve gotten used to it.”
His older brother scoffs. “Now don’t say that,” he says. “You really make me feel like a horrendous person.”
Killian barks out a laugh. “You said it, not me.” Dramatically, he flops back on his mattress, letting his muscles relax into the comfort. It really has been a long day.
“So what’s going on in your life?” Liam asks in a friendly manner. “What have I missed?”
Killian opens his mouth to answer - it’s been months, there really is too much to cover in a single phone call - but it shuts quickly when he hears a key in the lock of his front door. There’s only one person in the world who’s got his spare key to his place.
While losing Liam as his automatic plus-one to all social events was a bummer, Killian’s managed to find solace in his neighbor, one Emma Swan, who barged into his life quite suddenly and hasn’t really allowed him a moment to recover since.
Liam just doesn’t know that.
Not quite yet.
And with all the time he’s had to theoretically prepare for this moment, Killian hasn’t the slightest idea how to tell his brother that the most important thing he’s missed in the past months isn’t an event, but a person.
0000
He’d briefly seen her move in, just a couple days after returning to his apartment from Liam and Belle’s wedding festivities. The door next to his propped open with a box overflowing with shoes and the grunts and groans of furniture-moving from within were dead giveaways. Still tired and a bit hungover, Killian resolved to introduce himself later. Maybe after he’d had a thorough shower.
Very thorough. I’m pretty sure someone vomited on me during the morning-after brunch, he thinks. I can still feel the grime on me.
And that’s all the thought he spares this new neighbor of his. Killian goes about showering and returning to the land of post-Liam’s-wedding. It isn’t until two or three Sundays later that the new neighbor crosses his mind again.
Settling down on the couch, Killian takes a deep breath. 12 Monkeys is set to premiere in mere minutes - perhaps not the best attempt at unwinding before what’s promised to be another tough work week, but he can’t even ponder the idea of dodging spoilers. Too much stress.
His eyes slide shut and the next thing he knows, the opening notes of the theme music float through his ears. Killian opens his eyes, hoping they clear in time for him to catch all the intricacies this episode might offer.
And then the pounding starts.
Someone incessantly bangs at his front door. Everyone who’s anybody important enough to him knows not to interrupt him during this time of the week. So he tries to ignore it, just let the complexities of Dr. Railly and James Cole’s adventures take him away.
But the knocking won’t stop.
“They’ve just got the wrong apartment,” he mumbles to himself.
“Open the door, 312! It’s an emergency!” a woman’s voice shouts through the door.
Apparently not.
An emergency could mean a slew of things: broken bones, burning buildings, a mouse in the shower. But if it’s either of the first two, he doesn’t want the woman’s injury on his conscience for the rest of his life. And Liam did raise him to be a gentleman. It wouldn’t be chivalrous to let the mouse run all over this woman’s apartment if she really didn’t want it to.
Eyes still glued to the TV, Killian walks and opens the front door. The only way he can tell that the blonde hurricane that rushes by him is a person is the brush of hair against his arm and the aforementioned tone of voice.
“Excuse me,” he says, watching as she takes his seat on his couch to, what seems like, watch his T.V. “Can I help you?”
“My cable isn’t working and I heard the theme song through the walls.” Her words are direct, offering no other option except for the fact that she’s in his apartment during his show . Eyes on the screen, the woman pats the cushion next to her. “Close the door and sit the fuck down.”
And despite the fact that she’s the one that barged into his apartment, Killian does as she requests: a bit stunned, he shuts the door and ambles over to the couch, barely able to focus in on the show unfolding before them.
“Who are you?” he inquires, easing himself on to the cushion she’d indicated.
“311,” she replies.
“Lovely to meet you, 311. Is that the name - “
She shushes him, her hand waving next to him, gaze still intent on Cassie as she’s deep in conversation with some character Killian hadn’t even known existed. “Wait until commercials. Then talk.”
Again, Killian surprises himself by following her instructions. Between commercials, he manages to get a little more information out of her through hesitantly asked questions. Emma Swan, she says, apartment 311, moved in a month or so ago after escaping from bailbonds and getting something a little more efficient (and probably safer) in law enforcement.
But that’s all he gets that first night, aside from the few physical descriptors he gets from her profile. Otherwise, she’s silent, intent on trying to figure out the twists and turns the show keeps throwing at them. And, man, even as distracted as he is, even he can tell that this season is bound to be a gamechanger.
When the episode is finished, she quietly thanks him, a much different tone from earlier, and leaves his apartment with a completely changed demeanor. But just before his front door shuts between them, Killian sticks his foot in the jamb.
“Next week?” he asks. She - Emma - turns gently, eyebrow raised and eyes squinting at him with confusion. She’s wary, for some reason or another. Swallowing nervously, Killian repeats himself. “Would you like to come over for next week’s episode?”
Taking a step back, Emma’s tongue peeks out between her lips. “My cable should be fixed by then,” she says.
“Oh.” That’s a bit of a letdown. Then again, as he’s constantly had to remind himself tonight, she hadn’t really given him much to go on about her personal life except that her cable was out.
He’s always been up for a challenge, especially one as beguiling as the show that unintentionally brought them together. For now.
“Regardless, you’re more than welcome to come, Swan,” he tells her. Gesturing toward the door, Killian also suggests, “Perhaps knock a bit gentler next time.”
He watches Emma struggle to hold back a grin, her fingers wringing around each other. “Maybe,” is all she deigns for an answer. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones and that’s not something Killian usually notices with anybody. With a silent nod, she takes the five or so steps back to her front door and goes back home.
Killian lingers in the doorway far longer than appropriate.
The next Sunday, he’s settling into the couch, ten minutes to showtime, when a much more hesitant knock sounds at his door. Killian can’t help the smile that crosses his face as he approaches the door.
When he opens it, Emma stands on the other side, both hands holding a plastic bag between then. When he glances down at it, she struggles to hold it up on display.
“Apology Chinese?” she says by way of greeting, her lower lip getting stuck between her teeth. Bringing the bag back toward the ground, she adds, “I’m sorry I forced myself into your apartment last weekend.”
Killian’s already shaking his head before she’s completed her thought. “Completely understandable,” he remarks. “The cable was down.”
Chuckling, Emma shuffles her feet. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees that as an emergency.”
It takes an exorbitant amount of time for Killian to stop nodding like the village idiot. But when he does, he takes a step back and waves her into his apartment. “Please, do come in,” he offers. “You made it just in the nick of time.”
And the rest, he likes to say, is history.
0000
“Killian!” The shout is followed by slam of the front door. “Killian, where are you? I need to complain to you about my day and then drink all your booze.”
He’s up quicker than he thought possible at this time in the evening. Killian slides down the hardwood floors into the living room, silently and frantically slicing his hand across his throat and mouthing shut up!
Emma just stares at him with befuddlement in her eyes. She briefly mimics his motions.
“Are you having a fucking stroke?” she asks, coming up to him. “What’s wrong with you?”
Bringing his phone down to his chest to cover the speaker, Killian whisper-shouts, “It’s my brother,” just as he can hear Liam on the other end of the line. His voice is muffled, of course, what with the shirt and all, but even from here, Killian can tell his brother’s tone is adamant and desirous of information.
Emma, on the other hand, is dumbstruck. Those green green eyes of hers are blown wide with surprise. She tiptoes away and sinks into the corner of the couch, pulling one of decorative pillows he threw on there when he first moved in a couple years ago into her lap and squishing it.
“Sorry,” she whispers, hiding the lower half of her face with the pillow, presumably trying to protect herself from the blush of embarrassment rising on her cheeks.
Killian sighs and shakes his head. He walks over behind the couch and rests his empty hand on the top of her head, running his fingers through the hair that catches there. When he finally puts his phone back to his ear, Killian just catches the tail end of Liam’s barrage of questions.
“Who was that, little brother?” Liam asks.
“No one,” Killian answers too swiftly. He feels pressure on his hand, Emma leaning into his hold, before she gets up and heads toward the kitchen.
Probably to start drinking that booze she mentioned, he thinks.
Liam catches his attention once more. “Killian, I can’t even see you and I know you’re lying through your teeth.”
Unconsciously, Killian’s hand raises and scratches at the skin behind his ear. “So?” he asks, his brother losing his focus as Emma finds whatever poison she was searching for and takes her seat back on the couch, cup in hand.
“So, I’m your older brother,” Liam explains. “You’ve got to tell me.”
“Have not.”
“Have so.” Liam doesn’t say anything for another moment before pleading, “C’mon, Killian.”
Sighing, Killian looks at Emma again. He’s not sure why he hasn’t told Liam about Emma yet, lack of communication in the past few months aside. It’s always been his little secret, almost - a secret friend who’s come to rely on him for alcohol and support and who knows what else.
Emma turns on the T.V. in the living room, already on the Hallmark channel from last night’s bad movie binge. She mutes it, but Killian doesn’t need the dialogue. It must be the end of the movie, the main characters standing at the end of a church aisle.
“It’s just…” he hesitates.
“Yes?”
He knows it’s going to be a mess before he even comprehends what he actually says. “My fiancée?” He winces, the ends of Emma’s hair making some sort of noise as they whip around on the back of the couch. Killian can feel her staring at him.
“Fiancée?” Liam repeats, sounding just as disbelieving as Killian is that he actually said it. Killian hums in agreement as Emma’s green eyes go impossibly wider. Liam, on the other hand, grumps. “Bring her...Him?” Killian rolls his eyes and replies her . “Her to Christmas Eve dinner. You guys can stay with Belle and I and we can have a real Christmas morning.”
Moaning, Killian walks around to the front of the couch and takes a seat beside Emma. His free hand comes to rest on her knee, a move she mimics in solidarity. “I don’t know, Liam,” he says. “I really wouldn’t want to intrude on Belle and yours first Christmas as husband and wife. You should have - “
“Nonsense!” his brother shouts. “Christmas is about family. We should spend it together.”
“I thought Thanksgiving was about family,” Killian scoffs.
“You and I both know we have no bloody clue about these American holidays. We like to - “
“Keep good form as we go.” Next to him, Emma chuckles. He’s been known to say the same phrase on occasion. “I know, brother.”
“I know you know. It’s my job to remind you sometimes.” On Liam’s end of the conversation, something arises in the background, a scuffling sort of noise. It’s probably Belle, Killian thinks, making dinner or coming in from work. Liam’s voice is muffled as he probably greets him.
“I’ve kept you too long, haven’t I?” Killian asks once the racket on the other side signals his brother’s back on the line.
“No, no, I called you, remember?” Liam says. “I’ll let you get back to your -” he pauses, making his voice more suggestive, “-. fiancée. ”
“Thanks.” There’s something hard to swallow around in his throat. “I’ll see you for Christmas Eve dinner, I suppose.”
“Yes, both of you will,” Liam bids, his last phrase a subtle reminder, before hanging up and spending the evening with his wife.
Killian, on the other hand, groans and throw his phone on the coffee table. He rubs his hands against his face.
“Fiancée?” Emma says calmly. “Really?”
Killian shrugs, his face warming with embarrassment. “I’m really bad at thinking on my feet.”
“How is that possible? You lie for a living!” Emma flops back on to her spot on the couch, really too semantic for her own good.
“No I don’t.” It's a point of discussion since the inception of their friendship: in her experience, Emma's seen attorneys lie and lie and Killian tries really hard not to.
But sometimes…
“I just sometimes have to spin the truth in a different.” Emma glares at him. “Ugh, I don’t know.” He throws his hands up in the air, exasperated. “I was watching one of those bad Hallmark Christmas movies and I guess their subliminal messaging worked.”
Scoffing, Emma turns back to the T.V., where one of said movies comes to its joyful conclusion. As always, there's unnecessary confetti that's definitely going to kill the birds, but no one cares about that because it's a low budget T.V. film. “I’ll be sure to write a letter to the TV executives congratulating them,” she says drolly, finally unmuting the T.V. She sighs as the new movie starts, one he's already seen this season. “Well, what happens now?” She asks on another sigh.
Killian should've known. His Swan is nothing if not curious, if not nosy. But she was there, as she is nearly every night in any given week, and he knows he really should've asked her before blurring out the word fiancée as he did.
But where else is he going to find a fake fiancée in such a time crunch?
“What plans do you have for Christmas?” he inquires, hoping for a subtle reaction.
That's not the case, of course. Turning toward him slowly, Killian watches as Emma's eyes go wide as saucers, her brows raise high, and her jaw drops.
“Killian, you can’t be serious.”
“Swan, darling, what else are you going to do?” he reasons. “You’ve got an invitation to dinner on Christmas Eve and the guarantee that you’ll wake up to presents and stereotypical family warmth on Christmas morning.”
“I-I mean,” she stutters, jaw still dangling dangerously close to her breastbone. “Weren’t we going to get drunk Christmas Eve and sleep off the hangover Christmas day?”
Recoiling a bit, Killian raises a brow and asks, “We were?”
Emma shrugs, somehow digging herself further into the couch. She takes to holding the decorative pillow from earlier, a sure sign of her nerves. “We didn’t decide anything, but I figure it was the sort of thing we would do.” Looking furtively between him and the T.V., Emma shrugs again. “I was gonna suggest it after dinner tonight.”
“Well, we can do that at Liam’s,” he offers, playfully nudging her with his elbow. “We’ll have some drinks with dinner, have a nice time, then steal whatever from the liquor cabinet and down it all in the guest room in our pajamas.”
She rolls her eyes. “That can’t be good form.”
He doesn’t deign her an answer - not because it’s technically not good form, but for other reasons - and begins poking her on the knee. “Come with me,” he requests of her quietly. “You can meet Liam and Belle. It’ll be great.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes on the male character as he ascends to a throne, before looking him dead in the eye.
“Promise?” she asks softly, her mouth partially hidden behind the pillow.
Killian nods solemnly. “Promise.”
0000
It’s been dark all day, clouds heavy with snow, but somehow, as Killian and Emma sit in her car in his brother’s driveway, Christmas Eve somehow seems to get darker.
“It’s kind of cold,” Emma mumbles, playing with the ring on her left hand. It’s fake, of course, but real enough to pass for an engagement ring. Or at least that’s what they’ve settled on. Killian dug it up from his pirate Halloween costume, and he spent a pretty penny on getting something real enough to fool adults more than children.
Works well for short notice , he thought.
“Yeah, it is.” They sit there for a moment longer, both lost in their respective thoughts, before Killian tsks. Reaching over the center console, he stills her nervous fiddling by taking her hand in his own. “You ready?”
Inhaling sharply and deeply, Emma nods slowly. “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” she says accusatorily.
“I can’t believe you agreed to it,” he quips back with a smirk. Killian doesn’t need to see her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. He unlocks his door and squeeze her hand once, hopefully transferring some courage from his palm to hers. “It’s going to be great.”
Emma scoffs, unlocking her door as well. “You better hope they’ve got some top shelf stuff in their cabinet.”
Killian chuckles as he steps foot outside the car, letting go of Emma’s hand to grab the bottles of wine they brought as gifts. “I should hope the same. Alcohol’s the only way to warm up after this cold,” he says over the roof of the car.
The wind blows up a terribly bitter breeze just as they walk up Liam and Belle’s front steps, leaving Killian and Emma to huddle up to each other.
“It’s fucking freezing!” Emma shouts over the wind.
“Try the door!” he replies. “It should be open.”
The next gust of wind ushers them into the starkly warm house. Both shaking off the breeze and the snow, they hang up their coats and rid themselves of their boots. Killian can smell some sort of meat roasting from the over, the scents wafting down the hallway with the Christmas music gently playing on the stereo.
“Hello?” Killian calls, draping his scarf over his jacket. “Liam?”
Liam’s head pop out from around an archway that must lead to the kitchen, for he’s decked out in a festive Santa apron. His smile is goofily wide, though Killian’s sure that there’s a grin as equally as absurd on his face.
Bloody hell, I did miss him.
“Little brother!” Liam shouts, much to Killian’s chagrin. He comes around the corner and embraces Killian in one of the tightest and, in his opinion, most unnecessary hugs in the history of the universe. “My god, it’s been eons.”
Killian can’t help but belt out a laugh as he slaps his older brother on the back. “I saw you at your wedding,” he reminds Liam.
“Really?” Pulling back, the look on Liam’s face makes him seem a lot duller than Killian knows he is. But then he lights back up, in the present instead of the past now, as Belle comes into the room. “Then it has been too long, Killian.”
Moving around his brother, Killian takes his sister-in-law into his arms. “Belle,” he pauses to buss her on the cheek, “radiant as always.”
“Why, thank you,” she says, color rising on her cheeks. She blinks a few times before her eyes focus behind Killian, on to Emma. He’s nearly forgotten she’s there, she’s unusually quiet.
But Belle, ever the people person and general lovely lady that she is, immediately takes to her, stepping forward and offering her a friendly smile. “You must be Killian’s fiancée.”
“Yeah,” Emma chokes out, her voice decidedly soft and watery. “I’m Emma.” Awkwardly, Emma sticks her hand out. Instead, Belle goes in for the hug, Emma’s hand getting caught between their chests. Killian hears her quietly go, “Oof, a hug.”
“I’m sorry,” Belle says automatically, taking a step back subconsciously into Liam’s hold. “Do you not do hugs? I should’ve asked first. I’m sorry, I’m just excited that we’re going to be family.”
And that’s something that neither Killian nor, he’d bet to say, Emma had thought about. Sure, they can pretend that they’re going to get married, say that they incredibly happy and in love, but the idea of being family…
It’s not one of the angles they thought of, he can safely say that. And, from what he know of Emma’s past and the skeletons in her closet, he’s afraid the mere fathom of it might trigger her into quitting the whole charade.
But Belle, bless her, isn’t privy to Killian’s inner monologue, and moves on to the next thought. Addressing Emma, she says with a chuckle, “I don’t know if Killian’s the same way, but I know Liam is a handful more often than not.”
Liam pulls her closer into his chest. “Now, darling, I resent that sentiment,” he chides her lovingly.
Their little exchange, apparently, gives Emma enough time to reboot and get over whatever turmoil she might be experiencing internally. “Hugs are fine,” she tells Belle, her voice a little stronger than when introducing herself. “I was just surprised. It’s been…” She licks her lips, and glances up at Killian for a tick. “Well, it’s been a while since someone greeted me that way.”
“To be honest, Emma, I’m not surprised,” Liam replies. Looking to his wife, he adds, “Did I tell you, Belle, when I called Killian, the only way I knew about Emma’s existence was because the front door slammed and she yelled at him?”
Killian’s arm goes around Emma’s shoulders, mimicking his brother because that’s what engaged couples do, right? “Frankly I deserved it.”
“He did,” Emma agrees, finally cracking a smile. And then, surprisingly Killian, she places a hand on his chest, looking up at him with a weird glimmer in her eyes, one he’s never really seen in her before. “But he’s still the best part about coming home, and he knows that and accepts that I am a very loud person.”
“I do.” Something about that look of hers keeps him from sarcastically remarking that she can be incredibly loud without even trying. It shakes him because, for some reason or another, her glance reminds him of the way his brother looks at his wife.
Shaking the thought from his brain, Killian turns back to Liam. “So dinner?” he asks. To Emma, he says, “I don’t know about you, love, but I am starved.”
“Seconded,” Emma agrees.
Liam and Belle usher them into the kitchen where the final timer goes off. Liam pulls a ham from the oven and Belle mixes them their first drinks of the evening. That easily leads into dinner, where Killian finds himself glancing at Emma, his excuse being that he wants to make sure she’s having a good time. By the way she laughs hysterically at Liam’s tales of their childhood and keeps whispering to Belle next to her, Killian believes that she is.
A couple times during the meal, he finds his hand wandering over to her knee, exerting slight pressure, silently asking her if she really is doing okay. She always responds with a complementary squeeze, and when her hand lingers there more often than not, Killian tries to focus on literally anything else occurring at that specific moment in time.
By the time the dishes are drying and the leftovers are packed away for lunch tomorrow, Emma’s happily tipsy and Killian’s well on his way to joining her. Liam tells them they’ll have to share the guest bed, but neither of them take issue with it. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve fallen asleep together in close quarters.
Killian manages, though, to keep up his end of the bargain. After bidding Liam and Belle a goodnight and merry Christmas, he nabs two bottles of rum from the liquor cabinet and sneaks them into the guest room, where he finds Emma laying on the bed, flipping through the T.V. channels. She throws the remote to the end of the mattress when her search lands on the Hallmark Channel.
“For someone who enjoys complaining about the subject matter, you’re always quick to find them,” he says over the click of the door closing.
“I get it,” she states as he hands over a bottle. She pops the top and takes a healthy swig.
“Get what, love?” he inquires.
“The bad movie thing,” she says with a roll of her eyes, as if that’s been the topic of discussion for the past two hours and not the last two seconds. Pointing toward the screen, she explains. “Escape. Even though he sent her back home and banished her from Aldovia or wherever, you know he's going to go find and her and they're going to be happy.” On a sigh, Emma settles her head into the pillow. “It's nice.”
It’s so outside of Emma’s realm to be as serious as she is right now. Killian smiles softly at her, joining her on the bed. “I'm glad you finally see that.”
Just as it’s seemed she’s gotten comfortable, Emma swiftly stands, digs through her overnight bag, and goes off into the bathroom with her pajamas. Killian watches the movie as she changes, trying to pick up on the plot points he’s missed and occasionally taking a drink of rum.
When Emma comes back in the room, her daytime clothes balled up in her arms, she announces, “I don't have a family.”
It’s not necessarily out of left field, what with all the talk of Liam and Belle’s wedding and their fake impending nuptials over the dinner table, but Killian’s still a tad surprised by her statement. He doesn’t say anything, though: just allows her to continue at her own pace.
“I was bounced from foster home to group house until I aged out,” she explains, setting her clothes atop her bag. “There were so many kids that none of the adults particularly cared about the holidays.” Coming back to bed, Emma curls up beneath the covers, her voice growing quiet. “And when I grew up, I took to ordering Chinese food and watching these bad movies and the old stop motion ones all night.” She scoots closer to him, her eyes never leaving the T.V. screen. “This is the first Christmas I won't spend alone.”
Killian’s always known her life to be a little harsher than she deserved, but never quite that bad. There’s a hint of that emotion from earlier, the one that made him feel things, linger in her eyes, and he can’t help himself: gently, he brushes some stray strands of hair from her face, his hand staying on her cheek. “Then we're going to make this the best Christmas ever, Swan.”
“It already is,” she sighs happily, looking up at him. “I'm here with you.”
He leans down and kisses her forehead before crawling under the covers himself. Emma’s head ends up on his chest halfway through the movie, the rum forgotten on the nightstands, and they’re both asleep before the prince even proposes.
0000
Killian wakes up shortly after sunrise, head pounding with a headache. He stumbles to the bathroom for aspirin and water and brings back enough for both of them. Popping a few too many drugs, Killian takes a large swig of water to wash them down, and settles back in bed, hoping to get a few more hours. If there’s one Christmas present he’s not going to take for granted, it’s the chance to have a lie in.
Especially when an innocent Emma flips over and snuggles into him, sleep warm. And though her sigh airs on the side of dreamy, Killian can’t say the same for her morning breath. He’s casually choking on tainted air when she rouses.
“What time?” she asks, still half asleep.
“Too early,” Killian says, dragging his hand down her back to try and lull her back into unconsciousness. “Go back to sleep, Swan.”
“But Christmas,” she grumbles.
“It’ll still be Christmas when you wake up,” he assures her. But her breath’s already evening out, and she’s fast asleep less than a minute later.
0000
When they both wake to the sounds of pans clanging in the kitchen a few hours later, Killian feels a lot better. His head isn't killing him anymore, his mouth no longer tastes like cotton, and he's still got a Swan in his hold.
For now.
“You're so fucking hot, get off me,” she grumbles, pushing him wearily, her eyes still closed.
“It's so kind of you to say so,” Killian quips back, holding her even tighter. “I find you to be quite attractive as well.”
Emma groans and shoves his face away. She rolls over and scoots to the very edge of her side of the bed. “You know what I fucking mean.”
Killian sidles in behind her, careful when he threads his arm across her hip and waist. “I do,” he murmurs behind her ear, “but it's Christmas, so your words of malice mean nothing .”
She says something else that her pillow exclusively hears, but then she's sliding out of bed and toward the bathroom.
“If it's Christmas, then we better get started,” she says before closing the door. “The sooner it's over with, the sooner I can be mean to you again.”
Chuckling, Killian shouts through the door, “I like you even when you're yelling at me!”
Emma pokes her head and shoulders out the bathroom door.
“I'm not yelling,” she says matter of factly. “I'm simply expressing my opinion in an angry and slightly elevated tone.”
Once taken care of, Killian and Emma shuffle into the living room to find Belle curled up in a corner of the couch, sipping from a mug.
“Merry Christmas, You two,” she greets them quietly.
“Merry Christmas, Belle,” Emma says in return. “Where's your Jones?”
Belle giggles and tilts her behind back to the kitchen. “He wanted to put some cinnamon rolls in the oven to bake while we opens presents,” she explains.
“Always thinking ahead,” Killian remarks as his brother walks into the room.
“Ah, the lovebirds have awoken.”
“I could say the same for you.”
They exchange gifts - nothing to big or mind blowing. Liam gives Killian his annual pair of socks. Emma and Belle, it seems, thought along the same wavelength, exchanging candles and lotions meant for a relaxing home-spa day. Nobody changes out of their pajamas - too busy eating leftovers and watching classic Christmas movies - until Killian regretfully reminds Emma that they have to drive back home tonight.
“Some of us have to work early tomorrow morning,” he tells her jokingly.
“It’s not my fault your field likes to start their day at 8am,” she gests back.
By the time they say their final goodbyes and merry Christmases to Liam and Belle, it’s dark again, though thankfully not snowing. And when Killian drops Emma’s overnight bag at her doorstep, he can’t quite believe they made it through the holiday.
“Thanks for playing into my fantasy,” he says, surprising himself by how shy he sounds. They’ve spent the better part of the last 48 hours together pretending to be head over heels in love with one another, and now is the part where he begins to be scandalized by the matter? How curious indeed.
“Thanks for giving me the part.” Searching beneath her feet for the answers to life’s greatest questions - or at least that’s what he assumes she’s doing, she staring so intently - Emma scuffs at the floor. Unlike his apartment, she’s got a welcome mat, a little dinky, but still as welcoming as the word written across it. She kicks at it before she inhales deeply. “This might be a bit of a surprise, but that’s probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had in my life.”
“So you said,” Killian says with a chuckle, sticking his hands into his coat pockets. Then he admits quietly, “Me too.”
Her eyes light up, that same emotion bright behind her fluttering eyelashes. “Really?”
Killian shrugs. “The company was above average this year.”
“Aw shucks.” She kicks at the mat again. “Hey, um...” And then she stops herself from continuing.
“Yeah?”
Her right hand is cradling her left as Emma looks at the costume ring on her finger. His gaze falls to it as well. It’s just a silly fake pirate ring, and yet seeing it on her finger, knowing that it belonged to him only a day ago, does something that he suspects looks a lot like the little glimmer that keeps showing up in her eyes.
“I know I should probably give you this back,” she says, “but, um...”
“Keep it,” he says without hesitation. “It's part of your Christmas present.”
Emma shakes her head, already starting to pull the ring off her finger. “You've already given me so much and I just…”
“You've been perfect,” Killian interrupts her. He takes her hand in his and holds it tightly, effectively stopping her from removing the ring. And then, surprising himself, Killian adds, “Since the day you barged into my life and demanded to watch 12 Monkeys.” His tongue runs along his teeth, contemplating the idea formulating in his mind. “But...”
“But?” she repeats.
“If you feel so inclined to thank me...” His sentence drifts off, leading him to raise his finger and tap it to his lips.
Rolling her eyes so hard Killian fears they might get stuck that way, Emma says, “Oh my god, are you serious?”
Killian shrugs again, bringing his hand back into his pocket. “I said if you were inclined.”
“Please, you couldn't handle it,” she says quickly.
“Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it,” he quips back easily.
And before he knows it, Emma’s pressed against him, chest to chest, her hands pulling harshly on the lapels of his jacket. He’s jettisoned forward, his lips to hers, in what’s probably the least expected kiss in his life and possibly the lives of everyone else in their apartment building.
It’s also probably the single best thing to ever happen to him, romantically-inclined or otherwise.
Emma doesn’t step away once she’s done with him, merely comes down from her tiptoes with a heavy breath. “Only one way to find out, right?” Her voice sounds wrecked, her tongue coming out to lick what’s left of him on her lips. Then she lets him go and takes a step back. “Why don't you drop your stuff off and we can see how much we can actually handle together?” she suggests.
Raising a brow, Killian smirks. “Challenge accepted.” He grabs his bag from where it’s fallen to the floor and can’t help himself when he leans over and presses his lips to hers swiftly once more. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”
He leaves her unlocking her front door to enter his own apartment, throwing his bag on the couch and beelining it toward his room. There’s dirty laundry to do and he should probably just go to bed because he does have to go to work in the morning, but the opportunity presented to him is just too good an offer to pass up and he can’t be sure that it’ll still be there come morning.
I hope it is , Killian thinks as he pulls on his sweatpants.
But then there’s banging on the other side of his bedroom wall, insistent and forceful and she’s never done that before. Something must be wrong. Throwing on another shirt and forgoing shoes altogether, Killian rushes over to her apartment, knocking equally as hard on her front door.
Emma’s smiling when she flings the door open.
“What's wrong?” he asks, confused by the conflicting information he’s receiving.
“Killian, the Hallmark movie with the dogs!” she shouts at him.
Shaking his head, Killian squints. “Yes, what about it?”
She points toward her living room. “It's on!” Taking his hand, Emma drags him into her apartment, her pleading eyes doing a number on his stomach. “Can we watch it and or have it on in the background?”
He sighs as the screen comes into view. It’s the beginning of the movie, so they can watch it in its entirety and laugh about it together. “I suppose we can wait,” he relents, allowing Emma to sit him down on the couch. He, in turn, wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her legs over his lap. “But I'm not taking my eyes or hands off you for a moment.”
“Good,” she says with a smirk of her own. “I'd despair if you did.”
She tucks her head in the space between his neck and shoulder and something settles, warm and happy, in Killian’s chest.
If Killian had to think of one word to encompass this Christmas, he'd have to settle on unexpected. From his brother’s phone call to his and Emma's fake engagement, the last thing he thought this holiday would end with was him and Emma cozied up on his couch, curled around each other while watching a cheesy Christmas movie.
(And if they don't make it to the triumphant end in order to create their own, then sue him. Sometimes Hallmark movies have to write themselves.)