Merry Christmas Shipmates (at least it is in Australia!)

I suppose this is AU now (though it wasn't when I started it). Set in Storybrooke. Some smuff for smuff month :) There will be at least 2 more fics through the day as well :)

Disclaimer: I'm giving fics as presents…I totally have no ownership of the show here.


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas


She's having one of those days where everything is just going right. The Christmas lights are up around the loft and not one of them has blown, carols are drifting through the air as she puts the finishing touches on a perfectly made gingerbread house while a roast is cooking in the oven, Mary Margaret and David will be back any second with Henry and she's just feeling good.

It's not quite Christmas, but it's been the first time in months that they can sit down and have a meal together, just the four of them, the way it used to be, so they're making the most of it. Henry had spent the day with her and his grandparents making all sorts of food for the evening, and was just out for a walk in the freshly falling snow while Emma puts the finishing touches on the meal.

As she hums out the final chords to 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas', the door swings open and Henry is there, doubled over in laughter. It warms her heart to see it – after all the fiasco with Neverland and Pan inhabiting his body, she wasn't sure that he'd be the same. He'd seen too much evil, seen Pan's thoughts, his hatred had run through the veins of her son. But his heart, oh that precious heart of his had protected him just as his family had. All of them working together one last time to defeat the boy who wanted never to grow up.

The door opens wider as they step through and Emma sees the reason for Henry's seemingly uncontrollable laughter. Killian.

She rolls her eyes as he meets her gaze, and he shrugs as if to say, 'it's not my fault.'

"What's going on?" she asks curiously, coming around the other side of the bench and tousling Henry's hair to rid it of snow.

Her son looks up at her, tears in his eyes from laughing so hard and then looks towards the pirate, "Just look at him."

And she does, taking notice of his soaking hair, the water droplets mixed into his beard and the way parts of his shirt beneath his coat and vest are a darker shade of black. "You didn't?" a smile spreads across her face and she looks to her parents for confirmation of the snowball ambush that she's sure has just occurred. When they simply nod, she joins her son in a healthy round of laughter before looking back up at Killian a hint of pity in her gaze, "Oh you must be freezing."

"He doesn't have hot water on his ship, so we thought he might like to join us for dinner."

Emma's eyes snap to her mother, trying to properly gage what she means by this, because with Mary Margaret, there is often an ulterior motive. A romantic motive. And she sees it straight away, the bare hint of acceptance, of approval. It had taken everyone a while to get used to the idea that Emma and Killian had become…something and that he was sticking around. Emma had confided in Mary Margaret only days before that she still wasn't sure if this should be something that happens and suddenly the fact that her mother had wanted to cook extra food all made sense.

That sneaky family of hers had arranged this from the start.

She smiles sweetly at her mother and then turns back to face the pirate, "You know how to use the shower?"

He shakes his head, melted snow flying off him in droplets, adding to the whole upset puppy look he's got going on, "You may need to show me in detail, lass."

She rolls her eyes, pushing him towards the bathroom, "In your dreams, pirate."


She pours herself a glass of red while the water runs in the bathroom just down the hall and then after taking a deep calming breath, she rounds on Mary Margaret, "What's this about?"

But for all the confusion and the apparent irritation Emma seems to be throwing off her in waves, Mary Margaret is cool, calm and collected, "Your father and I have been speaking and we know you and Hook-"

"Killian," she corrects automatically and then bites her lip.

Mary Margaret gives her a knowing smile, "Killian then. We know the two of you haven't had a chance to really discuss what's going on, so we thought we'd invite him for dinner so we all get a chance to know him."

Emma narrows her eyes. Though she didn't have a regular childhood, somehow her family is still managing to find ways to subject her to embarrassment even in her late twenties. "This feels like a set up," her eyes glance over to Henry who is sitting in front of the TV, a portable heater at his feet trying to dry the hems of his jeans. He looks completely innocent, "What did he call it?"

Mary Margaret actually has to choke back a burst of laughter, "Operation Captain Swan."

Emma's cheeks flush pink and it's then that the pirate decides to make his presence known, walking out of the bathroom still dripping wet with a towel held around his waist, "A little help with clothing, lass?" he asks, harmlessly enough. Her face grows hotter and she spins on the spot trying to find David.

"Here, have this," she says, handing her mother the wine as she marches towards her father to try and find some clothes for Killian.

Mary Margaret takes the glass, almost holding it to her lips before remembering the news she has to share at dinner that night. Instead, she gently sets the wine down.


She can't quite focus on much other than the fact that Captain Hook, pirate of the seven seas, is sitting next to her in her father's sweatpants and a t-shirt, eating a not-quite-Christmas dinner with her and her family.

Sometimes she feels like she needs to go and see Archie just to wrap her head around everything. But then she remembers he's a cricket and just goes with it all.

She notices the way his hand moves to cut his food without having to pick up a knife. It's impressive and skilful, but it also looks difficult at some times and makes her wish they'd made something he didn't even have to cut because she can see the way he's doing it like this for them. He doesn't want to seem ungrateful for their hospitality.

Feeling something swell up inside of her at the sight, she picks up a piece of meat in her fingers and chews a bite off of it before placing it back on the plate and licking her fingers. When she looks up, Killian's eyes are on her, smiling. She nods, giving him permission and he spears a piece of meat with his hook, mirroring her movements, admittedly, as delicately as possible.

A bubble of laughter escapes her and Mary Margaret scoffs from across the table. Emma's eyes meet hers, daring her to say something, daring her to be her mother. But to her surprise, she doesn't see Snow White in her gaze, but the friend she had made when she had first moved to this town. Mary Margaret smiles before picking up her own food and eating like this is the norm.

Henry laughs and does the same, before David finally joins in as well. They eat the rest of their dinner like this, getting gravy all over their fingers and faces. In the midst of all the laughter, she feels Killian's gaze on her and she flicks her eyes towards him. He's positively glowing, his eyes shining in rich shades of blue she's never seen before. "What?" she asks before she can stop herself.

He reaches out to brush his thumb along her bottom lip, taking with it a healthy serving of gravy, "Nothing."

Then David throws a clump of mashed potato across the table, landing between them and their moment, bringing them back to the reality that this is about to turn into an all-out food fight. Henry flicks a spoonful of peas at David in retaliation and then it is every person for themself as the remnants of a nice family dinner get thrown out the window. It's stupid and completely childish, but in that moment Emma truly feels what it's like to be in a family.


It's not until after dinner that things take a turn for the worst. Emma and Mary Margaret are in the kitchen, watching the boys sitting on the couch trying to explain to Killian what a movie is. It's all rather domestic and uncomplicated until Emma suggests a glass of wine and Mary Margaret refuses.

"Oh come on, we used to always do this when you were debating big life choices like whether or not seeing David was the right thing. Now I'm debating something and I need my friend."

Mary Margaret reaches out to take Emma's hand, stilling her from pouring the second glass, "Honey, I can't."

And it clicks together in an instant for her, her eyes wide and fearful and so like a child's in that moment, "You're pregnant?"

She contains her grin, concerned about how Emma will take this, but honestly nods and says, "I am. We only found out today."

Emma's eyes narrow, memories flooding in of a similar conversation she had with a mother when she was very young. And she knows that her parents were trying, she gets that they want another chance of it all and they deserve that, they are natural parents. She knows they're not replacing her and that they love her, but it still stings. It burns in the back of her throat as she tries to swallow down on the lump that's formed there, wanting to be happy for them, wanting to offer a hug and welcome her new brother or sister they way they deserve.

But for whatever reason - perhaps that she had been having such a good day, perhaps because she was already feeling emotional about maybe confronting Killian tonight - it just hits her harder than she could have expected. "I'm happy for you," she says, tears burning in her eyes, "I really am. But I'm going to cry about this a little. It's not easy."

Mary Margaret squeezes her hand, looking upon her daughter with such motherly grace that Emma can't help but think she was made for this, made to have children, "I want you to be honest with us about this all. Every step of the way."

She manages a slight smile at that, "I think I just want to escape right now," she says, "Say goodnight to the boys for me?"

She's not used to being so vulnerable in front of people and crying after such a wonderful day and evening seems like such a petty thing. No one else should have to feel her pain and so she squeezes Mary Margaret's hand once more and makes her way upstairs alone.


To say she hadn't been expecting the knock on her door would be a lie. She honestly expected it soon after she heard Mary Margaret tell everyone she had gone to bed, but she's glad she's had some time to compose herself when her door opens and Killian walks in.

He still looks completely out of place in his sweatpants and t-shirt and it makes her smile to see him. "Ah," he starts, "So you're not up here with another man. I thought my chances were dashed when you scurried off to bed."

It amazes her that even when she's feeling completely horrible, he can still bring a laugh to her lips, "You're safe, Jones."

He nods towards the bed, "May I?"

"Sure," she says, scooting over so he can sit by her in the lamp lit room.

"What's troubling you?"

Her fingers wrap around each other in her lap, toying with a tissue she's been cradling for the last half an hour, "I'm going to be a sister." She's out of tears, but she feels her heart clench as she voices it out loud, "And I want to be happy, but…"

"But what they said in the caves, about you, it hurts."

"Yeah." Her eyes meet his in the orange glow of the room, "I've been replaced before, thrown into families that hated me just because they wanted a pay cheque at the end of the week. And I know they won't do that, I know they love me and they only did to me what I did to Henry and gave me my best chance. But the fear is habit. And I don't want them to leave. I don't want them to hate me."

"Oh Swan." He wraps his arm around her and she's surprised to find she can still smell the scent of leather on him. It's comforting, warm, something she's become accustomed to when she's been in his embrace before. "I have seen you face many a demon and come away in better circumstances, you can face this."

She smiles and rests her head against his chest, allowing him to hold her. They've been dancing this fine line for weeks now, tentative hugs, kisses anywhere but the lips, cautious flirting, but tonight she finds herself just not wanting to be alone. If Mary Margaret had shared that wine with her and they'd spoken about just what is going on, Emma would have told her that she has been on the verge of a choice for a long while now, that really, in all honesty, it hadn't ever been a matter of who, but when.

And she can answer that question herself. Now.

Her hand rests on the sliver of skin between his top and pants where the t-shirt has ridden up from the way he's sitting. His skin is warm and she can feel the muscle beneath it, her fingertips just barely brushing circular patterns on his flesh. He ducks his head, kissing her hair softly. "Emma," he grinds out, almost a warning, almost.

She can feel his heart beating faster in his chest where her head lays and turns up to look at him, pressing her fingers more solidly into his back, almost massaging him. "I am never disappointed by you. You never let me down."

He doesn't answer because her tone doesn't suggest a question, but his expression says it all. He never will hurt her, he'll never run.

And she doesn't remember the moment he became everything that she could trust, but looking at him she just knows he's being honest.

It strikes her again, how bizarre her life has gotten. Captain Hook in her bed is not something her childhood had ever prepared her for, but as the space between them becomes smaller and smaller, she finds she really doesn't mind.

And she certainly doesn't start minding when his lips brush gently against hers.

Her hand trails down his chest to his sweat pant covered thigh and she uses the balance to push herself higher up so she's not craning her neck to kiss him. Because she could do this for a very long time and a kinked neck would not do.

He grasps the back of her head, pulling her closer and tilting her face just slightly to deepen the kiss, his tongue running along her lips and then just touching hers when she opens her mouth to him. He's just starting to think that if this is all that happens tonight he'll be a very sated man, just holding her, being the one who is able to comfort her is all he's wanted with Emma Swan. But then she moans when his hook runs up her side, slightly lifting her tank top and barely grazing her skin, and that reaction sets something off inside of him.

He needs every inch of her.


And he's apparently not the only one, because within seconds, she's pulling him towards her as she lies down on the bed. It's at this point that he growls out another, "Emma," but she hushes him, encourages him and guides his hand to her breast, arching her back and pushing herself into him.

"It's always been you," she says, knowing he needs to hear it and not being able to keep it in any longer. "I want this. You."

Her words incite something passionate within him and he squeezes the flesh where his hand lay, running a thumb over the already hardened nipple and relishing in the way she squirms. He smiles into his kiss, reluctantly leaving her lips to trail a wet path down her jawline, pausing to sink his teeth into the flesh of her neck, to feel the way her throat swallows down another moan. She's delicious and he's not sure he'll ever get enough of her.

As his fingers slide down her waist and up under her tank top, she runs her hands up his back, taking the t-shirt with them and throwing it aside before he returns to her body. His mouth has made its way further down her chest, biting her through the thin cotton over her skin and sending tingles rushing through her body. "More," she says, and he is more than willing to comply, leaning away from her to pull her top over her head and swiftly tug her pants down her legs.

She sits up, her bare chest brushing against his stomach where he kneels above her. Her hands make quick work of the sweats he's borrowed from David, pulling them over his hips, his cock bobbing teasingly in front of her, a drip of precum already there, waiting for her. It'd be rude of her not to…

He groans as her lips close around him, her tongue swirling expertly around the head, cleaning him up. His hand automatically grips the back of her head as his hips rock forward and gods he doesn't want to force anything on her, but she's willingly lapping at him and he doesn't want to ever withdraw from the heat of her mouth.

Her hand trails up his thigh to gently cup his balls as she continues the long strokes with her tongue and lips. He leans back slightly, letting his cock fall from her mouth and her eyes meet his immediately, disappointed with the loss of contact, "Emma, darling, this is supposed to be about you." His hand massages the back of her head and she feels herself leaning into that touch.

"Oh, I enjoy this," she says slyly, reaching forward to kiss the tip of him, drops of his arousal sitting on her lips until she licks them clean. And while he groans and considers riding her mouth until he comes down her throat, he wants this to be good for both of them and so he lets go of the back of her head and leans into her, pushing her back on the bed, his lips returning to her skin.

She's eager and quick to roll her hips upwards into his, accepting his kisses with just as much passion as he is giving. When his hand reaches between then, parting her wet folds and sinking a finger into her, she moans against his lips unable to control it.

His breath is warm against her ear when he whispers, "You should never be alone, love. Never have to feel like you need to hide." Shivers run through her body at his honesty and the way his words make her positively vibrate.

A second finger enters her, curling upwards and massaging her inner walls while his thumb circles her clit, "Come apart for me, darling. Let me see."

And she wants to, god she wants to. The coil of pleasure sits low in her belly, its edges sneaking outwards, her eyes slamming shut and seeing stars as she comes around his fingers, her body drawing him into her. A lazy smile crosses her face as she starts to come down, his thumb still gently rubbing her clit while his fingers slip out of her. "More," she requests, biting her lip, and he knows exactly what she's asking for.

He scoots forward on the bed, kissing her again, his length just barely nudging at her entrance. She rolls her hips up to meet him, but he holds her down and buries his face in her neck. The words that escape him are choked and strained and she can hear how much he's struggling with this, but it means the world that he's even here, that he trusts her enough to take this leap, "I love you."

She doesn't answer him, but it's not from lack of want. It's hard for her, hard to let those final walls down, especially when her emotions are already compromised from the news of her parents' pregnancy, but she pulls his head up so their eyes meet and there she conveys everything she can. In one look she tells him exactly what he needs to know because in the next moment he's moving within her, stretching her with a gasp and kissing her once again.

His hips roll in a smooth rhythm that sets her body on fire, her body arching into his to try and feel more of him, to have him disappear inside her forever and make her feel like this always. His hook buries into the pillow by her head and it thrills her to know she's got him this out of control – the tearing sounds should scare her, but instead she feels jolts of pleasure run through her at the way his body commands her space.

It's almost surprising how fast they're both at the edge, bodies movie in perfect synchronisation, heightening every feeling. He slips a hand between them, just barely touching her clit before she cries out his name, clapping her own hand over her mouth to keep from making too much noise. The intensity of her orgasm draws him over the line seconds later, spilling into her in a warm rush, drawing both of their climaxes out with shallow rocking of his hips and gentle kisses to any part of skin that he can get to.

"Gods," he whispers, rolling to his side and pulling her with him.

She nods in agreement, her head resting against his chest. And it's there that she realises that she made the right choice, that she could never do without him. Because with one ear listening to the strong beat of his heart and the other focusing on the faraway sounds of carollers singing the final strains of 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas', she finds that despite everything, he has managed to creep through her bad mood and make her happy again.