This is going to be one of those ANs with a lot of bits to it.

First off, based on an anon prompt from Tumblr. Thanks anon :)

Second, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROSE! I'm sorry it's late, darling, but the thought was always there!

Third - J-J-Sawyer-Phillips is a legend who makes titles happen. Thank you dearest!

And finally, this is slightly AU in the sense that Emma probably isn't a cop, but hey, it's not completely out of the realm of possibility. Set a couple of months after Hook showed up at her door. Also, yes I missed posting this on New Years, but I argue for spreading out the holiday cheer as long as possible.

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

You've made it this far! Well done! Here's a fic :)

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'Til the Clock Strikes Midnight

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One of the pesky downsides to being a cop in New York city is having to oversee the New Year come in from the sidelines. She'd never been a real party goer, but this year she feels like a few drinks might be a good distraction from the new and ever present man in her life.

Killian Jones, he had introduced himself as, with a bow and flair as though she was royalty. That was only after trying to 'make her remember' and kissing her within the first minute of knowing each other. He'd certainly been trying to make himself quite memorable in her life since then, befriending her son and trying to wind his way into her life. With her shift hours though, she thinks it's nice that Henry has someone to talk to rather than being lonely or having Mrs Broderick from across the hall watching him with her 'gross mothball smell' as her son puts it, invading their apartment.

She'd rather it wasn't a man who claimed to be a pirate, but beggars can't be choosers and her son has definitely been smiling a lot more lately. Even if he has been constantly talking about fairytales just as Killian does.

She pulls her coat tighter around her, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to keep warm in the cold New York winter. There are still a few minutes before the clock strikes twelve, before she and Henry can make it into the new year and put this strange visitor behind them. And as much as New Years has never been a big deal for her – hence working on the night – she does quite enjoy the clean slate it provides.

While some people detox, others diet and even more decide that they're going to do more exercise, Emma will be ridding a certain person from her life. Because her feelings for him should realistically be indifferent, and yet she does feel a strong pull towards him. Something she can't quite understand, something she almost doesn't want to understand. She can't afford that level of unpredictability in her life, can't go through the heartache and the pain when it all inevitably ends.

She has Henry and she feels lucky every day for that. Her son is more than enough.

She shakes her head, bringing her gloved fingers to her lips and blowing out hot air against them, trying to warm herself in any way. The hordes of people milling about Times Square are all huddled against one another, seeking heat from their company and she can't help but feel slightly bitter about that, wanting nothing more than to be held by someone…maybe someone in a black leather coat who smells of spice and warmth.

And there are those thoughts again, pesky little niggling things that keep catching her off guard. She squashes them down, turning her attention to the mild disturbance in the crowd, people jumping out of the way for someone passing through. It's nothing she hasn't seen before and prepares herself for someone looking for a lost partner or friend. It's upsetting, but at this stage of the night, people getting separated is inevitable and she's had to deal with distraught crowd members several times tonight already.

But as the people closest to her begin to move out of the way, she sees that it's a very different scenario occurring right now. The countdown starts, but it's drowned out at the sight of him, cheeks flushed red from running and the cold, his chest heaving with his attempts to catch his breath. He jumps the barricade without a word, standing in front of her with a lopsided grin on his face.

"Found you," he says incredulously, not believing his own luck.

She can't help but stare at him, mouth slightly agape, "Killian, what the hell-"

"Henry says there's a tradition."

There's not even enough time for her to push him away or to tell him no because the clock strikes midnight and the fireworks start and hell, she doesn't want him not to. She wants him and she's sick of denying it. So when he kisses her, she kisses back, the warmth she's been craving all night hitting her in a rush as his hand cradles her face and his other arm pulls her into him at her waist.

She feels something gather in her chest, something vaguely familiar and tingly and a voice in the back of her mind reminds her that magic is about emotion.

She breaks away from him abruptly, the taste of hope on his tongue almost too much to handle, because she remembers that, she remembers his kiss.

Her eyes flick up to his and she sees it there in the blue depths, she sees the truth of him, the past. Their past.

"Hook?" she asks, the name rolling past her lips before she can stop it.

His smile widens, and he kisses her again, the magic from her flowing through him as the new year rings in.