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Receiving Christmas cards is not an uncommon occurrence in Emma Swan’s life. She gets them from her doctors, from the mailman, from the landlord. Even though she sees her brother and sister-in-law every week, Mary Margaret insists on sending her one. She gets some from some of the guys who work at the station with her — the guys with families, with wives who are in charge of sending out Christmas cards.
But this? This is something else entirely. She almost didn’t open the envelope, addressed only to “The Blonde Goddess in 4D,” so obviously sent from someone in her building. The script is perfect, not quite calligraphy but certainly much nicer than hers, done by someone with much more patience and a much steadier hand than she has.
Her curiosity gets the best of her, knowing that there are a small handful of guys in the building that she wouldn’t mind getting Christmas cards from. Inside, the card is much nicer than any of the bulk boxed ones she’s ever seen, perusing the aisles at Target and telling herself that one day she’ll have her life together enough to send Christmas cards. No, she imagines that this was the only card purchased by her secret card giver, and with the intricate lace Christmas tree on the front and the heavy dark red cardstock, Emma assumes it wasn’t in the cheapest section of cards, either — the section where she gets her cards, on the rare occasion she actually needs one.
The words on the inside — in the same perfect, swirling script — answer none of her questions. If anything, she has more than before.
Happy Holidays!
My name is Killian Jones, and I live in 4B. This is going to be incredibly up front of me, given that I’ve never worked up the nerve to talk to you before, but I’ve been telling my brother for the past four months that I’ve moved on from my last girlfriend and have been seeing someone knew, knowing that he is barely ever able to make his way across the pond from our home in England. However, now he’s coming here for Christmas and is dying to meet this nonexistent new girl. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out for weeks, but this just seems like the opportune moment to see if you’ll perhaps pretend to be my girlfriend while my brother is here but also maybe also go out with me?
He signed his name at the bottom, one of the most eloquent-looking signatures she’s ever seen, but her eyes are instead drawn to his cell phone number written under it.
She reads over the whole thing again, thinking that maybe it will make more sense a second time.
It doesn’t.
A third doesn't do much more.
She knows exactly who this Killian Jones is, and it would be a lie if she said she never thought about knocking on his door and asking him out. Or asking him for a quick night together, at least. Because, if she's being honest with herself (something Mary Margaret makes her do more often than she would like to) there's a reason she hasn't been in a relationship since — for about six years. Finding out the man you were going to marry was cheating on you with one of your friends makes it a little difficult to trust anyone ever again. Emma's learned that.
Part of her — the bigger half, the one led by her heart — almost pulls out her phone and texts the number at the bottom of the page. But the other part of her, the one that makes her think through her decisions before acting, thinks that it probably wouldn't be a terrible idea to get a second opinion on the matter.
Not Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret would immediately believe that she and Killian were made for each other and not be able to see past the fact that he asked her out to make out the other details.
Ruby has made a few comments herself about the man in question, which for some reason makes Emma slightly uncomfortable.
So, Belle it is.
Sighing, she sets the Christmas card down on her counter with the rest of her mail before making her way to the fridge before sitting down in front of her TV and pulling out her cell phone.
Emma: You doing anything tonight? I have a conundrum.
It only takes a few moments fer Belle to answer: Of course. That place on Chestnut Street? We’ve been wanting to try that place.
Emma sends a simple thumbs up, but then realizes that she left for work over twelve hours ago and could really use a shower, so then she adds: In an hour? It’s been a day.
Belle: See you then!
That doesn’t make it any easier for her to get off the couch. What does draw her off the couch — after eight minutes of watching the second hand rotate around the clock above the TV — is the desperate desire to re-read the words in the Christmas card.
She’s always been drawn to Killian Jones, even if she never knew his name before. Even if they’ve only ever shared smiles in the hallway and held the door and the elevator once or twice. Reading over his words again, though, she can’t help but ask herself if there’s potential for more.
A thought that she quickly squashes from her mind, moving quickly through her apartment to the shower.
Killian almost doesn’t believe his eyes. It took him six days to work up the nerve to put the Christmas card in her mailbox, asking her the dumbest question he could ever think of. He hasn’t stopped looking at his phone since he got back to his apartment, not even sure if she even checked her mail yet, but the nerves overwhelmed him, so instead of jittering away on his couch, he worked his way down to his favorite bar, taking up his usual corner seat.
He's on his third drink when she walks through the door, his eyes somehow drawn towards the bell even though it has rung dozens of times without attracting his attention, and he looks up just in time to see her bright ponytail bobbing as she laughs at the brunette behind her, her smile literally lighting up the entryway.
She's so beautiful that he feels his breath hitch, feels the way his chest tightens at the sight of her. He has it bad , though it's perhaps even worse now that he's gone out and made a total fool of himself and asked her to both go out with him and be his fake long-term girlfriend while his brother is in town.
He’s a goddamn idiot, but he’s an idiot who has fallen hard for the girl down the hall. The girl down the hall, who just showed up to the bar he frequents on the same day that he asked her out.
Coincidence?
He sure hopes they’re not related events, at least.
A few minutes pass, his goddess and her friend seated at one of the high-tops down the bar from him, and the fact that neither of them have turned his direction makes him sure that their presence in the bar has nothing to do with him.
Until she turns her attention over her shoulder, finding his gaze almost immediately, even with the handful of people sitting between them. Until she smiles at him, and it takes everything in him to not fall out of his seat.
Will slapping his hand against the bar in front of him certainly doesn’t help his nerves, and he really does almost jump out of his seat.
“She’s a beauty, eh?” Will asks, only partially trying to hide the laugh that comes from Killian’s response to him. “I noticed her as soon as she walked in with that friend of hers.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He turns his eyes down to the almost-empty glass in his hands, too embarrassed to meet his best friend’s gaze. “That’s, uh, her.”
He can swear that Will’s laugh draws every eye in the room towards them. He hopes he’s wrong. “I thought you said she was blonde?”
“What the hell are you talking about, Will, she is—”
They both turn back towards the table and seem to come to the realization at the same time: they’re not talking about the same girl.
“Another drink, please, Mr. Scarlett,” Killian says, smiling up at his friend as their eyes meet again. “And one of whatever those ladies over there are drinking, as well.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Belle says, leaning across the small high top table towards her. “He asked you out, using a Christmas card, but your first date would be meeting his brother and pretending that you’ve been his girlfriend for four months?”
Again, Emma just nods, shaking her head down towards her beer.
“How fucking weird, right?”
When Belle doesn’t immediately respond, Emma raises her eyes back towards her friend, who has her bottom lip pulled up between her teeth.
“Okay, yeah, it’s weird,” Belle agrees, but shrugs when she meets Emma’s gaze. “But, like, that’s not necessarily a reason to say no, is it?”
Emma can’t help but laugh — she’s had this argument with herself at least five times since she read Killian’s message. “It’s not like he’s terrible looking.” She feels the heat rush to her cheeks even before she continues the thought in her mind. “I would be lying if I said I haven’t noticed that.”
“So what’s keeping you from answering him?”
Emma shrugs, taking another sip of her drink. “Guess I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t totally insane that I wanted to say yes to him.”
At this, Belle laughs, but turns her attention over Emma’s shoulder, towards the bar. “You know, the bartender keeps looking over here. And that guy at the end of the bar.”
For once, Emma doesn’t mind the change in subject. “Well, are they cute?”
“The bartender is much more my type than tall, dark, and brooding at the bar.”
Tall, dark, and brooding. The odds of the man at the bar being Killian are low, but her curiosity gets the best of her and she turns her gaze over her shoulder anyway.
And smiles.
Because it’s him. Of all the gin-joints, or something like that, right? There has to be a reason that she and Belle decided to try this bar, tonight , just as she’s talking about Killian and his Christmas card.
Turning back to Belle, she is completely useless against the smile that grows across her face. “That’s him, Belle,” she half-whispers, as if Killian could hear them from across the bar.
At first, Emma doesn’t think this will get her friend to tear her eyes from the bartender, even as he goes back to his work. But it does, and her blue eyes are bright with excitement as they meet Emma’s again.
“What? Not the bartender, right?”
Emma barks out a loud laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “No, not the bartender. The guy at the end of the bar. That’s him, that’s Killian.”
“Well, he certainly is good-looking,” Belle says with a shrug. “And there’s a chance he has an in with the bartender, so I certainly won’t complain about that.”
Now when her eyes shift over Emma’s shoulder, they grow at least twice the size. “Oh my god, Emma, he’s coming over here.”
“ What?”
“He’s on his way over here, and — shit — the bartender is bringing refills, too.” Emma has never seen Belle’s face this red.
The bartender gets there first, a tray full of drinks balanced on his hand. He doesn’t even try to be sly, winking at Belle as he approaches the table.
“I’m afraid we didn’t order refills,” Belle says, her voice practically a pur as a wide smile spreads across her face.
“The honor is all mine,” a deep voice comes from behind her. It’s not loud enough to startle her, but something in his voice sends shivers down her spine instead.
She turns towards him as he stands next to the table, trying to keep the smile off her face. “What’s the occasion?”
He shrugs, more useless against his smile than Emma is. “Maybe I’m just feeling in the Christmas spirit, is all.”
“Yeah, sure,” the bartender laughs, setting the drinks in front of them on the table. “That’s why he’s suddenly taken to sending out Christmas cards.”
Emma has a feeling that the table between them is the only thing that keeps Killian from slapping his friend on the arm, but the look on his face is full of the same amount of scorn.
That doesn’t stop him from continuing to talk, though. “I heard he may have even sent you one, is that right?”
At this, though, Killian’s eyes snap up to his friend’s, wide with amazement.
Before he can say anything, Emma takes the chance to speak up.
“I did get a Christmas card, actually,” she says, leaning slightly towards him. “A rather surprising one.”
“Is that so?” the bartender asks, one of his eyebrows raised high on his face. “What could possibly be surprising about a Christmas card?”
“Will, please, just shut up,” Killian says finally, the tips of his ears as red as Emma’s leather jacket.
Emma chooses to ignore that outburst, turning instead towards the bartender — Will — and not towards Killian. “I do have to admit, I’ve never been asked out via Christmas card before, it was certainly interesting.”
Across the table, Belle laughs. So does Will. Killian certainly does not.
“Interesting?” Killian repeats from beside her.
“Brave,” she retorts.
“Bold,” Belle adds.
“Idiotic,” Will helpfully adds, but Emma shakes her head.
“No, no.” With this, she finally turns towards Killian, who is hanging on to her every word as if his life depended on it.
(Maybe it does.)
When she smiles, his eyes widen even more, but she is unable to look away from them, a blue brighter than she has ever seen.
“Well, okay, yes, it could have been idiotic, but it worked for him this time.”
His smile somehow makes his eyes brighter, something she wouldn’t have believed possible if she hadn’t seen it herself. She’s noticed just how good-looking he is before, but something about this moment strikes her in particular. His dark hair looks soft enough to run her fingers through, and she feels another shiver run down her spine when she imagines the way his stubble would feel against her skin.
Christ, Emma, pull yourself together.
“Pardon?” he breathes, as if he was afraid that speaking out loud would shake the atmosphere, change her answer.
“Aye, ya wanker, will you listen?” Will says, and Killian has enough fear in his eyes to make Emma sure that he’s afraid the whole world is going to fall down around him. Belle, however, can’t stop giggling. “She’s trying to tell you that she’s accepting your offer, by some miracle.”
“Really?” he asks, his voice a bit louder this time, but still not full volume.
Looking around the table, Emma finishes the last of her beer, then shrugs at Killian. “Yeah, sure, why not?” she says with a laugh. “Belle seems to believe that you’re not a serial killer, so, really, what do I have to lose?”
The night passes quickly, with Will back to work and the three of them moved to the bar. Emma learns that Killian is a celestial navigator for the Navy, which he finds much better than the desk work that he was confined to after he lost his hand in an engine explosion. Killian learns all about Emma's job as a bail bondswoman, about some of the scum that she's gone after, and about Belle's job as the secretary at her office, which is much less exciting, though requires her to be up much earlier than Emma, so she called it a night and went home, leaving Emma and Killian behind.
Emma didn't mind too much.
"So how did you end up in the Navy anyway?" Emma asks. The business of the bar has calmed down since their arrival, and Will finds himself joining their conversations more often than not while doing his side work, wiping off glasses and slicing fruit. "You're obviously not from around here," Emma quips, totally helpfully, but is the first person to laugh at her own joke. She's certainly not drunk — shes only had three glasses of beer in the same amount of hours — but there is definitely something about the bar and the night (and her new companion, she may even be able to admit to herself) that makes her feel looser than normal.
Bubbly, perhaps. Mary Margaret would call it bubbly.
Because if she called it happy, Emma might just slap her.
(That doesn't mean Emma can't think it, though.)
"Aye, love, that I am not," Killian responds, letting out a small chuckle of his own. "We were raised in England, but after my dad died, mum wanted to come back home. Liam and I were dual citizens, but when I moved back with her, he decided to follow through with his plans and join the Royal Navy instead of coming here with us and serving under the US flag. I was planning on doing the same, but I couldn't leave mum alone yet, so I went to school instead, and studied to be a history teacher, but then she got sick and passed not long before I finished my degree and I joined myself once I graduated."
Emma watches him as he recounts his history, his blue eyes looking much farther away than the bar back across the bar from him. She watches as he grinds his jaw, the muscles hardening under his dark scruff, and she almost fails to notice the way his fingertips brush through the ends of her curls, his arm slung around the back of her barstool but barely touching her.
"I'm sorry about your parents," Will says, his voice soft, soothing, in a way Emma is not even sure she could get her voice to be.
Killian just nods, his eyes still set somewhere far beyond the bar, but she does feel him jump slightly when she sets her hand on his knee. At this, he turns to her, and she flashes her most sincere smile.
It must work, because he tries to return it, though it only stays for a moment, never reaching the rest of his face.
"Thanks," he tries, barely a whisper, before taking another sip of his rum. When he starts again, his voice is stronger. "Dad was never around much anyway, but losing mum was much more difficult. It was the only other time Liam made it over to America, too."
Suddenly, the bell rings above the door, followed closely by a boisterous yelling from those who just entered. Emma turns her attention over her shoulder, towards the new patrons, before quickly turning her back to the door, covering the side of her face with her hand.
"You have got to be kidding me," she mumbles. This is her luck. Of all the nights she goes out, of all the bars that she could try for the first time and find herself on what could only be described as a "date," it all happens on the same night — at the same time — at the same bar, which she had never been to before — that David and Mary Margaret are out with their friends. Now that she’s thinking about it, she vaguely remembers Mary Margaret mentioning Robin’s birthday coming up, and how they were going to celebrate at one of his favorite bars in the city.
"Is everything okay, love?" Killian asks, leaning in towards her to keep his voice low.
She nods, then shakes her head, looking up at him. His bright eyes are shining with more worry than should be possible, especially in the short amount of time that they've been talking. "It's just — that's my brother and his friends, out for one of his friend’s birthdays."
With Killian's hand warm against her back, she barely notices as he turns his attention towards the crew. They sound smaller tonight than usual, but it is a weeknight, so it makes sense.
That just gives Mary Margaret more of a chance to see her at the bar. To see her out with Killian and, of course, overthink everything, jump to conclusions and embarrass her in front of Killian.
They haven't even taken their seats at the table yet when Emma hears Mary Margaret's voice from behind her, and she hangs her head before taking a few large gulps of what is left of her beer.
"Emma?"
"I swear, that woman has an Emma radar or something," she mumbles, Killian's chuckle rumbling in her ear as she turns around to face her sister in law, plastering a smile on her face.
"Oh, hey, Margs!"
“And who is this?” she asks, still walking towards them. The warmth of his hand on her back disappears, and when she turns back towards him, he is no longer leaning towards her.
“Killian Jones,” he says, reaching his hand out towards her. Mary Margaret’s smile just grows, which Emma wouldn’t have thought was possible.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Killian Jones,” she says. Before Emma can say anything, though, Mary Margaret turns her attention over her shoulder, where she immediately finds David’s attention without saying a word, waving him over. “I’m Mary Margaret, and this is my husband, David.”
“My brother,” Emma adds, reminding him.
“Yeah,” David says, crossing his arms over his chest as he comes to stand next to Mary Margaret. “Her older brother.”
“Oh, come on, David,” Emma mumbles, but Killian chuckles behind her again.
“Is this a date?” Mary Margaret asks, as if the answer isn’t totally obvious. “Are we interrupting something?”
“Yes.” Emma tries to keep some of the bite from her voice, but she’s not sure that she succeeded.
“No,” Killian insists in the same moment, causing Emma to turn towards him, her eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. “Well, yes, this is a date, I guess, but you’re—” he tries, his words quickly becoming nothing more than a stutter as the tips of his ears turn bright red.
And then he immediately changes the subject.
“Is that an Enduring Freedom tattoo?” he asks, gesturing towards the eagle peeking out from under the sleeve of his tee shirt.
David’s demeanor changes in an instant, a wide smile spreading across his face. It’s sort of a dumb question, given the words are sticking out from under the sleeve, but if his goal was to change the subject off of his date/not-date with Emma, he definitely succeeded.
“Yeah, yeah, it is. Did you serve?”
“I did, but not — not in Iraq. By brother did, though. It was the first deployment he had after he joined, a volunteer opportunity since they couldn’t force a bunch of Brits to fight a war that we had nothing to do about. Ironic.”
“And it was Enduring Freedom ?”
“Aye.”
For a moment, David is silent, his eyebrows knit together as he mulls over something — and then his eyes snap up to Killian’s again.
“Wait, did you — did you say your name was Jones ?”
Killian just nods, but David excitedly sits down in the seat next to Emma, leaning against the bar to look around her. “Your brother doesn’t happen to be Liam Jones, does he?”
The smile that spreads across Killian’s face is bright enough to match David’s.
“Yeah, yeah, Liam is my brother. You know him?’
“ Know him?” David scoffs. “We were practically bunk mates! My god, what are the odds?”
Emma rolls her eyes, turning to Mary Margaret. “What are the odds?” she mumbles, but Mary Margaret either doesn’t hear her or chooses to ignore her.
“Why don’t you guys come join us? It’s Robin’s birthday, sure, but this way you won’t just have to sit here and listen to them talk, Emma. You know how David gets, talking about the army.”
Emma tries her best to laugh, but every internal alarm is going off, so she doubts it shows fully on her face.
No one seems to notice.
“Yeah, come join us!” David repeats.
Emma knows there’s no way to talk Mary Margaret and David out of it now, and she has no choice but to follow them to the large table in the corner, where the rest of David’s friends have already taken their seats.
And Will, in the seat next to Robin, Emma notices.
It’s just a small party: Robin, his girlfriend Regina, Little John, Graham, and Jefferson. Counting Will, the new additions double the size of the party.
“You guys remember Emma, of course,” Mary Margaret says as David goes to slide in the booth beside Will, who gestures that he needs to get out to get back to work.
“Happy birthday, Robin,” Emma says, giving a small wave to the rest of the group.
As a response, Robin simply holds up his beer towards her.
David pulls Killian in the booth beside him, simultaneously introducing him to the group and embarrassing Emma enough for her to immediately notice the heat rising to her cheeks. “And this is Emma’s boyfriend, Killian Jones.”
Emma rolls her eyes, sliding in the booth beside Killian, but for a moment, no one says anything. Mary Margaret tries to ask the question with her eyes, but Emma ignores it. They can’t even decide if this is really a date, and they definitely aren’t anywhere close to the “boyfriend”/”girlfriend” conversation, but it’s not worth the argument.
At least, Emma doesn’t think it is.
“I’m not her—” he starts, but isn’t sure where to go from there. They’re definitely not dating, at least not to a point where either of them can label anything. She only agreed to go out with him a few hours before.
“We really just met,” Emma tries, hoping that anyone tries to change the subject, but that apparently isn’t going to happen. What luck she has.
“We really did interrupt something, then,” Mary Margaret mumbles from beside her, a realization that Emma wishes she would have had before even approaching Emma and Killian, though especially before dragging them over to their table to hang out with David’s friends.
There should be guidelines about this. A book, maybe: How to Make a First Date Look Like It’s Not a First Date So Your Family Doesn’t Get the Wrong Impression and Start to Plan Your Wedding Before You’ve Even Seen the Inside of His Apartment.
Maybe she’ll just write it herself.
Except that would mean that she actually needed to know how to do it.
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable labeling it at all, actually,” Killian comments, finally making himself a useful part of the conversation.
Regina scoffs. Emma almost forgot just how outspoken the woman really was, though it was never pointed at her before.
“Yeah, who needs labels, anyway?” Graham adds, ever-so-helpfully. Graham, who practically asked her to marry him on their first date. Graham, who asked her very specifically to be her boyfriend after knowing her for a grand total of three hours.
Though Killian’s approach really knocks his out of the ballpark.
Could this night get any worse?
It barely takes ten minutes for Emma to regret even asking herself that. Thankfully, the conversation turned away from her relationship-whatever with Killian with Will coming back to get more drinks for everyone, though it didn’t take long for it to turn to David and Mary Margaret’s annual Christmas Eve party, which is still planned, even though Mary Margaret is just weeks away from having their son.
“You’re coming, right, Emma?” Jefferson asks.
“You guys are only interested in my eggnog,” she jokes, but both Jefferson and Little John nod, not even trying to hide the seriousness on their faces.
“It sounds like a real blast,” Killian says, a little looser with another half-glass of rum in his system.
“Oh, you should come!” Mary Margaret says, her voice almost a squeal.
“No, no, my brother is flying into town, so I promised him that I would show him all the Christmas excitement that Boston has to offer.”
Only Killian seems to miss David’s eyes growing wide.
“Wait, your brother is coming here? For Christmas?”
It’s only then that both Emma and Killian realize the mistake that has just been made. But it’s too late to take it back.
“Yeah, he hasn’t been here for about ten years, and has saved up most of his vacation days to spend a week here with me before heading back home to England.”
“I would love to see him,” David says, almost embarrassed. “If you don’t have other plans for Christmas Eve, the two of you should definitely come over to our party. At least stop by, maybe? I just — I haven’t seen him since we toured together, and I’ll admit that I lost touch with him, but that doesn’t mean—”
Killian sets his hand on David’s arm, stopping his words before he can continue to make a fool of himself. “I’m sure Liam would love to. Unless he has some other big Christmas Eve spectacular plans for us, we’ll be there.”
Once again, neither Killian nor Emma realize what this means until he has already said it.
Merry fucking Christmas .
The party proves to be stressful before they even make it into the house, meeting Ruby in the front yard.
“Emma!” she squeals, practically running across the lawn, somehow not falling to her death in her platform heels with the inch of snow on the ground. When she wraps Emma in a hug, Emma can already smell the vodka on her breath — not very surprising, given the bottle grasped in her hand. “Merry Christmas!”
“Hey, Rubes,” Emma laughs, wondering how her friend isn’t freezing in her skirt and tank top in below-freezing temperatures. “Merry Christmas.”
When Ruby lets go of her and turns to Killian, though, Emma realizes a fatal flaw in their plan.
“And who’s this cutie?” she asks, setting one of her perfectly-manicured hands against Killian’s shoulder as a look of pure terror passes over her face.
Maybe she should have filled in some of her friends. More than just Belle. At least Ruby wouldn’t have started planning their wedding the way she knows Mary Margaret would have.
At least then Ruby wouldn’t have blown their cover before they even made it into the house.
“Oh, come on,” Emma tries, reaching back to take Killian’s hand in her free one to pull him closer to her. “You remember Killian? You’ve been out with us a few times.”
“I’ve told you before, Rubes, that vodka is just gonna fuck up your brain, you should move on to real liquor.” Killian jokes, with Emma laughing along with him.
Thankfully, Ruby is just drunk enough that it works, and when she starts to laugh, Liam does, too. Killian lets go of her hand, wrapping his arm around her waist instead, and they share a relieved smile.
Of course, this is the moment that Mary Margaret chooses to open the front door to them, with Emma and Killian smiling at each other.
“Emma!” she yells from the doorway, and Emma bolts away from Killian’s touch before realizing what it must look like to Liam, so she keeps the intensity of her movement and jogs the rest of the way to the front door, wrapping Mary Margaret in a hug. “Oh, good, Killian and Liam are here, too! David’s going to be thrilled!”
“Merry Christmas Eve, Margs,” Emma says, with Killian and Liam approaching the porch behind her. She steps around Mary Margaret, who thankfully reaches out to hug Killian before he has to make that decision for himself.
It’s going to be a long night , Emma tells herself, looking around at all of the people that she has to put this performance on in front of: Graham, Jefferson, Robin, Little John — all the guys that were present for Killian’s “date”-”not-a-date” word vomit the other night — plus more of David’s friends, August, Philip and Aurora, and some of Mary Margaret’s teacher friends, Ashley and her husband Sean, Zelena, Johanna, plus Belle and Will.
"What is there to be worried about?" Emma mutters under her breath, hopefully only loud enough for Killian to hear her. She takes a swig of her eggnog, perhaps a bigger one than she meant to, and shudders as the bourbon warms her throat. "All we have to do is convince your brother that we've been dating for four months while hiding the fact that this is our first date from my entire family."
Killian rolls his eyes, gripping his glass of rum tighter in his hand. The stress of this whole scenario has been weighing down on him, and the headache that he's had since Liam's phone call has only succeeded in getting worse.
But with David and Liam reminiscing about the time they spent serving and Mary Margaret focusing both on playing host and being eight months pregnant, it proves easier than either of them expected. That doesn't stop Emma from drinking glass after glass of eggnog, though, and she doesn't realize that she's crossed the "drunk" threshold until it's two glasses too late.
That's when things start getting difficult.
With a new glass of eggnog in her hand, Emma comes back into the living room, trying to choose one of the three conversations to join. Instead, she gets distracted by the bright smile that Killian flashes her from one of the armchairs and decides to make her way across the room to him.
"Hi," she says, a smile to match his spread across her features.
"Hello, love," he laughs, far less affected by alcohol than she is and able to laugh at her present state. The redness of her face somehow makes the green of her eyes even brighter, turns her golden hair into a shimmering halo. “Sit down,” he tells her, patting the arm of the chair beside him, and her smile grows.
And then she sits on his lap instead, curling her arm around his neck, the tips of her fingers finding the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck. He tries not to show his surprise on his face, trying to keep the attention off of them, but it doesn’t stop the actual surprise that rushes through his veins.
“I really like you, you know,” she says softly, her lips not far from his ear. Or, she tries to speak softly, he’s sure, but it doesn’t quite work. He can feel Graham’s eyes on them from his spot by the fireplace, knows that Graham can’t be the only person who has noticed them, but he can’t take his attention off of her.
“It’s okay, love,” he says, his own fingers finding the very tips of her hair. “I know.”
Her smile grows, her fingernails finding his scalp.
“You make me happy.” He’s not sure where her words come from — they’ve only been talking for a week, have only seen each other twice since their meeting in the bar, but he agrees with her fully, though this doesn’t seem like the right time to tell her that.
She leans down to press her lips against his cheek, and Killian is sure that now, all hell is going to break loose.
“Wait,” Graham says, turning fully away from his conversation with Jefferson, the first step in his demise. “Are you two…?”
Graham doesn’t even finish his question, the words trailing off unspoken but ringing in Killian’s ears. He allows himself to look around the room, searching for his brother in hopes of being able to keep up with their charade, and a sigh of relief passes over him when he sees him still standing with David in the kitchen, probably still reminiscing over their time overseas.
Emme turns her smile towards him, her fingernails still sending shivers down his spine each time they pass over his scalp. It’s unfair, really, just how much she affects him after only talking for a week, even though he has been kicking himself over asking her out since the spring.
“Maaaybe,” she practically sings.
For a moment, Killian can swear that Graham almost looks defeated, deflated, by this realization, though it passes as soon as Jefferson joins them, as well.
“Don’t you remember?” Jeff asks, clapping his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “They were almost-sort of on a date when we were out for Robin’s birthday?”
Graham just nods, then takes a long sip from his bottle of beer.
“Does your brother know?” Jeff asks, trying not to smile.
“Yes,” Killian says.
“No!” Emma practically yells, shaking her head.
No longer does Jeff try to hide his smile, even letting out a small chuckle as he nods. “Okay then.”
Even Graham half-chuckles.
“I think I need another drink,” Emma says, the slur of her words much worse than Killian thought it would be, and when she stands up, he takes her by the wrist to pull her back down into his lap.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Emma,” he mumbles, though he knows that Graham and Jeff pick up on it.
“Come on, Killian, I’m fine,” she tries, but he just shakes his head.
“No, Emma, I’m certain you’ve had enough.”
She glares down at him for a moment, her eyebrows low over her angry green eyes, but this time when she moves to stand, he lets her. With a huff, she walks away, and he can tell that she’s trying not to stumble, even as she catches herself on the back of the couch.
Killian knows that Graham and Jeff are still watching them. He knows that he should say something, alleviate the tension — a joke or something, a Women, you know? — but he doesn’t feel like joking now, especially not one like that, if there ever even is a right time for a joke like that, which Killian doesn’t think there is.
Instead, he just shakes his head, pushing himself up off the chair before reaching to take his empty rocks glass with him into the kitchen and walking away.
Emma is exactly where he hoped she wouldn’t be: leaning against the counter between David and Liam. Right in the middle of the danger zone. The exact place Killian has avoided all night.
He has his opening line on the tip of his tongue: Come on, Emma, we should get you home. Easy enough, simple enough, and it doesn’t make or break the whole secret/fake relationship guise. But Emma seems to already have made other plans.
“Just sleep in the guest room, please, Emma,” David is saying as he walks up.
“Somebody else needs it more than I do, I’m sure,” she’s trying to argue, but David and Liam are standing in identical positions, leaning back against the counter with their arms crossed over their chests. And both of them are shaking their heads at her.
“It’s yours, Emma,” David insists. “You always stay over on Christmas Eve anyway.”
Killian tries to pretend that he’s not there specifically to overhear their conversation, picking at the plate of cookies behind him on the bar, but it doesn’t work.
“And Killian can stay here with you, I’ll just go stay at his apartment,” Liam says, gesturing towards Killian with his chin.
He opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t even know what to say. Instead, he just taken another bite of his cookie, nodding.
If David picks up on it, he says nothing about it. “You can stay here, too. We set up the extra bed in the nursery in case someone needed it.”
“You’re too kind, really, Dave,” Liam says. “If someone else needs it, they’re welcome to it, but I would be more than willing to accept the offer if not.”
Emma turns her head towards Killian, her eyebrows low on her forehead once more. Whatever she’s about to say, Killian is somehow sure that she’s going to start an argument. “So if we’re staying here, I can have another drink, right, Killian?”
Now she crosses her arms over her chest, standing up straighter between the two of them.
Killian shakes his head. “No, I still don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Thankfully, David seems to agree with him. “All you need to drink, Em, is a nice glass of water.”
Liam laughs, a loud, boisterous thing, and wraps his large arm around Emma’s shoulders. She actually harrumphs . If her arms weren’t already crossed over her chest, he’s sure she would have paired the noise with the action.
She moves to walk away, pushing herself away from the counter, and trips over her own feet, right into Killian’s arms.
This time, Liam’s laugh is paired with one from David, though Liam clamps his lips shut and David covers his mouth with his hand.
“Maybe we should get you to bed,” Killian tries, holding her as steady as he can with most of his weight still pressed against the bar behind him.
“No, no, come on,” she pleads, stabilizing herself against his shoulders. “Not while everyone is still here, that’s — that’s embarrassing.”
Killian nods, understanding her point of view, but she doesn’t want to have this argument in front of their brothers. Liam must sense something in Killian’s expression, nodding at him in understanding while nudging David’s arm with his own. “Let’s at least get her a glass of water, then,” he says, nodding towards the other end of the kitchen where the sink is.
“Emma, listen,” he says, trying to keep his voice soft enough that Liam and David won’t hear him. “If you don’t want me staying in the room with you, I understand, I can just — I’ll just tell Liam that I don’t feel comfortable sharing a bed with you at your brother’s house.”
“I was serious earlier,” she says, her voice hard as she sways closer to him, her hands on his chest. “I know that we haven’t had any conversations about what we are, but I — I really like you.” Pulling her teeth between her lips, her eyes fall to the floor, an almost embarrassed blush covering her cheeks.
“Emma,” he whispers, setting his hand on top of one of hers on his chest. He knows she’s too far gone to remember this conversation in the morning, knows that she literally just fell into his arms after stumbling over her own feet, but that doesn’t make his feelings any less real, any less potent. In any other situation, he would take this opportunity to steal a kiss from her, to finally feel the softness of her perfect lips against his own — but this isn’t the right moment.
Instead, he lets go of her hand to grab the glass of water from Liam, letting the moment pass unseized.
“Drink this,” he says, handing the glass to her before pulling one of the stools ut from under the bar. “And here, you should sit down.”
“Why are you so sweet?” she asks, leaning back against him after he pushes her a little closer to the bar.
“Don’t you know, Emma?” he whispers, pressing a kiss against her temple, and now he hopes that she really won’t remember this conversation in the morning. “I’m absolutely crazy about you.”
She lasts another hour and a half, going through at least four glasses of water and two plates of pasta (not to mention another two glasses of wine, but they have affected her less than the eggnog was), before she turns to Killian, now sitting beside her at the kitchen table, and yawns. Most of the crowd has thinned out, Mary Margaret already gone to bed, and only a few of them remain, all sitting around the kitchen table, some of them involved in a game of penny poker.
“I think it’s time for bed now, love,” he says, moving to stand.
This time, she agrees, though she has also sobered up quite a bit. Killian has tried to keep track of who has given them odd looks, who has picked up on their dating/not-dating charade, but if anyone has noticed anything odd, they’ve been kind enough to keep it to themselves — save Graham’s questioning earlier.
She makes the round around the table, bidding good night to the few who are left.
When he closes the bedroom door behind them, he fears he may lose the contents of his stomach, his heart pounding wildly in his throat, his chest, his head. He has nothing to be nervous about, really — she’s in a much better state of mind than she was the last time he suggested she take to bed, absolutely in a headspace where she can tell him as soon as she is uncomfortable with any part of their situation.
Of course, none of this makes him feel any better.
"I can sleep on the floor if you want," he says, slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt for the plain white one underneath. Someone — he's assuming David, liking the man with each opportunity to question any part of their situation he has found and avoided — has laid two pairs of pajamas out on the bed for them, as well as an extra comforter and blanket, probably for just the situation Killian has suggested.
"Killian, come on." Her voice is half-pleading, and when she turns to face him, all he wants to do is reach out to him. With the way her fingers twitch at her sides, he wonders if she feels the same.
He hopes she does.
"I mean it, Emma, if any of this makes you uncomfortable, even in the slightest, I will —"
"Killian," she says again, her voice harsher but still somehow still pleading . "I promise you, if there was any part of this scenario that I was even a little uncomfortable with, anything that even rubbed me the wrong way, I would have said fuck this and made it stop. I wouldn't have gone through with it in the first place. I don't know what's so hard for you to understand about this fact, Killian, but I like you. I thought part of this deal was that we could actually be trying this whole dating thing while convincing your brother that we've been dating for a while. I thought we were getting along pretty well, but this whole time tonight you've been acting like none of this is real, like the last few times we've gone out have been for nothing—"
He can't hold himself back any longer. Each of her words made him more confident, more sure of himself, until he finally worked up the nerve to act on his feelings, filling the space between them that somehow got smaller as Emma spoke. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her to him — pulling her lips to his.
Every part of her is as soft as he imagined, from her hair between his fingers to her lips against his to, finally, the skin of her back against his hand when he snakes it under her tank top.
"Killian," she whispers, only pulling back far enough to press her forehead against his. "No matter how much I like you, I'm not doing any more than kissing you at my brother's house."
Killian is useless against the laugh that rips through his chest. "Can't argue with that, love."
Two years later, they have a much harder time sticking to that same guideline when Killian tells her of his plan to propose the next morning.
And the crying newborn the next year makes it impossible even to sleep.