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wellhellotragic · 6 years

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Dreaming of a Pink Christmas

Summary: Emma Swan despises the pink christmas tree currently living in her apartment. It's nothing short of an abomination. But when Emma decides to replace it with a freshly chopped tree of her own, Her bug gets stuck in a storm, and she'd forced to call the last person she ever wanted to see again. The man that broke her heart. Also on AO3.

Rating: Mature (there’s smut)

A/N: Imagine signing up for the CSSecretSanta and waiting patiently for a name to be assigned you, and when it finally come you're just like crap. Not because you've been assigned a person you don't care for, but you've been given someone who is just leaps and bounds above the cut in fiction writing. Someone whose work everyone in the fandom loves an adores. And then you realize that you have to write a fic for them. Ya, no pressure there.

So with that said, this is my CSSS gift for the lovely @alexandralyman. (Surprise!) She asked for angst and I hope I've delivered. There's a bit of humor tossed in too. I wasn't able to fit in forced bed sharing like you'd mention, but there is force cohabitation and definite bed sharing. I hope you like it Alex, and Merry Christmas!

I was mostly joking when I told people that this was going to be 10K, but apparently I have no self-control and it just kept growing and growing.

(P.S. If you've never seen Sandra Lee's Kawanzaa cake, you might want to check it out on youtube before reading this fic!)

Another A/N: I also want to thank @best-left-hook-jones first and foremost for kindly helping me polish this bad boy over. I had this vague idea of Emma hating on MM's princess themed tree that was inspired by a conversation we had on different types of Christmas trees. There were pink ones, white ones, upside down ones. There are even ones that look like dresses on mannequins. Then after talking to Alex, everything seemed to fall into place. 10K later, Best-left saved this fic from being tossed in the garbage.

I'd also like to thank @optomisticgirl and @distant-rose for helping me brainstorm. I've never been to a tree farm or to a tree chopping so I had no clue what I was talking about. Boston isn't exactly the prime spot for me to have set this story, as there aren't any actually forests with evergreen trees near by, but if A&E can throw logic out the window, so can I!

Have a Merry Christmas everyone (or whatever holiday you celebrate!)

Word Count: 10K+

Dreaming of a Pink Christmas

Emma lay in bed, waiting until the she heard the roaring of David’s engine fading down the street. As much as she loved her roommate, and even her roommate’s boyfriend, there was only so much of the sickeningly sweet couple she could take. On a normal day, Mary Margaret was someone who Emma felt completely comfortable around, but the holidays brought out the monstrously sappy side in her best friend, and with it an overly motherly quality.

Emma, I have this friend who would be perfect for you.

Emma, I can’t just let you spend the holidays alone.

Emma, there’s somebody out there for you. I just know it!

So when David invited Mary Margaret to come home with him to meet his mother, and Mary Margaret systematically invited Emma to tag along, Emma quickly came up with an excuse to remain in Boston. Family had never really been her thing - not that she’d ever had enough experience with them to really know. Her knowledge base came from watching her friends. The sentimentality of missing them in complete conflict with the reality of being trapped in a house for a week, tense dinners, arguing. None of it was her.

No. Instead she told Mary Margaret that she’d picked up some extra shifts at the stations so that a few of her colleagues could spend time with their families. Technically speaking, she’d offered, but her captain had told her that she had enough man power. Still, Emma had insisted on them leaving her on the oncall list if something came up.

And that’s how Emma Swan found herself hiding out in her room Christmas Eve morning like a coward. Once she was sure that not only were they gone, but also far enough out of town to not pop back in for something forgotten, she forced herself out of bed.

What greeted her downstairs was an abomination. There was no other term fitting for the montorous pink christmas tree Mary Margaret had purchased for their apartment that year. There had been mention of how it reminded her of a tree fit for a princess. Emma just thought it looked like someone had soaked it in pepto bismol. Standing at seven feet tall, it dwarfed the room, and no matter where she stood, it seemed to taunt her from it’s spot near the door.

She hated it. Plain and simple. Four more days. She just need to ignore it for four more days and then Mary Margaret would be home again dismantling the atrocity and preparing for the next holiday. Originally, Mary Margaret had wanted to keep it up through the New Years, but Emma had been adamant that it shouldn’t be there at all. As a compromise, David had promised that he would make sure it was down before their New Year’s party. For Emma’s part, she just had to let it stay in the apartment.

Frustrated, Emma marched into the kitchen, digging out a bowl and spoon for her morning cereal. She sat at the bar, facing away from the tree. If she couldn’t see it, it didn’t exist. But as she sat there, eating her second bowl of lucky charms, her disdain for the tree grew.

Screw it.

She’d promised to let the tree stay in the apartment, not that she’d let it stay in the living room. It was a wonder that the bowl didn’t break when she tossed it into the sink. Pausing in front of the tree, hands on her hips, Emma took a moment to ready herself. It was a big tree and was going to take a lot of effort to move.

Her roommate had already strung lights and ornaments in the tree, so taking the tree apart and moving it in sections was out of the question. Instead, she walked to the backside of the pink monstrosity and began pushing it towards Mary Margaret’s room. It was heavier than she’d expected, and the stupid tree base may or may not have made a gouge in the old wooden floors. She’d have to remember to cover that up with a rug before anyone saw it.

She took a break halfway through to regain her breath. Her arms were scratched from the fake leaves, which only reignited her fury towards the beast. Refocused, she pushed it to the threshold of Mary Margaret’s room, where it quickly became stuck in the door jam. Try as hard as she might, she couldn’t get the whole thing across the metal lip, and after an intense battle, she conceded defeat. The pink tree would remain in sight, but Emma was content with it being much less prominent.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t realized just how accustomed she had become to the imposing pink presence, and the gap left behind was just a bit unsettling. It was another reminder of a holiday she had never been able to have as a child. Growing up in foster homes and group homes normally meant that Emma was shuffled around a lot. There was something about the holidays that made people want to spend time with their families - just their families - and she’d get shipped back before any presents could be wrapped with her name on them. There was never a tree, never a stocking, and never a santa. Just a sad lonely little girl.

Damn it.

She was almost thirty years old, and while there may not be some mystical grey haired man bringing her presents at midnight, she at least deserved to have a tree. A normal green freshly cut tree.

She quickly got bundled up in her warmest outfit and headed to her bug. It gave a groan of protest as she started it up, the engine sputtering loudly. It was only a matter of time before the damn thing gave up on her completely, but she wasn’t ready to part with it just yet. Once the dial on the dashboard had finally moved up enough to signal that the engine was warm enough to drive around without dying she set off for the hardware store.

The first one was a small mom-and-pop type store three blocks from her place. It was only after she’d parked and walked up to the door to find the shop locked down with all of the lights out that she remembered it was Christmas Eve and nearly every store was going to be closed. She ran back to the bug, willing the heater to work, and pulled up a search for ‘hardware stores’ on her phone. Luck was on her side; one of the larger chains was staying open until six for last minute shoppers, and it was on the way to the tree farm she’d read about at work the other day.

The hardware store was packed. She’d largely underestimated the number of people buying toolboxes, new appliances, and whatever else significant others gave each other to say ‘I love you’. It took her twenty minutes of rummaging around the store to find the saw, rope, and tree stand she needed, and another thirty minutes of standing in line before she was able to check out. The day was slowly slipping away. Not that she minded. She didn’t exactly have a schedule to keep.

According to the flier pinned up to the corkboard in the police station break room, the ‘Happily Evergreen After’ tree farm, was just ten miles from her place. With any luck she’d be home in less than an hour.

But, of course, Emma Swan wasn’t exactly a beacon for luck, and what the flier hadn’t advertised was that people had to pay $65 to chop down their own trees.

“You can’t be serious,” she exclaimed, staring at the sign posted at the lot entrance. “I’m the one doing all the work!”

The owner of the farm, a man dressed like a medieval Robin Hood, hadn’t taken kindly to Emma’s ranting, and as Emma got in her care to make a show of leaving, she’d mumbled under her breath that they should be arrested for highway robbery.

Totally vexed by the con that were tree farms, Emma found herself on auto pilot out of the city. If she were going to do all of the work of cutting down the tree and tying it up to her bug, she wasn’t going to pay some astronomical amount.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later that Emma found herself coming to a stop on the side of the road. Off to the right was a forest, the perfect place to find the perfect tree - especially one that didn’t cost a bloody $65 to cut down. She parked her bug in the grassy area, as close as possible so she wouldn’t need to drag her tree too far.

As she wandered through the wooded area, she couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t what it was supposed to be like, at least, that’s what it was like in the movies. Instead, she found her boots sinking into deep pockets of snow, and she was sure she was spending more time struggling to stay upright than actually walking.

When she stumbled on the six foot evergreen, she knew it was perfect. It was taller than her, but not so wide that it would get stuck coming through the door. She may not have any experience with Christmas trees, but she was no Clark Griswold. Setting down the rope, she gripped the small saw she had purchased as started working on the base of the tree. Another thing she hadn’t anticipated; tree bases were not easy to cut through. The saw kept getting stuck and her hands were freezing cold. By the time the tree was finished, the temperature had started to drop and the sun was much lower than it had been when she set out.

It didn’t help that she’d made more than a few turns while searching for the tree and getting back to the bug wasn’t exactly a straight path. Not to mention the fact that the tree was deceptively heavy, and it was only due to the combination of ropes and police training that she managed to drag the tree along at all.

By the time she’d managed to get the tree up on top of her bug, the sun had begun to set dangerously low on the horizon. The snow fall had begun to pick up as well, and she knew that time was running out if she wanted to get home before the storm hit. She tied the tree down using the entire length of the rope, fastening it to the roof of the car in a way that prevented her from rolling the windows up all the way. She knew getting home with it was going to be miserable, but she’d been through worse.The bug groaned as it came to life, and once again she waited for it to warm up before she tried to pull back out onto the road.

Mother nature had other ideas though.

As her tires spun out she realized that it had been just warm enough during the day to melt some of the snow, but as the day drew to an end, ice had form in its wake, and she was stuck.She gunned the engine one more time, but the bug only slid around. Emma started to worry. There was no way she was going to make it home in the bug, and she didn’t have enough gas to keep the heater running all night.

Her options were limited, given that most of her friends had left town to visit family. In fact, she didn’t actually know if anyone was still in Massachussetts, let alone close enough to Boston to help her.

Pulling out her phone, she found Mary Margaret’s number and hit dial.

“Hey Emma.”

Her friend’s chirpy, optimistic side was the last thing she wanted to deal with in her frustration.

“Hey, I’m in a hurry, but do you know anyone who might still be in Boston right now?”

There was a pause, her friend obviously contemplating the answer.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I know Ruby is but she’s working the night shift right now. Have you tried Liam? I think he said he and Elsa weren’t heading out to Anna’s until tomorrow.”

Liam. Not her first pick, but there were certainly people further down the list.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll try him.”

Emma hit end on the phone before her roommate could ask what was wrong - or worse yet, suggest calling a different Jones.

Looking through her phone, she realised she didn’t have Liam’s number. Odd, since they’d been friends - or at least acquaintances - for years now. She did, however, have his fiancee’s number.

“Hello,” came a male voice. “Elsa’s phone.” Damn, she was really hoping her friend would answer instead.

“Hey Liam.” She hesitated. Clearly she needed help, but she had never been very good at asking for it. “Are you in town by any chance?”

There was a sigh.

“Sorry, lass, but we left early this morning. Elsa was worried about the storm blocking our path to Anna’s house. Why?”

“Um, it’s nothing really. Do you know of anyone else who might be staying local this weekend?”

Please don’t let it be him. Please God.

“You’re not going to like it,” No. “but the only one I know of is Killian. He was supposed to come with us but something came up at work and he had to stay behind.”

Killian Jones. The man that had broken her heart one year ago. The man she had vowed never to speak to again.

“And there’s no one else?”

“Afraid not.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She’d deleted his number from her phone in hopes of avoiding any drunken temptations to call him, but there was still one text message she couldn’t ever bring herself to delete, and with it, seven digits burned into her phone, unassigned.

One ring. Two rings.

“Swan?”

He sounded worried.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, I just- you never call. I figured it was an emergency or something.”

True. She hadn’t dialed that number in over a year, having cut off all communication with him.

“Ya, well. Um- Are you still in Boston?”

She explained the situation and, without any of his usual teasing, he asked her to send him her GPS location and informed her that he’d be there as soon as he could.

As she sat in the bug, her traitorous thoughts drifted to him and that night. The night when everything had gone wrong. Killian and Emma had become close since he’d moved to Boston two years earlier. He’d finished up his degree in mechanical engineering at Stanford before taking a position at a local maritime company that designed boats. When a position had become available in Boston, he’d jumped at the opportunity to live near his brother.

Quickly, Killian had become a fixture in their group of misfits, and had become Emma’s best friend. The problem was that she’d fallen for him almost immediately, a fact that only grew more depressing as it slowly became clear that her feelings would not be returned. With his inky black hair and piercing blue eyes, he was beyond attractive. Women flocked to him in droves at the bar, and he was never lacking for companionship options. Emma would always make an excuse to leave before she had to watch him leave arm and arm with the newest flavor of the week, but judging from the way Victor Whale spoke, Killian had bedded half of Boston in their first year.

He was a flirt, she’d known that from the beginning, but after a while, she started to hope that maybe there was a chance that they could be more, that he’d see her as more. His eyes would linger on hers just a little bit longer each time the saw each other. He’d always wrap his arm around her waist as they’d wait for their turn at the pool table. And the night before the previous Christmas party, they’d nearly kissed. Ruby had interrupted them, and though neither had ever acknowledged what had almost happened, it had been enough to give Emma hope.

He was quicker than she’d expected, which could have only meant that he’d driven faster than what would have been deemed safe given the weather. He probably had other plans to get back to, someone else to get back to. That idea was enough to make her stomach twist.

As they worked silently in tandem removing the rope from Emma’s bug, she became hyper aware of his presence, of every accidental touch of hands and brush of shoulders. Together, they shifted the tree into the back of his truck and he re-tied it down in the bed while she grabbed the tree stand out of her back seat.

“I’m afraid the bug may be a lost cause tonight, but we can try to come back for it tomorrow if you’d like. Or I’m sure Ruby could bring you out if you’d prefer.”

It was the only thing he said as they both crawled into the cab of his truck. He started it up and shifted the truck into four wheel drive mode, easily moving back onto the street towards Boston. A few minutes later, Emma began to feel warmer than she had all night, only just noticing that he had turned her seat warmer on for him. They remained quiet the rest of the way back to her apartment as she replayed that night in her head.

Emma Swan was not a baker. She could cook enough to get by, but anything that required more than four ingredients was generally considered a lost cause on her end. So when she had come across a festive cake recipe online that was labeled as “semi-homemade” she’d jumped at the opportunity to try it. If she played her cards right, she might even be able to impress everyone at their annual Friendsmas party. Sure, the cake was considered a harvest cake, but it seemed festive and easy enough.

Killian had showed up early, halfway through her working on her cake. She’d paused the demonstration video just past the instructions on how to mix the icing. Killian had joined her in the kitchen and had narrowed his eyes as he’d watched her place the tan colored icing in and around the angel food cake.

It wasn’t until she had been opening a can of pie filling that Killian had seemed to take more interest in the cake, asking her what it was. She’d explained that she’d found it online and that it had over six thousand ‘thumbs ups’.

“Swan, are you sure about this?”

“Of course. Look at it. There’s almost two million hits on this thing. It’s like ‘the thing to make’ this season or something.”

She’d heard him mumble ‘or something’, but kept going, adding the acorns and pumpkin seeds, although her acorns looked different from the video, but she’d just chalked that up to using a different brand.

She had been just adding the last candle to the top of her cake when the doorbell had rung. She’d called out for Mary Margaret to answer it, but her friend had still been in the shower.

“Killian, can you grab the cake and move it onto the dessert table while I get the door?”

She hadn’t waited for his answer as she’d run to the door to greet Ruby. But when she’d heard the clatter of tin hitting hardwood, she’d come back to find the cake she’d been so proud of all over the floor. Her eyes had glanced up to Killian to see an apology on the tip of his tongue. But it hadn’t been real. He had been lying when he’d said it had been an accident.

“I’m sorry Swan. The candles set the balance off and I couldn’t catch it in time.”

He’d held his fake hand out as evidence, but Emma was unconvinced. She’d seen him do plenty with his prosthetic, and knew that he was more than capable with or without it. No, he’d done it on purpose. That much she was sure of. She just didn’t know why.

It didn’t matter, though. The damage had been done and her best friend had just lied to her face.

There had been an argument, words had been said, and in a tantrum, Emma had left the apartment, making sure not to return until she had been certain he’d left. It was the last time she spoken to him, the last time she’d heard his voice.

It was completely dark out as they returned to her apartment. The street lights in front of Emma’s apartment were out, just as they had been for the last three weeks - Boston wasn’t exactly know for keeping up with public works during the winter time - so Killian insisted on leaving his truck lights on so they could see where they were going. Together they hauled the tree inside the loft style building. Emma and Mary Margaret's apartment was mostly situated on the third floor of the building, but Emma’s room ran up to the fourth floor, and as with many older buildings, their wasn’t an elevator.

“Where did you want it?”

He’d taken the heavier end of the tree, and was clearly a bit tired from trying to finagle up to her floor.

“Hold on.��

Emma pulled the tree stand out of her bag and set it on the floor, moving it just slightly in every direction until she felt it was perfectly centered on the wall.

“There.”

While she’d been playing with the tree stand, he’d removed his coat, revealing his favorite red t-shirt over a green long sleeved henley. The shirt had come from his alma-mater - a graduation gift from Liam - and Killian always wore it proudly, especially at Christmas time. Stanford’s mascot was a worse for the wear tree of some sort that he said looked festive. She’d loved him in that shirt.

He lifted the tree and placed it in the stand, asking her to hold it steady as he screwed the trunk in place. She couldn’t help but notice the way his back muscles flexed as he worked, and she mentally chastised herself for noticing. There was no point in going down that road, not anymore.

“Okay, well you should be all set now.”

She should have thanked him, offered him something to drink. That’s what polite company would have done, but Emma was a mess. Memories had turned her into an emotional wreck and she just needed him out of her apartment as soon as possible.

“So I guess I’ll just get going.”

She simply nodded and when he left she locked the door behind him, hoping her longing for him would follow. The snow had picked up, not quite yet a blizzard, but she knew he’d have a hard time seeing more than three foot in front of him. The eighteen blocks to his apartment would probably take an hour. She’d text him and make sure he got home later. It was the polite thing to do she told herself, ignoring the part of her that wasn’t quite as ready to let him go again as she had wished.

She was startled from her thoughts a few minutes later when a knock came from the door. Karma. That’s the only word she could come up with with the man stood before her once more.

“I’m sorry to put you out like this lo- lass, but my truck battery seems to be dead. Is there any way I could crash in Mary Margaret’s room. I’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning and you won’t even notice I’m here.”

Yup. Karma. All of that no good deed goes unpunished crap. She just wasn't’ sure if it was hers or his karma at work. As much as she didn’t want him to stay, as much as she worried what she’d do if she was around him for too long, she knew she couldn’t send him back out to freeze to death.

She opened the door wider and ushered him in.

“Mary Margaret’s room is just down the hallway.”

Idiot. Of course he knew where her room was. He’d been there countless times. She was just at a complete loss as to what to say.

He nodded back and headed down the hallway to keep his word of hiding away. But that damn pink tree had struck again.

“Uh, Swan. This tree seems to be stuck. As in, stuck stuck. It’s really wedged in there.”

She’d forgotten about that. Damn.

“Oh right. Sorry. I guess you’ll have to take the couch. I’ll go grab you some sheets.”

He thanked her and she bolted up the stairs to her room, needing a few minutes to pull herself back together. She couldn’t avoid him forever though, not this time, and with all of the courage she could muster, she made her way back down stairs, handing a spare set of sheets. His hand grazed her slightly as he took them from her and sparks blazed across her fingers where their skin had touched.

He set to making up the pullout couch while Emma started wrapping lights around her newly acquired tree. Even if the situation had changed slightly, Emma was determined to wake up to a decorated Christmas tree. The lights she’d found had been a few extra strand in years passed. Some of the bulbs were burnt out, and only half of them twinkled anymore but it would have to do as all of the other lights were trapped in Mary Margaret’s doorway.

Killian was quiet, but she could feel him behind her, feel his eyes on her. When she’d finished stringing the lights she plugged them in and stood back, taking stock of her tree.

“It’s lovely.”

She hummed to herself in response.

It was awkward. Being around Killian, but not speaking to him. No playful banter. It left her unsettled.

“It’s still early. Would you like to find a movie to watch?”

A tiny grin flitted across his face but disappeared just as quickly. They both understood the offer for what is was. A temporary truce forced on the from circumstance.

“Sure thing.”

She left him with the remote to find something on netflix as she went to the kitchen to grab some snacks. She had a bottle of his favorite rum stashed away above the fridge, the christmas gift she’d never given him, but even now, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It would have been too much like them, and they were them, not any more.

She grabbed two beers from David’s stash instead and made some popcorn. When she joined Killian again he had the tv paused on the title screen for Die Hard. An old inside joke at Liam’s expense. It was too much. “Um, can we watch something else instead?

“As you wish.”

He handed her the remote and she scrolled through the Christmas section until she landed on Love Actually. Everything else reminded her of him, of sitting on that couch together watching Christmas Movie marathons. She needed something they’d never seen together before.

The credits played and they both settled in to opposite ends of the now bedlike couch. They drank their beers, pausing midway for new ones. Once or twice they both reached for the popcorn at the same time, Killian always insisting that she go first. If it had been a year ago, she would have thought it perfect.

As the movie progressed, and scene with the necklace played, Emma’s thoughts returned to that fight.

She’d been an idiot. She knew that. She’d completely overreacted. Sometimes she forgot that she wasn’t in the system anymore, that not everyone was out to get her. It was just her stubborn pride that had kept her out so late. She couldn’t apologize to him in front of everyone. Not when she had made such a big scene.

So she waited. She waited for him to leave. She waited until she woke up. And then she waited as she stood in line as the coffee shop picking up his beverage of choice and his beloved healthy bagels as an apology.

And then she waited some more for him to answer the door, but he never did. It was Tink who greeted her, Tink who was wearing his blue button up from the night before. A shirt Emma had purchased for his birthday.

“Emma?”

“Hi. Uh- Is Killian here?”

Tink looked behind her for a second before shutting the door a bit more.

“He’s in the shower right now. I was about to-”

She didn’t finished, but Emma didn’t need her to. Tink was about to join him. Because they’d slept together.

He’d lied to her, broken her trust, and shattered her heart. And she’d let it happen. Let herself believe that she was somehow special to him. But she didn’t. She was just like every other girl. Just another notch on the bedpost.

“No, um. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You don’t even need to bother telling him I stopped by.”

Tink closed the door and Emma threw the coffee and breakfast out into the nearest trash can. It had been a miracle that she’d kept it together long enough to drive back to her apartment. But once she was safely behind the closed door of her bedroom, she let it all out. She wept for her stupidity, she wept for the friend she’d lost, and she wept for the loss of hope.

She ignored his texts and calls for three days. When he didn’t get the hint, she sent him back one last message.

Go to hell.

“Swan?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you’d like another beer?”

She must have zoned out for longer than she had realized.

“No, that’s okay.”

She was worried that if she drank to much she do something stupid, like tell him that even after all that time she was still in love with him.

He nodded and stayed in his seat, toying with the label of his empty beer bottle.

“Careful, love. If you tune out like that again I might get ideas of what your daydreaming about over there.”

Her eyes snapped up to him, caught off guard by his brazenness. That was the old Killian. That was before.

“And what would that be?”

“Well, you did choose the movie. A slightly romantic one.”

She wasn’t sure where it had come from, but wanted to wipe the smug grin off of his face.

“Oh, that. I just thought you could relate to Alan Rickman’s character.”

She looked over just in time to see his jaw clench and a haze cloudy over his face. His eyes never left the floor, and in that instant she realized she’d gone too far. A small smile tugged at his lips, but Emma recognized it for what is was.

Defeat.

In the past, she’d always believed it to be some sort of smug smirk. Something that told the world to fuck off because he was better than everyone else. But thinking back, it had been a defense mechanism. The same look he got when Liam was chastising him for something, the look he got when he spoke of Milah, and the look he got when she’d told him to go to hell that night.

It was the look of a man who’d lost all hope.

And she was the one that put it there.

He was off the couch and grabbing his coat before she could even swallow the lump that had formed in her throat.

“It looks like it’s died down a bit,” he started, gesturing towards the window.

The snow fall had died down but there was atleast a solid two foot of snow littering the sidewalks.

“I think I should be able to get home now so I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Killian-” She had to cut off her own words as she nearly stumbled trying to remove her legs from the tangle of blankets.

“Really, Swan. It’s getting late and I’m sure you have more important things to do than to entertain me.”

He was halfway out of the loft before she was able to catch him, wrapping her hand around his blunted wrist. He stilled, the muscles in his arm tensing beneath her touch.

“Killian, I didn’t mean you had to leave-”

“It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.”

God. How had this all turned around in her. Five minutes earlier she was seething over the memory of seeing him with Tink. Five minutes ago she was just hoping to get through the night without any more awkwardness.

“Is that really how you see me?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Is that how you see me? As an adulterous letch who only cares about himself?”

Milah.

How could she had been so stupid. When she made the off hand remark about Killian relating to Alan Rickman’s character she’d been referring to Tink, and how she thought that she and Killian had something, but all along he had his eyes set on someone else. She was bitter and spoke without thinking, and as inadvertent as it was, she’d knocked him over with a low blow.

Milah had always been a sore spot for him, but she’d just assumed it was because she chose to go back to her husband, that she hadn’t picked him. A bullet to his ego. But maybe there was more to it.

“Killian, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how do you see me, Swan? Because a year ago I thought things between us were great and then you suddenly just cut me out of your life.”

Her stomach sunk and the pleading in his voice.

“It’s complicated.”

“Emma,” he never called her by her first name. “Please, just tell me what I did to make you hate me.”

She wanted to run, but her hand was frozen in place, still gripping fiercely to his wrist, just above where the brace for his prosthetic hand rested.

“It’s not- I can’t-”

“Just tell me, please.”

“The cake.”

Yes, it was a complete cop out, but it was safer than the truth. A half truth that wouldn’t mean exposing her heart to him. Not again.

“The cake. This whole time it’s been about that bloody cake?”

His voice had risen and she’d never heard him speak with such anger, at least not directed towards her. She released his arm and took a step back. She could feel her own rage building inside her. He had no right to be mad at her. She was the one that had her heart broken by him. She was the one who felt like a fool.

“You did it on purpose and then didn’t even have to decency to feel bad about it!”

“I apologized multiple times that night. And how was I to know those candles would throw the balance off so badly?”

“You apologized? You know I can tell when people are lying to me and their wasn’t an ounce of sincerity in a single one of those apologies.”

It was the truth. He told her sorry over and over when it happened, but not once did he look truley regretful. His words were nothing more than a way to placate her, like a child trying to get out of being grounded.

“What’s with you and this bloody cake? Swan, did you even look at the comments on that blasted video you were playing?”

He had the audacity to look affronted, and from somewhere deep inside the fire rose, and Emma refused to back down.

“I told you Killian, it had over a million hits and six thousand thumbs up. People loved it. You know I’m not much of a cook, and I was proud of myself, but for some reason you saw fit to destroy it.” She had to stop herself before she added on just like everything else.

From her battle stance, with both arms crossed over her chest, she watched as Killian brought up his one good hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. It was what he did when he was trying to calm himself, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. She wasn’t ready to give up the fight though.

He didn’t say anything. Not at first. He simple reached down and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping away with his thumb until he found whatever her was searching for. Then he held it out, facing her.

“Will you please just read what people said?”

It was a genuine request, his voice calm and steady as he asked.

Emma jerked the device out of his hand and started scanning the comment section, noting for the first time what Killian had meant.

Guilmon4703: Mmmmmm, a cake that looks like someone took a big shit on your plate.

FijiUnited: Clearly the decades of alcohol consumption have rendered her tastebuds withered and useless.

Maria Kazakopi: I...I...am...dumbfounded by this culinary blasphemy. It must've been during one of her 'Cocktail Times' that she came up with this shitty cake. This is really HORRIBLE!

G Hayes: I'm usually pretty open minded when I see cooking shows. There's a lot of people who like a lot of different foods across the world. But this cake looks so awful I want to barf. Angel food cake? Fine. Everything else is a magnificently disgusting combination. When she stuck those huuuuuge candles in the cake I thought I was going to pee I laughed so hard. Poor Sandra. She never stood a chance with this one.

Fuck.

When Emma turned back to look at Killian, she finally saw the sincerity in his eyes that she had been looking for that night, and a part of her walls started to crumble.

“Swan, I couldn’t let you present that cake to people.” He took a step closer. “I care about you too much to let you be humiliated in front of our friends, especially not when I knew that your heart was in the right place. I thought it would be easier if you were just mad at me for a little while, and that it would spare your feelings.”

There was something there, something in the way that he looked at her, just a glimmer that gave her hope of more. Hope that maybe he cared about her as more than just a friend. But she was just being stupid.

Damn him.

She could feel tears starting to well in her eyes, but she could let him see her cry. She couldn’t let him see how much he affected her, so she slammed her walls back up just as high as ever.

“If you cared about me so much, then how did you just move on? How did our falling out not have any affect on you?”

“Where’d you get that foolish idea? This last year has been hell for me!”

“Obviously.”

She hadn’t meant for him to hear that part as she mumbled it under her breath.

“Swan?”

She turned and started to walk away, not ready to have that particular conversation. Not now, not ever. But this time it was his turn to stop her.

“You know what. You’re right, the snow has let up. You should be fine getting home now.”

She saw him waiver briefly, debating what to do. He made his way back the door, and although it was exactly what she had wanted him to do, it wasn’t really. Not when the sight of him walking away from her caused her heart to constrict. Unable to breath, she was helpless to do anything but watch the door close behind him.

There. She’d really done it that time. She ruined their relationship, or whatever was left of it at that point, beyond any point of salvation. Finally, she allowed the tears to begin falling. God. She was an idiot.

“No.” She hadn’t even noticed the door open again through the curtain blurring her vision.

“You don’t get to do that again. You don’t get to just decided everything and not even give me the courtesy of knowing why!”

He was shouting and she couldn’t even bring herself to care, couldn’t force her walls up any higher, because he’d come back. He’d always come back, and it didn’t make any sense. Nothing about them made any sense to her anymore.

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even move her head to nod yes or no.

“Then tell me. Tell me why you really just brushed me off and told me to go to hell, because there’s no way this about a stupid cake. Emma, what did I do to you that was so terrible that you assigned me the role of villain in this little story of yours?”

Against her will, the word slipped past her lips.

“Tink.”

“What?” His head tilted to the side, but he didn’t try to come any closer, didn’t try to bridge the gap that had formed between them.

“You want to know what you did? You did her!”

Her voice was nearly broken and she hated herself for it.

“Swan, I didn’t-”

“Stop. I saw her.” She swiped her hand under her eyes, trying to erase all of the evidence of how much she’d let him affect her. “Killian, I saw her there in your apartment, wearing your shirt.”

“I don’t-”

No. It wasn’t his turn to speak. He didn’t get to try and turn it all around on her. He’d broken her heart, and if he really wanted to know why she was so upset, she’d make damn sure he knew.

“You almost kissed me, and then we had that stupid fight over the cake. I came by the next morning and she was there, in your shirt and nothing else. You kissed me and then slept with her. God, Killian. I felt so stupid. I thought-”

She let the words die off. She’d already said too much. Revealed too much. Now he knew, and there was no taking it back. There was no going back to the friendship she’d so desperately missed over the last year.

“Swan.”

“Killian, please just go.”

She turned away again, walking to the window, waiting to hear the door click behind him. But it never did.

“Emma, I don’t know what you saw, or what you think you saw, but nothing happened.”

She snickered. Like hell it hadn't. Later that month Tink had practically been living with him.

“That’s crap and you know it. You guys were living together!”

“Swan-”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.”

Something snapped in him. She saw a storm brewing deep in his ocean blue eyes. A storm so fierce it was reflected in the window pane.

“And if we had slept together? What would it have been to you? You made it perfectly clear where we stood the last time we spoke.”

She tried to run, to hide in her room waiting for him to give up, but he was faster, using his body to block the stairway.

“Ah no you don’t. Why did it matter what I did or who I was with?”

His voice was eerily calm and it terrified her. Even more so than when she’d seen Tink after their fight, more than when Neal had abandoned her, more than any foster home she’d ever been in.

She was broken, and with it, her walls started crumbling around her.

“You almost kissed me, and I thought-” Her voice cracked. “And then Tink was there and I realized that I’d built this whole thing up in my head. That I was no different than all of the other girls who fawned over you.”

“Oh, Emma.”

He was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“And I couldn’t stand seeing you and her, or you and anyone. I couldn't get over my own pride, and I know it’s my problem, but-”

He cut her off, taking one more step in her direction, their chests almost touching. His right hand came up to cup her cheek as his thumb swiped away the tears that were still falling.”

“Swan, I have no idea what I ever did to make you think you were ever just another anything to me. You’ve never been “just” anything to me.”

“But Tink.”

God. She hated how pathetic she sounded.

“Aye, Tink was there, but not as anything more than a friend. That night, after our fight I attempted to drown my sorrows in the bottom of Dave’s bottom of rum. Tink took me home and stayed over to make sure I didn’t choke on my own sick. Some of which unfortunately got on her so she borrowed a shirt from me.”

Realization hit like a punch to the gut. She’d misunderstood it all.

“And then I pushed you away and right into her arms.”

Her heart fell.

If she’d just talked to him, answered any of his text messages, returned any of his voicemails, she wouldn’t have just lost the last year with him.

“Yes and no. I’ll not lie. You avoiding me hurt, but I didn’t find solace by shacking up with anyone.”

But they were living together. She saw the boxes.

It had been about two months since their fight. She still hadn’t spoken to him, and while he messaged her occasional, the messages had become few and far inbetween. In fact, it had been three weeks since his last one and she’d nearly given up hope that he was still trying. Silly as it was, given she’d been the one to shut him out, it hurt to know he’d finally given up on her.

It was for the best though. She couldn’t go through it anymore. Allowing herself to be strung along by a man who would never want her as anything beyond a bed mate, not that he’d even wanted that much.

It was getting easier not to think of him anyway. She’d buried herself in work, taking on extra cases. Anything to avoid going home to Mary Margaret and her constant questions. Anything to avoid their group gatherings where he’d likely be in attendance. It was easy to not return people’s phone calls when she was on a stake out.

But it wasn’t that easy, because his phone number was still sitting in her phone taunting her. More than once she’d had to give her phone to Graham while they were out drinking after a hard case. She new that if she’d held on to it, she’d call him somewhere around drink number four.

Graham was sweet enough, listening to her drunk ramblings about Killian and her broken heart. He tried to give her advice about moving on, and a few times she saw something in his eyes that suggested he wanted to be the one she moved on with. She always ignored it though. Even if she had felt something for him, which she didn’t, she refused to put herself out there again. She’d been wrong before, and wouldn’t let her heart fool her again.

Eventually August Booth, the newest detective, started joining them at the bar. It helped Emma feel less like she was on a date, and the guy was damn good at his job. And he didn’t beat around the bush the way Graham had.

“You know there’s an easier fix than giving us your phone every night right?”

Before she could process what he’d said, he was handing her phone back to her, with one less contact, and one less text thread. Her last link to Killian had been severed and she thought maybe she was free.

Three more weeks passed. Three uneventful weeks, and the pain was starting to fade. But then, as she drifted off to sleep she heard her phone chirp. She checked it to make sure it wasn’t work related, and seven little number stared at her. Seven numbers she’d once new by heart, but not anymore.

I miss you.

She tossed and turned that night, unable to get him off her mind.

The next day, she decided to stop by his place after work, if nothing else than just to hear him out, but when she got there her heart was ripped apart. Killian was helping Tink move boxes into his apartment. Boxes labeled sheets, pictures, clothes.

She’d let him break her again.

Sensing her confusion he continued.

“The lady Belle and Will Scarlett had just started dating, and new love and all can be quite loud when you have paper thin walls. Tink asked if she could crash in my guest room while she looked for a new place. She wanted to give them space, and keep some sanity in the process.”

“But.”

“But what?”

“But when I talked to her, she implied that you were together.”

“Ah, that. Yes, I gathered that she had a slight crush on me when she tried to kiss me. I told her that I didn’t share her feelings and suggested that perhaps it was time for her to find a new living arrangement. Needless to say she wasn’t happy about it.”

It made sense. Whatever had happened between them had been messy, with Tink saying some less than pleasant things about him, and while at the time she thought his lack of response was due to guilt, she now knew that he was just too much of a gentleman to say anything.

“Emma. Did you ever see us do anything affectionate like holding hands or kissing? Have you ever seen me that way with anyone?”

Admittedly she hadn’t. Her brain had told her that he was just smart enough to keep his affairs private. She shook her head no.

“I haven’t been with anyone since I moved to Boston. I haven’t been with anyone since the moment I met you, because it’s only ever been you, Emma. It’s always been you.”

There was no hesitation that time. No pulling back. When her hands found the lapels of his coat she yanked hard, pulling his body flush with hers. And when their lips finally met, it was as if the world had finally righted itself. After twenty nine years of giving her nothing but pain and suffering, it was finally giving her hope.

Everything happened so fast after that. The kiss deepened and on instinct, Emma felt herself pulling him up the stairs with her, never parting her lips from his. Once in her room, clothes began to litter the floor as they both hurried to explore each other.

She felt him gently press her to the bed, his chest hair tickling the tips of her breasts. His weight settled into her further as he nibbled at her pulse point. Something he’d quickly picked up drove her mad with want. His body shifted, lips moving down her torso, his tongue following the curve of her breast. Instinctively her back arched.

“Killian.” She whined, trying to implore him to hurry.

A year was long enough. Tired of waiting, she reached down, wrapping her hand around him, gently squeezing it as she twisted her hand.

“Love, all in good time.”

He had the audacity to chuckle at her. Moving even lower he peppered her stomach with kisses. Finally he slid from the foot of the bed, kneeling before her.

“Killian, I need-”

“Shhh, now. It’s come to my attention that in the past I’ve not succeeded in showing you just how much I want you, and only you. I’ll be damned if you leave this bed without me recifiying such an egregious error.”

His lilt left her a quivering mess, and if she hadn’t been so enraptured by the lust in his eyes, she might have let herself feel nervous at how exposed she was before him.

Then something changed. A shy smile replaced the smug smirk.

“Is this okay, Emma?”

There it was again. He’d said her name more times in the last ten minutes than in the entire time they’d known each other, and she understood what it meant. No more dancing around each other or playing hard to get. The time for games was over. He wanted her to know, to feel how much she meant to him. She’d been such a fool that past year.

Unable to say anything, she nodded her head, and it was all he needed. His prosthetic hand splayed out over her stomach, trying to keep her still as his lips and fingers toyed with her, bringing her to the verge of her release, but never letting her fall.

“So perfect. So bloody perfect.”

It was a whisper punctuated with kiss to her thigh.

When his thumb finally brushed circles of the place she needed him most, the one that finally gave her the release she’d so desperately needed, it was like time stood still. The explosion of light behind her eyes seemed to last for an eternity, stealing her breath away.

Eventually, she came back to herself, feeling Killian’s lips tracing their way back up to the hollow of her throat. Her hands cupped the sides of his face and pulled him to her. She tasted herself on his tongue, not minding when his tongue twisted just so.

“Killian. I need you inside me.”

She expected him to lunge, to push her legs wider apart, to do anything really. What she hadn’t expected was for his face to fall. Had she misread everything?

“Swan, I- Uh-”

“What?” She asked cautiously. There was nowhere to run.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting this turn of events when you called me this afternoon. I didn’t really come prepared for such an occasion.”

I’m always a gentleman.

Of course.

“Table drawer.”

She lifted her chin and nodded towards the nightstand to her left. He reached out, shifting his body so that it laid almost parallel next to hers. Her teeth found his earlobe and she gently gave it a tugged, hoping he’d feel as impatient as she did, but instead he pulled away a little. Her eyes followed his line of site, the the very full drawer.

It should have been simple. He just needed to grab a packet and rip it open. He’d been so eager before, so why was he suddenly apprehensive?

“Hey,” She started. “What’s wrong?”

He gave her a small smile, one that didn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s nothing, Swan. Really.”

“Don’t do that. Please, Killian.” She hoped her used of his first name would have the same impact on him that it had her. “What is it.”

“I-” He paused. “I’ll sound like a fool.”

She let the back of her fingers caress his face.

“Never.”

He tried to smile again, but his eyes wouldn’t meet hers.

“I just- I know that we weren’t on speaking terms, and I have no right to feel this way, but seeing that drawer only reminds me of all that I missed. It reminds me that you’ve probably not been devoid of company in this bed of the past year. I told you, love. I sound like a bloody git.”

Her eyes fell back to the drawer and it all clicked. He’d been jealous of her using them with other men. He hadn’t known that she’d been just as gone for him as he was her, even during their fight.

“Killian, I-” He still wasn’t looking at her so she grabbed his chin, tilting it so that he couldn’t not face her. “I bought those last year, the morning of the Christmas party. We’d almost kissed the day before, and I thought that if I could just muster the damn courage to tell you how I felt, that maybe we’d get some use out of them.”

His face fell again, obviously upset at himself for allowing the misunderstanding. She was horrible at this.

“But if you were to count them, you’d find that they are all still there.” Well, except for the one Mary Margaret had pilfered the week before when she and David had run out. “I haven’t used any of them.”

His mouth came down over hers with such an intense force that she shrieked in surprise.

They’d ended up using three of the foil packets that night before they passed out from sheer exhaustion. He was warm curled up next to her, and had it not been from the rustling noise downstairs, she’d have been content to stay in their little cocoon forever. Unfortunately, the noise from downstairs continued, and as the groggy haze faded she realized that there were people in her apartment. Uninvited people. Her gun and badge had been left in her bug. Rookie mistake, she chastised herself.

As quietly as possible, she extracted herself from the covers, and Killian’s embrace, but it wasn’t quiet enough to not wake him.

“Swan?”

“Shh, I think someone is downstairs.” She whispered as she grabbed his shirt to cover whatever bit of modesty she could. Tackling a burglar while naked wasn’t high on her list of ways to spend Christmas morning. “Just stay here.”

Of course her words fell across deaf ears. He muddled around searching for his boxers, which had somehow landed on the window sill. Slowly they creeped down the stairs, Emma clutching a curtain rod and Killian holding plunger from the bathroom. Emma was really going to need to rethink apartment safety when this was all over. Just before they came to the exposed part of the stairs they heard hushed whispers. There were at least two of them and suddenly Emma was grateful that Killian had ignored her command to stay upstairs.

She moved down two more steps trying to get a look around the corner at the intruders when she heard a crash.

“What the hell is the tree doing in here?”

David?

Emma flipped the hallway switch that controlled the living room, illuminating a very confused and weary looking roommate.

“Emma? Did we wake you?”

“What the hell guys? I thought you were burglars! What are you doing back so soon?”

Emma relaxed, setting the curtain rod down in a corner, stepping fully into the large open space.

“We tried to call you but you didn’t answer. About thirty minutes after I talked to you the small snow storm turned into a full on blizzard. We got stuck in bumper to bumper traffic until the snow plows could clear the road enough for us to move. Ruth said that the roads leading into Storybrooke were all closed so we had to turn back.”

“Oh.” Emma flushed, looking around for her phone. It was still on the coffee table where she had left it.

“Emma?” David tilted his head. “What are you wearing?”

Shit. “Oh, this? I- Uh-”

She turned back to find Killian still hidden from her friends on the stairs, waiting for her lead.

Before she could decide either way she heard Mary Margaret gasp.

“That shirt! I can only think of one person who went to Stanford...”

David smiled, something closely resembling Ruby’s wolfish grin that signified he had something up his sleeve.

“Oh, honey. Do share with the class.”

“Guys.” Emma grumbled out, clearly embarrassed.

“Killian?” Mary Margaret called out.

Finally he slinked down the stairs, finger scratching just behind his ear. “Guilty.”

Mary Margaret just hummed in response.

“Well guys. It’s been a long day and we’re exhausted.” David looked like he was about to argue the opposite but the pint sized pixie elbowed him in the side. “I think we’re going to hit the sack now. David, remind me to tell Liam he owes me twenty dollars when he comes over later today.”

“Wait. Later today? Liam’s out of town.”

“Pardon?”

“Um, I may have called and told him to tell you that so you’d be forced to call Killian.”

“He bet Mary Margaret that you’d chicken out again and not tell Emma how you felt.” David added for Killian’s benefit.

Emma glanced over at him to find his face beat red.

“Oh and Emma.” Emma snapped her head back to her roommate. “Tomorrow you’re going to have to explain to me why there’s a scratch in the floor.”

Quickly Mary Margaret grabbed David’s arm and dragged him into her room, shutting the door behind him. The tree no longer in view. David must have been able to push it the rest of the way into the room.

“Swan?” He was holding a hand out to her. “If you’ll follow me, it’s officially Christmas Morning, and I believe there’s another present upstairs that needs unwrapping.”

His brows rose and he gave her a salacious grin. As she raced him up the steps she couldn’t help but think about that damned pink tree, and how maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

#cssecretsanta #Alex's Secret Santa #Dreaming of a Pink Christmas #wellhellotragic #cs ff

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