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Freezing to death was not a part of the Christmas-tree-hunting-experience. A minor numbness in the feet, yes. A slight bite in the fingers, sure. But at the rate that this was going, Emma was sure she’d be lying dead, a human icicle, before they’d ever find a tree.
Henry was covered from top to toe, a colorful, warm little marshmallow, with a smile equally heart-warming, but Emma hadn’t thought to cover herself up quite as snugly. As if she’d ever admit that to him. Not Henry. No, him. Killian “Christmas-must-be-celebrated-as-tacky-and-traditional-as-possible” Jones.
“What about this one?”
“The branches are too uneven, Swan. We can’t have a tree with one side full of pines and the other dancing on the verge of decay.”
“Of course not. That would be a total disaster - end of the world.”
Emma looked at the pine tree a couple of spots next to the uneven-branched-tree and studied it for a second. It wasn’t that bad. It reminded her of the small plastic tree standing in the corner of her apartment, just less plastic-y, more real. She pointed at it with the saw held in her half-frozen hand (she really should buy some thicker gloves).
Killian glanced at the tree for a second and once again shook his head. He was purposely denying her every suggestion, she was sure of it.
“Too small. Christmas trees need to be as big as possible, so that you’re barely even sure if it will fit under the ceiling.”
“Too small? Jones, I’m pretty sure I already doubt if it’ll fit under the ceiling. You live in a city apartment, not some huge house.”
“Big tree! Killian needs a big tree!” Henry piped up. Killian returned the glowing beam on Henry’s face.
“The lad has spoken! A big tree it is!”
Emma followed Killian with a sigh. She should have known this wouldn’t be a quick five minute walk, find a random, decent-looking tree, cut it down and then go back home. Killian wanted the real Christmas-hunting-tree-experience, as he called it, and that involved more than five minutes and a tree chosen at one glance.
But if Killian wanted a perfect, big tree, she’d be damned if she wasn’t the one to find it. He couldn’t keep turning down every tree she pointed out (even if she had to admit, some of them were quite sad).
“This one, Swan. This is the one,” Killian said, finally finding a tree he agreed with. He looked at her expectantly, waiting to hear her opinion. But damn it all if she agreed with him.
“I don’t know.” She dusted off some of the frost covering the needles. “It just doesn’t have that fresh green color. Too faded.”
The spark in Killian’s eyes only grew stronger. “That’s the spirit, Swan!”
And so the hunt for the perfect Christmas tree went on. The cold was quickly forgotten as Emma walked through the rows of Christmas trees, studying them carefully but quickly, hell-bent on finding the tree that would light up Killian’s apartment. Emma hadn’t done that much with her own apartment across from Killian’s. Aside from the plastic tree, bought at the supermarket at Henry’s request, she only had a few Christmas lights hanging around picture frames here and there. She’d never had a reason to buy real decorations, never had a real place to decorate, but she’d always loved Christmas lights. With Henry now being three, and this being a Christmas he might actually remember, she wanted to put a little extra effort into it for once. And her neighbor as of ten months, Killian Jones, the best friend she’d had in a long time, if not ever, was determined to help her make a memorable Christmas. Which included a real pine tree.
(“Come on, Swan, I’m not settling for such a pathetic, plastic, American excuse for a Christmas tree. I’m going to find a real tree, cut it down myself and you and the lad are coming with me... if only just so you can help me with the whole cutting-of-tree-business and getting it on the roof of the car,” Killian held up his left arm, ending in a stump, using it as a final reason (or a final excuse) to get Emma to join him. She knew damn well that he could manage it on his own. Still, this way she didn’t have to admit that she wanted to try out this whole Christmas thing. She’d do it for Henry. And now for Killian.)
But like it or not, Killian’s Christmas spirit was starting to sink in to her very own bones.
“This one, Jones - I bet you can’t find a flaw with this one.”
“Well, the top’s a bit too crooked for my liking. This one though, it’s brilliant.”
“Really? It’s way too stuffed - no room for decorations.”
“Look at you, Swan, the Christmas expert already.”
“I am what you made me. Deal with it.” She didn’t even bother trying to hide her smile. She did try not to notice the proud look in his eyes though, because there was something else there, something more than pride over turning his best friend into a Christmas tree monster. Something she didn’t at all want to be thinking about.
Henry, for all his talk of big trees, was currently fascinated by a tiny baby tree, when Emma averted her eyes from Killian to look at her son. She couldn’t quite believe how he never once complained about being dragged through rows of trees by two crazy competitor-adults. He just seemed happy to be in this frosty winter wonderland. It tugged at her heart. For all the tough times that kid had been through, the countless moves, never having met his father, because apparently a kid didn’t fit in to Neal’s plans, having a mother working odd times because of her job as a bail-bonds-person and whatnot, Henry was such a happy and easy kid. Emma couldn’t have been luckier.
What should have been five minutes according to Emma, turned into forty-five minutes of criticizing and playfully arguing over pine trees. Their comments and reasons became more and more ridiculous (“No, Jones, those needles look to heavy”, “Swan, that looks more like a sad bush than a pine tree”), but on they went, determined to make the other agree with their choice of tree.
Henry was the one to actually find the tree in the end, of course. After nearly an hour, it seemed he’d had enough. When he pointed at a decent tree, for the first time giving his own version of the ‘this tree is the one’ speech, Emma and Killian barely had to think about it. The branches were a bit unevenly distributed, the color was on the light side, the top was crooked, but at least it was big (though not too big).
It was perfect.
Emma did the sawing of the tree, glad to finally do what she actually came for, and together she and Killian carried the tree down to the entrance of the plantation where it could get tucked into a net and payed for.
As they waited for the people in front of them to get their tree through the netting funnel, Emma leaned in towards Killian at her side, muttering her thoughts to him.
“Do you think a person could go through that netting-tube-thing? Like, if a tree can, of course a person can too, but do you think anyone’s ever tried it?”
She should have known what she was doing.
Killian’s face lit up like a damn Christmas tree and she barely had time to say “Killian, no”, before he left her holding the tree to go over to the guy handling the netting funnel. She tried not to be too embarrassed, because really, she knew what she was doing. The thought of Killian wrapped up in that net was just too amusing to let it pass.
Fortunately, the guy merely laughed at Killian’s question and said he was far from the first person to get wrapped up in net. So through the funnel Killian went, giddy as a schoolboy, and came through wrapped in net from top to toe.
Emma couldn’t help but laugh when looking at him, the proudest smile ever plastered on his face. She nearly let go of the tree when he started hopping towards her. Killian “Worm” Jones - dorkiest man on the planet.
He was eager to get a picture of himself in this condition, so Emma managed to snap a photo of him with her phone while balancing the tree against her body. She was putting her phone back in her pocket, shaking her head at Killian’s antics when she felt Henry hugging her leg. Crying.
“Hey, kid, what’s wrong?” Quick as that, Emma and Killian’s laughs were swapped with concerned looks.
Henry mumbled something against Emma’s leg and pointed at Killian.
“Something wrong with Killian? You don’t like him being in a net?”
“No!” Henry cried. It was a rare thing for Henry’s cries to make Emma smile, but her son was being too adorable. He was scared for Killian.
“Don’t worry, lad, I’m quite alright. ‘tis just a net.” Killian made to stick his hand through the net to assure Henry, but the gesture only made the boy cry further.
“I don’t want you like that! It’s not safe!”
Emma felt a bit bad for letting out a breath of laughter, while Killian’s expression remained serious, just a tint of playfulness left in his eyes. The tree against her body was really starting to crush her, but she gently rubbed Henry’s head, covered in a snug gray elephant hat.
“It’s okay, Henry. I’m completely safe, rest assured,” Killian tried again, but Henry was having none of it. He looked at Killian as if some monster had hurt him, and more tears welled up in his eyes.
“It’s just Killian, kid. You know what he says: he’s a survivor. He can survive a bit of net,” Emma said. “I however, am afraid this tree will crush me soon, so let’s get it tucked into a net of its own, and then we’ll free Killian, okay?”
Henry stayed glued to Emma’s legs, like he was frozen in shock. Emma looked at the guy handling the netting funnel and the payments and he quickly came to help her out with tree. Seeing the tree get tucked in didn’t exactly help Henry with the crying, but now Emma’s hands were free to tear apart the net coveringKillian.
“See, I’m completely fine, lad, not a single scratch,” Killian smiled at Henry opening his arms to shows that all was well.
Henry rushed from Emma’s leg to Killian’s, hugging him with all of his three-year-old might.
“I don’t want you hurt.”
The sentiment tugged at Emma’s heart and she could see it in Killian’s eyes as well.
“Aye, lad. I’d never want you hurt either.”
They paid for the tree and carried it towards the car.
(“It’s a shame though; I think I preferred you wrapped up.”
“I’m sure you did, love.” And somehow he managed to lace those words with sarcasm and innuendos, and Emma just doesn’t get how he does it.)
Tying the tree to the roof of the car proved to be their next challenge. They let Henry go inside to catch some warmth, and together, with half-frozen hands, they tied the tree to the car with more rope than was probably necessary, just to be on the safe side. Soon the tree was hardly visible under all that rope.
Still, Emma couldn’t help but imagine how it would fall off as soon as they sped up, or how it would fly off if they took a sharp turn too fast. With her luck, it would definitely happen.
“Oh, ye of little faith. I’m an old sailor, love; I know how to handle a bit of rope. We’ll have more trouble with unfastening the tree than we will with it falling off.”
He was right. Of course.
Emma couldn’t help but kind of wish he hadn’t been though. Firstly, just to repay him with a smug look of her own, and secondly, well, the idea of the tree falling off, though annoying, did seem pretty amusing.
(“You Christmas saboteur.”)
Getting the tree up the flight of stairs in their apartment building was a bit challenging; especially with Henry adamant on helping, when Emma and Killian were more afraid they’d accidentally shove him down the stairs.
In the end, it all worked out. They stood there, admiring the tree as it stood in Killian’s apartment (scraping the ceiling. They’d have to trim the top a bit if they wanted a star to fit).
“I must say, love, we make quite the team. Let’s see if we can decorate it as well.”
And decorate they could. Emma wasn’t sure how pretty it was though (scratch that, she knew it was tacky as hell). Killian had scraped several odd ornaments to himself throughout the years, classic Christmas balls, plastic trains, bells, fairy lights, snowmen, plastic mice with Christmas hats and whatnot. He claimed to love his boat ornament the most (of course), though he also had a big affinity for the hook, that wasn’t really an ornament, just a hook on a string (he had a bigger love for Captain Hook than any adult - and person - should ever have, but it only made Emma love him - no, like - him more. (She didn’t love him. Of course she didn’t.))
They drank hot chocolate with cinnamon, sang along to Christmas tunes, and Emma was sure she’d never experienced something so sickeningly sweet. But it was also the warmest she had felt in a long time, and that warmth had nothing to do with the hot chocolate. This was the best Christmas Eve-Eve ever, she knew it.
They spent the evening together, Killian cooking as Emma and Henry were determined to hang every last piece of Killian’s decorations anywhere in his apartment. Well, she skipped the mistletoe though. Just the thought of her or Killian being under it... well, it was too good for her to risk it ever happening. It was just the Christmas spirit getting to her; she didn’t like Killian like that. Even if he was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen (really, how can a face be that perfect. It’s unfair). And the most caring person. And funny. And.... Emma shook her head. She really shouldn’t not be listing all the reasons she should be kissing the hell out of her neighbor/best friend.
Around ten o’clock it was time for Emma to cross the hallway with Henry and put him to bed. Killian offered her a glass of hot buttered rum if she wanted to come over after, but Emma was yawning, quite tired herself. Killian’s answering yawn agreed with her.
“Well, I suppose I should think you for all the help. You’re officially a Christmas elf now, Swan,” he grinned at her by the doorway.
“And I suppose I should thank you for showing me the merry ways of Christmas-tree-hunting-and-decorating,” Emma answered. She was holding a sleeping Henry against her shoulder, but she was lingering.
(Not hanging mistletoe had definitely been a good idea. Definitely.)
She wanted to say more, wanted to thank him for, well, everything, for giving her time to warm up to him when she and Henry first moved in, for being such a good male figure in Henry’s life, for caring about her and her happiness, for inviting them to share Christmas with him. She just didn’t know how to say it. She had to leave, had to put Henry to bed, but she needed to say something. So she said thanks. Again.
And somehow Killian understood everything she meant with that little word. She could see the glisten in his eyes.
“Aye, Swan. Of course.”
Emma gave him a grateful smile and turned to open the door in her apartment. She couldn’t look back.
(She didn’t hear him closing his door until after she had closed her own.)
Putting Henry to bed was as easy as most things were with him. He slept through the changing of his clothes, and she knew she should probably brush his teeth, but she also knew that if she woke him now, putting him to sleep would become a lot less easy. She’d brush them tomorrow.
Sitting at the edge of Henry’s bed, stroking his hair away from his forehead, she felt the tugging at her heart again. She couldn’t believe that somehow, after all the hell she’d been though, she had all this. She had Henry. The most amazing kid ever.
And she had Killian.
She had a home.
Emma went to the living room, softly closing the door to Henry’s room behind her. In the corner of the living room she studied the little plastic tree, decorated only with a string of lights.
It felt weird. She couldn’t really place the feeling inside her. It was almost sad. Longing. But why would it be that? She had everything she could ever wish for. Was she missing Killian? That didn’t make sense, she would see him tomorrow. She and Henry would spend the entire Christmas with him. Like a family.
And it just clicked. Killian is her family. Sure, they’d only really been friends for eight months, but it was simple. Through dinners, trips to the park, quick lunches, countless movies and days at the beach, Killian had somehow become a part of her little family.
She thought of the photo Killian begged her to take of him wrapped in the tree net, just before Henry started crying. She thought of how much Killian meant to Henry and how much Henry meant to Killian. She thought of the look in Killian’s eyes, how he just knew what she meant, even when she couldn’t say it.
She still couldn’t say it.
But she could damn well show it to him.
Before she lost her scrap of bravery, Emma crossed the hallway and knocked on the door. It was answered by a messy-haired Killian, as if he’d been running his hand through it a thousand times, his standard “Swan?” on his lips.
She froze. What was she doing?
“Emma?”
“I...” And there was that look again - he knew what she wanted to say. Or at least he was hoping he knew.
Just like that, Emma wasn’t afraid anymore. Him grabbing her hand, her leaning in and letting their lips meet, it just felt natural. It felt like joy, like the warmth she felt in his apartment moments before, times a thousand. It felt right. Just like she knew it would.
(“And we didn’t even hang any mistletoe.”)
(She doesn’t bother answering him with words.)