Chapter Text
No matter where you are,
You're not alone,
Because the ones you love are never far.
She gets out of her last final by 5pm on Tuesday afternoon. Hands buried deep inside the pockets of her white coat, Emma inhales deeply the (not so) cold air. It feels good not to feel anything for a moment, no matter how short it is. She actually feels lighter than she has for months. The semester is finally over, which means she can finally put it behind her, and move on to (hopefully) a better one.
It’s December 22nd and Christmas is all around, obviously. It’s in every street, every shop, every household. Every single yellow cab of the city is blasting Mariah Carey. At this point, she practically feels it in her fingers and her toes, just like that Love Actually’s song says. And people are in an absolute frenzy, as expected. On her way home, she gazes at the decorated store windows, eyes lingering on the Christmas lights and Christmas trees, and Christmas everything, something she wouldn’t have dared to do a few years ago.
« You’re absolutely sure you don’t wanna come? » Mary Margaret had asked again that very morning, her tiny hands pressed down on each of Emma’s shoulders.
Until she met her friends, three years ago, she used to hate Christmas with every fiber of her being —probably the result of being brought up in the system. She wasn't a big fan of any of the holidays in general, but Christmas... Man, Christmas was something. The thing is, when you're bounced up from foster home to foster home, Santa Claus doesn't exactly keeps track of you, as she'd found out at age 6. Nobody really keeps track of you.
This year, like every year, everyone was going back to their families: Elsa was on her way to Iceland with her sister to visit their aunt and Merida already flew back to Scotland two days ago. And by now, Mary Margaret was probably already in Maine, along with David and Ruby. Usually, Emma would tag along with them. This year was the exception to the rule. She had swallowed down her mouthful of waffles (David did try to bribe her into changing her mind) and nodded apologetically. It was a decision that had sparked worry amongst her close circle of friends. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d spend the holidays alone; just the first time in a while. But she wasn’t going to change her mind.
She doesn’t exactly understand why herself, she just knows she has to do it.
That’s how she gets the apartment to herself for a whole week, until everyone comes back to the city for New Year's Eve and their traditionnal get-together. A whole week! That never happened before. It was a rare treat, indeed, when you had four other roommates.
And so, once she gets home, she doesn’t quite know where to begin.
The loft is silent, more silent than it’s ever been. Usually, one of the girls is always humming something, or they’d be found chatting around the coffee table, exchanging gossips and gulping down gallons of homemade chai (or plain tea, or cocoa, when Merida isn’t around, cause she’s the only one to have mastered the delicate skill that is spicing). And even when they’re all retreated in their respective quarters, there’s always at least some noise. But now, it’s deadly quiet. And therefore, unsettling. She stares at their sad excuse for a Christmas tree (a small thing, too small for any kind of decoration, but it does the trick when it’s plugged in and it lights up, golden lights sticking out of the branches like fireflies), and sighs.
« All right. » She tells herself out loud. « Let’s do this. »
She’s starving, she realizes, so she picks up her phone and the handful of flyers stashed under the coffee table, and orders both pizza and Chinese for dinner. Donna Meagle’s famous words of wisdom resonate in her head, and she repeats it like a mantra: « Treat. Yo. Self. »
She gets up on her feet and decides to light up some candles, opens up a bottle of wine and plugs in Ruby’s forgotten iPod on the stereo. A 90’s R&B best hits’ playlist blasts on full volume. She glances at her reflection in the living-room window and tries out a couple of shy moves, tentatively. After a song or two (and half the bottle of wine), the mood is officially set on. She dances for a while, until she’s out of breath and can feel drips of sweat on the small of her back. Then, she makes her way to the bathroom, peeling the layers of clothing off her body in sync with the music as she does, singing along enthusiastically. She lingers on for what feels like forever in the shower. She washes her hair with Elsa’s fancy shampoo, scrubs her skin clean. She lets the water run down her body and just takes time to simply…relax. When she’s done, she wraps herself in a towel and realizes it works.
She’s half-way through "Whatta Man", parading in nothing but her bath towel as she crosses the living-room to return to her bedroom, when she spots him in the hallway.
« Jesus! »
She stops dead in her tracks, gripping at the back of the red couch for support, as her legs decide to give in on their own. Her heart is hammering inside her chest and so she clutches at it, and bats her eyes in disbelief, hoping for an hallucination. But no, Killian Jones is still there, arms crossed on his chest. A carry-on bag hangs from his shoulder, which leaves her perplexed.
« Quite the performance we had here, love, » he says, tilting his head to the side with a grin.
She rolls her eyes, disconnecting the iPod from the dock abruptly. « What are you doing here? »
« What are you doing here? »
« Seriously? I live here, Jones, » she deadpans.
« Aren’t you going to Maine for the holidays? »
She shakes her head and shuts down the stereo. Becoming suddenly very aware of how not dressed she is at the moment, she tightens her grip on the blue towel around her. « What about you? »
He narrows his eyes at her. « Ruby didn’t inform you? » He fixes the strap of the bag on his shoulder with a sigh. « Since the dorms are closing for the holiday season, and I needed a place to stay, she kindly offered me her room. »
« Oh. »
That does sound like Ruby. Emma has nothing against guests, and certainly not Killian, but a heads up would have been appreciated. She can’t help but feel a bit disappointed, since her solitary plans are now flying right out the window. She does make a mental note to remind herself to ask Ruby what was wrong with her next time she sees her.
« She failed to mention you’d be here as well, though. » He looks embarrassed.
As if he was the one wearing a bath towel. (Not that he would be embarrassed by that; he’d probably be pleased with himself. Cheeky bastard.)
« Don’t trouble yourself, love, I’ll find something else. »
She brushes away the vision of Killian Jones in a bath towel (the wine is to blame here, ok?) when the real Killian Jones waves slightly in her direction, and starts withdrawing, an apologetic smile stretching his lips.
« What? Killian, don’t be ridiculous, » she says, stepping forward.
« I don’t want to intrude… »
« You're not intruding; I'm offering. Besides, there’s plenty of room. »
He seems to be considering her offer for a moment, before giving her a light shrug and a smile. « Thank you. » His gratitude seems sincere. The next sentence, though, makes her inexplicably blush, perhaps because of the way he waggles his eyebrows at her, as his gaze slides slightly to her left. « And I apologize for interrupting your…night. »
She’s ready to give him another falsely annoyed eye roll, but then she sees it. Her purple bra (that she clearly remembers taking off and throwing in the air a few moments ago) hangs from one the straps to the banister. She retrieves it quickly and prays whatever deities listening that he doesn’t notice her blushing. She needs to get a grip on herself. It’s just Killian, for God’s sake.
« I’ll be right back. »
She retreats in her room as quickly as she can and leans on the back of her door with a sigh. Come on, get a grip, girl.
She emerges not long after, fully dressed this time, her hair in a bun on top of her head, and with a bit more composure. He’s disposing the pizza and the Chinese food on the island when she steps into the open kitchen. She frowns.
« I took care of it, » he winks.
« You didn’t have to. I’ll pay you back. »
« No need to. It’s the least I can do, I assure you. »
« That’s a lot of food, » she argues.
What was she thinking? Oh, right. « Treat. Yo. Self. » She dismisses Donna Meagle’s whispers in her head by shaking it slightly.
« It is. Sure you weren’t expecting any company? » His smile is playful.
« Shut up. »
She proceeds to collect the rest of her clothes scattered around the apartment under the eyes of her unexpected guest. He doesn’t really need a tour, since the gang hangs in there pretty much all the time when they’re not on campus. But as she carries the food into the living-room, she does make sure to tell him to consider himself at home.
They eat in silence, at first, but as the food disappears, they get to talk, about everything and nothing —how did finals go, how global warming is fucking real ("It doesn't feel like December, right?"), that kind of things. Which feels weird, because, in their two years of friendship, they never had to do small-talk. She can’t point her finger on what feels different tonight. But before she starts overthinking things, as she usually does, she remembers about the bottle of white wine abandoned somewhere in the kitchen and holds up a finger before hurrying to fetch it, along with two glasses. They share what’s left of it.
A bit more at ease, she suddenly blurts out, sizing him up with curious eyes: « So. What’s your deal with Christmas? »
The question has been turning in her head since the beginning of the evening. She wasn’t stupid. Now she’s thinking about it, he does have a tendency to disappear around that time of year, and she curses herself for not pointing it out earlier. Something was up with him and this particular holiday ; just like something was up with her and this particular holiday. It does take one to know one.
He puts down the glass of wine on the coffee table.
« I don’t know, » he states. « What’s your deal with it? »
« Really? You’re going for that crap again? »
A laugh escapes him. « Well… » He sighs. « As you may know, I was once engaged. »
She hums.
Boy, does she know it. She knows everything there is to know about it. (The whole gang did.) How he and Milah had been madly in love since they were something like 15. She knows how the bubble bursted when, about six months after agreeing to marry Killian, she ran off with an older guy. She knows he’s been heart-broken ever since. So heart-broken, in fact, that it made him move away from his home.
« She broke it off on Christmas Day. »
Oh. She didn’t know that.
« Let me guess. You’ve since turned into a Grinch? »
« More like a Scrooge, » he corrects. « Haunted by Christmas Past, over and over. »
Figures. He bottoms down his glass of wine. « Your turn. »
She shifts on her seat and winces a little. What was her deal with Christmas? She wasn’t even sure herself. How could she explain it to him? Would it even make sense?
« As you may know, » she mimics, « I didn’t really do Christmas growing up. But then, Mary Margaret dragged my sad ass up in Maine in junior year, and… » She hesitates. « I felt it, you know? I understood what the whole thing was about. »
« What’s changed this year? Why are you not up there with them right now? »
She blinks. « I can’t explain it, » she confesses. « I guess… I thought, what if it doesn’t stick? »
« You wanted to know if you could still do this by yourself. »
It’s not even a question. He just states it, like it’s a given. He had managed to put into words what she couldn’t formulate in her own mind. How this was possible, she had no idea. She shakes her head a little. This is getting all too real.
She grabs the remote. « Wanna watch something? »
« Always. »
She smiles slightly at the reference (they’d seen the movie together a few months ago) and flips on the TV, ignoring the tug in her heart.