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“Mama, Mama, wake up! Sanna Claus came! Sanna Claus came!”
Emma woke with a start when Alice started yelling in her ear, then groaned audibly. Which was absolutely a mistake. It proved to the rambunctious three-year old nearly bouncing with energy that Emma was, in fact, alive and awake.
Well, awake may have been a stretch.
“MAMA! Come on! Sanna was here!”
God, her daughter was so damn excited and happy and full of way too much energy for…
Four AM.
Okay, there were numbers after the four that told her it was closer to five, but still. Four something in the morning was dead to the world, sleep for many more hours time. Not waking up time.
But Alice was excited and happy and energetic and it was Christmas morning. She was wearing Killian’s JR Solutions t-shirt as a nightgown over her Rudolph Christmas pajama pants and had found a Santa Claus hat to jam over her stuffed bunny’s ears. And Emma?
Emma was sad.
Not because it was four something in the morning and not because she'd only gotten to bed two hours before, up that late wrapping presents and on the phone with Liam to make sure he was still doing his job even at the late hour (she knew he was, she knew he'd always do this job, but she still needed the reassurance that he was doing everything he could) and not because there wasn't any coffee in the house so she could possibly function this morning.
Well… not entirely. It was four in the morning after all.
But no, Emma Swan was sad because this was the very first Christmas that Alice was old enough to get herself out of bed and wake her parents up at some ungodly hour on Christmas morning and the side of the bed her husband had long ago claimed as his own was cold and empty. Had been for nearly four months.
Alice Jones was experiencing her first full Christmas and Killian wasn't there to witness it.
Sure, Emma had pictures of Killian reading ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas to Alice on Christmas Eve when she was wearing her “Baby's First Christmas” onesie. And there was a video of Killian climbing into a huge box - next to all the presents Santa had brought their daughter - with Alice's pajama-clad behind just visible next to him, wiggling with delight as they played last year.
But those Christmas memories were different.
Killian was missing this and there was nothing anyone could do to change it. (Despite all the yelling, cajoling, pleading, and outright begging Emma had thrown at Liam to just find him, damnit, I don't care if he's MIA!)
“Mama!” Alice was not going to be ignored any longer. She was already pulling herself up on the side of the bed and Emma knew there would be knees and elbows coming dangerously close to her stomach in minutes if she didn't get up.
Emma rolled over carefully and smiled. Alice’s hair was wild from a night of flopping around her bed - they almost always found her and her stuffed rabbit buried in the covers at the foot of the bed when they woke her up in the morning. Her eyes were bright in the moonlight - damnit, it’s still night time, you little minx - and she was grinning Killian’s smirk.
“All right, little love,” she conceded, using Killian’s pet name for her and ignoring the sharp twinge in her heart, “Mama’s awake.”
Alice stopped abruptly, one leg splayed out across the mattress and both fists clutching the quilt. Her eyes darted back and forth between Emma and the door, clearly contemplating if she should stop climbing.
Emma snagged her under the armpits and hoisted her into bed, covering them both with the quilt and snuggling her daughter close - silently begging for a few more minutes (hours) in bed.
“No, Mama! Sanna!”
So much for that.
Emma let Alice go and whined as she wormed her way out of the covers, making Alice giggle and comically clap her hands over her ears. Clearly, if she couldn’t hear her mother moaning about the time, it didn’t count.
Emma smiled at Alice and ignored the way her heart was breaking with every step without Killian at her side. He should be here. It was Killian who had always loved the holiday; Emma was the Grinch in their relationship, her memories of Christmas were disappointment and loneliness until the Jones brothers had come into her life.
But Killian had been overseas on a mission and the Skype calls with his girls had started to become less and less frequent until they stopped altogether just over a month ago. Emma had stomped into JR Solutions and past Will ‘bloody’ Scarlet (no, she hadn’t been listening to Killian complain for years about the man with half-hidden thanks for what he did for Liam on a daily basis, thank you very much) without so much as an, “I need to see Liam,” before slamming open the door to the elder Jones’s office and demanding that he get his idiot little brother on the line.
“Your niece wants to show her father the drawing she made for him and you’re bloody well going to make it happen, Liam Jones,” she all but demanded (definitely demanded) with her arms crossed over her chest and a glare that had sent most of her teenaged cases scurrying to answer her questions.
Liam wasn’t immune to the look in his sister-in-law’s eyes, nor the pout he knew was on his niece’s face at home.
But, it turned out that Liam Jones wasn’t all-powerful, nor could he will his wayward brother to answer the repeated calls to his cell, his sat phone, his laptop, nor his tablet. Emma had seen the flicker of worry on Liam’s face before it was carefully masked behind the logistics she knew that he would rely on to bring Killian home to her.
Emma should have started to worry then, but she didn’t. Liam would bring Killian home; it was what he did.
Always.
But hours turned into days turned into weeks and now it was Christmas morning (Christmas Eve, still, they really needed to teach Alice how to tell time) and Killian was still missing. He’d missed Thanksgiving already, Alice’s little voice telling the mismatched version of their family (the Jones-Darling-Nolan-Henry family) sitting around the table that she was thankful for ‘Unca Liam’ bringing her Papa home soon.
And now Killian was missing Christmas.
“You gotta see what Sanna brought us, Mama!” Alice cried from the top of the steps, one hand on the railing as she looked back towards Emma.
Emma thought of the carefully wrapped presents under the tree, the neat handwriting that she’d forced Liam to write out on the gift tags:
‘To: Alice
From: Santa Claus’
Just in case her smart little girl had started to recognize the similarities between Emma’s writing and ‘Santa’s’.
Emma simply wasn’t as good at writing with her left hand to disguise her penmanship as Killian was - he’d done it last year with a half-hidden roll of his eyes and an indulgent smile.
There were a few presents under the tree for Emma, as well. Presents that Liam had helped Alice buy, presents that Henry and Mary Margaret and David (and Baby Nolan) had brought by to try and make their Christmas merry. Presents that Michael had handed Emma with a succinct, “Wendy says Merry Christmas,” before he hurried back to her car.
Emma didn’t want to open presents. She wanted… she just wanted-
“Mama, come on! You gotta see!” Alice was whispering now, a rarity in their household. It intrigued Emma, waking her up just a little more as she ambled down the hall and took Alice’s outstretched hand.
“All right, pumpkin, let’s go see what Santa Claus brought you.” Emma’s eyes kept closing; she managed the stairs by instinct rather than sight as Alice bounced beside her.
“Brought us, Mama. Sanna brought us both presents.”
That opened Emma’s eyes with a start. “He did, did he? Did you peek already?”
There was a charming, trying-too-hard-to-be innocent smile on Alice’s face that Emma knew Killian had taught her. It was the same one he used when he wanted to butter her up. The same one he used when he came home with a new toy for Alice when Emma repeatedly told him he was spoiling their daughter.
It would only get worse once he got home and learned-
If he came home.
Emma bit back those thoughts. They had no place here. When. When Killian got home. Liam would bring him home or exhaust all of the company’s resources trying. He wouldn’t fail at this.
And Killian.
Killian would move mountains and pull the goddamned moon from the sky if that was what he had to do to get home to them. Emma just had to be patient.
Screw that, she thought hotly, hearing her pulse beat in her ears. She wanted him home now.
“Look, Mama,” Alice whispered at the bottom of the stairs, one hand tangling in Emma’s pocket as she pulled herself close to her mother’s thigh, the other outstretched, pointing into the living room. Pointing at the tree and all the presents, pointing at-
Killian. Pointing at Killian.
Killian was asleep on the sofa, the world’s gaudiest bow stuck to his forehead.
Emma started to shake, her hand covering her mouth to hold in the sobs that threatened to erupt. Sobs she knew would frighten Alice.
Alice didn’t understand tears of joy yet.
“Can I wake him up, Mama?” Alice asked hesitantly, her voiced still pitched at a whisper - a blessing in disguise. Emma ran her fingers through Alice’s hair, trying to understand, trying to figure out how…
“Please?” Alice was wiggling now and hopping from foot to foot, her earlier hush quickly being replaced with energy.
Emma grinned shakily, earlier wishes that Killian would have the joy of being woken up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning by their daughter ringing in her thoughts.
“Yeah, baby, you can wake him up.”
Alice spared half a moment to smile her thanks up at Emma, then a mischievous smirk crossed her features and she was off like a shot.
“Papa! PAPA, it’s Christmas!”
Killian didn’t stir as his daughter bolted across the living room, past the tree and the mountain of presents Emma had carefully wrapped. She only paused a moment when she heard Emma whisper, “Gentle.”
Alice Jones apparently did not know the meaning of the word gentle.
Killian woke with a start, his arms wrapping instinctively around the little ball of energy who had launched herself from the floor to his chest, her shriek of laughter echoing through the room as Emma cringed.
She could see what Alice didn’t.
The stitches carefully woven into the skin just under his hairline, the slightly glazed look in his eyes that Emma had come to understand was the effect of too many painkillers and too little sleep, the cast covering his left arm from elbow to fingers hidden under the long sleeve henley that Emma had given to Liam last Christmas.
The fact that Killian was on the couch and hadn’t made it up the stairs to either her room or Alice’s.
Killian was hurt. He was injured and should probably still be in the hospital.
She didn’t care. For once in her life, she didn’t care that Killian’s sense of self-preservation couldn’t have filled a teaspoon. He was here.
He was here, and he was alive and he was awake and it was goddamned Christmas.
But Emma was frozen at the foot of the stairs, watching Killian bury his nose in Alice’s hair and breathe in the scent that Emma knew was her baby shampoo. She was terrified that this was another dream. Another dream to taunt her with Killian’s safety only to wake up to cold sheets and a dark bedroom with no one there to hold her close.
Emma wanted, but she was just so afraid to believe she could have.
It was just too perfect.
Well, the stitches weren’t perfect. And the cast wasn’t ideal. But Emma knew her husband all too well, and her subconscious wouldn’t have conjured him whole for her.
“Emma, luv?”
She watched, her hand still over her mouth to stifle the soft sobs she couldn’t hold back. Killian swung his legs off the couch, pulling Alice safely into his arms before shoving himself to his feet. Emma watched, transfixed, as he swayed a bit, his arms tightening around their daughter to keep her safe.
Alice clung to him like a koala.
Emma wanted to do the same. But her feet wouldn’t move, the hand she’d thrown out to grip the bannister and keep her standing wouldn’t let go. She should go to him, shouldn’t make him walk across the room, not knowing what injuries were hidden beneath Liam’s clothes that hung, too large, off Killian’s lankier frame.
She watched with bated breath as he crossed the room to her anyway, limping only slightly. Even Alice was silent. Her arms were wrapped around Killian’s neck but her eyes watched Emma carefully.
“Swan?” he whispered when he was a hair's breadth away from her, falling back on the old nickname with ease.
Emma’s breath caught, stilling the sobs, stilling everything around them.
Her eyes shut as he reached out, the pads of his fingers carefully wiping the tears from her cheeks. The scratchiness of the cast scraped her skin, her own soft gasp louder than his silent apology.
“Killian?” her voice cracked as she broke the silence around them.
“Happy Christmas, my love.”
And then she was wrapped around him like a koala, her face buried in his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair. Emma heard the bitten back grunt of pain, felt the way he tensed before melting into her embrace, smelled the disinfectant that reminded her of too many nights spent watching over him in the hospital in the past.
Killian was hurt, but he was here and it was Christmas and it was real and Emma didn’t care about anything else.
“Merry Christmas, Papa!” Alice shouted, making them both jump and groan as their ears rang.
Killian laughed then, a full body laugh that shook him and made Emma grin. “Aye, little luv, Merry Christmas.”
Alice leaned back, forcing Emma to put a hand on her back to keep her from toppling out of Killian’s grasp. Their little girl poked her fingers at the bow on Killian’s forehead, giggling.
“Sanna made you into a present, Papa,” she said, pulling on the bow.
Killian inhaled sharply, his eyes looking upwards and nearly making him cross-eyed.
“What the bloody-”
Emma’s hand clapped over his mouth, even as she bit back a laugh of her own.
The bow stayed stuck firmly to his skin.
Killian’s eyes closed, a small huff of frustration escaping him before Alice’s giggle brought a smile to his face. “You like this, do you, my sweet Alice? You think Papa being dressed up like a present is funny?”
Alice’s head bobbed up and down and she pulled on the bow again. “Sanna Claus is funny.”
“Aye, he’s something all right,” Killian mumbled quietly, just a touch of annoyance in his voice. “Let’s see what else he brought you, shall we?”
Alice nearly pitched herself out of his arms, just barely getting her feet on the floor before she was sprinting to the tree, the lights reflecting in her wide, excited eyes.
Emma wrapped herself fully around Killian now, tears starting up again when both his arms tugged her into his chest and he kissed the shell of her ear.
“I’ll be home, for Christmas,” he sang softly, his arm running up and down her back soothingly. “You can plan on me.”
“I didn’t hang any mistletoe,” Emma whispered back, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him anyway, smiling against his lips when he laughed, “but there’s snow outside and presents under the tree.”
Emma turned slightly in his arms, tucking her head under Killian’s chin and watching as Alice emptied her huge, carefully knitted stocking across the floor. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, the cast on his other hand dropping down until he brushed across her stomach. She felt, more than heard, the stilted gasp as he spread his hand across the small, still nearly imperceptible bump she’d been hiding under his sweatshirts and her carefully draped clothes.
“Emma?” he breathed out hesitantly, a little bit shakily.
Her hand came up over his, pushing just a little bit more firmly into her skin. “Granny’s going to have to knit another stocking for our mantel next Christmas.”
“You’re…” Killian was grinning now, the lights from the tree twinkling in his eyes and making the moment seem that much more… magical.
Emma was becoming a sap.
She nodded, a smile of her own spreading across her face. “I… I found out before you went miss… I didn’t want to tell you until you were home.”
“No one knows?” the way he said it told Emma it wasn’t a question.
She shook her head anyway. “You’re the first.”
“I lo-”
“Papa! Come see!” Alice shouted, holding up the present that she’d insisted on wrapping herself for him, that she’d insisted on putting under the tree.
Killian laughed, dragging Emma with him as he limped back into the living room, nearly collapsing onto the couch but pulling her into his lap anyway as Alice stood at his knee, holding his present out to him.
“And what do we have here, little luv?”
Emma zoned out a little then, her eyes closing in deference to the early hour, listening to Killian talking with their daughter for the first time in far too long without the benefit of a computer screen and spotty internet. She settled into his grasp, relaxing in her family’s presence.
He was home.
The crinkling of paper at her back startled Emma, and she hastily reached behind her to snag it before Alice could see. She thought she’d been careful to clean up all of the evidence of “Santa’s” wrapping, and didn’t want to risk her daughter seeing what was left.
It wasn’t wrapping paper.
It was a piece of cardstock, a carefully applied sticker of holly and bells in the corner above the writing.
‘To: Alice and Emma
From: Santa Claus’
Written out in flowing script. Liam’s handwriting.
Liam.
“Where is he?” Emma asked quietly, showing Killian the card and understanding, finally, why the bow on her husband’s head was stuck so well.
His older brother must have used superglue.
“Hmm?” Killian tore his attention from Alice tearing apart the wrapping paper on the gifts he’d pointed out were for her, her name shining in big letters on gifts Emma hadn’t seen before.
Killian must have gotten Liam to purchase and wrap them for her, back before he’d gone missing.
He looked down at the writing, recognizing Liam’s scrawl right away. “I’m not rightly sure,” he admitted.
Emma’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“It’s all a little fuzzy. The last thing I remember is Whale griping about my arm. Then Alice was shouting in my ear and doing her best to knock the wind out of me.”
Emma closed her eyes in resignation. She knew her husband all too well. “Ambulance, hospital, or home?”
“Home, but with an agreed-upon stop by Whale’s house first,” he answered readily. “Bloody git apparently has sedatives at his disposal now.”
She huffed out a laugh under her breath. “Can you blame him?”
Killian grumbled under his breath but didn’t answer. “I think those are yours too, princess,” he pointed out the stack of gifts Emma and Santa had left for her.
“I’ll be right back,” Emma kissed Killian’s cheek before extracting herself from his embrace. She leaned down to kiss Alice’s forehead before heading to the kitchen.
Liam was sitting at the table, playing what appeared to be the video footage of Alice waking her father up a few minutes ago on his phone.
“You can come in now, Santa Claus,” she whispered, grinning like the cat who got the canary when Liam nearly leapt from his seat.
“Emma!” he hissed, his hand at his hip.
She crossed the room, ignoring the implied threat despite the lack of a weapon at his side and tugging him up and into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she breathed, nearly crying again.
It wasn’t nearly enough to convey what this meant to her, but Emma had a feeling Liam knew that already.
“You don’t ever have to thank me for this, Emma,” Liam whispered back, hugging her fiercely. “Not ever.”
She nodded. She knew that, too.
Emma stayed wrapped in his hug for a few more moments, the tears soaking into Liam’s hoodie before she could stop them.
“Sorry,” she apologized when she stepped back, wiping her eyes hastily. “Hormones, you know?”
Liam gaped. “Hor… hor… hormones? Does Killian know?”
“He does now,” she smiled, biting her lip when Liam whooped loudly in response.
Liam lifted her off her feet, spinning her in a circle before putting her back down with a soft kiss to her forehead. “Happy Christmas, lass,” he crowed loudly.
“Merry Christmas, Li-”
“Unca Liam!” Alice’s voice carried through the house, the patter of her pajama-clad feet slapping the linoleum before she launched herself into her uncle’s waiting arms. “Did Sanna bring you, too?”
Liam laughed. “He did, indeed, little lass. I got to ride in his helicopter and everything.”
Alice’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. “Sanna has a helicopper?!”
Emma rolled her eyes, easing back into Killian’s arms when he finally joined them. “More like one of Santa’s elves, Gadget, has a ‘modified’ helicopter,” he mumbled too quietly for their daughter to hear, smiling against Emma’s cheek when she huffed out a laugh.
Liam nodded at his niece, his eyes nearly twinkling with the glee that Alice brought out in all of them so often. “He does for special presents. We had a special mission together just to bring your papa home on time.”
Alice wriggled in Liam’s arms, turning to find her mother. “Mama! Did you hear that?”
“I heard, pumpkin. Santa Claus is pretty great, isn’t he?” Emma met Liam’s gaze, making sure he heard what she was implying.
Alice nodded, laying her head on Liam’s shoulder and starting to play with the ties of his hoodie. “I love Sanna Claus,” she mumbled, the excitement of the morning starting to get to her.
“Santa Claus loves you, too,” Liam whispered back before kissing her forehead and breathing in the baby scent of her in the same way his brother had. “He’ll always bring your papa home to you if he can.”
Killian left Emma’s side then, crossing the kitchen and reaching out for his daughter. Alice held her arms out before toppling herself out of Liam’s hold and letting her papa catch her.
Killian would always catch her.
Emma smiled, taking in the sight of her family all in one place. This. This was what mattered, more than the wrapping paper and the lights and the tree and the goddamned mistletoe that she wanted to hang everywhere now that Killian was back and safe within the fold of their home. She caught the gleam in Liam’s eye as he watched his little brother gently rock the sleepy little girl back and forth - and knew that he understood it, too.
Christmas was family, and their family had withstood yet another attempt to crumble it only to come out stronger on the other side.
It took her only a moment longer to watch Killian and Alice, their daughter’s eyes drooping and blinking owlishly as she listened to her father’s soft voice. Emma followed his footsteps, tucking herself into his side and rubbing her hand up and down Alice’s back. Her other arm wrapped tightly around Killian’s waist, fingers clutching the shirt at his back, drinking in the sight of him watching their daughter.
“I love you,” she whispered when he paused to take a breath.
Killian leaned down, careful to keep Alice steady against his chest, and brushed his lips against Emma’s. It was a soft, chaste thing, their audience far too close to do anything more, but it was enough. The rough dig of his cast in her side as he tried to wrap her close enough in his embrace to lay his hand over her stomach was a comfort rather than a hindrance, and Emma dropped her head to his chest, her forehead just brushing their daughter’s arm.
Killian hummed in Alice’s ear as she fell asleep on his shoulder. “But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight: Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”