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“Why do we still have mistletoe up? It’s March.”
I -
Henry pauses in the doorway, and Emma stops, too. The reusable grocery bag isn’t too full this time so she doesn’t mind the abrupt stop. She’s just curious, really. Maybe a little concerned.
His voice is too loud, the pitch just on the edge of intolerable when he asks, “Why do we still have mistletoe up? It’s March.”
It is March, and it’s a hot one at that. Global warming’s finally reached Storybrooke, and Emma hates it for how it’s too cold to quite melt the snow but too warm for her to want to put on her snow boots. Every day, she’s forced to pick between sweaty feet and cold toes.
Despite having chosen cold toes today that are starting to thaw quite painfully, Emma smiles. Who would’ve guessed that choosing which shoes to wear would be the most difficult decision she’s had to make in over two months now?
Following Henry’s words, she looks up at the mistletoe above her head. The real mistletoe her mother helped her hang is deader than dead but the fake one Henry made in his art class is as festive as they come for a Christmas in March.
Who would have known that some dry twigs, half-fallen leaves and a plastic plant could make her so delighted?
Staring at the mistletoe, Emma makes a promise with herself. She’ll be the one to guess. She’ll be the one to know. She’ll look at everything around her and never question the joy it brings her.
“Because, kid,” and she leans forward and down, only slightly now because he’s almost her height, to pluck his headphones out of his ears so he’ll can hear her above whatever soundtrack he’s plugged into now, “There’s no one season for kisses.”
She presses one to his forehead, and pulls back. Henry has this way of smiling at her that makes her feel like she’s the best mom in existence, and she may not believe that - for one, she nearly broke his iPod the other day when she accidentally kicked it off the couch - but she’s definitely up there with the most blessed because he gives her that smile - of pride, of love, and of everything he’s shown her she could have all along.
He leans in, pressing a kiss to her cheek as well, barely a peck but she feels so, so loved.
“You’re right,” Henry says simply, and with that, he takes his headphones back and puts them in his ears.
II -
“There’s mistletoe still up, love.”
Emma pauses her reading, even though it’s getting really good. The Frozen sequel Henry’s been writing since they finally managed stable contact with Arendelle is… She won’t tell Elsa that she should let Henry write her wedding vows, but she might just send the book through. Just for her thoughts, of course.
Placing the book in her lap, Emma looks to her pirate.
(Husband is nice, wonderful, yeah, but pirate is perfect for the man who treasures her heart.)
(She’s long since stopped blushing at that thought; now she just tinges pink and bites away the smile in her cheek)
Killian’s foregone black for once for dark blue denim, and she appreciates it with a swipe of her tongue over her bottom lip and a thought taking form - his form, but the denim foregone for nothing at all. He has his hand on his chin, frowning at the large but easy to miss sprig. She finds another smile, deeper than the one she wears whenever he comes home, tugged out from that great big part of her chest that she can't believe, sometimes, that she thought could never be filled.
With some kind of defeat in him, Killian turns to her, looking confused and a little frustrated.
“I thought I got all of it,” he says.
“Nope,” Emma replies cheerily.
He did get all of it when it was first hung, but when she had Henry replace it a week later, he never noticed it. Until now. Four months time is enough to make the reply no longer even a white lie.
“‘S’pose I should take it down then.”
He stretches to lift the sprig from its hook, but Emma climbs out of her seat on the couch, wincing slightly at the cold floorboards on her bare toes. She makes it just in time to still his hand on the green leaves. His hand is warm, and quickly finds a new destination as he falls back on his heels and takes hers. They thread their fingers as they come face to face, and his confusion becomes curiosity, a smile quirking his lips as he says, “Or… I should leave it?”
“Leave it,” Emma confirms.
Killian draws forward and she rises on her toes to meet him, the kiss gentle and sure. She pulls back and it isn’t exactly that she wants to end the kiss, but even though the floor might be warming beneath her feet, she stills feels more than a little chilled standing so close to the windows and the door in nothing but an oversized sweater and very, very short shorts.
“Unless it bothers you,” Emma says softly.
“Why should it?”
Emma laughs, slightly shaking her head. She stares at the open v of his shirt, walking her fingers up and down the line of buttons.
“Oh, I don't know -” She lets her fingers go past the buttons, softly brushing over the hair, up and up to feel him swallow sharply. “Maybe you don’t want an excuse to kiss me every time we walk in together.”
“I didn’t know I needed an excuse to kiss you, love.”
The rough timbre of his voice makes her ache, and she nearly forgets the line of conversation, so fascinated by the heat of his skin, the sharp dip of his collarbone.
“Hmm, well, let’s just call it a reminder then.”
“A reminder, huh?”
Killian’s smile teases her, and the heat in his gaze warms her inside and out. She glides her hand down his chest and presses it to her belly. Emma watches him follow the motion, watches him get the hint - as if he needs one. His hook covers her hand and then slides lower, slowly dragging her sweater up until the cool metal finds over sensitive skin. Emma lets out a breath, not a gasp, but quieter, as he draws slow circles over her belly, just above where she is quickly growing to need him.
Really fucking desperately need him, actually.
“I suppose I did need one,” Killian murmurs - because he’s moving in lips just about ready to cover hers, and as his forehead touches hers, he whispers, words that have her aching and her desperately grasping at his hand, “I promise you, love, next time I won’t forget.”
III -
Her back simply hurts, and she’s so, so close to the couch and relief but she just can’t make it. Emma stops and leans against the door for support, hoping it’ll alleviate the pain just enough to carry her for those last few steps.
It only seems to worsen as the moments tick by. She almost feels like crying, but more like, she doesn’t remember suffering this much the last time. To be fair to this little one, she’d had a lot of other suffering to contend with beside the physical ones of a growing Henry.
This time, all she has is this added weight; a general crankiness that can only be helped by a hefty serving of Doritos, peanut butter, milk chocolate, and graham crackers; and the smile that comes to her face when she can swear that she feels her daughter breathing within, her heartbeat just in tune with Emma’s.
She wills herself to move from the door, but since her will isn’t strong enough, she leans there until footsteps carry above her, and she calls out in the hope of relief, “Killian?”
The footsteps quickly lead towards her, and then he’s there, taking the steps two at a time, dangerous for someone as deceptively clumsy as him, but she’s too grateful to worry when he pulls her from the wall, resting all her weight on him.
She cries a little, just a little as she burrows her face in his chest, for the lessened strain and the pain to come when he helps walk her to the couch. The tears dry up quickly, at least in comparison to the last couple of emotional overloads caused by the baby, the noise of the new neighbors moving in, and the puppy that sat in her lap during her unplanned visit to the animal shelter. When she finally feels okay, she draws back from his chest - a big part of her a little disgruntled by the motion - and finds comfort in his eyes.
“I suppose this wouldn’t be a good moment to remind you of our earlier conversation,” he says gently.
Emma sighs.
“Go on, it’s fine.”
“I told you that this would be one trip too many,” he chastises, and she feels exactly as stupid as she did, waving goodbye to her parents while her body screamed to get home. She feels stupid, but he’s so forgiving, gentle as he asks, “Are you going to take my advice next time?"
“I’ll consider it.” He sighs, so she clarifies, “I mean, I’m going to remember just how much pain I’m in right now and ask myself ‘Is it worth it?’”
He nods.
“Was this trip worth it?”
Emma grins, the pain more than bearable for how the happiness is just so restless to escape.
“Leo’s going to be a great uncle,” she exclaims. She flashes him a wider smile. “He chose out the perfect gift.”
“Mmm,” Killian hums.
She frowns at his lack of acknowledgement, his intent so concealed that she has only a moment to breathe surprise before his mouth covers hers, instinct faster on the uptake than her, letting him lead her in the kiss - like his hand on her waist during their first dance, her body acknowledging what her head and heart could not yet - her perfect partner in that, in this, in everything -
In this.
They both draw back at the same time, and as he carefully starts to shift them, he says, “Come on, love, let’s get you to the couch.” Before they take the first steps, however, he nudges her attention above to see the mistletoe hanging over the door. “A reminder,” he says, “To remember.”
She rolls her eyes with a grumpy smile, but eats her unspoken, Yeah, whatever, when she takes the first step. She looks down at her feet. Hell, if the mistletoe doesn’t work at least she’ll always have this image in her head.
Fuck. She might have to get another bigger size of shoes.
IV -
“Now, I’m quite certain we didn’t have this here before.”
Behind her, Emma stifles a smile only a moment before she sets it free, grinning at Killian widely. “No?”
Iris shakes her head, her dark hair flying all around her, the crown of plants shifting, lying askew when she replies, “No, daddy. Mommy put it there. She said you’re supposed to give me a kiss.”
He lifts a curious eyebrow, forcing a mask of detachment. “Am I?”
Iris narrows her eyes, turning to Emma who nods vigorously.
Iris swings back and whines, “Yes, you are.”
“So it’s just one kiss?”
This one stumps her enough that she’s caught off guard when he wraps his arm around her and heaves her up. She squeals loudly, and then louder still as he places a kiss to her forehead, to her cheek, to her hair - the last before she starts to wiggle against him.
“One!” she yells, trying to get out of his arms.
He sighs, “Alright,” and sets her free - but only into Emma’s waiting arms, where she continues where he left off, kissing Iris over and over again as she squeals. They pass her between them until Iris decides she has had absolutely enough of them.
At the next pass, she balls her hand up and hits Killian square in his jaw. Her little fist near takes him out, and he winces visibly just as Emma sweeps Iris up, and pushes forward, placing her free hand on his chest. “Are you okay?” Emma asks.
He likes the way she says it, true care in her voice, and with her hand placed above his heart like she just knows how her words hit him, make his heart swell with his love for her.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, daddy,” Iris cries.
His possible bruise is forgotten as he reaches to reassure their daughter before she starts to truly cry. He’s a little too late on that, tears slipping out of her eyes to track down her already reddened cheeks. But, it’s alright because Iris is very much like her mother.
It’s naught but a simple task for him to get her to smile.
“Have I ever told you that there is a healing power in kisses?” He smiles encouragingly when she opens her eyes, her little brow furrowing in curiosity instead of distress. To the question in her eyes, he says, “It’s easy to fix a little hurt such as mine. A simple kiss will do.”
“A kiss?”
Iris ponders this with a tight knot in her brow.
Killian nods, deliberately trying to match Emma’s enthusiastic one.
“True love’s kiss?”
He looks to Emma at that, her smile soft and unbearably proud - or perhaps that’s the pride he feels, to have a love so true.
“Yes, and always, my dear,” he confirms.
He leans cheek first expectantly so his daughter can kiss him very, very wetly. He rubs at his jaw, mostly for the act and partially to wipe the moisture out of his beard. Pulling his hand away from his face, he looks to Iris in awe, easy to act out when it’s something he truly feels.
“See? I’m completely fine now.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, needing to put it into words for both their sakes. “Because I truly love you. With all my heart.”
He kisses the tip of her nose this time where it’s still red from her crying. Iris rubs at her eyes, pulling away to gift him with a bright smile.
“I’m fine too!” she exclaims in mimicked awe.
She reaches towards him so Emma lets her go into his open arms, where he holds her just so, allowing her to wrap one arm around his neck and stare into his eyes. There are still tears on her cheeks and now he can see that her nose is about to run. He forgoes moving for the tissues however because there’s obviously something on the tip of her tongue.
Her face always screws up just like Emma’s when she’s about to admit something she’s been holding back for too long. Long moments pass before she makes her confession with a solemn nod.
“I love you, too, daddy.”
Killian laughs. He can’t help it or stop it. For the last time she said she loved him was half an hour ago when he’d helped her out of her snowshoes, and then she’d said it only minutes before that when he helped her up the slick stairs to Emma’s bated, worried breath - despite his assurances that balancing on ice very much is like balancing on the plank. It was only an hour before that, that he saved her from the little prince’s snowballs and led the charge to take him down once and for all. With three snowballs to the gut and the mountain gathered in Iris' little hands pressed against his chest as she sat atop Emma’s brother, he lay defeated while Iris yelled in triumph, “I love you, daddy.”
Killian laughs and he would never stop the sound because his Iris loves him. Every time she says it, he swears he’s never been happier, and every single time, she proves him wrong.
A cry at his waist has him seizing up however, the little rum bottle shaped monitor speaking loud and clear.
Emma moves swiftly. “I’ll get his bottle warmed up, and I’ll grab the diapers. I completely lost the A&D last time, though…” She trails off as she opens the fridge, so Killian nods, and says, “I’ll find it.”
The crying gets a little louder, a little more distressed, so Killian turns to Iris, lifting her chin with his hook, oh so carefully as to not hurt her. It’s a fear he’ll forever hold, even with the cleverly crafted blunted sheathe Hephaestus gifted him (being on good terms with Grecian gods is a blessing), but it’s a fear that she never has, so it’s with a smile that he says, “Sounds like someone else is in need of the healing power of kisses.”
Iris nods sharply, and with an arm held pointed in the air so that he knows she’s in charge, she orders, “Go!”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Killian says.
Iris giggles as he hoists her more carefully, and Emma isn’t a moment behind them, the milk bottle warmed enough that she can reach into Iris’ hair and secure the mistletoe headband before it tumbles down the stairs.
Iris raises two curious eyebrows at Emma.
“It’s your kisses he’ll need the most of,” she explains.
“You’re right,” Iris says without a note of surprise or denial.
She adores her brother. Killian looks to Emma who shares his smile. Their daughter is completely like them in that regard.
Together, they quickly join Sam before his cries get any worse. Iris is quick to leave Killian’s arms, not because he needs them free in order to lift Sam from his crib, but because Killian’s going to place him on her bed, where she can easily give her healing kisses.
It’s a miracle, that of true love, of course, that all it takes is that kiss to quiet Sam’s cries, and another to make him laugh.
And another to make Killian’s heart stutter as Sam looks to Emma with wonder in his blue eyes and reaches out his little hands.
“You want one from me, too?”
Emma takes him up despite his diaper not being secured in the slightest. Iris laughs as it slips off him while Emma kisses him with the soft reassurance he needs.
Killian leaves Emma to fix the diaper, she being more skilled than he at putting on midair diapers. But he doesn’t leave Sam to her. He takes his boy, cradling him gently, and places a kiss on his head as well until he opens his blue eyes again, reaching out a little hand to prompt him for kisses of reassurance, for the love Killian himself never thought possible, and for Killian’s heart of mistletoe that’ll bloom forevermore.
V -
Henry stumbles through the doorway, chased by Lucy, the reason for his stumbling. Her energy is infectious, and he calls out to the sweet smelling house - chocolate chip cookies, god he’s hungry - “Anybody home?”
Sometimes, he forgets how quick his daughter can be, because his calling is unnecessary, a cry of delight in chorus with his words as Lucy pulls his mother from the living room.
She looks so happy, is his first thought, before he’s tackled in a hug, smothered in kisses upon kisses until she finally pulls back to hold his face in her hands for a moment, taking him in as he does her, “I missed you, kid.”
“I missed you.”
“Why is there mistletoe up there? It’s summer.”
Henry looks up, following Lucy’s words, to confirm that yes, his mom still has mistletoe over the door. He can’t help but look to her at her soft explanation, “I missed you.”
Henry looks down at Lucy, her expression both expectant and demanding - he’s the Author, he better have a good story for this.
It’s good; he knows it is, because of everything that makes it so. Because his mother is right here, and the sound of little feet pounding the wood is growing louder above his head. Ella’s taken the opposite route, heading towards the backyard, sure to meet Killian out there because if his mom isn’t the one manning the grill, then he is, and Lucy - his Lucy is staring up at him, her expectation growing increasingly more suspicious.
He bends down to her height, cradles her head in his hands so he can place a kiss to her crown. When they pull apart, and she looks at him, half smiling and half confused, and another, bigger half exasperated, he can’t resist and places another kiss to her forehead.
Before she can tell him off, he says, “A wise woman once told me, there’s no one season for kisses.”
“Henry!”
“Henry?”
The side door opens, Ella stepping in with Killian right behind her, and before they can be truly distracted, he adds - because he’s a writer after all, so he knows all too well how stories change and adapt, and his story is far greater than it was before; because his story is as the mistletoe above the door, he adds:
“It’s as timeless as my love for you.”