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Emma could smell the cold in the air flowing through the open windows. An odd quirk she developed after she’d almost frozen to death all those years ago. She smiled as she thought about how far Elsa and her friendship had come since that unfortunate day. This year had passed far too quickly, and they hadn’t gotten to see much of one another. But the cooler air meant it was closer to the one visit that Elsa would never miss - Christmas Eve. They would get together to catch up over rich hot chocolate and the sugar cookies Killian insisted on baking each year. Before she left for Christmas at Anna’s, Elsa would leave the residents of Storybrooke a peaceful blanket of snow to greet them the next morning.
Emma breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with crisp air, even as the warmth of the cosy nights in her future spread through her.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into a form she knew as well as her own. She melted into the embrace, allowing the comfort he was offering to quiet her. He placed a quick kiss on her temple when she laid her head heavily on his shoulder.
“Hi there.” Her voice was hardly more than a sigh released as his presence soothed her.
“Hey, love.” Killian’s murmured response rumbled through him - a light vibration against her back. He held her close and absent-mindedly swayed to the low tune he hummed. She closed her eyes and let the moment wrap around them. The cooler weather had a way of turning her fierce pirate into something soft and warm. The human equivalent of a weighted blanket.
His words from their first winter came back to her: Neverland didn’t have autumn or winter. The cold reminds me. I am free. This is real. Not the dreams that haunt me and drag me into the past. This.
You.
She’d kissed him, then. She had been unable to find words that could tell him that she understood. And, he’d held her close soaking in the acceptance and relief that she offered him.
An odd chime went off, shattering the moment around them. Killian stopped his swaying, reached into his pocket, and shut off an alarm on his phone. “Tea’s done,” he explained.
Emma let out a mostly playful groan as he carefully pulled away from her to tend to the tea. She followed him to the kitchen, where the smell of cinnamon and clove warmed her even further. “Hmmm, that smells heavenly.”
“Something warm for the cold, rainy night ahead.” He removed the tea bag from her cup and poured a splash of milk into it before handing it to her.
“The weatherman just said it wouldn’t rain for a week,” she informed him with all the innocence she could muster. And she smiled into the steam rising from her cup as he told her exactly what he thought of the trickster who spouted such obvious lies about the weather every day. His accent grew thicker as he informed her of all the ways he knew with absolute certainty it was going to rain. She bit her lips closed, capturing her smile, but her eyes were dancing with humour when he finally looked up at her.
“Oh,” he stopped mid-sentence. “Funny, Swan.”
“Swan, is it?” Emma smiled wickedly at him.
“It is poor form, Swan, teasing a sailor about his knowledge of the weather.”
“I would never!”
He raised his eyebrow in response.
When she didn’t offer an apology or any additional response, he sighed wearily and shook his head. “To think, I had just made you tea.”
“Really good tea,” she answered and took a sip from the mug warming her hands. She leaned against him, her shoulder pressing into his chest, and smiled at how easily she’d gotten him that time. He ran his left arm up and down her back in a gentle motion and sipped from his own mug.
“I love you.” He offered the words up to her simply, a statement of fact. As though that silly exchange confirmed that truth for him again somehow. Emma looked up at him, trying to read in his impossibly blue eyes what he was thinking, trying to determine just how she’d captured and kept his wonderful heart hers for so long.
“I know,” she said because, despite the improbability of it all, she did know it. “I love you, too,” she continued, but her words were drowned out by the sound of heavy raindrops that were now pouring down outside.
“Emma, the windows!” He yelled over the noise filling the kitchen. He turned to close the one behind him, over the sink, and cold droplets hit her face, stirring her into action. She rushed to the other windows, cold water pelting her before she could close them.
They fell into a panting heap onto the couch before the crackling fire once they got every window closed.
“You were right.”
“I usually am.” He answered, raising his left up to offer her his side.
Rolling her eyes at him, she curled into the proffered side. He rested his arm on her and idly smoothed her hair with his right hand. Warmed by the fire and his embrace, Emma drifted to sleep.