Operation Emma’s Christmas
Merry Christmas to @kitsunewingstar! If I calculated correctly this should post in the afternoon of Christmas Eve for you, (very) early in the morning of Christmas Eve here in the UK/Europe, and Christmas Eve Eve in the US. It’s been lovely chatting with you and I hope you have a wonderful holiday with your family!
You requested something sweet and Christmassy, so I hope this delivers! For the purposes of the story, we’re assuming there was no Christmas under the curse (since we never saw/heard about it on the show) and that S7 and its timeline is not a thing.
SUMMARY: What with curses and monsters and trips to Camelot, and a distinct lack of quiet moments, the residents of Storybrooke have never really celebrated Christmas. Now that he has a child and a wife who misses the holiday, Killian is determined to change that.
He just has to figure out how.
(Set post-S6 in a world with no S7)
Operation Emma’s Christmas:
Killian Jones has been alive a very long time, and seen many strange and wondrous things. But none of them, from the spice markets of Agrabah to the snow-covered mountains of Arendelle to the hold of the Jolly Roger when it’s brimming with loot can, in his opinion, top the astounding treasure that is Google. He is awestruck by the notion of being able to ask any question he likes and having the answer appear within seconds. Emma tries to explain how anyone can put stuff on the internet and he can’t believe everything he reads, but he brushes her off. He knows how to separate fact from opinion and how to identify a reliable source, he tells her patiently. Among the many things they teach you in the Royal Navy.
With the aid of the oracle Google, Killian learns all about this extraordinary realm he now calls home, enough so that he no longer finds himself adrift on a foggy sea when Emma and Henry make references to things he’s never heard of. He finds lists of movies he should watch and books he should read and the most influential songs of the 20th century, and he sets about watching and reading and listening to each one, with all the studious dedication of the keen young lieutenant he used to be, oh so many years ago now.
“It’s kind of a shame we don’t do Christmas in Storybrooke,” says Emma wistfully one afternoon in mid-December, as they sit on the floor with their backs resting against the sofa watching Hope crawl around the living room. “Now that we have a kid. I mean, I had Henry before and we did Christmas in New York and in our fake memories, but… it’d be nice to do it here.”
Killian is already on his phone consulting the oracle on the subject of Christmas. An annual festival commemorating the birth of Jesus Christ, observed primarily on December 25 as a religious and cultural celebration among billions of people around the world, he reads. He clicks on Images and scrolls through brightly decorated evergreen trees, houses draped in twinkling lights, giant-sized stockings hung above fireplaces and a very fat bearded man dressed in red. He makes a mental note to do more research when he gets back to the station and in the meantime looks up at where Emma and Hope are now playing patty cake.
“Oh. I don’t know, I guess we’ve just never done it in Storybrooke.” Emma pauses, laughing as Hope leans in to pat her cheeks. “Because of the curse, I suppose.”
“But knowledge of it is presumably part of this curse download that your family and all the residents who were brought here by Regina had, correct?”
“Well, that surely means that they would wish to begin a new tradition, one that includes this festival?” he presses.
“Oh, I don’t know, Killian.” Hope crawls into Emma’s lap and she cuddles the baby close. “I don’t want to make a big deal about it. It doesn’t matter.”
But if there’s one thing Killian doesn’t require Google’s assistance to understand, it’s his wife. This Christmas business is clearly very important to her, and he intends to see that she gets the finest celebration of it that he has in his power to provide.
Killian’s first step in Operation Emma’s Christmas is to enlist the aid of Henry and David. The prince to help him procure all the materials he needs, the lad to come up with a name better than “Operation Emma’s Christmas.”
David comes through like the noble royal and loving father (in-law) that he is, but Henry, to Killian’s great chagrin, loves Operation Emma’s Christmas. “Straight and to the point,” he says. “Perfect.”
Killian sighs, frowning at the back seat of David’s truck where his stepson sits typing something on his phone. The lad is so much more prosaic now that he’s discovered girls, he thinks, when really the opposite should be true.
“Are you sure you can’t come up with something better?” he grumbles.
“Nope.” Henry doesn’t even look up from his screen. Killian sighs again.
“Don’t worry, Hook,” says David. “The operation will be a success, the name doesn’t matter. Actually, I’m really glad you thought of it. I’ve been intending to get a Christmas tradition going around here since Neal was born, but what with one thing and another—”
“Never a quiet moment,” says Killian. “Aye.”
“Well, we’ve got one now and we’re gonna make the most of it,” says David, pulling the truck over to the side of the road. The three of them get out and Killian catches his breath at the sight before him. They are standing above a wide, snowy valley, extending as far as the eye can see, liberally dotted with lush green fir trees.
“Take your pick,” says David with a grin, pulling a large saw from the back of the truck.
“Lad, I’m going to need your help for this,” says Killian.
Once the trees are procured, their next stop is Regina’s house. She doesn’t look particularly pleased to see them, even less so when they explain their mission.
“Christmas decorations?” she says in that scathing tone that still gets Killian’s hackles up, even though they’re technically friends now.
“Yep,” says David, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her what Emma calls his ‘stern Dad’ look. “I have to assume that we never had Christmas in Storybrooke because you didn’t allow it under the curse. Am I wrong?”
“No.” Regina has the grace to look abashed. “You’re not wrong.”
“Well then. Don’t you think it’s time you rectified that?”
“So you want me to what, just magic up some ornaments so you can decorate a tree for Emma?”
“And for David and Snow,” says Killian. “And anyone else who wants one. I mean, decorations for the whole town would be best, but if that’s beyond your scope…”
Regina sneers. “Let’s start with yours and Emma’s,” she says.
Snow White is well known for her inability to keep a secret, and so they elect not to bring her in on Operation Emma’s Christmas. Instead Henry is tasked with distracting both her and his mother while ornaments are hung and lights strung at the respective Jones and Nolan households. David and Killian requisition walkie-talkies from the station and have far too much fun strategising and organising their decorating battle plans while Hope gurgles and Neal babbles mostly coherently in the background.
It takes perhaps longer than it should, neither of them having any actual experience to draw on and needing to consult the oracle frequently, but in due course everything is ready and Killian sends Henry a text with the all-clear.
He fidgets as he waits for Emma to return, fussing nervously with Hope’s tiny Santa hat as she gums at the pacifier stuck on the end of his hook—a red one for Christmas. He double-checks that all the lights are on and the ornaments hung just so, and all the parcels are stacked in a pleasing way beneath the tree. When he hears her at the door he snatches up the baby and positions them both in front of it all.
“Killian, I’m—what the—” Emma’s face is a picture as she takes in the sight before her. The huge tree that Henry selected fills nearly half the room, and is covered in shiny red and green ornaments and sparkly lights, with a bright silver star at the top. Beneath it piles of presents sit wrapped in glossy paper and festooned with ribbon bows, and lined up along the mantelpiece are four huge stockings labelled Hope, Henry, Emma, and Killian. The effect, Killian hopes, is festive in the extreme, merry and jolly and everything Emma missed out on when she was growing up.
“Merry Christmas, love,” he says.
Emma turns in a slow circle, eyes wide and mouth agape. “But it’s—it’s only the 20th!” she says.
“Aye, rather late. Google informs me that some people decorate their homes as early as the first of November. But we still have time to enjoy it, apparently the custom in many households is to leave the lights up until the sixth of Jan—oof!” He exhales sharply as Emma throws herself at him, one arm wrapping around his neck and the other cradling Hope’s head as she kisses him.
“I can’t believe you did all this,” she says, peppering his face with kisses. Hope gurgles indignantly and Emma kisses her as well.
“Henry and your father helped. And Regina, as a matter of fact.”
“But I bet it was your idea, wasn’t it?” She gives him a knowing look.
“Because I mentioned in passing that it’s a shame we don’t do Christmas in Storybrooke?”
“It was the way you mentioned it.”
“The way I mentioned it,” she echoes.
He nods. “Aye. I sensed it was something you missed out on in your youth, and that you wanted Hope to have the experiences you lacked.”
Emma brushes her fingertips across his cheek, a soft smile on her face. “You sensed all that from me saying it might be nice to have Christmas here?”
He grins and pulls her closer, shifting Hope so she is snuggled between them. “How many times must I tell you, my love, that you are an open book to me?”
She returns the grin, letting her forehead rest against his. “At least once more, I guess.”
