#he wanted to prove he was very well behaved once I started making mashed potatoes

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “We Gather Together {Glad for the Blessings}”

For this week’s Self-Promo Sunday, I went back to a Thanksgiving-themed one shot I wrote a few years back. Other than Robin being alive, and Belle not being reconciled with Rumple though, I don’t think there is any reason this couldn’t fit into the timeline somewhere after the CS wedding. There aren't a lot of Thanksgiving fics in this fandom, despite all the Halloween and Christmas ones, and so I thought I would try to do my part with this little one shot – especially seeing as it's a holiday I truly love, and I would adore being able to watch the whole Charming-Swan-Jones-Mills family get to relax, break bread together, and just enjoy a "quiet moment" or two.

At one point, this had a fic cover art I had made, but it seems to not be anywhere in my drive. I hated to lose it, but just a gif for this one’s art at the moment, I’m afraid. ;p Still, here’s hoping you all enjoy this little re-run! I don't own them at all (never will) but I'd love to hear what you think…

"We Gather Together (Glad for the Blessings)"

By: @snowbellewells          On AO3   On FF.net

Barreling into the kitchen calling out "Henry?! Killian?!", Emma Swan was already well into panic mode due to the charred, burning smell that had reached her nostrils as soon as she'd mounted the steps to the front porch and the plumes of grey smoke wafting into her vision in the entryway once she opened the door. She was skidding to a stop at the kitchen table before she realized that though the fire alarm had been bleating raucously, there were no sounds of panic or yells of dismay. Instead, though both of her True Loves were now frozen, looking to her guiltily as if caught with their hands painted red - Killian bent over the open stove and Henry with his arm outstretched, fanning the air with a hot pad - they appeared to have been happy as clams until she had run in so distraught.

Clearly they weren't in any immediate danger, and Emma's posture relaxed upon seeing the house wasn't burning down and neither her son nor her pirate was blackened to a crisp. Shaking her head at them both, she genuinely tried to look stern instead of both relieved and ready to burst out laughing. Crossing her arms, she mused aloud, "Do I even want to know what the two of you are doing?"

Sighing in defeat, Killian stood to his full height, letting the oven door bang closed and not quite meeting her reproving gaze as he raked a hand through his hair, darted a quick glance at Henry, then finally answered her question. "We were trying to help you, Swan. It seemed prudent to get started with the main course before hosting your entire family tomorrow, and the lad felt sure he could offer guidance on the proceedings."

Henry flushed as Killian gestured toward him, and shrugged sheepishly, looking up at her with big brown eyes that though in an older face, still proved as irresistible to her as when he'd showed up on her doorstep as a ten-year-old. "I may have overestimated how closely I was watching my other mom the last time she did this."

Emma couldn't help it; her metabolism did tick up a few notches and her eyes widened in shocked dismay. "Oh no, don't tell me… Do you mean to say you guys ruined that 19 pound Butterball I had all ready in the freezer?"

Killian winced a bit at her reaction. "Come now, Lass, it isn't as if we did it on purpose. You were just saying last night how you wanted everything to be perfect, you've never been able to celebrate a real family Thanksgiving with all the trimmings before, and everything should be just right. We only wished to help you along."

Emma gave an exaggerated nod as she responded, "Ah, I see," before a knowing light slipped into her eyes while studying one and then the other to see who would crack first. "Just selfless action from the good of your hearts, was it?"

Henry nodded, pulling off a ridiculously innocent look, but Killian couldn't quite meet her gaze, peeking up at her from beneath the fringe of his dark hair and eyelashes like a poor, repentant rascal. "Well, Swan, if the truth be told, we might have become a bit distracted…"

"I thought so," she affirmed with one last quick, triumphant dip of the head.

"Yes, well," Killian hemmed and hawed adorably, and Emma was almost afraid she might bite through her lip trying not to laugh out loud, the whole kitchen mishap long forgiven, but watching him stutter in embarrassment like he often caused her to do was too priceless to end just yet. "Love, your boy's moving picture box sucks a man in with its programs. Are you sure it doesn't possess some sort of hypnotic magic of its own? Perhaps we should not let Henry…"

"Okay, okay, hold up," Henry broke in anxiously, not about to see his mom's boyfriend relegate him back to the Stone Age with concern over modern technology and not speak up his own defense.

Emma couldn't hold back her dissolution into helpless giggles any longer, and Killian stopped short with an affronted look at the noisy interruption from both of them at once. After a few moments, Emma reined her laughter back in, assured Henry he wouldn't be losing all television privileges, and turned with the both of them to survey the wreck that had been her nice, clean kitchen when she'd left that morning, hands on hips. "Well boys, let's see what we can salvage," she said at last.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

In the end, the turkey is magicked to golden brown perfection for the holiday meal. Emma had hoped to succeed at doing it the old fashioned way, but after seeing the damage Killian and Henry had wrought with their attempt – and though she only admitted it to herself, knowing either one of them was better in the kitchen than she was, when not unfortunately sidetracked – she decided there was no sense in further risking the main course she intended to serve to company.

She, Killian, and Henry did spend a warm, domestic, evening making the accompanying side dishes in the kitchen together. After placing a tray of butterhorn rolls in the oven to cook, Emma turned to see Henry flip a spoonful of cranberry sauce at Killian, hitting him square on the nose and making him jerk back in surprise at the splat of impact.

"Hey now," her pirate warned, glowering as he raised a spoonful of stuffing for a counterattack.

Emma thought idly that she should be warning them not to waste food, not to destroy their kitchen for a second time in one day, and basically chide them both to behave themselves, but instead she could merely watch as author and pirate mounted a giddy food fight she eventually joined, hugging herself tightly so she didn't simply burst with the joy swelling up inside her, so full of gratitude for both of them, for a home and family at last, and for this moment in which to enjoy it all. Thanksgiving, indeed.

That night when Henry had settled into his own room and the house had grown quiet, Emma stopped Killian as he left the bathroom after brushing his teeth, biting her lip at the all-too-inviting sight of him in dark blue lounge pants with little white anchors printed on them that he wore for sleep and all that dark hair on his toned and scarred chest. He looked upon her with a curious quirk to his brow, but didn't question her, only wrapped his arms around her waist and brought his forehead to rest against her own.

Enveloped in his warmth, Emma grew almost dizzy at the minty fresh breath he exhaled against her neck and nearly lost her train of thought altogether, but she pulled out the item she had intended to show him. It was the wishbone from their turkey, and she held it out for him to see. "Do you know what this is?"

"Aye," Killian answered, though she could tell by his expression he had no clue why she would draw his attention to it. "It's some part of that fowl we prepared for tomorrow's feast, but why…"

He trailed off when she twined the fingers of her free hand with his and brought his hand up to grip the opposite end of the wishbone from the one she held. "They're for wishing on," she explained briefly, playful mirth in her eyes. "People pull them apart and whoever gets the larger piece makes a wish that is then supposed to come true."

"Alright Lass, if you say so," he agreed gamely, a bit of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth now as well.

Holding her breath, Emma thought of all the times she had wanted to do this as a kid and had never been the one who got the wishbone. Or all the times as an adult that she'd had it, but no one in her empty apartment to hold the other end, or to appreciate the wish she'd made nor share in her joy if it did come to fruition. As the fragile bone snapped and they looked down to the pieces in their hands, Emma and Killian found it had broken almost evenly, and so she whispered, not wanting to break the calm stillness in the room, "Let's say we both wish…together."

Killian merely nodded and closed his eyes as she did. When she opened them again, it was to meet his blue, blue gaze shining back at her. She had the feeling they'd wished for the exact same thing…many more years of holidays like this.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The blessed feeling carried over to the family dinner the next day. Sitting at the head of the long table in the dining room of a home of her very own – hers, Henry's and Killian's – the first time she'd ever had such a thing, Emma felt as though the whole scene was bathed in some sort of golden light, like she was living inside a perfect Norman Rockwell painting. The table surface was packed, crammed, overloaded with food – from the golden brown, crisp-skinned, turkey and their perfectly toasted, flaky butterhorns to Regina's apple dumplings, green beans, noodles, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. The ten-year-old foster child inside her nearly drools at the bounty, never quite able to banish the breakfasts, lunches, and dinners missed, the times she had sat alone in some cafeteria, eyes fixed on the food other students carelessly tossed in the bins which she would have loved to have while she had been packed nothing to eat and had no money to buy even a drink, of the times she had gone to bed in a rickety bunk, stomach growling and unable to stop fixating on those cabinets full of snacks that were off limits. Seeing Henry to her right, ruffling his hair affectionately for just a second before he turned to grin at her proudly, clearly pleased their time in the kitchen had given them this much to show for it, she could only rejoice that he had never known such days, and the neither she nor Killian ever would again.

She gave her father a nod of confirmation where he sat at the other end of the table, leading him to grin widely, the warm look of love and happiness on his face making her feel even more that this moment right here really was all she had been missing – all she had ever wanted – all those years she spent alone. As David stood to carve the turkey and Snow alternated between beaming up at her husband proudly and passing the plates now loaded up with juicy slices of turkey down the table, Emma squeezed Killian's hand with her left, and he cut a knowing glance at her, showing clearly that he understood and felt it too.

Beside Henry sat Belle, then Snow, and across from Henry were Regina, Robin, and Roland. It would seem that their family continued to grow and warmly open to welcome into its circle anyone with nowhere else to belong on this day meant to be spent with loved ones. As she had wished for that very thing each holiday season for 28 years, Emma could think of no better nor more heroic thing for her family to do.

Once everyone had been served – both turkey and all the other dishes filling the long table – Killian stood with raised glass, even as Emma tapped her spoon against her own to garner everyone's attention for him. "A toast, mates, if I may," Killian announced jovially in that rich, enticing voice. Emma shivered slightly at the way its tones thrilled through her, though trying to give no outward sign; she would gladly listen to him read the ingredients of the box for the stuffing, but she knew everyone else was hungry and ready to dig in, so her heart swelled just that much more when the others around their table dutifully paused and turned to listen to him with genuine interest and agreement.

"I daresay I shan't keep us from this delectable feast for long," her pirate intoned, "but I have more to be grateful for this year than I have ever possessed in my ridiculously long life, and my thanks must be offered…"

He paused, meeting the eyes of each of those gathered around the table briefly, and then continued with a fervent tone which came out sounding a bit choked with emotion. "When I first arrived in this realm, still lost in my bitterness, anger, and thirst for revenge, I could not have imagined a day like this, full of peace, love, and gratitude. Emma, Love, when you offered me the chance to join you and be a part of something, and we undertook that desperate quest to Neverland, the idea that we could come to belong to each other as we do now, that you would hold my heart in your very palm, or that I would find myself with a true family again, seemed inconceivable. Yet, I am so glad you gave me that last chance, like a line thrown in the drink to a drowning man. It saved my life, turned me back around to the man I once meant to be. My thankfulness to be here with all of you today cannot be adequately expressed." He swallowed hard, dipped his head, and then took his seat again. "You have all blessed us with your presence at our table."

"Cheers!" everyone else agreed, raising their glasses to clink with each other around the table, several other eyes misty and voices husky with feeling besides their captain's. Emma blinked quite a bit herself, glancing around at their motley crew.

Her fingers reached across to trail lightly over Killian's shoulder, stroking his back soothingly for a few moments and then rising to delve playfully into the dark hair at the nape of his neck. Brushing gently through the soft strands, Emma smiled affectionately as his head inclined slightly toward her, thinking humorously that if he were a cat, her sailor would be nearly purring in contentment right now. This moment deserved to be captured – preserved – in her mind forever; she couldn't feel any more stuffed with grateful satisfaction.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

It was nearly midnight when the last of their guests had been seen to the door and out into the chilly dark of Storybrooke's nighttime streets. Henry had gone with Regina; they had a tradition of shopping, then decorating the mayor's mansion for Christmas, and capping the evening off with homemade apple turnovers running over with icing. Emma marveled at Henry's blithely forgiving ability to still eat the things with relish after nearly dying from one bit of that very poisoned pastry also made by Regina long ago. Still, she couldn't deny she was glad to have her pirate to herself this night – a true quiet moment for the two of them.

They were curled around each other on the couch in the living room, watching flames crackle merrily in the fireplace, feet up on the coffee table, each of them enjoying a sweet taste of leftover pumpkin pie.

"Open up, Darling," Killian urged, fork upraised to her lips with a piece of sticky filling and flaky crust adorned with the sweet white topping she loved. Emma really didn't need him to feed her, but she playfully went along with his gesture and hummed in pleasure when the flavors exploded on her tongue.

"Mhmm, really good," she mumbled, her mouth still full, but nodding her head and moving to get a piece on her own fork and return the favor for him.

Killian's deep, reverberating chuckle stopped her though, and he leaned forward just enough to wrap his lips around the tip of her nose, licking off the bit of whipped cream he'd gotten on her moments before. It was a mostly innocent gesture, but his proximity, the warmth of the near kiss, and the fact that they were truly – finally – alone, relaxed, and had nowhere else to be had her heart hammering triple time as she sat up quickly, unfolded her legs and pulled him up with her.

"Come on, Pirate," she spoke a little breathlessly, a devilish gleam in her eyes, "we can finish this later."

It didn't take him long to catch on and follow her eagerly, still chuckling with his hand in hers, as she picked up the can of whipped cream from the coffee table where she'd placed it earlier and led him upstairs to their room.

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