He slips away from her side so quietly that she doesn't realise he's gone until she hears a deliberate and familiar ahem from behind her. Turning, she feels her eyes widen at the sight of Killian Jones (aka the dread pirate Captain Hook) standing in the middle of the forest clearing with his hand and hook behind his back and wearing a smugly expectant grin.

"Sorry, did you say something?"

He says nothing as he looks upwards, and she follows the line of his gaze. He's holding his sword behind his back, the blade curving upwards and over his head like a damned umbrella. Squinting, she suddenly understands the reason behind the smug grin, because dangling from the deadly point of his pirate's blade is a sprig of mistletoe.

(She is going to kill Henry.)

"What do you say, Swan?" He doesn't move towards her, but he doesn't need to, because her stupid feet are already doing his dirty work for him, closing the distance between them in slow, half-steps. "Care to observe a tradition of your realm for good luck?"

She can't help protesting, even though they both know exactly how this is going to end, even as the snow crunches beneath her boots as she moves towards him. "It's not December yet."

He shrugs, then nods at the pristine white landscape around them. "Close enough, love."

She curls her hands around the ends of the scarf he reluctantly agreed to wear that morning, her knuckles firm against his chest. "What would your old crew say if they knew that their captain was resorting to greenery and sentimental tradition in order to steal a kiss?" She gives the scarf one last tug (she knows that Granny made it for him, a gesture that seemed to embarrass them both) and lifts her arms to link her hands behind his neck.

"They'd be green with envy, Swan, that I keep company with a treasure like yourself." He dips his head, his nose cold as it brushes against hers. His breath is warm, though, and she feels her lips tingle in anticipation. "And a man can't steal something that's freely given, even if he is a pirate."

Her laughter huffs out in a tiny white cloud, then she's kissing him, tasting his smile, the heat of his mouth warming her right down to the tips of her toes. It's sweet, soft, and over far too soon. "There," she murmurs, her lips still brushing against his, her hands still buried in his silky mess of dark hair. "Happy now?"

His bright blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles at her, and she suspects she's wearing an identically idiotic grin on her own face. "Very."

(She's happy too.)

Five minutes later, they're running back towards the town centre, summoned by David's message of yet another fairy tale grudge match, but not before Killian tucks the sprig of mistletoe into the pocket of her jacket. Just in case, he tells her, his grin wolfish once more, and she rolls her eyes as they start to run, because seriously, she's not the sentimental type.

Later that night, she tucks it into the box with her baby blanket.

Just in case.