Who: Captain Hook and his Mini-Me Kenzi Lady Shark Bait What: Bringing Killian home, tree decorating, and feels When: This past weekend Where: Killy's houseboat Rating/Warnings: Mouth of pirates, but mostly low Status: Complete!
Distractions. Kenzi was good at those. Good at sometimes kicking reality to the curb, too, but the fact that her formerly estranged sibling had recently gone through a traumatic physical change of losing his hand, it wasn’t just something anyone could ‘forget’ - not for an hour, not even a couple minute. All it took was a glance of where the wound was, the lack of fingers (among other things) and it all came down like a heavy, unwelcome crash of shitty bricks with the word ‘reality’ scribbled on them. It sucked, it blew a lot of donkey balls and it wasn’t fair, but it was what it was and she’d help him focus on other things: the fact that he was still alive, and their time wasn’t cut so tragically short.
And Christmas. All that jolly crap, and it’d be their first one together and even though it all seemed grim and full of what the fuck is this life. When she wasn’t with him she was home - his houseboat, technically, in which he so nicely offered to share his space with - and she’d been sprucing it up for the season in her own vision. Mostly. There was some input thanks to Gigi McTits, but Kenzi had been determined to pull of a very unique ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ theme for the holidays - blacks and whites, splashes of orange and purple here and there, all void of the traditional colors that seared the corneas. It wasn’t anything over the top, really, Gigi had made a good point of not wanting to give him a heart attack upon his return, but it at least wasn’t so pitifully lame.
“I didn’t decorate the tree, by the way,” Kenzi announced with some sheepishness, and in her matching set of Santa sweatpants (they were amazingly comfortable, shush your facehole), opened the passenger’s side of the car door to help him out. “It’s kinda like a midget tree, buuut I figured it’s something we could do? Together? String popcorn around the tree, or eat the popcorn instead…”
His bedroom had been cleaned. A joint effort between Robin and her, and she’d gone out to get him fresh sheets (they were silky!), and all the interior and exterior decor lights had been kept on for a grand presentation of stuff. There were even stockings in there. Two. Black velvet ones, glittery fluff on top, what the hell would anyone expect?
All on the drive back to the marina, Killian had tried to chase the grey clouds of gloom and doom away. He’d had a slew of visitors in the hospital and they’d all brought him food, which he thought was amusing - apparently he needed to be fattened up, since a diet of soup and contraband whiskey wasn’t doing much to fill out the long and sleek panther-like form that he’d been blessed with (he’d never been bulky, never would be). But it was simply that he didn’t feel like eating. Didn’t feel like doing much, though he’d managed here and there. Even made plans to go to Disneyland with Swan and her boy, who in this life didn’t have to worry about sleeping curses, being kidnapped by evil minions of Peter Pan, or any other similar nonsense. His parents were even together, and happy. Killian could be glad about that, even if a part of him ached in very odd ways that he didn’t quite understand when he considered it.
Kenzi, long-lost sister, was also a good motivator for him to do things. She dutifully brought him socks and underwear, and got him checked out of the hospital, helped him pack his bag to go home back from his dismal and sterile room to his dismal houseboat - at least it was decorated for Christmas, for the Newport Beach boat parades. Yachts he could never afford would be passing through - he at least wanted to make his place look somewhat festive. “I can handle popcorn, I think,” he said as he shuffled along the dock, into the house (you kind of had to lunge to the door - it was easy to drop things and lose them forever, like bottles of wine) and he had definitely missed that slight rocking motion that came with living on the water. Possessing the specific water gene was required, to really appreciate it all, and he knew for him it was there. For Kenzi too, probably. Even during a storm, when things fell off the walls, and even having to pay extra to do laundry on land in a group cabana of sorts, it was all worth everything.
His arm was still heavily bandaged, and he had a specific regimen for changing the endless gauze and also a pill regimen. Those bottles were lined up in the kitchen, coloured warfare, all along the windowsill and with a sigh he turned to place the carton of peanut butter ice cream in the freezer. Emma brought him that, and he hadn’t been able to eat all of it (probably a good thing). “Shall I make some now?”
Pills, and booze. Not a cocktail that needed mixing. Even Kenzi’s own questionable sobriety had enough sense for that - and it’s not like she’d actually drank all his liquor stock (even her seasoned liver had its limits), but she had also cleverly hidden the rest to make it particularly difficult to find. In odd places he wouldn’t think to look.
Like the drawer with all her bras, for one. Bubba wouldn’t want to touch those.
“Popcorn duty is a go,” she hummed, glacial eyes skimming the medication labels - she’d help him with his routine, gauze and tablet popping, she wasn’t budging from that - and went to retrieve the bucket of ornaments and other thingamabobs from their midget-tree. It was a real one, too. Smelled like pine and made the place smell all car-freshneresque. “I’ve never really strung popcorn, but that’s supposed to be more like a Yule-thing. Nifty idea though. All else fails, we’ll shove the popcorn in our faces. It’s a win-win all around.”
Maybe he’d talk, maybe not. Up to him. But Kenzi would try to keep prodding him with questions - she didn’t want to sour tonight’s mood, even if she was buzzing with curiosity. Because this place was fucktartedly weird.
“Suppose we ought to have string for that? And a needle?” Killian suggested, rubbing his chin. Oh, and it was probably easier one-handed. Perhaps he should let Kenzi be in charge of that, while he hung up the actual thingamabobs - but he still went to the desk in his living room, an old antique piece that looked quite maritime and more expensive than it actually was. It’d been a grand thrift store find, however. Opening the drawer, he found what they needed.
Then back to the kitchen to make the actual popcorn. “I think people string cranberries too, but I’m not certain...” He was simply talking to say words, as he put everything together - kernels and a bit of oil added to a large Dutch oven pot, on the stove - without actually paying much attention to what he was babbling about. “It’ll look nice though, when we’re finished.”
Should he address the elephant in the room? Killian wasn’t usually one to mince words. He was smooth and charming when he wanted to be, saying just enough, but he didn’t feel as if he needed to really eggshell-walk around anything right now.
“Well.” That was her cue, to start talking.
Cranberries? Well, crapballs, she knew she’d forget something. Kenzi had gone to the store without a list and kind of just grabbed shit as she went, a lot of it being your typical American delicacies (and by delicacies she meant all the trashy food she never got in Canada, plus cherry cokes for five lifetimes) and the rest Christmas-y things. Non-tacky ones, things that’d go well with their monochramatic Tim Burton theme. “Cranberries, noted. Maybe I can make a trip out if we really want to make it authentic…”
Words just for the sake of saying them, even if she hadn’t completely acknowledged it. Because there was an elephant in the room. A fat one with blinging lights and signs pointed to it that said ‘I’M AN ELEPHANT, ALL UP IN THIS ROOM.’
Biting the inside of her cheek, she sifted through all the junk and pulled out a matching set of reindeer headbands that lit upon button pressing, and she slid over to him (she’d been wearing gargantuan fuzzy slippers, even in the car), and then proceeded to put it on him.
Push a bit of hair out of the way, adjust it behind his ears - and perfect.
“You’re not going to go through something like that again, are you?”
Oh good. It wouldn’t be a proper Christmas-decorating session without wearing reindeer antlers. Killian didn’t have them on his socks, so he was probably due to wear them on his head. He smirked a little, but let Kenzi do what she would with those ugly things. No use in protesting, not during their celebration. Rather, he remained at the stove, making sure the kernels didn’t burn as the pop-pop-pop sounds filled the air.
His eyes darkened a little, a storm rolling over the horizon, when he considered going through something like this again. “Well, I’ve only got one hand left - I doubt I’ll lose that one too,” was his half-hearted quip. “But...no. I certainly hope not. Those dreams aren’t close to finishing, however. I’m sure I’m in for more. You didn’t really sign up for this, didn’t you?”
It was his way of saying he wouldn’t blame her for taking off or something. When she came to find her family, having a whole bunch of shit drop right into her lap likely wasn’t in the plan.
Hey, he wouldn’t suffer alone. And by ‘suffer’ she meant sporting the antlers - she had one of her own, and clamped it over her head. Matching siblings were totes cute siblings, alright? Kenzi pressed the buttons on both, by the way, so the lights would come in. Be lucky she didn’t get matching Rudolph noses, Killian, you’d be pretty fucked there.
But no, she didn’t really sign up to live in a weird hellhole of a place where dreams actually do come true, in some jacked up way. If she hadn’t been somewhat traumatized by her bro’s freak accident of losing a hand, she’d think it was pretty rad. Like, let’s enjoy this shit sort of rad. Except this was no joke, none of this was, and it left her with questions and left Bubba Jones with more cracks than he had before.
“I signed up to stick around with you,” she voiced, physically jabbing at his side with a finger before retrieving two chilled cherry cokes from the fridge. Both of their tabs popped, the carbonation letting out a low hiss. “And family sticks together. Or they’re supposed to, and considering you’ve already given me more than what the rest of mine has, I want to.”
Heart was needed for family, not just blood. Captain Hook here had both of hers. Up until he makes her walk a plank. She’d take that super personally, bro.
Poseidon’s balls, he looked ridiculous. All that rough-and-tumble scruff, tired forget-me-not blue eyes, and sun-scorched skin (not to mention the dark clothing) didn’t mean that Killian rocked the ‘festive’ antlers very well, especially when they were lit up. He returned the jab to the side, with a playful grumble, before reaching into the cupboard to get a bowl down for the popcorn. That was officially all he knew about stringing it up - now it was up to Kenzi to take the lead on their ho, ho, ho-venture.
“You say that now,” he huffed, picking up his soda can to sip from it - everything felt like it took longer than it should, since he was moving sluggish and only had one hand to putter around with. Getting used to everything would be a challenge, but Killian already knew that. He wasn’t going to back down. “But you haven’t started dreaming yet. I doubt it’ll be flowers and rainbows, but I suppose you should know - “ He ushered her toward the living room, with the popcorn, “...that I plan to return the favour.” Both of them dreaming of complete and utter shit at the same time - if she planned to stick around, she should know that it wasn’t going to be just him aboard that train.
Okay, he looked only a little bit ridiculous. Kenzi was going to request a couple selfies in a minute, she’d also let him slide on the duckfacing (all appropriate selfies required duckfacing, it was selfie law). Needle and thread procured, bowl of popcorn steaming and ready, she flopped down on the sofa with legs crossed Indian-style, cherry coke on the coffee table.
“Maybe I’ll dream about unicorns,” she shrugged, preparing the sewing tools poke through the first one. “Or maybe I won’t dream at all. I kinda really don’t want to.” Nope, she wasn’t a fan of waking up to a blood bath or losing body parts. But she guessed she could solve that by running away with her tail tucked between her legs?
Nah, not happening. Birkhoff was here, Big Bro was here, she wasn’t going to budge like a pussy.
First popcorn strung, and then came the second. And third. The fourth and fifth, though, she ate those fuckers. “I mean, either way, the fact that I’m related to Captain Hook is still something pretty boss to brag about, y’know?” Turn the shit into gold. Kenzi would try. She grinned, impishly. “How’s the pirate hierarchy work? Does that mean I get to be ‘first mate’? Is that a thing?”
Killian took a handful of popcorn too, which may have been depleting their Christmas ornament supplies, but to hell with it. He munched contentedly, though he did wonder if bugs got at this popcorn string shit - and cranberries too, who even thought to use food as decoration? So bloody odd. Or perhaps he was just a Scrooge. Despite all that, he did his part to hang the bedazzled sparkling balls and other stuff on the small tree, finding a good space for it, trying to make the aesthetic pleasing.
“Quartermaster is usually the second-in-command,” he chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at Kenzi as she strung up those popped kernels. “And is responsible for divvying things up - booty and work, rations, even punishment. Lady Shark Bait’s your official pirate name already, so you’re about there.”
Her sea legs were somewhat decent - she hadn’t complained once about living on the water, so he’d take that as a good sign. “Here...” Killian set down the ornament he was holding. “I want to show you something.”
Lady Shark Bait. Kenzi needed that engraved in a name tag. Or at least on her license plate, that’d be pretty cool. As for ‘sea legs,’ hell, she never really had a chance to enjoy the wonders of a beach, let alone the big wide ocean - but she’d wanted to. Mostly for the mermaids. And still for the mermaids. Adulthood told her mermaids weren’t real but, uh, she also was related to someone who was Captain Hook in another reality and also nailed one, so.
Fuck yes, mermaids.
“As long as I don’t have to bend someone over my knee and spank ‘em,” she snickered, uncoiling her legs from the sofa’s resting spot. After a couple more kernels she’d cut the string and wrap it around among the Skellington ornament, but for now, she set it down too. Wiped her palms against the festive sweatpants and stood at his side, knocking elbows. “You’re the only guy I trust to say that and not be weird, by the way.”
“What sort of guys do you know? Are you sure I don’t have to kill anyone?” the overprotective big brother asked, lifting one of those inky, villainous eyebrows - the same one he always quirked, it was a perfected art by now. “Like that one you’re going to a rave with...”
Killian was on guard. Those searing icy eyes watching, oh yes. Whomever that fucker was, he better be careful.
But anyway, he held up his index finger in a gesture for Kenzi to wait a moment before he disappeared into his newly-cleaned bedroom. Not to mention he was relieved it didn’t look like the scene of a murder anymore, with him conveniently bleeding out all over his sheets. No, it looked almost normal. You never would be able to tell he woke up maimed. Then he was back in the living room, holding a small wooden box.
A dusty wooden box - he had to visibly blow that dust off first, before he opened it. “This was Liam’s,” he said carefully, looking down, avoiding holding a gaze with everything else besides the floor. The floor he could handle. “Awarded posthumously, for gallantry during operations against the enemy at sea.”
The decoration was a silver cross with rounded edges, attached to a thick light-and-dark-blue ribbon. “I’ve got all his other medals. Figure you ought to have one now,” he said as he handed her the box. Inside there were also a couple of photos, dress uniform ones. Just of Liam. He had dark curly hair, and blue eyes too - but they were more dusky, like denim rather than sapphires. However, he did have Kenzi’s nose. It was a Roman nose, very strong.
Plump lashes, previously mascara-brushed and long, blinked. A couple of times, actually, because was he - really? Bubba Jones was doing the whole ‘big brother’ thing, wasn’t he? On the bright side Henry had already been threatened ahead of time, and the awkward dweeb didn’t have the guts to flash her his ‘twig and giggle berries’ (a term she’d use forevermore, because oh my god).
Besides, it was a rave. Not a date. Kenzi was oh-so picky, she’ll gladly let you know, Killy.
But she waited as the finger suggested - and she didn’t know what to expect, not really, so what he’d brought forth had admittedly caught her something off-guard. They discussed him telling stories of Liam, the time had never seemed right and then the whole thing with his hand... “To keep this? You’re okay with that?” The box was in her grasp regardless, and it’s not like it wasn’t appreciated. Far from it. “You two were way close, I don’t - I don’t want to take anything of him from you.”
He did look like them. Liam, that is. Maybe she and Killian held the greater resemblance, but she saw it in him too - in the pictures, aged and worn around the edges.
“It’s not you taking anything,” Killian disagreed - and of course he was okay with it, oddly enough. Felt strange to even pry that box loose from its hiding place but it was something that had to be done - especially after the hand debacle, the way Kenzi still stubbornly insisted on sticking around and everything she’d already done for him. The most wonderful time of the year, all of this family shit was the gift that kept on giving. “I’m simply sharing something important with you. By choice. You deserve to know of him.”
What Killian could tell her, that is. And he would, in small increments. Perhaps as he talked of Liam, little by little, it would become easier and the pain would lessen over time. Because he still couldn’t think of his brother without harsh, jagged lightning lashes of hurt electrocuting him.
The worst part was that Killian had let him down - if Liam was alive, he wouldn’t be proud of his younger brother. That hurt most of all, yet he had no one to blame but himself.
Bah, sappy things. Sappy things that she couldn’t crack a joke about or brush off, because all of it was personal - matters so close to the heart that you couldn’t really make light of. Kenzi did want to know about him. What he was like, the funny and embarrassing stories between two brothers who had only each other. She wanted to know so much that it felt like she was actually there, and not an entire country away.
“Way to hit me right in the feels, bro,” Kenzi choked a chuckle, balancing the box in her hands. Her nose did this very pronounced wiggle, like it’d keep any potential threat of embarrassing waterworks away. Memorabilia trinkets carefully set aside - almost as if they were glass - she reached to wrap her arms around her male look-alike. It was a hug, a tight one. Squeezing the squish out of him. “You’re kind of my favorite person ever, Bubba. Even if you’re cranky and want to gut people with your hook.”
Oh gods, squeezing the ever-loving squish out of him? That made Killian wheeze a laugh, but he certainly hugged his sister back - still a strange concept to comprehend, a little, yet he hadn’t realised how much he missed having family around, having someone who actually gave a fuck around, until she’d waltzed into his life. Funny how things like that worked.
“You’re mine too,” he chuckled, and he meant it. He was a lonely sort, though he’d be hard-pressed to admit it. Part of him shied away from concepts like devotion, love, true friendship because he felt that he couldn’t crawl out of his own dug grave to find his way - that he didn’t even deserve to. But selfishly, he didn’t want to give this up.
Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “Shall we finish that popcorn, then?”
To be totally fair, there wasn’t a grand selection of people to pick from. Birkhoff had been the only consistent figure in her life she’d trusted, he had helped her with a few clicks of a mouse as he hid behind the screen - it was the only friend she had kept in touch with, the only one who bothered in the first place. Then the wild hair up her ass had her find this dude, and she’d instantly latched on. Like a fungus.
A fabulous fungus, with fabulous hair and fabulous style and fabulous everything. The most fabulous, blue-eyed fungus anyone had ever seen. But she was Killian’s fungus, and she’d be pesky and protective and get on his nerves like any good little sister would. Which involved some extra squeezing, by the way, there was some strength behind those noodle arms.
Then Killian pulled away, and she made sure to adjust both their antlers - can’t have them fashioning these things crookedly. “Before we barf our feelings out,” she sniggered. “Finish the popcorn, and the ornaments, but while we do…”
Kenzi pulled the first set of stringed kernel, wiggling it around. “I want stories. Funny ones. With you and Liam. You’ve got to have some, right? First time he taught you how to shave, or how he gave you the ‘birds and bees’ lecture - there’s gotta be something to laugh at.”
The bloody antlers - why was he still wearing these? But good god, telling stories about Liam. Killian did have some decent ones, even though his childhood was depressing and booze-soaked, their father was a complete waste of space. Liam had become his guardian by the time the elder Jones enlisted in the Royal Navy - Killian lived in accommodations for service families when his brother was away at sea, or he’d go with whenever he could. Anything to be separated from Brennan, who wasn’t winning parenting awards anytime soon. Or ever.
“Ah, well...” He snickered lightly, returning to the task of hanging up festive, shiny balls. “I was so awful to him sometimes. It was a wonder he even wanted to look after me. I think one of the worst things I did was put a broomstick in his bicycle spokes as he rode past - he flipped right off, busted his face up pretty good.” That made Killian laugh, poor Liam. “He was always very well-behaved and serious, but he did get back at me. Then when I cut myself later on, with something or other, I went to him crying and he told me lemon juice would soothe the cut.”
It hadn’t, needless to say. He hadn’t known his brother had it in him to be so vindictive, but it was mostly a one-time thing.
“The Birds and the Bees talk, though. I spent time with a lot of other children who had family in the Navy, so we all went to school together and such. After I heard all these strange details I rung Liam up, like it was an emergency - he had to excuse himself from a meeting with loads of other decorated Admirals and whatnot - because I didn’t understand how the penis knew how to find where to go.” Nowadays? He was pretty well-versed, thank you.
Around the tree the string went, and she’d done some adjustments to make sure the branches and pine needles held it well. Add more and it’d come together as the night went on, especially with the addition of the shiny balls of jolly festivity. There was a tree-topper for it too, what was basically a head that would be the final touch. No cheesy stars or angels in terrible gowns with trumpets, screw that.
Kenzi listened, intently. Mouth curved into a smirk as he told the tales of youth, trolling, and being trolled. Killy-boo looked happy, talking about him. Which was her goal - to have talk about all the happy parts. Forget the shitty ones, even if it was just for the night. “Awww, that’s when you were a teeny-weeny wittle virgin! You’re a tornado of horniness now, aren’t you? Errr--not that I want the details, gods, no. Ew.” All the women that came to visit (and practically drooled on him) spoke volumes, that’s all that needed to be said. “Did you guys--oh, I don’t know--do certain things for holidays together?”
Traditions. Something they could rekindle. If Kilian wanted to, anyway.
“Been a long time since I was a virgin,” Killian scoffed - but he didn’t need to go into detail about how and when he’d lost the little bit of innocence he’d ever possessed. “Ah, well - “ Traditions were another matter entirely, and he considered as he studied the delightful Jack Skellington (whom he’d recently learned about, thanks to those socks) topper.
It was a lot of digging into the recesses of his memory, those dusty and cobwebbed corners, to be able to recall. “We used to light a candle in the front window, no matter where we were living,” he shrugged. “Because it supposedly helped Kris Kringle find his way but the fat fucker always gave us the shaft year after year.” Still, they dutifully lit that damn candle anyway - even as the years passed, and they never could afford much; it was more about the tradition of it. “...oh, but the Christmas cake. It’s meant to be made a couple weeks in advance and stored, then iced on Christmas Eve. I suppose we could give that a try. I’d just have to get the right ingredients.”
He took a step back, to assess their work on the tree. Looked pretty good to him. “Shall I give you the honours of putting the top on, then?”
“Liam told you that ‘fat fucker’ wasn’t real pretty late, didn’t you?” Kenzi dissolved into a fit of laughter, but all that seemed doable. And with their age it felt like they wouldn’t really be lighting a candle for Santa the Fatso, would it? More for Liam. She’d get behind that, stat. “And I wouldn’t say nope to cake, we’ve got time. You’re almost like a pie master, cake should be easy!”
Though it was now known that her baking skills were lacking. She had attempted cookies here, once. They were bricks. Bricks made of edible ingredients that were somehow baked into something that was not edible, and she should have gotten the hint when the cookie dough tasted like goldfish carcass.
Kenzi didn’t know what goldfish carcass tasted like. Technically. It was a safe bet it tasted like her cookie dough, though.
But the laaaaaaaast bit, okay! Wintry blue eyes gleamed excitedly - thanks to the strung lights, mostly - and she held their final ornament like some kind of treasure bestowed to them by the gods. And carefully, so carefully, settled it at the tip. Which didn’t work the way she’d planned. It didn’t sit right at first, she sort of had to twist some branches and basically fuck the head with one of them until it stood right.
There. Pat-pat.
“We’ll get a candle, but a cool one. I’ll bedazzle it or something. And we could use it. Every Christmas.”
“Well, he was quite a bit older so he wanted to keep the magic alive for me as long as possible,” Killian chuckled. “Unfortunately, I figured it out relatively quickly regardless. Rather depressing when I did. Still, I suppose lighting the candle was just...something for us to do.” Together, and all that bullshit.
Of course Kenzi would bedazzle it when the tradition was reinstated this year. He rolled his eyes fondly.
“That looked dirty,” he noted about the skull-branch copulation that was putting the tree topper on. “Poor fellow’s been impaled. But looks nice, I guess.” Flopping down on the sofa, he let out a sigh - for some reason he was exhausted, probably because of all the stress. Not to mention the meds he was on. Tripping balls was a lot of work. “We can sit and admire it.”
Dirty? Huh. Well, technically it could be considered skull fucking, since wasn’t Jack a -
Nevermind. Thinking way too hard about all that, Kenz. Their topper was perfectly propped atop their tree, that’s all that really mattered, and it defied all the tacky gold-red-green color themes every other Christmas tree was cursed to have.
Satisfied, the little thief joined him on the couch, bowl of leftover popcorn nestled on her lap. “Looks awesome, bro,” she proudly assured after stuffing her face with a handful of puffed corn. “I totally dig it. Props!”
And by ‘props,’ she meant bro-fist. It’s okay, Killy, she’ll make sure you were up to speed with the cool lingo. Kenzi is here for you foreeeevers.