Alright, here we go :] a new adventure awaits! All rights/characters belong to OUAT.

The overhead announcement was loud and droning in his throbbing ears, the unbelievably annoying tone saying something about upcoming arrivals as he stared toward the curved metals beams of the ceiling. The lighting was harsh as he pulled off the sunglasses shielding his hangover and yanked his flight confirmation from the back pocket of his jeans. Here we go again, he thought as he plodded in the direction of the airport check-in.

Killian Jones hated airports. There really wasn't a way of denying it after months of developing said opinion - facts were facts and that one was all sorts of true.

He liked to believe he was a rather rational man and honestly he didn't hate many things in life, but finding yourself in the environment you claim to loathe will bring out all shades of negativity. At the moment, the multiple lines and unnecessary noise were doing just that. Well, his thumping head's drunken regrets and the incessantly ringing phone in his pocket might have been part of the issue as well - but his fault in all of this wasn't something he was prepared to address in his current state. He slammed his thumb on the button that would allow him to ignore the call before approaching the ticketing counter.

Between lost baggage, the impolite rush of confused travelers, and the endless hours wasted doing just about nothing, he figured it was rather easy to see why this was the last place he wanted to be - but his dislike didn't stem from any of those things. No, it wasn't about the time of day or what the destination was. It wasn't affected by boarding first or last or even if the flight was on time or three hours delayed. LAX. O'Hare. Vancouver International. JFK. London Heathrow. He'd endured them all and then some, but it really didn't matter. He was convinced that the word 'terminal' was associated with airports for a reason.

For the record, it was that last location that was wedging the particularly annoying thorn in his side - but London itself was hardly his biggest problem right now.

He hadn't always had this irrational distaste for air travel, but spending weeks on end in the uncomfortable seats of whatever type of Boeing his ticket was booked on wasn't particularly exciting. In fact, it was terrible - downright maddening and monotonous in the worst way.

He supposed there were other reasons he detested navigating and sitting in an airport - many of which he was in the process of running or rather flying away from. He wasn't ready for those feelings to catch up with him yet. No, the numbness was a good thing and he planned to hold onto it as long as possible.

Killian read through his boarding pass while weaving through the ropes of the security line and dropping his bag at his feet to wait. He didn't care what anyone else though - when it came to luggage, carry-on was the only way to go. There was quite a length of people. He pulled his frustrated hands over his eyes and down his face as he willed his exhaustion to fade. His phone rang again and he stared down at the device without intention of answering. He sighed when it finally went quiet and switched it to vibrate before shoving it back in his pocket.

He'd already endured one flight this week and the impending one would be much longer than the first. Killian sighed heavily at the knowledge and wondered with a look around just where he could purchase some coffee once he proved his bag and demeanor matched the tedious TSA guidelines. He had been a bit of a zombie for weeks now and he knew that sleep wasn't about to come easy. Might as well stay awake, he thought - even though he didn't have a specific reason as to why he was adamant about keeping his eyes open.

What he did have was a growing lack of affect, a characteristic of what some might call a broken heart. Yes, some might - but he wasn't ready to settle on that fact.

Milah, he thought with a sigh. Maybe it was his fault. Killian had fallen head over his worn out Converse sneakers in love when they met six years ago en route of his second year attending university - back before he dropped out to write his novel and before his work became worthy of best seller status. She'd been beautiful and ambitious and their love had been simple and effortless in the easiest way.

To this day, he still couldn't really pinpoint when it had all started to fall apart. Once he sold the book, things got harder and began to unravel in a harsh way. They started to grow apart, arguing and the silent treatment becoming trademarks of their strained relationship. As things grew toxic, insecurities surfaced and it didn't take long for him to feel like he was losing her right along with the man he thought he was. He'd bought the ring and proposed in a moment of panic - Killian knew it as soon as the words left his lips. Though there was something that wasn't right about it, the promise of a serious commitment would fix things for a while.

Well, at least Killian thought so. Yet there was something about catching an early flight home to Ireland from an extended book tour to find your fiancé in bed with your publisher that shattered the illusion of anything being stable.

Killian shook his head as he pushed the image away. The moments that followed that instance were blur really. He'd grabbed a few things - extra clothes and whatever was left of his dignity - and headed back to the airport. About an hour and a half later, he found himself rather grateful for the place he'd been renting in London. Yes, he had initially leased it as a landing space for his layover nights while he was out promoting his novel or attending meetings with his editor. Now, interestingly and pathetically enough, it was home. Well, at least it was until he was ready to deal with the mess that had become his broken residence back in Dublin.

God, he needed something to drink. Daylight was kicking his ass with such a serious lack of rest rolling around in his head. Checking his watch to read the time 9:14, he knew it was probably out of the question to find himself at the bottom of any bottle. It was sad to think about how that location had become his preference during his time alone recently. He wasn't an alcoholic - though the empty tumblers of rum that littered the surfaces of his London flat may have made people wonder. He deflected the idea, not wanting to analyze his irrational behavior. He didn't need that right now. He just need a damn cup of coffee - almost as badly as he need to get through this damn security checkpoint and the hell out of this bloody airport.

It was a strange preference, yes - but Emma Swan loved airports. There were a number of reasons as to why and some of them didn't hold much water with most people, but it didn't matter. There was just something about them that felt right - rather intriguing even.

Of course, she hadn't spent much time in such places over the years - living paycheck to paycheck and biding funds in order to start a small business would do that to you. Growing up in foster care hadn't offered her many opportunities to travel either. In fact, Emma hadn't even had a chance to explore the world outside the United States until she'd start chasing bail jumpers to obscure corners of the world. Things were different now though - they were better. She'd spent several years convincing herself of that and she'd be damned if the edgy bustle of an airport would cause her to question it.

She attributed her opinion to some form of overall sincerity. Airports were one of the most honest places in the world and Emma had the utmost affinity for the truth. For the most part, the baggage check and ticketing lines were busy with the employees trying to filter people through as quick as possible. There wasn't really time for sweet words and small talk. The areas lining the terminals were the temporary home to weary travelers, exhausted people lacking patience and the ability to put on a show for others. Some were rude. Some were quiet. All were interesting.

For someone who doubted the honest nature of many individuals, the rawness of an airport created the perfect place for people watching. Emma was in heaven.

She did this every year and she always went alone. Sometimes it was a few days and sometimes it was nearly two weeks, but she scheduled her trip months in advance and she always selected a location on her list - the one she'd written down over years of moving from family to family while growing up. Emma had been slowly working through the places she'd jotted down years ago - New York, Costa Rica, California, and even Alaska so far. She checked off a choice every year since she actually starting making enough money to do so.

This year was big though - especially because she'd finally opted to visit one of the top three places on her travel list. She was finally going to England.

Emma had been nervous to commit to it initially. It was further away than many of the destinations she had noted and she'd be flying what had often been called 'across the pond' by herself - but it was nine days. She wanted to do it. She could do it.

Damn right she could - and she sure as hell did.

Emma explored every corner of London with a fearless nature that surprised even herself. She traversed museums, basking in the serenity of art and silence. She visited little cafes and bakeries as she came across them, selecting things to eat that she normally wouldn't. She'd even done a few tourist type things like checking out the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace and riding the London Eye despite her lingering fear of heights. It was everything it was supposed to be - a collection of days where she renewed her free will and independence.

Ending her annual vacation was bittersweet, but she couldn't lie and say she didn't miss Storybrooke. It had taken her a long time to wrap a place up in the label of home and now that she had that, it would be nice to get back. It would be assuring to make sure it was still there - that it was real. Even after roughly five years, she still needed that affirmation once in a while.

Emma never imagined she'd have such an array of things in her life to actually miss, but she had several - the top of that list starting with Henry, her son who had recently turned fifteen. Five years ago, she never would have dreamed of this life - living in a small town where she'd opened a bar and purchased a small, refurbished cottage in order to live near the boy she'd once put up for adoption. The whole process had been closed when she signed away her rights at the tender age of seventeen. With Henry's dad out of the picture and Emma being barely able to care for herself, she'd convinced herself she was doing it to give him his best chance at a better life. She had tried to forget it - moving to Boston where she started working as a bail bondsperson. It was something she'd become damn good at too.

Her twenty eighth birthday proved that perhaps she'd passed some of those intuitive tracking skills along to her son. Henry in all his independent ten year old glory had turned up on her doorstep, explaining who he was to a very stunned and disbelieving Emma. She'd insisted on driving him the several hours back to his little hometown in Maine where she quickly began an awkward and rather tumultuous explanation to his adoptive mother, Regina. It had taken them all a long time to get on the same page - something that wasn't totally unfair seeing as how Regina had never imagined even meeting Emma. There had been several tense conversations that nearly convinced her to bag it - that her estranged son would be better off without her.

Henry, however, wasn't going to be swayed and despite her insecure resistance, Emma had a bond with the boy that just wouldn't go away. By some insane grace of what she had to believe to be a higher power, they'd all worked out a system - a way for Emma to stay in town and be a part of her son's life. It had taken a few years of heated arguments and hurtful tears, but it had finally sorted itself out in a way that allowed Henry to become a constant in her new life.

The agreement between all of them was much less than orthodox, but then again, Emma's life had never really been simple. It was home - and finally having a home was definitely worth the trouble.

Her phone buzzed as she walked toward the ticketing lines and she tugged it from her pocket, grinning when she found her son's name on the screen.

Henry: Are you at the airport? Your flight leaves in an hour, mom.

She laughed softly, her fingers preparing to reply. Henry was a stickler for schedules and she had to find amusement in the way he was checking in on her.

Emma: Yeah, kid - I'm just waiting to board. Definitely ready to get home.

Henry: Good, we've missed you. My mom says I can come stay with you tomorrow night if you're not too tired. Then you can tell me all about your trip.

She quickly tucked the device away, exchanging greetings and directions with the woman checking her in on the computer. Emma dropped and tagged her luggage quickly, smiling at the smooth process as she headed toward the security checkpoint. There were several lines and she tried to mentally pick the shortest one as she adjusted the smaller bag she'd opted to keep on her shoulder. She stretched on her toes, attempting to count the people in each area when she heard the soft smack on the cold tile at her feet. Emma glanced toward the ground in search of the noise. Spinning on her heel in curiosity, she figured she'd find whatever had fallen the moment she turned around. Dammit, she really needed to be more attentive-

"Excuse me, love," a smooth, accented voice said. "I think you dropped this."

As Emma's eyes slowly rose from the floor to source of the words, her breath hitched. Emma's misplaced passport was extended in her direction by a firm hand, one that belonged to a man she'd definitely not noticed until this moment. Dark, disheveled hair that was pushed back carelessly. A smirk that seemed to be deciphering her. Blue eyes - the most drowning, deep, beautiful blue eyes. God knows how she had even been able to be so oblivious - this guy was the picture of ruggedly handsome.

"O-oh. Sorry - yeah," she stuttered, gripping her bag hard as she reached for it. "Thank you. I guess I should...be more careful."

"Uh, yeah," he laughed, scratching his ear in a somewhat adorable manner. "I would assume you'll need that to leave the country. American, are you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Lucky guess?"

Emma chuckled slightly, not sure what else to say. She gave him eyes of gratitude as she pondered turning back around.

"A tourist then?"

"If that's what you want to call it," she replied vaguely. "Though I try not to act too much like one."

"It would appear so," he said observantly. "The lack of luggage makes me think you checked a bag though - sure sign of a foreigner, love."

"Perceptive, aren't you?"

"Perhaps," he grinned, shrugging a bit. "Or perhaps you're just something of an open book."

There was a slight arrogance to his tone, a trait that for some reason struck an attractive chord. Emma raised an eyebrow in thought, but he seemed to take it as some type of challenge. His head tilted with inquiry. He was studying her - sorting her out like the well worn pieces of a puzzle.

Who the hell did this guy think he was? Was he flirting with her? She didn't have time for this.

There was a flicker of something in his eyes when he said it, some sort of spark that she didn't want to turn away from as she squeezed the passport between her fingertips. She blushed a bit, about to serve up some saucy reply when her subconsciously moving feet brought her to the front of the line. As the nearby attendant checked her documentation and directed her to the next waiting area, Emma found her opportunity to respond vanish. She took a moment to smile softly and perhaps a bit flirtatiously as he filtered into the stream of passengers in the line over from her, his blue eyes blending into the swarm of people flowing in and out of the area.

As she set her bag on the conveyor belt, Emma couldn't help but peer toward the adjacent line in search of Mr. Know It All. Her neck strained for a sight of him - for an opportunity to respond to his insistent and rather confident accusation. Emma glanced back and forth as she followed the path through security, but she couldn't find him.

He was gone - and Emma couldn't help but wonder why she even cared. She shook her head hard, tossing her bag back over her shoulder and relocating her phone to complete her conversation with her son.

Emma: I'd love that. I'll let you know when I land back in the states, okay?

Henry: Okay. Have a safe trip. Love you, mom.

Emma: Love you too, Henry. See you soon.

She grinned to herself at the Henry's messages. It had taken Emma quite a while to get used to people offering her that sort of caring attention - it was so unexpected after years of being alone. Of course, the solitary life she led was her choice - but after everything she'd been through while establishing her fresh start, by herself just seemed like the best place to be. She'd slowly started to deconstruct that wall, beginning with Henry and continuing with the friendships she'd developed since relocating to Storybrooke. Emma had convinced herself she was capable of these baby steps, but only those - at least for now.

The departure board hadn't given her any new information and she knew they wouldn't start loading the plane quite yet. Her curiosity seeped in as she wondered where the stranger from security was traveling to. Snap out of it, Emma chided herself as she set out in search of some refreshment.

The robust scent of fresh coffee filled her senses after a moment and she turned in the direction it seemed to be drifting from. She had a bit of time - a cup of caffeine surely wouldn't hurt. The line was short and Emma was able to snag a drink in record time. She breathed in the steam and strong aroma of her cup with a smile, the warmth causing her skin to tingle. An open book, she scoffed with sudden recollection. What a pompous jerk. He didn't know her.

With the beverage grasped lightly between her fingertips, Emma moved toward the large glass windows to watch the paths of the airplanes as they navigated the tarmac, trying to ignore the resonating words of her encounter with that mystery man. It didn't matter - she'd be back in Storybrooke soon with the London airport nothing but a stop on her recent trip. Emma sighed softly, enjoying the simplicity of morning coffee as she stared out at the final scenes of England. There was something so strangely wonderful about her solo vacations, but there was something even better in that instance about being homeward bound.

Killian opted for the closest coffee cart with a dreadful sigh, knowing full well that he could find one with better variety if he was willing to make the hike back toward the previous gate. He was almost sure his lagging shoes wouldn't carry him that far - although he did ponder testing his theory for a moment. It didn't really matter if he had a wealth of choices or not. He just needed something strong and heavily caffeinated. His eyes scanned the small menu as he fished his wallet from his back pocket, feeling the buzz of another missed call as waited to order.

He sure as hell hadn't expected that - or her. Honestly, Killian had been so wrapped up in his own misery that it was a wonder he'd even noticed that she had dropped something. When he'd bent to pick it up, he had merely been attempting an act of basic humanity. He was a gentleman regardless of how horrible he felt. Yet when her green gaze fused to his, Killian felt his heart skip a couple of beats for a reason he couldn't explain.

She'd intrigued him immediately - well, from the moment his fingertips brushed her palm as he returned the passport to her possession. She was quick and fiery in a take-no-shit-from-anyone kind of way. It was amusing. It was attractive. She was definitely something - but then, she was gone.

He didn't even learn her name.

Killian wanted to slap himself for a number of reasons as he finally reached the counter, pushing the idea of this woman from his thoughts. He mumbled something about espresso and slid the total across the counter, feeling the vibration of what was likely to be an angry text message. Gathering his dwindling energy and faking a smile at the employee behind the counter, Killian yanked his phone from his pocket as he moved to the side to wait for his drink. The display lit up with the same name in the form of several notifications - mostly voicemails he probably wouldn't listen to - and he rolled his eyes at the way his overly concerned best mate was clearly babysitting him. He tapped the message icon, sighing before reading the reprimanding words.

Robin: Jones, you bloody well better be at the airport. Don't think I won't fly to London and sort you out myself if need be. Plus, you'll have your little nephew in bits. Ring me back. Don't be an arse.

Killian gave the device a slight scowl turned smirk as he pondered a response. It wasn't good form on his friend's part to use his favorite little faux relative, Roland, to guilt trip him. Killian loved that boy like his own and the familiarity of having the little Locksley clan around was one of the only reasons he'd succumbed to this demanded trip. He had been dragging his feet excruciatingly slow for weeks now, but when his best friend called late one night with that thick concern in his tone, Killian finally caved.

"Sir? Your espresso's ready."

He snapped out of his daze at the voice, his eyes acknowledging the cup that had been placed on the counter for him. Twirling his phone between his fingers as he moved between a few people to retrieve his coffee, Killian debated returning Robin's call. Perhaps it was a lapse in his stubborn attitude or the warmth of the cup in his hand, but he decided it was probably time to accept his fate and dial the necessary numbers.

He lifted the beverage to his lips, scrolling down on the screen as he rounded the corner back to his seat - and that's when he saw her.

Well, more like he ran right smack into her.

It all happened so fast. Hands scrambling for stability. Phone sliding across the floor. Two tumbling coffee cups. Matchings sharp gasps. A flash of two surprised eyes - wide, beautiful, emerald green eyes. His jaw lowered itself to the floor as his pride ran for cover, leaving Killian speechless and looking like an utter fool as coffee pooled at his feet.

"Oh god...I'm so-"

The long string of curse words assembling in his head vanished as he raised his gaze higher to lock with hers. Her hair was long and brilliantly blonde, twirling in loose waves down her shoulders. Her cheeks were the slightest pink and her mouth was parted in shock. Those eyes though - they were the deepest and most amazing color he'd ever seen.

It was her - the girl from the security line. God, she was stunning. Of course she was...and of course he'd been clumsy enough to spill not only his drink down the front of her shirt but hers as well. Yes, both cups of rather hot coffee all over her white v-neck shirt.

Don't even think about staring, he warned himself silently.

"I, uh," she tried, shaking the liquid from her fingers. "Wow...uh-"

"Bloody hell, I am so sorry, lass," he said quickly, trying to shield the embarrassment in his tone. "I can't even...god, I just-"

"No, no," she replied awkwardly, her hands hanging limp in the air to avoid the mess. "I should have been paying more attention. I just need-"

"Nothing of it, lass - it was my mistake," he assured her, grabbing some napkins. "Here - maybe these will help?

She began wiping the spill from her clothes carefully before she glanced back up at him. Killian knew his expression was very frazzled and his eyes were likely a nervous blue. Her gaze was heavy and curious, deciphering slowly as she smirked ever so subtly. Yes, she was...something - something he couldn't quite define. This was ridiculous. He knew nothing about this woman. He didn't even know her name - but god how he wanted to.

"I have to say that I'm not usually so graceless."

"Completely my fault, love," Killian laughed, trying for redemption. "Call it karma, right?"

"I didn't know clumsiness was contagious," she laughed. "If that's the case, I'm the one that should be apologizing."

"I thought I recognized you," he admitted, praying his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. "I mean - because of earlier."

"Yeah," Emma laughed awkwardly. "Do you throw coffee on everyone you think you recognize?"

"No...I, uh, can't say that I do," he replied nervously, an apology in his eyes. "God, I feel like a sodding fool, lass. Let me buy you another? You'd even be welcome to toss it all over my shirt if that's your preference."

She smirked at the offer. It was strange the way she paused at his question, his sweet gesture not expected or necessary. His gaze was just so blue and sincere - a look that pleaded with hope. Emma felt her stomach flutter as she observed his expression.

"You don't have to do that. Accidents happen."

"They do," he mused, a semblance of an honest smile turning up at the corners of his mouth. "But I'd like to make right on this one. I mean if you don't mind - please?"

"Well...I guess - okay," she finally agreed with a laugh, her stare brightening as she handed over her empty cup. "Vanilla latte? I'm just going to...finish this."

"Yeah," he grinned, blushing like an idiot again at his lack of coordination. "You should do that. Hey, uh - I'm...Killian."

He took a deep breath, holding it tightly as he waited - well, as he hoped she'd offer her own name in return. Killian didn't know what the hell was going on. He didn't know why he had this odd rush of adrenaline and anticipation pulsing through his veins as he watched her, but after his recent stretch of dreary days, he couldn't bring himself to fight the strange feeling. The charmed smile on her lips and the way she continually dabbed at the stain on her shirt made him wonder if she felt it too.

"Emma."

It was one word - one name - but it lit up his mind in a most unexpected way. He nodded softly, giving her a bit of a flirty smirk that he didn't know he still possessed.

"Emma," he repeated, enjoying the way the sounds rolled off his tongue. Perhaps he could tolerate London a bit longer.

Oh, shit. It was the guy from the security line - the insanely good looking, mysterious, more-than-meets-the-eye-plus-an-accent guy. She'd appreciate the ironic twist of fate if she wasn't so caught off guard and simultaneously covered in latte.

Killian. That was his name. She tried to watch him stealthily while continuing to scrub at her shirt. For someone adept at observing others, she'd sure as hell allowed her eyes to skim over this guy when she was canvassing the terminal earlier.

She couldn't infer much about him yet. The coffee mishap hadn't exactly created the best circumstances for chatting - not that she wanted to. No, Emma just wanted to get on the plane and go home. This guy and his adorably clumsy hands coupled with that quirky half smile were not things she could deal with right now.

Killian - yes, that was his name - was some sort of mysteriously foreign. She couldn't quite place the accent, but she didn't think he sounded like London was his home. God, he was every bit of that tall, dark, and handsome cliche. He was dressed simply - faded jeans, a pair of well leather boat shoes, and a dark cable knit sweater that appeared to be keeping him from the cold.

"Able to salvage your shirt, love?"

Emma jumped a bit as he arrived back at her side, handing her a new steaming cup of brew. The sweet smell warmed her from the inside out and she tried to hide the shiver on her skin as her eyes met his fierce blue ones.

"It's fine," Emma shrugged, a polite smile on her lips. "I think I have an extra in my bag."

"I wondered if I'd see you again," he offered after a moment, smirking like the devil he might be. "I wasn't sure where you were headed today."

She could tell that he was inquiring. His stare was innocent and sweet, something that seemed quite suspicious. An unnecessary red flag warned her as she pondered the proper answer.

"Home."

He was surprised at first, his eyebrows arching as he waited for her to add to her reply. When she didn't, he laughed softly in a knowing manner. The sound shook Emma all the way to her insecurities - damn, this man really could see right through her. He sipped his own drink in a way that was far too mesmerizing. She had to get the hell out of there.

"Look, thank you for the coffee, but I-"

His phone started to ring, interrupting her smooth exit. Her words hung in the air as his eyes filled with alarm - almost as if he didn't want her to go. He glanced quickly at the screen as he bit his lower lip.

"I'm just gonna-"

"Emma, hold on," he begged as he set about answering the call. "I'll just be a second-"

"I have to go," she blurted out, clutching her bag close as she sought out a restroom where she could hopefully change. "Thanks again, Killian."

She didn't look back and he didn't come after her. Thank god, she thought - even though deep down, she was truly a little disappointed. It seemed like quite the coincidence for her to run into him twice. Had she been a superstitious person, Emma might have even thrown around a word like serendipity. She rolled her eyes at the idea, storming into the closest stall as her feet met the tile of the bathroom floor.

Tearing through the bag, Emma quickly regretted packing the majority of her clothes in the bag she'd paid to check. She pulled the stained top from her body and tossed it aside while she rifled through the few shirts she had in her bag. Her slight grin found its way to her lips when she located a green one with the bar's logo and name printed across the front. Emma had no clue how that particular article had made its way into her bag, but she was damn glad to have it.

She tugged it over her head, running her fingers through her tangled blonde hair as she tried to get her mind off the reason she had to change shirts mid trip. His name spelled itself out in her distracted mind. Emma pursed her lips as his blue gaze danced through her memory, cut off only by the barely audible first call for boarding. Emma quickly double checked her flight number with the one announced. Dammit, she thought as she threw everything back into her carry-on. It didn't matter anymore - he didn't matter anymore. It was time to go home.

Robin was the absolute worst. Killian had been a hair's breadth away from missing this flight on purpose in order to avoid the interrogation his best friend surely had planned - this spur of the moment trip hadn't been his idea anyway. It had only taken a fraction of a second for him to finally settle on going - a moment that was quickly followed by a poorly timed phone call. Yes, the uncomfortable and inconvenient ringing that led to Emma's quick departure.

He'd stared as she went, wanting to call out to her but not knowing what to say. Instead, he stood with his ringing phone in his hand until she was out of sight. God, he was an idiot. He'd found himself in the company of this woman twice in a short frame of time merely by chance. Killian didn't have to be a gambler to know that those odds didn't come around often. It mattered not though - she was gone again.

His ill timed anger at his best mate led to him foregoing the phone call and opting for an irritated text message, one he typed rapidly before he slung his bag across his shoulder to head toward the plane.

Killian: Boarding the plane. You win. See you in about seven hours.

Jamming the phone back in his pocket, he made his way toward the line of passengers with resumed tired steps. His hand held out his flimsy boarding pass and he nodded at the attendant who scanned it before heading down the tunnel toward the aircraft. The whooshing sound of the plane being prepared attempted to drown out the thoughts of the blonde American filling his mind to no avail. He wondered what it would have been like to talk to her a little more. He wondered where she was going and what she'd been in London for. He wondered if she was thinking about him. He had nothing else - so he had to wonder.

He made quick work of storing his bag in the overhead bin, clicking the cover in place over it before he found his seat. Sitting in business class was an odd thing - writing was something he loved and he'd been fortunate in turning it into a viable means of work. He only hoped it would continue to be such a fruitful endeavor - it was hard to say what the future held given the way the past few weeks had unfolded. He sighed, remembering that he'd decided to wait until he returned from the states to deal with all of that.

Killian pressed his scalp back against the headrest, trying to get comfortable. Airplanes had quickly climbed the list of his least favorite places to sleep, surpassed only by 'drunk and alone in the London apartment'. He rubbed his eyes with a huge yawn before he began to fumble with the seatbelt.

The lights in the cabin flickered, something that he'd seen happen a million times during the boarding process of a flight - but this was different. He didn't know why, but he felt...something. His eyes looked upward, shifting from side to side before starting ahead. He blinked hard as he tried to avoid the stupor he was about to fall into.

She was there - standing in the aisle and staring at her boarding pass with intent eyes. Killian froze as he watched her, a small smile threatening the corners of his lips. His imagination had clearly taken over in the midst of his lack of productive sleep. There was absolutely no way in hell they'd cross paths again.

The less than convincing thought had barely entered his brain when she started toward him, her gaze following the seat numbers listed along the overhead bins. She paused for a moment when she reached the a space about three rows in front of him and their eyes locked once again in surreal state of shock. Killian tried to fend off the impending smirk, failing miserably as she clutched the strap of her bag and kept moving. Her feet stopped when she reached the aisle next to him, her presence close enough that she brushed the armrest with her leg. He heard the sigh fall from her lips before he allowed himself to stare up at her.

Emma, he mused to himself. Seriously - what were the odds?

"Hey," she almost stuttered, biting her lip as she turned her ticket to face him. "Is this seat taken?"

"It would appear that it's about to be by you-" he replied with a controlled smile, narrowing his eyes at the name listed on the document. "-Emma Swan."

She rolled her eyes at him, raising her eyebrows impatiently so he'd stand and let her walk past. As she shuffled past him, Killian was instantly met with the warm graze of her shoulder and the subtle vanilla scent of her skin. Watching out of the corner of his eye, he had to smirk at their ironic circumstances. Third time's a charm, he thought as his mind reeled with ways to get her to talk to him.

Soon enough, the flight attendants closed up the doors and began their walks through the cabins, closing the overhead bins and telling people to put their tray tables up. Killian caught her brief glance in a sideways stare as she clicked her seatbelt, a moment that made his nerves spike and his head turn with possibility. Listening to the sound of the plane taxiing toward the runway, he realized that for the first time in weeks, up in the air didn't seem like the worst place to be.