Nothing.
Out in the cold, with a blizzard moving in, for nothing. All her traps were empty and it was getting dark. Emma needed to get herself and the dogs back to the cabin before they got caught in a white out.
Guiding her sled dogs over the frozen ground, her lead's attention was drawn to the right. Emma searched over the expansive white ground to try and find out what had distracted her lead dog, slowing them from reaching the safety of home. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted something sticking out of the snow. She knew she should press on, but curiosity got the better of her and she changed course to go investigate.
Nothing could have prepared her for what she found.
Lying there, with a layer of snow covering him, was a man. Blood was crusted along his dark hairline and had dried in streaks down his face. He was terribly cold to the touch, but she could feel a faint pulse and see puffs of frozen breath escaping his mouth.
She didn't have time to wonder who he was or how he got there. He needed to get warm before his body shut down. With great effort she managed to roll him onto the sled and set course again for her cabin.
What little light that had been left was completely gone by the time she reached home. She unharnessed the dogs and secured them into their kennel before turning back to the stranger, still unconscious on the sled. She wasn't sure how she'd managed it, but she got him off the sled and into the cabin. Leaving him lying on the floor in front of the fire, she tended to the sled and final tasks before hunkering down for the storm.
Coming back in, she now had to consider what to do with him. She knew she needed to get him out of the wet clothes and check his body temperature to see how far it had dropped. Removing his clothes was no small feat, and once off she hung them on the clothesline over the clawfoot tub in the corner.
She blushed through the entire task thinking it would have been less nerve racking if he hadn't been so attractively fit. Strong arms, that revealed a few tattoos that probably held some significance if given a second look. A rich mat of dark hair swept over the planes of his hard, unyielding chest then narrowed at his naval. She catalogue a number of scars along his abdomen and tried not to focus on the trail of down that paved a path over sculpted abs towards his waistband.
Thankfully his underwear had remained dry, so she left them on. She was no shrinking violet, but this was going to be awkward enough come morning without him being completely naked. Her perusal of his body continued as she examined his back and legs, finding more scars and intrigue. Ogling had not been her intent. In addition to removing his wet garments, she had merely thought to look for further injuries. If she was appreciating his many finer attributes along the way, well, who could really blame her.
Determining that he had sustained no further injuries, she went to the medicine cabinet to retrieve a thermometer and some disinfectant to clear his head wound. Still lying on the rug in front of the fire, she covered him with a heavy quilt while she cleaned off the blood from his face. His rather handsome face. Probably a few years older than her twenty-five, with chiseled features and a strong jaw that sported a slight beard. There was a small scar under his right eye and he had thick eyebrows that matched the blackness of his hair.
The cut wasn't too bad. She cleaned it up and he didn't even flinch, which actually concerned her. She took the thermometer and placed it under his arm and left it there as she cleaned up her makeshift first aid kit. For the first time since finding him in the snow, panic set in when she retrieved the thermometer from under his arm and it read 95.3 degrees. He was close to hypothermia and she needed to get him warm. Now.
The fastest way to do that would be to use her own body heat and she didn't give herself time think it over. She grabbed him under both arms and dragged him toward the bed next to the fireplace. Thankful for the panic, a surge of adrenaline gave her the added strength she needed in order to lift him up and settle him onto the bed. She piled more blankets on top of him and quickly got herself undressed. Stripped down to her bra and underwear, she climbed into the bed between him and the wall and pressed her back to his chest.
She needed to get his heart warm. If she could warm his heart, it would warm his blood and spread that warmth throughout his body. She lifted up to pull his left arm under her head and pulled his right arm over the top of her in order to keep him as close as possible to her. Hopefully the fire at his back and her body heat on his front would be enough to raise his core temp in time.
After about an hour, she checked his temperature again. Relief flooded her to see it up to 97.6. His pulse felt stronger and his breathing had become deeper and more regular, too. She felt the exhaustion of the day and the stress of the evening crash over her now that she was assured he would pull through without need of medical care.
Unwilling to try and move him, again, and not really having anywhere else to put him, she pulled on her pajamas and crawled back in bed beside him. She knew he wouldn't likely wake for a while, and she didn't require much sleep. Knowing that she'd likely be awake before him didn't stop her from placing extra pillows as a buffer between them, though. Nor did it stop her from making sure she was within reach of some sort of weapon, you know, just in case he did turn out to be a serial killer or something. She wasn't really as wary of him as she probably should have been, but she still thought his presence would probably keep her up despite her fatigue.
Sleep overcame her almost immediately after her head hit her pillow.
He opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the tenderness the action brought to the area above his right eye. He took several moments to try and remember where he was before finally giving up with the realization that he had no idea. Where ever he was, it was cozy and warm, the smell coffee and bacon wafting through the room. He sat up slowly to take in his surroundings and realized that he was dressed only in his underwear.
That was a bit alarming.
What had happened?
Where was he?
Currently he was sitting in the middle of a queen sized bed tucked into the corner of a one room log cabin. Across from him was a wardrobe angled into the corner with a desk, or maybe a vanity, next to it. On the other side of the room, tucked in the opposite corner, was a claw foot tub. He saw his clothes hanging off a line above it. He could only assume that the closet next to the tub must be the water closet.
A small table with three chairs was located on the far wall and a small kitchen was tucked into the corner with the fireplace between it and him. The kitchen seemed to go further back than the wall on the bed side, leading him to believe that there was an additional space behind him. He could see that the cabin was wired for electricity, but the only light came from the fireplace and few kerosene lanterns placed around the room.
He knew he needed to try and stand. See if he could get his bearings before whoever it was that lived here made their appearance. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed with great protest from his muscles and joints and pushed himself off the bed to stand. Which was a big mistake.
He felt the room begin to spin as he pitched forward and was caught around the waist by a pair of arms as black spots erupted in front of his eyes. The arms helped lower him back down onto the bed and a hand pressed the back of his neck down as he heard a distant voice say, "put your head between your legs."
He complied and took long, deep breaths as he watched a pair of legs walk back toward the kitchen. A moment later they returned and the voice spoke again as a glass of water appeared before him.
"Here, drink this," the voice said. A female voice, he realized for the first time. "You're probably dehydrated."
He took the glass from her hand. He hadn't realized how parched he was until the water was before him. He supposed if she had wanted to harm him she would have done it by now, no harm in drinking something offered by this stranger, right? He closed his eyes and tipped the glass back onto his lips, drinking it down in large gulps.
"Slow down," she cautioned, but he didn't heed her words.
He hunched over, choking and sputtering a bit as he finished the glass. She slapped his back between his shoulders blade then took the glass from his hand as he recovered from his coughing fit. He took in a long breath before looking up at her and then held it without realizing.
He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't her. Backlit by the glow of the fire and soft light from the lanterns, she looked like an angel. Long blonde hair cascaded nearly down to her waist. She was slender, but not slight. Mid-twenties by the looks of her. She had a strength in her stance, but her expression towards him was soft. Her delicate brows were furrowed in concern for him. He flinched slightly when she raised her hand and pressed it against his forehead and cheeks.
"Sorry," she responded to his recoil before saying, "At least you haven't developed a fever. I worried you might swing the other way."
He wasn't sure what she meant by that and was about to ask when she spoke again.
"Do you drink coffee?" she asked. "You should probably have tea, or something uncaffeinated, but coffee's all I got and something warm would do you some good."
All he could do was nod, still at war with his senses. He'd finally remembered to breathe, but his mind was having a hard time keeping up with his surroundings. For a moment, after he'd gotten a look at her, he thought he might be dead and that she was indeed an angel. He shook his head trying to clear it as she called out from the kitchen.
"How do you take it?"
Take what? He thought for a second before he remembered the offer of coffee.
"Black," he croaked, barely recognizing his own voice.
She walked back over and handed him a mug. The warmth felt good on his hands, and he realized he was cold. For a moment he wondered why until he remembered his current state of undress.
"My clothes?" he asked, nodding towards them hanging on the line across the room.
"They're not quite dry yet, but I've got some things I think might work for you," she answered, and turned toward the wardrobe. Setting her own mug down on the desk, she rummaged through the drawers.
She came back to him, crouched down at his feet, and began slipping a pair of flannel pants over his legs. He wanted to protest that he was more than capable of dressing himself, but honestly, he wasn't sure that he was. He raised himself slightly so she could slip the pants over his hips and even that small move made him dizzy again. Though he couldn't be sure it wasn't compounded by her closeness and the intoxicating scent of her hair. She took the mug from him and set it next to hers before helping him pull on the soft, grey henley.
"Do you want to try and move to the couch, or stay on the bed?" she asked.
"Couch," he answered. It was only a couple of feet away from the bed. More like an oversized loveseat, it was almost dead center in the room facing the fireplace. He wanted to be closer to the heat.
She put his arm over her shoulders and wrapped her arm around his waist to help him stand. Slowly she walked him over to the couch and lowered him gently into a sitting position. She pulled a small footstool over from beside the hearth and propped his feet on it before retrieving their coffee and depositing herself next to him.
He could feel her eyes on him, but he wasn't ready to engage with her yet. The room was still spinning. A few more deep breaths, a couple sips of coffee (really good coffee), and he was ready to turn and face her. At least, he thought he was.
Now that he could see her in full light she was even more stunning than he first thought. Am I sure I'm not dead? he wondered. Her brilliant green eyes sparkled in the firelight as she assessed him with a sharp look. He could practically see her mind spinning with questions and his started to fill with a number of his own.
"So you want to tell me what the hell you were doing out there in the elements with a blizzard coming in?" she asked, breaking the silence between them and sparking his awareness to the sound of gusting winds coming from outside the cabin.
"I, uh…" he began, before he realized that he had no idea. The confusion must have been clear on his face, so she tried another approach.
"How'd you get that cut on your forehead?" she asked, pointing to the right side of his face.
He reached up, and sure enough, he could feel the scab that had started to form. Damned if he couldn't remember that either. He gave his head a slight shake as if to both answer her question and knock the answer free from the recesses of his mind.
"Okay," she sighed, "let's start with an easier one. Got a name?"
"Aye," he said, a bit relieved that he actually knew the answer to that one. "Killian. Killian Jones"
"Well, Killian Jones," she replied, "let me fill in the parts that I know, for you." She smiled softly at him, obviously sensing his growing concern of not knowing how he had gotten here. Wherever here was. "I found you about six-thirty last night, or rather, my dogs did. You were collapsed about a quarter mile east of here. Judging by your body temp, I'd say you'd been lying there for about a half an hour, forty-five minutes at most. The closest town is about that far on snowmobile, but I didn't see one. The town is called Storybrooke. Does that ring a bell?"
He closed his eyes, trying desperately to think back to the last thing he did remember, but everything was foggy and jumbled. He could feel his jaw clench with frustration and he dropped his head in his hand in defeat and aggravation.
"Hey, it's okay," she said, putting a calming hand on his shoulder, "You were close to hypothermic when I found you. Memory loss and confusion is a common side effect. It'll come back."
He looked over at her and could see the concern mixed with reassurance in her eyes.
"What's your name, love?" he asked.
"Emma Swan," she answered stiffly, her demeanor going from open and comforting to guarded within a blink of an eye.
"Well, Emma Swan. I should thank you," he offered, trying to ease her sudden discomfort. "Taking in a complete stranger like this. You most likely saved my life," he said with a sudden realization of the truth of it.
"Most definitely, I'd say," she responded, sitting back with her coffee and focusing her attention on the fire. A little bit of the tension melting away. "By the time I managed to get you back here, your body temp was almost 95 degrees. I had to use my own body heat to warm you back up."
Well, now he could add that to the list of things he bloody well wishes he could remember.