"Listen, I need to be on that flight. I need to be in London tomorrow!"

"But sir, I've already told you. It's been cancelled. All flights have until the snow gets cleaned from the runway, and they can't do that while there's still snowing."

Bates closes his eyes and Anna sees he's clenching his teeth. The hand that is clutching the handle of his suitcase is so tight, the knuckles are white.

"There has to be another option!"

It is so strange to see him lose control like this; she has to admit she is a little scared.

"The airline will notify you the moment there is an opening on a following flight," the lady behind the counter answers with well-rehearsed professionalism, even though Anna can see she's more than a little intimidated at his displays.

"What is the matter, Linda?" A man in a suit walks from inside an office and stands next to the woman at the counter.

"I need to get to London on the next flight!" Bates repeats. Anna feels she has to add something but she thinks he's just being too stubborn. She is not going to be the one telling him this, though.

"I can't guarantee that, sir," the man says, and in his polite voice there is a cold tone that could very well be contempt. "We will give priority to the ones who've missed the earlier flights, and to people with special needs or travelling with children. And afterwards we will make everything in our power to get you safely to London." That last word is almost a sneer, but Anna doubts Bates noticed.

"That's not acceptable!" His fist hits the counter and both the woman behind it and Anna jump. The man, however, seems to have been expecting something like this, Maybe he has dealt with other versions of Bates before.

"Listen, sir." The man steps until he is as close as Bates as possible, with the counter in the middle of them. "There's a blizzard out there," he points at the huge glass-paned window. Anna looks there, too, even though she knows exactly what she'll see. There is plastic mistletoe and red and golden balls hanging from the corners and, behind it, snow. Swirling, falling, blowing against the window. If it is up to her, she won't fly, even if she is offered a place in one of the planes. "We have more than 11 inches of snow and already more than one hundred flights have been cancelled. Nobody is going to even try to remove the snow in the runway until the blizzard passes, and even then, it's going to take a while. There won't be flights tonight. Maybe, if you're lucky, you can get something tomorrow."

"You have to give me another option," Bates says through clenched teeth, and now Anna has a strong urge to grab his sleeve and pull him out of there, just to stop him making a fool of himself any further. She settles by rolling her eyes.

"Perhaps you would like to rent a car?" The man has almost dropped all pretences of being polite. "Only, good luck trying to get to London like that."

"Listen-"

"I suppose we better get out suitcases, Mr Bates." Anna says with what she hopes is enough force to make him shut up, but not too much that he would direct his evident rage at her. Who would have thought Bates would be so determined to get home for Christmas? As far as she knows, he doesn't even have a family.

She succeeds. He looks at her and it feels as if he just realises she's been there all along.

"You have our number," Anna says to the woman, choosing to ignore her boss.

"Yes, ma'am. We'll let you know as soon as there's an opening."

"Thanks a heap."

Bates is no longer there, but at the carousel, looking at the passing suitcases. Pulling her own carry-on, she stands right next to him. He doesn't speak and she is still more than a little taken aback to know what to say. After a moment she spots her suitcase, and makes a move to grab it. He gets there first and helps her. When she turns around to thank him he manages to smile a little and she relaxes.

"I need to make a phone call," he says, the moment his case is out the carousel, too. "Do you mind keeping an eye on these?"

"Of course," Anna says, and watches him walk away a few metres and take his phone out of his pocket.

She should do some arrangements, too. With swift fingers, she types and scrolls up and down her own phone. Curiosity wins her over, and she looks up. He is moving his hands in exasperation and she is sure he is yelling and whoever is on the other side of the line, even though she can't hear him over the noise of the rest of the travellers. Whatever it is, it looks as if the other person is less than thrilled of his being stranded, too.

He finally hangs up after a long moment, but he doesn't come back for a while. He seems to be taking deep, calming breaths.

Suddenly he looks in her direction, and she hastens to look back at her phone. A moment later he's standing next to her.

"What do we do now?" he asks.

"I don't know about you, but I won't be spending the night perched on one of those plastic chairs," Anna points at one row of them right next to a store. They are all occupied, "even if we get a free spot." He raises his eyebrows and she sees a snappy retort coming. "I've booked us a hotel," she hastens to add. "In the city. We only need to find a taxi."

His expression changes. "What if there is an opening-?"

"Then they'll call us. But you heard that nice fellow over there," Anna's voice is laden with sarcasm and she manages to get a lopsided smile from him. "There won't be flights tonight. If you're that desperate, we can come back tomorrow morning and stand there until they put us somewhere." He nods. "Or… we can just wait for them to call. You decide."

He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Of all the days in the year."

"It's the 22nd," Anna says. "You still can make it on time for Christmas."

"It's not Christmas," he mutters, but he doesn't elaborate.

She's suddenly tired of his bad mood. The two of them are in the same situation, and his being so angry about it doesn't make it any easier for her.

Walking a little further, she looks around until she finds the exit. "Shall we, then?"

Both grab the handles of their suitcases and head outside. Even with her coat on, she feels the cold in her bones. At her side, Bates swears under his breath.

"Almost makes you miss London's weather, doesn't it?" he mutters, and she's relieved to see he's almost back to normal. At least his dry sense of humour seems to be coming back.

She approaches the first of a long line of taxis and shows the driver the screen of her phone. A moment later, they are sharing the back seat, their suitcases on the trunk. The road is covered by ice and the cars move quite slowly.

"Have you ever been to Chicago before?" She asks after a while.

"Never," he answers. "I've passed through the airport, but never stayed. Have you?"

"No." She doesn't say it, but now that they're stuck here, she's almost happy. It's barely 6 pm, and even though the sky is dark and the snow keeps on falling, she has make sure their hotel is located downtown, so she can walk around a little. That is, if she doesn't freeze to death in the process.

After another long silence, he speaks. "I had an appointment. Tomorrow afternoon." It takes her a moment to realise he's explaining himself. "Now I won't be able to be there."

"I'm sorry," she says. "Couldn't you reschedule?"

"I just have," he shrugs. "They are not happy."

She gives him a sympathetic smile and he sighs again.

"Oh well. It is what it is," he adds.

Since he doesn't say anything, she turns to look out the window. She has been nervous enough about travelling this close to Christmas, but there wasn't anything to be done about that. The two of them had been sent by their company to attend a conference in Texas. It was supposed to be just a three-day trip. Who had the brilliant idea to send them through O'Hare International was anybody's guess.

"Is that the only pair of shoes you've brought?"

The question is so strange she has to ask him to repeat it.

"Yes, why?"

He looks at the window for a moment, and then back at her. "I was thinking… well… I'm sorry you saw me behave like that back there…"

"It's alright. You were angry."

"I was desperate," he corrects her. "But still, it's no excuse. And… I'm afraid I made a fool of myself." He lets out a dry chuckle and she does the same.

"Maybe a little."

"But now there's nothing to be done. The appointment has been missed and rescheduled, and here we are."

Suddenly, inexplicably, he heart starts beating madly. "Yes?"

"I was thinking that, since neither of us has been here before, we could go for a walk. Or grab something to eat. If you like."

She looks at him incredulously. It's not that they are not friendly enough. After two years of working in the same company, they have had the opportunity to talk many times, and this is not the first trip to which they have even been sent together. Only, with Bates it's always business; there always seem to be some sort of invisible wall. A boundary he won't cross and she's not supposed to cross either. Sometimes she's tried, and failed.

Walking together in Chicago and getting something to eat is a definite crossing of that boundary.

"I'd like that very much," she says mechanically, still trying to understand the change. Maybe he's just trying to make up to her for behaving like a fool in the airport.

"Only, you'll need other shoes."

She looks at her high heels. Perfect for attending a conference. Good enough for navigating through London for a little while. Definitely unsuited for eleven inches of snow.

"You're right."

"Shops should still be open," he says. "What if we fix your shoe situation first and then we can decide what to do?"

She smiles at him. "Good idea."

It takes them a long time to get to their hotel, and almost none at all to get settled and meet back in the lobby.

"It's a nice location," he says when he sees her approaching. He is holding a map of the city centre. "Good choice."

She smiles at him, and at the fact that the remaining traces of his bad mood seem to have disappeared.

"There's a department store two blocks from here," he says, carefully folding the map and placing it inside his pocket. "Will you manage or should we get another taxi?"

"We won't get a taxi for just two blocks," she protests. "I can manage."

The moment they walk out it's clear it won't be that easy. The snow doesn't blow as much here, between the tall buildings, but the pavement is slippery. At some point she actually loses her step and he catches her just in time.

"Thanks," she mutters, feeling she's blushing furiously.

"No problem," he says, helping her straighten up. He doesn't let go of her arm, though, and they keep on walking like that. She finds she doesn't dislike that at all.

When they emerge from the store, her new hiking boots on and her heels on her purse, she misses taking his arm. She doesn't dare doing it, though. It's not snowing anymore.

"It's a pity the Art Institute is closed," she says, "but there's a Christmas Market not far from here."

"You've given this some thought, haven't you?"

She smiles. "That phone call of yours was long enough." They start walking. "And since we're here, I thought I'll make the most of circumstances."

He chuckles. "So, you were planning on go walking on your own, or were you going to ask me to join you?"

"Honestly?"

"Preferably."

"I didn't think you'd want to come. So, yes, I was sort of planning to go walking on my own." He looks a little uncomfortable. "I'm glad you came, though. I like it better this way."

"Only because I saved you from breaking a leg in the ice back there." He sounds amused.

"Only because of that, yes."

They take the train and don't talk much until they reach the market. It's full of people, lights and movement. Nobody seems to mind the cold, but Anna feels her teeth clatter.

"You know, there should be somebody selling hot wine somewhere around here," he talks into her ear. It's difficult to hear him even like that, with all the voices of people and the sounds of street musicians everywhere.

"There," she points at one of the wooden barrows.

They manage to find a high table and Bates gets them two steaming mugs. She breathes the scents of herbs and wine, and it reminds her a little of home.

"Cheers," he says, and they rise their mugs.

"What are we toasting to?" she asks.

He thinks for a long moment. "The unexpected?" He offers.

She beams, and her heart does that crazy beating again. She has to control that, and now, before it becomes something else that would be absolutely inappropriate with a colleague. "The unexpected," she repeats, and their mugs make a little clank.

The fact is, she thinks about him more than what's strictly necessary. It has been like that for a while now. She knows nothing could ever come out of it, but she can't help noticing whenever he enters a room, or that rare smile of his that transforms his features.

"So," he says, after taking a healthy dose of wine. "Are you hungry?"

"I am...," she says looking around at the stands. "There's one man selling sandwiches over there."

"What about going to dinner? I mean, to somewhere we can sit down and be warm."

"That's a better idea."

They end up in a pizza place. She would have liked to eat something more local, but he notes that, with so many Italians coming to the US, pizza is practically local. She has to agree to that.

As appetizers, cheese-stuffed pizza and wine are brought to their table, they talk a lot. She learns that he is a personal friend from Mr Crawley, their boss, and is amazed at the fact that, in all this time she didn't notice. He, on the other hand, asks her about how the company was before he came.

No longer afterwards they stop talking about work and questions become more personal. Anna tells him about growing up in Yorkshire and he tells her about his time in the army. She doesn't like to think about him going to war, but he tells her all that is long buried in his past, and he never saw any real action anyway.

"That's where I met Robert. Mr Crawley. he was in charge of my unit."

"Really? I'd never have guessed he's the military type."

"Oh, he's not. That's why he left… that, and the fact that his wife threatened him to kill him herself if he ever considered going to war." He laughs, and she joins in.

It suddenly strikes her how strange it is to be having such a good time with him.

"Can I ask you something, Mr Bates?"

"How come you don't call me John?"

"All right, John." He looks at her, expectantly. "What's changed?"

"I'm sorry?" he says, a trace of laughter still lingering in his features.

"You're never friendly. You're not rude either," she hurries to add, "but you're always so… reserved. Not tonight, though. I think this is the first time I've heard you laugh. It's a beautiful laughter."

He smiles at her, looking both pleased and confused.

"I just… I enjoy your company," he says, his eyes fixed on her, and it seems there's so much more in there than those four words. Or maybe she's just reading too much into what's nothing but friendly diner. "I've always have."

"But there's something different tonight," she presses on, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

He shrugs. "Maybe it's the city," and he laughs a little. She joins him, but she's not convinced with his answer. Without breaking eye contact, he takes a sip from his glass of wine. She mirrors his actions, and suddenly it dawns on her.

He's not just being unusually friendly. He's being flirty.

"So, Anna," he says, as he signs a waiter to bring them the bill. "What do we do now?"

They walk all the way to Millennium Park. Most of the shops around it are closed now, but the park itself is alive with people, locals and tourists taking pictures. Kids throwing snowballs at each other and passers-by laden with shopping bags.

"Do you like skating?" She asks when she sees the rink. It's about to close, and there are not many remaining skaters.

"I haven't done it for ages," he says, looking far less enthusiastic.

"Me neither. Let's do it!"

"What? Now?"

"Come on! It should be like riding a bike!" She pulls at his sleeve and he lets her guide him, albeit reluctantly.

"Meaning that you can lose all your teeth if you fall from it?"

She laughs. "That too."

Maybe it's the wine, or the cold, or both, but she doesn't feel as sure as she made him believe once the skates are on her feet. He, on the other hand, seems to be more than uncomfortable.

"So… now…" he says, looking at a passing skater that must be going 20 miles per hour.

"So now we go in," she says, putting a tentative feet on the ice surface.

"Aha…" he says, doing the same.

She puts the other one and gingerly, she pushes herself a little. The ice is not exactly smooth and she manages a couple of steps before turning back. He is still at the door.

"Oh, come on." She says.

Suddenly, he beams at her, and with quite an unexpected leap, he goes right past her and into the middle of the rink with sure, long strides.

"Why you… you cheated!" she yells at him. He just laughs.

"I didn't!"

She takes impulse and with several shorter and less sure steps she is right next to him.

"You said you-"

"What did I say, exactly?"

She takes a deep breath, trying to recall his words.

"You said you haven't done this in ages."

"Which is true." He keeps on moving, skating around her in swift, exasperating circles. He is beaming, though, and Anna is sure she has never seen him smile like this. It makes him look very handsome.

"You can't possibly..."

"What I might have neglected to tell you," he says, now skating backwards. "Is that I used to play hockey in school."

She squints her eyes, and a second later she burst out with laughter. She can't help it; his expression is so very contagious.

"Come on now," he says, taking her gloved hand in his.

"Wait, what?"

He pulls at her, and she feels that that thing he said about losing teeth is suddenly a very real possibility.

The rink, the skaters, the shining silver bean, the trees on the park, all are a confusing blur and the only solid thing seems to be his hand.

"Don't let go of me!" She yells, and he laughs, but stops. She is almost trembling.

"This won't do," he says, looking at her pensively. "Can I…? Excuse me." This time he puts an arm around her waist, and his other hand holds hers. "Now, try to match my steps. I'll go slower, I promise."

She is touched at his concern, and despite the layers of clothing, suddenly very aware of his touch. Anna can't dwell much on that, because he's skating again.

This time it's much easier. His strides are slow and shorter, and after a few awkward attempts, she manages to match them. They manage to circle the rink once before she loses her step and he has to stop them against the barrier.

"That wasn't that bad, was it?"

She beams. "It was great, actually."

"Again?"

She nods, and his arm is back around his waist. This time they go faster, but she feels her body relax a little against his. It is suddenly easy, skating, being with him, everything. "Faster?" he mutters, and his lips are very close to her ear. She just nods and has to force herself to concentrate on her skates and his rhythm. The feeling of the icy wind on her cheeks doesn't lessen the warmth of his touch. It makes it all even more exciting.

"Hold tight," he says, and suddenly they are spinning, before coming to a halt right next to the barrier. His hands are holding hers and even though there is no need, his body is touching hers.

"Whoa," she whispers.

He just chuckles. One of his gloved hands let go of hers and he puts a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

"I must look like a mess," she says, suddenly self-conscious.

"You look beautiful," he mutters. "You are beautiful."

His gaze on hers becomes too intense, and she suddenly feels uncomfortable. Her eyes rest on the tip of her skates.

His move backwards and his hands are no longer holding hers. She looks up to see he's standing a little apart. She doesn't want him too. Not at all. He heart beating madly again, she reaches out and, with a smile, he takes her hand on his.

"Let's do it again," she says. And they do.

Her legs tremble a little when she puts back her boots after returning the skates. She doesn't think it's just the skating.

Now she feels bolder, though, and without thinking much about it, she slides her arm in the crook of his. If the gesture surprises him, he doesn't show it; his arm tightens, securing hers in place.

"Let's go to see that bean up close," she proposes and he nods.

"It doesn't make much sense, does it?" He comments once they are standing in front of it, their reflections oddly distorted.

"I like it."

"I don't say I don't. But it doesn't make sense."

She chuckles, and takes out her phone, even though it means letting go off his arm. "We have to do the picture, everybody does."

He rolls his eyes at her, but he is smiling and she is not fooled. They stand closer to one another and he takes the phone from her gloved hand. "My arms are larger," he explains. "Ready?"

She nods and he presses the button several times.

"Send me a copy of that," he says, and then he is the one taking her hand in her arm and she can't help but beam at him.

"I've run out of ideas," she says as they walk down the now almost deserted park.

"Are you cold?"

"Not particularly."

"Tired?"

She smiles drily. "At some point we'll have to take a nine hour flight. I'll get my rest then."

They pause in front of two men playing music, a saxophone and drums. They look enthusiastic, even though there is not much public. John puts his hand on his pocket and produces a not he deposits on an upturned hat at their feet. Without pausing, the drummer nods at him.

"In that research of yours, did you happen to find someplace where you can listen to live jazz?"

She looks at him, surprised. "It didn't occur to me."

"That's easily fixed." Without letting go of her arm, he takes out his own phone and scrolls for a while, showing her the screen. "What about this one?"

She smiles. "Perfect."

It's a place nearby. They go down the narrow stairs and find themselves in a room with brick walls, filled with the notes of a small band. He finds them a small table in the back and she is glad the music won't be too loud as to prevent them to talk.

A waiter takes their order and no long after there are two martinis in front of them.

"To what do we toast now?" John asks.

She smiles. "I have no idea. Jazz?"

"What about… making the most of circumstances?"

"That's what we're doing, aren't we?" His smile broadens. "Perfect. Here's to making the most of circumstances."

She takes a small sip.

"Thank you, by the way." He says, bending forward, since the music has grown louder.

"What for?"

"You know… this…" he waves his hand in the air. "Mere hours ago I was convinced this was the worst day of my life. You turned it into one of the bests."

She doesn't know what to say to that, but this time she doesn't look down. "I'm having a great time, too," she says softly. His hand rests on hers.

"I'm glad. And..." the tip of his finger traces one of hers and she shivers. "I'm sorry for behaving like an arse in the airport. I thought… at some point I thought I'd scared you."

She chuckles. "Maybe a little."

"I'm sorry." His fingers are now so very distracting she has to look at his eyes to stay focused.

"Don't be. We're here now, and you're happy, and I guess it's all that matters."

He looks suddenly solemn. "For the time being, yes."

She doesn't really understand, but she doesn't know what to ask or how either, so she takes another sip from her glass.

"Care to dance?"

She just nods.

There are few couples slowly moving on a small empty space between the tables and the stage. John puts a hand on her back and she puts hers on his shoulder. Without their gloves, his other hand is soft and warm against hers.

They remain silent for a while. She is too overwhelmed to find words, and it feels as if they are not necessary, as their bodies move with the soft music.

"Anna?" He suddenly speaks, close to her ear.

She looks at him. His eyes are on hers, and he is smiling a little.

"John?"

"Would you…? Have you…?"

She smiles at his hesitancy. "What?"

"I…" he bends lower and before she realises what's going on, they are kissing. She opens her eyes wide, before closing them to get properly and thoroughly lost into the feeling of his lips on hers; he moves his hand and now both are splayed on her back, moving up and down. Hers move to his neck and his body is now against hers, while she enjoys the texture of his hair.

The stay like that for what seems like a long time. The song might have changed once, twice, maybe more times, and they keep on swaying, their lips exploring and their hands moving slowly.

She has liked him for a long time; there is no use on trying to pretend otherwise. Only now, though, that all those invisible barriers around him have inexplicably crumbled, she can see that he has liked her all along too. Those casual conversations, glances, smiles, have been for her, and only her.

His posture changes somewhat, and she feels heat coming from his body, or maybe is just hers, as their kisses become bolder, and their hands move more freely.

"Let's go," he whispers, his voice hoarse.

They put on coats and scarves, and a moment later the cold night air hits their faces again. Not for long, though. Suddenly he is taking her hand, and pushing her against the wall of a deserted alley. He cups her cheek and she is amazed by the intensity of the kiss and her eager response. This could only lead to something, and she wants it, so very much.

With frequent stops and scarce giggles they manage to get to their hotel. The receptionist ignores them as they enter the lift, walking swiftly. The kissing resumes when they reach the door of her room. This time he touches more freely and she kisses more boldly. Somehow she manages to get the card inside the slot and open the door.

And then it all stops.

John is standing there, panting slightly. His face is no longer happy, or eager; it's as if a mask has fallen back in place.

"I… we can't do this."

"What?"

He sighs. "I'm sorry, Anna. I'm so very sorry, but we can't."

Anna takes a deep breath. "I don't understand."

"I made… I was about to make a mistake."

She doesn't know what to say. It hurts, almost physically, and it is definitely humiliating to be like this, dishevelled, panting, excited, in front of a man who suddenly announces he's been playing her all along.

A mistake.

That's what she is now.

"Then what's this night been about? Or was it just that you took too much alcohol?"

"It has nothing to do with that. I'm… I'm sorry," he sounds like it, but to her it's just lame. So very lame.

"Go, then."

He sighs and steps back.

"Good night," he mutters, right as she closes the door of her room on him.

AN: A small two-chapters Christmas fic. Because... well, it's Christmas.