Flight 815 from Boston to Chicago has been cancelled. Please check the board or visit the information desk to reschedule your flight.

"Perfect," Emma grumbled sarcastically amongst the bustling crowd of the terminal, her perfectly manicured hand blindly grabbing her rolling carry on bag. She gripped the handle until her knuckles began to turn white, biting at her lip enough to draw blood.

She was supposed to land in Chicago in three hours; the bachelorette party started at nine. And now she was going to miss it. (The maid of honor missing the bachelorette party? Not a good start to a best friends wedding).

Taking a deep breath, Emma began to work her way through the mass of people, hundreds displaced from the cancelled flight. It was chaos, pure and simple. An overweight, bald man bumped into her shoulder setting her off balance, grumbling angrily under his breath.

Keep calm and you can make it through this weekend, Emma mentally told herself, avoiding the angry man's gaze and heading towards the information desk. Her heels clicked mechanically on the tile floor and she willed herself to focus on that – not the bad news that sure lay ahead of her. Just the thought of this weekend was enough to turn her stomach.

Emma was never one to believe in fairy tales or love at first sight. She was a tough as nails bail bonds person who wouldn't take crap from anyone. So being the maid of honor at her best friend Mary-Margaret's wedding had never been on her to do list. But even Emma couldn't refuse the adorable pout the pixie-haired girl displayed when she had asked her to be a bridesmaid.

So now she had been sucked into a world of fantasy – just praying to make it through the weekend.

Another shove from a rude woman pulled her out of her thoughts, abruptly spinning her mind into chaos and worry as she scurried to the counter. Pushing her way through the crowd, Emma finally made to make it to the desk, a brunette lady in her mid-fifties sat behind it – fake smile plastered on her face.

"I need the next plane to Chicago," Emma quickly announced, giving a frustrated eye roll when the woman carefully took her time, apparently not in any hurry.

The lady shuffled a few papers before glancing back up at the blonde. "I'm sorry. The next flight is full. You'll have to wait till the next one after, which is…" Her voice trailed off as she clicked around on the computer, Emma eagerly awaiting her answer. "Looks like the next flight isn't until tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow?! I can't wait till tomorrow," Emma shouted, leaning over the desk (she wouldn't be surprised if smoke was literally coming out of her ears right now). "Listen, you have to get me on that plane. I have a wedding to get to!"

The sickly-sweet fake smile returned. "I'm sorry, ma'am. There's nothing I can do. You're more than welcome to spend the night here until your plane arrives at 5 AM in the morning."

Inhaling through her nose, Emma clenched her teeth as the woman continued to busy herself with other matters, Emma's problem long forgotten. Frustrated, she clung to her suitcase, muttering angrily to herself as she marched towards the outer wall beyond the crowd, the glass windows reflecting light and proudly showcasing the aircraft outside.

Emma glared at the plane – stupid plane, stupid mechanical problems – before finding an unoccupied outlet and plopping down next to it, sticking her phone charger in the wall in the process. At least she wasn't the only one displaced, she thought to herself, glancing around the lounge at hundreds of others who were stuck just like her. With the mood she was in, though, Emma didn't feel like dealing with people. So even though she was inside, she slipped the sunglasses over her eyes and leaned back against the wall, eyes closing and legs splayed out and crossed in front of her.

If she could make it through these few hours, maybe the wedding weekend from hell wouldn't be so bad after all.

7:00 PM

A rough kick on her foot jolted her awake. She had only been asleep a meager thirty minutes when the stranger aroused her from her nap.

"Excuse me, miss?"

The thick accent caught her attention, but the sleep still hung close. She shifted in her slumber, trying her best to ignore the intruder. He was persistent, though, kicking her foot once again.

"Helllllo?" he called out, waving his hand in front of her face, causing Emma to hastily pull her sunglasses off.

"What?" she snapped before her eyes met his and everything seemed to stop.

Blue. That was the first thing she noticed – how intense blue his eyes were. It struck Emma in an unnerving way and her chest ached at the mere sight of him. The messy mop of dark locks only added to his insanely good looks. And to top it all off, he had an accent. Emma couldn't help how she was immediately drawn to him. The only accurate phrase she could think of to describe him was "sex on legs" (but even that didn't do him justice).

"Sorry," he apologize, nervously scratching the thin layer of scruff along his chiseled jaw. (God, could he be any more perfect?) "I was just wondering if you wouldn't mind sharing."

Emma blinked at him – still a bit in the daze that was him. "Huh?"

"The outlet," he pointed to the wall beside her where her phone was plugged in, the outlet below hers unoccupied. "I need to charge my phone and this is the only place that isn't being used at the moment."

"Oh," she replied, realization dawning on her face as she drew her eyes up his lean form, her insides definitely not turning into mush at the moment. "Um…sure" She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, brilliant smile covering his handsome face.

(Yes, her insides were definitely mush now.)

Sitting his bag down unceremoniously on the floor, he sat down beside her, accidently brushing his shoulder against hers in the process – completely an accident, she reminded herself, slipping her glasses back over her eyes to avoid him.

As much as she tingled inside from his touch and even a simple look from him, Emma knew that she didn't have time for this, for him, or for any guys at that matter. Fairy tales were not real and no matter how amazing this man seemed at first glance, no one was perfect. Everyone is flawed – and if anyone knew that, it was Emma.

All she had to do was make it through the night. Just a few hours and she would be thousands of feet in the air heading towards Chicago.

She could do this (she hoped, at least).

9:00 PM

They had managed to keep conversation to a minimum - thankfully, to Emma. Her body was tilted away from his, curled up against the wall. She tried her best to block him out – his constant humming and thumping and the ever-occasional smile he tossed her way when she got caught glancing at him. In embarrassment, she shoved the earphones over her pink-tinged ears once again, rolling her emerald eyes and turning her attention back to her cell phone, Netflix ready and waiting.

It had only been two hours. How was she going to make it through the rest of the night?

"What'cha watching?" the man questioned, using his hand to playfully pull her headphones off of her ears, Emma throwing him an annoyed look in return.

"None of your business," she quickly retorted as she pushed them back onto her ears, avoiding his gaze at all cost. She could see his body deflate at the rejection – obviously something the handsome bastard wasn't used to.

It was only another minute, though, before she felt him tap her arm. In annoyance, she spun her body around, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips as blonde curls tumbled dramatically over her shoulders. "What?!"

"Name's Killian Jones."

He smiled at first, but his grin faltered when she didn't respond, instead choosing to raise her eyebrows at him as if saying 'and your point is?' He sighed – this woman was definitely going to be a force to be reckoned with. "You know usually when someone says their name it is polite to introduce yourself back."

"And why would I do that?" she bit back fiercely, crossing her arms protectively against her chest; it was a defense mechanism. Emma had learned early in life to never trust anyone. Don't let them in and you won't get hurt.

Scratching behind his ears, his blue eyes caught hers (and all hoped seemed to be lost). "Well it looks as if we're going to be stuck here awhile, love. Might as well get to know my company."

The intense gaze lasted only a minute before she dropped her shoulders, huffing in response. "Fine. It's Emma. Emma Swan." His face lit up at the sound of her name, 'Swan' rolling easily off of his own tongue, almost as if he were testing it out – the taste sweet and wonderful in his mouth.

"And I'm not your love," Emma quickly added (no need in leading him on). He chuckled – it was deep and throaty and it reverberated all the way into her soul. This was not starting out well.

"Ah, you're a tough lass. Well don't worry," he leaned over, his lips dangerously close to her ear, breath hot against her creamy skin. "I like a challenge."

Emma had to force her lips not to curve into a smile – the obviously cocky attitude from this man not only getting under her skin, but pricking her heart as well. Without a word, she shoved the earphones back on. The more she listened to him – his smooth accent accelerating her heart rate – the more she wanted to open up to him.

(And that was not an option).

9:25 PM

She had made it through almost a good thirty minutes of ignoring him (and she could just feel his eyes on her, taking in her golden locks and fair skin before trailing her body down to her toned legs, exposed from her knee-length skirt). Her jaw clenched on instinct, eyes remaining on the phone screen in her hand. She had hardly spoken a few sentences to the man and he was already intriguing her.

She felt the headphones slowly slip off of her ear, his voice quickly replacing it. "You know he's going to die, right?" he teased, pointing to the man on her phone screen (an early episode of "Lost" playing; she had only started Season 3 recently and if there was one thing she loathed, it was spoilers).

"Shut up," she playfully (and perhaps a bit in irritation) commanded, shoving against his arm. "Don't ruin this for me, Jones. I hate spoilers."

"Easy there, Swan," he chuckled, rubbing at his arm as if she had actually injured him. "I didn't realize you were so passionate about your television shows."

Emma scoffed, finally slipping the headphones off of her ears completely, twisting the wires in her hands as her emerald eyes avoided him. "You don't know me at all."

He stopped, studying her face intently until he finally caught her gaze – fear clearly written all over her face. And with all of the sincerity he could muster, he responded with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Perhaps I'd like to."

She felt a burn in her chest, an ache that she hadn't experienced in years. No one had ever been this open and honest with her (especially after only knowing her for a few short hours). Realizing that her jaw had been hanging slack in awe, Emma quickly shut it, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she finally managed to look away - hoping, praying that he had missed the small smiled that had formed on her face.

(He hadn't).

11:45 PM

"You've got to be kidding me!" Emma laughed as she turned his left wrist around in her hands, the jagged scar that was marred on his skin proudly displayed. "You were attacked by a dog?"

"It was a big dog," he defended in mock hurt, clearly embarrassed by his story. Their laughter mixed together, her fingers burning his skin as she idly traced the scar before quickly letting his wrist go, almost as if an electric shock had been sent through her body. His blue eyes, intrigued by her every movement, never left hers.

Emma hadn't even realized that it had been over two hours since she had abandoned her phone, Netflix still on pause as their conversation turned from one thing into another, finally landing on their personal scars. She had showed him her scars, her stories, her personal testimony of the hurt she had experienced.

She smiled as she dropped his wrist, him quickly pulling it back into his side. With a nod of her head, Emma motioned to the luggage sitting next to him, the one he had not let out of his sight all night. "So what's in the box?"

Now it was Killian's turn to smile. She saw the way he lit up and immediately knew it was something of importance to him. With pride, he ran his fingers over the case, fingering the locks before clicking them open. "It's my guitar."

"Oh. You play?"

"No, I just carry it around for fun," he sarcastically replied with a chuckle, giving her a teasing look as he lifted it from it's case. "Of course. I'm in a band."

To say that Emma was shocked was an understatement. She was genuinely surprised at his talent (and seeing him with the instrument only made him that much more attractive, the thrum of his skilled fingers against the cords sending heat low in her belly) "Really? Is that why you were heading to Chicago?"

"Aye," he responded, lazily plucking the strings to a soft tune. "I'm playing at my good friend David's wedding."

She stopped. There was absolutely no way. Out of the whole known universe, they were both heading to the same wedding. She swallowed the lump in her throat (it lodged uncomfortably inside, almost the size of Boston) and spoke, her voice cracked and dry. "The Nolan-Blanchard wedding?"

"Aye." Killian's fingers stopped playing as he sat up and faced her in confusion, eyebrows scrunching in concentration. "You know them?"

"Know them?" she laughed, soft and slowly. "I'm the maid of honor!"

"Well what a small world!" he cooed before leaning over towards her, wiggling his eyebrows as he spoke. "Now I must request that you save a dance for me."

Emma's lips tilted down into a frown as she was now the one who was confused. "Won't you kind of be playing the music?"

"Don't worry, darling. I'll improvise," he winked, the blue eyes disappearing for only a second before opening back up and focusing on her. Her heart skipped a beat at the gesture.

It was definitely going to be a long night.

1:15 AM

"Okay, so now you have to get a run of seven," Emma explained as she peered at him over the colorful cards that were fanned out in her hands, giggling at him as he squinted and bit his bottom lip in concentration.

"What the bloody hell is a run of seven?" he questioned, his face growing redder by the minute. They had been playing Phase 10 for over thirty minutes, and Killian, well, quite honestly – he sucked.

Emma playfully rolled her eyes at him. Of course, she had to explain every detail of the game to him. Normally, this would irritate her – but he looked so cute holding the cards up to his face, legs crisscrossed under him. She smiled before scooting closer to him. "It means you have to get seven cards numerically in a row. Like numbers one through seven."

"This game is ridiculous, love," Killian declared as he slammed his cards down on the carpeted airport floor where they sat.

"You're only saying that because I'm three phases ahead of you! Looks like someone is a sore loser," she sung in triumph.

"How about a coffee?" he questioned as he jumped up, wiping his hands (and the nonexistent sweat) on his pants, ignoring the abandoned cards on the floor.

"Oh, apparently you like to change the subject as well. Besides, our flight is in four hours. Don't you think we need to get some sleep?"

"Nah," Killian replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Gives me more time to get to know you."

And with a wink and a smirk, he was gone – bolting off awkwardly through the terminal to find some overpriced, disguising airport coffee for them to chug in their last few hours together; wandering through the maze of other stranded passengers who had already decided to retire for the evening.

How was this even possible? With a brilliant smile, soft blue eyes, and cheap coffee – he had somehow managed to work his way into her long-hardened heart.

3:05 AM

The airport had finally settled down, the only people in sight were the workers – who were definitely not happy by any means to be working the night shift – and the other passengers waiting for the same flight that they were. The lights were dimmed, the moon and stars shinning brightly through the glass lining the wall.

They had shifted from the middle of the room, to lounge on the floor against the chairs, their legs crossed out in front of them as they gazed into the night sky, his arm cautiously slung behind her on the chair she was propped up against (his fingers brushing her shoulders every now and then, the chills never leaving her as she appreciated the warmth his body was giving off next to her).

"Okay," he whispered, his mouth too close to her ear (and oddly, not close enough). "Truth or dare?"

"What are you, five?" She chuckled as she shook her head, blonde curls bouncing around her. And although she had not had any alcohol during their night together – only the coffee he had finally brought her – she felt drunk. Light. Happy.

"Come on, Swan," he begged, probably a bit from sleep deprivation. "We have to stay entertained somehow."

The pout on his lips and the puppy dog eyes were enough to make her cave so easily. "Fine. Truth."

"Favorite color?" he easily inquired, the words rolling right off his smooth tongue.

"Really? Out of all the questions in the world, you ask for my favorite color?"

"Just curious." Killian shrugged his shoulders as he picked at the loose fabric on his shirt.

"It's red," she finally admitted before turning to him. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Killian challenged, running his tongue across his bottom lip suggestively with a wiggle of his thick eyebrows.

"Hmm…" Emma tapped her chin dramatically before a sly smile crept onto her face. "I dare you to lick the window."

"Gross," he gasped, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Do you have any idea how many snotty nosed children have pressed their faces against that window?"

This sent Emma into a full belly laugh – which earned her a few 'shhhs' from nearby people who were trying to sleep – as she clutched her sides in only slight discomfort. "Oh, does the man concede?"

"Not bloody likely!" Killian put on a brave face before slowly lifting himself up, walking the short march to the windows, quickly sticking his tongue against the cold pane – only causing Emma's laughter to grow.

He mumbled as he plopped back down next to her, his arm immediately going back to its close place behind her. "If I die, Swan, it will be all your fault."

"Oh you'll survive," Emma joked as she playfully elbowed him in the side.

The questions continued – favorite food, favorite movie line, most embarrassing moment, describe your first crush. In all honesty, there were more truth questions than there were dares (much to Killian's delight. He yearned to know this woman more, even if they had just met. There was something about her that drew him in. They were kindred spirits – they had both experienced their fair share of pain and heartbreak).

"Alright love, truth or dare?" he asked. Their little game had been going for almost half an hour (and in that short time frame Emma had learned more about him than she had known about a man in a very long time – and truthfully, that scared her).

Without a second thought she answered, "Truth."

Killian shook his head, the short laughter dying on his lips. "Will you ever pick dare?"

"Nope," she responded, emphasizing the 'p' as she leaned her head back, not concerned with the fact that it had made contact with his arm.

(And if he had shuffled closer and pulled his arm to rest lightly on her shoulders, she pretended she hadn't noticed).

"Didn't think so," he smirked before turning his attention to her, face now growing serious. "How did your last real relationship end?"

Emma released a sigh. She had known that if the game continued, it would eventually move from the easy elementary questions to more serious matters. "It was several years ago. We just grew apart. I was more focused on my job and he wanted more. It just didn't work out. What about you?"

Killian frowned, shrugging his shoulders in response. "Never really had a real relationship."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. This man was literally a sex god and he had never been in a relationship? Emma tried not to let her curiosity get the best of her, aptly avoiding his gaze as she folded and refolded her hands in her lap. "You? That's surprising."

"I know. Until recently, I only wanted one-night stands and the like. No strings meant no pain."

It was truly uncanny how similar he was to her – in just one mere night he had taken her by surprise and opened her up in a way that left her feeling raw and vulnerable. Having this kind of closeness with someone opened the cage of butterflies in her stomach as she turned to him. She was well aware of the way his arm dropped to her shoulders, pulling her closer as their sides finally allowed themselves to touch. With a whisper she spoke, the truth and sincerity dripping in her voice. "You and I are more alike than I cared to admit, Killian Jones."

He studied her face for a minute, the moon and stars shining in on their sprawled forms, lighting up her dazzling emerald eyes. There was no denying the magnetic pull between them. Killian's gaze flickered down to her lips before making its way back to her eyes. "Since I know that you're always going to say truth, what are you thinking right now?"

Emma could feel his breath hot against her face, causing her heart rate to rapidly increase. The haze of slight sleep deprivation hanging over her still, making her dizzy. She would later blame the next few moments of honesty on that. Biting her bottom lip, eyes still connected, she responded. "I've never been more glad for a canceled flight in my entire life. What are you thinking?"

When his forehead dropped to hers, Emma couldn't help the sharp intake of breath she gave at the intimate contact, her eyelids fluttering shut in response. "How much I want to kiss you right now."

Emma felt the ghost of his lips against hers. This was the moment where she had two options – run (which was her normal choice) or take a risk. And right now, a risk just felt right. So, grabbing the collar of his shirt, she pulled them closer together, whispering sincerely against his lips, "I dare ya."

Within seconds, his lips were on hers: soft, sweet, tender. Emma felt the familiar butterflies dance madly within as he kissed her. She had never felt this much intimacy and passion with a man – even during her one-night stands. Killian had opened her up in an unexplainable way. And for once, she wasn't going to run from it.

4:45 AM

"Well, love, it looks like boarding is about to start," Killian stated, pulling himself up and wrapping his hands around hers, hauling her up to stand next to him. He bent down to pick up his guitar case, his fingers quickly finding hers after.

Although it was still dark outside, and quiet in the terminal, life was beginning to stir as passengers started lining up in the queue area. He eyed the growing line, pulling out his ticket and glancing down at it.

"Which boarding group are you in?" she questioned him, watching him intently as his eyes scanned the ticket.

"Group 1," Killian answered, scratching behind his ear – a nervous tic that she had already noted. "I have a priority boarding pass."

"Oh. I'm in Group 2." Her body deflated a bit, realizing that they were now going to be separated. In the time they had known each other, Emma had grown very fond of him and his company.

"Group One, you may now board. Group One, you may now board the aircraft." The loudspeaker crackled next to the pair, causing them to cringe.

"Don't worry, Swan," he paused, flicking a blonde curl over her shoulder before giving her a quick peck on the forehead, slinging his duffel over his shoulder in the process. "We'll see each other at the wedding. You've promised me a dance, remember?"

"That I did," she beamed, nodding her head as she watched him walk away, taking his place in line behind the others. Emma observed the area around her, the crowd beginning to grow as people waited for their group to be called.

"Emma!"

She glanced around the room to find him – she could already recognize the lilt of his voice, even in a crowded and busy airport. The cerulean eyes stood out to her, his brilliant and toothy grin consuming his face.

"Where are you sitting?" he called over the noise. Digging through her bag, Emma pulled out her ticket, reading the fine print to find her seat number. When she couldn't find it, her brows scrunched in confusion, until she found the phrase that made her heart soar.

No assigned seating. Pick any seat.

Her smirk mirrored his as she glanced up and shouted back. "Next to you."

Her eyes never left his form as he disappeared into the tunnel that connected to the aircraft. Emma smiled to herself– pleased that she had been given the opportunity to meet this man. Maybe her hard heart could be softened. And maybe, just maybe, this unexpected stranger could break her walls once and for all.

She had decided that Killian Jones would be worth the risk.