Brace yourself, they are back. And snowed in. And trying very much to find some balance between being distant, professional, friends or something while their hormones are screaming otherwise. Idiots.

I was once delayed in a Nashville hotel due to an ice storm. I have never had so much fun in my life. Some of that may have trickled over to this story that so many of you have been clamoring for – thank you so much! I admit to having fallen very hard for these two, so never worry, more stories of them ill be forthcoming in the form of drabbles and ficlets. (also, prompts accepted for this 'verse!)

As always, I would be unable to do any of this without the encouragement and beta of my sisters in smut, lala-kate and Cls2011 – lala-kate especially since it was her prompt for a birthday fic that led to this snowy layover. And of course to Orangeshipper for additional cheerleading and some Brit-picking that I tend to need. Huge hat-tip to JF & crew for the creation of these characters and letting me play with them. No copyright infringement intended, etc., etc.

Enjoy the snowday fluff with this modern incarnation of our favorite ship at BOS.


Standby

Chapter 1 of 2

Steam was clinging to every surface in the bathroom, enveloping her in a cloud of humid kisses across her skin and the murky reflections on the glass. She pulled the sash of the robe tighter about her waist, and tucked the lapels even more snugly together before finally cracking the door open.

She breathed in the rush of cool air, listening for any movement before finally glancing out to see where Matthew was. There was only the low hum of the television tuned to a newscast. She didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed to find the room empty.

Shaking her head to try and clear it of thoughts that wouldn't budge, she sorted through her suitcase, finding the one casual outfit other than some workout wear she had managed to pack. The chatter from the television regarding the weather that half-filtered into her brain left no doubt that there was no flight out today. Which meant another 24 hours in the hotel room. Another 24 hours in far too intimate atmosphere with Matthew.

She wanted to curse as her stomach gave a sudden flutter at the thought of him. Stupid, stupid, stupid brain and then that dream. That dream that just seemed to keep replaying itself unbidden in her mind, stirring her body to recall the very real physical sensations of it, teasing her into a heightened sense of awareness of him. There was something of him in the room she couldn't quite smell, but could nearly taste, something that made the hairs on her body rise as if expecting his touch against her, ready to toss her into full arousal.

That dream. Just when she thought she had managed to get her emotions into some semblance of control.

All of it had started sneaking up on her, nearly as soon as she had accepted the partnership offer and he once again became a daily fixture in her life. She hadn't had any idea what her feelings would be in coming to work with the once golden-boy-wonder who had interned with her father nearly a decade previously. The one who in succeeding years had managed to outshine her at every opportunity at her father's firm. Or at least that had been her father's assessment of things. She figured as soon as Matthew left Robert Crawley's tutelage and started his own firm that she would finally be able to rise in the ranks, show her father what an asset he had in his oldest daughter, and that she would carry on the Crawley name in the world of public relations.

Trust her father to disappoint her once again.

And to remind her that being a woman in the business world meant working three times as hard and getting only half as far, if even that. And that not even nepotism could be counted on when partnership offers went out.

She still wasn't sure if it was her pique of anger with Robert or actual interest in the new vision of what public relations and branding could be in the hands of Matthew and Tom Branson that had that caused her to walk out and take her hard-saved capital elsewhere. But if it meant spiting her father and his rejection of her, that was just icing on the cake. She realized her annoyance with Matthew for all those previous years had been nothing more than her own hurt over being an inferior daughter in her father's eyes. Robert Crawley was of a generation that only saw the old boys network, and when university student Matthew Crawley showed up with the drive and energy, not to mention the bonus connection of being some distant cousin generations back, her father acted as though he had finally been granted the son he always wanted.

It was hardly Matthew's fault that it stung her so much.

Still, she was at a loss of how to deal with what was first a keen admiration of his work, a team building management style, and a ready laugh when needed. She was madly trying to keep up her defenses and keep everyone out of her emotions, even professionally, but it was a daily struggle with Matthew. He treated her as an equal, he challenged her, made her find her passion for ideas and argue for them even if partway through she spotted a glint of humor in those sky-blue eyes of his that meant he had always been on board, but he wanted to see her fight for it.

He was pushing buttons she didn't realize she had. And she was more than terrified to find out what might happen if the wrong — or possibly right — button got pressed.

There was a soft electronic chirp from across the room. Brow furrowed, she glanced over at the screen of her iPad, but it was dark. She turned to look at the other side of the bed and spotted where Matthew's was propped on the nightstand, a message, clearly followed by several others that had filtered in previously, still lit up the screen. She wondered…

Shaking her head at her urge to invade his privacy and read what the message was, she quickly pulled on the jeans and plain blue jumper, jamming her bare feet into her trainers. Running her fingers thru her partly dry hair, she stomped back towards the bathroom to dry it the rest of the way. The hotel dryer blew a tornado of skin-burning air and was about as quiet as a jet engine. She forced herself to take deep breaths and relax and she flipped her head over to dry the underside of her hair. Mind over matter. She could get that control of herself again, mainly those distracting thoughts, and everything would be fine. In fact, it would be great. Just an extra day before heading home and she would use it to get a jump on some of the work they were bringing back to the office. Clicking off the dryer, she quickly ran a brush through the unruly waves, nearly jumping out of her skin when there was a knock on the wall beside the slightly open bathroom door.

"You better be decent."

Could she really hate that voice? No, not the actual voice that was warm and had an edge like aged brandy. But the damned reaction her body had to it. Every single nerve was alight again, stomach doing back flips, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. Smiling.

Idiot.

She counted to five, ignoring that her heart rate easily outpaced her counting.

"Of course. Why?"

She opened the door all the way and stepped back into the room. Hair still slightly rumpled from sleep, he was dressed much as she was, only his gray thermal tee clung to his torso more than she had a right to notice, and hinting at his physique more than was necessary.

He extended one of the tan cardboard coffee cups he was holding towards her.

"Peace offering."

She eyed him warily before daring to step any closer or accept the offered cup. Dark circles under slightly red-rimmed eyes told her he had slept about as soundly as she felt she had. A deep breath to put herself on steady ground.

"Tea?" It had been a long week of learning to drink more coffee than she liked.

"No. Well," he tilted his head slightly, "that new chai tea you seem to have adopted. What do you call it, 'filthy chai?'"

She tried not to smirk as she reached for the proffered cup, letting the spicy scent tickle her nose. Sipping, she closed her eyes in happiness as the mixture of sweet and spicy chai with the bitter bite of espresso hit her tongue. He even remembered she liked it latte.

"Dirty," she murmured, correcting his name for it. "The espresso makes it dirty. And it is the only way to drink coffee. At least in my opinion." She raised a brow at the cup he sipped from. "Did you get one to try too?"

That sly lopsided grin of his made blue eyes sparkle that much more.

"No, I'll stick being all dirty."

A shiver that ran down her spine and made her knees reconsider holding her upright. She stared at him as he started to move closer, his hand coming up as if to brush across her face, and she froze, breath catching in her throat. He paused, and she couldn't help but wonder if that sudden dark look in his eyes was his awareness of her thoughts at this moment. Of how she wouldn't pull away if he touched her. That she actually wished he would, because it had to be easier than pretending to hate him.

But he didn't. He stepped passed her, a casual, "You've got some foam on your lip," his reaching hand suddenly making sense.

She closed her eyes. You stupid idiot, Mary. Get your shit together.

"Done with the bath?"

Turning at his question, she nodded. "Yes. It's all yours."

Unsteady legs carried her over to the desk by the window where her notes and iPad were. Work. Need to focus on work. Get this crazy snowstorm madness out of her system and work.

"Oh, the hotel is trying to make this a tolerable layover." He grabbed his toiletry kit. "Free hot beverages all day, and a continental breakfast if you are hungry. I didn't bring anything up because I wasn't sure what you wanted."

She just nodded, not looking at him now. She could tell he was still looking at her, paused outside the bathroom door.

It seemed minutes were passing before she finally heard the door click shut, and she let out a held breath. She glared at the iPad screen and her unread mail count. Nope. Back to business. Back to how they always were.

She heard the quiet rush as the shower came on, and she stared out the window at the mad flurry of falling flakes that blurred out everything. But they didn't blur out the sudden change in the rhythm of the water in the bath, his movements under the stream from the shower head easy to interpret as splashes would punctuate the air in the room.

Her stomach growled.

"Good," she murmured to herself, quickly gathering up her notes and iPad. The lobby would be a much safer place to brood.


Towel wrapped precariously low on his hips, Matthew leaned in closer to the bathroom mirror trying to keep himself focused on shaving. The bathroom still seemed to smell overpoweringly of Mary's shampoo or body lotion. Or maybe it was just the scent of her that seeped out of her pores and encompassed everything around her. Whatever it was, it was making his thoughts drift to areas that they shouldn't.

He hissed as he nicked himself again. Another small dot of blood began to blossom on his chin.

He was going to look like ground meat at this rate. Dabbing a bit of styptic on the new spot, he wondered if Lavinia hadn't been right during their last argument. Well, it was less of an argument and more her walk-out speech, as she tearfully left the engagement ring on the kitchen table.

"You're never here! Even when you are here, I can tell you are still back at the office, still focusing on whatever brilliant new idea Mary had that day. You don't even realize you start nearly every sentence with her name! Honestly Matthew, I said years ago you two would be such a lovely couple if you could put aside your differences, but I didn't expect you to actually do so while engaged to me."

He'd had nothing to answer with. All he could do was stare with open mouth, feeling like he had been punched in the gut, breath impossible to catch because it felt like his heart was breaking.

But not about watching Lavinia grab an already packed bag and the hollow echo of the door closing behind her. Rather it was an all too familiar tug of pained longing whenever Mary was mentioned.

He watched the water from the tap run off the blades of his razor for a moment. Silky, silvery rivulets that rose and fell with an effortless grace, reminding him of Mary's voice, her rare laughter, her quiet presence. For once in the decade or so they had known each other, they had reached what was no longer an uneasy peace. He thought, maybe, it was a camaraderie. He was no longer the threat to her position in her father's firm. Instead, she was free of that, somehow bravely taking a leap to join him and Tom and in a competing partnership. And with it, something had clicked for all three of them. Her creativity and vision was a match to his drive and foundation of business and Tom's sharp legal acumen. The three of them were making business headlines, and the long hours to balance the growing pains seemed to be more than worth it both professionally and personally. They weren't exactly skipping off to the pub together afterwards, but some small bit of Mary had begun to thaw. He had become more familiar with the witty edge to her dry humor and the impish crinkles that would form around her eyes when she genuinely smiled.

At least there had been a thaw until this blizzard. Now she was all brittleness and tension again, and he didn't know what to make of it. Well, he knew what to make of the damned situation this morning, and he honestly wasn't surprised. She was filling every corner of his brain these days, and he was beginning to fear his sanity.

Dammit. Another nick.

Closing his eyes for a second to regain his focus to the task on hand, he diverted his thoughts to repeating each one of the new clients they had met with, naming all those who had been at the meetings and any unique details of the individuals he could remember. It was a trick he used to memorize names and faces, being able to have total recall to all previous encounters with a client, surprising people with what he managed to remember.

Pulling his jeans and shirt back on, he stepped back into the room, taking in the silence of Mary's absence. Good, it would give him the time he needed to rein in his subconscious and get himself refocused completely on business, the actual reason for this trip and layover fiasco. He pulled up the list of flights to London, reaching for the phone to see what the situation was as to honoring their cancelled flight from yesterday and getting rebooked.

An hour later, he rubbed at his eyes, not sure if three standby reservations were a defeat or victory. He'd feel better with a solid booking either way. He grabbed for his coffee cup and realized it was long empty. And he was hungry since he hadn't bothered to grab any breakfast for himself earlier. Food had been the last thing on his mind.

Working his way through the large atrium of the hotel, he was watching for her dark hair somewhere. Most everyone seemed gathered toward the front reception area and the bank of windows that looked out on a snowy landscape. Including a laughing Mary, feet curled up under her in large brown leather chair pulled sideway to the view of something happening outside.

She looked so different when she laughed, as if for a moment, she stopped carrying the weight of too many worries on her shoulders. He wondered if anyone could get her to laugh more.

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, he grabbed a couple of the danish for the offering, and a refill of his coffee before joining Mary. Dropping into the chair next to her, he turned to see what had captured everyone's attention. Out in the still falling snow was a group of a half dozen or so teens alternately trying to build a snowman and winging snowballs at each other. There was a general cheer and laugh from those watching in the lobby as one of the smaller girls of the group took advantage of one of the much larger and older teens bending over to stuff a few handfuls of snow down the back of his coat before racing away.

"Well, that would explain why planes aren't going anywhere today."

Mary jumped slightly at his words, so engaged in watch the antics outside to have missed his sitting to join her. He took the chance to boldly study her face a moment longer, admiring the playful sparkle her smile was giving those rich brown eyes of hers. He could happily spend hours longer studying her features if it wouldn't give away exactly why he wanted to trace each bit of her with his eyes as a prelude to his fingers making their paths.

Glancing back at the thick white landscape, Mary shook her head. "I've never seen anything like this in person."

Sipping at his coffee, he held the plate of danish toward her before setting it on the side table between them at the shake of her head.

"Not even skiing?"

She made a sound that may have passed for a laugh. "I went on one school trip to the Alps to learn to ski and it was a disaster. As was I on skis. I'm not sure we are a very athletic family."

"Not something I would have guessed about you." He returned her look with a smirk. "Still, I don't think watching snowball fights from the safety of the lobby can classify as experiencing this much snow in person.

"Then it is a good thing I'm not dressed for the occasion."

The smile under arched brows looked as if it held a challenge. He decided he was up for it.

"Then what is with the rack of outerwear the staff has set up by the door?" He nodded towards the bellman's trolley by the door, sporting a haphazard assortment of coats hanging from the rack and a tangle of boots underneath.

She chuckled, and he tried to ignore what sensations that simple sound from her could send through his body.

"I would say that would be for the kids who want to freeze."

Draining the last of his espresso, he let the bitterness settle on his tongue and evaporate into the dark nutty aftertaste. But this moment was not about to evaporate.

"How about it?" he held his hand out to her as he stood up.

She stared up at him. "How about what?"

"Snow. Playing in it. Actually enjoying yourself."

Laughing, she shook her head. "No, I think that's for the kids."

He looked out the window. "Looks like a couple of tall kids out there who need to shave. Seriously, Mary, when are you going to have the chance to experience this much snow if you aren't going to book a ski holiday with me?"

She stared at him for moment. "I chose not to live in Antarctica for a reason, thank you."

"A couple minutes is not going to turn you into a block of ice."

She shot him a look that indicated she clearly heard the unsaid finish to his sentence. "At least not more than I already am?"

Grinning wickedly, he leaned in closer to her, a hand on each armrest of her chair. "Now, you said that, not me." There were sparks in the warm challenge of their stares. He added warm breath to the closed distance. "Not up for the challenge, Crawley?"

There was a hesitation as she glanced out the window again as if searching for a cooling of the heat he knew was dancing across his cheeks. He could almost detect a child-like longing flash across her features as she watched those who played out there, before she shifted and shook her head.

"No, all my stuff is here, I can't just leave my iPad out." He was sure he could detect a note of defeat in her voice.

Sighing loudly, he gathered her notes and electronics and put them in the messenger bag at her feet. She protested, and tried to grab for the bag as he slung it over his shoulder. "Come on, they'll watch it at the desk. Go find a coat and boots and some gloves."

Trying not to laugh aloud at the glare she shot him as she slowly uncurled from her perch in the chair, he handed over her valuables to the clerk at the desk as another clerk hurried to help pull out hats and scarfs and outfit them both in coats. She was still glaring at him as he tugged a knit hat with ear flaps and a giant pompom onto her head. He was still trying to control his grin as he pulled on a pair of too small gloves.


So there we are for Part 1 of our 2 part snow-day adventure. Penny for your thoughts?