Emma couldn't decide which she hated the most – the big block letters spelling out CANCELLED under her flight number, the foot of snow outside, or Killian fucking Jones and the smirk she'd like to slap off his obnoxiously attractive face.
Killian. She hated Killian the most.
"Well, love, looks like we'll be spending Christmas on our own this year." He didn't sound the least bit disappointed.
"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We can catch a flight in the morning. They'll have to rebook everyone somehow." Rubbing the back of her neck and squeezing her eyes shut against the headache brewing behind her brows, Emma reminded herself she was nearly thirty years old – she absolutely could not have a temper tantrum in the middle of the airport no matter how appealing it seemed in the moment.
He had the nerve to laugh.
"Love, in case you hadn't noticed, there's a bloody blizzard outside." He held his phone out to her, the weather app displaying an angry red scrolling banner. "Proper blizzard," he added, gesturing to the screen as though something about the red banner made it a more official blizzard.
"Then you had better get home," she snapped, scanning for an empty spot along a wall to try to sleep until morning. There was no way her Bug was making it back home. She'd barely made it to the airport as it was, but the promise of a Christmas by the beach had driven her onward with a single-minded purpose.
Get to the airport. Get on the plane. Ignore Killian. Get to Florida and get drunk with Mary Margaret until spending the holidays with the man she hated most was tolerable.
"You can't possibly be suggesting you intend to stay at the airport?" Killian's scowl deepened when she finally met his eyes. He shifted the strap of his well-used leather bag on his shoulder, glancing around the crowded terminal. "That's utter rubbish. I have four-wheel drive."
"No. Thank you," she ground out, ignoring the tiny voice insisting her own bed would be a much more comfortable place to ride out the storm than the questionable carpet at Portland International. "I'm fine."
"You're bloody stubborn." He sighed, scratching behind his ear like he always did when she'd managed to irritate him. Score one for Emma. "Fine, if you wish to stay here, we stay. Bloody stupid, if you ask me, but since the lady insists."
"What?" The pieces finally clicked into place, and Emma glared at him with all the frustration and irritation pounding through her skull. "We aren't doing anything. Get in your four-wheel drive truck and go home."
"And leave you alone in this place? Absolutely not." The obstinate set of his jaw was bad enough, but his stance widened slightly, his feet planted more firmly as he all but glared at her.
"I can take care of myself," Emma snapped, rolling her eyes. Men.
"You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met." He growled, an honest to god growl that sent shivers down her spine – shivers that had no business appearing anywhere near Killian Jones.
He was arrogant and obnoxious. She tolerated him because he was David's friend, but that was it. His constant stream of innuendo and flirty smirks never had their intended effect – mostly, Emma just wanted to punch him. Hard. It was a small miracle – a Christmas miracle, as she'd texted Mary Margaret – that she hadn't already done so after hours in the airport waiting on the delayed and then cancelled flight.
"Emma, please. I really don't want to stay here tonight, and I don't believe there are going to be flights out tomorrow. It's an hour's drive in good weather, and in this mess, it promises to be longer." He paused, his features for once open and honest, not a trace of the usual deviousness. "Please."
The second please was what got her in the end. Killian had taken a lot of tones with her over the last year since he'd turned up in Storybrooke, but she'd never heard him beg. She found she didn't really like it.
"Fine," she relented, refusing to meet his eyes. So help her, if he had any sort of triumph on his face, she would kill him in the middle of the airport.
At least they hadn't checked bags. Emma shouldered her carryon, woefully thinking of the bikini and flip-flops she had so been looking forward to. She'd been looking forward to the whole thing, if she were honest with herself. The holidays were still hard for her, despite having made friends that were like family. Being on the beach and celebrating Christmas with a margarita had seemed like a perfectly acceptable way to keep the demons at bay.
Christmas stuck in a blizzard with Killian on the other hand…
It was a silent walk to the parking lot. Emma shivered as a blast of icy wind tore through her hair and the thin coat she'd worn for the flight, anticipating the warmth in Florida. Killian noticed and walked a little faster.
"Get in before you freeze to death." The words were sharp, Killian's shoulders stiff as they approached his truck, as though her shiver somehow offended him. "I'll clean the snow off."
"You don't have to…."
"Get in the bloody truck, Swan." The lights flashed as he unlocked the doors, and Emma was too cold to argue anymore. The snow had soaked her jeans, and her feet were frozen in her shoes.
She tossed her bag into the backseat, rubbing her arms and waiting for the air blasting out of the vents to grow warmer. Killian had already slammed his door shut, and was cleaning the snow off with sharp, jerky swipes of the snowbrush.
He didn't say anything to her when he got back in, only glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She remained silent, refusing to give him the opportunity to make one more comment that seemed too much like concern for her. It wasn't until they'd been driving for twenty minutes, the snow flying wildly around them, that he spoke. "Are you warm?"
"Yes." Her hands still felt like ice, but the rest of her was gradually thawing. It wasn't a total lie.
Killian reached behind her seat, retrieving a flannel shirt that he dumped unceremoniously in her lap. "You are a bloody terrible liar."
The shirt was warm and soft under her fingertips, Killian's scent strong in her nose as she argued with herself. She wanted to throw the shirt into the backseat on principle, but she was cold, and by how slow he was driving, they wouldn't be back in Storybrooke anytime soon.
She shrugged out of her thin jacket, stifling a groan of pleasure as the warm fabric surrounded her. It must have been on the floor by the heat vent, because it felt like it had just come out of the dryer. She burrowed into it, momentarily forgetting Killian beside her and savoring the warmth and faint hint of wood smoke clinging to the fabric.
"It's a good look for you," he said softly, and a flush rose in her cheeks. Grateful for the dark road, Emma turned to stare out the window into the night.
"Thanks," she mumbled, not sure if she was thanking him for the warm shirt or the compliment. It wasn't dripping with suggestion the way his compliments usually were, and she didn't care to find out why. Between hauling her out of the airport and fussing over her in the truck, she wasn't quite sure what to make of Killian.
The snow picked up just as they hit the halfway mark, the wind howling outside the windows. Killian remained intent on the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel as he concentrated on keeping them in their lane. The highway wasn't exactly crowded, but with the holidays a day away, there were enough cars to make a spinout dangerous.
"Maybe we should have stayed at the airport," Emma said after two hours had gone by and Storybrooke was nowhere in sight, exhaustion bleeding into her words. "Are you sure we should keep going? Maybe we should turn around." She chewed on her lip, peering into the dark woods on either side of the road, snow swirling in the glare of the headlights.
"We're much closer to home than the airport, love. We should be in town soon." He flashed her a grin, and she tried not to notice the weariness in his eyes or the tension in his jaw. "Then you can decide how you wish to thank me for the dashing rescue."
Emma rolled her eyes, but the comment didn't irritate her the way it usually would have. "What were you even doing there? You could have flown out with Mary Margaret and David two days ago. You didn't have to work today."
He shrugged, his eyes not straying from the road. "If I had, you'd have been alone."
"You're telling me you knew it was going to snow three months ago when we booked our tickets?"
"Delays are common this time of year. If something happened I…I didn't wish for you to be alone at Christmas." The swishing of the wipers nearly drowned out the quiet words, the honesty crushing Emma's lungs with a rush of emotion she couldn't place.
"But we hate each other," she protested, the words weak at best.
He laughed, a humorless noise that rang of loneliness. "Emma, I don't hate you. I quite fancy you, actually, when you're not yelling at me."
"Oh please. You go through women like water." She rolled her eyes, swallowing past the hammering of her heart. He fancied her? What the hell was she supposed to do with that?
"You really don't know, do you?" he asked, an odd note in his voice.
"Know what?"
Ahead, the muted green town line sign shone in Killian's headlights, snow sticking to the metal. Emma lived on the opposite end of town, so she wouldn't be getting out of the truck anytime soon, in spite of the uncomfortable sensation settling over her as their conversation continued.
"There are no women." He paused, almost as if considering whether to continue. He sighed, glancing at her before returning his attention firmly to the road. "Listen, I know I said I'd get you home, but it's maybe ten minutes from here to my place. It'll be another half hour past that to your apartment. Would you mind terribly if I brought you home in the morning? I've got the guest room so you don't have to sleep on the couch."
She wanted to say no. She wanted to tell him he'd been the one to insist they leave the airport, despite his app and its promise of the snow and wind currently making their drive so miserable.
But the storm had gone from bad to worse. If he drove her home, he'd still have to drive back to his own place in worsening conditions. Alone.
"Okay," she agreed, staring down at her hands. The flannel cozy around her, the sleeves nearly covered her fingers. "Hopefully we can just go back to the airport in the morning."
He didn't say anything further. Emma squinted into the darkness, the houses on the outskirts of town starting to appear. She'd never been to Killian's house, but she knew he lived out here somewhere, bordering on a salt marsh that eventually led to the sea beyond. Ignoring the spike of curiosity Killian's answer – you really don't know, do you – had brought on, she watched the snow come down around them.
But her thoughts wouldn't quiet, growing louder than ever in the hush of the snow and the tense man beside her. There are no women, he'd said, that same odd note in the words. It was as though he'd been hurt by her words, disappointed for some reason he'd needed to tell her. She didn't want to believe him, but the statement had been too honest to ignore.
It was true she'd never seen him with a woman, but she'd just assumed he kept his exploits away from her. The man flirted with her every chance he got, all charming smiles and big, blue eyes. He probably could have had his pick of most of the single women of Storybrooke, provided they didn't spend too much time actually talking to him.
So why weren't there any women in his life?
"Emma?"
It took her a moment to notice they'd arrived, an oversized cabin with giant windows before her. The porch wrapped around the side of the house, whatever lay beyond lost in the sheets of snow. "David said you lived in a cabin. He never said it was this big."
She winced, waiting for the inevitable joke about what else was big, but Killian only smiled at her, pressing a button on his visor. In front of them, the garage door opened, light spilling out into the night and revealing a tidy space with neatly arranged tools and gardening equipment hanging on the walls.
Following him into the house, Emma couldn't deny she was impressed. The wood floors gleamed beneath her feet, Killian's boots echoing in the still house. A gust of wind tore through the trees outside, the house shifting and creaking around them, but snug.
It wasn't until she'd run into him she realized he'd stopped at the base of the stairs, holding his hand out. "I'll take your bag up, and then I thought I'd start the fire before the power goes out, if you'd like to join me."
It wasn't quite eleven yet, late, but Emma was usually up far later. She should say no, take her bag, go to her room, and attempt to go to sleep. But unlike his orders in the airport, this was a genuine offer, the same baffling softness in his words.
"Okay," she agreed, curling the sleeves of his flannel around her fingers after handing over her bag. His eyes flickered down at the movement, a tiny smile stretching his lips before he turned up the stairs.
"Living room is to your left," he called over his shoulder. She found it easily, sinking into the comfortable couch and listening to him move about upstairs. It was a surprise to realize he sounded nervous, that Emma knew his footfalls well enough to know the steps above her revealed hesitance where she'd never seen it before.
When he finally came back downstairs, he had a thick pair of wools socks and a large quilt in his arms. He offered them to her almost shyly, turning away as soon as she took it to start the fire. She took them instantly, unable to voice her gratefulness as she kicked off her still-damp shoes and tugged the warm socks over her feet. Emma didn't have a fireplace in her apartment, but as she buried herself until the quilt and watched him fuss over the kindling and the arrangement of the wood, she got the impression he was stalling.
"There really haven't been any women since you've been here?" she blurted out, watching his back stiffen at her question. She didn't even know why she was asking – it didn't matter. One weird night didn't change how she felt about him. It wasn't like she wanted to be one of his nonexistent women.
"No." He took a deep breath, slowly turning to face her with the glow of the fire on his skin. "Not since I met you, love."
"Since you met me? What does that have to do with…" She swallowed past the sudden tightness of her throat, an edge of hysteria creeping into her thoughts. He couldn't possibly mean what he seemed to be implying.
"Aye, it's foolish, I know. Wanting a woman who despises me, not that I've ever been able to sort out what I did to earn your ire." He shook his head at himself with a self-deprecating laugh, glancing first at the fire and then at the wall behind her head, avoiding her stare. "Though if I knew, perhaps I could make amends," he added, hope clinging to the words.
"You like me?"
He nodded slowly, his entire body held still as he finally brought his eyes to hers. "I thought you knew. Everyone else seems to." His cheeks took on the faintest hint of pink as he mumbled the last sentence.
"No," she whispered, her emotions too jumbled to even begin to untangle. "But then why…you're always such an ass."
"It was never my intention to upset you." He took a tentative step closer, and when she didn't stop him, another, and another, until he was standing right in front of her, her shins almost touching his. He reached out slowly, his warm palm cupping her cheek as he slid his fingers into her hair.
"What were you trying to accomplish?"
"I wanted to make you laugh. And when I seemed to fail at that, I settled for the fire in your eyes when you were riled. You're quite beautiful, Emma." His thumb rubbed along her cheeks, and she found herself leaning into his touch, her breath faltering as he leaned closer.
She had time to move away, to stop it, but Emma didn't move as his lips brushed against hers, gentle and barely there. But when he did it again, she reached her arms up, tugging him closer until they were a tangle of limbs on his couch, her tongue stroking his as his hands explored with an eager, almost desperate touch.
It snowed all night, and most of Christmas Eve. Emma didn't bother checking to see if their flights had been rescheduled, and on Christmas morning, woke in Killian's bed to the smile she'd come to know so well in the last few days, content and radiating happiness.
"Merry Christmas," he said as she blinked her eyes open, his bare skin warm against hers, his voice low and rough with sleep.
She mumbled a reply, much too sleepy to form words, but pressed a kiss to his chest instead. Killian's arms tightened around her, and she knew she didn't have to say it – their cancelled flight was the best Christmas present she'd never known to ask for.