25 Days Christmas Romance Challenge || Day 14: Character A can't travel to see their family on Christmas, so they invite their grumpy loner neighbor Character B.
"Still. I'm sorry I won't make it on time."
"Killian, stop apologizing. I'm pretty sure you didn't create a snowstorm in order to avoid coming home for Christmas."
"No, but your wife might have. Remember when we didn't listen to her last year and ended up snowed in that bloody cabin for two days with nothing but four crackers and a year's worth of tea between us?"
"Please, Elsa is more likely to snow you in here so you can't leave."
Killian hums, trying to turn his frown upside down with little success.
Bloody buggering fuck. He hasn't seen his brother and sister-in-law in over half a year. He has seen his nephew exactly once and he's almost a year old. And he is stuck in New York City for the holidays. Alone.
Happy bloody Christmas.
He is about to tell Liam to go enjoy his weekend and stop worrying about him when movement outside catches his eye. The snow has let up for the first time in what feels like three days of blinding and aggressive snowflakes attacking anyone who dared peak outside. Which is why the human form, struggling to make its way through the fields of whiteness, draws his attention. He shakes his head and is just about to look away when said form suddenly disappears from view. Killian jumps to his feet and rushes to the window.
"Killian?"
He hears his brother's voice but his eyes are busy scanning the darkening world before his apartment building. Then he sees a blonde head peak up and cringes at the red coat that wavers into view as the poor soul tries to regain her balance.
Ah. Emma Swan.
Killian doesn't bother to hide his cringe. When he thinks of Emma Swan, one word comes unbidden to his mind. Grumpy. Ethereally gorgeous follows closely behind but never quite manages to take over.
The woman across the hall is hardly willing to exchange more than two sentences of small talk on a good day, he doesn't even want to imagine what she will be like after having to make her way through the Winter HorrorLand outside and falling on her admittedly delectable arse not a hundred feet from the building's entrance.
"Killian?"
It's Elsa's voice calling for him this time and he hears Liam's reply before he can respond himself.
"I'm telling you we shouldn't leave him unobserved for such long stretches of time. He is starting to lose it."
Killian is about to go back to his laptop and give his brother a piece of his all-there-thank-you-very-much mind when he sees Swan finally manage to wrestle free whatever she has been fighting the snow for. It looks suspiciously like a pizza box.
A cold, wet and bruised Emma Swan that has just lost her dinner to the wonders of the winter season. Killian gives a solid thought to pushing his couch in front of the door. Just in case. Or perhaps he should just start evacuating the building? He shakes his head and makes his way back to his desk.
Only to find his brother with his wife in his lap and her tongue in his mouth, obviously having completely forgotten that he is broadcasting himself across the ocean.
"Oh, bloody hell! Can you keep away from each other for five seconds?"
"Killian," Elsa gives him a devious smile as she pulls away from his brother's face. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you are keeping away from us on purpose?"
"I might have, if you'd reminded me sooner that half of my holidays with you are spend watching you hover just on the edge of giving me more nephews to spoil," he grumbles.
"Take that back!" Elsa gives him one of her patent (and undeniably effective) my-word-is-law stares. "It's a niece next."
"Whatever the queen wishes, I'm sure," he says with an eyerolll.
"Anyway, I had to console your brother. You abandoned him without a word. What was so fascinating anyway?"
"The sight of my neighbour dropping her dinner and her whole person in 5 feet of snow."
"Is she alright?" Liam frowns at his breezy tone.
"As much as she ever is. I swear that woman is mad at the whole world 24/7. And that's when her food is not served with a side of ice."
"And you're what? Regaling us with a tale of her troubles? Where are your manners, little brother?"
"Young-"
"Go help the poor girl!"
"I'm sure she's already inside and lighting her fireplace with nothing but the power of her glare."
The words are barely out of his mouth when he hears a solid thud outside his door.
He'll ignore it but-
Thud.
She might be taking an axe to the walls or something.
Killian sighs. The combined forces of the sounds outside and his brother and sister-in-law's judging looks pressuring him into being a decent human.
Being a decent human is so overrated. He hates falling into its trap.
Thud.
"Fine. I'm gonna go see, if she is alright. You're successfully gotten rid of me," he says with a glare at the screen.
"Oh, please. We're gonna spend all day trying to smuggle you out of that country," says Elsa with a determined furrow of her perfect eyebrows.
"Good luck outsmarting the biggest snowstorm in the last 30 years or whatever this is, love," grumbles Killian but smiles at her anyway as he gets up.
"Be nice, brother!"
"I'm always bloody nice."
He hangs up before he can see Liam's scoff but hears it anyway.
Thud.
Right.
Killian opens his front door to the sight of Emma Swan sitting on the ground in front of her apartment, knees drawn up, head leaned back on the door, eyes squeezed tightly shut, jaw locked. He frowns. What was the-
Her head meets the door with the predictable-
thud.
Yeah, that makes sense.
"I prefer to do that forehead-first. Onto a bar," he tries cheekily.
Swan startles, opening her eyes and straightening up as she hears and subsequently sees him in front of her.
Her jean-clad knees are soaked through, her beanie is clutched in her hand and her hair is in complete disarray, the ends darker and wet. The mangled pizza box is lying beside her on the floor. A testament to the world's love of kicking people when they're down, if there ever was one.
"Yeah, well, some of us have to satisfy ourselves with what's on hand," she mutters darkly before letting her head fall against the hard wooden surface behind her once again.
Thud.
Killian channels every bit of willpower he possesses into swallowing the innuendo that's on the tip of his tongue. He doubts it will have any pleasant consequences.
"Right. And may I inquire after-" he waves his hand in the general direction of her semi-soaked person as she looks at him.
Emma just sighs heavily and after a solid ten seconds pass Killian considers going back inside and leaving the woman to relish in her misery.
"I fell and must have dropped my keys outside."
"Spare?" he asks even though the answer is obvious.
"Don't believe in leaving keys for people who want to rob me blind under the mat, Jones. They can at least go to the trouble of picking the lock."
He snorts at her dry humour. Surprised by it as much as by the fact that she bothered to remember his name.
"And how's that working out for you, love?"
She goes to the effort of straightening her neck again just so she can glare at him full on. His grin is everything but apologetic.
"Come on then," he says with a rueful smile and a wave towards the warmth of his apartment.
He doesn't know how she feels in her damp clothes on the dirty floor but he is already curling in his toes at the chill in the hallway.
"Huh?" she sends him a look that's equal parts disbelief and suspicion.
He feels very justified in rolling his eyes at her.
"Swan, it's pitch black outside, it's freezing and slippery, as you should know better than me-"
Her confusion morphs into irritation with a truly impressive speed.
"And while my menu currently features only eggs and bacon and cereal, I think it beats your Rudolph-trodden pizza," he grins cheekily before delivering his winning argument. "Also I have alcohol."
Thud.
She groans. Then gets up.
Emma has barely stepped inside when she gives him a judging look.
"Bacon and eggs and cereal for dinner? What are you? Five?"
What had he gotten himself into?
"Says the fifteen-year-old with the pizza box."
He thinks the way she sticks her tongue at him only proves his point.
"Shall we start with a drink then?" he asks as he moves into the kitchen, leaving her to get rid of her coat and boots in the corridor.
"If you think you're getting me drunk-"
"Swan," it's a groan more than a word. "You make it really hard for people to be nice to you, you know that?"
"In my experience they sure don't try really hard," she mutters even as she makes her way into the living room, her toes leaving damp imprints on his hardwood floor.
Killian abandons the bottle of rum on the counter and quickly ducks into his bedroom, returning with a pair of thick socks. She gives them that same suspicious look that prompts the same eyeroll from him. When she finally reaches for them, he leans down slightly.
"Well, this is me trying. Care to join me?"
He watches little flashes of her internal conflict play in her eyes before she swallows and pulls the stupid socks out of his hand.
"Thanks," is all he gets but he counts it as a win and returns to the kitchen to prepare their drinks.
"Rum, whisky or beer?"
"Whatever you're having is fine," she says somewhat distractedly and he looks up to see her flipping through his book and feels his ears burn.
She looks up, eyebrow raised as high on her forehead as it will go and the most teasing smile he has ever seen on Emma Swan's lips. Jane Austen's Emma in her hands.
It certainly wasn't bloody intentional. And no, Killian doesn't want to hear anything about subconscious desires and all that mumbo-jumbo. Thank you very much. He just appreciates a wide variety of British literature.
"Don't flatter yourself, Swan."
"What, me?" she actually flutters her eyelashes at him. "Not at all. I simply didn't know you enjoyed the fine works of Miss Austen."
"Many things you don't know about me, love."
She hums in agreement even if the teasing doesn't completely leave her eyes. She does lower them back to the book though, much to the relief of the spot behind his ear.
Killian shakes his head, telling himself he doesn't enjoy this more light-hearted version of Emma Swan any more than he does the grumpy one. He secures his glass of rum in the crook of his left elbow and then grabs hers in his right hand before he slowly makes his way to the couch.
Emma looks up when he has almost reached her and jumps to her feet.
"Shit! Sorry," she reaches for the glass nestled between his arm and ribs, her cold fingers brushing his arm through his henley. "I totally forgot-"
"No worries, love," he says with a tight smile. "I generally prefer it that way."
"How-"
He watches her quickly talk herself out of the question and decides against offering the story behind his missing hand. They were still on drink #1 and that was at least drink #4 material.
"What are you doing here anyway?" she goes for instead. "Aren't you usually back in Ireland around the holidays?"
Killian is once again startled by the information about him that Emma Swan seems to have stored away.
"Only when there's a plane willing to fly me there, I'm afraid."
"Right."
"And your holiday plans?" he takes a sip of his drink and gets up to retrieve his laptop with the idea of talking her into a Christmas movie.
"Pretty much what you saw a few minutes ago only on the other side of the door," she says with a shrug.
He laughs and gives her a 'no, seriously' look and receives a 'serious as a heart attack' one back.
"Well, I supposed that means you won't judge my lack of festivity too harshly. I wasn't planning on sticking around."
Emma looks around his apartment. There are a few porcelain sleighs and glass snowballs here and there and a rather pathetic-looking tree in the corner but he's quite proud of his twinkling lights work. They have always been his favourite decoration and his windows can definitely testify to that.
"This isn't festive?" Emma asks, the incredulity in her voice almost a physical presence, scouring the room and pointing every twinkling bit to him.
"You should meet my sister-in-law."
"Doesn't sound like we'll mix well."
"On the contrary, you have very much the same 'this is not how the world should look, fix it or so help me' attitude," he says, nodding to himself and noting the twitch in the corner of her mouth. "Only she usually stares down what you'll probably glare at."
"I don't glare that much," she says, glaring.
Killian gives her a pointed look.
"I only glare when given a reason to," she huffs.
"I hardly think taking the lift glare-worthy."
"I don't glare at you. I glare at the world. You're just in it," Emma explains, sounding for all the glare-worthy world like she's presenting very reasonable arguments. "I don't find your face in particular glare-worthy."
Killian gives an affronted gasp just to see where it will take him.
"No, I mean, I don't find it deserving of a glare," she groans at the English language's obvious inability to accommodate her meaning. "Your face doesn't make me glare, ok?"
She huffs and brings her feet up wrapping her arms around her knees again.
"I see. And what else do you think about my face, Emma Swan?" he says with an unabashed smirk.
"I think it might familiarize itself with my fist, if you keep that up," she says.
Glaring.
He hums and leans back, choosing to abandon that particular path for the time being in favour of enumerating the multiple advantages of binging the Home Alone trilogy.
"It's not a trilo-"
"Swan," he says with a clear warning in his voice. "You have to choose between remaining in my home and mentioning those monstrosities ever again."
She puts some decent effort into turning her laugh into a cough so he lets it slide.
Same as he lets her feet slide under his thighs during the first movie when she complains of still being too damn cold.
Same as she lets his arm slide behind her shoulders.
Same as he lets them slide from rum to tea and hot cocoa and thus make their way to drink #4 at which she gets to unlock his tragic backstory.
Same as he lets her slide her hand over his stump during said story while Macaulay Culkin is running around New York City.
Same as she lets some could-be-a-villains-making details about herself slide from behind her defenses.
Same as he lets her lips slide over his by the time Kevin has taken the from of Alex Linz.
Same as she lets him slide a plane ticket across her counter three days later.
He thinks the combined forces of her and Elsa in the same room can make any storm retreat with the sincerest of apologies.