Waking up felt like free-climbing out of a canyon. Part of Emma was fighting to climb up toward wakefulness, but every other cell in her body was eager to tumble back down toward sleep, to be free from the effort it took to fight against gravity. Positive that it was too damn early to be awake in the first place, she gave in and shifted deeper beneath the blankets, letting the quiet settle back around her.
Except she couldn't. There was a distant drumming keeping her awake, now that she was just conscious enough to hear it, and the rattle of the furnace was too loud to ignore from downstairs. Falling asleep to the crackle of logs on the fire, Emma decided, was far preferable.
Remembering that she was downstairs led to remembering how she'd fallen asleep, and more pertinently who she'd fallen asleep next to. That distant drumming in her ear was Killian's heartbeat beneath her cheek, and the furnace rumbling was a plow scraping its way up and down the street outside the front yard. Little disembodied details started to come to her after that — the way one corner of the blanket had bunched up and left her ankle exposed to the air, the tangles of hair tickling the back of her neck, the hard curve of metal that had to be Killian's watch pressing into the inside of her wrist. Experimentally, she tensed the muscles in her fingers, and found them caging his in, her tattoo laying right onto the face of his watch.
Liam's watch, she corrected herself. She coaxed her eyes open, trying to reconcile dreams from memories, and little by little their fireside chat came back to mind, too.
His brother had been four years older, and he'd been in the habit of saying so to Killian whenever his actions merited a reminder. Liam had been headstrong, a born leader, but humble enough to admit he was wrong when the occasion called for it. Killian told her he'd done his best to find opportunities for such occasions, and found no shortage of them during his teenage years.
Despite the protective way David regarded him, the near-motherly affection from Mary Margaret, the way that they both had made a point of convincing her this trip was worth taking just the two of them — all glaringly obvious signs she was wrong, now that she was thinking about it — she would have guessed Killian was an only child.
She felt guilty when an instant feeling of belonging settled through her, one that had nothing to do with their present closeness. It wasn't anything she wanted to have in common with anyone, especially someone who seemed to come alive around her and her little family. It was just that she knew how hard it was to explain loneliness to two people who had found soulmates in one another years ago, and how rare it was to find someone who didn't need an explanation. As bad as it sounded, Emma liked knowing that he knew loss the way that she did.
There wasn't much to see yet in the living room; one sliver of dull grey light was tearing its way through a seam in the clouds, but the trees had yet to cast any shadows on the icy lake. Their fire had burned out hours ago, and she could feel the cold prickling at every part of her not covered in blanket. It felt obvious that she needed to go upstairs, except…
Except it didn't, not in the slightest. It wasn't just his loneliness that was familiar to her now — she knew what it felt like to fall asleep at his side and wake up to his breath teasing hair across her cheek. She was getting used to finding him inches away from her, closer than he ever seemed to come while he was awake. It kept happening, often enough that even she couldn't pretend it was coincidence anymore, so she let herself consider staying for a minute .
Carefully, slowly enough that he couldn't possibly be woken by the movement, she dragged her leg inward toward the bulk of the blanket until the cold didn't prick at her skin. Emma held her breath, waiting for him to stir, but one minute turned into two turned into five without him so much as yawning.
So little by little, her muscles relaxed. Her head was already resting against his collarbone, but she let herself truly sink into him, and tired as she was she felt the difference. This was her letting herself be held because she wanted to, because she liked the feeling. He was warm, sturdy as the wooden beams in the ceiling overtop their heads, and he was here. There had to have been some point in the night when he made the decision to stay with her — she sure she'd fallen asleep before he had —but here he was, head shoved back against the cushion of the couch and arm encircling her like it was the most normal thing in the world.
What would it hurt her to stay until the sun rose, or until Killian woke up? She'd survived waking up next to him in the Rover and in a motel bed, hadn't she? He wasn't awake, and as uncanny as some of his observations were he couldn't really read her mind. Emma could think of something to say and do with herself once he woke up, but until then she just…stayed.
If Mary Margaret could see me now, she thought dazedly to herself, looking past his shoulder out to the windows by the back porch door. She couldn't see much, but she could see plenty of thick snow had blanketed them in the night. It would be deep enough to silence the chorus of droplets falling from icicles and hitting the deck, and thick enough to reach her knees in some parts of the yard. She was sure the house wouldn't have been this quiet if their friends had made it, but then she was sure she would have never let herself do something like this with them around. Getting her own hopes up wasn't as bad — if things crashed and burned like they always seemed to, the damage would be small.
It felt less and less true as the sun rose up. The darkness had made it easier to pretend, but now the shadows were chasing each other toward the walls. Killian was still asleep, but grey winter light was falling across his face. It was only a matter of time before he woke up and wondered why he'd made the mistake of curling himself around her when he could be sprawled in his own bed instead.
Emma sat up slowly, taking as little of the blanket with her as she could without freezing, and reached for the remote on the coffee table. She found the weather and turned the volume almost all the way down, waiting to see just how much damage had been done to their neck of the woods. Their friendly neighborhood meteorologist spent several minutes focused on a big storm on the west coast at first, one that seemed to be heading too far southwest to be a problem, and by the time they previewed the local weather the station went right back to commercial. She threw her head back against the bottom of the couch, resigning herself to a local car company ad and its too-catchy jingle.
"Did that man just rhyme low finance with funky dance?"
Killian's accent was thick. He sounded as groggy as he looked, but not as bewildered as she'd felt when she woke up next to him. She certainly saw confusion on his face, but it wasn't aimed at her. He was looking down at his fingers where they were spread out against his own stomach. She curled her own into her palm as if hiding evidence, just in time for his sleep-soft eyes to find hers.
"Really makes you miss the comfort of our commercials at home, doesn't it?"
"Billy never did dance in his commercials," he acknowledged, tipping his head. "But I have to admit, it's a far cry better than the alarm upstairs."
She knew what he was talking about. David and Mary Margaret slept like rocks, so they kept their alarm at full-volume, and being a hall's length away behind a closed door only muffled the noise by half. Killian had it worse than she did, since his room was on the same side of the house, but one of their favorite ways to spend a morning was griping about it within earshot of one of them. David always took it a little personally, which didn't give them pause for a second.
"It's been a long time since I woke up to anything except my alarm, actually." he added. Then, seeming to blink fully awake, a mischievous, triumphant grin fell across his face. "You fell asleep down here with me."
Emma scoffed. "You were holding half my blanket hostage. I wasn't about to go upstairs and let you have it."
"And you didn't want me to be cold in the night down here alone!" Killian waved his hand across the blankets that still covered both of them, and Emma wished she'd had the foresight to scoot further away from him before he woke. "Love, I had no idea you were so fond of me."
"Really? I thought I was an open book to you."
"Sure, most of the time." he shrugged, sitting up straighter now. She could tell he was loving this much more than he ought. Killian's was an ego that didn't need stroking. "But there are some walls you've yet to lower for me."
"For you?" Gone was the playful bite in her voice, the scowl that never quite furrowed her brows. Now she just wanted to know what he was thinking looking at her so earnestly when his voice was so light and teasing.
"Not to worry," he told her, blanket tumbling toward her as he knelt and pulled himself up to stand. "I love a good hike."
Emma stared after Killian as he made his way upstairs, watching his fingers flex and curl back into his palm, and suddenly she knew what he was thinking. Despite waking up close to her, legs all but tangled together under her thick blanket, he thought he'd dreamt the closeness.
By the time she looked back at the TV screen, she'd missed the weather completely.
Emma stood in front of her bathroom mirror, head tipped to one side as the roar of the blow dryer filled the room. Showering had helped her clear her head, and now that she was warm and dry she felt a bit of restless energy in her muscles. Every bit of the lake she could see from the windows was covered in snow, and she was filled with the need to go and test the ice beneath it.
Killian, thankfully, had somehow read her mind. She hadn't hardly made it across the hall to his room before she heard the squeaking of the hall closet doors, a sure sign he was digging out their skates if there was one. The sound of boots clunking onto the floor confirmed it for her, so she hung over the landing rail to speak with him directly.
"Shouldn't we eat first?" She asked, braid swinging in the air below her chin. "Or is this a no swimming half an hour after you eat kind of thing?"
Killian twisted to look up at her, trying his best to look unamused. "I've already eaten, Swan. You're the one wasting our time."
She wanted to defend herself, but he was right. The sun had finally succeeded in breaking through the clouds, and it wouldn't be long before the ice overtop the lake began to melt. Rather than let him off easy, she scowled and made her way down the stairs, searching for the fastest possible definition of breakfast that they had in their pantry.
They were outside the minute the both of them were properly fed and bundled. Emma fought with the old, stubborn laces on her skates for longer than Killian had to, but she managed to catch up with him halfway down the path to the lakeside. The new-fallen snow was still too soft to crunch beneath the metal blades beneath their feet, but it was sturdy enough to take some of the pressure off of her ankles.
"Ready to watch me skate circles around you again?" She asked him, breath clouding in front of her. It felt invigorating, now that she was awake enough to appreciate it.
"What do you mean, again?" Killian shot her a look, but he was smiling. He was a step or two ahead of her, and every so often Emma let her footprints fall on top of his. It was easier to walk that way, rather than making her own set. "I remember us both being equally terrible."
"You're remembering wrong, then, because I'm definitely better than you."
"Is that a challenge, Swan?"
"You could call it that. I seem to remember you telling me you liked that type of thing."
They'd reached the edge of the beach now, only recognizable by the sudden recession of snow. Emma reached down and brushed through what was left of the powdery mix, finding solid ice beneath her gloved knuckles.
"Feels thick enough here."
"Doesn't mean it's thick out there, though," he countered, grimacing at the snow-covered lake. It was much harder to tell what lay beneath like this, when they were alone on the shore together. "Perhaps we should give it another night."
She made a dismissive noise and reached out for him, tugging him onto the first few centimeters of ice with her. Nothing happened, which seemed as good a sign as any to keep going. They made it a few meters out before Killian paused, throwing her another cautious look as his hand dropped from hers.
"We should at least test it first, Emma. Two at a time is asking for trouble."
Emma sighed and decided to indulge him, if only for a moment. She'd seen the single-digit lows the weatherman was predicting for the area on her phone the night before the storm — that kind of thing always made for perfect skating conditions before. She took a few cautious steps out onto the ice and, after taking a moment to shoot him a smug look, skated out more boldly. Her feet glided through snow as she circled back toward him, weight shifting rapidly as she got used to the motions again.
Ironically, she had almost completely made it back to his side when she felt her skate catch on an uneven patch of ice. She planted her feet on instinct, arms flying away from her sides to keep her upright, and the wobbling motion sent her right into the lake, both feet completely submerged in the half-frozen mud.
"Shit!"
She tried to wrench her foot out from the hole, but the blade of her skates were making things difficult. Emma heard the crunch of snow under Killian's feet and waved him off wildly, trying hard to pull herself free from the bottom of the lake.
"Emma, let me help!"
"I'm fine!" She shouted back, even as pain bit at her toes. It was the kind of cold that felt white-hot, as if a fiery hand had wrapped around each of her ankles. Her heart was racing as she struggled to wrench her feet free from the water, breath coming in short pants until her feet finally came free, one after another. She awkwardly lunged back toward Killian, taking fast steps in case it happened again, and her heart continued its manic beat even after she planted her ass into the snow. It was an ungraceful landing, but she only cared about getting her skates off.
Killian knelt down in front of her, grabbing hold of her gloved hands. She hadn't seen him take hers off, but then she was focusing on fighting the dizziness she felt when she looked at anything but her skates. He set her hands on her knees, holding one of his over them to make sure she didn't try again, and pulled a knife out of his pocket with the other. Killian slid the blade up through her laces on each foot and tugged the skates off her feet, dumping water out of each one.
"We'll come back for them later," he told her, folding the knife back into its handle. "Think you can walk up the steps?"
She tried standing up, and a hundred knives pressed into the arches of her feet. "Probably not," she admitted, trying to keep the pain out of her voice. Exposing her socks to the air made her feel colder, which didn't seem like it should even be possible. How did half a minute in a few centimeters of water cause so much damage?
"All right. Let's get you inside." Killian bent toward her and scooped her up into his arms, navigating the stairs pretty damn gracefully for someone wearing ice skates of his own. Emma didn't have it in her to protest, especially not after the first blast of warm air in the living room hit her. Killian set her down in the chair by the fire and disappeared upstairs for a minute, returning with a few pairs of socks and her blanket from her bed.
"It's really not that bad," she insisted, before he even made it off the landing. Emma sat sideways in the chair, shoving her bare feet as close as she could to the fire without touching the hot grate. She'd busied herself marveling at how cold she felt, even the parts of her the water hadn't touched. Once she got past the whole temperature thing, it was kind of fascinating. "I mean, sure, they're blue, but they hurt like hell. That's a good sign, right?"
Killian deposited the blanket on top of her before sitting down on the edge of the hearth. "That may very well be, but you're going to wear these anyway. You need to warm up."
"I wasn't refusing the socks, I was —" Emma hissed again as he touched her ankle. His skin burned on hers, even though he'd only laid the back of his hand against the top of her foot. "I just didn't want you to be worried."
"Me, worried over a woman who just willfully plunged herself into a frozen lake?" He smiled briefly, only the smallest bit of I told you so flashing in his eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Killian held his socks near the fire for a minute or two, glancing at her every so often. The attention should have felt a little overwhelming, but she could only focus on the warmth.
"Have you ever had to do this before? At work, I mean."
He shook his head, turning his wrist closer to the fire. "Each of us are trained to respond to any kind of emergency, but no. David and I are both lucky in that regard."
"So you're saying it takes a special type of idiot to go out and fall through a frozen lake to prove her point?" She smiled, trying to get him to ease up a little bit. The whole scenario felt a little backwards with her trying to ease his mind.
"What I'm saying," he answered pointedly, reaching for her ankle again, "is that blue is not your color."
Killian un-balled both pairs of socks he'd been holding and fit them one by one over her feet, folding them over to accommodate for the extra fabric pooling at her ankles. Emma giggled at the absurdity of his socks on her smaller feet, wiggling the extra fabric where it dangled off the tip of her toes. "These are very fashion forward," she commented dryly, recognizing them now that they were unfurled. "When did Granny give them to you?"
"How do you know I didn't knit them myself?" He asked defensively.
"Because I have my own pair. They have ducks instead of fish."
"Don't ducks fly south for the winter?"
She nudged him with her heel impatiently, accidentally shoving him a little toward the fire. "Answer the question."
"A few winters ago, I think. It was one of the years when it snowed Christmas Day. I was scolded very thoroughly for layering up in dress socks to come to dinner, and received these as punishment."
Emma pretended to gasp at his choice of words, even though she remembered feeling the exact same way about her own pair at first. All it had taken was wearing them to change her mind, just like it took wearing his now to remember she'd left hers at home.
"Mind if I borrow them for a while?" She made a point of posing the question casually, as if their plan to go skating on the lake had gone perfectly. Killian picked up on her tone at once, his smile a little more genuine this time around. Emma held up her other foot for him as he fit the next set of socks over top the first pair, pointing and flexing her toes just to prove that she could, and waited for the inevitable be more careful next time to fall from his lips the way it would have almost certainly fallen from David's. But Killian didn't say a word. He just shifted closer to her, almost reverently quiet, and began to massage warmth back into her insoles.
It was one hell of a way of getting the feeling back into her nerves, but Emma still tensed in his hold.
"Why are you doing that?"
"You're in a bit of shock from the cold, love. You're still bloody freezing. "
"No, I meant…you don't have to do that."
Killian paused for a second, one large hand still gingerly keeping the fabric of his sock from sliding down her ankle. "Did it ever occur to you that I'm not doing it because I have to?"
She blinked, a half dozen potential meanings to his words swimming through her mind. If he didn't have to, then that had to mean he wanted to. And if he wanted in the specific way that she wanted, well, then she was just going to go along with her heart this time around.
Emma surged forward, just carefully enough that she didn't knock him into the grate or kick him in the face, and laid her hand on the side of his neck. Warmth from the fireplace bathed her fingers as her lips found his, and oh, he'd been right about her being colder than she'd realized. Forget the awkward way she had to reach to hold onto him, or the surprise she felt when her fingernails grazed his hairline, Killian was twice as warm as her blanket. The hand that had reached out to steady her softened a little at her hip, and her heart began to speed up again, beating something like finally onto the edge of her ribs until he pulled away from her.
"Emma." His voice was quiet, a little ragged. "What are you doing?"
The spell broke. That wasn't breathlessness she was hearing, it was him pleading with her to stop before she got ahead of herself. Her cheeks burnt as she blinked furiously, fumbling backward away from him until she had room to stand.
"Emma, wait. You shouldn't walk —"
She shook her head, feeling dizzy again, and forced herself to give him the steadiest smile she could muster. "I'm sorry. That was a mistake. I'm going to…I'm sorry."