And so we continue… I do hope those who are reading are enjoying this story so far. I really appreciate the reviews I received; keep letting me know what you're thinking as we go along. I don't own them, but I can't help wanting to play with their likenesses in my writing!

Enjoy!

Out of the Cold

Chapter Two: Lost in the Snow

"It will be alright, Lass," Killian murmurs gently a few moments later as the tears break free in earnest and she buries her face in his solid shoulder.

She shakes her head 'no' and draws in a shuddering breath. "I'm not sure it will… What was I thinking? We should have just told him. What if I've ruined everything, Killian?"

"Nonsense, Darling," his voice soothes her, even as she knows he must be equally worried and hurt inside. His hand brushes gently through her hair, and his other arm wraps around her, holding her close. "Once he steps out in that wind and snow, he'll be back before you know it. Besides, Emma, you're his mother. He loves you."

She sighs, looking up at him, eyes pleading for an answer he doesn't possess. "But I want him to love you too. I don't want to choose between you."

"It won't come to that, Love. He'll calm down. He's a smart lad. When he's thinking straight again, he'll understand."

She closes her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath. "I hope you're right," she whispers on the exhale, letting her forehead rest against his, drawing comfort from his presence.

They stay that way a few minutes more, but when Henry doesn't return, Emma grows anxious, needing to do something, and Killian seems disconcerted despite himself as well.

"Maybe we should go after him," she wonders aloud. "He obviously hasn't let go of this yet, and you said yourself that it was really starting to come down out there."

Killian nods in agreement, noticing that she is already going towards her own hat, mittens, and coat. "Of course, Emma, but should we first call your parents? They're only a short walk away, and he may have holed up there to get out of the snow without returning here."

She nods, acknowledging that he may be right and moves toward the phone instead of the coatrack. She hits the speed dial programmed number, then waits practically vibrating with tension until Mary Margaret answers cheerily, "Charming residence. May I help you?"

If Emma were in a better, less panicked state of mind, she would giggle at how "charming" and fanciful her friend really does sound, but now is definitely not that time. She hates to ruin what sounds like a perfectly pleasant night on the other end of the line, but she doesn't have a second to lose with niceties. "Is Henry there? It's Emma," she blurts out anxiously.

"Henry? No. Why would he be?"

Emma sucks in a breath, her head spinning even more at the knowledge that her son is absolutely out in the weather somewhere. Running a frustrated hand through her hair, trying to calm the shaking that has invaded her limbs, she shoots a quick glance over at Killian and shakes her head, confirming both of their worst fears without words. He immediately moves, gathering her boots, gloves, scarf, hat, and coat and bringing the clothing to her to put on as she finishes talking with her mother. He then begins to bundle up himself, attuned to her side of the phone conversation as well – always alert, taking everything in.

"He walked in on Killian and I kissing," she explains sheepishly, another lone tear trickling down her cheek as she relives it again. Killian moves toward her to pull her close, offer comfort, but she waves him off, not having time to break and knowing that she will if he holds her. "He was angry, stormed out. I know it's still snowing, and so I was hoping he had just gone to your house…"

"Emma, I hate to tell you this, but it's not just snowing. It's turned into blizzard conditions out there – a true whiteout. The radio has been cautioning people to stay indoors for the last hour; there's nothing but white, you can't see, and people run the risk of getting lost and – " Emma hears the other woman stutter, and her heart lurches even more painfully in fear, "and freezing to death before they find their way."

"Oh no, oh no…" Emma whispers repeatedly, unable to say anything else. "We have to find him. Have to…" she trails off without saying goodbye and hangs up on her mother's cries of protest and concern.

Killian knows immediately that something has changed for the worse in their already bad situation. "What is it, Darling?" he asks, his voice husky with concern – for her, and for Henry, whom he loves as his own, Emma realizes once more with a flicker of warmth for her pirate in her chilled-with-fear heart.

"It's turned into a whiteout…" she murmurs, almost incoherent for a moment. "No one's supposed to be out…too dangerous…"

"Well then, we've not a moment to lose, have we?" he urges, placing a hand at her elbow, to nudge her out of her trance and move her into action. She snaps out of it quickly, shooting him a grateful smile and moving for the door. He pulls her back for just a moment, squeezing her shoulder in comfort and pressing a chaste kiss to her brow. "We will find him, Lass," he promises.

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Two hours later, Emma's spirits have fallen to the point that she feels she might sink to her knees in the snow and never get up. Her limbs are so numb from the cold that she can't feel them beyond the heavy weight that makes them seem almost impossible to even lift and move forward. She can see nothing but the bit of blue of Killian's toboggan right before her, and she is certain that if he were to loosen the grip he holds on her hand that she will not even have that – just white, white, white in an endless, desolate void.

If Killian weren't so stubbornly determined, she might have turned back several times. They should have called for help, organized volunteers, alerted rescue services. She hadn't been thinking straight, simply desperate to get out and find Henry. Though Hook has adjusted well to their world in many respects, he didn't know to do any of those things and had gone right along with her, throwing caution to the wind. Now, she wonders if they can even find their own way back, and they are no closer to finding Henry than they were when they first set out.

She pulls back on Killian's hand, bringing him to a standstill as he turns to look back at her quizzically. Emma feels the surprising, overwhelming affection that often strikes her for him surge within her now. Despite the fact that he must be nearly as frightened, worried, and cold as she is, despite how bad things look, Killian still has the light of hope in his eyes; buoying her up just when she is ready to give in, to tell him they have to turn back, they aren't doing any good, they must be going the wrong way. "Should we go back for reinforcements?" she asks meekly, instead of what she had been about to say. She has to speak around such a huge lump in her throat that it feels as though the words might not make it to him audibly at all; it is too present in her mind how cold and alone Henry must be.

"We're too far out. It's been too long," Killian says, his accent clipped with tension. "By the time we find people and get them back out here, there will be no use."

He doesn't elaborate, and she tries not to connect what she knows he is telling her if they don't find Henry and get him out of the cold soon. Killian turns to press on again, not willing or able to give up and accept defeat. They begin fighting forward once more through the wind and whirling snow, and Emma finds herself even more desperately searching for anything beyond dense, blinding white to meet her eyes. She clings to Killian's hand tightly, drawing from his strength – relying on him – more than she ever thought she would allow herself to rely on anyone ever again.

Suddenly, Killian's frame straightens up, as if jerking to attention. He peers forward with such concentration that Emma can feel the tension radiating down his arm, and she finds herself straining to see what he is seeing. She is about to give in and ask him what it is, when he pulls her forward again with him, breaking into the closest thing to a stumbling run they can manage in the ever-deepening snow. "There was a flash of red there! It might be Henry's scarf!"

Just as he gets the words said, Emma catches a momentary glimpse of the color as well, letting out a gasp of shock and suddenly almost passing Killian up as they both try to reach their first sign of Henry in hours. Finally, they near a large, old tree which almost looks to be leaning its bare, gnarled branches shelteringly over a bundle which suddenly comes clear as Henry, slumped motionless against its trunk. His red scarf is luckily visible, as is some of his dark coat and snow-dusted brown hair, but his legs and torso are half-blanketed frighteningly in snow. It is terrifying to realize that much longer and they wouldn't have seen him at all.

Emma falls to her knees, sinking into the white powder as well, shaking his shoulder and calling his name. Killian's presence right beside them is the only thing keeping her sane as he bends to place his ear against Henry's chest to listen.

"It's faint, but he's breathing," Killian reports quickly, already brushing snow off the boy and gathering Henry's limp form in his arms before standing to carry him back. "Emma, stay close," he orders, tone desperately serious and not brooking any argument. "We've got to get him warm as fast as possible, but it's still well-nigh impossible to see more than a foot in front of us. Hang onto my coat or something. I don't want to lose you too."

Not so long ago, she would have argued with him, convinced that she could handle herself and didn't need his help or guidance, but now she doesn't even think twice. She trusts him not only with her life, but with Henry's as well, which is worth even more to her. They are heading back as quickly as they can, and Emma marvels briefly at his unerring sense of direction, something which must be left over from his long life at sea traveling the world. It is all she can do to stay out of Killian's path and not reach out to take Henry herself and hold him close. He hasn't stirred or given any indication that he even knows they have found him. It makes Emma's breath catch in fear. All she can do is continue thinking, "Hold on, kid. Hang in there. You're going to be okay. You have to be…"

Killian keeps moving forward, strong and sure, and she tries to hold onto her newly acquired hope. Her first real Christmas with those she loves can't end this way. Now is the first time she is truly going to wish for a little bit of magic.