So, given that I'm part of that bunch that's still cleaning up from the lovely winter storm a few days ago, this popped into my head and I ran with it. It went longer than I had expected it to but that just means more Captain Swan fluff to enjoy to celebrate the one and only Colin O'Donoghue's birthday!

37. Blizzard

Emma had expected the weather to take a lot out of her. She just hadn't thought it would be that much. For once, she wasn't realm hopping over to the Enchanted Forest, or parading around Neverland, or even running about Storybrook dealing with magical endeavors, and her attention could fully focus on the town.

Which, according for the forecast, was going to be covered in about two feet of snow within the next thirty hours or so.

Sitting in the police station, Emma audibly groaned as she chanced a look out the window and saw the first flurries drifting to the ground. The roads had been salted earlier in the day, but she was still supposed to make a statement and issue warnings even though it had all already been done on paper. She wasn't really sure why they wanted her to say anything when it would just be a repeat of what Regina would be saying, and she had absolutely no idea why, for the love of all things warm and toasty, she had to wait for the news crew to come to her at the station, all for a two minute statement.

Her jacket was zipped all the way up, keeping her wool scarf tucked close around her neck, and her matching hat and gloves were already pulled on; as soon as the crew got there, she would be ready to say her statement, hop in the bug, drive the eight minutes it took to get home, and settle herself in for a night spent wrapped in blankets and drinking cocoa. Looking at the clock, she figured that if she had any luck at all, her plan of action would be completed before the blizzard warning went into effect in forty-nine minutes.

Fifty minutes of busy work, waiting, pacing, and thumb-twiddling later, it was apparent that luck was not on her side. She scowled at the paper she had written her statement on, which she had memorized at this point. What part of blizzard warning didn't make sense? She didn't care that they were a news crew, and she didn't care that she was the sheriff: blizzard meant crazy winds and almost no visibility, and the longer they waited, the worse it got.

In the middle of her mental rant, she only just noticed her phone ringing, and though she wanted it to be the news crew so she could tell them off, or maybe just give her statement over the phone, the caller ID was the first thing in the last hour to make her smile.

"Hey," she answered, the small smile on her lips.

"Emma." She heard Killian breathe a sigh of relief. "I thought you'd be home by now.

Her voice betrayed some of her annoyance at the current situation. "So did I," she replied. She looked out the window again and instantly regretted it as she registered the inch of snow that had already piled on the ground in the last hour. "The news crew is taking its sweet time getting over here."

"Did they give you a time?"

"Yeah, they were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago at the latest." She raised her eyes to the TV screen, which was muted, but had no breaking news headlines running across the banner on the screen. "I've had the channel on for a while but there hasn't been anything big going on other than storm coverage - oh, finally!" Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw the white van pull up to the front of the precinct.

"I'm assuming they've arrived?" Killian asked.

"They're getting out of the van right now," Emma said, getting up from her desk and heading to the door.

"Send me one of those word message things when you're done and coming home."

Emma couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. "You mean a text?"

"Yes, yes, one of those," he replied, and she could almost see him rolling his eyes. He was getting better with technology, just at a very slow pace.

"I will," she promised. "I'll see you at home."

The twenty minute wait for the news crew had turned into an hour, the two minute statement had turned into a twenty minute ordeal, and the eight minute car ride home would probably, by her rough estimates at this point, take close to thirty.

"News crew took forever, just left, be home in 15," she texted Killian as she grabbed her bag and hurried to lock up the precinct. And then she got to her bug, which she had forgotten had accumulated almost two inches of snow and a decent amount of frost on the windshield. With a scowl, she turned on the car to start the heat and defroster, and grabbed the ice scrapper from the back seat. By the time she'd gotten enough ice off the front and back windshields to have somewhat decent visibility, she could hardly feel the tips of her fingers, and even pulling her scarf up over her nose didn't help the numbness in her cheeks and ears.

Inside the bug with the windshield wipers finishing her started work, she pulled out her phone and with painful, shaking fingers texted Killian again. "Ice on the car, now home in 15." With a steadying breath, she put the bug in drive, hoping that the snow she'd cleared away from the tires with her foot would be enough for the bug to get some traction, and she gently pressed on the gas.

A tear of joy may have frozen to her cheek as the bug rolled forward, crunching over the snow at what seemed to be a ridiculously slow speed, but crunching over the snow nonetheless. Between the accumulating snow, winds that kept buffeting the car, and near zero visibility, Emma barely hit fifteen miles an hour the whole way home, taking turns at a snail's pace and silently sending thank-yous to no one in particular that the car's traction continued to stay true.

"You can do this, you've got this," she muttered, just as much to herself as to the car, as she took what she knew was the last turn before she would reach home. About four hundred meters and two minutes later, she tapped the brake, more or less gliding to a stop next to the curb that was not yet completely covered in snow.

With a few calming but painfully frigid breaths, Emma shut off the car, grabbed her bag, and attempted to avoid any ice patches while still speed-walking up the steps and to the door. Even with gloves on, her numb fingers took forever to find her keys in her purse. Finally pulling them out, she fumbled with the key, her shaking hands unable to remain steady for long enough to get it in the key hole. "Oh, p-please, f-for the l-love of -" she groaned, just as the door suddenly opened and a hand grabbed hers, gently tugging her inside and into the lit foyer. The front door quickly slammed shut behind her.

"You do know that with the windchill, we're nearing sub-zero temperatures, right?" Killian asked. She tried to nod in response, but she wasn't sure if her body was actually obeying physical commands.

But Killian didn't really seem too concerned with the answer to his rhetorical question. He looked at her face and frowned, seeing the same pale skin and blue lips he had seen when she'd been trapped in Elsa's snow cave. "Let's fix this," he said, taking her bag from off her shoulder and placing it on the table next to the door. Her coat then made it over to the coat rack, followed by her scarf, hat, and gloves. He moved the large plastic tray where they placed their shoes to underneath the coat rack to catch any melting snow, and, after taking off one boot while her slowly warming fingers took care of the other, placed the boots on the tray as well.

"All right, Love, let's get you upstairs," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and guiding her up the steps.

"I-I'm okay," she said once she made it to the third step, pleased to find she was able to speak and walk, even if it was with some shaking.

Killian cast her a disbelieving sideways glance. "Your fingernails are purple."

"S-said I was okay," she replied, as they reached the top of the stairs and made their way to the bedroom, "n-not that I h-had thawed."

"Don't you worry, Love," Killian said, eyes suddenly bright, a smile tugging at his lips as he opened the bedroom door, "there will be plenty of time for that."

Stepping into the bedroom, Emma was suddenly greeted by a draft of warm air and the comforting scent of candles burning. A crackling sound grabbed her attention, and she turned to see the image of a wood fire playing on the television. Stifling back a little laugh, her eyes drifted over to the bed, where Killian had placed her favorite pair of sweatpants along with a tank top and zip-up hoodie.

"You take care of that," he said, nodding to the pajamas, "and I'll be right back." He walked out of the bedroom, keeping the door only open a crack to keep the extra heat inside, and she heard his footsteps go back downstairs.

Eager to be swaddled in fleece and cotton, Emma striped off her black jeans that were wet at the hem and her sweater that was wet at the neckline and sleeves, and threw them over the bar in the shower to dry. She scrambled into the warmth of the clothing, then grabbed at towel from the bathroom to dry the bits of her hair that were still wet from the snow and, she suspected, even partially frozen.

She had just pulled back the covers to climb into bed when the door opened again and Killian walked back in, holding a tray of food. She paused, one leg on the bed, one still standing, her mouth parted slightly. "What are you waiting for, an invitation?" he asked with a laugh and raised eyebrows, knowing she was rather awestruck. "I figured you'd be hungry."

Doing as she was told, Emma tucked herself in bed in a seated position, pulling the covers around her waist so Killian could settle the tray on her lap. She looked down at the bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup, accompanied by two halves of a toasted and buttered roll, as well as a mug of cocoa topped with a spray of whipped cream and a light dash of cinnamon.

"Killian," she said quietly as he joined her on the bed, settling underneath the covers beside her.

"What?" His eyes fixed on the tray, scanning the meal. "Did I forget something?"

She tilted his face towards hers. "Yes, actually, you did."

He grinned when he realized, and pressed a kiss to her lips. "So sorry about that," he muttered before going in for another kiss. "I'm a terrible boyfriend."

"Truly, the absolute worst," she agreed.

"I don't know why on earth you keep me around."

She shrugged. "I guess the food isn't that bad."

A grin spread across his lips. "Wait until you see what I have planned for tomorrow morning." Emma paused with a spoonful of soup halfway to her lips, one eyebrow raised in confusion and intrigue. "It's a surprise."

Emma blinked at him a few times, then sighed to herself and ate a mouthful of soup, feeling the satisfying heat spread through her chest. "So I just sit here for the next day or so and have you stuff me with food?"

"Well," he replied, looking thoughtful, "I suppose you could put it like that. But I think the better way to phrase it would be to have you just get warm." He smiled, suddenly a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And my first order of business with that as my goal," he said, leaning in to brush his lips against hers, "is to take care of those blue lips."

Huzzah and yay for cuteness and fluff and Colin! And as a reminder, we're only forty days away from March 6th! :)