{This was originally meant to be a Christmas one shot, but as Christmas – and even New Year's – have come and gone, I'm just going to say that it's a wintry, Modern CS AU. The Modern AU is still a bit new to me, so I'd welcome thoughts and comments if you take a moment to read this. Neither Killian, Emma, or OuaT and its characters belong to me.

Enjoy!}

Blowing out a frustrated breath as she flopped back against the decidedly flat and inadequate pillows, nothing like the handpicked ones at home in her apartment, Emma Swan tried to pacify herself with just how deviously she could repay her friends for their parts in her predicament. How had she let stupid August and Ruby convince her to be so ridiculous? What kind of sane, sober people decided to go tromping through dark, unfamiliar neighborhoods to look at Christmas lights after two a.m. anyway? Thanks to that harebrained plan, she'd be sporting a black eye, sprained ankle, and a cast on her wrist through the holidays, and for the next six weeks or so. Paychecks she had been counting on to finish her meager Christmas shopping and to pay her bills were going to suffer, because how could she bring in her marks if she couldn't very well seduce them or chase them down?

Her entire arm ached and throbbed, making Emma even more irritated and antsy. The whole thing was sadly pathetic. Ruby just had to jerk her sideways, yelping about some particular animatronic light-up yard ornament, and she'd stumbled, tripping over her own feet, heels catching an unseen patch of ice and sending her tumbling down a short flight of steps to the subway, nearly taking Ruby with her in a tangle of arms and legs. August had just been standing there laughing at how funny they both looked until Emma had tried to get up and brush herself off and her ankle hadn't allowed it.

He'd ended up half-dragging, half-carrying her the three blocks to County General while Ruby fluttered and apologized at her other side the whole way. Emma brushed the frazzled tendrils of hair off her forehead with her uninjured hand and tried to settle in unhappily for a long, boring night alone and to not think quite so harshly of her well-meaning pals. They had camped out in the waiting room for hours until they could come to her room and see that she was okay. And they had only dragged her on their adventure in the first place to get her out of her own head, the funk she'd been in, and keep her from going home alone and curling up on her couch by eight o'clock on a Friday night. So what if they had headed off to their own homes and families once they'd seen she was alright? It wasn't their fault that they had those people in their lives and she didn't, nor that she had shut herself away and kept herself from finding it either. She'd be released tomorrow, once she had been fitted with crutches for her height and they made sure she could get around, since she lived alone. It wasn't like she was going to be here that much longer

Needless to say, Emma was all for the distraction when a loud thump and the scuff of a boot sounded at the doorway of her hospital room, startling her from her melancholy thoughts. She looked up to find a guy stumbling through her door. A quick, shocked breath flew from her lungs, however, when her eyes met the newcomer's and fully took him in, widening in disbelief. She would have sworn right up until that very moment that 'handsome strangers' like this man did not exist outside of the movies.

Her gaze trailed longingly – and completely against her conscious will – down his wiry frame, from perfectly and adorably mussed black hair to a long-sleeved grey Henley open at the neck and showing off a peek at thick, dark chest hair, to his trim waist and strong legs encased in snug black denim and those worn, obviously well-loved boots which had first alerted her to his presence. Gasping like a fish out of water, Emma opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to make words appear and offer some sort of greeting, and failing utterly.

The guy edged a tiny step closer into the small space, smiled sheepishly from beneath thick, dark brows, and scratched shyly behind his right ear. A playful smirk painted his face along with a light flush of embarrassment before he offered in a charming lilt, "Sorry for the intrusion, Lass. I didna mean to disturb you."

The accent, crooked grin, and dimple in his cheek melted Emma in a way that nothing had since brown eyes and a chance meeting in a VW Bug more than a decade ago, and she swooned even as her hackles and her defenses rose, making a weird tangle of her insides. "No worries," she shrugged, giving a small, easy smile and trying to appear nonchalant, despite his unexpected appearance and ridiculously unfair attractiveness. "I was getting bored anyway."

"Well, in that case, Love, what are you in for?" he joked terribly, a chuckle at his own awkward humor in his smooth voice. The way he tilted his head to the side as he took her response for welcome and came further into the room was a near-perfect mix of innocent curiosity and flirtation.

Emma couldn't help wondering just how many girls he had successfully charmed with that combo and those cerulean eyes so deep she was nearly transfixed in their depths. A tart, 'I'm not your love, Casanova,' was on the tip of her tongue – her guard up merely because of how much she wanted to lean forward and soak in his attention – but she bit it back at the last moment, curbing her natural distrust. Something in his open, almost hopeful face gave her pause, made her wonder if he was as all alone as she was. Shaking that thought away and giving him a sarcastically wry look, she settled on, "How about we start with your name, Romeo?"

"Ah, afraid to share, are we?" he shot right back, almost as if he could read her mind.

"You are the stranger who wandered into my room," she retorted, arching a brow eloquently.

"Right you are, Love," he allowed with a nod, not altering his playful endearment, "right you are."

Finally, he reached the side of her hospital bed, and Emma was incredibly grateful she had already raised it to a sitting position before his unexpected arrival. She did not want to feel any more vulnerable or pathetic than she already did in comparison to his handsome appeal and how close he was to her. Even more than that, the way those fathomless blue eyes seemed to stare right into her made Emma feel incredibly exposed, like he could see more of her than anyone else had ever tried to. He held out his hand, graciously offering the opposite of his so she could shake with her good one. "My name is Killian, lass. Killian Jones. It's lovely to meet you."

As his large hand enveloped hers, Emma felt herself engulfed in warmth, encircled and drawn close in a way that baffled her and made her breath lodge in her throat. She had been shut off, on the outside, not fully belonging for so much of her life that it took her breath away to suddenly feel she was being pulled into something she didn't fully understand. She did not even know this man – Killian – and yet, she found herself praying he wouldn't let go.

Interestingly, just as they both seemed frozen in motionless surprise, she could hear the strains of one of her most beloved Christmas songs waft in from the nurse's station radio just outside. "I'll be Home for Christmas," she murmured dazedly, a tiny smile quirking one corner of her lips up. "I've always liked that one."

Killian let go, clearing his throat awkwardly; she could tell by the blush coloring his sculpted cheekbones that he was embarrassed at his forwardness in hanging on so long. "It is quite lovely," he nodded in agreement, "but I always thought it rather sad."

She wanted to question him, pretend she didn't understand and protect her own scars, but at the stark, haunted look in his eyes, she couldn't do so. It was an expression she was all too familiar with, that same abandoned child in a toughened adult's face who often surfaced to stare back at her from the mirror. She reached out almost without thinking and took his hand again where it had come to rest on the bedrail. Giving him an encouraging smile, she spoke with quiet fervor. "It always seemed like something to hope for to me. Something I might find one day…" She sucked in a wobbly breath adding silently in her head, 'even if I'm all grown up and that home never came.'

His voice was a low rumble in her ear as he replied with a twinkle in his eye, "Aye, I supposed you have a point…"

"Emma," she supplied, grinning back at him and finally giving him her name, "Emma Swan."

"Emma," he repeated, his accented voice caressing the syllables of her name warmly. After a pause of several breaths he allowed, "I think perhaps I like your way of seeing better."

She nodded, accepting his words with a warm flush coloring her cheeks. There was no way for her to deny the flutter in the pit of her stomach at the way his voice sounded saying her name, or the spark between them and the connection she felt after just a few minutes in his presence. She would have expected panic rather than only the smallest bit of odd discomfort at just how much she wanted him to stay with her, talking to her – how much she wanted to remain hand-in-hand, her fingers wound together with his.

Giving him a playful, indulgent smile up through her lashes and hoping she appeared more open and welcoming than she had at first, without seeming desperate, Emma said, "So, Casanova, what brings you here on Christmas Eve anyway? Trying to pick up injured lonely hearts?"

Dipping his head almost bashfully and scratching his ear again, Killian gave her a lopsided grin along with his answer. "Oh, come now, Swan. Do you always so readily expect the worst of people? You misjudge me."

"Really?" she prodded, grinning right back at him and injecting a tone of playful disbelief into her voice.

"Aye," he affirmed with a nod. "This Don Juan you suspect me of being could not be further from the truth. I'm a florist, and all I am doing here is humbly trying to distribute the unclaimed poinsettias left in my shop to those who are in hospital and alone over the holiday."

"Seriously?" Emma questioned with a quirked brow and doubtful tone of voice.

Regardless of how she would like to believe him, people that giving and genuine didn't exactly show up in her life often. Or if they did – she thought briefly of a smile crinkling the edges of brown eyes she had stupidly seen nothing but truth and promise in, a swan keychain dangling from a rough, dirt-smudged finger, and a map with the route to Tallahassee marked on it – they often proved to be less than what they seemed at first.

"Don't believe me, Darling?" he bantered back, a grin splitting his face at her stubborn skepticism. Rather than appearing frustrated, he arched his own heavy, dark brow back at her playfully, as if to say, 'Oh, just you wait.' All he said aloud was, "Well then, prepare to be amazed."He stepped out of sight for a moment, then re-emerged once more in her doorway, a bright red poinsettia in hand. His face looked anxious to prove himself to her, to have her see that he was honest. Coming to stand beside her bed once more, Jones gently set the lovely potted flower on her side table and beamed at her, as if wanting nothing more than to make her happy.

Emma blushed, genuinely abashed at doubting his word and being so sweetly proven wrong. "How are you even for real?" she murmured softly, not knowing how else to respond to this ridiculously gentle, handsome man she had never even seen before bringing her a gift.

"Perhaps you dreamed me?" he quipped just as softly while tilting his head to study her as if her answer puzzled him and he could find the solution on her face.

She wanted to scoff at such a line, blow him off, tell him to leave, do anything but smile giddily and feel the tiniest edges of the icy wall around her heart begin to melt. This Killian Jones knew better than to press his luck. Wisely he quit while he was ahead, said no more, and simply grinned back at her with a warmth that endangered every bit of the cold protective layers she had held around herself for so long.

Despite her track record, and her vow to stay far away from smooth talkers with engaging eyes and inviting smiles, she knew this was not the end of her acquaintance with Killian Jones.

``````CS``````````CS`````````CS````````CS``````

A week and a half later, Emma finds herself in another place she has no business visiting while still recovering from her last bit of clumsy self-injury. It's New Year's Day, and she is at the ice rink she has passed wistfully on countless occasions, but never stopped to take advantage of until now – thanks to her mischievous companion.

Her ankle had only been strained as it turned out, and is now happily back to normal, the black eye has faded and can no longer even be detected on her pale skin. All that really remains of her tumble down those steps is the cast she still wears over her healing wrist. She has gotten used to maneuvering one-handed however, so when Killian had called, cajoling – and then daring – her to go to the rink with him, she hadn't wanted to say no. One of the drawbacks of keeping to herself as much as she does is never having anyone to keep her company in the small things: a walk through the park, ice-skating followed by hot chocolate, or a weekend drive to wherever the road might lead. Granted, letting someone in close enough to be considered a partner in crime, ready and willing to go at a moment's notice, also meant letting them close enough that it could hurt if they chose to leave. It meant letting that someone really get to know her – not just her resourceful, wise-cracking tough girl front.

Yet, since he had stumbled into her hospital room bearing holiday florals, Killian has proven impossible to shake. He obviously wants to get to know her quite well, and for the first time in a long time, Emma can't seem to resist letting it happen. He has called her each day since she left the hospital, asking what sort of mishap she's gotten into, asking for her favorite flower, only to later have it appear at her door with a card from his shop attached, asking her where she wants to get take out from if he comes over with a movie. He makes her laugh and gets her to talk; before she knows it, she has been swinging by his shop after her days at work, and they have been having dinner together most evenings. She obviously hadn't been the only one feeling alone in the world and looking for someone to understand.

Once her skates are laced up, Emma stands shakily, ready to step out onto the ice. Killian has been zipping by her in graceful laps of the rink for several minutes now, shooting her teasing grins, but despite his playful taunts, when he sees her about to venture out, he slows, comes up beside her, and offers her his hand.

"Here, Love," he says easily, no longer challenging or trying to get a rise out of her, but wanting only to help. "Let me get you going…at least until you have the hang of it."

She wants to roll her eyes, bat his hand away, argue that she doesn't need his help, and then glide off and leave him awed in her wake. However, with the cast and her recent track record, she knows she really doesn't want to refuse his aid. Besides, as he wraps his fingers around hers warmly, his grip firm and steadying as they push off and slide forward, the frisson of tingling excitement that runs through her makes it worth the small amount of embarrassment.

Soon they are picking up speed and circling the space easily. Emma feels her heart soar with exhilaration, even as the chill air reddens her cheeks. It's like flying, but with the added comfort of the safety net Killian's arms provide steadying her. She can't remember ever feeling so light and free. When an easy dusting of fluffy snowflakes begins to drift down on them from above, she wants to throw back her head and laugh. When did her life become some whimsical Hallmark movie? It certainly never has been, but Emma is beginning to think that these last few weeks have been slowly making up for the hurt and isolation which came before.

After several more laps, Emma feels her nose and ears beginning to go numb, despite never wanting this particular moment to end. Killian must feel her beginning to shiver and suggests they call it a day, turn in their skates, and get some hot chocolate before they leave. Awkwardly they exit the ice together, hand-in-hand, the bladed shoes making progress clumsy once they step onto regular floor again.

Sitting side by side on the bench where they had left their boots and coats, Killian is first to be rid of his skates and back in his normal footwear. Leaning over to brush a stray tendril of hair off her face, Emma notices that his eyes warm, lingering for a moment on her lips, and he doesn't pull away immediately. It's obvious he wants to kiss her, and isn't sure how she will respond, but oh by this time, does she wish he would. Gathering his skates and hers as well, Killian's voice comes out a bit hoarse when he asks, "Whipped cream and cinnamon atop yours, right Lass?"

She grins at him a bit goofily, amazed at how sweet and caring he is, and just how much he has been paying attention, nodding her agreement to his question. He moves to stand, and she tries to playfully pull him back in by the ends of his scarf, maybe even kiss him lightly and put an end to his uncertainty. They both lean in, lips about to meet, until she loses her balance, falls off the bench, and only barely avoids knocking her head hard against the solid wood.

Killian is quick to swoop in and help her up from her rather ungraceful sprawl and make sure she's alright, kindly not laughing until she has assured him she isn't hurt. He does chuckle at her lightly then, while Emma's cheeks flame bright red in embarrassment, even as she allows herself to laugh at her own expense. "Steady there, Swan," Killian says gently, his lips brushing the curve of her ear and sending shivers down her spine. Pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, he can't resist adding. "Maybe you'd better hang onto me for balance. We don't want it to be back to the emergency room with you, Love."

Emma knows he is only kidding, but as they turn in their skates, buy their hot drinks, and head out of the ice rink into the snowy evening, Killian does keep her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow, offering his arm like some gallant knight, without a moment's hesitation. The wordless protectiveness makes her heart swell, and as he leaves her at her door that night and they finally share that first kiss they had tried for earlier – warm, curling her toes with pleasure, and tasting pleasantly sweet with chocolate on their tongues – Emma knows with a certainty she has never been allowed before that she will not have to spend another holiday alone. She is able to look forward to next Christmas with all its trimmings and hope it will be white.