Takes place after OSOT. References to two book series in this one...one is blatantly obvious, haha. I don't own either, or the Gallagher Girls.

Rachel Morgan stands at the top of the Grand Staircase of Gallagher Academy, watching the last of the girls leave for Winter Break. The snow falls rhythmically outside, and when the heavy front door finally shuts, she lets out a sigh.

Peace, at last. Well, as peaceful as it was ever going to get with everything that was going on. She revels in the silence for a second, before she hears footsteps across the hall in front of her. Edward Townsend, who was spending the break at Gallagher to get the whole Samuel Winters thing sorted out, walks by, not noticing her at the top of the steps. He turns down a separate hallway, and she leaves her mind to wander where he went.

He can go wherever he wants, she figures. After all, he was a teacher their for a term. She starts down the steps, when she hears another set of steps coming down the corridor. They're lighter, and purposeful.

"Abby?" She wonders as her younger sister charges past her.

"Not now, Rach." She says, and storms down the same hallway Townsend went down a split second earlier. Rachel follows silently behind her, and her sister doesn't notice. Her sister is nearly running as she looks in each door before she finally stops in front of one.

"TOWNSEND!" She cries, storming into the empty, unused classroom where Edward leans against one of the old desks.

"Must you scream, Abigail?" He sighs. Rachel watches her sister grow red, and with that, an idea forms in her mind. She silently, like the spy she is, closes the door, locking it. Before they can notice it, Rachel practically sprints back to her office, and presses a dark green button on the corner of her desk, sealing off any of the unused classrooms.

She lets out a breath, sitting in her seat, satisfied with her actions.

"Rachel?" She looks up to see Joe Solomon standing in the door. "Have you seen Townsend anywhere? I need to ask him about the Circle's involvement in Italy." Rachel grins.

"I have, actually. But I just locked him in a room with Abby." Joe nods, like this is a perfectly reasonable action. "I've sealed them inside, so they can't get out, with that button." She nods to the button on her desk. "We usually use it to seal off the unused classrooms during breaks, but I thought this was a good time to use it."

"Can I ask why, exactly?"

"She's tried to set me up with you a few too many times." She laughs. "No offense."

"None taken." Joe grins.

"She needs a taste of her own medicine. And she and Edward are quite adorable." Rachel laughs, and Joe just raises an eyebrow. "Maybe she's the one who needs a push in the right direction."

Meanwhile, Abby and Edward were ignorant to the fact that the door had locked behind them.

"You replaced all of my perfume with cologne, so now I smell like a prostitute everywhere I go, and you put pink hair dye in my shampoo – thank god I noticed the difference before I even put it in my hair, but can you even imagine what I would've looked like with pink hair?" She cries.

"I think pink is actually a fetching color on you." He shrugs. "If you weren't so red like you are now." Abby just takes a deep breath, and starts for the door.

"I'll get you for this, Edward…" She mumbles, tugging on the doorknob expectantly. It failed to open. She tries again. Yet again, a failure.

"It's locked." Edward points out, not particularly caring.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." She scoffs, then tugs on the door again.

"Here, let me." He grins, and she scowls. He pulls on the door hard, to no avail. "It seems we've been locked in."

"Sealed in, more like it." Abby says.

"By who?" Abby thinks a second, then groans.

"Rachel."

"Why on earth would your sister lock you in here?"

"She seems to have the ridiculous notion that I'm secretly in love with you." She snorts. Edward laughs, and Abby just glares at him.

"Ridiculous, indeed."

"As if I'd ever love someone who is as arrogant and self centered as you."

"And the notion that I'd even love you back is more ridiculous."

"There must be a way out of here somewhere." She says, ignoring his comment, looking around.

"I don't think so. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all solid stone." Townsend says, and she kicks a desk in frustration. "Calm down, Abigail; there are worse things in the world."

"WHAT'S WORSE THAN BEING STUCK IN A ROOM WITH YOU?" She yells, and he finds the entire incident amusing. They stay silent a moment, and he finally notices it is freezing in the room.

"We're no longer connected to the central heating system, it seems." He notices, feeling fine in his jacket and sweater, but he watches her shiver, as she is only wearing a thin white button up top, and short pencil skirt. He sighs in resignation, and hands her his jacket. "Take it."

"No, it probably has all your nasty germs all over it." She wrinkles her nose.

"You're acting like a child. Just take it." He shoves it towards her, but she shoves it back.

"No!"

"You'll freeze to death in here. Now take it." He orders, draping it over her shoulders. She does admit to herself that she feels warmer, and slowly pushes her arms through the sleeves, which fall over her hands. She glares back at him, but he looks happy. "So, what now?"

"Well," She looks around. "This room hasn't been used in years. The teacher whose room this was was always fond of a drink, though, so when I was here, it smelled like alcohol."

"So, maybe there's something in here that will warm us up." He smirks, and begins opening the doors to the massive desk in the front of the room, and pulls out an almost full bottle of Scotch. "How about a game?"

"You want to get in a drinking game with me?" Abby laughs cruelly. "You'll be in for a big surprise, dear Townsend." He sits down on the floor, leaning against the big desk, facing the rest of the classroom, and she presently joins him.

"I think I can handle it." He assures her, his breath appearing in the cold room. She raises an eyebrow, and smiles as she uncorks the alcohol.

"Well, may the odds ever be in your favor."

The game went as follows; they would flip a coin in the air, and call heads or tails. Whoever called wrong would take a shot. After a short while of this, along with their competitive nature, ended with both of them completed buzzed, and they had resigned to just passing the bottle of Scotch back and forth between them.

"Why do you always call me 'Abigail'?" She asks, looking up at him. "Only my parents called me Abigail, and I hated them."

"I don't always call you Abigail." He shrugs, taking a drink. "I don't call you Abigail when I talk to other about you, or when I think about you."

"You think about me?" She laughs, but he doesn't say anything. She laughs louder. "Really?"

"Well, when you think about me, do you call me Townsend?"

"That's assuming that I think about you. Which I don't." She grabs the bottle from him.

"Which you do." He corrects her with a chuckle.

"In my mind, I call you Edward." She admits. "But I fear if I call you Edward to your face you'd start watching me while I slept, and I'd have to follow you around like a depressed, lost puppy." He shakes his head, smiling.

"You really hate me, don't you?"

"No," She says. "I just strongly dislike you. I saved your life, after all."

"Always bringing up Buenos Aires, aren't you?"

"Well, I think the part where I knocked out that man with my foot was fairly commendable."

"Not as commendable as the part where you dressed you like an Argentine whore and infiltrated that brothel?" He asks, and she slaps him on the arm playfully.

"We've had some good times, haven't we?" She's oddly serious.

"Yes." He agrees, and he thinks it's the alcohol speaking, because they both feel strangely warmer inside. "From the moment I met you, I knew you were someone worth remembering."

"Is that a compliment?" The bottle of Scotch is on the floor, forgotten.

"Yes." He looks down at her, as she sighs, and leans against him, her head on his shoulder, uncharacteristically.

"You smell nice."

"Is that a compliment?" He mimics her, and she giggles.

"Yes, that's a compliment. You smell like Scotch, and Burberry cologne, and leather, and other nice, warm things." He laughs.

"You are so drunk."

"So are you." She nudges him, her legs shifting against his.

"Alcohol may be man's worst enemy, but the bible says love your enemy." He notes.

"I've never met a man who's quoted Frank Sinatra freely. You really should change who you get your quotes from." She says.

"Repression is the only lasting philosophy. The dark deference of fear and slavery, my friend, will keep the dogs obedient to the whip, as long as this roof shuts out the sky." He replies.

"So we've moved on to A Tale of Two Cities." She observes. "Never pegged you for a Dickens fan. But it's not like you have the time to sit around and read his works."

"A day wasted on others is not wasted on one's self." He says.

"Oh, God, now you've quoted Dickens himself. You're so drunk you can't even speak your own thoughts."

"No, no." He smiles. "I'm just well read."

"Someone's full of themselves, aren't they?" She looks up at him with a grin, before grabbing the Scotch and taking another sip. She passes it to him.

"When do you think we'll get out of here?" He asks, and she just shrugs.

"We might freeze to death if we stay here overnight." She nods at the ever falling snow out the frosty window, and the dark sky. The room was growing darker by the minute.

"It's not so bad in here, actually." He says. "And, believe it or not, there are a lot worse people I could be in here with."

"But I thought you hated me above all else." She jokes, and he sets down the bottle of Scotch sadly.

"I could never hate you." He whispers, and she sighs.

"Rachel's just upset with me for pushing her towards Joe. But they belong together, and everyone knows it. Right?" He nods, letting her speak on. "And I was only trying to help. He loves her so much, but he just can't see it." She complains, and he only gives her a sad look.

"They're good together." He comments. There's a long silence.

"You know, sometimes when I'm all alone, I think…" She stops herself. "I think that Rachel might be right. That maybe I do love you." She doesn't seem to realize the words pouring out of her mouth. He looks down at her, but her eyes are looking straight ahead. "There are moments when our eyes meet, and my heart stops, and I want to kiss you more than anything in the world." She looks up at him, and their eyes lock in a heated gaze.

"Is this one of those moments?" He asks softly, and she moves a little away from him, turning to face him.

"Yes." She admits.

"Then why don't you?" He says, and her heart stops just like it always does. If she was smart, she thinks, she would just laugh it all off, but she has never been entirely rational.

She moves in front of him slowly, closer to him, and her heart has resumed beating rapidly in her chest. His breath washes over her face, and his lips are so tantalizing close. He smirks a little, not thinking she'll do it. And there's nothing more Abigail Cameron likes than proving Edward Townsend wrong.

Her lips press against his softly. A spark burns deep in her stomach at the contact, and she knows she's waited far too long to do this. He tastes like the Scotch, and honey, and all those other nice, warm things he smelt like. An arm finds its way around her waist, and he pulls her flush against him, and she realizes she's learned to be this close to him for so long.

His kiss isn't like she thought it would be. She's never had a particularly gentle kiss in her life; most of them had ended with clothes-ripping, and had left her covered in bruises and unable to walk quite straight the next day. The kiss isn't gentle, by any means, but it allows a certain passion that's never been there with the others. It makes the spark in her stomach turn into a fire, and she wants to kiss him again and again and again because she'd never get sick of it. The freezing temperature of the room does nothing to cool their scalding skin.

His other hand tangles in her hair, pushing her lips even harder against his, and a soft moan escapes her throat. Her hands are cupped around his neck, and with her chest pressed so tightly to his, she can feel his heart beating along with hers.

And, just as her mind is screaming, Oh my god, maybe I do love him,the door swings open, Rachel and Joe laughing good naturedly until they notice the other couple making out on the floor.

"Oh." Rachel jumps back a little, and Edward slowly lets go of her lips, and she feels the loss immediately, and wantonly wants to kiss him again, even though her sister and one of her best friends is there. "Well, you two seem to be getting along better than I thought." Joe's trying hard to hide his smile.

"I should get going." Edward stands up, embarrassed, and she, like a child losing a toy, reaches for him feebly. He exits the room quickly, leaving her their looking fairly pathetic on the floor.

"So," Rachel looks down at her little sister with an amused grin. "You really do like him, don't you?" Abby glares up at her sister and Joe, who are trying not to laugh at their accomplishment. Rachel stretches out her hand to Abby, which she takes gratefully, helping her up.

"I should probably go give him his coat back." She says, her head not yet throbbing with the Scotch she drank.

"And maybe something else?" Rachel suggests, but she just brushes by her sister, heading for the stairs. Rachel sighs once she leaves. "I fear Abby has had an epiphany."

"And that would be?" Joe wonders.

"That maybe Edward Townsend is not nearly as bad as she thought."

"That would explain the detachedness." Joe shrugs. Rachel smiles.

"And the alcohol."

Abby knocks hesitantly on the door of Edward's room, turning his jacket over in her hands nervously.

"Come in." He says, and she opens the door slowly. The room is the same as hers, but without all of the trinkets, magazines, and makeup. He is standing by his desk, flipping through some papers.

"Here's your coat back." She sets it down on a chair. "Thanks." She adds as an afterthought, but she makes no move towards the door. He turns around, and the sadness in his deep blue eyes strikes her soul.

"Is their anything else?" He asks, pushing the sleeves of his navy blue sweater up to his shoulders. It clings to his muscles so well, she thinks, and highlights his gorgeous eyes.

"Um…" She says, still staring at him, feeling the blush creep up her face. "Yes, actually…" He folds his arms over her chest. "We're sort of tragic, aren't we? I mean, I hated, or at least, thought I hated you all this time even though I don't – like Darcy and Elizabeth, sort of, but you probably don't read Jane Austen, but that's beside the point, and I think sometimes that even though you drive me insane, that there isn't anyone else in the entire universe that knows me as well as you do, and I haven't realized it until just now, and I'm sure my current case of verbal vomit is a turn off, but I just wanted to tell you that I love you." She finally ends her soliloquy, utterly embarrassed and feeling her stomach churn. He stares at her, looking a bit confused, but finally smiles.

He steps towards her, and she gulps, ready for whatever he might say.

"You have no idea," He says as he steps closer. "How long I've waited to hear you say that."

"I love you," She whispers. "More than I've ever loved anyone, and now that I know that, I don't think I can stand another moment without you."

He just smiles softly, and placing his hands on her hips, captures her lips in another infernal kiss.