A/N: There's nothing OVERLY spectacular about this chapter, but I'm pretty damn pleased with how it came out. Strength, which is where we are now, is all about compassion, understanding, and love winning out over hate. Basically, it's just GOOD things starting to unfold. It's not the most exciting chapter, but there's plenty of that coming up VERY soon. ;) Enjoy, and once again, thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, favoriting, following. I loooove knowing other people are enjoying this.

Chapter Eight
Strength
"And I'm not sleeping now, the dark is too hard to beat …"

For nearly a week now, Emma had been coming to the cabin as often as she could, helping to make it into a much more hospitable place for Killian. He insisted that it was fine, and that he could "bloody well" clean the place himself, but Emma had seen him try to wield the broom with his one hand and his hook … it hadn't been pretty.

"I'm sure there are a great many other things you're good at, one handed or no," she'd teased lightly, earning herself a wicked smirk from him.

"Oh, you've no idea, love," he'd said, running his tongue over his teeth in a gesture that bordered on obscene. Emma had to stop herself from staring.

"How nice for you," she deadpanned.

"Could be nice for you, too," he said with a wink.

That had flustered her, and she'd made an excuse to leave after that, muttering something about being back "tomorrow or whenever" and leaving before he had a chance to say anything else.

She didn't know why she was so irritated these days. They'd be having a perfectly normal conversation, and then he'd go and say something that just set her head to spinning.

She wanted to believe he meant the things he said, but she just … couldn't. She'd known men like Killian her whole life. Once he got what he wanted, he'd be done, he'd be gone, he'd be another page in Emma's Big Book of Regrets.

And she didn't want him to be in that book. She kept having these stupid little thoughts about what it'd be like if he stuck around. Idiotic daydreams about him being the one to prove her all wrong about everything. He'd asked her to trust him, up on top of that beanstalk, and god, she wanted to.

She wasn't in love with him … but he'd gotten to her, in spite of everything, and she just … ached. Some nights she couldn't even sleep for want of him, her body trembling as she remembered every glance, every whisper, every touch. And the worst part of it was that she knew that all she had to do was say the word, and she could have it — him.

But she wouldn't. Because she knew that crossing that line … well, there'd be no coming back from that. He'd eventually leave, and she would never recover. But no matter what she might say or do to the contrary … his company had become something she didn't think she could get through a day without.

So here she was, on her way back to the cabin, despite her better judgement. There was a Nor'easter blowing in, all the weather reports were saying it was going to be a nasty storm, and the chill of the wind right now made her pull her coat around her tighter as she walked through the woods. She knew that today would probably be the last chance she'd get to come out to the cabin until after the weather broke, and she couldn't stand the thought of not seeing him …

What was wrong with her?

He looked surprised when she opened the cabin door and let herself inside. "You're here," he said, not moving from where he was stretched out on the worn old sofa, his eyes following her as she moved into the room, closer to the fire he had blazing in the hearth.

"Yeah, I am," she said, still shivering as she sat on the rug in front of the fireplace, unwinding her scarf from around her neck. "It's fucking cold out there."

He chuckled. "There's a storm coming," he said, glancing out the window, eyes seeming to assess the clouds. She supposed he probably had a lot of practice doing that, having been captain of a ship and all. "You shouldn't be out here, love."

She frowned. "Do you want me to go?" she asked, turning her head to look at him, only to find that he'd moved down to the floor beside her.

It was suddenly a lot warmer.

"Never," he said, and his eyes blazed hotter than the fire as he looked at her. "But we both know you won't stay, so I'm letting you off the … well, hook." He flashed a grin, but there was no humor behind it. He looked upset. "Go home, Emma. Stay warm and safe and with your family. Just go."

She frowned. "What the hell, Hook? " she snapped. "What's wrong with you today? For that matter, what's been wrong with you for the past week?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. Too quickly.

"Liar," she said, shaking her head at him. "Something's wrong, come on, talk to me. I thought that's what we did."

"Talk?" he asked her, brow furrowed.

"Well … yeah," she said, a little uncertainly. "We are friends, aren't we?"

"Friends," he said with a bark of harsh laughter.

"Is there something appalling about being friends with me?"

"Bloody hell, Emma," he said, running his hand through his hair, his voice a frustrated growl now.

"What?" she asked, looking at him, completely perplexed as to what had him in such a tizzy. It wasn't lost on her, the fact that he'd made no move to reach out to her, to touch her, since the night he'd first followed her out here, the night she'd pushed him away.

Was this it, then? Was this where he told her he'd had enough? Most people would have long since given up on her by now. Even she was frustrated with herself.

"Seriously, Hook, what?"

"What?" he repeated, giving her a bewildered, almost angry look. "Are you honestly asking me that?"

"Yes!" she snapped. "I am! Because I have no idea what it is you want, and I have no idea how much of it is part of some game you're playing and how much is … "

She was cut off by his lips on hers then, and there was none of the gentleness that she remembered from the other night in this kiss. "I am not your friend," he growled against her lips. His hand was in her hair, his fingers tightening slightly as he held her where she was, his tongue assailing her mouth, as though he meant to devour her.

She let out a soft cry of surprise before she found herself returning the kiss with equal fervor, her body shuddering with pleasure as her tongue slid against his then. He deepened the kiss, his teeth dragging over her bottom lip as his hand moved to slide the zipper on her coat down, shoving the unwieldy garment away from her once it was undone.

His hand brushed over the swell of her breast through the fabric of her sweater, his mouth trailing along her jawline now. She allowed him to gently push her back onto the rug, unable to hold back a soft moan as he sucked lightly at her pulse point. Her hand had somehow found its way into his hair, fingers threading through it as she let the sensations of his lips on her skin wash over her. The things his mouth were capable of were comparable to some sort of religious experience, she was sure of it.

"Emma," he groaned, his voice ragged and strained with desire, his teeth nipping lightly at her earlobe, sending shockwaves through her entire body. She gasped, his next words hot against her ear. "All I bloody think about is you. This is not a game to me," he breathed. "I can't sleep, I can't focus on anything except for how much I want you. It kills me not to touch you. I can't breathe, Emma."

Emma's breath hitched. At no point in her life, had anyone ever spoken to her so fervently. She didn't know how to deal with the weight of his words … she wanted so badly to believe him, but she didn't know how to believe, even in the truth, any more.

"I … "

He pulled back then, looking at her face, his entire demeanor changed. "Don't," he told her, closing his eyes, defeated. "Spare me the platitudes, love." She looked at him, really looked, and saw the earnestness in those blue eyes of his.

She frowned, not sure where this had all started going wrong, again. "They're not platitudes," she said, moving to sit up, which was rather difficult, considering his body was still half-covering hers, and she could feel every inch of him pressed against her, making her yearn to go back to just moments ago, when things were simple … before he'd spoken and shattered her world with his words. There was no way things were going to be simple now, there was no going back. "I just don't know what you expect me to say."

"You still doubt me," he said, and she winced at the hurt tone in his voice. "After all of this, after everything, you still don't believe a word I say, do you? You think I'm lying? You know that I'm not, look at me, Emma. You're driving me 'round the bend, and you think I'm making it up!"

"That's not true!" she said, pushing him off of her and finally sitting back up. She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling completely exposed and vulnerable, even though nothing had happened.

"You're going to have to take a chance on something someday, love," he told her.

"And you think I should take this chance on you," she said, her mouth drawn in a thin line. "I can't fix you, I can't help you breathe, I can barely hold myself together, what makes you think I'd be any use to you at all?"

Why was this so complicated? Why couldn't she just … let things happen? Why did she always have to overthink everything?

"Because you need me," he said, and she froze. He'd said something very similar, the first time they'd met.

"And what happens to me, after you finish what you came to Storybrooke for?"

"You think I'd just leave?" he asked, and his expression was disgusted. "Emma … "

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Try trusting me," he said, and he sounded weary. Her brow furrowed, she looked at him warily. "I know you want to."

"I barely know you," she said, shaking her head. "And contrary to … everything … my life is not a fairy tale." She smiled a little sardonically then. "If it was, I highly doubt I'd be sitting here with Captain Hook as my companion."

"Oy!" he said, his hand going over his heart dramatically. "You're not exactly a picnic yourself, m'love."

She laughed in spite of herself, in spite of the whole damn situation, shaking her head. His words were still running through her mind, and she was trying desperately not to dwell on everything he'd said. She sighed heavily. "I guess it's just my luck."

"Most people would consider you quite lucky to be here with me, yes," he said, grinning cheekily, and Emma was glad to see he was no longer trying to shove her out the door. "Women have killed each other for the opportunity, you know."

She rolled her eyes, amused, even though she didn't really like thinking about him with other women. She wasn't an idiot, she was under no illusions that he was … well, she knew she was in no way the first woman he'd dallied with. Still didn't mean she had to like it.

Oh, hell.

She supposed she had feelings for the stupid pirate, after all. She stood up then, needing to move, needing to do something.

She moved over toward the window, hugging her arms around herself. It was cold away from the fire … away from him.

"Shit!" she cursed, eyes widening. The storm that they had been looming had hit hard and fast … the world outside the cabin was awash in white, swirling flakes obscuring everything in sight. She couldn't even see the treeline at the edge of the property, less than five feet away.

Fuck.

"What? What's wrong?" He was on his feet, at her side, in record time. Then he burst out laughing. "Well, well, well," he said with that damned infuriating smirk back in place. "Looks like you won't be able to run away from me so easily this time, lass."