A/N: LONGEST. CHAPTER. YET. And also full of so many feels I can't even ARTICULATE PROPERLY TO YOU. This chapter is The Hermit. I had the idea for this chapter BEFORE I decided to turn it into a multi-chapter fic. I know the whole ~trapped together during a storm~ thing is not anything original. It's not MEANT to be. Emma might be the least "fairytale"-ish of the characters, but that element still exists, and hell yeah, I'm going to use it! XD I've been so waiting to get here. This is … pretty close to the halfway point of the story, and there are still miles and miles to go, but … gah, I just hope you like this chapter, because I LOVED writing it. Thank you for reading!

Chapter Nine
The Hermit
"Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you … "

Emma elbowed him in the ribs as he laughed, causing him to grunt a bit and glare at her. "Uncalled for, milady," he told her, still laughing a little.

"I'm glad you're amused," she snapped, moving away from the window then. "Somehow this is your fault," she muttered.

"Oh, right, I summoned a sodding blizzard because I'm so keen to stay in Your Majesty's presence," he retorted icily. "If I had those kinds of powers, don't you think I'd put them to better use?"

She gritted her teeth, going over in her mind why punching him in his smug mouth was not a good idea. She just wanted to go home. She was sorry she'd even come out here. She hated feeling this way, she hated knowing what it heralded, and most of all, she hated knowing that there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop it from happening.

Seriously? A fucking blizzard? It seemed like her life had been nothing but one stupid fairytale cliche after another since meeting him. She ignored the little voice in her head, saying that maybe there was a reason for that.

She didn't believe in … in soulmates or … destiny or any of that. Even after everything she'd seen … okay, sure. Maybe it happened to other people.

Not to her though. She was the outsider. She was content to be the outsider. She'd never wanted to be in the middle of any of this, and she certainly didn't want the complications Killian fucking Jones had brought into her life.

She crossed the floor to retrieve her coat from where he'd tossed it when they'd …

Nope. Not thinking about it.

But she was definitely thinking about it. Her skin felt like it was on too tight, her body was practically screaming at her for messing that whole thing up. It hadn't been her fault though! He was the one who'd gone and gotten all … intense about it.

Ugh.

"What are you doing?" he asked, grabbing the coat from her hands the second she picked it up. "Emma, you're mad if you think I'm going to let you go out there."

"Let me?" she said, gaping at him. "I don't need you to let me do anything, Hook." She yanked the coat back from him, stalking over to the opposite side of the room, bound and determined to put as much distance between them as possible.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him clench his fist then, his jaw twitching with poorly concealed anger. "Emma!" he shouted, and she turned to face him, her expression expectant as she waited for whatever damn thing he felt he needed to shout about.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he muttered, shaking his head.

She made a face and turned away from him. "Forget it," she muttered, reaching into the pocket of her coat, fishing out her cell phone.

With a disgusted sigh, she tossed the phone — useless right now, no fucking service, of course not— and her coat back down on the floor and stalked back over to the window, staring out at the snow as though she could will it to stop if she thought about it hard enough.

"Like it or not, you're stuck with me til this storm passes," he said, and his tone was back to that cold, even clip that she recognized as his angry voice. "I'll try not to offend you overmuch, princess."

She glared at him. "Don't call me that."

"It's what you are, innit?" he asked, moving to stand next to her.

"No," she said, still staring outside. "It's not."

"Your mother is Snow White. Your father's Prince Charming," he pointed out. "What would you classify yourself as?"

"Alone," she said before she even had a chance to stop herself.

"Oh, Emma," he sighed, turning her to face him then. "Love, you know that's not true, don't you?" He brushed her hair away from her shoulder, and she swallowed thickly at the gesture that was becoming so familiar, so comforting.

She kept her arms crossed over her chest, refusing to look up at him. This was all too much. He was getting to her in a way that no one ever had, and the worst part was that she kept letting it happen. There was a tiny part of Emma Swan that was still a hopeful, bright-eyed young girl. And that part wanted him to be … it. But she knew it was stupid to want that. Eventually, he'd be gone, just like the rest of them, so this … whatever she was doing … it had to stop. She couldn't get used to having him around. She couldn't get used to him.

But she already was. She already knew that when the day came that he wasn't part of her life any more … she would mourn that loss. She would miss him like a part of herself.

The wind howled outside the cabin, she could feel the draft snaking its way through the cracks around the windows. She shivered.

"Come away from the window, lo — Emma," he said, catching her wrist with his hook then and pulling her toward the fire.

She allowed herself to be pulled, feeling tired. She didn't want to fight with him. She didn't want to fight with herself. She wanted to go back to being the Emma who could just be frivolous with her feelings, never worrying about the consequences. But that Emma didn't exist any more.

And besides that, her feelings for Killian were anything but frivolous. They were the realest feelings she'd felt since … well, since Henry had come into her life. Not that the way she felt for the two of them was in any way comparable. Henry was her son, and she loved him more than she loved anything in the world. But there was the other part of her heart, the one she'd closed off after Neal … but she could feel it slowly starting to creak open again.

She settled herself onto the floor in front of the fire, leaning her back against the sofa and sighing. Killian sat next to her, but he kept his distance. She noticed with some amusement that he still had his hook around her wrist. She wondered if he even knew it. She decided to let it go. It was innocent enough, after all.

They sat quietly for a long while, neither one daring to say anything, as the shadows grew longer. It would be dark soon. Mary-Margaret, David, and Henry, they were all going to be so worried, yet the storm still carried on.

"I'm going to be in so much trouble when I get home," she murmured after awhile, laughing a bit in spite of herself. That sounded like such a teenager thing to say, but it was true. Mary-Margaret and David were going to be furious.

He quirked a grin of his own at her. "You don't think they'll like hearing about you spending the night alone with a pirate?" he teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

She scrunched her nose at him. "Oh, I'm not even going to tell them that part," she said, shaking her head and pressing a finger to her lips, lowering her voice. "Remember, I'm not supposed to know a thing about your whereabouts any more." She looked over at him then, the light dim enough now that she let her eyes linger on him. She still had a hard time accepting that he was a real person sometimes. Not just because of the fairytale thing. Just because of him.

"If you've something more to say, love, I suggest you say it," he said softly, his eyes catching hers. "Otherwise I'm like to take the way you keep staring as an invitation."

She felt her cheeks heat then, and tried to make herself look away from him, but couldn't. Desperate to maintain her composure, she cocked an eyebrow at him, managing a tiny smirk. "Invitation for what?" she asked, and wow, where had that breathy voice come from? She was trying to throw him off whatever game he was playing at, not freaking seduce him.

From the way his eyes burned in the firelight, she could tell her plan was most definitely not working. He was leaning in again, and Emma felt her heart thudding rapidly. Instead of kissing her, like she expected (wanted) him to, he brushed her hair off her shoulder again, letting his fingertips run lightly over the exposed part of her collarbone, his eyes never leaving hers. Goosebumps formed on her skin where touched, and she found herself leaning in closer.

"Do you've any idea just how lovely you are?" he said, so quietly she wasn't even sure he meant to say it out loud.

She blinked, her stomach fluttering. Everything about this moment was so foreign to her. No one had ever looked at her the way he did, no one had ever made her feel this way. "No?" she said by way of answer, earning herself a sardonic chuckle from her pirate.

"I could tell you," he said, leaning in and pressing his lips, almost chastely, against the spot on her neck where her pulse jumped. "But you wouldn't believe me if I did." He pulled her closer, raising his head to look at her again.

Her brow furrowed, confused by his actions now. "What … what are you doing?" she asked uncertainly, as his arm went around her, pulling her to his side and holding her against him, firmly, but gently.

"Holding you," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Because I don't think anyone ever has. Not really."

Her first instinct was to stiffen in his arms, her walls immediately going back up, but he didn't let go. There was nothing forceful about what he was doing, but no one had ever just … taken her into their arms like this. Held her like she was precious. "Why?"

"Because you bloody well need it," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Tell me about the sheriff."

She turned her head, trying to look at him. "How do you know … ?"

"You've a chatty lad," he said. Oh, Henry was in big trouble when she got home. "Now. Tell me about him. You loved him, yes?"

She shook her head. "No," she finally answered, feeling herself relax a little in his arms then. "No, I didn't. We … barely knew each other. Graham — that was his name, Graham — he was … involved, I guess, with Regina."

"Cora's daughter?" Killian raised a brow at that.

She nodded. "Yes. Anyway … if Henry's story is to be believed, and I guess … there's no reason for it not to be … he was … he was the Huntsman. I guess that doesn't mean anything to you, not being from this world," she said quickly. "Basically, he was hired by Regina to kill Snow — my mother. I sort of owe him my life, I guess. I mean, obviously he didn't kill Snow. But when Regina found out … she was furious. She … she took his heart. Or … that's what he believed."

Emma swallowed, looking down, not sure how to go on. She felt Killian's arms tighten around her, almost imperceptibly and her eyes flicked up to his face. "I don't … I don't really know what happened to him, other than the fact that he died," she said. "All I know is Regina found out that … that we … "

"Were together?" Killian supplied with a quirk of his brow. There was a little edge in his voice that, if she hadn't known better, she might've said was … jealousy?

"Sure, let's call it that," Emma said, sighing. "We weren't. We hadn't been. We … we never were … but he wanted to end things with her. Regina and I, well, we fought."

"Continue," he said, brow raised, a slight smirk on his lips.

She elbowed him again. "Shut up or I won't," she told him, rolling her eyes. "Anyway … I don't know what happened. We were back at the station … Graham and I, and he was tending to my face." She ran a finger over the spot just above her eyebrow, where she still had the tiniest of scars.

"Because of the fight you had. With Regina," Killian finished, "don't let's leave that part out."

"Shut up, you idiot," she laughed, in spite of herself. He grinned at her, then pressed his lips against the scar above her brow, ever-so-lightly. She closed her eyes briefly, touched by the gesture more than she was willing to admit.

"Go on," he said, his expression back to being serious again.

"I don't know what happened," Emma said, keeping her voice as emotionless as she could. "One minute he was fine, the next … he was on the floor, gasping for breath, clutching his chest … and then he was just … he died in my arms, and there was nothing I could do." She blinked, not wanting to cry now. "The coroner ruled it a heart attack. Henry insists it was Regina." She looked down. "I don't know if I'll ever know the truth."

"It was Regina," Killian said, his voice strained and quiet. "She had his heart, you said?"

Emma looked at him, confused. His arms had tightened around her again, and she wondered what was bringing out this vehemence in him. "That's what … that's what the book said happened," she said.

"She crushed it, Emma," he said through clenched teeth.

"What?" She was horrified at the thought. "How could you possibly know that?"

"It's what happened to Milah. It happened just like you described. He took her heart, in his hands, and he crushed it. There wasn't a bloody thing anyone could've done."

"Rumplestiltskin did that," Emma said, frowning. "And she died in your arms." She looked at him as she tried to assess what the odds were for two people from two entirely different worlds, who had each lost someone the exact same way, to meet the way she and Killian had.

Pretty fucking slim. Even she had to admit that.

"This isn't an accident, Emma," he said quietly.

"I don't believe in fate," she said, shaking her head firmly.

"Well, apparently it believes in you, darling," he said.

"I'm sorry, you know," she said then, resting her head against his shoulder, almost unconsciously. "About your … about Milah." She glanced up at him without moving. "Do you … was she … "

"My true love?" he asked, raising a brow and looking down at her. "I used to think so."

"Used to?"

"I don't know what I believe any more, Emma," he said, his hand running up and down her arm gently. "I'm three-hundred-and-twenty-nine-years-old, give or take a decade I might've blacked out in there … and until very recently, I didn't think I'd ever feel anything but anger or hatred ever again."

"You're three-hundred-and-twenty-nine?" Emma asked, raising her head and looking at him, aghast. It was entirely much easier to focus on that part of what he said, and not the other. She didn't want to ask him what it was he was feeling now, she was afraid she already knew the answer. "Jesus."

"Neverland, darling," he told her with a chuckle. If he was disappointed that she didn't press him about the … other thing he'd just said, he didn't show it, and for that, Emma was glad. She just wasn't ready to dip her toe in that pool yet, no matter what might've changed here tonight.

"Neverland," she said, nodding a bit, a small smile on her lips. "So … Will you age normally, now that you're here?"

"I should think so," he said, shrugging a bit. "Hadn't really thought about that too much. I suppose it stands to reason though."

"Weird," she said, shaking her head and settling back down. It was entirely too warm and comfortable in his arms right now.

"Too weird?" he asked, looking at her.

She shook her head. "I've changed my definition of 'too weird' since coming to Storybrooke," she told him.

"So then," he said after several long moments of comfortable silence.

"Mmm?" Emma asked, her eyes feeling a bit heavy.

"Your sheriff, he wasn't the one you were talking about up there on the beanstalk, was he?"

"No," she answered without hesitation, no longer feeling guarded about her past secrets. Not with him, anyway. Not right now. Maybe it was because of the storm, but in this moment, it really felt as though she and Killian were the only two people who existed. She knew the spell would break when the storm did, and she'd go back to her life, and … whatever this was would just be one of those memories that she cherished long after he was gone.

But for now … for now it felt right.

"So it's the lad's father, isn't it?" Killian said, and Emma just nodded. "Where is he now?"

She shook her head. "I don't have any idea, Killian," she sighed. "I was seventeen, and stupid, and just out of foster care, and … I met Neal. I stole a car that he had stolen first. It was a whole … thing." She shook her head, trying to ignore Killian's raised eyebrow.

"You keep insisting that you and I have nothing in common, love, but all your stories are proving that statement false," he told her.

She sighed. "Shhh," she told him. "You're making it worse."

He laughed at that, and Emma tried to pretend that she didn't love the sound of it. She hadn't had someone to talk to in such a long time, not like this, not about … everything. "Go on, continue your tale," he said after a moment.

She shrugged. "Not much left to tell. I thought I loved him. I thought he loved me. But he set me up, and I went to jail, and he was nowhere to be found when I got out." She made a face. "It's not a very good story."

"What a wanker," Killian said, disgusted, and Emma laughed a little.

"I've called him worse," she admitted.

"As well you should," he told her. "Anyone who would do that to someone they claimed to love deserves no less."

"You wouldn't do that, then?" she asked, looking at him. "I mean, you don't exactly have a stellar reputation in this realm … or yours, for that matter." She wrinkled her nose.

"And most of it is rightly deserved," he told her honestly. "But to bloody hang someone out to dry like that … no, Emma, I wouldn't do that. And I certainly would never do it to you, of all people. You deserve so much better than that."

"No, I don't," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not exactly a squeaky-clean little innocent here."

"Obviously," he said dryly, giving her a look. "A squeaky-clean innocent wouldn't have the first thing to do with me. So really, who needs them?"

"Who says I'm having the first thing to do with you, hmm?" she said with a grin.

"Well, you're here, aren't you? And you've not punched me or yelled at me or even called me a name in the past couple of hours … Emma Swan, have you gone soft on me?" He widened his eyes, gasping in mock horror at her.

"I can't exactly leave," she pointed out. "So I don't know if you can count this."

"Can't you let a man have his dreams?" he asked.

"Depends on the dream," she heard herself say. Whoa, there, Emma. Where had that come from?

He cocked a brow at her. "I'd be more than happy to share that with you, love," he breathed, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke.

She turned in his arms then, her hand cupping his cheek, letting the stubble on his jawline tickle her fingertips as she pressed her lips against his gently. She didn't know how else to properly convey her gratitude for him, for this night, for listening to her, for still being here … so this would have to do. She kissed him again, and again, and again, just sweet, light pecks against his lips, never deepening them, knowing, somehow, that he would just understand.

"You didn't say no," he breathed after a moment, and she felt the cold metal of his hook where it rested on her lower back, just under the hem of her sweater. It wasn't unpleasant, it was just something else of his that she was coming to be accustomed to now.

"And I'm not saying no," she told him honestly, her eyes locked with his. She swallowed around the lump that was forming in her throat. "I'm just saying … not now."

His brow creased and he groaned a little. "Emma," he breathed.

"It's just … the storm, and … everything about tonight, it's already too … too much like a dream," she said, tripping over her words as she tried to explain, desperate to make him understand. "It wouldn't feel … real right now," she said. "And I want it to feel real. I … need it to." He nodded, slowly, and she could see in his eyes, that light, that flicker of familiarity that had drawn her to him from the very beginning. She closed her own eyes, sinking against him, her arms going around his waist. "I don't know why you even want to put up with me at all," she said quietly after a moment.

"Because you need me," he said simply, his hand on the back of her head, holding her against him as he shifted them, so they were lying on the rug in front of the fire now. "Much as I need you, love."

She smiled against his chest as she felt sleep creeping up on her. She felt … lighter, somehow. Lighter than she'd felt in awhile. And she knew they were on the verge of something … something potentially wonderful. And for the first time, she wasn't afraid of it at all.