A/N: This fic was written with affection for my brotp, Yettoseeyoufail, in honor of her birthday. For the purposes of this mini diversion, I've disregarded the very end of 3x19, choosing instead to force Emma and Killian to deal with each other. (Snowing baby is not making an arrival yet and Henry went home with Regina.) It's my first time writing Third Person from Killian's POV. Certain parallels are intentional. Hope you enjoy!

Warning: Potential Trigger – past abuse briefly mentioned

In search of a talisman to protect Snow White's unborn baby, Killian and Emma accidentally encounter a magical item imbued with a spell designed to force the recipients to prove their faithfulness to one another. Over the course of an evening, will they reveal their truths and accept their devotion to each other?


The Fidelity Stone

"Just set it anywhere," Emma commented flatly, motioning toward Killian's satchel. Her words were clearly directed to him, though she was careful not to actually face his way. His lips twitched wryly as he watched her shrug out of her fetching vermillion waist coat and hang it in the armoire, her motions stiff with tension. Stubborn lass.

Glancing around the small rented room, he dropped the overloaded bag on a wing-backed chair in the corner near to her haphazardly strewn belongings. "Are we going to discuss this, or am I to be treated to the dulcet tones of your silence for the remainder of this venture?"

Her steely green eyes flashed as she turned to him, displaying her irritation quite clearly. "Look; I don't like this anymore than you do. But until we figure out how to reverse the spell, we're stuck with each other."

Killian sauntered closer to her. Oh, he knew he was playing with fire – taunting the savior – but when her hackles rose like a skittish feline, he was compelled to attempt stroking her temper until she either purred or bit him. As of yet, the latter had been the normal conclusion, but he was nothing if not persistent. A smirk played at his lips as her eyes widened. Always an open book, his Swan. "I don't know, love; is it really so bad?" He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Being stuck with me?"

"Your ego needs its own zip code," she muttered. Killian's brow lifted in slight bafflement. Seeing it, Emma sighed, "Never mind." She smoothed her hands over her denim pants. "So, where do we start?"

Killian rocked back on his heels and tucked his thumb under his belt. "Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps if we were more comfortable?"

"Don't even think about it!" Emma snapped.

He scratched lightly behind his ear. "I meant it in the most literal terms, love." Gesturing toward the arrangement of chairs he continued, "A seat…some refreshment?" Seeing her posture relax a small measure he braved, "Though given the circumstances, would it not be wise to aim for comfort with one another as well?"

Killian internally braced himself for her reaction. She didn't like to be pushed – he was well aware – but he'd tried the patient route ever since finding her in that blasted menace of a city with little progress to show for it.

"If you'd kept your hand to yourself like Belle warned, we wouldn't even be in this situation," Emma seethed.

"Yes, I did hear you the first several times you reprimanded my behavior." Killian sighed, thinking back to the moment he'd set them on their latest course toward calamity. It seemed no matter how he tried to avoid placing her and her loved ones in danger; danger had a way of forcing his hand.

After their minor victory in thwarting the witch's attempt to harm Henry – breaking the memory curse as an added bonus – they'd set off for the Crocodile's shop in search of a veiling talisman for Snow White's unborn baby. The queen, in her regained clarity, claimed the charm would prevent anyone with harmful intentions from touching the bearer. Killian had silently mused that such a treasure would've been useful the moment the witch first appeared, but of course he didn't dare share his thoughts aloud. While his Swan seemed to begrudgingly accept his assertion that he had, in fact, received anonymous instructions to find her, he'd definitely fallen a few paces in her estimation. In the end, they'd miraculously secured the talisman, – now safely stowed around Snow White's neck – but true to form they'd not escaped unscathed.

"I swear you're as bad as a child, sometimes!" Emma continued, her voice laced with a combination of exhaustion and exasperation. "You of all people should be more wary when it comes to dealing with magical objects. But of course you were only thinking about yourself."

The arching of his brow was the only visible reaction he allowed himself, though her words cut him to the quick. "I've already apologized; it was hardly my intention to cause you any more difficulty," he spoke through clenched teeth. "Though to be fair, the pendant rightly matched the description given by the queen." In his haste to amend his latest wrongs, he'd searched through the various hoarded bric-a-brac more carelessly than the task warranted. His heart had lifted when he uncovered the oval stone set in a bed of silver filigree. Handing it to Emma, he'd hoped for some small sign that she'd not totally closed her heart to him, only to be stunned when a piercing blast of magic stabbed through them both.

The Fidelity Stone, Belle had called it. Intended as a boon to ease the first nights of an arranged marriage, the magic contained within the pendant served to 'tether the pair to one another's side until an act of true faithfulness warranted their separation.' It was bloody ridiculous, if you asked him. Judging by the rapid draining of the color in Emma's cheeks and the even swifter flush of anger, she'd agreed with his internal assessment. Nonetheless, the stone proved its power the moment Emma had attempted to storm away from him. She'd made it about fifteen paces before seeming to slam into an invisible wall; hence their current predicament.

Killian held Emma's heated gaze unflinchingly in an undeclared staring contest. "I know you're upset, love, but I am not your enemy," he spoke softly.

Emma held her rigid stance for several more beats before some of the fight drifted from her suddenly weary eyes. She sighed in concession. "Fine. One drink." Moving toward the chairs she asked, "Where's your flask?"

Killian watched her cautiously like one would a wild animal. "In my satchel," he responded. "Though, when I suggested refreshments, I had meant a proper meal, love."

"I'm not hungry," she retorted, already riffling through the leather bag.

Killian's lips twitched again, this time in amusement. "Then by all means, make yourself at home with my belongings."

Traces of her fiery spirit lit her eyes once more as she glanced at him, though she held her thoughts to herself. Not that he couldn't ascertain them plain as day, regardless. Retrieving the aged bottle, she sat stiffly in one of the generously-padded chairs which flanked a small fireplace. She pulled the stopper and took a large swig before lifting her brow in silent question toward him.

Killian removed his heavy coat and draped it over his bag before claiming the seat on the other side of the iron grate. Taking the flask which Emma held out to him, he tipped the bottle and relished the flow of smooth liquid as it passed his lips and blazed down his throat. Rum had been his only constant companion these past centuries; was it any wonder that he used it so often as a crutch? A one-handed pirate with a drinking problem, indeed.

"I'm still mad at you," Emma abruptly stated. His eyes flashed open and he started to protest the accidental spell once more, but she cut him off. "Not about the stone, though I'm not exactly happy about that. You lied to me. About the curse, about Henry…"

Killian took a slow, deep breath, willing his thoughts to settle in some semblance of an explanation. He knew how she valued honesty, how trust to her was akin to honor. He knew he was making a dangerous wager with her trust when he made the conscious decision to withhold what Zelena had threatened. But he wasn't sorry; given the same situation, he would've made the exact choice again. "Aye. I did. Though, it was meant with the best possible intentions." Killian focused his gaze on her, willing her to see the sincerity shining in his eyes. "She put me in an impossible position. I thought if only I could protect you and Henry whilst stalling her demand, we would defeat her before either ultimatum could come to pass."

"You should've told me. You're the one always going on about what a team we make, but then you shut me out. I…I trusted you," Emma declared.

A twinge of discomfort crept into Killian's chest at her words. Trusted. Past tense. He was unaccustomed to feeling affected by the convictions of others, yet from the moment Emma Swan entered his life, her wishes and needs had made a startling climb in his stagnant order of personal values. By the time they shared a kiss in Neverland, he knew he would do almost anything to make her life easier, no matter the sacrifice to himself. He'd waited patiently for her to accept the role he so desperately wanted to play for her, only to be rebuffed time and time again. But that was her way, and to love someone was to love all parts of them. Her obstinacy was as much ingrained in her psyche as his steadfastness was in his. Shades of the same trait, really.

"I never meant to hurt you, love," he admitted softly. "All I could think about was keeping you and Henry safe."

"That wasn't your decision to make," she started. Her eyes flicked over his face. "How could you ever think sending my son away without consulting me was in anyone's best interest?"

He swallowed thickly. The traces of rum suddenly tasted a bit sour. "Perhaps I made a mistake in that regard; having recently heard the witch's latest bout of threats, I knew I was running out of time. For that I am sorry. But Emma, I never claimed to be perfect."

She scoffed, her jaw tightening. "Understatement of the year."

Something in her tone, the sheer flippancy of her continued dismissal of his feelings and his efforts, ignited his ire. After everything he'd done to prove his sincerity, his loyalty to her and her alone, she continued to shield his actions from breaking past her impenetrable walls. Perhaps he had damaged her budding trust, but for how long was he supposed to continue beating his head against those walls?

His teeth grated together. The soft leather of the flask pouch warmed in his tightening fist. "I suppose we'd best get to solving this latest predicament so I can remove myself from your presence, as you find my own so distasteful."

Emma's eyes rolled skyward. Speaking under her breath, but loud enough for all to hear, she mumbled "And look who's being really mature."

Killian's blood heated and he nearly bit his tongue to keep from responding, knowing he would regret whatever came out of his mouth at that moment. Instead, they sat there, three feet of space between them yet a host of feelings defining their separation. The blasted fidelity stone could not have chosen two better candidates for mending an injured partnership.

A loaded silence weighed down upon them. The antique clock on the mantle marked time with steady ticks, seemingly growing louder with each passing second. Try as he might, Killian couldn't think of what to say to steer this particular vessel into more pleasant waters. His Swan was a tempest unwilling to settle, at least for the moment.

She suddenly reached over and grabbed the flask from his hand, bringing it to her lips and taking another sizeable gulp. As she lowered her arm, her thumb traced over the faded emblem embossed on the leather sheath: a knight's helmet watching guard above a lion…his family crest. "You never talk about your past."

"I thought you said it didn't matter?" Killian asked, lifting one of his dark brows.

"It doesn't…not really," she exhaled in a rush. "But we obviously need to start somewhere."

Killian felt his mouth curve downwards in a frown. For a fleeting moment his battered heart hoped she'd asked because she truly cared to know. He really needed to work at leashing his expectations. "Where shall I start? I was born? I was abandoned? I learned to sail?" He shook his head, hearing the obvious emotion leeching into every one of his words. "Or when I became a pirate? That's really where the tale gets interesting."

Her unexpected touch on his arm startled him. Looking up, he was met with a pair of guarded, but definitely softening green eyes. She opened her mouth once, twice, before finally saying, "I wouldn't get so upset if I didn't care."

He let the meaning of her words percolate within his conscience. It wasn't complete forgiveness, nor was it a sweeping declaration, but it was a start. Nodding slightly, he took a deep breath and started. "I was born into an affluent family. My mother died as a result of complications with my birth and my father was gone before I reached the age of nine. I was never given the full details of why he left, just that he made a choice to leave me behind because it was too difficult to manage a child while trying to disappear. I like to imagine he didn't realize the consequences his decision foisted upon me, but of course he knew. In those times there was no such thing as social welfare. His fortune was seized by the crown and I made my new home with the other street rats."

He paused, his mind swimming with the murky details of some three hundred years past. Memories of violent stomach cramps born from intense hunger sent echoes of phantom pain along his nervous system. His nostrils still flared at the foul odor of refuse which decorated each alleyway he and the other lost children frequented. Some offenses never faded.

Emma's hand appeared in his field of vision, offering him comfort by means of alcohol. Shaking his head slightly, he declined her offer and picked up his tale. "My brother, Liam, by some grace of fate found me during one of his shore leaves. By then, I'd already developed a strong love of the sea. I'd imagine boarding one of the massive ships and escaping to far off lands. Not so different from other lads of the time, I'm sure." He glanced over at her, more interested than he cared to admit in her reaction to these truths he'd never shared with anyone.

She smiled faintly, just a hint of her lips tilting at the corners, but it was the encouragement he was hoping for. "Liam. I never knew his name," she commented.

Killian grinned, "Aye, that was his name, though he preferred Captain. Even from his own blood. He wore that ridiculous pointed hat as if it were a crown." His face fell as his mind got ahead of his tale.

"David told me a little of your history with Neverland. About Liam." She carefully assessed his face. "I hope you don't mind."

"No," he answered quickly. "I…I want you to know." The grief he'd long buried made a curious return to his heart. Was it the sharing of such memories with the woman he loved? Or some by-product of their enchantment? Every word he spoke seemed to unleash a part of him he didn't realize he'd imprisoned deep within the fortress of his mind. "I told Dave it was because of Liam's death that I chose a pirate's life. And while that was certainly a contributing factor, it wasn't the entire truth. There has always been a part of me searching for where I belong."

The sharp sound of a quick intake of air called his attention to Emma. She wore an expression burdened by a deep realization. "What is it, love?" Killian asked.

She looked at him as if she had forgotten he was sitting there. Setting the flask on the floor, her fingers twisted anxiously in her lap. A long moment passed in which she visibly seemed to come to some hard-won decision. When she spoke, her voice was more timid than he'd ever heard from her. "It's just…I guess I always felt that way, too. Growing up, I had no idea where my parents were. All the other kids had these horrific stories about how they landed in the system, as if that somehow gave them a right to be there. But my past was a blank canvas. I wasn't abused or neglected; I was just alone. Even among a group of kids who'd been given away like me, I didn't belong."

He let her confession add to the solemnity of his own revisit to the past. The quiet surrounded them once more, though the heaviness from before had been replaced by the fragility of baring one's soul. When the clock chimed the hour, Emma stood from the chair and stretched her back. "It's getting late, and we're meeting the others really early. We should get some sleep."

Standing beside her, Killian dared to address a rather obvious point. "I'll sleep on the floor, if you wish."

Emma eyed him with faint suspicion, though he tried to ignore it. He'd made an egregious error with how he'd handled her son, he would concede that point. If she felt it was necessary to measure the sincerity of his actions then so be it. At least she did consider them; that was more than he could've said a few hours ago. She nodded once before disappearing into the bathroom.

Sighing, more from mental exhaustion than any specific frustration, Killian arranged a makeshift bed on the rug before the fire. He removed his hook, vest, and boots and stretched out on the pallet. The soft pattering of Emma's footsteps preceded the dimming of the lights. Her mattress groaned slightly as she settled beneath the covers. "Goodnight, Swan," he called to her.

"Goodnight…Killian."

A swell of hope soothed over his heart. She'd called him by his name, and there was no one around for her to blame it on. Closing his eyes, he let his imagination overtake the less enjoyable memories from moments earlier, seeing Emma's golden hair shining in the brilliant sunshine of the open seas. Her boy, Henry, calling out commands from behind the massive wheel of the Jolly-

The Jolly Roger. How could he have forgotten? How could he have let his flights of fancy lead him to the most painful memory of all? It was worth it…for her, he continued to tell himself. It was the same mantra he'd repeated as he burned his beloved ship – the only home he'd ever known – into ash. Would she ever appreciate the sacrifices he'd made for her sake?

"Killian?" Her silky voice parted the stillness of the room.

"Aye?" He opened his eyes slowly.

"How did you find me?" She asked.

Killian's pulse sped. Was she some kind of mind reader? Had her magic granted her access to his innermost thoughts? He shifted where he lay, his hand crossing to cover his chest.

"Please…I need to know."

He waited, moistening his suddenly dry lips. "The same way we opened the portal in the Enchanted Forest when we first met," he confessed.

Emma sat up against the headboard. It was too dark for them to see one another, but he could feel her eyes on him nonetheless. "But we used up all the dust from the wardrobe."

He breathed in and out slowly, hesitating to answer her unspoken question; knowing that when he did, it would only expose more truths that he wasn't sure she was ready to accept. Did he really have a choice, though? She owned all of his truths, even if she chose to throw them back in his face. "Did I ever tell you that the Jolly was made of enchanted wood?"

"What?" Emma gasped. The light flooded the room abruptly. Killian closed his eyes to protect them from the sudden brightness, or at least that's the reason he gave himself.

"After I received that message, I knew I had to cross the realms. But there were no beans left, so I achieved the goal in the only means available."

Emma's voice was filled with shock and something he'd never heard from her before. "You sacrificed your ship…for me?"

He hoisted himself onto his elbow, finally meeting those devastating mossy green eyes which haunted his every waking thought. "Aye," he affirmed simply.

Emma shook her head, disbelief plain on her face. "But…why?"

Killian stood slowly and approached her, noting the way her eyes tracked his every step and grew almost too large for her face. He sat on the edge of her bed, needing to be near her when he rent his feelings wide open. "For the same reason Zelena cursed me, and the same reason I tried to take your son out of Storybrooke…because I love you, Emma. You must know that I do."

She reached for his hand hesitantly, tracing the back of his fingers as delicately as if he were made of glass. "I'm sorry for how I reacted earlier. For the way my parents treated you, too." She linked her fingers with his. "I was scared…scared that after everything I was wrong about you."

"I know," Killian replied resolutely. He offered her a tentative smile. "I know you, Swan. I understand you. You said the same of me, once."

A tiny smirk curved the corner of her mouth. "You and me, we're the same…" she recalled. It seemed like a lifetime ago since he'd made the choice to stand by her side rather than sail away on his own like he'd done for countless years. Her expression fell as she focused on his lips. "We'll figure this out. And when we do, who knows…" her voice trailed off, though it was filled with hopeful resolve. Or at least that's how he chose to interpret it.

Leaning back, Emma reached over and switched off the lamp. She tugged on his shoulder, signaling for him to lie down beside her. "Are you sure?" He asked, almost kicking himself for jeopardizing what was seemingly a very clear invitation to spend the night by her side.

She laughed softly. "You did just tell me you loved me. I suppose that earns you a place off of the floor. At least for tonight."

Killian shifted beneath the coverlet, holding his frame rigid so as not to take any liberties despite every muscle screaming to wrap her in his arms. Moments passed before he felt her soft hand settle against the fabric of his shirt, her fingertips grazing the exposed skin where the shirt gaped open. A tremor of desire racked his body at her slight touch, and he held his breath when seconds later her head nestled against the crook of his shoulder. Her soft exhalations tickled against his neck. It was several minutes before he let his own body relax into the mattress.

"When I was about nine, I was placed with the Franklins," Emma whispered in the darkness. "She stayed at home, and he was a mechanic. It was the first time I was the only child at a residence, as their real children had already moved out and started families of their own. Mrs. Franklin showed me Annie one day," Emma paused in her retelling and quickly explained the basics of the film before continuing, "and I remember becoming obsessed with her character. I wanted to find my own Daddy Warbucks, someone who would fight to keep me for no other reason than they wanted me. I must've sung that damned song a thousand times that summer," her voice faded out, lost to the distant memory.

"What happened, love?" Killian asked softly after a while. He'd been afraid to speak until then, not wanting to give any cause for the walls to fortify again.

Her fingers toyed with his chains. "Mr. Franklin…he used to get in these moods. I could normally spot them a mile away, but one day he came home from work early and I was in the backyard, singing at the top of my lungs. He probably told me to stop, but I don't remember. It was the first time anyone hit me."

Killian's rage boiled dangerously under his skin. He clenched his fist in the sheet, twisting the fabric almost to the point of tearing.

"I didn't stay with them long. I'd like to think the social worker noticed the bruise, but no one ever really tells kids the truth. I was placed with seven more families between then and turning sixteen. None of them were all that memorable. And I just got tired of it all. I left to be on my own. That's when I met Neal. He was the first person who really saw me. Or, at least I thought he did.

"He did, love. In his own way…" Killian said assuredly, thinking back to the few conversations he'd had with Bae about the amazing woman lying beside him. "He loved you."

Emma was quiet. For a moment Killian wondered if he'd overstepped, just as he feared. But then she spoke again; "I gave everything to him and ended up feeling foolish. Like I was just a diversion for him. I understand, now…but I was so alone. No one had ever wanted to keep me, not even him. That does something to a person."

Giving in to the urge to comfort her in some way, Killian let his fingers tangle in her long blonde locks. "We're more alike than I even realized, Swan."

She was quiet again, before finally whispering "I have no idea why I just told you all that."

Hedging his bets, Killian replied, "Don't you?"

Emma's hand slipped from his chest, her arm wrapping around his waist. "Don't hurt me, Killian."

"I don't intend to, love," he affirmed. "At least, never intentionally."

He could've sworn that he felt her lips lifting in a smile against his neck. "I trust you."

Killian's heart swelled almost to the point of pain. Rationally, he knew this was no guarantee for smooth sailing. The witch was still at large, the curse still upon his lips, but his hope was restored. Letting his eyes drift shut, he welcomed the coming reveries which spoke of future happiness for him and his Swan.

As they crossed into the realm of sleep, neither were aware of the wave of magic sweeping over them, recognizing their renewed commitment to each other and breaking the spell cast by the Fidelity Stone.


Review? ;)