A/N: Sorry for the late update, it's just that finals have been stressful and studying's taken up most of my time. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Set sometime in Neverland after Killian's reveal in Echo Cave, probably before the shadows take him and Neal.
Does it even matter?
When he looked at her, there was a divide in her eyes, one that ripped her in two; he could see the angel telling her to "select Neal, it will make Henry happy" and the devil telling her to "choose Killian, be happy, do yourself this one little favor," both figures perched on her shoulder, their voices echoing in the corners of her mind.
Every movement she made was contradictory; she held out her arm for him, but searched for Neal and every little motion sent a new burst of pain running through him, the feeling that a bubble of his hope had been burst just as it began to rise to the top. He longed to know her, not just from observations but from her actual words themselves.
It shouldn't matter.
He needed her to be happy, to see that smile of hers that illuminated her face, to hear that chuckle she had, the genuine one, that was raspy and sweet and melodic. But right now it was painfully obvious that she was the exact opposite, a rift driven through her heart, and he just wanted to talk to her; hell, if she had offered to chat with him, with him just as a shadow in the background, he would have been there in three seconds flat. He loved hearing that voice of hers, how it was gruff and raspy when she tried (and failed) to mask her emotions; how it could be broken or thrilled or somewhere in between, he just longed to hear the melody that was Emma Swan's voice.
For once in his life, he had not been able to rise to the challenge and it irked him. He was at a loss as to how to get her to open up. Spontaneously, he smiled at a long-lost memory and fingered the pearl in his pocket. It had been a long, long process getting at that milky white treasure, but its sentimental value was the sole reason he kept it instead of his other jewels and treasures.
The situation, Emma mostly, reminded him of when he went oyster diving back in those days where life had not yet been fraught with darkness and challenges and depression. One of the oysters had been especially hard to open one time, even for him being unusually strong for a nine-year-old boy, and he had to ask for the aid of Liam. Despite the bittersweet feelings stirring up in him whenever a memory of his contained his brother (his stupid, goddamn, bloody, loyal, stubborn fuck of a brother), the memory made him smile.
When Liam had managed to pry the oyster open after many hours of labor and many different tactics tried upon it, a lovely sight awaited them, for though that oyster's shell was one of the particularly grotesque ones, within it lay that soft, fleshy pink meat and a pearl, covered in mucus secreted from the oyster, but regardless reflecting the light, shining through the darkness that obscured its glory.
Though the two of them were pitifully neck-deep in poverty Killian could not deny himself that one selfish act, and he took the pearl and kept it as a memento, not just for the gleeful shrieks and impatient glares and frustrated sighs that he and his brother had shared while they took no breaks as they alternated taking turns opening that damn oyster, but as the first rule of his code of honor.
Throughout life, I will encounter a variety of other people. Whether they care for me or not is under their realm of judgment and not mine. However, I can attempt to turn the circumstances in my favor by never assuming that people are who they appear to be; sometimes the saddest or the poorest have a heart of pure gold.
It was nicely put, that. He could not help applying it to his Swan (not his, per se, at least not yet) because she was like the stubborn oyster, avoiding all attempts and tactics employed to try and reveal who she really was, she was guarded and lost and appeared to have no emotions for anyone excluding her lad.
But he deduced and observed, watched and learned until he possessed the ability read between the lines; he waited patiently until he could sneak within her ironclad defenses; he discovered that with patience and time and persistence, anyone could accomplish that quite easily. He discerned how pure and unbroken one little corner of her heart was, he perceived the flickers of hope reflected in her eyes, but he chose to utter not a word to her.
She would open up to him in time; she would soften up and realize some things (the bloody lass, can't she realize what's good for her?) and reveal the shining, beautiful pearl that she masked with her gruff exterior.
She would show him the exquisite pearl that she really was.