A/N: So this is a little oneshot that sprung to mind after reading a little thing i wrote a while a back and it's come to life! For now it will be a oneshot but this is a Universe that i would quite like to explore a little more in the future, so, depending on response I could be pursuaded? please read and review xo
She comes back to the town that they grew up in to hide - she isn't sure why because it reminds her of him, of their beginnings but it's the only place other than New York that's ever felt like home. And perhaps she likes that she walks past their bench every day on her way to work. Perhaps she likes the fresh sting of the ocean as it splashes her face, reminding her of all the times he'd kissed her before that shore when they were too young for all the pain life had subjected them too. She comes back to the town that they grew up in to hide and to hopefully, one day heal, but also to remember. The trouble is, so does he.
They end things on a Wednesday it's all hot tears and harsh words and lips still chapped from their last night tangled in the sheets.
Two weeks later, as she packs up the last of her things from her office desk, eyes hollow from sleepless nights in a bed that's too big now she's sleeping in it alone, she still isn't entirely sure why. Their tempers were always too hot for their own goods, tongues always too sharp, and you know what they say; a love born in fire, dies in ice. But she loves him; has done since she was fifteen and Ingrid first adopted her and brought her to that tiny little seaside town in Maine. And she can't remember ever stopping, so does that mean that somewhere down the line he was the one that stopped? Does that mean that he decided she wasn't worth fighting for, just decided it was time to move on? She hasn't heard from him since she left their shared apartment in a flurry of tears and harsh words spoken hastily and without thought. Maybe that's what hurts the most; that he didn't even fight for her. Or perhaps it's that she's just as much of a coward as he is - after all she is the one that snuck into their apartment to pick up her stuff when she knew he'd be at work. But all in all it is what leads her to here. To packing up her desks spur of the moment at NYPD and handing in her badge in favor of going home. Or back to the only other place she's ever felt is home.
"Make sure you text me when you arrive, Ems," Her partner and friend, Ruby Lucas says, giving her a tight hug,
"Of course." She pauses for a second, chewing absent-mindedly on her lower lip, "If...if you see Killian...or catch word of him...I..." She finally sighs. She doesn't know how to ask her friend to keep her with her ex-boyfriend just so that she can let her know how he's doing.
"I'll let you know if I see him." Ruby promises, knowing already what her friend is asking. She gives her a small, grateful smile,
"Thank you, Ruby."
She drives there on a Friday, in that old beat up bug that he used to tease her about being too stubborn to let die. She tries not to think about that as she passes the worn out sign on the highway that says "welcome to Storybrooke" in cheery lettering. She doesn't feel cheery. It's ironic, in a way that a place she couldn't wait to escape when she was younger has become the place that she's escaping too. New York holds too many ghosts to stay, although she isn't too sure what makes this place any different, it is, after all where they had their beginning. She refuses to move back in with her mother. She can't be that girl that returns home with her tail between her legs and her heart in pieces, not publicly at least - she finds herself a nice, small loft instead. She knows that Ingrid's intentions are good but that doesn't make her want to sit down and explain the story to her mother all over again. She feels like she's done enough justifying to last a lifetime. They have dinner that night,
"So, has he called?" Her mother asks as they sip wine. She looks up sharply, walls up,
"Does it matter?" She asks,
"Yes. He was your bestfriend a long time before he was anything else, kiddo."
She thinks about that as she tries to sleep that night. Her mother is right. They were family. Had been since she was a scrawny fifteen-year old finding her way in a new town and he was the seventeen year old with cerulean eyes who looked out for her. She had loved him, in one way or another, since he first stumbled into her life. She remembers their first time, how he'd insisted on calling it making love because that was what it was - love. He loved her and she loved him, hopelessly so. Remembers how they agreed that it had to be forever because they couldn't lose each other if it broke down. She laughs humourlessly, dashing the tears from her cheeks impatiently as she realises what children they were back then.
She starts her new job as the towns Deputy that Monday and it's nice. Doesn't fulfil her in the same way that New York did, but she supposes it's not the only thing about this town that is lacking something in comparison to New York. She tells her mother that she means the nightlife and ignores her inner voice that screams his name.
"I miss a lot of things about New York, mom, there's nothing in particular." She exclaims as they share coffee in Granny's diner like they used to when she was still in highschool. She doesn't think about how, by the end of her time at Misthaven Academy, there was another person in attendance at their weekly coffee date.
"Liar."
She's doing fine, absolutely fine. The Sheriff, a guy called David is nice, she finds herself accidentally falling into a sort of friendship with him and his young wife, Mary Margret- they show her around town and adopt her into their little circle of friends.
The first night they go out is odd, it's a Saturday and Mary Margret insists that she meets their friends - they go to the local pub, 'The Rabbit Hole' and she feels free because it seems she's found a place that isn't stained with him.
She recognizes them - Mary Margret and David's friends - vaguely, they were a few years ahead of her in highschool, she recalls. And it's nice. It's not perfect and she still can't bring herself to go into the coffee shop across the street from the Station (and if that means she has to traipse to the other side of town for coffee so what?) but she quite likes the quiet little reminders of him for the most part. It makes her feel safe, reminders her that, for a while at least, somebody loved her.
It's a Sunday the day she first sees him. She's wandered down to the local docks for the first time since she arrived in town just under a month prior and she doesn't realize that it's him at first. When she does it catches her in a way that she didn't think it would. Her whole heart comes to a stuttering stop and she physically feels her body seize up as her gaze locks on the back of his head. She stands there for what feels like years but is, in fact probably a matter of seconds before she's taking off running to anywhere that isn't there. She can't be sure it was him, right? It's not like she saw his face, so maybe she's just started seeing things? She doesn't bother to analyse the fact that hallucinations have become the preferred alternative to him really being here. So she convinces herself that it isn't really him. That it is just some bloke with messy dark hair and a penchant for leather jackets, rum and the ocean. That could be anybody, of course.
Except that's the trouble with small's towns- they're not meant for hiding.
Not really. Not when everyone knows everyone.
"Did you hear that Killian Jones is back in town? You guys were friends in highschool, right?" David asks her on Monday, only a day after her run in at the dock. And if she spills her coffee over the paperwork she's working on then so what? And if a tiny little "oh?" Is all that she manages then what does it matter? The only thing that matters is that tiny, tiny spark of hope that she feels bubbling inside her at the knowledge along with all those other emotions, because what if he came back for her? It takes her mere seconds to dispel that idea; life doesn't work that way for girls like Emma Swan.
Her question is soon answered because, small town and all that.
She runs into him at 'The Rabbit Hole' on a Thursday when she's on a girls night with Mary Margret and a few of their other friends. Their eyes lock across the bar and she takes a small amount of pleasure in the way he glass freezes half way between the bar and his lips. It's charged, of course it is because she loves him and he's here and he isn 't meant to be here, he is meant to be anywhere but here because this is her place to heal. She knows, deep down that she shouldn't be surprised, though. This place is home to both of them in more ways than one. He doesn't stay long, throws the last of his drink down his throat, settles his tab and then leaves without a word. She tries not to let that sting too much.
"Who was that?" Belle, a pretty brunette librarian asks,
"Killian Jones." She responds and she's actually quite proud with herself for being able to keep the pain out of her voice. Elsa, a pretty blonde who's also new to the town having recently moved here with her fiancé - Luke? Leo? Something beginning with 'L' - a few years ago starts to say something, but she doesn't hear, already getting up to walk outside.
She finds him leaning against the wall, running his hands through his messy black hair in the way he does when he's freaking out. She stops in her tracks when their eyes lock for the second time that evening. Those bloody blue eyes still entrance her, even now. His hand goes to scratch behind his ear in a move that's so entirely Killian that she thinks her heart might be breaking all over again.
"Hi," She practically squeaks, and he sighs, before smiling slightly at her,
"Hullo, love," He responds, and his voice still - still after however many years makes her insides go to goo. She looks down, fingers absentmindedly soothing the tattoo on her inner right wrist because perhaps it's even worse now that she no longer has to wonder what he would sound like first thing in the morning, or when he's in the throws of passion because she knows. Those things are imbedded into her very soul of that she's sure. And she can't breathe. He's gone by the time she looks up.
It's odd, after that. They avoid each other, naturally and she point blank refuses to talk about him to anyone and no one asks, but it's not until Thanks Giving, a Monday, at that, that it all goes truly horribly wrong. Her friends invite her for dinner, an invite that she accepts and, upon asking for the address Mary Margery simply replies that she and David will give her a lift, noting that she should dress "nice" because there's someone going to be there that Mary Margret has decided she's 'just perfect' for. Emma rolls her eyes but smiles patiently as her friend gushes about this bloke, all the while not really paying any attention.
"What do you, mean, 'dress nice'? Is that dressy or what?" She asks, frustrated,
"Oh you know, jeans and a nice top, sort of thing." Her friend responds vaguely and she sighs down the phone. The trouble with a dress code like that is that one can never find a nice top.
Mary Margret and David arrive at precisely 5pm and she's waiting by the door and she's happy - for the first time since Killian arrived she feels content - at ease and ready to enjoy a nice evening with her friends, but it isn't until they're almost there that the alarm bells start to go off. She knows this route; she's taken it a thousand times herself in the past.
"Where exactly does Elsa live?" She asks quietly, already sure she knows the answer as the puzzle pieces start to fall into place in her mind - Elsa, the pretty blonde who recently moved to town with her fiancé, Liam. She hopes she's wrong; she really hopes she's wrong - deep down she already knows that she's not.
"Her fiancé owned a house here - it's why they moved back, she lives up on the hill, that house overlooking the water that everyone loves." Her friend replies almost giddily before gushing about how nice the interior decor is, but Emma is no longer listening,
"And Elsa's fiancé, what's he called again?" She asks, her face slowly reaching a whole new shade of pale and her voice weaker than it's been since she was a child in the foster system.
"Liam." David says, looking behind him quickly in concern, "Emma are you alright?" He pulls the car to a stop in front of a house that she would know anywhere.
She thinks she's going to die. This is some next level bullshit romcom stuff and quite frankly she wants to cry. But Mary Margret and David are looking at her like she's a patient in a psych ward, so she just shakes her head slowly, and forces a smile onto her face,
"Liam Jones yeah?" She mumbles and Mary Margaret beams at her, clearly missing the fake surety of her voice,
"Of course, you went to school with his brother, I completely forgot, funny story, he was actually who I was hoping to introduce you too! But didn't he live in New York for a while? Just moved back to town a few months ago, not long after you came, actually. I heard he's back to mend a broken heart? Did you two stay in touch?"
She wants to scream or cry or run but its Thanks Giving and she's climbing out of her friends car as they walk up to the front gate of the boy who fixed her and gave her a home and taught her what love was - her first everything; including the first man to break her heart. And she still loves him, still can't sleep through the night in full because the bed is just too damn big and she can't take her coffee the Irish way anymore, despite how much she had grown to love it. She can't listen to the Arctic Monkeys and she can't even imagine watching Peter Pan without completely breaking down and Mary Margret's still talking as she reaches up to ring the doorbell and now David's giving her that look. It's the same one her mother gave her when she showed up two months ago, the same one her partner and friend, Ruby had given her when she'd explained why she was leaving.
"Babe, I don't think that Emma needs to hear this right now." He says, placing his arm on the shoulder of his wife, Mary Margret shoots her a puzzled look before it suddenly dawns on her and she isn't sure what is worse, the incessant chatter about this woman that had broken Killian's heart or her friends face once she placed the pieces together in her mind.
"Oh my goodness," Is all the woman has time to squeak out before the door is opening and he's there. He's right there, grinning until his gaze lands on her and his expression shifts and oh Christ alive she thinks she might faint, or be sick, or run or perhaps all at once. Their eyes lock, ocean blue against forest green and there's pain and longing and surprise and...is that love? in his eyes. He recovers faster than she does, breaking their eye contact before reaching out to shake David's hand with a muttered "Dave, mate, so nice to see you." and hug Mary Margret quickly. She doesn't dare look at her friends because even if they didn't know before, they do now and she can't bear to see the look she knows will be on their faces.
"Swan," He says then as he quietly turns to her. She's unsure what to do, because how do you greet the man that you once thought you were going to marry - a handshake, a hug, a kiss on the cheek? She can feel her cheeks flush and she almost wants to kiss him when he takes the choice away from her by stepping to the side and beckoning her in with a swipe of his arm,
"Come on, love, don't pretend you don't remember the way to the kitchen," he says quietly as she slips past him and if it startles the hell out of her, she doesn't let it show.
Liam greets her like she's family, reminding her that there was once a time when the Brothers Jones were as entirely alone in the world as she was. They'd become their own little family, in a way. But if that strikes anybody as unusual they don't say anything, with Elsa only shooting her a sympathetic smile and it dawns on her that Elsa must have known the whole time and she cringes slightly at the knowledge, but also shoots the pretty woman a thankful smile because she's has the decency not to bring it up or make it into gossip, and Emma knows how rare that is in this town.
She finds herself sat at a dinner table in Killian's house on Thanks Giving for the first time in years, and suddenly she's sixteen again, sat in this house that always felt too big for three orphans tucking into a meal that Liam has dutifully prepared. The only difference is now the house doesn't feel too big; it's not the three of them huddled around the coffee table, but thirteen of them crowded around a large dining table. Of those thirteen, six of them - including her and Killian - are aware of the awkward tension. But it only gets worse,
"So,Emma , what brought you back to Storybrooke from the Big Apple?" August Booth, a colleague of Elsa's asks politely. Her folk pauses on its way to her mouth, Killian's grip tightens on his rum, Mary Margret and David exchange a concerned glance as Liam chokes on his turkey, Elsa having to slap him on his back. There's a silence. A horrible tense and awkward silence as everyone looks at her expectantly - some more sympathetically than others - everyone but one. Killian keeps his gaze locked firmly on an obviously fascinating spot on the table. She searches for something, but comes up blank. And now she's looking at Killian - why the fuck is she looking at Killian?
"I..." She chokes out, finally finding her voice, "I...I'm...my last-" She lets out a deep and exasperated sigh, "There was nothing to keep me there anymore." She says finally, and he looks up at that, and their eyes lock and something changes in that instant.
As they make their way into the living room after dinner, she feels his hand on her lower back as he ducks his head to breathe, "A word, Swan?" against the shell of her ear before disappearing past her into the kitchen to, presumably, start on the tidy up and she smiles fondly at the knowledge that at least that hasn't changed. Liam cooks and Killian washes, just as it should be. She waits a second before excusing herself to go to the toilet and slipping out after him. He looks up from where he's doing the washing up when she walks in and smiles shyly at her. It's a smile that she hasn't seen since they were kids and he hadn't quite realised the affect he had on women - on her.
"I didn't know you were going to be here." She says at the same time as he says, "I've missed you, us, in this house." They both blush but they can't stop looking at each other. She hasn't had a chance to really soak him in since that fateful day in New York. He breaks eye contact, because it is too much, because it isn't enough. All of the reasons that she can't take her eyes away, she assumes. He dries his hands carefully before turning to her, walking close to her, his eyes as intense and blue as they've always been and it hurts, gloriously so because the tension is tangible and he looks so damn good and all she wants is for him to take him in her arms - she breaks their gaze, licking her lips as her gaze involuntarily goes to the Island in the middle of the kitchen and she blushes, remembering what happened the last time they had been in this kitchen. She has to bite back a giggle. He reaches up and suddenly she's back in the present as his fingers curl around a loose strand of golden hair, absentmindedly twirling it before tucking it behind her ear,
"Funny, isn't it? That we should both come back here to heal from each other." He breathes, and she almost whimpers when he pulls back,
"I think...I think that you and I have very different ideas of funny." She says, trying not to sound breathy,
"That's a lie, and you know it Swan." He scolds, but his eyes are twinkling and they're still so close. "Liam thinks it's funny - says even when we're on the outs we're so in sync...why did you come back, Swan? I know you, you run away, you don't run too. You don't consume yourself in memories until you're drowning in them, that's my scene, not yours. So why come back, love?"
She opens her mouth to answer, she really does. Not that she's sure what she's even going to say because damn him to hell for knowing her so well. But then Liamwalks in, takes in their close stance and the obvious tension in the room, he coughs awkwardly, making his way to the fridge and grabs a beer and walks back out wordlessly. Emma uses this as an excuse to step away from Killian, following Liam into the den almost guiltily and making her excuses, saying her thanks to Liam and Elsa but insisting that she really must get back to her mom. No one makes too heavy a protest and she's grateful for that.
Liam hugs her tightly,
"Tell Ingrid I said hello, and Swan? Don't be a stranger." He calls after walking her out to her car. She hasn't seen Killian since she left him in the kitchen and of that, she's glad.
She's patrolling around town that night when she spots the lone figure of a small boy sat at the bus station with a duffle bag looking completely dejected. It's a look she recognises must have been in her own eyes once upon a time and maybe that's why she pulls the squad car to a stop and climbs out.
"You alright, kid?" She asks, and he looks up at her, eyes full of fear and hurt and pain. His name is Henry Mills, he's the son of Regina and Robin , two friends of Mary Margret and David's.
"What's the point of love?" he asks once she's convinced him that perhaps running away isn't the best alternative, "Why does it leave so many people so sad and angry?" he is ten years old and his parents are getting a divorce, how the hell do you explain that to a kid when the only positive image of love she's ever had in her life is currently a shattered mess on the floor. But he seems like a good kid, a mature kid, and before she knows what she's saying, words are tumbling up and out of her mouth,
"The reality is this, kid - she end up alone and he ends up alone and neither of them are quite happy and neither of them are quite sure why and far too stubborn to ask." He looks a bit confused, so she continues, "Sometimes, loving each other isn't enough. Your parents' splitting up doesn't mean they don't love you or each other. Just sometimes love isn't enough."
She walks him home and finds a hysterical Regina so thankful that he's home and it doesn't surprise her that she's suddenly struck with an overwhelming need to see her own mother. She drives home and an old Taylor Swift song comes onto the radio, she turns it up, recognizing the tune but doesn't realize why until she tastes her own salty tears on her lips and she's forced to pull the car into a layover because she can't stop crying.
I do remember
The swing in your step
The life of the party, you're showing off again
And I roll my eyes and then
You pull me in
I'm not much for dancing
But for you I did
It was New Years Eve the first time he told her that he loved her. They'd been together " as in really together for about three weeks. Ruby was throwing a party at her flat in Brooklyn and it was going to be fun. She remembers the way that he had swaggered around the room, arm slung, carelessly over her shoulder as he sipped at his flask of Captain Morgan and they joked around with their friends. She remembers rolling her eyes when she spotted the guitar in the corner of the room just seconds before he did and his absolute delight in being able to serenade her in front of a group of people. And then she remembers later that night, when the New Year had been welcomed in with champagne toasts and sweet kisses and she was out on the roof trying to catch some air when he comes up behind her, hands wrapping around her waist and turning her so she's flush against his chest.
"Dance with me, Swan," He'd whispered and she'd laughed, pulling back attempting half-heartedly to escape his embrace,
"Killian…"
"Dance with me, Swan," he repeated already swaying them to the muted sound of the music from the apartment below,
"Why?" She asked, laughing and he just looked down at her, eyes full of so damn much,
"Because, I love you and this is our first new year and I don't think I've ever told you quite how good you look in red"
The song reaches the middle 8 and sobs are wracking her body because this is the first time that she's cried. Like really, properly cried.
She doesn't see Killian again for a few days, and it's the following Wednesday by the time that they next run into each other. It's dusk and she's off on her run a little later today because life happened, as it does. He's walking out of Granny's with, much to her surprise, the Mills kid that she walked home the other week. If he notices her then he doesn't comment, just laughs at something the kids said, his whole body laughing in that way that he does and her heart aches for the last time she really saw him that care free. It's the kid that notices her, a smile lighting up his face as he yells, "Emma!" letting go of Killian's hand and running up to give her a hug. She smiles softly at the boy as he starts babbling about some new project from school and before she realizes it she's being dragged over to Killian.
"Emma, I'd like you to meet my friend, Killian." He says, and Emma chances a glance up at the irritatingly attractive man before her. His twinkling blue eyes are still laughing as Henry introduces her as "Deputy Swan". He extends his hand, an amused smile on his face,
"Deputy Swan, it's a pleasure." She hesitates for a second before excepting his hand and damn him because she can't help but laugh when he brings her hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. It says so much more than either of them are willing to admit and she loves him, she loves him, she loves him. And he's here. They're both here and if what David told her the day after Thanks Giving is anything to go by then it's not exactly like he's doing much better " wallowing and drinking and refusing Liam's half arsed attempts to set him up with people. They end up walking Henry home together and it's only once Regina has given them a confused but grateful look as she thanked Killian for watching him while she had a meeting that she suddenly realized that they were now alone for the first time since Thanks Giving. There's an awkward silence as they walk side by side back down the path and she knows full well that they both live in the same direction as they turn right,
"I'd forgotten how good you look in my shirts, Swan," Killian says suddenly, remnants of that teasing glimmer in his too blue eyes and a smirk tugging the corner of his lips. She glances down at her attire and recalls with astounding clarity how she'd just grabbed the first thing that she could from her draws and shoved it on. The fact that it was, in fact, one of Killian's old t-shirts being completely lost on her until this point. She couldn't help the flush spreading across her cheeks and he chuckled at that,
"Come on, love, it's not like I didn't know you had them." She sighs gratefully at that, and there's a slight shift in tension as she searches, desperately to find something to say.
"You didn't answer my question, you know, Swan." She chokes on her breath at that,
"Oh?" She seems to be saying that a lot lately.
"It's pretty damn obvious why I'm here " my brother, the memories of us and you. The ocean. It's the most classically and predictable 'me' move imaginable. But you, Emma Swan. You never cease to surprise me." She smiles and its bitter sweet, memories of another time flitting through her head
"Marry me." She had smiled and he had laughed, her head on his bare chest, legs entwined as he had absentmindedly played with a lock of her hair, "Seriously," She'd said, leaning up slightly to look at him, "Not now or even any time soon, but marry me?"
"You never cease to surprise me, Emma Swan" he'd said before leaning down to kiss her exuberantly
She shakes the thoughts from her brain and sighs,
"I came back because there was nowhere else I could go." He looks confused, so she carries on, "If I had stayed in New York, I would have drowned in it all, but if I'd gone anywhere else, then that would have meant…well that would have meant really leaving you behind and letting you go. Here, there are enough reminders of the way you loved me once upon a time to keep me warm at night, but allow me to breathe, at least a little...I couldn't just up and leave, not for good." And they've come to a natural stop and she's staring at a very interesting spot on the floor.
"You were hiding?" He sounds surprised because Emma's never been a hider, always been a runner and there is a definite difference between those two things.
"Yes." She finally looks up at him now, and there's actual tears glistening in his eyes and so much hope and above all such love and adoration " she thinks, in retrospect, that's what prompts her to say what comes next, "But I think there was a part of me that knew I didn't want to hide forever. In coming here, I wasn't closing the door just...just pulling it too, for a while, I s'pose. I don't know. But I just couldn't face the thought of really, truly losing you. And then..." her voice is thick with tears now, "Then when you didn't call I thought that I already had and," She chokes on her sobs, cursing herself for being so bloody pathetic; but he's grinning at her, in the most Killian way ever as he takes a step forward almost involuntarily,
"Are you saying what I think you're saying, love? Can we put this daft bloody fight behind us because you're it for me, Ella. You've been it for me since you were fifteen.I know I should have called, but I was just giving you time to blow off steam, giving myself time to sort myself out because what you said that day made me realize how badly I want that future we always talked about - that house by the sea and that wedding on the beach, you as my wife and your belly swelling with my child. And then I called to your office and Ruby said you'd left. You'd upped and left after a fight and I thought that was it. I'd lost you. Never for imagine dreamed you'd come here, love."
They've gravitated closer together now and while they aren't quite touching there's barely an inch of space between them and she's crying and he's crying because this is all one big mess but-
"Dance with me, Swan?" He asks suddenly and she's taken aback by that, there in the middle of the street at night and there's no music - no nothing, she laughs in confusion, wiping the tears from her cheeks but he's already there, the pad of his thumb gently against her face and if she's leaning into his palm then so what? Oh, how she's missed this, the simple act of being touched by him, being near him. She nods slowly and he takes her into his arms, pulling her close as they sway to imaginary music,
"Why?" She asks quietly, and he pulls back to look at her, eyes locking as he smiles,
"Because, I love you and I have missed you and I don't know if I've ever told you, but you look bloody fabulous in red." A smile lights up her entire face at that and he pulls back slightly, releasing her from his hold as he hurriedly rummages around in his pockets for something. When he finds it, he presses in into her hands and pecks her nose lightly; it's a ring box. She looks at him, and then at the box, and then back to him,
"Is this...?"
"I'm not asking. Not yet, at least," He hurries because she's still a bit of a flight risk, probably always will be, "But I wanted you to know that I've had this for months and one of these days, when I'm sure you'll say yes, I'm going to ask you and-" She cuts him off with her lips. The kiss is hurried, desperate, passionate and slightly wet because they've both been crying but it's so all consuming because she loves him and he loves her and this is it for them. This is their forever and who was she kidding when she thought she could ever hide from him? She breaks the kiss, and sniffs, wiping her tears before beaming at him,
"Ask me now." She says, quietly, he raises an eyebrow at this, a smirk gracing his lips but it doesn't hide the vulnerable unsurety in his deep blue eyes
"Swan, you don't have too-"
"Ask me." She pleads, and so he does. He drops to his knees, right their in the middle of the street and asks her the most important question of their lives.
She says yes.