Title: Epilogue.
Summary: He feels the series of chills crawl up his spine, like when the realization of being with her hits him.
Author's Note: Well. We have come to the end, my friends. Thank you for sticking around. I've adored writing this and I hope you liked reading it. Stay tuned for future Ryan/Pam fics and maybe even a little bit of Ryan/Kelly. I appreciate all the comments and criticism and support.
The winter air bites his nose, and shit, its cold. What idiot actually goes ice skating? In Rockefeller centre, no less? On Christmas Eve?
Fuckin' hell, it's cheesy.
Clearly, though, he does. But only because she wants him to. And that doesn't make him whipped, thanks.
"Ryan, you're not going to fall! Just, come on!" She's blinking against the light snowflakes, her face pink. "I'll help you." She sticks out her hand expectantly.
"Go ahead. It's much more fun watching." He clings to the gate, wincing as his skates jerk him forward slightly.
And she makes that face, that face she doesn't even mean to make. It's a mix between disappointment and sadness.
He groans, straightening up and shakily clomping over to her, the skates' heavy under him.
"Good job," she beams as he clutches her arm. "Now, just go slowly. And try not to wobble so much." He glares at her.
"I'm walking on knives, basically, and you expect me not to wobble? That's rich."
"Ryan, can you at least pretend to be happy?" she sighs, coming to a stop.
He looks down at the ice below them. "Sorry," he mumbles. He takes her gloved hand, offering a small wary smile. "C'mon. Teach me how to ice skate."
After a few times around the rink, Ryan manages to skate without falling. The knees of his jeans are wet from the previous times he met the ground.
He's leaning against the barrier and she's standing in front of him, hiding her face in his warm jacket. The snow is bright against his dark tousled hair.
It's dorky. It's so vomit inducing-ly dorky. But he leans down towards her ear anyway. "It's your song."
And she straightens up, blinking. It takes a second.
"It is!" she gasps. "It's the Judy Garland version, even!" She looks up at him, her eyes hopeful, and he sighs, taking her hand and pulling her gently into the rink.
And 'Have Yourself A Merry Christmas' is playing over them as he holds her to his chest and God, they're mutherfuckin' cute, he knows it. It almost makes him want to cringe but he doesn't. He feels the series of chills crawl up his spine, like when the realization of being with her hits him.
He holds her a little closer then he should have.
xxxxxxxx
They sit on the bed that night, the heater cranked up as they try and defrost their fingers and toes.
She decides they should exchange gifts now and he feels his heart flutter nervously.
"Merry Christmas," she says, her smile wide. He takes the nicely wrapped package and pulls the paper off, a velvet black box resting in his hands. "Well, open it!" She's nearly bouncing with excitement.
He does. It's a watch. A really beautiful watch. Better then the one he had to sell after not being able to find a new job after a month.
It's cold against his skin and he turns it around in his hands, his name engraved on the back: R y a n H o w a r d.
"Pam…" He looks up and reaches over, kissing her mouth. She giggles softly, placing it on his wrist and latching the back. "It's perfect."
He looks at her a moment and then he reaches over and pulls a small boxed gift from the nightstand.
"Merry Christmas." She grins widely, the box sitting small and neat in her hand.
"Tiffany's?" She asks, looking up at him from the teal box.
He laughs. "Yuh."
And her grin falters as she flips open the box and his heart skips a beat. "Oh my God. Ryan."
Her eyes are wide, her face in shock. "Ryan?"
His smile is weak. "You wanna marry me?" he asks hoarsely.
"Yes." Her eyes are bright. "Yes," she says again, tears threatening. He pulls the engagement ring from the box, sliding it onto her finger.
She stares at it before looking up at him. "We're getting married," she says, giving a watery laugh. "Oh my God. Oh my God."
And she's pressed against his shoulder and he can't help his relieved sigh.
Because yes, goddammit, he's going to marry her.
Fin.