He is a storm but so is she, and when his frustration breaks in the form of some magical object slipping from one Gold's shelves, it sends green sparks flying and him jumping three feet and letting out some of the more creative curses Emma has heard.

He is still cursing when she sets down the book she is studying and turns to face him, stepping forward and reaching out to cradle his jaw that is even heavier with stubble than usual, stretching her thumb to smooth the lines of worry on his forehead and wishing it were as simple to sooth the tangled mess inside of him. The lines soften at her touch but the hurricane of fear darkening the blue of his eyes and the shadow set beneath them do not falter.

"Swear to me you'll wait, Emma."

He breathes the words when she pulls him near to her, pressing her lips to his shoulder and carding her fingers through his hair. The dagger presses at them both in her jacket between them—as sharp a reminder as its pointed tip.

"Swear to me that you'll give us time to find a better solution."

She holds him tighter to hide the way her body shakes to contain a sob and wants to tell that he is an idiot, that they are both idiots because they have the solution, the best solution and that she has already given more time than is justifiable.

They just do not love the consequences of it.

He presses his lips into her hair and digs his hook into her hip, grounding her and him and they are both storms indeed, clinging to each other in the otherwise quiet of the messy shop and sharing in the pains tearing them apart.

They do not say anything, not for a while. He rubs shaky circles against her spine and she buries herself into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder and times her quivering breaths to the steady beat of his heart– melting into his warmth until she can no longer entirely tell where he begins and she ends.

Until they are one.

"Give me one of your rings."

She breaks the numb embrace with a kiss to his neck and then words whispered soft in his ear, slipping her hand from his shoulder to press her fingers gentle at his chest. His eyes rove hers with quiet query but she feels his hand lift from the small of her back, twisting against itself before he raises it between them, motioning for her to give him her hand. The metal is warm from his skin when he slips it easily over hers, tangling his fingers around the back of her hand and bringing her palm to his lips.

Her eyes flutter closed when his warm lips brush her skin and she nearly falls back into his embrace. She forces herself back steadier into the hook still pressed at her hip instead as he twists her fingers properly in hers, settling their hands between them.

She forces her eyes open to find his trained on her with the wide delicate adoration that makes her stomach do flips.

She leans in and presses her lips to his for a fleeting moment, moving away before he can respond because if he does she is certain her resolve will not survive. She stares at him, lets him read her intentions for a fleeting moment,

"Whatever happens, Killian, no matter what—I know you'll find me."

Solid confusion settles into his gaze as she turns away and she knows it is coming before it actually does, cool hook slipping around her wrist and tugging her stumbling sharply back to face him.

They are silent a moment and there is contemplation and uneasiness in every line on his face, until—

"You didn't even get down on one knee, love."

He looks so goddamn affronted and tears are pooling hopelessly in her eyes now and she contemplates too long whether to hide her tears welling in her eyes or the laugh rising in her throat, resulting in an embarrassing choking sob rising past a smile instead.

"Why don't you show me how it's done then, Captain."

And of course, of course she hardly has to get the words from her mouth before he has swayed closer to her, baby blues bright and tender and brow furrowed with the lines she can only draw out in the most effortlessly sentimental moments. He is taking the hand with which she is wiping at her tears and pressing a brushing, lingering kiss to her forehead before he is slipping to a knee, hook still looped around her opposite wrist, eyes never straying from hers.

"Be my happily ever after, Emma."

She drags him to her lips, meeting him halfway and tuning her entire being into kissing him.

(She holds his hand steady against her heart and doesn't try to hide her tears, not anymore. He does not either. He finds the cool metal of the ring he has put on her finger and he thumbs at it softly, voice breaking when he speaks.

"You never gave me an answer."

His attempt at a tear-filled smile is the last thing she'll see.

"It's a good thing we aren't at The End, yet.")