Remember all that waiting you did? This is what it was for :) (M rating, folks…)

Thanks to you beautiful people for reading and reviewing and liking and reblogging and all the rest. And thank you to lifeinahole27 and oubliette14 for being darlings and betaing these words. Big hugs!

…

Wait," Emma says, holding out the hand that Killian had just dropped to grab his bicep and pull him back to her.

"Darling, if you're going to throw up, I would suggest you at least make it to the female restrooms. I believe they're slightly more hygienic."

She smiles sadly up at him, his words still slightly hazy in her drunken state, "I don't need to be sick. I just want to…" not really knowing how to finish that sentence, she just moves closer to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling herself into his chest.

He tenses for a second, but she feels his arms come around her waist after a moment, as though he understands just why she needs this. Her hands wander his back, nails trailing over the taught muscle they encounter, relishing in the slight hiss that escapes him when she hits the sensitive area near the base of his spine, goosebumps rising on his skin.

Pulling back just slightly, she looks up at him with a question in her eyes. They've always been able to communicate with simple looks and, if his nod is any indication, he knows exactly what she's asking.

She swallows, eyes darting to his lips where his tongue has poked out to wet them. Her hand comes to rest against the back of his neck as his does the same to hers. And then, with a slight tilt of her head, she feels those warm lips against her own and it's all she can do to not moan at the contact. Killian's own grunted growl of approval is not lost on her though and she feels the kiss deepen almost immediately, bodies colliding, Killian's hands seemingly pressing to every inch they can reach, fingers darting over the small of her back to the ridge of her shoulders, sending sharp spikes of pleasure coursing through her veins. He softly pulls the fullness of her bottom lip between his teeth and she opens up for him, tasting, teasing, testing the waters after so long apart. It doesn't matter that they're in a bathroom, or that he's pressing her into a cool tile wall; all she can feel is him and every lost moment they haven't shared all poured into one beautifully earth shattering kiss.

"God", he whispers as it all ends far too soon, foreheads resting together as the world rights itself around them. "Emma…"

She knows she has tears in her eyes again but simply doesn't care. Sniffing, she pulls back, hands resting on his bare shoulders, relishing that last touch, as she whispers, "Goodbye, Killian."

Her heart breaks watching the hope die on his face. But it's for the best. It hurts too much to watch him hurting himself and she's sure it hurts him too much watching her be happy with August. It's better to walk away, to let him live his life without wondering "what if?"

"Please," he says, "Please don't do this. Not when you feel the way I know you do."

She doesn't dispute it this time, knows that he'll see right through her lies. Instead, she hits back the only way she can think of, "Killian, it's okay. You have someone out there waiting for you, you'd best get back to her."

But, instead of nodding and packing up his emotions like he always has, he stands firm in front of her, something in his eyes shifting as her words hit him. "Emma, I have no one out there waiting for me."

His voice doesn't carry the trembling tone it had a few moments ago, as though he knows something she doesn't.

"The girl you were with at the bar…?"

A smirk crosses his face, "Watching me, were you, Swan?"

She narrows her eyes at him, refusing to answer that. "Who is she then?"

She doesn't even care if it sounds jealous or possessive. If not another conquest, then what the hell is going on?

"Just a bar regular," he says simply, "Someone saying they'll miss my service here when I leave."

Ah, there it is. That secret in the quirk of his lips, the thing in his voice that sounds like hope and youth once again. She frowns, "You're leaving?"

He licks his lips, one of his hands coming up to scratch behind his ear, "Yeah, I uh…" He drops his hand, meeting her eyes earnestly, "I got accepted into college. Going to finish my degree and work on some placement with local law authorities, see if I can work my way up."

She doesn't know what to say, eyes brimming with tears again and, god, she really needs to get a handle on that, but he's doing it. He's pulling himself up and out and she honestly doesn't know what to say.

She must be smiling though, because he returns one in kind, eyes lighting up as she continues to stare at him dumbly.

"I should, uh…" he gestures a thumb over his shoulder, "Last shift and all."

Finally, she nods, "Yeah. Yeah of course." But before he can leave, she reaches out a hand to grasp his, squeezing gently, "You know, I had a really great tutor in college. He helped me a lot. So if you need someone to…"

He doesn't let her finish, pulling her hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss against the back of her knuckles; another olive branch accepted, "I would love that."

And it's an understanding of sorts, not the beginning and not the end, just enough to know that their friendship is okay. But Emma has made the decision in her own mind already. She loves August, but she can't do this to him – not when she is in love with someone else.

…

Ruby, surprisingly, doesn't have tequila in any form waiting for her. What she does have waiting is a cab and a knowing look in her warm eyes. When Emma looks up at her curiously, she only shrugs and says, "When you said you were getting married to August, I amended my bet on you and Killian. I always knew you would figure it out when it came close to walking away from him forever."

And she should be mad at her friend, angry at all of them for not speaking up before now. But she knows why they didn't, understands that she had to come to it on her own. Just as she's been watching Killian hurt himself and hoping beyond hope that he would find his way out of his darkness, her friends have had her back – ready to catch her always, but letting her find her way to her own conclusions.

Before climbing into the taxi, Emma reaches up and pulls Ruby into a hug, whispering, "Thank you," in her ear as she does. She may never know what she did to deserve the beautiful friends in her life, but she knows she will never be letting them go.

Mary Margaret steps forward to let her know that the driver has already been told the address of the bar the guys are at, "And I've clued David in, so he'll probably be clearing the floor for you as we speak."

Emma nods her thanks, wrapping her raven haired friend in a hug as well.

Elsa is the last one to step forward, her hands clasped in front of her as though she's afraid to reach out. Even through her still slightly drunken haze, Emma can see the look of fear in her eyes. This time though, Emma leans forward, hands resting on Elsa's shoulders, "It's never too late, you know?"

Her wide eyes shift up to meet Emma's, understanding blooming in her irises, her own moment of epiphany upon her.

Hugging Elsa as well, Emma finally steps into the very patiently waiting cab, waving at her friends as she departs, a grateful smile on her lips.

The ride over to the bachelor party is only about ten minutes, but it's enough time for Emma to gather her thoughts and put them into something resembling coherency for the conversation she's about to have. It's been a weird few months, something oddly cathartic about the whole experience, and it's kind of nice to know, finally, where she stands and how she's going to move forward from this point.

She thinks of the burning potential of it all, of how only a few months ago she had thought that turning 30 was the beginning of the end. But she had been so wrong, so caught up in her past that she didn't see the possibilities of her future. And, apparently, she's not the only one – what with Ruby and Victor finally getting it together, with Elsa coming to grips with being able to put herself first and Killian starting up his studies again – they're all doing this together, her little band of misfits.

The cab driver alerts her to the fact that they've arrived and, when she goes to pay, that he's already been taken care of. She smiles gratefully at him, making a mental note to again thank her friends, and steps out into the cold night air.

It's not a bar that she's ever been to so, as she enters, she has to take a moment to look around, unsure of where August will be, or if he'll even still be here. But he's the friend who never leaves her, so of course he's there, smiling and beckoning her over to the stools at the bar where he has sat himself, two glasses sitting in front of him.

"Water?" she asks, matching his smirk as she sits down opposite him, gesturing to the drinks.

He nods, clinking his glass against hers, "It seems to have magical properties when intoxicated." She smiles and knocks back a few gulps of her own. "You look beautiful tonight."

She fights the urge to roll her eyes at the fact that she knows she has tear tracks down her face and, instead, takes in the blue shirt he wears, the sleeves rolled up, his dark jeans, the look of unconditional love he sports in his eyes, "Yeah, you look pretty damn decent too."

He waves over the bartender, ordering two glasses of champagne for them, leaving a twenty on the bar for when he returns with the drinks. Biting his lip, he hands one glass to Emma, holding the other up in a toast, "To happiness."

She smiles warmly at him, her oldest friend, the person who stuck by her through it all, who has seen her at her worst, her best and every moment in between. "I do wish I could have loved you more."

He tilts his glass towards hers and waits for her to meet it halfway, "You've always loved me just the right amount, Emma."

She takes a sip of the champagne, setting her glass down and standing to wrap her arms around August. His breath tickles her ear as he sighs into the hold, returning the gesture in kind. She settles into the cradle of his thighs and just holds tight, happy to soak in this moment with her friend.

When she pulls back she's crying again and she groans in frustration as she swipes at her bleary eyes.

August chuckles at her, "Never took you for this much of a crier."

She hits his shoulder but there's no heat in it, "Is it bad that I feel relieved?"

Pulling back, he clutches at his chest in mock pain, "You wound me." At her insistent look, he acquiesces and answers honestly, "And no. I do too."

There's a quiet moment where they just share a small smile before August adds, "Although, if Killian doesn't marry you by the time we're all 40, I'm going to have to insist we try again."

She laughs at that, a full belly laugh, not even caring that tears spring to her eyes once more, "You had a bet on us as well? When were you planning on telling me?"

He grins back at her mirth and knocks back the rest of his champagne, "Well, first I was hoping for Killian to get it together for you and then I was hoping you'd make it through the wedding before you made the realisation."

She shakes her head incredulously, "Always one for dramatics." She's sure that when she processes this all at some point, she'll probably be a little mad at him for planning on going through with the wedding despite his inkling that her heart might otherwise be occupied, but right now, all she can focus on is the fact that maybe everything is working out now just as it should.

"Yeah, well," he starts, nodding his head towards the door; it's late and definitely time to be getting home, "It'd make a hell of a story."

…

Her place is strangely bare, despite having only moved a few little things into August's apartment, she still feels their absence when she steps through her door. She's never been more glad that she stuck by her plans and kept her own place though; the idea of coming home to anything less than this unsettles her. She takes a few moments to reacquaint herself with her space, runs her hands over the back of the old couch, checks the fridge and makes a mental note to get more milk in the morning, switches on the heating in the bathroom with every intention of coming back to the shower as soon as she finds her way out of the dress and heels she's wearing.

In the end it's just easier to sit down on the edge of her bed and let future-Emma handle the problem of how she's going to find the energy to reach down to unbuckle the straps holding her feet into her shoes. It turns out that when all the alcohol leaves your system, you get sleepy. It's probably a terrible idea to lie down, but it feels fucking fantastic to just let her eyes slip shut and luxuriate in having the whole bed to herself with no thoughts in her mind of when she will have to give it up next.

She wakes up to the sound of someone knocking on her front door, groaning as she sits up and – yep, there's the problem that past-Emma should have dealt with – shifts her dress back down over her hips from where it has ridden up. She's shaky on her heels as she yawns and makes her way towards the entrance of her apartment, checking the peephole and swinging the door open before she's really registered who's on the other side.

"Hey," he says, his voice so much more awake than she feels.

It takes her a moment to grasp that Killian is standing outside of her apartment but, once she does, everything else that has occurred tonight starts to flood her mind and she finds herself instantly 100% more awake than she had been only seconds ago. Smiling up at him, she stands aside to let him in, "Hey."

His lips brush her cheek as he walks past, heading straight for her kitchen. Some things never change.

Except that they do and he's got a bag in his hand, the smell of takeaway from their favourite Thai place wafting through the air as she follows him. Cocking her head to the side, he reads her unasked question and answers simply with, "I thought it was about time that things changed."

And she swears on everything she owns, everything that she's lost and gained, that she had intended to go into this, whatever this is, slowly and carefully. But he's standing right there unpacking Pad Thai in her kitchen like he belongsthere and, fuck it, he just might.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, her voice surprisingly not belying her nerves.

He looks at her curiously and she can see him trying to read what answer she wants to hear. "I just thought you might want something after Ruby…"

She cuts him off, shaking her head. "Are you hungry?" she asks again, her meaning becoming apparent to him after a moment, his eyes widening before he steps away from the food.

"Aye," he says, his voice unfairly husky.

She licks her lips, mirroring his movements until they're in the middle of her kitchen and there's no backing out, not this time. He tentatively reaches for her hand, but she's already got hers halfway across the void and there's nothing else for it because there's no longer a teetering ledge between them. Instead, there's clarity and sureness and there's him and her and, before she knows what to do or to say, his lips are on hers and she really doesn't have to consciously do or say anything. Her instincts take over, hands shifting over hard muscle and soft warmth until they settle, innocently enough, on his biceps.

But neither of them want innocent if the dirty way their mouths move together is anything to go by. He nips at her bottom lip, tongue tasting the passion at its tip before he drags her forward, hands firmly pressed against her ass, hips colliding as he holds her tight. She moans as his exploration moves down her jawline and her neck, teeth biting and grazing while her hands stay gripped around his arms, unable to let go because, god, she might just fall.

He licks the line of her collarbone, the fingers of one hand pulling the straps of her dress and bra aside and off her shoulder, sucking a bruise into her skin, marking her as his and, "Mmm, yes," she whispers through panting breaths, grinding her hips down and feeling his hardness against her pelvic bone. He grunts in agreement, gripping her side and guiding her through the motion again and again until they are desperate and breathless, her dress bunching at her hips, his trousers rumpled and all too tight.

She finally finds it within herself to let go of his arms, lets her hands trail down his torso and to the waistband of his pants, pulling his shirt from its confines and popping the button and fly in one smooth motion.

"Emma," he breathes, voice hot in her ear as the hand on her ass shifts down the back of her thigh to lift it, her hand trapped down his pants in between them, the backs of her knuckles pressing against her own heat as Killian lines them up. "Shall we…?" he asks, the rest of his question cut off with the way she cups him and adds just the right amount of pressure.

"Mmm," she moans, the only way she can agree with him in the state she's in. Because she is completely and utterly wrecked for him. But it's enough for him to know what she's saying, his other hand reaching down to treat her other leg in the same way. She jumps a little to help him settle her on his hips, relishing in the way their cores meet deliciously through the fabric of their underwear as her hand leaves him to hold on around his neck. God she can't wait to have him naked. She honestly doesn't know how she's waited this long.

He starts walking backwards – more a stumbling sort of motion with her wrapped around his waist – towards her bedroom, but she breaks away from licking her way down his neck to grab a hold of the bathroom doorway, gripping it tightly even as he tries to move away. He eventually gets it though, slipping through the frame to enter the room.

It's almost too warm in there from the heater she'd turned on earlier and she finds herself unwinding her legs from around his waist to hop down and make her way over to the switch on the wall, dialling down the heat and falling back into his arms as they wrap around her waist from behind, now noticeably devoid of shirt.

His chest presses against her shoulders as she rocks back, humming contentedly while his lips get to work on marking a hot trail down her neck. Guiding his hands, she brings them from her hips to her breasts, sighing softly when he squeezes the rounded flesh. "Shower?" she requests, relishing in the groan he drops just below her ear, the rumble of it setting her skin on fire.

"Anything you like, darling," he agrees, spinning her in his arms and reaching down for the hem of her dress to pull it over her head.

And she really does like the sound of that.

He drops to his knees in front of her, hands reaching for the buckles of her left shoe, fingers nimbly undoing the straps as he continues worshipping her body in kisses, this trail leading from the sensitive skin above her knee to the apex of her thighs. And, god is she glad she has a wall behind her to support her weight because her legs are doing a pretty crappy job of it with his nose brushing the dampened lace over her core.

The other shoe comes off easily, his hands guiding her foot from it in soft movements, and then she is at precisely the right height for his lips to ghost over her mound. She tucks her thumbs into the sides of her underwear, sliding them down a little before he catches on and tugs them the rest of the way, throwing the scrap over his shoulder and kissing the crease of her thigh before nudging one of her legs to widen her stance so that he can lick a stripe from her core to her clit, making her shiver with the warm wetness of his tongue.

He pulls back briefly, licking his lips, eye flicking up to meet hers with pupils blown wide. He whispers something about the gods and heavens before his hand snakes up the back of her thigh, fingers gripping the round globe of her ass as he pulls her forward again, like a man starved. She yelps, actually yelps, as he laps at her opening, dragging his tongue in figure eights all the way up to her clit. One hand kneads her ass, the other trails delicately along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh until it reaches its intended target, one digit slipping inside of her, curling and tapping gently against that little spot that makes her see stars.

At some point, she reaches out for something to hold, grabbing at a towel rail and gripping it for dear life while he tears apart her world and rebuilds it from pleasure up. She can barely hear her panting breaths over the sound of her own heartbeat, but she knows she's throwing in a good couple of moans there too. It feels uncontrollable and wanton, this release building up inside of her. His tapping motion becomes more precise as she reaches her peak, another finger dipping into her heat easily as he continues to work her.

"God, right there," she breathes, her fingers curling around his hair and keeping him in place, "So close."

She feels, more than hears, his grunt of approval, the vibrations sending her pitching forward off the wall as she curls around him, her body spasming in the most delightful way. His fingers continue to move within her, lightly stroking her walls as she comes down, his mouth still blowing hot breaths across the most sensitive part of her.

They stay that way for a few moments, just breathing heavily against each other until Killian nudges at her belly, his hair tickling her, and she stands up straight again, wincing when the heated skin of her back hits the cool tiles.

"You are a vision, Emma," he says against her belly, kissing his way up her torso as he rises to his feet, "Bloody stunning."

She doesn't know why it's that which makes her blush when he's just been between her thighs, but she feels herself redden at his words anyway, hiding her face in his shoulder as his arms come around her once more. His hips roll forward and she feels the heavy hardness of him against her, stoking the heat that's still sizzling just below the surface of her soul. She reaches down, eager to have him naked against her and he seems to be in the same frame of mind, hands gliding up her back to undo the clasp of her bra. His fly is still open from her wandering hands before so she pulls her arms away from him long enough to let her bra fall from her, then works on tugging his pants over his hips and down his legs, taking his underwear with them. His knees are red from where he'd been kneeling before her and she wants to return the favour, sink to her own knees and take the thick length of him in her mouth, but he seems to have other ideas, hauling her against him, a leg lifted over his hip as he runs his cock through her folds.

They move against one another slowly, hands braced on whatever parts of the other they can grip as they watch his reddened flesh drag through her wetness. And she could come like this, this barely there grinding lighting up her arousal like nothing she's ever felt. And maybe it's just because it's been a while, but, more likely, maybe it's because it's him, she could definitely come like this.

Her head tips back, eyes on the ceiling in an attempt to hold on, because watching him, watching them, so close, so intimate, it's doing things to her. And she'd almost feel embarrassed as her legs tighten around him, as her hands pinch at the skin of his neck and his bicep, and she feels that flush light up her skin again – yeah, she'd almost feel embarrassed except that it feels so damn good, his hardened length so fucking hot against her core.

"I want you in me," she moans, still coming down from her high, head still swimming and eyes still pointed upwards, "I need you."

He chuckles, lips on her neck, "You have me, Emma. In whatever way you want. You have me."

And that feels so big that she doesn't quite know what to do with it, doesn't quite know if he knows what he's signing up for. But then he leans back and she sees it in his eyes, the honesty, the way it always was, the way it could be again and, fuck, "I love you."

It's out of her mouth before she can think about it, before she can second guess herself, before he can say it first. It's out there and he smiles and she doesn't think she's ever seen anything more beautiful. "Say it again," he whispers, his voice joyous behind the quiet sound.

It comes easily, "I love you, Killian."

She thinks he might lift her and spin her like something out of an old movie, but he only hugs her close to him, their bodies pressed together as his lips mark every inch of her bare skin that he can reach. And then he does lift her with a grunt, stepping them towards the shower and switching the water on. He backs in, hissing as ill-temperatured water hits his skin, but it eases as he lowers her to the ground and then, as her feet touch tile, the water is just right.

He kisses her, the spray from the shower spilling over his shoulders and between their bodies until they are both underneath it. His hands come up to cup her face, thumbs swiping below her eyes where she can only imagine there's a build-up of cried mascara and eyeliner. He doesn't seem to mind though, methodically cleaning her skin until she feels like she can blink again and not have her eyelashes stick together.

Smiling up at him, she reaches a hand down between their bodies, fingers closing around his cock. He thrusts his hips forward at the touch, the tip of him pushing through her fingers to graze her belly and she does it again, building a steady pace until he grips her wrist and tells her, "Stop, darling."

She's never seen a man more wrecked than he is in this moment and she wants to hold onto it forever. Even with his hand wrapped around her wrist, he lets her start the rhythm up again and she smiles up at him as he tips his head back under the hot spray of the water, a growl escaping his lips, "You'll be the death of me."

It's her turn to chuckle lightly as she loosens her grip, turning to face the wall of the shower, throwing a glance over her shoulder. His eyes meet hers as he steps forward to grab her hands and place them on the glass in front of them before running his fingers down her arms and to her slim waist. His wet kisses land on her shoulder, his body aligning with hers as though it's the most natural thing in the world, and perhaps it is. Perhaps this was the story that was always meant to be told. Perhaps she was always meant for him and him for her.

Her head drops to the cool glass as he slides through her folds, bumping her clit deliberately before lifting enough to slip into her welcoming heat. There's a murmur of, "Gods" and "Yes" and "More," all echoing off the bathroom tiles, the stutter of the water where it hits their skin and then the shower door as they move increasing as his thrusts become more rapid.

"So hot," he whispers against the lobe of her ear, hand slipping across her front and pulling her back into him, palm on her breast as she whimpers in return.

Her hands grip at the glass, trying to find something solid to hold onto and slipping instead, just barely clinging to the edge of her sanity as he drives her higher and higher.

Words of love escape her lips and his, mingling with the thick steam until they don't know who uttered them, just that they are surrounded by them.

His free hand follows the path of her smooth skin, between her legs, until his fingers touch upon the swollen bundle of nerves designed to make her scream. And fuck, she almost does, panting out moans as he works her to her next high.

And then he's whispering for her to come with him, a constant mantra as she feels him starting to lose control.

"Mmhmm," she hums, "Close."

"Me too, darling," he breathes, "Come for me."

And she does, because after denying him for so damn long, it feels liberating to give and give and give, her body contracting in tight spasms, drawing him over the edge and into joint bliss. She can feel him swell and groan as he stills inside of her, the water running steady as he holds her close.

…

He probably doesn't realise he's doing it, running his finger across the space where her engagement ring had been just a few hours earlier; she'd handed it back to August as he'd seen her into a cab.

Her hand rests on his chest, his heartbeat thumping beneath her palm. She hasn't completely dried off from the shower, but it's warm in her apartment and she's more than content to just stay here, wrapped in a towel and in Killian Jones.

She can feel his smile as he kisses her forehead, drawing her curious eyes up until they meet his. "What?" she asks, her voice soft.

He bites his lip and she can see that he's debating telling her. Leaning in to press a light kiss to his chin, she nods, urging him on, "What is it?"

His finger stops moving over hers, "I wish I had quit sooner. I wish I didn't waste so much time."

She frowns, shaking her head, "You needed that time."

"But when I think of where we could have been…"

"We're here now. You needed that time, Killian. I never wanted you to change for me. I wanted you to be happy."

He smiles lazily, hand running up over her shoulder to tangle in the loose waves of her still drying hair, "I am so happy."

She thinks back to all those time he's expressed the same sentiment, all those times he's tried to convince her of a falsehood. But this time, for the first time in a long time, she believes him.

…

It turns out that cancelling a wedding is almost as difficult as it is to plan one so, in the end, they decide to have a Valentine's Day dinner a few days early – just the eight of them – utilising the gorgeous glass-front room that Emma and August had hired for their wedding reception.

Despite having been inseparable for the past week, Emma decides to sit away from Killian, in between Elsa and David, enjoying the company of her friends as they eat and drink and toast to many more happy years ahead. She's not sure what the protocol on dating your ex-fiancé's friend is in this particular situation because, although August had explicitly stated his support for the pair, there's surely some kind of grey area that they're ignoring.

Besides, she's quite happy to keep their relationship a secret for a little while; the group will know soon enough, she's sure.

August leans back on his chair, reaching behind Elsa, who he's seated on the other side of, to tap Emma on the shoulder. She smiles, leaning back as well. "You okay?" she asks.

He nods, "Was just going to ask you the same thing."

"Most relaxed wedding ever," she teases with a grin.

"Oh!" Elsa exclaims then, "Speaking of wedding. I have the cake prepared."

Emma frowns, swinging forward in her seat again, "You know this isn't a wedding, though, right? Elsa, you didn't have to make the cake."

Elsa just rolls her eyes, "When are you going to learn that the baking is my love and I'm more than willing to show off my skills?"

Smiling at her friend, the blonde hops up and makes her way into the kitchens like she owns the place, returning seconds later with a tiered cake on a rolling trolley. The typical bride and groom that sit atop a wedding cake have been replaced with an assortment of flowers, pink in colour and bright against the white of the royal icing. Elsa has piped intricate lacing onto the lower tier, the delicate sugar work a pale ice-blue, offering a perfect contrast of colours.

Emma's eyebrows nearly raise right off her head, "Elsa, it's gorgeous."

She shrugs, a knowing smirk on her lips, "Yeah, well…" Then, very aware that all the attention has turned to her, she gestures towards the knife on the side of the platter, "Who's going to do the honours?"

In the end, they decide it should be Emma and August, because despite them not getting married, they'd still sprung for an exceptional dinner. The two stand side by side, a hand each on the knife, looking up to smile as Elsa grabs her camera. Across the room, Mary Margaret yells, "Make a wish."

Emma's eyes flick to Killian, the man she loves staring right back at her with affection in his gaze, before she turns to August, "I think this wish is all yours."

She sees him put the pieces together in record time, eyes widening as he smiles and whispers a quick, "About time," before putting pressure on the knife and cutting all the way through.

It's not until everyone has their cake served up to them and Emma is finally seated back at the table, that she realises it's not the dark chocolate mud cake she had requested, but instead the rich butterscotch.

Elsa seems to notice the realisation, nudging Emma with her shoulder, "I hope it's okay. Call it baker's intuition but I could just tell that you liked this one so much more."

Emma smiles, her eyes again darting to Killian across the table. He's mid conversation with August, but seems to feel her gaze on him, head turning just slightly to let her know that he is aware of her. "Yeah," she says, "I really do love it."

…

This little tale is, for all intents and purposes, over. There will be a little epilogue coming up in the hopefully not too distant future to tie up those loose ends ;) I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have. I know August is a bit of a polarising character and I want to thank you all for sticking with me through this. And last, but not least - thoughts?