A/N: Yes I went there, swore I wouldn't and did anyways. How has it only been a week? Thanks to Jessie for the on the fly beta. Based on a prompt from Diane who wanted to see something this-ish. So, for you my friend and for finding me on the darkest days and letting in a little light!

When all of your flaws and all of my flaws

Are laid out one by one...

She gapes, a bit -probably a lot more than a bit- looking down and the world is spinning, spinning and moving, oh no wait, that's the swing. She's still on the swing, but she's looking down and even with the swing the world is definitely spinning because he's on his knees, on his knees in the dirt at her feet with a ring.

A ring.

And it's not at all what she expected. Not the ring -the ring is gorgeous and there is this sudden twitch in her finger as if it yearns to see what that ring would look like on her hand- the man, the man on his knees in the dirt is not what she expected.

But, when is he ever?

He's on his knees with his blue eyes wide and full of innocence and then a little scary with the force of his stare, like he can see into her, through her maybe. Definitely, yes definitely, he has always seen through her, straight through the brick and mortar to the core of who she is and what did he say?

He fought his way inside?

No, no, more savage than that, more visceral. He had to scratch and claw for every inch, to get at her, to be near her. Because she's secretive and she doesn't let people in...and yet.

Yet she let him in, maybe deeper than he realises, maybe deeper than he sees because for a few seconds - seconds that stretched like years, decades full of agony as her heart clenched tight in her chest with downright deserved anguish and fear- she thought it was over. Done. And in those seconds she felt it, how deeply he is ingrained in her, how quickly her eyes flooded with tears at the thought of losing him, how thick the sob was that broke free from her chest and sat heavy at the back of her throat.

She's come here with the answer to the wrong question and she cannot take her eyes off of him, off of the ring he's holding out to her and she's stupidly looking through the center of it to the man behind, to the blue in his eyes as it deepens, deepens even as she watches him, as she makes him wait.

He's on his knees in the dirt and he's asking her a question, a question she imagined him asking a hundred different ways ever since that off hand comment after his birthday. He was going to get her back and never ever did it look like this, him listing her flaws and her insecurities, those nasty little bits in secret dark places that she hates, and still on his knees, still asking all the same.

She hates that it takes her so long to trust, that her love comes slowly and not as easy as it should. She hates that she stores the information of her life away in her head. That it stays there, trapped, like a library of conscience and conscious mind. She hates that she makes him check out one little piece of her at a time, storing away the rest and keeping it to herself.

She stares at it -the ring- and him -the unexpected man, the all too kind and caring man on his knees in the dirt- knowing her mouth is hanging open and seeing that his hands are shaking.

He's shaking.

And the ring, the tiny little, huge thing is gripped so tightly between the tips of two fingers that his skin is white with it. White and shaking.

He's shaking.

The ring is trembling in his fingers and god, he looks terrified. They have to be mirror images of each other right now because she can't imagine she looks anything other than shocked and scared to death.

Shell shocked, on the spot and in the moment, shocked. Because she came here expecting...not this. Not this baring of his soul, not the force of his sincerity or the seriousness of his face.

And he is deadly serious, she can see that, but she came here expecting to have to explain herself, to fight and to yell. She came with the prospect of heartache hanging over her head, and the need to beg for forgiveness that she might not deserve but still, still needed to plead for because the forced weight of being made to let go, it's too painful to think about.

But not this, this ring and this unexpected man.

She came here with an answer but she sees now it was to the wrong question and he beat her to it. He's on his knees with a ring and a sorrowful, truthful vow and pledge and declaration. Listing her flaws, her faults, his voice so low and clear as he marks them off of some universal checklist, those not so good parts of her, he knows them by heart and he loves her anyway.

He's shaking.

But his eyes are sort of determined with it, blunt and fierce and almost black-blue in their intensity and he's watching her so intently she can feel his gaze permeate her skin and glide over her bones. It touches her that deeply, the look and the feel of him and she knows he's watching her, knows his eyes are burning into her, burrowing under and desperately rooting for any sign of an answer to the question -the ultimate question- and she has none.

Her eyes are glued to the ring and it's beautiful. The engagement ring. Shit, he bought her a ring and it's quivering between the tips of his fingers.

His fingers because it's not in a box, this tiny little circle of metal that tells a story so loud and deafening all the world will hear it. This little ring, that sparkles in the almost grey sunlight that floods the park, held so tightly between his fingers, and not in a box, that his shaking skin is white with the sheer force of it.

That he loves her was never in doubt, but here is a ring, a circular promise of always, of loving even the crappiest parts of her, the parts that she hates, here is his promise to love them anyway because they are who she is. Here is his answer to where they are going and what happens when the music stops, here is how he dives in, deep and permanent and forever.

No box, no velvet encasement, no need to adorn the truth. Just his fingers when he had to touch it seeking tangible proof, the soft platinum curve meeting the hard cut diamond edge.

Oh Castle, a ring?

She can see them, Castle, with the ring she is imagining as a living breathing entity, sitting here waiting for her. There might have been a box before, a small black box that rolled back and forth between his palms, that grew soggy and damp with sweat as he questioned his question, as he fumbled through the ways to ask, as he contemplated where they would be after her answer.

Then, of course, there was just the ring and his need to get it out, because holding the ring makes it real and his question is real and she pictures it burning a hole in his pocket -that oh so important circle of metal- until it's scorching the palm of his hand.

And now he's holding it out to her like it's the answer to everything, when in truth she came here with an answer all her own.

"Will you marry me?"

He blinks, blinks again when she doesn't speak and the silence is not only deafening, it's painful. He watches her toy with the watch at her wrist and he shifts on his knees, she knows the ground is cold and hard and she just wants to pull him up, but an answer needs to be given.

He lets out a long slow breath, his eyes still that wonderful, hopeful terrified blue of forever and she stares at him, at the ring and back again, watches his lips part as he takes in another breath. "Yes." He says quietly, the shake of his hand and the confusion in his eyes increasing, "That's what I asked."

He doesn't get it, doesn't know, that she came here with an answer to a different question, but one no less permanent and no less forever. She has already made her choice.

"No, Castle." She shakes her head, slips the watch from her wrist. Her father's watch, the one she clings to for the life she saved seems the most fitting thing to offer the man who saves her everyday, and she holds it level with the ring in front of his face.

The shock is dissipating slowly and she feels light, like she could smile even, because she came here with the answer to the wrong question. She's not leaving, of course she's not, this is her home. This is her life.

But she still came here with the right answer to the wrong question. So instead she leaves it up to him, this beautiful, wonderful, unexpected man, "Castle, I'm asking, will you marry me ?"