Title: Son of a Woodworker
Chapter Title: Makes No Difference Who You Are
Setting: Post 2x18 AU

Author's Note: The last chapter. It's finally here. After YEARS - literal years - of working on this, putting it away, getting angry, growing sad, getting galvanized, being demotivated, it's finally here. I'm so happy it's finally here, and I just… I hope it was worth the wait. They had so much they needed to say to each other, and they can finally say it. And as you might be able to tell from the title, the inspiration that I want you all to take away from this is to go listen to Wish Upon A Star. Feel that Disney magic. I feel like Emma and August deserve it. Music Recommendation: I really struggled with this, but I found the song to round this out: If My Heart Was A House by Owl City.

Also, read, review, tell a friend, favorite a chapter, I am always desperate for a bit of validation. Honestly, though, it's over now. You made it. I hope you enjoyed it. Much love and appreciation to every one of you who reviewed and stuck with me over the years!

"I didn't know it would be you."

Emma's first words upon having two seconds alone with August are met with confusion. She doesn't blame him for it. She's not even sure what she's trying to say. She knows that there's so much bundled up inside her and she doesn't really know where to start. Henry is asleep - or at least in bed - and her dad is staying with her mom at the hospitals for the night. The loft is silent and she's made hot cocoa that's still sitting on the counter untouched. Her nerves haven't let her do anything but watch August like a hawk since he walked in.

August has finally unzipped his jacket and draped it over a chair before he looks at her, still perplexed. But, he doesn't have that playfulness he normally does. Right now, he's acting like a kicked puppy, somber and slumped. "What was me?"

She inhales, and it sounds profoundly more vulnerable than she wants it to. She knows she needs to tell him every stupid jumbled thought she's been holding back, but… how? Where? Is it even the right thing to say right now?

"This…" Emma begins, reminding herself that the only way out is through. "When I came to Storybrooke, I only did it to get Henry back to the person I thought was his mother. And that kid did not want to let me go. So, I held onto him and found myself starting to… to feel like I had a family. But, I still had my walls., especially after Graham." Emma leans against the bar counter, bracing her hands against it behind her as if it can ground her. Make this confession easier somehow… "And then you showed up. And you were mysterious and troublesome - "

August chuckles, his hands in his pockets as he stares at the floor. She wonders what he's thinking. Is he also thinking about the diner? The hell he wanted to raise by ordering a donut? Does it stick in his mind like hers?

"And you wouldn't let up. And I liked it. But, I hated that I liked it, so I pushed you away." Emma's expression falls a bit, and if August looks at her, she can't tell. She feels like his eyes are on her, but she's looking down at the floor now, too. As if the tiles have any answer. "We worked well together. But, it just reminded me that no one sticks around. Neal, then Graham, and I knew it would be just a matter of time before you left. What I didn't know was…" Emma takes a deep breath. She can feel her resolve buckling. It's very easy to steer the conversation away from this point. She knows that, she's done it countless times with other people.

"Emma, what happened to me was not your fault." August mutters. His voice is so low, but so close. She's somehow missed that he's walked to her, closed the distance between them both. "I made my own bed. I made those mistakes, no one else."

"But, I promised to save you." The admission is so desperate and she clenches the counter so hard she can feel it digging into her palms. Her eyes are squeezed just as tightly shut and she can feel the warmth of tears threatening to spill if she looks at him. "I needed you and that terrified me, because I never needed anyone. And then you were gone, and ever since then I've felt rudderless. It was like a part of me just disappeared and every thought I had was somewhere between 'How the hell do I get through this' and 'What obnoxiously pithy thing would August say?' And I thought you were dead. I thought I had gotten you killed before I could even say thank you. For making me care, for telling me that I was fighting for Henry, because I didn't want to admit any of that and you forced me to see it." Her throat has closed up, and she swallows thickly so try to clear it. It's enough to make the tears fall down her cheeks as she expected. She reaches up and wipes them away, but the words won't stop. "And I couldn't even believe you. I thought you were deranged and you were the only person who saw things the way they really were." She finally manages to meet his gaze. He looks thunderstruck. She's not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing, but at least he knows now. "And I love you. Because of all that, in spite of it, I don't know, but… I fell in love with you somewhere along the way and I never thought I'd get to tell you that." Her chuckle is bitter. "And now I have and it sounds ridiculou - "

Emma doesn't get to finish her thought. August's hands are at her cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears as his lips meet hers. It's both gentle and desperate. She feels like she's suffocating and drowning all at the same time, but she doesn't care. She promised to tell him everything, and she finally has. They can figure all this out going forward, but at least he knows. He knows what he means to her.

When he finally pulls away, the air between them is thick and he's panting as if he's never breathed before. But, he doesn't let go. His hands are still at her cheeks, thumbs caressing her skin as those bright blue eyes peer back at her.

"I've loved you since the moment I came to Storybrooke." August finally mutters. It's a rush of warm breath against her lips. "I thought I was just trying to protect you and we both know I'm terrible at it." The chuckle they share feels like a surprise for them both. "But, you didn't need to be protected. You had everything under control and I knew that if I did one thing, it would be to help you believe. But, I never expected you to feel anything for me, Emma. I…" August's expression drifts from mischief to that same guilt-ridden expression she's seen countless times. Slowly, he pulls back until his hands leave her skin. The sensation of the cold air between them leaves a physical ache. It makes her actually take a step forward to prevent him, but he's gone a little too far. "I don't deserve you."

Emma's brow furrows. "I'm not perfect, August. I'm not…"

"You're a princess. And I'm the son of a woodworker." August says without thinking. There's a cynicism she's come to recognize in his voice. "If we were in your parents' kingdom, we probably wouldn't have known each other more than to say hello. And I've done so many foolish, cowardly things in my life. You deserve someone who appreciates you."

"What, like Neal?" Emma isn't sure what that comes from, but she knows about the postcard. It's as good a time to point it out as any. "You were the reason he left me to take the wrap with the cops. And then you sent him that postcard. Did you really think I wanted to be with someone who was going to lead me into a life of crime I couldn't escape? What you did wasn't really your right, but I understand your reasons. But, I'm not a kid anymore. Neither are you." She reaches out and takes his wrist, pulling him closer. "I don't want perfect. I don't want to be worshipped like royalty. I want to solve crimes and drink hot cocoa and read your next book. I want to be with August W. Booth. Middle initial and all."

"Emma…" August breathes her name like a prayer. It makes her heart flutter a little. She might not want to be worshipped, but… he does make it sound appealing when he does that.

"August. I can't lose you again." She reaches up to run her hand along his cheek, enjoying the way the beard scratches the pads of her fingers. "So, before tomorrow throws some new adventure at us… how about we just agree to deal with it together?"

He gently rests his hand on hers, then turns so he can kiss her palm. The way he breathes in feels as though he's still holding back. She just doesn't think it's something words can convey. The heavy look in his eyes tells her what he's thinking. "Together." He agrees.

August brings them closer again, and his lips meet hers once more. This time, Emma doesn't have to worry about him pulling away. If anything, the two of them can't get close enough.

The world outside doesn't matter because at least for now, Emma has August. August has Emma.

And somewhere in bed, upstairs and under the covers, Henry makes a note on the story book as he yawns to ask August about the Author some time.

Then, the book closes for the night.

THE END