#and then victor starts threatening jean like. oh you think my older brother is about to choose you as his new younger brother?

[caligarish]

The main four in Spotless are such fun foils, too. Jean cleans up Martin's messes in the younger brother way and Nelson cleans up Victor's messes in the older brother way!!

[hookedonapirate]

Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States. 

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again. 

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​ for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld​ for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon​ for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?” 

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right? 

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase. 

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender. 

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table. 

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.  

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league. 

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman. 

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists. 

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?” 

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does. 

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away. 

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him. 

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior. 

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter. 

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell. 

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape. 

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner. 

“Hey, babe, ready to go?” 

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips. 

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat. 

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart. 

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

���We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups. 

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes. 

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust. 

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning. 

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words. 

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.” 

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem. 

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing. 

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, “Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.” 

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.” 

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.” 

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this. 

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments. 

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.” 

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.” 

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum. 

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties. 

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress. 

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile. 

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship. 

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away. 

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other. 

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually. 

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”  

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years. 

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke. 

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd. 

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.” 

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her. 

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss. 

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television. 

[flighty37-blog]

I Propose This

Summary: After 8 years Martyn proposes to Cornelia. A Stag Party, and A Hen Party commence. Let’s see how this goes. Shall we?

Disclaimer: I do not own the people in the story. They own themselves. 

Warning: Some swearing.

Rating: PG-R.

Martyn gazed at Cornelia. She was humming to herself. Shifting the omnichord's buttons, and switches. He was tapping out a solo on the wall with his drumstick, keeping in perfect time with her. Having an impromptu duet. She looked up at him and set aside the instrument.

She blew him a kiss. He caught it with his free hand. She was what he desired most in a person. Talented, clever, beautiful beyond belief, and totally in love with him. She said, once, that she was physically hurting when they were apart. They'd only been apart so little, he could count on his hand how many times. She nearly always dragged him on tour.

But even tours had dwindled, not because she hated them, but because she and Martyn were running the IRL store, and running several online businesses. Busy. Busy. BUSY!!!! Martyn, DJ'd on the side, mostly on the weekends. Or even on Bank Holidays. He shrugged himself off of the wall, and walked over to Cornelia, and she looked up at him.

In turn she admired his height, his crinkly blue eyes, his reddish brown hair, and the gangliness. He also had a superb sense of humour. Humour, he mostly got from his mother, and some from his father. All around a very nice man. And he was hers. All hers. They were tight knit, secretive, nobody knew how they'd met.

She rose from the sofa, and she encircled her arms around his thin waist, and looked up at him. He grinned down at her.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" He bent down to kiss her luscious mouth.

"Hmmm you've been a 'very good boy' whilst I've been trying to come up with a new edgy song. But all I can think of, are, sappy love songs. That's not me. I'm not Alanis Morrisette or, or, Taylor Swift!" She laid her head against the lower part of his chest.

He grinned at her, and he scooped her up in his arms. She was bridal style, and he gazed into her robin's egg blue eyes.

"Blue eyes seem to run in the family," Martyn whispered in her ear.

"But Dan's got brown eyes," Cornelia mock argued. "He's full of shit," Martyn grinned.

"He really is, and his poor tattered, dark, soul," She murmured in a mock sad way.

"He cheers up when we're all six together," Martyn reminded her.

"Because Catherine, brings out his wholesome side. She refuses to let his nihilist side get out," Cornelia answered. Catherine was the mother hen.

The overprotective parent. Nigel was the one who made sure that they were all accounted for, and that Catherine had nothing to worry about. He was the one who silently coached on the sidelines. Offering sage advice when he could. Nigel was the silent partner.

"You're quiet like Nigel is sometimes. But most of the time, and especially when you're around Phil, you're loud and boisterous. When you're with me, like now, your quietness prevails," Cornelia noted.

"Because Phil is my little brother. He needs to be teased. Likewise Dan," Martyn said, assuming the big brother persona, whenever Dan and Phil were mentioned; or even in the same room.

Banter was the gamut which was always there, whenever the four were even in the same vicinity. However she and Phil had similar interests. Space for one. Likewise Martyn and Dan loved Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, and even some Facebook. Social media was what they could both agree on.

"You're ignoring me, and my arms are getting tired of being around your neck," Cornelia wiggled out of his grasp and stood next to him.

"Sorry. I was just thinking of our quirky family," Martyn answered.

"Me too," Cornelia nodded.

"You and Dan completed this family. So far," Martyn piped up.

"Oh?" Cornelia raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah...." Martyn scratched the back of his neck.

"I-I've...." His voice trailed off. "I've gotta call Dad!" He sprinted to their room, and he searched for his phone. Which was silly, because his phone was in his jeans pocket. He rang Phil.

"Yeah?" Phil's mouth was full.

"At a time like this you're going to eat cereal?" Martyn admonished.

"Yeah because I'm hungry and Dan's on holiday," Phil responded.

"So you're eating Dan's cereal out of obligation that since he's on holiday someone's got to eat his cereal; and since you're the only one in the flat it's got to be you?" Martyn questioned.

"Ummm yeah," Phil mumbled.

"Oh," Martyn said.

"What'd you call me for? Yuri On Ice is on, and I want to see this episode. It's been a story arc. I want to see how it ends. Yuri and Victor kissed, and then they were in front of a roaring fire in some snowed in cabin....Then...Poof! Cliffhanger," Phil said, flinging in some Americanisms into his announcement.

"Uh-huh....Anyway....Phil?" Martyn hedged.

That caught Phil's attention. Out of the two of them, Martyn was the most boisterous, out going, one. He'd been on the football team. He'd been very athletic. "PhilIWantToMarryCornelia!" Martyn said in one breath.

Phil choked on his cereal, "You want to what?!" Phil coughed and then he breathed in and out a little, using his 'Nose-ga'. "Run that by me one more time? Except slower and more breaths," Phil urged, putting aside his food.

"I. Want. To. Marry....Cornelia!" Martyn managed.

"You're practically married to her anyway," Phil said.

"Well yeah, but....I want to make it official. On paper. The old fashioned way. Her the bride, me the groom. Nothing formal. Just. Us. And you. And Mum and Dad. And Dan. And...." Martyn paused for a breath.

"Are you serious?" Phil asked.

"Eight years worth," Martyn affirmed.  

"Have you mentioned this to Mum and Dad yet? Mum's ready to plan  a wedding," Phil said.

"I know she is. But, we're not traditional people Phil. We're....Wayward," Martyn answered, doubt creeping into his voice.

"Marty....Mart....I think it's a great idea. As your brother I say 'hell yeah'," Phil congratulated. Martyn smiled a little and answered,

"Thanks Bro." "Well I'm always cheering you on, the same as you're cheering me on... All the time," Phil replied.

"I'll call Dad. He's usually calm. Maybe he'll break the news to Mum?" Martyn mused.

"Mum'll tell everyone! She can't lie to Cornelia. She can't lie at all!" Phil sounded mortified.

"It's not lying if you keep it a secret Phil," Martyn's voice was stern.

"My lips are zipped," Phil promised.

"If you Skype Dan, I will kill your houseplants," Martyn threatened.

"They don't need anymore help dying! I kill them without help," Phil protested.

"Fine, I'm stealing the guinea pig, Lion, and Dan's teddy bear he's had since birth," Martyn threatened.

"Uhhh no! Not, 'The Bear'!" Phil was mortified.

"I will too! I will hold them all hostage and I will not let them go," Martyn hissed.

"You're so mean!" Phil gasped out.

"I am the older brother, my threats are for real," Martyn answered.

"Absolutely! So I won't tell, and Dan won't know, unless you tell him; but don't worry," Phil promised again.

"Who's worried?" Martyn tried to be stoic.

"Not you. You're definitely not worried, I can tell," Phil acknowledged.

"I'm that good," Martyn answered.

"You really are; I'm gonna get back to my anime, you call Dad. Text me the good news. And get her a good ring. A ring she'll be proud of," Phil advised.

"What about...." Martyn paused, and shook his head.

"Something that reflects her personality. Her favourite colour....Her birthstone maybe?" Phil suggested.

"Right. Right...." Martyn wrote down the suggestions on a lonely scrap of paper.

"I'm gonna hang up now...." Phil let the sentence trail off.

"Yeah...Umm...Yeah you do that. I'm gonna; what am I doing?" Martyn asked.

"Ringing Dad," Phil reminded him. It was weird that Phil was being the calming brother now. It felt strange that the roles were reversed.

"Alright then. I'll get right on it," Martyn answered and hung up the phone.

"Rude," Phil said into the dial tone. He hung up as well and turned up the television's volume. Martyn rang his dad.

"Hello?" Nigel sounded surprised.

"Hi Dad," Martyn was quieter than normal.

"Martyn? Is something wrong? Are you ill; Is it Cornelia? Do you need your mother? She's in town doing the shopping at the moment, but I could ring her," Nigel was suddenly on the alert.

Usually it was Dan or Phil that needed Catherine's extra attention.

"No, Dad, I'm not ill. How did you propose to Mum?" Martyn wondered.

"That's an odd question; you've never been interested before...." Nigel's voice trailed off.

"Was it romantic? Spur of the moment? Did you hang from a tree and hand her a ring box?" Martyn's questions rushed forth.

He grinned to himself.

"Again, knowing our family to be an odd sort, though traditional, I took her out," Nigel started.

"Where did you take her?" Martyn was curious now.

"Where did I take her? I believe I took her to an amusement park. But I forget exactly where. It was such a long time ago. We had been 'dating', as you young people say, for about three years. I knew I wanted her in my life forever. You, you my boy, have outdone me. Eight years...." Nigel marveled.

"It's easy if it's with the right person. Yeah?" Martyn asked.

"It's not 'easy' per se'. You just learn, and adjust. You learn and you grow," Nigel sagely advised.

"I was thinking of getting her an amethyst ring...." Martyn paused again.

"Her birthstone? Good start. But make it as 'Cornelia like' as possible," Nigel answered.

"I will; probably a ring that looks like a piece of coral or summat like that," Martyn's Northern was peeking out. Same as Phil's did, when they talked to either of their parents.

"I commend you," Nigel answered. A compliment. His father had given him a compliment. He grinned.

Just then Cornelia called from the next room, "Martyn? Where are you?!"

"I have to go! Thanks for the advice and lending me an ear," Martyn smiled a little.

"Anytime. When do I get to tell your mother?" Nigel asked.

"When the deed's finished," Martyn answered.

"Alright let me know," Nigel said. "I will," Martyn assured his father.

"Good luck Son!" Nigel said.

"Thanks again Dad," Martyn answered.

They said their goodbyes and Martyn went on the internet. He scrolled through images of amethyst rings, and found just the one. He ordered it, and then he went to see his gorgeous woman. When he appeared, her face was wreathed in smiles.

"There's this concert...." Her voice trailed off.

"When?" Martyn asked. It might not be an amusement park, but when it came to the Lester family, being spontaneous was always a given.

"Next week?" Cornelia said, she looked quizzically at him, and snapped her fingers under his nose.

"Huh? Yeah? What?" Martyn asked.

"Are you okay? Are you over worked? Do you need a holiday?" Cornelia was worried.

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm fine. Really. I'm fine...." Martyn's voice trailed off.

"Okay then," Cornelia hugged him just to make sure.

"So a concert?" Martyn asked, bringing the subject back up.

"Right. Yes. The concert...." Cornelia showed him when and where it was at.

The following week. Perfect, that's when the ring would arrive. He nodded.

Then he spoke, "We can go. We'll have to clear our schedules. But I wouldn't mind getting out of London for a bit. Bristol is perfect," Martyn acknowledged.

It was a local band, which he didn't mind because he supported small bands.

"Great....Be ready to dance hard," Cornelia smirked at him.

"Oh I'll be the readiest!" Martyn answered and hugged her tightly to him.

She grinned and crooked a finger at him. "Hey Martyn? Want to play a game?"

She grabbed his shirt collar and led him to their room. As if he were wearing a collar and lead.

"I'm for it," Martyn answered.

"Good," Cornelia whispered to him, sending shivers up and down his spine. As if he were in ASMR.

The next week:

They were both dressed head to toe in black. Ripped jeans, semi ripped shirts, and Martyn was wearing a black hat for the occasion.

"You look like a rock star," Cornelia approved.

Martyn grinned at her, "But you'll be the sexiest one there."

She slapped his arm in a playful gesture. He made sure the object he was carrying was safe in the bag he had on his shoulders.

"Let's go!" Martyn made a show of looking for and finding his phone, and they drove to Bristol.

"It's not my birthday, we're not promoting anything, I feel like a naughty school girl skipping class," Cornelia was very giddy.

It had been a very long time since they'd just done something with only the two of them. In a little over two hours they'd be there. They arrived at an abandoned steel mill. There were fireworks going on. A basic rave. The DJ in him wanted to find the music and spin. But he refrained. He had a more important task ahead.

He didn't know when he would propose, but he knew that the time would be right, whatever happened. They entered amongst a writhing sea of humanity. Slipping in, and keeping a hold on Cornelia, to make sure nobody got lost in the crowd. The music was blaring and the band looked typical.

Black everything. Black seemed to be the (non) colour of choice tonight. Oh well.

"Let's Dance!" Cornelia had to shout above the music and the crowd's voices intermingling with each other.

They found the mosh pit, and started to vigorously shake their bodies. Keeping close together, but enjoying the raucous sounds. Martyn didn't think it could get any better. He had the love of his life right there, and he had the ring. And then the opportunity presented itself.

The band went into a semi-slow song, and he took her in his arms. Wrapping his arms around her waist, and pulling her closer to him, he led her to an empty seat, and sat her down. He took out the box, and he got down on one knee. Her eyes started glistening and she nodded.

He asked, "Will you do me the honour of making it official?"

He opened the box and she gasped.

"It looks like a piece of coral," she whispered.

"And look at the setting...." He urged.

"Amethyst. My birthstone," she answered.

"I know," he replied and kissed her temple.

Then he put her in his arms, and sat down in the chair. She was now sitting on his lap wearing the ring.

"It's gorgeous, and it fits just right....But we don't have to get married right away. Do we?" Cornelia asked.

"No, but I wanted to be 'official'. You know?" Martyn spoke up.

"Of course. You do know why I don't want a grand wedding?" She questioned.

"You're asking me now?" Martyn furrowed his brows, as the tempo in the music rose slightly again.

"Yes. I told you when we got together," Cornelia answered.

"It was when you were seventeen and Roger asked you to marry him. You said yes right from the start, and then when all the preparations had happened, and the day was there, he got together with the drummer and left on your honeymoon ticket," Martyn answered.

"Very good," Cornelia said.

"I remember. I listen," Martyn answered and kissed the side of her lips. She obediently turned and they kissed lips to lips.

 "You're my favourite," He whispered.

"And you're my favourite too," she smiled at him.

"Let's dance some more," She stood and pulled him back into the pit. The ring flashing from her finger.

Three weeks later:

"When?!" Catherine's excited voice made Cornelia pull the phone from her ear.

"I don't know. We haven't set a date," Cornelia answered.

"Not set a date?!" Catherine seemed puzzled and excited at the same time.

"Well no, we've waited this long. We can wait another few months," Cornelia hesitantly answered.

"Does your mother know? I have to talk to her," Catherine rambled on.

"Moder knows," Cornelia quietly affirmed.

"Before me?" Catherine asked.

"A bit before," Cornelia said, it had in fact, been the conversation before Catherine.

Another conversation happening in the other side of the flat:

It was a three way conversation. Skype with Dan and Phil, and Facetime with Nigel. "The proposal was magical!” Martyn enthused, he was practically glowing.

"SPILL!" Dan urged.

"We want all the details," Phil put in.

"At your own pace of course," Nigel quietly said.

"Pics! Pics! PICS!" Dan and Phil chanted.

"Of course I took pics," Martyn rolled his eyes.

"I should hope the moment was well documented," Nigel poshly put in.

"Daaaddd!" Phil groaned.

"You're so old fashioned, nobody says 'well documented' anymore," Dan said.

"I do!" Nigel brusquely answered.

"Well you're old," Phil said.

"Hey!" Nigel groused, but he grinned a little, and Martyn held up the phone so that the two on Skype could see that Nigel was having a big laugh.

"Anyway...." Martyn forwarded the pics to everyone.

"Who took them? And the video?" Phil mused.

"There's a video?!" Martyn yelped.

"Uh-huh," Phil said.

"She looks great in black. I'm telling you, black is where it's at," Dan said in an approving voice.

"That's my fiancee' you're mooning over, you prat!" Martyn reprimanded.

"She's my sister, and I have to approve the outfits," Dan argued.

"You're not a fashion consultant," Martyn good naturedly argued back.

"I could be," Dan said.

"Oooohhhh Next Channel! Dan Howell, Fashion Guru!" Phil clapped his hands and smiled broadly.

"Yeeeaaahhhh...." Dan nodded.

Martyn rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, "Focus! Me! Not you two dorks!"

"Right. Ahem. Sorry...." Both said at the same time. Near perfect synchronicity. He shook his head. "So we haven't decided on a date, or a venue yet. But we're getting there," Martyn said.

Cornelia's part of the flat:

"Oh my god! The ring is gorgeous. It looks like he went to the seaside and he picked up a piece of amethyst and coral, and made a ring," Catherine gushed at the recent pic that Cornelia had forwarded to her.

"I know!" Cornelia squealed, in almost typical girly fashion.

"I need some more pictures," Catherine bemoaned.

"You're in luck. Martyn and I got a lot of pictures of ourselves right after I'd said yes. And Yes, I am showing off the ring for all to see," Cornelia forwarded the pics to Catherine's phone, and ultimately the video. 

"A video?" Catherine asked.

"A short one. Apparently someone caught the moment when he proposed. It couldn't have gone better. What with the metal band, and the mosh pit, I couldn't have asked for a better proposal," Cornelia said.

"I couldn't be happier," Catherine said.

"You will when we figure out the date for the event, and the venue," Cornelia said.

"I won't push. I'm not some stage mother that wants everything for her children, so she can live vicariously through them," Catherine said.

"Precisely why I love you!" Cornelia gushed some more.

"Are you having a hen party?" Catherine asked.

"That is a definite yes," Cornelia acquiesced.

"And I reckon the boys are going for a stag party?" Catherine mused.

"Most likely, but seeing as we don't normally drink, I don't think there will be much alcohol," Cornelia assured her practically mother in law. Almost official mother in law, she supposed.

The lads conversation:

"Stag party?" Dan asked.

"I'm not drinking," Phil protested.

"It could be a half non-alcoholic party," Dan suggested.

"Hmmm....Good idea," Phil nodded.

"I have great ideas. You just like to ignore me," Dan argued good naturedly.

"Hello!" Martyn interrupted.

"Oh yeah it's Martyn's stag party. Me and Phil are gonna have a joint stag party. Our significant others will just have to deal with it," Dan said.

"Yeah we decided that we wanna party together. I mean we've done everything else together. Why not a stag party? It's still gonna be non-alcoholic," Phil answered.

"Partly non-alcoholic," Dan chimed in.

"Of course. Someone's gotta be sober enough to get you home before the big event," Phil added.

"AHEM!!" Nigel and Martyn interrupted again.

"Right....Youuuu...." Dan dragged out the word you, and pretended to look like he was listening. Phil was sat at full attention in his computer chair.

"Yeah me, and if we're going to do a 'stag party', it's gonna be done my way. I'm going to DJ it, and we will have games and a band...." Martyn outlined.

"Drinks?" Dan said.

"You're such an alcoholic," Phil interrupted.

"I like a good drink," Dan retorted.

"FOCUS!" Nigel yelped out.

"Woah!" Dan jumped a little.

"Ha! My dad jump scared you," Phil smiled a little.

"My heart is beating like a thousand butterflies are trapped inside me," Dan answered.

"Gosh that was poetic," Phil said.

"Oh my god! You guys!" Martyn snapped his fingers with both hands.

"Right, focus, you," Dan said, and nudged Phil.

"We're fully attentive to your needs Mart," Phil tried to sound sophisticated.

Martyn rolled his eyes.

"Like I was saying, I want to DJ it, I want to pick the music, and I want there to be snacks. Loads of snacks. No strippers, no cocaine, just us, lads, having a great time. And Dad too!" Martyn interjected.

"Me? I'll just hold you down. I'm too old," Nigel interrupted.

"Dad, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't exist. And if I didn't exist, you wouldn't have Cornelia. Now does that seem right to you?" Martyn answered, and Nigel grinned widely.

"And if I didn't exist, Phil probably wouldn't exist either," Martyn continued.

"That's such a sad thought," Phil opined.

"That's deep and scary," Dan chimed in.

"Are you going to have an existential crisis?" Phil worriedly asked.

"No, I'm tough," Dan stoutly answered.

"No tangents. We're planning," Martyn said.

"The way you two act, you're lucky you're even getting invites," Martyn jokingly admonished.

"That's so harsh," Phil said.

"You're so mean Martyn," Dan responded

"Now Martyn...." Nigel chided softly.

"Alright, alright, you can be the bouncers, since Phil's like Thor," Martyn answered, but winked to show he was joking.

"YES! My life's ambition besides being a weatherman, Thor!" Phil flexed.

"Don't encourage him. I have to live with him. He's a right terror," Dan sighed heavily.

"I am Thor," Phil said.

"Right, yeah, you're Thor; good for you," Dan said.

"YAY!" Phil clapped his hands. Dan put a hand over his face. Martyn outlined what all he wanted at the party.

Cornelia, Catherine, Susan, and Ebba (Cornelia's mother):

"Moder, Mum, Susan...." Cornelia trilled.

"Halla', Halla' min dotter (hello, hello, my daughter)," Ebba said.

"Hello my darling, I know you're not dating my son, but since Phil's practically family so are you by association," Susan Howell said.

"Hello again Nikki," Catherine trilled.

"I love that I can do this four ways, everyone can see each other and, at least, hear each other," Cornelia was so excited.

All the important females in her life.

"I'm Here!" A fifth person was added the chat.

"Louise!" Cornelia said.

"And Catrific here," Cat chimed in. She was visiting Louise and they were collaborating.

"I hear congratulations are in order...soooo CONGRATULATIONS!!!!" Louise and Cat said in sync.

"Thank you, thank you," Cornelia flashed the ring.

"Oh my gosh!!!!" Cat said, and put her hands over her mouth.

"That's utterly, ridiculously gorgeous!" Louise put in.

"I agree. Your fiance has great tastes, I only hope my Daniel will have great taste when it comes time for him to pick out a ring," Susan said.

"Is he dating yet?" Catherine asked.

"Not yet, but when he does and when, if they're together long enough and after he worries about asking them to marry him, then," Susan paused.

"I want to help!" Catherine said.

"Oh don't worry, I will need your help. After I've fainted of course," Susan assured her.

"I'll bring the smelling salts," Catherine assured her.

"I can't wait," Susan answered wryly.

"Ummm....?" Cornelia put in.

"Oh, sorry," Catherine waved, as Susan gave her, her full attention.

"Right, so I was thinking for a hen party, instead of the traditional going out, we have a bit like a baby shower, but it'll be a 'wedding shower'," Cornelia outlined.

"Wonderful idea," Catherine said.

"That's a unique idea," Louise said.

"I like it. Gifts?" Cat asked.

"Some gifts, some drinks, snacks, music, I can play some of my original stuff," Cornelia said.

"Karaoke?" Susan asked. "But of course," Cornelia nodded.

"Sounds divine," Louise said.

"I'll fly back just for the occasion," Cat promised.

"I want everyone I'm close to, to be here," Cornelia said.

"I'm baking," Catherine said.

"I'll cook a roast or something," Susan volunteered.

"I'll have it on a Sunday for it to properly be a roast day. But not a big roast. Make something vegetarian," Cornelia said.

"It'll smell like a roast, but it won't be a roast. I know what your preferences are. Catherine's told me," Susan interjected.

"Of course she has," Cornelia nodded.

"I had to, she wanted to know what you ate, and how you stayed so slim and trim," Catherine said.

"I fully support your decision," Ebba added.

"You raised me vegetarian Mama," Cornelia smiled.

"Well anyway...." Catherine said.

"Right....I'll e-mail everyone the time and day, the place will be here," Cornelia said. "Right," All five women answered.

Martyn's conversation:

"So the place will probably be somewhere private," Martyn said.

"Have it at our place," Dan volunteered.

"Wh-What?!" Phil squeaked out.

"C'mon Philly, you'll know all the guests, and it's a controlled environment, we won't have to go outside," Dan suggested.

"I'm liking it, I'm warming up to this idea," Phil agreed.

"Sounds good to me," Martyn said.

"Me too," Nigel offered.

"Great, I'll just e-mail everyone a date and time," Martyn answered.

"Great," they said, and Martyn's call ended.

Convening together in the lounge:

"So about my stag party," Martyn began.

"Yes?" Cornelia was all ears.

"We're going to have it at Dan and Phil's," Martyn said.

"Definitely a safe environment," Cornelia agreed.

"Are you having a 'hen party'?" Martyn asked.

"But of course, and we've all decided, Louise, Cat, Moder, Catherine, Susan, to have it here," Cornelia answered.

"Approved," Martyn said.

"So we don't have to worry about the other being somewhere strange, and no strange girls throwing themselves at you," Cornelia said.

"No strange guys asking to buy you drinks, or look at you with lustful eyes," Martyn said, and sighed with relief.

"I'm not interested in them. I'm interested in you," Cornelia answered.

"Same here. I'm not interested in other women. I love you, and you alone," Martyn intoned.

"This is why I love you, this is why I've spent eight years with you. You are a one of a kind man. You've been brought up well," Cornelia said.

"Thank my parents," Martyn said.

"I thank them every single day I'm with you," Cornelia answered.

"I love you!" Martyn answered, and the two kissed.

Stag Party, some night:

As instructed, Martyn was the DJ and he was rolling out all the hits. He shook his head, that was too old of a saying. Plus it sounded American in his head.

"And here's another one," Martyn announced.

In the corner of the room, Dan and Phil were chatting to each other, like usual; even in their own flat they were antisocial. He smiled to himself and shook his head. Nigel was chatting up PJ and, even Chris had come from 'Oop Norf'.

It had been a long time since they'd come 'round. PJ eventually wandered over to Dan and Phil's little boundary of isolation and stood exactly five feet, and back a little, to better talk to them. There was alcoholic, and nonalcoholic drinks abounding.

"PJ!" Chris bounded over  him.

"Yeah?" PJ looked over at Chris.

"This party is....Jumping!" Chris said.

"You've had too much to drink," PJ gently took the glass from his friend.

Dan and Phil started laughing good naturedly.

"Of course it's jumping, Martyn's  officially getting married," Phil responded.

"After eight long years, she finally got a ring," Dan opined.

"It's a hell of a ring. It looks like something the seaside washed up," Phil said.

"You said 'hell'," Chris pretended to be shocked.

"He says 'hell' a lot," PJ reminded him.

"Right, shit, fuck, and damn are off limit words," Dan answered.

"Those are words you use, they're your brand," Phil retorted.

As the four chatted, Martyn found Nigel. He looked out of place, but he was still having fun, as he meandered through the flat and bypassing the few young people that were there.

"Are you okay Dad? Do you want me to ring Mum? Maybe it'll be better over at our flat. You'll know everyone there. And Mum misses you, I reckon," Martyn offered.

"I'm fine. I'm enjoying the music. Not my preference mind you, but I'm enjoying this very much," Nigel assured his eldest.

"Leave the party to the women, while we 'stag it up'?" Martyn guessed rightly. "

Absolutely, I'm not a hen, yet, Son," Nigel retorted, and he started swaying a bit to the music that was blaring from the stereo now.

"Dad, you're one of a kind. I'm glad Mum ended up with you," Martyn clapped his father's shoulder.

"Thank you?" Nigel smiled.

The 'Hen Party':

"The music is so nice," Cat said.

"I like it, it makes me think of when I was pregnant with Iona," Louise answered.

"She's already what? Three months? Four?" Cornelia had sidled up next to Cat and Louise.

"My word no, she's nearly six months old....Poor Liam. He's all 'My baby isn't a baby anymore'. I have to keep telling him that he hasn't experienced life with a daughter until she's at least ten-fourteen. Then she'll really not be a baby anymore. He still needs to master nappy changing," Louise laughed.

The others laughed with her.

"He wants a boy, I know he does. He won't say so outright, but he wants a little boy. Sometimes traditions still crop up their ugly heads," Louise sighed.

The conversation turned to traditions, and labels and everything that shouldn't be allowed. The gifts were as expected, a blender, a toaster, a tablet. "Oh Damn, this is some nice stuff," Cornelia kept her language under control for the most part. Susan and Catherine just smiled, and handed over their gifts.

"It's not much, and I know that paper is becoming obsolete, but I always enjoyed the stationery set I got for my hen party," Susan offered.

"Susan, you're a sweetheart, it's gold embossed, I love the pen! I'll find a use for it. Perhaps it'll be my golden muse and I'll write songs on it?" Cornelia gave Susan a wink.

Susan pinked up, she and Dan were easily embarrassed. She gave Susan a hug.

"I only brought a kettle. You'll need a nice one when you've married," Catherine smiled at her.

"Thank you," Cornelia added it to the pile.

"Who got me the negligee? Was it you Louise?" Cornelia laughed, as Louise vehemently shook her head, and pointed at Cat. Cornelia raised an eyebrow.

At The Stag Party as it started to wind down:

"The Food Is To Die For!" Dan said, as he went for his fourth plate of sides, he had his 'food orgasm' face on.

"Leave some for the rest of the people," Martyn said, as he stood beside Dan filling up his own plate.

"What people? Oh you mean Phil? Well it's payback being a bitch, because he eats my cereal. Every day," Dan answered and nodded furiously.

"Okay, okay, stop nodding; your head'll fall off," Martyn said.

"Anyway," Dan topped off his drink and went back to the corner, by the buffet table. Phil appeared next to his brother.

"Should've known, whenever a wild Dan appears, so doth a wild Phil," Martyn grinned at his younger brother.

"Guilty. I needed a refresher. This food is Delicious!" Phil exclaimed.

"Funny your almost clone said nearly the exact same thing," Martyn replied.

"For real?" Phil asked, as if he should still be surprised.

"Yep. Except he said, and this is a direct quote; 'the food is to die for'," Martyn mimicked Dan's posh accent.

"He would mention death whilst eating his fill," Phil shook his head and also topped off his Shirley Temple fruit drink.

"He's Dan; if he doesn't mention death at least once, I know something's horrifically wrong," Martyn joked.

"That and his 'dark and dreadful soul," Phil added.

"That too," Martyn clapped Phil's shoulder, nearly making him collide into the table. He ultimately stubbed a toe.

"Ow!" Phil winced.

"Hey watch it there....You okay? I didn't mean to," Martyn apologised.

"It's okay. I'm a klutz remember?" Phil laughed a little.

"So's Dan," Martyn nodded.

"Well we're two peas," Phil affirmed.

"That you are. You could almost be twins," his older brother joked.

Phil gave him a mock frown and walked away to sit beside his best friend.

"After you...." Martyn mused and his thoughts went back to his beautiful fiancee'. How was she faring without him? Sure they weren't that codependent on each other. Not like the two youngests.

He smirked and pulled out his phone and rang her. "Hello, Cornelia's hen party," a slightly less posh girlish voice sounded. Definitely not Cornelia.

"Is Cornelia there?" Martyn asked.

"Who wants to know?" the girl asked, she was giggling a bit now.

"Louise, my mobile if you please!" Cornelia's voice drifted over.

"It's me, Martyn," he finally replied.

Just then Cornelia came on the line, "Martyn is everything okay? Are you okay? Are you drunk? How drunk is everyone else?" Cornelia's questions were rapid fire, as Martyn looked about the room.

Chris and PJ were a bit tipsy. Tipsy enough, that they were sharing a drink with two straws.

"I'm not tipsy at all," Martyn said.

"Not even a bit?" Cornelia questioned.

"A bit, Phil's on his sixth Shirley Temple with lots of fruit mixed into it," Martyn answered.

"My Fourth!" Phil yelled out, as Dan covered his face in his hand and shook his head.

"His fourth," Martyn was smiling a little bit more.

"Well, in that case, we're mostly going non-alcoholic. Sophie brought some champagne," Cornelia admitted.

"Good ol' Soph, she and PJ will be tying the knot any time soon," Martyn spoke up.

"Don't you jinx anything Lester," Cornelia quipped.

"I won't....When's the hen thing going to be over? I just want to cuddle with you, and play with your curls," Martyn sighed.

"In another couple of hours. Can you hang on for a little while longer?" Cornelia asked.

"Yes, but I'm going to shut everything down in exactly two hours," Martyn petulantly answered.

"Fine by me, I can't wait to have you all to myself," Cornelia almost cooed in his ear.

They said goodbye and their 'I Love You's. Then Martyn had to be a host again.

"Oooo what'd Cornelia say?" Phil spoke up.

"She said 'mind your own business Phil Lester'," Martyn affected a high 'girl' voice.

"No she didn't," Phil bickered back.

"You didn't talk to her, did you?" Martyn said, and reached out to ruffle Phil's hair.

"Stop it!" Phil grunted.

"Stop it," Martyn mocked 'big brother style'.

"I hate you," Phil pouted, the lower lip coming out full force.

"You deserved it for getting into Martyn's personal business," Dan piped up.

"Thank you Dan," Martyn walked away.

Nigel sidled up to him, putting his mobile into his back pocket.

"What'd Mum say?" Martyn whispered to his father.

"She misses me, and she loves me. How are her babies? Are they drunk? They'd better not be too drunk. How's Martyn holding up? Has the Stag gotten out of hand? You know stuff like that," Nigel shook his head, but he was smiling widely.

"I'm giving this shindig a couple more hours, then I'm going back to my woman," Martyn nodded.

"Same here. I miss the hell out of your mother," Nigel clapped his son on the back, and wandered over to where Dan and Phil were seated, whispering in each other's ears.

"Two hours and it's all gonna be shut down," Martyn whispered amongst their whispers.

"Finally! I need some anime me time," Dan said.

"I need the internet," Phil answered.

"Switch answers, I need internet, he needs anime," Dan said.

"Stop stealing my wants," Phil groused.

"What?!" Dan gave him a confused look.

"Nothing," Phil mumbled as Martyn walked away.

Exactly two hours later....

"MARTY!!!!" She sprang into his already opened arms, and cuddled against him, somewhat like a cat.

She was practically vibrating and purring. They did an Eskimo kiss with their noses.

"Female friends are alright, but having you all to myself again...." She mumbled against him, nibbling his earlobe.

"Nelia!" He whispered against her, and kissed her cheek. She turned glowing eyes on him, and she kissed him fully on the lips.

"The party was fun," she adjusted herself, so that her legs were wrapped around his torso. "But then again, you're a lot more fun," She nuzzled him again, breathing in his sweaty, yet aromatic scent.

"You smell divine," She chattered.

"That's where you and I differ," Martyn rubbed a finger against her cheek, and she closed her eyes and let the sensations sweep over her, she sighed in contentment.

"You're a lot more fun than I'll ever be," Martyn whispered so, and sent shivers up and down her spine.

"You're more than a dream...." She murmured, lying her head on his heart. Wishing for him to never leave her. She studied the ring on her finger.

"Why was I so afraid of marriage? And why am I nervous wreck now?" Cornelia wondered aloud.

"Because of Roger and the drummer....Who apparently was pretty hot," Martyn grinned down at her, their noses touched, their eyes locked. They were the only two people in the whole world. Nobody else mattered.

"The drummer had no gender," Cornelia whispered.

“Hmmm...." Martyn seemed to consider things.

"Let's go to bed, I'm suddenly very tired, I ate my fill and I interacted with people that weren't our brothers," Cornelia yawned for effect.  

"Was Mum too overbearing? How was your whole day? Really," Martyn took them both to the bedroom, and set Cornelia on solid ground.

She quickly changed into some pyjamas. Red ones to match her hair.

"Everyone was lovely, Susan and Catherine were planning Dan's wedding....Should he ever get a significant other," Cornelia smiled.

"And ditch my baby brother?! The nerve!" Martyn pretended to be scandalised.

"They'd Skype each other every day!" Cornelia answered.

"They live in the same flat and text each other without bothering to yell at each other across the flat, like we do," Martyn said.

"Well that's because they're younger and they have this whole technology thing worked out," Cornelia nodded, and pursed her lips for Martyn to kiss. Which he obliged, and they crawled into bed together.

They were both lying on their sides, gazing into each others' eyes, telling each other about their day, without saying a word, both sighing in contentment. Both feeling the love they felt. It intensified every time they were apart, and then came back together like two polarised magnets.

"When we swing back into orbit, we circle each other, and we spin in each other's paths, forever on a pathway through the galaxy of life," Cornelia softly sang.

"Is this something you're thinking of expanding on?" Martyn asked, as Cornelia nodded.

"Our wedding song," Cornelia sniffed and soon her nose, and cheeks became rosy, and she felt the tears falling.

He swiped them away with his thumb, and he kissed every drop away. "Don't cry Nelia. Please don't cry," Martyn said, as his own chest hitched.

"But these are happy tears my love," Cornelia assured him.

"Sing me to sleep?" Martyn closed his eyes.

"I don't want to circle you, I want to embrace you. I want to crash into you like a wrecking ball. Shattering anything that impedes our love. Our insecurities should fade away, and we should just let the love we have encompass ourselves, let the peace flow through us," Cornelia sang once more.

Martyn hummed a tune, and she smiled. They were as perfectly, if not more in sync when they were tired. The more tired they were, the more their spirits seemed to shine through, and by every other definition their love was more visible.

She loved him. Every part of him. She couldn't wait to be with him every morning, every evening and every hour in between. He was the love of her life. No two could be more perfectly suited for each other.

"How deep my love for you runs, like asteroids scattered through the myriad of space, though we veer off course, we'll always find ourselves together, in the same place, abiding in each other's path...." Cornelia tried another verse.

"When I'm with you, I feel freer than the birds at the seaside," Martyn said.

"Good one!" Cornelia hastily wrote it down.

"When I'm down, when I'm out, you pull me through," Martyn said again.

"Your ear for lyrics is astounding," she smiled, and he cracked an eye open.

"I've fine tuned my ear, being with you," Martyn kissed the tip of her nose. She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I love you completely; with or without a ring, I don't care," Martyn said to her.

"But the ring is a wonderful touch. It's got our personalities mixed in.... I like how it looks like a piece of coral, with a shining purple rock on top. It's like a beacon," Cornelia smiled at him.

"A beacon to guide me home," Martyn half-asked.

"But of course," Cornelia said.

"With your spirit shining through it," Martyn ventured.

"Forever and always," Cornelia smiled at him, as the tiredness settled in and they both started to drift off to sleep.

He cuddled her close, against his wiry frame, holding onto her. Not wanting to let her go. He kissed her head, and he smelled her natural deodorant. She never smelled bad. Not even when she had a workout.

She was always smelling so good to him. Like now.

As the amphetamines rushed towards him. The love nerves. He inhaled her neck. She was his. She had been his for eight years. She would always be his.

And no matter when they married, if they even set a date, Cornelia would have that ring as a devoted sign that he, Martyn Nigel Lester was in love with the beautiful, talented world renowned singer, Cornelia Dahlgren. Forever! For Always.... He sighed in contentment and fell asleep beside her.

Almost exactly a year later....

"I'm so excited! I get to be the ring bearer and the best man, and you're the second best man! EEEEEEEE!!!!" Phil was very nearly bouncing all over the room, Dan was holding onto the sleeve of his suit.

"Phil for the thousandth time; you are not the bloody ring bearer. Your cousin twice removed, also called 'Phill', but with two L's instead of one; is the ring bearer. He's the tiny ginger child who tripped over his own shoes, and then pelted you with the pillow during rehearsal," Dan rolled his eyes.

"That was an accident, the pillow went flying after he tripped and then got sick on the ground," Phil remembered.

"But he still was a shoo-in for the ring bearer," Dan said.

"Only because he's the only boy," Phil retorted.

"Little Marta looked so smart in the suit," Dan sighed.

"But gender roles, and mothers," Phil shook his head.

"Tradition," Dan lamented.

"I hate tradition!" Martyn exclaimed.

"We're swapping....MARTA!!!!" Martyn yelped.

Marta, little blonde girl, hair in ringlets, skidded into the room with a poofy white flower girl dress. Martyn took the flower basket from her, and handed her the ring pillow.

"You're now the ring bearer," Martyn said, and then he shoved the basket of petals into Phill's hands.

"You! You are the flower child, Phillip Sandover-Lester!" Martyn announced, his arms  open wide as he made the announcement. Little Phill's eyes lit up.

"You're a saint among demons," Dan said.

"You used a religious analogy!" Phil was gobsmacked.

"Damn right I did," Dan said, after covering little Phillip's ears, and Phil had covered little Marta's ears as well.

"Now I can get married!" Martyn continued.

"Let the Hunger Games commence," Dan drolly said.

"I volunteer as tribute," A slight Swedish accent said.

"Do you now my little Swedish meatball?" Martyn turned to the voice, though she wouldn't come out of hiding.

"I most certainly will," Cornelia let out a melodic laugh and then she was gone.

"I'm the Peeta to your Katniss!" Martyn called out, and the laugh, though far away still floated to their ears.

"She certainly knows how to brighten up the day. Doesn't she?" Martyn sighed happily.

"Yeah she does Mart," Dan said, as he let go of Phil's sleeve.

"I'm proud of you," Phil said.

"Thanks," Martyn wiped at one of his eyes.

"Marty! Don't start, I'm a sympathy crier. If you cry, I'll cry. If I cry, Dan will cry, and if Dan cries....Damn near everyone else will start crying," Phil said, as he hugged his brother.

"I wouldn't cry. I don't cry at weddings. And you said damn," Dan argued.

"So I did....Huh....The things that will come out of a thirty-one year old's mouth," Phil drolly answered, and gave a smirk.

"We're not on camera, stop smirking you dolt," Dan shook his head.

"I can smirk if I want. I can do anything I want to," Phil said.

"Oh alright, I'm all for independence and emancipation and all things that defy authority," Dan approved.

"This, this is why you're my best friend," Phil said.

"That and nobody else would have you," Dan joked.

"Awwwww," Phil smiled really big.

"Hello! It's my day!" Martyn called out.

"No it isn't," Dan argued.

"It is," Martyn said.

"I thought it was the bride's day?" Phil mused.

"No gender roles," Dan interrupted the train of thought.

"Right! It's the wedding! Three cheers!" Phil grinned.

"Hip-Hip-Hooray!" Phil started.

"No!" Dan refused.

"Hip-Hooray," Martyn tried. He was nervous. He started pacing about, and he had his hands behind his back. He nodded to a corner of the room, and he muttered something under his breath.

"What's he doing?" Phil asked.

"Probably reciting his vows under his breath," Dan answered and shrugged.

"I've got his vows," Phil said, and then his eyes went wide, as he felt for the piece of paper.

"Do you now?" Dan waggled a piece of paper under his friend's nose.

"Hey give that back!" Phil reached for the paper, but Dan walked away from him.

Just then....

MY BABY!!!! In A Suit No LESS!!!! Come Here So I Can Hug You!" Catherine burst into the room. She had a handkerchief tucked into her sleeve.

"Mum!" Martyn turned to face the force that was his mother and smiled broadly.

Phil came between them and got to Catherine first, "MUMMY!" He joked.

"Stop that," Catherine frowned at him

She gently pushed Phil out of the way and hugged Martyn very hard. "Cornelia is so beautiful," Catherine said.

"Tell me something I don't know," Martyn answered.

"Her wedding outfit is beyond perfection," Catherine assured her son.

"As if it would be anything less?" Martyn smiled.

Cornelia had opted for a pantsuit and a hat with a tiny veil over it. So it merely shielded her eyes. But Martyn didn't know that. Nigel made his way in, and he glanced at the ringbearer in the poofy dress, and then shrugged and pumped Martyn's hand in an excited way.

"Oh, you changed ringbearers," Nigel noticed.

"There aren't going to be any gender roles, or labels," Martyn insisted.

"And Phill really liked the flowers," Phil said.

"Why are you referring to yourself in third person?" Nigel asked.

"I'm not, I'm referring to my cousin twice removed, who has two L's in his name," Phil said.

"The one who threw a pillow at you like an assault weapon?" Nigel asked.

"It was an accident, one tends to have them after you get sick," Phil said.

Nigel rolled his eyes and escorted an excited Catherine out of the room, after shooting Martyn a thumbs' up and a wink.

Soon it Martyn was down in front of the aisle, next to the clergy man, and he awaited his bride. He moved his feet back and forth, and he looked up at the ceiling. Phill jauntily threw flowers down the aisle. Phil gave the little boy a thumbs' up and Dan gave the boy an 'ok' sign with his fingers. Phill blushed.

"I love ginger children....."  Phil said.

"You're not kidnapping him and, or, bringing him back to our flat," Dan admonished.

Phil shot him a disappointed look. Dan shook his head, and then came Cornelia holding a single white rose as she carefully walked down the aisle with her father. She was slightly tearing up, and her mouth was trembling. It took all of Martyn's control to not go to her and hold her close to him. He hated seeing her cry.

"I'm alright Martyn," she whispered as she found herself across from him, and he held her hands. They looked into each other's eyes, and smiled demurely at each other.

"I need a handkerchief!" Dan said.

"Me too! Pass the Kleenexes," Phil said.

They reached into their pockets and pulled out some tissues and blew their noses noisily.

"Boys!" Susan shushed them, as Catherine was in a puddle of tears of her own, and Nigel patted her knee in a comforting way.

"The rings please," the clergyman interrupted, trying his best to ignore Dan and Phil.

"Marta?" Phil squatted next to the ringbearer.

She grinned and handed Phil the pillow.

"Thank you!" he neatly undid the rings and for once his klutziness didn't prevail. "AHA!" He gave Cornelia's ring to Martyn.

"Right then," Martyn placed the ring on her finger.

"Your vows?" the clergy urged.

"You're the space to my astronaut, you're the singer to my music, and you're the light of my life. Thanks for choosing me, and letting me marry you," Martyn grinned and she smiled, as she blinked away some tears. He reached out and wiped them from her cheeks with his thumb.

Cornelia placed the other ring on his finger, "Martyn you have brought joy and tallness to my life. You're goofy, coordinated, a damn fine DJ and you make me so happy. Thank you for proposing to me and marrying me."

"That's beautiful...." Dan sniffed.

"The space to my astronaut...." Phil mused.

"Shut up the both of you, I don't need you lads commentating on my ceremony. You do the voiceovers later for the video that's being recorded. Narrating. Remember?" Martyn hissed at them.

"We're gonna be on our best behaviour, starting right now," Dan promised and nudged Phil's ribs.

The clergyman looked at them and shook his head. But Martyn and Cornelia didn't seem too upset, so he continued until, "Do you Martyn Nigel Lester take Anna Maria Cornelia Dahlgren to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Martyn looked over at Dan and Phil, and the rest of the people in attendance; then back to the moment at hand, "I do." Cornelia squeezed his hand.

"And do you Anna Maria Cornelia Dahlgren take Martyn Nigel Lester to be your lawfully wedded husband?" he asked.

"I'll have to ponder that for a moment....Okay moment's over....I do," Cornelia finally answered, much to Martyn's relief.

They were bid to kiss amidst the cheers, the applause and whatever else, they kissed. Then it was time for the reception.

They walked down the aisle first, and then they were all dancing and eating. Dan and Phil were off in the corner, antisocial as usual.

And just as it had always been, family gathered 'round them, and talked over them, at them, and to them. Catherine and Susan were crying and hugging each other. Louise and Cat, still in their bridesmaids' outfits were dancing on the floor. And it was a lovely night had by all.

The End.