#the-questionmark-kid

He had gotten to know her fairly well over the past months.  He had been the one to tell her they had made an arrest, and had listened to her rage when the murderer turned out to be someone she thought she could trust.  Her anger hadn’t lasted long, overtaken by a deep, heavy sadness that had clung to her for some time, and was only recently beginning to lift.  And now here he was, to tell her that the case was proceeding to sentence and that his part in it was essentially over.  Which meant that there was no reason for him to see her again.

He supposed it was for the best, really; he was twice her age and looked it, and there was no way on earth she could ever be interested in anything he had to offer.  She would move on with her life, pottering around the library and bringing a little light into the lives of everyone she met.  He would bury himself in work as he always did when he wanted to pretend that something wasn’t happening.  She probably wouldn’t remember him beyond the detective who had dealt with her father’s murder, and he knew in his heart that he would remember her until the day he died.  He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

Pushing open the library door, he blinked as he surveyed a scene of cheerful chaos.  White powder covered the floor, trestle tables were askew, and coloured ribbons, gold stars and glitter were strewn all over.  It looked as though a cocaine den had fought with a gay bar and no one was quite sure who had won.

“Miss French?” he called, and there was a surprised squeak from behind one of the stacks.

“Just a minute!”

He walked towards her voice, trying to shut out the outrageously cheerful Christmas music blaring from the bright blue stereo perched on the circulation desk.  Sprigs of holly were taped around the edge of the desk itself, and dark green clumps of mistletoe were hanging from the light fittings that dangled above the wooden parquet floor.  Belle was in between two of the stacks, re-shelving some books, and her face brightened as she recognised him.  It made his heart thump in his chest.  She was looking very beautiful, in a dark green dress that suited her pale skin, a Santa hat perched on her head and more white powder coating her hands and arms.

“Detective!” she said warmly.  “How are you?”

“Fine,” he lied, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  “Why does it look like it snowed in here?” 

“Oh.”  She slid the book onto the shelf, glancing over her shoulder at him.  “Children’s Christmas party.  We were making gingerbread houses, and they got a little over-excited with the powdered sugar.”

“You ran a children’s party in here?” he said.  “Not exactly like the library I used to go in as a kid.  You’d get put in the stocks for speaking above a whisper.”

Belle smiled.

“Well, I try to teach them the joy of reading alongside other activities,” she said.  “The school’s around here don’t exactly have much spare cash for arts programmes, and a lot of parents work such long hours they need somewhere for the kids to go when they’re not in class.  I figured I could help.”

She made to get down the little set of steps, and he rushed forward to help, his feet seeming too big and awkward, threatening to make him fall on his face.  Belle smiled up at him as she reached the floor safely, and he couldn’t help returning the smile.  Idiot that he was.  Perfect.  She’s perfect.  A goddess.

He realised he was staring at her, and Belle put her head to the side, one eyebrow raising.

“I - doubt you came here to talk about my after-school club,” she said.  “Was there something you wanted?”

Weaver cleared his throat, telling himself to get a fucking grip.

“Uh - I just wanted to tell you that Le Gume finally pleaded guilty,” he said.  ”There’s been a date set for sentencing.”

Belle’s face fell a little.  She reached out to turn off the Christmas music on the stereo, and he wanted to kick himself.  Why had he told her today, now, when she was happy?  Why hadn’t he left it until after Christmas?

“Oh,” she said quietly.  “When - when is it?”

“Not until next year,” he said lamely.  “February twentieth.  The defence wants to get some reports done first.  In fact - in fact I don’t know why the hell I’m telling you, it could have waited until after the holidays.  I’m sorry.”

“No,” she said hastily.  “No, I’m glad you told me.”

She stepped forward, until she was standing very close, and he felt as though he was holding his breath, his heart pounding.

“I - I wanted to thank you,” she said.  “It hasn’t been the easiest few months of my life, and you’ve been so kind.”

He wanted to say something meaningful.  Something that would comfort her, put her at her ease.  His mind was blank, and he stared at her in silence like a bloody idiot.  Her eyes were very blue, her mouth full and soft as she smiled at him.

“I - I guess once this is all over, you won’t be coming out here much,” she said, and he managed to move, to shrug.

“Maybe I’ll want to borrow a book,” he said, and Belle grinned.

“Do you have a library card, Detective?”

“No,” he admitted.  “But perhaps I should get one.”

Belle settled back on her heels, a glint in her eyes, as though she was amused.

“And what sort of stories do you like?” she asked.  “Crime thrillers?  Drama?”

“Get enough of that at work,” he muttered.  “Maybe something that I don’t see enough of in life.”

“And what might that be?”

He smiled faintly.

“Happy endings.”

Belle’s grin widened.

“Do you enjoy love stories?” she asked.  “Because I have recommendations.”

“Right,” he said thickly, his skin humming from standing so close to her.  “Well.  Maybe you can put a list together for me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”  She held his gaze for a moment, then slowly raised her eyes to the ceiling.  “Oh, hey, mistletoe!”

Her eyes found his again, and there was a gleam in them that he hadn’t seen before.

“Well?” she said.  “It is traditional.”

He gaped at her, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Only if you want to, of course,” she added.  “Maybe it could be today’s happy ending.”

He was frozen in place, but he managed to move, to step forward.  Belle reached up to grasp the lapels of his jacket, pulling him in for a kiss, her mouth soft and sweet against his.  For a moment he thought he was dreaming, but his arms went around her, pulling her against him, and the tiny moan that came from her almost made him lose his mind.

Eventually their lips parted, and Belle pulled back, her hands still resting on his chest.

“Well,” she whispered.  “I kind of want to do that again.  Maybe we should call it a happy beginning.”