A/N: I don't even know, this just happened. However far along in the future you wish.

You're finally allowed to hop off the stand after what felt like years. You don't let your head fall until you're pushing the doors open. When you finally peel your eyes from the marble floor she's the first thing you see. Tall and wholesome and beautiful and just a bit weird; Holly. The bailiff says something to you about bravery or courage or something or other. Your uniform itches. You manage a response but what you're really focussing on is unbuttoning your collar, and looking at her. She's leaning slightly against the wall; so casual but so confident. She could have been waiting for hours or seconds but no one would be able to tell. It's so natural. She's smiling at you. It's not jubilant or joyous; her lips are closed; she's letting you know she's there, that she'll wait for you right here until you're ready. It's the most comforting smile you've ever seen. Her hands are plunged into the pockets of her long coat. She's not looking at her phone, she's not examining her fingernails, she's not cleaning her glasses. She's waiting for you. She's waiting like she's been doing it her whole life. She's waiting like she'll do it again tomorrow, and the next day. She's waiting like it's something she finds a silent peace in. And you know. You scold yourself a little because of course she's waiting for you. You didn't know how long you'd have to wait before they called your name. You didn't know how long you'd be sitting up there. You didn't know for sure what questions the defense was going to ask. The prosecutor guessed, helped you prepare, but you weren't sure. What you knew is that she'd be waiting. And you know. She couldn't come in; she has to testify too, but she was waiting outside.

Tonight you'll fall asleep with her wrapped all around you, your face burrowed safely under her chin, and you can't wait.

As you cross the hallway in her direction her lips begin to part slowly. Her smile goes crooked and wavy and real.

You croak out a "hey," and the relief you feel to see her shines through everything else as you smile weakly.

Her smile shrinks as she returns your "hey." It's quiet and calm. Not a hushed whisper but a quiet response; she's only talking to you. Somehow in the echoey bustling halls of the courthouse she spins an intimate cocoon for you. Her voice is a soft embrace that you never want to leave. She's doing that thing where she talks out of the side of her mouth and you almost can't stand it. And you know. Your hands are limp at your sides and you feel her fingertips lift your's slightly and her thumb brush lightly over your knuckles.

You tell her "let's get out of here," and she responds with a smile as she pushes herself off the wall. She's waiting for you to lead the way out, probably so she can walk a quarter of a step behind, part protector and part companion, but you don't move because you know.

"Marry me," you say, as you look her right in the eyes. It's not a question but a wish disguised as a statement.

Her mouth opens slightly and her head falls a little to one side. She's appraising you, giving you time and quiet to rescind if you want. But you don't want to take it back. You know. So you just look back at her. A faint smile starts to ghost it's way across her face and you hope it's because she's confirming that you meant it. "Right now," you break eye contact as you nod over to the winding marble staircase, "let's go upstairs." You glance at your watch, "it's not five yet."

Her smile's gotten bigger and happier, maybe a little curious. "I don't think that's really how it works," she almost chuckles and her eyes sparkle at you.

"What do you mean?" You furrow your brow because you don't know what she's talking about; you want to marry her right now. You think you need to.

She squeezes your fingers a little and swings your hands lightly, "you have to get a license first, Officer of the Law."

You deflate a little, "oh right." Of course you knew that. How could you forget? Well, this sucks. You start towards the exit slowly, "so, is that a 'no'?" You ask with a little trepidation and some childlike snark as protection.

"I don't recall being asked a question."

You suppose she's right and you hope it's always like this.

A/N: This kind of just happened. Maybe there's a part 2? I'm not really sure...