Epilogue

Hands Against Hearts

"Well," Edmond said, flexing his fingers as he laid aside his pen, "I think that's the last correction I had to make."

"Read it over again later tonight, after your mind has cleared out a little," Belle said. "It's important to get your essays right."

He nodded, piling up the papers and tying the small stack with a length of twine. "It seems impossible to believe that I'm almost a teacher - it feels like only yesterday that you were tutoring me."

"Believe me," Belle said, "sometimes it seems impossible that you've grown so much in the last seven years. And next week you'll be twenty!" She pressed a hand to her forehead melodramatically. "Where have the years gone, that the little boy I knew suddenly became a handsome young man overnight?" Edmond laughed, and Belle joined in after another moment of pouting. "Since we're on the subject of you growing up . . . how's Lisette?"

Edmond blushed scarlet. Ever since the new minister and his family had moved to Villeneuve in the spring, he had found himself drawn to their sober and serious eldest daughter. Belle routinely teased him on the subject, although she also gave him surprisingly shrewd advice on how to best approach her.

"Fine," he managed to say eventually. "She told me that she hoped I would pass these final exams, and that the district could use a good teacher."

"There you go, then," Belle smiled. "Now, you promised me and Jacqueline that you would help look after Henri and Louise once you finished your final draft. Get back to the house, quick as you like."

"I'm not a child, you know," Edmond said.

"I know," she replied, "but if I don't chase you off now we'll sit and talk about the latest shipment until the sun sets, and I have to make sure everything was delivered."

"Oh? What have you got this quarter -"

"Go!" Belle shouted playfully, nudging Edmond - who was now tall enough to reach shelves that she needed a ladder for - out the door.

"Goodbye," he laughed, as she shut the door in his face. Still with a smile on his face, he began to walk back to his father's house. He bundled his cloak closer to himself, as a chill wind blew down the street. Just before he reached the turn-off for his house, Edmond noticed a man walking in the semi-lost way that all visitors had in an unfamiliar town. He had never seen the man before; if it had been summer, Edmond would have just dismissed him as a merchant or holiday-maker. But it was the middle of November, and the appearance of a stranger piqued his curiosity.

"Excuse me, monsieur; are you lost?" he asked, walking over to the man.

"Quite possibly," he said, with good humour. "I'm looking for a bookshop run by a woman called Belle Dupont; I have the address, but I'm having some trouble finding it."

"I've just come from there," Edmond said. "It's further down this street, with a bright blue door - you can't miss it." He paused for a moment, and then continued. "Can I ask why that bookshop? Do you know Belle?"

"Yes," the man said. "I've known her for many years. Thank you for the directions, Monsieur -?"

"Leroy," he said. "Edmond Leroy."

To his surprise, the stranger smiled as if he was well-acquainted with him. "Thank you, M. Leroy." With that, the man marched down the street to Belle's shop. Edmond stopped to watch him walk away for a moment, before resuming his walk home. He couldn't help feeling ever-so-slightly more adult; it was the first time he, and not his father, had been called M. Leroy in Villeneuve.

The stranger continued walking down the street, until he saw the bookshop with the blue door. He stopped outside, several feet away. His lips seemed to tremble, although you would only be able to tell if you were standing right in front of him. Steeling himself, he walked up to the shop and carefully stepped inside.

The aroma of paper and ink filled him as soon as the door shut behind him. He looked around the shop, drinking in the high shelves, beautiful covers, and five clocks ticking away on the far-away wall. He ran his fingers over the proud, unbent spines of the books, smiling at the soft noise it made. A sharp pop and crackle alerted him to a fire merrily burning in a large grate, by which some chairs stood. The stranger eagerly warmed his hands by the fire, rubbing at his fingers and tugging off his gloves, noticing the well-worn and comfortable chairs that were placed near the grate. Still, he looked around him as if there was something missing from the picture.

"Hello?" he called out hesitantly. "Is . . . is anybody here?"

In the distance, he heard a woman reply, "Oh, are you a customer? I'm so sorry, I'll be right with you."

The stranger stepped away from the fire suddenly, quickly tucking his gloves in his pocket and smoothing away flyaway hairs from where they had escaped the ribbon at the nape of his neck, as the woman kept speaking. "I know the sign says we're still open, but I wasn't expecting anybody else to come in at this time of day, so I was just noting down some stock." She got steadily louder as the sentence wound on. As she finally popped out from a door behind the checkout register, she said, "I hope you haven't been -"

At the sight of the stranger, her mouth dropped open, and her hands fell from a mid-shoulder height - where she had presumably been gesticulating, unseen - to near her waist.

"- waiting long," she finished in a murmur. Her brown eyes were wide, her mouth still open.

"Not long," Benoit said. "Only seven years, seven months, seven weeks, and seven days." Although his words were brave, his voice trembled.

Belle walked forwards slowly, as if in a trance. She stopped short about a foot in front of him. They were close enough to touch. Benoit's fingers abortively reached for Belle's hand, although the rest of his arm didn't move. He drunk in the changes almost eight years had brought to the woman he loved; the way her face had angled into the planes of adulthood and shed all traces of adolescence; the sleek bun she wore her hair in, although strands still escaped; a dignity and poise in her posture which hadn't been there before. But her eyes were lit with the same wonder he remembered, and her hair still escaped pins and ribbons in the same way, and she was still, quite simply, Belle.

"You grew a beard," she said, as if she didn't quite believe it. She blushed a moment later, covering her mouth with her hands. "Eight years, and that's the first thing I say!"

Benoit laughed, ducking his head. He stroked said beard, which had grown out in a shade closer to strawberry blonde than the bright auburn hair on his head. "Do you like it?" he asked. "I, uh, forgot my razor on the trip back up here, and by the time I had access to one I already had quite a bit of hair, so I - well, you can see for yourself." He could feel himself blushing, too.

"I just can't believe you're here," Belle whispered. "You're finally here." She was the one who closed the gap between their hands, and the feeling of her fingers wrapping around his almost made him gasp.

"I'm here," he murmured, daring to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. Belle leaned into the contact, raising her other hand so that it kept his on her cool cheek. Benoit did gasp at that, and her eyes met his in a flash. She squeezed his other hand gently where she held it, and he returned the pressure. This close, he could see the freckles which dotted her forehead and cheeks, and the flecks of green in her eyes which he had interpreted, all those years ago, as a muddy yellow. He had arrived with few expectations - neither had thought they could jump back into the relationship where it had left off, and rightfully so - and yet with every passing second, he grew surer and surer that Belle wanted to kiss him again as much as he wanted to kiss her.

With great restraint, he merely pressed his forehead against hers. This close, he could feel her cool breath on his face, and there was no chance of his rapid heartbeat going unnoticed. Belle moved her hand from the back of his, still caressing her cheek, to his own face, running her fingers from his smooth hair to his rough but neat beard. Her breath hitched, and she let out a soft, almost involuntary noise in the back of her throat.

Unable to take it any longer, Benoit lowered his head so that his lips brushed hers, in only the merest suggestion of a kiss.

"Benoit," she sighed, reaching up to pull his face close for a proper kiss. Her lips were so soft beneath his, her hand so strong, her caress so intimate. Their mouths moved together, as Benoit ran his hand through the hair she had loose, and Belle moved her searching fingers from his face, to his neck, to his shoulders. They both kept a firm hold on their other hands, gripping them like a lifeline. To be able to kiss her again had seemed like an impossible dream, and yet here he was standing in her bookshop. He tasted salt water on Belle's lips, and he couldn't tell whether they were his tears or hers.

They drew apart silently, and Belle finally let go of his hand to pull him into a tight embrace. Benoit followed her lead, wondering anew at how perfectly she fit beneath his chin, and how snugly his hands locked around her waist. He could smell the faint perfume of the soap she used in her hair, and a few more tears slid down his face and into her dark locks. Belle's hands fisted the material of his cloak as she pulled him, impossibly, even closer.

"You're actually here," she said, slightly muffled by his shirt.

"Yes," he said shakily.

Belle stepped back slightly so that she was still in his embrace, but no longer pressed tightly against his body. Tear tracks lined her face, and her nose had gone bright red, and she had never been so beautiful. He said the last part aloud and she laughed, and it was like the sun had risen after a long, cold, dark night.

"Do you actually like the beard?" he asked. "Because if you don't, I can shave -"

She cut him off with a kiss, and Benoit couldn't remember anything quite as wonderful as Belle interrupting him with kisses. Quite possibly she hadn't had the chance, back when he had newly transformed.

"Benoit, I loved you back when you were covered head to toe in fur. I loved you when you had no hair at all except what was on your head. I loved you when you were only words on a page and my own imagination." Her eyes were piercing as she spoke. "I couldn't care less what you look like - I'm just so happy you're finally here, darling."

"Call me that again?" he asked quietly.

"What - darling?" she asked, confused.

"No," Benoit coughed. "My name."

"Benoit," she breathed. He closed his eyes. The love of his life was calling him by name for the first time, and it was almost too much to hear her musical voice say it. "Benoit," Belle said again, and she surged onto her tiptoes to kiss him with passion. Every time they broke for breath, she said his name, and he choked hers out in return, filled with emotion.

They sat down eventually, after Benoit remembered that he had walked several miles that day and his feet were aching. Belle flipped the sign in the door over, and brewed a pot of tea for them both. They were sat until late in the night, simply talking about anything and everything that came to mind, until the talk ran dry and they were enjoying the silence. Benoit kept a loose hand intertwined with Belle's, and every so often he would rub his thumb along the edge of her fingers. She hummed thoughtfully at the contact, and periodically raised their hands so that she could kiss the back of his hand softly.

"Belle," he said quietly, some time after the clocks had chimed midnight, "I know you already got my letter but . . . well, I know it's probably too soon to think about it, but - if you still wanted to marry me, in the future, I have my mother's blessing to do so." He felt oddly as if he should be beet-red, but he was filled with calm instead.

"I'm glad," Belle said. She had unpinned her hair after complaining about how tight it was, and wonderful copper tones developed wherever the firelight hit it. "I'd love to meet her, someday."

"I . . . I'd like that, too," he admitted. "But I'm not sure if . . . she can't travel here, and I used most of my savings coming up here already."

"Benoit," Belle started, sitting up and turning to face him head-on. "I don't understand - she's your only family left. I thought you always wanted to see her again."

"She's not my only family," he said, dropping his gaze to their linked hands. "I know we said that jumping back to where we were would be a bad idea. I still agree with that. But Belle . . ." He looked back into her eyes, willing her to understand how certain he was about his choices. "I can get work here - whether it's as a piano teacher, or as something completely different. I'm more than willing to do whatever I can to make this relationship work, because I still love you. And one day - not now, not yet, but one day - I want to marry you."

Belle raised her free hand to the neckline of her dress, and flicked out a gold chain with her thumb. Hanging at the bottom, just the same as Benoit had last seen it, was his old signet ring.

"I want to make this work, too," Belle said. "I've been waiting a long time to finally put this ring on my finger."

With a delighted laugh, Benoit swooped from sitting beside Belle to kneeling in front of her chair. He surged upwards, one hand gripping the arm for balance, as he claimed her lips in an overjoyed kiss. Objectively, it was one of their worse kisses, as they were both smiling too much to really connect. But a moment later, Belle's hands were gliding across his arms and her mouth opening to his tongue. Benoit let out a sound as she kissed him fiercely, allowing his own hands to caress her neck and seize her waist. Her breath was as sweet as he remembered, and her hair just as soft as he ran his hands through it.

After another hour or so of intermittent talking and kissing, Belle eventually went upstairs to her rooms as Benoit settled in front of the fire. They had embraced tightly before she left, Benoit playfully holding onto her hands for as long as possible until eventually her fingers slipped away from his, and she shut the door separating the shop and living quarters firmly behind her. He flung his cloak out, using it as a blanket while he arranged the cushions on the chairs as a pillow, trying to get as comfortable as he could, and allowed the firelight to wash over him as he replayed the numerous embraces of the night.

Tomorrow, he would find a place to stay in Villeneuve that was not his fiancée's shop floor. During the next week, they would officially begin a courtship, and Benoit would finally meet the townspeople who he had been reading about for so long. He would spend Christmas and New Year's with Belle and the Leroy's, and find work teaching piano to the upper classes of Villeneuve. His twenty-ninth birthday would be his last as a bachelor. Belle's twenty-sixth birthday would be her first as a wife.

The following autumn, M. Fauvent would officially hand the bookshop over to Belle, and begin his retirement. Belle and Benoit would spend hours poring over books and music together, and he would sketch anything and everything that took his fancy. They would learn that Edmond and Lisette were engaged almost before the parents of the young couple did, and both Belle and Benoit would be a part of the wedding party. Three years after he married Belle he would take her to meet his mother in person, and the two women would get along famously, to his enthusiasm and Antonia's hilarity. On the way back to Villeneuve, Belle would discover that she was pregnant. In the early springtime, the child would turn out to be a boy. A sister would follow in summer of the next year. The children would grow, as children did, and be lulled to sleep each night by the almost-fantastical tale of an enchanted prince, a merchant's daughter, and the books that brought them together. Benoit would sketch memories for them, and Belle would play the Clarke piece - much poorer than when she was eighteen years old - and the children would wonder if it was really true or not.

One day many years in the future, after both children had married and begun families of their own, an old beggar woman near death's door would appear at the shop - her emerald ring faded and dirty, her eyes pale and filmy, all traces of her former power gone - and beg once more for Belle and Benoit's forgiveness. They would grant it.

But all of that was to come. For the moment, Benoit curled up in the large chair - Like all those times in the library, when I was a Beast, he thought semi-ruefully - and with kiss-stung lips, a happy heart, and anticipation for what the next day might bring, fell asleep swiftly; his heart, broken and cracked no longer, beating in tandem with his soulmate's.

The End

A/N: And that's a wrap!

This story has been such a huge part of my life for the last two years. I tried to be 'mature' and 'consider the repercussions of an eight-year-long LDR', but . . . what can I say? I'm a romantic at heart. I had to give the beard line a nod; likewise, it didn't feel right to have the Enchantress not come back one last time.

Speech time! First off, I'd like to thank the users on the Bittersweet and Strange forum, for helping me brainstorm plot points, directing me to resources I wouldn't have otherwise found (such as the Jeremiah Clarke piece that Belle plays), and just generally being the best people ever.

Secondly, I'd like to thank:

So-crates Johnson, for the gorgeous fanart she drew of Belle and the Beast playing piano.

TrudiRose, for her insightful concrit about Gaston's motivations, which directly led to Chapter 13 being written.

CarolNJoy, for pointing out that Belle and Benoit had forgotten why the Enchantress tended to curse people :P

enchantedxrose on tumblr (aka ladymacbeth99), for creating a beautiful moodboard for this fic.

Third, I would just like to thank all my reviewers; So-crates Johnson, HicHicHiccup, She hulk, Buonumore, Ariel-Mystic-Siren, meganangels, disneylove89, hiddensnowflake, Roxanne Beaumont, singertobe, hateme101, , TrudiRose, 4evrMrsAcklesLevineO'Donoghue, CarolNJoy, Hathor-Aroha, AroonCat, Katarina956, civilwarrose, ImaginationStories, Megan Lyle, ladymacbeth99, pinkdynamite, FaerieTales4ever, .2015, purplefern, MySarcasticGreenCrayon, frozengirl9712, Gina, Lady Shadow92, BlackLabyrinth07, Jixerbell, gisela19wwe, Claudaujay, SilimaOhtar, snowcloud8, scarletvixenwthorns, Bon, Crazykrew616, cherisebrady, PastOneonta, Ifit'sNotBaroque, Caelia di Mekio, , banzin, SamoaPhoenix9, and all guest reviewers.

Fourthly, (and lastly), to everybody who followed, favourited, or just read this thing - thank you. So much. It's been an amazing two years writing this.

What's next? Well, I'm finally going to dip my toes in fanfic for the remake, that's what! Keep your eyes peeled, and until next time I have been, and will continue to be,

TheTeaIsAddictive