Hi there! I'm excited to share this one! I have two more ideas brewing, so be on the lookout for those as well! xx

Aftermath

They observed, contented and proud, as the multitude's whistles and hollers faded as it toured through the village, Quasimodo hoisted nobly on top all the while.

They had won. Phoebus and Esmeralda were now victors.

The fates had been on their side, and took care of what had been their paramount issue for the past month or so: Frollo. Though, they were ones to grumble—their poor friend Quasimodo had dealt with this man his whole life! The luckless boy! Quasi had been his hostage, his puppet, his prey, his victim since he was born! There would be months—more likely years—ahead of renovating the emotional injuries done unto the beloved bell-ringer. But they were more than willing to do it. Quasimodo was a thoughtful, enchanting, kind spirit, and although Paris was now conscious of it, the man needed to see it himself. It was far beyond the right time.

Having taken a seat on Notre Dame's front steps some time ago, they sat in easy silence, Phoebus with his arms draped over his bent knees and Esmeralda with her legs straight out in front of her, idly stroking Djali as he laid in her lap.

A hushed sort of peace blanketed the air around them. After a day of fearing for lives, brushes with death, fire, a battle, destruction, and a certain judge's grisly—but not necessarily devastating—end, finally, the only noise to be heard was the waning cheers of the crowd that just left. They were probably a good length into the city by now. They could go on as long as they wanted, however: a day like this one surely could use some prolonged positivity.

But, for the pair remaining on the steps of the war-torn cathedral, an unexpressed elephant of "what do we do now" dangled overhead, and Esmeralda was the first to address it.

She sighed, then quietly said, "I suppose I…should go home now. Tend to these," She took fistfuls of the threadbare dress she was still wearing and slid it up to reveal her calves, bearing a few gruesome burns, "and wash up." She finished, also taking note of the many dark blotches of filth on her forearms.

Phoebus' brown eyes enlarged at her wounds and every nerve in him constricted as he remembered Frollo. What that blasphemous miscreant did to her. And made him watch.

Damned villain. Can't even find it in me to feel sorry for his demise. The former captain thought bitterly.

Phoebus, though livid, as steadily as he could, replied, "To Hell with him. I hope he's in thrice as much agony as what he made your people suffer. Not to mention all he did to you. The bastard sent us all over the city searching for you, knocking on doo—"

"Phoebus." Esmeralda interjected loudly, but not callously. "I know. I know about it all. But we don't have to deal with him anymore." She idly stroked the length of Djali's back, bending over to try to catch Phoebus' gaze as he fixated on the ground in front of him. She set the goat aside and grasped the blonde man's arm. When he finally regarded her, she offered a small grin. "We're free." She told him.

After a long pause, he nodded and concurred, returning the grin, "You're right. We're free." He shoved his bangs out of his face, only for them to fall into place again. "It's just gonna take some getting used to."

He rose to his feet and aided Esmeralda to follow. "I'll escort you home, mademoiselle. You've had a long day. To say the least." He provided his arm for her, and she took it.

Paris and all below it was hued carnation pink and marigold as the sun lowered itself in the sky to prepare to sleep. Some charitable citizens began cleaning up what they could of the battle, sweeping ashes and carting away lumber. The gypsy woman and the soldier had plenty to deliberate—their relationship status, primarily—but neither had the valor to begin. So, they promenaded in silence.

As the two rounded a corner, unhurried strumming greeted them. Relaxingly, a trio of gypsies was playing a calm tune, wanting to bring a peaceful end to the hectic, momentous evening. A handful of couples were languidly dancing along, seeming to just bask in their lover's company after such a day of terror. Phoebus almost continued past the triad without a second thought when the hand grasping his elbow slid down his arm to seize his hand. Without waiting for objection from the man, Esmeralda hauled him towards the shuffling twosomes.

"Shall we, capitaine?" she inquired, a refreshingly hopeful look on her features.

I'm in for a lot of agreeing with eyes like those. Phoebus thought.

Realizing he had never held the woman in such a way, Phoebus was tentative to place his hand on her waist; where it was to go. Something in him had the conscience to not do something so forward, as it might drive her away. (Though knowing Esmeralda for mere weeks, he found himself being cautious and mindful of her in a way he'd never been towards a female before.) Instead, he opted to settle it on the middle of her back, as hers found its way to his shoulder.

"It's been a long while since I've danced." He muttered, watching their entwined hands as she adjusted her grip. "Apologies if I'm not to your standards, La Esmeralda."

Esmeralda eyed him, the corners of her mouth just barely curving upwards.

His current scent of dust and cinders amplified as she inched herself towards him more. He still wore the shirt from the day before; the slit in the front from the arrow still there, and wider than before.

Esmeralda thought on the whole episode, upon spying the tear—rescuing him from the Seine, stitching his chest, him taking hold of her hand, the kiss…

Oh boy. That kiss. It was one hell of a kiss.

She'd wanted to kiss him again when he came to The Court of Miracles, but it wasn't the suitable time or place. Not in front of virtually everyone she knew, and surely not in such a moment of pandemonium. He was quite a satisfactory kisser, she could confess. Now that things had simmered, the compulsion to repeat the act recommenced, powerfully. But, she repelled it; she couldn't discern where they stood.

But hey, now was a good a time as any to bring it up. She took a breath to speak, when:

"So, what about us?" Phoebus asked her. "What would you say we're becoming? An…item?" He raised an eyebrow and looked down at her with his eyes; without dipping his head.

Esmeralda was surprised, yet thankful that this had at last initiated. She surmised, "I was thinking more along the lines of…a courting couple, perhaps."

The captain deduced in a playful tone, "A couple, hmm? I just thought we liked each other."

"We do. A lot, I presumed." Esmeralda's hand slithered from his shoulder to the nape of his neck.

"Getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we? After all, we hardly know each other." Phoebus jestingly reasoned.

"Well, some things you just…you just know. You feel them strongly, and you feel how right they are." The gypsy elucidated, meeting his eyes.

Phoebus took an extensive yet subtle look at her, at them—her bronze skin, her dark hair, her nimble dancer feet fronting his bulky boots, the alternating colors of their interwoven fingers—before despondently commenting, "Who'd have ever thought a soldier and a gypsy, together, could be considered 'right', huh?"

Esmeralda fervently insisted, "That's just it. We can change things. We can change people's minds. By being our different selves. And proving how it doesn't matter."

Phoebus absorbed her words for a lengthy moment, a smile blossoming on his features. He confidently but tenderly disconnected his hand from hers and relocated it on the side of her face, his fingers nudging past her ear and into her hair. His gaze fell to her lips.

Identifying his intention, Esmeralda's stomach did jubilant somersaults, her own hands moving to clutch his sides. Their lips met alas, the pair emanating relief and elation at finally being able to be in public, to be together, to kiss again, to not worry about guards or being fugitives. The two seemed to release all of this into the kiss, their lips moving fervently, however, both were wary to not get overzealous too soon. (They each realized that this was merely their second exchange and they had just moments ago established themselves as a pairing.)

After some time, Phoebus released Esmeralda's mouth to smirk puckishly and remark,

"Damn right it doesn't matter."

If you choose to review, please let me know if I'm getting their personalities right. That's always my primary concern! Reading back on my first story, "A New Arrival", it's glaringly obvious to me that I was afraid to write dialogue, because I was petrified to attempt it with these interesting, yet difficult characters.

Anyway, thank you very much to the wonderful reviewer (an anonymous guest, sorry I can't be specific!) who suggested a post-movie's end story! (: xx