Hey all, thanks for the reviews!!!

Just to let everyone know, this is going to be a two part chapter thing...I'll put up the "Part 2" in a day or so.

I do not own the song...it's from Repo! The Genetic Opera. Hugo owns the characters.

Summary: Claude and Esme both take time to think about how they initially felt about the other. Esme and Claude have a talk in the street.

Preview: Isabeau is feeling ill. Jehan/Isabeau heavy chapter. Fleur-De-Lys' thoughts on Phoebus.

As always reviews are welcome, flames not so much.

Esmeralda had never been this angry at Claude before. He had come by and tried to apologize. He had brought her some little necklace, which he place directly into her hand. She had shoved him out of the room, slammed the door and thrown the necklace across the room. She wanted nothing more to do with him.

"Agnes, I don't know how I can apologize to you, but I am sorry."

She gave him a harsh stare.

"I never meant to question your fidelity."

She would not hear him out.

"I don't want you here."

She at last spoke, grabbing his arm and leading him toward the door.

"You can't apologize. I don't want to hear it! I'm not going to forgive you this time."

She opened the door and pushed him out. For some moments Claude just stood there, confused. He wanted to run back in and take her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her and hold her and force her to forgive him. But he knew he could not. If he were to do that, then she would hate him even more. He walked down the stairs and out the building. He would go home and think up a better plan of action.

Claude had returned home. It was late in the evening, so he lit a fire and sat down to read. The feel of the well worn leather binding of the book in his hand brought him back to another place and time entirely.

It was a cold December morning and Claude was busy, as always with his alchemy experiments. He had not moved from his chair for the last day or so now. He had not eaten and he had not left the cathedral for at least two days. Slowly his concentration was breaking. His stomach rumbled, his mouth had become dry and outside his window he heard the sound of something rattling. The rattling sound disturbed him more than his stomach or parched mouth. He stood to leave for a short while and retrieve nourishment, but first he stopped to examine what was going on down in the parvis.

There was a large crowd, filled with men and women of all ages. He asked himself what could draw such a crowd. There was no festival today, today was not a holiday. It was an average, run of the mill day. Nothing out of the ordinary was supposed to happen today. His eyes darted away from the crowd, trying to find the source of the rattling noise. And there, amongst the several faceless men and women was something twirling on one foot. The figure, at first was a blur of blue fabric and a tambourine. Then the twirling stopped. It was a girl! Claude at first found himself smiling, enjoying the sight of this young child and how much she seemed to delight in being out in the open air, dancing. He caught himself and admonished himself for thinking of her in such a way. She was, after all some little bohemian girl.

She was small, she looked to be no taller than five feet. Her hair was dark and wavy, with a blue scarf in it. The scarf shimmered in the afternoon's sunlight, making it appear that she wore a halo instead. Claude blinked, shaking off such a notion. She smiled and laughed, placing her tambourine out to collect money from her audience. The audience seemed to adore her! They seemed captivated by her every movement! Surely such a lovely creature could not be completely bad. He then saw her goat, a sign of Satan! He backed away, disgusted at her, disgusted at himself! How could he for one moment think of her as anything other than one of Satan's very instruments? She was a girl, she was a gypsy. And he was a priest, looking down upon her, wishing he were out in the audience.

Forgetting why he had stood up in the first place, Claude sat back down and attempted to read again. The rattling sound had ceased, so there should not have been any more distractions. He soon found him letting his mind wander. He occasionally did lose focus, but his mind would shift from science to religion. His mind shifted from science to the girl. He wondered how much she had made that day, just from dancing alone. He wondered if she made money in a way, besides dancing. She had probably had many customers, they were perhaps down there now, setting up their appointments. He wished he knew her name. He could then demand that she not dance anywhere near the cathedral ever again.

He allowed his hand to run over a page in his book, giving it a superficial glance and not paying any attention to the words on the page. He found himself no longer caring what the words meant, or what this book was about. Again he could hear the tambourine. He stood, angered that the sound would not let him be. He looked back out his window and saw the girl once more. She looked at peace and happy. Her gaze was turned upwards and he caught a glimpse into her eyes. They sparkled like a dark quartz. He could have sworn that she was looking directly at him, begging him to come down to her. He backed away in fright and almost tripped over his chair. He shook his head, attempting to shake off whatever it was he had been thinking. She was beckoning him to her, she saw him and wanted him. There could be no other explanation. But did he want her? The answer was supposed to be, "no." But for some odd reason, he felt something inside him begin to resist his vows. As a man he liked this new feeling. He had never thought of himself as just a man before and he was not just some average man. He was Dom Claude Frollo, Archdeacon of Josas. But, being Archdeacon seemed not to matter, as he peered down into the square once more.

Esmeralda sat back on the bed, in tears. She held the necklace she was given as a child in her hand. It seemed like ages since she had looked at it. The pink silk of the shoe now seemed a welcome companion, as it had so many times before.

She placed the small trinket in his hands. It had never once before been out of her sight and now she was intrusting it to him. She did not know if she should trust him with her most valuable treasure, but he had told her that he had found her mother. Until this moment, she had never really looked at him. She studied his features, quietly. Scanty white hair, a wrinkled forehead, high and thin cheeks. His lips were thin and pale, he was thin and pale. He looked like the grim reaper. She felt her hand leave his. His hand was wrinkled, but not rough. His hand felt weathered, like a fine leather. It felt strangely good on her smooth skin. A shudder went through her spine, but not one of horror or hatred, but one of pleasure. The feeling sickened her, but she hid it from him.

He had left to show her mother the shoe. She had a brilliant plan in order. She would have her mother help her escape this evil priest and she would find Phoebus and marry him. She and her captain would run away someplace where the priest would never find them. It was so perfect!

Claude had come back with a ring. He had placed it on her finger, the question he had asked her was nothing more than a blur, but she had agreed to marry him. She had not agreed to marry him out of love, or even liking. She had agreed to marry him only as part of her grand plan. He disgusted her, and yet, there was something almost sweet and romantic about his love for her. She looked up into his eyes. His eyes were normally dark and stone cold, but to her they appeared soft and kind, almost pleading. She felt an odd pity for him. He was in love with her and she would never be able to love him. He had found her mother and she only guessed that she could love him for that.

She felt him place the ring on her finger. She had dreamed of this moment several thousands of times before, but he was not the one she had dreamt of. Perhaps she could pretend that he was Phoebus. She would imagine the captain and in that way, she would make this awful man believe that she was in love with him. The only fact that seemed to remain was that this man in front of her had found her mother and Phoebus had not. For a moment she stopped thinking about Phoebus and her mother and saw the reality of her situation. She had never once given up the hope that she would find her mother and perhaps the man before her was not terribly awful. She could feel his hands gently fall away from her, as if they never wanted to let go. This man must be terribly desperate though, if he was willing to do all that he had done. She did not love him, but a small part of her found him to be quite romantic.

The clock struck , seven o'clock. She stood and looked around for the necklace Claude had given her. It was a beautiful emerald necklace. It almost matched her engagement ring. She found it lying near the door. She knelt to pick it up. There was a time, not too long ago, when she would have never accepted such a gift, or any gift for that matter from him. She picked up the trinket and stood, leaving the room. She wasn't entirely certain of what she was supposed to do now, but something told her that if she spoke to Claude, that might help.

Though the hour was late, she knew Gringoire would be home and she needed someone to help keep her safe, even if she was just walking back to her home.

"Esmeralda?"

He had not been sleeping, but the sight of her at his doorstep came as a shock.

"It's late and I need you to escort me home. Claude and I had a fight and I left and now I just need to talk to him."

Gringoire nodded, and began walking beside her.

"Do you mind me asking what this fight was about?"

He knew nothing about relationships, but thought he should at the very least try and give her some advice.

"He questioned my fidelity. And there's no reason he should ever question that! I've never once gone astray and…"

There, in their path stood a man. He wore dark colors and with the lack of light, Gringoire could not make out his features.

"Get behind me."

He whispered, placing his arm in front of Esmeralda to shield her. For some moments Gringoire and the man stood, neither one saying a word.

"Who are you?"

Gringoire attempted to sound brave and strong, and all those things men were supposed to be.

The other man reached down to grab something; a lantern. He held it up to see who was speaking to him.

"Master Pierre? What are you doing out at this time of night?"

It was Claude. Gringoire breathed a sigh of relief. He was a terrible fighter and would never have been able to offer Esmeralda the protection she needed had this man been a threat to them.

"I am here, because of a woman."

Gringoire saw the stern, paternal look on Claude's face.

"You know her, actually. She's about five feet tall, dark hair, dark eyes. She used to keep the company of a poet."

Claude's eyes sparked at the mention of his wife.

"She sent you?"

Claude took a step forward.

"No. She's here, with me. Or, rather, I am here with her. She wanted to return home, but at this late hour she needed an escort."

Esmeralda peered out from behind Gringoire's arm. She saw Claude, but now had no idea how she could face him. She didn't know what she wanted to say, or how she would say it. In all honesty she never meant to fall in love with him. She never thought that thoughts of him would keep her awake at night and make her smile. The thoughts she had of the captain were superficial daydreams which meant almost nothing to her. But she didn't know how to tell Claude that.

Claude attempted to look away, guilt written on his face. He had thought out everything he wanted to say to her, he had planned ahead, but as always those plans failed him. He never expected one woman to hold such a power over him. He never intentionally wanted to love her that was just a latent consequence of watching her dance. He never calculated the impact that this girl would have on his heart. He didn't know how to tell her that.

"I think it's best for me to leave."

Gringoire said at last, seeing that he was no longer needed.

Claude was once her nightmare, everything she tried to avoid and, then suddenly he had become her one true love, her hero. She had always expected to hate him.

"Claude…"

She was the first to speak.

"Sometimes when I'd see Phoebus and Fleur-De-Lys together, it would make me want to cry. They never had what we had. They never had to struggle to find love and I pitied them for that."

She began, clarifying that even though she once loved the captain, being with him would never make her truly happy.

"When I agreed to marry you, I never expected to actually love you, but I do."

He let her speak, until it was obvious she had said her piece.

"Esmeralda."

He wanted to comfort her in some way.

"Some nights I sit, watching you sleep. When I first told you that I loved you, I only thought it was lust. Then when you agreed to marry me, I never knew I would end up loving you."

He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

"Esmeralda, do you know what this is?"

She examined the piece of paper, trying to make sense of what was scrawled across it and at last shook her head.

"No."

"This was the first letter you sent to me. I have never been able to make out the writing, or the words to really know what it says, but because it was written by your hand I have kept it all this time."

She gave him an empathetic look.

"I remember when I wrote this. It was when you were still in Paris. I wrote it, telling you that I thought about you everyday."

A small smile spread across his lips.

"You thought about me?"

"Yes. I thought you knew."

He attempted not to appear surprised.

"Everyday, I thought about what being married would be like and what having someone love me would be like."

She stepped closer, emphasizing her point.

"And what did you imagine marriage would be like?"

He too took a step closer.

"I imagined it to be dull and boring. I imagined cooking and sewing and having children, and that would be my life. Only that. But being married to you isn't like that at all. Yes, I cook and sew, and we have two beautiful children, but we have so much more than that! Or, at least we did."

"Esmeralda, when I first asked you to marry me I thought that we would make love once and whatever hold on me you had would be broken. I never imagined what being married was truly like!"

He actually had imagined what it would be like; her constantly reminding him that he wasn't Phoebus, he wasn't handsome, she would never love him, never be his. He had imagined himself regretting everything, leaving her, or her leaving him, eventual boredom and resentment. He had never imagined that she would love him. It still hurt, knowing that she occasionally thought about the captain, but he could get passed that.

"Esmeralda, I am sorry for lashing out at you the way I did. We both know that I can be a very jealous man. We both know that I'm a work in progress. I've been trying, trust me I have. But, if there's something I can do better tell me."

"I want to forgive you, but you need to understand that I do think about other men. If I had wanted to be with the captain, I would have given in to him. You need to understand that whatever thoughts I have, or had were only that; thoughts. I would never act on those thoughts. Unless you can understand that, then I'm not sure if I can forgive you."

Claude thought a moment.

"I can understand that, at the very least I can try."

He placed his hands on her arms, about to embrace her.

"Unless they are thoughts of me, keep them to yourself."

Claude said with a humor laced voice.

"Of course."

She giggled, kissing his lips and at last letting him hold her.