TW: misogyny irt sex, hand injury, drugs (laudanum), homophobia in the media, war/genocide referenced, hypersexuality discussed, inappropriate sexuality problems, hallucinations/psychosis
Song by Within Temptation.
~45~
You think you own me but I wouldn't be so sure
You won the battle but you're gonna lose a war
-Entertain You
By the time Diana stumbled into Knox's house, feeling sweat roll down her back, she knew she'd made a mistake. She didn't have to be at the trial today, and she hadn't wanted to miss it, but she couldn't think in a straight line. She couldn't think past anything but her hand.
"Colonel?" Ranfan's voice. Diana tried to smile comfortingly through the black spots in her vision.
"…Stupid woman. Where are you injured?"
Diana wanted to sass Knox or defend herself, but she was – admittedly – having trouble breathing. She had thought – well, she'd hoped, and mostly pretended, she had it handled. She hadn't realized how much adrenaline was keeping her together until after she'd left the hospital, and she didn't want anybody at the hospital asking questions. Thank god Knox didn't have a day job.
The moment her head hit the pillow of the spare bed, she already started feeling better, although she couldn't help a flinch as Knox carefully peeled the glove off of her hand. Learned instincts. Fucking Kimbley. She hadn't had a thing about her hands until him. Picked it up like a contagious disease.
Knox took a deep breath. Here came the lecture.
"What is wrong with you? Look at this! I'm going to have to undo your half-assed stitches before I can do anything with this! How are you moving? How – I should kill you myself. Why can't I get a single patient capable of taking care of herself?" The next thing she knew, there was laudanum being shoved into her other hand. She tried to shake her head – seeing Will doped up on morphine had been bad enough – but Knox huffed. "Trust me, girlie, you're going to want some relief before I start working on this. What did you do, stop the bleeding and call it done?"
"Bad habits die hard." He was right, although the taste of the alcohol in the laudanum drops on her tongue just made her want a real drink. The last thing she wanted was an altered state.
"…That looks bad," came Ranfan's doubtful comment. "What happens?"
"Happened, dear," Diana exhaled. Xingese didn't really have tenses, so it made sense. Or, well, not in the same way. "Crossed one of the homunculi. Apparently he's pissed about Lust."
"Oh." Ranfan cursed in Xingese under her breath. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I was going to kill him one way or another." Diana flinched as Dr. Knox started pulling out her clumsy stitches. She knew enough about emergency medicine and anatomy to know that she hadn't broken anything; at worst, one of her metacarpals had gotten dislocated, and she was a little worried about the nerves, but she'd managed to snap it back into place alright. It sometimes occurred to her that being that disconnected from her body was a bad thing, but you didn't stay in Black Ops for long if you didn't know how to cope with pain. "…I think you three had better get moving, though. You'll probably be next."
Dr. Knox hummed quietly to himself. "I suppose I can send them off to Rush Valley or something."
"I might know someone, if he's not already sick of m-" Diana cut herself off with a strangled curse.
Knox audibly rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't hurt so much if you had come here first."
"I had things to do."
"Like what? What could possibly be more important than fixing the injury to your hand?"
She shifted, then squeezed her eyes shut as the last stitch came out. Then – "-motherfucker!"
Knox put the bottle of ethanol down. "I would have warned you, but I didn't feel like it."
"Every day, I wonder why we're friends."
"We're friends?" he deadpanned in return. "Now, out with it."
She supposed it wasn't really a secret – and certainly Knox wasn't going to judge. "It's Fullmetal. He's been put in Ward One."
"Ward One, in –"
"Yeah."
Knox fell silent at that, still working on her hand. "You're going to have a devil of a time getting him out. If that's what you want?"
"What do you mean, if that's what I want?"
"I might be retired – although it doesn't feel like it with all these stubborn patients around – but I've heard plenty about that kid."
She tried not to get angry. There wasn't much point – Will had courted his own bad reputation. "He's a kid. And he's not – he –"
Knox watched her face carefully, and snorted. "I'd say I trust you, but you also told me Kimbley was harmless."
Oh, screw not getting angry. "Compare him to Kimbley again and I'll give you a black eye."
"I'm the one with a needle in your palm. Shut up and lie back, you impossible woman. I know you're in a bad mood, but don't take it out on me."
…That was fair. She dropped her hand onto her face instead. Knox was just repeating what so many other people had, anyway. Even the people who didn't say it out loud had it lurking in their eyes – are you sure it's a bad thing he's in the hospital? Even she'd had her moments. But that wasn't fair. Will wasn't – no, claiming he wasn't insane wasn't useful either. But he wasn't in the ward because he needed help. He was in the ward as leverage. She still didn't know the full story about Forcett, but she had enough blood on her hands to know that things were never so simple.
"I'm responsible for him," she said after a moment, feeling her voice break a little on the last word and too dizzy to be embarrassed about it. "I'm the one who scouted him for the military, and I'm the one who talked him into it. And now I can't do anything."
Knox gave her another measured look, then exhaled. He looked less crabby than before, at least. "Well, at least this hand will heal up if you don't do anything stupid with it. If, Diana. If."
"Of course." She sat up, still wincing – then caught sight of the newspaper on Knox's table. "What's that?"
Knox grimaced. "I was hoping you wouldn't see that."
She reached for it with her good hand, and felt her heart sink in her chest. Damn that reporter.
SOLDIER SLAUGHTERS FRIEND IN THROES OF FORBIDDEN LOVE
"You must be fucking kidding me."
"Afraid not. I was hoping the Central Gazette was over that sort of tabloid nonsense, too."
Lieutenant charged in shooting death of his best friend
The opening volleys of what is already being named the crime story of the year were fired today as attorney Amue Armstrong went head to head with prosecution Lieutenant-Colonel Frank Archer. In the first court martial open to the public in over seventy years, National Defense 2nd Lieutenant Jareth Valjean stands accused of the shooting death of his best friend and fellow soldier – in a sordid love affair gone wrong.
Within their group of friends, the bond between Brigadier-General Hughes and Valjean was almost legendary – "unbreakable", some claim. However, their relationship became strained when Hughes married and had children. Valjean to this day remains a confirmed bachelor, nursing an unrequited love for a man he could never have.
She kept thinking she couldn't get angrier. "She can't just say stuff like that! It isn't true!"
"And who's going to challenge it? You?"
"Maybe."
"…I won't let degeneracy destroy the upright traditions of our military," Archer stated to the media, "and I will see him punished to the full extent of the law."
She almost threw the newspaper – and then something else caught her eye. The first three paragraphs was trash, profiting off of the "sensational" nature of the topic. But then the fourth…
"The Wilde Act doesn't make being queer illegal," Armstrong protested in court. Passed in 1854, the law indeed stipulates only specific types of homosexual acts. It remains to be seen what role the Wilde Act and its definition will play in what was already a murder case.
Cont. on page 6.
Interested in an interview? Call 555-435 and share your thoughts!
Diana squinted at the paper. That was odd. Still despicable. But odd. And the photo… She wasn't sure where Clara had gotten it. But it was of Archer, pointing aggressively towards the back of the photo with a scowl on his face.
"Does this seem odd to you?"
"Which part? The hawkish profiting off of a monkey circus of a trial or the exploitative title?" Knox grumbled, walking away.
Fair point. And she was probably looking for good intent that wasn't there. She opened it to page 6.
One might believe that Valjean is a stand-out – someone who simply hid his predilections until it was no longer possible. But an anonymous source said instead, "Within the military, there's an unspoken law. Don't ask, don't tell." In short, rather than Valjean being an exception, there is apparently a living and vibrant underbelly of homosexual passion within the Amestrian forces. If that's true, then Archer has his work cut out for him!
"That bitch," Diana mumbled, although she was getting more curious and curious by the moment. She couldn't confirm anything – but she was wondering, now, what game Clara Severin was really playing.
"Please state your name and rank for the record," Godfrey droned, and Jareth chewed on the inside of his cheek, hoping that Sheska could handle this. She looked so small, up on the stand.
"Private Sheska Thomas."
Archer approached her with a glitter in his eyes. "Private Thomas, what is your position within the military?"
"Special Support Staff, librarian in the – oh, well, 2nd Central Branch, now. I was in the 1st Branch, but then it burned down."
"Burned down? That's a shame," Archer replied, not sounding very sorry at all. "When did you first meet the defendant, Miss Thomas?"
Private, Jareth seethed. But Archer was an officer. He wasn't going to feel obliged to respect the rank of a nobody like Sheska.
Sheska fidgeted with her hands in her lap. "A-about four years ago. He was looking for a book for his commanding officer – something about her research, I think. I helped him out, and then the next day, he came back and asked me on a date." Her ears had gone red, and Jareth couldn't help a little smile. She'd made such a flustered noise.
"A date? Isn't that a little inappropriate?"
"Oh, not at all, Archer, sir. I checked. Support staff aren't beholden to the anti-fraternization policy as long as we aren't under the person's direct command."
"You checked? Am I to understand, Miss Thomas, that you checked this before going on a date with him?"
"That's correct." She shrunk a little, and Jareth tried to mentally encourage her. Don't let him get to you. "I actually… panicked a little. People don't usually show interest in me. So I actually came back about an hour later to accept properly."
There was a snort of laughter somewhere in the courtroom, followed by more. Sheska looked like she wanted to drop herself through the stand, but Jareth glanced behind him, looking around at the faces of the crowd. They weren't laughing at Sheska. They found it cute. Well, that works. Shame she thinks they're making fun of her, he sighed internally.
"I see," Archer said, sounding unimpressed at the reaction Sheska's testimony was getting so far. "And you've been seeing each other consistently?"
"I – um." Sheska lowered her eyes.
"Answer the question, Miss Thomas."
"Well, no."
"How come?" Archer was grinning. Fucking asshole. He knew perfectly well. Jareth didn't know who was giving him his information, but he was inclined to beat the shit out of them. After he was done with Archer, anyway.
Sheska took a deep breath… and straightened her back. Good girl. "Jareth was unexpectedly reassigned to East City, and didn't have the opportunity to say goodbye. It wasn't his fault. These things happen in the military."
"Not even a letter, or a call?"
Sheska chewed on the inside of her cheek, then pushed her glasses up on her nose. "The reassignment was around the same time that the Fullmetal Alchemist was assigned to Jareth's unit. As far as I'm aware, he had every intention of calling me, but…" she shrugged, smiling. "I mean, we all know Fullmetal is a handful."
Another wave of laughter. Amue turned to him, raising her eyebrows quizzically. "…Is this the same Fullmetal currently in the psychiatric ward?"
"Yeah. You get used to him."
"At this point, I'm not sure whether I want to meet him or avoid him."
"You get used to that, too."
"Hm. Sounds like my sister," Amue grumbled. She was taking notes – which made sense, Jareth mused, given that they hadn't been given any access to the witnesses beforehand. That in mind, Sheska was doing amazingly well.
Archer turned back to his table, picking up a piece of paper and reading it over. To refresh his memory? Or to bring new information to the table? "And then when the defendant came back to Central, you rekindled your relationship. Is that correct?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"What is your personal assessment of his character?"
She took a moment, blushing again. Jareth decided to forget where they were for a moment and just enjoy the view. "He's very loyal. If he's on your side, that means forever. Honest, trustworthy, and intensely protective of me." She put a hand to her cheek, trying – and failing – to cover the smile. "He's a gentleman, Mr. Archer. Maybe a little rough around the edges."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning he has a bad smoking habit and curses a lot, Mr. Archer," Sheska grumbled. "He certainly isn't a liar. Or a killer."
Another wave of suppressed giggles. Jareth slid down in his seat a little. "Coulda done without that," he joked, although the biggest problem was that now he wanted a cigarette. He was… a little worried about how rosy some of Sheska's comments were. She's defending me in court, he told himself. She knows I'm not that nice. He hoped.
"Miss Thomas, is your relationship with the defendant of a sexual nature?"
Sheska froze, eyes turning into little pinpricks of embarrassed horror. "What?"
"Objection!" Amue stood up. "This is a deeply inappropriate question for a young woman, Your Honor."
Godfrey frowned, clearly conflicted. "Normally, I would agree, but it does seem relevant to the case as it's been outlined. Which you did just as much as Archer, Miss Armstrong," he added, a small note of chiding in his voice. "Miss Thomas, answer however you feel comfortable."
Sheska stared into her lap, trying to find her words. "N-no, sir. Or not – um – wh- what are you defining as a sexual nature?"
"Have you had penetrative intercourse with the defendant, Miss Thomas?" Archer asked, and Jareth was ready to leap across the room and strangle him himself. Only Amue's hand on his leg stopped him.
"I know," she murmured. "I'm sorry."
"It's not me you have to apologize to," he hissed. "I can handle this. She's terrified."
"No, sir…" Sheska mumbled, barely loud enough to hear.
"What sexual acts have you and the defendant-"
"That's enough!" Jareth didn't even realize it was him shouting until Godfrey, Archer and Amue all turned to look at him.
"Do you have something to add, Valjean?" Godfrey asked in annoyance.
"If Archer has questions about the sex I have," Jareth snapped, "he can ask me. Not harass a young woman in open court and try to destroy her reputation. Leave her alone."
"She's a witness in a court case, Valjean," Archer shot back, but anything he was about to add was interrupted by the discomfited murmuring in the crowd.
"I think I'm on the defendant's side here," Godfrey said after a moment. "I don't see the relevance of your questions beyond making her upset."
"If he hasn't had sex with her, then-"
Sheska stood up, hair bouncing. "Lieutenant-Colonel Archer, the reason Jareth and I haven't had sex is from no lack of interest in his part. If you're trying to prove whether or not a man is gay because the women he dates aren't leaping into bed with him right away, then that includes every man who's ever had an ounce of respect for women. And clearly doesn't include you!"
"How dare you-"
"I was in the room when you called the defending attorney a floozy, Archer, sir."
The best part was, Jareth grinned, that Godfrey looked immensely entertained and wasn't bothering to hide it.
"You have fascinating taste in women," Amue murmured.
"See, that alone should win the case for me."
"You'd think, huh?"
Sheska sat down and crossed her arms with a firm nod.
He's got to be done now.
Except he wasn't. "Miss Thomas, are you aware of the defendant's prior military career?"
"Only in passing."
Archer opened a file folder, although it was probably to look intimidating more than anything else. "Normally, you wouldn't be high enough clearance for this – but with special permission from the Fuhrer, some of it has been declassified exclusively for this trial."
Oh, no.
"Are you familiar with the Ishvalan Civil War?"
"Who isn't?" After a glance from Godfrey, Sheska amended her answer. "Y-yes. Of course."
"What do you know about the defendant's role?"
Jareth felt his blood run cold, and stared down at his hands in his lap. Amue was giving him a look. He didn't blame her. Black Ops was supposed to be classified. It was public information that he'd been part of it, if you knew where to look, and he'd said as much to Amue. But nobody below General who wasn't already involved had the full files.
Except by permission of the Fuhrer.
He swallowed thickly.
"Nothing, Archer, sir. He doesn't like talking about it."
"Hm. I wonder why," Archer commented dryly. "I'd like to present to the courtroom the sealed record of Jareth Valjean's military career during the Ishvalan War."
"Objection! Relevance, Your Honor?"
Godfrey shook his head. "Overruled, Armstrong. We've got witnesses up here testifying to the man's character. A full history seems fair enough."
"Not when I haven't seen this record."
"Miss Armstrong," Archer pressed a hand to his chest, "you could have requested this at any time. Do I understand correctly in hearing that you haven't been made aware of it."
"I have been perfectly aware of it, Archer. I haven't had the clearance."
"Which you could have requested at any point."
"I'm a civilian, you pompous-"
"Keep a courteous tongue in my presence, or I'll have you both chucked out," Godfrey growled, clearly starting to lose his temper. "Miss Thomas, please take the file from Archer and read it out for the jury."
Sheska took the folder with shaking hands. There wasn't a damn thing Jareth could do to stop it, and he found himself wishing he'd told her about it earlier – but that wouldn't have solved anything, either. He didn't think about Ishval. He didn't dwell on it. He didn't even dream about it, except for when he woke up in the middle of the night with the taste of desert sand under his tongue for some reason.
"Jareth Valjean, codename Shrike. Assigned to Black Ops Unit 2. Mission: Destabilization of Ishvalan rebel forces through destruction of gathering places and el- elimination of key persons." Sheska's voice failed her. She sounded like she was going to cry. "Confirmed… confirmed kills: eighty."
Eighty. God. He'd forgotten it was that high. There was a list of names in there, too, he knew. There was a reason the file was classified. And ten years after the end of the war, it was slated to be destroyed.
"I should kill you myself," Amue hissed. "You didn't tell me this."
"I didn't think it would –"
"Come up?"
"I'm sorry."
Amue backed off, but her frosty stare still wasn't easing up. "Time to roll with the punches, I suppose."
Jareth glared over at Archer – who returned the stare with a satisfied, smug grin. "Still think he would never lie to you?"
Sheska didn't say anything, closing the file.
"Prosecution rests."
It was tempting at this point, actually, to throw himself across the room and snap Archer's neck. He was going to die anyway. He might as well make it satisfying. You hurt her on purpose, you sick bastard. You did this to hurt her.
Amue stood up, adjusting her jacket and clearing her throat, deep voice settling in her chest. "Private Sheska, I hate to trouble you further, but if the file follows procedure, the other members of the defendant's unit should be listed in there. Could you read them out for me."
Sheska looked at her, puzzled, then opened the file again, looking down at the bottom and then flipping the page. "Oh, here it is. Unit 2. Isaac McDougal, Zolf – oh."
"Please continue, Private."
"Zolf J. Kimbley, and Diana Solaris." Sheska's face was a mix of torn emotions. "I didn't – I didn't know."
"Nobody could have expected you to," Amue said kindly. From here, Jareth could see the gears whirring in her head. How much did she know? She was an Armstrong. She must know some of the details. Then – "Judge Godfrey, may I ask you a question directly?"
Godfrey blinked. "That's not strictly following procedure."
"No, but we're dealing with classified material. Did you preside over the case of Zolf J. Kimbley when he was initially court-martialed?"
"I did."
"Could you share the details of that case with the courtroom?"
"I'm afraid I don't see the relevance here, either."
"Please bear with me, Your Honor. I don't think this can be a fair case if all of the information isn't available."
Jareth chewed on his lip. This didn't seem like a great way to clear his name. Bringing up how shitty his old friends was just seemed like it was going to dig him deeper. But he'd already screwed Amue over enough. He was going to keep his mouth shut and hope he had a chance.
"Zolf J. Kimbley, the Crimson Lotus Alchemist, was court-martialed for the destruction of a passenger train and resultant death of over 150 civilians," Godfrey replied.
"I see. Why did he not get the death penalty, sir? Clearly he didn't, since he's in this courtroom and set to take the stand later in the trial."
"He made a deal with the prosecution and turned over traitors within Special Forces, in return for commutation to a life sentence instead of execution."
Oh, wonderful. More reminders. Jareth dug his nails into his palm.
"Judge Godfrey, may I remind you that this is classified information?" It was the Fuhrer. And he sounded pissed.
Godfrey actually looked startled. "Fuhrer, sir. If the Special Forces files are declassified for the case, that should mean all of them."
"It certainly does not."
"Why not?" Amue challenged. The look Mustang gave her could have killed a lesser lawyer on the spot. "Fuhrer, sir, I don't see the harm."
Mustang stayed silent for a long time, and it drew out, covering the room in a hush. "I suppose not," he said, finally. "But in the future, all three of you, this gets cleared with me ahead of time. In person. In writing."
"Yes, sir." Amue sounded almost… giddy. "Your Honour, was the defendant implicated in this deal?"
"Not as far as I'm aware. In fact, Valjean is one of only two Special Forces personnel who remained free and alive after the end of the war."
Amue turned her attention back to Sheska, who was still trembling. "Private Thomas, you described the defendant as – what was it?"
"Loyal, ma'am. Loyal, trustworthy, and honest."
"Did he ever explicitly lie to you about any of this?"
"No, ma'am!"
"Would you have enjoyed hearing these details?"
"No, ma'am!"
"And in your estimation, does the defendant strike you as one to speak ill of the dead or departed?"
Sheska shook her head. "Not at all. No, no. He wouldn't."
"It seems to me, then, that he followed orders during wartime, not just as faithfully as any soldier, but in fact significantly more loyally than his Special Forces compatriots."
"Objection," Archer snarled. "There's no question there."
"Sustained."
"Withdrawn, then. And I'll rephrase. From what you've just heard, does it sound like Valjean was the one who sold out his fellow soldiers for his own freedom?"
"Objection! Leading the witness!" Archer sounded almost panicked.
"Sustained," Godfrey said, hardly sounding like he meant it. "An actual question this time, Miss Armstrong."
"Of course, sir. Do you, Private Sheska Thomas, believe the defendant capable of killing his own loved ones?"
"Not in a million years."
"Even if he was, say, angry or drunk?"
"Especially then."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he's less grumpy when he's drunk anyway," Sheska was smiling again. He was so glad to see it he thought he might cry. Whatever Amue was getting paid, it wasn't enough.
"Your Honour, the defense rests!" Amue declared triumphantly. And whaddaya know? She was sparkling again.
Bloody Armstrongs.
Will couldn't reach under his pillow to find what Diana had put there. It was probably for the best; he'd managed with Selim's help to convincingly come off as Sane Enough For Trial, and the moment the nurses had left, he'd collapsed back onto the bed, sinking comfortably back into his psychosis. Selim had actually let him this time. Probably because he could see how exhausting it was, trying to work through it.
Mostly he wanted to sleep. Which meant that Diana showing up was pretty much the last thing he wanted.
He levered himself up on his elbow, wincing a little. "You know I know you're not real."
Diana just smirked, sitting down on a chair that was probably no more real than she was at the far end of the room. She hadn't come through the door or anything. She'd just appeared. "I didn't expect you to think otherwise."
"This is just awkward."
"Awkward? Why do you say that?"
"Well, usually, the person I'm hallucinating is my mother," he snarked back. He really wasn't in the mood – although, to be fair, he never was. Diana wasn't giving off motherly vibes, though, not that she ever did. She was wearing the black dress she'd worn at the gala, with her hair loose around her shoulders instead of pinned up behind her head.
"I'm flattered anyway. It seems like as much as you hate me," she said, idly inspecting her nails, "I'm still who you turn to in your time of need."
He scoffed. "I'd love if that were true. On both counts. I don't hate you, but I don't trust you."
"Why ever not? Is it the murdering innocents thing?"
"Sure doesn't help." He didn't like how casually the Diana in his head said it. He knew it weighed on Diana's mind. The flashback during their fight, and the way she'd acted after – no, she'd never be this casual about. "…You could have told me about Hughes."
She returned his gaze, smirk dropping. "I know."
"Why didn't you?"
"You didn't need to know."
"Bullshit."
"You remember I'm not real, yes? You'll have to ask the real thing for the answer if you want it that badly."
Will sighed. That was true enough. He just… couldn't stand the waiting. It seemed like every time he almost persuaded himself he could trust the Colonel, something set them back again. He didn't hate her. He just… didn't want to like her so much.
"Oh, don't worry," she crooned. "I know exactly how much you like me."
He felt his face turn red. "I don't lean that way. We both know that."
"Yes, but that hasn't stopped you from thinking about it, has it?" She leaned over, her cleavage visible through the chiffon neckline of her dress. "So many girls your own age and you have dirty thoughts about your own CO."
"Yeah, and it never goes far."
"Mm, far enough." She sat on his bedside, hand stroking down his chest. "And wouldn't it be easier for you, if it did? It's perfectly natural, you know."
"Stop it," he grumbled, his face hot. There was a difference between what you fantasized about with your dick in your hand, mostly out of curiosity, and what you could actually say with any confidence you were attracted to. He'd gotten off to things he'd never tell anybody about, and that didn't mean he wanted any of them. The dream he'd had about Kimbley made that clear enough.
"What's the matter? Ashamed of your own body?"
"Yes, actually, so if you could fuck off, I'd appreciate it."
The hallucination actually froze at that. Not like a person froze – like she'd turned into a painting, devoid of life. Good thing, too. She'd been starting to slide her dress down her shoulders.
Will sighed, averting his eyes. He had a hard time with guilt, conceptually, but he definitely felt… weird about the fact that this was apparently how his subconscious processed Diana. It didn't seem fair. She played up her sexuality to other people, but she'd never been like this to him, and he didn't want her to be. It was creepy that his mind seemed to think otherwise. She wasn't a fucking sex object.
No, but your brain kind of does this to everybody.
…That was fair. Horrible, and not helping with how he was feeling about himself, but that was fair. And it wasn't as recent as he kept thinking it was. It was just, well, it was easier to shove it back into a drawer every few months.
Unbidden, the memory of Jareth's lips came back to him. Not the first one; the desperate, blood-covered one, when Jareth had saved his life and he'd just been so grateful. He tried to draw his legs up to his chest in embarrassment, but he'd forgotten about the leather restraints.
The hallucination of Diana was moving again. More specifically, she'd vanished back to the chair at the foot of the room. "You know he doesn't love you back."
"I'm not in love with him," he argued. He wasn't sure that was entirely accurate. But the entire concept of 'love' seemed… distressingly vague. "I'm not stupid."
"Mm. You have been chasing after him."
"I haven't been chasing shit. We haven't even been in the same province."
"…True. Let's just hope you don't embarrass yourself."
That was a rich thing to say to the one tied to a bed. But point taken. He wasn't known for subtlety.
Tomorrow morning he'd be going on the stand. He'd have to get better at it, fast.
"Alright, hallucinations. I think you'd better fuck off for a while."
"Say the magic word."
"Please?"
"That wasn't it." Diana grinned, teeth suddenly very, very sharp. "Try again."
Somebody was whispering to Godfrey on the stand. That wasn't a good sign.
"What's going on?" Jareth asked, but Amue shook her head. She didn't have any better idea than him, clearly.
Then Godfrey cleared his throat. "We're going to take an hour-long recess. It appears one of our witnesses is in critical condition."
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Jareth shoved past Amue and the bailiff, and came up to Godfrey as he descended from the stand. "Sir – Your Honour – what happened? Who is it?"
"Valjean. This isn't your-"
"Your Honour, these are my friends." He tried not to sound like he was begging. "Please."
Godfrey sighed, rubbing his temple, then dropped his voice. "Jean Havoc shot himself last night. I only got word now."
Jareth felt the ground move under his feet. Jean. Oh god, Jean. "He's –"
"He isn't dead, but it'll be touch and go. It appears he tried to shoot himself through the mouth and was drunk enough for the gun to slip and go through his jaw instead. He certainly won't be any fit condition to testify any time soon."
Jareth tried to figure out what to say. This was his fault. This was his fucking fault. He had pushed Havoc on it, hit on him –
It wasn't that simple, protested part of him. But it didn't matter, not when Jean had a bullet in his head.
"I have to see him. Please."
Godfrey gave him a sympathetic smile – then reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I sympathize, Valjean," he said, voice still low, "but considering your position, that's the last thing you should do."
His –
Fuck. Yeah. He couldn't rush to Jean's bedside.
"I'm very sorry." Godfrey left, and Jareth dropped his hands down by his sides. He didn't even react when the bailiff grabbed his wrists, putting him back in cuffs.
"Jareth!"
He turned – and Sheska wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. A moment later, the cameras went off. Later, Sheska would claim it was on purpose, but Jareth knew perfectly well that just like him, he'd had no idea.
The next day, it was splashed over the front page of not just the Central Gazette, but at least three of the major newspapers. His hands cuffed behind him, Sheska's feet barely touching the floor, the bailiff growling behind him. The headlines differed – MURDER CASE WAVERS IN FACE OF LOYAL LOVER, ISHVALAN HERO'S FALL FROM GRACE, JARETH VALJEAN: SINNER OR VICTIM? – but the photo, somehow, stayed the same.
