Having a full stomach helped Esmeralda fall asleep more easily. After a few hours, she began to dream vividly.

The Minister of Justice was not to her tent immediately; he was occupied with preparing something for her. Though it did not yet come easily, he was quickly learning how to possess objects. Perhaps being dead wasn't so bad after all.

But when he finally made it to her tent, she was less than enthusiastic. "I don't appreciate you hiding things from me!" she snapped. "You never told me about your slave labor camps!"

His first instinct was to defend himself. "Each and every one of them had been legally sentenced to community service. I still have detailed records of every single case. If you so desire, you are free to examine them. Third drawer from the left, bottom row, it's locked, the keys are…never mind, they were stolen. Have Quasimodo break the lock."

"It was extortion, and you know it!" she snarled. "I just got my mother back from the compound. Have you seen how tired she looks? Like she aged forty years since you locked her up!"

Oops. "I…I didn't know that one of the convicts was your mother. I would have released her, had you requested…"

"That isn't the point," she growled. "Each and every one of those prisoners was somebody's mother, or father, or sister, or brother, or son, or daughter. But did you care? No. All you could see was potential sources of free labor." Folding her arms, Es turned her back to her husband. "I should have stayed with Phoebus," she muttered bitterly. "Even if he drank too much, at least he never exploited the law to enslave anyone."

"Look, Es, I'm sorry. Really…truly…I'm sorry. I was wrong." He surprised himself by how easily he said those words, especially now that he could no longer tell lies. He'd experienced a genuine change of heart. "You were right. I have exploited many, many people. But this is the entire reason I was sent back as a ghost, to clean up all of the messes I made during my lifetime. I still have the records of the court cases; I know how to overturn a verdict. I'll see what I can do, ok? I'm learning how to interact with the physical world."

"I'm going to hold you to that," she responded, voice still hard.

"You know that I don't give up," he murmured.

When she turned back around to face him, a tired smile flitted across her face. "I know," she sighed softly.

"You deserved better than what I gave you during my lifetime." He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder; she allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace. "I promise that I will take full advantage of this opportunity to make it up to you."

"I would expect no less." Even though her words were still terse, her tone was softening.

"But of course, dear." Taking his fingertips and placing them on her forehead, he raked back to the crown of her head before tugging the remainder of the way through her long curls. "Which, I believe, includes giving you an actual wedding night."

Esmeralda giggled. "Meaning I get an actual bed this time, as opposed to the top of the grand piano?"

"Now, now," he chided. "I don't recall you having any objections to the piano."

"Well, it looked less uncomfortable than the floor," she retorted. "And you clearly had neither the common sense nor the proprietary to bring me back to the Palace of Justice to your actual bed. Because that would have taken too long."

"I don't see what you're complaining about," he objected. "I didn't have an issue with the floor being too uncomfortable, and I'm more than twice your age."

"No fair!" Esmeralda laughed. "You aren't the one with your back on the floor! You get it easy!"

"Easy?" he repeated. "I don't recall the FLOOR ever punching me in the jaw."

"I thought you liked my methods of showering you with affection!" she protested in mock indignation. "But either way, it certainly didn't deter you at all."

"Nothing could ever deter me from you," he whispered huskily, burying his face in her voluminous hair. "Not the loss of my job, nor the anger of your brother, nor my desire to maintain my public image…"

"When you set your mind to anything, you become the most impossible man I've ever known." She laughed slightly as she reached behind her head to play with his hair.

"Impossible? The power of love is unstoppable!" he declared. "I would scour the depths of Hell for you, mine Eurydice. I would go to war for you, mine Helen of Troy. I would navigate the Labyrinth, blind the Cyclops, bear the weight of the sky on my shoulders, skin the Nemean lion…"

Esmeralda giggled. "You make creepy, obsessive stalking sound so romantic."

Claude squeezed her shoulders before continuing his poetic declaration of love. "I would behead Medusa, sneak past Argus, and make Phoebus clean out the Augean stables."

His wife broke into laughter. "Goodness, you can't even show off your knowledge of Greek mythology without hating on Golden Boy!"

"Speaking of Golden Boy," Claude added, "his family was planning a memorial service for him on the Notre Dame cathedral. I hadn't expected they would be willing to pay for something that extensive…"

"Maybe his extended family chipped in," Es wondered. "But I wasn't aware of any of this! I was too busy too busy hiding from King Louis in Germany!"

"And I'm very sorry for all of that," Claude apologized for what felt like the millionth time. "But yes, while you were away, I was helping to plan a memorial service for Phoebus after he fell out of the attic because he was drunk."

"I recall something different," Es interrupted. "You stabbed him."

"His death certificate says that he was drunk and fell out of the attic, and apparently landed on something sharp, because there was a wound. End of discussion. I wrote the eulogy around this being how he died," Claude said with finality.

"Must have been nice being able to approve death certificates," Es commented coolly.

"Ah, yes, it was. Makes me wonder what was written on mine. But I suppose it doesn't matter Anyway, I was supposed to deliver the eulogy at the captain's memorial service, but I don't think that's happening now." A faint smile hovered over his face.

"So who is going to read it? Quasi?" Es asked.

"I don't know. The cathedral decorations should be finished by now," he continued thinking out loud. Es giggled when a familiar smirk spread across his face. "Which gives me an idea. Would it be possible for you to come up to Quasi's old room tomorrow evening?"

"I'll speak to him tomorrow. He spent the night in the Court of Miracles, you know. I can catch him before he leaves. Maybe he'll take me with him when he rides back." Her shoulders suddenly dropped. "My mother will think I'm avoiding her…" She stiffened again. "Maybe I AM avoiding her. I don't want to have this conversation with her about…about our baby…that you're the same person who locked her up…she'll explode!"

"Give yourself a break," Claude said gently, stroking her hair. "You have been through so much. Wait and gather your thoughts before you talk to your mother." He let his hand slide down to her shoulder before lifting her chin so he could look directly into her eyes. "But before that…I brought you something. Here, feel." Placing his hand over the back of hers, he curled her fingers down into a fist.

A cold sensation caressed her fingertips. Es woke and brought her hand to her face to examine whatever was inside.

It was the name plaque from Notre Dame.

Blinking away a tear, she tucked the metal into her clothes and hurried out of her tent to wake Quasimodo.