A/N: *dodges rotting fruit* Alright, alright, I know - I'm THE MOST TERRIBLE PERSON EVER when it comes to updating. My life has been crazy for the last three months since I gave you lovelies a chapter, and this one was a real doozy to crank out. But, it's FINALLY here! I'm truly sorry you had to wait so long. Please enjoy it!
Previously: "Fantine is coming in today; she'll be the second witness we question," he said as they walked through the doors. "The defense may try to assume she intentionally got him drunk to sleep with him, so be aware of that on the cross-examination."
Enjolras nodded mechanically as they made it into the courtroom. "Who's before her?"
"Your father."
He barely contained a groan. "Perfect."
The door to the courtroom swung open behind them, making both Enjolras and Combeferre suddenly turn their heads. Mr. Johnson was strutting smugly into the room, as he always did, Enjolras' father not far behind his attorney. Enjolras' face hardened, his jaw tightening and his eyes narrowing as the two men walked to their bench. Father and son made temporary eye contact, broken by the older man when he moved to stand on Mr. Johnson's other side.
"All rise for the Honorable Eric McDonald," the bailiff said loudly as the judge entered the room, his long black robes flowing behind him as he walked up to the bench. "Be seated and come to order."
"This trial is now in session," Judge McDonald said from the bench with a hit of his gavel. "Mr. Johnson, do you have a witness?"
"Your Honor, the defense will now hear the testimony of Mr. Richard Enjolras, Sr.," the attorney said smugly.
"God, I hate that sleazebag Johnson," Combeferre muttered as the older man walked over to the bailiff.
"Richard Enjolras, Sr., do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
"I do," the man said surely.
"Sit down, please."
"Do you want to handle this?" Combeferre asked.
"Do I have any other choice?" Enjolras answered quietly as he walked past his best friend out to the no-man's-land between the judge's bench and the attorneys. Cold blue eyes stared into blazing ones, and after a look at the mother-daughter pair in the back of the room, the son began his interrogation.
"Mr. Enjolras, can you describe to the jury your relationship with Fantine Tholomyés?" he asked coldly.
His father scoffed. "What relationship? The harlot dragged me into her bed for one night."
"Answer the question, Mr. Enjolras," Judge McDonald interjected harshly from the bench.
The older man stiffened at the admonition. "I was not familiar with her prior to the night of September 17, 1903. I had only heard of her in passing, as a rather notorious woman of the night."
"Can you tell us what happened on the night of September 17, 1903?" his son pressed. Enjolras could tell his father was angry at him, but he also knew that he wouldn't make a scene in front of a jury. "And please, spare not a single detail."
Venom filled his father's eyes as he began to speak. "I was out late that night with my law partner, Mr. Matthew Combeferre. We were working on a murder prosecution."
"And where were you discussing this case?"
"At the bar of the Martha Washington hotel."
The younger man raised his eyebrows, looking to the jury. "In the bar of a women's hotel? Perhaps you were predicting your own future, Mr. Enjolras."
"Objection!" Mr. Johnson stood up angrily.
"Withdrawn," the younger Enjolras said in the court reporter's general direction, still maintaining eye contact with his father. "How long did you and Mr. Combeferre stay at the bar?"
"From 9:00 pm until the early hours of the morning. It was a very involved case."
"So it would seem," the younger man said. "Can you remember how much you had to drink that night?"
"Objection, Your Honor," Mr. Johnson said again.
"Overruled," Judge McDonald replied curtly.
The older man's face hardened. "Too much."
"Answer the question, Mr. Enjolras," Judge McDonald said firmly. "If you continue to answer evasively, I will find you in contempt of court."
The incredibly angry man adjusted his sitting position. "Truth be told, I don't remember exactly how much. They had several good beers on tap, and I must have at least sampled all of them."
Enjolras could tell there was more his father was choosing not to reveal, but decided not to press his luck. "And when you and Mr. Combeferre left the bar, which route did you take towards home?"
"West on 29th Street, going towards West 25th Street. We were both a little too intoxicated to safely drive, so we left Mr. Combeferre's car outside the hotel."
"And when did you find Fantine Leblanc Tholomyés?" he asked coldly.
The same venom from earlier returned to his father's eyes. "At the corner of West 29th and 27th."
"Did you speak to her at all?"
"No, but she spoke to us."
"And what did she say?" Enjolras asked tightly. He was getting sick of his father's evasiveness.
"It's not my fault that whore roped me in with her sob stories from the gutter," he snapped. "No good can ever come from the gutter; I taught you that. Any righteous, upstanding man can be manipulated by those harlots; can be led astray to believe their elaborate lies of love and passion. And when he is, then – "
Before he could interrupt with an angry retort he knew he'd regret later, Enjolras heard the scraping of a chair on the floor as Combeferre stood up behind him. "Objection; irrelevant," he said testily.
"Sustained," Judge McDonald answered. "Mr. Enjolras, your personal disputes with your son have no place in my courtroom."
The older man clearly grew stiff, readjusting his sitting position on the stand, while the younger simply replied, "Thank you, Your Honor," before turning back to face his father. "Now, you claim that she gave you a 'sob story'. What. Did. She. Say?"
"As Mr. Combeferre and I were walking by, she called my name. I made the mistake of turning my head, mistaking her voice for that of my wife, Maëlys, in my drunkenness." He paused. "I don't remember much after that…I went inside with Fantine, Mr. Combeferre went home, and the next morning I woke up in her bed."
Enjolras' jaw hardened. He had done what he could for now. "Nothing further," he said stiffly, walking back to sit next to Combeferre as Mr. Johnson stood up.
"Mr. Enjolras, can you tell the jury a bit more about your personal life in the year of 1903?" he asked. Enjolras could feel the smugness radiating off the man's body; he almost felt ill.
"Well, at that time, Mr. Combeferre and I were just getting our law practice off the ground, my son turned two years old, and my wife stayed home with him."
"Did she do any other kind of work outside the home?"
"Objection, irrelevant," Enjolras said curtly.
"Overruled," Judge McDonald answered.
Richard looked briefly as the judge spoke, then returned his gaze to the lawyer. "No. She only stayed home with Richard."
"So you were the sole provider for your family?"
"That's correct."
Combeferre frowned. "What's he getting at here?" he muttered in Enjolras' ear.
"I wish I knew," his best friend answered through tightly clenched teeth. He was tracking the defense lawyer's movements like a hawk, as if he could escape at any moment.
"And how were things between you and your wife at this point in your marriage?" he asked.
That made both Enjolras and Combeferre lift their heads. The older man was now stiff on the stand, readjusting his tie in an attempt to act casual. "Maëlys was…not well. After Richard was born…she was never the same. I never understood why. Our marriage had been happy, and now we had a brand new baby…but somehow it wasn't enough."
The younger Richard clenched his fists on his knees. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Johnson was going to dissect his parent's marriage, and the inner workings of his mother's damaged, tormented mind. All while blaming me for her melancholia. Her death. He's going to skew it to be my fault.
"Can you describe to the jury the extent of Mrs. Enjolras' condition?"
"When we first brought Richard home from the hospital, it was just constant lethargy. She would get lost in thought and not hear him crying until he was wailing at the top of his tiny lungs. By then, I had usually taken care of whatever he needed. As he got a little older, she started to cry when she was alone, or when she thought I couldn't hear her. The doctors diagnosed her with melancholia."
"So you were trying to work and support your family, which included providing for a wife that had lost the will to live?" Mr. Johnson asked, looking to the jury.
"That's correct," Mr. Enjolras answered.
"So it was to be expected that you and your law partner would be out late working on a case?" he pressed. "This could have made or broken your law firm, which you needed to survive."
The older man shrugged. "I suppose so."
"Can you remember exactly what time you left the bar that night?" the attorney asked.
"The closest time I can remember is around 2:30 in the morning," he said. "It may have been later; it was 30 years ago, and I was rather intoxicated," he admitted.
"And you said you ran into Fantine at the corner of West 29th and 27th street, correct?"
"That's correct."
"And what happened once you found her?"
The courtroom was tense for a moment as Enjolras, Sr. took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably on the stand. "She started to speak to me. Mr. Combeferre tried to convince her that neither of us were interested in her services that night…but it was clear that he found her quite desirable."
To his right, Enjolras could see his best friend's face going stark white. He could tell that Combeferre was shocked; his father had also been one of the most upright men he'd ever known.
Johnson raised his eyebrow. "And yet, you were the one who slept with her? Tell us the exact dialogue that was exchanged. At least, as much as you can remember."
Both of the novice prosecutors sat up in their seats, exchanging looks as they did so. This would certainly be interesting. Enjolras had to remind himself what breathing felt like; he almost felt ill.
His father straightened up on the stand before he spoke. "The first word she spoke to us was 'Gentlemen'. I remember that clearly. Mr. Combeferre turned to her first, just to ask her what she wanted. I remember staring at the pavement, not wanting to stop or caring what she said. But then she spoke again."
"And what did she say?"
"'I can be her.' I remember that I turned around to face her, because I was surprised at her words. 'For me?' I asked her. She nodded, pointing to my wedding ring," he said, lifting up his left hand enough to toy with the gold band he still wore on it. "'I can tell that you love her,' she said. 'I can be her, just for the night.' And then I remember waking up with her, realizing that she wasn't my wife, and that I'd made a terrible mistake."
The defense attorney nodded. "Nothing further, Your Honor," he said, walking back to his desk.
"The court will take a 30 minute recess," the judge ordered, hitting his gavel, and cueing the dispersion of the crowds. Enjolras pressed his hands to his face. This was going to be a long trial.
"Richard!" a quiet voice hissed at him as he stepped outside the room. He turned and saw the ever brutally thin form that was Fantine. He made sure no one was watching before he stepped over to talk to her. "My daughter, is she safe?"
"You have no need to worry, Fantine. She's staying with me while hiding from Father," Enjolras gently assured her. "She came to Éponine and I just last night asking for shelter, which we couldn't hesitate to grant her."
Fantine visibly relaxed. "Thank you."
Enjolras smiled gently; his first smile all day. "Of course."
Combeferre and Enjolras spent the rest of the recess sitting at their bench, speaking in hushed tones about what they had gathered so far, and what they needed to do next.
"The court will resume at this time," Judge McDonald said firmly, banging the gavel to indicate that the trial had resumed. "Mr. Enjolras and Mr. Combeferre, do you have a witness?"
"Your Honor, the prosecution calls Fantine Tholomyés to the stand," Enjolras said firmly. "I'll handle this one," he murmured to Combeferre.
His best friend nodded. "Good luck," he said softly as the woman took her oath and sat on the stand.
"Mrs. Tholomyés, do you remember the night of September 17, 1903?" Enjolras asked as formally as he could.
Fantine pulled her shawl around her emaciated shoulders. "As clear as if it were last night, Mr. Enjolras. Where would you like me to begin?"
"The beginning."
She took a deep breath, clearly gathering her thoughts. "Life was rough for me in those years. I had no money, and no way to find a job. So I sold myself out as a woman of the night. I had no other choice," she said. "I didn't want to. I hated it. When I went to church on Sunday mornings, I begged for God's forgiveness, even though I felt too unclean to even walk through the doors of His house."
"How long did you have to support yourself this way?"
"Several years. I lost count after about 9 or 10," she said bitterly.
Enjolras couldn't help but wince. He figured she'd been a prostitute for a long time if she was still working the streets when he was old enough for his father to tell him who she was, but he hadn't guessed it was that long. "How long had you been working on the streets by 1903?"
"Only for a couple of years. I started when I was 18; my parents kicked me out of their house not long before. I had just turned 20 by September."
"So you were attempting to make your living on the streets of New York at only 18 years old?"
"That's correct."
Enjolras, Sr. sat with his lawyer at the bench, clearly bristling at every word that came out of Fantine's mouth. The young prosecutor tried not to smirk as he turned back to Fantine. "But why wait 30 years to pursue justice for you and your daughter?"
"I am dying, Mr. Enjolras. This may be the last thing I do."
He nodded. "I understand. Now, what do you remember about the night of September 17, 1903?"
Fantine proceeded to tell her gut-wrenching story of that night, mostly corroborating what Enjolras, Sr. had already said. He mostly let her speak, only interrupting her story when he needed a point of clarification.
"…So when I saw them coming, I knew I had a chance to finally get a bit more money together," she said. "I was destitute."
"Can you remember the exact words you said to Mr. Enjolras?" the son asked her.
Fantine looked down for a moment, toyed with the edge of her shawl. "When I saw the look in his eyes, I could tell he was having trouble in his marriage. I know the look of a man who doesn't truly have his wife; my father was that way for many years."
Enjolras nodded. "So you offered to take the place of his wife for that night?" he clarified.
"That's correct."
"Did he say anything to Mr. Combeferre once you made the offer?"
"I remember that he hesitated for a moment, then told Mr. Combeferre to relay to his wife that he wouldn't be going home that night. That he would stay at the office and be back in the morning. I didn't discover I was with child until a few weeks later."
Enjolras clenched his jaw. So he knew what he was doing, and he did it anyway. "Nothing further, Your Honor," he said, returning to his seat next to Combeferre.
Just as he expected, Johnson's cross-examination tried to paint her as the villainous temptress who lured a faithful man from his wife into a bed of sin. Enjolras was fuming the entire time, clenching and unclenching his fists on his knees. The only thing that kept him from flying over the bench in a righteous fury was the fact that it would destroy his case and his reputation, which were both already on shaky ground.
The court adjourned around 1:30, and Enjolras was thankful his stomach hadn't audibly growled from the lack of nourishment. "What do we do now?" Combeferre asked heavily.
"I don't know about you, but I'm going home for lunch," Enjolras said dryly. "You're welcome to come with me and Cosette; I'm sure Éponine wouldn't mind having you around."
Combeferre nodded. "Let's be on our way, then."
"Alright…but don't you think the blue bridesmaids' dresses would clash with the purple flowers you want?" Éponine asked unsurely as she added to her notebook. She was on the phone with Azelma, as she had been for the last hour, discussing details of the wedding.
Her sister sighed in frustration. "I don't think they will if the dresses are the right shade of blue…"
"What about putting the bridesmaids in purple?" Éponine suggested. "Or having pale blue hydrangeas in your bouquet to match those blue dresses you liked?"
"Oh, I could do that!" she exclaimed. "I'll talk to Cosette and Sylvia and see what they think. Thank you, 'Ponine!"
She chuckled. "Of course, 'Zelma. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"
"Sure! Bye!"
Éponine hung up the phone, chuckling to herself, as she heard a key in the door. She promptly stood up, closing her notebook as Enjolras and Combeferre walked in the door. She went straight to her sweetheart, noticing how tired he was, and gently embraced him as Combeferre and Cosette removed their jackets and shoes. "How was court?" she asked concernedly when Enjolras did the same.
"We're still on incredibly shaky ground, but I think the judge is on our side," he said wearily. "The question is, can I convince an entire jury to believe my case?"
"We almost had him nailed on our cross-examination of Fantine, I thought," Combeferre added. "Even though she corroborated a lot of his story, it was different from her perspective."
Enjolras nodded. "You're right. I just don't know if the jury will listen to her over my father."
"If you can pull the bits of his journal that work in your favor, you may be able to essentially stack the deck in your favor," Cosette suggested. "Which, I realize, seems like cheating, but this is law."
Éponine was about to chip in when the growl of Enjolras' stomach interrupted her. "You didn't eat this morning, did you?" she asked in a mock-scolding tone. "Come on; I'll make you some lunch," she said, walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
The four of them continued to discuss the case briefly, until the kettle boiled for tea. Talk gradually shifted to Azelma and Grantaire, and to the planning of their wedding.
"Do you think he'll ask Marius to be one of his groomsmen?" Enjolras asked.
"I'm not sure. No one's heard much from Marius lately; which means he's either retreating into his studies, or he's met a girl," Combeferre said. "Apparently, that was what happened when he got into his last relationship back home."
Across the table, Éponine noticed Cosette looking down, in a vain attempt to hide a furious blush. "Cosette?" she asked almost teasingly. "Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of us?"
Both men followed her gaze as the young girl's blush deepened, no matter how she tried to fight it. "You haven't been talking to Marius, have you?" Combeferre asked incredulously.
"Come on, 'Ferre; that look says it all," Éponine laughed. "How long has this been going on, Cosette?"
"Only a couple of weeks," she said. "I ran into him – quite literally – when I was running errands at the grocery store, and as we were picking everything up, we started a conversation."
Enjolras looked at her. "A couple of weeks?" he asked. "And you didn't tell me?" he added in mock offense.
Cosette laughed. "Forgive me, Richard; I suppose I should have informed my big brother of the goings-on," she said. "Anyway, we saw each other a few days later in the park, and…we've been meeting up regularly ever since," she blushed. "He's very sweet. I do like him."
"He's a good man," Enjolras confirmed with a nod. "All the same, I have to look out for my baby sister when it comes to these kinds of things," he joked, putting an arm around her shoulders and bringing her in for a half-hug. "Though I will admit, 'Sette; you could have done much worse."
She hugged him back. "I suppose I could have, Rich."
"Finally coming up with a nickname for me?" he laughed. "Don't worry; I approve."
Cosette grinned up at her big brother. "I'm glad."
The rest of the dinner continued on without much event. After the three of them said their goodbyes to Combeferre, Cosette and Éponine took care of the dishes while Enjolras sorted out papers that he'd let scatter in his briefcase from court that day.
"Do you go back into court tomorrow, love?" Éponine called over her shoulder as she washed a pan.
Enjolras nodded absentmindedly, before realizing she wasn't looking at him. "Yes," he called back. "Cosette, I'll need you to be there tomorrow, too," he added.
His younger sister came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a borrowed apron from Éponine. "What will you need?" she asked.
"Partway through the testimony, I'm going to call you and Father together to the front of the courtroom. You'll stand at his side, turn to face the judge, and then the jury. I want you to make eye contact with each of them, as much as you can," he explained. "This is the part where we try to prove him guilty."
Cosette nodded. "I can do that, as long as I don't have to say anything."
Enjolras smiled for the first time in a while. "Don't worry; Combeferre and I will do all the talking."
After everything was taken care of from dinner, Cosette excused herself to get ready for bed, leaving Enjolras and Éponine in the living room alone. As they heard her door close, he could only wrap her in his arms, letting his cheek rest on her head. He closed his eyes, letting himself breathe in time with her. This was the most comforting thing he had experienced in a while.
"You're going to be okay, love," she said softly. "You can win this case. You have Combeferre on your side, and it sounds like you're winning over the jury."
He sighed softly. "I suppose I can hope, and pray." He held her a little tighter, letting his hand stroke the top of her back. "And I have you," he murmured softly, kissing her hair."
Éponine looked up at him with a smile, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. "Come on, I think Cosette had the right idea," she chuckled softly, holding his hand and walking with him to their bedroom. He closed the door quietly, taking off his shoes and jacket as Éponine changed into a nightgown, climbing into bed. He joined her not long after, letting her curl up into his chest again. "I love you," he murmured.
"I love you too."
A/N: You're welcome for the cop-out ending. But I hope you liked the rest of the chapter!