A/N: Thanks much for the reviews again!

Chapter 33: One's Own Arena

Despite having a long Saturday night, Feuilly still returns early to his friends' home, if only to have a place to park his bike while he is at work. As he walks up to the door he can already hear the strains of music from the living room, but the choice of a pulsing dance tune gives him pause. He knocks on the door once and chuckles when the music suddenly stops. "Tess, it's just me, Feuilly," he greets.

Tess is still red in the face when she flings the door open a moment later. Her hair is still standing up all over the place and she is dressed in an over-sized t-shirt and shorts, all evidence of a good night's rest. "Doc Eponine and Mr. Enjolras are still upstairs."

"I figured as much," Feuilly replies as he follows her into the living room. He breathes in the fresh scent wafting in from the kitchen garden. 'Basil and mint,' he notes as he sets down his bag "How are you settling in?"

"Glad to have a room all to myself for once," Tess quips as she plops on the sofa and crosses her long legs. "Mr. Bahorel said that you were a lot like me and the doc. You used to live in a halfway house."

Feuilly can only smile at this partial truth. "I spent more time in the streets." Of course he sees Tess' eyes widen with this revelation. "My parents and I lived under a bridge after we lost our place in a fire-it was blamed on my father, and no one wanted to hire a man who was capable of arson. We used to hawk socks and wrenches; those were good times. I only got put in a home after my parents died."

"You bolted. Most anyone would," Tess states bluntly.

"I'm not proud of it." Feuilly rubs the bridge of his nose as he considers his next words; there is no honour in the things he was forced to do in those days on the lam, but at the same time he does not want Tess believing that she is beyond any sort of hope. "Like most other people, I found company. Some of the things that they did would have given the Difunto boys nightmares."

"If they were such aces, where are they now?" Tess scoffs.

"Nowhere. They do not do well behind bars. If they run afoul of the bosses..." Feuilly makes a slicing motion across his neck. "I sometimes was forced to watch."

"Johannes used to call it 'getting put away'," Tess says thickly as she looks down for a moment. "You're good and all, but you can't understand me. No one can."

"Why, what did you do?"

"I was the one who left home."

Feuilly nods, knowing what she means with this. "How long ago?"

"Four years ago. I was thirteen. Not like it could have mattered to them." Tess shudders with revulsion at this word. "Your parents loved you. I can tell. Mine had no business having children and they made it right clear with their hands."

"Did you ever contact them again?" Feuilly asks slowly.

"Might have thought of it if they'd just tried too. Never heard a peep from them again even when Miss Cecily tried to track them down," Tess says with a shrug. She looks down for a moment as she swings her feet. "It's better this way, really. They could be off somewhere, anywhere they want to be in the world by now."

Feuilly remains silent, if only to allow Tess time to come back to the present. "Whatever you do, you'll make yourself proud," he finally says. "You won't be in the halfway house for all your life, Tess."

"I know but I want out of downtown. Many of the older girls who've left the home, I still see them around. They work in the area, keeping shops or having four and a half kids with some man." Tess shakes her head. "Not me."

'There is half the battle won,' Feuilly decides even as he turns at the familiar sound of Enjolras' footsteps on the stairwell. "Early, just as I said I'd be, Chief," he greets. "May I clean up here?"

"There's a bathroom this way," Enjolras replies, gesturing to a door on his left. He rolls up the sleeves of his maroon shirt before looking at his two guests. "Are you interested in something more substantial than toast and coffee?"

Tess snorts with disbelief. "You're actually going to cook?"

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "You're also free to help yourself to the cereal."

Feuilly grins at the astonished look that crosses Tess' face. "It's a survival skill."

Tess shakes her head. "A guy shouldn't do that," she says in an undertone. "Are you just gonna let him?"

"It's called being fair," Enjolras calls from the kitchen. "Again, do you want anything?"

"Scrambled eggs with all the fixings!" Tess bellows. She looks to Eponine, who is just coming down the stairs. "You should be the one cooking."

"You're the first girl to tell me to stay in the kitchen," Eponine retorts as she tugs down her green billowing blouse over her stretchy jeans.

Feuilly gets up to help her set the table at the breakfast nook. "What will you ladies do today?" he asks.

"Meeting with Cecily about how to get Tess' schoolwork to her, among other things," Eponine explains. "You heard me right, young lady, this is not going to be a vacation. You can't fall behind in school just because you're helping this investigation," she adds when she sees Tess looking in her direction.

Tess scowls and crosses her arms. "You're supposed to be my doc, not my mother."

"She has a point," Feuilly reminds Tess more firmly.

The teenager rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. "So she says she was able to get out because of her siblings. What was it for you?" she asks as soon as Eponine has also gone to the kitchen.

Feuilly pauses once more to consider his words; while he's told and retold the narrative of his life to many an ally or enemy in his community work, he's never had the question posed for him in the voice of one needing a guide. "I knew I wasn't always a boy of the gangs. I picked up my parents' old trade and then eventually scraped up enough to leave that part of town. I eventually qualified to be a working student at the university, and the rest is history," he replies. "Easier said than done."

"That's what you all say," Tess mutters. "Does the attorney have a story too?"

"Yes, but that's best left for some other time," Feuilly points out before excusing himself to the bathroom. 'I will not be the one to divulge my friends' secrets,' he vows silently while he changes out of his black t-shirt and jeans in favor of a white polo shirt and dark slacks. The outfit is smart, but understated enough not to attract any ire. After all he is coming along as second and witness in this first salvo that Enjolras is about to fire.

When Feuilly exits the bathroom he is greeted by the enticing aromas of butter, tomatoes, cheese, and coffee. "Where did you learn to make that?" he asks, gesturing to a plate of eggs scrambled with tomatoes and peppers.

"I downloaded a recipe," Enjolras deadpans before biting into a piece of toast.

Eponine squeezes his shoulder. "Good call though." She dumps a spoonful of eggs onto an empty plate and hands it to Feuilly. "Trust me, you'll never eat scrambled eggs the same way again."

'Coming from her that is pretty high praise,' Feuilly decides; after all he knows who does more cooking in this household. The savoury tang of the dish has him making a thumbs-up sign at Enjolras. "What if this talk with Fouche is not forthcoming?"

"I do not expect it to be," Enjolras replies. "I only mean to take his pulse, in a manner of speaking."

"If you're not careful, he'll end up taking a lot more from you than just that," Eponine points out. "There is a reason that even my father wouldn't fish with big ones like him."

"Weren't they in very different lines of work?" Enjolras asks.

"Papa took a stab at the coat and tie world, and decided that the money wasn't coming in quick enough," Eponine relates nonchalantly before cramming another spoonful of eggs in her mouth. "Maman thought for a bit she'd be one of those swanky corporate wives."

"In those stories, it's not the wives who are the swanky ones," Tess mutters.

Feuilly shakes his head at this melodramatic yet nonetheless true to life quip. "'A gilded prison of a dream,' he notes as he continues eating his breakfast. It's a melancholy idea that he can't help but mull over, until he and Enjolras are driving to the Bistro Savoir near the centre of town.

Upon their arrival they are immediately shown to a table situated in an alcove towards the back of the bistro. Already seated is a dark haired man sipping a glass of wine while idly looking through a tablet. He looks up from the gadget and sets it down with a smile. "I am pleased that you agreed to this meeting on such short notice, Attorney Enjolras," he greets. "I'm Christian Fouche."

Enjolras shakes his hand firmly. "I'd also like to introduce my associate, Gilles Feuilly," he says cordially, motioning to his friend. "He is working with me in this present inquiry."

"Ah yes, the community worker," Fouche replies as he holds out a hand to Feuilly. "I am surprised you have also been able to take time off your busy schedule to attend to this."

"It is a Sunday after all," Feuilly says glibly, even as he tries not to wrinkle his nose at the doors of tobacco mingling with red wine.

Fouche smiles as Enjolras and Feuilly take their seats. He holds out the bottle of wine. "What do you prefer to drink?"

"I'll have a cup of coffee. Black, no sugar," Enjolras replies. "What about you, Feuilly?"

"Orange juice," Feuilly says. Unlike his friend there is only so much caffeine he can stand in the span of a few hours.

Fouche signals for a waiter to take their orders as well as for a refill of his wine. "I'd like to extend my congratulations in advance as to your impending fatherhood, Enjolras," he adds. "I cannot imagine it will be easy to raise a child given your resources and your schedules, you and your wife both."

"We'll manage," Enjolras says candidly. "This is a great deal though for small talk."

Fouche grins as their beverages arrive. "I wish to clear up and reconcile some misunderstandings that have been perpetrated over the past few weeks. Your inquiries into the doings of some of my acquaintances may have given you an erroneous impression as to my business."

"I would hardly use the term 'acquaintances' to refer to your business partners such as Bidault and Magnussen," Enjolras answers coolly as he sets down his coffee cup and puts his hands on the table. "It would interest you to also know that I was already keeping tabs on some of the lower echelons and groundwork of your business practices long before Bidault came to my attention. Your companies have been tagged in a number of environmental, labour and employment cases."

"Those are the dealings of meddlers," Fouche scoffs. "Many of them will contest anything that does not agree with their stomachs."

Feuilly clears his throat. "A number of the complaints were also class suits from the communities I've worked with."

"Yes, those. If you do your research, Mr. Feuilly, you will find that the hands behind many of these are organizations and advocates who have confused their agenda," Fouche answers as he leans back in his seat. He takes a sip of wine, taking care not to spill a drop of it on the front of his deep blue shirt. "They talk as if good business is unethical, or as if economics is a blight on society. I am sure you understand that this isn't so."

A slight smirk plays across Enjolras' lips. "That would depend on the definition of good business."

"I have spent the past six years setting up an efficient telecommunications network, with a coverage that some providers can only dream of. I provide hundreds, if not thousands of jobs. My contribution to this country's revenue is substantial. You could even call it progressive." Fouche looks Enjolras in the eye. "Now tell me, what there is not considered 'good'?"

"Those facts are admirable. I will not contest those," Enjolras answers. "Nevertheless you have spoken of a fairly general picture. The details such as the conditions of your factories, the terms of employment, and even the manner of recruitment are less than laudable."

Fouche's eyes narrow. "Those are the misdemeanours of just a few, the miscreants and rogues."

"All the same they carry your firms' names, and by extension, your own," Enjolras points out. "I also would not dismiss years of complaints and cases as mere isolated incidents, especially when coupled with the silence of your associates."

"The last time I checked, Attorney Enjolras, you were not a man of business," Fouche chuckles. He takes another sip of wine before leaning in to look Enjolras in the eye. "Policing my ranks is my business. Your interference is not needed. Surely your efforts can be better expended on catching the riffraff who run crimes in the streets, or better yet, seeing to that family of yours."

"You can be assured that I will do my utmost to address these grievances justly." Enjolras drains his coffee cup and sets it down before putting a bill under the saucer. "Have a good weekend, Mr. Fouche."

Fouche pushes the bill back. "It's on me."

"No," Enjolras gets to his feet. "I hope I have not overly detained you from your appointments, Feuilly," he addresses his friend.

"Not at all," Feuilly replies, giving Fouche a curt nod before following Enjolras out of the bistro. He waits till they are out of earshot and back in the car before speaking again. "He would not admit to anything."

"He does not have to, not here at least," Enjolras says with a wry, almost knowing smile. "As I said, I only meant to take his pulse."

"Is it that of a guilty man?" Feuilly asks eagerly.

"I would not say so, which is the more troubling aspect," Enjolras points out. "Guilt is only possible if one understands offence."

Feuilly grits his teeth as he realizes what Enjolras is saying. "This then means war."

"It has been war for a very long time," Enjolras replies as he starts the engine. "We'd best get back home and warn Eponine, Tess, and the rest. There is much to prepare before office hours tomorrow."