"You know, I should have married your brother instead," the blonde woman sighed. "When my parents explained that I was marrying into your family, I was glad that I was at least getting to choose between two men. Some women don't even get that much."

"Wait." Es recoiled in surprise. "Your marriage was arranged?"

"Well, it was what my mother had wanted…" The captain's ghost looked down at his feet, before suddenly jerking his head back up. "I—I mean, it wasn't like I didn't have any interest in you, I did, I promise!"

"By 'you'…which woman do you mean?" Es asked pointedly.

"Uh…heh…both of you?"

"Wow." Fleur crossed her arms and glared at her husband.

"No…no…please, listen to me!" the captain protested, waving his arms. "I love you both! Really, I do! Why does that have to be such a bad thing?"

"Maybe it's because you kept both of us in the dark about this?" Fleur growled back. "I didn't know that you had another woman on the road."

"And you could have at least told me that you had another woman at home," Es added.

"Well…you see…" The captain began to clench and unclench his simple robe. "I've traveled to a few different countries, being a soldier and all…and in the East, it's acceptable for a man to have two wives. Common, even. So I wonder…why don't we do that here in Europe?"

"Because the Church doesn't allow it, dummy," Fleur answered.

"But in the East…they worship God too…it's just in a little bit different style," the captain offered. "It's called Islam."

"Is—what?" Fleur asked skeptically.

"You've lost me," Es admitted. "I wasn't raised with any religion at all. It just wasn't something that we even thought about."

"Didn't the Minister of Justice feel the need to catechize you?" Phoebus observed with a narrow expression. "I figured he'd be too stuffy and uptight to have some heathen Gypsy in his home."

"Well…" The Bohemian's mind drifted back through her twentieth year of life. "We were about three days into our relationship when we got found out. He hid me in the belltower after that. Quasi convinced me to sit in on the Latin Mass a few times and…well…I liked it. Everything was so…beautiful." A smile came to her face. "Not that I could understand any of it, of course. I'd never had any proper schooling, barely managed to teach myself how to read. If Claude had lived…I'd have insisted that he teach me Latin."

"Latin? You?" Phoebus repeated, eyes wide. "Boy oh boy, I'd pay good money to see the tavern owner's face when he found out that his best stripper wanted to learn Latin."

Fleur's face screwed up. "You're a stripper?" she repeated disdainfully.

"Jealous much?" Es fired back.

"Of course not," Fleur sniffed. "I'm a proper woman."

"And I," Es retorted, "was earning a wage. I supported myself. How many women can say that?"

"Well, there are plenty of prostitutes out there."

"I am not a loose woman!" The Bohemian clenched her fists. "I never did that! Not until…well…"

Fleur jerked her head in her husband's direction.

"No," Phoebus clarified. "We never slept together. Frollo caught us and stabbed me to death."

"Really? I was told that you fell to your death. You were drunk and climbing around in an attic, and you fell out."

"Frollo filled out my death certificate," Phoebus explained dryly.

Es giggled.

"It's not funny!"

"But it is!" Es argued, still giggling. She felt something press against her shoulder, reached up to touch it…

"Clopin?"

"You were giggling in your sleep," he pointed out as his sister rubbed her bleary eyes. "What's so funny?"

"Just…just a dream." She yawned and closed her eyes, but the captain was gone.

*0*0*0*0*

"Ugh," the captain grunted, his ghost dropping to the floor and sinking down against it like a wet towel.

"What horrible thing just happened to you?" Claude asked dryly.

"I've been apologizing," he huffed. "To two different women!"

"Only two?" came the cool reply.

"You aren't helping me," the captain grumbled sullenly.

"I don't recall it being my duty," Claude countered easily, not giving the other ghost so much as a glance.

Phoebus quickly replaced his pouting face with an ugly snarl as he leapt up. "I. HATE. YOU," he growled, floating slightly over the ground, lifting himself up to glare at the minister from above.

Claude fell back on a technique that had served him well during his lifetime: aloofness. "I feel quite stifled in here," he remarked, turning his back. "Surely this room has a window I can open." He floated away.

The ugly blonde head inconveniently appeared in front of him again. "DON'T. IGNORE. ME."

"Then perhaps you should make yourself less boring and pointless," Claude suggested, turning away again.

Annoyingly, the angry face followed him again. "This is ALL YOUR FAULT!" Phoebus screamed. "I was supposed to live for another twenty years, hear? TWENTY YEARS! But you killed me."

"Don't blame me for your foolish interest in my wife. If you had minded your own business—"

"That's irrelevant!" the ghost interrupted. "You caused me to miss out on twenty years of my life, understand? You should be apologizing right now!"

"I do not recall," Claude replied coolly, tilting his head (or the closest ghostly equivalent) and floating upwards so he could look down at his former captain, "that you have any authority to tell me what I should be doing right now."

Realizing that he wasn't going to win this battle of words, the blonde ghost floated away to sulk in a corner. "I can't believe that I've got twenty more years of this left," he grumbled. After a few moments, he added, "Remind me again…how much time did YOU get?"

"I didn't get a time. There is no place in Heaven reserved for me," Claude replied softly, dropping his head.

"So…you're stuck here for all eternity? You don't get to pass on?" When the minister remained silent, the captain continued to press him. "Are you going to try being a good guy now? Do you think that God will maybe feel sorry for you and open up a place for you anyway?"

"That part is beyond my control." Almost to his own surprise, Claude didn't feel himself raging—or sulking—or much of anything, for that matter. Just peace—like he'd been able to accept things.

"Where's Esmeralda?" he asked, a thought suddenly flickering to life.

"In her tent—why?"

"Is she asleep?"

"She was. Clopin got her up."

"She'll go back to sleep eventually. I need to talk with her." Emptying his mind, Claude visualized an image of his wife snuggled up in a little ball, sheltered in a tent. He felt his spirit begin to drift…

Author's note: Special thanks to PearlM21, Shinigami1619, Luna, chocolachua, and SanctuaryOfZephyr for your support and encouragement! Knowing that somebody cares about this story is what motivates me to keep working on it.

Next chapter will be more cute, fluffy Fresme. Gosh I love those two. 3