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“Tell me,” Enjolras said dryly, slapping a piece of paper down on Grantaire’s desk with more force than was even remotely necessary, “have you lost what little remains of your mind?”
Grantaire didn’t so much as glance up from his phone. “You’re probably going to need to be a little more specific,” he said blithely.
“The press release,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth. “The one that I’ve been informed was sent to every press outlet in the tri-state area. The one you fucking—”
“Language,” Grantaire chided, finally looking up at him, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, looking remarkably unbothered. “It is Christmas, after all, there’s no need for swearing.”
The look Enjolras gave him was deeply unamused, which only made Grantaire’s smirk widen. “I swear to fucking God, if you don’t start explaining yourself in the next thirty seconds—”
“You’re the one who’s been wanting me to get more involved in marketing for Les Amis,” Grantaire said innocently. “It’s not my fault that you were a little vague on the specifics.”
Enjolras ground his teeth together so hard that his dentist could probably hear and he leaned forward to snatch the paper he’d previously . “For immediate release,” he said, reading the press release out loud with nothing short of venom dripping from every word. “Les Amis de l’ABC, a legal aid organization that provides a diverse array of legal, educational, and community services to residents throughout the region, announced today that they will be providing pro-bono legal defense services to the man who calls himself ‘Santa Claus’. The man, who told authorities his name is Kris Kringle, was arrested on December 15 on assault charges, and is being held pending a hearing to determine if he is competent to stand trial.”
Grantaire took a sip of coffee. “Dreadful story, isn’t it,” he said mildly.
Enjolras glared at him. “It’s sad, sure,” he said, biting off his words. “But it’s also not exactly the type of case we normally handle. Which you would know, if you paid even an ounce of attention to our discussions of cases involving actually innocent people being taken advantage of by the so-called justice system, and not an old man with a likely mental defect who thinks that he is Santa Claus!”
“And old men, possibly with dementia, aren’t capable of being victims of the justice system?” Grantaire shot back.
Enjolras huffed a sigh. “I didn’t say that—”
“Then what makes this case less worthy?” Grantaire asked. “Because, if we’re being honest, a twenty minute competency hearing that’s going to get wall-to-wall press coverage seems like exactly the kind of thing that we could use, especially around the holidays.” Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t come up with a reasonable argument.
As if sensing that, Grantaire continued, “Think of the donations, and the awareness for our hotline. And while I realize I don’t pay even an ounce of attention, I’m pretty sure I can do the math on that and it seems like not a lot of work that will enable us to do a lot more work.”
He said it with just a hint of smug triumph, and Enjolras glowered at him. “That’s assuming that it doesn’t instead make us the laughing stock of the city!”
“That’s being a little generous,” Grantaire said.
Enjolras scowled. “Then what—”
“Definitely the laughing stock of the state,” Grantaire continued blithely. “Honestly, with the 24/7 news cycle, I’d feel comfortable saying it may even make you a national and, hell, international laughing stock.”
“Considering that you’re the one who got me into this in the first place,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth, “are you actually planning on being helpful at any point?”
“Absolutely not,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “Because look, you and I both know that when it comes to the two of us, I’m the realist, borderline cynic—”
“Borderline being used in the most generous sense,” Enjolras grumbled.
Grantaire ignored him. “And you’re the believer,” he continued. He stood, smoothing the front of his shirt. “Which means I have just one question to ask you.”
Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “And what would that be?”
Grantaire grinned. “Do you believe in Santa Claus?”
“Is there a particular reason you decided to accompany me?” Enjolras asked sourly as they checked in at the forensic psychiatry center. “Seeing as how you’ve already pledged that you’re not going to be helpful?”
Grantaire clipped the visitor’s badge to his chest. “I said that I wasn’t going to be helpful to you,” he pointed out. “That doesn’t mean that I’m not going to be helpful to Kris. Especially if I can get some additional marketing material out of it, which will in turn be helpful for Les Amis.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Because you’ve historically cared so much about that.”
Grantaire just winked at him as they were joined by a particularly harried-looking doctor. “Mr. Enjolras?” he said, holding his hand out for Enjolras to shake. “You can come with me.” As they walked, he told them, “Kris is in an open ward in minimum security. He hasn’t been deemed dangerous to himself or others.”
“He failed the mental exam?” Enjolras asked, flipping through the folder the doctor had handed him.
“Yes, he was very confused on admission,” the doctor told him. “Truth be told, I’d prefer to reexamine him, as everyone who’s interacted with him since has reported that he seems to have his full faculties. But procedure is procedure, and at this point, it’s out of my hands until it gets adjudicated.”
The doctor left them at the ward door and Grantaire glanced at Enjolras. “So what do you think?”
Enjolras just shrugged. “We’re about to find out.”
An orderly escorted them across the ward to where Kris was sitting. Of course, they could have found him on their own, seeing as how he looked exactly like every cartoon of Santa Claus either man had ever seen. Kris stood as they approached. “Mr. Enjolras?” he asked politely, holding out his hand for Enjolras to shake. “And, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d have a companion, Mr…?”
“Grantaire,” Grantaire supplied, also shaking Kris’s hand. “I’m here for moral support.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes as he sat down. “Something like that, anyway,” he said. “So, Mr. Kringle, I’m assuming they told you. We’re with Les Amis de l’ABC, which is a legal aid organization. I’m an attorney, though I admit I don’t specialize in this type of thing.” He leaned forward. “But I know enough to surmise that you failed your mental exam on purpose.”
Some of the general jolliness seemed to seep from Kris, who folded his hands on the table in front of himself. “Now why would I do a thing like that?” he asked.
“That’s what I would like to know,” Enjolras said. “The man you hit wasn’t injured. It was a first time offense. Even a half-competent public defender could’ve gotten your charges dropped entirely or reduced to a misdemeanor if you had passed your exam.”
Kris just shook his head. “I disgraced myself,” he said quietly.
Enjolras and Grantaire exchanged startled glances. “Why don’t you tell us what happened,” Grantaire suggested. “Let us decide that for ourselves.”
Kris sighed. “I was working,” he told them. “I don’t do it for money, of course, but it’s nice to get out into the community and spend time with the children. It serves as a reminder for why I do this work in the first place. And I met a little boy, Stephen Jones. He’s 7, and he’s been extra good this year. And he asked me for a sequined Cheer Bear CareBears stuffie.”
He said it like it should mean something, but Enjolras just stared blankly at him until Kris added helpfully, “It’s the one with a rainbow on its stomach.”
He sighed again. “And Stephen’s father interrupted to tell his son that he wasn’t allowed to ask for toys for girls, that they had talked about this. Stephen started to cry, and I told his father that there is no such thing as ‘girl toys’ or ‘boy toys’. Toys are toys – the only thing that matters is that they bring joy to children.” His expression tightened. “Then Mr. Jones called me a groomer.”
“Is that when you hit him?” Grantaire asked quietly, and Enjolras glanced at him. “Because I sure as hell would have.”
“No, no,” Kris said. “His words were hurtful of course, but I’ve heard it all before. But then he grabbed his son’s arm, and yanked him so hard that little Stephen yelped in pain. And that’s when I hit him.”
Enjolras’s expression was murderous. “You should have done that and worse,” he said, his voice low.
Grantaire reached out to set his hand on top of Enjolras’s, leaving it there until Enjolras’s fist unclenched. “He’s right,” he told Kris. “You defended your honor, and you stood up for the dignity of Stephen, and for every kid. That’s not a disgrace. That’s common decency, something we could use a lot more of.”
But Kris just shook his head. “Tell that to the children who watched the police march me off in handcuffs,” he said sadly. “If I’m dismissed as a crazy old man, then at least the good name of Santa Claus will be spared.”
“I disagree,” Enjolras said firmly. “I think that you’ve shown those kids that sometimes, you have to stand up for what you believe. And I think that’s just as important as believing in Santa Claus.”
Kris looked at Grantaire. “And what do you think?”
But Enjolras answered for him. “Standing up for what you believe in requires belief,” he said dismissively. “Something that Grantaire finds hard to come by.”
“It’s not about belief,” Grantaire grumbled. “It’s about common sense.”
“And sometimes common sense isn’t enough,” Enjolras shot back.
Kris was still looking at Grantaire. “Do you think I’m a fraud?”
Grantaire blinked, as if startled by the question. “I think fraud’s a bit strong of a word,” he hedged. “Besides, I’m pretty sure most adults don’t believe in Santa, no offense. Enjolras included.”
“Enjolras may not believe in me in the same way he did as a child,” Kris said, “Which is very well, as I'm not just a whimsical figure who wears a charming suit and affects a jolly demeanor. I’m a symbol of the human ability to be able to suppress the selfish and hateful tendencies that rule the major part of our lives.” He shook his head. “If you can't believe, if you can't accept anything on faith, then you're doomed for a life dominated by doubt.”
“Welcome to the party, pal,” Grantaire grumbled.
Kris grinned, his smile wide behind his bushy white beard. “Do you know, I think you’ll make an excellent test case for me. If I can make you believe, perhaps there is some hope for me after all.”
“Whether or not Grantaire believes isn’t important,” Enjolras interrupted firmly. “What matters is that we make everyone else believe. And when we’re finished, I think they will.”
“Finished?” Kris repeated. “Finished with what?”
“I’m going to ask the judge for a hearing to determine if you’re competent to stand trial,” Enjolras told him. “I’m going to defend you. And more than that, we’re going to prove that there is a Santa Claus, and that you’re him.”
There was the slightly maniacal gleam in his eye that he got when he was determined to win at all costs, and Kris smiled again. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he said. “Let’s do it.”
It was, of course, slightly more complicated than that, but Enjolras’s attempt to explain it to Grantaire on the Uber ride back to the Musain, where Les Amis’ office was located, went as poorly as most of Enjolras’s similar attempts across the years.
Not that it stopped Grantaire from saying when they arrived, “You can thank me at any time, you know.”
“Thank you?” Enjolras spluttered. “For what?”
“For being right that this was a good idea.”
Enjolras couldn’t even manage a coherent response to that.
What he could manage was showing up at the judge’s chambers first thing the following morning. “Good morning, Your Honor,” Enjolras said after the judge’s secretary had let him. “My name is Enjolras. I represent Mr. Kringle.”
“Mr. Kringle?” Judge Douai repeated, sounding surprised. “I wasn’t aware he had representation. I thought he wasn’t fit to stand trial.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Enjolras told him. “Your Honor, there seems to be undue haste in this case. I want to protect my client’s rights, as I’m sure you do, too.”
It took everything in him to not pitch the last part like a threat, and the judge’s lips pursed, just slightly. “Of course,” he said.
“To that end, I would like to request a formal hearing, to which I may bring witnesses.”
“Witnesses?” Judge Douai repeated incredulously.
Enjolras just shrugged. “I’m happy to bring a habeas petition if you prefer, but my client has been detained without so much as a bond hearing for 72 hours now. And I imagine, given the inevitable publicity, you’d prefer this was handled by the book.”
“Very well,” Judge Douai said sourly. “We’ll have a hearing on Wednesday. I’ll have my clerk notify the DA’s office.”
“Excellent,” Enjolras said briskly. “Thank you for your time, Your Honor.”
He turned to go, but paused when the judge said, “Mr. Enjolras.” He turned back, and the judge leaned forward, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Enjolras. And I want to assure you, the only thing I’m interested in is the pursuit of justice.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Enjolras said. “I just think you and I have very different ideas of what justice looks like.” He smiled, though it didn’t remotely reach his eyes. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
Inevitable publicity turned out to be an understatement, as had Grantaire’s prediction for the story getting picked up. Media circus was probably more accurate, aided by the fact that Kris just looked and sounded the part of Santa Claus on every conceivable level.
“And certainly not hurt by your conviction that he’s Santa Claus,” Grantaire pointed out as Enjolras adjusted his tie outside the courtroom.
Enjolras made a face. “I don’t know that I’d go that far,” he said. “But I agree with what Kris said, that it’s more than just the figure of Santa Claus. It’s not just Kris that’s on trial here. It’s everything he stands for. It’s kindness, joy, love, and all the other intangibles.”
Grantaire didn’t look remotely convinced. “Let’s just hope that the judge is buying what you’re selling.”
“He will,” Enjolras said confidently. “Or else we’ll go to plan B.”
“What’s plan B?” Grantaire asked, curious.
“I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
Five minutes later, Enjolras and Kris were standing at the front of the courtroom, most of the rest of Les Amis behind them, Grantaire included. The bailiff cleared his throat. “Hear ye, hear ye. All persons having business before this court, draw near, give attendance, and ye shall be heard.”
At the table across the way, the assistant district attorney bent to gather his papers together, and Kris nudged Enjolras. “Who is that?” he asked.
“Assistant District Attorney Arras,” Enjolras told him in an undertone. “I’ve never gone against him before. My usual caseload isn’t high profile enough for him.”
Understanding crossed Kris’s face, and he nodded as Judge Douai took his seat. “You may be seated. Mr. Arras?”
“The State is ready to proceed,” ADA Arras said. “I’d like to call the first witness.” He turned to Kris and Enjolras. “Mr. Kringle, will you take the stand?”
Kris did, nodding at the judge as he did. “Good morning, Your Honor.”
The bailiff swore him in, but before Arras could proceed with questioning, the judge held his hand up. “Before you begin, I want to explain to the witness – this is a hearing, not a trial. Mr. Kringle, you aren’t compelled to answer a question against your wishes, or even to testify at all.”
Kris glanced at Enjolras, who stood. “We have no objection, Your Honor.”
“I’ll be happy to answer any questions I can,” Kris added.
Judge Douai nodded at Arras, who stepped in front of Kris. “What is your name?”
“Kris Kringle.”
“Where do you live?”
Kris looked amused. “I do believe that’s what this hearing will help determine.”
A titter of laughter broke through the courtroom, and Arras scowled. “Do you believe that you are Santa Claus?”
Enjolras didn’t so much as flinch at the question, any more than Kris did. “Of course.”
ADA Arras took a step back, and glanced at the judge. “The State rests, Your Honor.”
Judge Douai glanced at Enjolras. “Mr. Enjolras, do you wish to cross-examine the witness? I believe he was employed to play Santa Claus. Perhaps he misunderstood the question.”
A judge directing the line of questioning an attorney should take wasn’t the most unusual thing to happen in a courtroom, but it probably ranked. Still, Enjolras just stood again. “No, Your Honor. No questions at this time.”
Judge Douai’s brow furrowed. “And in view of this statement, you still wish to put in a defense?”
“I do, Your Honor,” Enjolras said. He walked out from behind the defense table, smoothing a hand down the front of his suit. “The entire case against my client hinges on the assumption that Mr. Kringle is not sane simply because he believes himself to be Santa Claus.”
“Which is an entirely logical and reasonable assumption,” the judge said.
Enjolras’s lips twitched. “Ignoring the fact that by that logic, a solid one third of the country would need to be declared insane for believing that someone is president when he’s not—”
Someone shouted something from the back of the room and the judge banged his gavel. “Order!” he said. “Order!” He leveled a glare at Enjolras. “Mr. Enjolras, this is a courtroom, not a circus. And political opinions of any stripes are not relevant to this case.”
Enjolras’s expression tightened, just slightly. “Yes, Your Honor.” He took a breath before continuing, “Let me put it this way: you, Your Honor, believe yourself to be Judge Douai, correct? And no one questions your sanity for believing that.”
“Why would they?” the judge asked with a scowl. “I am Judge Douai!”
“Exactly my point,” Enjolras said. “And by the same logic, if Kris Kringle is in fact Santa Claus, then he wouldn’t be insane.”
The judge drummed his fingers on the polished wood of the bench. “While I believe both myself and Mr. Arras would concede that, the fact remains that Mr. Kringle is not Santa Claus.”
Enjolras just grinned, the triumphant grin of someone who had the judge exactly where he wanted him. “Your Honor, I intend to prove otherwise.” He squared his shoulders and looked the judge right in the eye as he said, “I intend to prove that Mr. Kringle is Santa Claus.”
After Enjolras’s pronouncement, the courtroom erupted into such a cacophony that Judge Douai ordered them adjourned until the following day. By the time Enjolras made it past the crowds of reporters and cameras, all of Les Amis had dispersed, back to the actual work that needed to be done.
All except for Grantaire, who leaned against one of the pillars outside of the courthouse, waiting for him.
“Incredible as always, Apollo,” Grantaire said, straightening as Enjolras approached.
Enjolras rolled his eyes at the nickname, a long-covered argument between them at that point. “Bet you never thought you’d see me standing up in court saying that I believe in Santa Claus.”
Grantaire shrugged. “I mean, I’ve seen you profess belief in a lot of unlikely causes over the years,” he said, falling into step next to Enjolras as they made their way down the courthouse steps. “I suppose it was only a matter of time until fictional characters entered the mix.”
“Hilarious,” Enjolras said dryly.
“And, in fact, a fictional character might actually be more rational to believe in than some of the things you get in your head.” Enjolras just rolled his eyes again and Grantaire glanced sideways at him. “Though I’ll be honest, I am a little surprised this is the tack you’re taking.”
Enjolras frowned. “What do you mean?”
Grantaire just shrugged. “I mean, you have an entire array of legal precedent at your fingertips,” he pointed out. “You could make any of your usual arguments about illegal detention, about antiquated understandings of the human psyche, about the punitive role of psychiatric facilities.”
Enjolras nodded slowly. “Yeah, I could.”
“So why aren’t you?” Grantaire asked, sounding genuinely curious. “None of those would require anything resembling a professed belief in Santa Claus.”
“None of those would get the attention that a professed belief in Santa Claus does, either,” Enjolras countered. “And I thought that's why you orchestrated this in the first place.”
Grantaire let out a low whistle. “Using my own words against me? Low blow.” He nudged Enjolras with his shoulder. “Seriously, though.”
“Because…I don’t know.” Enjolras shook his head. “Maybe I’ve finally lost it. Or maybe I’ve just gotten so tired of combing through volumes of law books, compiling precedent after precedent, all the accepted legal doctrine, only for Republican-appointed judges to say ‘sucks to suck’.”
“What opinion was that in?” Grantaire asked with a grin.
But Enjolras’s amusement had long since faded. “You know what I mean.”
Grantaire nodded slowly. “So this is your way of fighting the system?”
“This is my way of beating the system,” Enjolras corrected. “Make the State declare that there is no Santa Claus, and let’s see what other institutions we can blow up in the process.”
He ended on a note of somewhat vicious triumph, but Grantaire didn’t look remotely convinced. “How do you think this ends?”
Enjolras frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
Grantaire shrugged, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. “I mean – well, let’s be honest, you’re not actually going to convince the world that, A. Santa Claus exists, and B. Kris Kringle is Santa Claus.”
“Ye of little faith.”
“Practically my tagline at this point,” Grantaire said, but the joke didn’t carry its usual humor. “So you get to pontificate and make your point and shake the very foundations upon which christofascism in this country is built. But what happens to Kris? To the very real old man who could very well spend what remains of his life institutionalized because you were making a point?”
Enjolras just made a face. “He won’t,” he said dismissively. “Even if we lost this hearing and he was temporarily institutionalized, we’d win on appeal with the actual legal precedent.”
Grantaire gave him a look. “Does Kris know that this is the plan?”
“Kris trusts me.”
Grantaire shook his head. “He trusts you because you said you were going to help him.”
Enjolras scowled. “And I am.”
“By letting him get institutionalized.”
Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Only if we lose the first round.” He gave Grantaire a somewhat frosty look before telling him pointedly, “Kris believes in me. Maybe you should give it a try.”
Grantaire stopped walking so suddenly that Enjolras almost ran into him. “You think I should give believing in you a try?” he repeated, incredulous.
Enjolras just shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Grantaire barked a laugh, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. “Well, maybe you should try removing your head from your own ass once in a while.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Enjolras snapped.
“It means that maybe Kris and I have both put our faith in someone more concerned with proving a point than who he hurts along the way,” Grantaire said, his voice low.
Enjolras glared at him. “That would require you to have faith.”
Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “You really are unbelievable,” he said, with something like incredulity. “I love you. I have done nothing but love you, and wait for you to make up your mind on whether you wanted to do this or not.” Enjolras looked like he wanted to say something, but Grantaire didn’t let him interrupt. “I love you, getting nothing in return. Never asking for anything in return. But that’s just never going to be good enough for you, is it?”
Enjolras may have tried to interrupt before, but now, it seemed, no words would come, and Grantaire’s mouth twisted into a mocking smile. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Enjolras.”
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Enjolras standing on the sidewalk, alone.
The only sign that anything Grantaire has said the day before may have affected him was Enjolras’s uncharacteristically late arrival to the courtroom, only five minutes before the hearing was due to resume. Otherwise, not a single hair was out of place, and he looked every inch the confident attorney who was going to singlehandedly dismantle disbelief in Santa Claus as he strode into the courtroom.
His step faltered, only slightly, when he saw Grantaire having a quiet conversation with Kris, sitting in Enjolras’s chair, no less. Grantaire glanced up as Enjolras approached and quickly muttered something to Kris before vacating the seat without a word of greeting to Enjolras.
Enjolras frowned slightly at Kris. “What did Grantaire want?” he asked, setting his briefcase on the table.
Kris just shook his head. “Only that you two have had a fight.” He hesitated before adding, “I hope it had nothing to do with me.”
“It doesn’t,” Enjolras told him. “But actually, that’s something we should discuss—”
“All rise,” the bailiff said, and the judge took his seat at the bench.
“You may be seated,” Judge Douai said.
Kris leaned over to ask Enjolras. “What did you want to discuss?” he whispered.
“Later,” Enjolras told him as the judge glanced in their direction.
“Before we begin today’s testimony, I want to make a personal assurance in this matter,” Judge Douai said, more to the assembled news reporters than anything. “The question of Santa Claus is largely a matter of opinion. Maybe people firmly believe in him. Others do not. The tradition of our judicial system demands a broad, unprejudiced view of such a controversial matter.” He leveled a look at both the ADA and Enjolras in turn. “This Court, therefore, intends to keep an open mind and hear all the evidence.”
ADA Arras stood, looking exasperated. “Your Honor, the burden of proof for this ridiculous claim clearly rests with the defense. Can he produce any evidence whatsoever to support his views?”
Enjolras stood as well. “If Your Honor pleases, I can.” He couldn’t quite stop his smile as he said, “I’d like to call Jean Arras to the stand.”
ADA Arras did a frankly comical double take. “Me?” he said, baffled.
Laughter again broke out in the courtroom, and Enjolras cleared his throat. “Sorry Your Honor, I meant Jean Arras, Jr.”
A little boy about seven years old was led to the front of the courtroom by assumedly his mother, who didn’t say a word to her ex-husband, just pausing to hand him a copy of the subpoena Enjolras had served on them the day before.
The bailiff helped the boy into the witness box, and the kid waved at the ADA. “Hi, Daddy!”
More laughter greeted that, and the judge banged his gavel before looking down at young Jean. “Jean, you know the difference between telling the truth and telling a lie, right?”
Jean nodded earnestly. “Everyone knows you shouldn’t tell a lie,” he assured the judge. “‘Specially not in court!”
Even more laughter, and the judge glared at the gallery before nodding at Enjolras. “You may proceed.”
Enjolras approached the witness box, giving Jean his most reassuring smile. “Hi, Jean,” he said. “My name is Enjolras, and I’m just going to ask you a couple of questions, ok?” Jean nodded, and Enjolras asked, “Do you believe in Santa Claus?”
Jean beamed and nodded excitedly. “Yeah!” he said. “He got me a bike for Christmas last year.”
“And what does Santa look like?”
Jean pointed directly at Kris, who waved. “That’s him!”
ADA Arras stood, scowling. “Your Honor, I object!”
“On what grounds?” Judge Douai asked, sounding amused. When Arras couldn’t come up with anything, the judge said, “Overruled,” and nodded at Enjolras to continue.
Enjolras looked back at Jean. “So Jean, why are you so sure that there’s a Santa Claus?”
“Because my daddy told me so,” Jean said confidently, and with the natural comedic timing only a child can possess, he looked past Enjolras to say to his father, “Didn’t you, Daddy?”
The laughter from the spectators was gentler this time, but no less pronounced, and ADA Arras looked positively apoplectic. Enjolras couldn’t quite stop his own smile as he asked Jean innocently, “And your father’s a very honest man?”
Jean nodded earnestly. “My daddy wouldn’t ever tell me anything that wasn’t true,” he assured Enjolras. “He says – he – he always says—” He screwed up his face, clearly trying to remember the words, before brightening and reciting, “Honesty is the best policy.”
“That’s absolutely right,” Enjolras said solemnly. “Thank you, Jean. You can go back to your seat, unless the State wishes to cross examine…?”
He said the last part to ADA Arras, who was on his feet in a flash. “Your Honor—”
But little Jean interrupted, saying brightly to Kris, “Don’t forget, I want a Squishmallow Snorlax!”
ADA Arras looked about twenty seconds away from losing it entirely. “Your Honor, the State concedes the existence of Santa Claus,” he said through gritted teeth, clearly still cognizant that his son was in the room. “But we demand that Mr. Enjolras cease presenting personal opinion as evidence.” He glared at Enjolras before adding, “In fact, we request that Mr. Enjolras must now submit authoritative proof that Mr. Kringle is the one and only Santa Claus.”
Judge Douai sighed but nodded. “Your point’s well taken,” he said, glancing at Enjolras. “Mr. Enjolras, can you show, on the basis of competent authority, that Mr. Kringle is in fact Santa Claus?”
Enjolras stood, all hints of humor from before gone. “Not at this time, Your Honor,” he said. “I request a recess until tomorrow so that I may submit my evidence.”
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” the judge reminded him.
“I know, Your Honor.”
The judge pursed his lips for a moment before nodding. “Very well. Court stands in recess until tomorrow morning.”
He banged his gavel and Enjolras turned to Kris, but before he could say anything, the judge added, “Mr. Enjolras, I’d like to see you in my chambers.”
“Thank you for waiting for me,” Judge Douai said, gesturing for Enjolras to take a seat. “May I be blunt with you?”
“Please,” Enjolras said, sitting down. “As Jean reminded us today, honesty is the best policy.”
“Cute,” Jude Douai said dryly. “And that little stunt was well-conceived. But that doesn’t change the facts.” Enjolras’s smile slipped, just slightly. “A man who believes himself to be someone he isn’t is by definition disturbed.”
Enjolras shook his head. “But the State’s concern is not whether he’s mentally ill, but whether he poses a threat. And Kris doesn’t.”
Judge Douai just sighed. “I can't sit up on that bench as a representative of the State and declare that there is a Santa Claus. I can't make that argument, much as I'd like to.” He sighed again, shaking his head. “Believe me, Mr. Enjolras, if I had a way out of this, I'd take it. I'm sorry.”
Enjolras’s expression tightened, and he drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair. “I’ll take it you’re up for re-election in the fall,” he said coolly. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it. Power, greed, holding onto your seat no matter the cost.”
Judge Douai didn’t look remotely abashed. “Anger and recrimination may soothe your soul, but it won't help Mr. Kringle.” He shook his head once more. “He doesn't need a bitter diatribe from his attorney. He needs a miracle.”
Kris was still waiting in the courtroom just like Enjolras had asked him to, and Enjolras sat down next to him, a dejected slump to his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll take it that it wasn’t good news from the judge,” Kris said bracingly.
“No, it wasn’t,” Enjolras said with a sigh. “Truth is, Kris, we very well may end up not winning this. Which is something I should have told you from the start. But I was trying to prove a point, and now…”
“And now I may end up in worse straits than before?” Kris supplied, sounding remarkably calm about it.
Enjolras just ran a tired hand across his face. “I’ll figure something out,” he said. “I’ve got until tomorrow.”
Kris nodded. “Always working, aren’t you,” he said, with a light laugh. “I’m the same way. Can’t turn it off. And speaking of, I haven’t asked you what you want for Christmas yet.”
Enjolras glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “For this to all be over, mostly.”
“And one way or another, come this time tomorrow, it will be,” Kris said comfortably. “But my job doesn’t kick in until after that.” Enjolras just shook his head, and Kris pressed, “You must want something. Even if not a toy, then for something to happen. Something magical, perhaps.”
“I think I’m a little too old to believe in that,” Enjolras said.
Kris just arched one bushy white eyebrow. “Too old to believe in Christmas miracles?”
Enjolras sighed. “The thing is, what I want wouldn’t even take a miracle,” he said quietly. “It just feels like it would.”
“What—”
“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, a little ruefully. “I just want to see him believe in something. Anything.” He barked a dry laugh and glanced at Kris. “But I imagine that’s beyond even your power.”
Kris didn’t smile or laugh. “I don’t know that I would go that far.”
“Is this what you and Grantaire were discussing earlier?” Enjolras asked wryly. “What he wants for Christmas?”
Kris didn’t look remotely abashed. “In fact, yes,” he said. “Though I’m not certain he believes me.”
“Welcome to the party,” Enjolras muttered.
There was something knowing in Kris’s eyes as he told Enjolras, “I’m not certain you believe in me either, or in the spirit of Christmas.”
“I believe that people are fundamentally good,” Enjolras said, after a moment. “And I believe that Santa Claus is a representation of that.”
“Is Christmas itself not also a representation of that?”
Enjolras made a face. “The Christians have certainly deluded themselves into thinking that. But I’m an atheist, so.”
“What of Yule then?” Kris pressed. “Or the celebration of the solstice. Or whatever reason you have at this time of year to gather during the shortest days and longest nights with the people you love most.”
Enjolras just sighed. “Maybe that’s where I’m lacking.”
“In people you love?” Kris asked quietly. Enjolras just shrugged, and Kris patted his knee. “Love comes in a great many packages. And whatever else you might think, I know for a fact that you have many friends who love you dearly.”
“That is true,” Enjolras said, equally quiet, and Kris brightened.
“Do you know, this reminds me of one of my favorite Christmas movies: It’s a Wonderful Life. Remember, no man is a failure who has friends.”
Enjolras managed a small smile at the quote. “It’s one of my favorite movies as well. That last scene, when they all…” He trailed off, his eyes widening. “Kris, that’s it!”
“I’ll presume you have an idea?” Kris asked. Enjolras didn’t answer, fumbling for his cellphone, and Kris just smiled as he patted Enjolras’s knee once more. “I shall leave you to it.”
He stood and walked out of the courtroom, whistling Jingle Bells to himself, but Enjolras wasn’t paying attention, jamming his phone between his shoulder and ear as he scrambled to pull out a pad of paper and pen from his briefcase. “Combeferre, it’s me. Judge Douai – he’s a Democrat, right? Ok, get on Board of Elections website, pull his list of donors. And get everyone in the office.” Enjolras grinned. “We need to start calling in every favor that we can.”
Judge Douai walked quickly down the back hallway of the courthouse, avoiding the media set up at the front. He was intercepted by a well-dressed young man with the air of a lawyer. “Judge Douai? Can I have just a moment of your time?”
“Only if it is a moment,” Judge Douai told him. “I’ve got a hearing in fifteen minutes.”
“I promise I won’t take that long,” the man said, grabbing the door for the judge. “My name is Marius Pontmercy. I believe you know my grandfather, Luc-Espirit Gillenormand.”
Judge Douai looked at him with new interest. “Oh, you’re Gillenormand’s grandson? How is he? We miss seeing him at the club.”
Marius smiled slightly. “Oh, you know him,” he said, following Judge Douai into his chambers. “Too stubborn to die.”
Judge Douai chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth.” He paused when he saw the assembled men waiting for him in his office. “Oh, and who—”
“These gentlemen represent some of the state’s finest unions,” Marius said pleasantly, taking a seat without being told he could do so. “We have representatives from the AFL-CIO, the Teamsters, UFCW, the NALC, and more.”
Judge Douai nodded a stiff greeting before frowning at Marius. “As delighted as I always am to entertain our brothers in labor, why are they here?”
Marius’s smile widened. “They’re here about Kris Kringle.”
“But why—”
“They have a vested interest in the outcome of this case,” Marius said lightly. “And they’re here to express their concern that you might rule that there is no Santa Claus.”
Judge Douai gaped at him. “You’ve come here to threaten me? In my own chambers?”
“Not to threaten,” Marius assured him. “Just to make you aware of the effect this decision would have. I’d’ve submitted an amicus brief instead, but there wasn’t time.”
Judge Douai stood, furious. “Listen here,” he said, “I’ve known your grandfather a long time and it’s the only reason I’ve done you the courtesy of not throwing you out on your ear. But I’m a responsible judge, who has taken an oath, and I have no intention of seriously ruling that there is a Santa Claus!”
But Marius didn’t look remotely perturbed, just picking at a piece of lint on his pants. “That’s fine,” he said comfortably. “It’s your call. But let’s say that you do rule there is no Santa Claus. It’ll be all over the news. The kids don’t write their letters to Santa. That means layoffs at the post office. They won’t hang up their stockings. What happens to the toys that are supposed to be in those stockings? Nobody buys them. The toy manufacturers are going to have to lay off their AFL-CIO employees. And the Teamsters that deliver those toys to the stores will be in trouble. And the UFCW workers at those stores. And so on and so forth.”
Marius leaned forward, his smile sharp. “And all of this will happen in October and November. Right before the election.” He paused. “Remind me, Judge, how much of your support came from unions in your last election?”
“This– this is an outrage!” Judge Douai blustered. “You can’t come in here and—”
Marius stood. “Like I said,” he said, speaking over the judge, “we just wanted to make our concerns known. Obviously you’re at complete liberty to rule however you want to.”
He gestured to the men in the room, and they all filed out. Marius turned to follow them out but paused when Judge Douai said, his voice low, “You’d blow up your family’s good name for a man who thinks he’s Santa Claus?”
Marius just smiled, a little grimly. “And myself along with it,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Your Honor.”
Enjolras paced at the front of the courtroom, large coffee in hand. Between that and the dark circles under his eyes, he certainly looked like he’d been up most of the night.
His phone buzzed and he hurried to dig it out of his pocket, grinning when he saw a single thumbs up emoji from Marius.
Someone cleared his throat and Enjolras turned around, his smile fading slightly when he saw that it was Grantaire. “Hi,” Grantaire said, a little awkwardly. “Um, Bossuet asked me to drop these off—”
He held out three letters, and Enjolras took them. “Thanks,” he said.
Grantaire bit his lip before blurting, “I’m sorry. For the other night. I didn’t—”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Enjolras told him.
“Right,” Grantaire said. “Well, I just wanted to…” He trailed off before darting forward and kissing Enjolras’s cheek. “For luck,” he said breathlessly.
Kris joined Enjolras a moment later. “What was that about?” he asked, amused.
“Hm?” Enjolras said, a little dazedly, before recovering. “Sorry, we were just…”
Kris had a very knowing smile on his face. “Looks like it may be a merry Christmas after all.”
“If all goes according to plan, it will,” Enjolras told him. “My friend Marius laid the groundwork, now I just have to take it home.”
Kris patted his arm. “And I am certain you will do a marvelous job.”
Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, but the bailiff called for them to rise. After the judge got seated, the ADA stood to deliver essentially his closing argument, despite the fact that Enjolras hadn’t had a chance to present his case yet.
But Enjolras was looking at the judge, watching him closely to see if Marius had accomplished everything he needed to for this plan to work.
“And furthermore,” ADA Arras said heatedly, “the defense has yet to offer a single piece of concrete evidence to substantiate their preposterous claims. Not one shred of authoritative proof that this man is Santa Claus!” He gestured emphatically at Kris, who didn’t look remotely concerned. “In light of this, and especially since we’re all anxious to get home for Christmas Eve, I ask that you deem Mr. Kringle mentally incompetent and remand him into state custody.”
Judge Douai just purses his lips before looking at Enjolras. “Well?” he said, a touch impatiently. “Do you have any authoritative evidence to present?”
Enjolras stood. “Yes, I do,” he said, and a murmur broke out in the courtroom. “It concerns the United States Postal Service.”
“Objection,” ADA Arras said. “Relevance?”
“Your Honor, I request a little latitude,” Enjolras said.
“Proceed,” Judge Douai said, sounding almost bored.
Enjolras gave ADA Arras a nasty look before continuing. “United States postal laws and regulations make it a criminal offense to willfully misdirect mail or intentionally deliver it to the wrong party. Consequently, the Department uses every possible precaution.”
Again ADA Arras spoke out, this time even more exasperated. “The State admires the Post Office. It is an efficient, authoritative department. We’re happy to concede Mr. Enjolras’s claims.”
“For the record?” Enjolras asked innocently.
Arras rolled his eyes. “If it’ll get this farce over with, yes, for the record.”
Enjolras smirked. “Then I would like to introduce this evidence.” He crossed to the judge, handing over the letters that Grantaire had brought him. “I have three letters addressed simply to ‘Santa Claus’. They have no other address whatsoever. Yet these were just now delivered to Mr. Kringle by bona fide employees of the United States Postal Service. I offer them as positive proof that—”
“Your Honor, three letters are hardly positive proof,” ADA Arras scoffed. “The post office receives thousands of these!”
Enjolras’s smirk widened. “I have further exhibits, but I hesitate to produce them.”
ADA Arras crossed his arms in front of his chest. “The State has no objections to more exhibits. In fact, we insist.”
“Produce them, Mr. Enjolras,” Judge Douai ordered. “Put them here on my desk.”
“But, Your Honor—” Enjolras started, and the judge glared at him.
“On my desk.”
Enjolras shrugged, mock-helpless, and gestured to Feuilly and Bahorel, stationed at the courtroom door.
With identical grins, they opened the doors, and one after one, postal carriers – proud members of the National Association of Letter Carriers, all – streamed into the courtroom carrying bins full to the brim with letters.
They dumped them all on and around Judge Douai’s bench, as he pounded his gavel in vain.
When they were finally done, Enjolras spoke up over the laughs and general mayhem in the courtroom. “Your Honor, every one of these letters is addressed to Santa Claus. The United States Postal Service has delivered them. Therefore, the Post Office, a subsidiary of the federal government, recognizes this man, Kris Kringle, to be the one and only Santa Claus!”
There was probably a more polite way of putting it, but the most accurate thing to say was that the crowd went ape shit. Judge Douai banged his gavel and shouted over the crowd. “Since the United States government declares this man to be Santa Claus, this court will not dispute it. Case dismissed!”
Enjolras grinned, letting Kris give him a hug. But he turned, searching the crowd for one person, and one person only.
When he saw Grantaire, his grin widened, and Grantaire winked and gave him a thumbs up.
And Enjolras was almost tempted to think that Christmas miracles were real.
“You rang?” Grantaire asked, leaning against the doorway of Enjolras’s office.
Enjolras glanced up at him. “Technically I texted,” he said mildly.
Grantaire just rolled his eyes. “Same thing,” he said dismissively. He strolled into Enjolras’s office, his hands in his pockets. “I assumed you’d be out celebrating with Kris.”
“I asked if he wanted to get a drink,” Enjolras told him, leaning back in his chair. “But he said it was a busy night for him.”
Grantaire laughed. “Yeah, I guess it would be.”
“Besides,” Enjolras added, “I thought it might be nice to celebrate with you.”
Grantaire blinked. “Me?” he repeated.
Enjolras nodded and stood. “Yeah,” he said. “Want to get a drink?”
Grantaire squinted at him as if trying to see if he was really there, or else trying to diagnose himself with a brain injury. “Is this what a Christmas miracle looks like?” he joked.
Enjolras rolled his eyes as if he hadn’t had a similar thought earlier that same day. “If you don’t want to—”
“I didn’t say that!” Grantaire said quickly. “Especially if you’re buying.”
“Typical,” Enjolras grumbled, but without any heat, and he grabbed his coat and led Grantaire out of the office.
They walked side by side in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Grantaire glanced sideways at Enjolras. “That was well played today,” he said.
Enjolras shook his head. “It was all Marius,” he said dismissively. “And all our other friends who called in every union contact they had.”
“Yeah, but it was your idea,” Grantaire countered. “And you’re the one who landed the final blow.”
Enjolras just shrugged. “Still a group effort.”
“Ah,” Grantaire said. “Having a bit of a George Bailey moment?”
Enjolras laughed, since that had been the inspiration, after all. “Something like that,” he agreed.
Grantaire nudged him gently. “Which just means that it only came together because you have so many people who love you and believe in you enough to make it happen.”
Enjolras glanced over at him. “Even you?” he asked quietly.
Grantaire just ducked his head and shrugged, but a few moments later, his fingers brushed against Enjolras’s, just lightly, before tangling together.
They walked along in silence again, though it was Enjolras who broke it this time. “Kris mentioned something about you asking for something for Christmas,” he said, and Grantaire looked quizzically at him.
“I mean, he is Santa Claus,” he said.
“Yeah, but he gave me the impression it was something more than that.”
Grantaire shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. “I, uh, I had a somewhat genius idea that I wanted to discuss with him.”
“Modesty being your strong suit,” Enjolras murmured.
Grantaire grinned. “Something like that.” His smile faded, just slightly. “He and I were talking about belief, and I suggested that I could ask for something for Christmas, and if he got it for me, then I would believe in him.”
Enjolras nodded slowly. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“Told you I’m a genius,” Grantaire said with a laugh.
“So what did you ask for?”
Grantaire made a face. “Isn’t it one of those things where if you ask for it, it won’t come true?” Enjolras just gave him a look and Grantaire laughed again. “Looks it’s not going to happen anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“Come on,” Enjolras said playfully. “If it’s not going to happen, what’s the harm in telling me.”
“Plenty,” Grantaire muttered, his ears burning red. He took a deep breath and stared determinedly away from Enjolras as he said, “I told him I wanted one great Christmas movie kiss. You know, where it starts snowing right as they lean in and kiss, and the whole nine years.”
Enjolras bit back his immediate instinct to lightly mock, sensing that this wasn’t the time or place. “And you think it can’t happen?” he asked.
Grantaire gave him a look. “It’s 48 degrees out, Enj,” he said dryly. “Say what you want about the validity of climate change but I think our white Christmas days are probably a thing of the past.”
It wasn’t nearly the point, but Enjolras couldn't help but repeat, “Say what you want about the validity of climate change?”
Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean—” He broke off with a light laugh. “Ok, yeah, I did, but it worked, didn’t it? Got you to flush that delicious, self-righteous red.”
Enjolras just shook his head. “You’re a ridiculous man.”
“Probably.”
Enjolras hesitated for only a moment before saying, deliberately casual, “And I love you.” Grantaire stared at him, wide-eyed, and Enjolras shrugged, a little helplessly. “If you can’t say it at Christmas, when can you?”
Grantaire softened, reaching out to wrap his hands in Enjolras’s coat. “Come here.”
He tugged Enjolras to him, hesitating for only a moment before closing the space between them and kissing him. Enjolras kissed him back, cupping his cheek with one hand and smoothing his thumb across Grantaire’s cheek.
Grantaire leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed, and Enjolras’s lips curved into a smile against his, a smile that widened as he felt something wet and cold touch his own cheek.
“Grantaire,” he whispered, grinning wildly. “Open your eyes.”
Grantaire pulled back just far enough to do so, his eyes widening as soon as he did. “Holy shit. Holy shit! It’s snowing!”
Enjolras kissed him once more. “Just like you asked for,” he told him, a little breathlessly.
Grantaire shook his head, something like wonder in his expression. “Yeah, but I never believed—” He broke off with a short laugh. “Well. That’ll shut me up for a bit.”
Enjolras laughed. “And I’ll believe that when I see it.” He kissed him one more time. “Merry Christmas, Grantaire.”
“Merry Christmas, Enjolras.”
After a long moment they started walking again, still in a flurry of snow. Grantaire leaned his head again Enjolras’s shoulder. “Did you ask Kris for anything?”
Enjolras nodded. “Yeah.”
Grantaire squeezed his hand. “Well, good news is, you’ll probably get it.”
“I already did,” Enjolras said, pressing a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head.
Grantaire twisted his head to look up at him. “What did you ask for?”
“For you to believe in something.”
To Enjolras’s surprise, Grantaire just laughed. “Well, he didn’t have to work very hard for that one.”
Enjolras frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I believe in you,” Grantaire said simply. “Always have. Always will.”
Something warm spread through Enjolras’s chest, and he tugged Grantaire closer. “Well, what can I say,” he murmured. “Sometimes seeing is believing.” He ducked his head to kiss him once more. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Grantaire told him, his voice low. “Now, let’s get that drink.”
“I have a better idea,” Enjolras said. “Let’s go home.”
Grantaire’s smile was soft but bright. “Yeah,” he said. “That sounds like a plan to me.”