Dark eyes watched Dr. Wells intently when he looked Zechariah over. A hand brushed idly over his stubbled cheek.

“It should not,” Zechariah said, leaning back into his seat and resting clasped hands over his waistcoat. “But it is. It is, and will determine the future laws regarding men of Mr. Wilde’s alleged-” for he was not going to be the one to say what many knew and many more suspected “-inclinations. Does this make the way for France’s more modern inclinations, or do we go back to wasting the court’s time with King William’s frivolous executions?”

"Come, that's too extreme, surely. Society has become less barbaric since..." he said, partly to calm himself down. "Wilde hasn't been tried yet. Boulton and Park were merely bound over in the end." Oh he had studied cases like these closely. "Wilde's case will probably go the same." Or so he had told himself since morning, to no avail.

Too extreme! Zechariah huffed a sarcastic laugh with a fire in his eyes.

“Yes. Lovely. Park died in his 30s, and it only took-” he paused, closing his eyes and dramatically poking unfolded finger by finger in counting, “what, six hundred years? To reconsider murdering us!”

Us. He noticed it, but it didn't matter in this privacy of the drawing room in a house with no servants. Except it did matter. For even Mr. Meijer scattering his comforting illusions was better than handling the inevitable despair on his own. "They murdered us up until a few decades ago..." he admitted grimly. Us, because it didn't matter anymore, and a dangerous 'us' was better than a lonely 'I'.

Us. Not just Zechariah. The upstanding doctor, too. It was one thing to wonder, to suspect, to try and tease it out, but it was another to hear.

It settled like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake instead of a waistcoat breezily meeting the floor.

He drew his feet off the ottoman, arms crossed. Well. They both liked tophat and now he felt a bit silly dragging the doctor into the depths with him.

“There is … some hope,” Zechariah said, cautiously. “The courts generally interpret ‘penetration’ as intercourse involving the rectum, and if he were not inclined, or he and his lovers were thorough, or his laundering service not nosy …” he gave a nod of the head for him to fill in the rest.

Tristan tried to keep a blank face. He really wished he'd brought his cup with him, just to have something to do with his hands. "Let's hope his lawyers are thorough..." he commented. And that this time Wilde would be able to save wit for playwriting. "Whatever the outcome, the man's intimate secrets will be exposed to all to see and it's a disgrace..."

“And reputable,” Zechariah sighed. “This is a marquess he chose to face off with. He needs a judge in his pocket and a miracle in his hand.”

"It's out of Queensberry's hands now..." he said, knowing full well that indirectly it probably wasn't. "He hasn't been tried yet..." Another vain comfort.

Zechariah looked at him, pityingly.

“That is not how it works, my friend.”

He gave Mr. Meijer a wry smile. "Allow a man some comfort while it lasts..."