[[CW: Sexual talk.]]

Life was … well, it could be worse. Perhaps this fellow was just a better disguised Wells. But maybe, just maybe, he was as sincere as he imagined him.

No matter about that. Some retired naval officer’s son had gotten himself caught embezzling his weight in pounds, and it was up to Zechariah to argue leniency for him. Problem was, this was hardly the first foolhardy thing Mr. Heath had been caught over.

So, there sat Zechariah, freshly shaved and spritzed with a familiar cologne, taking the first thing in the written word to pass his time while Crane took his. Hm, it was already open.

He crossed an ankle over knee, checking the cover with his thumb holding his place. Ooh! This one was always juicy. Always some poor idiot getting roasted over this or that minor inconvenience.

Look at this one! Some poor, impressionable young thing from Texas! Pfah, Americans! He basked in judgmental glory as he dissected each line. Then he got to the second line, and his smile tightened into a thoughtful line. How many men had mentioned their 30s recently? He had written one. He had written most of the men, but the latest 30s advert was … different.

Hm. A Catholic constable. He could probably figure out who she accused, if she accused a real person.

His brow furrowed in open skepticism. Oscar Wilde had two children! Poor things were never going to live his persecution down. It was a large part of the reason Zechariah hesitated in marrying for safety: it certainly had not worked for Wilde.

His brows furrowed even further when he read the box of the accused: #12? That would mean the same respondent he had … well, complicated interpretations of. But that was not the last of it-

Zechariah heard a noise, and jammed the newspaper into the breast of his coat.

Elijah was relaxing before really starting his day. He had just grabbed some coffee, his way, and a stack of files under his other arm. He had been a newspaper waiting for him when he saw his favorite lawyer, Mister Meijer with a paper. He was grateful he had company this morning even if it was short lived
He took notice that what he was reading didn't look like a newspaper, more like the less serious paper that printed love ads and spread rumors. He seemed quite interested in something. Elijah put down his coffee and files to sit and open his paper, causing a flapping paper sound when the other man clasped the magazine to his chest.

"Everything alright? Did you read something really juicy or embarrassing?" He rose a brow curiously as he glanced down to browse the paper and reached for his cup of coffee .

The look Zechariah fixed Crane with on prompting was long and silent for an uncomfortable moment. He still had not processed all the possibilities of what he had just read, and had felt the inexplicable urge to hide the damned thing from Crane the moment he heard him coming back. Never mind that he had read far saucier on the train, and God, probably in front of Crane, too.

“Auuh-nnn, heh,” was Zechariah’s unusually inarticulate answer. “Yes. God, yes. This belongs in the trash.”

However, he made no move to take it back out and throw it away. Whoever he had been talking to could have been any constable he had ever talked to. He could be sitting in front of him right now, even!

Pfah! That was ridiculous. Constable Crane? Had he ever taken off enough layers, even, for any living being to reach his heart? Zechariah cracked a smile and shook his head at that.

“Those records on Roger Heath,” he said, back to perfunctory, impersonal business. “How thick is the file?”

While Elijah wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, he wasn't a complete fool. He rose his brow and watched Zechariah, studying his face for an explanation.

The mention of the file distracted him enough, he laughed lightly as he tossed it over gently. "Oh yeah, wr have a lot of him. You'll have a lot to go through." He tilted his head looking at his other hand.

"I never seen you act like this before. I was certain you couldn't be bothered, certainly nothing a paper like that could get into print. What's it about, I'd like to read it." He held out his hand to take it.

Zechariah made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, picking it up and shaking it in his hands as though that would shake reality into a proper size.

He let go of the folder with one hand to protectively clutch the paper, realized what he was doing, and then laughed and shook his head.

“Oh, God. Have you ever had some collegiate buffoon take an unflattering photograph of you, speculate wildly on your private life to the entire literate public at large, and then have the nerve to get a solid fifth of it correct?”

Something was preventing him from handing the paper over. Maybe Crane knew who it was, after all. Did Crane truly want to look that man in the eye after finishing reading this drivel?

“It is better off unseen,” he insisted.

As if Zechariah was not about to read the entire piece of trash back to front the moment he was out of sight.

Elijah laughed lightly. "Isn't that any sensational article? Remember when the paper was trying to write me off as a terrible and threatening constable? It stressed me so much I had to go on vacation out of town for a while. I'm so glad that sort of thing is behind me."

He grinned but looked disappointed. Elijah knew he could just pick it up later and read it. "Alright, if you say so it must be really bad..." he was definitely going to read it later.

Ah. He had caught the gossip bug – and been infected badly by it, to boot. Zechariah did not fault him for either. Were the damned rag not so readily available, he would be tempted to pay into it himself.

“Bizarre constable gossip or something. Save yourself the trouble. Some girl is insisting Wilde had no sons all because he is presumed a sodomite, so God knows where the fifth of her truth lies.”

"Ah.. yeah no interest." Elijah sipped his coffee with a small frown. "Maybe I am a soft constable but I don't care about an indecency law if it's not being indecent in public. What he does behind closed doors that hurts no one isn't any of my business. But that's my opinion, I guess..." he shrugged and read his regular paper.

WHEW. He could not put his finger on why Crane’s sudden disinterest relieved him so … but it did. He started to turn to leave.

“… How many Catholic constables are there here?” Zechariah wondered aloud.

Seeing the other leaving, he wondered if he'd offended him. "I'm sorry if I've offended you. I guess I am a bit of a backwoods constable, not the worldly sophisticated type. " He said with a playful whine as he tried to guilt the other to stay longer, feeling certain he would have agreed on his opinion. "Now you are leaving after you just got here. I've no companions to fill my morning, just my coffee..." he sighed but picked up his cup for another sip.

He looked curious at the question and furrowed his brow in thought. "I'm certain Roberts is protestant. Not sure about the other two but I can say I've never seen them at St. Hilda's! Why do you ask?"