【ER】Golden Rule

"Book me an appointment with Mr. Grove, will you?"

The clock hadn't hit two in the afternoon when Grantaire strolled into the county attorney's office.He looked around, and many seats were still vacant. Most of the people were probably eating their sandwiches in the park downstairs at this time, or wandering in the corridors of the court waiting for the court to start.People still inside were busy walking around, and the girl behind the reception desk at the door was yawning.Everything looks the same as it did when he left nearly two months ago.He walked towards the reception table and leaned against it.

The girl looked up at him.She seemed a little sleepy - after all, it was her lunch break - she looked at him in confusion for a while, and when she recognized the person in front of her, her eyes suddenly widened.

"Of course—of course." She said flusteredly, "Grantaire. I'll call him in a moment. I don't think he's scheduled to appear in court today. Can you go and wait on the chair by his door?"

Grantaire smiled at her.

"Of course. The boss is always busy."

He went around the reception desk and walked indoors.He could feel the gaze of the girl at the front desk still on his back.Others noticed him as he walked down the narrow corridor between desks.They looked a bit taken aback, and Grantaire bet most of them thought he'd packed up and left, and a few of them wouldn't think he'd have the nerve to show up here again.He shrugged, shaking those eyes away.

Grove's office is at the far end of the corridor.Grantaire walked to the door and stood in front of the closed door.His brief bio, Grove, County Attorney, 51, is taped to the wall by the door frame.The important cases column lists a series of his main achievements, most of which are white-collar cases, crimes of embezzlement, economic crimes... only a few of them are serious criminal cases.His photo is pasted in the upper left corner, a lean, middle-aged African-American man with a tired face and piercing eyes.Grantaire knew that this photo must have been taken five years ago, because Mr. Grove had put on at least twenty pounds since he joined the County Prosecutor's Office.

He sighed, hooked the ring of his car key with his right index finger, and turned it around.He went to the waiting chair that had been placed against the wall by the office door and sat down there.Across the office is his and Courfeyrac's office, the door is ajar, and Courfeyrac's chair is empty.He must still be eating lunch downstairs, or drinking half a malt whiskey in the bar.It's a good thing, Grantaire thought, Courfeyrac's absence meant he didn't have to explain everything to him for a while - explaining why he had suddenly changed his mind and was back under the ceiling of the County Prosecutor's Office, sitting outside his boss's office door , I hope he can give himself a chance to come back and resume his job.

This is for Enjolras.For Enjolras, of course.But at the same time, it was also for Gavroche, for Azma, and even for Grantaire himself.

It had been three days since he and Enjolras had last seen each other.That evening last week, Enjolras thanked him when they said goodbye at the door. "Having a prosecutor to advise is a huge help," he said.

"I didn't say anything at all," Grantaire told him.

"Every point you said is useful, I promise." Enjolras said, and then showed a trace of regret, "Unfortunately, we couldn't let the procuratorate take this case. Private prosecution is really not my field."

Grantaire looked at him.

"But you still have to do the case," he said.

"Of course," Enjolras said, so naturally that he blurted out, "otherwise who would do such a thing?"

It wasn't until he said that that he realized he sounded arrogant, so he gave a short laugh, but didn't correct it.Grantaire looked at him and felt that his expression coincided with the elderly lawyer he looked up to when he was nine years old.He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again.

"Good night," he said.

"Good night." Enjolras said, looking at him.

They said goodbye, and Grantaire went home, walked up the stairs, and threw himself and his clothes on the bed.He looked at the stars on the ceiling, thought of the addict last night, of the soft hands of the girl Azma held his both during the day, of Gavroche and his radio station, of what Enjolras had said to him Thanks.Yes, Enjolras just said thank you.He knew Grantaire was a prosecutor, and he didn't know he was suspended, so if he wanted to help, he had every reason to ask Grantaire to help.He knew Grantaire would do anything for him if he asked, but he didn't say anything.He could have asked Grantaire to work for the prosecutor's office and persuade them to take the case.But he didn't say anything, so that's his nobility.Grantaire rolled over on the bed, falling asleep.At the last moment when his consciousness drifted away from his body, it suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time in many years that he had to decide for himself whether to do a thing or not.

So today he sits in the waiting chair outside the Attorney General's door.No appointment, no telling of Courfeyrac, no mention of it to anyone.He rubbed the soles of his leather shoes against the fluff of the carpet, and looked around boredly.One early summer day, it was muggy, the sky outside the window was gloomy gray-white, and the weather forecast said that there would be heavy rain at night.This scene was surprisingly similar to the day he came for the first interview.He remembered wearing a borrowed suit and sitting in the same chair, rubbing the soles of his shoes nervously on the ground as he waited.

He chuckled lightly.He remembered how Enjolras had described the first time he saw him, and he remembered the details that Enjolras remembered, including his ill-fitting suit and messy hair.He remembered how Enjolras remembered everything from those seven years ago.

He took out his phone from his pocket and opened the text message interface with Enjolras.Their last message was that night nearly two months ago, when Enjolras said, "I'll be back later."On that day Enjolras moved out of his house.

Grantaire took a deep breath.He edited a message: Do you think I'm a coward?

He raised his head and looked at the sky outside the window.The branches by the window sway in the breeze.He hit send, put the phone on silent and put it in his pocket.

"Grantaire." He heard someone calling him.

He looked up and saw Grove standing at the door of the office.The Attorney General had indeed gained more than twenty pounds from the photo. His once-slender face was now plump and tanned, and the buttons of his suit were tightened with difficulty on his stomach.He looked down at Grantaire.

"Good afternoon." He said, "Do you want to go in and talk?"

"Of course," Grantaire said.He smiled, stood up, and walked into the office where he had been suspended a month ago.His gaze skipped over the bookshelf on the side of the office, where there were many glass or metal medals, as well as some wooden photo frames.In one photograph, Mr. Grove stood with his wife, who was even fatter than he was, surrounded by their five children, each with his tanned, tanned face.In another photo, he stands with his older son, who is wearing his high school graduation gown and holds his diploma tied with a ribbon.Grantaire recognized another person in the photo who used to be a district court judge and is now supposed to be the director of pre-legal education at a university.He wanted to keep looking, but Mr. Grove pulled the chair across from the desk for him and smiled at him.

"Sit down, Grantaire," he said.

"Thank you," Grantaire said.Sitting down across from Grove, he saw a calendar on his desk covered with stacks of post-it notes, each with a date for a case and the prosecutor in charge of it.There are so many of them that they completely cover the original contents of the calendar.

"I'm glad you're here today," said the attorney general, who is in his 50s.He has a solicitous smile on his face, and it's hard to tell if his intention of suggesting Grantaire take a leave of absence is to force him to resign voluntarily. "Do you want to come back to work?"

Grantaire shrugged.He looked at the face of the middle-aged man in front of him.He didn't know how to answer the question, but he didn't want to appear too abrupt.He shifted a bit in his chair and smiled.

"I heard about a case," he said tentatively.

Grove looked at him.He doesn't look like he's going to help Grantaire finish his sentence.

Grantaire sighed.

"Gavroche Thenardier," he said slowly, "I heard he wanted to prosecute his own grandparents for cruelty, but—"

"Grantaire," Grove said, interrupting him. "This is the case sent by the lawyer named Enjolras, isn't it?"

Grantaire bit his lower lip.

"Yes," he said reluctantly, wondering why the attorney general remembered details of his anecdote from two months ago, "but I didn't hear it from him. I'm not anyone's lobbyist. I just happened to--knew that the D.A. wasn't going to take this case. I thought if we could help that kid we should, and I-"

"You think we're supposed to help that kid," Grove repeated, cutting him off again.That's when Grantaire finally sees that his smile is just a mask on his skin, that it hangs over his face, but the man isn't smiling. "Do you want to come back and work on this case?"

Grantaire flinched at his gaze.He put his two palms together, sandwiched between his thighs, and shifted uncomfortably.

"That's what I think," he said. "If I could come back, I'd love to do the case. You see, the Thenardier case. I sued Azma Thenardier, I sued for killing Her father's suspect, I'm sort of a... Thenardier expert." He said dryly, with a short laugh, thinking the joke wasn't funny at all. It's not hard. They can... trust me."

Grove glanced at him.He took out one of the two coffee cups on his desk and took a cup for himself under the coffee pot at the corner of the table.

He didn't take a glass for Grantaire either.

"Do you think they'll trust you?" he said slowly, "I recall that you and—the defense lawyer—created a journalistic incident two months ago and were removed from the Jean Valjean case. If you continue to cooperate with them, it must not be convincing."

"We don't have a relationship now," he said quickly, and then coughed awkwardly, realizing how immature high school that sounded. "I mean, I have no communication with Enjolras. Plus I have been removed from the Valjean case, and I no longer have any conflict of interest between the two cases. If the prosecutor's office accepts this torture charge, Enjolras will definitely withdraw from the case. You don't need to worry about the past—the news incident—having any impact on the case..."

"But it actually does have an effect," said the middle-aged man, interrupting him.He took a sip from his coffee cup, and Grantaire watched the froth disappear on his upper lip. "That's not a good idea, Grantaire. People who know those online stories won't want you in any of the related cases, and no matter how much you tell them you don't have a real conflict of interest—it's useless." He paused, the smiling mask still hanging on her face, "I don't want people to think that the County Prosecutor's Office lacks discipline in personnel scheduling. Do you understand?"

Grantaire pursed his lips.

"Okay," he said, spreading his hands and shrugging. "I understand. I really understand. But what if this is the case? The prosecutor's office can take over the case, and I won't be in charge. Just assign another prosecutor to do it. I won't go to court, and I won't participate. Just confirm that someone is in charge of it. Alright." He paused for a moment, then thought of something else, leaned forward excitedly by the idea, and put his hands on the table, "Oh! Or this. Mr. Grove, we can do this. I don't think As county attorney in this case, I can represent it as personal attorney so I—”

"You can't handle private cases while you're in the County Prosecutor's Office, Grantaire," Grove said flatly.His smile is already faltering, and he's starting to feel unhappy, but Grantaire doesn't realize it yet.

"Well, what about the former? I'm not going to take part in it, and find someone else in charge. Marius is too young, but I think—"

"Grantaire." The middle-aged man interrupted him coldly.

Grantaire looked up, only to realize that the smiling mask had completely disappeared.Grove watched him with displeasure and a hint of impatience in those brown eyes.He put the coffee cup on the table, clasped his thick black hands, and his ten fingers were twisted together like a string of shiny little sausages.Grantaire fell silent.

The Attorney General watched him.The half minute was as long as half an hour.

"Do you know why I hired you?" he said when he finally spoke.

Grantaire sighed.He knew he screwed up.

"Because I did well in the case of Azma Thenardier?" he asked tentatively.

The African-American man shook his head.

"Not at all," he said, "and more importantly—because you know the times."

"Know the current affairs?"

"Knowledge," said the man. "Not long after the triage officer accidentally put you in that case, I knew you knew the client. It's not difficult, your education, Azma Thenardier's." Educational background — you both went to the same middle school. I should have taken you out right away, but the funny thing is, I found you worked really hard — you worked really, really hard on that case.”

"Oh." Grantaire said softly.He felt a sick feeling—to himself.

"I heard you pissed off another of our colleagues during your freshman year of law school," Grove continued. "I heard you gave him a great speech. You wanted social justice, so you yelled at a Prosecutor, this does sound interesting. But what's even more interesting is that just over a year later, you're back again. Still an intern, still wanting to be a prosecutor. But instead of yelling, you're saying The sniffle thing went all in. It really hit me."

Grantaire clenched his fingers.

"Stop laughing at me," he whispered.

The middle-aged man shook his head.

"No, I'm not mocking you. In fact, I appreciate that quality." He pauses, looking up at Grantaire. "People like us, Grantaire," he said, pointing to himself with a hand, reminding Grantaire of his complexion. "Minorities, or immigrants. It's easier to get a job in the prosecutorial system." Tougher. When you came to the interview, you spoke English and even had a French accent. I didn't want to keep you at all, because the jury would not like a trial lawyer with an accent. But like I said-you were in that case I was impressed by your performance in the movie." He separated his hands and tapped the table with his right fingers, "You are very smart and sharp. You will be a good hand in litigation. But more importantly, in keeping your seat Between making up for the guilt of the client, you choose yourself. You know what to do in order to survive. I like this: you abandoned fantasy in just one year and chose to survive." He stopped, his eyes sweeping Looking at the photos on the bookshelf, in the family portrait, his family members smiled at him. “And it’s especially important for our line of business — for people of our skin color or accent to want to be in this line of work — to let go of the fantasy.”

Grantaire said nothing.He felt his stomach tighten again, and that long-lost sense of falling took hold of him.

"Maybe," he said slowly, "I don't think so now."

Grove looked at him.

"Perhaps—I don't appreciate your thinking now."

"But it's a kid," Grantaire said suddenly. "It's a kid, Grove. You've got kids yourself—you've got five." He said quickly, almost desperately, "Your kids Was an honors graduate, but that kid has nothing. His mother is in jail, his grandmother harassed him, and he doesn't even have a TV. Maybe we can help him, maybe we can at least make him grow up safe , maybe we-"

He stopped.He looked up and looked at the African-American attorney general.The icy look in those brown eyes stopped him.

"That's an almost impossible case to win," Grove said, smoothing his fat jaw. "The procuratorate shouldn't waste resources, invest in a meaningless case, and add a record of defeat. You must have seen my calendar-the procuratorate has too many cases to be busy."

"No point?" Grantaire said. "That's a real boy, Grove. Not a record."

His superior looks at him.

"I'm not a bad guy, Grantaire," he said, getting up from his chair and walking over to the bookshelves—an obvious gesture of seeing off guests.His brown eyes looked at the photo of himself and his eldest son, and his eyes softened, but his voice became colder. "I'm not a bad person. But we're not in our business to deal with all the injustices — we're in our business to throw out illusions. Work is not an illusion."

Grantaire watched his back, his face reflected in the glass bookshelf.A strange feeling came to my mind—to be exact, it was no longer a feeling, but a thought.Grantaire chews on the idea, suddenly realizing he's been thinking about it for a long time.

He stood up from his chair and looked at his boss.

"I don't think I'm fit for this job anymore," he said.

The African-American attorney general turned to look at him.There was a flash of surprise in those brown eyes, followed by regret, but soon returned to the expected calm.

"I think so," he said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Grantaire."

"I'm sorry, too," Grantaire said.But for some reason, that heaviness in his stomach disappeared.He felt himself lighten, fly up from the soles of his feet, and hit the ceiling like a balloon trying to fly out of the room. "For you."

He smiled and walked out of the office.

He freaked out the intern sitting there when he got back to the office to pack his stuff, and he apologized for taking Grantaire's place temporarily, and Grantaire tapped him on the shoulder and told him he was just It's for a resignation.He took some time to collect what he had left behind, and smiled to himself when he saw the water bottle he used to hold alcohol in.He lifted the bottle over his head and made a shooting motion—it fell directly into Courfeyrac's trash can across the office.Courfeyrac only showed up when it was close to the end of get off work time. I don't know if he was busy with other field work or simply skipped the afternoon shift.He yelled at Grantaire's decision for a while, but then showed the expected understanding.He pats Grantaire on the shoulder to wish him luck, and tells him he misses every Friday night he goes to the bar to have fun with.

"But I have a hunch that we'll see each other often in the courthouse," his friend said with a wink.

"Of course." Grantaire assured him.

"You must have already thought about the next step?"

"Just wait and see."

They smiled and hugged goodbye at the gate of the prosecutor's office, and Grantaire got into his car with his glove box and put on the driver's seat belt.His phone slid out of his pocket and the screen lit up with two messages and two missed calls, both from Enjolras.

"You are brave," read the first message.

"What happened?" was the second message.

Grantaire smiled at the phone screen.He started the car and drove towards Enjolras' home according to the route he remembered.

The sky was raining summer rain as predicted, and Grantaire circled the street where Enjolras lived twice before finally finding an empty parking space.He looked at Enjolras' home about 50 meters away. The house has been renovated, the windows have been replaced with new glass, and the mailbox has been erected again—that scene that was destroyed by people seems to have happened a long time ago. up.He looked at the road, and the rain kept hitting the ground in dense sprays. The sky was gray and the sound of the rain was deafening.If he were to run over, he would definitely get wet.

"Fuck him." It only took him two seconds to make a decision.

He opened the car door, stepped into the rain, and ran towards Enjolras' door.By the time he stepped onto the doorstep, he was already drenched.He smiled happily while his teeth chattered from the cold.He reached out and rang the doorbell.

The bell rang only twice before the door opened.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras said in surprise.He was still wearing his shirt and had obviously just arrived home.He looked at Grantaire's wet clothes and frowned, reaching out to pull him into the room, "What's wrong with you? You're shaking..."

"Enjolras—Enjolras." Grantaire interrupted impatiently.He reached out and grabbed Enjolras' wrist, "I have something to tell you."

TBC