Work Text:
‘No,’ said Judge Roberta Field, over the top of her pasta salad.
‘Good afternoon, Your Honour,’ said Elias Bouchard. He smiled. It was a benign smile, like they always were. And yet it was the sort of smile that she knew brought horrors she couldn’t begin to anticipate.
Her eyelid twitched. ‘I am retiring in three weeks,’ she hissed.
It was an early retirement. Her friends and family had been surprised. As had her therapist. Roberta, however, felt like this had been a long time coming. She was going to live in a bungalow near Loch Lomond and paint terrible watercolours and she was never going to witness another screaming couple.
‘Are you?’ said Bouchard mildly.
‘And- and- this is my office?’ she demanded of him, and of Captain Peter Lukas standing next to him. She pointed to the door they’d just brazenly walked through, trying not to gape. They did not have an appointment. She was going to have to write an extremely angry email to her assistant.
‘Who is this woman?’ asked Captain Lukas, as if she hadn’t divorced him a dozen times.
(Part of her retirement plan also assumed she was never going to witness either Elias Bouchard and Peter Lukas divorce ever again.)
Bouchard ignored Lukas. ‘Well, since you’re retiring, this was extremely good timing of us, wasn’t it?’
She hadn’t, until that moment, taken in that he was carrying a bouquet - white anemones, variegated tulips and yellow carnations bundled in with lush greenery. It brought an unexpected spot of brightness to the room, making her wonder how she’d ever missed it. He held it out and she took it automatically, and with it came a silver envelope.
‘What,’ she said. She felt like accepting a gift from the Bouchard-Lukases was a significant mistake.
‘Of course,’ continued Bouchard, ‘it’s probably a good thing you’re moving onto pastures new.’ He touched the corner of one eye delicately. ‘I fear I’m looking a little long in the tooth these days, so there would inevitably come a point when we’d have to move on to another Judge. Wouldn’t want you not to recognise me, after all.’
‘I…’ said Roberta. With her one remaining free hand she rubbed her left temple. She had a headache. Why did she always have a headache when she saw these two?
Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that she did not care about their bullshit. If Bouchard was planning plastic surgery, that was not her concern. If Bouchard was planning to steal someone’s entire face and glue it to his own - which seemed about as likely, knowing him - that was equally not her concern. She forced herself to smile. ‘Thank you for the flowers, Mr Bouchard, Captain Lukas.’
‘Oh, we have met before,’ said Peter Lukas. He turned to Bouchard. ‘I thought you said this was a date?’
‘Since when is arranging our next divorce not a date?’ said Bouchard.
Lukas considered this, before he made a brief noise of assent.
‘My docket is full,’ said Roberta faintly. ‘Right up until my retirement. You’ll have to find someone else.’
‘Oh, ah… about that,’ said Bouchard. ‘Terribly unfortunate. I think this coming Thursday you were down to see the Humphreys? A… Christopher and a Fiona?’
Roberta narrowed her eyes. ‘I couldn’t possibly disclose personal information like that.’
‘Wait, Humphreys?’ said Lukas, perking up. ‘Were they the ones who-’ Bouchard elbowed him and he scowled. ‘Physical violence has no place in a happy, loving relationship, Elias. If you’d listened, you’d know I was about to say “Were they the ones who were tragically lost at sea the other day?”’
‘What? No?’ said Roberta.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Captain Lukas gravely.
Bouchard dabbed the corner of a dry eye with his pocket square.
What did you do? she wanted to ask. But- but-
But they had a cult. Or something. Maybe two cults? She wasn’t entirely sure. And Bouchard had already walked out of prison on some technicality or other despite the murder (the last divorce but two had been eventful). She thought there must be some sort of mafia type deal involved.
Three weeks to retirement, she told herself. Do NOT die now.
‘If that does turn out to be the case,’ she said at last, ‘it’s possible there will be some space in my schedule. I’m certain the police will be investigating the matter of the Humphreys though.’
‘Oh, I’m sure they will, Your Honour,’ said Bouchard, with another goddamned smile.
She sighed.
She took a deep breath in.
She sighed again.
Then she took another deep breath in and decided to, for now, ignore the potential criminal law case. If she just focussed on her day job, she would get through this.
She pasted her professional half-smile onto her face and put the flowers down onto her desk.
‘Just to let you know, the divorce laws in the United Kingdom have recently changed,’ she said. It was probably the hundredth time she’d explained this, and the brief respite to normality made her grateful for divorce law. It was good to be thinking about work and not murder. Even if she would rather be eating her pasta, alone.
Both Lukas and Bouchard looked at her, then at each other, then Lukas let out a laugh.
‘So she knows something you don’t, eh, Elias?’
‘Very droll, Peter,’ said Bouchard, although he sounded sulky.
Roberta narrowed her eyes. ‘This is quite literally my area of expertise, Captain Lukas,’ she said. ‘One would hope I know the process, or else why even bother with me?’ Other than to torment me, of course.
‘Oh, no offence meant to you, Your Honour,’ said Lukas, without a flinch. ‘My husband just fancies himself as a bit of a know-it-all, that’s all.’ He smiled. ‘Not enough of a know-it-all to not involve his precious Archivist as his divorce witness and accidentally ruin his centuries-old plans, but a know-it-all nonetheless.’ He was practically beaming. It was the most emotion she’d seen from Captain Lukas in a long time.
Bouchard was obviously quietly seething. ‘You weren’t quite so smug when you lost your, what was it, “most efficient assistant ever”, were you, Peter?’ he sniped.
Roberta briefly considered asking some questions about the reference to “centuries” but decided to let it be. This was clearly more cult bullshit. The last thing she needed was to be recruited right before retirement.
‘Oh yes,’ she said, as mildly as she could, ‘how are Mr Sims and Mr Blackwood getting along these days?’
She’d not seen them again in the intervening years since That Particular Divorce, the Bouchard-Lukases evidently deciding using witnesses was an abject failure. All the same, she wished them well, and hoped she wasn’t about to be told about their deaths in “mysterious circumstances”. Or, worse, hear Bouchard just outright admit to murdering them.
On the contrary, however, her question raised hackles. Bouchard’s lip curled. Lukas ground his teeth.
‘They… are married,’ said Bouchard. The admission seemed to cost him.
‘They’re awful at it,’ said Lukas, with a wrinkled nose. ‘They keep spending time together.’
‘And neither of them are rich,’ added Bouchard. ‘What’s even the point, I ask you?’
‘Exactly!’ said Lukas.
‘They live in this revolting, pokey little flat and they have cat hair all over their clothes.’ Bouchard made a horrified noise in the back of his throat. ‘And that’s when they’re even wearing their own clothes, not each other’s.’
‘Oh that’s- I feel nauseous-’ said Lukas. He grabbed one of Roberta’s chairs and sat down in it suddenly. Bouchard patted him on the shoulder.
‘The youths of today,’ said Bouchard, ‘have no sense of style.’
‘Nor proper respect for a controlled separation,’ added Lukas. He did genuinely look queasy, his face even more ashen than usual. ‘I thought I’d taught Martin so well, but every time I try and speak to him these days, the Archivist threatens to eviscerate me with his eyeballs. Or his holepunch.’
‘You think your life is hard?’ demanded Bouchard. ‘I go down and visit Jon - who, might I remind you, is my Archivist - and Martin throws a stapler at my head before I can even get through the door. I’m merely concerned for Jon’s health, subsisting as he is on dried food.’
Lukas made a discontented noise. ‘He can’t last forever, surely?’
‘He’s lasted four years, Peter. Four years. And he thinks it’s the… the… power of love.’
‘For the sake of my lunch, Elias, stop talking like that. That’s disgusting.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that? I have to watch it every day?!’
They evidently reached the end of their little rant, as they stared at each other in a horrified, mutual understanding.
‘Er.’ Roberta thought it was probably best to move on quickly from this conversation. ‘Good for them. Anyway, shall I-’
‘Were you not listening at all?’ said Captain Lukas with a stormy frown. ‘In what possible way is this “good for them”? It’s miserable!’
‘Moving on,’ said Roberta, briefly fantasising about setting some extremely beefy security officers on them both. ‘Since you’re not aware of the law change, perhaps you’ll allow me to briefly explain?’
The two men made grumbly noises but she took that for acquiescence.
‘The key change that’s newly come into force is the switch from requiring grounds for divorce - such as adultery - to a no-fault system. This means you’ll no longer need to assign-’
‘What?’ said Bouchard.
‘But that’s half the fun!’ said Lukas.
Roberta sighed deeply. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known this, in her heart, but they could at least pretend they were divorcing for legitimate reasons.
‘Be that as it may-’ she began.
‘Can we still file for an at-fault divorce?’ asked Bouchard.
She squinted at them. ‘No?’
They looked at her like she’d betrayed them. They both looked so genuinely, personally upset by this she felt a tiny bit of herself begin to wobble.
She forced it to shut up.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘this makes divorces run more efficiently, brings us in line with much of the rest of the world, and means we don’t have to drag people’s adultery partners into court to confess to the deed.’
‘But Simon was looking forward to doing that bit!’ said Lukas.
Bouchard snorted. ‘Oh, please,’ he said. ‘You’ve been at sea since our wedding day.’
‘He has to land sometimes,’ said Lukas smugly.
‘And when he does, it’s on the helipad on the top of my townhouse,’ said Bouchard.
‘Gentlemen, please,’ said Roberta, feeling curious despite herself. She did sort of want to meet the famous Simon Fairchild. The stories she’d heard had been something…
Bouchard sighed. ‘It’s almost not worth getting a divorce these days, is it?’ he said glumly. ‘All it is is a mere division of assets and property. It’s so materialistic. Trust this government to ruin the true spirit of it all.’
‘I mean. Nobody’s stopping you from arguing,’ pointed out Roberta. That seemed safer than debating materialism with millionnaires who regularly bickered over their multiple houses and boats.
‘In your courtroom?’ said Lukas, looking up. She had a sudden vivid impression of a hopeful puppy dog and she cursed herself.
‘I’m… not sure… that…’
They were both looking at her with such expectant trust.
‘Fine,’ she snapped at last. ‘We will schedule a short argument about grounds for divorce. And then we will proceed to the actual divorcing.’
‘Your Honour,’ said Bouchard, ‘you are truly a crown jewel amongst your profession. We’ll look forward to seeing you later in the week.’
The puppy-dog look was gone. The smirk was back.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
With her heart sinking like a stone, Roberta watched as Bouchard took Lukas’s arm and the two jauntily let themselves out of her office. She was about to bash her head against her desk when she remembered the flowers were in her way, and she picked them up and moved them to the side. Then, because she might as well, she picked up the silver envelope and slid it open.
The card had a highland cow on the front, because of course it fucking did. How did they know? She scowled at it, and opened it.
Your Honour, read the inside, in a perfect copperplate.
Congratulations on your retirement. It is to be hoped that the hills and glens provide much inspiration for your new artistic lifestyle. The cabin you’ve bought was a good choice, but you should check the roof above the bathroom for leaks. You’ll thank me later.
Many thanks for your legal support all these years, and good luck with your next adventure.
Warmest regards,
Elias Bouchard
There were three other messages in distinct sets of handwriting, although all were much shorter:
I don’t authorise this payment -- Peter Lukas
Considering how much paperwork she’d had to talk Lukas through over the years, that was par for the course. Roberta rolled her eyes. The handwriting of the remaining two messages was unfamiliar, however.
Happy retirement, lucky for you that you can! :)
Martin Blackwood-Sims x
That somewhat ominous note was obviously more cult bullshit, and she paused for a moment trying to detect if Mr Martin Blackwood-Sims was in some way trying to signal for her help. If he was, he hadn’t done a very good job of it. Also, she was retiring in three weeks and he was not her problem.
The final message was, of course, from the other Mr Blackwood-Sims:
Don’t do anything Elias wants.
J Blackwood-Sims
PS: my husband martin and i honeymooned in scotland and it was really lovely. very restful to be away. the cows are cute. the hiking is exhausting - take good boots. i’m told there were lots of midges but i think they only bite humans so i didn’t notice but you should probably take bug repellant. my husband (martin) did not enjoy them.
Roberta sighed, shook her head, decided the “humans” was just another cult thing, and put the card on the side of her desk. It was a cute cow, after all.
Then she made a note to get her assistant to sort out her schedule for the next week, set herself as “out of the office”, and leaned down to bash her head against her desk.
Three more weeks.
One more Bouchard-Lukas divorce.
She could do this.
She could do this.
She could absolutely, definitely, positively do this.