Ranger - Jericho's Boys #4 - ch. 7 (Patreon)

Unedited/Unbeta'd. This chapter contains a LOT of legalese but please don't hold me to any of it. I'm not an attorney, just a girl who worked for a law firm and went to school to be a paralegal. I also played Snow White in our mock trial. I was a terrible witness but that's neither here nor there. I have no idea if this will sound like word salad to a real attorney but I beg of you just suspend disbelief for the sake of the story if you its lame. LOL.

After this chapter I'm going to switch gears and write a little core-four, a misc. mini-fic and probably drop another S. 3 Vengeful Bonds chapter. Then I'll pic up Ranger on Wednesday. :-)

Enzo

8 months, 3 weeks, 6 days and 4 hours since their first night together

Enzo usually hated this part of the job. It wouldn’t shock anyone—anyone who’d spent more than five minutes with him anyway—to know he wasn’t a joiner. It was different back when he was a new hire. Before life ran him over. But he’d stopped trying years ago. And, up until this morning, he’d found this day of the month a complete waste of time. 

Mock trial day. 

He didn’t know who started the ritual. It had happened long before Enzo joined the firm. Mock trial day was the brainchild of the original owner of the firm, Malcolm Blackwood. It was thanks to him that once a month, the senior partners would gather all employees into the auditorium for what they deemed a ‘team building’ exercise. The exercise? Mock trials argued between seasoned attorneys and interns, to see who could think fastest on their feet. Enzo would sit in the back and return emails until the day finally ended. 

In the beginning, Enzo thought it unfair to pit law students against some of the best litigators in the state, maybe even the country. But the firm believed it the best way to find their future rock stars while also keeping their senior members on their toes. There were no slackers at Blackwood, Thorne and Fairchild. Not for long anyway. 

To date, the interns had won just as many cases as they’d lost. In reality, they had the upper hand. They were still in the classroom, feet to the fire, almost daily. Most of the senior litigators were specialists, that made them rusty on case law that occurred outside their niche. And this was the one time it was all but guaranteed that an attorney wouldn’t be arguing their own specialty. It was designed that way with intention. 

Mock trials at the company went like this. Attorney’s gathered on the right, interns on the left. At the front of the room sat two bowls, each filled with the names of the two groups. The ‘bailiff’—most often one of the paralegals or legal secretaries—would draw a name from each one at random, choosing which intern and litigator would battle it out. One of the senior partners would play the judge. Today, it was Lourdes. The gallery was the jury. 

Once names were chosen, the two would come to the front of the room and argue their case, either for the plaintiff or the defendant. The roles were chosen via coin flip. There was no prep. No research. No discovery. Nothing. Both the intern and the attorney had to argue off the cuff. In this mock court, the trial wasn’t just won on case law, but pop culture knowledge. 

That was why mock trial day was most of the employees favorite time of the month. No work load, no phone calls, no arguing before a judge. Most of the staff got to sit back, kick up their feet, eat a snack and watch as their friends, bosses and coworkers had a battle royale every fifteen to twenty minutes. 

As for those chosen to go before the judge? They got to spend their time arguing over pressing topics such as: was the alleged administration of the apple by the ‘Evil’ Queen a deliberate act of attempted homicide towards Snow White, or merely an incident arising from negligent conduct lacking malicious intent? 

Were Mr. McCallister’s defensive measures proportionate and legally permissible under applicable self-defense statutes, or did they rise to the level of excessive, malicious, or wanton conduct against the trespassers? And, if Mr. McCallister’s measures were disproportionate, would the parents be responsible for compensation for leaving their child home alone? 

Does the utterance of a third party’s name—Rachel Green—during the marriage vows of Ross Geller and Emily Waltham, constitute a material breach sufficient to void the marriage contract, and if so, is the injured party entitled to restitution or damages under the doctrine of reliance?

It was silly. It was indulgent. It wasn’t a coincidence that Enzo’s name never got called. He usually bribed the ‘bailiff’ for the day to ‘forget’ to put his name in the bowl. But not today. He’d been in too good a mood to worry about whether he’d be called to defend Goldilocks or the three bears. He was content to sit across from Seven and just…stare at him. 

When he heard his name called, he and Seven had locked eyes. They both knew who’d get called next. It wasn’t a twist of fate that had them facing off but a bunch of meddling coworkers who just wanted to watch them flirt front and center. But Enzo didn’t mind playing along. He was excited to watch Seven show off a little. Everyone there needed to know just how smart he was. His brat baby had brains and beauty. He was the total package. 

Enzo mentally rolled his eyes at himself. Maybe Seven was right. He was turning into a simp. Or maybe he’d held the title for longer than he thought. But when Seven had held up a mirror that night at Vince’s club and forced him to look at himself, it became clear that if guarding his heart meant breaking Seven’s, then Enzo just had to put himself out there and hope that the kid had mercy on him. It had taken months and months of little gestures to get Seven to trust him even a little bit, but it was worth it. Seven was worth it. 

When Seven glanced over and saw Enzo just staring, he bit back a smile, shaking his head. His hair was longer now, just enough for Enzo to thread his fingers through. His full lips looked shiny, like he wore chapstick and his fitted navy trousers and caramel crew neck sweater hugged him in a way that showed off his broad shoulders and tiny waist to the whole office. Seven’s version of business casual would be the death of Enzo. Just to really drive the knife in, Seven had rolled up his sleeves, revealing his gorgeous golden skin. If Enzo squinted, he could just make out the bruise he’d left on Seven’s throat just two days ago. 

He hadn’t been avoiding Enzo since, but when he’d invited Seven over that night, he’d refused stating he had plans with his friends and then classes the following day. Enzo didn’t know if that was true or if he was just playing hard to get, but it was working. The more Seven put him off, the more Enzo itched to see him. It had been so long since he’d gotten to see him naked and whining beneath him. His fantasies weren’t nearly enough, not when he had to see him–get teased by him–every single day. 

When Enzo snapped out of his thoughts, he found Seven leaning against the one of the two tables at the front. Enzo walked to the other but kept his eyes on Seven. The other man made no attempt to hide the way his gaze was crawling up Enzo’s body with interest. Enzo couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at his own tailored caramel pants and navy shawl neck sweater. Enzo didn’t have to eavesdrop on the other employees to know they were speculating about whether they’d deliberately chosen to match and whether that meant they’d gotten dressed together. 

It wasn’t a coincidence. Seven had texted him late last night demanding Enzo wear a very specific outfit. 

Brat Baby: Where those brown pants that make your ass look amazing and that navy shawl collar sweater. You look hot in that.

Me: I look hot in everything. 

Brat Baby: 🙄

Me: Fine. 

“Are both attorney’s present?” Lourdes asked, snapping Enzo back to reality. 

She knew full well they were. She sat behind a desk on the small stage at the front of the auditorium, lording over them all. She wore a fitted black suit with shoulder pads so big and ugly they had to be couture. As always, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail so tight it gave Enzo a headache to look at it. 

“Yes, your honor,” they said in tandem. 

Heat lanced through Enzo’s lower half as Seven glanced his way for barely a second, a little smirk on his face. 

God, he was so cute. And hot. And sexy. Fuck, why did they have to be at work right now? He shifted uncomfortably as he faced Lourdes and waited to find out what ridiculous situation they’d be arguing. 

“Excellent,” she murmured. “Your case today is Rumpelstiltskin v. the Queen. The claim: breach of contract. I’ll flip a coin to decide who is representing whom.” Seven stood there, hands in his pockets, looking far more relaxed than any other intern who’d been in his position before. “Heads, Enzo represents Rumpelstiltskin. Tales, Seven does.” They both watched as she made a show of flipping the coin then watched it land on the desk. “Heads.” 

Seven nodded, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth like he was fighting to not lick his lips. Enzo wanted to do that for him. When Seven turned to walk back to his table, Enzo blatantly looked at his perfectly round ass. poking out of the corner of his mouth. Seven really needed to make time for Enzo soon before he melted into a giant puddle of want. 

When they both turned to walk back to their tables, Seven said, “Don’t you dare go easy on me.”

The gallery had gasped.  

“When have I ever ‘gone easy on you?’” Enzo crooned back, waggling his brows in a way that had Seven rolling his eyes. 

Lourdes cleared her throat. “As always, I’d like to remind everyone in this room that while this is a team building event, it's also an evaluation for both the intern and the attorney. Mr. Conti…Mr. Symanski. Dazzle me.” 

They exchanged looks once more, Seven grinning. 

Lourdes sat back in her chair, regal as any queen. “This trial is now in session. The honorable–and impeccably dressed me will be presiding. We’ll start with opening statements. Mr. Conti, the floor is yours.” 

Enzo nodded, leaning against the front of his table, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Your Honor, this matter constitutes a clear and enforceable breach of contract. Mr. Rumpelstiltskin rendered an extraordinary magical service—namely, the transformation of straw into gold—at the express request of the Queen. In consideration of the immense value conferred upon her, she agreed to surrender her firstborn child at a future date. The Queen accepted the benefit of my client’s performance, then repudiated the agreement. Oral or not, it was supported by valid consideration—and such a willful breach must carry consequences.”

When he finished, he winked at him. Seven flushed, the tips of his ears turning fire-engine red. 

Cute. 

Excited cooing rose from their fellow employees in the gallery. 

Seven huffed out a breath through his nose, then said, “Objection, your honor, opposing counsel is clearly attempting to weaponize flirtation as a trial tactic.” 

He gave Enzo a slippery smile. One he returned without hesitation. 

“Your honor, there’s nothing in the rules that says I can’t participate in a bit of extrajudicial seduction. Is there?” Enzo countered breezily.

Wolf whistles came from the gallery. 

Lourdes rolled her eyes. “Well, there is now.” She gave their fellow employees a pointed look. “If the jury—and counselor—could please keep it in their proverbial pants. We are on a time crunch,” she intoned, waving her gavel around in a vague gesture. 

Seven looked at Enzo. When Lourdes looked down at something on the ground, Seven stuck out his tongue at Enzo. When the gallery laughed, Lourdes’s head snapped up, narrowing her eyes at the two. 

Seven gave her his most charming smile. The lucky bitch. “There was no valid oral contract, Your Honor. What occurred was not a negotiation between equals, but a coercive exchange executed under extreme duress.” Seven turned to level a withering look at the empty seat beside him at the table. “My client exploited a woman facing imminent loss of her freedom, demanding her child in return for aid. That isn’t consent—it’s coercion. Under modern legal standards, such an exchange could even constitute child trafficking.”

Enzo leaned back in his seat, smirking. “Objection your honor, emotional hyperbole,” he said. 

Lourdes gave a dry chuckle. “Sustained. Tone it down, Mr. Symanski. Less Law & Order: SVU more Once Upon a Time.” 

Seven laughed. “Duly noted, Your Honor.” 

Fuck, Seven was something. Most interns would have sweat through their dress shirts by now. It was hard to remember a single mock trial where the newbie wasn’t concentrating like it was the LSAT’s or the bar exam. Yet Seven looked like he was having the time of his life, and they’d only just started. Maybe being an actual killer calmed the nerves. But if that were true, then he wouldn’t have been so nervous with Enzo that night together. Fuck, he’d been so cute. So sweet, so nervous. 

Fuck, how did people deal with all these feelings clawing at him?

“Yeah, brat. Save your theatrics for the bedr-I mean the real courtroom,” he taunted, making sure it was loud enough for everyone to hear. 

Seven heaved another long suffering sigh, his tone dripping with exasperation. “Objection, Your Honor, opposing counsel is being…well, himself.” 

The gallery laughed and Lourdes shook her head like she’d known this was how the morning would go once their names had been called. “Sustained. This isn’t a Hallmark movie, Mr. Conti.” 

A wave of boos and grumbles came from the audience, earning a glare from the judge. “I will clear this courtroom,” she warned. 

Seven didn’t return to his seat, just sat on the table itself, swinging his feet. 

Enzo stood, pacing the floor in front of Seven, hands moving as he spoke. He could feel the heat of his gaze on him. 

“There was clear consideration and mutual assent,” he reminded. “The agreement was executed. Mr. Rumpelstiltskin performed his obligation. The Queen accepted the benefit. Her later attempt to void the contract—by using covert surveillance to obtain my client’s name—wasn’t a valid contractual out. It was calculated circumvention. That is not performance; that is breach by surveillance.” Enzo turned his lazy smile on Seven. “Opposing counsel may attempt to reframe the facts, but the reality is simple: the Queen unilaterally violated a binding agreement.”

Seven gave a snort of derision, giving Enzo a dismissive eye roll. “You’re referring to the condition precedent—the clause allowing the Queen to retain custody of the child if she could correctly identify my client by name.” He turned to Lourdes. “That’s not a breach, Your Honor. That’s performance under the terms of the agreement. My client outlined the rules. The Queen fulfilled the condition. His underestimation of her resourcefulness doesn’t void the contract—it completes it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And if the so-called ‘fine print’ happened to be delivered via forest ballad by a peculiar little man in unfortunate footwear, well, that doesn’t make it any less enforceable.”

Enzo snorted, shaking his head. “Your Honor, the evidence suggests the Queen never intended to fulfill her contractual obligation at the time the agreement was formed. Her conduct indicates that she entered into the bargain in bad faith, securing the benefit of my client’s performance while actively seeking to evade her own. Such a deliberate misrepresentation of intent at the moment of contract formation constitutes fraudulent inducement. At a minimum, this bad faith entitles my client to restitution for the value of the services rendered.”

“That’s a mighty bold claim,” Seven fired back, before returning his attention to Lourdes. “Your Honor, Mr. Rumpelstiltskin deliberately constructed a condition designed to ensure failure. Absent covert surveillance and ethically dubious reconnaissance, the Queen had no realistic means of fulfilling the clause. This wasn’t a fair contractual safeguard—it was the equivalent of burying a kill switch in a digital end-user license agreement. Obscure, inaccessible, and intentionally deceptive. That’s not enforceable. It’s predatory.”

Enzo grinned. “That’s tech law, baby. We do it all the time,” He gave him a cocky grin. “Don’t you work in cyber-crimes?” 

Seven ignored him. “Your Honor, opposing counsel is conflating consumer protections with magical extortion.” 

“You're not going to object to opposing counsel calling you baby?” Lourdes asked, drolly. 

Seven scoffed. “He can call me whatever he wants. I’m still gonna win this case.” 

There was a chorus of “Oohs” from the gallery. 

Lourdes banged her gavel, then narrowed her eyes at the two of them. “I want to hear alternate theories of liability. Assume, for the sake of argument, that your opponent’s position has merit—now tell me why it still fails to hold under scrutiny. The real test here isn’t who can recite precedent—it’s who can pivot under pressure and still land the argument. Let’s see who’s thinking like counsel and who’s just playing advocate.”

Seven didn’t miss a beat, almost like he’d been anticipating this. “Even in adoption and surrogacy, courts favor the biological mother—and that’s when the child already exists. No embryo. No biological connection. That distinction renders this matter even more clear-cut. What Mr. Rumpelstiltskin seeks to enforce is not a custodial agreement, but a claim over a hypothetical, unborn child. This isn’t a question of family law—it’s speculative commerce. He didn’t contract for a child. He attempted to secure a future human being as consideration for services rendered. And that is not only unenforceable—it borders on commodification.” 

Enzo leaned back on his hands. “Speculative contracts are enforceable, Counselor. The trading of future interests is a recognized principle—just ask Wall Street. The fact that the child had not yet been conceived does not negate the existence of consideration. The Queen clearly identified the terms of the exchange, accepted the benefit—immense wealth—and then failed to perform. That isn’t ambiguity. That’s breach.”

Seven was shaking his head before Enzo even finished speaking, now looking at him instead of the judge. “Even assuming the Queen entered into the agreement in good faith, the law must provide recourse for a change in conscience when the subject of the contract is a child. Family law recognizes this principle—birth parents retain the right to revoke consent in adoption proceedings, even after preliminary agreements are made. Because the law prioritizes the child’s welfare and the parent’s autonomy over the sanctity of contract. Mr. Rumpelstiltskin has no biological connection to the child and no legal parental standing. To compel performance under these circumstances would be not only unjust—it would be a gross violation of public policy.”

Enzo gave him a patient look that he knew would drive Seven insane. “Once again, Counsel conflates this with family law. But this isn’t about custody or parentage—it’s speculative commerce. The contract wasn’t for a child born out of love or biology. It was for future consideration—a bargained-for exchange. The moment the Queen accepted the gold, she shifted this from sentiment to transaction.”

“Except that line of reasoning would effectively permit the commodification of human life. Children are not livestock, Counselor. You cannot pre-sell a person as if they were a corn futures contract. Recognizing that kind of exchange as enforceable sets a dangerous precedent—one that reduces a child to a transactional asset rather than a human being with rights and dignity.”

Enzo shrugged. “Unless the court construes the contract as one for specific performance rather than custody, there is no basis for invalidation. My client did not seek to assert parental rights or claim ownership. He merely sought enforcement of the agreed-upon consideration—something of value promised in exchange for services rendered. Had the Queen pledged land, a title, or even a crown jewel, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The fact that the consideration was a child doesn’t, by itself, invalidate the contract.”

Lourdes raised a brow. “But she didn’t offer a deed, Mr. Conti. She offered up a baby.” 

Seven jumped on this. “Even if the court sets aside the moral implications, the evidentiary deficiencies remain. There is no written contract. No witnesses. No formal documentation of terms. By any legal standard, this alleged agreement fails to meet the threshold for admissibility. What we’re left with is a disputed oral exchange between a frightened, vulnerable woman and a magical opportunist—hardly the foundation for enforceable obligations under contract law.”

Enzo held up a hand, shaking his head. “Except, Your Honor, the Queen publicly acknowledged the existence of the agreement—most notably in the presence of palace staff when she exclaimed, ‘You’ll never take my baby!’ That statement alone could be construed as post-contractual ratification. Combined with her continued acceptance and use of the gold produced by my client’s performance, her conduct supports the existence of a valid agreement and reinforces her intent to be bound by its terms.”

Seven scoffed. “Post-performance behavior? If opposing counsel is referring to the Queen isolating herself in a tower and desperately trying to solve a magical riddle before the birth of her child, that’s not ratification—that’s sheer panic. She wasn’t affirming the contract. She was trying to escape a deal made under fear and duress.”

Enzo moved closer. “Panic notwithstanding, the Queen made no effort to repudiate the agreement. She didn’t return the gold, seek to renegotiate, or raise any formal objection until her performance was due. In contract law, silence—particularly in the face of ongoing performance—can be construed as acceptance. Her inaction speaks volumes and further reinforces the validity of the agreement.”

Seven shook his head. “Unless, of course, she was acting under duress—which, by all indications, she was. There was no genuine, voluntary consent. Her so-called agreement was made in a moment of desperation, driven purely by survival instinct. And under well-established contract principles, consent obtained through coercion is no consent at all.”

Enzo shrugged. “Duress must be proven, Counselor—not merely inferred. No court can nullify a contract based solely on subjective emotional distress. If we started voiding every agreement made under pressure, half my hedge fund clients would be living in tent cities. Pressure isn’t coercion. It’s business.” 

“Maybe most of your hedge fund clients should be,” Seven shot back. 

Lourdes cleared her throat, grabbing their attention. “Rein it in boys, before someone starts quoting Marx. Mr. Symanski, wrap it up.” 

“Yes, Your Honor. Even assuming, for the sake of argument, that the contract was valid at its inception, its subject—a child not yet conceived—renders it legally unenforceable. Courts do not enforce agreements that violate public policy, especially those that bypass fundamental rights or due process. This was not a petition for guardianship. Mr. Rumpelstiltskin sought exclusive possession of the child, with no judicial oversight, no maternal consent, and no legal safeguards. That is not breach. That is abduction masquerading as contract enforcement.”

Lourdes nodded. “Mr. Conti?” 

“Even if the specific clause regarding the child is deemed unenforceable, the fact remains: the Queen materially benefited from the agreement. And under basic principles of equity and contract law, a party who accepts the benefit of a bargain cannot simply walk away without consequence. At the very least, she owes restitution for the services rendered. The gold didn’t vanish the moment her conscience reappeared.”

 “Then sue for damages, not a baby,” Seven shot back.

“Okay, okay,” Lourdes said, looking at them both. “In a contract where the subject is a child, I’m compelled to note that both the law—and my conscience—favor Mr. Symanski’s position. In matters involving adoption or surrogacy, when a mother enters into an agreement in good faith but later revokes consent after the child is born, courts are exceptionally reluctant to enforce restitution. The law prioritizes the rights of the parent and the welfare of the child over the finality of a bargain. But, as always, it’s not my verdict to render. That honor belongs to the jury.”

She looked out at the crowd. All those who side with Mr. Conti?” A respectable number of hands went up. “And all those who side with Mr. Symanski?” 

Far more hands flew into the air. 

“Looks like you won your first case, Mr. Symanski. Very impressive.” 

Enzo wanted to bottle the grin that split Seven’s face. “Congratulations, Counselor,” he murmured. To Lourdes, he said, “May I borrow him for a moment? There’s a…thing we need to discuss. It won’t take long.” 

“Like the…thing…you needed to discuss that had me waiting on you for over thirty minutes a couple of days ago?” Lourdes countered, a knowing look breaking out across her face. Before Enzo could even begin to stammer out some kind of cover story, she sighed. “Ugh, go ahead,” she waved them off. “Don’t be gone all day or I’ll send someone to come look for you. And none of us want that, I’m certain.” 

Enzo didn’t even give Seven a chance to refuse, just wrapped his hand around his wrist and tugged him from the auditorium, then dragged him across the hall to the men’s room. He pulled him into the large stall at the very back of the restroom, then closed and locked the door before shoving him up against it. When their mouths crashed together, Seven’s was already open, letting Enzo slide his tongue inside with a desperate whimper that shot through him like liquid silver. Seven sucked on it eagerly. 

“Fuck you were so hot in there,” Enzo huffed against his lips. “I wanted to bend you over that fucking table in front of everyone, wanted them all to see how well you take it, how pretty you are.” 

Seven moaned, head thunking against the door as Enzo’s mouth moved to bite at his jaw. “Didn’t know you had an exhibitionism kink. It’s kind of hot, but I’m pretty sure you’d get disbarred and I’d never be allowed to sit for the bar.” 

“Thought you wanted to be a sugar baby anyway,” Enzo teased, his hands sliding lower to squeeze Seven’s ass as he moved to his ear. “Fuck you look so hot in these pants. I can’t believe you have us wearing matching outfits like some lame ass couple everyone makes fun of.” 

“You fucking love it. You love everyone thinking you’re tapping this. It's not my fault you didn't even ask a simple question when I texted you last night,” Seven panted. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, brat baby,” Enzo said, biting at his earlobe. “I just said it was sneaky.” 

“I simply made a suggestion. You didn’t have to go along with it,” Seven said, turning his head to latch onto Enzo’s earlobe, tugging it with his teeth until he groaned. “You just like giving me what I want. Which makes me want to give you what you want.” 

“And what is it I want,” Enzo asked, blood rapidly rushing South. 

“Me in your bed, ass up?” Seven asked. 

Enzo choked on a low sound. “Is that a question or an offer, you little fucking tease?” 

Seven teased his tongue along the shell of Enzo’s ear, voice hot against him as he said, “That depends on you.” 

“What do you want? A house? A car? A yacht? Fuck, a pony. Just ask.” 

“A date?” Seven asked hesitantly. 

“A date?” Enzo parroted. 

Oh.

Before he could say anything more, Seven’s phone rang, the sound jarring as it echoed off the tile. Seven frowned, muttering, “My mom. She's the only one my phone rings for.” 

"Pick it up."

He pulled his phone free, then swiped to answer. “Hey, mom. I’m still at work. What’s up?”  

Enzo didn’t even think to give him space,  just leaned his head against the door, his body half-draped over Seven’s still. He stiffened beneath Enzo, his sudden anger palpable. “The police station. Mom, no. Please tell me you didn’t bail his ass ou-” Seven stopped short, frowning as he listened to whatever his mother said. “Arrested? You? Why? What are you talking about? Why would they arrest you?” 

Enzo straightened, making eye contact and gesturing for Seven to put it on speaker. He didn’t even question Enzo, just did as he asked. 

“-embezzlement,” Neith cried. 

“Embezzlement?” Seven asked. “Why would they think it was you?” 

“I don’t know,” Neith all but wailed. “One minute I was at my desk working, the next two detectives came and arrested me. Said that they had proof I was stealing from my job.” 

“Neith, it’s Enzo,” he cut in. “Don’t say a word. What precinct are you at?” 

“The 84th,” she said, voice trembling. 

“We’re on our way. Tell them I’m your attorney so it’s on record, then don’t say another word. Nothing. I don’t care if they ask for your coffee order. Say nothing. Got it?” 

“Yeah. Yeah,” she said again, stronger. “Yeah, I got it.” She was breathing heavy, the anxiety clearly getting to her. “Enzo…they’re not going to keep me here. Right?” 

“I’m not gonna let that happen. Just do what I say and you’ll be fine,” he promised. 

They disconnected and Seven looked at him with wide eyes, suddenly looking younger and far more vulnerable than he had moment’s ago. He seemed almost in a daze as he asked, “You’re not gonna let them send my mom to prison. Right?” 

Claws raked over Enzo’s insides at the fear in his voice. “Of course not, baby. We’re gonna figure this out. Let's just get her out of jail first, and we’ll go from there.” 

“Right,” Seven said, his eyes vacant. 

When he made no move to leave, Enzo guided him from the stall and out of the bathroom. “I’m gonna put you in my office and go talk to Lourdes. Then we’re going to get your stuff and head to the precinct. It’s going to be alright. Trust me.” 

Seven’s gaze snapped to him. “I do,” he assured him, nodding his head vehemently. “I really do.” 

Enzo frowned. “Good, baby. That’s good. We gotta go now, though, okay?” 

Seven nodded woodenly, putting one foot in front of the other. “Yeah, okay.”