You know when you're attacked by a plot bunny, and you actually can't do anything else until you've written that damn story? It happened...
Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables, or any of the characters in the following one-shot. Or any hints at parts of the musical *cough* One Day More.
He's not here. None of them are. No, the only member of the gang, sat at their usual table, is staring into the murky depths of the beer in front of him, as though it, and it alone, bears the power to all of his problems.
One day more.
Those three little words whirl round his head, and he finds himself dreading what the morning may bring. They've prepared, they can fight… They'll be alright. Yet no matter how much Grantaire reassures himself of this fact, he can't escape that sinking feeling deep in his stomach. They're- all of them- in the hands of fate. If she so chooses to have the barricade fall tomorrow, to have them all shot, then there's little anyone can say about the matter.
He quickly presses that thought from his mind; it won't happen. It can't. Not with all Enjolras' planning.
Out the corner of his eye, Grantaire catches the door to the café swing open as a waif of a figure steps in off of the moonlit street. Glancing up from his half-empty pint glass, he sees her ring the rainwater out of her dark hair before traipsing across to his table.
"Here alone?" Eponine asks, sliding into the seat opposite.
He nods, eyes still firmly fixed on the amber-brown liquid set in the glass before him.
"Well," She attempts to sound cheerful, "Not any more!"
Grantaire's lips quirk up in a smile, but the action lasts no more than a few seconds.
Through the fringe of dark hair that's fallen over his eyes, he sees her slump slightly in her seat. On the tabletop, her fingers tremble, probably from cold; she is soaked to the bone, after all.
Her brown eyes fixated on her quivering hands, she says in a monotonous voice, starkly contrasting her previously bright tone, "I was stupid to think I ever had a chance."
It takes Grantaire a moment to cotton onto what she's referring to and, once he does, he looks up at her, frantically shakes his head.
If she sees, she doesn't show it. Eponine merely continues to talk, wistfully, and it crosses Grantaire's mind that maybe she isn't talking to him at all, but rather to herself. "He's perfect. Charming and caring and perfect. And Cosette… Well, she's perfect, too."
Unsure of what he is supposed to do in this situation, Grantaire decides to slowly nod his head, as though agreeing with her, and hopes this is the correct form of action.
Looking up from her shaking hands, Eponine smiles weakly. "Sorry, do you mind if I…" She trails off.
He quirks an eyebrow, unsure where she's heading. However, his confusion only lasts a few minutes before it becomes all too apparent just what the eldest Thenardier sibling was referring to. Sliding her hands across the table, she eases the pint glass out of Grantaire's hands and takes a large gulp from it.
"Sorry." She apologises once again, handing it back to him.
Staring at the amber liquid- which has now decreased significantly in volume- cautiously, Grantaire decides he, too, really should take another swig; it has, after all, been at least ten minutes now, and he bought this thing; he will darn well finish it!
"I just…" She stops, composes herself, and starts again. "I wonder if he ever saw me, if that makes sense. I mean, I know he saw me, but I feel like, at the same time, he just saw straight through me; like I never really mattered that much to him. Certainly not as much as he does to me."
Grantaire nods in a similarly agreeable away as before.
Eponine's brown eyes fall back to her shaking hands which, whilst Grantaire's attention was turned to other matters, seem to have regained their previous position; clasped, shivering. "The strange thing is, I don't hate her. Cosette, I mean. She's sweet, and kind, and… Everything I'm not."
"At least she's not a country." Grantaire snorts before he can stop himself.
Eponine's eyes dart upwards; he can feel them boring into his head as he pretends to be engrossed with staring into his drink. "What?"
"It's nothing." He mumbles.
"Oh, come on." She lightly kicks his shin beneath the table; not hard enough to hurt, but certainly enough to get the point across. "You wouldn't have said it if it was nothing."
Looking up from his drink, though keeping his hands cupped around it, as though it might warm them- though how a cold beverage would do that is beyond him- Grantaire tries his hardest to look menacing.
From the way she starts laughing, he can safely bet that he's failed at it. "Come on, what did you say?"
He sighs, defeated, before repeating his prior statement in as monotonous a voice as he can muster; "I said 'at least she's not a country'."
A thoughtful expression crosses her face, just for a moment, before one of dawning realisation replaces it. "Enjolras…"
Neither confirming nor denying it, Grantaire returns his gaze back to his drink.
"I won't tell anyone." Eponine promises. "Does he know?"
Grantaire shakes his head, grinning slightly, despite himself. "Blind as a bat, when it comes to matters of the heart."
"Tell me about it." Eponine raises her hands above her head, rolling her shoulders before stretching her arms and back like a cat might, settling her hands back on the tabletop immediately afterward. "I've been following Marius round like a lost puppy for… How long now?"
He chuckles, looking back up at her from across the table. "Ages." There's a pause before he adds, "I've been following Enjolras round for longer though, I'm sure."
She, too, giggles slightly. "I'm not sure if we're the idiots, or they are."
"I think it's a little bit of both." Grantaire concludes.
Silence falls over the pair, though it isn't awkward in the slightest. It's natural, normal, and the desire to fill it isn't present.
Eponine's fingers start to twitch again, anxiously, and Grantaire opens his mouth, to ask if she's alright. However, she gets there first, raising perhaps the last point he'd been expecting; "Would you die for him?"
Though he knows who she's referring to, Grantaire can't help but tease her, just a little. "Who? Marius?"
"No!" She swats at his hand, as one might an annoying sibling. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she says, "Enjolras."
"Oh." Grantaire draws out, as though he hadn't been thinking on the same wave-length all along. "I don't know. Maybe. Possibly." His mind conjures up an image of a thug, pointing a pistol at Enjolras' head. Would he shove the blond out the way, take the bullet for him? "Yes." It surprises him how little he needs to think about it.
Eponine hums in agreement. Turning her head, she looks at the clock on the wall and curses loudly. "I have to get back; my father gets ever so angry if I'm home too late."
Grantaire nods; he met Monsieur Thenardier once, and even that was more than enough. "Take care."
"You too." She scoots her chair back, standing up. Pausing for a moment, she says "It was nice; knowing I'm not alone, that other people feel the same. Before… I just felt like an idiot."
"You're telling me." Grantaire agrees. She smiles and heads for the exit.
Raising the glass to his lips, Grantaire takes a sip, and hopes he won't have to take any bullets on his best friend's behalf tomorrow.