Lyrics are from "The Falcon" by Richard & Mimi Fariña.
Oh, the falcon was a pretty bird, wandered as she flew
She drifts in and out of his life like a shadow in the flickering light. She's gone most days, but sometimes there on the darkest night, moving; always moving. She sneaks into his apartment and into his room, waking him with a firm press of her lips on his. Upon instinct, his hands grip her waist almost immediately and he pulls; lips, hair, her against him.
He knows this is wrong. He knows that in the end, it'll be more than just him hurting. Guilt eats at him every time he looks at her and holds her, knowing that it's only for a few hours and when he wakes up, she'll be gone, back to where she's supposed to be. He feels even worse when he sees her with him.
The two of them barely interact in public, nothing more than a few words exchanged as she holds the other man's hand.
…
He remembers sitting next to her one night after weeks of going in circles, of wandering eyes and secret smiles. One hand is visibly clasped around Combeferre's comfortably on the table top, and she's fully engrossed in a conversation with him and Bahorel. He tries his hardest to ignore the feeling of her other hand, her fingers dancing along his denim-clad thigh under the table. He tries to ignore it so hard that his ears start ringing.
But he can't.
He never could.
So he stopped trying. Eventually his fingers had found their way around hers, and he hasn't been able to let go since.
…
It's when Combeferre asks her to move in with him that Enjolras truly feels the weight of their dysfunctional situation, and his guilt becomes more and more unbearable. But then he sees her smile in the many, many ways he likes and, fuck it, he's too selfish to let her go.
They tell her time and time again how good they are together, and Enjolras can do nothing but nod along when someone bothers to count his opinion. They all know their leader has no time for things like this. But they have no idea.
It's true, as much as he hates to admit it. His best friend is good for her and Enjolras can't even hold it against him, because if anyone deserves happiness, it's Combeferre and Eponine. Everyone within miles can see that Eponine looks well and smiles more these days. Enjolras, however, can't help but wonder how much of that is because of him.
He likes to believe that he could give her all of that and more. But he holds back because he just isn't cut out for that kind of life right now. Not when his efforts and vision of change is finally gaining some momentum. He'll be the first to admit that he's selfish and wants everything too much, but when he has it, he doesn't know how to fully, wholly commit to either. So he settles for sneaking glances, for hands brushing against each other's when no one else is looking, for secret meetings of their own.
It's familiar, this thing she does. She shows up, saddles up to him, and he lets her. Feeling her against him is almost as familiar as the cold feeling he gets when she leaves his side.
She danced around and pranced around wherever the warm winds blew
…
"Does he suspect anything?"
"Probably," she says sombrely one night as she stands in front of him, throwing her leg over his to sit on his lap before she tugs her shirt over her head.
He doesn't question her any further as she leans down and occupies his lips with hers.
"What do you want, Enjolras?" she asks seriously against his mouth, and he's a little confused. Does she mean now, or...? His lack of an answer causes her to pull back and look at him, and he can see it in her eyes what she means.
'What do you want out of this? Us?'
He sighs and fixes his eyes on the ceiling, clenching his jaw before answering. "I just want you to be happy."
He can tell this... thing... they have makes her happy for whatever reason, and if that's the case, then so be it. He can feel her grip on him loosening.
"Look at you," she sighs, dropping her hands to her sides. "You're so worried about fixing everyone else that you're forgetting about fixing yourself."
He scoffs, unable to hold back. "Because your life's so perfect that you're allowed to talk like that now."
"Asshole," she growls, her eyes hard. He lets her shove him back into his mattress and his fingers find their way into her hair as he leans up to kiss her roughly, their teeth clattering and pulling. It's almost painful, but he doesn't mind because that's all they have.
…
He doesn't meet up with her for a few weeks, and he hears they had a fight one day from Cosette and Musichetta. They were talking in hushed tones in the cafe, but as soon as Enjolras' ears pick up her name, he can't help it. 'She went to her sister's two days ago to clear her head, but she left this morning,' they say. 'They don't know where she went.' His head jerks up at this and he must have made a noise because the two women turn to look at him questioningly. He coughs and gives them a nod, gathering his belongings before bidding them goodnight, trying not to raise any suspicion.
He rushes home a little quicker than usual.
He comes home to find his apartment door unlocked, and before he twists the knob, he expects her to be there. She'll be standing in front of that same open window with her cigarette between her lips like she always does - when she bothers to show up, anyway.
But she's not there.
The smell of her perfume and favourite brand of cigarettes lingers, though. A wave of relief washes over him and sets off in the direction of her second favourite place in his apartment.
When he walks into his room, he's only mildly surprised to find her asleep; she's curled up in his bed, hands tucked under her chin and hair splaying every which way across his pillow. He walks over and gently brushes back strands of hair that's fallen over her eyes. Her brows are knit; she's troubled even in her sleep. He sweeps his fingers across her forehead and trails his index between her brows, smoothing away the crease that mars her otherwise silky skin. She relaxes under his touch and he feels something stir inside of him at the sight. He wishes he could rid her of all her worries, carve away life's imperfections like a sculptor. Pygmalion and his ivory girl.
He almost laughs at the irony of the marble man and the ivory girl; different but the same, both stony and heartless. Common perceptions of the both of them, but she's stone no longer; she's leaving him behind while he stubbornly stays rooted to the same damn spot. She stirs, breathing in deep before her eyes flutter open, blinking her surroundings into sight.
"I'm back," she drawls, still surrounded by a sleepy haze.
He grins in spite of himself. "I see that."
'But for how long this time?'
…
She tells him they fought because of him – not him directly, but because Combeferre finally voiced his concerns about her seeing someone else.
"And what did you tell him?"
"That he was fucking crazy and I needed to have some space for a while."
"Maybe we're the crazy ones," he mutters.
"Maybe," she repeats with a chuckle, and he doesn't know if she's laughing at the thought of it, or if she's agreeing.
So they spend the next week together in his apartment, living in ignorant bliss and pretending that she doesn't have to leave him again sooner or later.
The day before she decides to leave, they talk. There's nothing they don't talk about. He questions why she continues this, and she asks why he lets her. She's content and happy, but there's something missing. He fills that void. He's been alone his whole life, never committing to a relationship, familial or romantic. He's hard to love, he knows that. The only constant presence in his life growing up has been Combeferre for as long as he can remember. And this is the way he repays him.
The thought angers him. He's mad at Comberferre for being the one she would rather be seen with; he's mad at her for being the one to initiate this entire thing with him, for being okay with sneaking around and for being so good at it. But most of all he's mad at himself for not stopping her, for falling for her, for going behind his friend's back like this.
He's mad at himself for not being able to find the courage to say anything to either of the people he cares so much about.
Some fearless leader he is.
…
Your hours might be numbered; your end might come someday
Go break her chain and free her brain and send her on her way
He's not surprised to hear that his friend (though Enjolras isn't sure Combeferre will want to call him that if ever he finds out) takes her back weeks later. Unlike him, she's easy to love. She managed to get through to him, after all. But he's not prepared for what comes out of her mouth next.
"He asked me to marry him."
He blinks. "Congratulations."
"What makes you think I said yes?"
"Did you?"
He turns when he's met with silence and asks again. "Did you?" He's cringing at the bitterness that finds its way into his voice.
"Yes."
He doesn't know what to say, so he nods. Suddenly she's beside him, close but not touching him.
"I can't do this anymore," she says softly. He doesn't know if she's even looking at him when she says this, because he can't take his eyes off of a random spot on the wall.
"I know," he replies. Combeferre is his best friend; they shouldn't have been doing this at all in the first place.
"He's such a good person..."
"I know," he says, and he feels annoyed that he's repeating himself like he doesn't at all have the ability to string together full sentences.
"You know, if you had wanted to, you only had to say so and I would've dropped everything and stayed."
He wishes she didn't say that, and he can't bring himself to say anything back, much less ask her to stay with him now. It wouldn't be right for anyone involved.
…
She's not a bad person, he knows that for a fact. She just has so much love to give, as inexcusable as it sounds. But she always does the right thing in the end, so it's not unexpected when she comes clean to Combeferre about everything, and Enjolras becomes public enemy #1. She's forgiven a little more easily, however, and the couple reconciles for the second time in two months.
It's all happening too fast. Everything's catching up to him too rapidly that he can barely breathe anymore, so he decides to leave, accepting a job offer for a term position across the country.
He visits Combeferre on the day of his departure, grounding out an apology that he probably could have spent more time thinking about. He knows they can't recover from this, at least not right now, but even as the other man regards him with unfamiliar cold and distant eyes, he's civil about it and wishes him luck, clasping his hand tightly and giving him an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder. It's so Combeferre and it angers him because it's all way more than Enjolras knows he deserves.
He doesn't bother looking for Eponine to say goodbye.
…
The next time they see each other is during Courfeyrac's birthday. He had decided not to renew his contract another year and requested a transfer back home after two. He argued with himself that it was still too early to face everyone, Courfeyrac convinced him that he couldn't keep running. He was a lot of things; a coward wasn't one of them.
He's relieved that his friends are talking to him again, but the two people he really wants to see haven't shown up yet. They arrive hand in hand half an hour later and he doesn't know whether to go up to them or stay where he is.
It's only after Combeferre approaches him and, to Enjolras' shock, actually hugs him that Eponine decides it's okay to talk to him, too.
They find themselves sitting side by side at the bar and it feels too familiar, but he pushes the memories away with some ease - something he's not yet perfected but definitely works towards. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Combeferre standing a few feet away with Courfeyrac and Marius, shooting the two of them glances every so often. He can't blame him.
They fall into an easy enough conversation, though he thinks he's only babbling on to distract himself from looking over at the prominent bump on her stomach and the way she unconsciously rubs the spot every once in a while with her left hand as the band on her finger practically beams at him.
She's sipping on a glass of water as he leaves his second beer untouched. He finishes telling her about a case he won - his most successful to date - for a poor man who was wrongfully accused of murdering his nephew. A policeman involved in the case was found guilty of tampering with evidence at the crime scene and the whole situation only cemented Enjolras' belief that being a voice for the country's poverty-stricken population was exactly what he was meant to do. It was absolutely exhilarating.
But, even so...
She studies him, a small smile on her face and pride in her eyes. Her gaze would be unnerving if he wasn't so used to it; if it wasn't the last thing he saw almost every night in his head before he drifted off to sleep.
And the falcon is a pretty bird, wonders as she flies
"Are you happy, Enjolras?"
He steels himself. "I am," he answers, giving her a smile.
She asks us easy questions, we tell her easy lies