A/N: Hello there, here is my first foray into Les Miserables. So I hope it lives up to your expectations.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters recognisable from Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. Please don't sue me.
A dark figure stood on the bridge overlooking the river, gazing down at the rushing water below. It occurred to him how easy it would be to just fall and leave it all behind. He had been born for progress, to lead France to a new world, a better world. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. The broken man had fully intended to die alongside his comrades on the barricade if the revolution failed. How had it come to this?
Sinking down to his knees, a sob escaped his lips as the rain began to fall. The tears cascaded down his cheeks without opposition for the first time since he was young. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. Leaning against the wall of the bridge, he pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his arms as he cried. He hadn't felt this wretched in years. What had happened to the intrepid hero, the god who was going to light the way to a new tomorrow? His valiant friends deserved to be led to victory, not to their deaths. "I should have died with them." He muttered. Why hadn't he just died with them? A scream ripped from his throat "This wasn't how it was supposed to end!" he shouted to the heavens.
"Apollo?" a female voice asked quietly, dragging him from his self-loathing. Slowly, the wretched young man lifted his head to see a figure in a dark brown coat and equally dark brown hair that whipped around her face.
"Don't call me that," he whispered, that name more agonizing to him than all eight of the bullets that had ripped through his flesh that fateful night.
The girl knelt down in front of him. "Then what do I call you?"
"Enjolras," came the muted reply. He scrubbed his eyes with his fist. "You can call me Enjolras."
"It's nice to meet you monsieur Enjolras." The girl placed a hand gently on top of his and said "Shouldn't we be getting out of this rain, monsieur?" Enjolras shook his head and hid his face again. The girl sighed, "Come along Enjolras, we need to get you home."
"I don't have a home," Enjolras said, his voice devoid of all emotion. He looked up to see the girl staring straight at him with not a look of pity, but a soothing calm. "My mother has thrown me out; my landlord won't take me back. I have nowhere to go."
A dark fury seemed to pass over the woman's pale face, but before Enjolras was even sure he'd seen it, her features were a mask of calm once again. Rolling back onto her haunches, she looked Enjolras up and down with that cool and collected gaze once more. "Well then monsieur Enjolras. It looks like you're coming with me." She took his hand and stood up, forcing Enjolras to at least lean forward a little. Slowly, painfully, he struggled to his feet.
"Wait," Enjolras said, pulling away. "I don't even know your name."
"Vanessa," the girl said, smiling a little. "My name's Vanessa."
She turned away and began to walk across the bridge towards the less affluent parts of Paris, obviously expecting Enjolras to follow her without argument. Enjolras thought on his choices. In all honesty, there was only one. There was no returning to the life he had led prior to the barricades; he did not even have a sou to rent a room. He had to bite the bullet and follow this stranger; swallow his pride and accept her charity.
Vanessa got no further than the end of the bridge before she turned back and saw Enjolras trudging behind her, a small, reassuring smile graced her lips. No attempt was made from either party to strike up a conversation as they traversed Paris' dark streets in comfortable silence.
Vanessa's apartment was above a small café not far from the bridge, but it was still quite a trek and both were soaked when they finally reached it. "Excuse the mess monsieur; I don't often have guests up here," Vanessa called back as she left Enjolras in the doorway to her cluttered living room. She grabbed a match and lit a few candles, sending long shadows across the room.
Noticing his silence, she turned back to Enjolras, who was still stood aimlessly in the doorway. "You can come in you know," she laughed
In despair, there is denial. As he could not comprehend the failure of his life, he had hollowed into a trance, much like the interlude between sleep and waking. Her voice, however, managed to break such a stupor, and he finally stepped into the room, pensive and ashamed, closing the door behind him. "We'll need to get you out of those wet things before you catch pneumonia." Vanessa mused. She wandered away into what must have been a small bathroom and returned with a couple of towels and some spare clothes. Enjolras wondered briefly where she had gotten men's clothing from; it was pretty evident from the state of her flat that she lived alone.
It has been said that one's room reflects one's personality. If this is true, Vanessa's rooms certainly did just that. On a table just inside the doorway, papers were scattered and many had fallen to the floor, so that the entire area resembled the endless snow covered fields of the south in winter. Behind the table was a small kitchen area, with a sink piled high with crockery, most of which had rather ugly cracks or chips in them.
Hooked up next to the sink was an apron with a ragged hole down the left that was obviously in need of repair. Beside this, a stove that already had a pot of something bubbling on it. The smell of food made Enjolras' stomach groan, causing Vanessa to smile. Across the room was a small sofa with a pile of books on both sides, precariously balanced and about ready to collapse at any given moment. Across the sofa were strewn a multitude of smocks and rather worn looking dresses that had obviously seen a great deal of use and repair. In all, this was a room in disarray, and while that contrasted with the serene figure that was Vanessa, Enjolras was sure that beneath it all was a very interesting young woman.
His musings were interrupted, however, when Vanessa placed both the towels and the clothes in his arms. "Why are you doing this?" Enjolras asked, finally having found his voice.
"Because I'm a nice person, maybe?" Vanessa replied with a smirk. She turned away and stopped, seemingly transfixed upon the door in the corner of the room. "You can sleep in there if you like," she said eventually, pointing to the closed door. She suddenly looked away disgusted, as though she had been caught in some villainous act. She turned back to Enjolras and placed a small key on the top of the pile of clothes. "You'll need this to open it. Go get changed and then we can eat."
And with that she turned away again and headed into what was obviously her own bedroom, there were dresses strewn over the floor as far as Enjolras could see. Tentatively, he shifted the pile Vanessa had given him into one hand, unlocking the door with the key in his other. The door was slightly stiff but opened with a rough shove from Enjolras' shoulder.
The door opened to reveal the room of a young man. There were more men's clothes piled up neatly on the chair, books scattered across the desk and papers spilling over onto the floor. Enjolras stepped inside and shut the door behind him, placing the clothes on the bed. It came to his attention just how exhausted he was, he had stormed out just before the evening meal, and with the fact that he hadn't been sleeping, the bed and the food outside were fighting for his attention. Eventually his hunger won the war as his stomach growled once more. He sighed and shrugged off his waistcoat, quickly followed by his shirt, which clung to his skin like a second, ice cold skin. Even though it was summer, the rain and winds had brought an unwelcome chill to the air. He tried, with little success, to warm himself with the towel before pulling on the clean, white shirt. It was tailored to a stronger built person than Enjolras in his current state and almost swamped him, but it was warm and dry, so he didn't much mind. Next came the struggle of peeling off his soaked trousers, after a valiant fight he managed to free himself from their frozen grasp and wrapped a towel around his lower half.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked and tarnished mirror and almost jumped. The man looking back at him was a mere shadow of his former self. His face looked ashen and his once golden hair stuck to his forehead in dirty blonde strands. Beneath his eyes, huge dark smudges that wouldn't have looked out of place on a charcoal drawing.
Apollo had lost his light.
In an effort to distract himself, he turned and began pulling on the pants Vanessa had given him. They, like the shirt were much too big for him, only emphasising how thin he had become since the barricade had fallen. He had stopped eating, which left him gaunt and wasting away, to use his mother's term. Once fully dressed once more, he ran a hand through his wild blonde curls in an attempt to tame them and scrubbed at them with the towel, hoping to dry them off.
It became apparent that this task was futile, and so Enjolras decided to leave the room and seek out some food. He wandered out into the living area of the little flat. Vanessa was already at the stove, leaning against it as she pulled her dark brown hair up into a bun and tied it with a piece of string. She noticed Enjolras watching her and turned around, her eyes roaming down his body and taking in his appearance. He tugged at the trousers in an attempt to stop them from falling down past his hips and stared at the floor, thinking he must look like a child playing dress up with his father's clothes.
"Come take a seat," Vanessa said gently. "The soup shouldn't be too long now."
Enjolras did as he was bid and took a seat, but found himself lacking anything to say, and so resorted to tracing the grain of the wood on the table. Through his periphery he saw Vanessa ladle out two bowls of steaming soup and join him at the table. He glanced up at her as she placed a bowl in front of him. "You look like hell," Vanessa admitted. "Care to tell me how you came to be contemplating suicide on a bridge?" She held his gaze steadily, something not many women were able to do.
"I'd rather not talk about it," Enjolras replied. "I mean no offense but I don't know you at all."
Vanessa seemed surprised by this but said nothing, instead nodding and turning her attention to her soup. She said a quick prayer before breaking off a chunk of bread and began to eat, gesturing for Enjolras to do the same. Hoping he didn't look too pathetic, Enjolras quickly finished off the bowl. Somehow he managed to stop himself from asking for more. It was unusual that he could eat so much, but right now, without his stepfather glaring at him across the table, he found he was quite happy to eat.
It seemed Vanessa had picked up on this war inside Enjolras' mind and smiled. "Would you care for another bowl?" she asked innocently.
Enjolras caught her smile and found himself mirroring it. "I wouldn't mind." He shrugged almost nonchalantly. Vanessa picked up both bowls and refilled them before sliding his bowl back across to Enjolras. He accepted it with a nod and emptied the bowl with impossible speed. He glanced up a second time to find Vanessa watching him with a suddenly less amused expression, he felt an unusual embarrassment and felt the need to justify himself. "I haven't eaten in a while," he murmured apologetically.
His voice seemed to jolt his new acquaintance out of her dark mood and her smile instantly replaced her frown, "No need to justify yourself," she reassured him. "I work in the café downstairs, trust me, you eat like a king compared to the customers I deal with."
Enjolras frowned at the mention of royalty but said nothing on the matter, instead focusing on the woman sat in front of him. "So you're a barmaid?" he asked, raising his eyes to finally give a full appraisal of the woman who had been his guardian angel on the bridge.
She nodded. "I work evenings here, mornings at a café around the corner and do odd jobs where I can. I think if you can work to earn your way, you have a duty to."
Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "And what of those who are unable to work?" he asked, finding himself slipping into one of his political debates from long ago.
"If you were listening," Vanessa said slowly, "you would have noticed I used the word 'if': if you can work, you should. If not, then the government should pick up on its responsibility to the people and aid you. Then the fat cats at the top could stop complaining about crime because there would be less need for people to steal to survive."
Enjolras smiled; evidently he didn't need to convert this woman as he had so many before her. Vanessa was, it seemed, a readymade republican. "And what of those who refuse help?"
"Help should be free for all, regardless of whether they accept it or not. Our lord Jesus told us to love our neighbours. How can we possibly say we do so when we won't help them? It is up to them whether they accept, but if you do your half, there is no more anyone can ask of you." She shrugged.
"What about the government? Do you think they do what is required of them?" Enjolras asked, pushing to gain as much as he could from this woman who spoke as well as any of his lieutenants.
Without warning, Vanessa jolted away and her expression turned once again to a moment of fury hidden quickly behind a mask of serenity. "I think that is enough of that talk for tonight, monsieur. I shall retire now. I have an early shift in the morning; you are welcome to stay as long as you need." And with that, she lurched to her feet and cleared the table, throwing their bowls onto the mountain of dishes in the sink with frightening force. "There are clean night clothes in the dresser in the room," she said curtly, pointing again to the room on the far left. "Good night, Monsieur Enjolras."
Her door slammed behind her, leaving Enjolras dumbfounded at the table, unsure of what he'd done to receive such a reply. It wasn't often, even now, that Enjolras found himself without words, but this woman who seemed to be a mass of contradictions had stolen them from him. He decided there wasn't much use in staying at the table all night, and so made his way back to the little room and changed for bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow, the weeks of no sleep caught up with him, and he fell into a restless sleep immediately.
In her own room, Vanessa leaned against the door for support and closed her eyes. She heard Enjolras go silent and sighed. She almost laughed at the impossibility of it all; she had the man who led her lover to his death living under the same roof as her. And what's more, she was finding it hard to hate him as much as she should. Certainly, she despised him, but witnessing how weak and fragile he had become since she had seen him giving his rally just weeks before that fateful night softened her heart a little.
"What have I got myself into?" she whispered as she slid down the door and sat with a thud on the cold, wooden floorboards.
It wasn't that she expected anyone to answer, but the silence that confronted her was still a shock to her. It felt as though the silence could crush her. She curled up and rested her forehead on her knees allowing herself to wallow in self-pity for a while. It wasn't long however, before she too succumbed to her own exhaustion and fell asleep.
A/N: I hope this has been acceptable for you. Please let me know what you think by reviewing, they mean so much to me.
