Once Upon A Dream
Summary: On a plane to France, two people sharing the same dreams meet, and hopefully manage to start something real. For keepcalmandlove-aarontveit
Disclaimer: Still don't own a thing.
AN: I made them the only passengers in first class instead. Hope that works as well.
She did not necessarily want to go back to her country of origin. She had not been back to France since she was fifteen and got herself a record deal. That was eight years and five hit albums ago – and she had not looked back.
That was, until the call came. Her little brother had been left behind by their parents, and she was the only living relative who could actually take care of him – meaning she was the only one who had never been arrested. Her parents had taken Azelma with them, but little Gavroche had been left behind, as usual.
Now she had to become a parent for a thirteen year old, and it scared her to death.
"Is this seat taken," she is surprised to hear a man's voice.
"Every other seat is open and you want to sit here," she is ready to throw some serious war at him if he even tries for an autograph.
The entirety of first class is empty except for the two of them. She had been expecting the privacy, because she has too often been harassed when she just wanted to visit a friend or do publicity for her latest single or album. She has no problems in dealing with fans, since that does come with the fame deal, but she does want to have some moments to herself every now and then. And especially in a situation like this one, she just wants to be left alone. This guy does not seem fazed by the angry look on her face.
"Okay, I didn't want to say this, but," he stammers a little before sitting down, his face turning red, "I am just a little afraid of flying. Would you mind talking to me a bit?"
This man, the one who looks so put together with his perfectly-cut suit and his serious and boring tie, he appears to be so embarrassed about this that she thinks this story has to be true. No self-respecting businessman would admit this unless he absolutely has to, and her hostility has forced him into admitting it. She kind of likes that.
"Is it just the take off," she questions, a soft smile on her face.
"Take off, landing, turbulence," he starts on his little list, fixing his tie to keep from looking too flustered. "I'm sorry to land this on you, miss. You really don't have to do anything. I can just move. There are plenty of empty seats, after all."
So, she might have just found her distraction from the troubles ahead in France. This man, this admittedly more than somewhat attractive man, he is staring at her with the kind of trepidation that would have been adorable in a little kid. But he is a grown man, a professional, and he is supposed to be better than this. At least, she imagines that this is what he is thinking at that moment. He looks like the type for that kind of thing.
"It's fine," she smiles. "What's your name?"
It is the first time in a good long while that she has gotten to be a comforting presence for anyone, and this man seems like a good try-out run if she has to be a mother figure for her little brother. Sure, this guy is a grown man and she should not be mothering him in any way, but he did ask her to help him with his fear, and she can do that.
"Gabriel Enjolras, and you," he holds out a hand for her to shake.
"Éponine Thenardiér," she gets to use her real name after all this time of using this stupid alias that would apparently sell better. "Why are you flying to France?"
She usually has a much better imagination when it comes to starting a conversation, but she is still reeling a bit from his appearance in her private area. She does not know him well enough to avoid any particular topics, and she also does not want him to become star struck when he eventually recognizes her from the giant billboards that have once again been put up in cities around the world. She hopes he won't know, because having any kind of personal information about her spread around would be bad.
Her agent definitely would not like that.
"What is said on the plane, stays on the plane," he asks her, looking a bit green.
"I can work with that," she smiles at him. "You can tell me."
She does not even know this guy, but she doubts that he has any kind of embarrassing reason for a visit to France. She can imagine him having torrid affairs with his French mistress, but she doubts that has anything to do with reality.
"I'm a historian working on a book on the June rebellion," he starts, and she pretends that she does not know what he is talking about. "I feel that in the bigger picture, this is a story that usually gets forgotten. I'm trying to find information about the men behind the barricade, about who they were and why they were there."
The dreams she has would tell him everything that he ever needed to know about the men – and woman – on the barricades that terrible night in June. At least, she knows all about one barricade, and she has tried to write down her feelings in her songs. That lead to arguably her most critically acclaimed album 1832, which was solely based on the dreams she had of a poor girl's life in that time.
There are few images of that time still in her head, because most things fade so quickly after she wakes up. A man in a red coat, curls messed up by the dramatics of their war, holds court over the men on the barricade – but he is always too far away to see his face, even though she longs to find him. She is not sure if the she is she or the other girl.
"Is there anything in particular you want to find out about these men," she asks.
"This is going to sound crazy," he starts, and she is ready to run away as soon as he really goes nuts, "but ever since I can remember, I've been having these dreams about the barricade and this girl. I think there was a girl on the barricade, and I need to find out who she was. In my dreams, I was leading the protest. I think I got them all killed, all of my friends on the barricade, including her. I have to know the truth."
How did he find out? He cannot know about the dreams, because she has never told anyone about those – she told her producers that she was writing these songs because she was watching a lot of period movies. She was also reading a lot of history books to make sense of the dreams, but that really did not fit her image – or the image that her agent wanted her to have – so she kept mum on that. She always had to be mysterious and stick to the bohemian image, and even play up the French accent when she talked, to make sure that she stayed indie's French princess.
"You wore a red jacket," she murmurs, because she has to try.
"The color of the blood of angry men," he takes her words and runs with them. "But how can you know that? How can you know, unless you…"
The secret is out, and she has to live with the consequences now. Still, just with the idea that he knows what she is talking about her shoulders sag in relief, because she no longer has to carry this weight by herself. She no longer has to worry alone about Gavroche dying while getting more ammunition, and while she knows that this rebellion did not end well for anyone, she has someone to talk to about it.
"I was the girl on the barricade," she tells him with trepidation.
"You were the first to die," he is haunted with the same memories. "I felt so guilty because I could not save you. You died to save your friend. You took a bullet for him."
In that world, she was in love with an old friend, one she never got the chance to make this time around. He did not care for her that way, and she was used shamelessly to deliver messages to his beloved – and she agreed because she loved him. She ended up saving his life at the cost of her own, a feeling she cannot understand now.
She cannot imagine wanting to die for someone, no matter how much she loves them – she might consider the possibility for Gavroche, but she is not a good enough sister to do it without any hesitation. She does not even know him anymore.
"You can save me now," she tells him, trying to assuage his guilt.
"From what exactly," he scoffs, clamping on to her hand as the plane starts moving and picking up speed. "I'm the scared one here. How can I help you?"
His grip is strong, yet she feels comforted by this apparent role reversal. She can maybe help him this time around, and she is sure that he can help her as well – he is helping just by being here and not letting her be on her own and terrified of how her life is going to change the second she lands in Paris. She is going to be terrible parent.
"I'm going to Paris to pick up my little brother," she tries to explain. "I've been granted custody by virtue of my being the only family member who's never been in jail. He's a teenager and I haven't seen him in years. I'm freaking out just as much as you."
Their hands are still intertwined as the plane takes off.
(And when the stewardess comes by to find her leaning on his shoulder, both of them with carefree looks on their faces, she simply covers them both with a blanket and hopes that the young lovers will make it together.)
AN: Open-ended, I know. It seemed to work best this way. I don't have the patience to make this into a monster of a fic. They still have everything ahead of them.