1971

She stands below the clothes line, out in their back yard. In their home and cries. Most women would be jumping for joy, or at least be inside tending to their hair and makeup but she stands alone, outside on a warm June morning. There is that lazy summer smell that hangs in the air until about eleven; it reminds her of the past and it makes her nostalgic.

She can hear the radio blaring from inside "There is only one question this year my fellow Americans; are you ready for change? Are you prepared to welcome in a new era? If so there really is only one vote" Chuck Daly assures his audience as if they are old friends. That's how they get the votes she thinks to herself. They lull the public into a false sense of comfort and then brainwash them. It happened thirty years ago, who's to say it won't happen again?

Daly gushes over his candidate of choice and she can't help but smile. With his platform of universal, free health care and education coupled with his promise to abolish conscription she could not help but wonder why they were bothering to hold an election at all, it really was a waste of money. They were all packed up and ready to leave Boston. It really was to be the dawning of a new era.

Though part of her can't say goodbye to Boston, it was her home, it was their home.

It was where they had started as nothing more than a college student and a department store worker. It was where they married in a small Baptist ceremony almost 17 years ago. It was where they had brought their first home and started a family. She knows that the second they leave Boston she will lose what little of him she can still claim to have.

She would never raise these concerns with him because she knows his answer. He had always made it clear to her that he wanted to run the country. He would tell her that he loves her, but that work and the nation came first. They had this fight 18 years ago, it was the first fight they had ever had. He told her to leave if she could not accept his lifestyle but she stayed. And now she had made her bed and was expected to sleep in it. The truth was that she could never leave him. She would never do something so cruel to him. Times might be changing but regardless, a divorced man would never hold office; and she still cared about him. She always would. And she could never destroy him, his dreams and all he has worked for, not like that. He would never forgive her, she would never forgive herself.

Inside someone has turned the television on and she can see a reporter interviewing students outside of the university campus. They are confident, enthusiastic, their voices and spirits yet to be worn down by the cynics and their 'real world'. She sees the outline of one boy in particular, blond hair and bright eyed. When he speaks, his whole body trembles as if he cannot contain his excitement, and for a second she thinks it's 1951.

The summer air always did make her nostalgic.

1951

She found it amusing how excited he got around election time; it was more excited than she had seen him, at any birthday or even Christmas. In fact, she had never seen him, or any of the other boys for that matter this excited about an election before.

Back where she had grown up. The election was viewed as a joke, as an indulgence for the wealthy middle class and a demonstration of how they can control and manipulate the nation. And looking around her she realised that now she has become one of those manipulators. She sits between his legs and leans against his chest as he sits on the ground leaning against the lounge's arm. For such a large home, Combeferre and his wife were yet to invest in enough lounges to accommodate the whole group. They are huddled around the television, cheering as if they are watching a game of football when their party of choice would win another seat. That was just so typical of Enjolras, the boy had no interest in sports but when it came to politics, he would examine opinion polls like others would study form guides.

She smiles up at him as he cheers loudly and traces the letters on his deep red Harvard sweater. It's her favourite, mostly because he never takes it off. And it smells like him, she can't quite articulate what 'him' smells like but when he's next to her and when she breathes him in he smells like home. She keeps on hitting her head on that silly badge he is wearing, which they had been handing out all day. All except one, Marius sits alone on a couch in the corner, wearing a badge from the opposing party. And when his party wins a seat the rest of the group makes sure to boo so loudly that they drown out his feeble attempts to cheer. They are playfully trying to break him down, but the boy is being surprisingly steadfast.

When the election is won and the victor makes his speech Courfeyrac leans over and grasps Enjolras on the shoulder "That'll be you one day buddy" and Enjolras doesn't reply. He doesn't need to. It has been discussed many times and is well known not only throughout his group but also throughout his university that he had his sights set on being the American Presidency. And no one ever questioned or opposed his dream because they all knew he was capable of achieving it. Sometimes Eponine would complain, stating that they put too much pressure on him. But he would just smile and peck her on the forehead. The truth was he loved the pressure and the expectation; it just spurred him on even further.

"What party will you be standing for" Cosette, a new addition to their group asks.

He smiles and closes his eyes for a second before speaking "perhaps I will have my own party."

"More like your own dictatorship" Marius calls out before shielding his head from several pillows which were thrown in his direction.

The group descends into a fit of laughter leaving Enjolras to contemplate aloud "I'm not that bad am I?"

"Don't worry" Combeferre smiles sitting next to Enjolras "I'll be there as Attorney General to make sure you don't get too despotic."

The group laughs again and Eponine leans up, pecking him reassuringly on the cheek

1960s

Years pass and they are coming good on their promise. He has lost the Harvard sweater and the curls which would perpetually hang in his eyes but Combeferre is still by his side and a peck on the cheek from her is far more assuring than any words from his officials.

1971

That night he wins the election but he loses her. It was not immediately apparent but became evident, slowly over time. She lost him to the nation, to this land and to its people. She remembers back in college when they boys would joke that the USA was the only mistress she would ever have to worry about. They were correct but that was no less comforting to her.

At first things seem to be working fine, he was working long hours of course but she still had the kids at home, something to amuse her. But soon they left for college and it was just him and her. Well most of the time it was just her in this big, empty house. The halls would echo when she walked through and it just remanded her of how empty her life had become. She barely even sees him anymore, not even at meal times. But at night, when she pretends to be sleeping, she feels the bed sink down next to her, and his heavy arm around her waist. He kisses her neck and pulls her closer to him, but she just shrugs him off, neither of them say anything so their words hang in the air "Isn't this all you ever wanted?"

But she can't leave him; especially not know as election year approaches, so she finds comfort in a childhood friend. She notices how he has managed to avoid the stress and hardships that they had all experienced thus far and she can't help but wonder if that is why he still looks so youthful. And that's how she feels when she is with him; youthful and carefree but he doesn't make her feel safe and he doesn't feel like Enjolras, like home.

It's been two years since his re-election and she is lying on the bed next to Monparnasse who is smoking and staring up and the ceiling "Politicians" he sighs "they all promise the world but deliver nothing."

She wished he would not talk about politics. He had no idea what he was talking about. The two of them had grown up together and his political ignorance reminds her of her past and of her future. She used to hate how he smoked but one night Enjolras asked her about the unusual smell in the bedroom and she lied so easily, so seamlessly that she sounded just like a politician. She was not sure if he believed her but he went to bed and never asked about it.

She wished he would. She wished he would confront her, yell at her, anything. Anything at all, she just wanted something to hold on to, just a little bit of him for herself.

But he just seemed to get colder, more distant as his second term in office progressed. And as the term came to an end everything began to feel like a formality. Every ribbon cut, every speech given that sometimes she could not help but feel as if their marriage had become somewhat of a formality too. But sometimes in the corner of her eye she catches him, and he is looking at her, his face relaxed and his eyes soft and for a second it feels as if they are 19 again. And she just smiles back because she feels as if that gesture conveys more than her words ever could.

And after those moments she cannot help but feel hopeful, as if there is some chance for them once they leave Washington DC and return home to Boston.

Sometime later…

But when they get back to Boston nothing changes. She tries, she really does, she cuts off all contact with Montparnasse and she devotes herself completely to him. But nothing changes and Boston feels just like Washington DC. He bristles past her, plays golf with the boys and returns home for dinner, where conversation never goes past the smallest of small talk. And really, as former diplomats she thought that they would be better at making small talk but usually they just descend into an uncomfortable silence before he retreats wordlessly to bed, leaving her alone, again in that huge, empty house.

It doesn't take her very long to realise that he knew about Montparnasse, that he was hurt and that things would never be the same. And she accepts that. But they never divorce; rather, they have no idea how to live together, but no idea how to live without each other either. She knows things will never be the way they once were. Except occasionally, on summer mornings, when that lazy summer smell fills the bedroom, she wakes to find his arms around her, his body pressed closely against hers and his head buried in her neck and for a second, for a fleeting moment he feels like home.

The End.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this, comments and constructive criticism is always appreciated.