A/N: A one-shot set some time after "Don't Mess With the Surgeon".
Outside the Workplace
The first thing that crosses Eponine's mind when she dares to blink is that the light is so strong that it must certainly be from the sun when it is quite high in the sky. 'This is not how I wanted to sleep in,' she thinks just a moment before she opens her eyes and finds herself blinking up at a ceiling painted a slightly startling shade of red. It only makes her headache a little worse, so she shuts her eyes again for a few more moments before daring to take another look. Only then she reaches behind her and finds that she is resting quite comfortably on huge sofa pillows, never mind the fact that they smell more like spicy cologne instead of noodle soup and pizza. At least it's a sofa in some safe though obnoxiously decorated room, and not an open curb side, a jail cell, or the floor of the call room at Saint-Michel Hospital.
As she carefully stretches and takes stock of the fact that she is still wearing last night's clothes, she hears snoring coming from someplace to her left, which is odd because she is pretty sure that to her left is the floor. She cranes her neck to get a better look and rolls her eyes at the sight of uncombed golden hair. For a while she contemplates leaving the noisy and thankfully fully clothed culprit there, if only to enjoy the view of what some people have termed as 'a ravishing piece of ass', but nevertheless her better judgment takes over. "Enjolras, what are you doing on the floor?" she asks as she reaches over to nudge him.
He stirs at the sound of her voice and lifts his head to give her something of a drowsy smile. "At least it's my floor." He manages to roll over only to end up cursing when he gets a good eyeful of sunlight. "What time is it already?"
She checks her pocket and finds her phone there. Thankfully there are no cracks or embarrassing photos suddenly turned into wallpaper. "Ten-thirty."
Enjolras curses under his breath again. His voice is delightfully scratchy and low, and it's all that Eponine can do to hide how much that makes her grin. "That's a new record," Enjolras finally says more loudly.
"Come on, you've never been this hungover before?" she asks.
"I don't usually drink this much."
"Yes, unless it's Irish coffee? Seriously, how could you not know what's in it?"
He groans and rubs his eyes. "I'm sure there were only two coffees in that entire batch which had actual whisky in them."
Eponine nods, knowing very well what he means. "Remind me never to let Azelma be in charge of making the drinks again."
"I'm confiscating Courfeyrac's key to his alcohol stash," Enjolras mutters.
"Good luck. I heard from Feuilly that Courfeyrac keeps it on his person or in his underwear drawer."
"I have my means."
"Yeah you do," she says as she slowly sits up and extends a hand to help Enjolras onto the sofa. He settles easily beside her, occasionally rubbing his temples and opening his eyes wider as he tries to recover from his headache. Although the memories of last night are becoming clear again, she gets her phone out again to begin checking for any pictures, phone calls, or any evidence of misdeeds committed under the influence. She sees him apparently doing the same thing with his phone, since he is trying to keep a straight face as he looks through the display. "Found anything?"
"A recording of Jehan and Grantaire having a poetic debate-complete with acting something out on their table," he deadpans as he passes the gadget to her.
She snorts as she goes through the first few seconds of the video footage. This is definitely not safe for work, or for that matter anywhere. "Bet you weren't expecting it when you pressed the record button," she says as she returns the phone to him.
He shakes his head before going through more items on his phone. "Just pictures of everyone at the bar. Nothing too scarring."
"Good," Eponine says. Her own phone is also free of anything that can cause trouble for her, Combeferre, Joly, and Musichetta in the hospital call rooms, and so she can rest a little easy for now. "Do you have juice in your fridge, or at least a lot of water?"
"I bought a whole liter of orange juice yesterday," Enjolras replies, gesturing to the refrigerator across the room.
"Will do," she says before getting up to fetch the drink. It should be more than enough for the two of them to get into some shape to face the rest of the day, for as long as no one else comes knocking on his door to ask for a medically sound hangover cure. She is sure that her siblings and their troop of friends all know where she spent the night, so it's only a matter of hours till she'll have to deal with their mischievous, shit-eating grins when her name and Enjolras' name come up in the same sentence.
As she's pouring the juice into two large glasses, she sees him putting some slices of bread into the toaster. "This is supposed to also help, I heard. Better than coffee," he says as they return to their seats on the sofa.
She nods before raising her glass. "We're never doing that again."
"Yeah." He clinks his glass against hers before taking a long gulp of orange juice. Now that he's on his feet and somewhat thinking, he looks a little less pallid and dishevelled. "Are you reporting to work today?" he asks after a moment.
"It's my off day. Besides when I'm in this state, I'm more of a hazard than anything else," she replies before draining half of her glass. She's long resolved not to become one of those surgeons who shows up in the OR when under the influence, or shaking with sleeplessness, or just otherwise unfit to work. Her patients deserve far better than that. As far as she's concerned it's easier to call in sick and face a tongue-lashing from the department heads than to deal with a malpractice case. "What are you doing today?" she asks Enjolras.
"Paperwork," he replies, gesturing in the general direction of his laptop on the coffee table a few feet away. "There's still a lot to prepare for next week's snap election."
"About time though. It's been ten weeks," she says sympathetically. The new government has only been in place for about two months and a half, and there is so much that has to be done in the spirit of 'getting things right' such as tracking down disappeared individuals, handing in courtesy resignations, dealing with new appointments, digging up records, and just making sure that life can go on somehow. Of course Enjolras is in the thick of it all, pursuing one thing after another with more energy and drive than she has ever seen in one person. 'They say he is even more relentless now than before the shooting,' she thinks.
If it's been ten weeks since things really began pulling together, it makes ten weeks too since Enjolras showed up at her office to ask her out for coffee, eleven weeks since he's left the hospital, and twelve or so weeks since he ended up in the emergency room, in her care, and now in her life. It's longer than she's followed up most of her patients, with the exceptions of course of the accident prone and repeated visitors to the Child Protection Unit. But then again, he hasn't been her patient for eleven weeks now; for one thing she doesn't text her patients every day, or go with them to spoken word nights, art galleries, or to their friends' apartments. 'And now I'm raiding his refrigerator, sleeping on his sofa, and worrying about embarrassing photos on our phones,' she realizes. It's a scenario that is even crazier than the hospital dramas that she and Musichetta used to download and make MSTs of during their medical school days.
As if on cue her cellphone goes off at the same moment the toaster lets out a pinging sound. She dives for her phone and groans on seeing a message from Azelma. 'Hope you guys had fun at your party for two! See you later!' the text reads. Eponine winces, seeing that this message would be pretty innocuous if not for the fact that the message accompanies a picture of herself and Enjolras at the door of their friends' apartment, arms around each other's shoulders, standing cheek to cheek such that they could almost kiss. It would be almost a picture of what good friends do, if not for the bright and goofy smile on Enjolras' face, which is so different from his normally stern, slightly approving demeanor. Even more alarmingly, her own grin is just as wide, carefree and glowing.
Not even a thousand words can explain this picture.
She sets down the phone before reaching for the plate of toast that Enjolras puts in front of her. "We're screwed," she mutters, motioning for him to take a look at the phone.
"Courfeyrac sent me the same thing, only with something more risqué," Enjolras deadpans.
"We're going to disappoint them," she says through a mouthful of bread.
"I know," he replies. Yet even so there is an unspoken question now between them, something that has been waiting underneath this quiet and now increasingly awkward morning scene. For a while neither of them speaks, and the only sounds are that of them slurping orange juice or chewing on the dry toast.
He breaks the deadlock first. "Are we doing this again?"
"We will be if we fall for the Irish coffee trick," she quips. Yet even so she knows that this is not what he means, so she inches her hand closer to his. His fingers meet hers, allowing her to marvel again that his hands also have their own share of calluses. There are stories there, of late nights, protests, travels, and encounters with myriads of people. It's ironic that for someone who makes a living on learning things about people and how best to help them, she is still so caught off-guard by him. Thanks to the odd circumstances of their meeting she knows his body in a very strange way, but despite this, it's his noble spirit and earnestness that draws her to him, that brightens her days and banishes her lingering fear of the dark. "If this is how it will always end up though, it can't be so bad," she says after a few moments.
"Next time, we can do without the hangover," Enjolras tells her frankly as he brings up their hands to brush her hair out of her face. "I want to remember every single moment you're in."
His words are enough to make Eponine feel as if she's drunk down a shot of the best coffee, as if she's heard the best news in her life, or simply as if she's walking on air. However it's the sincerity in his voice that seals the deal. She can feel her heart pounding hard against her ribs as she leans in further into his touch and looks into his eyes. It is enough now for her to meet him halfway just long enough to brush her lips against his. He is taken aback for a moment before he returns her kiss, sending pure fire coursing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes even after they must part in order to catch their breath. She knows better than to try to put words to this, so she settles for curling up under his chin, just so he can rest an arm over her waist. For a moment she fears that she might hurt him, given that his scars are still so new, but he hugs her closer as if to show that he does not mind.
After a while it's his cell phone that rings and he reluctantly uncurls himself from around her. "It's Courfeyrac," he says with a long suffering sigh.
"Put it on speaker," she suggests. "He won't know what hit him."
He smirks before taking the call. "Good morning Courf. How are you doing?"
'Pretty good. How about you?' Courfeyrac drawls on the other end of the line. The mischief is almost palpable in his voice, which is sometimes hindered by the apparent background noise of a crowded room. 'How is Eponine?'
Eponine has to muffle her giggles into the sofa cushions even when Enjolras motions for her to be quiet. "Good. Very good actually," Enjolras says in a level tone. "Are you at the bakery again?"
'Maybe.'
"If you're ordering one of those 'Congratulations on the sex' cakes, you can just leave it at 'Congratulations'. Don't spend all your money."
For a moment there is silence on the other end of the line. 'Enjolras, you're kidding!'
"He sure is not!" Eponine calls. "And by the way please remind Azelma to actually drink water-there's no use resorting to hair of the dog! Thanks much!"
Enjolras chuckles over Courfeyrac's groaning and swearing before he politely says goodbye to his friend and then hangs up. "You always have to be the doctor, don't you?" he teases.
"Nah, that was just me being a big sister," she reminds him.
"Point taken."
"This all began because you wanted to know what I am outside the workplace. Still like it?"
He grins before kissing her palm. "That's a very big understatement, Eponine."