in another life
summary: they were two souls destined to be together, but never to touch.
a/n: i should continue never alone…. but… inspiration!
She was the first to die at the barricade. He held her small, fragile body in the tavern where she awoke no more.
He was the last to die at the barricade. He held Grantaire's hand as eight bullet propelled into his body and his body out the window.
They had never spoken. They have never cross paths. They were nothing to each other.
She was the wife of a factory owner. She was well into her mink and jewels.
He was the impatient factory worker. He was well into creating a union and mutiny against her husband.
It was unsuccessful, and life moved on.
She had seven children, and died at the age of 42. He married, and died in a factory accident. Her husband was obligated to attend his funeral, so in turn she was obligated to attend his funeral.
It was the only time they ever crossed paths.
She was the first nurse waiting for the soldiers to come in from the war. She was young and barely old enough to know what the war was even about.
He was the last wounded soldier they sent to the make-shift hospital. He liked to think he was old enough to fighting a war for his country.
She tended to the minor injuries while he laid writhing in pain in the last bed on the right. Finally, she was ordered to sit with the dying soldier on the last bed on the right.
"Bonjour," she greeted as she sat on the chair next to him.
"Ah, Madeleine," he smiled at her. She smiled and nodded. It was customary of dying soldiers to picture their loves ones on their death beds. He reached out for her hand which she took with no hesitation. "I see you finally became a nurse, mon amour."
"Oui," she replied pleasantly. He tried to chuckle, but he coughed instead.
"I'm afraid, I won't be able to make good on my promise, my dear." He coughed harder this time. With her free hand, she caressed his blood-stained curls.
"Rest, mon amour," she whispered.
"Tell me you love me and kiss my head, and then I'll sleep." He asked. She smiles at him.
"Je t'aime, mon amour," she stood up from her seat and kissed him lightly on his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut. She watched him for a little while as his chest stopped rising.
She sighed. There was a knock on the pole supporting the curtain of privacy. There was more work to be done.
They had crossed paths and even spoken in this life, but he was just another dying soldier to her and she was a figment of his imagination. They were still nothing to each other.
She was poor again. Born and raised in the streets, much like her old life.
He was privileged. Born and raised with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was much different in this life.
She was sitting on a street corner with a sign begging for money, when his town car drove by. He rolled his window down, and was bad mouthing his driver when he saw her.
They locked eyes for a single moment. He tells his driver to stop the car. He rushes out, but she's already gone. He searches the streets for her, but she cannot be found.
When he returns to the car, his driver asked him what that was about.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I just felt like I knew her. I wanted to thank her."
To her, he was just some strange rich boy. To him, she was an enigma of a past life. Their paths never crossed again, they never spoke at all, but they were something to each other now. (Now we're making progress.)
She was working at a cafe: making drinks, waiting tables, and entertaining the students who came by daily.
He was a graduate student working on his dissertation: studying, writing, and maybe eating every once in a while.
On a night fueled with alcohol, he awoke naked in a different bed from his own alone. With a pounding headache, he found his clothes and tried to escape as soon as possible.
"Hello," a sweet voice interrupted him on his pursue out the door. Leaning against the doorframe by the kitchen.
"Hi," he said nervously. He didn't remember seeing her face last night (but she was familiar to him), but in order to save face he responded, "Last night was wonderful, but…" Her laughter interrupted him again.
"Oh no, no, no," she laughed. "You didn't sleep with me last night. I'm engaged," she showed him the small rock on her finger, "You slept with my roommate." He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Want some coffee?" she offered. He smiled and nodded.
The two fell into a deep conversation that lasted for hours. Despite his meaningless one night stand with her roommate, they became really good friends.
He started coming to the cafe more, and when he didn't, she brought the coffee to his place. She was invited to go to his presentations, and if she didn't go, he always called her afterwards telling her how it went.
They were friends. Only friends. She was getting married after all.
She stood in front of the mirror in the bridal room in the church admiring her beautiful dress when there was a knock on her door.
"Hey," he stood there. All the bridesmaids and flower girls complimented him on his tux and quickly left the room as the two stood in front of each other. "You look beautiful."
"You think so?" She giggled and spun around for him. He let out a soft laugh at her. She spun around and accidentally ran into him. "Oops," she whispered to say more, but stop when she realized he was staring down on her.
His eyes were watching her's, and suddenly realized how close they were. Though for some reason, she couldn't see herself pulling away. He held her in place by holding on to her elbows.
"He's a lucky man," he said softly. She nodded dumbly. "You know…" he was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Five more minutes!" She immediately unlatched herself from him.
"I can't believe I'm getting married." She said nervously as she touches up her hair. When he doesn't say anything, she turns to face him again only to realize that the intensity of his stare at her has grown. "Can you?"
"Don't." He surprises her and even himself with that single word.
"What did you say?" She asked almost angrily. He stands his ground.
"Don't marry him." He steps towards her, but she takes two steps back. "I'm in love with you."
"Well, I don't love you," she lied. She surprises herself. "You should go." She doesn't want him to go. She wanted him to fight for her.
"Okay," he said. He wanted to fight for her, but he listened to her instead and stepped out the door.
She was celebrating her wedding day in a huge reception. She was smiling at her new husband.
He was sitting on a bench across her wedding reception. He was frowning at his feet.
At the same time, they stared out through the same window catching each others eyes. She shook her head at him, and he nodded in agreement.
(Maybe they weren't meant to be after all. Maybe in another life.)