A week passed and at the end of everyday Veronique found herself at the little café, sitting with her new found friends and trying to make plans for a better future. She sat with Éponine on the window seat, stitching together the little rosettes worn by Les Amis. Although neither of the girls were particularly good at sewing, they were better than the young men. A wooden box half full of the rosettes sat on the floor between the young women's feet.
Éponine put the last stitch into the rosette in her hands and let it drop into the box as she stood and stretched. "I think I'm done for the night," she said with a yawn. "Are you coming, Veronique?"
Veronique shook her head and picked up another bit of fabric. "I'm going to stay here for a little longer. The police were starting to get too close to my place last night. I'd rather not let them find my room."
"Are they still looking for you?" Éponine asked. "I thought they gave up."
Veronique shrugged. "They never really were looking for me, but it's best that I stay out of their way. Police don't look too kindly on prostitutes who have hit men."
"It was self-defense," her friend replied. "You were done for the night."
Veronique's lips twitched into a frown. "It's too bad he didn't respect that. Men don't seem to understand that we only keep certain hours open for business."
"Do I hear you crying out against men?" Grantaire asked, turning in his chair to face the young women. "I promise we aren't all horrible."
Éponine shook her head as she turned to leave the meeting room. "Good luck convincing her of that, Grantaire. I will see you tomorrow, Veronique."
Veronique waved good night to her friend and returned to her sewing, but Grantaire was in the mood for conversation.
"Tell me, Veronique, why are all men horrible?" he asked, sipping from his glass of wine.
She kept her eyes on the rosette as she spoke. "Men think that they can get anything with money. Food, shelter, love, women. You name it, it can be bought. Even if a woman is walking away from a man, he still thinks that if he shoves some coins into her hand he can take her and have his way. Then, when she responds by slapping him across the face to make sure he knows she isn't interested in his idea of romance, he goes and gets the police. She gets away, but he still has the police looking for her, so she can't stay in the same place every night." Veronique placed the last stitch in her rosette. "And so she is forced to stay away from the one place that she considers a home, just because she acted in self-defense."
Grantaire placed his glass on the table and leaned towards her. "Not all men are like that," he said quietly. "None of Les Amis would dare to insult a woman, any woman, like that. And if you need a place to stay for the night," Grantaire added as he stood and shrugged into his jacket. "Just stay here. No one would mind."
Veronique set the rosette in the box and picked up another. "Are you sure?" she asked. "I wouldn't want to be any trouble."
He shook his head. "Sometimes some of us spend all night here. No one will mind if you stay."
She looked up and met his kind brown eyes. "Thank you, Grantaire."
He nodded and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Not all men are horrible, Veronique," Grantaire said. "Take care of yourself, alright?"
She nodded as he walked down the stairs. Listening to the quiet conversations around her, she continued to stitch the rosettes, layering the scraps of red, white, and blue fabric. Focused on her work, she didn't hear the sounds of the other people leaving, or of footsteps on the creaking staircase.
"Oh, sorry," she heard someone say, startling her from her focus. "I didn't realize anyone would still be here."
Veronique looked up from the rosette in her hand and saw Enjolras standing in front of her. His golden curls were slightly damp from the rain that had begun to fall outside, and he wore his red jacket again over a simple pair of trousers and well-worn boots. In his hand was a sheaf of paper.
She placed the completed rosette in the box and picked up more fabric. "I just wanted to get some more of these rosettes ready. Everyone else left a little while ago."
Enjolras nodded and sat down at a table. "I'm not surprised. Usually everyone is gone by two in the morning."
"So why are you back again?" she asked.
He started to flip through the papers in front of him. "I like to come here at night when it's quiet. Most nights I can't sleep, so I get some work done for the revolution instead." Enjolras looked over at her. "Why are you still here? Surely the rosettes can wait."
She pursed her lips. "I prefer to get things done as soon as possible. Besides, I don't have anywhere else to go."
With her eyes on the fabric in her hands, she managed to miss the pity in his eyes as he looked at her. By the time she glanced up again, he was focused once more on the papers on the table. They worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the noises of papers being turned and the quiet snick of her needle going through fabrics. Veronique started to yawn around three in the morning.
"Why don't you lie down on the couch?" Enjolras asked. "You can sleep, I won't mind."
She put down her last rosette and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. "What makes you think I don't have an actual bed to go home to?"
He looked at her, blue eyes devoid of emotion. "You said you didn't have anywhere else to go."
She bit her lip, trapped by her own words. "If I sleep on the couch, do you promise not to touch me?"
He frowned. "I wouldn't touch any woman while she sleeps. What kind of man would do that?"
"The kind of man that I meet all too often in my line of work, monsieur," she said as she made her way across the room to the lone couch by the fireplace. Veronique lay down on the worn couch, supporting her head with her arm and tucking her skirts between her knees. The warmth from the fire was comfortable, and she let herself relax.
Enjolras watched as she fell asleep. His heart ached with the thought of the things that must have happened to her to make it necessary for her to get him to promise not to touch her before falling asleep in his presence. It was for people like Veronique that he wanted to change the world. They had the most to gain.
He looked over at her, lying on the couch. Her bronze hair had been let down from its pins and fell in curls around her face. Long black eyelashes were a contrast against the pale of her skin and the shading of her freckles. Enjolras caught himself staring at one particular freckle just below her cheekbone and looked away.
She sighed in her sleep and rolled over so that her back faced the fire. He could see her shoulder blades underneath her dress and the curve of her spine. Veronique was so thin. Enjolras thought for a moment before getting up and going down to the main part of the café.
When Veronique awoke, a plate full of food sat on the table closest to her. A handwritten note lay next to the plate.
Veronique,
You are welcome to stay here at the café as long as you like. Consider this your home.
The plate is for you. Have a nice day.
Enjolras.
She set the note back down and sat at the table. For the first time in she didn't know how long, she had a real meal and ate until her shrunken stomach was full.