Author's Note: I would appreciate your reviews very much, especially since they are what prompts me to write on. Yes, I'm shopping for attention, thank you for providing it.
2
Premeditation
Nicolas blinked a little in surprise when the troublesome golden-hair-stealing dwarf from his dream appeared at breakfast in a much neater state than he, and indeed even Adrien, had cared to display. She was fully dressed, washed and combed, her brown strands pulled severely back from her face into a tidy bun. It was an image that contrasted interestingly with the little beast he had witnessed the previous evening. Based on his first impression, he had expected her to come down still dishevelled and muddy and glare at them from under messy locks of hair. No such thing. She was as neat as if she had just come out of the package. Well, at least she still glared. With her lips pressed in a thin line and her eyebrows arched disdainfully over the green-grey eyes. Nicolas found himself grinning instinctively in return. That, of course, made her glare harder and he felt the urge to laugh at the familiarity of the situation. Well, hello there, Enjolras! He fought the chuckle down. How would he explain to the child that he wasn't so much laughing at her but at himself? He was amused by the deep-rooted instinct inside of him which made him grin when he was glared at this way. By God, and he had thought only yesterday that she did not resemble her cousin! It was true that her colours were different and it was easier to call her ugly than pretty if one had to choose between the two but you never knew with children. They changed so much – who was to tell she wouldn't become a beauty in a few years? In her manners, though, he was starting to recognize something of Adrien.
Adrien himself did not give his young relative nearly as much thought or as many looks as his partner. He addressed her once or twice to show courtesy and was answered with a very hostile sort of politeness. This exchange seemed to satisfy them both. At the same time, Nicolas couldn't help but notice that Adrien was going out of his way this morning to be affectionate to him. There was some extra warmth to his lover's smile that Nicolas decided he should thank their little guest for. Rarely did Adrien meet someone impossible enough to make Nicolas Grantaire look easy to deal with by comparison.
After breakfast Enjolras, as was his God-given mission in life, got dressed and went out to take care of the country. And Grantaire, as was his God-given mission in life, set out to make fun of it. He made himself comfortable with a little effort in one of the armchairs in the sitting room, leafed through a few newspapers and picked up a pen and a notebook.
Things had been a lot easier since they had both started working. The fact that Adrien put his political talent and passion to good use for part of the day spared Nicolas the need to feel guilty for taking over the rest of his hours. And having an occupation of his own saved him from feeling like a useless housewife. And, by God, was he having fun being paid to do just what he had always done, what, in fact, he had been often reprimanded for in the years of plotting in the back room of the Musain. They were just reviews. Opinions that attempted to be presented in a way that would elicit a few laughs. Even he wasn't sure he wanted to call it real writing. But people found them amusing and papers were fighting to publish them. And all he had to do was write down what he thought on a particular matter and pad it all with a certain amount of imaginative nonsense. It would seem that now the revolution had come and gone, people were done being solemn and just wanted to laugh. Even Adrien laughed at his scribbles and what higher praise could there be than that?
Things were all right. Surprisingly all right but he was done doubting his luck and expecting disasters at every turn. They'd survived through enough to know they could survive through more if it came. And anyway… 'We may be going in circles around the Sun but that doesn't mean the Universe isn't moving forward along with us and taking us to new places.' Combeferre had written this in a recent paper and Nicolas was for once inclined to agree…
THUD!
He looked up from his notebook which he had been contemplating.
There were fast, small tapping noises and then the first loud sound again. He listened for a while and concluded it was caused by little feet jumping from the fifth step of the main staircase to the floor, then running back up once more and repeating the procedure. Somewhat curious, he left the notebook on the coffee table, got himself in his chair, rolled quietly to the door and opened it a crack.
And there she was, Eugenie-Aurorette WhatHaveYou Enjolras performing that exact routine. One might have assumed she was playing except for the perfect seriousness and determination written on her features. She was already out of breath and a few strands of hair had escaped the tight bun but she still climbed up deliberately and jumped down with the fervour Adrien would have exhibited while forcing royalist forces to surrender. It was a good thing she didn't notice the door was cracked open even though she did look in his direction a few times with a particularly calculating look. And Nicolas realized with bemusement that… Good Lord, she was doing this specifically to irritate him! Once again he wanted to laugh. Won't bloody happen, mon petit mademoiselle. As someone who had endured the noise at the Musain for years… Hell, as someone who had caused a large portion of the noise at the Musain for years, he didn't find noise very disturbing at all. If anything, he missed it. He went back to work with a smirk and was on the third page when the sounds stopped. About two minutes later, the door to the sitting room was opened and closed with excessive care.
Once again Nicolas tried not to laugh as she gradually made her way to him, stopping at every step and glaring just in case. He watched her only out of the corner of his eye and pretended not to notice her.
"What are you writing?" finally came the question when she was standing only half a meter away from where he was sitting.
"A guide on step-jumping for little girls," he said in all seriousness without lifting his eyes from the notebook. There was a pause.
"You were spying on me!" she said indignantly.
"Our hallway is hardly a private area, Mlle."
She pouted and searched for something to say.
"If children make you angry, you shouldn't have gotten one!"
He laughed for real this time. He couldn't help it. It sounded if she was reading a play script but he was messing it all up by not saying the right lines back.
"My dear little lady, do I seem angry at all? Why should I be?"
"I was being noisy. I was disturbing you."
Defiance, challenge, and a little confusion. He smiled.
"I was not disturbed. Did you mean to disturb me?"
"Yes."
Oh, and upfront honesty.
She took a cautious step back but looked at him defiantly. Nicolas made an effort to look apologetic.
"Oh, I'm very sorry. Shall we try again? And this time I will attempt to be positively upset."
Her lips twitched and she relaxed her posture a little, seemingly deciding that he was harmless enough and not going to shout at her in the near future.
"What are you writing?" she asked again.
"My thoughts about some things."
"Why?"
"Because people pay me to."
"Why?"
"Are you going to ask 'why' after every answer I give you? Because there is a much bigger variation of questions and you might want to try some of the rest."
"Which?"
"Well, for example 'who' and 'where' and…" he caught himself and chuckled. "Oh, I see."
"What?"
"All right, all right. I will answer your original question. I have absolutely no idea why anyone would be paying me to read what I think. They just do."
"I can think and I can write. Would anyone pay me?"
"Ah, now… They might if your thoughts are entertaining enough but it will also help if you pretend to be a grown man. Unfortunately, republic and all, this is still not a completely fair world."
She came closer, cautiously leaning over his shoulder to look into the notebook.
"'After all, premeditation is for politicians while we, ordinary people, can sometimes afford to leave it all to our dear old friend Chance," she read out loud. "What does 'premeditation' mean?"
"It means thinking ahead. Planning."
"And why would you want to go without that?"
"Because often the best things happen when you haven't planned them and if you stop to think too much you might miss your chance. And life has some interesting surprises to offer."
He was thinking of Adrien. No amount of thinking or planning would have brought or kept them together. And yet here they were. He smiled a bit.
"I don't like surprises," Eugenie declared, frowning and wrinkling her nose. "I plan things. I like things happening like I planned them."
"Some of the time maybe that's better. But too much of anything is harmful, including plans. Our plans are not always for the best so perhaps it's not so bad when Fate messes them up a bit."
She shrugged obviously not entirely impressed with his attempt at sounding wise. Oh, but I can guess why you don't like surprises, my dear, he thought. They have all been rather nasty ones for you so far. You're tired of being tossed this way and that and you want to know what will happen so you can prepare. You are a bit like me – you don't dare to simply hope. The difference is that I tend to let things happen without daring to make plans either, or look into tomorrow at all. A fine trio we make – a methodical child, a foolhardy adult and… Adrien, who is a bit of both.
"And what are your plans now?" he asked.
"To grow up," she said with a surprising amount of feeling.
An adult would normally chuckle at such a line spoken by a child and find it adorable but something in her voice was quite serious so he regarded her with the same seriousness.
"Really? You don't like being a child?"
She shook her head. "Children are week."
"Ah… I suppose, in a way that makes sense. But adults are often week too."
"Like you?"
He raised his eyebrows.
"What do you mean?"
"Because you can't walk and you can't do whatever you want."
He laughed.
"Actually, my dear, I can do surprisingly a lot of what I want like this. I'm not complaining."
She scowled.
"You shouldn't call me 'my dear' if you don't mean it. It's like lying."
Thank God that my own conversation is all over the place or I may well have found these seemingly random changes of topic a bit dizzying, Nicolas thought.
"What makes you think I don't mean it?"
"I'm never dear."
He laughed but it was a friendly laugh, not meant to be mocking and condescending.
"You would be amazed what different ideas different people have of what is dear. For example, your dear cousin is dear to me indeed. And you two are surprisingly alike. So I may well find you dear as well."
She blinked at him in confusion.
"My cousin and I are not alike."
"Maybe you can't see it but I can definitely spot a few likenesses."
"Like what?"
"He doesn't like lying either. And he's rarely intentionally dear without a good reason."
She considered this for a long time before shrugging and skipping out of the room with barely as much as a goodbye. It seemed that some idea had taken over her little head.
Nicolas chuckled and shook his head. What a strange, strange child. A bizarre mix of childishness and maturity and mockery and dignity all in one. He discovered that evening that premeditation sometimes snuck up on you and sometimes, without warning, you started making plans.
