A/N: Well, here's chapter 4. I'm warning you lovely people now because I like you - this is the last of the bright and breezy. From here on, it's dark. So bring a torch (or a flashlight for my friends across the pond)
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and followed this story so far, I hope it doesn't disappoint.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Les Mis.
The evening had passed with remarkably little disturbance at the Liberté. A few drunken flirts had tried, and failed, to woo Genevieve and Vanessa – one even got a black eye for his troubles. Enjolras found that he quite enjoyed the cheerful atmosphere of the Liberté. It was a change for the marble leader, there was no undertone of revolution to stir the people. The people were stirred by their own lives, focusing only on themselves and their immediate surroundings. Amongst all the light hearted patrons of the Liberté, Enjolras found his own spirits lifting. He hadn't felt so relaxed and carefree in years.
However, such feelings were soon squashed when unwanted memories started creeping back to him. Two men carrying a drunken friend from the establishment reminded Enjolras of the multitude of times he and Combeferre had been required to carry Grantaire from the Musain and deposit him on a sofa to sleep off the wine. A group of men outside the café speaking in harsh tones reminded him of the many times he had diffused a fight between Bahorel and anyone. The multitude of men flirting with Vanessa and Genevieve reminded Enjolras painfully of Courfeyrac and the trouble that boy had gotten him into. It seemed wherever he looked, there was someone to remind him of a past he could never forget.
By midnight the café was all but empty, save for Enjolras and a few customers. Vanessa looked exhausted as she leaned against the bar for support, her face flushed with exertion. She had been nothing but a blur flying past all night. Like a bee, it seemed to be impossible for her to stand still. Flitting from table to table, refilling drinks and handing out meals, sweeping floors and mopping up unsightly messes with a smile. A smile, it seemed, for everyone except Enjolras. Not that he had expected any different – he was hardly her favourite customer. The situation was probably made worse by the fact that Genevieve had made it her mission to flirt her way into his arms. Her mission would be everlasting, however.
That very afternoon the café had been open no more than ten minutes before her assault began.
"Can I get you a drink, monsieur?"
"How come I've never seen your handsome face around here before, monsieur?"
"Mon Dieu, you can even make those rags look like royal robes, monsieur!"
"How long will you be living in our humble abode, monsieur?"
"You know, monsieur, I'm sure I've seen your face before." This one caught Enjolras attention.
He'd looked up and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Really, where?" he had asked.
Genevieve had laughed gaily. "Why, in church! Monsieur, you look like the angels that surround the altar. I must say, monsieur . . ."
At this point Enjolras had stopped listening.
There seemed to be a never ending supply of compliments and questions for the exuberant young barmaid to pose, much to Enjolras' dismay. It seemed all hope of spending the night quietly enjoying a drink was lost. Enjolras tried to imply he wasn't interested, but Genevieve simply pressed on, oblivious.
There had been at least three separate occasions when Vanessa had been required to call Genevieve away from the table in the corner because she was spending so long there. "Gen!" Vanessa would call. "I'm not supposed to be the only barmaid down here tonight. Pull your weight, for pity's sake!"
Genevieve's glance would dart from Enjolras to Vanessa, then back again, her expression nothing short of forlorn. There would often be a moment of hesitation as she struggled to make a decision before she'd sigh and wistfully trudge away. Each time this occurred, Enjolras would hold his breath until she had disappeared, then exhale in relief as he enjoyed the brief period of calm before Genevieve inevitably found her way back to his table again.
As closing time approached and the café emptied, Vanessa had to put more and more effort into keeping her flirtatious young friend away from the table in the corner. With each emptied table it became harder to keep the blonde's focus. Suddenly menial tasks, such as washing the dishes and sweeping the floor, became incredibly important. Anything to keep her away from Enjolras; Vanessa could think of nothing worse than seeing that man ruining another life.
Finally, the last chair emptied and it became a race to the only occupied table. Vanessa heard the bell chime and her head snapped up in Enjolras' direction, finding Genevieve already making her way across the room towards him. Weaving between tables with ease that came from years as a barmaid, Vanessa reached the table mere seconds before her younger friend. "Gen dear, why don't you go lock up?" she asked over her shoulder.
The look of fury on Genevieve's face was a sight to see. With a frustrated groan, she turned on her heel and stormed to the door, bolting it for the night. Enjolras smiled in spite of himself. "I seem to have an unfortunate effect on her, I'm afraid," he muttered.
"Indeed," came the sharp reply. Vanessa dropped into the seat opposite Enjolras unceremoniously. "We need to talk."
Dread trickled down Enjolras' spine like ice cold water down a stone. He knew he couldn't stay with Vanessa forever. After all, he barely knew her. He had hoped, however, that he would have been able to stay longer than a night. "Yes," he said quietly, allowing her to take charge of the conversation.
Vanessa saw the sudden look of horror and sorrow in his cobalt eyes. She laughed, "Monsieur, I'm not kicking you out!"
At these words, Enjolras released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I thought you would want me out, and I wholeheartedly understand why you would. But all I'm asking is for a few more days," he stammered, desperation palpable.
Holding up a hand, Vanessa smiled. "I've told you, you can stay as long as you need. Although you might want to collect a few of your belongings, mainly some clothes that will actually fit you," she mused, taking in his ill-fitting attire.
Glancing down at the offending clothes, Enjolras nodded. "That's probably wise. I could write to Jean-Luc and ask him to send me whatever he can salvage."
At this moment, Genevieve sauntered back over. "Who's Jean-Luc?" she asked, ever curious.
"My brother," Enjolras explained politely. He was still wary of the never-ending attention he was receiving from Genevieve and looked to Vanessa for help.
Noticing Enjolras' silent plea for assistance, Vanessa rose with a flourish. "Well, I suppose we should leave that 'til the morning, monsieur. It's been a long day and, I for one, am exhausted. Shall we retire?" she asked, louder than necessary.
Enjolras could only nod as a sudden yawn overtook him. It seemed he was more tired than he had thought. The three of them made their way through the kitchen and into the moon-bathed courtyard out back. Genevieve gasped and grabbed Enjolras arm in a most improper manner. "Oh, isn't the sky beautiful at night!" she whispered gleefully. "Maman says that the stars are lost friends and family watching us from afar. It's childish I know, but I find it comforting."
While Genevieve babbled on about how beautiful it all was, Vanessa saw the colour drain from Enjolras' face as he raised his eyes to the sky. Stunned by this reaction, she saw that he looked about ready to collapse as he began to shake. "Come along you two," she called from the foot of the stairs with feigned cheer, "I would like to get at least a little sleep before my morning shift."
This snapped the verbose lady out of her ramblings and she released Enjolras' arm. "Sorry," she called back. "I was just enjoying the view." "I was just enjoying the view." She looked pointedly at Enjolras.
It must be pointed out, if only for clarity of the situation, that Genevieve was in no way subtle in her flirting; the result of such pointing awkward to behold. With her tone, she may as well have just pointed a finger directly at him, declaring her adoration to the stars above, this being just how pointed of a look Enjolras was given.
She was making a point.
Such a look sent Enjolras and Vanessa into a state of stillness; Enjolras grateful for the shadows, Vanessa internally groaning in embarrassment for her young friend. It was becoming increasingly clear to Vanessa that Genevieve was going to flirt regardless of her warnings, and there was little helping the subsequent sigh from Vanessa as she gave it up and began to walk away.
As the trio made their way up the stairs, Enjolras did all he could to evade the vivacious blonde below, taking two at a time until he was able to press himself against the doorway of the flat. Having noticed this, Vanessa struggled to hide her smirk as she bid Genevieve goodnight and unlocked the door, her eyes on the poor girl as she sulked away.
When she turned back to the door, Enjolras had already made his way to the centre of the room, glowering at the door as though expecting Genevieve to follow them in.
Surprised by his speed, Vanessa released an almighty laugh as she shut the door. "Oh, Apollo you should see your face!" Smiling broadly, she lit a couple of candles. "I see now why 'Taire used to call you the marble lover of Liberty. You're utterly hopeless with women, worse than I had even thought."
With an affronted huff, Enjolras crossed his arms. "In what way am I hopeless?" he asked, genuinely interested in finding an answer to the question. He had been told plenty of times that he was useless with women, that he would never find a wife. In all honesty he'd never cared that much for the fairer sex, but he would like to know just how he was useless.
"Well, for one thing, you can't even hold a conversation with one."
"I'm holding one with you now, aren't I?"
Vanessa snorted. "That's because I'm not falling at your feet in adoration." She thought for a moment before rephrasing. "Alright, you cannot hold a conversation with any woman who fancies you. Second, you either blush or go drip white whenever a woman touches you."
Another disgruntled sigh.
"And finally," Vanessa continued, "you're scared of most of them."
At this, Enjolras laughed. "I'm not scared of women!" he assured her. "I find most women to be tedious, airheaded things who care about nothing more than looking pretty. What use have I for such a person?"
Raising an unimpressed eyebrow, Vanessa replied calmly, "Indeed, what use are women? All we do is slave away, cooking and cleaning and rearing children while men go about shouting and blustering and telling us what is best for us."
Although Enjolras would hate to admit it, these sudden outbursts of anger from his flatmate scared him a little. But only a little we must hasten to add. Enjolras had never encountered such a creature; a woman who was unafraid to stand on her own two feet with or without a man. It must be noted that Enjolras found such eruptions on par with the ones coming from the men who had surrounded him.
Softly, he began to soothe this sudden temper. "I didn't mean to offend you, I promise, Vanessa. I know full well that you are not like the women I am used to. You are self-assured and smart and understand the world. Clearly you are not an airhead. The world could do with more women like you."
To his surprise, instead of smiling appreciatively like he had hoped she would, Vanessa laughed. "Very clever, flattering me into forgetting that I was ever angry, not for myself, but on behalf of all the women you brush aside as airheaded and pathetic. If only you would look a little deeper into those women, you would see that they are every bit as important in this world as the almighty Enjolras. But first you would have to get past your own ego, you arrogant pig." And with a curt nod and a brief "Goodnight," Vanessa slammed her bedroom door shut behind her, leaving Enjolras alone and confused once again.
It seemed this was becoming a habit.
As quietly as he could, he slunk off to his own room and began to undress. With his borrowed clothes neatly folded on the chair, he climbed into the bed. A bed, his brain decided to point out, that belonged to a dead man. A haggard sigh rattled from his chest.
So much for changing the world.
Thus, a choice was made, he could ruminate on his interactions with Vanessa through the night, or he could sleep. Sleep won and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was dead to the world.
Barely two hours had passed before Vanessa woke with a start. A terrifying sound had ripped her from her peaceful slumber. It took her sleep-deprived brain a few lethargic minutes to realise what that sound was, and indeed where it had originated. A piercing scream shattered the silence again making Vanessa wince in agony. There was no doubt in Vanessa's mind where the scream was coming from. She flung back the covers in a panic and leapt from her bed, her feet thudding against the cold wood. She tore open the door and ran to the bedroom two doors down, slamming it open as she burst over the threshold.
Writhing and moaning in the bed, Enjolras was trapped in a nightmare. His handsome face was contorted in pain and anguish as he thrashed his arms against the covers which had tangled themselves around him. Vanessa watched him for a moment, stunned by the pitiful sight before her. Another scream and she jolted into action, running forward to grab both his arms and pin him to the bed; no mean feat for the young, petite woman, yet somehow she managed it and held Enjolras down, whispering soothing words in his ear.
"Shh, Enjolras I'm here. It's alright, it's just a nightmare. You're safe." She repeated this like a mantra; over and over until eventually he began to calm down. His panicked screams dulled to muffled whimpers and his eyes finally fluttered open. He jumped when he saw Vanessa hovering over him, one hand resting on his arm and another carding through his tangled curls.
Shirking away and flushing with embarrassment he mumbled, "I'm really sorry; I didn't mean to wake you."
In spite of herself, Vanessa laughed. "I'm sure no-one means to wake anyone when they have a nightmare." She glanced at his face in the darkness; it was obvious he was terrified. Running a hand through her own tumbling brown locks, she sighed. "Why don't we go have a drink and sit by the fire?" she asked. "I, for one, am frozen sat here."
Enjolras nodded, still refusing to meet her eye. Untangling himself from the covers, he got to his feet and followed Vanessa into the living room. Silently he fell onto the sofa and stared glumly into space as Vanessa stoked the fire and filled the kettle. "Would you like some cocoa?" she asked.
From her position by the stove, Vanessa almost missed the whispered reply.
"Yes please."
Surreptitiously, she turned to watch the young man currently occupying her sofa. His hair was mussed from sleep and his eyes had that certain fear in them, like a rabbit caught in a hunter's sights. Sweat glistened on his forehead and neck and his chest heaved beneath his nightshirt. As he gazed into the distance, Vanessa wondered just what she was supposed to do. Certainly she knew how to handle nightmares; she had struggled with far too many of her own to count and had dealt with the drunken ramblings of Grantaire just as well. But how does one comfort the man of marble?
The kettle behind her whistled away merrily, oblivious to the solemn mood in the room. With a sigh, Vanessa turned and began preparing the cocoa. She thought about the times Grantaire had freed her from the clutches of a nightmare and sat her down, an arm draped casually around her shaking shoulders before saying, "Tell me." After listening quietly to her hitched breathing and stumbling words, he would turn her to look him straight in the eyes – those beautiful, dark eyes – and tell her all the ways in which he loved her, and all the ways he would combat the nightmare.
One particularly terrifying nightmare, Grantaire had peered deep into her eyes and said, "Vanessa, I love you more than the earth. I love you more than my sketchpads and paints. I love you more than life itself. That nightmare is wrong. You have murdered no-one, and I love you. You are not on the streets, and I love you. I would never kick you out, and I love you." Every sentence went like this. "No one shall harm you, and I love you. God has forgiven you, and I love you." Then, still staring into her forest green eyes, he leant forward and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. Then another on her nose, her cheek, her neck, her ear. He didn't stop kissing until he was sure he had covered every inch of her face and neck, and until Vanessa was giggling like a small child.
Vanessa smiled at the memory of that night. What had been the most horrific sleep of her life quickly turned into one of her most treasured memories. With a renewed determination, she turned back to Enjolras. Scooping up the two cups, she marched across the room and flopped onto the sofa beside him, sloshing cocoa everywhere as she fell. The fullest cup was handed to Enjolras with a smile. Tentatively, he took it and held it with both hands, staring into space once again.
After a determined inhale, Vanessa prepared herself in pose and posture, sifting through every word Grantaire had whispered that night in an attempt to piece them together and replicate his eloquence. What was exhaled, however, was nothing short of a train wreck.
She began: "You may be the reason they died, but I—" then fiercely bit her lip shut upon noticing the wince of anguish.
Undeterred, she tried once more: "Listen, they loved you, and they died for you—" then cringed as she realized her mistake, and that she was horrible at this and failing miserably but completely stuck now in the midst of her futile attempts that shutting her mouth now would only make everything worse.
In an attempt to repair, she said: "Many men died, but there is good to be—" then huffed out air through hollow cheeks as her palm met her face, knowing there was no good to be had whatsoever.
With a new tactic, this from her own frustration, she firmly said: "Alright, so they're dead. Yes, it's your fault, but they died for more than you! They died for your revolution! For the betterment—"
"Could you please stop?"
Those four words, uttered in the most pitiful tone, stunned Vanessa into silence. Her mouth abruptly shut as she realised her complete inability to console a man she blamed, as she could not say the words of Grantaire's that had actually pacified her so long ago; it was the addendum to each phrase that had allowed her to breathe. It was the I love you that had stilled her crippled soul.
Those three words could not be said, therefore, Vanessa was useless.
From the corner of her eye, Vanessa watched his silent contemplation of the cocoa. A long moment passed, and without a thought, without any sort of preparation, Vanessa defaulted to what she probably should have started with.
She asked: "Do you want to talk about it?"
The simple question. No poetry, no eloquence, no love. Yet, it was clean and honest, and Enjolras slowly raised his head, catching her eyes with a lost expression. Wetting his lips nervously, he sniffed.
"I don't know."
"It might help you get back to sleep," Vanessa said self-deprecatingly, her cadence gentle and kind.
As Enjolras opened his mouth, she could see he was ready, and her relief that she'd finally done something right was ineffable.
She watched as his eyes slid closed and a wave of fear passed over his features. "I was on the barricade again," he began, his voice barely audible, "and there were guards after me. I was running through Saint Michel, up to the Musain. But when I got there –" His voice cracked and his eyes flew open. He turned to look at Vanessa, desperate to find someone real. "– The way was blocked by all their bodies. . . ." He drifted into silence now, brushing away tears that spilled down his cheeks.
Already, Vanessa knew who Enjolras meant: the bodies of his fallen brothers. She inhaled deeply and set down her cocoa before gently reaching out to Enjolras. Her hand closed around his fist, her thumb stroking his bone white knuckles. "Enjolras, it's only natural after all you've been through."
A sharp laugh sliced through the air between them as Enjolras pulled his hand from Vanessa's. He rubbed his forehead, suddenly developing an almighty headache. "All I've been through?" he hissed. "You're being much too coy, mademoiselle."
Sighing in frustration, Vanessa ran a hand through her hair. "True, but I do understand what you're going through. Maybe not to the same extent, but . . ." she trailed off, looking down at her hands as she wrung them together.
Meanwhile, Enjolras turned to look at Vanessa with interest. This angelic young woman was not like him, she was no murderer. How could she understand the agony that ripped at his insides? What did she know of guilt?
"It was a long time ago, and I was very young," Vanessa's soft voice sliced through his venomous thoughts. For a moment Enjolras wondered if he had thought them aloud, but realised that Vanessa was paying no attention to him, trapped in a memory as she was. "Our parents had not long since died and we were living on the streets. I was supposed to look after her, but I saw her as such a burden." Tears trickled down her cheeks as she struggled to continue. "I left her in the gutter. My own sister and I left her to die in the gutter."
Watery, emerald lifted to meet reddened sapphires. A moment of shared grief passed between them, and a new understanding created. Then Vanessa looked away and scrubbed at her eyes. "Sorry, I'm supposed to be cheering you up, not making it worse," she whimpered as she tried to laugh.
It failed.
Instead she sobbed just once before lifting her eyes to the ceiling. Her breathing was hitched and shaking as she desperately tried to compose herself. Beside her, Enjolras was unsure of what to do. He just didn't know how to deal with a crying woman, he wasn't all that adept at dealing with women in any capacity, but he tried. Nervously, he reached out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, but thought better of it. It was simply too awkward.
Eventually, Vanessa managed to calm herself and rested her head against the sofa. Her cocoa had long since gone cold and remained untouched all night. Enjolras glanced over at her and frowned, she really did look exhausted. Her eyes were red from crying and circled with dark purple. "You should get some sleep," he said.
Jolted awake by his voice, Vanessa turned to look at him. "I'm fine," she assured him. Her efforts were ruined as she yawned. At Enjolras' skeptical look, Vanessa sighed. "Fine, I'm going to bed. But so should you."
Enjolras nodded absently, he knew full well that even if he went to bed, he wouldn't sleep, not after such a nightmare as this one. It had been a few days since the last; this should have been expected. "I'll just finish my cocoa," he supplied half-heartedly. Vanessa didn't appear satisfied with this answer but eventually sighed in frustration and headed off to her room. With a soft click the door shut and Enjolras was left alone to his fears once again. The dying embers of the fire sent long flickering shadows dancing across the room and along with the soothing crackle of burning wood, sent Enjolras into his first dreamless sleep in months.
A/N: So there you have it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I would just like to take a moment to thank Clearly Lock for all her help. Seriously, she's awesome. So go read her story and then read the sequel. But leave a review first. Please.
Mags
