A/N: Thanks for all the reviews!
Growing Up Is a Piece of Cake
I
Everything in Enjolras' rational mind says that this entire trip to the courthouse is foolishness, and that he'll be damned if he doesn't speak up and decides instead to hold his peace. Nevertheless this is a time when the ten-seconds-before-speaking-rule applies more than ever. 'Diplomacy first,' he reminds himself as he straightens out the cuffs of his suit jacket.
He goes to where Courfeyrac is pacing by the window, furiously rehearsing his vows and looking quite uncomfortable in his tuxedo. "Courfeyrac, a word with you," Enjolras says as he clasps his friend's shoulder firmly.
Courfeyrac stops in his tracks. "You're going to stop me and Azelma."
"Well no. But since you asked me to be your best man, I must know more about what's going on," Enjolras deadpans. Of course this information will be vital in the unlikely event Courfeyrac and Azelma end up divorcing, but the truth is that Enjolras is speaking more from curiosity and bewilderment. "When you arrived at work today, you didn't have plans of getting married. What happened during your lunchbreak then?"
"Correction, I didn't have plans of getting married today," Courfeyrac admits as he scratches the back of his neck. "I went out with Azelma, our discussion turned to that and we figured that there wasn't much use in waiting anyway."
"Yes, but marriage? That's a legal proceeding. How did you get a license so quickly?" Enjolras asks.
"Good thing I know the city registrars and more than one justice of the peace."
"Did you consider the other practicalities of your move?"
Courfeyrac breathes a sigh. "Azelma always wanted the perfect wedding, the entire white lace and flowers deal that her parents had. She didn't want to be showing at her wedding too, so I had to at least give her that even on short notice."
Enjolras rubs the bridge of his nose. It's difficult to argue with someone who is so passionate and gung-ho about change the way that Courfeyrac is. The fact that he threw himself into his relationship with Azelma, and now parenthood and marriage without even asking any questions only makes swaying him nigh impossible. "Are there other material reasons for such expediency?"
"None. No money issues, no skeletons in the closet. Come on, stop thinking like a lawyer all the time, Enjolras," Courfeyrac says.
Enjolras nods at the resolute tone of his friend's voice. "So you have been planning for a while now to eventually marry her?"
"I've always known she was a keeper," Courfeyrac explains. "She's one in a million, no, scratch that stupid expression, she's one in the world, and I'd do anything to make her happy."
Were this coming from someone else, Enjolras would roll his eyes at the saccharine words, but they are nothing but the truth where Courfeyrac is concerned. "So everything is in order?"
Courfeyrac nods. "I'm ready when Azelma is ready."
Enjolras casts a glance towards the closed door of the next room, where Azelma is getting ready with Eponine's help. "Shall I check?"
"Wait, let me get out of here first. I can't see her in her wedding dress just yet," Courfeyrac says before quickly exiting the room.
Enjolras chuckles at this superstition; it's surprising what people will stick to when life milestones are concerned. He then goes to the door and knocks once. "How are you two?"
The door flies open and Eponine walks out, rubbing her temples. She's still wearing the same clothes she had at work today; it's a good thing for once that she is in a dress instead of scrubs. "I can't believe it," she groans as she gives him a desperate look. "How can I stand as maid of honor to this?"
"She's your sister," Enjolras deadpans.
Eponine gives him a withering look. "I can't believe you agreed to be the best man. We're straight out of a movie cliché."
It is all that Enjolras can do not to smirk at what Eponine has pointed out. He now sees in the next room Azelma fidgeting with her short lace veil. Her simple white dress flows so well around her figure such that it becomes difficult for anyone to guess if she's gained any weight, at least barring any close inspection. "What time are we supposed to start?"
"Five in the afternoon," Azelma says, glancing at the clock, which reads ten minutes to the appointed hour. "Can you not talk for too long? I can't keep Maurice waiting."
Enjolras nods to her but he is not about to make any promises. He takes Eponine's hand to lead her to a quiet corner of the hallway. "What did you tell her?"
"Everything from how she can't just up and leave home to get married when she did tell me of a grace period before her moving out, all the way to my asking about how sure can she be about marrying him when she's known him for all of six months! Joly and Chetta have been dating for years and there are no wedding bells there, yet!" Eponine fumes. "What did you tell Courfeyrac?"
"We talked of practicalities," Enjolras says. "You know I don't argue using sentiment."
Eponine rolls her eyes. "This isn't logical, Auguste. I know that there's no real reason for them to not push through with the wedding. They're both of legal age and of usually sound mind."
"But the problem is?"
"Azelma is my sister. My younger sister. I'm not saying she's immature or anything, but she's been with Courfeyrac for only half a year. That's too short!"
"Six months is also how long we've known each other," he reminds her.
"We're not the ones with our names on a marriage license!" Eponine blurts out. She goes red as she claps her hands over her mouth. "Did I really say that?"
"You did," Enjolras says, even as he averts his gaze if only to hide his own awkwardness at this matter. 'If I had to get married today, it could only be to Eponine,' the thought occurs to him. He realizes now that if he had to marry on any day, whether this same hour, the next day, or decades down the road, Eponine would always be the woman he wants in the picture.
Weddings are really not the best places for these sorts of epiphanies, especially the sort that can take one's breath away.
He suddenly feels Eponine squeeze his hand. "Auguste? Are you alright?"
"I am." He takes a deep breath as he meets her eyes, still wide with embarrassment. He touches her cheek, just to make her laugh. "So in the end..."
"I still gave my blessing," she admits awkwardly. "And you?"
"Who am I to stop them?" he says. He glances at the clock, which says that they have just over five minutes left before the scheduled ceremony. "Shall we?"
Eponine finally nods before going back to the room they just vacated. "Come on, Zel, we can't be late for your wedding!" she calls.
"Finally!" Azelma rushes out and hugs her sister tightly. "Thanks for this, Ponine." She whispers something in Eponine's ear that has her blushing. "Enjolras, go on to your place."
"What was that about?" Enjolras asks Eponine, but she is still so flustered that she waves him off towards the hall where the ceremony is supposed to be held..
He figures that this ceremony will be small and private, but still he is astounded at how so many people have turned up for this wedding. Of course Gavroche is there as well as their entire band of friends, but even a number of friends from the human rights commission office and Azelma's own colleagues are now sitting in the hall. Even Cosette's parents are here and have graciously offered to help sponsor the reception. "Everyone is here for the food," Courfeyrac jokes. "How is Azelma?"
"Just you wait," Enjolras replies. Of course Courfeyrac nearly squirms with impatience but that's all gone the moment he sees Azelma entering the room and walking down the aisle. Azelma blushes when she makes eye contact with Courfeyrac, but her hands are steady when they finally find his. The sight of them is so surreal for Enjolras, even throughout the exchange of vows. It doesn't help to see Eponine there as the maid of honor, picture perfect in her lavender dress. Enjolras sees his partner's eyes glisten but she smiles brightly at him; these tears just may be those of joy.
Of course the wedding reception is at the Revolution Cafe. Enjolras does not find out exactly how this place got booked on such short notice, though he does get some inkling of the repayment at hand when he sees Jehan and Grantaire talking with the cafe's proprietor about where to put another set of complicated murals. Dinner happens to be a do-it-yourself stir-fry buffet, an arrangement that suits the very varied culinary predilections of the newly-wedded pair, not to mention their friends.
Enjolras is on his second heaping bowl of vermicelli topped with grilled beef when he sees Eponine nod to him and signal for him to follow her outside to the cafe's back terrace. "What is it?" he asks as he closes the door behind them.
Eponine looks around all the same to make sure they won't be overheard. "I have to give a maid of honor speech, just like you have to give a best man's speech. I have no idea where to begin!"
Enjolras tries not to cringe; this is one part he has not thought about. "It's supposed to be some sort of toast or honouring."
"More like roasting in this case. I'm not letting my sister get away scot-free with pulling this surprise on all of us," Eponine says in an undertone. "I'm calling big sister privileges on this one."
"Are you going to regale us with stories of your childhood?" he asks curiously.
She smiles at this suggestion. "I might. Those were good times, better than high school and some of uni at any rate."
"And very characteristic of your relationship."
"I think so. What about you?"
Enjolras pauses to think. There are a number of choice anecdotes about Courfeyrac's life, particularly during college and law school, which he cannot mention without causing awkwardness or even pain for Azelma. "I'll have to go with how Courfeyrac is becoming a responsible adult," he finally says.
"Has that even happened?"
"I spoke in the present tense. Your sister will have to do the rest of the work."
"Auguste, you're cruel!" Eponine laughs. "Some best man you're shaping up to be!"
"If I was doing this traditionally, the speech would not be G-rated," he points out. "But since this is Courfeyrac, and he's marrying your sister, this is not going to be normal."
"You're just too much of a gentleman," she laughs.
"You're still the big sister to the hilt." He looks to the door, wondering if they are already missed in the gathering. "So are we settled here?"
She nods. "So I get to do the embarrassing part. That means you ought to go after, and be the one to propose the toast." She kisses his cheek and lingers by his ear. "Make it good."
"Challenge accepted." He squeezes her hand briefly before opening the door to allow them to make their discreet entrance back to the party.
II
It is not often that Feuilly pushes his limits whether it comes to work or alcohol, but whenever he does his body makes him pay for it in spades the very next day. 'Next person who gets married ought to make it on a weekend,' he swears inwardly as he rests his elbows on his desk and buries his forehead in his fists. His last solid memory was of dancing after the cake was cut and Grantaire announced he was paying for a keg of lager. That had to be at about ten in the evening, which means there are several hours unaccounted for.
He groans as he looks at the clock, which only reads ten in the morning. Even now he's quite certain that he will be confined to his desk for most of the day and that fieldwork is out of the question. He winces at the sound of typing coming from the next room. "Enjolras, are you still actually conscious?" he calls croakily through the connecting door between the offices.
"Designated driver privileges," Enjolras replies, not even looking up from his work. He is alone here, since of course Courfeyrac gets this day off. "How are things over on your side?"
Feuilly looks to where Bahorel has his feet up on his desk and a sombrero on his face while snoring in the next cubicle, while Bossuet is hungrily scarfing down what he calls a triple-bacon-sandwich. "Extremely non-productive."
Enjolras puts aside his typing and goes over to Feuilly's desk. "May I please borrow your community data? I'm reviewing the on-site reports of the Transnonain case, and I need to triangulate."
"It's not much without Dupond filling in the details," Feuilly points out. There is still no telling yet how intact the man's recollection of events will be, given that he took several direct hits to the cranium. From Feuilly's experience with the injured, such as Elodie Chenier, he knows the odds may not be good. "Have you got any other sources?"
"His family, yes. I'd like to start with the neighbours now," Enjolras says, pushing up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. "They have certainly seen things the Dupond family has missed."
Feuilly nods slowly before going through a pile of papers till he locates the folder that Enjolras needs. It's a hodgepodge of handwritten notes and depositions, and he's not sure how useful all this notepaper will be for this high-profile case. 'Better than nothing,' he decides as he lets his friend return to work.
He's proven right when a few minutes later Enjolras quickly walks back into the office. "We need to hear more from this man," he says, pointing to a name signed on a deposition. "It's a familiar name."
Feuilly freezes on seeing the name his friend is pointing to. He gapes at Enjolras only to be met by a look that signifies that he is not joking about this matter. "How is he involved?"
"He lives in the neighbourhood, and was appointed to the local housing council," Enjolras says. "He is astute as we all know, and would perhaps know a thing or two."
"He may be part of the problem."
"That is possible."
Feuilly grits his teeth. "Why would he want to help you?"
"Because this is a legal investigation," Enjolras replies. "He can get subpoenaed by the courts anyway if it comes out that he knows something material."
"Must you resort to that?" Feuilly asks. He clucks his tongue when Enjolras rolls his eyes. Sometimes it's not easy working with a lawyer who likes taking the harsh road on matters. "No matter the situation, such information does not come for free." He knows that knowledge requires a certain currency, whether it is in goods or favors. As it is, he cannot imagine what they can possibly give to a former senior inspector.
Enjolras grips the edge of the desk. "How can he be legitimately persuaded then?"
"You might wish to choose another informant. Given recent history, he may not be forthcoming," Feuilly points out. "He may not be willing to help you out, in particular."
"That is true," Enjolras says. He turns as if to leave but stops in the doorway. "What is his standing with the community?"
"Reclusive," Feuilly replies. In all the visits he and Bahorel have made to the Transnonain farms, he has never seen or even heard of this informant. 'Perhaps he's gone or living by another name,' he decides.
Yet Feuilly knows in the marrow of his bones that such men will survive for as long as they will themselves to. This is why people like this man still stalk his nightmares; they do not easily fall prey to accidents and coincidences. 'He had no reason to die, at least not during the last time he was working in this side of town,' he recalls.
It does not take Feuilly very long to search the databases for the numbers he needs. All his work with local community organizations gives him access to reams of records that would otherwise be barred from public viewing. Sometimes he feels it's unfair to have such a privilege but at this present time he cannot imagine how such information can be wielded with minimal danger of abuse or misuse by malevolent parties or controlling governments. For now though he sets this aside as he zeroes in on the number he needs, a direct line to one of the obscure offices of the neighborhood.
His fingers feel heavy as he picks up the phone and presses button after button. Someone picks up the phone after a couple of rings. "Night Watch Office, Third District," a rough voice greets.
Feuilly has to swallow past the lump in his throat. He's not a scared child of the streets anymore after all. This, plus the distance, should give him less reason to fear. "Good morning, Sir. I'd like to speak with Mr. Sebastien Javert."
"Speaking. May I know who is calling?" the voice answers gruffly.
"The Commission on Human Rights." Feuilly half expects the person on the other end of the line to hang up but he can still hear the sound of breathing. He clears his throat before speaking again. "We would like to ask you a few questions about the Transnonain incident."
This time the silence is longer. Feuilly looks up and sees Enjolras looking through some notes that have just arrived. Enjolras' brow furrows as he opens up one of the notes and he shakes his head at the contents before setting it down. Feuilly swallows hard at this; even from where he sits he can see the ominous red ink on the missive, bringing across the point more graphically than the direst of threats.
III
It has been years since Eponine's last psychology-related class during her medical school days, but even so the terms and theories swiftly come to mind once more the minute she begins reading for her certificate course. The exhilaration she feels at this only heightens on the first afternoon of class when she walks into the room and realizes she actually understands the terminology that peppers the other students' conversation. 'It's really putting a name to things I already know,' she realizes as she finds a seat near the front of the rickety classroom.
The instructor, a kindly looking woman whose hair is wrapped up in a demure white shawl, goes towards Eponine's seat. "Dr. Thenardier, it's a pleasure to have you in our class. My name is Doctor Elizabeth Magloire, PhD of course."
"It's a pleasure, Dr. Magloire," Eponine says politely. "I don't believe we've met before."
"That's true, but your name is difficult to miss nowadays. You're gaining quite the reputation as a trauma surgeon."
"I'm still taking the sub-specialty board exams next year. Then I can wear that designation properly," Eponine explains.
"Best of luck with that then," Dr. Magloire says as she begins looking through the class list." I see that Attorney Enjolras will not be taking this class?" she asks disappointedly.
"His schedule won't allow for it," Eponine replies as she begins unconsciously rubbing the mark on her forearm. She sees Dr. Magloire's eyebrows shoot up on noticing this. "Sorry Doctor."
"No there's no need for that. I ought to adjust the air conditioning in this room anyway," Dr. Magloire says amiably. "We'll have an orientation for most of this session, so you can relax in the meantime."
'I hope I won't regret this,' Eponine thinks as she watches Dr. Magloire cross the room to adjust the thermostat, then return to the podium at the front of the room in order to officially begin the class. She sees that most of the other students are a few years younger than her; some of them do not even look as if they have graduated from college. There are some middle-aged students and even a couple of senior citizens, but these have already formed their own groups. 'This is what I get for being a very old 29,' she decides. Much of the time she doesn't feel her age, that is to say that she doesn't feel young. It's difficult to do so with a life that has phases so divergent that they almost seem to be different lifetimes in themselves.
The feeling doesn't fade when Dr Magloire asks the members of the class to stand up one by one to introduce themselves, stating their names, occupations, and why they're taking this class. Many of the students are taking it for the additional professional credentials or because of requirements in their workplaces. By the time it gets to Eponine's turn, she still hasn't quite zeroed in on an answer. Nevertheless she gets to her feet and fights the urge to wipe her clammy hands on her pants."My name is Eponine Thenardier, I'm a surgeon, and I'm taking this class..." she trails off. So many answers leap to her lips. 'I know what it's like to be in crisis. I want to help kids who are like me. Because sometimes I think that this is saving me.'
She looks down just long enough to find her voice. "I'm taking this class because I want to do something more for the patients I meet," she finishes.
Many of the members of the class nod approvingly but a few shoot questioning, almost scrutinizing looks in her direction. Eponine does not look away even as she sits down; inasmuch as she does not want to explain her life and circumstances here, she knows better than to show any sign of fear or shame. Nevertheless she feels more than just a frisson of relief when Dr. Magloire claps her hands cheerily and begins the course orientation, explaining the syllabus painstakingly. What sounds like simple reading and case studies suddenly seems formidable and in fact some people are squirming in their seats.
"And lastly, you are all be expected to log in two weeks of practicum at a shelter, halfway home, or institution," Dr. Magloire finishes with a look that would be blithe if not for her serious tone. "As early as now, I want you to start considering where you will fulfil this requirement. That will be all for this afternoon; you can approach me after for questions or to clarify your reading assignment for our next meeting. Class dismissed."
Eponine closes her eyes briefly, willing herself not to tremble. 'You knew this was part of the course, so woman up and deal with it,' she reminds herself. In her mind's eye she sees herself standing before a safe that is supposed to be locked but is now creaking open to reveal a yawning darkness. It's a dream she's had over and over since getting into medical school, and she knows it's only a matter of time till the vision may change. 'I don't need this now,' she tells herself over and over as she gathers up her tote and takes the bus back to Saint-Michel Hospital.
It's at times like these that she is thankful for a good emergency or two decked to her care. For as long as she is scrubbed in everything in her consciousness is focused on that life on the operating room table, on putting back broken and torn sinews so that a body may carry its spark just a little further. This afternoon her patient is a construction worker who has gotten impaled on a spar. It is not a simple matter of drawing the metal out for each inch brings with it added peril of bleeding, further lacerations or simply damage that will not become apparent till later. Her hands are light and quick, suturing together torn flesh and stopping blood where it wells up. She does not feel the hours passing, not till she finishes closing the wound and the scrub nurse calls out the time: 6:00 in the evening.
"A little slow today, Ma'am?" one of the older nurses asks concernedly. "That was three, nearly four hours tops."
"It was a deep one," Eponine replies. That's true, but even so she knows that on any other day, she would have been out of the operating room in three fourths or half the time. 'I just have a lot on my mind,' she decides. With her sister's surprise wedding and now this new class requirement on top of the usual things she has to deal with at work, it's no wonder she's a little under the weather. Nevertheless she steels herself to make her usual rounds, saving Elodie's room as the last on her agenda as always. All is well, as far as patient care is concerned, and it eases her tired mind greatly.
When she gets to Elodie's room, she finds Cosette there, talking with the girl about a novel. Not surprisingly it's a tale of high adventure, judging from the cover. "Hello you two," Eponine greets as she sets her tote down. "How are you doing?"
"Splendid!" Elodie manages to say, nearly tripping on the word. Her arms and legs are out of their casts now, but she still stays in one place, not quite used anymore to the freedom of movement. Nevertheless her smile still stretches from ear to ear. "I have exercises today!" she adds.
"Physical therapy," Cosette corrects. She looks at Eponine concernedly. "You look wiped out."
"I was supposed to get some sleep last night but the Courfeyracs had other ideas," Eponine deadpans. She's never going to get used to hearing her sister's given name paired with her friend's surname. "I'm glad your parents showed up. It was quite the surprise."
"When Marius told me what Courfeyrac and your sister were up to, I just had to text them right away," Cosette explains. "He's always liked looking out for you and your siblings."
'If Zelma had a church wedding, she would have asked Mr. Fauchelevent to walk her down the aisle' Eponine can't help thinking. "At least we don't have to worry about any controversial incidents. That's one upside of not having time for a bachelor party or bridal shower," she quips.
"I wouldn't get my hopes up for the next wedding," Cosette points out. "They'll still want to have their cake and eat it too."
"You'll be next," Eponine teases. "The way you and Pontmercy-"
"Still too soon!" Cosette laughs with protest. "But what about you and-"
Eponine shakes her head. She cannot quite picture this step just yet, not even if her sister's wedding has a way of giving interesting suggestions. 'Not till some things clear up,' she thinks, glancing at her patient.
In the meantime Elodie squirms uncomfortably. "I need to pee," she whispers a little embarrassedly. "How do I go to the bathroom?"
"You have a bedpan," Eponine reminds her.
Elodie shakes her head. "Do I have to?"
"I'll help you carry her," Cosette tells Eponine. "The bathroom isn't far off."
"Will do," Eponine says before getting into position to help pick up Elodie and move her to the small washroom a few steps away. She makes a mental note to secure commode privileges for Elodie, in order to make this task easier as well as to give her some semblance of control. 'This should be her mother's work,' she thinks but she banishes this thought. She can't imagine Mrs. Chenier doing this for her child. Eponine has to admit that in some way her own mother was better when it came to dealing with the nitty gritty of raising children. She can remember one night when her mother taught her and Azelma how to wash their hair under a cold tap. Somehow she could still laugh then, which is more than her favourite patient can say.
It takes time till Elodie is settled back in bed and reading her book again. Eponine quickly finishes writing in a chart and is just about to excuse herself when suddenly she sees Elodie put down her book. "Why don't you and Mister Enjolras want to get married?"Elodie asks.
Eponine blinks, surprised that Elodie should ask. "What makes you think so?"
"I know," Elodie says, putting her hands on top of the book. Her eyes are curious and a little frightened as she looks at Eponine. "Don't you love him?"
This time Eponine bites her lip. She's always avoided trying to properly name what she feels for him, since for the first time in her life she wants to let things just be. It's the only way she can imagine their being together, given everything that confronts them. She knows she can lose him if she pushes things to what is more than feasible for their position.
Yet how long can that last? Eponine sighs before meeting Elodie's still curious look. "You'll understand when you're older, baby. You just will."
