WOW, this one took a long time. It's worth it though, I promise! It's longer and there are some pretty exciting developments :D Please review with your thoughts and ideas! Really though, reviews man. They give me life. Happy reading!
VIII.
She's gone, she left before you woke, as you ate last night, neither of you spoke
Dishes, TV, bed the darkness filled with dread, but at least the war is over
The holiday season was by far Enjolras' least favorite time of year. All of the festivities and silly customs served as unwelcome distractions from the café meetings. All of his fellow revolutionaries, Grantaire leading the pack, would use Christmas and the coming New Year as an excuse to be incoherently drunk for almost a full month. He had always expected no work to get done at all. Without anywhere to go for Christmas, Enjolras was usually alone in the back room of the café with his books and papers with the sounds of drunken festivities surrounding him.
This year, in a stark contrast, all he had was Eponine to contend with. She was no better than his friends, worse even, because it was only the two of them and Eponine didn't make it a habit to get drunk, and therefore, distracted.
The days of December passed quickly, the small town booming with merriment. The main hub of town, being not too poor or too wealthy, would have a few modest celebrations on Christmas Eve, according to Eponine. Enjolras cursed these parties whenever they were mentioned, dreading (but expecting all the same) that he would have to make an appearance. Eponine, her arm hooked around his as they walked to work, seemed bursting at the seams with excitement about the idea of a party. How would it look, after all, if her official unofficial husband did not accompany her to said party? For the most part Enjolras ignored the horrid details and simply enjoyed how Eponine talked about them. She had never seemed to him to be a frivolous party going girl, but this was the first year she actually had the option. Enjolras expected the idea of the holiday festivities wasn't what excited her, it was the fact that she was actually allowed to go to them. She didn't have to spend the evening waiting in the snow to pick the pockets of Parisians who came stumbling out of taverns, or begging to the ones who stepped out of churches.
"Oh, and Madame Tully said that I could borrow her oldest daughters dress for the occasion. Did I tell you about that yet? At the party Monsieur Augustine will be hosting, it is customary for the women to wear all white. We will also have crowns of sorts, woven out of evergreen twigs and holly, with a white ribbon too, I think. Doesn't that sound nice? I don't remember anything like that when I was a child. We put out our shoes for Pere Noel; did you do that as well? Or do bourgeois children simply have too many presents?" She smiled up at him and he scoffed playfully, revealing that he used to lay out every pair of his shoes instead of just one when he was small, trying to trick Pere Noel into giving him more.
Eponine laughed at this small detail of Enjolras' life, before he became so socially minded and serious.
After a few more conversations like these it was clear to Enjolras that he was indeed accompanying Eponine to Monsieur Augustine's Christmas Eve celebration. It wasn't left up to him, really, because Eponine simply hadn't given him the opportunity to say otherwise. Accustomed to his usual hatred of social events where there wasn't a protest to be had, Enjolras was caught off guard when the day of the party came and he found himself to be nervous. Why in the world would he be? Growing up in a wealthy family taught him social graces and introduced him to these sorts of things early in life, so it couldn't be that.
Eponine had brought home the dress Madame Tully had promised her and hung it on a hook in the small back room in order not to get in wrinkled or dirty. Enjolras, as a man, didn't need hardly any time to prepare. He settled on reviewing one of his many books at his desk while Eponine brushed her hair and sat on the bed, looking out the window at the snow. It was bitterly cold outside, and even the sturdy cottage couldn't keep out all of the wind. She shivered as another harsh wind blew through the countryside.
"Do you know how to dance?"
Oh, dancing. He had forgotten about the dancing. He answered begrudgingly,
"Yes, I suppose, though it's not something I pride myself on. I had to learn early, as a member of my family. Sons of wealthy merchants don't grow up not knowing all the social graces."
"Your father was a merchant?"
He certainly did not want to talk about his family, let alone his father. Letting that small detail slip had been a mistake. Ignoring Eponine's question, he decided to ask her one.
"Do you know? How to dance, that is."
"I do, actually. Madame Tully has been good to me; she would sometimes teach me simple steps when Monsieur Tally sent us out for his lunch. Why, were you afraid that you would have had to teach me?"
Eponine let out a small laugh at her own joke, but Enjolras continued his reading. He must have read the same line three times by now. This party, everything about it… it didn't rest well with him. Dancing, drinking, mistletoe, making small talk with strangers about nothing… dancing… dancing with Eponine. All of a sudden he broke out in a sweat. Eponine, with her swishing skirts and golden eyes, dancing with him. Close to him. He would be posing as her husband and she as his wife. How was he to go about this? The other day, when she hooked her arm around his on their way to work… he was flustered then! He hated to admit it, but he was completely and utterly clueless about women. About this one, in particular, he realized.
Hold on, Enjolras, quit over thinking this. How many girls did you have to dance with at your father's stupid parties? God, they were all so dull and pathetic. How did Courfeyrac and the rest ever manage?
"Enjolras!"
She had been trying to get his attention for a few minutes, he realized, when he came out of his thoughts and looked at her in response. She was standing now, tying her black cloak around her, and looking slightly worried.
"Do you even want to go? I know this sort of thing isn't really something you enjoy. I can say that you're sick, or…"
"Eponine, its fine." He smiled slightly to let her know he meant it. One party, to see her smile after everything she went through at the barricade – after everything Enjolras blamed himself for – he could manage.
Lift your head and look out the window
Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go
Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!
Thankfully, it wasn't as rowdy as Enjolras expected. Monsieur Augustine owned a fairly large but modest tavern near the center of town, and it seemed most of the townspeople had shown up. Monsieur Augustine was a portly man, white haired and short, and very kind. He greeted everyone as they entered with a smile, all the while holding a tankard of wine in his hand and laughing at an unheard joke. Also a relief, it wasn't as formal as Enjolras had thought. There was a table for drinks and a band in the corner, playing lively songs to the full room. People were doing jigs and line dances, sometimes a waltz was thrown in, and in between it all a few small children weaved in and out of the crowds, making up their own dances as they went along. A few fire places and candles in the windows gave the room a soft glow that made the whole building feel like a cozy house. As Eponine said, all the women were clad in white dresses and woven holly crowns.
Actually, Enjolras hadn't yet seen the white dress Eponine was allowed to borrow for the evening. She had thrown on her cloak quickly because of the cold before they left for the walk into town.
Beautiful. She was beautiful, and even Enjolras with his stubborn mind had to admit it. The dress was made of a soft white material that barley brushed the floor, overlaid in delicate white lace and cinched slightly at her waist. A strip of the same white lace was tied directly underneath her bodice.
Her dark hair was let loose around her shoulders and held back ever so slightly by her woven crown, offsetting the golden glow of her soft brown eyes. Her skin, in the candle light especially, looked lovely next to the white of the dress. It was the color of coffee with milk.
He caught himself staring, even blushing a bit when Eponine noticed. He fully expected her to make a joke at his expense and perhaps laugh, but she just smiled at him and locked her eyes with his. An older man to the left of Enjolras exclaimed in a rough voice,
"Easy, boy! Keep staring at her like that and we'll have to empty the place!" He patted him on the back roughly, accompanied by the laughter of a few of the men who overheard the joke.
Son of a bitch. If he wasn't blushing before, he was now. Not only did he let himself slip, he let himself slip in public. In front of people. In front of Eponine.
He managed an awkward chuckle as another man patted him on the back and shot a saucy wink at Eponine. He looked back toward her, his face scrunched in sheepish embarrassment, and was relieved to find a smile spread across her face.
"Dance with me, bourgeois boy."
She pulled him towards her, turning fast and practically hitting him in the face with her long wavy hair. Then she turned, abruptly, and started dancing right away. It took Enjolras a moment to find his footing, to figure out what dance it was, and to calm himself down. Eponine laughed good naturedly at him, and he fell into step soon enough.
He placed one hand on her back while his other hand gripped hers, stepping where he needed to and guiding them both across the dance floor. The beat picked up and he twirled her away from him then pulled her back in, holding her fully against him for a split second until the dance called for her to step away.
It was turning out to be a perfectly fine evening, after all. Eponine laughed as Enjolras twirled her away yet again and pulled her back in, with confidence this time instead of uneasiness. It was a gorgeous laugh. She titled her head back in a every "Eponine" fashion, her toothy smile reaching the corners of her face. Enjolras' focus moved over her, over every part of her, while they were dancing.
Her thin fingers gripped his shoulder when she missed a step, falling toward him only an inch or two more but it seemed like she was impossibly close to him. He could feel the outline of her body against his.
Get it together. Get it together. Just try to get it a little bit together. At least make it look like you have it together. I really should have not had that sip of wine an hour and a half ago when we got here.
He felt mad, absolutely mad.
A loud noise pulled him out of his haze. A rather drunk middle aged man had stumbled a bit too close to the drink table, knocking over a mug of wine but otherwise harming nothing. Enjolras looked towards the commotion for a split second, and then felt himself being pulled quickly to the side of the room and practically pushed against the wall. Eponine was flush against him, one of his arms still around her waist, and while one of her hands was still on his shoulder the other was gripping his arm rather tightly right under the crook of his elbow.
"Eponine?"
"Are you alright? I didn't know, with the crash… I just didn't want you to have another flash back. Enjolras?"
Was that actually a hint of concern in Eponine's eyes? Amongst the gold and the brown, Enjolras saw worry. Caught off guard, by her actions and eyes alike, he stammered slightly when he answered.
"What? No, Eponine, I'm fine. Really, it's, uh… thank you."
She smiled ever so slightly at him. Enjolras didn't feel upset with her, as he thought he might. Maybe a few months ago, he would have chastised her for babying him, for thinking he wasn't coping. For thinking he was weak. But instead he was… touched. He did mean it. He did mean the quiet "thank you" he had muttered rather clumsily to her.
It seemed like these past months he was trying to fix himself, to look out for his own reactions and come to terms with everything. It didn't work. And now, with Eponine still in his arms in this crowded room, he came to the conclusion that it wasn't supposed to. Who can fix themselves? No one, no one can. Being thrown into this strange town with this strange woman healed him more than he knew it would, because now they could look out for each other. It was just that up until now, they had looked out for each other at night and wrapped up under warm wool blankets. He held her when she cried and they didn't talk about it the next day. She held his hand as she crawled into bed when he was being cross, because she knew it was only because he was being bombarded with flash backs and guilt trips that he didn't know how to control.
Enjolras had become a different person in the past months. It was two different worlds, summer and winter. He was forced to cope with the barricade, with the loss of his friends, with everything he knows being ripped out from under him. It knocked him over and he wasn't sure he would ever stand up again. What the history books don't tell you is what happens after everything. The French Monarchy would get a tally mark for this one; they would be talked about as the victor. Who got to tell the story of those at the barricade? Who writes that down? What happens when the bright young leader has no one to lead and nothing to preach about? What if Goliath had a noble cause, had people he was fighting for… but only Daniel's story was written down?
Enjolras, not knowing much else, knew then that no matter how hard this had all been, Eponine had made it that much easier.
"Enjolras?"
Eponine's soft voice reached him amongst the noise of the party around them. He snapped back into the present, realizing Eponine had been trying to get his attention for the past few minutes.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, Eponine."
She smiled down at her feet and let out a sigh.
"Would you like to dance with me again?"
All the living are dead, and the dead are all living
The war is over and we are beginning...
About two hours later, everyone in the tavern had had their fill of dancing and drinking. The townspeople where filtering out of the celebration in pairs, stepping into the quiet and snowy Christmas Eve night. After thanking Monsieur Augustine and saying farewell to Eponine's work friends, Eponine and Enjolras joined the dwindling crowd in stepping out into the darkness. It was snowing slowly, but the snowflakes were thick and sticking to everything they touched. Eponine's dark hair and cloak were blanketed in seconds, and Enjolras' golden curls were delicately framed.
They reached the edge of town, arms linked, and Eponine spoke up.
"I'm glad you decided to come, bourgeoisie boy. I know you don't usually make it a habit of attending those sorts of social events."
"It was no inconvenience, Eponine. It is nothing I'm not accustomed to."
"Yes, you mentioned your father held similar events. Are you ever going to tell me about them? Are you ever going to tell me anything? Or will I have to accept the mysterious figure that is Enjolras?"
She laughed and he chuckled.
He chuckled. Really, that sip of wine must have been too much.
The truth was, he wanted to tell her everything. He was perplexed, to say the least, about this evening and what it had seemed to do to him. Every nerve in his body was super sensitive to Eponine's touch. He had almost fallen over when her finger tips grazed his wrist as they exited the tavern. And when she gently shifted her weight while walking to lean on him, he had to pace himself in order not to walk too fast and fall over from a sensory overload.
He wanted to tell her everything about him. His life, his unpleasant childhood memories, his unpleasant adult memories… he wanted to share all of his memories from the barricade and the questions he had about them. He wanted to know her favorite color, the town she was born in, where she learned to read, what she wanted to do with her life…
He was willing to listen and to tell and perhaps even hold her while he did it. Maybe resting his hand on the small of her back would be appropriate or leaning close to her so he could smell her hair…
He practically fell over as they were walking; Eponine had to stop in her tracks and was almost knocked to the ground herself. He seemed to regain his composure after a moment, telling Eponine he must have tripped on a rock hidden by the snow.
The thing about coming to terms with things, like the barricade, happens too fast and too slow all at once and you don't notice either one is happening until it's over and nothing can be done about it. This is what Enjolras was feeling at this moment, but not about the barricade.
His mind was clouded the rest of the night, right up until they walked through the door and Eponine fell into bed without even taking her shoes off. Enjolras didn't shake the snow from his hair, didn't remember to shut the door behind him…
And was left lying in bed staring at the figure next to him who was already asleep, too awake to doze off. He had to stay awake practically all through the night, coping with the fact that he had fallen in love with Eponine. And it was entirely too late.
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis
