"Mademoiselle?" was the first word called to her the following morning. Cosette had barely been awake for a quarter of an hour when the sound had rung through their home, her father already half-asleep by the time she rose that morning. She had immediately gone to the kitchen, boiling water on top of the stove that her father must have started heating during the night, preparing tea, and she had near-to have forgotten the man taking residence on the couch and she jumped at the sound of his call.
Reluctantly, she made her way to the source of the sound just as the man was about to call for her again. She forced a smile, trying to hide the fact that she had not been up for long and was half-asleep.
He appeared to be hesitant to say anything at the sight of her, meaning that she most likely had not done her best to hide any sign of drowsiness. "Did I wake you?"
"Hm? No, you did not. I was already up and about." Cosette replied, trying to prevent a yawn. After a pause, she asked, "You called for me?"
The man raised an eyebrow at her, as if he had forgotten his original intentions, before nodding. "Yes, indeed. I was wondering, perchance, if there is a cane somewhere within these walls? Something to help me get around a little easier while I'm still healing."
"Not to my knowledge, but if you ask my father this evening, he may know of where one might be." Cosette answered, eyeing the man curiously. "What for, might I ask?"
"Have you not seen the outside today? Not a cloud in the sky!" The man gestured to the front window. "It would be a shame to waste it."
"It would be unwise for you to leave here shortly after receiving injuries that have put you on the mend." she said sternly. "And so close to the fall of the barricades. Odds are someone will be keeping a close eye on you the moment you step your foot outside."
He opened his mouth to speak, but with a glare, she stopped him. "And if you are to say one word that is relevant for what we discussed yesterday, do not even start. I understand you are hurting, monsieur, as are many friends and family of those who perished on those barricades, but in complete honesty, wallowing in grief is not going to solve anything, nor is wishing death upon yourself. You letting yourself down will not bring any of them back, and neither will your death."
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I apologize sincerely for those comments, and presently, that was not the impression I was intending to make. It was merely a suggestion."
Cosette's cheeks reddened with embarrassment at this, feeling guilty for jumping to conclusions. "Pardon me, then. If I caused any offense, I did not intend it."
"You did not, and I have an understanding as to why you would come up with the thought." he admitted. "Surely, it can be forgiven?"
"It already has been." she told him, before excusing herself for a moment to tend to the water that she had left boiling in the kitchen. She returned to the room about five minutes later, carrying a silver tray containing ceramic glasses and a pot, the latter which was steaming from its lid and spout. She steadily placed the tray on top of the table beside her father's preferred chair, careful not to spill or do anything that would result in any of the objects shattering on the floor.
"Tea, monsieur?" she offered to him, and received a nod in return before she poured him a cup, handing it to him carefully before she went to pour her own and took a seat in the chair.
"Merci." he said with a curt nod before gently blowing on the liquid to prevent its still boiling-hot contents from spilling. He slowly took a sip with caution, obviously not wanting to burn his tongue by ignoring what would be common sense. Cosette watched him as she did so, immediately looking away when she realized she had been staring at him, perhaps longer than she should have, especially a stranger, a man whose name she did not even know.
I wonder if he has told papa yet, she thought as she saw him flinch the moment his lips came into contact with the tea, and nearly failed in stifling a giggle at the sight of it. The behavior of this man was certainly peculiar, compared to the number of men she had come into contact with in her lifetime, a number that was quite limited—She was lucky if she could name five, including her father. Then again, the only man she was familiar enough with to reach that conclusion was her father. To someone other than her, the way he behaved might not be considered normal.
"How do you feel?" she asked as a distraction from the silence, not wanting to delve into her own thoughts any longer.
"For someone who was recently shot, I say quite well, physically at least, from what I can tell. I do not feel feverish, which is something I have not been able to say for a while, almost years." he replied, once again using caution when he attempted to once again, take a sip of tea. "No sign of infection, either. Only sore, but that could be considered a given."
"Anyway, mademoiselle," the man continued, setting his empty glass on the floor after a stretch of silence. "I would rather not waste the weather outside. Being inside for extended periods of time is not wise, some places being so stuffy you can barely breathe, especially in these upcoming months."
"My father opened a window in the kitchen to let some fresh air in. Otherwise, you will just have to make do." she told him, hoping he would take that as a sufficient answer and drop the subject. "And you will not be doing much moving about until you've healed enough to the point to which we won't have to worry about your stitches opening up, so you might as well relax for the time being."
"Mademoiselle—"
She gave him a stern look in the eye. "I understand what you mean but the answer is no."
That ended that.
Later that afternoon, she had heard him give a joyful shout that almost caused her to jump from her seat, causing her to nearly drop her book on the floor.
"I remember now! Cosette, how could I have forgotten?! The Lark!" he stated proudly, feeling accomplished of himself. "Marius' love!"
"Pardonnez-moi?" she asked confusedly, not exactly sure she heard the man correctly, while trying to comprehend what he was saying at the same time.
"A friend of mine, Marius Pontmercy, spoke of a Cosette the other day!" he answered, looking as if he was about to leap off the couch and announce it to the world. She thought he probably would have, too, had he not been concerned of his injuries or her presence in the room. "He came in the Musain looking like he had seen an apparition of sorts, but the look in his eyes was something I do not even think a master poet could have put into words."
"Quiet your voice, monsieur, lest you wake up my father!" Cosette warned, her voice almost a whisper. "And…you know Marius?"
"Know him? Not as well as some, but more than others. Came to Paris about a year ago, has been coming to the Musain for slightly less than that." the man replied, his voice quieter but not exactly to a regular volume. "Good man, he is…was. Was studying law at the university alongside a companion of mine, actually saved him from being dismissed in a class, but it was his roommate, Courfeyrac, that introduced him to our group. That man, Marius…he would ruffle our leader's feathers quite often, being the Bonapartist he was..."
The continued use of the past tense and the reminiscent tone of the man's voice, along with the mournful expression in his eyes, lead her to a single conclusion, and she could tell instantly that the man knew why. She could feel the tears in her eyes, every hope of him being alive shattered. The saddened look of the brown eyes before her only further confirmed the fact.
"How I wish I could deliver better news." he said regretfully, as if wanting to reach out and comfort her, not that she would have accepted it. "I'm sorry."
She felt some harsh words coming to her throat, yet she still managed to reply with a calm but shaky voice. "No, no…It's…it's not your fault."
A few minutes of silence past before either of them said a word, and it was the man that broke it.
"If...if it's any consolation, he died bravely." he said with a trembling voice. "He prevented two deaths with the bullet he took. There wasn't a chance to thank him…and I couldn't save him."
As much as she would want to say that his words were of no help to her, she could not find the strength to make the argument. It would, in a way, be a lie. Everything hurt, though. She had lost someone she loved, only knew him for a short while before he was gone. The man before her had even said he couldn't save him. He knew him longer than she had, had been friends with him, and in their darkest hours, could not save him. She knew deep down, the man across from her was suffering greatly.
"I wish I could have…Oh, how I long for it!" he cried, his voice raising slightly. "Oh, why couldn't I?"
"It was his time." Cosette managed to say. "God called him home."
"No offense to you, but after such a loss of life, how can I believe He exists?"
"You find a way." she answered. "Eventually."
A piercing cry was not what Eponine had expected to disturb her sleep that afternoon. Corinna had asked her if she would prefer to sleep on a bed that was more comfortable, but the gamine had made much of an argument that the floor was not the most uncomfortable thing she had slept on, and if necessary, there was the chair nearby that she could use as well.
At first, she had been tempted to ignore it, forgetting momentarily that she was not out on the streets and had a roof over her head—it was not uncommon for her to hear such cries day and night within the depths of the Parisian streets. It had also started as a whimper before reaching its high pitch that resulted in her waking up, and reluctantly, she jumped to her feet in search of the source of the sound. Corinna had apparently come to the room in a rush, the door slamming open enough to hit the wall, the doorknob leaving a small dent in the plaster.
Monsieur Enjolras was writhing on the bed, perhaps no longer capable of ignoring the agony his wounds caused him. His eyes were closed, however, maybe not wanting to see the light of day or the darkness of night, whichever time of day his mind thought it to be.
Eponine watched Corinna whisper to him, trying to calm him down with her soothing, motherly voice, but the gamine was unable to pick up on her exact words. She thought she heard the phrases, "You're safe," and "No further harm is coming to you now," but she could not say that for certain. She saw the woman gently stroke the top of his hand with her fingertips, which was not successful as the man would not keep still.
"Enjolras, dear, calm down." Eponine heard Corinna say as the woman lightly touched his shoulder. "Everything will be alright. Nothing can hurt you now."
The gamine looked on, seeing the man's movements steadily still, yet not completely. She could still see the pained expression on Monsieur Enjolras' face, sweat upon his brow as he grew calm, no longer thrashing about within what Eponine decided was his unconscious mind.
Corinna placed a hand upon his forehead for a few moments, before taking it away and shaking her head slowly.
"He's warm." she reported regretfully. "One of his wounds must be infected."
"How can you tell?" Eponine asked, not exactly aware of the workings involved with illness.
"His forehead is burning, which in most cases means he's feverish, and that usually is the result of an infection."
The gamine's eyebrows furrowed before nodding slowly, though she still did not have a full understanding of what the woman meant exactly. "Will he be alright?"
"It depends," Corinna answered with a sigh. "If some are strong enough, they are capable of pulling through, but there have been cases where not even the strongest survive, and his wounds and blood loss have weakened him enough as it is. If he does survive, it will be a miracle."
How unfortunate…Eponine thought out of pity. To survive what you have and to last so long, only to lose the battle…
"He has surprised us before," Corinna continued, her eyes focusing on the man's face. "Perhaps he could give a repeat performance."
"Pardon?"
"He managed to wound his leg a few years ago at the Café Musain, did a fair amount of damage to himself." she explained, readjusting the covers of the bed, which had been thrown all over the place during his fit. "Battled for his life for a long while. At a better time, I'll show you the scar that remains."
The gamine nodded curtly, taking a seat back in the chair before letting out a yawn. She partially blamed her lack of sleep on Monsieur Enjolras, after having to keep watch on him, despite the fact she had volunteered for it. She blamed her choice of bed on the other half.
"Is there anything we can do for him?" the gamine asked, concern in her voice. "To, perhaps, increase his chance of living through this?"
"There is not much we can do." Corinna answered gravely. "Change his dressings, monitor him, and make sure he's comfortable…Beyond that, what we can do is minimal."
Eponine made a small "hm" in reply, leaning back in the chair, brushing a hand over her stomach. She could hear the quiet murmurs of the children from outside the room, before she heard the boy's voice call out Corinna's name, perhaps due to the fact that the girl was pestering him, as some siblings would do to each other. She couldn't help but think of her sister, Azelma, who she had not seen in months, not since her memory was lost. Last she heard, her sister had found some rich poet and were engaged to be married, but after that, she knew nothing.
At least she has her prince, she thought harshly as she turned her gaze towards her stomach. Meanwhile, I'm alone with you. No man to save you or I, to command us. I'm sorry about the world you'll be brought into, little one, I'm sorry.
She had not noticed Corinna exit the room until she looked up to realize she was alone in the room with Monsieur Enjolras. The gamine could hear the muffled sounds of Corinna's scolding and the children's replies, the latter's being melancholy in sound. The man before her remained still, but even then, Eponine heard him mutter a few things in his sleep she could not pick out, and a part of her wondered if this was the beginning of another fit.
Corinna returned to the room shortly afterwards, carrying some thread and fabric in a small basket. The blonde set the basket down on the floor by the gamine's feet, careful not to spill any of the basket's contents.
"I thought you might want something to do while you're in here." Corinna explained as she stood to her full height. "Other than sleep, of course. I understand that keeping watch on Enjolras is not the most entertaining of all things."
Eponine chuckled a bit at that. "Merci, but I do not think I will be staying much longer. I appreciate the gestures and everything, but I feel uncomfortable with accepting it all."
The woman looked confused for a moment, as if she did not understand the gamine's words, only to give a curt nod. "As much as I would prefer for you to stay, I cannot stop you."
"Rest assured, it was nothing you did." the gamine reassured her, slowly rising to her feet. "If anything, it is me. I am not used to such luxuries that you have."
Corinna opened her mouth to argue, as if to give a detail the gamine did not know, perhaps details pertaining to the life she had forgotten, but stopped at the realization that it would be of no use. Whether or not she remembered those missing years made no difference to her. Whatever happened didn't matter. All that Eponine cared about was surviving and making sure she did what she could for the poor soul she would inevitably have to bring into this cruel and unforgiving life they would live. She did not have a choice.
"You have been kind to me, Corinna, I will not deny that." Eponine continued sincerely. "But this is not what I am used to."
"I understand." the woman responded, a hint of disappointment clear in her voice. "May I ask you to stay just a bit longer, a few more days, at least? I am all on my own here with the children and him, and I am not expecting anyone to show up any time soon to assist me."
"What of your husband? Certainly he could help you."
The gamine saw the woman freeze before she grew hesitant and before sadness was clear in her eyes. There was conflict within her, Eponine could sense, one she could not place a finger on.
"I am afraid he will forever be incapable of helping me now." Corinna answered with regret in her voice. "He passed away on the barricades, fought alongside Monsieur Enjolras."
Eponine could feel the sudden sting of silence in the room. The gamine watched Corinna as she gently fixed the sheets on the bed, careful not to disturb the unconscious man beneath them. There was a certain expression on the woman's face that she could not put a name to. She was clearly grieving for her late husband, that was obvious, but behind that, there was something else. Was it anger? Was she mad at her husband for dying, for even daring to fight on the barricades in the first place?
The gamine's eyes drifted to the man lying on the bed, glancing at Corinna only for a moment. She watched her fingertips graze the man's cheek, his hand. Did she blame him for what happened? Did she place the fault on him for her husband's death, possibly holding the belief that he had a hand in it? Was it possible that he may have killed her husband before making a feeble attempt to take his own life?
She dismissed the last thought, realizing how foolish it was. The two were friends, and in the midst of battle, it seemed too unlikely for the two of them to turn on each other. Besides, it was the firing squad that pointed the guns on them, not each other. Then again…
She shook her head to rid herself of the very idea, repeating to herself over and over again that to think of such a thing was nonsense.
"I…I'm sorry for your loss, Corinna." Eponine told her sorrowfully. "I'm sure he was a good man."
"He was…" Corinna's voice drifted off as her hands fell to her sides, and it was clear to Eponine that she was trying not to let the tears fall. Maybe that was it, a friend being alive but not her husband, something as simple as that.
When Enjolras made a groaning sound from the bed, both women immediately turned their heads in his direction, the gamine expecting another fit. Instead, his blue eyes slowly opened, blinking a few times to allow them to adjust to the light of the room, the little of it there was.
"Rainier?" he rasped, his voice being used for the first time since he had been taken off of the bloody cobblestone streets a few short days ago.
"No, Enjolras, dear. Corinna." the woman gently corrected, making it clear that she was aware of how terrible he was capable of being, despite his current weakened state, taking a few steps away from the bed.
His eyes narrowed, and eyebrows furrowed. "Who?"
"Corinna." she repeated, looking almost confused as he was.
"Pardonnez-moi, citizeness, but I have no knowledge of who you are, no recollection of who you are." Enjolras stated apologetically. "And pray-tell, was I not in a conscious state of being between Toulouse and here?"
"Enjolras, you have not been to Toulouse in almost two years, not since your father died." Corinna answered, throwing a deeply concerned look the gamine's way.
"You must be mistaken." Enjolras shook his head, and to the gamine, he appeared upset, but for what reason, she did not know. "It is my sister who has recently passed. Combeferre informed me that the gardener found her in the pond…I have no further knowledge beyond that."
The gamine turned her head to see Corinna's expression shift from one of concern to one of disturbance, and even still, Eponine was unaware of what was going on around her, having little knowledge of the past of the other two people in the room. She had only just met Corinna, of what she could recall. The memories of Enjolras were faint and always from a distance; any sort of interaction between them had only just started since the barricades fell.
"Enjolras, do you know what year this is?" Corinna asked with caution, the weak man having been awake for barely a few minutes and was already on edge.
"1825." he answered with confidence, before letting out a sharp hiss as he started to shift in the bed.
Eponine then figured out the reason as to why there was tension and confusion between the two of them, and then dared the chance to speak before Corinna could respond.
"Pardon me, Monsieur Enjolras," the gamine started to say, with some hesitation in her voice. "But the year is 1832."
