A/N: This has been sitting, unfinished in my computer for days - over a month now. Seriously, the ratio of my free time to my 'daily activities' time is now 1:10. But that's just the way life is for someone who's 2x4+6+0+1 years old ;) haha.
This chapter was actually inspired by a scene in Once Upon A Time Season 2 Episode 20 where Snow White talks to a disguised Evil Queen. Hope it makes up for the long wait! R&R :]
"Who are you?"
It was indeed funny how such a soft spoken question, procured from pure curiosity without a trace of malice, could invoke in Éponine more panic than police chasing her across the whole of Paris. It'd sent her rocketting up the wall and whirling around, bumping her head on a low hanging branch as she went. Éponine yelped, falling back down onto the ground with a loud thump, nursing her head where it'd been hit.
"Oh, you poor thing, I'll fetch some ice!" The voice grew distant as the owner – a girl, judging by the voice – went away, leaving Éponine groaning on the ground. It wasn't long however, before Éponine caught sight of the hem of a sky blue frock swishing at the ankles of the girl who now returned with a small pouch.
"Here you go, mademoiselle...?"
"Jondrette," said Éponine, "the name's – " She froze when she lifted her head to receive the pouch. For the hand that held it, belonged to the Lark.
"Cosette," Éponine whispered, utterly perplexed. How unfortunate to have picked the Lark's house as a hiding place!
"Your name is Cosette?" the Lark gasped, surprised. "My name's Cosette too!"
It then occurred to Éponine that she'd let the name slip, and mentally smacked herself for her carelessness.
"Well, I'm better known as...as Palmyre," stammered Éponine. "Cosette was...was a pet name my mother called me, I'm sorry...I wasn't thinking..." She lifted the pouch on her head as an indication.
Cosette nodded in understanding. "Well, it nice to finally meet you, Palmyre Jondrette," she said politely.
Was this alias born out of embarrassment or fear? Perhaps it was both. Éponine couldn't deny the guilt for treating the young girl so poorly, nor could she cancel the fear of how Cosette might treat her if she found out her true identity.
"What are you doing here?"
"Um...I believe I spotted a rare blue tulip in your garden."
"Oh! You are a biologist!"
"I'm studying to become one," Éponine lied. She was surprised that it'd come out smoothly; even after all this bourgeois grooming, she still had her touch. "Hmph, I'd thought it was somewhere near this bush. Well, I suppose I was mistaken," She stood, brushing herself off. "I'm sorry if I've disturbed you, mamselle – "
She was interrupted by a gasp. "You've no shoes on!" Cosette cried.
"Oh." Éponine lifted her skirt, revealing her bare feet that were now caked in mud. "I thought it easier to climb your gate without shoes. I guess I must've dropped them somewhere. But never mind me, I can walk home with bare feet."
"No, you can't," insisted Cosette. "Those rough cobbles will graze your skin! Don't torture your feet, Palmyre, I can give you one of my extra slippers."
"Cosette, I couldn't – "
But the Lark was already halfway to the door. "Say, since you're already here, why don't you come in?"
"Come in?" Éponine spluttered, still in the midsts of gathering herself.
"For tea, I mean. Toussaint has baked one too many croissants today," Cosette explained.
Croissants. It had to be croissants.
"Well?" Cosette turned towards Éponine expectingly.
"Perhaps I'll stay a while," said Éponine, before mentally smacking herself again. Had she lost it? What the hell was she thinking, having tea with a girl who probably hated her guts?
"Yes! I'll tell Toussaint to prepare the table then!" Cosette rushed into the house like a six-year-old getting ready for a tea party – the kind of tea party that involved ten clay faces staring at her while she sipped imaginary coffee.
Alone in the garden, Éponine's next instinct was to run. She still had time to pick the lock of the gate and slip out.
"Palmyre?" Scratch that, no time to get out of this mess.
"Yes, I'm right behind you!" she called. Merde just became the word of the day for Éponine.
"You have no idea how delighted to have you as a guest!" exclaimed Cosette as she lead the way to the dining room. Eponine wordlessly agreed. Most of her house guests were philanthropists caught in one of Thenardier's cons, and she'd usually spent those visits with false tears - a lot of onions - and fear of being caught.
"When was the last time you had one?" Eponine asked out of genuine curiosity.
"Um...well..." the Lark's brow's furrowed. "I don't actually remember ever having one." Her face lit up with excitement. "Oh my, do you know what this means, Palmyre? You're my first guest!"
Honestly, Éponine was more shocked than honored. Alas, she was having tea with a French Rapunzel!
"Coffee?" Éponine nodded mutely as Cosette poured some espresso. "This is really exciting, Father never lets me talk to anyone on my own."
"Why not?"
"I know not. Father is very mysterious. He keeps to himself so much he almost seems like a stranger at times. Perhaps it's because he still thinks me a child, and that I need protection, just as he thinks I'm not ready for the truth."
"The truth?"
"My past," explained Cosette. "At least, I believe he spoke of my forgotten past. It's quite unclear you know, like a impenetrable blanket of mist, but now and then I remember snippets of it."
"You do?" Éponine hid her nervousness under a mask of curiosity. She lifted the coffee to her lips, attempting to remain unperturbed.
"Yes, in times such as now, when I stare at you," said Cosette. "Forgive me, but you remind me of someone."
Éponine nearly choked on her drink. Luckily Cosette had been distracted by a butterfly on the windowsill in the moment and did not notice her shock. "I do?"
"Yes...her name was...oh Lord, what was her name? Ep - Eppy - oh! Éponine! I think that's her name, like the ancient Gaul Epponina. She was a girl I knew at an inn in Montfermeil, when I was very, very young. Oh, it's all coming back...I was her housekeeper, her slave who came at her every beck and call. I was dressed in rags when she was clothed in the newest fashion; I had a bucket to play with then she had a doll. She mocked me and bullied me...oh, her treatment to me was simply horrible." Éponine inwardly flinched at the reminder of her behavior towards the young Cosette.
"But I remember one time, she gave me a dress. A woolen one...oh, if only I could remember more of that kind gesture."
Éponine remembered. It had been sent by Fantine, Cosette's mother, a dress made from her hair. She'd found it ugly and unpleasing to the eye, and subsequently she gave it to Cosette.
"What of Éponine?" she asked. "What happened to her?"
"She's gone," said Cosette, in a tone of...sadness? "Father took me from the inn and we came to live here in Paris."
"I see..." With nothing more to say, Éponine filled her mouth with coffee rather than words.
Then it was just the two girls silently drinking coffee in Cosette's small dining room. Sunlight streamed in through the leaded panes of the narrow window. A small candle burned in the middle of the table. Éponine watched with some sort of fascination as the flame leaned sideways with the occasional breeze that came. It was strangely reminiscent of her 'friendship' with Cosette. Delicate. Erratic. One strong gush of wind and it would be gone.
"What would you do," Éponine inquired suddenly as she set the cup back onto the table. "If she were standing before you now, if she was the one dressed in rags and covered in dirt? Would you take the chance to bully her back, to mock her?"
"Why on earth would I do that?" asked Cosette. "Éponine was only a child back then. She knew no more than I did. She was a spoiled child, her mother a little worse than a woman, her father a little better than a beast. It's not completely her fault she was influenced to have such low opinion of the girl they called their household drudge. She might've actually been fairly nice if she hadn't been brought up by such terrible parents. So you see, I can't blame her."
Éponine really did not know what to think of Cosette's confession. Was she relieved that Cosette horded no ill-thought of her or amazed at Cosette's brazen remarks of her parents – not that they were incorrect, it was just surprising to hear them coming out of the usually shy and quiet girl's mouth. But then again, Cosette must have changed over the years.
"Would you let her back in?" asked Éponine cautiously. "If...if she wanted to be your friend again, this Éponine, if she wanted another chance for you both to become, say, sisters?"
Cosette wore a wistful expression. "Oh, Palmyre, if she really wanted it, I believe I might've. What fun we could've had, perhaps Father would've taken her in too, and we could've had tea together everyday!"
Éponine felt sick. She'd mistreated the child Cosette, and now the girl was willing to treat her like a sister? The guilt at the pit of her stomach was so unsettling she did not know if she could bear another minute in the presence of Cosette.
Subsequently she quickly excused herself, stating an 'afternoon biology class was calling'. She took a moment to thank Cosette for the tea and the slippers, before racing out of the iron wrought gates, leaving the Lark to ponder her guest's hasty flight.
Éponine walked briskly. Cosette's reply was not the response she'd been expecting. In her mind's eye she'd seen Cosette shocked at such an audacious possibility, or venting her frustrations, or even cursing the girl who mistreated her in her childhood. But Cosette had done none of those things. Instead, she'd forgiven, even if it was unknowingly.
All her life Éponine lived in a world of facades, in an endless masquerade, where character transparency was non-existent. Purity and honesty and virginity, was something Éponine never encountered until this moment. This moment when Cosette offered her forgiveness, this moment when Éponine realized she could never be like her, this moment when Éponine realized her whole life was a lie.
She was running. She hadn't known when and why she'd started, but she was running. There was no one chasing her, no one she was chasing, but she was running.
No, perhaps there was something chasing her. Her past. Her conscience. Her true nature. Chasing her her whole life. But she was growing tired now. She was slowing down. They were catching up.
Éponine stopped running, her legs giving out beneath her. She crumbled, against a wall to the ground. For the second time in the day she was on all fours, just like the dog she truly was.
Éponine sobbed.