Author's Note: All right, so Enjolras is in this one but only for a very small bit at the end. More from him later.

11.

The journey across the ocean proves not as unpleasant as Grantaire has feared. For once, he feels smug and lucky when half of the ship's occupants spend a significant amount of time vomiting overboard while he and his companion seem to miraculously avoid falling victims to Mal de Mer. Perhaps they are too preoccupied. They have pretended to be a married couple out of practicality. Separate beds would have been a waste of money and the alternative would have involved too much unwanted gossip and attention from the good and proper bourgeois they are sharing their part of the ship with. But the pretense serves to remind them that they don't really know each other. They have barely remembered to tell each other their Christian names before boarding the ship so they wouldn't be caught stuttering if someone happens to ask. In the first two weeks on the ship, wanting to be prepared for questions people may ask out of politeness, they spend a lot of time sharing histories. Suzanne isn't overly dramatic when she talks about her life but the story speaks for itself.

"My parents were both very hot-headed," she tells him. "They got married too young, had me immediately and for twelve years fought as fiercely as they made love. I didn't think much of the scandals – they always eventually reconciled. Then when I was thirteen… I'm still not sure how it happened exactly, but rumors started flying about my mother and some man. They weren't true. I knew because I spent almost all of my time with mother at that time. But my father grew jealous and they started fighting a lot over it. He accused her of cheating. Eventually, my mother grew so furious that she told him she'd really cheated. Stupid, childish thing. I still find it hard to forgive either of them for the way they acted. He went completely mad, called her a whore and threw her out of the house, changed his will even so it would leave nothing to her. Scared me quite a bit. Enough for me to try to defend her. And then he accused me of covering up her affair. Then I got mad too and told him I was going with her. He promptly disinherited me and said he never wanted to see me again. I have no doubt he very soon reconsidered. He had a quick temper but was just as quick to regret it. I believe he meant to apologize and all would have been well if he had lived to do it. But he didn't. From what I could gather, not a week later he tried to find us but before he could, there was an accident. The carriage he was riding turned over and he broke his neck. He hadn't changed his will back yet. And then…" she shrugs. "We had nothing. We could not prove to anyone it had been a misunderstanding. Everything he owned went to a cousin of his who had never seen us, nor cared to. As far as he was concerned, we had somehow cause father's death. So the result of all this was that the world saw us as whores and that's what we eventually became. Mother went and poisoned herself soon after. I think it was more out of grief for my father than being unable to cope with life on the streets, even though she was more beautiful and somewhat more refined than I was ever meant to be. Either way, I couldn't quite forgive her that last act either. I've never had much sympathy for dying of love if it won't do a bit of good to anyone. I can understand sacrificing yourself to save someone but this kind of pointless insanity… In her final note she wrote she loved me." She huffs. "Fat lot of good that did me. Affection that doesn't even try to do anything isn't worth much, is it?"

He answers her with a wry smile that's cracking at the edges. He forgoes mentioning that affection that doesn't do anything is exactly what he is best at. In any case, he hasn't expected this kind of life story from her. He has thought her born on the streets. Perhaps she would have felt better if she had been, without memories of a different life and the curse of 'what if'. But this explains the glimpses of a better upbringing he has occasionally seen in her. And her character easily fits in with the description of her parents, with her occasional heated outbursts that he knows must often get her in trouble. Sadly, the whole tale is another proof that youth, love and passion in this world are often best suited for tragedy.

He is somewhat reluctant afterwards to speak of his own past. Perhaps he feels a little ashamed of how normal it seems by comparison. There is nothing suitably tragic in it to excuse his own sorry state.

He is the middle child of five and, while not unloved by his family, he has never been anyone's favourite. His older brother, the firstborn, is his father's pride and joy. His two sisters are closest to his mother's heart as she does not fully understand boys, and his youngest brother, like many children had by their parents late in life, is doted on by everyone. Grantaire readily admits the virtues of his siblings and has no quarrel with any of them but he is not particularly close to them either. He looks upon them with dutiful, slightly distanced tenderness but he has not seen much of them in adulthood. He has gone to the weddings of his older brother and sister and has thereupon answered his parents' slightly absent enquiries about his studies with a shrug and a wave of his hand. They send him his allowance regularly, humble as it is, and he is certain they will continue to send it unquestioningly until they die or until he writes to tell them to stop. They are kind to him and see that he is provided for, as much as their own means allow, but he feels as if he does not quite belong to them. As a boy, he has often longed to share with them some of those secret moments of true intimacy his brothers and sisters have experienced but he never has. When Suzanne asks if he regrets that very much, he laughs and says he has simply been appointed by Fate as the observer. After all, even the theatre of life wants its audience.

He has come to Paris willingly with the vague hope that in a city so big and colourful, he would be able to find a proper spot to fill. In those early days, his dreams and ambitions have been numerous, bursting bright like fireworks but dying just as quickly. He has been unable to follow through with any of them. Doubts and difficulties have arisen too quickly and he has never found the means and motivation to keep the flame alive. No one has been there to fan it either as he has had many acquaintances but no friends to really be invested in his dealings. His studies have been scattered, the same subjects sometimes undertaken with enthusiasm and interest, sometimes scorned and deemed useless. He has floated, unable to find direction or anything solid to hold on to. The purposelessness of his life has weighed on him heavily until he has wandered into the circle of the ABC friends and fallen in love with them. Contrary to how things are sometimes perceived, Enjolras has not been his sole focus. He has loved and admired him the most simply for being the power behind it all. It is clear to Grantaire that their young leader is what has brought the others together and awakened something within them. Something gloriously beautiful that may have well remained dormant if not for him. They may have met each other without his help, but they would likely have never formed such a sacred brotherhood. And then there would have never been such a definite 'us' for Grantaire to try to belong to. Thus, beyond his enlightening presence, Enjolras has gifted him with friends. The ABC has remained constant and real for longer than anything else in Grantaire's life. And they have allowed him in – each for their own reasons, but they have never turned him away. Their keen minds and kind hearts have, albeit absently, provided him with more warmth than he has received from anyone else. Their unique characters have kept his mind pleasantly occupied with their affairs. He has lived through them, with them and for them, until the revolution has broken the circle.

"Every time you start talking about yourself, you end up talking about them," Suzanne tells him once. He shrugs.

"I suppose there is simply very little me without them."

After all of these talks she is eventually capable of discussing his friends as if she knows them personally. He latches on to every opportunity to do that as the subject appeals to him greatly. Bahorel and Combeferre's prolonged disagreement, Courfeyrac's ability to be a husband and anything else concerning their lives is tenderly dissected and analyzed with a good amount of input from her. In return, he answers question. And oh, are there questions! Suzanne starts asking things rather hesitantly at first, reluctant as always to show her lack of knowledge on any subject, but as it doesn't occur to him to feel superior, she grows more comfortable. Eventually, Grantaire finds himself explaining the world away, from the workings of the government to the workings of the ship they're on and from the classical times he has studied to the age's scientific discoveries Combeferre has always gotten so excited over in the back room of the Café Musain.

Most of their journey passes in this fashion and it is fairly agreeable until the last week or so when doubts and worries start creeping upon both of them. Suzanne is suddenly afraid of the foreign country she knows so little about. Grantaire on his part dreads the outcome of his mission and can think of little else. After everything that has been put into this, what if he is unable to find Enjolras at all or if Enjolras completely refuses to see him? He has managed to keep such thoughts at bay for the past months, knowing that there is no way to turn the ship around, but now the enormity of it all hits him and his resolve to continue is faltering. To mask that, he drinks more and talks louder, with more aplomb and less sense for hours before a wave of depression replaces the exaltation and he slumps in the corner, cradling his bottle and giving in to dark reflections and predictions.

"I am a fool. Always have been and always will be," he mutters with a shake of his head one evening, only a few days before their arrival. He is in a particularly foul mood and this declaration is only the finale of a long tirade on the matter of Enjolras, America and his own foolishness. Suzanne, who is absently leafing through a sketchpad he has filled during some of the long hours of the journey, looks distinctly irritated.

"Are you quite finished?"

"Oh, very nearly," he answers with a dark chuckle. "After this final performance I do believe Grantaire will be quite finished. There will not be enough left to even…"

He is interrupted when a crumpled balled-up newspaper – one of the old ones they use to wrap things in – hits him in the face. He blinks startled at Suzanne who doesn't even seem to have looked up from the drawings she is examining.

"Grantaire. Shut up. Or go and throw yourself overboard if your life is so damn useless."

He blinks a few times, then looks at her with a hint of tired humour in his eyes.

"If I do that, there will be no one to translate for you."

"Well, then there's one thing you're good for," she answers dispassionately. "But if you continue your whining I will have to throw myself overboard and you will be left without that one useful occupation. God, I've never heard of a man so incapable of following through with a job without throwing a fit! How is it that you get the option to be a lazy pathetic bastard and still survive? I wonder what that even feels like, I certainly don't have the luxury." When he gives and animated shrug, she tosses the sketchbook aside, crosses her arms and stares him down. "You are doing this for your Combeferre as well. He obviously wanted you to go. It is to a large extent his money that we are both spending and if you are a fool, he does not sound like one so perhaps there is some sense in all this. But even if there isn't… I am tired of you, Grantaire, tired. You will go through with this plan of yours. Even if it is the most idiotic thing anyone in the history of the world has ever done, you will still complete it so that you can say that there is one thing in your life you have properly started and finished, understand? Because if I have to watch this going back and forth on ideas and plans a little more, I will scream."

She doesn't wait for an answer from him but picks up her coat and exits, probably going to the deck. He blinks after her and opens his mouth but thinks better of it. He finishes his wine but is much quieter for the next few days.

When they get off the ship they continue together by unspoken agreement. On the ship initially there has been talk of finding her a place as a maid for some French-speaking family but neither of them mentions it once they are on dry land. Grantaire is not about to be the first one to raise the issue. He has gotten used to having a constant companion and the feeling is not at all unpleasant. In addition, her presence does a good job of keeping him on track.

That track eventually leads them to the town Enjolras is supposed to live in. Suzanne is clearly curious but when he debates whether he should take her when he goes to see his friend, she advises him to make the first visit alone. So on the morning of a sleepless night, he finds himself standing at the door of a small white house off the main street. His knocking remains unanswered for a few minutes. Then there is the sound of footsteps. The door opens and Grantaire forgets to breathe for a few moments because – there he is.

He is wearing a golden-brown waistcoat which Courfeyrac would have certainly found too simple and his hair has been cut a bit shorter, making it curl more. A few strands are falling over the high forehead. The eyes are exactly as Grantaire remembers them. His own eyes lock on the clear blue gaze and for a moment it is as if not a day has passed since their last encounter. The boy in front of him certainly looks no older than in his memories. In fact, he looks somehow younger. Has he lost weight? It seems so and perhaps it is Grantaire's imagination but he looks paler than usual too. He is smiling though as he steps over the threshold and Grantaire unexpectedly finds himself pulled into a friendly embrace.

"Grantaire!" Enjolras pulls away after a few moments and regards him with his usual calmly inquisitive demeanor, as if it is a casual thing to see a face from an ocean away at your front door. "I have been expecting you. A letter from Combeferre arrived a week ago. Come inside."

Grantaire, quite lost for words at the moment, follows his host into the house and thinks that this is the most welcome he has ever felt in any place.

End Note: Well, there's your Enjolras finally entering the scene. Happy now?