A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews!
Guest: Thanks once more! Glad you're enjoying this!
Guest: Yes, really. The name is a one-off gag though
Write Us a Fairytale
I
Eponine had known for some time that meeting her partner's parents was inevitable. In fact she does know their given names: Claude and Ari, all thanks to stories and the times she's seen Enjolras fill up forms. It does not matter that she cannot imagine his meeting her parents in the foreseeable feature. 'Though of course knowing my luck it has to happen like this,' she muses ruefully as she discreetly straightens out her clothes and her hair.
She bites her lip as she listens to Enjolras remonstrating with his parents. Now she can see, with a clarity she owes to her ongoing training, the distance that is even larger than the gap of the doorway. 'There is a resemblance but nothing of the heart,' she realizes as she gets to her feet. Ice blue eyes, golden hair, classically shaped nose broad shoulders, perfect posture-it's all there in the faces of his parents, but there is nothing of the charm, warmth, or even conviction that run through every fibre of his being.
"You clearly do not understand the gravity of this situation, Auguste," Claude snarls, now crossing his arms. "The shareholders of the Transnonian estates have influence in the chambers of commerce. You know how I stand there. I will not allow my stubborn son to ruin this."
"Your recent business affairs have nothing to do with my casework," Enjolras replies coolly, not even taking a step back from the door. "Their influence does not put them above the law, or excuse them from treating their tenants with decency."
The word 'decency' and the way Enjolras says it make Eponine flinch. Is there any other way for him to say it to the two people who should care for him most, but who have deliberately been incommunicado for months? She feels that cold weight in her chest, the way she does when she is absolutely certain that there is something wrong, or that she is now suddenly privy to some ongoing horror. 'Like with Elodie,' she can't help thinking, even as she regrets that one time she was silent. Now she must be quiet once more, since this is Enjolras' battle to fight, not hers.
She is about to excuse herself to the bathroom or to the kitchen when she realizes that there is a pair of eyes keenly watching her every move. "Did you put him up to this?" Ari snaps.
"Not at all, Ma'am," Eponine replies calmly.
The older woman doesn't say anything but she surveys Eponine from head to toe. "You're very young for a surgeon," she finally concludes. "At which hospital do you aim to become a consultant?"
Eponine blinks at this question; not only is a consultancy as a trauma surgeon still far away from considering at her level of training, there are other directions away from this tried and tested path that she has been seriously considering. "Only at places with a good community medicine program."
"That is diverging from your field of expertise."
"Not all our work is in the operating room; it's sometimes in making sure people do not have to always go under the knife," Eponine replies.
"It is not lucrative. You ought to be more practical especially given your previous circumstances." Ari's face twists with displeasure as she once again looks over her son and Eponine. "Birds of a feather flock together indeed."
"They'll do what they will, Ari," Claude says, breaking off from his own argument. "You clearly have made it your life's mission to become a disappointment. Don't you have ambition? Oh yes, you do, Auguste, but you're throwing it away on your drunkard friends and these useless crusades of yours. We thought you were getting somewhere when you ran for office, but you just threw it out the window. When will you grow up?"
"You heard your father. It's about time you started acting like a responsible adult. We let you have your way by going to law school but that is going to change," Ari chimes in smugly. "It's not too late to let go of your cases-"
"I will not do such a thing," Enjolras cuts in. "In this matter, I am not obligated to either of you."
"To who then? The people?" Claude sneers, giving Eponine a particularly withering look. "Will they pick you up when you fail? You will be nothing, and then you will have to hear me say 'I told you so'." He smirks when he sees that his son is silent. "You have till tomorrow to officially drop it. Do not disappoint me or your mother."
Then just like that, they leave without saying as much as a 'goodbye' or even 'see you soon'. The door slams so hard that Eponine feels the urge to check if it is still anchored properly on its hinges, at least till she sees that Enjolras is gritting his teeth in that way he does when he is trying to bite back some words. "Auguste?" she asks tentatively.
He grips the doorknob tightly for a moment before stepping away. "It's nothing."
"Bullshit," she mutters under her breath. She knows all too well how his stoicism covers up how deeply he feels things. 'How long has this been going on?' she wonders as she follows him back to the couch, taking one side while he settles on the other. Not surprisingly he simply grabs a case file and starts reading before she can ask him anything.
He shifts on the sofa before giving her a questioning look over the top of his paperwork. "You did not have to stay for that scene."
"It would have been bad manners to just walk out," she points out. 'Especially after what we were talking about,' she almost says, but she settles for squeezing his knee. He is still so tense under her hand, and she cannot help but feel a frisson of worry.
He gives her a withering look. "It happens. We've always had our differences."
"You can't just ignore those."
"Can we not talk about this?"
The vitriol in his tone stings more than this single phrase ever could and she gets up from her seat. "Well excuse me for even trying to help," she calls over her shoulder as she stalks to the window, which is the furthest she can get from him without actually leaving the apartment. 'They're wrong. You've already proven them wrong,' she wants to tell him, but now she sees that gulf once more, but now it is between her and him. It pains her to see him so hurt, but all the same there is nothing she can do for him if he does not wish for it.
"Eponine, I don't need to be psychoanalyzed," he says tersely. "I don't need someone sifting through my so called baggage."
"I'm not trying to do that!" she retorts as she turns to face him.
At these words he is back on his feet and swiftly walking towards her, stopping when he is but a step away. "Then what?"
"I just want to know what's going on."
"What good is that going to do?" he asks as he crosses his arms.
"Do you think I'm just going to let you take that?" Eponine answers. The more practical part of her mind is screaming that yes, she does not have the answers for this situation. She may be a surgeon and training to be a caseworker, but what does she know about healing memories? Yet she only has to look at him again and that fierce surge of protectiveness comes again, sweeping away all apprehensions as well as logical arguments. She closes the distance between them with a last step and grabs his hands firmly, entwining her fingers with his. "Not on my watch, Auguste."
Enjolras' eyes widen with surprise just for a moment but soon that intense look of concentration fills them, a sure sign that he is taking in her words and more. He kisses her forehead and sighs into her hair. "You already have much to deal with-"
"I want this," she insists before reaching up to kiss him. He returns her kiss with a vigor that is both desperate and passionate, such that she can feel herself losing her footing till he braces her with an arm over the small of her back. Somehow they make it back to the sofa, where they simply continue to kiss, hungrily taking in the sureness of each other's hands running through hair or down the lines of each other's backs. She breaks their kiss first for lack of air but she makes sure she is looking into his eyes before she speaks again. "And I'm staying."
"Are you sure?"
"Your life tangled with mine, vice versa. That's kind of where this is getting to, right?"
He drops a kiss on her neck, and the way he lingers there sends a rush of heat down to her very core, such that she presses her curves against the planes of his body. He smirks against her skin and rubs her wrists to calm her. "It's been that way for a while, Eponine," he says as he moves up so that they are face to face, the tips of their noses just barely touching.
Eponine grins widely before kissing him, glad that at last he's finally noticed.
II
Although Grantaire spends many of his daytime hours teaching art classes, he does not dare consider himself an educator in this field. "Merely an admirer and purveyor of the craft," he says when Cosette asks him about this while they and Marius are visiting Elodie the next morning.
The little eight year old girl's brow crinkles at this statement. "What's a purveyor?"
"One meaning is someone who likes talking about ideas or things," Grantaire explains. Actually 'to believe' is a more accurate way of putting it, but such solid hope does not take root in a man like him.
"It's not all talk in your case, Capital R," Cosette reminds him gently. "Papa framed that sketch you made for his birthday."
"Did he now?" Grantaire can feel pleasant warmth growing in his cheeks; he knows that Mr. Fauchelevent has some discerning tastes. "What does your mother think?"
"She adores it too, but not as much as the subject," Cosette laughs.
Marius nods knowingly. "You should think of having an exhibit or a gallery. It is a good investment."
"A white elephant," Grantaire points out. Perhaps he should have taken up Industrial Design so as to make art 'functional', but he loves working with a brush and a large expanse too much to settle on sketches and production line work. 'I could never do the Math anyway,' he reflects ruefully. He suddenly sees Elodie reach over to her bedside table for a piece of paper and coloring pencils. "Are you going to draw them?" he asks, discreetly gesturing to Marius and Cosette, who have now gone to the window for some modicum of privacy.
"Not like that. It's gross," Elodie whispers, making a face when she sees the couple cuddling. She begins drawing two figures , clearly a man and a woman standing side by side, only that she's giving them fancier clothes than their real life counterparts.
"Cosette's sundress isn't cut that way," Grantaire points out.
"It's not a sundress, it's a princess dress," Elodie tells him flatly. "I'm also giving Doctor Marius some prince clothes."
Grantaire snorts when he sees that Elodie is drawing Marius with a fancy hat and cloak, like one of a young royal in an old movie. "Why are they a prince and princess?"
"She's pretty and he's nice," the girl simply says. "Besides she acts like a princess since she's so nice and she has a wonderful Mama and Papa. Doctor Marius is brave too so of course he is a prince!"
"Are they also from far, far away?" Grantaire teases. It is then that he catches sight of Elodie's other sketches, many of which involve castles on mountains, and people slaying dragons. He laughs when he recognizes himself as one of the knights slaying a particularly oversized flying dragon. "I'm not that brave, little Elodie."
"Mr. Jehan says you are, since you're always with him," Elodie says.
Grantaire blushes more at this second-hand compliment from his partner. "When did he say that?"
"The last time he was here. What did he mean?"
"Well because it's not always easy doing great things with Jehan, and he thinks that my being with him is a good thing."
"I think it is," Elodie insists as she brings out more sketches. One of them happens to depict several princesses in a ball. In this picture Musichetta, Azelma, Cosette, and a few other female acquaintances are distinctly recognizable. "What sorts of things?"
"I'll tell you someday," Grantaire says. He may have a broad sense of humor, to put it nicely, but he's sure his friends would give him trouble for corrupting Elodie's young mind. He searches the picture carefully and notices several startling details. "Aren't you in the picture?"
"I'm too little to be a princess," Elodie replies. "Princesses are pretty. I'm not," she adds, tapping her still short hair.
"You drew me as a knight, and look at my mug," Grantaire argues as he points to his face.
"That's different."
"I noticed you didn't draw Eponine too, as a princess."
"She says she's not a princess," Elodie says a little sadly. "But can you keep a secret, Mister Grantaire? I think she doesn't know she's a princess."
"Why?"
"Because she isn't living in a palace, not yet. I think that Mister Enjolras is also a prince in disguise since he says he's not a prince either."
"Well not all the fairytales have everyone as a prince or princess," Grantaire says. Of course royalty is present in many a good popular story, but he finds them bland compared to the deities of his favourite Greek myths. 'Paling too, in the face of other heroes and heroines,' he muses.
In the meantime Cosette has also noticed these sketches. "These are so pretty, Elodie!' she gushes.
Elodie mumbles an embarrassed 'thank you' before handing one sketch to Cosette. "Do you have a dress as pretty as this?" she asks.
"Someday I will," Cosette says, squeezing Elodie's shoulder. "What's your favourite fairy tale?"
Elodie pauses to think. "Rapunzel. I want hair as long as hers."
Grantaire grins, finding this comparison so apt, given that Elodie has spent so much time stuck in the confines of Saint Michel Hospital. Yet will she have a fate just as blissful once she can leave this tower?
Before he can say a word to this, a buzz comes from the intercom on the wall. "Is Dr. Thenardier around?" a voice asks from the nurse's station.
Marius goes over to press a button on the intercom. "She's not in now. Why?"
"She needs to sign Miss Chenier's case file," the nurse replies in a low voice. 'Her parents are here, asking to bring her home against medical advice."