A/N A slight time jump coming up here as I needed to move the story forwards at a faster pace than detailing each day.
Just want to throw out another shout out for FabulouslyFreeSpirited's story, Smells like Bohemian Spirit, a true masterpiece of the Enjolras/Eponine pairing. It's one of my favourite on this site and you should definitely check it out!
Now, on with the story!
Disclaimer: You know, I might just not bother with these any more. Considering Victor Hugo has been dead for…a while, we can safely assume I'm not him.
Chapter Twenty-five
Days ran into weeks, weeks turned into months. Winter released its tenacious grasp on Paris, taking with it the freezing temperatures and iron hard ground. January rolled into February, then March and then April. Flowers forced their way up out of the rich, dark soil, letting off the sweet fragrance of spring as birds set about bringing the next generation of their kind into the world.
For Aimee, life settled into a busy, but not unpleasant, schedule of rehearsals, performances, and late night suppers with her three female flatmates. Such was her desire to be taken seriously as a working part of the well-oiled machine that was the Theatre de la Reine, she barely had time to stop and consider anything other than keeping up with the demands of the performers and not making any major mistakes. She had no time to even think about her search into her past, other than what she managed to learn about her mother from Chavenage and Leblanc, and what she gleaned of the intensifying activities of the Amis came from hurried, snatched conversations with Eponine and very occasionally Courfeyrac or Grantaire. The topic of Enjolras was strictly off limits, even to herself.
Today, on a bright breezy day in April, inside the Theatre de la Riene the passageways rang with voices raised in laughter, song and light-hearted banter. Aimee squeezed herself into the side of one of the corridors as a trio of the ballet girls pirouetted elegantly past, playful giggling accompanying their antics. Clutching the sheets of music that she held to her chest, Aimee hurried towards the auditorium, mindful of the fact that if she was late for the practice session with Evangeline there would be trouble, usually in the form of dramatic shrieking, a few well-placed eye rolls, and some unsubtle mutterings about 'unprofessional behaviour' and 'lazy employees'.
However, the Fates seemed to smile upon Aimee, for she arrived a good five minutes before Evangeline, giving her time to properly set up the music and warm up her fingers for the session, the sound of the scales tinkling prettily in the echoing space. When Evangeline did decide to grace Aimee with her presence, she did so in her usual dramatic style, sweeping onto the stage in a flurry of white lace and midnight-blue silk, not a strand of her darkly gleaming hair out of place. What surprised Aimee most was the fact that Evangeline actually smiled at her upon arrival, a genuine smile, not one of her condescending smiles as sharp as the little knife Eponine carried at all times.
"I'm so sorry I am late, Aimee!" the soprano gushed, pulling off a silken shawl and tossing it carelessly on top of the piano Aimee was seated at. "There was an accident in the street and my fiacre couldn't get past! Are you happy to begin with the aria from the second half? Just give me a minute to loosen my voice up."
Aimee simply nodded dumbly, feeling slightly overwhelmed by both the torrent of words that had been directed at her and by the genuinely pleasant tone that had accompanied them.
Evangeline's strange mood persisted throughout the practice. She insisted that Aimee take a break after the first half an hour to allow her fingers to rest and even offered to go and get her a drink. When the rehearsal session was over, she kissed Aimee lightly on both cheeks, thanked her for her skill and patience, then promptly departed with a cheerful, "Au revoir!" Feeling bemused and more than a little confused, Aimee gathered up her music, glad that she was finished for the day.
Chavenage, and to some extent Leblanc, had made her move to the theatre as pleasant as possible. Although she only sang occasionally in the chorus or in small parts, the managers had given her a dressing room of her own. True, it was probably about the same size as one of Eponine's kitchen cupboards, but it was still hers. She made good use of this privilege, using the tiny room to store all of her music and costumes so as to limit the amount she had to carry about with her on her journey to and from the theatre.
With a light heart and an even lighter step, Aimee pulled on her coat and reached into one of the drawers of her dressing table to take out her gloves. A small frown marred her features as she discovered that only one was there. The next five or so minutes were spent fruitlessly searching for the missing glove, until, with a frustrated huff, she gave up, taking some of her annoyance out on the door as she closed it.
Pocketing the key, she whirled swiftly on her heel and set off at a brisk walk towards the staff exit, humming a tune under her breath. The collision came as a surprise to her, the force of it knocking her completely off her feet, her knees hitting the floor with a painful thud.
"My apologies, Mademoiselle Lyon!" The polished accent with its hint of argot was unmistakable, as were the scarred and calloused palms that helped her to her feet.
She had learned very soon after her employment that the stagehand who had escorted her that first day was far more than just a stagehand. His name was Antoine Cabruc and he was in charge of the huge pieces of scenery that were used in productions, making sure that the complex array of ropes and pulleys that held them in place remained safe and functional.
Despite his taciturn reception of her upon their first meeting, Cabruc's face now held a look that bordered on concerned. "I did not see you from behind the rope," he explained, gesturing to the pile of coiled ropes that lay haphazardly on the floor. "Forgive my clumsiness?"
"No one was at fault here, Monsieur," Aimee reassured him, "and I am quite all right, thank you."
Cabruc nodded stiffly, returned to his former persona, ignoring her as he bent to retrieve his dropped burden.
No further mishaps befell her on the short journey to the exit and it was with a glad heart that she took a deep lungful of the crisp, spring air. Her light heart hastened her steps, significantly lessening the time it took her to walk home. She was just about to turn into the street that held her apartment building when a skinny, blond youth popped out of an alley and feel into step beside her.
She was a little startled at first, but soon recognized him. "Oh, bonjour, Gavroche." She didn't know Eponine's half feral younger brother very well, but he had dropped into the Musain and his sister's apartment often enough for the two of them to strike up an acquaintance.
"'Ponine told me to give you this." He shoved a slightly wrinkled, and now grubby, piece of paper at her.
Curiously, Aimee unfolded it, hurriedly reading Eponine's loopy scrawl.
'Come to the Luxemburg Gardens as soon as you read this. Me, Chetta and Annette have decided we've all been working far too hard over the last few months and that we need to have some fun. Come and join us!
Ponine x'
A smile broke out across Aimee's face and she hurriedly changed direction. She would have thanked Gavroche for delivering the message, but he had already disappeared again, melting back into the labyrinth of alleyways that were his playground.
She arrived at the Luxembourg Gardens to find her three friends sat under a tree with a wicker hamper full of food. It was a veritable feast, paid for by some of the money they had saved from months of hard grind, full of simple pleasures that always seem better when shared outdoors with friends.
The small group enjoyed themselves immensely, blithely ignoring the scandalized looks they received from rich bourgeois parading up and down the neat gravelled walkways.
"Oh, I can't eat another thing, 'Ponine!" Aimee groaned, flopping back onto the blanket in an incredibly unladylike fashion. "It's been forever since I've eaten that much."
"Don't complain. It could be a while till we eat like that again." Eponine's reply was preoccupied and she was gazing at something over Aimee's left shoulder. "I do believe that might be…"
"Eponine!" Aimee turned and saw Marius walking towards them, his arm linked with that of a beautiful blond woman. She was richly dressed and carried herself with the poise of a proper lady. From her appearance, Marius' look of joy and Eponine's sudden stiffness, it did not take Aimee long to guess the identity of Marius' companion.
Marius stopped next to the little party, politely greeting each of them before turning to his companion with a flourish. "And this is my darling Cosette."
"A pleasure to meet you all," Cosette supplied nervously, her gloved hand clutching Marius' arm in a death grip.
Eponine nodded stiffly, a tight smile on her face. Musichetta offered a polite 'how do you do' but made no move to rise. Annette stumbled to her feet, her coltish movements somewhat endearing, and offered a clumsy curtsy of greeting. Aimee studied Cosette, sharp eyes missing nothing. She saw the silken, powdered exterior for what it was; a mask forced upon her, but one she was unwilling to fully cast aside. She saw the deep hollows of sadness carved into her porcelain face, and the almost desperate way she clung to Marius, as if afraid that if she let go he would be snatched away from her…again.
Aimee rose from her place on the grass, not making any effort to appear ladylike or elegant, but ensuring a warm smile was present on her lips. "A pleasure to meet you, Cosette. I've heard much about you from Marius."
Cosette inclined her head in acknowledgment, politely murmuring, "The pleasure is all mine."
A thick silence fell over the group, charged with awkwardness. Marius shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension that was in the air, but being unable to understand it, he simply smiled a wide, false smile, and announced, "Well, we really should be getting back now. My grandfather will be wondering where I am!"
"Monsieur Enjolras is wondering the same thing," Eponine commented sweetly, a hidden blade in her words. "Your friends have been inquiring recently as to your whereabouts."
Marius flushed, and hurriedly turned to go, "I shall be there for the next…gathering, but I must walk Cosette home now. The streets are not safe for a lady."
Eponine managed to keep her composure until the striking couple were out of earshot. "I guess that means I'm not a lady then!?"
Musichetta nibbled on a piece of cold chicken. "Since when has being thought of as a lady ever mattered to you!? Besides, I'm sure Marius meant no offence.
"He never does," Eponine muttered mutinously, her brows drawn down low over her dark eyes.
Stillness came over the four women as each of them lost themselves in their thoughts for a minute or two. A gust of chilly wind had Musichetta starting to pack up the picnic and the other women reapplying their scarves and gloves. Eponine frowned slightly when she spotted Aimee's lack of a pair.
"What happened to the black knitted pair I made for you?" she inquired. "You haven't lost them already?"
Aimee pulled the lone glove from her pocket and waved it as proof, "I've got one, but I couldn't find the other one." She stood to help Annette fold the blanket they had been sat on. "It's strange actually. I made sure to shut them away in my dressing table draw and I still manage to lose one."
"Some days I swear you would lose your head if it wasn't screwed on!" teased Musichetta, linking arms with Eponine in an attempt to cheer her up. "Oh, come now, 'Ponine! Why are you moping over Marius when Combeferre is obviously smitten with you?"
A dusky flush appeared in Eponine's cheeks, causing Annette to let out a girlish squeal. "Oh! He's caught your eye too, hasn't he?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped, the stain of colour darkening, a mark of her guilt.
"'The lady doth protest too much, methinks'," Aimee teased with a delighted laugh, earning herself a sharp swat on the shoulder.
"You need to stop talking books with Prouvaire," Eponine grumbled. "So I find Philip appealing…"
"Aww, he lets you call him Philip!" Her three companions squealed.
"So I find Combeferre," Eponine amended herself, glaring at them, "appealing. It's not as if any of you can offer a reason why I shouldn't, not when we're all in the same boat."
Eponine's implication dawned on Aimee at the same time as she realized that their steps were taking them in the direction of the Musain. "You, 'Chetta, and Annette are all in the same boat, is what I think you mean," she offered carefully.
A look passed between her three friends. "You know, you never did tell us what happened between you and Enjolras," Musichetta suggested casually.
Aimee stiffened in surprise, not expecting the query, a flash flood of memories washing through her.
She stood frozen, holding her breath as Enjolras' lips made gentle contact against her own, waiting for him to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer. She felt safe, complete, as if she had found a missing part of her soul. Then, his lips were gone and she opened her eyes to see him step away, his cheeks blushed crimson.
"I'm sorry," his words were garbled and he stared at the floor so as not to meet her eyes. "I shouldn't have done that. It was wrong of me, a mistake."
She shrugged in response to her friend's curious stares, "Nothing happened. Things changed, that's all." To her immense relief, they did not ask any more questions and the rest of the journey to the Musain was done in silence.
As Eponine made to ascend the stairs up to the back room, Aimee hung back. She knew that Enjolras would be up there and, right now, she really didn't want to have to face him, pretending that she was all right and trying to hide the reality; that she missed him, moods swings and all. "I don't really feel like going up there today, can we stay down here?"
Annette threw her a curious look, "Why would you want to stay down here? You haven't seen the Amis for weeks now."
"Besides," Musichetta called down, "now that Enjolras has officially lifted that ridiculous rule about 'no women in the back room', I intend to go up there as often as possible!"
Unable to come up with an ironclad excuse or realistic reason, Aimee followed up the stairs behind Annette, reluctance making her pace slow. Judging by the noise emanating from behind the door, it sounded as if the Amis had a meeting in progress, and a larger one than normal. This was proved to be a correct observation, for when Eponine threw open the door, Aimee was met with the sight of more than twenty or thirty people packed into the back room. Some she had seen before at previous meetings, but most were complete strangers, new recruits by the looks of things. Some were fresh faced students, cheeks ruddy with alcohol and fervour; some were workingmen with rough voices and scarred hands; some were beggars, their figures wasted from malnutrition and their clothes worn to holes.
As the four women attempted to navigate their way through the crush of bodies, Aimee caught sight of various members of the Amis dotted throughout the room, busy talking with possible members. It was Enjolras, however, who drew her gaze.
He was stood atop his usual table, jacket discarded on the back of his chair. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, and his hair was turned a dark blond with sweat. Equal measures of rage and excitement seemed to roll off him, his effortless rhetoric captivating all who were present. "We need men like you, men of the people, to join in our crusade, to join us in the fight for freedom! The beating of our hearts, our fearless, noble hearts, will echo throughout France as the drum roll to call others to stand up with us and take their chance! Who will be strong and stand with me, with Les Amis de la ABC, with the Cause?! For after the barricades have arisen, and fighting is over, and the fields and streets of France have been watered with the blood of martyrs, then, there will be the world that we so long to see! Vive le France!"
The group of men roared their approval, and Aimee was certain that they were making enough noise to be heard twenty streets away. If this fervour and excitement wasn't proof that Enjolras' plans were coming to fruition, Aimee didn't know what was. The meeting broke up quickly after that, with many of those present signing up to join the group, all with something special to offer. From her place at a table in the corner that the women had commandeered from Grantaire and his drawing supplies, Aimee watched Enjolras interact with the new recruits. He was earnest and eloquent, sending each man on his way only when he had answered all of their questions and forged the beginning of a personal connection with them. She was immensely proud of him, of what he and group were achieving, but she couldn't stop the painful feeling of loss that she kept dampened with fatigue and pressing issues. Recollections of evenings spent battling each other at chess as the snow swirled outside dominated her thoughts for a moment, the ache of longing in her chest not really surprising her. Despite the awkward ending that their… friendship?...relationship?...partnership?...came to, she missed his presence in her life. Missed their morning coffee routine, missed hearing him call to her to fetch him a book or ask her to listen to a draft of a speech he had written.
"He has that effect on people." Eponine's voice made her jump, so deeply had she retreated inside her head. "The 'I will always love you despite you being an unfeeling ass' effect."
"What do you mean?" Aimee tried to act nonchalantly, but the quaver in her voice was obvious even to herself.
"We're going to go and find our men," Musichetta said, knowing the two friends needed to discuss this privately, pulling Annette to her feet. "Come on, 'Nette, maybe Joly will propose tonight, you never know!"
Once the two women had gone, even though they were alone, Eponine leant in close so that only Aimee could hear her words. "Why do you keep coming back?"
Aimee choked on a laugh that honestly was bordering on a sob, remembering the first conversation that she and Eponine had had on their first meeting, at this same table, all those months ago. "He can't know how I feel, 'Ponine, not now, probably not ever. He has much more important things to be concentrating on, and besides, I highly doubt he feels the same way." She turned pleading eyes to her friend, "Promise you won't say anything? Not even to Combeferre?"
"I promise." The reply was spoken softly and with the empathy of one who understood the pain and the dilemma.
"Thank you." Aimee breathed, her burden somewhat eased, but her emotions still swirling.
Eponine nodded in recognition and raised a glass to speak a sober toast for just the two of them. "To our dear foolish boys."
A/N Aww, poor Aimee. L But don't worry; there is still hope for this stubborn uncommunicative pair. Much drama in the next chapter. Well, probably. I'm not really sure as I haven't written it yet…
I'm really going to try and power on with this story now in the hope of getting it finished by my first anniversary of joining Fan Fiction which is in March. Reviews encourage me to write faster and convince me that people out there are still reading this.
Until next time, mes amis!
Libz