A/N: Thanks much for the reviews! Now adventure is around the corner for our dynamic duo, while back in the city the plot thickens. Another longer chapter here.
I don't own Armand or Raoul. They belong in the universe of Orczy's "Scarlet Pimpernel" and Leroux's "Phantom of the Opera". But I can't resist having these two lovable guys making cameos.
Warp and Weft
I
The sound of a fresh morning breeze rattling the shutters cuts through Eponine's dreams and rudely jolts her back to the waking world. She winces at the cold before carefully tugging on the quilt to cover both herself and Enjolras, who is still dozing with his head on her chest. Fortunately the movement doesn't wake him, allowing Eponine to revel at the warmth of his body fitting so perfectly with hers and the calm rhythm of his breathing almost in time with her own. 'No dream can ever feel this good,' she decides as she starts running her fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down.
After a while Enjolras stirs and tightens his grip on her waist. "Five more minutes, please," he murmurs drowsily into her shoulder.
She laughs as she scratches the nape of his neck. "Someone slept too well?"
He lifts his head to look at her before moving up to give her a long, slow kiss that leaves her breathless and yet feeling every nerve tingling in a pleasant sort of way. "You tell me why."
Eponine shivers at the delightful memories that the mere sound of his slightly raspy voice brings up. "We've got time, so why don't I just show you instead?" she whispers as she brings up one foot to rub along the back of his knee all the way up to his thigh.
Enjolras' breath catches for a moment but he smirks as he moves so that he is lying on top of her, taking care to rest his weight on his elbows. He kisses her teasingly on the hollow of her throat, making her shiver and grip him more tightly. "Are you quite sure about that, Eponine?"
She nods before pulling him close to kiss him more fiercely, only to end up moaning against his lips when she feels his hips pushing against hers. Their lovemaking is quiet and unhurried, with his fiery and affectionate whispers answering her ardent caresses. It feels like a blissful eternity till they both catch their breath even as they remain entwined with each other and cocooned under the covers. It is then that she looks into his eyes and laughs with delight. "I can't believe we're here. I can't believe you're here with me."
He raises an eyebrow. "Why is it so difficult to convince you?"
"No. It's only because this is so new, to me at least," she admits as she brings up her hands to trace the sharpness of his cheeks and then the angles of his jaw. "You're the only one who ever stayed."
"You're the one I'd always go home to," he says before dropping a soft kiss on her brow.
She hugs him tightly, smiling into his shoulder when he strokes her hair. Yet even so it is at that moment a knock sounds on the door. "Who is it?" she calls.
"There's breakfast ready," Madame Esmeralda hollers. "You two forgot about dinner!"
Enjolras only swears under his breath, which sends Eponine into a fit of laughter. "I'll go on ahead downstairs. She might be embarrassed to deal with you first," she says.
"I guess that means you get dibs on the hot water," he replies dryly.
Eponine kisses him by way of thanks before slipping out of bed and grabbing a long sleeved green shirtdress and a pair of jeans. It doesn't take her long to wash up and make herself presentable enough to head downstairs to where breakfast is being served in the small kitchen garden adjoining the house. From here there is a view of the town, with houses roofed with rusting sheets of galvanized iron, all the way to larger and older edifices covered with shingles. To her surprise Madame Esmeralda isn't there; the only person seated at a corner table is a thin young man with dark hair parted down the middle and looking quite lost in his blue hoodie. 'He must have arrived in the middle of the night,' Eponine decides as she pours herself a cup of coffee and takes a seat a few tables away.
For a few moments the stranger remains absorbed in poking at a plate of cheese omelette and bacon strips, till he looks up to see who else has entered the garden. His polite smile widens into one of astonishment as he gets to his feet. "Doctor Eponine Thenardier, I presume?"
Eponine sets down her drink slowly. "Who are you?"
"Armand St-Just," the young man says quickly. He blushes as he looks back at his food for a moment. "I'm a correspondent for the Daily Beacon. One of my colleagues wrote an article about the Saint-Michel Hospital's surgery department earlier this year."
'At least he's not from a tabloid,' Eponine thinks with some relief. "What section of the Beacon do you write for?"
"Art and Culture. I'm doing a feature on the weaving room in town," Armand replies. "Are you here for a medical mission, Miss Thenardier?"
Eponine shakes her head. "What time does the weaving room open today?"
"Eight in the morning, I think," Armand says as he checks his watch. "I thought I was the only guest here at this inn; I didn't hear anyone else upstairs."
She has to take a sip of coffee if only to hide her secretive smile. 'Maybe he knows what's going on in town,' she decides as she watches him stir his own cup of tea. "Have you been in the town proper yet?"
"Not yet. I'm headed there after breakfast," he answers a little nervously. "Is it also on your itinerary for the morning?"
"Maybe. What exactly about weaving are you doing a story on?"
"The future of loom weaving, especially since it seems to have become a niche market for things like church vestments or expensive wedding gowns. No longer the people's industry if you will."
Eponine sips her coffee again and looks towards the sound of Enjolras' footsteps headed towards the garden. She grins widely on seeing him dressed in a new red sweater and a pair of black jeans. "Looking sharp," she calls to him.
Enjolras does a double take when he sees who she has been talking to. "St-Just, it's been a long time."
Armand nearly starts on hearing his surname. "Enjolras? What are you doing here?"
"Sight-seeing," Enjolras replies as he takes a seat next to Eponine's. "I take you're here for a story?"
"I was just telling her about it," Armand replies. He glances at Eponine and then at Enjolras. "Are you two travelling together?"
"Among other things," Eponine says, giving Enjolras a mischievous look. "Now how do you guys know each other?"
"College," Enjolras explains. "We were neighbours."
"My sister Marguerite and I had a place down the road from where he and the guys were staying," Armand adds. "At least before Marguerite and Bahorel broke up."
"Now that's a story I haven't heard." Eponine quips."Since Bahorel never mentioned it, I figure that it was not a good parting of ways?"
"An understatement," Enjolras replies.
"You're lucky my brother-in-law isn't here to hear that," Armand says. "Should I give him your regards?"
Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "My cordial regards, to be more to the point."
"You're the one who called him a dilettante," Armand mutters balefully. "You're lucky that duelling was banned on the campus grounds."
Eponine laughs as she gets to her feet. "You guys catch up. Do you want anything in particular?"
Enjolras smirks at her. "That's a very dangerous question."
Eponine ruffles his still damp hair and rushes off, if only to hide the blush rising to her cheeks. 'How on earth does he do that?' she wonders as she finds a large bowl to fill with cereal and then piles a plate with bread, omelettes, and sautéed tomatoes. She returns to find Enjolras listening calmly as Armand explains something about the map of the town. "Something interesting?" she asks as she sets down the food on the table.
"Aside from the weaving room, there are some cafes and a canopy walk," Enjolras replies as he points to some areas on the map. "We can check those out today."
"The canopy walk is said to be interesting at sunset, when the animals start emerging for the night," Armand suggests.
"A good opportunity for you to fiddle with night vision," Eponine remarks as she pats Enjolras' arm.
"Are you still doing photography?" Armand asks Enjolras incredulously.
Enjolras takes a moment to swallow a mouthful of cereal. "Not all that often," he replies.
"You should consider using drones. They can be discreet and hands-off," Armand says. "Perfect for getting crowd shots or playing spy camera, if you like."
'Sounds like something Gav would be interested in too,' Eponine catches herself thinking as she digs into her own breakfast. She has to sit on one hand to keep from checking her phone for any messages from her siblings; it's very rare that she gets to be this far away from them. 'It's not like you guys are still kids waiting for your parents to come home,' she reminds herself.
Half an hour later, the three of them are walking down the long road leading to the center of town. Their path takes them past small but sturdy houses with yards that have been converted to vegetable gardens, as well as some trails branching out towards the fields or the fishponds further off. For the most part though the area is heavily wooded, and now and then Armand eagerly points out birds hopping from branch to branch, or lizards sunning themselves on rocks.
At a bend in the road, Armand motions for them to pause. "Monkeys crossing. Don't feed them," he says in an undertone as he points out five gray macaques bounding across the road.
Enjolras brings out his camera. "Looks like they're standing watch on the road," he says as he walks ahead to where the monkeys have found a place on a fence.
Eponine is a step behind him. "Don't you know that monkeys are very territorial?" she hisses.
"I'm not getting too near," Enjolras argues as he pauses to zoom in on the monkeys, who are now watching him.
She grabs his shoulder at the sight of the biggest monkey now rising as if to spring, but she only has enough time to jump aside when the monkey shrieks and lunges in their general direction. She hears Enjolras cussing loudly and when she turns she finds that he's landed hard on the seat of his pants. "Auguste! Are you alright?" she asks as she rushes to help him up.
He gives her a withering look as he gets to his feet. "Don't say it. I get the picture," he grouses over the sound of Armand's barely muffled chuckling from somewhere nearby.
Eponine can't help but giggle as she checks Enjolras over for any bites or scratches. She looks past his shoulder and notices several children laughing uncontrollably and rolling near the curb, while some older bystanders are watching with wary and sceptical expressions. "Okay, nothing to see here!" she calls to the youngsters, which only elicits more shrieks of laughter.
Armand manages to regain his composure after a few more moments. "Nothing broken or anything?" he asks. "Meaning both you guys and the camera?"
"It's a good thing this thing has a case now," Enjolras says as he inspects the gadget and gives Eponine a knowing look. "Thanks."
She simply smiles before taking his arm as they continue walking towards the town, now this time taking care to avoid disturbing any more of the denizens of the nearby woods. In a quarter of an hour they are at the center of the town, near a small church and a dilapidated looking building bedecked with gaudy emblems. They cross the street towards a long, squat building with a faded sign marked as the Easter Weaving Room. "This is it?" she asks aloud.
Armand nods as he checks his watch. "The actual weaving area is out back. I'll go on ahead and try to see if I can get you guys to come in and watch the process for a bit, but there's always the shop out front if you want to take a look."
"Do they also dye the threads here?" Enjolras asks.
"That's further on down, near the woods, and you don't want to smell that," Armand replies before walking up to a front office to make inquiries while Enjolras stops to talk to someone who has recognized him in the street.
Eponine takes the opportunity to go off to the weaving room's shop, which is filled with tables and shelves loaded with articles such as thick table runners and wall hangings covered with designs of lizards, diamonds, and waves. There are other finer works here such as colorful striped napkins and dish towels fashioned from softer abaca fibers, and in one corner a whole rack of delicate off-white handkerchiefs, veils and linens made from pineapple silk. Even from the doorway she can hear the rhythmic clacking of the looms, the creaking of pedals and occasionally a snatch or two of a ditty from someplace distant, maybe down the hall. 'Once, they did this sort of thing in houses, not in huge rooms,' she catches herself thinking as she starts wandering through the room.
As she's perusing some handkerchiefs she hears a step next to her. Before she can move away to give this person room to take a look, she feels a hand yank at the hem of her shirtdress. "What the hell?" she snaps as she slaps these fingers away.
"Sorry about that, girlie," a short man cackles as he leers at her. "Couldn't resist the view."
"Go away," Eponine says slowly. She looks around and sees that there are other people in the shop, and one of them is a face she could have sworn she saw earlier on the road, a burly man in a green military cap. 'Maybe it's just a coincidence,' she decides but that is before she sees this man bring out a phone and start sending a message, occasionally glancing in her direction. As quickly as she can she exits the shop and crosses the street to where Enjolras has set up his camera on a fence. "What are you doing?" she asks as she touches his shoulder.
He motions for her to crouch next to him. "There's a zoning operation going on down there. That's why Madame Esmeralda didn't want us to come down here last night," he informs her. "I got a good look at the uniforms and they aren't from local authorities."
"Which means?"
"Private army."
Eponine crosses her arms. "Weren't we supposed to be on break from work this week?"
"I'm only forwarding these pictures back to Courfeyrac and Feuilly," Enjolras insists. "That's all."
"Why is it that you just can't let things go?" she gripes.
He gives her a sidelong glance. "If someone came running up here asking for a doctor in the house, you'd get up too."
"That's different!"
"Necessary all the same."
She pinches the bridge of her nose before giving his arm an indignant little squeeze. "Haven't you learned anything from this morning yet?"
Before Enjolras can say anything a terrifying crash sounds from inside the weaving room followed by shrieks and running footsteps. "Was there a reason you left?"
"I think this one is different!" Eponine says quickly as they run to the building just as the back doors fly open as a dozen middle aged women and a few children flee the place. Eponine manages to scamper past the commotion and into the backroom, only to see two men brandishing guns as they shove Armand to the floor. She immediately snatches up a piece of a broken loom frame and swings it at the goon positioned nearest the door, hitting him smartly across his back. The man yells as he tries to grab her but she deals him a punch in the gut that sends him to his knees, giving her the opportunity to kick away his pistol.
Armand sits up and holds a hand to his throat. "Thank you. I thought that I was a goner there."
Enjolras nods from where he has also managed to disarm the second thug and immobilize him with a hand on his collar. "There's rope in that corner."
Armand manages to stand up and retrieve two lengths of thick cord. "They came looking for some of the ladies. Something about relocation," he explains. "They were getting rough so I had to do something."
Eponine grits her teeth as she gives Enjolras a knowing glance before tying up the goon she has managed to take down. "You brought this upon yourself," she snaps when she hears this man protest.
"Where does a girl like you learn to tie these knots?" the man whimpers.
"Taking care of people who have been hurt by someone like you," she retorts as she checks the knot. She looks to Armand. "Are you hurt?"
"Not really, but I think some of the ladies may have bumps and bruises," Armand replies.
Enjolras finishes tying up the second thug and takes a step back. "Who sent you two?"
This thug squirms to catch the eye of his accomplice. "Don't say anything!"
"I seriously wouldn't advise silence in this situation," Enjolras says sternly. "You're in a precarious position, gentlemen. Your boss, or bosses probably do not take kindly to failed missions, or orders badly executed. On the other hand, once it gets out that there is an illegal zoning operation in this town, everyone involved could face jail time for illegally grabbing property, among other offenses. I doubt your families would appreciate that."
Eponine has to hide her smile when she sees these men pale. "You're not being paid very well for this," she says. "Otherwise you'd have shot someone a while ago and then run for it."
The two men glance at each other. "She's right," one of them mutters.
"Shut up!" his friend hisses. "Don't you know who they are?"
Eponine studies these men and realizes that neither of them is the fellow who was shadowing her earlier. "There's more of them," she tells Enjolras and Armand. "One of them was in the shop earlier."
Enjolras nods as he makes a show of counting on his fingers. "Quite the crew," he says as he picks up the guns and hands them to Armand. "I'll make a call."
Eponine follows him to the doorway of the backroom. "What if the police are the problem? They're probably tolerating the zoning, maybe even enforcing it," she whispers.
"That's why I'm calling the central bureau," Enjolras explains in a hushed voice. "These aren't ordinary witnesses. They're former military personnel. We have to look up their records and check if they're tied to any of the regiments who were dissolved for recent offenses."
"This is retroactively reverse-engineering the web? Not sure if that makes sense."
"No one is talking. They're not getting paid, but they have other reasons to keep silent."
"Enjolras, these two are asking for a lift to the capital!" Armand shouts from inside the back room. "Deal or no deal?"
"No deal," Enjolras replies. "I do have something for you, St-Just. Something to add to your story."
"I like the sound of that," Armand replies.
Eponine retrieves Enjolras' camera from where he had set it down before rushing into the fight. "You would have been a very controversial journalist," she tells Enjolras.
"Or a very dead one," he points out before getting his phone to begin searching for numbers.
II
"You seriously just let them go out of town and off the grid?"
Combeferre gives Grantaire a look of disbelief over his cup of coffee. "I'm not their babysitter, Capital R. They're old enough to take care of themselves," he retorts, hoping he's loud enough to be heard over the din in the Revolution Cafe following another of Prouvaire's stirring spoken word performances.
"Combeferre, what if they get engaged while they are away?" Grantaire asks. "What if they eloped? That's the second time we'll have messed up in a year!"
"Those two are going to end up engaged on the most ordinary day of the year. Besides there is no way Eponine will allow her siblings to miss her wedding," Combeferre points out. 'Though of course it would always be nice to give a best man's speech,' he thinks as he stirs his coffee.
Grantaire sighs as he picks up his bottle of beer. "We're all getting old. I mean, who would have thought that Courfeyrac would end up married and Pontmercy would get engaged?"
"You said much the same thing when Enjolras and Courfeyrac sat the bar exams years ago."
"Yeah and now all of you docs are going to be specialists not just hospital slaves. Never thought I'd see the day, given our propensity for near-mortality."
Combeferre merely shrugs and sips his own drink again. 'No use telling Grantaire about who the target of the bombing was,' he decides. He looks up as the cafe door clatters open, admitting a clean-shaven man with reddish hair tied back in a short ponytail that seems to be in sharp contrast to his still immaculately pressed gray suit. "Now there's a face neither of us has seen in a while," he remarks more to himself than to his friend.
Grantaire slams down his beer bottle. "Raoul de Chagny? He must be lost in the neighborhood,"
'Maybe he's looking,' Combeferre realizes as he watches Raoul searching the room. He waves to this former classmate of theirs. "De Chagny! Over here!"
Raoul looks around and gives them a blustering smile before hurrying over. "Doctor Combeferre, you're just the person I needed to see." He nods cordially to Grantaire. "How are you doing, Grantaire?"
"You look quite well to me, de Chagny," Combeferre remarks. "Still in the family business?"
Raoul nods. "It's doing well."
"That's good. What can I do for you?"
"It's more of something you can hear out," Raoul says as he takes a seat. "I saw Marius Pontmercy at his grandfather's party last night, for the first time in years. A lot of military officials were there, such as my father and my brother. I didn't get to speak with him, unfortunately, since he had company. I did see him speaking with his cousin, who is in the Marines."
"That's not news," Grantaire says impatiently.
Raoul looks at Combeferre and Grantaire seriously. "Theodule Gillenormand is part of an incident investigation committee. They're taking an interest in Saint-Michel Hospital."
Combeferre's hand tightens around his coffee cup as the faces of Dupond and so many other patients flash before his eyes. 'Does de Chagny know of them too?' he wonders, remembering now his friend's military background. "What sort of interest?"
"On paper, investigating the Rock Lobster bombing," Raoul replies. "But only on paper, or at least what they can do to protect some of their rogue regiments."
"Define rogue," Combeferre says.
"Outside the capital, there are still some detachments being employed as private armies. It's all under the table but it exists," Raoul explains. "I'm asking since I'm trying to clear up my family's records; we would rather not do business with those sorts of elements. I was asked to find out if they have been operating in this city too."
Combeferre nods, deciding now to hazard a guess. "You believe we'd know?"
Raoul nods again. "One of the witnesses in the Transnonain case was admitted there, and so were many of the injured in the Rock Lobster bombing. I daresay that those two incidents may be linked."
"This is a very nice detective yarn, but what motive?" Grantaire asks sceptically.
"Silence," Raoul answers. "Of victims and investigators alike."
'What if Eponine and Enjolras are already starting off an investigation?' Combeferre wonders silently. He takes a moment to sip his coffee, all the while studying de Chagny's ponderous demeanor; surely there is more than just filial loyalty and necessity involved there? Yet before he can ask, he sees the cafe door clatter open again, this time admitting a much more welcome face. "Florence!" he calls, waving to his girlfriend.
Florence smiles with relief as she hurries over and tosses her bag on the table. "I had quite the day-" she begins before she catches sight of Raoul. "De Chagny! How are you doing?" she asks.
Raoul smiles cordially. "I'm doing well, Florence. So are Christine and Pierre; he's taking after his mother and enrolling in voice lessons."
"Do you still hear from Meg and her mother?"
"Sometimes. They're in London now, for a new production."
Grantaire cackles at Combeferre's befuddled expression before elbowing Florence. "How is it you know him, Florence?"
"More of I know his wife, Christine. We used to take dance together, at the studio run by her best friend's mother," Florence explains happily. "And you guys?"
"College. He and Marius were seatmates, along with this other guy Armand St-Just," Grantaire says.
"What a merry row that was," Combeferre sighs.
Florence grins at him. "In more ways than one?"
The doctor nods wearily. He could not remember how they had all survived that semester together; Grantaire and Bahorel had never quite gotten along with Raoul, while Enjolras was known to have ferocious tiffs with St-Just's good friend (and eventual brother-in-law) Percy Blakeney. 'Does Florence know of Raoul and Christine's secret too?' he wonders, but he knows better than to voice out such a scandal in a public place.
In the meantime Grantaire waves to Prouvaire, who is just jumping off the stage. "Look what the cats dragged in."
Prouvaire smiles broadly as he goes up to Raoul and pulls him into a warm hug. "It's good to see you. I was worried you'd fallen off the face of this earth!" the poet greets. "I didn't know you were into spoken word too, De Chagny."
"I'm still gaining an appreciation for the art," Raoul says as he claps Prouvaire's back. "I'm glad you're still on the scene."
Combeferre sighs with relief as the talk turns to poetry and performances; while this is not his line of expertise he is only too happy to listen especially if Florence joins in the discourse. She seems to shine before his eyes as she avidly discusses with Prouvaire, Grantaire, and Raoul the finer points of oratory and even slam poetry delivery. 'Does she get to talk about this with her students?' he wonders even as he catches her gaze and sees her smile in that way she did during the party at the Courfeyrac home. It's the smile of a woman relishing something delectable, almost as if it was a wicked little secret. Yet what shadows could she possibly have?
He knows the hour is late when he feels her hand touch his. "Come home with me, Daniel."
"Tonight? It's a work night," he points out. There is the fact that he's never been to her place before, and it seems odd for her to invite him over so spontaneously.
She swallows hard. "We have to talk." She clasps his fingers tightly. "It's not the bad talk, I promise. At least I don't think it is."
Raoul nods to her. "I'll give your regards to Christine and the Girys."
"Thank you," Florence says before lacing her fingers more tightly with Combeferre's to lead him out of the cafe. Her hand is warm, almost more than Combeferre expects, yet it does not alarm him overmuch.
They do not say anything throughout the short walk from the cafe to Florence's apartment just five blocks away. It is only when they are in the elevator that she turns to look at him. "I teach drama. I learned everything I know from the Girys. Our dance classes always had recitals."
"That's a matter of course," Combeferre agrees. "Doesn't every performing arts class do so?"
"Yes, but those times...they meant a lot to me," Florence says. "You could say they are defining moments in my life."
"Rather far from teaching English though."
"Many teachers are frustrated performers. We like having a captive audience."
Combeferre chuckles as the elevator door opens to the seventh floor. "Since your students aren't back yet from the holidays, are you bored?"
"Bored, paralyzed with ennui, going stir-crazy, you name it," she says as she fishes in her pocket for her keys and stops in front of a door. She takes a deep breath before unlocking the apartment. "Make yourself comfortable. There is something I want to show you."
He can't help feeling a little trepidation as he follows her into the small studio apartment; she has never been so ready to admit him before into her personal space. Yet all questions are driven out of his mind as he catches sight of a table piled high with music boxes and snow globes of all shapes and sizes. "I didn't know you collect these," he tells her as he sits down on the sofa.
"Some of them were my mother's," she explains. "I didn't know how special each box was till Christine told me about how useful these things were for learning tunes. I wish I'd taken an interest a little bit sooner since my mother was gone by then."
"Florence-"
"I know her secret, about her child. Raoul is a saint."
Combeferre swallows hard, already guessing what she may have to say. "And what else do you know?"
Florence inches closer to him and grabs both his hands. "I know who they were trying to get at the diner. It's you, Daniel. It's too obvious. Why couldn't you tell me before?'
