Arc Two, Epilogue: A Star to Walk By
Cosette keeps herself from running, though just barely.
She will have somewhere between a half hour and an hour, depending on how long Gavroche can distract her father. She's going to lose ten minutes making it to the nearest boundary point between their house and Enjolras' border, both ways, and she yearns to simply dash forward, covering as much ground as she can as quickly as she can.
Getting herself caught up by ruffians of one sort or another before she makes the border won't gain her any time, though, and the faster she walks the harder it will be for her to remember all of Gavroche's advice.
The clothes he found for her—she doesn't allow herself to think stole, though that's certainly a possibility—are slightly too big. She had to roll the trouser legs up several times to keep from trodding on them. The feel of the trousers themselves is strange, a bizarre bunching and brushing of fabric against her legs where it shouldn't be. The shoes fit well, though, and the too-big brown coat that hangs to her knees conceals her female status quite well. Once Gavroche had helped her hide her braided hair under a battered workman's cap, he had stood back, nodded once, and said that if she didn't do anything too girly or rich she should do.
So she walks at a normal pace, hands balled into fists in her pockets but trying to have her gait and the carriage of her shoulders match Gavroche's easy, certain swagger. Not too tense, she'll look like a target. Not too female, because women don't walk alone at night and certainly not dressed as men. Not too lax, someone might think her an easy target for robbery.
Laughter rises unbidden in her throat. Who knew there were so many cursed ways to walk? It's absolutely ridiculous!
At the end of her walk there will be something well worth the risk, though, and that thought curves her lips up into a smile even as her heart pounds in her chest and her breath fogs in the cool night air. At least they're past the point of frost.
Then she turns a corner, the fourth street on the right-hand side, and she can't keep from running because Marius is there.
He doesn't run to meet her, standing rooted to the spot, but as soon as she is close enough his arms reach forward, wrap around her, pull her to him, and in one glorious instant everything that was broken in the world is made whole again.
"Cosette." His breath is like the warmth of the sun against her throat. Then he pulls away, setting her at arm's length from him. "Are you well? Are you hurt? This was so dangerous, Cosette, we really shouldn't have—"
Her hand across his mouth silences him, and she shakes her head. "Don't. We've little enough time, and I already explained in my messages that I want to do this. I need to see you, Marius, and I will not risk you or your pack being injured for that to happen."
"They aren't my pack." The protest sounds feeble, and Marius' hands are still clutched tight to her, as though his simple grasp could keep them together despite everything.
"They are our friends, no matter what you call them, and I will not hurt them or you when the simple solution is for me to use my human status to walk freely. But I don't want to debate that with you right now." Stepping forward so that her body is molded to his again—as much as possible, at least, both of them wrapped tight against the cool spring night—Cosette closes her eyes and breathes deeply. "We're together for a little bit, Marius. Please let me enjoy it while it lasts."
He goes silent then, and though she can feel his anxiety and worry for her through their bond—their strange, wonderful, miraculous bond—it is by far overshadowed by joy and relief at their reunion.
Come what may, so long as they can be together like this at least some of the time, she is certain they can make it through.