A/N Oh yeah people, we are heading into the real teeth of the story now, so hold onto your hats and be prepared for a bumpy ride! As always, thanks to those of you who reviewed, especially Pica Britannia for her constant support. You guys really should check out her story, another Enjolras/OC story, Between Heaven and Earth. It's is an excellent piece of writing and deserves so many reviews! Also, congratulations to Her Grace the Duchess for being the 125th reviewer of A Different Version of Events. Give me the prompt and your one shot shall be coming your way soon!
Alright people, on with the story! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Les Miserables is not mine, and it never will be. Shame really.
Chapter Thirty-two
A dancing beam of warm sunlight fell across Aimee's face, causing her to shift contentedly in her sleep, more than happy to roll over and return to the blissful land of slumber. However, like a persistently cheerful acquaintance, the sunshine refused to leave her in peace, turning the back of her eyelids a luminescent red, the colour naturally reminding her of a certain young gentleman residing on the floor above her. At the thought of him, a smile as bright as the rising sun curled across her face, the memory of their kisses the previous night causing her to hug herself in unrestrained glee. She sat up slowly, finally surrendering to the day's coaxing summons, her soul feeling weightless, her body as light as air.
A gentle tap sounded at the door, obvious to her for she was sleeping on a pallet in the living room. Hoping against hope that the early morning caller was the upstairs tenant, Aimee rose from her make-shift bed, the covers whispering gently as she pulled the blanket free to wrap around herself as a ward against the morning chill lingering in the apartment. Pushing an errant lock of hair from her shoulder, she crossed barefooted to the door, butterflies taking flight within her chest. Opening it a crack, she peered out, a surge of joy igniting within her as Enjolras' figure came into view.
"Good morning," she whispered, feeling inexplicably shy now that they were once again together.
"Good morning," he replied, seeming just as awkward, but gracing her with a soft, warm smile. In fact, everything about him seemed softer; his eyes were brighter, the usual shadows not present beneath the captivating blue orbs. His features were more relaxed, more open, his posture easier, though his arms were clasped curiously behind his back.
"What are you hiding from me?" she teased, stepping fully out of the door, moving closer to him.
"Nothing," he said innocently, though the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth professed otherwise.
"I do believe you are lying, my dear Julien," she purred, shifting forwards in a daring move to grasp the lapels of his blue jacket loosely. "You are a truly terrible liar."
To her surprise he stooped and stole a kiss from her, at the same time bringing a small package out from behind his back. "As I am unable to stay with you this morning," he said, holding her gaze, "I had the foresight to purchase you a small token of my affection, to let you know that I am thinking of you, even when we are apart."
Bemused at his show of romanticism, she took the proffered package, curiously finding it to be warm and oddly shaped. Upon opening it she released a short laugh, for inside lay a hot, fresh croissant and a tiny glass jar of fruit conserve. "Well," she chuckled, "it's not exactly diamonds or silk, but…" she rose on tiptoe to return his earlier kiss twofold, "I like it far better."
He grinned, looking like a little boy in the golden sunbeams that flew from the exposed window to tangle delightfully in his hair. For a brief moment his beauty left her breathless, a hard ache settling under her ribs as realized that this man, this god-like creature with a heart of gold, was hers; he had placed that precious heart into her hands and trusted her with it.
His rather unorthodox gift became trapped between them as she flung herself against him, trying to convey in a fiery meeting of lips and souls just how much his trust meant to her.
"There now," he murmured against her lips, "I am now in no need of sustenance, for your kisses are more pleasing to me than any food that will ever pass my lips."
She teased his lips once more before striking him playfully on the chest. "Who knew you were such a helpless romantic?"
"I have my moments," he confessed, another of those grins breaking free. "I am afraid that I really must by going though. I have an early class and then various happenings to discuss with the Amis. And Le Faucon," he added as an afterthought, absentmindedly rubbing at his newly shaved chin.
Aimee allowed her fingers to lightly skim his jawline for a moment before regretfully stepping back, her hands still containing his gift. "I must also try and make myself presentable," she agreed regretfully, "for I am expected at the theatre in not too long. I wish I could just spend the day with you." This last point was uttered rather self-consciously, her eyes skittering away from his amused gaze.
"As do I, but duty calls, mon amour." He reached out and, almost tentatively, wrapped one of her loose curls around his finger, playing with it for a brief moment before letting it drop back onto her shoulder. "I shall see you this afternoon at the Musain. Yes?"
She nodded, taking a purposeful step back for fear that she would kiss him again and he would end up being late for university. "Have a good day."
He tugged his jacket straight and ran a hand through his hair. "You as well." With one final smile he disappeared down the hall and out of the door, a chilly burst of air the only indication he had exited, so quietly did he close the door behind him.
Stepping back into the apartment, she leant her back against the closed door, feeling so incandescently happy she thought she might explode.
"I'd say you found a good one there," Margo commented mildly from her place by the kitchen door, her sharp hearing and the thin walls meaning she had heard the majority of the conversation. She could not help but smile, her motherly heart swelling with joy that the two young people had finally admitted their feelings to one another. "Now then," she teased, beckoning the young woman forwards, "let's try and get this hair sorted shall we while you eat that lovely gift of his. We can't have you rushing around the city feeling hungry and looking like a bird is taking up residence on your head, now can we?"
"I'm glad that's over," Enjolras commented to Courfeyrac as the two of them exited the lecture that they had been trapped in for the past two hours, their second of the day. "A surprise test on accusatory justice is not the best way to usher in the lunch hour." He readjusted the leather satchel that hung from his shoulders, a little concerned by his friend's muteness. Feeling strangely responsible to break the silence he bumped his shoulder gently into Courfeyrac's to get his attention. "There's an excellent new café opened up a few streets over. Come with me, I'll buy you lunch."
"No, thank you." The reply was clipped and terse, so utterly unlike Courfeyrac that Enjolras grasped the other's arm to bring them both to a halt.
"What is the matter with you, mon ami?" he questioned, searching the dandy's face for signs of what was wrong, only seeing for the first time the dark smudges under dull green eyes.
"I did not sleep well last night, that is all," he replied, attempting to summon up one of his usual suggestive grins that always made Enjolras roll his eyes and change the subject, but it came out as a poor forgery of the original. "That and my workload never seems to get any smaller."
"Perhaps I can help you?" Enjolras offered, feeling a little guilty that he had not noticed his friend's struggle before.
Courfeyrac shrugged dismissively and turned away to continue walking. "Do not feel as if you have to, no doubt you have other plans for this break; writing a paper, reading, meeting up with Aimee, I don't know."
"Why would I be meeting up with Aimee?" Enjolras queried, trying not to sound guarded. He and Aimee were unsure when to tell the Amis of their relationship, if at all, so Courfeyrac's comment appeared to be a little suspicious.
"I thought there might be some kind of after mission protocol to follow," came the airy answer.
Enjolras was far more astute at reading emotions than people gave him credit for, especially in the voice. Therefore, he could tell that his favoured lieutenant was not being fully open with his feelings and seemed a little put out. What he was unable to define was what had upset Courfeyrac. Unsure as to how to respond, he simply made a vague noise that indicated his desire to help and that he had nothing of importance planned. Courfeyrac grunted in response and stayed in step beside Enjolras as they continued on their way to lunch.
"I say," Courfeyrac commented suddenly, sounding the most alert he had all day, "is that Pontmercy scurrying away from us down the street?"
"Where?" Enjolras asked, only mildly curious as he was still puzzling over what could be the matter with Courfeyrac.
"There; dark coat, oldish hat, three books under his arm. He was walking up this way, but when he saw us he gave a start like he'd been shot and hurried off in the opposite direction."
Wondering why Marius had acted so strangely – well more strangely than normal – Enjolras remembered the pamphlet incident from a week or so before. He had not seen Marius since then and so had been unable to take him to task for his thoughtlessness. The young man's lack of reliability, coupled with the fact that he had not only made Enjolras look like a fool in front of Le Faucon but had also put Aimee at risk, caused an icy fire of anger to flare up in Enjolras' blood.
"I believe if we cut through here and then down a subsequent alleyway, we will come out further down the street in front of him," he commented, his change in tone catching Courfeyrac's attention.
"Do try and keep his chastisement to a dull roar, dear friend," he advised wryly, following along nevertheless.
They hurried through the dank alleyways, ignoring the strange looks and few catcalls they received from the poor folk occupying the space, and slipped out onto the street about ten feet in front of Marius. The aforementioned young man flinched so violently that he nearly dropped his books, the action bring a small cold smile to Enjolras' lips.
"Ah, Marius," he began genially, "how have you been?"
"I have…uh, I have been…" their prey stammered, but was cut off.
"You see I haven't seen you for such a long time I wondered if you were quite well." Enjolras stepped closer, disappointment in his comrade making his tone sharp. "In fact, I haven't seen you since you left Aimee to deliver that package I asked you to look after."
Marius gulped nervously, eyes flickering to Courfeyrac in entreaty, but the dandy just shrugged and absently twirled his cane. "I uh…I thought I was being followed…" he began, but was cut off once again.
"Bullshit." Enjolras' precise use of the expletive caused it to cut like glass, his sparing use of profanity proving just how angry he really was. "You pushed that package off onto her, when it was obvious that she was upset, because you could not be bothered to finish the job." He moved closer still, pinning Marius with his disdainful grey-blue gaze like an eagle pinned a rabbit to the ground. "You put her in danger and made me, no made us, look like fools in front of our new ally."
"Fine words indeed," Marius suddenly hissed back, an emotion other than fear entering his hazel eyes, "considering that you took her with you into the most dangerous part of the mission. Oh, yes," he sneered, "I knew about the ball; Jehan told me. And as for that new ally of yours, well, I've heard some interesting things about him!"
In a smooth movement Enjolras grasped Marius' collar and pulled him off the street into a quiet side alley, its' narrow confines home for the wooden crates of a greengrocers. "And what exactly have you heard?" he challenged, taking no notice of Courfeyrac's warning hand on his shoulder.
"I don't suppose he's told you he used to be in the army, did he?" Marius' indignation made him courageous, much like the first time he had met the Amis and spent a good quarter of an hour expounding the virtues of Bonaparte. "That he's wanted for the killing of a superior officer? That he is no more than a common, murdering outlaw?"
Enjolras shook Marius abruptly, crashing his back against the rough brickwork. "How dare you!" he growled. "How dare you sully his character! You, who have done nothing of honour in your life, dare to besmirch the name of a man who is trying to change the country for the better of all, instead of betraying his friends for the empty smiles of a woman who has left you once and will leave you again!"
Marius' fist connecting with Enjolras' jaw came as a surprise to all parties concerned; Enjolras because he never considered Marius capable of such an act and Marius because he had not thought himself capable either. Enjolras staggered back, blinking in shock that quickly morphed into fury. Fortunately, Courfeyrac had the sense of mind to step between the two and bar the way with the length of his cane.
"I would suggest," he said, "that we calm this situation down before we get arrested for public brawling which, quite honestly, I do not feel like trying to explain away to anybody. You both need to cool off, regain your senses, and then possibly discuss this misunderstanding like the gentlemen whose titles and mannerisms we have attempted to cast off."
"No," Marius shook his head slowly, his anger tempered with regret, "no, Courfeyrac, my friend, I cannot do that. You are all heading down a path that I cannot walk." He pushed himself away from the wall and straightened his coat. "I admire your courage Enjolras, and yours also Courfeyrac, for taking up the cause you have, but I can no longer stand beside you." He shrugged helplessly, "I did not feel ready in '32 and I do not feel ready now. My life is moving on, a life that will hopefully include Cosette and maybe, in the future, children, a home, and a law practice of my own." Once more returned to the sombre but good-hearted young man that Enjolras and Courfeyrac recognised, he offered his hand in a gesture of apology and farewell. They both shook, Enjolras nodding stiffly while Courfeyrac wrangled a solemn promise of an invitation to the wedding. With a final tip of his hat, Marius exited the alley and, at the same time, the stage the Amis lives were playing out upon.
"His heart is in the right place," Courfeyrac said as they returned to their original endeavour of finding some lunch, "just sadly not in the place we need it to be."
Enjolras made no comment, his head too full of the wild accusations that Marius had thrown at him regarding Le Faucon. There couldn't possibly be any truth in them…could there?
They did eventually find a pleasant café not too far from the university at which to eat some lunch, and the two friends soon relaxed under the influence of some decent house wine and an excellent tablier de sapeur; a bread-crumbed tripe dish served with salted and buttered new potatoes. Just as they were finishing their meal the waiter approached the table and handed Enjolras a neatly folded note sealed with several drops of wax.
"This arrived at the door for you, monsieur," the waiter offered politely before bowing and returning to his position.
Interested as to its contents, Enjolras hurriedly broke the seal and scanned the few lines of text within. A curious sense of dread clasped his heart in an iron grip as he absorbed the message from Le Faucon.
Meet my man at 2:30 in front of the barber's shop two streets away from the university. He will be wearing a green cravat and carrying an ebony cane topped with a tiger's head. Greet him as if he is a business associate and follow him. He will lead you to me.
We need to talk urgently.
Rene
P.S. Burn this as soon as you have read it.
"What's all that about?" Courfeyrac enquired, attempting to read the note upside-down. "More informers?"
Enjolras showed him the contents then followed the instructions written in the post-script, not leaving even a fragment of the paper unburnt.
"What do you think he wants to talk about?" Courfeyrac asked. His eyes were serious.
Enjolras checked his watch and stood, shouldering his satchel. "There's only one way to find out."
At precisely two thirty Enjolras was waiting outside the barber's shop, sitting down at a bench and pretending to read in an attempt to not appear conspicuous. For a brief moment his thoughts strayed to Aimee, wondering what she was doing, where she was. Was she thinking of him as he was thinking of her?
He felt a presence by his shoulder, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing up in instinctive alarm. Turning his head a fraction to the right the first thing he caught sight off was the polished silver head of a cane, a tiger's snarling features staring back at him.
"Our patron is waiting for us." The man's voice was bland and unfamiliar, completely average. "Perhaps you would care to join me?"
"Of course," Enjolras replied politely, rising to his feet and following the man. They kept up a steady stream of false business talk, appearing to any passers-by that they were merely friends or associates out for a post-lunch stroll. Their short journey, no more than a ten minute walk, led them to a small storage house tucked away in a yard that backed onto a tavern and a bakery. Although they were well concealed, Enjolras noticed that several surplus men were dotted around the small space; lounging against walls, sitting on boxes, one grooming a horse. At the doorway of the little house they were greeted by Giles, the second-in-command who had been present at Enjolras' first meeting with Le Faucon. Giving a stiff nod of greeting he gave the two men a quick pat down, rifling through Enjolras' satchel.
"It's compulsory," he explained shortly. "Everyone has to have it done."
This mild violation complete, the door was opened from inside to allow them entrance, the opening a cavern of darkness in comparison to the brightness of outside.
The inside of the house was poorly furnished and bland; one window was boarded shut and mildew grew freely up the entirety of one wall. What had previously been the kitchen was now transformed into a headquarters for Le Faucon, the large table, scarred with numerous marks and burns, covered in paper. Several crates stood around the room, and a few barrels of what he assumed was gunpowder stood a protective distance away from the fire.
In the middle of all this stood the rebel leader himself, his jacket removed for ease of movement, his dark eyes fierce and focused. Enjolras' guide rapped on the open door to indicate their arrival and then returned the way they had come, his duty obviously completed.
"Ah, Enjolras," Rene's voice was not as warm as usual, a cold undertone chilling the words, "do come in."
Enjolras did as he was bidden, perching himself on the edge of a rickety wooden chair. "Is there a particular reason you requested my presence?" he asked, removing his satchel and placing it on the floor beside him.
Rene waved a hand expansively. "Merely a few issues I wished to discuss with you." His footfalls were loud as he crossed the room to sit in the corner opposite Enjolras, the distance between them allowing each to examine the other. "You performed well at the ball last night," he began, "and the documents you retrieved will be invaluable to the furthering of our cause."
"That is exceedingly good news," Enjolras replied, uncertain was to what point his ally was attempting to make.
Rene nodded, the gesture perfunctory, his mind obviously elsewhere. "Do you ever wonder where you will be in ten years?" he asked abruptly. "What you will be doing, how you will be living, if you will be living at all?"
Feeling somewhat baffled Enjolras answered with truth. "I hope we will both be living in a changed France, in a nation where all are equal and free."
"As do I, Enjolras, as do I," he replied, "but it is a dream that may cost both your life and mine, as well as the lives of many others. Are you prepared to make that sacrifice?"
Here, Enjolras was forced to pause, confirming words checked on the tip of his tongue. Was he willing? Was he willing to die?
"You are a fool, Enjolras." The murmured words startled Enjolras and he stared at Rene in shock.
"Yes," Le Faucon repeated, "you are a fool; a fool in love." He put particular emphasis on the final word, loading it with meaning.
Enjolras heart sank. His dismay must have shown on his face for Le Faucon – for it was the rebel leader speaking to him, not the benevolent compatriot – rose to his feet and descended on him in a crescendo of carefully controlled anger. "What could possibly have possessed you to falter in your belief now? The honeyed words and coy glances of a woman? I thought you had more resolve than that."
The disappointment present in his voice burned Enjolras like acid. Was this how Marius had felt when he had been chastised for his love affair?
"Men like us, Enjolras…we do not get the simple life; the wife and children and a home of our own. We are the protectors of our nation; thus our only mistress is Patria, our children are the people and our home is the earth of France. As long as our feet are pressed to French soil, we shall be at home. All else is without meaning."
Enjolras sat in silence, head bent as he sorted through the words that had been hurled at him. Was Rene right? Had he lost sight of what was truly important?
The sharp constriction under his left ribs as he thought of leaving Aimee again convinced him of the negative. No, he had not lost sight of what was important. In fact, he was more aware now than ever…because he had someone to attach the sentiment to. He recalled the feeling of Aimee's warm breath on his ear, the feeling of her wrapped up in his embrace, the feeling that bloomed in his heart every time she smiled at him. No, Aimee made him more, not less.
"No, Rene." He stood, his tone firm. "There is meaning is other things. Aimee makes me better, makes my mind sharper, my resolve stronger because she gives me something to fight for. As Courfeyrac said to me once, sometimes the good of the nation is a little too broad a spectrum."
"You are not hearing me, citizen," Le Faucon repeated, "men like us do not get happy endings. We devote our lives to the people, to the cause, and, if necessary, sacrifice our lives in aid of achieving our dreams."
"Why are we unable to do both?" Enjolras countered, his blood now thoroughly roused. "Behind many of the great men in history was an equally great woman; Aimee's support makes me better, not worse. Just as Feuilly's beau makes him better than he would be alone."
"Women such as Aimee, Annette, Eponine, Musichetta; they are mere distractions that cause us to falter. They are liabilities; the weak links in our chain."
"You call them weak," Enjolras replied incredulously, "and yet you chose Aimee to accompany me into the midst of an important and dangerous mission for the Cause; a mission on which she aquitted herself most admirably, I hasten to add. If not for her my identity could, nay would, have been revealed."
"My point exactly; she was there only to serve a particular purpose at a particular time in a particular place. That is all she was necessary for."
Enjolras stood silent, his cheeks flaming with a mixture of suppressed anger and confusion.
"What we do in life echoes in eternity, Enjolras." Rene's words were quiet and cold. "What do you want to be remembered for?"
"Yes, what we do in life does echo in eternity," he struck back. "What is it that you want to be remembered for? Being a common, murdering outlaw?"
Before he could take another breath he was pinned back against the cold wall, Le Faucon's slim blade pressed against his throat.
A/N Oooo, tense ending! Many apologies for the wait, but I have a lot of work on for college at the moment as well as preparing for my first ever exams and I'm about to appear in my first ever amateur dramatics production. Hope you enjoy, and PLEASE do review!
Until next time, mes amis!
Libz