The Marble Man
Disclaimer: Surprisingly, still not mine.
AN: Yes, this is an actual update. I know, I know, I suck… I'm working on it. Thanks to Hannah for making art that inspired me to finish this chapter and make it better than it was before! You're awesomesauce bb!
Chapter ten:
It is official. She has been replaced as Enjolras' confidante, if it was ever even possible to refer to herself as such, since he didn't really tell her all that much. Ever since he woke up, it's been "Ferre said" here, and "Combeferre told me something helpful" there, and she is the most pathetic piece of shit on the planet because she is slightly hung-over from her night away from him, and yet she's angry and feeling replaced.
She is feeling replaced because this damn statue does not talk about her with awe in his voice; rather, he looks away from her every time she tries to meet his eyes. She doesn't know what she did wrong – she doubts that he would be all that disappointed that she did not come home before he fell asleep.
Did he ever even intend to hold her to that promise? Did he even care?
Wow, she's certainly hitting a whole new level of pathetic if stupid things like his feelings about her ridiculous promise actually start to matter to her. He is a statue – he is not even all that real, and she doesn't owe him anything. She just has to teach him how to stand on his own two feet – or stand by as Combeferre does it for her – and then she can get the hell out of this crap town. Maybe spend some time at the Louvre, or see the Bernini statues Fleur was talking about all those weeks ago – she could even save up some money and hop on a plain or train to see the foggy banks of London.
She could leave the second Enjolras has figured things out.
So why bother being jealous about people who'll forget all about her when she leaves town, with only her sketches to remind her of her time here? She might remember the marble statue, since the story is just so ridiculous, but she will eventually move on from Musain just like she's moved on from all the other towns.
This is just another place, and Enjolras is just another man – albeit one made of marble on the inside. And only a week or so ago, he was actually made of solid marble, until a mere wish from her changed everything, for no apparent reason. She is not a princess, there is no magic in the world – still he became a real boy because of her.
He is real now – made of flesh and blood and capable of emotions, even though he consistently tries to mask them and hide them behind a grimace or any other attempt to make a straight face. She often sees right through it.
"Would you have time to help me today?" Enjolras talks to her, finally. "I haven't eaten yet and I would like to learn how to prepare my own meals."
So, he actually needs her help now? That is completely uncharacteristic of him. He'd always prefer to figure it out himself, even if that does leave him scared of something as relatively harmless as a toaster. Sure, he might not hide behind doors or cabinets at its sound anymore, but he still won't get near it without supervision. It's adorable and annoying all at once – and those are the keywords she associates with him.
Right now, she's mostly sticking with annoying.
"Ah yes, Combeferre's working today," she scoffs.
"If you do not have time…" Enjolras trails off.
He doesn't seem to realize that she feels like a second choice – probably because she's been trying not to telegraph her unhappy feelings about this. Because she is trying not to feel unhappy about this. It's just something stupid.
"I have to take a shift later," she explains. "Musichetta offered to let me help out at the bar, now that I no longer have a job at the museum."
She needs the money – she has to take care of the both of them now, seeing as he has no money or marketable skills that will help pay for groceries. Jehan's being kind enough by only asking for a fraction of the real rent, but she still needs a job to pay for those things for both her and Enjolras. She doubts he even realizes that.
"I have not yet had the pleasure to make her acquaintance," Enjolras responds.
It's the perfect moment to ask him, but she still doubts it's even a good idea. Would he do well at a party, even if it were just a gathering of a group of friends? How would he cope being introduced to so many new people at once? She worries that he might not cope with that all too well, seeing as they had to build up to him meeting Combeferre, and he still isn't getting along with R and Jehan too well. Who knows what will happen when Enjolras meets Musichetta with her brash comments, or Joly with his worries about infections, or Courfeyrac with his teasing manner? Or God forbid, he might interact with Marius and reveal that stupid crush that he's probably picked up on.
Also, none of these people are sensitive enough to focus on Enjolras and what he needs – Combeferre is the only one who is. Even she herself is a rude mess who delights in provoking the marble man way too much. She likes giving him books to read that might offend his delicate sensibilities, and she enjoys wearing tight tank tops in the summer heat that make his eyes widen as she tugs on her bra straps – they're usually showing and it makes him extremely uncomfortable. She likes making him uncomfortable, likes getting to him with her modern ways – he's obviously not used to confident women who don't give a crap about how they come across to others. Not that she is that girl all the time, but she tries. Oh, my God, does she try.
"Marius is having a party on Friday," she tries to breach the topic bit by bit.
"Is this the young man you are infatuated with?" Enjolras surprises her.
How dare he? Sure, she has a stupid little crush on Marius and his stupid freckled face and his adorable grin, but there is no infatuation and he doesn't have the right to comment on it like she is some lovey-dovey floozy over Marius. She likes the guy a little too much, and maybe if he didn't have Cosette she'd make a move on him and see if they could have a little fling while she's in town – but that's not the case and he seems like the happily ever after type. She wants that, but it's really not for her.
"Infatuated?" she is ready to snipe at him. "Marius works at the museum and he has been kind to me. That does not necessarily make me infatuated with him."
"I do apologize," Enjolras is overly formal again. "It appears that the connotation of the word I used is no longer the same. You are – how do you say it – interested in him romantically, and you are perhaps hoping he will pursue you."
This statement is much less offensive to her, but still not something that she would want to hear – especially from him. It's just a harmless fucking crush and how did he even pick up on this when he's never even met Marius? He has never seen her around him, so how would he even know anything about what's going on outside this house?
"How do you even know?" she looks in the fridge to avoid his eyes.
"It's the way you look when you mention him," Enjolras is more observant than she has previously given him credit for. "Also, I heard Jehan talking about it."
Ah yes, gossip. That always helps when it comes to accurate accounts of interpersonal relationships. It's true this time, though, if somewhat exaggerated because that is in the nature of gossip. There is usually only about a single grain of truth in the entire story that is being told around town.
She tries to distract him and herself by rooting around in the fridge some more, trying to find the ingredients for a simple dish that she could teach him to make. There's not all that much there, but maybe just about enough to make something decent – she can't make Enjolras brave grocery shopping just yet. That might be too much too soon after him barely conquering the heated menace, scared little toaster that he is.
"So, how about we talk about the oven first?" she switches topics abruptly. "It's right here, and you can heat a dish in it. You have to read the recipe to figure out the settings and then pre-heat it. You do that by toggling those things there to the right settings and waiting until the little light turns off. Should I write it down for you?"
Yeah, so she certainly isn't the most patient person around, and she has no idea how to teach things to a person who can barely wrap his head around the most basic things in their modern world. God, she is the world's most terrible teacher!
"Perhaps we could prepare something together?" Enjolras asks her then.
"Is there anything in particular you'd like to make?" she has no idea what to do with the ingredients she has found, and no idea if he even knows anything about cooking.
Butter, flour, baking powder – all she can think of is the world's simplest cookies, but she doubt that is even close to a good idea with Enjolras around. Though, if a kid can do it, she might as well teach him kiddie baking skills.
"Are those pans?" he stares into a cupboard, flummoxed.
"Oh fucking hell," she raises her hands to the heavens. "Have you ever cooked before?"
He does not know what pans are? This is going to be more complicated than she imagined. Oh well, kid proof cookie baking could still happen, with her close supervision of his every move. At least that way he'll have felt the pride of baking something without having that failing of failure he's probably already felt often enough over the last few days in this all new world. He does not know anything here – so to a smart man like him, that must feel like a sort of failure.
"Our cook was very strict about not letting me and Cécile help," he looks down.
"Some of us never had a cook," she tries really hard not to let this get to her. "But I can help you bake some cookies for the boys."
Of course Enjolras had a cook! Of course he was born rich with servants – if she'd been alive in that time, she would have been one of those servants, or one of the beggars in the streets. She never had much of anything, and she's never going to be able to explain to him the feeling of being hungry but not having the means to afford anything to stop her stomach from growling and herself from fainting in the middle of the street. He will never understand that.
"Cookies?" he responds questioningly.
"You'll see," she grins at him. "I'll go get the ingredients. You can preheat the oven for one-hundred-and-eighty degrees Celsius. Just turn that toggle right there!"
She watches closely as he does that very thing, completely focused with his hand making the small movement slowly as he almost sticks out his tongue in concentration. She laughs softly and tries to hide her giggles when he turns around, almost blushing under her gaze. He's slowly moving to the more adorable end of the scale.
"Good," she says as she guesses at the amount of flour necessary.
Damn the boys for not having a kitchen scale for stuff like this!
The sugar soon follows, and Enjolras steps in closer to see everything that she is doing, eyes wide with interest and following her every move as he leans in more with every single ingredient. She tries to keep her breathing steady as she feels herself being studied oh so closely – their bodies are just inches from touching each other, but never actually touching because that just would not be proper. Her hands are almost unsteady as she cracks the eggs – she poured in double quantities for everything else, so she might as well get two eggs to make a decent batch of cookies.
Enjolras is still so very close, and if it were any other guy he would have made some kind of move to wrap himself around her, but because he is the marble man, they are left inches away from each other while she tries to keep her body from leaning any further into his. She shouldn't want to get closer to him, and especially not touch him even more than she did last night. He wasn't awake to remember it then, and that might just be better for her – he wouldn't have responded well anyway.
So she focuses on her ingredients instead of on the tall man hovering over her.
Baking powder, baking soda, just a hint of vanilla extract, and the butter that the boys just never put in the damn fridge – which is all the better when making cookies. She puts in some more vanilla extract just for flavor, and wonders if there is anything else she can do before she has to teach him how to knead and roll the dough – she can probably handle the cookies without even refrigerating the dough. Well, maybe she should let him knead it and then put it in the fridge – so Enjolras can try to make an extra batch of dough. He has to learn some time, after all.
But not until after she's poured in a double amount of chocolate chips.
"How about I let you mix and knead the dough?" she motions for him to get closer to the sink. "You just have to wash your hands first, and prepare to get a little dirty."
She mentally snickers at that little pun as he merely looks confused and follows her orders once again, using the soap next to the sink as he slowly and methodically cleans every inch of his large hands – Gods she should not focus on that sort of thing, even if he is preparing to get a little dirty. Damn her brain!
"Just put your hands in the mixing bowl," she smirks evilly. "You can just start kneading the dough and really mixing it all together with your hands. Just squeeze and mix."
And yet again, she finds herself staring at his large and surprisingly capable hands as they mix the ingredients, their positions now reversed as she is the one left hovering while he attempts to work. She snickers as some of the flour gets thrown all over the counter due to his almost fanatical efforts, hands working and working away until slowly the butter is no longer just clinging to his skin, and the random mess of ingredients is actually slowly becoming a ball of cohesive dough.
"You're doing great," she tells him, a smile on her face.
Enjolras positively lights up after that compliment, kneading the dough with even more gusto than before. Maybe a few more bits of it end up on the counter instead of in the bowl, but she likes the enthusiasm for this new world, so she'll clean this up later without as much as a word. Because he actually appears to be enjoying himself, and that is a pretty rare phenomenon. He doesn't smile often enough.
"Okay, I think that's done for now," she takes a peek at the bowl. "How about we wrap this in cellophane and leave it in the fridge for a bit while I teach you how to make another batch entirely from scratch? I mean, how to measure the ingredients."
How would he even know an expression like "from scratch"? It isn't exactly something that people would talk about back in his time, or is it? Is she really going to have to find a book on the history of language to figure out what he will and will not understand from normal modern speech? Oh God, will this require actual fucking research? She thought she got done with that after graduating from college.
"What's cellophane?" he asks, and she's ready to hit her head on the counter.
"Oh my God," she rolls her eyes.
"Excuse me?" Enjolras is no longer amused.
"I'm sorry," she holds her hands out in front of her. "I just occasionally forget just how many things we have here that you've never even heard of. I'm not as patient as 'Ferre."
This, sadly, is her doing the best that she can – and she knows that Enjolras most certainly deserves a kinder and more patient teacher, but this is about all that she can do for him. She doesn't want to get attached to him, and it'd be better for him if he never got attached to her in any way. She is only going to leave them all behind – he'll hate her and resent her sooner rather than later, and she doubts that he'd want to follow her all around a world that is too fast and too loud for him.
"This is cellophane," she grabs the thin foil from the drawer. "Let me help you wrap it."
She tears off a decent amount of cellophane and leans in closer to reach into the mixing bowl. A few locks of hair have managed to make it out of the loose bun she was wearing, and they are right about to fall into the dough when Enjolras reaches out with his doughy fingers to push them away from the ball of dough.
"I apologize," he blushes a little.
"Thank you," she ignores the apology, finishing her wrap-up job. "That would not have been very hygienic. I can handle getting a little dirty while we get the job done."
Oh God, why does her brain keep doing this to her? She is dealing with a rather serious case of foot in mouth disease and she is just lucky that Enjolras doesn't tend to pick up on any of her double entendres. Beware the moment when R and/or Jehan have taught him enough to understand dirty jokes – just the amount of "not proper" or "not seemly" being thrown around would be pretty damn hilarious.
"So this goes in the cold machine?" Enjolras asks.
"Yes, in the refrigerator," she tries to enunciate it clearly so he will recognize the word when he hears it again. "Can you put the ball of dough in please?"
He takes the wrapped dough out of the bowl and moves past her – so close that some strands of her dark hair brush his pale skin. Enjolras is just so careful with the ball of dough, taking small and measured steps before gently depositing his baggage in an open space in the fridge. He treats it as if it's a treasured object.
"Done," he speaks triumphantly as he closes the fridge door.
"Excellent," she sets out all the ingredients near the used mixing bowl. "Next, you can help me make another smaller batch of dough, just so you know what to do."
Since she is still standing in front of the bowl, he has to reach around her to get to the ingredients. This creates a position that is almost intimate, with him peeking over her shoulder to see what she is doing – she shivers at his closeness and needs to back away quickly. Besides, this is not the best way that she can show him how to make the dough from scratch – her body will be in the way of everything.
"Let's switch," she tells him.
There is no movement from him – he doesn't move a single muscle and when she cranes her neck to get a look at him, she can see he is looking off somewhere far into the distance as his hands clench around the edges of the counter, one on each side of her body. She is now effectively boxed in by someone who doesn't even realize that he is being a huge turn on.
He is breathing heavily and his heat is all around her. His jaw is locked, that much she can tell, but his body has tensed up around her and she's feeling so warm.
Why does this keep happening to her? Damn this stupid heat and her hormones deciding to perk up around the marble man of all people.
"Enjolras," she tries to get his attention again.
Distracting herself at the same time is just a lovely bonus, because this damn town and its surprising summer heat are really starting to get to her. That and this damn marble man with his many surprises – she doubts that she will ever really understand him, or if she even wants that.
This damn place is getting too complicated, and she wishes she could leave.
"Wake up, marble man," she has to try again.
Still there is no response, so she figures it's safe to turn around to see what is distracting him so, possibly whipping him with her hair in the process. Only he isn't in the same place he was in before. Somehow, at some time in the last thirty seconds or so, he has moved away. He has stepped away from the counter – or from her, at least.
Enjolras is standing at the sink, slowly but methodically starting to wash his hands. Some muscles in his cheek are working – showing some definite inner struggle going on – as well as in his neck. Something is definitely up with him, since he still looks extremely tense, even as he is doing something as simple as washing his hands. He still hasn't even glanced at her – oh, there it is! It was just a brief glance from the corner of his eye, but she definitely noticed him looking at her for a bit.
The next second he's back to staring at his hands, and she's getting a little worried about his mental state. So she goes to him, deliberately placing herself close to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. She waits for him to notice.
He doesn't, not at first, but then he kind of starts, and he turns off the water. When he turns back in the direction of the cookie ingredients, she is right there in front of him.
"Woolgathering?" she asks, removing the offending hand.
"I do apologize for being so distracted," Enjolras looks oddly flustered at her nearness, with a blush on his cheeks. "What was it that you wanted to ask me?"
Oh, it would be quite fun to draw this out a bit more, to ask him why he is so flustered and if her nearness really affects him as much as it seems to do right now. It is oddly flattering to be the woman the marble man is shaken by – but she knows she's the only woman he's seen since he came to life, as it were, so he didn't have much of a choice in women to become attracted to. She feels her shoulders sagging and steels herself.
"Can we switch positions?" she asks him again.
"Of course mademoiselle Éponine," he bows his head and acquiesces.
"One day you will just call me Éponine," she tells him.
Enjolras does not respond, but he does help her switch positions so that he is now the one closest to the edge of the counter – giving him better access to the ingredients.
"Now, start with that one," she points at the flour. "Pour it into that cup, right until that ridge there. Excellent. That's the amount we need!"
She talks him through every ingredient this way, slowly but surely seeing it all come together until the mixing bowl once again holds all the necessary ingredients and it is once again time for him to work that dough – and for her to stare at his hands and call it doing her due diligence to make sure he is doing it right.
"Making cookies is more work than I imagined," he kneads the dough.
"It's not all fun and games," she smiles at him, looking over his shoulder to check the dough – and maybe look at those arms some more. "Almost done."
It is has been so very long since she's spent time with someone long enough to do something as mundane as bake several batches of cookies. She can't imagine doing this since 'Parnasse and she – ended.
"Could you please help me wrap this in the invisible wrap?" Enjolras then asks.
"Cellophane," she repeats the word again, trying to help him remember.
They wrap the smaller ball of dough together, and she is the one putting it in the fridge this time, because it allows her to take out the previous ball of dough – she is too impatient to keep it in there for hours. She has to keep Enjolras occupied.
"Now we actually get to make the cookies," she holds up the dough triumphantly.
"How does that work?" he seems almost scared.
Since she is an evil bitch at least half of the time, she grabs the rolling pin from one of the cabinets and smiles evilly – he gulps and tries to step back, so she immediately switches tactics, going from threatening to seductive without even the snap of a finger. She runs her fingers up and down the rolling pin teasingly, staring at him and moving steadily closer. He still looks a bit scared, but in a whole new way. He gulps again.
"We need this to flatten the dough," she sets it on the counter. "It's called a rolling pin."
He still looks a little concerned about the situation, so she clears most of the countertop and sprinkles some flour on the counter and the rolling pin, to give them both some room for the cookies. Enjolras just stares, never having seen cookies that have not been baked yet – she can't wait to introduce him to the joy of eating raw cookie dough.
"Now we spread out the dough," she takes her place behind him again, determined to show him how to do it by himself. "Just push down a bit on the rolling pin with both hands. Yes, you're holding it right. If you need my help just say so."
It is almost sweet as he tries to be careful with the chocolate chips, not wanting to ruin them or for them to stick to the rolling pin. He is so careful when he should be exerting more force to get the dough as thin as it needs to be.
"More pressure," she instructs him. "The dough needs to be thinner."
She really wishes he would ask her to help, but she shakes that thought quickly, because there is not a list long enough to map all of the way in which that is a bad idea – the first of which being how incredibly not proper this is. He can handle this just fine on his own, and she can keep the dirty thoughts at bay a little while longer.
"Much better," she compliments. "We can shape the cookies now. But first: cookie dough party! You must try some."
Oh, he may not understand it now, but once he's had a taste of the deliciousness that is chocolate chip cookie dough, he will never want to go back to his life before. She just has to make him see it – and taste it.
"Open up," she tells him as she throws a bit of dough in the direction of his mouth.
It hits his cheek instead and he just stands there and gapes at her as the doughy deliciousness falls onto the floor – forever wasted, since the five-second rule is a danger to one's health in this house. The boys are not that neat.
"Why would you waste food like that?" Enjolras seems personally offended.
"I meant for you to open up your mouth and catch it," she tries to explain.
Wasting food is never right – she's gone hungry too many times to ever let anything go to waste. This was a stupid accident, a silly game she'd played with her siblings once upon a time. She just forgot that he wouldn't understand what she meant for him to do, and now there's a blob of dough on the floor.
"I did not know that," he tells her, still sounding almost harsh.
"Did I ask you about the party on Friday?" she desperately changes the topic.
It is silly of her, but she doesn't want to talk about the wasted food, and maybe if she changes the topic, she might get him to try some dough later. Right now, light talk of parties might be all she can ask for from him.
"You did," he seems so wary of her.
"I was wondering if you would like to attend," she tries to keep the invite simple.
She knows that if she would have mentioned herself in that invitation in any way he might have interpreted it as a dating or courting attempt, and that would be bad. She has no need to be courted by anyone, let alone the great Enjolras from centuries past. This party would just be to introduce him to the other guys, and to start integrating him into society beyond this damn house. It has nothing to do with romance.
"Would I know anyone at this party?" Enjolras asks.
"Both the boys will be there," she starts. "I will be there, and so will Combeferre."
The doorbell rings the very second it seems he is going to give her an answer. She pouts, because she really just wanted to have this moment of baking be a thing with just the two of them. Now she has to explain a tank top covered in flour marks and the dough in her hair to whoever is waiting at the door. She just hopes it's one of the guys and not some way too curious neighbor. That's still a thing in small towns, right?
"I would be happy to attend," Enjolras calls out. "Thanks for inviting me, Éponine."
Well, did he just call her by her name? Did he treat her like a friend instead of like some guileless mademoiselle from his time? That is a lovely surprise.
When she opens the door, she is still smiling – not that the smile lasts very long when she sees her two least favorite people in this entire damn town standing in front of her: Javert and Asshole Cop. Those are the last guys she wants to see when she's in a decent mood and getting ready to bake some wicked awesome cookies – they'd better keep their asshole hands off her cookie dough. Enjolras worked really hard on that!
"Mademoiselle Thénardier," Asshole Cop starts talking first. ""We're looking for Monsieur Grantaire."
Of course they are. R is at work; he always is at this point in the day – it isn't even lunchtime yet. And she is not stupid. She knows that this is just a way in the door so that they can talk to her. They like her for this, and they're not gonna let that go.
"He's at work," she says, trying not to roll her eyes. "You can come back later."
"We will," Javert is starting to notice the tension.
"Look," she decides that she might as well call them out on this bullshit. "It's eleven something in the morning. Where else would he be? You came here to talk to me."
At this point she would prefer to only talk to Javert, even though he is seriously biased when it comes to her damn last name. This other dirtbag seems like he has already decided she is the guilty one – it seems like he won't even need evidence. Not that there isn't plenty of evidence to find if they'd look in the right places – in the kitchen, for example. They just have to look at the guy with the flour stains on his shirt, the one undoubtedly eating all of the chocolate chip cookie dough.
"Oh, you got me," now Asshole cop actually is rolling his eyes.
"Well, if you don't have a legitimate reason to be here," she holds on to the door, ready to slam it in their faces at the slightest provocation. "See you around."
It is oh so very tempting to just slam the door closed and hope it hits the asshole somewhere important. But she knows that she will have to play nice a little while longer.
"We just wanted to check in with you," Javert almost sounds sincerely concerned for her wellbeing. "Maybe something has changed, or the circumstances are different now."
Oh yeah, she is just going to tell them all about how she is becoming friendlier with the very statue that they are looking for. They think her a thief and a criminal, and they have no idea that the item stolen is an actual person with wants and needs. They don't know about Enjolras – they only know of the Man Protesting.
"It seems as though you've extended your stay," Javert continues.
"This town is just so fascinating," she deadpans in response.
She stays near the door, not wanting to let these men into the house, even though they are with the police department. They have no warrant, so they don't have the right to enter the house without her express permission. She can just make them wait outside and hope the sun burns them, turning them nice and red as they sweat buckets in their stupid uniforms. They deserve all that and more.
"And, have you gotten a new job to support yourself?" Asshole Cop is being patronizing.
"I am working on it," she doesn't reveal a thing.
Musichetta's promised to pay her mostly under the table, so she isn't going to call it a proper job – not in front of the cops at least. She'll just work her shifts and pocket the money, and if anyone ever asks in any kind of official capacity, she'll just say that she is doing her friend a favor. That usually works.
"And you've made some friends," Asshole Cop just won't quit.
"Oh yeah, Marius and Cosette invited me over on Friday," she just talks over him and pretends to be a lot more vapid than she actually is. "They're having a little get together."
And Enjolras is coming. And Marius thinks that Enjolras is her damn date for the party – she used the word friend, but people can never seem to get the more platonic meaning of that word. Because God forbid there'd be anything else been her and the marble man.
The idea alone is terrifying.
"How about your date?" there is no mute button on this guy.
"I have a date?" she is ninety percent sure they're just fishing. "Do tell!"
The likelihood of them actually knowing anything about Enjolras is so minimal that she feels strong enough to joke around some more. Sure, she is careful about what she says, because any wrong thing said can reveal her friend who's formerly known as Man Protesting, but there is still plenty of room to play with. And she really loves to play around with idiot cops like this asshole. He makes it almost too easy.
"Gossip reigns in small towns," Asshole Cop is grinning now, thinking that he is onto something. "Your new friend has not gone unnoticed."
She tries not to respond to this visibly, because Enjolras is just steps away in the kitchen – eating away at the cookie dough, no doubt about it. Damn it, she hope he won't make himself sick or eat everything and leave nothing for her. She needs it after dealing with all of this stupid bullshit – she deserves a treat.
"I'm sure Combeferre would be glad to know that," she bluffs.
"Mister Combeferre has interests of his own," Javert speaks softly, just barely loud enough for her to hear. "I think we are done here, Felix. She's not talking."
She watches both gendarmes walk away, holding the door open until they've rounded the corner. Only then does she slam the door closed. She leans against the closed door, taking a deep breath and trying to make her anger disappear so that she does not punch any inanimate objects – like that ugly table in the corner. Ugh.
"Would you like some more dough?" Enjolras suddenly pops up next to her. "You were right earlier, it is delicious."
Biting back a chuckle, she follows him into the kitchen, only to find that a significant piece of dough is missing. She stares at him in complete awe and horror.
"Did you eat all of that?" she gasps.
"Yes," he seems almost casual about it. "It is delicious."
"You're going to make yourself sick eating so much raw food," she fusses over him, stealing away the clumps of dough that he is still holding. "You have to stop!"
The great Enjolras, the serious man from ages past, is actually pouting. She just stuffs her face with his cookie dough.
"How about we make some actual cookies now?" she makes him smile again.
AN: Soooo, tell me what you think! What were your favorite lines/moments/parts/anything?
Also, keep your eyes open around the 30th, when I'll post a bonus scene for the amazing Christine's birthday….