The Marble Man
Disclaimer: Yeah, even after all this time I still don't own it.
AN: It's been a while you say? I've been busy writing side projects, and falling into the post thesis hole of doom. I have to look for jobs now. Say it with me, YIKES!
Also, this chapter would not have existed without the constant support of the awesome Lily. And it wouldn't have been half as great without the beta-work of Mary.
Now, READ ON!
Chapter eleven:
When it's actually Friday, and time for the much-awaited party, Enjolras is so keyed up that she hardly recognizes him. He is pacing in the hallway, fiddling with his new clothes and trying to stretch his tight jeans farther than they can possibly go. Okay, so she isn't cruel enough to make him wear skinny jeans, but that damn Grantaire did bring him a pretty tight pair of jeans from the local store. He claimed it was because he misjudged Enjolras' pant size, but she knows better than that.
"What is this material?" Enjolras looks puzzled at his own clothes.
"It's called denim," she explains, not sure what else she can say. "It's not quite like cotton, but it uses it. And I think this is actually stretch denim, which means it kind of sticks to your body. I know that's quite new for you."
It is almost as if a little bulb of light goes on over his head when he hears the word denim, which is odd, because she never imagined the fabric being that old. She always thought that denim was something from the modern era only, but apparently this is just another thing that she is learning about through him.
"It is not entirely pleasant," he pulls at the fabric again. "I do not understand why people wear it as clothing these days. I cannot imagine this ever being comfortable."
Maybe it's because his aristocratic ass isn't used to it, but she really can't imagine feeling that uncomfortable in something as simple as denim. She's usually more uncomfortable in her dresses – especially with Enjolras sneaking furtive peeks at her exposed legs, even more so than when she's wearing shorts. She does not understand why a dress that exposes less skin than her shorts would be so interesting to him.
"Think of it as a costume," she tries to make him feel better. "This is a more common dress code for parties these days, especially when it's mostly friends hanging out. This outfit is your way of fitting in better. I'm even wearing a dress and lipstick."
Her white dress is nothing special, nothing as gorgeous as the perfect Cosette will undoubtedly wear, but she kind of likes how it looks with her tanned skin and her blood red lipstick. Why he would keep staring at her and then looking away is beyond her. Is this really the first time that he has seen a woman in a dress?
Oh God, it is not the first time he has seen a woman in a dress, but it is the first time he is seeing her in a dress and it's white, and short, and she cannot imagine dresses like this existing in his time except for as underclothes. Oh God, does he think she is wearing just underwear? This is just beyond weird, at this point.
With her hair down and in the white dress, she might look like a young bride on her wedding night – and she'll be damned if that isn't the scariest thing she can imagine, having him picture her all bridal and virginal. She hasn't been the latter in a very long time and she isn't ever going to be the former.
"You look beautiful," he speaks so softly and she holds her breath.
"Thank you," is all she knows how to say.
If she wasn't uncomfortable before, then surely she'd be so now, because him giving her such a meaningful and sincere compliment makes her debate if she can still run upstairs and change. If Enjolras is taking notice of her outfit, and complimenting her like this, she can bet that the other guys will only make things worse, catcalling and making stupid comments she isn't in the mood for because she is already feeling anxious enough about Marius and his damn girlfriend and introducing Enjolras to so many people at once. She doesn't need to deal with anymore shit from Grantaire or the others.
"Time to go," Jehan almost skips out the door.
"How are you so cheery?" she blurts out, pulling at her skirt to make it longer.
She doesn't expect a proper answer to that question, and it looks like she isn't going to get one, as Jehan links arms with R and they exit the house, talking rapidly and sneaking peeks at Enjolras picking at his damn jeans. They are probably up to something, but since they are leaving Enjolras' wellbeing completely up to her, she is a little too busy to start figuring out their nefarious plans.
"Marius' place is not that far away," she explains to Enjolras, grabbing her borrowed house key to lock the door behind them. "We're walking over there."
That just makes him even more jumpy, because walking outside is still something relatively new for him, especially walking the streets of Musain when cars could approach at any second. It's gonna take him a while longer to get over his fear of cars and traffic, and she honestly cannot blame him for that.
So she takes the side closest to the road, so he can walk comfortably on the sidewalk without being too scared that a car will randomly veer in their direction. She feels the summer breeze and wonders if she should have brought a jacket after all.
"It's just a few minutes away," she tries to reassure Enjolras.
When the first car approaches, she is almost completely unsurprised to find Enjolras linking arms with her as if he's escorting her to some ball at Almack's.
"Since your friends will think I am your official escort," he starts talking, managing to hide the quiver in his voice quite well, "I should act as such."
She really did not think of that before. The guys are going to think that Enjolras is her date – sure, she thought of it briefly, back when she asked Marius if she could bring Enjolras along with her, but since then, she has mostly managed to make tonight about introducing the former marble man to new people. Until now, when she's once again faced with the reality of the party and all the people present there. She can handle some stupid comments from R and Jehan, and even Courf's big mouth is not a problem for her – but she doesn't need any bullshit tonight.
Hanging out with Marius' girlfriend is going to be enough torture, probably. She barely even knows the girl, but since the odds of her becoming friendly with any female are astronomically low – Musichetta being the sole exception thus far – she is not being in any way optimistic about this party.
But she is going to get over that real quick and make sure Enjolras has people he can talk to when she leaves him here. She's already thinking about moments to leave, about packing her bags and getting out of this sleepy place and leaving it all behind. There is nothing from this place that she could want or need to have with her.
Nothing at all.
"You don't have to do this," she has to state the obvious.
"It is the proper thing to do," he returns solemnly. "A real gentleman makes sure that a lady is always properly escorted to where she wants to go."
Oh, there has never been any doubt that he is a real gentleman, even though he still stares at her from time to time as they walk down the street in the direction of Marius' place. She looks stoically ahead instead of returning his gaze – she is not going to fulfill any of his fantasies about proper ladies and escorts so that he will feel more comfortable with her and in this time. She is not anything he could ever want.
"I've told you a dozen times already," she is frustrated now. "I am no lady!"
It is nothing new to her; she is just not anything anyone wants, and she hates that somehow she's made him believe that there's something worthwhile in her. He is treasuring her as if she is one of his proper ladies when she has won belching contests from the boys at college and nobody has ever thought of her as a lady because there was never any resemblance. She never wanted any resemblance.
But here is the protesting man, the creature formerly of marble, taking her arm as if they are getting ready for a waltz in a big ballroom, calling her mademoiselle – even though the occasional 'Éponine' is starting to slip out – and all around making her feel like somehow he's wearing different glasses than the rest of the world. The boys might give her a clap on the shoulder after a smart comment or a display of something resembling friendship, but Enjolras holds her with an actual awareness that she is a woman, and something vaguely resembling a lady. He is seeing something else in her, somehow, and she knows it's just because he is from a different time, but she is struck by it nonetheless. Somehow, it matters.
"You deserve my respect," Enjolras will hear none of this.
Even though she is close to fuming, she tries to stay silent, tries to respect his antiquated viewpoints on respect and chivalry. Also, how can she tell him that she is not deserving of his respect or admiration without breaking his heart? She doesn't want to expose all of her stupid mistakes to his scrutiny.
There are far too many, and they're bad – he can't see any of them.
"We're almost there," she ignores the topic completely.
"Which house is it?" Enjolras goes along with her.
They are still arm in arm, and she holds her head up high to prepare herself for the responses she will get from the guys. Because she is a Viking queen; she is not going to let anyone talk shit about her. Friendly ribbing is acceptable, but if they cross a line and make Enjolras uncomfortable, she might get a little scary. He's not going to stand up for himself – not in the middle of the madness that is life with the so-called Amis.
"Right there," she points it out, even though they are just steps away.
"Thank you for inviting me, Ma-Éponine," he smiles at her and goes to hold the door for her, even though she thinks the door is not open at the moment.
That is just the kind of gentleman he is.
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Courf is not wearing a shirt when they finally enter, and she is not in the slightest bit surprised by that, nor by the way Enjolras tries to shield her from having to see a sight that she has almost gotten used to by now. Sure, if she had a choice in which one of the guys she wanted to see without a shirt, Courf would not be in the number one spot. The man shielding her from the half-naked guy is number one with a bullet.
She is a terrible, horny person.
"This is terribly improper," Enjolras is more frustrated than embarrassed.
"It's Courf," she shrugs, dragging him in the direction of tonight's hosts. "Come on, I'll introduce you to Marius and Cosette. They're throwing this shindig."
So, okay, it's a weird choice of words, but she likes the weird stuff, especially if it makes Enjolras scrunch up his face in that typical way – and she knows that he is dying to ask just what she is talking about, but he feels like he has already used up his quota of questions for the day. He desperately does not want to appear stupid in front of her, even though this entire new world must confuse him every moment of every day. And she wonders why he would even care what a stupid girl like her thinks of him.
"Is Cosette his intended?" Enjolras asks the hard questions again.
"They are what you would call courting, I guess," she now has to explain the modern era romantic relationships to him again, when she still hasn't fully recovered from the last time. "They are in a romantic relationship, and while they are not married or engaged, they do live together and share a bedroom."
That knowledge makes him uncomfortable, but she thought it was best to tell him before he met Marius and Cosette – because if he figures out living arrangements while in conversation with them, he might say something supremely awkward that will give them away. If he talks about balls or courting, Marius might start to see the resemblance between Enjolras and the missing statue – Courf and Marius are both involved with the museum and they are not stupid.
Damn it, she'll have to be Enjolras' sole babysitter for the entire night, because she can tell that both Jehan and R are either a few drinks in or just surprisingly flirtatious with each other. Combeferre is present, but the man not only deserves a break, he will also head home relatively early to spend time in the library tomorrow – to spend time with a certain girl, is more like it. She has to hide her grin at that thought.
"Marius," she calls out, grabbing Enjolras' hand to lead him in the right direction.
"Éponine," the host smiles at her. "You made it! And you brought a date!"
Ah yes, here starts the even more awkward portion of the night, in which she has to pretend she is dating the guy formally known as the marble man. And she has to do so in front of the guy she had a stupid crush on, and their mutual friends with big mouths, all the while keeping Enjolras' secrets. Yes, it is just like walking a tightrope – one side leads to life in prison, the other side leads to ties that bind in different ways.
"This is Enjolras," she introduces him, knowing how awkward this is without a first name to use. "Enjolras, meet my friend Marius. And his girlfriend, Cosette."
Her companion shakes hands with Marius – with a firm enough grip to make the other man flinch just a bit – and then plants a kiss on Cosette's hand, as the perfect picture of a Lord of yesteryear. Cosette is now blushing, and Marius is trying not to be jealous of this charmer, and she is just trying to figure out if she should be laughing at the jealousy or be completely in awe of the way Enjolras can charm people if he so chooses. He has never been this much of a charmer to her.
"It is a pleasure to meet you both," Enjolras is the perfect gentleman. "Cosette, that is a lovely name. Is it a family name?"
It is an odd question for him to ask, but she does not interrupt, because for all she knows that name was incredibly special in his time – whenever that was. As long as there are no veiled references to statues and museums and protesting men, she will let him talk as much as he pleases. He will have to learn some time.
"It is a nickname," Cosette smiles when Marius takes a step closer to her. "My mother thought it was a great idea to legally name me Euphrasie. She started calling me Cosette when I was a kid, and I sort of stuck with it."
Yikes, that makes the name Éponine sound almost like a godsend, even though she really resented her mother's love for cheap romance novels. Sure, her mother told her the story of Epponina and her marriage to infamous revolutionary Julius Sabinus, and she thought that was romantic once upon a time, but when in a class with girls named simply Marie or Sophie, Éponine was a curse placed solely on her.
"So, how long have you two been dating?" Marius is trying to keep Cosette close in the face of what he perceives as a threat – the dolt.
"Éponine has yet to permit me to properly court her," Enjolras plays along so well that she is flabbergasted, even though she can see the blush at the edge of his cheeks. "We have not known each other for very long."
She tries to count back the days in her head, and then she realizes that it's only been about a week and a half since he woke up from his marble prison. She tries not to let any of her surprise at this thought show, and she wants to talk right over his words to divert any attention from just how long they have known each other, and just why he uses words like courting.
"I'm not a relationship kind of girl," she shrugs and hopes that concludes that topic.
It would be awkward for her to explain that they are not actually dating – or is she making it awkward? A girl can bring a friend to a party, and not have it mean anything more than just having a friend there. It just seems easier to let everyone think that Enjolras is her date, and it's a nice way to get him an introduction into the Amis – so that when she leaves, he will have friends to lean on, to help him start a life here. Maybe he can get a job at the museum, because they could use a history expert like him. He could meet a nice girl and get married and live a happy life. He deserves that much.
"We shall see where dating takes us," Enjolras is perfectly non-committal, and she cannot believe that this is the guy who was scared of a toaster.
He is still the same guy who was close to panicking over a car or a white dress earlier, but he holds himself well here, with other people. Maybe he has just learned how to play a part, but she is still very impressed with his courage.
"Nice party, Marius," she smiles at the host again, trying to avoid the inevitable conversation about how she knows Enjolras and what he does. "The gang is all here."
From the corner of her eye, she spots a possible escape route in a smiling Combeferre, knowing that they can go talk to him if Marius or Cosette starts asking some of the wrong questions. She can try to bear the disappointment that Marius doesn't care that she is dating someone, but she can only do so if the party turns out to be fun – and not the start of Enjolras' problems with the law. She can hang out with the guys and show off her surprisingly hot date and pretend it's just a fun night out.
And she needs to ignore how the tight jeans cling to an ass she can't help but drool over.
"Even Feuilly managed to get a Friday night off," Marius seems pleased.
"Enjolras, you've got to meet Feuilly," she grabs her date's hand, ignores the spark she still feels, and forcibly drags him in a completely different direction. "Talk to you later, Marius, Cosette! Enjoy your party!"
Enjolras might not understand why she is dragging him in the direction of a guy that he has barely even heard of, but it's fucking Feuilly! Give him five minutes and the two will be talking about history and politics like they've known each other forever. Feuilly is the working man to Combeferre's scholar, but he is incredibly intelligent and hard-working, and just the blue-collar guy Enjolras needs to be talking to. In his work at the local craft store, Feuilly has learned almost everything there is to know about French history – and that was only a small addition to his extensive knowledge on European history. This is the only other person she knows who could talk about the Dutch War of Independence like he was there. These two should definitely get along.
"Feuilly, meet my friend Enjolras," she yells at the craftsman as soon as she gets near him. "He knows a lot about French history. Enjolras, this is Feuilly. He's an expert on European History. He knows more than most of my college professors."
She hopes no one noticed that she actually had the gall to call Enjolras her friend – it slipped out without so much as a second thought and now there is no way for her to take it back without it sounding weird. Even though she doesn't have friends, apparently she kind of considers Enjolras one, even though she's only really known him for maybe ten days. Before that he was just a stupid statue she ranted at.
"Three, two, one, go," she jokes, waiting for the two men to start rambling at each other.
Whatever they have to say, she's sure that she will not be able to keep up, so she is content to grab herself a drink and try and see if Jehan and Grantaire are finally leveling up to more than just flirting. She listens in just a bit to see if Enjolras and Feuilly are getting along – and they are, like a house on fire – and then she tries to see if alcohol or fun times are nearby. Her soda is already boring to her when Feuilly offers to show Enjolras some of the old things around this house – apparently Cosette's family is from the area and she's kept some heirlooms around. Could be interesting.
"Tell me there's art," she chimes in with a pleased grin.
Discoveries of new art will always beat alcohol – it's just the kind of nerd she is.
"There are some great paintings," Feuilly grins at her enthusiasm. "And I'm sure there are some antiques around here. I suggest we go on a scavenger hunt."
Of course she doesn't bounce on the balls of her feet at the thought of finding old stuff that she could play around with – she can tell that Enjolras is surprised by her enthusiasm, and she pretends that she cannot see the fond smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He shouldn't be looking at her like he is so in awe of her and what she is doing. She just likes art. It's her thing.
"Let's play Indiana Jones," Feuilly teases.
Enjolras frowns at that, not knowing the reference, but she grabs his arm before he can say anything, putting her drink down on an abandoned table and then dragging Enjolras off in the direction of the nearest closed door. Because the goods are always hidden behind closed door – and as long as Cosette and Marius don't have too many kinks hidden behind these closed doors, this scavenger hunt should be fun.
"Please let's leave the whips at home," she chuckles.
"I do not wish to know what this is about," Enjolras whispers in her ear.
His breath almost tickles, and she tries to ignore that feeling and focus on what he is saying instead. She giggles then, because trying to explain him about adventurer Indiana Jones and the iconic whip would take too much time. Sure, he might understand that it is a reference that might be associated with some sexiness, but it is not something that he wants to get into at the moment, and she cannot blame him for that. So the giggles continue, getting Feuilly's attention from where he leads the way.
"Okay lovebirds, room number one," he gently opens the door.
This bedroom is disappointing, clearly meant only for guests, with sparse decorations and only a few paintings of landscapes and houses that were in the area once upon a time. Feuilly seems only slightly interested by the paintings, choosing to focus on the craftsmanship of the four-poster bed and the intricately carved cabinets that dominate one wall of the room. Of course, the detail on the furniture is pretty darn astounding, but she'd be happier if there were sculptures or interesting paintings to admire. Enjolras is staring at the landscape paintings, seemingly looking for something but not finding it.
"Those paintings are early nineteenth century at the oldest," she tells him, hoping that the information might help in some way.
"I think the older stuff is not in the guest wing," Feuilly suggests, not knowing how meaningful his comment could be to Enjolras. "Cosette's family is from the area, and she likes to keep her family's stuff in sight, where she sees it often."
The pleading look she gets from Enjolras in response to that comment is what drives her to drag both the boys away from the guest room and into the more private parts of the house. The hallway is boring enough to ignore, now onto the good stuff!
When the door to the private dining room opens, she gasps. There are gorgeous little sculptures on the table and in the display cabinets, and several gorgeous portraits of family members from much earlier generations – the detail makes the young men and women look almost lifelike. One portrait looks much older than the others, with some tears in the canvas, ruining the detailed depiction of the young woman's dress. There is no name to be found anywhere, and she is left trying to date the painting by the style of dress alone. And since that is not on her list of specialties, she can only tell that the portrait must be eighteenth century or older.
"Look at this little thing," she spots a sculpture in a display cabinet and stares in awe.
Sure, the lines are less than clean but on such a tiny scale, it actually seems to work. She almost presses her nose to the glass in her enthusiasm, trying to get a close enough look at this little guy. It is in the reflection of the glass that she sees that only Feuilly remains in the room with her, and that Enjolras seems to have disappeared.
"Shit," she curses, turning around quickly. "Where did he go?"
"He just ran off," Feuilly is concerned. "Is he okay?"
Well, fuck. Something in this room must have reminded him of something – she is sure of that much. As much as he likes looking at the older stuff, as it must be more comfortable than looking at all of the things he does not understand yet, it will also bring back some memories. And not all of those memories will be pleasant.
She is worried about him, not out of obligation, but because he is almost a friend and he is upset. With all that this modern world has done to him, she is starting to hate herself for ever making the stupid wish that brought him back. Wouldn't he have been better off in his old world? Still, this must be better than marble.
"I have to go," she almost trips over her feet.
Her thoughts are not with Feuilly, left alone in the dining room, nor are they with Marius, busy as he will be with his girlfriend and his guests. She can only think of Enjolras and what made him walk away.
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Of course he is in the last place she thinks to look for him. He is sitting on a little bench on the balcony, staring forlornly out into the night. His eyes are red, and she worries if she should disturb him – maybe he would prefer to be left alone.
"I assume you want an explanation for my abrupt departure," he speaks up before she can make up her mind to stay or go.
"Only if you want to talk about it," her curiosity can wait.
He takes deep cleansing breaths, almost curling in on himself as he appears to be trying to get the words out. She wonders what he has seen that could have hurt him this much – the slight ache in her gut betrays just how much she hates seeing him in pain. She likes to tease him, to annoy him and to fluster him with her presence and her twenty-first century sensibilities. But she does not want this.
"It was the painting," his voice cracks. "Cécile. Cécile is the woman in the painting."
Does she know anyone named – Oh God! She doesn't know anyone by that name, but he certainly does. His petite soeur is the young woman in the oldest painting in the house, the one that is all torn – he has just been given a visual reminder of what he has been forced to leave behind. And he has not seen his sister in centuries.
"I didn't know," she stammers. "I'm sorry."
How is she supposed to respond to that? What can she say?
"I cannot believe I forgot what she looked like," Enjolras sounds like he is far away somewhere. "Her hair would never stay pinned down for long, because it would always try to escape – like she could not do herself. Our parents never let her escape – she had to be a proper lady at all times. She wished to please them more than anything."
Being a young lady in those times – whenever that may have been – must have been difficult. There were so many rules to follow, and she doesn't even want to think of being that stifled. She cannot imagine living her life in that way and not escaping through some destination far away from her life. And that hits a nerve.
"She sounds wonderful," she tries to keep him talking.
"I did not appreciate her," Enjolras has yet to even look in her direction. "She worshipped me, once upon a time, and I did not spend enough time with her. I was too busy for a girl, for my own sister, and when I fell from grace, when I made everything fall apart, she was still there. She begged for my life. She saved me."
It is hard not to think of her own sister at a time like this, and how Azelma chose not to save her sister, when faced with a similar situation. She finds herself almost jealous of his long-dead sister, because at least she cared – it is a terrible thing to think and she is completely aware of that. But now, Enjolras is in pain and she needs to be a good friend to him, because he deserves better than he has been given lately. He has gotten a raw deal and the least she can do is listen and be there for him.
So she gently puts a hand on his arm, letting him know that he has her support. There is a hitch in his breathing, but he does not speak another word. The silence grows, the only sounds audible the faint thrumming of party sounds inside the house, and the summer breeze caressing her bare skin. She leans in a bit closer to Enjolras, looking for his steady warmth next to her, and finds him holding her hand in his. He is looking for strength and reassurance from her, and she hopes she has enough left to give.
"You will always love her," she tells him. "You will remember her. Your petite soeur will not be forgotten. That painting is beautiful. I know I'm not making sense, but because of that painting, she is immortalized."
That word might not have been the right choice, because that ends up being the thing that breaks him. He breaks down in, wrecked with the pain of his memories. His past is so far away, and there is nothing left for him to hold onto but her. She squeezes his hand, trying to be supportive without overwhelming him, and then decides to just embrace him. He looks like he could use a hug right now.
The fact that he leans into her embrace rather than mutter on about propriety tells her just how distraught he is. Here is the proudest man she knows, leaning on her as he sobs his heart out. He is lost in the world and it kills her to see him so broken.
"They are all dead," he wails. "My parents. My sister. My friends. Everyone is dead."
She can't be his everyone. All she can do is sit here while he has to rebuild his world from the ground up. This is the terrified creature she found in the museum ten days ago, not the self-assured man she saw talking to Marius and Cosette earlier. He is just now realizing that there is truly nothing left for him – there is no way to go home, no way to see the people that he loves again. This is why she cannot love.
"It is my fault," he says, repeating the phrase like a mantra. "It is my fault."
"No," she vehemently shuts that down. "Stop that. None of this is your fault."
Enjolras manages to look skeptical at that, even with tears running down his cheek, red-rimmed eyes, and all around looking like a mess. She tries to stifle a giggle at his perfect 'Bitch Please' face, and ends up smiling fondly at him, gently running her fingers through his golden curls. Yep, those feel about as great as she remembers.
"If anything it is my fault for making that stupid wish," she tries to get through to him.
"You set me free, remember?" Enjolras has stopped crying.
"But did you even want to be set free?" she bites out, feeling like an idiot.
God, it's not like she wants to make this all about her, because it isn't. It is about how fucked up everything has gotten in his life, and about what can be done to make it better, what she can do to make it better. Would un-freeing him make things better? What would she have to do to make him happy again? Was he happy before?
"Do not blame yourself, Éponine," he orders her, taking more distance from her to look her in the eyes. "I have not been able to breathe or move in centuries."
As if on cue, he takes a deep breath, practically inhaling the summer breeze and the smell of her perfume – however vague that may be. She cannot imagine what this must be like, cannot imagine how he is feeling and how she wishes he would just talk to her about this. She wishes he would tell her how he ended up this way.
"I'm sorry the world is so fucked up," she tries to apologize.
"I am sure that the world was not perfect in my time either," a haunted look returns to his face ever so briefly. "There are many changes, but perfection is not one of them."
They share a smile at that, pawns in this imperfect world, and both refusing to let the world make them its victims. They sit on the same rickety bench and look down on the town below – how small it seems now. This town is his entire world and yet it is merely a grain of sand in the world's desert. The world will never know this place – and no matter how much she will try to remember it after she leaves, she knows that she will only keep hold of the Marble Man in her heart.
"Let's get you some wine," she offers, floored when he gets up before her and holds his hand out to help her up. "If you want, I can make you look properly debauched so people won't notice you've been crying. Though, that's all up to you."
Does he understand what she is offering? Sure, he'll have an excellent grasp of the many possible expressions of debauchery – he's been spending a lot of time with R while she is at work – but does he really get it? She is not going to ask, because he will undoubtedly refuse. And why would she even care? It's stupid.
"It is very kind of you to offer," Enjolras starts his rejection. "But I would not be comfortable with that. Perhaps we can head inside as we are."
Yes, that is exactly the response she expected to get. She links arms with him, fluffing his hair one last time before heading inside – apparently being encased in marble does wonders for the hair. Who would have known?
"Wine is that way," she leads them both in the direction of a nice bottle of red.
He clumsily pours them both a full glass – that's her kind of guy – and they hold court in a corner of the room, ready to let the others come to them. The wine is a good one, probably older than her, and so she sips it slowly, watching Enjolras from the corner of her eye. He is visibly calmer than he was when they were outside, but she doubts that he is anywhere near happy at this point. Still, she watches him smile pleasantly at anyone who looks in their direction, however briefly. Mister self-assured charmer has returned, and even though he is a bit more subdued, she would rather see the charmer than the wreck she just witnessed on the balcony.
"There you are," Cosette walks towards them. "Feuilly told me you three went on a bit of a tour of the heirlooms. My family is from the area. We managed to collect a lot of things from past generations, and my stepdad has been an absolute angel when it comes to the restoration of the artifacts. His next project is the painting in the dining room. It's been pretty worn down over the years. It's been in the family for ages."
That Cosette should mention the very painting that triggered Enjolras so, it seems more than a coincidence, something her suspicious mind immediately jumps on. She wonders if Feuilly said something, perhaps, because that is the room that caused such a stir. But how could anyone know about Enjolras' relationship with the painting's subject? Unless they had been eavesdropping earlier – and she would have noticed.
Is it a coincidence after all?
"It is a beautiful painting," Enjolras tries not to look pained, and she grabs his hand in silent support. "Do you know who the young woman in the painting is?"
It is good that he just comes out and asks about it, because neither of them has the patience for bullshit and cover stories and lies. Talking about how they admired the painting – and they do – should be enough to persuade Cosette to tell them what she knows. She seems like a woman who likes to talk to fellow art lovers.
"She is beautiful, isn't she?" Cosette positively lights up. "She's actually my great-great-great-great grandmother. I don't know how far back exactly, because we haven't been able to date the painting yet. It was painted on the occasion of her marriage to my great-great-great-great grandfather. My family tree doesn't go that far back yet, but I'm working on it. I've only been able to find everyone until maybe 1800."
With their hands still clasped, they listen to Cosette's story. Enjolras takes deep breath, and she can tell that the revelation of his sister's marriage – without him present – is another blow he will have to learn to deal with. His sister was a mother and a grandmother, a wife and a lover, all when she could no longer be a sister.
He blames himself for that – he must.
"It must be really interesting to have such a rich family history," she tries to take the attention off Enjolras, at least for a minute.
"Do you know anything about your family history?" Cosette asks the most painful question she can in return. "So few people show any interest in their own history."
She would rather chew on broken glass than have a conversation that is in any way related to her family. But she doesn't need anyone to know that, so her smile only falters for a fraction of a second, after which she takes a big sip of her wine and turns to face Cosette again. Somehow, Enjolras is still holding her other hand.
"I'm an orphan," she lies without flinching. "I don't have a family."
Another sip of wine as she waits for someone to change the topic. Enjolras knows that she is lying, and she can tell that he is biting his tongue, but he has yet to respond to her outright lie, even though Cosette looks horrified.
"Oh I am so sorry," Cosette starts babbling. "I didn't know. I'll keep my stupid mouth shut now. I'd better go check on Marius before he breaks something."
The other woman was not actually called away by anything, but her lies made Cosette feel awkward enough to leave. She should feel pretty guilty about that, but right now she is just happy that she managed to avoid that particular minefield.
"Are you okay?" she asks Enjolras, completely avoiding her own troubles.
"Thanks for enquiring after me again," he is ever the gentleman, "but I am perfectly alright at the moment. However – an orphan, Éponine?"
It is as if she is being chided by an angry teacher, and she does not like the feeling, so she straightens her shoulders and empties her glass in one big gulp. It won't go straight to her head, but it will get her buzzed enough to make the rest of the party more plesant.
"I know," she snaps at him.
"I dislike lies," Enjolras continues, "but I understand why you would not wish to talk about this particular topic with Mademoiselle Cosette."
With that, the fight goes right out of her, but the want for booze does not go away that easily. Red wine always makes a party better, and right now she just wants to enjoy a harmless party and show off her dorky date to his new friends. He needs to make friends with these people, and she can be his friend. She can.
"Another glass of wine?" he asks, offering to get her another drink.
She shoots him a grateful smile and offers up her glass as she tries to silently show her gratefulness for him not asking anything that she could not give. It wouldn't be the last glass he got for her that night, and after a while, she just kind of loses count, and lets the boozy haze take over.
AN: Thoughts? Comments? Favorite lines/parts/plot points? TELL ME!