The Marble Man
Disclaimer: Still don't own. Yawn.
AN: So, I made it – less than four weeks between updates this time. And luckily for y'all, the next chapter is in final revisions, so I hope to have it up within 2-3 weeks – depending on how fast I can revise and on the response….
Chapter seventeen:
Somehow life manages to return to whatever passes for normal here pretty damn fast – she is back at the Corinthe the very next day, prepping tables for the regular lunch crowd while Musichetta holds her head and groans about her hangover. Wine hangovers can be really vicious sometimes – she knows it from experience.
Still, it is odd to be fucking around with cutlery when just hours ago she was hell-bent on leaving this damn place in the dust. And she was so close to getting there too – if it hadn't been for Gabri-Enjolras, she would have been on her way to Paris right now. She still kinda hates him for forcing her hand so masterfully. Somehow, no matter what she does, he will still be around. And she doesn't understand why.
Does she even want him around all the time? It is pathetic, but she doesn't immediately say no. It terrifies her, because she should be fine alone. She is the lone wolf and she can handle everything on her own – she does not need companionship, friendship, or any other kind of relationship. She doesn't need anything from anyone.
"You're really quiet," Musichetta remarks. "Hungover?"
There is no headache punishing her for the empty bottles of wine in the yard, no pounding in her skull that would make her reconsider ever drinking again. She may be a little tired – lack of sleep would do that to anyone – but otherwise she is just fine.
"Tired," she shrugs, playing it off.
"Did Enjolras keep you up all night?" Musichetta is quick to tease.
In some manner, yes, he really did. It just did not happen in the way Musichetta was hoping it did. Really, what is up with Musichetta being so involved in whatever is going on between them? Why is she so invested? Is there a bet with a lot of money? Éponine really wouldn't put that past R.
"Yes he did," she tries to keep a straight face. "He just pushed me up against the door and then we did the frick frack right there on his desk. And on the bed. And then everywhere else in the room. We might get to the rest of the house tomorrow."
Just the idea of that is completely ridiculous – Gabriel is just not interested in her that way, and while he is definitely on the side of lickable, she is not going to jump a marble man in her quest to get laid. She is probably just going to stay celibate while in Musain, because this town is just too small for it to not turn into a mess. God knows whose family member or ex-whatever she might accidentally get involved with.
Ugh, she really does not want to be dragged into another mess. She has her hands – and probably some other body parts – in plenty of messes around town already.
"You may joke about it now," Musichetta has a smile playing on her face. "But some day I will ask you the very same question and you will have some damn details about that statue. I mean, the guy looks like he was cut right out of marble!"
The laughter that bubbles up from deep in her throat is unusually high-pitched and too loud and just unlike her normal laugh. It must be a coincidence, but the phrasing is too damn perfect and she cannot help herself. Not one bit.
"I imagine that would be painful," she says at Musichetta's odd look.
"If he were actually made of marble?" the other woman follows her lead.
This is just the kind of stupid joke that she specializes in. She is a former art student, after all, and anything involving paintings and sketches and statues is ripe for a joke when art students get involved. And since she is the one involved in this particular joke, it is only going in the one direction. An ancient one.
"The dick alone," her head just goes straight to the naughty place. "It would totally break off at the wrong moment and then it would just be… stuck. Imagine going to the hospital and having to explain that."
Laughter is instant and this time it feels a lot more natural. Her own, deep, throaty laugh is coming out of her mouth as she pictures the awkward doctor's visit.
Musichetta is steadying herself against the bar, positively shaking with laughter, which just makes for a weird site for Bahorel to walk in on. His hulking form makes her feel like a dwarf – and she's still a couple inches taller than Musichetta. Really, what the hell is up with those family genetics? It just doesn't make sense.
"Maybe I should just turn around and back away," Bahorel says, eyeing the giggling women in front of him. "Before it's too late for me."
With that, Musichetta socks him in the shoulder like only a true sister can. The laughter fades away slowly as both women try to do anything but look at each other – that will only set them off again.
"What was so funny anyway?" Bahorel picks up a heavy crate.
"Marble dicks," Musichetta doesn't even try to hide it.
An eye roll is all the response they get from her brother, as he hoists up the crate with ridiculous ease. Seriously, is that all steroids or just those ridiculous muscles? The guy is fucking huge and damn strong – and just the dorkiest guy in the world. Anyone who speaks both Elvish and High Valyrian fluently has to be called a dork. It's totally admirable, but not something people would expect of a six-and-a-half feet tall giant with rippling guns. That just makes it even more awesome, though.
"Wow," the crate is moved into the kitchen. "The hilarity. I can't even."
The sarcasm is probably the best part – Bahorel is surprisingly hilarious when it's just the three of them, preparing the bar for the day. His banter with his sister never fails to make her react – anything ranging from eye rolling to loud heaving laughter.
"Some things just were not made to be said in a deep bass voice," she tells him.
"So disappointing," Musichetta is not disappointed at all.
Standing next to each other, they make quite a picture. They are the giant and the petite warrior – because nobody messes with Musichetta or her friends and lives to tell the tale. Hell, Musichetta is probably the scarier sibling here, at least to the people who actually know them both. When she gets mad, and her muscles lock and she bares her teeth, it is best to just start apologizing. If it's not too late already.
"Speaking of disappointing," Bahorel's shit eating grin is a bad sign, "does Éponine's frustrated face mean that the great Enjolras has yet to step up?"
Seriously? Seriously! These two have got to stop it with their annoying bullshit about her and Enjolras – Enjolras and she. Whatever. There is nothing going on there, and there never will be. God, if they only knew his real background, they would not be so quick to set the two of them up together. The whole curse thing might be a bit of a mood killer – that is, if she ever finds out the damn details.
Is he ever going to tell her everything?
"And do what?" she ignores it, trying to focus on her work, even though the spot in front of her was clean before she even started.
"Do you need me to draw him a diagram?" Bahorel offers insincerely. "I mean, I just want you to be happy, Éponine."
She gives him the finger. That jerk.
e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e
It is not his fault that his head is in the clouds so often these days. He just has to catch a single glimpse of Jehan and he is a goner. The usual voices tell him that it is just not going to last, that Jehan deserves better than a recovering addict with serious psychological issues, and that he should just let go before he hurts his best friend in the entire world. That is about the last thing he wants to do, so he has to give the voices their due, even though he wants so badly to disagree with them. He wants to believe he is worthy of Jehan's love, even though he knows that he is not.
This time it is the music playing through the house, something familiar from Jehan's large collection of romantic tunes. He can't quite remember the title of it, but finds himself drawn to the living room anyway, in the vain hopes that Jehan might have come home early today. The house is colder without him present.
"How does this damned contraption turn off?" Enjolras is in the midst of a heated battle with their sound system, pressing random buttons that only make the situation worse.
Like the tool that he is, he laughs – rather loudly. Shit, he just finds this whole thing so damn amusing still. Every single time that they think Enjolras has this new century figured out, they find something else that makes his eyes grow to the size of saucers. It's the sounds and the sights and the smells – there are few things that don't entrance him. And he is just so damn enchanted by that wide-eyed way in which Enjolras takes everything.
"Let me help you there," he decides to put him out of his misery just this once.
Éponine is at work anyway, so she can't see him actually being nice. Somehow it can feel like she is monitoring Enjolras so closely, and judging them for the way that they deal with him on a regular basis. Nothing they do appears to be good enough for him – and that includes the way that Éponine herself acts. He can relate to that feeling, the one of never quite being good enough, but the sentiment is still bullshit. Enjolras has learned most of what he has because of her – and because of his own tenacity, which is almost terrifying at times.
With the press of one single button, the noise dies down completely, leaving a rather awkward silence in its wake. Because what is left to say? Enjolras is right back on the same chair he always uses, his head right back in a novel about some historical whatever – comfort reading if he ever saw it. He is hiding from something – again.
What is up with that? It's been three weeks since this guy showed up in their lives, and while he can understand not wanting to jump into society right away, it seems that lately Enjolras has just been deflecting, hiding and just focusing on everyone else. Enjolras has been very supportive of whatever thing Éponine was going through over the weekend, and he suspects that the man was also involved in giving him and Jehan some pushes towards each other. He is acting like their guardian angel instead of making something for himself, and that feels off. Something is wrong here.
After all, the marble man is now made of flesh and blood, with the same needs of flesh and blood men all around the world. He has been given every opportunity to be a part of this town, and to make a life here, or anywhere he wants. But for some reason, Enjolras just refuses to take that chance. He sits on the couch, reading books instead of going outside, looking for chances and jobs for everyone but himself.
Enjolras does not own anything himself, he is just in the possession of some gifts and hand-me-downs from the people he is slowly starting to call friends. Does he not believe in permanent possessions? Is he planning to skip town when they're all asleep, when he just stopped Éponine from doing that very thing?
Hey, their voices carry, and his insomnia just does not let him enjoy the calmness of sleep. He heard most of what was going on last night, and it makes him wonder all the more what is really going on in this house.
"So, any plans for today?" he tries to be subtle about it.
"Not really," Enjolras doesn't even look up from his book.
What about tomorrow? Or the day after that? Or next week? Will he even be here this time next week? He has a lot of questions, and it is pretty damn obvious that the former marble man is not inclined to answer any of them.
So there is no other solution: it is time to play Bond. James Bond. Or Bi Spy, as he's dubbed it before. It just works for him – and Bond.
"Enjoy your book," he gives the talking thing another shot.
"Thank you," still no movement from Enjolras.
Well then, it is time to find out for himself. He exits the living room without another word, finding himself in the hallway, where he has time to compose a good plan. A good spy never goes anywhere without plans A through Z – he needs a few back-up plans.
And Grantaire is a very good spy.
Plan A: asking Enjolras. Well, that had already failed. It was time for Plan B: the search – Grantaire style. Because this situation called for subtlety. He has that in spades.
The move upstairs has to happen slowly, because the stairs can be extremely treacherous, even to a top-level spy like him. So he has to get on slowly, one step at a time, avoiding the third one from the top – because that one creaks like nobody's business. And it would not do to get caught so early in the game.
One last look back, standing completely still, listening for any movement in the living room, and he is off. Walking on the balls of his feet, he moves gracefully through the hall, humming the Mission Impossible theme under his breath. Every time the music in his head swells, he has to stand still for a beat to make sure that he is not being followed by anyone. A deep breath, and he continues.
The creaky step is easily skipped with a light-footed jump onto the next one, and he looks at his progress with a pleased grin. Yes, he is quite the spy. Tom Cruise, eat your heart out.
When he reaches the top step, he takes a final look down, and upon finding everything just as empty as he'd left it, he moves forward. Time to explore the upstairs for a while, before carefully entering the suspect's room. He has his phone with him to take pictures of where everything was before he entered – it is always best to be sure when one does not possess a photographic or eidetic memory.
Oh, the hallway upstairs is a very tricky part, seeing as anyone downstairs can hear any footsteps moving up there. The trick is not to give away that he is moving towards the marble man's room – perhaps he could lay out a false trail, pretend as if he is going to his own room. Yes, that would be very clever.
So he goes in the opposite direction, stepping in the direction of his bedroom with renewed purpose. He will fool them all, and then he will find out the secrets that they are keeping – maybe he should sneak up to the attic after. Curiosity, thou art a fickle bitch.
"Time to switch songs," he mutters.
Using the Bond theme is just so overdone, and Mission Impossible is starting to make him rather jumpy. Time for a stalker anthem. A real classic.
As he sings along with the Police in his head, he makes a quick turn to the room on the other side of the hall. If he's fast enough, he knows he will be able to fool Enjolras into thinking his room is left completely undisturbed.
The door opens easily, no lock impeding his venture – it is a quick thrill that makes him stop in his tracks. Should it really be this easy? He ponders it for a while and then realizes that none of his friends are as naturally suspicious as he is – after all, Enjolras is from a time when buildings were hardly ever locked. Yes, this is no trap.
Pictures are quickly taken – the room is so disgustingly in order that he would never be able to replicate it without the pictures to guide him. The bed is made perfectly – something he did not expect of a wealthy man such as Enjolras. Or, he assumes that before he was a marble man, Enjolras was a part of the higher classes. He simply does not act like a commoner of any time. He sticks out like a sore thumb.
"I'm not checking the bed," he tells himself – that would be going too far.
Besides, he just really does not want to know which picture of Éponine Enjolras is hiding under his mattress. It is obvious that he is mad about her – well, it is really obvious to him, anyway – but Grantaire just does not want to see any of the dirtier proof of that love. That is just too private. So there.
The desk is a much better place to check anyway. There are plenty of books and papers that Enjolras would definitely use to hide his metaphorical dirty laundry from them. He just has to find the right documents – and then put everything else back in its proper place. After all, he is not leaving this room without his evidence. He is going to need something real to convince Jehan of his suspicions. Somewhere in this room, he will find substantial evidence of Enjolras' big secret – he just knows it.
First stack: boring ancient books about the principles of man and all of the bullshit he himself has always tried to ignore. There are books about philosophy and the basics of society as it once was and as it is now. Apparently that is the first thing the marble man chooses to catch up on now he has the chance – how dull.
Yep, the first stack is all history and society and politics and all of the boring stuff nobody gives a damn about – which would make it a perfect place to hide something Enjolras does not want people to know about. But the stack is just too obvious, and so he has to keep looking for something better. If he knows Enjolras at all, and maybe he does know him a little bit, the clues will not be hidden in the most easily accessible place. He will have to work for his evidence.
But Bi Spy does not give up easily – he will keep looking until he finds it.
"Stack number two," he mutters. "What have you got for me?"
These books look a lot less ancient, with more brightly colored covers – and titles that do not seem to include politics or law or whatever. This is actually about the modern world; about movies and television and all of the pop culture stuff that Enjolras missed out on while he was – made of stone. With pictures of everyone from Marilyn Monroe to the kids from the latest young adult movie franchise, it is the most interesting thing he has seen in the room so far.
Though he is sorely tempted to look at the book a little more closely, there is more important work to be done here. He is sure that a pop culture book is not the big secret that he is looking for – there has to be more.
But there are no more stacks to peruse – oh, fancy – just some boring stuff that Combeferre must have printed out for him from some encyclopedia about technology and things like that. There are pictures of modern equipment and how everything works, and while that's kind of admirable, it is still pretty boring. Somehow, for some reason, Enjolras either has no exciting stuff in his life – which is a distant possibility – or he is just that awesome at hiding his secrets.
Grantaire is really hoping for that last one. But until he finds the secret, he will keep a level head and go through everything in this room – all before Enjolras gets back.
Postcard from the museum, calendar, novelty pens. Wait, why would Enjolras keep a calendar? He cannot think of any reason to cross off days to a calendar unless the ass is keeping track of Éponine's mood and drawing conclusions about her – cycle. But that would just be too weird, even for a marble man from ages past. So what is he doing?
Twenty-one days have been marked; starting with the day that Éponine took him home with her. Has it really been three weeks since the marble man came into their lives? It seems both longer and shorter than that at the same time.
So, is that the reason? Is he just trying to keep track of time? It almost makes sense, since he has lost so much time in his marble days. Why wouldn't he want to know just how fast time passes now that he is flesh and blood again?
Only there is a circle around a date about a week in the future – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine days in the future, to be precise. That would mark Enjolras spending approximately a month, or thirty days, as a full-fledged human. Most people would think that this would be a mark for an anniversary, but he is much more suspicious than that. Something is going to happen that day.
And knowing their luck, it just cannot be something good. It rarely is – with Jehan being the sole exception to the bad going on in the outside world.
"How is the spying coming along?" a voice behind him, and he startles.
Damn it, clearly Enjolras would make a better spy than he ever could. He never heard the other guy coming up the stairs or moving down the hallway. Hell, he never even heard him step into the damn room. How is that possible? Is he a spy? Is the whole marble man story just a hoax made up to hide his cover?
No, hold it Grantaire, this is real life, not a Bond movie.
"I was doing pretty well until you interrupted," he tries to act calm.
"Do not let me stop you," Enjolras appears to have learned about typical sarcasm.
It is a lot less fun to snoop when the owner of the objects is right over his damn shoulder, giving his permission for the spying. At least half the thrill of the spying is in not getting caught and being secretive and not having someone's permission to go rooting through their stuff. Part of him is ready to throw in the towel, but there is still a nagging voice in his head telling him that quitting is exactly what Enjolras wants him to do right now. And he never does what people want.
"Okay, thanks," he just keeps at it.
The only good part of Enjolras being present for the search is that he can test which objects make him the most nervous – those objects are exactly the things that he should be looking at. So from the corner of his eye, he watches the marble man's every move.
First stack? Not even a twitch. Second stack of books? Maybe there's a bit of a blush coming to the guy's cheeks when Grantaire reaches for the pop culture books, but that is about it. He is about to compliment the other guy's poker face when he spots his tell – the very second he grabs hold of the mysterious calendar, there is just the slightest twitch in Enjolras' face.
So that is where the secret is – in the date nine days in the future.
"What's happening nine days from now?" he decides to just ask.
"I will have been here for one month," Enjolras is determined not to look at him; his head turned away and his body language extremely tense.
Seriously, this turning away thing does not make the message any more credible – it just makes Enjolras look like a liar. The way his shoulders are hunched and Enjolras looks like his body might snap in half with the stress – arms clenched tightly at his side and body slowly starting to shake with the effort of keeping his composure – all of that just makes Grantaire think that he has managed to find the biggest secret of all.
"You do not strike me as the kind of man to keep track of these minor anniversaries," he is ready to call Enjolras' crappy bluff.
"I thought I might start," Enjolras' voice remains strong and unmarred by his nerves or tenseness. "Time seems to pass differently here."
While that last bit does make sense, the story still reeks of bullshit. It almost seems rehearsed, as if he has prepared this response if someone were to ask about this calendar. And people just do not prepare their answers to questions, not unless they are hiding something important.
Everything he ever learned about spies and lies is telling him that Enjolras has something big to hide, and he is willing to lie about it. It shouldn't be a shock, really, seeing as there are way too many things they don't know about him yet. But still it kind of stings – they let the guy into their house and their lives and called him friend, and yet he keeps secrets. The guy who actually supports the relationship between him and Jehan is also lying to him about important stuff in his own life.
This is a really fucked up double standard.
"Is it really that bad?" once again he just steps up and asks. "Is whatever you're hiding so bad that you have to keep lying about it?"
That is not a very nice idea, and his brain goes into overdrive as he starts to imagine all of the terrifying possibilities. Is his body not adjusting to the new time? Is their time making him sick somehow, seeing as he probably lacks any type of basic vaccination shots? Is he just going to leave them behind? Does he have a terrible reason why he was cursed? Is that going to come back to haunt them all?
There are about a million reasons Enjolras could have for lying – none of them good.
"It is," Enjolras finally admits that he has been lying.
"We've all done stupid shit, Enjolras," he has to try and persuade him. "Hell, you know all about the drugs and all the other bullshit I've done. All in the pursuit of new and greater highs. I haven't been clean that long, and I'm still pretty sure that I'll eventually fuck it all up again – and still my friends are here, supporting me. Now I know I don't deserve one bit of it, but that's what friendship is about, man. So just tell me."
He really did not mean to make some grand declaration about the meaning of friendship, but now that he said it… Well, it is true after all, and he will stand by it.
"I can't tell you," Enjolras holds to that idea.
"You won't tell me," he not so gently corrects. "There is a difference."
Arguing over semantics is kind of a petty road to take at this point, but petty is pretty much where he lives. If this is what it takes to wear Enjolras down, he will gladly do it, with a smile on his face.
"Merde," Enjolras curses under his breath.
Maybe he should provoke him some more and then tape the ensuing outburst for Éponine – because if anyone deserves to see this, it's her. She has been working the corruption angle for weeks now, and they finally got him to curse. How very unlike the proper gentleman he has been trying to be, and how very entertaining.
Because he wants to hear more of the cussing, he stays silent, standing in wait. If he had a voice recorder, this would be the time to get it. That would not be a very nice thing to do, but nice isn't the way he rolls.
The silence lingers and lingers, with Enjolras only breaking it to close the door behind him, leaving them at opposite ends of the room, waiting for the other person to start speaking again. And he will do everything that he possibly can to make sure that Enjolras is the first person to talk. It is his turn to start sharing.
"It's when it all ends," Enjolras finally tells him.
"What ends?" he was never good at any of the cryptic stuff – which is why he is no actual spy. "Is the apocalypse coming? Best call Buffy. She'll know what to do."
Yes, he is very aware that he is an asshole. He never claimed to be any different. Anyone claiming that he is a good guy will be summarily mocked until they stop. That is his way and he will stick to it. Well, being an asshole and referencing awesome stuff.
"I assume that is a joke," the marble man is just not amused.
"You take all the fun out of pop culture references," he is still grinning though. "If you have to start somewhere in your great catch-up of whatever happened in the world while you were… not around, well, Buffy is a great place to start. There are monsters."
Not around? He's terrible with the euphemisms, but Enjolras is even worse at giving him some actual answers. This conversation is taking forever – see, he really has no patience for the spy stuff, because he would never be able to wait for the evil villain to reveal his plan, or just for DNA test results or whatever. He has like, zero patience. Below zero – and yeah, an ex-druggie being all about instant gratification should not be so surprising.
"I meant me," Enjolras is still not making sense. "I'm going to end. I'll turn back into marble. There is a deadline on my curse. If I do not break the curse within the next nine days, I will go back to how I was before. You can put me right back in the museum and pretend that I was never stolen. Javert will leave you alone."
He hasn't thought about the gendarmes for over a week now – or something like that, because he just has not seen them around. He is sure that they must still think that Éponine is behind the theft of the statue, but since there is no evidence that would prove that… Well, they have nothing to stand on and that makes them pissy.
So not seeing them again sounds like a good – wait a second.
"You'll turn back to marble?"
Enjolras raises his eyebrows and actually shrugs, like his stupid statement was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Well, no biggie," R says casually, his voice taking on a note of positivity he doesn't actually feel. He is sure that Enjolras can see the doubt in his face. "We'll just have to wake you back up again. We'll do it every month if we need to. Heck, we could even sync you up to Éponine's periods…"
This time the marble man doesn't even so much as flush. That's when he knows that the worst news is still to come.
"There won't be another wake up," he says, his voice oddly hollow and detached, even for the marble man. "This time it will be permanent."
Well fuck. This is going to kill Éponine.
AN: soooooo, how badly do you hate me right now?!