A/N: Insert We Can't Change Our Course, Our Fate's Sealed Long Ago here.
Summary: They were always meant to end up here.
Cosette and Musichetta take to each other like a moth to a flame, although which is which depends entirely on the situation. They arrive at every meeting together, and Enjolras suspects that Cosette spends as much time with Musichetta as she does with Marius, judging by the way Marius looks at his phone every few minutes while he mutters under his breath in different languages with his work spread out around him when Enjolras is over at Courfeyrac's, as if waiting for a call. Enjolras would find it sad, Marius' waiting, if it weren't for the fact that Marius doesn't seem bothered by it at all, doesn't seem to let it interrupt his life. Marius is entirely contradictory, and Enjolras finds it fascinating, would ask how he does it if he weren't afraid that it would just lead to Marius talking about how much he loves Cosette for hours. He's never been able to separate his passions like that.
Between the horror she experienced in the foster care system, and her father moving her about to keep her safe from his past and the people looking for him, Cosette never had much time for television, and Musichetta has apparently taken it as her personal mission to catch her up on every piece of popular culture that she deems necessary. They arrive a few minutes late to the first meeting held after Enjolras and Grantaire discuss their past life, and the whole of the Corinth catches the end of their conversation about whether or not Battlestar Galactic can be considered feminist media. They've all heard this discussion before, because they appear to disagree vehemently on the subject of Admiral Cain, and no amount of circular debate seems able to reconcile their opinion. But Cosette cuts the conversation off with a squeak when she notices that the meeting hasn't started, and she apparently suddenly remembers what day it is and dashes to the front of the group.
Cosette and Feuilly run the meeting that day on the abuses and failings within the foster care system, and Enjolras is grateful that he doesn't have to do any more than listen. Feuilly speaks eloquently and beautifully and Cosette's story is gut-wrenching in the simplicity with which she tells it, and when they ask for donations and volunteers to go out to the streets and collect more, every wallet empties and every hand is raised. Enjolras is glad to sit back and listen to his friends talk, hear the passion that infuses every word, and the true dedication to their causes that the rest display.
He doesn't say a word, either in the meeting nor during the more informal gathering of those who remain afterwards. Rather, he allows the chatter of his friends wash over him; watches Jehan do Cosette's hair up in a complicated twist, both possessed of a delicacy that is at odds with their fierce discussion on the renunciation of power, and which means are acceptable in taking down governments that contribute to the sufferings of the poor and marginalised. Musichetta and Feuilly laugh quietly together over the sketch that Feuilly is doing for their next flyer, and an almost-empty bottle of wine. Combeferre's lecture to Bahorel about excessive enjoyment of violence is interrupted periodically by Bahorel cursing when Courfeyrac pokes him in his sprained wrist in some supposed attempt at driving the point home.
With his newly remembered memories of their past together, Enjolras can't help but marvel on the way that, despite death and the randomness of the universe, they have all come together again, at this time, and in this place. As he thinks on how they all met again, he realises the prominence that Grantaire has in all his recollections. The fact that he noticed him enough for him to feature in his memories, but never actually noticed him beyond a faint annoyance is practically inexcusable. Grantaire has been there since the first moment they were introduced; never faltering, dedicated to their meetings if never participating, as constant to Les Amis and his friends as the passing of time. And Enjolras as good as ignored him in that setting. He does not understand the regard that Grantaire has for him after years of casual dismissal and not even unrequited, but truthfully unnoticed, pining. He does not understand how Grantaire can love him after all the time they have known each other, over two and more lives. The simple fact of his love shocks Enjolras to even think of it, its persistent part of Grantaire's being humbles him, in a way. To be loved in such a way by a man who is, above all, genuinely kind.
Enjolras can likely never hope to ignore Grantaire again. He's hyper aware of the way that Grantaire fidgets in the seat beside him, as if unsure of the position he has found himself in. Normally Enjolras would be flanked by Combeferre and Courfeyrac on either side, but Courfeyrac had stood and taken the spare seat beside Bahorel, ostensibly to aid Combeferre in his lecture, but leaving the only empty seat to be the one beside Enjolras, and so Grantaire had had to take it. Enjolras had told Combeferre and Courfeyrac of his dream as soon as they had been alone after Marius got them released from the holding cell that day. Neither had had the same one, but Combeferre had believed him immediately, as Enjolras had known he would, and while Courfeyrac had seemed momentarily like he thought Enjolras was joking with them, as soon as he saw that he and Combeferre were in agreement, he simply nodded and accepted it as fact too. Enjolras hadn't told them about Grantaire, however, hadn't thought it was really his place to share unless Grantaire wanted him to, but he hadn't had to for the two of them to figure out that something had happened.
Truthfully, Enjolras finds Grantaire's constant shuffling rather annoying, and so the next time that he places his hand on the table to drum his fingers against it in irregular pattens, Enjolras covers it with his own and slips his fingers through Grantaire's, curling them so the tips rest against his palm. There's a squeak that comes from Grantaire's left and they both swing their heads around to see Joly with his hand pressed tightly over Bossuet's mouth. Bossuet is practically vibrating with excitement, and after a brief, considering look at Enjolras, Joly grins happily.
No one else makes comment on the way that Grantaire alternates between beaming at everyone and smiling shyly at Enjolras, face as red as a stoplight, nor how Enjolras drags his thumb up and down the side of Grantaire's hand.
But he can feel the love and companionship radiate off each and every one of them. The passion of purpose and the fire of change intermingled with the contentment of simply having one another in their lives. The way that it surrounds him like a blanket on a cold day, envelops like the hoodie that he had loaned Grantaire last night when they had discussed their past revolution and Grantaire had told him of all the other lives he remembers; two sizes too big, the sleeves hanging down over his hands and the hood flopping over his eyes.
He only hopes that they can feel it from him, too.
A/N: So that's the end of that chapter. I have (at least) one more fic in this 'verse loosely mapped out, but I've also been fighting a return to the MCU ever since I finished watching Daredevil in order to get this finished, so we'll see which one gets done first. If it's the next bit of this, I hope to see some of you there. Thank you so much for reading my ramblings!
Now with sequel: On Wings Of Destiny We Ride