Nine
Legacies
Cosette's stool scraped over the concrete floor of the kitchen loudly. She shrugged off both Marius' and Grantaire's hands and took off through the kitchen. Marius tried to stop her, but Grantaire slipped between them.
"Leave her," she heard her father – not her real father, her real father was possibly an evil demon – say, and then she was out of the door and walking down the corridor. Her steps turned into a run, and there were tears pouring down her face and her whole body shook.
Her mind was all over the place already. How had she never noticed her father was a demon? Why had he never told her? That was the sort of thing you told your only child!
And to think she had the blood of a demon king running through her veins – just any king, either, but one that the group of revolutionaries who were trying to save her life thought was evil, a man whose rule was described as a brutality, a man who raped her mother, a man who...
Not a man. A demon, she corrected herself. A demon. Both her parents, her biological parents, were demons. What did that make her?
The realisation weighed down on her heavily and she found herself twisting against the wall behind her and sliding down it. Her legs gave way completely, and she buried her face in her arms. Sobs wracked her entire body, and she didn't care how loud they were, didn't care who heard her. She didn't even know how far away she was from the kitchen.
She was dimly aware of footsteps coming towards her. They sounded soft, slow and deliberate, like a person approaching a wounded animal they didn't want to scare.
"Go away, Grantaire," she spat, her voice thick and muffled by her skin.
"It's me," Marius said quietly. She raised her head. He was crouched in front of her, his elbows braced on his knees and his head cocked to one side. Worry was evident in every inch of his face.
"Go away, Marius," she said, lowering her head once more.
"Afraid I can't do that." There was a shuffling sound, and she could see in the triangle from her arms and legs that he had sat down cross-legged in front of her.
"Go away," she repeated.
"I want to make sure you're okay," he said, calm and soft.
"Do I look okay?" She raised her head again. Her voice had cracked and wavered as she spoke.
"No." There was a pause, and then he said, "I know you want to be on your own, but...I don't think you should be. This has been a lot for you to take in, and..." He trailed off. "I'm not going to make you talk about it, Cosette, but I'm here, if you wanted to talk about it."
She didn't, and yet she did – it was hard to explain. She wanted to rant and rave, she wanted to scream and shout, she wanted to cry and crawl into bed and not come out for days on end. She wanted to do lots of things.
What came out of her mouth, though, was, "I always thought I'd want to know who my biological parents were, but now I do know, I wish I didn't."
The words came out whispered, and for a moment she thought that Marius might not have heard her. But a moment later, he said, "Your mother is probably a good woman. She gave you to your father, to protect you. She loved you."
"And my father?" She pressed her forehead harder against her arm. "He wants me to be his wife. I'm his daughter. That's – that's sick!"
"He is a sick man." Marius cleared his throat. "That doesn't make you sick, Cosette. And we're going to do everything, everything we possibly can to make sure you never go within touching distance of him. All right?"
"You can't promise that," Cosette said. "You can't. They got in here, people nearly died for me – that could happen again."
"It could, but they won't take you – he won't take you," Marius vowed. "And I can promise that. I won't let him take you."
She raised her head again, and took in the sight of Marius, long and lanky Marius with his big hands and floppy hair and freckles and a sweet smile. The thought of him taking on the Demon King almost brought a watery smile to her face; but then she remembered orange glowing just beneath the surface of his skin and the fierce way he had held her arm when Combeferre had told them of Musichetta's message from the Demon King, and the smile died. She believed him, then, and that's when she leaned towards him.
Her forehead hit his shoulder, and she began to cry again. His arms encircled her, his hands pressing into the skin between her shoulder blades. His thumb brushed over her back in circles, and his cheek rested against the top of her head.
"I won't," he murmured, breath moving her hair.
"Please," Cosette said back, and she wasn't really sure what she meant by that, either.
"It's okay," he said. "I've got you."
She believed him.
OOO
An hour later, Cosette was led by Marius back to the kitchen. There was no one else there now but Grantaire and Valjean, who were deep in conversation.
Grantaire saw her first, went quiet first.
"Did you know?" she asked him.
"Some of it," he admitted. "Not all of it. I didn't know about demons until we came here."
Cosette bowed her head, and let her hand slip out of Marius'.
"I wish you hadn't lied to me," she said. "Both of you. I wish I'd known the truth. You could have trusted me."
"I only ever wanted to protect you," her father said. She'd never seen him cry before, but he looked very close to it now. "That's all I've ever wanted to do."
"I know," Cosette said, simply. "I understand that. Which is why I'm..." She paused, linked her fingers together. "I am angry at you – no, furious. I'm furious with you, Dad, and I'm angry with you, Grantaire. I feel betrayed. But I...You're still my father, and you're still – well, Grantaire. And I love you both. But right now...I'm angry."
Her father stood. She held out her hands, palms facing outwards. "I'm angry," she repeated. "Give me a few days."
"We can do that," Grantaire said, putting a hand on Valjean's arm as if to try and keep him where he was.
"Thank you," Cosette said. She bowed her head. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." She gave a vague flap of her hand, turned on her heel, and left.
OOO
Grantaire watched the smoke from his cigarette spiral up towards the pale grey ceiling. He lay on his back on his slightly deflated mattress, thinking. His mind was currently turning between Cosette's face, pale and red around the eyes, looking resigned as she turned away from him and her father, and the sight of blood spraying as he slashed at someone, a faceless someone, with a machete. Well, they alternated between having no face, to being Cosette, and Enjolras, and Valjean, and occasionally, the demons he had killed the other night, and during one particularly horrifying moment, his own mother.
That image threatened to come forward again when there was a knock at the door. He hadn't bothered to pull it shut behind him when he'd come in, he'd just flopped down onto the mattress with all his weight. He raised his head a little, and sat up completely when he saw who stood in the doorway.
It was Éponine. He had only seen her a couple of times since she had been shot, and she looked at her best now. Still, she looked tired, and there was a greyish tinge to her skin. The clothes she wore were baggy and shapeless, and she played with the nail on her pointer finger. He didn't think he'd ever seen her look so nervous before.
"I thought that Cosette might be in," she explained.
"Well, she's not," Grantaire said, sweeping his arm in an arc. "As you can see."
"Do you know where she is?" Éponine said. "I wanted a word."
"Nope." He flicked ash onto the concrete floor next to the mattress. "She's probably with Marius."
"Ah." Éponine's eyes narrowed once, briefly, and then she stood up a little straighter. "I heard about what happened. Bahorel explained it to me."
"Right." Grantaire leaned over and stubbed out his cigarette onto the floor, then let it drop to the ground. "And?"
"Well, I." Éponine wrung her hands together, and then held a hand to her temple. "I'm sorry, can I sit down? I don't feel very good."
"Sure." He flapped a hand towards the bed. "What did you want with Cosette?"
"I wanted to apologise." She twisted her face up, like the words pained her, as she slowly advanced into the room and sank down onto the bed. "I've had a lot of time to think. And Musichetta can be quite persuasive. She says Cosette's not so bad."
"Took you long enough to work it out," Grantaire muttered.
Éponine ignored that comment. "And, when I heard about her father...Well, let's just say I know what it's like to have a parent who is..."
"Wait, which 'father' are you talking about?" Grantaire raked a hand through his hair.
"Um, the King," Éponine said.
"Right. Well, that's not really her father, except biologically," Grantaire said. "There is a difference. Her real father is a good man."
"Fine," Éponine said, wriggling backwards on the bed so that she was resting against the wall behind her. "I'm not doubting that, but still, my father – my biological father – is...He's a real piece of work."
"My heart bleeds for you," Grantaire muttered, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his elbows on his knees.
"Maybe it should," Éponine said, sharply. "You know what, I'm starting to think you're a real piece of work."
"I am," Grantaire said. "And I'm still kind of pissed at you for how you've been towards Cosette. You getting yourself shot in some supposed self-sacrificing move for some guy you want to fuck isn't going to change that."
He almost – almost – regretted those words as soon as he said them, but to give her credit, Éponine's face didn't slip from one of complete nonchalance. She blinked, once, and then said, "Yep, real piece of work. How does a prick like you end up with a girl like Cosette? I've been wondering about this for a while now."
"Through a lot of time and effort," Grantaire said. "I've also never understood how anybody can be a prick towards Cosette."
Something that may or may not have been guilt flickered over Éponine's face, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. "I'm not," she said, then paused. "I'm not always the nicest of people. I know that."
"It had occurred to me," Grantaire said. "But, I'm the wrong person to be saying this to, you know? You need to tell Cosette."
"Yeah, well." She got off the bed, her movements slow, lethargic, awkward. "When I find her, I might just do that."
And then she walked out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts once more.
OOO
Éponine had begun striding down the corridor away from Cosette and Grantaire's room, but she couldn't keep up the momentum for long before she had to slow to a shuffle. Her legs felt like they were moving through treacle, and she needed to sit down. She'd be glad when the rest of the silver was out of her system.
"Éponine?" Combeferre said from behind her. She looked over her shoulder.
"Hey," she said.
"Are you all right?" he said, his eyebrows knitting together. "You look pale."
"I'm fine, I just need to sit down," she said. "I'm heading back to my room."
"I'll walk you there," he said. "The silver not out of you yet?"
"Nope, but it usually takes a while," Éponine said, with a shrug. "It depends, really. I just got bored, and I heard about Cosette's father..."
"Ah, yes." Combeferre had matched his walk to Éponine's, so they were slowly ambling along. "That was a surprise. Couldn't have predicted it."
"Any of it?" Éponine said, doubtfully. "Come on – we knew that someone in her life was a demon, there were so many safeguards around her..."
"Yes, I had my suspicions about that, but not that he would turn up here," Combeferre said. "It's quite impressive, really. And I didn't think that Cosette was a demon herself – that was news to me."
"Hmm." Éponine wiped a hand over her forehead, scratched her chin in the same movement. "I wondered about that."
"How we didn't notice?" Combeferre guessed. "It's quite simple, really – often demons who are raised away from the community, with no knowledge of their heritage, never manifest powers. Occasionally something will happen and a power will be unleashed, but, studies have shown that it's very unusual for demons raised in those circumstances to actually exhibit powers."
"So Cosette doesn't have powers?"
"No, she has them, but she'll need training to unlock them," Combeferre said. "According to her father, her mother was a Healer demon; their only powers revolve around healing, and they're extremely rare. The royal family are earth demons, the only remaining earth demons, also rare. An unusual combination, not one I've heard of before, and it's uncertain as to what race would take dominance. We'll just have to find out, I suppose, providing she wants to find out."
"I'd want to find out," Éponine said.
"You'd think so," Combeferre said. "But Cosette might be less accepting than you. As I said, we'll have to see. I suppose unlocking her powers might be a bit difficult – as I said, the only earth demons in existence are those in the royal family, and we don't have a Healer demon...But we'll manage something, I'm sure, if that's the decision she takes."
"She'd be stupid if she didn't," Éponine said. They had reached her bedroom, where the door was propped open slightly.
"No one could blame her if she didn't want to," Combeferre said, in that fair way of his that almost made Éponine's hands itch to smack the neutrality out of him. "It must be difficult for her."
"I guess." She leaned against her doorframe, nudging her door open with the heel of her foot.
"Was it her you went to see?" he asked. "I saw you come out of her room."
"She wasn't in, but yeah," Éponine said. She felt her cheeks heat up. "I wanted to – I don't know – I wanted to explain about my father. And maybe...Maybe apologise."
Combeferre's eyebrows rose. "Apologise?"
"There's no need to look so surprised," Éponine said. "I am capable of acknowledging I'm wrong, you know."
"Oh, I know," he said. "I didn't mean any offence."
She looked down at her feet. "I wasn't behaving very...fair, towards her," she admitted. "It's not her fault."
Combeferre didn't reply. She raised her head, and met his eyes; his gaze was gentle, and understanding.
"It's not her fault Marius isn't interested in me," Éponine said. The words felt thick and heavy in her mouth, but once she had said them, something loosened in her chest.
"Éponine..."
"It's true," she said. "He isn't." She blinked, her eyes feeling hot. "I know that."
There was so much more she could say, but she couldn't bring herself to. How it had hurt, when she'd been in and out of consciousness after taking a bullet for Marius, and his main concern had been Cosette; how he'd only been to see her a couple of times, when everyone else had made more time to see her – even Enjolras had been to see her more than Marius, and that was saying something.
But none of that was Cosette's fault, as much as it pained her to admit it; and it wasn't Marius' fault he didn't have feelings for her, even if he could have handled it better.
"I don't think," she started, "That I ever had a chance, really."
Combeferre's hand reached out and rested on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Go and get some rest," he said. "You look exhausted."
She covered his hand with hers. His hand was cool, the top somewhat rough beneath her palm.
Then she dropped her hand, and stepped back into her room.
"I'll see you later," she said. "I might make it to dinner tonight," she added.
"Right," Combeferre said. "But don't push yourself, Éponine – if you don't feel up to it..."
"Stop worrying," she said, with a roll of her eyes.
"Never," Combeferre said quietly, with a small half-smile that she couldn't help but return. Then he turned and walked away. The smile dropped off her face as she closed the door on his retreating back and turned towards her bed, all energy drained out of her.
OOO
"Enjolras?" Combeferre said, appearing in the doorway of his oldest friend's office.
The demon in question raised his head, a slightly surprised expression on his face; his tousled blond hair was falling into his eyes. He was writing something, an angry scrawl in red pen. "'Ferre," he said. His voice was tired. It was sounding more and more like that every single day, and it was starting to worry Combeferre.
"What are you writing?" Combeferre asked, stepping into the office and shutting the door behind himself. Enjolras sat back in his seat and rubbed a hand over his eyes.
"Just...getting my thoughts in order," he said. "I've got a lot to think about."
Combeferre bowed his head, swinging around one of the chairs sitting around the room (Enjolras's office was often a space where people piled in all at once, so there were chairs pushed up against the walls, filched from other rooms in the compound). He sat down, linking his hands together.
"Yes," he said, eventually. "Mind if I read it?"
Enjolras placed his hand on the paper and spun it around. Combeferre leaned forwards and deciphered the messy handwriting; it was a list of bullet points, punctuated by a lot of question marks with the odd word underlined.
" 'Why does he want her?'" Combeferre read the title aloud. "Really, Enjolras?"
"Writing it down helps me think," Enjolras said, looking a little defensive.
"Yes, but did you really need a list for this?" Combeferre said, exasperated.
"Obviously I did," Enjolras said, a tad petulant. "Your thoughts?"
Rumour going round was he wanted her for his bride?
But she's his daughter
Not natural
Not legal by demon laws? CHECK WITH COMBEFERRE
Combeferre stopped reading. "You're right," he said, "It isn't legal, not even by demon laws."
Enjolras nodded. "I did know that," he hastened to add.
Combeferre nodded. "It was only abolished about a century ago, to be fair," Combeferre said, then carried on reading.
Is that what he wants?
Maybe heir?
She is his heir despite illegitimacy
But why the marriage thing?
Need to get in touch with informants
"Well." Combeferre sat back in his chair. "Did writing this marvellous list help you come to any conclusions?"
Enjolras gave him a reproachful look, and shook his head. "Does it look like it?"
"You're right." Combeferre tapped the paper with his finger. "We need to get in touch with our informants, see what they have to offer us. We're pretty much blind at the moment, Enjolras, and that's not good. Knowing they're related by blood puts a whole new spin on things –"
"Obviously," Enjolras said. "Who do you think would know?"
"Gavroche might be good," Combeferre said. "We could see if he's about..."
"No one's seen him in months."
"Éponine could find him," Combeferre said confidently.
"She's in no fit state to be chasing after Gavroche, you know that," Enjolras said, shaking his head.
"No," Combeferre allowed. "Musichetta is obviously out of the question, but we can see if she might have heard something before the attack..."
"We can send messages out to a few – Mabeuf might know something – Montparnasse definitely would, but I don't want to go down that route if I don't have to, it'd only cost us –"
"He can't be trusted," Combeferre said, dismissively. "No Montparnasse."
"Fine, we won't send a message to him," Enjolras accepted. "Mabeuf?"
"Of course."
"We can try and get one to Gavroche, you never know, it might work..." Enjolras tapped his finger to his chin. "Zephine could probably give us some information – Paloma definitely could. Toussaint."
"Yes to all three," Combeferre said. "Do you think we could get Theodule? He's still in the court, after all."
"No doubt he'd know something, probably something incredibly useful, but I'm not sure it's even worth risking getting in touch with him – he could be slippery. I'll ask Marius, and see what he thinks, though," Enjolras said, with a sigh.
"Would you like me to go and ask Bahorel to contact them all?" Combeferre offered.
"Yes," Enjolras said. "Although, see if someone else can get in touch with Paloma. You know he won't talk to her."
"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten about that little incident," Combeferre said. "I'm sure Bossuet will be able to find her. Now, you have fun with your little lists..."
Enjolras screwed up the list into a ball and threw it at the vampire's head. It sailed right past him, hitting the door behind and bouncing off.
"Bad aim," Combeferre said, shaking his head. "I'll see you at dinner."
"Yes, see you."
OOO
Cosette decided to skip dinner that evening. She had no appetite, and no real desire to be in the same room as her father. Grantaire she would be able to handle, when she finally decided she wanted to sleep, but not her father. Not right now.
She ended up in the common room. She'd only been there a couple of times before; it was supposed to be where they all socialised, but she'd realised that they all preferred to do their socialising either in the kitchen or someone's room, or Enjolras' office, or the training rooms. The common room was nice, though, and Cosette couldn't quite work out why they didn't use it more often. It was the only room in the compound she'd seen so far that had done away with the cold, clinical look of chrome and concrete completely. It had been replaced by a soft green carpet, cream walls that were almost yellow in shade, and large, squashy sofas the colour of emeralds. There were bookshelves, but they had more or less been completely stripped of their contents until the only things that remained were some picture books, some battered looking encyclopaedias, and some repair manuals for various appliances in the kitchen. There was a television fixed to the wall, but Cosette had never seen anyone use it, and a gas fire against one wall which nearly always glowed with heat, even when no one was using it.
It was before this fire that Cosette sat now, her legs drawn up to her chest, staring into the bright orange bars until her vision blurred.
She wasn't sure what part she was struggling with the most; she'd always known she was adopted, her father had made sure she knew that as she grew up, but her biological parents had always been faceless, non-entities she'd never really had any desire to know about. She wondered whether this lack of curiosity was down to the fact she'd not had anything to be curious about – she had nothing to go off. But now, she did. Now, she had a mother who was apparently a Healer, a good woman, according to her father; and a biological father who was a monster, according to her new friends, according to the man that raised her; who had raped her mother to conceive her, who wanted to marry her, his own flesh and blood.
She'd looked at herself in the mirror before when she went to the toilets, catalogued her appearance. The pale white skin, wide blue eyes, full mouth, light brown hair that was neither curly nor straight; her somewhat chubby, soft body she'd struggled to come to terms with as she grew older. Who did she get what from? She hoped most of it was her mother, hoped with all her heart; she didn't want to find out that her eyes, one of the things she loved about herself, belonged to the Demon King. That would make them monster's eyes, and she didn't want that.
"You don't have monster's eyes," Marius said gently, somewhere behind her. She turned to look at him.
"Did I speak out loud?" she said, her cheeks warming.
"Yes," Marius said. "I didn't mean to listen. I just came to see if you were okay. You didn't come to dinner."
There was something in his hands, wrapped in tissue. He kneeled next to her where she was sat on the floor, and carefully unwrapped the parcel. It was a cake, the texture crumbly and coarse, golden brown in colour and threaded through with what looked like caramel here and there.
"Not much of a dinner," Marius said, apologetically. "But it was delicious."
She accepted the cake, pillowed on the white tissue. She stared down at it. "I'm not very hungry," she said. "But thank you." And because she felt ungrateful enough saying she wasn't hungry, she took a bite. It was delicious, tasting of sugar and toffee, but after a few mouthfuls the taste became sickly and cloying on her tongue. She put it down, on her knee, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Are you all right?" Marius said, concerned.
She shook her head. "I feel a bit sick," she said.
"Don't eat it if you don't want to," Marius said. "I'm sure it'll keep – not worth making yourself sick over."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I do appreciate it."
"It's fine."
She wrapped the cake back up in the tissue, and reached behind her to place it on the small coffee table in the centre of the room.
"I've met the Demon King," Marius said, suddenly. "My family are nobility, and I grew up in the Court itself. I've seen him. He has very dark eyes, not blue eyes."
Cosette glanced at him, but didn't speak.
"And his hair is darker than yours, too," Marius said. "And he's very skinny."
Cosette raised her eyebrows, but still didn't speak.
Marius went very pink. "Not that you're – I just mean..." He faltered, his mouth twisting.
"Marius, it's okay," Cosette said. "I'm not taking offence to anything. He's skinny?"
"Yeah, he has a really...mean face," Marius said. "All...Pointed, and twisted, and...Well, you've got a really nice face. Not mean at all."
"Thanks," she said, quietly.
"And," Marius said, "You're a nice person, too. Not just your face." He paused, pursing his lips. "I mean, you seem – you're kind, and gentle, and...And you don't need to worry about being anything like the King, if that's what you're doing, because you're nothing like him."
She looked at him. He wasn't looking at her, he was looking down at the green carpet as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "I appreciate you telling me this," she said, softly, and his head rose, his eyes meeting hers.
"I don't..." He cleared his throat. "I don't want you to be unhappy."
"I just –" Cosette shoved her hair out of her face, let out a little puff of breath. "I thought I had gotten over this. I knew who I was, you know?"
"You're still that person," Marius said.
"Only I'm not a person," Cosette pointed out. "I'm a demon. Right? I'm a demon. I can do magic, and..."
"At some point, yes," Marius said. "But you don't have to. You're under absolutely no requirements to train your demon side – you can remain as human as you like, if that's what you choose, no one can force you to do otherwise."
"I don't even know what type of demon I am," Cosette said.
"Your mother is a Healer demon, so, she can heal things," Marius said. "Royal family are earth demons. You might have powers from both, or from one only, or a majority of powers from one race with a couple from the other...It depends. But it doesn't really matter, though – as I said, you never have to find out, if that's what you choose."
"What would you do?" Cosette asked.
"Well." Marius cocked his head to one side, looking thoughtful. "I don't know. It's hard for me to imagine growing up not knowing I'm a demon. I really can't imagine it. But, my main instinct is saying I'd try and learn as much as I could. But, I'm probably a little biased."
"Yeah, probably," Cosette murmured, looking back towards the fire.
"Cosette?"
She looked back at Marius. "Yes?"
"For what it's worth," he began, "I...This hasn't changed my opinion of you. If that's something you're worried about."
"Actually, that hadn't occurred to me yet," Cosette said. "But I'm sure it would have, soon," she added. "Do you think that the others will be judging me?"
"I doubt it," Marius said. "They're not like that."
"Well, we'll see," Cosette said.
He smiled at her. It was a big, encouraging, heart-warming smile that she desperately wanted to match, but found she couldn't. But instead of smiling, her hand reached out and brushed over Marius' hair, his temple, the corner of his jaw, tucking under his chin. His eyes closed briefly at the touch, and she might have imagined it, but his skin glowed momentarily beneath her fingertips, a quick flare that was gone in a heartbeat.
"Thanks," she said, again, her hand dropping.
"No problem," he breathed in response.