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Tweak says, "Incy wincy doo daa pants."

Enj Is Probably Saving Puppies (decidewhoweare) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2013-06-06 02:47:00

Entry tags:

enjolras, eponine

Who: Enjolras, open to Eponine, otherwise narrative?
What: ~~Empty chairs at empty tabl...wait~~ Reminiscing, feeling a bit haunted
When: Middle of the night/morning, June 6
Where: Eponine's room at the Inn
Warnings: French Feels? Possible language? Dunno...

When Enjolras said he slept better simply for having Eponine there, he meant it. Sleep that used to be restless on the best of days and full of nightmares on the worst was dulled into a mostly relaxing sleep with her in his arms. When he had trouble falling asleep, he could simply lay there and listen to the rhythmic sound of her breathing, watch the rise and fall of her chest. He could simply find peace in knowing she was there, with him. She was alive.

But even a night with the woman he so desperately loved couldn't lull him to sleep on that, of all nights. For once, he should have followed Grantaire's advice and drank himself into a peaceful slumber. Because it wasn't coming otherwise. He lay awake for an hour, maybe two. Staring into the darkness. Trying not to think and being unable to do anything but. He wasn't a fool. He'd spent enough nights in Eponine's bed by then to know what sleep she was getting was hardly restful, either. It was going to be a long night for them both. And an even longer day ahead.

It hadn't technically been a year. Close to it, but it wasn't quite that long. The date, though. The date would always be significant. To him more than most. In some ways, yes, he wanted to forget. Wanted to move on and pretend it was just a Thursday like any Thursday. But that wasn't fair. That wasn't fair to his friends, to the few people who'd come to his aid, to all those who'd died at his side. Under his command. The people he'd failed so badly. And he knew it hurt Eponine when he said that and he often kept it to himself. It was true, though. For all his pretty words, he was no leader. Not when it came to battle. How could he possibly expect anyone to trust and follow him here when all he did was lead people to their deaths?

And for what? The demon was right, his country was hardly any better than it was before. There were fewer poor, but not enough. People still struggled for food, for shelter, for medicine. Education was available to all, but not enough took advantage of it. What had it all been for? Would the same happen here? What Marius had said... Would they all die yet again? The few survivors left, would it be worth it? But if they didn't fight, if they didn't win at all, then there'd be no survivors anyway. Why was war such a difficult thing? Why were there so many moral dilemmas involved? He'd killed before, yes, and it weighed on him constantly, but hadn't it needed to be done?

As silently as he could, he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Eponine. He paused as he looked down at her, once again taking a moment to thank God that he'd found her, but mostly that she'd been given a second chance to live. She deserved so much more than him. Yet, for some reason, she loved him anyway. And sometimes he really didn't know what to do with that.

He made his way to the window, twisting the chord that made the blinds open just enough for him to see out. The Seal, or whatever entity had brought the Inn, had placed it in a perfect location. And the view was nice. But at that moment, he saw nothing in front of him. Just black night and memories of the past. Each of their deaths, one by one, flashed in front of him. Eponine, Gavroche, Joly, Combferre...all of them, bravely facing their final moments, until it had come to just him and Grantaire.

And those were images he would never, ever shake. All this time later. For all the good that life had brought him now. He would always remember Les Amis. He would always remember how their lives had been cut short, and how it had all been because of him.

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toldyouiddoit
2013-06-06 09:08 am UTC (link)

He need not have worried about waking Eponine up. She'd been awake for the last few minutes, wondering if he was asleep beside her. She could feel his breath, restless, worried at her neck and she'd been ready to talk if he'd wanted to 'wake her'. But part of her hoped he'd actually drift off back to sleep. Get some sleep. He needed it. But then she really should have known better than that. Tonight of all nights he would not sleep.

For the same reasons she couldn't.

She remembered the bullet. Close range, because she'd made it close range. Because Marius could not die on the barricade if she'd had anything to do with it. Her chest had felt as though it was on fire for a few moments and then she had been cold. Just so very cold for so long. But she couldn't sleep until he was with her. Until she told him the truth, made her peace. And then she'd slept and woken up here. How could she know how Enjolras felt. She'd seen how he died, it had seemed quick at least. But he'd been the last, him and Grantaire. He'd seen them all fall before him and Eponine knew it weighed on his mind more than anything else ever did. She lay there wondering just what she could do to help him, what could she say that she hadn't already said. She truly believed he'd done good. That his friends had all stood with him out of belief. That it mattered. And it had mattered no matter what that foul demon might have said.

But making Enjolras believe he hadn't talked his friends into a messy death for a pointless cause was another thing entirely.

When he got up, she opened her eyes, silently watching him from where she lay. Wondering if he'd even want to talk right now. Though with her he didn't need to talk. He could just...be. He could have someone with him through this. And so it was, decision made. Eponine got to her feet and moved across the room toward the man she loved. "Enjolras" she said simply, arm coming to rest on his as she moved to his side by the window.

"Can't sleep either?" she asked, confirming he hadn't woken her. He was thinking of them, staring blankly out into the world but seeing Paris. And god she could see it too. The soilders, so many of them, and the cannons and the guns.

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decidewhoweare
2013-06-06 06:12 pm UTC (link)

He heard her shifting beneath the sheets, the soft pad of her foot steps coming up beside him, but he didn't move from his position. A part of him really did want to be alone with his grief, afraid of lashing out at the wrong person. It was him he was angry with, never her. But then, another part of him, the part that had been alone for far too long, didn't ever want to be left alone again. He wanted someone to push at him, to force him to let them in.

Glancing down at her, a ghost of a smile crossed his face. She truly was beautiful, even in nightclothes with her hair mussed from pillows. Hell, maybe that made her more beautiful, because it meant she'd been tucked by his side. His arm reached out, sliding around her and pulling her close. Just having her there helped more than he'd ever be able to say.

"No," he admitted, resting his chin on top of her hair and simply breathing her in. As if she wouldn't know. As if the same sorts of images weren't plaguing her. She'd felt herself die. He hadn't. His last memory was that initial panic and then the resolution that he'd failed. But he wasn't going out without holding on to his pride and his dignity. And then he was in Lawrence and Belle was finding him and how things had changed since then.

For a moment, he simply stood in silence. When he finally did speak, his voice was low. "I can't stop seeing them. All of them. I can't remember their voices anymore, you know?" That had been a painful moment. When he'd tried to remember Combferre's laugh and couldn't. When he couldn't quite grasp how the cynical sneer of Grantaire's voice went. He'd seen Gavroche the most recently of all of them and even that was fading far too quickly.

He was grateful. Really, he was. He'd been given a second chance here and he'd taken it. Making a life for himself, finding a career where he could work for change. Finding love he'd only heard others talk about. Making friends, settling down. But why him? Why him when so many of the others were so much more deserving?

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toldyouiddoit
2013-06-06 08:57 pm UTC (link)

It worried her when he got like this much as she understood it. She remembered hearing some people say that when he talked about the injustice, the look in his eyes scared them. Like they knew he was capable of doing what he needed to to achieve it. And he would have, he would have done whatever it took. If he'd had the chance. If any of them had had their chance. Oh she wouldn't claim to really know them outside of Marius. But she'd been starting to, little things that made them people and not just the boys from the cafe. Not just Marius' friends.

And then of course she'd come here and their great leader had become her friend, then her confidante and now the man she loved. And she'd seen past that marble facade he was so practiced at showing and found that there was so much more under the surface. Depths of feeling she'd never believed him capable of possessing.

And he was showing it now. He couldn't stop seeing his friends but his memory of them was fading. She honestly couldn't imagine it. She hadn't had friends, not really, she'd had Azelma, she supposed. And she'd had Marius. Who she believed had been her friend even if he had not loved her. He'd cared about her, and that had meant the world to her. But to lose friends as they had, as Marius had and as Enjolras had since coming here. He had a second chance as she had. But he'd left them behind in death. "I don't remember much, I remember laughter, and joking amid the planning. You were friends, not just revolutionaries. I remember music, I remember you all teasing Marius dreadful about Cosette. I was listening from downstairs some nights since I wasn't allowed up there. I listened a lot. Their voices are one part of them, you have your memories of who they were. You have memories of friendship, brotherhood."

She wasn't good at speeches like he was. She didn't know how to make her words all fancy like him, or flow just as easy as he did. It was a stream of words, that probably made no real sense but she meant them all.

She leaned into him trying her best to calm him so that maybe he would sleep. Leaning her head against his chest she smiled weakly.

"Today will be hard. The memories are still so close to us and this date was supposed to mean a new beginning for you all." For her of course it was never really going to be a happy day, she'd resigned herself to a life alone. But death, she hadn't expected that. None of them had expected that

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decidewhoweare
2013-06-06 10:32 pm UTC (link)

It was true, though it was a side Eponine had seen so rarely. Enjolras could be a very violent man when the cause was at stake. The battle he'd fought so hard for, it mattered more than most anything. His love for France, for its people, it meant more to him than anything at the time. Even his own family couldn't reach him when he got to that point. Looking back on it now, it almost scared him, knowing what he had become, and really, what he could become again. This world had its injustices. Worse, it had evils far greater than the French monarchy. But now he had her to keep him grounded. Friends who were already soldiers, who he didn't have to change into fighters because they already were.

Because she was wrong about one thing. She hadn't expected to die. Perhaps the others hadn't either. But he always had. He'd never truly expected to live through the battle at the barricades. He'd kept to the back long enough to give orders, to fight their way through, but he knew, in the end, his own life meant nothing compared to what he was fighting for. To the lives of people with nothing warm to wear when it grew cold, the ones without enough food or a safe place to sleep. He had readily laid down his life for them and he still had no regrets. His regrets were all the other lives that went with his.

And the fact that it had all been for nothing.

They were barely remembered. Oh, his account was a work of fiction, he knew that. But it was based on a real event, wasn't it? So someone, somewhere, had risen up against the National Guard and for what? Nothing, apparently.

He didn't argue her new beginning comment, though. Instead, he simply placed a kiss on her forehead and sighed. "It's true, those memories haven't faded. I hope they never will. It's the little things I miss the most, I suppose." She did more to calm him than she'd ever know. Than he'd likely ever let him know. Just having the weight of her against him relaxed him. She was something to live for, something to fight for. It helped. Despite everything, it truly did.

"I'd wanted today to be so different. For all of them. They should have come out as heroes. Instead, their families buried them." Because of him. And he'd never be able to forget that.

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toldyouiddoit
2013-06-07 12:27 am UTC (link)

There was more that he wasn't saying of course though that was usually for a reason, and she wasn't about to make him do anything he didn't want. She'd offer, suggest, but she suspected very little she said would be enough to lift his mood. So she focused on the people she knew from back home, by name, even sometimes by face. There were so few who remembered them, he was right. Their sacrifice was a footnote in history and the hurt was sometimes unbearable

"They were heroes. And the fact you remember them, and Marius does, that'll keep them alive. Those memories and the memories their family have, they looked back and they were proud. Because though it hurt to lose them, it became clear that they'd given their lives for France. And its in my books, later the people did rise, they saw what happened to all of you and they realised it was the only way. They say you as an inspiration. Yes it would have been better if they'd fought then but you know how scared they were, no one I talked to was sure what was going to happen, no one knew what it meant to fight a war like that. Everyone was scared, and people...I guess when they heard the cannons they..."

No, no it wasn't going to be just about that, about their loss about that fear when the strength of their enemy showed itself. There was more to this.

"Tell me about your friends. Tell me a little about them. That way you can help me know more of the men that were heroes to me. Come sit back down over here and we'll remember, just you and me, okay?"

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