Chapter Text
The Night Before the Protest
~
Hi, it's -
(a giggle. Something that sounds like a muffled, "Marius, stop it!")
It's Cosette. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Here comes the beep!
(a beep)
Hi. Hi, Cosette - your dad told me you still like to be called that, not Euphrasie. Um. Hi. This is your m - this is Fantine.
I don't want to - I know this is all very sudden, and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. This isn't how I wanted this to go. And please don't take this call as me trying to - trying to pressure you into anything. This is completely your choice, and I'll respect whatever you want to do. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be in town soon. If you wanted to meet for coffee or something? It's fine either way. Your dad said, um, mentioned a concert. I'd love to hear you sing. If you're okay with me being there.
(a long, shaky pause)
Anyway, Cosette. Sorry to catch you when you're out. Your dad's got my number if you need to reach me. Thanks.
Goodbye.
~
"Yeah, yeah, no, that's fine. Yeah, totally. Um. Yeah, okay. All right."
Courfeyrac grit his teeth. Marius had been on the phone with Cosette for less than two minutes, but already his syntax had deteriorated to abysmal levels of banality, and Courfeyrac was just so, so not in the mood.
"Yeah. Yeah…Yeah. Okay. Bye."
Marius wandered into the kitchen, looking despondent. Courfeyrac resisted the urge to chuck a couch cushion at him. It had been six months. He was pretty sure they were in love. "Pretty sure" meaning "definitely," and "definitely" meaning "hopelessly, utterly, stupidly." Marius needed to chill.
"She avoided me all day," he confessed to Courfeyrac unhappily. Case in point. "Don't you think she was acting weird?"
"I haven't really noticed anything," Courfeyrac replied. Éponine hadn't texted him back about picking up Gavroche for the meeting today - Gav had mentioned something about soccer practice, but Courfeyrac didn't think he played soccer, and if Monparnasshole had decided to enlist Gavroche's services again, Éponine was going to lose it and Courfeyrac was going to lose it and with the protest tomorrow, losing it wasn't an option. He mused aloud, fiddling with his phone, "I mean, she seemed a little down, but it wasn't exclusively around you or anything. Do you think she's nervous about the protest?" Maybe that's it. Gav doesn't need to be at the protest, so he doesn't need to be at the meeting tonight. Ponine won't want him there.
"I doubt it, since she spends so much time talking about it with Enjolras," Marius said with just a touch of bitterness. His friend rolled his eyes.
"You could try coming to a few more meetings." Marius sank lower into the couch, the dreaded Pontmercy sulk settling in like a black cloud over his pretty ginger head. "God, Enjolras goes off on you once - once! - and you get all..." He slapped a hand to his chest, tossing his hair imperiously before dropping the offended Southern belle act and outright glaring at Marius. "Do you know how many times he's flipped on me? Jesus, just think how many times he's ripped Grantaire a new one."
"Combeferre got involved, too, as I recall - "
"Let it go! So Cosette's made some new friends besides you - that's a good thing, Marius. You're a dork for her, she's a dork for you, stop overanalyzing everything and just be happy. I swear to God."
Marius scowled at him.
"I'll see you at the meeting tonight," he informed Courfeyrac tetchily. "I've got - stuff to do."
"Fine, go," Courfeyrac snapped. "See you later."
"Bye."
"Bye."
The door slammed behind him. On the couch, Courfeyrac ground his teeth. All right, so maybe he hadn't handled that as well as he could have, but the protest was so close, and fighting with Éponine had put him in a spectacularly bad mood, and it wouldn't kill Marius to go deal with something on his own. He'd been in a funk since his grandfather called, and he had every right to be, but for once - just this once - Courfeyrac wished that he was not the one handling all the drama. Okay, so technically Combeferre was their resident therapist, but still. Courfeyrac put up with a lot.
It became very apparent very quickly that this would be only the tip of the iceberg.
~
The moment Courfeyrac stepped into Musain’s, he knew something was wrong.
Grantaire was sitting at the piano, lightly brushing his fingers against the keys without pressing them down. He had his red beanie on again, but it was tugged low on his forehead so that his curls masked his eyes. Cosette sat alone as she hadn’t for weeks – he thought they’d broken her of that habit – staring at the screen of her phone like it was the face of a bitter lover. Speaking of bitter lovers, Marius hovered just behind her, hands shoved in his pockets. He shot Courfeyrac an accusing look as if to say, “You see?” a look that only darkened as Cosette stowed her phone away and went to talk quietly with Grantaire. She seemed to be the only one who wanted to do so – Bahorel fixed their resident cynic with what the rest of the group had privately dubbed his Scary Face. Courfeyrac winced. Scary Bahorel added to protest tomorrow equaled atom bomb. Musichetta caught his eye from behind the bar.
“Do you know what’s going on?” she mouthed. He shook his head. She bit her lip and jerked her head questioningly towards the piano, where Grantaire and Cosette had their heads together. He shook his head again. “Go find out,” she mouthed more emphatically, and fled to the kitchen. Courfeyrac resisted the urge to join her.
“So, things seem a little tense,” he commented under his breath to Combeferre. Combeferre nodded slowly, eyes wide behind his glasses.
“Enjolras has been glaring at the wall for the past fifteen minutes,” he replied quietly. “I don’t think he’s blinked once.” Together they surveyed their fearless leader, who was indeed glowering at the wall as if it had done him a great personal wrong. In tandem, they cocked their heads to the right.
“You know, we have a protest tomorrow,” Courfeyrac remarked. Combeferre slid off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and groaned. “Maybe we should go out to dinner tonight or something. Have a little fun, get pumped up for tomorrow. Do you think it’s a good idea?” Combeferre put his glasses back on with a slight shrug.
“It’s worth a shot.”
Feuilly showed up, then Éponine and – oh, God, something was definitely wrong – Azelma. Éponine wasn’t touching Azelma, per se, but she gave off an air of a mother tigress, circling and snarling at anyone who dared come near. Azelma, on the other hand, looked as if she’d about had it. You and me both, kid, Courfeyrac thought, and he hastily ducked his head down, pretending to read a text on his phone when Éponine glanced at him. Azelma was with her - that explained the radio silence. This was not good.
Combeferre called the meeting to order, and Courfeyrac chewed absentmindedly on his pen, hoping that this last meeting would dispel whatever weird tension was hanging about.
"Tonight I'd like to talk about commitment," Enjolras announced, and the pen fell out of Courfeyrac's mouth.
~
Éponine didn't know how they'd managed to get from passive aggressive bullshit to actual arguing, but they weren't twenty minutes in and - voila! - Enjolras and Grantaire were at it again. Only this time it was different. This time, Éponine thought uncomfortably, it felt like they meant it.
She was a bit behind, but the gist of it seemed to be that Grantaire was supposed to do something but didn't, which was totally the norm - she didn't quite get why Enjolras is so upset, but he was, he was really upset.
"I saw you," Enjolras all but hissed - Courfeyrac shot a wide-eyed look at Combeferre, who moved as if to go to Enjolras but changed his mind at the last minute. "Their support could be the difference between this working and this - "
"I don't think - " Grantaire started, but suddenly, Enjolras used his rally-voice, the one that rang against the walls and stopped people in their tracks. Sometimes, Éponine thought, a little stunned, she forgot that this uppity white boy could yell like that.
"Would you just listen, Grantaire, for once in your life?" He was actually flushed; something had gotten under their fearless leader's skin, something (or someone, Éponine suspected) with messy black curls and too-dark bruises under his eyes, someone who was currently doing his best to make himself as small as possible in his chair.
"I trusted you - and that was my own mistake, I should have known better - and now we are short at least twenty people. Do you know what that could mean for tomorrow? How that changes things?" Grantaire crossed his arms, more defense than defiance.
"I - "
"No, don't," Enjolras cut him off. "I don't want apologies, I don't want excuses, I get enough of those from you as it is." His jaw tightened. "Don't come tomorrow. You've made it clear where you stand with this group, and quite frankly, you're a liability."
Jehan's mouth fell open, but he stayed silent. Grantaire, however, stared at Enjolras for a long, painful moment.
"Let me stay."
"You'll drag us down," Enjolras said coldly, and Éponine opened her mouth to snarl at Enjolras, temper flaring, but to her surprise, Cosette beat her to it. Éponine stared, amazed, as Cosette shot out of her chair, Disney Princess gone, replaced by what looked to be a very angry human being.
"Leave him alone," she snapped, and holy fuck, Cosette had some bite. "You've made your point, now back off."
"Cosette," Courfeyrac started, but she ignored him, eyes blazing.
"You treat him differently from the others, Enjolras, admit it - "
"It's fine, Cosette," Grantaire mumbled.
"No, it's not!" Cosette cried. "He's been with us every step of the way, same as everyone else, and you can't just - just kick him out - "
"That's not - " Enjolras began, but Cosette threw him a look of such unbridled fury that his mouth snapped shut.
"How can you expect to make a difference if you can't even - "
"Cosette, it's fine," Grantaire exploded. Cosette recoiled, along with everyone else. Grantaire flushed. "It's fine," he repeated, calm if very, very cool. He stood, gathered up his sketchpad and bag, and nodded to Enjolras. "Sorry to disturb the sacred spirit of the Grand and Noble Cause. I'll go." And without another glance, he left, shoulders hunched and already fumbling for a cigarette.
Cosette made a move to follow him, but Marius snagged her wrist. She tugged away, face still stormy, and Marius sank a little lower in his seat.
"Meeting adjourned," Enjolras said in a clipped tone. He shuffled his notes, tucking them carefully into a folder, and after a moment, dazed and more than a little uncomfortable, everyone else followed suit.
"So, uh, so who wants to go out tonight?" Courfeyrac ventured lightly. Everyone muttered a vague affirmation - everyone except Enjolras, who slipped out the door, shoulders hunched in an odd echo of Grantaire's exit.
"Well, that was spectacular," Marius said quietly when he slid into the passenger's seat of Courfeyrac's car. He was Courfeyrac's only rider. Normally, everyone liked to pile into two cars tops (like revolutionary clown cars, Grantaire liked to say), but not tonight. Not tonight. Yikes.
"Where's Cosette?"
"Riding with Combeferre and Jehan." And there was something behind that, too, but Courfeyrac had no intention of touching it with a forty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.
"Gotcha."
They fell into an uncomfortable silence, and Courfeyrac found himself worrying that perhaps their not-fight earlier had yet to be resolved. But every time Courfeyrac opened his mouth to address it, Marius shifted, leaning his forehead against the window, and Courfeyrac bit his tongue.
They arrived later than everyone else. Their customary booth was noticeably gloomy; Matelote took their orders with raised eyebrows and pursed lips.
"So," Bossuet ventured after a moment.
"This is going to be a nightmare," Feuilly said bluntly. Jehan glared at him.
"No, it's not," he replied. "Grantaire always comes back, and Enjolras always cools down." Combeferre cleared his throat. "Let's change the subject," Jehan amended hastily. "Um, I think we need to have a movie marathon soon."
"Not Downtown Abbey," Courfeyrac said immediately. Jehan scowled at him.
"Firstly, it's Downton, not 'Downtown.' Secondly, it's not a movie - and you totally liked it, don't even lie, you eat that stuff up. You would've come over even if Cosette's dad hadn't been in town, you always do when we have those marathons - remember that one time when you cried at Mansfield Park? Because I do. I definitely do. We have video proof, Courfeyrac. And you cried at Sense and Sensibility, and you bawled during Love, Actually, and don't get me started on what a mess you were during Notting Hill - "
"You're a liar, Jean Prouvaire, we watched Notting Hill when I thought my allergies were going to fucking kill me AND EVERYONE CRIES AT LOVE, ACTUALLY, OKAY, THE BOY AND HIS DAD ARE LIKE - "
"Your dad was in town?" Marius asked Cosette abruptly. Cosette went very still, entire body tensing, and took a sip of her drink.
"Yes," she replied. "Not for long though."
"Oh," Marius said meaningfully. Suddenly, the table got very quiet.
"We had lunch," Cosette continued coolly. "It was nice."
"We still have to Downton at some point," Jehan added nervously, clearly attempting to dissipate the rapidly burgeoning tension he'd unintentionally triggered. "We'll have to catch you up." He laughed, a borderline panicked sound. "The season two finale was rough. Oh, I cried."
"Yeah, but you cry at everything," Bahorel reminded him, utterly oblivious. "Not as bad as Courferyac, but you're pretty bad." Jehan responded with a solid punch to the larger man's arm that made Bahorel yelp. Courfeyrac kept his eyes on Marius, alarmed.
"So why didn't you tell me?" Marius asked, going for curious and only managing to sound accusing and hurt.
"It was kind of sudden," Cosette explained with an edge to her voice.
"I see," Marius said. For a split-second, Cosette looked like she might burst into tears. Then her jaw hardened.
"Please excuse me," she said, quite evenly. Combeferre and Feuilly slid to let her out of the booth. She grabbed her purse - not a good sign, Courfeyrac thought unhappily, and evidently, Marius agreed, because within five minutes of Cosette leaving, he, too, excused himself.
"Looks like our Disney princess has a bit of Ice Queen in her," Bahorel remarked. After contemplating him solemnly for a beat, Jehan punched him again, harder and with grim intention. Bahorel rubbed his arm, eyeing the smaller boy appraisingly.
"Well," Joly started brightly, but he dwindled off, sucking at the dregs of his water loudly. The conversation, officially stagnant, gave way to a new type of awkward silence, one where they all strained for the sounds of an argument that none of them could conceivably hear, but all were positive was going on.
"Should we check on them?" Musichetta asked uncertainly when fifteen minutes had passed. "Or...?"
"No," Combeferre said as Jehan and Courfeyrac tumbled out of their seats in their haste to get to the door.
"This is a bad idea," Bossuet called, sinking low in his seat. "Guys, I know bad ideas, and this is a bad idea - guys? Guys?" Musichetta stood abruptly, biting her lip, and though Joly made a grab for her wrist, she, too, was off.
"Here we go, Mama Tigress time," he muttered, and he and Bossuet followed her, leaving Feuilly, Bahorel, Éponine, and Combeferre to prod half-heartedly at their food.
"And then there were four," Feuilly sighed. Éponine put her fork down with a clatter.
"This group," Combeferre remarked at length, "has an unfortunate tendency toward co-dependency. It's probably not healthy at all." Bahorel eyed him for a moment before throwing his napkin down on the table like a gauntlet.
"Fuck that noise. Let's go."
"Really, really unhealthy," Combeferre muttered under his breath, but they all slid out of the booth anyway to join the rest of the group. They found them crowded in the waiting area, peering out the windows at the parking lot where Cosette and Marius stood a good five feet apart, both red-faced and tearful. Courfeyrac had the door cracked, and despite the muffled roar of the restaurant, it was all too easy to make out what their two friends were shouting at each other.
"This is why I didn't want to tell you anything!" Cosette was insisting. "Because I knew you'd react like this! It was nothing, Marius - he didn't even stay the whole day!"
"What I don't understand is if it wasn't a big deal, why couldn't you tell me about it? Why is it everyone knows but me?"
"Not everyone knows, Marius, I just - I didn't - "
"You didn't want to tell me," Marius finished for her, and Cosette burst into fresh tears.
"Maybe I didn't!" she cried angrily. "Maybe you don't have to know everything about me, Marius, maybe I don't have to tell you everything, maybe I just need some space!" Marius' freckles went stark in the yellow streetlamp as his entire face drained of color.
"Fine," he croaked. "Fine. You're right. We should take a break." Cosette flinched as if she'd been slapped, fists clenched tightly at her sides.
"Maybe we should," she snapped. Bahorel actually gasped, and whether it was the feeling of nine pairs of eyes watching on in horror or maybe just sheer, dumb luck, she glanced up then at where the ABC's all huddled at the window staring at her and her apparently ex-boyfriend.
She blinked. They blinked back. Marius followed her gaze and just sort of wilted.
"Shit," Jehan squeaked. "Shit, everybody just..."
"Act natural?" Combeferre whispered back tiredly.
"I really need a ride home," Cosette announced, only a little wobbly, and everyone squirmed.
"I've got you," Combeferre said quietly. She nodded, shooting Marius one last, furious look that did nothing to fool anyone, and shoved through the still-gaping Amis, muttering about running to the restroom. Marius stared after her as if half-tempted to call her back, but his face went stony as everyone averted their eyes.
"I think I'm going to head home, too," he said, defiant. "Courfeyrac, can I have the keys?"
"I'm kind of tired, too," Courfeyrac shrugged in a valiant attempt at normalcy that fell flat on its face. "Gimme five minutes." Marius didn't even argue; he just went to Courfeyrac's car and waited beside it, a sad, lost puppy. Courfeyrac winced.
"You guys should probably go back inside," he mouthed.
"Little late for that," Feuilly muttered under his breath, and Éponine agreed. It was funny - she'd daydreamed about this moment as soon as Marius had mentioned the pretty vocal student and, as petty as it was, had pictured this break-up in vivid, resentful detail. But now, even with Marius single once again, she only felt...tired. He wasn't going to give her an ounce of that kind of attention, with Cosette or without her, and Éponine had been stupid to think he would. More than stupid - she'd been wrong. Éponine had been wrong, and she couldn't help but want to follow Cosette, to make up for treating her so indifferently, which, Éponine thought uncomfortably, might have been worse than treating her cruelly. Or was there really a difference?
"I'll go check on her," she found herself saying, and both Musichetta and Courfeyrac turned to stare at her.
"I'll go with you," Chetta said immediately, narrowing her eyes when Éponine made no protest.
"Text me?" Courfeyrac asked miserably, and both girls nodded before exchanging a worried glance.
The rest of the Amis were congregated back at the table when Musichetta and Éponine returned.
"Is she still - ?" Musichetta started to ask, and Bossuet and Joly both nodded.
"I think we can all agree that this was not a good night," Bahorel grumbled. "God. I'm gonna have to go home and fuckin' bake or something."
"Tell Cosette I'm ready when she is," Combeferre said quietly, and Éponine nodded.
"We will," she said firmly, taking Chetta's hand and leading the way toward the bathroom, but as they reached the door, Chetta dug in her heels with a frown.
"What is your objective here?" she asked bluntly. "Because you are not a fan of that girl, and you've made it pretty damn clear, and while I think you're being stupid, I've kept my mouth shut, because I understand how much this situation sucks for you, and also because you have ditched us all for Montparnasse and it was kind of a moot point, anyway."
"I - " Éponine started to say, but her phone buzzed in her back pocket. Sighing, she made a face.
"I'll wait," Chetta said darkly. Éponine scowled at her.
"Hello?" she answered.
"I'm not really a fan of being stood up, Wolf Girl."
Shit.
Éponine swallowed.
"I got tied up," she replied as coolly as she could. "Actually, I'm going to have to cancel. I've got something to do." She waited for him to respond, but she couldn't even hear him breathing, though his presence on the other line was as strong as if he were standing behind her. She grit her teeth, trying to ignore the way the hair on the back of her neck prickled.
"And what would that something be, darlin'?" Montparnasse inquired, quite calmly. Musichetta watched her, frowning.
"I need to help a friend," Éponine explained, and realized as she said it that it was true. "I've got to go. Be a good boy, Parnasse."
"When am I not?" Montparnasse wanted to know. "Don't make this a habit. My feelings might get hurt."
"Oh, fuck off, you big baby."
"I'm wounded, Ponine."
"And I'm hanging up."
She did with a scowl. Musichetta looked at her, an odd look on her face.
"We miss you," she said abruptly. She glanced at an inscription on the wall (Feuilly's actually, Long live the peoples, what a dork), baleful. "We all do." Éponine opened her mouth, then closed it, startled. She supposed it was nice to know that she hadn't managed to ostracize herself completely from the group.
Uncomfortable, she muttered, "Let's go see how Cosette is doing," and swung open the restroom door before Musichetta could push the subject.
The bathroom was silent and looked deserted, but in the last stall, two forlorn shoes were just visible under the door.
"Cosette?" Chetta called tentatively. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," came the completely convincing reply, followed by a disgustingly slurpy sniffle. "I'll be out in a moment." Musichetta seemed inclined to leave it at that, but Éponine rolled her eyes.
"All right, open up," she ordered, knocking on the stall door. Cosette hesitated, and a tipsy sorority girl stumbled into the bathroom, giggling. Éponine shot her best death glare at her. "This bathroom is occupied," she informed her, and the sorority girl opened her mouth to argue, but shrank back a little as Éponine raised her eyebrows.
"This is a public restroom," she mumbled. Éponine blinked at her slowly, a look that had had hardened criminals suddenly discovering heretofore unmentioned places to be, and sorority girl went red and hastily fled. "Now," Éponine went on, returning her attention to the door, "let us in or I'm gonna jimmy the lock."
"Can these locks be jimmied?" Musichetta mouthed. Éponine glared at her. There came the sound of toilet paper being ripped, Cosette blew her nose, and the stall door cracked to reveal a puffy red face. She took one look at the two girls before her face crumpled and she slammed the stall door shut again.
"Is Combeferre - ?"
"He's ready to go when you are."
"I'm really - I'm really sorry - "
Musichetta winced.
"Don't be. Please don't be. This is just. It'll be okay. Uh."
"What are you doing?" Éponine mouthed emphatically. Chetta made a bizarre flailing movement.
"I don't know what to do, this is so weird," Musichetta mouthed back, a little panicked. Great. Fantastic. I guess I'm on my own here, Éponine thought irritably. Figures.
"Look, Cosette," she said aloud, "you've gotta come out of the stall. We're going to Netflix the hell out of some horror movies and eat chocolate until we throw up, because that's what you do when shit like this happens. But you've got to unlock the door first."
"I don't like crying in front of people," Cosette mumbled sheepishly. "I'm sorry - "
"Stop apologizing, I swear to God," Éponine groaned. "I have three brothers, a little snot never hurt anyone - just open the door. I'm not kidding about jimmying the lock."
Silence.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Cosette asked after a moment, voice thick and tired. Éponine blinked.
"Yeah, no, this is not what being nice sounds like," Musichetta piped up, which, granted, was a valid point. "This is like - I mean no offense, but this is really..." She dwindled off. "You suck at this," she said at last, and Éponine heaved a sigh.
"In my own special way, I'm trying to apologize," she grumbled. "Take it at face value and come out of the stall."
She waited, half-unsure if Cosette would venture out after all.
"Can I go with you guys?" the other girl asked suddenly. "No offense to Combeferre, but he's probably got Enjolras to take care of since I - since I - "
"Enjolras deserved that a little bit," Musichetta interrupted grimly. "He always gets this way before protests, it's super annoying. Sure you can come with us. Right, Ponine?"
Éponine hesitated.
"Yeah," she said after a beat. "Yeah, come over to our place. Bahorel's going to bake apparently, and I think Grantaire's out for the night until at least two or three. Joly and Bossuet hate horror movies, so they won't bother us."
"And it wouldn't be, like - ?"
"You're coming with us," Éponine said firmly. No response from the stall.
Then: the very distinct click of a lock being unlocked.