Chapter Text
I had had an intense day of work. My name was Emily, and I was a 24-year-old photographer who had only just been given my freedom, after fighting for over a year for a divorce. I worked from home, and it was a great experience, but it wasn't easy. I didn't have any help, so I found myself swamped with tons of work on a daily basis. I hardly ever slept, and rarely found time to cook for myself. I lived off of food from my freezer that could be heated quickly, and even that was rare. I hardly ever ate. I'd been fending for myself for a long time. I got the hell out of my parents' house the day I turned 18. I had gotten married at 22, and the second my husband became abusive, I filed for divorce. It had been a long year, and I was still struggling to get back on my feet after such an ordeal. It was a painful process, and I had lived with him through the whole thing, just taking his abuse. I had fallen into a severe depression, and was almost positive I wouldn't make it out alive. I had tried many times to kick him out, but he just wouldn't leave. Eventually, he finally left, though I was still waiting for the divorce to finalize. I occasionally had to deal with him showing up at my doorstep to abuse me some more. It would be a blessing once the divorce was finalized and he was out of my life for good. I was used to being alone, and preferred it, so his absence would give me back my freedom.
Though he was out of my life now, though not entirely, I was still struggling to lift myself out of the depression he had pushed me into. I often took on too many projects at once, as a form of distraction. I had a lot of talents, and wanted to put them all to good use. Though my career was as a photographer, I was also an artist, and on the side, I wrote. I had always kept myself busy, and finally getting the chance to have a studio in my home, where I felt safe, and away from him was rewarding, yet exhausting.
Today had been trying, to say the least. I had to deal with way too many whiny kids, and screaming babies, and the moment the last customer left, I locked my door, cracked open a beer, and plopped onto my couch. I turned on the TV and flicked through the channels for a while, and when I found nothing, I gave up and heated up some leftover crepes. I ate slow, drained from my day. I washed my simple meal down with a glass of iced coffee and set to work on tidying the house just a tad. I spent so much time working that I really never made much of a mess, so I didn't have much to do. I liked to keep things organized anyway, unless I was too beat to actually care.
I trudged to my bedroom, every step more exhausting than the last, and sat on my bed for a moment. I let out a sigh as I stripped myself of the discomforts of clothes worn all day. I threw on my favourite red and black plaid pajama pants and a loose black t-shirt, then headed into the bathroom to get washed up. I hadn't bothered to actually look at myself for a few days, and only when I looked in the mirror did I notice that the red and black dyes were fading from my hair, and the dark circles under my bloodshot blue eyes. My paper-white, inked skin severely needed lotion, and I was sure I was thinning out, no doubt from starvation. The past few months were the most stressful part of the divorce, and I was still trying to pick up all the pieces. Though I had my own place, and my studio, settling everything and getting used to a new way of life was difficult. I was still struggling to pull myself out of my depression, and often I found that I couldn't eat.
I looked like hell. My blue eyes had lost all life to them. I only had a glimmer of hope that still shined in them. My hair was frazzled, and my nails were brittle. It was obvious that I was malnourished. I didn't sleep often, so I usually spent the time working instead. I knew I was pushing myself to my limits, but I wanted to go out with a bang if I did go out. The only shine to me at all came from the metal horseshoe ring through my septum and lip.
I washed up and thought about what I should do in my free time. I thought about working on a painting, but I felt truly uninspired. My muse was gone. After the day I had, I definitely wasn't feeling photography, so I scratched that off my mental list immediately. I could've drawn something, but even that sounded unappealing. After a while, I decided that it had been too long since I watched Les Miserables. I doubted I'd stay awake through the whole thing, but there was just something about the barricade boys (while they were alive) that made me happy. After a day like I had, I needed that. I stood and popped the DVD into the player, turned on the surround sound, and sat back, relaxing and watching the movie.
I had fallen asleep within just a few minutes, and I had only woken up to hear a little boy singing. I smiled and stretched, happy to watch my favourite part of the movie. Gavroche was one of my favourite characters. I had seen the movie a thousand times, and though it never got old or boring, I found myself drifting right back to sleep. I had had this intense dream that I was on the barricades, all alone, fighting against my soon-to-be-ex-husband. It wasn't pleasant, but I had won the battle.
---
I awoke to a loud crashing noise. I sat up straight, startled and wide awake, dizzy and disoriented at first as the blood rushed to my head. I immediately shoved the thought aside, deciding that my stack of books probably fell over. I couldn't shove it aside when I heard more clattering from my kitchen, followed by chattering, laughing, and shouting. Once my vision cleared, I was sure I was still dreaming. My living room looked like I had thrown a party, except I hadn't had any company in months. All of my supposed friends had sided with my abuser, and so I was officially all alone. I looked around, confused, and trying to make sense of things.
"Mademoiselle, we need this couch," said a familiar voice, as I felt a hand on my shoulder. I rubbed my eyes and blinked a few times, but the voice matched 100 percent. It had been the voice of Grantaire, and sure enough, the drunkard stood slightly to the side of me, resting his hand on my shoulder. I wasn't sure if he was trying to wake me, or trying to keep himself in an upright position.
"This is my couch," I told him. Why I was arguing with a dream, I'd never know.
"Mademoiselle, please? It is for the barricade. We need your help," Grantaire told me. I looked around to see if I had somehow gotten sucked into the movie, but I was still in my living room, and women on my television were cleaning blood from the streets. I placed my hand on his and shook my head.
"There's no barricade," I assured him.
"No barricade?! Then surely we'll all die," he told me. I sighed and stood now, trying to wrap my head around this odd dream, since for some reason, I couldn't seem to wake myself. As I stood, he immediately grabbed hold of the arm of my couch, and I pushed him away.
"No, just… wait a damn minute, now!" I cried out. I was confused, and exhausted, and my head was starting to hurt from all the noise. He froze, taken aback, staring at me with a shocked expression on his face. I was left in complete silence, and that was when I realized just how loud it actually was in my house. I looked around to see many pairs of eyes all focusing on me. "What's going on?" I asked.
A blonde man wearing a red tailcoat shoved through the crowd of people scattered around my living room and stood in front of me. "Mademoiselle, these are trying times. We are in the middle of a revolution. Have you not been informed?" he asked. I groaned. This was too much to handle after the day I'd had. It seemed that I couldn't even catch a break in my sleep. Before I could speak, he tugged curiously at my pajama pants. "What kind of trousers are these? Why are you wearing them?" he asked. I laughed a little.
"They're pajama pants, and I'm wearing them because I wanted to be comfortable," I told him, slightly amused, slightly annoyed. He quickly let go, with a hint of worry on his face. I was sure that he was worried he had invaded my privacy or offended me. I suddenly worried about the tone I had taken with one of my favourite characters from the movie. I don't know why I worried. It was a dream, after all.
"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle," he said softly, bowing his head.
"It's alright… Let's just… Can we just sit down and talk about things before you mess up my house even more?" I asked. Combeferre, who had perched himself in front of my bookshelf had frozen with a book in his hand and looked up at me.
"Oui, of course," said the blonde in the red coat who was obviously Enjolras, as he took a seat next to me. He looked at me with confused blue eyes, and I smiled at him.
"I don't really know what's going on. I'm assuming this is a dream, but… There is no revolution. It's 2014, and you're in New York… America," I said so that everybody scattered from my living room to my kitchen could hear me.
"That would explain this dreadful book collection," said Combeferre.
"The poetry books are good," Jehan remarked. I giggled.
"This dictionary belongs in the sewers," Combeferre said, obviously disgruntled by words created or redefined since 1832.
"Hey! Everybody, look, it's Marius!" Joly shouted, pointing to my television. I smiled to see Marius and Cosette's wedding day playing across the screen.
"Did he just get married to Cosette?" Eponine asked, now shoving through the crowd to look at my TV. I hadn't noticed her amongst all of the young revolutionaries. She was dressed like they were, and it was a crowded room. She watched the scene with an indescribable look on her face. "He looks happy."
"This is absurd. None of this makes sense!" Enjolras shouted, fiercely.
"No, it doesn't, but it doesn't make it less true," I told him. "Now, come sit down," I added to all of them, turning the TV and DVD player off.
"Hey, wait! Let's see Marius!" Combeferre said.
"No. Just… Sit down. We have to figure this out," I said. I gently took the dictionary from him and set it back on my bookshelf, then stood in the middle of the room. "I don't know how all of you got here, or why you're here, or how many of you are here, but we have some serious things to discuss."
"Indeed, we do! Time is running out! The enemy marksmen will undoubtedly be here any moment. Gather whatever weapons you can, and prepare yourselves! Courfeyrac, gather the guns. Joly, melt down more bullets. Feuilly, see if you can't find any more gun powder! Combeferre, see how many we've lost," Enjolras instructed, standing on my coffee table. I shot him a glare. As much as I had loved Enjolras in the movie, I didn't appreciate him dirtying my coffee table.
"Enjolras, get down from my coffee table, please," I grumbled. He hopped down and gave me a quizzical look. He circled me a few times, eyeing me and taking in all of my details.
"What game are you playing, Mademoiselle?" he asked me.
"No game," I said plainly.
"Then how is it that we've never met, but you know my name?"
"That's why I want to speak with you!" I sighed. I opened my mouth to say more to the leader in red, but my attention was diverted to the kitchen.
"Joly, you put those forks back in the drawer!" I shouted, rushing over to him. He had found my candle collection and had lit three, and had started to hold a fork over the fire. "Courfeyrac, please stop tearing my house apart looking for guns. You won't find any. Feuilly, you won't find any gun powder either!" I added, shoving my forks back into their rightful place, while Joly looked at me confused and worried. I groaned as I noticed that Grantaire had managed to find my bar, and had found his way to the middle of the wine I was saving for myself. I quickly yanked it away.
"You couldn't get a glass at the very least?" I snapped. I couldn't help it at this point. I felt like I was babysitting a bunch of rowdy toddlers who had all been given too much sugar. I slammed the half-empty wine bottle onto the table, and Joly jumped. I blew out the candles and when I turned around, Grantaire was rummaging through my cabinets. "Grantaire, what are you doing?"
"Looking for a glass. I intend to finish that bottle," he replied, nearly dropping my favourite plate to the floor. I caught it and set it on the counter by my sink and tugged at his green waistcoat.
"No, no… You sit down now," I told him softly. "Everybody, just take a fucking seat!" I shouted. Everyone froze.
"What strange kind of place is this? A lady that wears trousers, and uses such language?" Enjolras asked.
"If you'd listen, I'd tell you!" I snapped. I had been through far too much in the past few months, and especially that day to deal with this calmly anymore. As angry and frustrated as I was, there was still no sign of me waking up, and it irked me.
"Mademoiselle, there is no time! We have a battle to fight! VIVE LA FRANCE!" Enjolras growled. I sighed. I was ready to just give up. Though I typically didn't share drinks with anyone else, I found myself picking up the bottle of wine that Grantaire had cracked into, and took a big gulp. After another few swigs, I took two glasses from the cupboard, washed them, and emptied the bottle into both of them. I took a seat across the table from him and passed him a glass, then quickly downed my glass. I groaned and sighed, then smacked my head into the table in hopes of waking up. I had always thought it would be interesting and awesome to get to meet the barricade boys, but this was one hell of a nightmare that I just couldn't wake from. I continued to hit my head against the table, not ready to give up, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up with tears in my eyes to see Grantaire. He looked worried.
"You're going to hurt yourself," he said softly, pouring a clear liquid into my empty glass. I was a little dizzy, and I couldn't see what bottle he was holding, but I knew it wasn't water. It was likely one of my bottles of rum.
"I just want to wake up," I groaned.
"You're awake."
"That… No. This is a nightmare."
"We're all awake. This is strange to us, too… How is your house so bright without candles?"
"Electric."
"What's that?"
"Don't worry about it," I sighed, downing the liquid he had poured for me. I was right. It had been my bottle of vanilla rum.
"You drink like me."
"I do not."
"You didn't even make a face."
"After the week I've had… I needed that."
"You drink like me."
"It's pointless to argue with a dream."
"Not a dream… Perhaps a delusion… My delusion… Too much alcohol. Perhaps I am dead!"
"You are," I let slip. I hadn't wanted to be so blunt about it. I had wanted to explain things to them, and speak with all of them to figure things out. To be honest, I wasn't actually sure they were dead. I knew how the book and the movie ended, but yet, they were very much alive and making a mess of my house. He poured me more rum, and I downed that as well. He did the same for himself and set the bottle down in front of me.
"I drank myself to death, right?"
"No."
"Then how do you know I'm dead?"
"I… I don't know a damn thing anymore, alright?! All I know is that all of you are characters from a book, and a musical, and now you're here, in my living room!"
"Like an opera?"
"Look, don't worry about it… The point is, in the movie, you all died… Every single one of you. Please don't tell the others. I want to discuss it differently with them."
"But we all seem to be alive."
"And that's where the problem lies, Grantaire," I groaned.
"How is it you know my name?" he asked, looking me in the eyes.
"The movie… I know every single one of you. Enjolras doesn't want to listen."
"He doesn't have time to listen. There's a revolution going on."
"Not anymore. You lost…"
"How did… How did I die?"
"Not now, Grantaire. Please, not now. My head hurts, and you're all destroying my house."
"Everybody! The Mademoiselle lied! I found a gun and a flag, and an extra cockade! Commence your search for more weaponry!" Enjolras shouted.
"Fuck!" I groaned.
"Telling lies?" Grantaire asked.
"No! It's a prop. Like for the movie. Just… hang on. Please don't drink all my alcohol? I don't have money to buy more, and I know I'm going to need it until I get you guys back to where you belong," I told him. He smiled and laughed.
"Another glass?" he asked.
"Yeah, fine. Another glass. Just one more," I told him, running to Enjolras. He pointed my gun at me.
"Hold it right there, Mademoiselle… What kind of spy are you?" asked the blonde.
"I'm not a spy. If you would just listen to me-" I tried to say, but got distracted as Courfeyrac and Combeferre had grabbed my arms. Enjolras continued to hold me at gunpoint, obviously unaware that it had been altered so that it couldn't fire.
"Is this some sort of sorcery? I don't believe in these things, but yet it is light in your home with no candles, our friend Marius is encased in a glass box, it is warm in here but your fireplace is not lit, and it is snowing outside. Furthermore, your books hold words unknown to us, and some hold dark tales. My eyes deceive me not, and it seems to be witchcraft," Enjolras said.
"Will you put my gun down and let me go?" I growled.
"Explain, or I will shoot."
"Enjolras, please!"
"Ah, and that's another matter to bring up! How is it that you know our names?"
"Look, I'll explain, just… Let me go, and put the gun down. You all need to just relax and listen to me for about an hour by the looks of it."
"Explain now."
"Let me go."
"Explain this very minute, or I will have to shoot you," Enjolras said fiercely.
"Courfeyrac, Combeferre, please let me go? We seriously all need to talk, but I don't appreciate you treating me like I'm a spy!" I snapped. I watched Enjolras' finger twitch on the trigger. After a few seconds, he examined the gun in bewilderment.
"Friends, she must be a witch! She has seized the gun. It won't fire."
"She definitely sounds like a witch!" Jehan said. "She even dresses strangely and hangs trinkets from her nose and lip. Her hair is of an unnatural colour, and her nails grow black. She wears intricate designs on her skin. Could they be incantations?" I groaned and rolled my eyes, pulling away from Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They went to grab me again, but I just held my hands up and they froze.
"I'm not a witch. This is strange for me as well. There is no revolution anymore. I want you all to just sit down, please, and stop destroying my house. We need to figure things out. Please, I've been trying to talk to you," I begged. I was exhausted, and quite ready to pass out. The amount of alcohol I had consumed didn't help.
"Enjolras, she only has one book with a French title… But the text inside is in English. I'm not sure we should listen to her. It could be a trick," Combeferre said. Grantaire stumbled over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Is it not odd, what has happened?" Grantaire asked loudly. "Do any of us understand? What choice do we have but to listen to the Mademoiselle? I believe she speaks truth. I believe there is no rush to protect our barricade, for we are nowhere near it. Our enemies are not with us…"
"Christ, will somebody stop Grantaire? There's no time for his nonsense," Courfeyrac groaned.
"Enjolras… This book is dated 1999… and this one, 2005. This is a trick," Combeferre said.
"Perhaps she's a time-traveler?" Jehan suggested.
"I repeat, our enemies are not with us! Has she harmed us? Has she given us one reason not to trust her? The gun did not work, Enjolras. Perhaps it is fake. Perhaps she knew it would be of no use, and was not lying when she said we'd find no weapons. She thinks this a dream. I think this a delusion. But perhaps we should just give her a chance and listen to her. She told us a year… It is the future. Perhaps we are all dead. Perhaps we were reborn. Perhaps this is Hell. How should we know, unless we let her speak? How can we put her on trial, and treat her as a spy? Our enemies are not with us! I see no spy here. I see a woman who is just as confused as we are. Let her speak!" Grantaire ranted. I smiled. I never thought I would be so thankful for one of Grantaire's drunk speeches.
---
It took a while for everyone to settle down, but eventually they all situated themselves on my living room floor. I passed around a notebook and pen, and asked them all to write their names down, so I could get an idea of how many people I was dealing with. I read the list as soon as I got it back.
Enjolras
Grantaire
Courfeyrac
Combeferre
Joly
Jean Prouvaire
Bahorel
Bossuet
Feuilly
Eponine
Gavroche
I hadn't even noticed Gavroche until I read his name. He sat on the floor, and I saw that he had found some of the toys I kept in my studio. He clung to a little stuffed bear, and was pestering Eponine with it. I couldn't help but smile.
"Okay… Now that it's quiet in here, I've thought about it a little more. Combeferre, you pointed out the only book with a French title… This book… Well, Les Miserables, is a special book," I said. I opened to a page that had Combeferre's name printed on it, and showed him.
"That's my name!" he gasped. I nodded, the flipped through to find Courfeyrac's, and showed him. He had a similar reaction. I showed Enjolras next, and he smacked the book from my hands.
"What are you getting at?!" he asked, giving me a fierce look.
"You're all characters from this book… The book has been recreated many times in many ways… Now, I want to show you something else," I said, turning the TV on. I fast-forwarded the DVD just a little, to the point where Jean Valjean takes his rest, and waited for all of them to show up on the barricade. However, after Myriel greeted Valjean, the screen simply showed the credits. I was baffled, and I hoped like hell it would at least have their names on it. As the names scrolled, I let out a sigh of relief to see "Enjolras- Aaron Tveit" come across.
"Who is Aaron T… T…" Enjolras quit pretty fast.
"Tveit. Aaron Tveit is an actor who portrayed your character in the movie. That's why his name is next to yours," I explained.
"Does he look like me?" Enjolras asked. I laughed, ran to my office and pulled out an autographed photo I had of Aaron, and showed it to him.
"What do you think?"
"He… He could be my brother!" Enjolras gasped. I laughed a little harder. I decided to rewind the DVD to the barricade scenes in hopes of showing them where they had come from, but any spot that they belonged in was blank space. Marius rode past on a horse, and various other barricade boys ran frantically, but they weren't there.
"Wait a minute! I remember this! Marius warned me that it had begun!" Grantaire shouted. I nodded, scanning through the scene. The barricades had been built, but the men were not there.
"This isn't possible. I remember standing on top of the barricade!" Enjolras growled. He was obviously frustrated. I scanned through the entire scene, trying to find a hint of Enjolras' death, but there was none. I turned the TV off and sighed.
"It looks like you came straight from the movie, which would explain why you're speaking English, with English accents, rather than French," I said. "What's the last thing you all remember?" They all sat around, thinking hard for a while.
"I gave Marius a letter from Cosette… It was raining," Eponine said.
"You got shot!" Gavroche told her. "I remember taunting the army… I was collecting things. They shot at me."
"We were losing! The gun powder got wet! The citizens wouldn't help us!" Jehan exclaimed.
"We got away… We were upstairs. It was Combeferre, Joly, Myself, and you, Enjolras," Courfeyrac said.
"You were all shot through the floor. I remember now…" Enjolras said. I nodded. "And they had me cornered… They were about to shoot and…" he stopped talking. He gave a small smile to Grantaire and then looked to me. "Did you know all this?"
"I've seen the movie many times… I knew. Do any of you feel pain?" I replied. They all shook their heads. "None of you seem to be wounded, either… Enjolras, may I see your chest?" I asked, blushing a little. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and seemed to be slightly offended. I knew I better explain. "I want to look for wounds. According to the story, you were shot several times in the chest," I said. He un-tucked his shirt from his trousers and lifted it. Though every one of them were covered in blood, and Enjolras' chest was also blood-stained, there weren't any apparent wounds. I wet a paper towel and wiped some of the blood off to be sure. He didn't even have a scratch. Still, he was solid, so he wasn't a spirit. I couldn't make sense of it. "You seem to be fine."
"I don't understand any of this," he told me, tucking his shirt back into his trousers.
"I don't either…"
"I don't feel dead. I don't look dead. There's blood all over us, but we aren't wounded. I feel alive," Enjolras said.
"You seem to be very alive," I said, reaching for his neck. He smacked my hand away and glared. "I was just going to check for a pulse," I assured him. He relaxed and let me. Sure enough, he had a pulse. "Maybe you've been given another chance at life… Which really makes no sense, because you were fictional characters to begin with… Can I tug gently at your hair?" I said.
"Why?"
"Aaron wore a wig…"
"This is my hair."
"Just to be sure?"
"Fine," Enjolras grumbled. He wasn't too thrilled. I ran my fingers through his golden curls, tugging ever so gently, and examining his scalp. Sure enough, it was his natural hair.
"I drank too much. I must have. Or I finally died from lack of nourishment… Or I really need to FUCKING WAKE UP!" I shouted in disbelief of the current situation. My house could not hold so many people. I didn't have enough food to feed all of them. None of it made sense.
"This is really happening… You're not trying to hoodwink us?" Combeferre asked. I shook my head with tears in my eyes.
"I promise. I don't understand it. It has to be a dream. I watched the movie too many times," I told him.
"We're here," said Jehan.
"Dude, but…" I stopped when I saw the look he gave me. "Sorry. I just… It's 2014! You're fictional characters. This can't be possible."
"But we're here nonetheless," Courfeyrac said. I nodded.
"I don't know where I'm going to put all of you. I only have one bed, and a couch."
"We slept on the barricade. Your floor would be just fine," Bossuet said. I smiled.
"I'm sorry I'm not a very good host. I wasn't exactly expecting company from fictional 1832," I sighed sadly.
---
I had scrounged up as much clothing as I could find, though it was all female clothing. Luckily, a lot of my wardrobe consisted of leggings, jeans, and t-shirts. I always wore pajama pants and t-shirts to sleep, so I had an abundance. I handed them out, and gave Eponine the one nightgown I owned, and set out as many blankets and pillows as I could find. The lot of them curled up on the floor, Joly and Gavroche had curled up on the couch, and Enjolras fell asleep in my recliner. Grantaire sat at the table, staring down an unopened bottle of wine. I shook my head and put it away.
"Save some for tomorrow, Grantaire," I told him with a joking smile. He smiled up at me and pointed to the chair across from him. I took a seat. "Thanks for having my back… If that gun had actually worked, Enjolras would've killed me," I sighed at the realization.
"That would've been a huge mistake. I couldn't imagine anyone else aiding us in 2014. I'm sure they'd lock us in an asylum," Grantaire said. "Thank you for your hospitality and patience. You've done quite a lot for us on such short notice… More than the citizens of Paris, clearly."
"I'm sorry about how things turned out."
"Why?"
"Because you all died and lost the rebellion."
"But we didn't die. We're all alive, and here… We dreamed of a future, and now we're in it."
"I thought you didn't dream of anything?" I asked.
"I dreamed. I just didn't tell anyone. Nobody ever wants to hear the ravings of a drunkard."
"Why do you drink so much?"
"Isn't it obvious? I'm depressed."
"I know that… Why?"
"Well… That's pretty obvious, too… We were all going to die… And we did. But I didn't believe in a life after death, so I guess it turned out better than I thought it would."
"Do you think you'll be happy here?"
"With an unlimited supply of alcohol, I'll be happy anywhere."
"Still trying to kill yourself?"
"I'm dead already. Does it matter?"
"But you're alive. You all made it… maybe not how you intended, but you're all alive and together."
"Do you think we'll be happy here?"
"I can't give you unlimited alcohol."
"You're not happy here," Grantaire pointed out.
"What?" I asked, taken aback.
"You're not happy. What troubles you?"
"Nothing," I lied.
"Don't lie."
"I just wasn't ready for so much company."
"It's not just us… There's something more. What is it?"
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"I won't tell anyone."
"Thanks… I just… nothing. I'm fine."
"You have circles under your eyes… And they're bloodshot. You can down a glass of rum as well as I. You look exhausted, and you looked like you were about to lose your mind before. I'm no fool. Enjolras thinks I am, but I'm not. I see that there's something wrong. You're not doing well."
"I just took on too much work."
"No. Try again," he said, shooting me a small smile. I smiled back. For the first time in my life, somebody understood.
"I'm married…"
"You're a fool, then… Where's your husband?"
"He's not here. I'm in the middle of a divorce."
"I take it back. You were a fool. You came around."
"Yeah, I did."
"Why divorce?"
"I don't want to talk about it. I'm just glad he finally left."
"He hurt you."
"No."
"Oui. He hurt you."
"What makes you so sure?"
"I can see it in your eyes, and your face when you speak of him… Have another drink," he said, pouring me a glass of rum. I chuckled and rolled my eyes.
"Drinking isn't the answer to everything, y'know."
"But it'll make you feel good."
"Not if I keep going like you want me to. I'll spend the rest of this crazy night with my head in the toilet."
"Drink that, and talk to me."
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"Alright… Whenever you want to, I will listen."
"Thank you… If you ever wanna talk, I'll listen as well," I said with a smile.
"Can I… May I…" he stopped.
"What?"
"Do you need a hug?"
"Since when are you in the habit of giving hugs?"
"I never met anyone that needed it as much as you… At least, not that would accept it. Enjolras could use one, but he's too busy with the revolution to realize what he needs."
"I'd appreciate a hug. Thank you, Grantaire," I said with a smile. He hugged me tight. He smelled of paint, alcohol, and gun powder. He was the only one that hadn't changed his clothes.
"You're welcome, Mademoiselle," he said. He looked at me strangely. "I don't want to keep calling you that. What is your name?"
"I'm Emily."
"Emily… That's nice… Do you ever let your feelings out?"
"I have nobody to let them out to," I admitted.
"That's why you don't sleep… But… What about drawing or painting? Maybe writing? Jehan likes to write. Enjolras makes speeches. Joly studies medicine… and he checks his tongue a lot. I hope he'll be okay here."
"I draw and paint, and I do photography… But I haven't had much inspiration lately."
"You'll get it back. Drink up and let loose. Do you have paints?"
"I have all sorts of art supplies. I'm surprised you didn't see them while you were raiding my bar. They're right next to the alcohol."
"Such a rightful place! Great thinking. Let's crack open another bottle and set to work."
"Let's rest for tonight. We've both had enough to drink, and my house is enough of a mess."
"Let me draw something for you?"
"Right now?"
"Oui."
"Why?"
"In case we're gone when you wake up. I want you to remember that you always have someone to turn to… Someone that understands you're hurting. I want to show you something," he told me. I smiled and fetched him some charcoals and paper. "Merci," he said, and set to work immediately.
"May I photograph you?" I asked him.
"What does that mean?"
"Take a picture."
"Like, a drawing?"
"I'll show you," I said. I stumbled over all the sleeping bodies on my floor and ran into my office to get my camera. I returned and pointed it at him, and he looked uncomfortable.
"Is this going to hurt?" he asked. I laughed a little and shook my head.
"No, Grantaire. It won't hurt. You won't feel a thing… Oh, unless it flashes. It might hurt your eyes a little," I told him.
"I need to be able to see," he said.
"It's just like looking at a flame for moment. You'll be alright," I assured him. He gave his consent, and I took a photo of him as he sketched something with the charcoals. I captured him in a new light, that I was sure he'd never seen, and I showed him.
"How did you do that?! I'm inside this glass!" he gasped. I laughed again.
"It's called a picture. It instantly captures whatever I see through this little glass lens, and stores it."
"Amazing! And so much faster than painting!"
"Yeah! And more accurate… This is what you actually look like."
"It's like a mirror!"
"Yeah, but the image stays."
"I like this. Take another," he said, smiling wide. I took another. After that, he made an awkward face, and I took another and showed him. He laughed so hard he snorted.
"This is an amazing year! So much hope!" he exclaimed. I smiled. "Tell anyone I said that, and I'll kill you," he joked.
"Your secret's safe with me. Grantaire can have hope, too! I know he's capable of feeling. He wouldn't drink so much to numb the pain if he weren't," I told him.
"You're the first person to understand that."
"I've been there."
"I know. Show me how this works. Let me take one of you."
"No. I don't like how I look," I told him.
"What's not to like?"
"My face. My eyes. My hair. The circles under my eyes."
"Why do you wear metal in your face?"
"I like it."
"So there is something about you that you like."
"Yeah, but it's not exactly something I was made with."
"There is nothing wrong with your face, eyes, hair, or even the circles under your eyes. Enjolras has circles under his eyes too... Let me take a picture of you."
"You're not going to leave me alone until I let you, are you?"
"Not unless I pass out."
"Drink some more," I told him. He laughed and shook his head. "Grantaire can refuse a drink?"
"Grantaire can do whatever he pleases," Grantaire replied. I groaned and gave in, showing him how to work the camera and let him take a photograph of me. He didn't like how it came out.
"This doesn't look like you how I see you. I don't like it. You're much better with this thing. You made me look better than I look in the mirror, and this image was just insulting. I understand why you think you shouldn't like yourself. I assure you, you don't look like that," he growled, handing the camera angrily back to me and setting back to work on his drawing. I made hot cocoa for us and gave him a cup as he drew, and then attempted to watch him. He hid the drawing well. I sighed, taking a sip of my cocoa, and retreated to the living room to snap a few photos of the sleeping revolutionaries. If this was real, these photos would be a gem, and if it wasn't real, this would be a pleasant memory, granted I remembered once I woke up. "I'm finished. Come look!" he called for me. The drawing was done, and the cup of cocoa was empty. "What was that? It was delicious!"
"Hot chocolate… You've never had it?"
"Not like that."
"It's just instant. No big deal. Water and cocoa powder."
"Incredible. I want you to look at this long and hard," he told me, shoving the drawing into my hands. I looked down at the paper to see a much prettier version of myself. I looked happy, and my eyes shined. My lips were curled in a smile.
"I don't look like that," I told him, flattered by his unrealistic drawing of me.
"You do when you laugh," he told me. "I've been watching you. Every time one of us said or did something that touched your soul, you smiled… You're still there, Emily. You're not gone yet. He didn't defeat you… Keep this, and he never can."
"You're more intelligent than anyone's given you credit for… and much more flattering."
"There's no more fighting. My friends aren't dead… There's hope in this new age… And you understand me somehow. When I talk to you, I feel like I'm speaking to myself… You make it easy."
"I feel the same… But my fighting isn't over."
"I'll fight with you."
"You don't even know me."
"I know you well. I know everyone better than they think I do… I pay attention to detail. Nobody gives me credit, simply because I drink."
"Edgar Allen Poe wrote some of his best stories while he was drunk."
"You see? We are on the same page… I hope I am still here when you wake up. I think we have a purpose."
"This isn't much like your character."
"It doesn't need to be. We're not at war. This is something new. Why can't I be different?"
"I like it… Think you're gonna cut back on the drinking?"
"Probably not."
"Then you better find a job to pay for more alcohol."
"I have some money… Enough to last me a day or two."
"Your money doesn't work here… It's out-dated, and from another country."
"Pity. Let me work for you."
"I can't afford employees. I can hardly afford myself."
"We'll figure something out."
"Grantaire… don't tell anyone about me, okay?"
"You're not a secret."
"Don't tell anyone what I told you… Or what you think you know about me. Please?"
"You mean about your husband?"
"Yeah."
"I won't tell anyone a thing… I bet Enjolras would kick his ass, though."
"I'd rather him not do that. I don't want him being arrested."
"For that?!"
"Absolutely. Times are different."
"I won't tell anyone."
"Thank you. Come get some clean clothes and get some rest."
"I'm alright."
"Please?"
"Alright," he sighed, hugging me. I gave him some clothes, and once he changed, I gathered everyone's dirty laundry and set to work on cleaning it. I threw them in the washing machine, started it, and headed to bed. I figured when I woke up anyway, that all of this new life would be gone. The only person ever to understand me would be gone. I would be alone again, which was okay, but he had given me some food for thought.