Chapter Text
***in which Melodie is 14 and Julien is 7. ***
The bedroom door is shut and there’s a muffled sound of music coming from the other side of it. Enjolras uses the hand that isn’t carrying a full mug of hot tea to tap on the door with his knuckles, loud enough to warrant a hoarse call of admittance a moment later, and he opens the door and pokes his head round with a sad smile.
“Can I come in?”
The girl is sat up in her bed, propped against a mountain of pillows, an open magazine resting on her knees. The wild auburn curls that usually bounce around her face have been scraped back into a messy ponytail which makes her pale, freckled face appear even more gaunt and when she looks up, her eyelids are heavy and her nose is redder than her hair.
“Uhh,” she grunts which Enjolras takes for a yes and carries her tea over, perching himself on the edge of the bed.
“Honey, is it a good idea to be listening to music if your head is aching?” It’s One Direction which means she’s feeling particularly susceptible to a bout of maudlin teenage angst. He takes the box of paracetamol from his pocket and pops two out of the blister pack into her outstretched hand.
Melodie rolls her eyes as she grabs the bottle of water from her bedside table and sends the tablets down with a big gulp of it. “It’s not loud Papa. Besides it’s better than listening to Jules’ noise. You know he only has one volume.”
Enjolras laughs softly. Sometimes he forgets that his daughter is only fourteen years old, when in comparison to his seven year old son, she can seem so very mature. He wonders if it has something to do with the fact that they weren’t blessed with her until she was nearly three, whereas Julien was theirs from a new-born baby. Missing out on three years of Melodie’s life is something that will always be a cross to bear for himself and Grantaire so he tries not to dwell on it too much.
“It’s only because he was getting ready for the party, you know he gets louder when he’s excited about something. Anyway, he and Dad left over an hour ago now.”
“They’ve already gone? What time is it?” Melodie asks as she glances over at the pink alarm clock that is partially blocked from her view by the stacks of tissues.
“Nearly eleven,” Enjolras says. “Your Dad did come to say goodbye but you were asleep and he didn’t want to wake you.”
Melodie pouts a little. Enjolras loves how she has such a special bond with Grantaire, despite being ever so slightly envious occasionally. He shares a closeness with her too but it’s never quite been the same. Grantaire has always been the parent of choice and the one she goes to first when she needs help or affection. He supposes it is because they are so alike. Grantaire can watch endless YouTube videos of make-up tutorials with her and not mind a jot. Enjolras is secretly glad of that, to be fair.
“They won’t be back for a few hours will they?” Melodie asks.
“Nope. House to ourselves for most of the day so if you want to get some rest, it’s a good chance while it’s quiet. I’ll wake you up with some lunch in a couple of hours if you like. Maybe some soup?”
“Urgh, soup,” she says with a grimace. “Why do you have to eat soup when you’re sick?”
“You don’t have to. It’s just easy to eat when you’ve got a sore throat and a cold.”
“So is ice cream,” she says and there’s a mischievous sparkle in her eye that, obvious as it is, Enjolras is still pleased to see because it means she’s starting to feel better.
“We’ll see,” he says in a voice which gives nothing away. He’s practised that one plenty of times over the years.
“Can we have some now? Has Jules left any of that cookie dough one? We could watch a film and share it. I wanna veg out.”
Enjolras sighs, raises a sceptical brow at the sudden grin of innocent sweetness that has spread on her face, and shakes his head as he ponders it.
“Pleeeease papa?”
He laughs as he gets up and picks up the box of tissues. “Bring your tea then.”
*
Melodie drags her duvet out with her, wrapped around her shoulders so that as she plods down the stairs, it trails behind her like an elaborate cloak. By the time she has reached the lounge and got herself comfortable on one end of the sofa, Enjolras has got himself a coffee from the machine in the kitchen and the requested tub of ice-cream which he holds out to her with a grin.
“You comfy enough there Mel?”
One arm extends from the cocoon to take the tub and she gazes up at him with a deadpan expression. “I’m sick of feeling so ill papa.”
“I know honey. You’ve really had it bad with this cold. It’s getting better though. You just need to keep resting and stay warm. And keep your mind off it in the mean time. On the subject of which-” he says, walking over to the cabinet and running a finger along the spines of the dvds before he selects one and then another and turns them both round for his daughter’s inspection. “Beauty and the Beast or Alice In Wonderland?”
“You wanna watch Disney with me?”
“Don’t underestimate your papa, I know your go to movies for when you’re feeling rough. So which is it?”
She smiles fondly. “Alice, please. Thanks papa.”
He switches on the television, loads the dvd and gets himself comfy on the other end of the sofa with his coffee in his hands and his feet up on the table, as Melodie prizes open the lid of the ice cream and proceeds to forget her earlier idea about sharing it. It’s barely thirty minutes into the film, however, when she has slumped back against the cushions, her legs stretched out to rest her feet on Enjolras’ lap, the almost empty tub now warm and cuddled up under one arm and she is snoring softly. Her heavy eyelids are closed, her mouth slightly open as she breathes loudly and there is a little trail of ice cream drool that has dried on her chin. Enjolras smiles to himself when he sees how comfortable she looks, and he moves in slow quiet movements to gently lift her feet off his legs so he can get up, take the tub away and tuck the duvet up around her before he switches the film off and leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
*
With Grantaire out with their son and Melodie asleep on the sofa, the house is unusually quiet for a Saturday so Enjolras decides to use the time wisely and get a head start on next week’s lesson planning. His year twelve Sociology class are pretty self-sufficient with their current study and needing little guidance at the moment which is a blessing since he agreed to take on the year 10 History as well this year. Although his original teaching degree was in this exact subject, he knows himself that he has become rusty over the years since he moved to Sociology and it’s been more challenging than he would like to admit. He is on yet another coffee but has switched to decaff now and is rubbing his eyes wearily in front of the computer screen when he hears a stifled groan from the sofa.
“Hey honey, how are you feeling?”
Melodie pushes herself up to a sitting position and blinks the sleep from her eyes as Enjolras snaps his laptop shut and makes his way over to check on her. There is a rule in the house that when he is working at his laptop he can’t be disturbed for anything other than an emergency and he doesn’t want his daughter to think that now is one of those times. Work can wait a little longer.
“Better,” she says and takes a long, hard sniff through her nose. “I can breathe properly again. Oh that’s such a relief. Was I snoring?”
“No, not that I heard,” he lies. “Do you want me to put the film back on? You didn’t get to see much of it.”
“Nah, its OK. I know it backwards anyway. I need to get up and do some homework.”
Enjolras stares at her in disbelief. “Mel, I say this as your father and not as a teacher; you really don’t need to do homework on a Saturday afternoon when you’re feeling ill.”
“But I wanna get this History assignment done while it’s quiet. It’s due on Monday,” she says with determination he knows is going to be difficult to argue with and he wants to hug her because sometimes she reminds him so much of himself it makes his heart swell. “It’s taking ages and making my brain explode.”
“I sincerely hope not,” he laughs. “It’s the report on the French Revolution isn’t it? Do you want some help?”
Melodie’s mouth turns down at the corner and she wrinkles her nose. “Mr Adams said I wasn’t allowed to ask you.”
Enjolras scoffs and rolls his eyes. “My Adams is an idiot, but you didn’t hear that from me. Come on, I can help you a bit and it’ll still be your words and your work. It’s not cheating to get some help from your papa; it’s just a fortuitous turn of events that he happens to be a History teacher,” he says with a wink and she laughs.
“I just can’t see it in my head. The only pictures he’s given us are all these weird black and white drawings that don’t make any sense. I can’t make it real.”
He nods knowingly, aware of how Melodie has always been a visual learner, and chews his bottom lip as an idea starts to form in his head.
“Oh god, what are you planning? You know what Dad says when you get that look on your face?” she notes and when he looks puzzled, goes on to explain in a perfect impression of her other father. “Shits about to get real.”
“Oh does he now? Well I’ll be having words with your dad,” Enjolras says and laughs when she giggles in response. “But right now, we’re going to learn about the French Revolution and we’re gonna make it fun so Mr Adams can take that up with me if he doesn’t like it.”
Melodie leans forward to loop her arms around Enjolras’ neck in a brief, tight hug. “Thanks Papa. I’ll go get my books.”
But when she gets to her feet and starts gathering up her duvet, he says “Don’t worry about your books and leave that here too. We can use it.”
“What for?”
He taps the side of his nose secretively. “Ah, you’ll see.”
*
Grantaire pulls the car up on the driveway and turns off the ignition, glancing over his shoulder at his son in the back seat who is still sat with his arms folded and pouting with as much barely concealed rage as he had when they set off on the journey twenty minutes ago. Julien still hasn’t perfected the art of having a temper tantrum that comes off as anything other than adorable and Grantaire wants to laugh but he won’t.
“You do realise that if the wind changes you will be stuck with that scowl on your face forever?”
The young boy huffs in exaggeration. “Urgh, Dad, that makes NO sense at all.” Yet his expression still softens somewhat as he unclicks his seat belt and gets out of the car.
Grantaire puts an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, come on mate, I told you it’s not realistic to expect to have a sleepover at someone’s house on the day of their birthday party. I think his poor parents have got enough to deal with tonight cleaning up the mess you lot made, don’t you?”
“It wasn’t ME who spilled that jelly! And we were gonna stay up and get his lego Enterprise built tonight. What if he does it without me now?”
“Then you can always take it apart and build it again. That’s the magic of lego,” says Grantaire, purposely missing the point. “And anyway, I’m sure he won’t. He’s got enough other new toys to play with tonight. Where’s your party bag?”
Julien looks panicked for a moment before he spins back towards the car. “Oh! I left it on the seat.”
“What have you got in there?” Grantaire asks when the boy retrieves the small plastic bag that is bulging at the seams.
“His mum gave me an extra slice of cake for Mel.”
“There’s more than two slices of cake in there,” Grantaire says, raising one brow suspiciously and making his son laugh.
“Yeah, she gave me an extra one too,” he confesses with equal amounts of guilt and pride. “Best friend privvages.”
“Privileges. And I’d say so.”
On the short walk up the path to the front door, an unmistakable sound of a high-pitched squeal from inside the house draws the attention of both father and son who exchange a look of confusion.
“Was that Mel?” Julien asks.
“Well if it is, she’s obviously feeling better,” says Grantaire as they reach the door and let themselves in.
Even from the hallway, they can hear the sound of laughter coming from the lounge, both Melodie’s giggle and Enjolras’ lower toned voice that raises a frequency or so when he’s especially happy and Grantaire is particularly relieved to hear it on this occasion. He knows that his husband panics when he has to be the main caregiver to either of their children because he continuously doubts his ability, no matter how vehemently Grantaire tries to convince him otherwise. When the child in question is also ill, he is even less confident and though Grantaire would never admit it, he felt a little apprehensive himself about leaving them both earlier. He checks himself now for being too overprotective of each member of his beloved family, though in reality he can’t conceive of ever not being.
“NO FAIR, YOU HIT ME WHILE I WAS RELOADING! THAT DOESN’T COUNT!” Melodie’s voice rings out through the closed lounge door as Grantaire and Julien head over to investigate.
“Hey, I’m just making it authentic. If that was a real musket, it’d take you forty-five seconds to reload, remember?” Enjolras laughs and when the door opens, his head pops up from behind the sofa at the sound of it and he has just enough time to make eye contact with Grantaire before he ducks down out of sight again, only just missing being hit by the foam dart that comes hurtling across the room.
“Nerf guns!” Julien announces excitedly, his eyes lighting up. “Lemme play!”
At this, Melodie jumps out from behind the wall of sofa cushions held precariously in place by her duvet on the other side of the room, grabs her little brother by the wrist and drags him back with her. “Quick! We need to take cover before they load the canons!”
Grantaire stands in the doorway, shaking his head and laughing as he looks from one fortress to the other, behind which his family members are now all hiding out of sight. “You two have had a productive day then, I see. Pillow forts?”
Enjolras’ head bobs up once more from the back of the sofa to throw a wink at his husband and on the other side of the room, Melodie does the same and calls “It’s not a pillow fort Dad, it’s a barricade, and if you stand there you’re gonna get shot.”
Grantaire opens his mouth to reply but she has already disappeared from sight again and is apparently now involved in a deeply serious discussion about attack techniques with her younger brother. He laughs under his breath as he instinctively ducks down and scurries over to the sofa to join his husband.
“Papa did good then?”
Enjolras is on his knees and when Grantaire squats down beside him, he leans forward and wraps one hand around the back of his husband’s neck, nuzzling his face closer for a moment. “Told you that you didn’t need to worry about us,” he whispers.
“I dunno. I mean, I wasn’t exactly expecting to come home to a war zone,” he teases and presses a quick kiss to Enjolras’ smile.
“It’s an interactive history lesson,” says Enjolras with a wink. “And I think I’m winning this one.”