You felt your cheeks grow warm as you glanced down at Enjolras's hand resting gently on the cover of the Robespierre book. Enjolras himself appeared to be lost in thought, as Combeferre continued to speak about Robespierre, how he was a man of the people and a true hero to be celebrated.
You shyly raised your eyes to look at Enjolras's expression as he gazed at the book. Through his stony exterior, he appeared...touched.
You had realized that Combeferre had stopped talking, and there was a momentary silence.
"Thank you, (Y/N)," spoke Enjolras softly.
"I had no idea, it was totally a coincidence," you blurted.
"Enjolras and I don't believe in coincidences," replied Combeferre. "Everything happens in its due course."
You considered this, then frowned suddenly. "Then with that logic, could you explain the reason why I was forced to live on the streets?" you said, challenging 'Ferre, because he was easier to look in the eye than Enjolras. "Everything happens for a reason. So was I fated to starve, supporting my community, for a predetermined reason?"
The silence that followed was chilling.
"You aren't used to talking to people like me, are you," you commented wryly.
"I do believe that you have come into our lives for a reason," spoke Combeferre, his clear voice cutting into the silence. "We...have a difficult time talking to the general public. We cannot control where we were born, and how we were raised. We do not have insight into the magnitude of the oppressions you are facing. So yes, I do believe you are here with us now for good reason, and we cherish your ideas. We will do all we can to help you."
You nodded, semi-satisfied with his answer.
"The sign we have been awaiting," murmured Enjolras, perhaps more to himself than to anyone else.
Your mind went blank and your heart starting racing as you put together what Enjolras had just stated.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Whenever you are ready," Combeferre was saying, "Enjolras and I have discussed it."
"You actually want me to..." you said, trailing off, because you could not quite remember what they wanted you to do, as your thoughts were still on what Enjolras had said and your heart was racing. Could you be starting the revolution?
"If your community is open to strangers," said Combeferre.
They wanted you to take them now, right this very moment, to your community.
"I will take you to hear the stories of my family," I spoke. "But be warned - you might not be used to hearing such thoughts. It is like my challenging you just now...but worse, because these people have lived their whole lives on the street. They will hold you accountable. With that being said, what we should be discussing is, are you ready to go?"
Enjolras lightly tapped the front desk two times - a nervous habit.
"Let us go, (Y/N). We are ready," said 'Ferre softly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As you left the library, leading the way, and the two men stayed silent the entire way. You let the silence sink in. This was their time to educate themselves, and speak if they had a question.
Then you were there.
You felt their gaze upon you as you greeted the members of the community, explained to one of the elders why there was "yet another stranger, never mind two" visiting the community, and hugged the young ones.
You allowed Enjolras and Combeferre into the gathering circle, and the disgruntled community members eventually began to open up once they saw you bravely tell your own story of the past several days. "I'm not saying they'll ever be able to know us. But they must hear us, otherwise how will they ever know? And we can trust them."
Combeferre smiled from his position, legs gently crossed with the rest of us sitting in our circle. "We may never understand, however, we stand."
Enjolras was rigid as a board and appeared wildly out of place amongst the community, but at Combeferre's words he gave a sharp nod.
Bravely, one of the mothers in the community, Célestine, began her story of her daily struggle to feed her five children, and how she had to sell everything she had...and that meant everything. Next, Amelie, one of our youngest at fifteen, talked about her struggle of being unable to understand where her father had gone, as she had been his pride and joy until he had suddenly passed of cholera when she was only six. One of our eldest, Aloise, who had been a grandmotherly figure in your life for as long as you could remember, told her story of religious persecution and being deemed insane by the court system for speaking her mind.
As they told their stories, you watched as Combeferre scribbled down notes after each one, asked questions, and placed his notepad aside with each new story and nodded in all the right places, small noises of empathy emanating from his throat, otherwise adjusting his glasses to hide the tears he was wiping away.
Next to him, you noticed that all of the color had drained from Enjolras's face. He sat perfectly still the entire time, and gazed upon each speaker with such intensity that you gathered he was hanging on to every word. Once, in-between speakers, you saw him run a hand through his curls. This was a man whose anger churned inside of him, silent, but these stories were igniting that passion within him.
And then the last embers of the fire were dying, and everyone had told their stories, and people were heading to bed. You were planning to stay with them that evening, but when Aloise limped over to you and told you, "Go with those boys, and go home, (Y/N), you must be happy! You have moved on to brighter horizons. You cannot help us back here. Go, and carry us with you..." you left with a heavy heart.
Combeferre and Enjolras were beside you, and even more than before, the silence was deafening. They appeared to not be conscious of anything around them. You were all caught up in your own thoughts, processing what had just occurred.
Your feet brought the three of you to the only logical place to process your feelings - the back room of the Musain. It was five minutes until closing and Madame took one look at the expression on Enjolras's face and beckoned Combeferre forward, sliding him a key to the Musain and mouthing "lock up later" at you. You nodded, and followed the men to the back room which now seemed barren, except for one person still there.
Grantaire was asleep, passed out drunk at a center table. You moved past him to a table which Enjolras chose - the table in the corner. Candles lit a homey glow around the room and you couldn't help but smirk at how nice it looked. Your cleaning job hadn't worn off yet.
Combeferre hadn't sat down yet; he was staring off into space, out the window. You quietly stood by the table near Enjolras, who quickly turned his head so you wouldn't see the lone tear trickling its way down his marble cheek.
You politely ignored this, your heart warmed by his compassion, and pondered in silence. These were the stories of your daily life, but you hadn't realized how impactful it would be to those who cared but had no idea of the depth of the misery that was in Paris.
"I don't want you to pity me," you said, breaking the silence. "With Monsieur Valjean's help, we're making new lives for ourselves in the community. Célestine could be out of her situation in the next week."
"But what if this Monsieur Valjean hadn't found you, (Y/N)? It took you stealing bread in an act of desperation...an act which would lead many people to jail...for you to gain that help," spoke Combeferre honestly. "And what about all of the thousands of other communities of survivors, just trying to live through the day? It makes me...I just...can't fathom..."
"Take some time, 'Ferre. Sleep on it, journal what you have learned. Then, action. We can help them," you replied gently. "We have that capacity within us."
"You are..." he paused. "So brave, (Y/N). And honest. These are the stories we have been needing to hear for years. And...and...we are so grateful for you, (Y/N). All this time, without an outlet to connect with the people..."
"You can connect with the people, 'Ferre...it just takes a lot of courage. And you showed that tonight. Now please, try and get some sleep...it's late."
"I will. You too." And he walked dazedly out of the room, without so much as a goodbye, too caught up in his own thoughts and ignoring the still fast asleep Grantaire and...
"My heart is heavy today."
You had almost forgotten about Enjolras. Almost. He was hard to forget.
"Enjolras, let what you have seen today empower you to enact all that you have stated in your speech I heard you give the other night," you said, turning to face him. "Words have power...and so do actions. We can use both."
"How did you do it?"
"How did I...?"
"How did you survive there?" he asked sharply, straightening his back slightly, arms crossed.
"I didn't have much of a choice, now, did I?" you said, bravely taking a seat across from him. "We all do what we have to do."
"You misunderstand me, (Y/N). How did you...survive?" and he stared intently at you.
"You mean how did I keep from going utterly mad, then."
He gave a nod so slight you wondered if your eyes were deceiving you.
"I guess I knew..." You paused to think this over. "I guess I knew it had to get better. I had hit the lowest place a human being can ever be, and I just thought to myself...it has to get better than this. It just has to. Then, sure enough, it ended up being the one act of desperation that saved me. Isn't that how it always is...the things we learn when we think we've lost it all...end up being the most valuable life lessons, and we use it to rise up, to overcome..."
Enjolras's brow furrowed in thought as he leaned back in his seat. "That is very wise."
You were silent as you felt your cheeks grow warm for probably the thousandth time that day.
"He has been sober," said Enjolras, nodding toward the sleeping Grantaire. "I have been told by Combeferre and Grantaire himself that this is your doing."
You smirked slightly. "Yes, the first time it was just a whim because I thought he had actually fired the last waitress. It was only later I found out why, because she was a..." and here, you jokingly lowered your voice and looked in both directions, leaning forward to hiss "bloody monarchist!"
Enjolras raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was his way of showing he was highly amused.
You continued: "So I wanted to give him a hard time. I despise drunk people, for I've seen the dark side of what it can do...it has destroyed the lives of some of the families in our community."
"I too have seen this dark side," commented Enjolras softly. "I am grateful. I should have known it was you behind this. He sleeps, but he will be all the wiser when he wakes."
"I can see the person he can be without it," you replied. "Without him, I wouldn't have known about...you."
Enjolras scowled and was silent.
"We should wake him up now," you commented, glancing over at the sleeping R.
"Let him rest," spoke Enjolras. "What...exactly was he saying about me?"
"Oh, nothing, just that I had your scowl," you laughed, causing him to frown slightly.
You bravely went on: "And the way Madame was talking about you made me think at first you liked wine, the way she was acting! She was dripping with sarcasm, Enjolras...she said you'd love me for replacing Grantaire's wine with grape juice..."
You were still smiling as you looked at him as he gave the most peculiar expression.
A voice behind you mumbled, "Oh, dearie, that wasn't sarcasm."
It was the drunkard turned sober, awoken from his slumber.