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cracking marble
act one, autumn
chapter three, enjolras

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( septembre , 1831 )

         HER EYES MET HIS in a fast collision; a stormy blue against warm hazel. Everything seemed to freeze around her; and, just like the dream, he was the only she could see clearly. As if all around had turned to dark and he was the light; he demanded her attention.

        In her fury, Mathilde had failed to notice that this man had been seated at the same table as Combeferre, and now had risen from his seat, holding the grey cap — that once sat upon her head — delicately in his hands.

         His cool gaze surveyed her and his stern expression softened slightly, yet there wasn't the slightest glimmer of recognition in his gaze. Mathilde felt her heart sink at the prospect.

         "What's going on, Combeferre?" The man turned slightly to her brother who stood close behind her, having strode into the middle of the room while conversing with her.

        "Gavroche invited my little sister to our meeting. My other little sister." Combeferre clarified to the man, surmising the explanation in a few short sentences.

        "Ferre." Mathilde found herself scoffing, nudging her brother lightly in the side. "I'm nearly twenty-one."

        Her addition to the conversation was in no more than whisper and hardly acknowledge by the stern man opposite them, who had once again summoned Mathilde's gaze to him. Her hazel eyes narrowed as she looked him over, the girl quickly concluded that he must have been the leader of whatever association they were part of. It was undeniable; there was just something in the way he held himself that told her he was the one to call the shots.

         "Gavroche?" The man called, his tone still calm as he walked around the table, awakening Mathilde from her momentary daze as he addressed Gavroche.

          "She's really nice," Gavroche shrugged meekly before hastily adding, "And she hates the King."

A small chuckle left Mathilde's lips at Gavroche's attempt of justifying her presence, before she felt herself regain some confidence and quirk an eyebrow at the man.

"Does that satisfy you, Monsieur?"

His gaze flickered to the blonde, surveying her before moving to Combeferre, as another voice spoke out in jovial cackle.

"Our fearless leader is never satisfied, Mademoiselle." A man huddled in the corner of the room called out with a wicked grin, his tone thick with sarcasm, as he took a swig from a dark bottle of which Mathilde could presume the contents.

"Watch your mouth, Grantaire," The leader replied, sternly, his jaw clenching ever so slightly as he spared the man a fearsome look.

However, this unruly Grantaire merely smirked in victory before taking another swig of his bottle, continuing to observe the altercation before him.

With a hopeless sigh, the gentleman turned back to face the girl before him, straightening up ever so slightly as he did, before he cleared his throat.

"Mademoiselle?" He singled her out with a pointed look, before gesturing to a door to his left. "If you would?"

A nervous sigh left the girl's lips as she avoided the man's pointed gaze, sparing a look at her brother, who gave her a reassuring nod. Mathilde took a step forward past her brother and passed through a doorway into a smaller room that adjoined onto the meeting room.

It was considerably smaller, and contained one small round table made of the same wood that held up walls of it.

Mathilde could feel her hands clench at her side as she faced away from the man, pretending to find immense interest in the wooden panels that lined the room. But that pretence was short-lived as the sharp sound of the door snapping shut startled her, and she jumped around to face the gentleman in alarm.

He let out a light breath as his eyes cast over again with a curious gaze as though her very being was alien to him. Then he cleared his throat;

"You understand that I cannot permit this."

His tone was calm as he passed her the hat which she gently took from him as she stomached his words which — due to her intrigue — took me a few seconds to comprehend. But once she had, she could feel her features contort into an annoyed expression.

"Excuse me?" She scoffed, furrowing her eyebrows as her hazel eyes flashed dangerously, "No, Monsieur, I most certainly do not understand."

Mathilde's sudden outburst didn't startle him but caused him to inhale sharply and let out a large sigh of in patience instead.

"Perhaps, I should clarify." He attempted to explain, taking a step towards her. "You're a woman, and women are merely a distraction."

"That's hardly a fair assumption to make M'sieur!" Her retort was instant, her nostrils flaring as she attempted to stare him down, "You do not know me, I could be as dull as dishwater for all you know!"

"Clearly not." He disagreed, looking her up and down to observe her behaviour. "You're emotional and dramatic."

"I'm dramatic?" She replied, her arms folding over her front, "You're the one leading a revolution!"

Mathilde suddenly became conscious of a dull ache between her eyebrows, her facial muscles aching at just how fiercely she was scolding at the man. She took in a deep breath, before her gaze shot to the floor, bashfully. Perhaps his assumption was fair, perhaps dramatic did lend itself to describe her.

"Please." She said in a smaller voice, looking back up at the man, although his expression didn't falter. "I believe in your cause and I can gather that you aren't impressed with me, Monsieur, but would you turn down a volunteer?"

She felt herself straighten up, squaring up to him ever so slightly as he continued to show no sign of response to her request. A long breath left her before she shot him a solemn look;

"I want to join."

"You don't understand the severity—"

"Forgive me, M'sieur, but how would you know what I do and do not understand?" She snapped, having heard enough of his assumption excuses. "Just because I'm not directly affected by the poverty in this city doesn't mean I'm blind to it."

The marble man said nothing, but looked at her intently as though trying to solve an a thousand piece puzzle that no matter what could not be cracked.

"I see children like Gavroche and I help them, because that's the right thing to do." Mathilde persisted, letting out a shaky breath, her frustration dissipating into pleas. "And you're doing the right thing by leading this rebellion, M'sieur.

"So allow me to do the right thing too. By helping you in doing so." She surmised with an exhalation, her voice lowering as she pressed her lips together nervously.

The two of them were caught in a battle once more as they stared at each other intently, seeing who dared to look away first.

"Very well."

Mathilde felt her eyes widen and a small smile break out across her lips at his statement, her success taking her somewhat by surprise.

"Welcome to Les Amis de l'ABC." He told her, finally putting a name to the righteous association.

Mathilde could see he was attempting to be stern as he outstretched a hand towards her, but she could have sworn that she spotted a small twitch in the corner of his lips.

"I'm Enjolras."

A quaint smile patinged her features in response as she reached forward and grasped his hand. It was warmer that she had anticipated, his touch sending a shock of bliss through her body.

"Mathilde."

She attempted to regain some composure as she told him her own name, which upon hearing the girl would have sworn she saw his lips curve into the ghost of a smile.

"Mathilde." He repeated, with a slight twitch of his lips, his hand still grasped around hers as they continued to exchange niceties.

Their eyes that had once been fixed in a battle of wills had lost their fire and calmed considerably although still bore into one another, as the girl realised that they'd probably been shaking hands longer than necessary.

"Um—" She attempted to msiter as she tore her gaze from his and instead looked down at their still intertwined hands.

Enjolras followed her gaze and his eyes widened at what he saw, causing them to slowly release each other's hands.

"I apologise, I've suddenly become a little empty-headed it appears." He excused himself, straightening up and clasping his hands behind his back; regaining his stern composure.

"No matter," Mathilde smiled politely in response at the handsome man as he stepped backwards and opened the door that led back into the main meeting.

The buzz of the neighbouring room died as they re-entered, and Mathilde found herself fiddling with the unlinked cuffs of her shirt, nervously as all gazes landed on her.

The group of men looked from her to their leader expectantly, awaiting for one of them to say something. Combeferre raised an eyebrow at his sister who responded with the subtlest of nods.

"She stays." Enjolras declared, his voice monotonous, yet as soon as the words left his lips a great cry of delight echoed in the room.

Mathilde couldn't fight the grin that spread across her face upon seeing the reaction of the delighted gents around her, all of whom she could see were in agreement with Enjolras.

"Come sit with me, Mathilde." A voice beckoned from my left, catching her attention with a wide smile and taking her hand in his own.

Jehan pulled her over to the corner in which he was sitting with a man — she was almost certain to be called Lesgle — who was in fierce conversation with Joly, they both spared her a smile as she approached them.

"Goodness, who knows how long it's been." The poet smiled, his wily red hair falling into his face, as the excited buzz once again filled the meeting room.

"Far too long." Mathilde replied, as she took a seat beside him, her trousers allowing her to cross her legs beneath her, "Fate was bound to bring back together two old friends at some point or another, wasn't it?"

"But who would have thought it would be like this?" He countered with a light chuckle, "I daresay I never imagined you as a revolutionary, Mathilde."

"I could say the same for you, dear Jehan," She replied, taking a hand through her hair which was still entangled from the mess it had been bundled beneath the cap, before taking a deep sigh and surveying her friend. "You look well."

"And you look as beautiful as ever." He acknowledged, lifting his glass to her, "Even if you are wearing Combeferre's clothes."

"And there's the Jehan, I remember." Mathilde remarked, with a light chuckle that mingled harmoniously with that of the poet, "As witty and with as much cheek as ever."

Jehan raised an eyebrow with his iconic grin, before his gaze wandered to elsewhere in the dim room.

"I cannot believe you convinced him." He muttered in a lower tone, edging a little closer to her so that she could hear him amidst the rumble of noise in the room.

Mathilde followed his gaze across the lamplit room, only for it to land on the stern leader who she'd just spoken with.

Enjolras' gaze met her own briefly before he abruptly looked away, as though her gaze had given him an electric shock.

"Enjolras?" She asked, raising an eyebrow, looking back at Jehan as he responded with a short nod, "It wasn't that much of a challenge to convince him, Jehan."

"No, Mathilde!" Jehan whispered, excitedly, leaning across the table, "This is Enjolras, as I'm sure you can gather, he never breaks the rules. For crying out loud, he makes the rules."

"Don't exaggerate, Jehan—"

"I'm not exaggerating!" He smiled, still keeping his tone low and clasping his hand over hers so as to maintain her attention, "When he first put this operation together it was made clear that no women were to be allowed participation."

       "Yes, I can imagine that. He said women were a distraction." She nodded in agreement with the poet, letting out a small sigh.

       "But he made an exception for you." Jehan reminded her, eyes wide with desperation for knowledge, "So, what did you do?"

        "Nothing." She answered simply, with a nervous chuckle lacing her tone, as she suddenly finding some great interest in the cuffs of my shirt again.

       "Mathilde, don't be dishonest."

        "I'm not being dishonest. I just told him why I should be here with you all." She explained, quickly, a tight smile on her lips, "And not stuck in a house where I'm positively useless."

       Jehan seemed content with her answer as he hummed to himself, taking another sip from his glass, but not before another smirk crossed his features.

       "He hasn't stopped looking at you, since you came out of that room." Jehan smirked, nodding in Enjolras' direction again.

       "That's not true, Jehan." Mathilde scolded him, taking her hand through her tangled hair again, trying her best to make it seem as though her nerves weren't getting the best of her.

       "See for yourself." Jehan retorted, smugly, raising his eyebrows triumphantly before nodding in the same direction again.

       Pursing her lips, Mathilde narrowed her eyes playfully as Johan before stubbornly turning around where, quite unsurprisingly, when found Enjolras' gaze on her just as she'd been told. However, this time he didn't look away from her, his cool gaze striking her to the core, ripping the breath from her lungs.

       "He doesn't make exceptions, Mathilde." Jehan whispered into her ear, causing her gaze to falter away from Enjolras, as she began to regain her composure.

        She let out a sharp breath, feeling the blush rise up her cheeks.

       "You've impressed him." Jehan surmised, swirling his drink in his glass. "Enjolras isn't easily impressed."

      "Jehan, you're getting carried away." The girl merely chuckled in response, hoping that feigned humour would succeed in masking the embarrassment washing away her.

       "It's odd that he's like this, Mathilde." Jehan pressed on, an eager smile crawling across his features, "You've really stumped him. I bet that—"

       "Bet what you will." She cut him off, grasping his hand in order to bring him back down to earth, "But don't forget why we're really here."

       Jehan gave a final wiggle of his eyebrows before slumping back his chair, signifying the end of their conversation as he disappeared behind the rim of his glass.

"Now, listen here professor with your head in the cloud!"

A chirpy voice sang from across the room capturing Mathilde's attention away from Jehan. Gavroche had jumped up on an uneven chair and was pointing his finger at Enjolras, as he tried to maintain his balance.

The boys in the room chuckled at Gavroche's boldness, as Enjolras turned to face him.

"It's often kind of useful to get lost in a crowd!" Gavroche went on, folding his arms and grinning at Amélie who stood by his chair, with a cheeky smile upon her face.

She had somehow acquired a crown of intricately twisted twigs upon her head, looking up at Gavroche, very pleased with herself.

"So keep your universities, I don't give a damn!"

One of the boys let out a low whistle, causing a wave of laughter to ripple over the rest; even Enjolras gave a small smile at the cocky child.

"For better or for worse it is the way that I am."

"He's got quite a mouth for a boy." Mathilde found herself remarking to Jehan, as Gavroche jumped off the chair with a loud thump.

"He was raised on the streets." Jehan told her, sitting up and shuffling in his seat, "There's no other way for him to be."

"No, I suppose not." She let out a small sigh; she'd grown quite fond of the little blonde rascal.

"Amélie is no angel either by that regard; watch." Jehan nudged her shoulder and pointed at her little sister who was stood at Gavroche's side.

Her mischievous smirk still resided on her lips and she continued Gavroche's song;

"But be careful as you go, 'cause us little people grow!"

She placed her hands on her hips, and beckoned for Bahorel to lift her up onto the table at the centre of the room.

"And little people know, when little people fight," she sang, loudly, skipping along the table, Gavroche clambering upon it after her. "We may look easy picking but we've got some bite!"

"So never kick a dog because it's just a pup!" Gavroche cheered, looking around the boys at the table and finally Enjolras giving him a cheeky smile. "We'll fight like twenty armies and we won't give up!"

Gavroche caught the blonde's eye and sent her a wave from his place on the table, clearly very impressed with himself and Amélie. Mathilde responded with a small wave and a light chuckle, shaking her head at his behaviour.

Gavroche and Amélie gave each other a nod and puffed out their chests, folding their arms as they chorused together;

"So you better run for cover when the pups grow up!"

The room erupted in applause, some of the boys whistled while others whooped, as they lifted the rascals down from the table.

"Bravo!" Courfeyrac cried as he retreated from the centre of the room where all the commotion took place and threw himself into the chair on Mathilde's left.

It took the girl a second to notice him, as her gaze was fixed on Enjolras, who was chuckling at Amélie as she handed him back some of his papers.

"How can he think women are distracting when that's going on?" She voiced her thoughts aloud, folding her arms across her front.

Courfeyrac heard her query and followed her confused gaze to Enjolras, who had sat back down again at the table and was shuffling through the paper with the aid of her brother.

"He may seem stone cold but he doesn't have to heart to send them away especially when they love it here so much." Courf replied, Mathilde's gaze travelled from Enjolras to him as he spoke to her, "Truth is, I think he's deeply fond of them both but won't admit it."

A soft chuckle left Mathilde's lips at the though, sitting back in her marvel as she marvelled at the boy beside her.

"I had no idea you were so perceptive, Courfeyrac."

"There's very little you know about any of us anymore, Mathilde." Courf said, perhaps more seriously than he'd intended as he hurriedly added, "Don't worry, you'll be sick of us in a matter of days."

Mathilde shot him a soft smile in response, her gaze travelling once more around the room and seeing something she hadn't seen before; all the gentlemen wore distinct badges — you could say — they were red, blue and white and delicately sewn to together to create a patriotic emblem on each man's jacket.

"What are these you all wear?" She asked, turning back and facing Courf, gesturing at his own badge.

"Tokens of our cause." Courf replied contently, stroking the frills of said token that sat up his lapel.

"They're stunning." Mathilde complimented, as her eyes stayed fixed upon their intricacy. "Where did you get them?"

Courf leaned in closer to Mathilde as he lowered his voice, gesturing to an man on the other side of the room.

"You see that gentleman, there?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow. "He's Feuilly, used to make fans, taught himself how to read and write. He put them together with a little aid from Grantaire."

Mathilde couldn't fight the scoff that left her lips at the mention of the cynic's name, turning up her nose a little.

"Really, him?"

"I know, it's hard to believe but he's not bad." Courfeyrac tried to reason with the blonde, nudging her shoulder slightly. "There's more to him than—"

"Being a rude and cynical alcoholic?" Mathilde cut him off, tartly, her lips pursed challengingly.

Courfeyrac merely laughed quietly at her response, taking a sip of wine from the bottle in his hand.

"You'll learn to tolerate him, Mathilde. As we all have."

The blonde at his side simply gave a small hmph as she awaited for Courf to change the subject which he did, fluently.

"But, as for Feuilly, speak to him after the meeting, I'm sure he'll make you one if you ask."

"Thank you, Courf." She smiled, as the hustle of bustle of the room began to die down and the meeting — that she'd had infiltrated some minutes previously — resumed.

Amélie and Gavroche ran over to Courf and Mathilde, immediately bounding on both of their laps, preparing to spectate the meeting.

Enjolras cleared his throat, giving a nod to Combeferre who had an old book and pencil in hand, waiting to take minutes.

"The primary focus is to raise awareness, the people believe they are powerless and so we must convince them that—"

"You look funny in Ferre's clothes, Mathilde." Amélie whispered to her older sister from where she resided on her lap.

"Oh hush, you rascal."

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