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cracking marble
act two, winter
chapter nine, you terrify me

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( decembre , 1831 )

"CHETTA!"

Amélie's voice carried across the small room as she announced the arrival of Mathilde's dear confidant and Joly's fiancée.

"Bonsoir, chérie!" Musichetta smiled down at the young child who was hugging her waist, giving a small wave to Éponine who bid her greeting as well.

"Congratulations." The blonde grinned at her friend, as they kissed each other cheeks in greeting, as Amélie wandered away. "Joly told us everything!"

"It is wonderful." Chetta agreed, her gaze wandering to the man she loved so dearly as he approached the pair of them.

Joly took Chetta's hands in his and raised them to his lips, placing a delicate kiss there.

"You both look divine together." Mathilde said, softly, looking forwardly at the pair, who brought a calmness to the room of jovial students.

"Grantaire!"

The blonde's eyes darted away from the happy couple and saw Éponine attempting to awaken a rather sleepy looking Grantaire, who was clutching a bottle of alcohol to his chest.

"Chetta's here, you should share!" Éponine cried at the man in front of her.

"Keep your hands to yourself, you scrounger." Grantaire mumbled, holding the bottle closer to his chest as he grumpily was reimbursed into the conscious world.

A lighthearted scoff left the blonde at the drunkard's his tart response."

"Taire, you are honestly the least chivalrous person I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

"Thank you my dear, I adore you also." The drunk chirped back, sarcasm practically dripping from his words before he added, "And, please, I am plenty chivalrous."

This time it was Éponine's turn to scoff.

"Grantaire, you wouldn't know chivalry if it came and slapped you around the face."

"Of course, I would." Grantaire responded, taking a swig from his bottle of drink.

"Oh, really?" Mathilde asked, a smirk stretching across her face.

She turned back to face the room, eyes narrowed as she scanned it, intent in finding a particular blonde boy who would be sufficient in helping her to prove a point.

"Gavroche?" The blonde called across the room, just loudly enough for all the other boys to pause their conversation and look inquisitively at her.

The small boy turned to face her from across the room where he was sat on a table next to Bahorel, giving her his full attention, along with the rest of the room.

With a small nod of her head, he stood up and made his way over to her, as she posed a question him.

"Have you seen how those bourgeois gentlemen treat their ladies?"

"Course, I have!" The boy replied, as Mathilde folded her arms, pleased with his answer.

"Shall we show Grantaire how it's done?" She questioned, with a small smirk and a quick raise of her brows.

"Definitely." The small boy nodded, eagerly, with a large grin that took up the majority of his little face.

He seized her hand in his and led the blonde to the centre of the room, which had cleared so that everyone could spectate the ongoing scene.

"Ah yes, go on Mathilde!" Grantaire heckled form his chair, "Give us a free show!"

"Well, we'll need all the practise we can get before the wedding!" She retorted, sparing a wink to Joly and Chetta, before turning away to face another friendly face. "Give us a tune, would you Jehan?"

"But of course!" He replied, a smile broadening in his face too, as he reached for his flute and began playing a soft tune.

Gavroche and Mathilde stood opposite each other, as would be expected of guests at a debutante ball, preparing to bow and curtesy.

"Alright Gavroche, how does it go?" She asked him, "All this bowing and hats off?"

"And don't let your petticoats dangle in the mud, my darling." He added, pointing at her dress, putting on a very posh accent.

"And I'll go last." The blonde added, mimicking Gavroche's posh accent, as the boy linked his arm with hers.

"No, I'll go last." Gavroche cried, as she hunched slightly to level with him just as Jehan's tune kicked into full swing.

Gavroche sent a cheeky smile up at the girl, before beginning to parade her around the room in a circle, singing as he went.

"I'd do anything for you dear, anything. Yes, you mean everything to me." He sang loudly, "You know that I'd go anywhere for your smile, anywhere for your smile. Everywhere I'd see."

Unlinking her arm with his, Mathilde let out a hearty laugh just as a chair was pushed into the centre of the room for her to take a seat upon.

"Would you lace my shoe?" She asked, taking a seat and presenting Gavroche with her laced boot.

"Anything." The boys responded, taking a step closer.

"Would you stage a coup?" She stood from the chair so Gavroche could jump on.

He did so with ease and immediately struck a pose that was unmistakably and imitation of Enjolras as he puffed out his chest.

"Anything." He answered, proudly.

"Lend me all your sous?" The blonde quirked an eyebrow as the boy jumped down from chair.

"Anything." He cried, with a wide grin as Mathilde beckoned him towards her and pointed out of the window into the distance.

"Go to Timbuktu?"

Gavroche let out a long breath, clearly contemplating the question, trying to remember exactly where Timbuktu was, before his eyes flashed with excitement as he remembered, before he cleverly answered.

"And back again!"

The boys in the room applauded his thought out answer and even Mathilde had to give it to him - for the little street urchin that he was, Gavroche was not a child to underestimate.

"I'd risk everything for one kiss, everything." Gavroche looked at her expectantly, tapping his cheek. "Yes, I'd do anything-"

"Anything?" Mathilde asked with a small scoff.

"Anything for you." He grinned, just as the blonde bent down and pressed a small kiss to the little boy's cheek, earning several claps, cheers and wolf whistles from their audience.

Laughing as she did, Mathilde twirled the young boy around again just before feeling a tap upon her shoulder.

"My lady," Courfeyrac began, very melodramatically, dropping into a low bow. "May I have this dance?"

"Of course you may, M'sieur Courfeyrac." She responded, playing along and letting Gavroche's hand go.

Both Courfeyrac and Mathilde got into position and began to dance around the room to Jehan's music as the boys spectating clapped along.

"I'd do anything for you dear, anything. Yes, you mean everything to me." He sang, loudly, spinning her under his arm just as she'd done with Gavroche. "You know that I'd go anywhere for your smile, anywhere. For your smile, everywhere I'd see."

Offering him a small grin and a hearty laugh, Mathilde twirled out of place to the side of the room and pushed Éponine into the centre where she could replace her.

"Éponine!" She called in a sing-song tone.

Courf gladly parted from the blonde and took Éponine into his arms, slowly walking her through the steps of the jolly dance.

"Would you rob a shop?" Éponine asked Courf, as he twirled her out.

"Anything!" He cried in response.

"Would risk the chop?" A new voice sang from the blonde's side.

Musichetta had beckoned Joly into the middle of the room and was dancing with him alongside Éponine and Courfeyrac.

"Anything!" Joly replied, a smile stretched widely across his face.

"Though your eyes go pop?" Éponine cut back in, turning to Courfeyrac who still wore a grin.

"Anything!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in delight.

"When it comes down plop!" Chetta cried, as Joly pulled her towards him and took her in a warm embrace.

"Hang everything!" Mathilde shouted along with the rest of the boys who were eagerly watching and waiting to join in the dancing.

"I'd risk life and limb to keep you in the swim." Joly serenaded Chetta, spinning her again.

"Éponine, I'd do anything." Courfeyrac continued.

"Anything?" Éponine questioned, raising her eyebrows.

"Anything for you!" The student cried dropping to his knees, his melodramatic side completely taking over.

"Come on, boys!" Mathilde exclaimed, taking the hand of Bosseut who was the nearest of the men to her, and leading him to the centre of the room to dance where the other boys clapped, changing partners with Éponine and Chetta every so often while Jehan played a beautiful interlude.

After a few minutes passing and several different dance partners, the blonde looked over to Grantaire who seemed thoroughly amused by the sight in front of him.

"And now you try, Grantaire!" She cried, causing the volume of the room to quieten slightly to hear what she had to say.

She approached the drunk - who seemed somewhat sober when approached with such a situation - while Jehan continued to play on his flute.

"Would you ..." She paused for thought, as she took his hands in her own and dragged him to the centre of the room. "Take me into town?"

"Anything?" He responded, unsurely as she linked her arm through his.

"Turn around that frown?" The blonde asked, pulling her arm out of his and turning to face him with a quirked eyebrow.

"Anything." He sang with a little more confidence.

"Go against the crown?" She asked, her voice getting louder with excitement.

"Anything!" The man shouted back at her with the same level of enthusiasm, earning him a series of celebratory cries from the crowd around them.

Her gaze shifted for one second to admire the joy on their friends' faces, only to turn back and Grantaire stood by his table taking a short break as it were.

"Put that bottle down!" She cried at the man, frustratedly.

Grantaire turned around to face her taking a quick swig from his bottle and retorting;

"Keep dreaming, Tilde!"

The girl rolled her eyes, hard, as he jumped back to the centre of the room and seized her hands, pulling her into frame to dance.

"I'd risk everything for you, Miss, everything!" He cried, as her laughter was released into the room. "I guess, I'd do anything."

"Anything?" She retorted, as they smirked at each other.

"Anything for you!"

The boys erupted into chaotic applause at Jehan finished his piece. Grantaire pressing a kiss to Mathilde's cheek as she responded with a quick hug; proud of the man.

"Look!" Amélie's voice pierced the ambience the Musain for the second time that night. "It's snowing!"

An excited chatter broke out in the room, as everyone began to crowd around the windows. Her sister told no lie; falling heavily to the ground was snow. It began coating the ground in the warm blanket, and soon all the specks of black on the street were replace with white.

"Can we go and play?" Gavroche asked Courfeyrac, excitedly.

"Not until the meeting's over, Gavroche." The student replied, sympathetically, ruffling the small boys hair.

Mathilde felt her gaze shift to Enjolras whose own gaze was fixed on Amélie and Gavroche, who were looking longingly out of the windows alongside many of the other Les Amis.

"The meeting's over." Enjolras declared to the room, grasping everyone's attention and earning a gleeful squeal from Amélie. "Go and enjoy yourselves. All of you."

The room full of men didn't need to be told twice, Gavroche and Amélie led the way and once all of them - including Éponine and Chetta - had grabbed their coats, from their respective seats, they followed, as though their lives depended on it.

Mathilde couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, looking fondly out of the window just in time to see Grantaire smash a snowball into the back of Combeferre's head.

Shaking her head, she turned back to face the rest of the room where - not so much to her surprise - Enjolras was, leaning on the table where he was formerly sat.

"I take it that you're not one for dancing, then?" She said abruptly, breaking the silence between them.

"What gives you that impression?" The man in red replied, calmly.

"How everyone danced with me just now apart from you." The girl clarified, taking a few steps closer to him, quirking her eyebrows slightly.

"That had nothing to do with my affection for dancing." Enjolras confessed with a small smile at her, as he folded his arms.

"No?"

"More so to do with the standard." He countered himself, taking a step forward.

"Oh? Are you not confident in yourself, Monsieur?" The blonde asked, a small mischievous smile playing at her lips. "Were you afraid I'd upstage you?"

"Quite the opposite, I'm very much confident." Enjolras smirked, taking another step toward the girl, unfolding his arms. "I didn't want to humiliate the rest of the men."

"You're all mouth, no trousers, I'm afraid, M'sieur." She replied, mirroring his smirk.

"Nonsense, I'll show you now." He said, briskly, stepping into the middle of the room.

"But we haven't any music." Mathilde chuckled, following him into the centre of the room and standing opposite.

"The earth has music for those who listen."

"Shakespeare." The blonde muttered, as he gently brushes his fingers against hers, before taking her hand in his.

"Care to waltz, mademoiselle?" He asked, bowing his head, slightly. "I presume you know how."

"I know how." She answered, nodding with a small smile as she placed her other hand gently upon his shoulder, and Enjolras began to lead her around the room in a slow waltz. "My father taught me, I would stand on his toes as he waltzed us around his library."

"He taught you well." Enjolras commented, twirling her around briefly. "You don't speak of him, often, I've noticed."

"Have you?" Mathilde asked, a little confusedly. "I wouldn't think you'd pay much attention to anything I say."

"Quite the contrary, Mathilde." Enjolras replied, "You should give me some credit, I am quite observant, the revolution isn't my only care in the world, you know." He added, rather hurriedly. "I'm more than that." He said, more quietly than usual.

"I know." The blonde replied, quickly, looking him in the eye for a brief moment. "I know you're more than that. A lot more."

The girl faltered, breaking her gaze with his so as not to be tempted by those whirling pools of blue.

"Anyway, as you say," She continued. "I don't talk of my father frequently."

Mathilde swallowed, nervously, her demeanour instantly becoming more reserved as she thought of her Papa.

"He passed away, three winters ago."

"I'm sorry." Enjolras stated, his eyebrows furrowing in concern.

"You needn't be." She shook her head, a small smile working its way onto her features. "It was a long time ago. Papa would have loved everything you're doing here."

"We're." Enjolras corrected her, causing her to stifle a small chuckle.

"We're doing here." She repeated, exhaling slightly. "He cared deeply for those less fortunate than him. He was driven and passionate and would admire the risk you're taking."

"We're taking." Enjolras corrected her again, "He sounds like a remarkable man, I think I would like him very much."

"And he, you. I trust." She responded, imagining the idea of Enjolras meeting her father.

"Now that you speak of him, I see where you get your admirable qualities from." Enjolras said, slowly, putting the pieces together. "Passion, drive, as you said. I presume that's where they stem from." He added, just as a small smirk appeared on his face. "And your pride and stubbornness too, no doubt?"

"I didn't know this had turned into a confrontation of my unattractive qualities." Mathilde stifled a small laugh, shaking her head a little.

"I could never find any part of you unattractive, Mathilde." Enjolras confessed, sincerely.

"What do you imply by that?" The blonde asked, quietly, her smile not budging from her face. "Do you mean to say you think I'm attractive, Enjolras?"

"I didn't say that." Enjolras stated, attempting to appear but failing miserably, unable to hide the smile reminiscent on his face.

"But you implied it." She answered, quickly.

"I merely stated that you were not unattractive." Enjolras clarified, clearly enjoying teasing the girl.

"Same thing!" She cried, with a small chuckle, exasperated at the man's nerve.

"It's getting late," Enjolras said, all of a sudden. "I'll accompany you home."

In that moment, Mathilde realised they'd been standing still. Part of her wondered when they had stopped dancing; the scenario was so overwhelming she could barely remember the basics of it.

"I hadn't even realised we'd stopped dancing." She confessed to the man in front of her, a little bit breathless. "It was quite enchanting. I trust that you agree with me?"

"Oh? Why is that?" Enjolras asked, not moving his gaze from her face, as his hand slowly dropped from her waist.

Mathilde spared a quick glance down to her right, with a little smirk before looking confidently back up at the man.

"Because you're still holding my hand."

Enjolras' eyes widened as his looked down to his left where the blonde's gaze had previously been and realised that the girl was, in fact, telling the truth.

He quickly snatched his hand out of hers, probably scared that he'd violated her somehow but all the girl could do was chuckle.

"Not that I minded." She mused, with a quick smirk as she made for the door, knowing that the leader in red would soon be behind her.

"You mean to say that you like me holding your hand?" Enjolras asked her, as they descended the stairs.

"I didn't say that." She smirked, turning his own words on him. "I merely stated that I didn't mind it."

"Same thing." Enjolras retorted, as they made their way into the bar, suddenly catching onto her intentions. "And don't mock me, Mathilde."

"I wouldn't dream of it." She smirked, sparing him a quick glance as she pushed the door to the Musain open and was greeted by a rather cold breeze - colder than she'd expected.

A quick shiver ran down her spine but she shook it off quickly, wrapping her arms around herself stepping out into the cold, with Enjolras close behind her.

"Leaving already?"

A voice called, turning her head, Mathilde found it belonged to her older brother.

The snow was still falling very heavily. Combeferre was stood wrapped in his coat, snow dropping down his face, while Amélie was chasing Éponine with a snowball.

Grantaire was attempting to create a snow bottle - no doubt containing snow alcohol - for the snowman Gavroche was building with the help of Musichetta, while Joly was exclaiming to all of them that would catch hypothermia soon if they didn't get inside.

"Just accompanying Mathilde home, Combeferre." Enjolras explained to her brother.

"Alright, Amélie and I'll be right along." Combeferre replied, looking around to find Amélie, "See you at home, Tilde." He added, kissing her cheek quickly.

"À bientôt, Ferre." She replied, with a small wave as she and Enjolras progressed down the street.

Sufficiently warmed up, she let her hands fall down to her sides but it wasn't long before a new sensation of warmth overwhelmed me.

"You're holding my hand, again."

"You don't mind." Enjolras retorted, looking straight ahead.

"No, I do not." She agreed with a small laugh, using some of her energy and making herself vulnerable to another chill, causing her to shiver again. This, catching the attention of Enjolras.

"You're cold." He stated, stopping in his tracks and stopping the girl as he did so.

"No," She denied, "A little on the chilly side but it's no matter."

"Here." Enjolras muttered, shaking off his jacket as the snow got caught in his curly hair.

"What about you?" The girl asked, as he presented her with his jacket, "I couldn't-"

"I insist." Enjolras cut her off with a knowing look, holding out the jacket. "Let me be chivalrous for once, Mathilde."

"Only for the sake of chivalry." The blonde said, failing to suppress the smile that broke out across her lips.

"Of course." Enjolras rolled his eyes, standing behind her and wrapping the jacket around her shoulders.

Clutching the hem of the jacket around my neck with her left hand, she took Enjolras' arm with her right, and they proceeded in their journey.

"I've always loved the snow." She voiced aloud.

"Yes," Enjolras agreed with a small smile, admiring the white streets, "It's enchanting, isn't it?"

"We tell Amélie that it's Jack Frost getting the world ready for Père Noël to land his sleigh." She explained to Enjolras with a soft laugh.

"Well, that's certainly creative." Enjolras nodded, emitting a soft chuckle.

"It's what Papa taught Combeferre and I." Mathilde shrugged, making an excuse, "What did your parents tell you?"

Enjolras gave a short sigh.

"They told me precisely what it was." He responded, "They're rather articulate. They didn't encourage folk stories."

Mathilde shot him a quick glance of sympathy.

"Nor does Mama. Papa was the only one who kept our imaginations alive." She let out a small sigh, "I'd rather let her be a child than force her to grow up ... even if it isn't the most practical option."

"It's admirable of you." Enjolras nodded, "Letting her imagination run wild. It's the safer option; not exposing her to the cruelties of the world just yet."

"I fear, in time, it may be beyond my control." The blonde muttered, disheartened by the prospect that Amélie wouldn't stay her innocent self always.

"The only thing stronger than fear is hope." Enjolras reminded her, quoting yet another poet.

The girl smiled at him, and stifled a small chuckle, looking away to hide her amusement.

"What?" He asked, giving a confused smile, clearly baffled with her reaction to such a statement.

"It's nothing." She shrugged, but after seeing his persistent glance, she chose to continue to explain herself. "Only ... I forget how poetic you are, sometimes."

"Looks can be deceiving." Enjolras countered, with a small smirk.

"So I've seen." She acknowledged, looking in front of her, only to see her residence, hardly recognisable beneath the snowfall. "Thank you for walking me home."

"It's my pleasure." The man replied, bowing his head, as she took my arm back from him.

"Here's your jacket." She said, taking the jacket off her shoulders, exposing herself to the cold once more.

"Yes." The revolutionary smiled, taking it delicately from her, their hands brushing during the exchange.

"Thank you for letting me borrow it."

"Thank you for allowing me to give it to you." He joked, folding the jacket over his arm, seemingly immune to the cold.

The blonde stifled a gentle chuckle, before looking back up at him.

"Good night."

"Good night." He nodded, turning on his heel and slowly walking down the street.

Mathilde mirrored his actions and reached for the handle of her gate, but a jolt of in the pit of her stomach stopped me from doing so. Turning back around, she found her gaze fixed on the retreating figure about to turn out of the street.

"I have a question!" She called after him, moving quickly back into the street.

Enjolras turned, slowly. She couldn't make him out very well in the dim moonlight, but could see he was slowly coming back toward her.

She could feel her heartbeat racing in her chest as she let out a shaky breath, brushing her dampened hair out of her face.

He was suddenly very close to her, having crossed the distance between them very quickly. She brought her eyes to meet his, boldly, shivering slightly from the cold.

"Do I intimidate you, Enjolras?" She asked him, sincerely.

"Do you intimidate me?" He repeated her question, his brow furrowing, looking over her face. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you haven't looked me in the eye since we left the café." She confronted him, brushing more damp hair out of her face. "Don't you go confessing that you're scared of me, now."

Mathilde watched the man in front of her look uncertain, snowflakes falling from the sky, kissing his marble cheeks.

"Mathilde." He said, exhaling shakily - it was a side to him that she'd never seen. "You terrify me."

She regarded him, solemnly. Somehow both surprised - and yet, not - by his response, as she let out a shaky breath just like his.

"You and whatever you're doing to me." He elaborated, tracing his fingers down a strand of her hair, clearing out some of the snowflakes.

She couldn't break her gaze from his; it was magnetic - drawing her in and she couldn't resist.

"You could be my downfall." He breathed, his hot breath fanning her face.

The blonde slowly lifted her hand and touched his marble cheek, wiping away some of the snow. He was warm to the touch, another thing that struck her as unexpected.

He held such a cold exterior and yet had just confessed to her that she'd somehow chiselled it away. The gap between the pair was close to nonexistent, his head lowered so his lips were level with hers as his face got closer and closer-

The sound of a door slamming rippled through the air, catching the two of them off guard. Letting out a small squeal of shock, Mathilde turned her head only to realise that the sound had come from her own house.

"Excuse me." She breathed, voice barely a whisper as she removed my hand from Enjolras' face, and stepped out of his secure embrace. "Goodnight Enjolras." She whispered, before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Good night, Mathilde." He looked at her solemnly, clutching his jacket in his arms.

The girl gave him a small smile, cursing herself and whoever slammed that door for ruining the moment between herself and Enjolras, as I turned toward her house again.

But unbeknownst to her, upon entry into that household, her life would change the way she least expected it to.

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