So Many Things Unclear ( Mylene )

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène heaved a sigh that was half teasing half earnest as she heard Combeferre think more on his idea of writing it all down to sort out his feelings previously. It was true, he might not be as eloquent as Enjolras, able to provide a speech ready for press the moment he so much as opened his mouth, but there HAD to be a way in between. All of this sounded far too awkward even now when it only was being planned and so she feared the worst for the actual scene when it might happen. “As long as you don’t make it SOUND like you’re inwardly reading it off somewhere”, she pointed out, sighing again and shrugging. “That would make it seem unnatural, right? An ye dun wan’ tha’!” Was she seriously giving him advice as to how to win Eponine’s heart? She might call it cutting the losses instead maybe, since she had no doubt that there WOULD be a loss. A loss of pride and a loss of hope. A miracle had to happen for Eponine even to hear Combe out long enough to understand what he was getting at. The idea of her accepting his confession was utopical, as sad as it was. But could she really tell him that? Mylène hesitated, even though she usually did not mince matters at all. Maybe it was the stupid wish that this enmeshment could somehow turn out to be a blessing in disguise after all. Ponine must like Combe well enough to tolerate his lessons after all, she might even care for him in some way. But… love?!

Combe’s indignation when she mentioned Marius made Mylène laugh merrily. Ah, so there he was, still making differences between one lovesick fool and the other. Granted, Combe was not THAT far gone, it was true, but it reminded her too much of the old proverb of the glasshouse and the stones. “Yer te rational te end up like tha’, thanks be to whoever thanks be due”, she chuckled. “In all yer confusion I still see sum light. I have no doubt ye’ll pull through this, jus’… wanted te say I might not be the expert ye’re searchin’ for. “ She doubted though he wanted to know any of that, and so she left it at that, glad he seemed not to be mad with her for her outburst, accepting her apology.

“On edge is the word… knife’s edge more like”, she muttered. “Makes me sad te see… ye lads have been far te gloomy an’ earnest lately. Like te see a smile on those faces again sumtime. No time’s tha’ bad ye can’ make it better wi’ a smile.” She finished, nudging his arm slightly. This was certainly one of her mottos in life. Things did not look any better when you moped about them. Better to laugh at the joke life basically was, so you could at least show it would not bring you down.

Her own brows furrowed in confusion and mild disbelief though as she heard Combeferre’s answer to her question, that very important question. It did not satisfy her at all, made her even more wary if that could even be the case. Ponine had showed him where she LIVED?! But how come he did not know then who she really was? Or had her dear friend played a little game with guileless Combeferre? Not to trick him, of course, but it didn’t sound like Ponine at all to be so open about her background. If she called this out, though, she might destroy something here and that was the last thing she wanted!
“Well…” she stood up as well and searched Combeferre’s gaze, wanting to get her point across before he left. “It’s always a good thin’ te know WHA’ yer gettin‘ yerself into before ye jump in wi’ both feet, that’d be me advice. I dun doubt ye love her – ye make tha’ obvious enuf, alright! – but… be careful not te put Ponine on a pedestal she won’ belong on.”

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“No, no of course not!” Combeferre replied, shaking his head. How would he make it sound natural, then? Was it not natural because the words came from his head? He could not come up with things to say without having a chance to think—this was why, and he had never told his father this because he would be further ashamed, he could not ever practice law. He was an excellent thinker, yes, and he could construct brilliant arguments if given the time, but he could not anticipate the other counselor’s response and speak in front of a packed courtroom. He would simply be no good at it. And obviously he would be no good at spontaneously telling the woman he loved that he loved her. “I just, I just have to think about things a little before I say them—especially this. I don’t want to make a fool out of myself...” His mind raced as he tried to think of what to do. "Maybe...maybe I should buy her a gift? Or gifts...flowers, perhaps, and maybe um, a fan?" Feuilly made fans, those were easily accessible. And women liked flowers, didn't they?

He rubbed his chin as he thought who to ask for help. Courfeyrac… They had already corresponded about this particular issue, and as much a blow to Combeferre’s pride as it would be to admit that he had been right, he needed his best friend’s guidance before taking any further courses of action. He did not want to act rashly, and would not until he felt he was sufficiently prepared to tell Eponine how he felt.

He smiled at Mylene at her comment. “I suppose so—the upcoming days are grave times indeed, but we still all have each other. That’s certainly cause to smile.” For now, at least. He did not want to think about what would happen after Lemarque’s funeral. Combeferre was still staunchly against Les Amis firing the first shots. Yes, the National Guard had technically shot first, and if they did again then so be it, they could use their weapons—but he did not want them firing on the National Guard who were bound to be at the funeral without just cause. He had suggested in their meeting that they all carry weapons but refuse to use them until the time was right.

Combeferre was placing his The Republic back in his bag, but looked up when Mylene spoke again. “I know—I’m going to wait as long as I can, but I must tell her before…before we leave.” he stated grimly. He didn’t know if he would ever get the chance if he waited too long. He frowned at her remark about putting Eponine on a pedestal. “I know we certainly come from different backgrounds, but that has no bearing on my feelings whatsoever—I’m not concerned about any of that. I just want her to be happy and, I think, I can make her happy.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Well, Combeferre might have to live with the fact that he just MIGHT make a fool of himself, whether he wanted it or not. Wasn’t that was love was all about, at least like Mylie had heard? Being in love was willingly taking the risk to make a fool of yourself, because the alternatives were even more dreadful. Hmm… Mylène liked to make a fool of herself the best of times, she didn’t exactly take herself seriously often, would that mean she was always in love? In love with the world perhaps… and with everything it could throw at you, no matter what pains it gave you. What had that phrase once been Boucher said: Love yer enemies, Coquine… that’ll make ‘em even more angry. Yeah, take that life, I love you, no matter how mean you are!
But what he suggested next brought her thoughts back to matters at hand and for a moment she felt tempted to bury her face in her hands and groan. Sweet simplicity! This could only be a joke, right?! He wanted to shower Ponine of all people with flowers?! Other girls might like that, but… certainly not her friend, right?!
"What's she gonna do with flowers an' a fan... she's a gamine!" she exclaimed in a tone of utter disbelief. “Combe… really…!"

We all have each other… that was certainly true for the Amis. The boys had formed such a close-knit community it had been a pleasure to watch when things had still been peaceful and it was a consolation now when things would get thick and fast soon. They would stand together whatever came their way, it was like with the rose metaphor she had been talking about with Courfeyrac, even though she had included herself in that one: when the roses stood together they protected each other with their stings, so none of them could be picked without great damage to those who dared to try.
“An’ ye have the court jester”, she added, pointing her thumb back to herself with a mischievous grin. “Always ready te coat the truth wi’ some jokes.” And that she would, without a doubt, just like she always had. Teasing was her lifeblood, she probably would not be able to live an hour without it.

All teasing was far from her mind though when Combeferre once again stopped this taletelling second in his speech, a second she had witnessed with many of the boys lately. It was the unspoken presence of death that seemed already to loom over their heads like a dark cloud, reaching down to choke them every once in a while. They wanted to build tomorrow with their fight, but none of them seemed ready to believe in a tomorrow for any of them themselves – as if maybe not to jinx it. Again Combeferre had made this clear by wanting to tell Eponine all this BEFORE the barricades would arise. Before they did ‘go’… what a tender euphemism for possible death. But it was unspeakable, it was even unthinkable. So she would not comment on it.
“Sometimes what has the power to make us happy is not what we SEE to make us happy… or want”, she pointed out with a sigh. “But I wish ye luck… if only for tha’, yer feelings give ye more credit than I ever had for ye, if I’m honest.”

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Combeferre blinked in surprise at Mylene’s reaction to his suggestion before coloring in embarrassment, realizing how foolish it had been. “Right...” She was not a bourgeois woman who would be impressed by such frivolous and trivial gifts. It was ironic because Combeferre had sworn never to even attempt to woo anyone whose love could be won by those sorts of things, and yet here he was treating the only woman he had ever loved like one of the ladies his mother hurled at him. He was ashamed, and his downcast face was indicative of this fact. “Well, what can I give her? I must give her something to show my affection for her. Something…something more practical then? Something that she could use…a dress—no, no, that’d be inappropriate and she’d probably be offended—what should I do, mademoiselle?” he asked despairingly, his eyes gazing up at Mylene’s in misery.

He had no idea what to do, he was not used to this. He didn’t know what she would like. He thought about buying her a book, but that wasn’t special at all—he had offered to give her whatever books she wanted from his stockpile at home. That was the gift of a friend not a potential suitor. How did one woo a gamine? They came from completely different worlds, which was more of a roadblock than he had thought—not because it made any difference to how he felt, because it didn’t and never would, but because he didn’t know how to go about winning her hand without appearing condescending.

There was also the fact that he was not particularly charming in any way. Any attempt at being romantic would simply be a joke. He could barely hold a conversation with her without stuttering his way into oblivion; it would be a miracle if he could make it through his declaration without trailing off nonsensically. What a fool she probably thought him already—perhaps this wasn’t a good idea? Perhaps he should keep it to himself. “I don’t know if I can do this at all…I don’t want her to think any less of me—what if she’s disgusted? What if she laughs? I couldn’t bear it if she laughed…” he murmured, his eyes widening in fear.

His mood lightened a bit at Mylene’s lighthearted comment. “I think I can speak for everyone when I say we appreciate your witticisms, mademoiselle. We all need a good laugh, especially now…”

He raised an eyebrow at her words but did not comment. He nodded his head as she wished him well. “Thank you, that’s very kind. If anything I’m just hoping she listens long enough to hear what I say—if what you say is true and she doesn’t think that anyone cares…well the least I can do is prove that that isn’t the case. Nor will it ever be as long as I am living.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène instantly felt bad when she saw Combeferre’s pitiful expression and his gaze that spoke of letdown and embarassment. He looked so much like a kicked puppy, and she had kicked him alright! Darn her tongue sometimes, it was ALWAYS quicker than her mind! “Pardon me, that was not fair”, she excused herself, biting her lip. “I just forget sometimes that what is evident for me isn’t evident for everyone else.” After all, they DID come from two different worlds, and why all of Les Amis had made a big step in neglecting and overseeing the barrier between those worlds in their mind, the problems of trying to combine these two still stayed the same. But the least she could do now was to give this a real think, to find out what could possibly be given to Eponine that would not make her reject it. She was a proud one alright, she hardly would accept any gift. Dieu eternel, she even refused the little treats Mylène wanted to give her occasionally from the café, she insisted on paying for them. “Practical yes…” she murmured. That certainly went into the right direction. No, not a dress… she might not even wear it, and then there still was the issue of Louis Thénardier immediately realising his daughter had a new dress… he would want to know who had given it to her. Oh, that could mean trouble…

But the dress still gave her an idea, and she leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “Then give her something that shows you know what she's going through, but that is pretty as well. Something she can use and yet like. How about a new shawl?!” Eponine after all was always wearing that same old thing to keep herself warm. She let that sink in for a short moment, then added with a sly wink: “It'd be like she's warming herself wi' something you gave her... symbolic, eh?” Symbolic for sure… and also a little suggestive, imagining in a way that Combeferre himself was wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind. Hmm… she would have to see what the young man thought of this idea, but it didn’t sound so bad to Mylie’s own head. Apparently she wasn’t as ignorant in such things after all!

When he praised her like that, saying that they did enjoy her wit, she gave a laugh, but it was a goodnatured one. “Be honest, I guess many of you already cursed me behind my back”, she claimed, and it would not even make her feel bad if they did. She was used to this after all, her wit stung and sometimes it stung hard. It enabled her to keep a distance from people and situations, so no one could really get too close. Until recently that had worked out… but now someone was coming closer. “I have nicknames for all of ye, wha’s yer lads’ nickname for me, eh? Mégère? Now come, ye can tell me…” her voice had dropped to a fake conspiratorial whisper, as if she wanted to coax a grave secret out of him. Just that there probably was none at all. The ABC friends had better things to do than to talk about her in her absence.

Getting Eponine to listen… yeah that would be the hardest and highest obstacle to overcome, Mylène thought with an inward grin. “Tie her to a pillar and gag her so she can’t interrupt you?” she suggested jokingly, but then she forced her teasing nature back. “If she so much as looks derisively at ye, she’ll have te answer te me! Mais oui, maybe that is the key. Show her that you care, make her SEE that you care… and when she is sure of that… ye might be able to tell her.”

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“No, it’s alright…that was imprudent of me to suggest that in the first place.” Combeferre replied to Mylene’s apology, waving a hand. “I…I know that she and I came from very different places, but I want to make this work—it has to—i-if she ever did love me back. I just don’t know how to go about doing it. I don’t know what would offend her and what wouldn’t…” he trailed off uncertainly. He was determined not to let status come between them, because the whole system of bourgeois and the lower and working classes was something he wholeheartedly believed needed to be done away with in general. However this was an example of class getting in the way of things.

Regardless of how difficult pursuing a relationship with Eponine would be, he was willing to face said difficulties because in his mind it was worth it. Combeferre sighed in relief when Mylene agreed that whatever he chose to give Eponine had to be practical. “Ah, good. At least I have the right idea now.” So what sort of gift was practical and yet not something she would claim was charity? He had noticed how defensive she was whenever he tried to give her something—be it food, a book, or even their lessons in general. He needed to give her something that would not be an insult to her pride—which certainly threw out his first idea.

“A new shawl?” Combeferre repeated, and then his eyes brightened. “Yes, yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do! I’ll buy her a new shawl!” That was a capital idea—and he knew just who to ask for advice on what type of shawl he should buy her since women’s fashion was the one area he was not knowledgeable about. The young man’s face reddened at Mylene’s comment, but he nodded. “Er, yes, yes I suppose it would be in a way, wouldn’t it?”

He shook his head vehemently. “No, not at all—I don’t think any of them would dream of it.” As far as he knew, not a cross word had ever been said about her. Then again he rarely listened to any conversation not pertaining to the revolution or philosophical debates… “Well, that sounds fitting.” he stated with a chuckle after hearing her nickname. “I can’t think of any at the moment but I’ll certainly suggest that one to the others.”

His eyes widened in horror at her suggestion until he realized that she was only joking. “I will,” he replied to her more serious advice. Even if she did not respond favorably to his confession, he would always be there in the event that she ever needed him—which he doubted, as she said, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. In any event he wanted her to know that she did not have to be alone. “Thank you for all of your help. I don’t know where I’d be without it.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

It was moving, moving indeed the way Combeferre tried so hard. Even though Mylène would wish him to be a little less unsure and naïve in his behaviour for Ponine’s sake, she fervently hoped that at least her friend would not make him feel bad whenever he came across with that. Here was it, the perfect example for the world they were all working for, fighting for: A man of the upper classes falling for a street girl and wanting to make her his happy beloved without the desire being the main focus, but love. Though true equality, Mylène thought with an inward grimace, would probably only come when a girl could do the same. If a man took such a fancy and wanted to go through with it, it was called foolishness, a mild scandal, however if a girl of the upper classes wanted someone below her, it was unthinkable, a slight to the family’s honor, frankly impossible.
“Well, ye already know Ponine’s personality well”, she pointed out and tried an encouraging smile. “She’s a proud an’ strong girl, no-nonsense in some things, but she’s got a good heart. Let that be yer guide, an’ I think ye’ll know wha’ she likes an’ wha not!”

He accepted the idea, and Mylène was glad for it. She hoped Eponine would not reject the gift, but since it was no gewgaw and showed some consideration, it was a good shot. Of course her friend might kill her, gut and quarter her if she ever found out Mylène had had a hand in this little scheme, since she had told her about her difficult feelings for Marius but then… what Ponine didn’t know… Mylène COULD keep her mouth shut at times, just like she would not tell Ponine promptly what Combeferre had told her, she would not tell Combeferre about Marius’ role in Ponine’s life either. Goodness, that would cause enough of a hassle without her intervention! Just before this confession, it had seemed like Ponine was the losing third party in the sickening lovestory of Marius and Cosette, but now a new, interesting factor had entered, one that could change HER life for the better, too. If only she would see it – and accept it!

There was a good sense of humour hidden inside Combe somewhere after all, the way he accepted the suggestion of that rather harsh nickname. She half felt tempted to threaten him jokingly not to dare suggest it, but then that would ruin half of the fun. After all, it could be quite amusing to be suddenly addressed with it by one of them, knowing where it had come from! “Ha, well, the only true nickname I bear will still always stay Coquine”, she pointed out while sticking out her tongue playfully. “It’s me trademark, so much it became almost me last name.” After all, she had no other… if her parents had ever bore one, she had been too young to remember it when they had sold her. She would not want to bear their name anyway… she was no longer their child, they had not wanted her.

His thanks caused a warm glow to spread inside her and it made Mylène almost bashful for a moment, shaking her head. “No need te thank me… couldn’ keep me nose out o’ things as per usual, when I saw the way ye looked at ‘er. An’ who knows”, she chuckled. “Maybe one day ye can return the favour.” That was more meant like a joke than anything else. Firstly, if she ever even needed love advice, she might not ask it from a man as inexperienced as Combeferre obviously was and secondly… there was only a very low number of people he’d probably know better than she herself… and she would NOT finish that line of thought now!

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Combeferre glanced over at Mylene and nodded slowly. Eponine was not superficial like the bourgeois girls he had come into contact with, so he should be careful not to get her a gift that would be more fitting for them than for her. He was liking the shawl idea more by the minute, and if Mylene who knew Eponine much better than he did thought that it was a good idea, then he supposed that he should try that. The only trouble would be picking out a suitable shawl, but for that he would rely on Cosette. He walked with her to the Rue Saint-Denis to give alms whenever her father was not able to, surely she would not mind helping him with this. “That she does…” he agreed, a smile forming on his face. A diamond in the rough if there ever was one, a light in the dark—Good God, I’m getting as bad as Jehan… Now he knew he was in love, he was attempting to describe his beloved with sappy, amateurish poetry. He would not make that mistake when he did declare his love.

He hoped she liked the gift—even if she did not love him back. At least she would know that he would always be thinking of her. And if ever she needed a friend or just someone to listen he would be there—of course, that all depended on his survival. He had a definite reason to survive the battle now, and that was Eponine—not that he was purposefully going to his death in the first place. The thought of seeing her again would simply be extra motivation, and he would need all the motivation he could get to pull through the fight.

Combeferre chuckled again at Mylene and then nodded. “As you wish, Coquine. I daresay that’s fitting as well.” Even though she was not officially part of their society, she was still a valuable—honorary, he supposed—member of their group. She helped to lighten the mood when the mood desperately needed lightening without being obnoxious like Grantaire was on a regular basis. And he really did appreciate what she had done for him today. Perhaps he would still buy Feuilly’s fan and give it to her as a sign of his gratitude.

“I’d be glad to be of service, mademoiselle.” Combeferre stated, tipping his hat. “I’m going to go think about what I’m going to tell ‘Ponine,” Ponine. It seemed to roll off of his tongue now he said it again. “Until the next meeting. Thanks again.” He waved and then departed from the café, his mind occupied by thoughts of the gamine.