A Token of Gratitude ( Mylene )

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Combeferre ran from his flat to the Musain as quickly as he could, a grin spread firmly across his face. Today was the day. He was sure of it. Today was the day he would put his fear behind him and tell Eponine the truth about how he felt about her. He had been doing a lot of thinking about how best to tell her of his love as well as his intentions. He knew quite well that time was running out. In two days, Lemarque would be given a state funeral, and that was when they planned on facing the National Guard.

Naturally he had stressed the fact that they needed to be the last ones to open fire. They would not—could not—start this battle. They could try to end it, but history must not view them as the aggressors. His plan had been agreed to—they would go to the funeral march with weapons in case of a fight, which he was almost certain that there would be. The fact that they were stockpiling weapons and ammunition made the future uprising to become alive, to become more real.

He didn’t want to say that he was afraid to die, because he wasn’t. He was not at all pleased with the idea of any of them going to their deaths, no matter how much he cared about the cause. Perhaps he was ready before he started tutoring her—he didn’t know. It was funny in a way, how his life was divided into two sections: before Eponine and after. Before he had taken an interest in her, the most important things in his life were the revolution and his career. The revolution was still most important—that would never change—but success, in terms of both acclaim and money, would be somehow unfulfilling apart from her. It had scared him at first, how deeply he cared for her. He had even quite seriously thought that he had a disease, but after he saw his feelings for what they really were, he felt a lot better about said feelings. He didn’t think that he was being silly or getting distracted, and he most certainly was not ashamed.

What he would be ashamed of was making a fool out of himself in the middle of his declaration, which was why he had done so much thinking about it. He had consulted both Mylene and Cosette about how to go about doing this, and both had suggested a gift. He had bought Eponine a shawl, which he intended to give her the next time he saw her. He had finally figured out that the next time he saw her may very well be the last, so really, he had nothing to lose.

Under his arm he carried a meticulously wrapped package. It was a gift for Mylene in return for her helping him—a fan that he had purchased from Feuilly. He pushed open the door to the Café Musain, taking off his hat and smoothing down his golden hair. “Mylene?”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Even though many things had changed ever since the May Day Parade, work in the café continued more or less as usual, which meant Mylène had to be there in her given hours, serving, preparing, cleaning, baking, or being sent on little errands into the city. The mood inside the café though had changed as well, just like the mood on the streets. Somber it was, tense and cautious, since no one practically dared to make one step out of line, for fear of starting something that might be impossible to hold up. Angry voices could be heard as well as relenting ones while the people mulled over their drinks and discussed the newest matters and what the papers said of it. The Landlord and –lady were keeping more or less out of any discussions, but Mylène sometimes felt the eyes of the Madame on her as she walked past her, as if the woman tried to see through her eyes and into her mind, to deem what was being thought there. For Mylène herself had become a little quieter and reserved these days, which alone was reason enough to get suspicious, at least for those who knew her well.

She had her reasons, however, and they were various and multi-layered as reasons could be. For one, she still hadn’t gotten over the fact that while she might know now where Alain was, and thus had accomplished a great goal in her life, she had only just escaped this adventure with her life, and not of her own account. If Courf hadn’t been there… of course she’d like to think she would have gotten out of this on her own, but you had to be realistic with these thins from time to time, disregarding your own pride. The fight they had had afterwards hadn’t been nice either, but she had even been more unsettled by the fact that there had been something to fight about, a conflict of interests and whatnot. She had revealed more of herself to him than to anyone of his friends, and even her closest friend from former times, Eponine, did not know all of it. That led her to her next hard topic to deal with… what she had planned for tomorrow night, equally dangerous, and this time she would not give any hints to anyone. If this went awry, she would go without a word, and so would Eponine. Why that suddenly mattered so much, she still had to figure out, but maybe Ponine had been right in her claim… somehow Mylène felt like she had more to lose now than she ever had in her life.

There was a great deal of thinking involved in all of this, and it had some effects on her mood, as she didn’t like to mull over things for too long. She was angry at herself for not being able to brush these things off anymore. Witnessing such utmost dedication like she experienced with Les Amis apparently could rub off on you.
Speaking of those… Mylène was glad to have her dull midday routine broken by the unexpected customer that just came through the door, apparently looking for someone. Biting her lip, she suppressed a chuckle. Oh, not this again! Was Romeo looking for his unwilling, wild Juliet?! Well, she wasn’t here, and frankly this complicated story might be something to distract herself from her own complicated life, but right now it was also something more to deal with. Not telling Ponine what she knew had been harder than expected and had simmered inside her every time she witnessed her friend pining after Marius these days, or even just mentioning him. It just wanted out! Open your eyes girl, there is someone who DOES want you right in front of you. He might not be your calibre, but so isn’t Marius! If you go for soft and eloquent these days, take the one who’s just waiting for a flick of your finger!

But she yet had some faint hope this matter would sort itself out without her interference, and therefore she swallowed the words down in her friend’s presence. Combeferre was a matter to deal with now, however, and therefore she walked around the counter and came to meet him in the middle of the room. “Why, Monsieur Bouqineur, to what do we owe this honour at this time of day? Is there anything you need, a drink, an open ear?”

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Combeferre smiled when Mylene greeted him. “Bonjour, mademoiselle.” He took off his hat and withdrew the package from behind his back. “No, not at all—I actually have a present for you, for helping me.” He was glad that Eponine was not here. He promised himself that he would come out with the truth the next time he saw her, and he had not brought the shawl with him. truth be told, he had been putting it off for as long as he possibly could.

He was afraid that she would spurn him. Of course, she would be right to—there was a strong possibility that he might die. What life could he possibly give her if he was dead? That’s not the pont, he reasoned. The point was that he could come clean with his feelings for her and let her know that he did care enough about her to want to marry her, if he returned and she accepted him. Courfeyrac had chided him for how seriously he had fallen in so short a time, but even if he was foolish, he did not regret a thing. He was not sure which would be more painful—rejection or learning that she did feel something and then running off to his death.

What if she did love him back? He would certainly die happy with that knowledge, but it wouldn’t do for her to be left alone. My will… He had to put her in his will. He had no dependents, no family to leave his money and possessions to—his blood relatives certainly didn’t need it. He would leave everything he owned to her. She would only find out in the case that he did die, so he would not be there for her to scold if she found the gesture offensive. Even if she did refuse him, he wanted her to be taken care of. If he could not give her his name, he would give her his fortune. He would have to get in contact with his attorney once he was done speaking with Mylene.

“I hope you like it. I figured that since you’ve done so much for me, you deserved something in return.” Combeferre stated with a slight grin. He would have been at a loss as to what to do had they not conversed in the Musain after she found out about his feelings for Eponine. Because of her advice, he felt that he was less likely to make a fool out of himself than he would have been without it.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Always the polite one, he took off his hat while greeting her and it made Mylène smile. It was those little gestures – some of them silly in her eyes – that really set the lads apart from the company she had grown up amongst. The Escroc-Monsieur might wave around with his tophat a lot, but he only did it for the effect of the grand gesture, that much was for sure! Combeferre on the other hand, he had been brought up with what was called ‘proper manners’ – and that was exactly why imagining him with Eponine did not go without a delicate ounce of comicality. But even though Mylène might laugh about these things inwardly, she still had it in her to appreciate them. When he produced the package at first she did not understand at all. She expected him to maybe ask her opinion about something he had bought for Ponine, as she had given him advice about that issue, but then he spoke that word, a word she hadn’t heard often in her life, if at all.

Present.

Mylène blinked at first, and then her eyes widened in disbelief. Her fingers twitched towards the package but then twitched back the next second, as if even her body could not believe what she had heard. Her mind surely couldn’t. Had she ever been given a present in her life? Yes, there were an amount of general presents, like those luck gave you: staying alive in a tight spot, obtaining the position here, learning how to dance on a rope… these were gifts she was thankful for, but she could not remember for the life of her if someone ever had given her something without strings attached – and as a token of gratitude nonetheless! Had her cheeky remarks and her – in her eyes – rather poor tries to help him with his plight really meant that much to Combeferre?

“Present? For… me?! Ah, I…” she stuttered, realizing that she was in total loss for words, which really hadn’t happened often in her life, but these moments were accumulating these days. It was particularly unexpected that Combeferre of all people would be someone to render her speechless, but here he was!
“I mean… ye didn’ have te. ‘S nothin I did, really, ‘part from runnin’ me mouth as per usual!” Her eyes once again flickered over the wrapped gift, then she hesitantly took hold of it and started to unwrap it gently, as if she still could not believe she was holding this in her hands to keep it.

When the paper came off, however, some of her usual self returned and an amused little laugh escaped her as she saw what it was. “A Fan…!” How funny, just as she had scolded him for a gamine not being in need of a fan… and Mylène surely would never use it either, but the gesture behind it was appreciated quite a bit! She could pin it to the wall maybe, it would make for excellent decoration…! Chuckling again, she let the fan spread out fully, and made a show of fanning herself while fluttering her eyelashes. “Dun I look the lady now… it’s a gorgeous piece of work! Combe, ah… thank ye! This comes… rather unexpected!”

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Combeferre smiled at Mylene’s immediate reaction, which was one of shock and hesitation. “Yes, it’s for you.” he confirmed with a nod, holding out the package. “It’s not much but you have been such a great help to me, I had to give you something in return.” He shook his head immediately when she said that he didn’t have to get her anything. “Oh, but I wanted to. And you were a great help—you’ve given me much to think about. I think I’m almost ready.” Almost. If Eponine were to walk in at that very second, he knew that he would not be prepared.

He needed to give this a bit more thought so that he knew exactly what he was going to say. In nearly every aspect of his life, Combeferre decided order. This could be no exception—he had to say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time, otherwise he would look quite the fool. As he had said before, he could put up with rejection—he would be fine, but he could not bear it if she laughed at him. What he felt for her was equally as strong as his feelings concerning the revolution. Even so, no one and nothing could stop him from going to the barricades.

He chuckled as Mylene teasingly fanned herself and grinned. “I’m very glad you like it, mademoiselle. Once again, I can’t thank you enough.” He would be even more grateful in the event that his declaration went well, but whatever the outcome he wanted to express his gratitude for her suggestions.

What if she did accept him? He was thinking about how he would cope if she didn’t. He would be at most, alright. If she did love him back, it would be difficult to come to terms with the realization that he might be going to his death. He would never stay, but he would most certainly be torn in two. It was ironic how he had decided to fall in love right before the revolution—not that he had any choice in the matter. He had found out that he didn’t have a choice the hard way. Even so, he could never regret how he felt.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Such a great help?! Mylène had to smile at that, cocking her head and raking her free hand through her hair a little awkwardly. If preventing Combeferre from making a complete fool of himself counted as ‘great help’, well then she might have just done that. There was still quite some hilarity left to the situation, but she hoped Eponine would not be too mean to him. For as sweet and caring as Combeferre would be, there was still the fact quite prominent that Eponine was pining after Marius – and occasionally still got involved with that treacherous snake ‘Parnasse apparently. Now this young ambitious, yet totally confused student being the third in line might make things just a tad TOO complicated even for Ponine’s standards. Right now, Mylène could not imagine her friend choosing him over the two others, even though the idea itself started to appeal to her more and more. Combeferre was NICE… though he might lack a little of the temperament that Ponine seemed to love in her ‘men’.

Almost ready? Now… didn’t that sound alarming! It was highly possible the lads all wanted to get their things in order because of the revolution that was imminent, but the LEAST Mylène could use right now was a confused and non-focussed Eponine on the coup they wanted to stage on the eve of Lamarque’s funeral. Hell, it was worse enough Mylène seemed to find her own thoughts straying more and more! “So… yer gonna tell her soon then?” she asked hesitantly, biting back a few more mischievous comments. “Is there anything more ye’d need te be … ‘fully ready’?” There she went again… offering her help! What was wrong with her these days? Not that she wasn’t a helpful person in general, but she really wasn’t the type for love advice! She just knew Ponine and she felt somehow obliged to see both her friends not too strongly damaged by this outcome of events. And maybe there was also that tiny issue of… compensation?

Chuckling again, she closed the fan and gave him a light tap on the upper arm with it. “If ye dun stop thankin’ me I’ll be as red as the flag yer gonna proudly wave! Ah want te see me friends happy, tha’s all there is te it. Given half the chance ye’d do the same fer me, right?” That was more said in jest than anything… after all, when would she ever need help in winning someone over? A girl didn’t do that, for one, and as much as Mylène was for equality in other things, she wasn’t the type to run after someone. Either someone saw what she was worth, or they weren’t worth the effort. Once again she took a closer look at the delicate painting on the fan, a smile playing around her lips. “Tha’s one of Feuilly’s, isn’t it? He’s quite the artist, an’ shed get far better wages than what he gets. He can’t even afford to get his roof properly fixed!”

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“I think so, yes. It’ll have to be either today or tomorrow.” That went without saying. He at first was against telling her at all, for her sake, not for his. If there was the chance that Eponine felt something for him, Combeferre did not want to burden her with the knowledge that he loved her. Even now he would feel terrible if he were not to return and she did love him back. However, no one would stop him from fighting at the barricades, not even her. It was not because he wanted to fight, he would do anything to stop the violence from even occurring, but rather, he went out of a sense of duty to his friends and his country.

He did feel as if he was betraying his pacifist beliefs. He had never so much as thrown a punch in his entire life, and he had never held a gun, not even at home on family hunts. He refused to hunt. When he was a child, he cried over the birds that his father shot. How could he pick up a weapon and kill another human being? He would carry a pistol—they all would, but if he could help it, he would not fire it. He would be there as a doctor—he knew that they would need his medical expertise—but not as a soldier.

Combeferre rubbed his chin in thought at Mylene’s other question. “Luck, I suppose. Luck and the opportune moment.” He could never exactly find the opportune moment. He had come so close to telling her after Javert brought her to his flat, accusing her of theft. He had been hurt that she had not told him her last name, that she had not known that he wouldn’t have cared either way, and had almost blurted out the truth right then and there. Instead, he had faltered and backed down completely. He didn’t know why.

Perhaps he was afraid of her answer—he still was afraid of her answer. That was why he gazed at her so unabashedly sometimes, hoping that she would pick on how deeply he felt for her. Unfortunately, she had not as far as he knew. That was why he needed to tell her before he died. He didn’t want to think that he would die, but he knew that it was a huge possibility. “Of course.” he answered with a nod. He would do anything for his friends. “Yes, he is. And he’s very talented, I envy him to be honest. He certainly does.” Poor Feuilly. Perhaps once they won their crusade, workers would have better wages and living conditions. That was certainly on his agenda after the fighting was over and done with—he wanted to make sure that the bloodshed yielded real, positive results.