lark_in_flight | (no subject)

(no subject)

Cosette steps through the door at Milliways. She's in her garden, just as she was. She is awake.

So she feels, at least. But she felt awake at Milliways, too, save that her surroundings were clearly that of a dream. And if her dream has ended, then it was a very peculiar one, very long, and yet contained in the space of a moment's dreaming abstraction. For here is her father just coming to the door now, buttoning up his coat and saying with an indulgent air, "Yes, my child, I am here."

She resolves to wait. If she slips from this dream of reality into another, she will know when she wakes. If she truly is awake, she'll know that too.

Besides, ahead of her is time with Marius.

Cosette lets herself be distracted by the walk with her father, the sights of Paris in winter around her, the sociability of a little conversation with Marius's flattering peacock of a grandfather, the joy of sitting with Marius in quiet conversation and in loving silence. She's used to keeping her own thoughts deep inside her, anyway.

When they leave the Gillenormand household -- reluctantly for Cosette, without discernable opinion from her politely smiling father -- she has decided that she's really awake. None of this felt like a dream at all; nothing was strange, nothing changed in the way of dreams.

Walking homewards on her father's arm, she's very thoughtful.

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Valjean does not immediately question her silence. He is the same way himself more often than not, and is comfortable with quiet.

But then, it is not so usual for Cosette. Particularly after a visit with Marius, when she is always so full of joy at having seen him. So after a while, he asks,

'Is everything as you wish it, Cosette?'

"Oh -- yes, papa, I am quite happy."

Her smile up at him is unfeigned.

They've walked some distance further before she adds, a little abruptly, "It's only that I had such a peculiar dream earlier. It must have been a dream. Papa, have you ever had it happen that you closed your eyes just for a moment -- when you thought you were awake -- and had a long dream pass, all in that brief time? I never have. It wasn't bad, only -- only quite peculiar."

His smile is similarly unfeigned. She is a little goose, but he would not change a single part of her.

'What did you dream of, my child?'

"A café." She laughs a little. "Isn't that silly? A café where one could get all sorts of nice things, just by asking the furniture for them. You were there, papa, and -- and other people, too."

She glances up at him a little uncertainly at the end. She feels a little awkward; it's been a long time since she asked him anything about her mother, since he never answers much. He never wants to talk about the past.

'Ah.'

They walk a good ten paces without him saying anything, his face lowered as he thinks. And then he says, in a mild tone,

'You mean Milliways?'

Cosette is startled enough that she halts in her tracks, staring at her father's familiar, mild face.

"Why -- yes!"

And so, of course, he halts too. It is all he can do not to laugh when he sees her expression, and settles for a fond smile instead.

'It was not a dream, Cosette.'

"But--"

Cosette closes her mouth, turning thoughts over in her head.

In a voice that's smaller than she would like it to be, she asks, "Then, my mother? That was real too? Everything there was real?"

His gaze moves over her face. He is nothing but happy that she has met her mother. He is pleased that she may meet people there, and no longer be so lonely. He wants nothing but her happiness, and if Milliways can add to that, he is as content as it is possible to be under the circumstances.

'It was real. Your mother was real. And you may go again, of course. Whenever a door appears for you. She will still be there.'

"Oh!" Cosette's cry is very soft. Her free hand presses to her mouth.

She slips her hand free of her father's elbow, then, but only so that she can throw her arms around his neck in a quick, heartfelt embrace.

"Oh!" she says again, muffled by his shoulder. "Oh! I am so happy!"

He grins, quick and warm, as his heart swells to the point of breaking. It always does to see her this happy, and it is for a better reason than the other that recently brings her joy. When she brims with happiness for her beloved, he feels as though his world may crumble to dust.

'You are a silly thing,' he says, with nothing but love.

'To think it was all a dream. Well, perhaps it seemed so. It is a very strange thing indeed, and I am not sure how it can exist at all. But it does, I am sure of that. And you have a room there now, and everything you could want.'

Cosette pulls away so that she can scowl up at him, with laughter underneath her fierce young frown.

"Of course it seemed so! I don't see what else I should have thought. I have never walked through a doorway into a Milliways before. But if you're there too, if you say it's all right, then I won't worry a bit."

Her trust in him is so innocent. His heart cracks a little, and he smiles, and tucks her hand back through his elbow.

'You do not need to worry. I will beseech you to be careful - there are many people there who have powers far beyond anything we could imagine. But I remember you coming in, and I am still there. I will watch out for you, and see you come to no harm.'

Cosette rests her head for a moment against his shoulder -- very carefully, since her bonnet is large.

"You always do, papa."

Even in her less happy moments, she has never had a doubt of that.

His smile widens, just for a second, and she will not see it because her bonnet is in the way.

'Of course.'

How could he not? She is his universe.

He resumes their walk, once more lapsing into silence. Until he asks,

'I hope you were not too shocked by the introduction to your mother.'

It's Cosette's turn to be silent for a few steps.

"I thought it was a dream," she says at last.

Now she's even less sure what to think, how to feel.

"I was glad -- so glad! I still am. I never thought it possible. I only knew she had died. I never thought I would see her before Heaven."

She had only the faintest image of her mother in her heart, constructed more from stories and wishes than any memory: a dim, warm, enfolding maternal presence, all affection and light, perhaps hair and eyes like Cosette's own, no clear image of a face. Now she has a name, Fantine, and the clear memory of a young woman's face tear-streaked and smiling.

She was missing teeth. She was thin and worn. Her father called her mademoiselle, she called him monsieur.

She was Cosette's mother, and she wept for joy to see her.

Perhaps he should not have asked. He is no more ready to answer questions now than he ever was, and will avoid them if at all possible. He is not about to encourage more, especially since it is not lost on him that he and Fantine...well, it would surely be hard for anyone to believe they had ever been intimate, let alone Cosette, who must surely have wondered on their relationship at some point. Must surely be wondering on it now, unless it has not occurred to her with everything that has happened.

So all he does is pat her hand vaguely, and say, 'I am very glad you are happy, my child.'

Cosette's smile up at him is quick, and bright, and very affectionate -- and if there's a gleam of wetness in her eyes, it perhaps only adds to the brightness of her joy.

But when he's looking away, she sneaks another, more uncertain look up at his profile.

When she looks at him, Valjean is calm to the point of serenity. His smiles are easy and affectionate; there is nothing about him that would not suggest her joy is equally shared within him.

When she is not looking at him - or he thinks she is not - the facade is not always so complete. It is harder these days, since the barricade and the sewer, to lift the weight closing around his heart. Every visit to Marius, every joyful twirl of Cosette's skirts in excitement at her betrothal, every second of every day that passes, brings him closer to the moment he dreads. It is impossible to keep the sadness at bay in every instant, though he does try.

He is not aware she is looking. His eyes are turned forward, and see nothing. But her hand is on his arm, and she is by his side. He feels her there, and it will keep him afloat a while yet.

Cosette looks back at the pavement, biting the inside of her lip.

Has she called up old memories that sadden him? She must think so. But she can't ask; he won't answer, for he never does, and certainly he never unburdens his cares to his daughter. The past is the past, and his thoughts are his thoughts, and there it stays.

Perhaps at Milliways she can ask. Perhaps not.

But here -- here she has Marius, and the very thought makes her smile joyfully to herself.

A while later, he looks down at her again. She is smiling, and so probably thinking about Marius. He could ask her something of him - indeed, only mention his name - and the air around them will be filled with her happy chatter.

Instead, he asks, 'did you meet anyone else interesting while you were there?'

"I met the holy father who led the Mass. He said he was from London -- he opened the door to show me the hallway outside his office. I thought that was a dream too. The light was so strange!" She's laughing a little, remembering, confused anew now that she knows it was real.

"A little girl, and a young woman named No-- Nour-- I don't remember her name. It was foreign. She dyed her hair blue, can you imagine, papa? I don't know why anyone would want to do such a thing. It made her look quite inhuman, like a fairy in a story. And a great lord -- he reminded me of you a little, papa, he was so tall and so kind -- and a boy from Paris."

A young man, really, but Cosette is engaged with eyes only for Marius, and her father is so protective -- and there's a little of the coquette in Cosette. She will say boy, and avoid any silliness.

And as for Diana -- Cosette still doesn't know what to think of her, and would likely blush when mentioning her, so she doesn't.

'Ah, Father Harman. He is a very good man.'

As long as you are not a vampire. He does not want to scare her unduly, so he does not say it.

'The lights come from electricity. It is a quite wondrous invention. You will become used to it in the bar. The young lady with the blue hair is Noriko. She is a mutant - she creates electricity with her hands.'

Or channels it. He is unclear on the details, and is a little wary of asking her about it further. Their conversations often disquiet him, because he wants to help her and does not know how.

'A great lord, very tall...I imagine that would be Elrond. He is an elf.'

And in a similar situation to his own, having lost his daughter to a man. It pains him to think of, so he moves on quickly.

'And a boy from Paris - I imagine that would be Gavroche.'

He hesitates before speaking on, because he does not want Cosette hurt by asking for details that would be difficult for her to hear. But she will likely find out anyway, and perhaps it would be better for her to be prepared.

'He was acquainted with Marius.'

Cosette is about to ask about these strange words, electricity and mutant and elf, when she's entirely distracted by his last sentence.

"The goose! Was he! He never said. Not a word, the little beast." Cosette has little gift for true anger, and little cause for it. Her temper flares quickly, half-laughing always. "He said he was from Paris, that he had been on the barricades -- six months ago, he said, but he was much younger, it didn't make sense -- I said it was no place for a little boy and he said they sent him away. He never said it was the same, he never said he knew Marius. I'll tell him. He'll be glad, I know it."

Cosette is, of course, being a little unfair to Gavroche; so far as she knows, he has no reason to think that she and Marius are acquainted, unless Marius spoke to his friends of his Cosette. But then, why wouldn't he? It's not such a common name, and Gavroche has spoken to her father, it seems -- and anyway, just now she's not so concerned with facts as with pique.

Valjean opens his mouth, then closes it. Her pique is amusing, like watching a small bird attack a dog, or similar. Which is not to say he does not respect it, but he is aware she will have little or no ill-feeling behind it.

He is also aware that he should be careful what he says. He should have reminded Gavroche not to mention that he himself was at the barricade.

'You will tell Marius? I do not know if you can, Cosette. I doubt he will believe tales of a magic tavern at the end of the universe.'

"Oh, you are impossible, papa! You tell me it's not a dream, and then you say he won't believe me."

He's doubtless correct, of course.

"I'll tell him all the same. He has a friend there. If it's real he ought to know, don't you think?"

All the same there's a faint quiver of doubt in her voice. Will she really tell him? She will, but when and how and how much she's not sure of, now that the question's been raised.

'I think it is the sort of reality that may have to be seen to be believed.'

But he will not tell her not to. Marius is her betrothed, and it is not his business what they speak of.

'It is your choice, of course.'

He is wondering whether to tell her about Enjolras and Grantaire. In the end, he decides not. They have no reason, besides their honour, not to speak of his presence at the barricade, and he will put off that possibility for as long as he can.

Cosette is silent.

If he looks at her, he will see her mouth pursed in thought, her eyes downcast, a faint line sometimes appearing in her brow or a dimple in her cheek. There are so many things to think about, now that she's begun: peculiarities of Milliways, yes, but now also the thornier questions of what she ought to say to whom, and how, and whether she'll be believed.

He does look down. And what he sees makes his heart sink.

A few more paces.

'Are you all right, my child?' he asks eventually, in a gentle tone.

'I know it is an overwhelming place. You need not visit again if you do not wish to.'

"Oh -- no, papa, it is not that at all. I'm quite well."

She smiles up at him, to show the truth of her words.

"I'm only thinking. There's so very much to think about."

And she doesn't want her fond protective father trying to prevent her from going after all, Cosette with her secret adventurous heart. Accordingly, of all the thoughts she could give voice to, the one she says next is, "Imagine, just asking the furniture for tea! What a silly idea, it's marvelous."

He smiles too.

'Yes. It is quite a thing. I felt rather foolish, the first time I tried. But it has never failed to work, and is quite normal there.'

This is conversation he could never have envisioned himself having. It is remarkable what God provides in a person's life.

'Apparently the bar has some kind of personality - a female one, even. She can be quite curt if not treated correctly.'

Cosette laughs aloud, quite astonished, and peers at him to see if he's teasing her.

He is clearly amused also, but not telling any untruths.

'It is all quite true, my dear. You will see, should you have reason for temper with her at any time. She can be very stubborn; things are withheld for a person's own good, at times; at others, provided despite nothing being asked for, if it is in what she considers their best interests. I do not know how any of this came to be, but that is how it is.'

"Then we shall be allies," Cosette declares firmly. "How peculiar! Well, I shall try to make a friend of this Bar. If she will make friends at all."

She has no idea. But if the creature -- whatever she is, however it is, whatever this peculiar magical piece of womanly furniture might be -- is prone to insisting on the best interests of stubborn people, then Cosette will make certain to get along with her, and to contribute to such fond insistence as it's directed towards her father.

It does occur to him what he may have just let himself in for. Saying no to Cosette is impossible; how much more will he be fussed over if she manages to get the Bar to work for her also?

(His alarm is entirely fond. He would not change Cosette's care of him if the multiverse were offered to him on a platter.)

He is prevented from having to voice any of this by their fortuitous arrival home. He draws the key from his pocket, and holds the gate open so that Cosette may pass into her garden.

'I am sure she will become friends with you.'

Who would not?

'In the meantime, will you retire, or shall I ask Toussaint to make you some tea?'

"You gave me tea earlier, in Milliways," she reminds him fondly. "If it wasn't a dream, no wonder I'm not at all thirsty. No, I'll retire."

"Oh! But you asked me, papa -- there, you said I should ask you for an envelope from your bureau."

His business, no doubt. She won't ask; he'd only smile at her, and say nothing.

'Ah, yes.'

He had forgotten. Rather a lot happened not long after that conversation.

'A moment. I will fetch it.'

He retreats to his small rooms set behind the house, and finds an envelope to put some money into. After a moment's thought, he adds a little more than originally planned; Cosette must be provided for there, he knows what he owed, he knows the money he is giving anonymously to certain patrons. And though he is no longer Bound, there is no telling whether he will be again. Should he ever return.

It does not take long. He returns to Cosette's house, and hands the envelope to her.

'If you ask the bar to keep it for me, she will pass it on the next time she sees me. Thank you.'

It does not occur to him, even for a moment, to explain what is held therein.

Cosette accepts the envelope, and pockets it with only the slightest of curious glances.

If she ought to know, her father would tell her, no doubt.

'Well, then. I will leave you to rest until supper, my dear.'

He smiles and squeezes her arm, both light and brief. And then leaves her to her house, her garden, and her thoughts of another man.

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