Chapter Text
"Not dead. My father in law came to the barricade. I was very ill for many months, but I got better. Still got shrapnel in my shoulder, I think. You?"
"Not dead either. They sh-, you know, Grantaire, and then refused to kill me! The bastards took me to Toulon! I laboured for twenty years without dignity! Can I have a shave?"
"Sure, I've got my things upstairs. I got this old place when my grandfather died. We didn't know about it until then, did we, Cosette?"
"Ah, you married her then! Gavroche? You're a ghost!"
"Je m'appelle Maximilien, apres Lamarque. Mon pere m'appelle son petit revolutionnaire."
"Our son, Maximilien. Marius' little revolutionary."
"Ah, I'm rather a changed person since Toulon."
"I've noticed. You bear the same mental wounds as I do and more, you are still grieving and that is okay." Marius rejoins the conversation.
"Marius, let's move to another room, away from young ears."
*
"I never have grieved before. I couldn't grieve in Toulon, there was always work to do! Scrubbing, hauling, loading, always with cuffs rubbing and gendarmes shouting!"
"You miss them, you shall get through this. I am still struck by a lightning bolt of anguish when I have had to go to Paris. The café was restored, and they have kept the table in the corner."
"From there, we could see a world reborn...empty chairs at empty tables, now our friends are dead and gone!" Tears run down Enjolras' chiselled cheeks. Marius wraps his good arm around Enjolras, a reminder of times to come and hope against the terror to come.