Smoke Screens

Chapter Five

Enjolras could have sworn he had never heard the backroom of the café so quiet. More specifically, he had never heard his friends so silent. Everyone stared between Aurélia and Grantaire with bated breath. The latter nonchalantly spun his wine bottle in his hand, unaware of the impact of his words on the room.

"I am not a prostitute."

"You could have fooled me," He mumbled, taking a swig of his wine. "We all saw that outfit you wore at the cabaret. Even if you aren't actively working as a prostitute, I'm sure if someone offered you the right amount you would be." Everyone watched as her face reddened to match her hair, but the intoxicated man was entirely unaware. He took another long swig from his wine. Before he could pull the bottle from his lips, a book hit the back of his head. He spun around in his chair to face her, looked down at the book on the floor, and then back up at her. A sly grin spread across his lips. "You've got some fire." He spoke, analyzing her. "I thought you were going to be terribly boring, but I see I was wrong. I'm Grantaire. I have a feeling we are going to be great friends." His grin widened as her eyes narrowed at him.

"I'm sure," The redhead spoke, her words dripping with sarcasm. She ignored the stares of the men on her and turned her attention back to the doctor in front of her. "Monsieur Joly, I would appreciate it if you would tell Monsieur-" She cut herself off, realizing she never caught the man in red's name.

"Enjolras."

"I would appreciate it if you would tell Monsieur Enjolras that my ankle is just fine so I can be on my way." Joly gently grabbed her ankle and when he bent it slightly she let out a hiss of pain. The doctor shook his head and sighed.

"I apologize, Mademoiselle, but that isn't the case. It only appears to be a sprain, but it's a good thing he brought you in." Enjolras shot her an I told you so look and she rolled her eyes playfully in return. Joly carefully began to wrap her ankle while the men in the room inched closer and closer to the girl on the table. They stood circled around her, their mouths slightly ajar.

"Don't we have a revolution to be planning? Get back to work." The men snapped from the trances they were under and went back to their tables, frantically returning to their work. Aurélia had to suppress a small laugh.

"Do you have a name or would you prefer for us to call you The Siren?" Grantaire asked, earning a glare from Enjolras.

"I would prefer if you did not." The way she spoke made it clear that if they called her 'The Siren' there would be hell to pay.

"Then what's your name?" A playful grin spread across her lips.

"I'm not telling you that. Names are a valuable thing."

"Then what should I call you?" Grantaire asked with a sigh, growing bored of the back and forth. Her grin widened and he knew he wouldn't like her response.

"Don't." A few quiet laughs escaped the mouths of the men, but Grantaire's eyes narrowed at the girl.

"Well, Mademoiselle, I am finished wrapping your ankle. It shouldn't cause you too much pain, but if you find that it does, please come back so I can look at it."

"Merci Monsieur Joly. I very much appreciate it."

"Of course."

"I'll walk you home," Enjolras said, offering a hand to the girl to help her off the table, but she slid off of it without accepting the assistance.

"That's alright. I appreciate it, but it is quite alright."

"I insist."

"I don't want to inconvenience you-"

"It's no inconvenience at all. It's already well past night fall. It's not safe for you to walk alone at this hour." She let out a soft sigh.

"Well, alright. If you insist. Before we leave, is there a room with a mirror where I could powder my nose?" If Enjolras found this strange he didn't let on.

"That door there is to a small room in the back. There's a mirror in there." A sweet smile spread across her lips. Maybe too sweet, but no one noticed.

"Wonderful, thank you." She walked across the room, ignoring the stares of the men that were glued to her, and pushed the door shut behind her. Enjolras sat impatiently at the table, waiting to walk her home so he could come back and try to plan more if he was able to rid his thoughts of the sapphire eyes that haunted his mind. After about fifteen minutes of impatiently tapping his foot, he stood and began to pace the room.

"What is taking her so long?" He asked, not bothering to keep his voice down. All of the men let out quiet chuckles.

"Maybe you should ask her?" Courfeyrac suggested jokingly. Enjolras rolled his eyes but ended up taking the man's advice. He walked over to the door to knock.

"Mademoiselle, are you almost ready to leave?" He asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone. He was met with silence. He knocked again but didn't hear anything on the other side of the door. "Mademoiselle?" He asked again, cautiously pushing the door open. Once he discovered she wasn't in the room, he threw it open. He walked into the room and made his way to the open window with its curtains blowing in the wind. "That girl is made of smoke. Just when I think I can catch her she slips through my fingers," He muttered quietly to himself, wondering why she kept disappearing.

"What was that?" Combeferre asked, walking to the doorway before noticing the redhead's absence. "Where's the girl?" Enjorlas shook his head and went back towards his desk.

"Gone. Everyone, forget about the girl and get back to work." Oh, how he wished he could take his own advice. He tried desperately, but every time he thought of what he should say at the next rally, all he could think of was what the redhead would think about it and if she would be there. What would make her stay? He was so distracted by his thoughts he didn't notice Grantaire approach the desk until he sat in the empty chair beside him and placed a hand on Enjolras's shoulder.

"Enjolras, I'm not quite sure how you haven't figured this out yet, but if you intend to spend the night with a prostitute, you need to pay them or they'll leave."

"For God's sake! She isn't a prostitute!"

"Oh, so you've fallen for the girl?" He joked, but Enjolras's face paled. "I'm just messing with you. But, unless you want your Patria to think you've taken a mistress, you might not wish to offer to walk her home at night just the two of you."

"I'll take that into consideration." The man in red responded, focusing on the papers in front of him.

"When will we meet this Patria of yours?"

"One day," He murmured, smoothing out his map of Paris in front of him. "I'm sure of it."