A modern-day AU (with twopoints)

[alittleinlove]

What a palaver, what an absolute treat
To see a cat and its father pick a bone in the street

[The main train station in Paris is always busy this time of day, between the locals commuting between work and home and the tourists moving to and from the airport. The mass of humanity and the confusion is can cause are exactly why Thenardier has chosen to come here and deploy his gang of pickpockets and petty thieves. They can generally get a good haul and then disappear into the crowd before anyone is the wiser.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, attempting to look casual but in fact studying everyone intently, is what appears to be a teenage boy, dressed shabbily but in a way designed not to stand out.

Eponine is supposed to be working (though it's not really work). Instead of examining the passengers to find someone whose pocket she can pick, she's instead watching the movement of the crowd, looking for an opening during which she might make a run for the train. If she can sneak aboard and remain undetected at least until the train is far enough outside of Paris, then she can get away.

She spies and opening and makes a run for it, darting through the crowd in the direction of the train that has just pulled in. But before she can get there, a hand reaches out and grabs her by the arm. The older man spins her to face him, which dislodges the cap on her head, sending her hair cascading loose, and revealing that the person who had appeared to be a teenage boy is instead a young woman in disguise.]

Where do you think you're going? You are supposed to be keeping a lookout. [The man's words are angry but quiet, not wanting to draw too much attention to the dispute and its illegal causes.]

I was just -- [Eponine's words are cut off by a slap across the face. She doesn't even flinch, as though she had known it was coming.

The slap also gets the attention of those nearby.]

You were just nothing. You're going to get us in trouble. [The man lets out a sharp whistle, perhaps a signal of some sort.] We're done here for today. Come. Home. [He pulls on her arm, perhaps harder than necessary, dragging her along behind him.

Until the toe of one shoe gets caught in a crack on the pavement, her foot turns sideways, and her body twists after it. The man lets go of her arm as she hits the pavement, landing on her rear and the heels of her hands.

The man, not wanting any trouble, disappears into the crowd heading for the exit.]

Comments

[twopoints]

[Gregory doesn't think. Years of moving through cities train that instinct out of him. Thinking gets a person noticed. Thinking gets them caught. Instead, he watches the exchange unfold in the reflection of a departure board, committing faces, posture, and exits to memory before the older man disappears into the tide of commuters. The slap earns only a handful of sideways glances before the station swallows itself whole again, everyone far more interested in catching trains than acknowledging what happens a few feet away. Paris hasn't changed. It simply wears its indifference better than most places. By the time Thenardier melts into the crowd, Gregory is already moving, slipping between travelers with the same practiced ease as someone who has spent half his life existing just outside other people's attention.

He stops beside the girl instead of looming over her, lowering himself into a crouch that keeps him from feeling like another threat. His carry-on rolls quietly to his side while his gaze flicks once toward the exit the man uses, measuring instinctively whether he'll circle back. Satisfied he won't, Gregory lets his attention settle on her. The fresh color rising across her cheek catches his eye, but it isn't the bruise that holds it. It's the complete absence of surprise. That expression is one he recognizes far better than he'd ever admit.]

You all right? [The question sounds foolish the moment it leaves him. One corner of his mouth lifts with quiet self-awareness as he shakes his head, dismissing it himself before she has the chance.]

Forget I asked.

[His French carries the easy cadence of someone born to the city before life roughens the edges elsewhere. Bending, he retrieves the cap from where it landed and offers it back to her without stepping any closer than necessary.]

Think this belongs to you.

[Even as he speaks, his eyes continue to drift over the platform almost unconsciously. A wallet vanishes into an oversized sleeve three meters away. A tourist clutches an already-empty handbag. A transit officer looks everywhere except where the theft actually happens. Patterns. The city has always spoken in them. Gregory has simply never been able to stop listening.]

[alittleinlove]

[She takes the cap wordlessly and places it back on her head. She has noticed the glances from the crowd, and also that none of them have bothered to give the situation a second thought. Which is how she can go unnoticed and get away with plenty. It also reinforces that the only person who cares about her is herself.

She pushes herself up and off the ground to a standing position. Good, her ankle can take the weight. She's not that injured. That won't be a hindrance. She wipes her hands on her jeans as she glances around the crowd. She sees no obvious signs of her father's men anymore, which means they've likely all dispersed. None of them are likely to notice if she doesn't return right away. Her plan still has a chance.

She glances at the man who came to her assistance. When she speaks, her French is the argot of the streets, with just a hint of somewhere else.]

I gotta go. Before --

[She's said too much already.]

[twopoints]

[Gregory follows her glance instead of her words. He isn't looking for the man who hit her anymore. He's looking at the departures board. Platform changes. Arrival times. Doors. Eight minutes until the train heading south rolls in. Plenty of time if no one panics. Not enough if they do. His eyes drift back to her, and for the first time since he'd walked over, there's the faintest hint of understanding in his expression. He'd seen where she'd been looking before she ran. It hadn't been the crowd. It had been the train.]

Stand behind me. [The words are quiet, matter-of-fact, as though he's telling her to step out of the rain rather than offering to alter the course of her day. He checks his watch once before slipping his ticket from his coat pocket, already turning toward the platform where his train will arrive.]

I'm headed to Marseille. [His gaze finds hers again, calm and unwavering.] If getting on that train was the plan... get on with me.

[He shrugs one shoulder, deliberately making it sound smaller than it is.]

I won't ask why you're leaving. I won't ask who's chasing you. Just keep your head down, let me do the talking if anyone asks, and when the doors open... stay behind me.

[alittleinlove]

[She knows what he's intending to do, and she has no qualms about it; after all, she had been intending the same thing herself. She also knows there's a time limit to the plan. She just doesn't know why he would make the offer, when they've just met and they don't even know each other's names.

Still, the offer is tempting.]

You would -- [Somehow, saying it out loud to be overheard sounds like a poor plan.] Why? What would you get out of it?

[In her world, there is no such thing as altruism, and nothing is free.]

[twopoints]

[Gregory's eyes drift back to the departures board for only a moment before settling on her again. Eight minutes becomes seven. The station continues moving around them, oblivious to the conversation taking place in its middle. He doesn't answer immediately because the truth isn't something he offers often. Most people receive whatever version of Gregory is useful to them. This girl, though, has already seen enough to know he isn't looking for her wallet or her gratitude. His gaze flicks once toward the direction her father disappeared before returning to her.]

Because somebody did it for me once. [The words are simple, stripped of embellishment. He slides one hand into his coat pocket, the other resting loosely around the handle of his carry-on.]

I was about your age when I realized staying would've killed me one way or another. Someone gave me an exit. They didn't ask for money or much of anything. They just opened a door for me, and I walked through.

[His expression remains unreadable, though there is a quiet weariness beneath it that suggests the memory has never wandered very far.]

I'm opening one for you. [He gives the slightest shrug, as though the rest hardly matters.]

You don't owe me a thing. Get on the train with me, get off in Marseille, disappear the second your feet hit the platform if that's what you want. I won't stop you. I won't ask questions. I don't need to know who you are.

[His eyes meet hers one last time before he turns toward the platform.]

I just know what it looks like when someone's watching a train instead of the people around them. And I know what that look usually means.

[alittleinlove]

[She knows that time is ticking away as they stand here, and she must make the decision soon. Though it's not really much of a decision; she had already planned to do this before her father had interfered. The only difference is that there's a stranger making her an offer as part of it.

So what if he does turn out to expect something? He wouldn't be the first, nor would it be hard to find herself attracted to him. And she already knows there's no reason to stay in Paris. Her parents treat her like a burden, Marius looks right through her in favor of a perky blond, Montparnasse is young and eager, but she won't be missing anything if they never have another tumble.

She nods, once.]

I'll follow you.

[She reaches up to tuck her hair under her cap again. It's better to disappear as a boy than as herself.]

[twopoints]

[Gregory gives her a single nod, accepting the decision without making more of it than she does. The moment she finishes tucking her hair beneath the cap, he moves, drawing her neatly into his side as they merge with the flow of passengers heading toward the platform. He's more than a head taller and considerably broader, enough that she nearly disappears beside him when he angles himself between her and the station behind them. Crowds have their own mathematics, patterns Gregory learned long before he ever started getting paid to notice them: where people look, which openings they take, how quickly attention shifts when something more interesting moves through their periphery. A girl alone might draw the eye of someone searching for her. A boy tucked alongside a man who walks like he knows exactly where he's going is something else entirely.]

Stay close.

[He doesn't hurry them once they reach the platform. Hurrying gets noticed. Instead, Gregory checks the board, adjusts his grip on his luggage, and keeps Eponine positioned casually at his side while the remaining minutes bleed away beneath announcements and the restless movement of travelers. Three minutes becomes two, then one, and whatever search might still be unfolding behind them has to compete with hundreds of bodies moving in a hundred different directions. When the approaching train finally sends a low vibration through the platform, Gregory glances down at her before the cars sweep into view and brakes begin their metallic protest. Only then does his hand settle lightly against her shoulder, ready to guide her into the surge of boarding passengers.]

That's ours.

[The doors open, and Gregory moves with the crowd rather than against it, keeping himself between Eponine and Paris until the bodies around them swallow them both.]

[alittleinlove]

[She follows his direction easily. She had intended to do this anyway, so what does it matter what her destination is? The important part is to put Paris behind her. Since she'd already agreed to come, she'll follow his lead, at least until they're safely under way.

She does her best to act like she knows where she's going. Like a teenage boy getting on a train with his father or uncle. Despite the temptation, she doesn't look back at the platform. She can't risk that her father had doubled back to the station once he realized she wasn't following him. She's this close, she doesn't want to get caught now.

She grasps the handle and pulls herself up and through the doorway into the train car, moving in far enough for him to follow her.] What now?

[twopoints]

[Gregory waits until they're both inside before answering, his attention already moving through the carriage rather than lingering on her. He isn't looking for luxury so much as opportunity: somewhere toward the quieter end, away from the thickest concentration of passengers, with enough empty seats that another body won't immediately invite questions. His own ticket is safely tucked away, but hers is another matter entirely. He doubts she has one, and from what little he's seen of her circumstances, he's equally doubtful she's carrying identification that will withstand much scrutiny. None of it is insurmountable. If a conductor comes through, Gregory would simply prefer enough privacy to put money into the man's hand without giving half the carriage something interesting to remember.]

This way.

[He finds them a mostly empty compartment and gestures for her to take whichever seat she wants before settling his luggage out of the way. He doesn't crowd her once they're inside. Three hours to Marseille is a long time to spend beside a stranger, particularly one she's trusting on little more than his word, and Gregory has no intention of turning his help into another obligation she has to repay.]

Sit with me if you want. If anyone comes through, I'll make sure they don't bother you. [His gaze rests on her for a moment, quiet and matter-of-fact rather than expectant.]

After that, do whatever you like. Sleep. Ignore me for the next three hours. You don't owe me conversation, and you don't owe me anything when we get there.

[alittleinlove]

[She settles into a seat by the window, in a seat facing him, and places her backpack on the seat next to her. She pulls her hat down lower over her eyes and leans against the window next to her. Sprawled out in such a way, with her eyes closed, she looks like a teenage boy who has fallen asleep on the train. She hopes he understands her ruse and will go along with it for as long as is necessary.

She may actually fall asleep in that position, too, a testament to how tired she is, but also the fact that she instinctively feels she can trust him and doesn't have to remain vigilant for the entire trip.]

[twopoints]

[Gregory lets her be. He recognizes the posture for what it is, the cap pulled low and the body arranged to disappear into an identity no one will think twice about, and he has no intention of disturbing it. If exhaustion wins out over vigilance, all the better; he suspects she has not had many opportunities to close her eyes without keeping some part of herself listening for approaching footsteps. So he settles opposite her, checks his phone, answers the handful of matters that cannot wait until Marseille, and otherwise makes himself an unremarkable fixture in the compartment while the countryside begins slipping past the window.

By the time the conductor appears, Gregory has already seen him coming. His ticket is ready before the man reaches them, and when attention inevitably shifts toward the sleeping figure across from him, Gregory's expression remains perfectly composed. A folded hundred-euro note accompanies the ticket when he passes it over, concealed neatly beneath his fingers, the gesture practiced enough to look like nothing at all.]

My nephew had a difficult morning. I'd rather not wake him. [His eyes meet the conductor's for just long enough to make the rest perfectly clear. The money is generous for the inconvenience, but Gregory has always understood that discretion becomes remarkably affordable once one knows the appropriate price.]

[alittleinlove]

[It seems that she really had fallen asleep, because for an hour she doesn't stir. She wakes when they're a good distance from Paris, well after the conductor has been past and accepted the story (or at least the bribe). She seems not to have heard that interaction, because when she starts awake, she blinks in confusion for a moment. A look out the window satisfies her that they're not in Paris or its outskirts anymore.

She yawns and stretches.]

Was I asleep?

[twopoints]

[At some point during that first hour, Gregory had draped his coat over her, careful enough not to wake her as the train's air-conditioning turned the carriage colder than seemed necessary. Beyond that, he leaves her entirely undisturbed. There is something telling in the depth of her sleep, and he suspects opportunities for genuine rest have been scarce enough without a stranger interrupting this one. By the time she finally stirs, Paris is long behind them and Marseille is little more than an hour ahead. The conductor has already been dealt with, his hundred euros purchasing precisely the amount of incuriosity Gregory expected, and much of his own time has been spent quietly arranging a few practicalities for their arrival.]

You were. For a while. [He gives her a small nod, glancing from the countryside slipping past the window back to her. There is no judgment in his expression, nor any particular concern about what she might have missed.]

The conductor already came through. You're fine.

[His phone disappears back into his pocket. He has also booked her several nights at a hotel once they reach Marseille—- not extravagant enough to attract attention, but clean, safe, and hers for long enough to decide what she actually wants from the seaside town. He doesn't mention it yet. One unexpected kindness at a time seems wiser with someone accustomed to searching every gift for the string attached.]

We've got about an hour left. You can go back to sleep if you want.

[alittleinlove]

[She shrugs his coat off and hands it back to him. Now that she's awake, she shouldn't need it anymore. Her own jacket should be enough, and if it isn't, she gets the feeling that it wouldn't be hard to get him to loan her his again.

She stands up from her seat.]

Gotta use the john.

[She heads down the aisle to the closest lavatory. She comes back five minutes later, no longer disguised as a boy, her hair loosely plaited down her back. As she sits back in her seat, she shoves the cap into her jacket pocket, where it's easy to grab if she needs to disguise herself as a boy again.]

You some kind of businessman or something?

[twopoints]

[Gregory takes the coat back without comment, settling it over his arm while she disappears down the aisle. There is something almost amusing in her candor, but none of it bothers him. Expensive suits and comfortable train compartments might belong to his life now, but they haven't erased what came before. He had been a street urchin once himself; he knows the language of making do, of knowing where every exit is and keeping something useful within reach. By the time she returns looking considerably less like someone's teenage nephew, he's finishing something on his phone, which disappears into his pocket as she sits opposite him again.]

Or something. [His mouth quirks faintly at the deliberately unhelpful answer. Gregory settles back into his seat, regarding her without pressing for whatever transformation happened in the lavatory.]

Business is part of it. Enough that I spend too much time looking at that thing, anyway.

[alittleinlove]

[A boy gets on the train. A woman gets off. She makes do while she can, and keeps the curiosity away. If any of the other passengers have noticed her transformation, she pays no attention to it.]

Sounds like a problem. [Maybe. She's got bigger things to worry about than how much she uses a phone.]

So what's the rest of it then?

[twopoints]

[Gregory has not stopped keeping count. A boy gets on, a woman gets off; another passenger changes carriages when the train stops, and two seats farther down a man has been asleep long enough that Gregory has mostly dismissed him. Mostly. He remains between Éponine and the aisle without drawing attention to the fact, one leg stretched comfortably before him as though the choice of seat means nothing at all. They should be well beyond her father's reach by now, but *should* has never been a word Gregory places much faith in.]

Acquisitions, mostly.

[The answer comes easily because it is both true and wonderfully meaningless. He catches her eye and smirks faintly to himself, leaving the rest precisely where it belongs. There are certain aspects of his work one does not discuss aloud on public trains, particularly when those aspects become considerably more interesting the less legal they are. Éponine has already demonstrated enough familiarity with the world beneath respectable society that she might eventually understand without much explanation.]

What about you? [A beat as his gaze returns briefly to the carriage before settling upon her again.] You've spent all this time figuring out how to get free. Have you thought about what you want to do now that you are?

[There's no expectation behind the question, only curiosity. Marseille is a large city, and Gregory knows enough people scattered through it that he could probably point her toward something useful without explaining precisely how he came to know them.]

I've got contacts in Marseille. If you have some idea of what you want, I may know someone.

[alittleinlove]

[Acquisitions. That's a non-answer answer. It gives her somewhat of a clue, though, enough that she knows not to discuss it here. He knew what she was planning from the moment she set the plan into motion, had broken at least one law to help her do it, and hasn't blinked an eye at any of this. Clearly they have a few things in common.

She shrugs.]

I didn't think that far ahead. I'll figure it out when I get there.

[twopoints]

[Gregory nods as though that answer is perfectly reasonable. In some ways, he suspects it is the only answer she could have given. Getting away had required enough planning on its own; deciding what came afterward was a luxury she had not yet been afforded. He glances toward the window, watching the countryside disappear beneath them. They have roughly another hour before Marseille, which is enough time to arrange one practical certainty before she steps onto the platform and discovers freedom comes without directions.]

We've got about an hour.

[He takes out his phone again, though he doesn't immediately begin tapping at it. For all his instinct to solve problems, he has no intention of quietly arranging the rest of her life while she isn't looking. A hotel is different. A few nights somewhere safe gives her a place to put the backpack down and decide what she wants without the decision being made by hunger, exhaustion, or whichever street looks least dangerous after dark.]

If you don't know where you're going when we get off, I can reserve you a room. Nothing extravagant. Just somewhere decent for a few nights. [He turns the phone loosely in his hand, leaving the choice with her.] Then you can start from there and see where it takes you.