Chapter Text
Enjolras has been in jail. He has worked under one of the most intimidating attorneys in the country. He has looked death in the eye without hesitation or regret.
Somehow, being on set with Oprah Winfrey unnerves him more than any of those have.
She’s gracious and kind — not unexpectedly so, but in a way that makes him understand why so many celebrities have come to her with their most vulnerable selves. Behind that kindness, he senses a cool intellect and subtle steel that make him glad that he’d only arrived thirty minutes before their interview.
The crew are still setting up the equipment when Lamarque finds him.
“Perhaps I should have anticipated this after you dropped your chapter for ‘interviewee 24601,’ but appearing on her book club isn’t exactly what I’d meant when I said to interview with Oprah.” There’s a sardonic half-smile on her face like she can’t quite be mad at him as she slides into the seat across from him — Oprah’s seat.
“No?” Enjolras effects a look of polite, if not distracted, surprise. “Sounds like something that should have been clarified in the contract.”
“Smartass.” Lamarque turns to survey their surroundings. “It’s a cute shop. I’m sure they’ll be grateful for the publicity.”
It’s strange to hear the term ‘cute’ used in reference to the Musain Café after all of their history, but he supposes she’s right: stripped of all of the trappings and associations, there’s something pleasantly mundane about the broad windowed front broken up into panes by soft, aged muntin, the creeping greenery crawling over the light blue of the painted brick walls, and ever-changing scattered arrangements of tables, benches, and chairs inside and out. Cute, even.
“You sure there’s nothing I can do to convince you to stick around?”
Lamarque isn’t looking at him, but there’s something wistful to the twist of her mouth that says she already knows his answer. It’s a conversation Enjolras has known to expect since her return following the Supreme Court hearing their case and Enjolras’s suspension ending.
“It’s nothing personal,” Enjolras repeats. The decision not to renew his contract had been a difficult one, but even as he says it, something in himself feels more grounded, settled. “It simply isn’t the trajectory I intended for my life.”
“You said, but you’re a great lawyer in your own right. Your leaving is a great loss.” Lamarque sighs. “Fauchelevent will be lucky to have you. And Cretus help the school that doesn’t adequately meet their students’ mandated needs,” she adds with a smirk. “So you’re washing your hands of all of this, then? Getting out of this field, getting out of the spotlight, closing up Theo Prest?”
“Les Amis de l’ABC.”
“Whatever they were calling themselves.”
Despite himself, Enjolras leans back in his chair and smiles. “Not entirely. ABC is merely transforming into the Proletariat, and once things are settled and established, I do intend to re-enter the scene on my own terms.”
“Ah, right, the decentralized variation.” She glances up at him, an eyebrow raised as a barista deposits a steaming mug of coffee in front of her that she ignores. “And you think that’ll work? A bunch of clubs running themselves under the same banner with no official leadership?”
He shrugs. “We’ll never know if we don’t try. What we do know, though, is that centralized leadership has never worked.”
“Taking notes from the Civil Rights movement, I see.”
“We wouldn’t want to make this too easy for the FBI.”
Lamarque gives a laugh and looks like she intends to say something else when one of the crew approaches. “Excuse me Ms Lamarque ma’am, but we’re just about ready to shoot.”
They seem nervous — as perhaps they should — but Lamarque shoots Enjolras a sly grin before pushing herself to her feet and picking up her mug. “All right, kid, go get ‘em. Show Oprah’s Book Club what you’re made of — and hey," she adds with a quirk of her eyebrows, "nice jacket.”
He snorts as she escorts herself to her designated seat, adjusting the familiar, iconic green at his shoulders. It's the first time he's worn it since his arrest, and it feels as right today as it did when he'd donned it two years ago. His attention is quickly directed toward the kerfuffle of assistants and aides that surrounds his host as Oprah makes her inevitable approach.
In, two, three.
This is it. The time is now.
Out, two, three.
Things are moving forward again.