Chapter Text
Cosette isn't allowed outside without her papa. It's one of the first things he ever made her promise him after they found each other. However, he never said anything about standing in the doorway to look outside, so Cosette feels free to stand in the doorway to their back garden, soaking up the warmth of the summer sun.
There's someone else in the garden today. Her papa sometimes hires people for odd jobs around their house, but usually they’re older. This boy, pulling at weeds underneath the old oak tree, cannot be more than a few years older than her. His bony shoulders pull at his shirt when he tugs at a stubborn weed.
"You’re staring."
Cosette jumps a little. She hadn't known the boy had noticed her. "I was not."
He turns to look at her. "Yes, you were. You still are. Haven't you ever seen anyone in a garden before?"
"I was not staring, I was just looking, there is a difference."
The boy smiles at her. "Oh really now, mademoiselle?"
Cosette stands up straighter, raising her chin. "Really, monsieur!"
"Remy." Cosette's confusion must show on her face, because he adds, "My name is Remy, not ‘Monsieur’. I don't think I'm quite refined enough to be one of those, do you?" His cheek is smudged with dirt and it's all over his hands and his ragged clothing. His hair is wild, knotted by the wind and falling into his eyes.
"My papa says that a man can come in any guise, it is his behaviour that makes him a gentleman."
Remy laughs. "Your father is a strange man."
"He is not -"
Remy holds up dirt-caked hands. "I didn’t mean it unkindly. I was merely stating a fact."
Perhaps her papa is a little strange. But Remy seems quite strange too. Cosette thinks they would get along (although he would probably frown upon her behaviour, talking to strange boys in the garden).
"Would you like to come inside for some lunch?"
Remy frowns. "I don't want your charity."
Cosette has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "It is not charity, but politeness. I am going to have lunch, and it would be rude of me not to ask if you would like to join me."
He considers this for a moment. "All right." He stands and wipes his hands on his pants (that will do no good, she thinks, his pants look even dirtier).
"You know, you haven’t told me your name yet. Or should I persist in calling you mademoiselle?" His smile is teasing.
"My name is Cosette.” She extends a hand.
He laughs a little at the formality of the gesture, but shakes it all the same. "A pleasure to meet you, Cosette. Now, what are we having for lunch?"
***
They continue in a similar fashion for some weeks. Cosette waits for her father to leave the house, and then she goes to the garden where Remy continues his chores. The garden is weeded, the roof of the shed is patched, the drains cleared, and the windows cleaned.
Sometimes Cosette brings out her books, to practise her studies. She sees Remy looking sometimes, quick and curious glances, but he never says anything. One afternoon, after he has finished painting the window shutters, he tells her that he never learned to read. His voice when he asks if she could teach him is almost painful, like he expects her to scorn him.
"I did not know how until my papa taught me," Cosette says gently, "how does anyone do anything if they are not taught to do so first?"
They spend their lunches after that hunched over books. Sometimes she reads to him while he works. He likes the Greek philosophers best, which forces her to read them all the way through, when she would usually have skipped over passages.
Summer fades into Autumn. One morning she discovers Remy, shivering on their doorstep. She insists that he sleep inside after that.
"It is not charity," she says, when he tries to refuse, "it is politeness, don't you remember?"
Cold weather brings back her old nightmares (two looming figures push her about, the woods stretch dark and endless, and she will never find her way out, where is her papa?), and she pushes herself out of bed. Her papa says that warm milk is supposed to help.
Remy is curled up by the dying fire, and he looks up when she enters. "Cosette? What time is it?"
"Sorry, go back to sleep. I was just getting something to drink."
He sits up, drawing his knees to his chest. "Bad dreams?" She nods. "I can tell you a story, if you'd like. A good story is a cure for bad dreams, or so my grandmother used to say."
She sits next to him, drawing the blanket around both their shoulders. Remy is a good story teller - lady knights battle dragons and armies, soldiers bring flowers back from battle, and everybody comes back from their adventures safe. This, too, becomes something of a habit for them.
And after they run out of stories, they trade secrets.
Cosette tells him that he papa did not come to her until she was eight years old, that Cosette is not her true name.
("What does a name on paper matter anyway? A rose by any other name, after all."
Cosette smiles at him, shy. "You do not wish to know my paper name then?"
"I didn't say that", says Remy quickly.
"It is Euphrasie. I saw it in a letter once in my papa's study."
"Euphrasie," Remy tests the name aloud, "I believe it shall be my secret nickname for you."
"But it is my true name!"
"And that is why it will be such a secret!"
Cosette laughs.)
Remy tells her that he likes to draw and paint, and someday he would like to go to Paris, to paint the women there, and the men.
(This is also how Cosette knows that he leans towards both men and women. Remy seems surprised when she says that she already knew this secret.
"When we watch people through the window, our eyes follow the same men. It is good to know you have good taste."
Remy's relieved smile lights up his whole face.)
***
After the winter, Cosette and her papa have to leave (they always have to leave), Remy gives her some small sketches as parting gifts - one of the garden, and one of herself and Valjean, signed with his mark, an 'R'.
"We will come back next summer, papa promised!" says Cosette, wrapping her small arms around him.
Remy smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "And I will see you then, little Euphrasie."
Cosette goes up on tiptoes. "I am not so little now! I am almost as tall as you!"
Remy draws back, still a little taller than Cosette. He raises himself onto his own tiptoes. "Never!"
"That is cheating!" Remy laughs, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Cosette reaches for his hand, clasps it tight. "We will come back, Remy. We will."
Remy looks so sad as he looks down at their hands, and Cosette doesn't know what to do. She has nothing to give in return for the sketches, no tokens of her own. But perhaps -
"Wait here," she says, and runs upstairs. Her father has not yet packed away all the books, and she grabs one at random (Defence of Palamedes says the cover in faded gold lettering).
"In exchange for the sketches. I do not," and she swallows, because tears will do her no good, "I do not want charity."
"It's not charity, it's politeness," says Remy, before pulling her into a hug.
She can hear papa calling her, he wants her to pack away her things now, quickly, they must leave today. "I have to go."
"I'll see you next summer. I'm sure I can survive on one book until then."
"Yes," Cosette wipes her eyes, "yes, next summer. Goodbye Remy."
"Goodbye, Euphrasie. Travel safe."
(They do come back, although it is a full summer later than promised. Remy is already gone.)