fandomhigh | Library, Thursday (11/6)

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Library, Thursday (11/6)

Every other book for reshelving this morning seemed to belong in the biographical fiction section, as Cosette noticed after her third trip into the stacks. While that was interesting, she didn’t really think too much of it; she was used to the library having certain themes on her work days.

They did make for something amusing to leaf through, at least; Cosette was content to entertain herself by flipping open the books to random pages just to see what they said, and wonder what the subjects of those books would think of what had been said about them.

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Éponine liked to stop in at the library and borrow books fairly regularly, but as a general rule, not on Thursdays. (All right, that wasn’t entirely true; sometimes she’d sneak in on Thursdays, not to check anything out but just to have a look, and hurry immediately into the stacks, taking care not to be noticed.)

But one of her books, as she’d only realized this morning, was a week overdue, and if she were completely honest with herself (which she wasn’t being right now) it was a convenient enough excuse to actually go to the library like a normal person on her lunch break and not skulk around. And so here she was, pushing open the doors and sauntering through with a careless, breezy air as if nothing about this was awkward for her.

Cosette was sitting at the circulation desk reading through one of the books she’d kept back from reshelving: some novel that purported to be the real, emotion-packed story of Julius Caesar and Brutus. She found it ridiculous, really, and kept laughing at it until the library doors opened to let in a tall and gangly girl with a stack of books in her arms.

She might have been annoyed at the interruption of her amusement, but Cosette took the “aide” part of her job seriously. If there was a library patron needing help, then she would do her best to help. She looked up as the girl approached and — oh.

“Here,” Éponine said gruffly, all of her attention focused on the books as she dumped them unceremoniously onto the desk. “I’d just leave them, usually, but this one was due last week so I’ve got to pay, haven’t I?”

“Yes, it’s —” began Cosette. She picked up the indicated book and opened it to check for the due date, quickly calculating in her head.

Before Cosette could speak up again to tell her how much she owed, though, Éponine tossed a crumpled dollar bill and some change onto the desk. There!” she said with a note of triumph in her voice, because she could pay her debt in full, she didn’t owe Cosette anything — no, technically it wasn’t Cosette she owed money too but her strange complicated sense of guilt and envy where Cosette was concerned did not have time for logic. “That should cover it, hmm? I looked it up, I did the math, I know how much.”

Cosette looked down at the money on the table. It was, in fact, the exact amount.

“It is, thank you. I’ll put these away in just a moment,” she said. Éponine would barely look at her, but she offered a polite smile anyway, and wondered to herself what was behind that inexplicably triumphant tone. She tried to brush off her slight sense of disappointment when that gesture too went unnoticed, glanced over the books’ spines so she could sort them out for reshelving, and laughed.

“Oh!”

Éponine actually looked at her this time, but it was a wary glance through narrowed eyes. “What? What’ve I done?”

Well, Cosette was a little confused as to why she’d gotten that reaction, but now she felt bad for evoking it. “Nothing wrong,” she blurted out. “Don’t pay that any mind. It’s only funny, you see, because I’ve seen so many books from this section today already.”

By way of explanation, she held up the book about Caesar.

“What’s this? Stories about people’s lives?” Éponine mustered a brief, raspy laugh of her own and leaned forward slightly to peer at the cover. “They’re interesting enough, d’you know. I’m a bit fond of them myself, but doesn’t that one look absurd!”

“Most of these do,” agreed Cosette, disproportionately relieved now that it seemed like the ice had at least for the time being been broken. “More so than the ones that go into the history section.”

Éponine glanced away again. “I wouldn’t know much about those,” she muttered, “only that they’re much more dull reading.”

So much for the ice being broken. “No, I don’t think they’re quite as entertaining,” agreed Cosette, who was still determined to try to be friendly. Then, thinking of Josh’s history classes, “And perhaps they’re not that much closer to the truth.”

That . . . was less naive than she had expected of Cosette, to tell the truth, and Éponine’s eyes widened briefly in surprise before she laughed again, trying to cover it up. “Either way, isn’t it funny to imagine those people reading what others wrote about them!”

“How indignant they would be to find someone claimed they had done all sorts of ridiculous made-up things, or didn’t write them at all like themselves,” Cosette added, laughing along with her. “What if someone wrote a book like that about you, or me?”

“As if anyone would want to read a book about me! I certainly wouldn’t. And you wouldn’t like it so much either, I’d bet. Lies, all of it, really,” Éponine scoffed mildly, raising her eyes to look at Cosette. She let herself enjoy the moment, because she could afford to pretend for just a second or two that they were on equal groun and she deserved to be here as much as Cosette did, but only for that moment. Deluding herself for any longer wouldn’t do her any good; she needed to leave, now.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” she announced, turning away abruptly, and hurried out of the library without saying anything further.

Cosette was both relieved and disappointed by that; it had been nice for a few moments to talk almost like the friends she’d wished they could have been, so many years ago, and not for very long before that hope was dashed. But it was hard to remember that without letting in other, less pleasant memories as well.

“Thank you for bringing the books back in,” she called in the direction of the door as it closed, and with a rueful little shake of her head, settled back behind the desk and resumed her reading.

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Library, Thursday (11/6)

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