Chauvelin/Vague Remembrances 

Marguerite awoke the next morning with a splitting headache. She immediately lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight pouring in from her window. She took a few deep breaths before she suddenly realized she was not alone. She quickly turned, which turned out to be a terrible mistake worsening her headache and causing a searing pain to go through her shoulder, to see a man laying next to her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the day before, the Bastille, the hospital, the man next to her. It was too much to bare sitting up so she slowly sank down into the bed next to him.

Armand grimaced a little as a shift in the mattress woke him -- opening his eyes slowly, he perceived immediately the room he remembered surveying so quickly the night before, and realized that the weight beside him was most likely the woman he had come home with ... and only come home with, apparently. Marguerite ... He propped himself up on his elbows, cursing quietly at his ankle. It felt no better. He glanced at Marguerite beside him, wondering whether or not he should try to wake her completely ...

Marguerite shifted again responding to the movement in her bed. She slowly rolled onto her side to see Armand laying be side her. She looking into his drowsy eyes for a moment, starting to come to her senses. "Are you feeling any better?" She asked.

"Worse," Armand admitted, replacing his head on the pillow he supposed he'd spent the night on. "Too much to drink, I suppose." He glanced at her again, wondering if the soothing effect of the alcohol had worn off, by now -- if so, she must have been doubly miserable. "Yourself?"

"I have an awful headache and my back and shoulders hurt to," she mumbled, letting her head drop onto his shoulder, "I hope you don't mind, I don't think I could move, even if I wanted to."

"Rather, I hope *you* don't mind. I could have slept on the floor, if you'd preferred ... as it is, I don't see either of us getting up within the next day or two." A slight exaggeration on his part, but Armand was not an optimist, especially not with a hangover. He paused, thinking -- much slower than usual, it seemed, and frustrating. "You said you had a brother?"

Marguerite nodded softly. "He has friends that lived closer to where the crowds were gathering and was going to watch from their flat. I doubt he'll be back anytime before let this evening." Still not quiet in control of all of her senses, she moved her own body a bit closer to his, finding the warmth comforting.

Armand nodded, thinking. From what he'd heard, her brother seemed rather childish -- she was his senior, in any case -- and yet he would find it highly uncomfortable if the boy were to come home. It was not a position he wished to put her in, certainly.

As she shifted closer, Armand turned a little more onto his side, allowing her to prop herself up against him, if she wished. That injury must have been very uncomfortable ...

Marguerite had closed her eyes as she rested but felt him shift next to her. She drew in a deep breath and grimaced as his movement forced her to move, causing more discomfort to shot through her body.

Armand's body, though sluggish, was very much aware of every habit it had ever acquired. Upon hearing her discomfort, he felt his hand reach out towards her hair, and barely checked this custom that he had grown fond of some very long years earlier. Instead he made a quiet apology, and very carefully sat up, making sure not to disturb the mattress.

Marguerite felt him move a bit and was suddenly afraid that he was going to leave her, stuck, in pain, and helpless. She reached over, suffering from the pain, and grabbed hold of his waist as he moved. Quietly she murmured, "please don't go, don't leave me like this."

Armand took her hand gently, detaching it from his clothes, but not letting go. "I wasn't leaving," he said, calmly, leaning against the wall. He thought about letting her lean into his lap; it would have been a better support. "Just giving you a little more room." Armand smiled slightly, adjusting his position one last time before settling next to her.

Marguerite sighed and settled into him. "thank you," she breathed in a whisper as allowed her already tense body sink into the bed and relax. "You'll have to leave though won't you. I'm sure you have things to do, more important then looking after me" she said with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

Armand almost laughed. "Today? I doubt anyone will get anything done today, at least in my part of the city." He didn't even know if he'd be able to get to his makeshift office, or if anyone would bother. Their headquarters were bound to be a heated spot this morning. "I'm sure no one will miss me."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I would miss you if you left." Marguerite said as she raised one hand to cover her mouth and give a slight yawn.

Armand smiled lazily, folding his arms over his chest to slouch more comfortably into the wall. "I'm flattered, of course. Although perhaps I shouldn't be, if you're implying that I'd leave an injured woman alone to suffer -- we should both get out of bed, sometime. Go find a doctor."

"I just like the company." Marguerite said, still rather sleepily. after a few minutes she lightly began to sob, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I've put you in an awful position, staying here last night. I just, I shouldn't have been there yesterday. yesterday was supposed to be a good day, but when I heard the crowds, I had to go. I got caught up in it and I got hurt. Oh my god what if the solider had hit my lung or heart instead of my shoulder, what if I had died? Then who would take care of my brother? Putting my life at risk was an awful and selfish thing to do when another depends on me." Marguerite's crying turned into a mix of babble berating herself for being selfish and appologizing for putting her guest in an awkward position of having spent a night alone in the flat of a young woman.

Armand was more than a little surprised by his hostess' outburst -- she had seemed so cool before, incredibly composed even after a fairly trying injury. He could think of nothing better than to place one of his arms around her, some distance clear of her shoulder, and try to comfort her.

"Not selfish, no," he answered her quietly, frowning slightly and leaning closer to her so that he could converse at a fairly subdued level. "The best of us are reckless, at times, but to serve a million people over one ... matter of opinion, I suppose, as to whether that's thoughtless. Your thoughts of it even afterwards have my admiration, in any case." Armand said nothing of his 'position' -- in his opinion, if there was any awkwardness at all, it was entirely his fault.

Marguerite finally, after letting everything out, let her body soften and relax. She found an odd sense of comfort in his embrace once he had closed his arms around her. She moved her head so it rested more agianst his shoulder then his chest and whispered to him. "That you, thank you so much. I don't know what I would hve done last night had you not helped me."

"Stumbled directly into bed, I suppose," Armand said, teasing slightly. "And deperived me of some very interesting conversation." He allowed himself to stroke her hair, just two or three times, before resting his hand once more to the side of her injury. "And I thank you for your hospitality, of course. I don't know what *I* would have done."

Marguerite closed her eyes and sighed as she felt his hand run through her hair. It felt odd, she never liked when people played with her hair, yet comforting at the same time. She was almost sorry when he had stopped. "I suppose you would have stumbled along and found your way home as well, but I'm glad I had the company last night. And thank you, for, not taking advantage of me in my condition."

Armand blinked, surprised. "Hardly something to thank someone for, I should think ... but I wouldn't, in any case." He found he was quite intrigued by her -- her apparently distant manner contradicted by ... well, by right now, really. A very interesting character, and not a little charming.

"But I should thank you, you could have easily forced yourself upon me, or taken advantage of me. I had more then enough to drink, I am have easily been persuaded to do more then just sleep next to you last night." Marguerite said, still holding herself close to him. She had never done anything like this. She had little beaus before, one who even dared to kiss her on the lips, but never any farther then this, not that he was a suitor of sorts anyway.

Armand was unsure of precisely what to say -- it was, of course, terrible to think that someone should have to expect to be taken advantage of in that way, and in their own home -- and so he simply shook his head. He had a daughter; that deed was now completely inconcievable to him. He wondered now what precisely constituted taking advantage of someone ... she was holding herself closer to him than even he had brought her in, but whether or not it was out of drunkeness (or the after effects thereof), or --

He ventured to kiss her quickly on the forehead, and again straightened her hair, just gently. "As I've said -- nothing to thank me for at all."

Marguerite let a soft, surprised gasp as she felt his lips brush her forehead. Was he suddenly changing his mind thinking she would give in? The slight bit of fear was brushed away as he tenderly fixed her hair. She let herself relax again, but not before pressing her lips gently to his cheek.

Armand smiled down at her as she relaxed onto his shoulder, and shifted very carefully to lean into the headboard. "If you're still tired, you should sleep, of course -- I didn't mean to rush you into the day." He himself had no problems with simply sitting here in bed. He had nearly forgotten about his ankle.

"I should get up, but I don't want too, I'm too comfortable here." Marguerite said. She rested against him for a few minutes and closed her eyes, when suddenly something hit her. "What's today, I mean what day of the week is it?"

Armand agreed completely that it was a day better spent in bed. At home he might even have picked up a book and sat until it grew dark, resigned to the uselessness of such a hectic day -- He felt her grow a little tense, and frowned, just slightly. "Thursday," he replied, wondering precisely what she expected to accomplish with such an injury as she had ...

Marguerite breathed a sigh, "Good, no matinee today. Perhaps I'll feel up to a show tonight, but I couldn't do a matinee even if I wanted to." Marguerite let herself relax once more. "I missed last nights show, if there was a show, oh I am going to hear from the managers for that I just know it."

"Psh. You could hardly walk home, never mind work. I'm sure there were other things on the popular mind ..." Armand shifted shortly to rub at his ankle. "After last night, who knows what's still standing at all?"

Marguerite nearly froze in shock. "Do you think the mob turned on the people after they left the Bastille? Would they move onto other buildings, buildings like theatres?"

”No, no -- nothing like that. But with every crowd, there's always a certain percentage that's only there to smash windows and have a little fun. Whatever gets in their way ..." Armand shrugged. "Anything without a front window was likely untouched, but ... people are unpredictable. Either way, going anywhere and expecting to function as normal this morning would be rather pointless."

Marguerite gave a soft sigh of relief as fatigue began to over take her. She leaned more into Armand, "I'm sorry, but I feel as if I may drift back to sleep. You can leave if you want, but if your foot hurts you may stay and rest."

”Thank you," Armand replied, not changing in any way his position or hers, and thinking that he would have to have been crazy to leave. "I shouldn't have woken you; I apologize."

"It's alright, I was already awake, just not willing to move." Marguerite said quietly. "I hope I'm not keeping you from anyone. Do you have any family or friends that might be searching for you?"

”None that live anywhere nearby," Armand replied, glancing down at her again. "I'm sure they don't even know what's happened ... and I rarely see them, in any case." He sighed quietly, working his ankle a bit every few minutes. "And you? Just your brother? I don't suppose he knows you were involved."

"No, I was supposed to be with some people when it happened, then to the theatre and then to a bistro to celebrate last night. He wouldn't have expected me home until the very early morning hours at the earlist. I doubt I'll see him until late today anyhow." Marguerite remarked.

Armand smiled quietly. "Are the two of you so relaxed, then?" He himself had no siblings, but certain other members of his carefully secluded family would be in unimaginable trouble if they were to stay out for quite that long. "And I don't suppose you'd care for some breakfast?"

Marguerite sighed, "we have learned to live this way, yes. Our parents had both died by the time I was twelve, he was only 9. We grew up and raised each other together. Because I worked at nights, he learned to take care of himself for the most part, but it's hard. I wish I could have been a better mother for him." she said, ignoring his inquiry about breakfast.

Armand made a slight, sympathetic noise. "The two of you seem to be getting on well enough, here," he offered, supposing that breakfast wasn't in the cards. "You seem a strong personality ... I've known worse mothers, I assure you."

"We get along, it's the only choice we have." Marguerite said, finally forcing herself out of bed. "I suppose I should see if there is food enough for a suitable breakfast. I usually rise late, and so my first meal is lunch. I'm not sure what's in the kitchen."

"I'll check if you like." Granted, *he* was the one with impaired transportation, but somehow she seemed more seriously wounded -- though not enough to mandate bed rest. "I don't usually eat breakfast either; there isn't time ..."

Marguerite nodded and swung her feet over the side of the bed, sanding on shaky knees. She took a few moments to steady herself, leaning against the wall of her room, taking in a few breaths. She took a few steps away from the far wall towards the door. "I'll see what I can manage," she said, wobbling her way out to the hallway.

Armand stood up shortly after she had left, and limped into the hallway, chiding himself for not helping her earlier. "You don't need to start anything," he assured her, making his way slowly down the hall, and remembering that they had nearly cleared out her kitchen for dinner. "We can find something nearby, I have a little money left."

Marguerite sighed as she looked around the kitchen, "That's not much to put together her anyway." She turned around to see him hobbling about, "how's you're foot? Does it hurt much to stand on it?"

"Not too much, no." Armand would have been more open about it, surely, if he hadn't acquired the injury through his own inattention. "Do you feel well enough to go out? We might find a doctor without a three hour wait, though it's a bit late, now ..."

Marguerite shook her head. "That's money that be spent better elsewhere." She said before sinking back into a seat at the table and pushing on out for him. "It feels alright though, I make up something later to put on it for the pain."

Armand nodded, declining to take a seat himself, as he wondered precisely what she expected him to do. It seemed that she could take care of herself well enough, and that he wasn't needed -- why stay, then? He had no reason, other than he was somewhat fond of her, which she probably knew by his rather forward display of affection (and it was *only* affection; he would never have asserted anything else, but still it had been inappropriate, perhaps). He would let her decide, though.

“You're all right, then? If you need anything, I'll be happy to ..."

Marguerite nodded. "I think I'm alright, nothing too difficult that I won't be able to handle." she said, "You're welcome to stay here as long as you like if you still feel a little shaky though."

Armand smiled, and pulled a blank card from one of his pockets. "If you should need anything, I can give you the address of my office -- I really should go check on things. If you have a pen?" He would gladly come back later, in fact, and almost hoped she *would* ask.

Marguerite nodded and pulled out a pen and ink from a draw. "Here you go." Marguerite said as she moved back to her table and sat down. "Of course I do hope that you will let me know how you make out, and what's happened since we came here last night."

”Of course." Armand wrote his 'office' address -- truly just another underground, at this point -- and left the card on the table. "And I can come back, yes ... this evening? I'll have a fairly good feeling for what's going on b then, I think," he laughed. "As good as anyone, I suppose."

"This evening should be fine. Perhaps if I feel up to it I will venture out to market, and then we can have a proper meal together." Marguerite said as she read the card he had written out. "I would enjoy hearing any news, not to mention the company."

"I'll stop by again, then. Hopefully they'll let me go before midnight." Armand smiled, bowing slightly. "Good day, mademoiselle -- if you need anything, don't hesitate to call, please." Straightening his collar as he left, he thought that he may well have to stop by his own home before going out ... goodness knew if he could get there at all.

"I will be sure to inquire if I need any help, and I look forward to any news you might bring." Marguerite said, as she stood and walked him to the door. She carefully watched from the top of the stairs to make sure that despite his limp, he as able to walk.

Armand made his way successfully out the door, and down the stairs out of the building. As he made his way to his (hopefully) open 'office', he found his mind wandering quite predictably from work ... after all, yesterday had been *more* than exceptional, hadn't it? Perhaps someone would know what had come of it all.

Marguerite slept on and off for most of the day. In the morning she ventured out to get supplies to tend to her shoulder and soaked it in a bath. In the afternoon she went to market to by some regular food, hoping that Armand would return from work and join her for a late dinner. In the evening she read and napped in the sitting room, in case there was a knock on her door.

Armand was absolutely buoyant with hope. He had spent the entire day pacing the halls, from one make-shift office to the rest (it had been good for his ankle, he thought), becoming more and more convinced that the time was very near. He felt as though he could *breathe* the unrest, and found it increasingly hard to remain cautious -- as the sun set, his mind wandered from work entirely, and rested simply on hoping.

It was soon dark. As he exited the little suite, hearing the noise throughout the streets and once more perceiving the dull sting that throbbed through his ankle, he recalled his promise to Marguerite, and suddenly had double reason to be happy, and hopeful. He considered picking up something, as he didn't know if she had felt well enough to go out and restock her own, kitchen, but decided against it, at least for the moment.

Armand made his way steadily to her building, climbed the stairs and, hearing no one within, knocked tentatively.

Marguerite was roused from her dreamy state by a knock at the door. Being that Armand was the only one she expected, she assumed it was him, taking a moment just to run her fingers through her hair, she stepped over to the door and opened it. "Armand," she greeted him with a smile, "I'm so glad you came by. Please come in, oh, and take a seat, I don't want you to stand for too long on that ankle."

"Oh, I feel much better," Armand insisted, returning her smile and stepping inside. "And what about you? You're all right? It's been a long day ..." Despite his words, he did not appear tired at all -- in fact, quite energetic.

"Oh, I'm alright. I little sore and stiff, but at least I think I've recovered from the hangover," she added with a laugh. "So, what's been going on since we looked ourselves up last night?" she asked as she led her guest over to an arm chair to sit down and relax in.

Armand could not possibly have *been* more relaxed, and yet at the same time oddly alert. "You haven't gone to see anyone?" he persisted, meaning, of course, a doctor -- he hadn't, but until an hour ago had been convinced that he'd walked off the pain in his ankle. "The streets don't look any better; it may have been impossible anyhow.

He let himself be led, but would not take advantage of the offer until she herself was sitting. "No one thing has happened, really -- from what I hear, things are progressing." His grin (rather rare, these days), although characteristically subdued, should have immediately told the story of his day.

Marguerite took a seat in another armchair next to his, "No, my shoulder doesn't appear so bad, they did a fair job of closing the wound, and it doesn't look as if it is infected. It will be sore until the muscles heal, but I think I'll me alright. Would you like something to drink while you tell me about your day."

Nodding, Armand took his seat. "You shouldn't have to worry about it, then. There are still a number of people on the streets without much hope of a doctor, I'm afraid ..." He declined her offer for a drink, for the moment, though it probably would have settled him.

"Nothing amazing happened -- except for one thing, really, which I suppose you could say *didn't* happen. We haven't had any retaliation to speak of ..." He shrugged happily. "We're not sure what it means. That we've made them think, at the least."

"Well, that's good I suppose." Marguerite said as she settled into her seat. "So then, if it seems there's not much to speak of outside at the moment, why don't you tell me about yourself."

Armand tried not to feel too awkward ... a few moments from earlier that morning came back to him, rather suddenly, and he found himself wondering precisely how he was supposed to be acting. Courtesy never harmed anyone, he supposed ... Smiling slightly, he relaxed further into the chair.

"Even less to say. I am Armand Chauvelin, far too opinionated for official tastes, and clumsy enough to sprain my own ankle, without the government's help. You?"

Marguerite laughed, "I'll let you off easy, for now. I am Marguerite Saint-Just, actress at the Theatre Des Arts, formerly of La Comedie, and badly in need of a set of eyes in the back of my head."

"Aren't we all, though ..." He smiled, hoping vaguely that soon *his* need for such worries would soon be gone, in any case. "How long have you been at the Theatre? I remember, we had decided that I'd seen you..."

"Only a few months, I've sort of bounced around from theatre to theatre recently." Marguerite said, "I started to the dirty work of the Comedie François. Then they gave me a few ensemble roles and I decided that I wanted to act, but instead of staying there I went to other theatre where I could have larger parts and have since been working hoping to return to La Comedie."

"The trade is rather competitive, yes, especially there ... you certainly have the talent; I'm not too familiar with the politics of it all, but starting somewhere else seems a better idea than just staying." Armand looked somewhat wistful. "I've not had time for the theatre, recently, but maybe now, or soon ... I'd like to re-acquaint myself with it."

"Well, if you'd like to come, you must let me know. I can arrange for a ticket to be left for you at the box office one night." Marguerite said, "It is competitive, but I was fortunately to learn from some of the best in France, and have not had to turn to other methods to prove my worth."

"Perhaps I'll have time sometime soon ... of course, either work will speed up unimaginably, or I'll spend my life where theatre is watching the guards patrol the halls." Armand laughed. "Maybe I can find an evening. I would enjoy it. Are you typically free afterwards?" He realized what he had said, a second or so afterwards -- but forward was his preferred tone, and so he neglected to catch himself.

"What I do afterwards generally depends, but if you were to come by, don't think I would let you go off afterwards on your own. I would have every intention of dragging you alone with me so that I may hear you opinion on everything you saw." Marguerite said with a slight giggle before turning a little more coyish, "Besides, I suppose I would enjoy a change of company."

Armand grinned, leaning forward in his chair to rest his chin on one of his hands. "I'll have to make the time, then, won't I? And make sure I have the words to express my admiration, I'm sure."

"Well, harsh words from critics and peers I can take, I don't know if I could take anything but admiration from someone like you." she said, leaning in her own seat a little closer to him.

"You would get nothing else, I assure you ... the critics treat you badly? I should start reading the reviews again, I suppose, now that I know your name. I have my critics too, I've been focusing on those, I'm afraid."

"They're not always so bad. In fact, I'm pleased they're getting better." Marguerite said, "Did you want that real meal I promised you, or are you still content to sit on my couch and talk with a young, chatty actress." she asked, remembering her promise from earlier in the day.

"Only if I can continue talking with a young, chatty actress," Armand insisted, straightening. "But I would very much enjoy that. Can I help you, with what you had in mind?"

"Of course," Marguerite said, standing up, "I'm sure you remember where the kitchen is, don't you."

"Certainly." Armand stood as well, carefully, leaning less on his good leg than he had earlier. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been *happy* to make dinner, at least not in the recent past, but now he followed Marguerite quite cheerfully into the kitchen.

Marguerite led him into her kitchen were a few packages of groceries remained unpacked from earlier in the day. "Let's see, I have some bread, some assorted vegetables and fruit, oh, and some noodles in that bag over there. I'm sure we can fix something up from this, don't you think?"

"Pasta I can handle, at any rate," Armand admitted, setting the aforementioned noodles onto the counter. "Though I can't promise you I won't burn it. I haven't cooked for anyone in months ..."

"Well, I haven't had a dinner guest in months, so we're on even footing there." Marguerite sad, pulling through bags looking for tomatoes and other vegetables. "Would you mind starting a fire in the over, it will need some time to get hot."

Armand nodded, and left the groceries to tend to the stove. Odd, he thought to himself, that she hadn't entertained in so long -- he himself was used to solitary nights over a half-loaf and paperwork, but it was not the lifestyle he would have imagined for an actress. He smiled slightly at his own rather too glamorous misconception, managed to strike a fire, and went about drawing some water.

Marguerite began tending to the vegetables as he left for some water. "Did the fire light without trouble? I know you're supposed to keep hot embers but fuel can get so scarce I don't like to, especially in the summer when it's so hot."

"I haven't lost an arm yet, anyhow ... no trouble." Armand, returning with the water, set it on the slowly-heating stove, and stepped aside. "I know what you mean. Some nights I think it would be better to climb out on the roof and sleep there ..."

"Many nights I do step out and sleep up there. It's so peaceful sleeping there, under the stars." Marguerite said. "So Armand, what is it you did before joining the current government."

'Current government'? The thought sent a thrill up his spine; even now Armand thought of himself as working *against* the current government, but soon, he supposed, very soon indeed he could be working for another institution entirely. It was, perhaps, too much to hope ...

"My father had a house in Dauphine -- I lived there, until I decided to come to Paris, for the schools, and such. After those ... well." He laughed, shaking his head. "Wasted my time with my fellow dreamers, I suppose, until we became organized enough to waste time with each other at dinner parties. Discussion as an arrestable offence always makes for an interesting centerpiece."

"So is that to say you had no true profession before becoming involved in politics?" Marguerite said, unsure of what he meant.

"I haven't a true profession *now*, if you ask anyone with any power, really," Armand responded. "But no, I didn't. I didn't really have to work ..."

Marguerite now was rather curious, "really now, why is that?"

Not incredibly proud of this portion of his history, Armand busied himself with preparing whatever part of the meal he could help with, looking more at the counter than anything as he broke up the pasta. "My father had money," he said simply, continuing his manual task. "He sent me through school, and helped afterwards, for a bit."

"Your past seems a touchy subject," Marguerite observed, "It is an area into which I should not have inquired."

Armand smiled again, his typical slight expression. "It's no trouble. It doesn't matter, really ... this week has been enough to make up for any number of years before, I think."

Marguerite smiled, "If I didn't know better I'd say you were once one of the upper class." done with putting together the stuff for the sauce, Marguerite stepped a side and checked the water for the pasta.

Armand began dropping the noodles in, seeing that the water was boiling. "My father was fairly wealthy, yes." He neglected to mention -- had always neglected to mention -- the title his father had passed down, like it or not ... such things had no place, he thought, in a modern society. "Being born to one's state in life is hardly an idea worthy of today, though, is it?" He smiled. "A good half of Paris agrees, in any case, as we saw yesterday ..."

"yes, that is a very good point, and it's good to know that even those born into better circumstances believe in the ideas that are being fought for." Marguerite said.

"Not enough of them. There are plenty still set in their ways; I don't know if you encounter them often ... enough of the 'old-style' citizen to quell any sort of uprising excepting the kind we're having now." Satisfied that the pasta would be all right for a few minutes, Armand turned to face her. "Sad, that physical insurrection should have to be the only method."

"It is sad, however, hopefully things like what happened yesterday will be few and far between. Most of the change will come peacefully."

"One would hope, certainly -- though I find that perhaps too optimistic. The power to peacefully change something is held now by those who would rather die than lose what they've had for generations, and if that's the way it has to be ..." Armand shrugged. "We'll see, I suppose. Soon, I hope."

"I hope as well," Marguerite said as she began to stir the pasta and pulled out an addition pan to warm the sauce. "So, what I it you hope lies in store for France."

As Marguerite seemed to be taking on two things at once, Armand took over the pasta, stirring slowly, thoughtful. "That's a rather broad question," he chuckled, glancing up at her face. "I could go for *days*. What do you think?"

”I think I could listen for days." Marguerite said as she prepared the sauce. "I'd be very interested to hear what you think."

Armand watched her as he spoke, his tone quiet. "The shorter version, I suppose, is '1776.'" He smiled. "Though, I should hope, with less blood, and a faster result. Societal equality, the end of titles was a nice touch, a government that depends on more than one man's whim -- there are ideas on how to construct one, none of them mine. Some are worth considering. I'd like to see one implemented, I suppose, and who knows if I'll live that long ..."

Marguerite nodded as she listened to him, but was surprised by his last statement, "Do you think to will take that long?"

"It might well. Maybe decades ... maybe tomorrow." Armand smiled. "Insurrections have failed before, even those of such a size as this one. Hope isn't enough to sustain a fight, unfortunately ..."

"You sound rather doubtful, as if you're unsure if it will happen at all." Marguerite said as she stepped away to pull out some plates, forks, and knives.

"I am unsure," Armand admitted, watching her. "No one's ever sure ... I know *someday* things will fall into place, but now is doubtful. There's unrest, of course, but who knows if it's enough?"

"Unrest will lead to more action on the part of the people if action is not taken, and taken soon." Marguerite said as she finished setting the table. She checked the sauce, now coming to a nice warm temperature. She took out a few bowls for it as well as for the pasta.

Armand insisted, of course, on serving out both as soon as they were ready. "I hope it will, I do hope, every day ... and they can't suppress them forever, certainly. But that leaves quite a window of opportunity, really, and when has caution ever harmed a cause?" He smiled. "Pessimism, of course, is different, but I try not to go quite that far."

"Well, optimism is much more productive then pessimism." Marguerite said as she took as seat and watch Armand fix the two plates off food. "But let's speak of other things. After all, I'm wonder what more there is too Armand Chauvelin."

Armand returned the pans to the stove after serving out their portions, and then quickly took his seat. Smiling across the table at Marguerite, he lifted his fork. "Ask anything at all you like," he said, quietly, curious himself ...

"well then, tell me about your family." Marguerite said, beginning to dig into this man at her table.

Armand took a bite before replying, realizing that he was indeed quite hungry. "Well, as you've observed, we were fairly well off ... my father has been deceased for six years, my mother for sixteen. I haven't any siblings, unfortunately ..." He shrugged, laughing a little. "I suppose you could say I'm the last of my line, really. Cousins, maybe, but I don't know any. They live in the south, or Italy."

"Well, since you've indulged me I'll answer the same for you. My parents both died about 7 years ago. I have one brother, Armand, three years younger then myself. I also have a few assorted aunts, uncles and cousins, but we're not particularly close to any of them. You may know one however, Louis St. Just."

"Yes ..." Armand smiled. "Yes, a familiar name for several reasons, isn't it." The emphasis on family was one of the habits laid into him by his parents that he had been trying for several years to be rid of, but it had never quite left him. "I have reason to believe that I'm my only relation living in Paris at all, but it must be nice having at least *someone* to be able to go to, yes?"

"I suppose, although if that was a reference to myself and Louis, I'm afraid you'd be mistaken. My brother and I are not particularly close to him." Marguerite said

"Hmm. Well ... you have each other in any case." Armand smiled slightly, complimenting the sauce, of course. "Most of the men I work with neglect their families to the point of stupidity, it seems to me."

”Better then nothing I suppose." Marguerite mused as she ate some of the noodles. "But, I'll always have my brother, given that he eventually finds his way home."

Armand shrugged. "I lived with my father, until he died, and even then with co-workers ... on my own now, of course. I prefer living with my parents, I think ... and that's saying quite a bit."

Marguerite lowered her eyes a bit to look at her plate, "I wish I had had that option." she said as she pushed the food a bit around on her plate. "Well," she abruptly changed the subject, "I think this turned out to be a fine meal."

Armand nodded. He was surprised, at least a bit, by her apparent discomfort -- he had thought her immensely lucky, to live with someone, and someone so close. He would reside with a complete stranger over his lonely little room downtown, never mind a sibling ...

"I thinks it has, yes. I thank you very much for the invitation, of course ... it's not often I get to eat with company."

"Well," Marguerite smiled, "I hope you enjoyed this particular company."

Armand gave a half-smirk. "More than most, mademoiselle. I'm very grateful; I would have spent the evening worrying over stupid things at 'home'."

"And I would have spent the night working and then sleeping, little friendly companionship there." Marguerite said.

Armand laughed, quietly, as he did most of everything. "No ... I see as much of that as I ever have at work, I suppose. Though everyone's far too busy worrying to be at all congenial."

Marguerite nodded, "Would you like some more to eat or shall I clear the table," she asked.

"I'm done, thank you very much," Armand replied, standing to take his own plate -- she was injured, after all.

"We can just leave them on the counter, I usually take care of the dishes in the morning anyway." Marguerite said. "I don't know if you'll be needed early in the morning and feel the need to go, but if not, you are of course welcome to stay and keep me company for a while longer."

Armand nodded, setting his plate on the counter and returning to the table to stand over his seat, leaning slightly. "If you'd like the company, I'm certainly willing to stay a while longer, yes." He smiled. "I don't think I've ever missed anything for being late."

Well, important things are happening, and happening fast," Marguerite remarked, "but if you're going to stay, let's move out into the parlor. If you'd like I'm sure we can find something to put your foot on."

And if they happen? I'm not so important." Armand offered her his arm, unsure of whether or not she was entirely steady now, if her stagger the previous night had been an effect of the alcohol. "I'll be fine, I think, but thank you ..."

Marguerite took his arm, gently rubbing it and giving his hand a gentle squeeze, "But you could be important. I think it would be a wonderful thing, to help form a new government, to work for the people of France and make things better here."

”Oh, I agree. Who *doesn't* want to be essential to a cause? he only job I could ever enjoy, I think ... but perhaps it will come about, perhaps not. If it does, I'll be as near the center as I can." He glanced at her, not entirely surprised by the resurrection of this impulsive affection -- perhaps, he thought, he should not be surprised at all, for he knew he was particularly undemonstrative, and who knew if she meant anything at all? Stupid ...

"I hope it does come about, and I think in time it will." Marguerite said as she lead him into her sitting room. She lead him over to the couch to let him sit down and then retrieved a foot stool and placed it in front of him before taking a seat beside him on the couch.

Sitting down, Armand thanked her quietly, smiling slightly towards her as she took her seat as well. "We're agreed, then. I only wish I had the confidence to believe that I would see the change ..." As much as he had thought his injury was only in his head, it *did* feel very good to put his foot up ... he leaned his head back against the sofa.

”I'm sure you will," Marguerite said, "Would you like a pillow as well," she offered watching him lean his head back."

"No, thank you -- are you all right?" Armand looked over at her; he was only slightly tired, as was usual after a day at work, especially one such as this. "Do you feel any better?"

"The alcohol last night was half my problem. I'm much better now that I've slept most of it off and have recovered from my hang over." Marguerite said with a silly smile. "I think that was the first time I've ever been drunk and I don't plan on doing it again anytime soon."

Armand grinned. "The first ...? Pardon me, but I was under the impression that a performer's life was a bit less sheltered." His expression and tone it could be seen that he meant nothing by the comment, of course -- perhaps it was true, he wasn't one to know.

Marguerite couldn't help but to giggle, "It is alright, but we're not all prostitutes that enjoy getting drunk on a fairly regular basis. Although, come to think of it, I was supposed to go to the bistro last night to celebrate. I suppose either way I would have woken up this morning recovering from a hang over."

Armand laughed, quickly tapering his reaction to a slow smirk. "I intended nothing of the sort, of *course*," he began, sitting up to where his head no longer lay against the back of the couch, "But I admit to having known one or two less-than-reputable actors." Actresses too, of course.

Marguerite giggled a bit, "Well then, I will save you and not ask the nature of such relationships."

”Like I said," Armand grinned, crossing his bad leg over the good one on the stool in front of him, "You can ask me anything."

"You sound as if you're inviting the question." Marguerite said.

”Oh, certainly not. Even would-be revolutionaries have some idea as to what's proper, you know ..." Armand decided to ignore the irony of such a statement while sitting directly next to a woman he knew hardly at all.

"And if I were to pose the question," Marguerite said, baiting him.

Armand smiled a little more directly. "Then I would be forced to tell you that words are insufficient to describe such a situation."

"Well then, you do realize you've managed to peak my curiosity." Marguerite said, "Would it best be understood if we were to experience it."

A brilliant idea. How long does it take for someone of your talent to get into character, mademoiselle?"

Marguerite raised her eyebrows a bit and looked at Armand, "I'm always in character, monsieur, and I don't think there's a need for me to experience it, in terms of actually asking the question, any longer."

Armand retained his smirk as well as he was able, though to his credit he did look slightly embarrassed. "You get the impression, then? Not incredibly sheltered, at least; although these days I suppose one can't be."

Marguerite relaxed and little and nodded, "No I suppose that would be a difficult thing even if one wanted to these days."

"Another reason for social unrest, I suppose." A depressing topic, really, and the change of mood was throwing him quite off guard.

"Well then, let's not speak of such thing, at least in such a manner." Marguerite said, eager to change the subject to something a bit friendlier and cheerier.

”I agree," Armand almost sighed. "That pessimism again, I'm sure. Never mind *sleeping* on the roof, sometimes one wants to jump off ..."

Marguerite smirked. "Well then, we'll have to find something to keep your mind occupied so that you won't think of such things."

”I usually find a stack of mind-numbing paperwork that does the trick." Armand made a face. "Although I can't say that doesn't just further the problem. What would you suggest? A night at the theatre is the only remotely effective remedy I've come up with on my own."

"Well then," Marguerite said, "I will have to make arrangements for you to attend more regularly." Marguerite paused for a bit to rub her temples, feelings a slight headache coming on.

Armand nodded. "You won't have to drag me, certainly." He frowned, leaned forward in his seat and glanced back at her, concerned. "Do you need anything ...?" He had no idea whether or not any symptoms she might be showing were related to her injury, but it seemed logical ...

"Oh, just a bit of a headache, I'm sure it's nothing, just rubbing my head a bit will probably help." Marguerite said, continuing to rub her head.

Armand nodded, and, after a moment of watching her, decided that it was less than polite. He turned his eyes away and resisted the urge (again!) to reach out to her, a thought which suddenly made him a good deal less cheerful. He tried to shake the feeling that he hadn't thought about since this morning, but succeeded only in pushing it to the back of his mind.

Marguerite looked with concern as he turned away from her, "I'm sorry, does my current state bother you?" she asked.

"Of course not, mademoiselle -- I'm sorry. I ..." Armand looked up at her, and offered a small smile. ".. Just can't help feeling useless, I suppose. If you need anything, do tell me." That feeling again. Perhaps he *should* go, go home and remind himself that there was no one left to care about, and that it was better that way, really, he had known it yesterday morning ...

Marguerite took in a few deep breaths while rubbing her head, "No, no, it's quite alright. The ache will pass shortly I'm sure and the company keeps my mind on other things."

Now if only *he* could keep his mind on other things.

"Very well ..." Armand had returned his gaze to her for only a moment before he lifted one of his arms to push a strand of hair away from her occupied hands. His regret caught up with his fingers only after it was too late to pull back, and so he completed the action, employing the facade of confidence he had almost perfected over the past few years. "You're sure?"

Marguerite watched as he brought his hands up to her face, moving some of her hair back. He seemed timid and almost hesitated but in the end seemed very sure of himself. When he spoke to her, she replied simply by nodding and taking his hand before he successfully pulled it away and held it to her temple.

Armand let her have his hand; and while he looked at her and wondered whether it was not awkward to do so, he soothed her temple with his fingers just slightly, never once losing his hinted smile. "Not a glass of water, even" He had quieted somewhat. "Wine?"

Marguerite shook her head, "Your hands are nice and cool." she whispered as she quietly urged him in her own way to continue rubbing at her aching head.

Armand's smile quirked up just slightly at her comment. He continued gently massaging just above her temple, going so far as to let his palm rest against her face as he did so -- most of the restrains had gone from his mind, though, as always, his full caution remained. Perhaps he should have stopped, but, after all, what was a loyalty dead eleven years ...?

Marguerite closed her eyes as he let his hand rest on her cheek. She moved a bit so that her back was to him and started to lean back slightly. "Do you mind?" she softly asked as brought his hand back towards her cheek.

"Of course not." Armand was not whispering, but somehow it seemed to him that he could hardly hear himself. He allowed her to have his hand, and turned a little to his side to accommodate her. Most of his uncertainty had left him, at this point, and he simply watched her.

Marguerite leaned back against him and pulled up his other hand up to her other temple, hoping he would rub his cool fingers over them relieving her headache. "Thank you," she whispered.

Armand settled his face as near to hers as he dared when she lay back against him, and let her lead his hand to settle onto her temple. Now attempting to ease her with both hands, he asked her softly, very near her ear: "Tell me, when you feel better?"

Marguerite kept her voice as a whisper and slightly nodded. "Having someone with me already makes me feel better." she said, hoping that he would keep rubbing her temples so.

Armand smiled, relaxing more freely than he had in any number of months. "We're agreed, then." He did not stop, would not until she asked him to ... he reflected that what she had said sounded remarkably like what he'd been thinking. The irony of his excessive optimism did not escape him.

Marguerite smiled and settled her body more against his. "I hope this doesn't lead you to think poorly of my. It's not often I find injured men and beg their company so that they may rub my head." she said with a small smirk, "but I do enjoy this."

Armand laughed quietly, in fact almost silently, and nearly closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her against him -- not something he had remembered, though now it came back to him, quickly and rather intensely. "I think this qualifies as an extraordinary situation, yes." He could not resist leaning his face once more into her hair. "And I'm glad ..."

Marguerite closed her eyes and let out a deep, relaxed breath. "Might I ask why you're glad?" she said as she let one hand glide up and gently brush his.

"Why am I glad that you enjoy this?"

Armand smiled, pausing only very briefly as she touched his hand. Glad because he was able to stay here, to be with someone, because he had a remarkably attractive and intelligent woman leaning into him? Mostly, he supposed, because he had forgotten what such company felt like. "I don't know. Because you seem content enough?"

Marguerite sighed. "I am very content. Content to sit here for the rest of the night and let you rub my head, soothing my aches, keeping me company. Content because you're willing to hold me in your arms and comfort me."

Armand had no idea how to respond to *that*, of all things. What pleased her was, it seemed, precisely that which he had wanted, exactly what he was content with -- had been, before, and he had indeed been *more* than content, more than *happy* -- but how did one say it? He had said it before, certainly, to one who was now gone; would not doing so again be logically followed by a similar result?

Caution, however, seemed to be taking its leave for the first time in quite some years. A well-deserved vacation. Armand pulled her further back into his arms, so that she might lie across him if she liked, and looked into her face, smiling slight.

All with which he could think to respond was: "Of course."

As he moved, Marguerite laid back, resting across him in a way. She held onto one of his hands, keeping it near her face, still hoping he would continue rubbing her head. She rested her head on his shoulder and lightly whispered, "I'm so glad you agree."

Armand did not stop his comforts, of course; now he gazed down at her hair parting over one of his shoulders, and moved his face as close to her own as he dared. He had no words, really, as they seemed inappropriate anyhow ... expression eventually moves beyond the vocabulary of even the most well-read.

Settling into his embrace, Marguerite watched as he seemed to move slightly nearer to her, but then suddenly stopped. With widened eyes she gazed at him, pondering what he was feeling, what he was thinking, but she hadn't the words to ask. Even though now of age, she was still innocent and naive in many ways and had never before been held like, except by a fellow actor on stage. Not wanting to think anymore, she softly let her eyelids close, but still sensing he was so close.

The wonder in her face suprised Armand somewhat -- though he supposed he should have expected it. It provoked only more of a smile, though the expression was still subtle ... when she closed her eyes he moved towards her carefully. He had before taken this precise gesture as a sort of acceptance; here he was still unsure of what she wanted. But he pressed his lips to hers as gently as he could, rationalizing even in his stricken state that this was not too big of a step farther.

Marguerite drew in a deep breath when she felt him brushing over her lips. Very soft and tender he was as she gave a slightly gasp. When they broke, she opened her eyes and slightly look at him. Neither spoke, but she tilted her chin up as she brought one hand up to cover his cheek.

Armand met her eyes, and felt an apology die on his mouth as she brought her hand up to his face. His budding remorse spread into a smile, and he leaned into her hand, watching her face, perhaps questioning.

Marguerite gently moved her fingers over his cheek and through his hair. She still refused to say anything, but looked into his dark, peering eyes, but she only broke to close her eyes, hoping for the soft feeling of his lips on hers again.

Armand turned his head slowly to guide her fingers, and then lowered his face again, still working at easing her headache. He whispered against her face, before moving to kiss her a little more deeply: "Do you feel any better?"

Marguerite didn't answer with words as he had placed his lips over hers again. She simply sank into his arm, attempting to match each movement he made. Her little beau Victor was the only one who had kissed her before, save other actors on stage, but even that was just a quick peck on her lips. This was unlike anything she had felt, and a nagging feeling was telling her she shouldn't be liking it, but she did, and she liked Armand.

Armand didn't know how long he spent, leaning into her, but when he broke away he had to catch his breath. He tilted his face to kiss her on the forehead, thinking vaguely that he should stop, or at least wait ...

Marguerite could feel his quick breaths as the air passed over the flushed kiss of her face. She kept her eyes shut, but wrapped both her arms around him, one over his back the other around his neck as he moved and kissed her forehead.

Feeling his arms move to encircle her back, Armand quietly inquired whether or not she was all right. He knew, or at least suspected, that she did not entirely understand what she was doing -- what *he* was doing. Of course he was not so dishonorable as to take advantage of that, and never had ...

Marguerite could feel him hold her closer to his own body, and slightly opened her eyes to peak at him. He hadn't kissed her again and she was wondering why. Instead of letting her lips move against his though, she moved her face closer to his so that it cheek and his cheek brush together.

Armand held her as such for some time, before loosening a bit, and gazing once again down at her face. In some part of his mind he was thinking that he no longer had any idea what time it was, and that perhaps it was too late, while his conscious thoughts insisted that it mattered very little indeed. Or perhaps it did, to her, he didn't know.

Marguerite looked up into his dark eyes as he let his grip loosen and she dropped back a bit. Niether spoke nor moved until she brought her lips closer to his, stopping just short of letting them touch. There she stayed, letting the breath from his lips brush her gently.

Armand gazed directly back down into her eyes, watching as she pulled her face closer, even as her eyes went out of focus with the proximity. He gently stroked one side of her jaw, leaving out of his touch the firmness typical of most of his motions, and pulled her the one fraction of an inch closer that was necessary for touch, wondering again what she wanted.

Marguerite closed her eyes as he touched her once more. Something nagged her inside her head, something about acting indecent with a much older man she barely knew. But she was an actress and most of Paris thought her indecent anyway, so it mattered little. Lost in the silence of the moment, letting her lips brush against his, the pair was slightly startled by a clock announcing the passing of the hour.

Armand pulled back slightly, listening to the chimes as they tolled off perhaps one or two too many bells. He had remained too late already, certainly, and really, when had he once thought about when he might leave?

One thought in particular, the one that always nagged at his mind these days, and seemed constantly to interrupt what might have been his normal path of action concerning the fairer sex perhaps twelve years ago, decided him. Slowly he drew farther away, retaining the light hold he had upon her, and whispered: "It's late."

Marguerite looked down as she nodded and then slowly sat up. "It is, and no doubt there are things that will be needing your attention tomorrow. I'm sure you'll want to go home and rest for the evening."

That wasn't the reason that he had considered, of course, but it was, most likely, true. Armand quietly stroked her hair with one hand, nodding just slightly. "Are you feeling any better, though?"

Marguerite remained close enough that he could run his hand through her soft hair. "Yes," she softly said, "I am feeling much better. Will your foot be alright for the walk home tonight?"

"Quite, I thank you." Armand made to stand up, unable to do so without her cooperation, and in the process took her hand into his own perhaps one last time. He knew very well that he should not have been so uneasy, so reluctant to ask, but emotions were irrational things, when they surfaced. "If you'll be all right ... will I see you, then?"

Marguerite allowed him to take her hand as she walked him to the door. She flushed a bit when he posed his question, "I will, and if you wish it, you will."

Armand limped as subtly as he could, under the circumstances, and bowed as deeply as was possible when he reached the door, kissing her hand lightly before he rose. "I'm sure of it, then." He released her, and turned to exit. "I have a feeling that I and my associates will be decidedly more conspicuous for the newxt few weeks, in any case."

"Well, that is something to look for," Marguerite said. "I do hope you will feel better. Stop by the theatre and see me sometime."

"I shall." Armand smiled slightly before he turned to leave altogether. "Goodnight, Marguerite." As he stepped out of her apartment (noticeably more steadily than earlier in the evening) and made his way down the darkened staircases, he found himself already making a sufficient space in his schedule for a trip to the theatre.

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