A/N: This is my first Les Mis fic, please be easy on me! I actually didn't ship Enjonine until recently but now I'm totally in love with this pairing (it helps that Samponine Barks and Aaronjolras Tveit are two of the most perfect people in the world). When watching 'Little Fall of Rain' (again) I thought about what would've happened if Enjolras were indeed in love with Éponine at the time and then THIS happened.
When it comes to the actual scenes in the movie (e.g. building barricade) I tried to stay as in-universe as possible (well, the movie-verse) but since Enjonine isn't canon I guess it still counts as AU? A LOT of this is taken from the original script (because a lot of lines were cut out and a lot of scenes were changed between original script and final cut), so it's still not strictly speaking in the movie-verse…? Ah whatever. Read, enjoy.
Disclaimer: Les Misérables in no way belongs to me. If it did I wouldn't cry so much every time I watch/read it.
Winter 1832
He's seen her a few times, traversing the streets with Marius. He could swear that he might have even seen her in the Café Musain a few times, but she is all shadows and smoke and he can never tell for sure.
The first time he speaks to her, however, is when her parents attempt to rob him.
"Please, m'sieur. Come zis way an' see a child ain't eaten today," an old gamin had said, while beckoning him into a hovel.
Although he looks like a well-off bourgeois boy, he has nothing to give these beggars as he refuses to take any money he hasn't earned. He follows the old man because he is sympathetic to their plight and has decided he must learn more about the people he is trying to help.
When he sees the conditions of the room, hears the crying child, sees the dirty old crone on the floor, he feels his blood boil and proceeds to give an impassioned speech on how he fights for the rights of the poor.
"And that is why today I have but a sous for you, but in the near tomorrows I will be able to give you the right to be free!" he finishes, after ten minutes.
The old couple simply stare at him blankly. Even the 'child' has stopped crying. The hovel is silent.
The silence is broken by a slow, sarcastic applause before a laugh rings out through the hovel. It isn't the melodious, sweet, refined laugh he's heard from those two-a-penny bourgeois girls – no, it's a rough, warm, hearty laugh that may not be exactly feminine but is not a pain to the ears either.
He turns to the doorframe, with only a dirty cloth instead of a door, and sees the source of the laugh: Marius' friend. She's skinnier than he remembers – with a waist he could probably fit between his hands –, has olive skin and black, matted hair that falls to her midriff and is slightly covered in dirt and grime like other gamines around Paris. But there is something that sets her apart from other gamines.
Her laughter causes her whole body to shake, her dimples prominently showing on her cheeks and her head thrown back in mirth. Her laughter reaches her eyes, very much unlike other gamines – or even the bourgeois girls – he has seen.
When her laughter subsides she opens the cloth of a door and beckons for him to exit. "I told them to stay away from you, with your fancy words and blaze of glory. Come, monsieur. Don't waste any more time here. I'm headed for the Café, too." Her voice is coarse and made of smoke, just like she, but like her laugh is not unpleasant to hear.
She is actually quite beautiful, he muses.
His surprise at his own thought must appear on his face as she rolls her eyes and grabs his hand to pull him outside.
Once outside she drops his hand but it is enough for him; her rough skin is warm, starkly contrasting the cold January weather. He finds his heart beating slightly faster and is thoroughly confused (again).
If she feels something she does not show it. She starts towards the Café, a mere twenty meters away, and he follows.
"I would actually like to apologise for my parents' behaviour, monsieur. Frankly, it's embarrassing and I'm going to pay for my snide remarks. But the looks on their faces were priceless."
Suddenly she frowns, as if she has said too much.
"Please do not call me monsieur, for we are equals," is all he replies. He notices a smirk replace her frown and is glad he has not said the wrong thing.
"Then what shall I call you, marble-boy?"
He is taken aback at first when she uses the name his friends tease him with, although he realises that she must be in the Café more often then he originally thought. "Enjolras. Just Enjolras."
She laughs. The dimples reappear. "Alright Enjolras-just-Enjolras. Je m'appelle Éponine."
He extends his hand for a shake. "Pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle."
She rolls her eyes but accepts his handshake and by this time they have reached the Café Musain. He pauses briefly at the contact, lingering ever so slightly, again taken aback by how he seems to enjoy being around this gamine. Peculiar…
But before he can say anything else she's gone, like a shadow vanishing in the light.
She comes to the Café more often after that. He isn't happy to see what he thinks are bruises on her skin but each time he sees her, his speeches are more impassioned. Jehan would be proud.
Spring 1832
"Why do you come to our meetings so often?"
"Why are your speeches always about the same thing?"
A groan. "You haven't answered my question."
"Because I don't have better places to be. And I'd like to see if your oration improves."
"Big word."
"I'm not uneducated."
"Sorry."
"Apology not accepted. Unless your next speech impresses me."
Eyebrows rising. "And how do you suggest I do that?"
Beckoning hands. "I'll show you."
The next few weeks are a whirlwind. She becomes like his shadow, although he despises the term – they are more like confidants, equals, learning from each other.
She shows him the streets, the lives of the people he fights for. He convinces her of his cause, reading and lending many of his books to her.
He tells her of his dreams – his goals for France and his plans for revolution. She tells him about her life – her descent into poverty at the hands of corrupt, violent parents and her inescapable lifestyle.
He inspires her to be a better person, to avoid her parents' schemes. She motivates him to be a better leader, to gain a stronger message and bigger following.
They spend most nights at the Café Musain or at his room-of-an-apartment, discussing everything from politics to constellations in the night sky. Most nights she ends up falling asleep in his room, and by May she calls the room home.
"You're late ton- Christ, are you alright?"
"I'm fine. A bloody nose never hurt anybody."
"An eye that black might disagree."
"Shuttup, I look prettier than you when you wake up in the morning."
"Ever so stubborn. Should I fetch Joly?"
"No, no, the bleeding's stopped now. Cold water should do the trick."
"You haven't had bruises for so long. Why tonight?"
"I went home to see my sister. Arrived in time to prevent a beating."
"And? There's more to it."
"I may have fought back a little. I think it's safe to say grown man versus young woman would cause a few injuries."
"Why?"
"I protect people the people I care about, marble-boy. Even if that means having to die."
"But if you died, where would that leave me?"
"Without a flatmate."
"Don't you care about me?"
"I do. But I care about my brother, my sister and my best friend too."
A sigh. "I'm going to have to start looking for a new flatmate."
She pushes him away playfully.
Summer 1832
By the end of May they struggle with what to call each other.
Flatmates? No, that would mean they both paid rent.
Friends? No, that was out when she kissed him earlier that week. And when he kissed her a few days later.
They settle for companions. He is her companion, her orator; she is his companion, his shadow.
The only other person who knows of their bond is her best friend Marius. He disapproves of Pontmercy but if she is happy, he is happy.
He feels dread when Les Amis' revolutionary plan is set. He knows he should feel excited, feel proud of the progress, yet he feels terrified in the pit of his stomach.
She senses this and comforts him. He doesn't show this side of himself to his friends, only to her.
When Gavroche brings the news of Lamarque's death, his adrenaline takes over and Les Amis are more driven than ever. What they don't see, however, is his collapse behind closed doors.
"Who said you're coming with us?"
"I did."
"Who says I'll let you?"
"I do."
"What if I fail?"
"Then we fail together."
"You should not come with us. You have more to live for."
"A life of petty thievery and the abuse of my parents? Pah! I'd rather die by your side."
"Why?"
A sigh. "Mon amour, no matter what happens remember this: to love another person is to see the face of God."
"What does that even mean?"
"You'll find out tomorrow."
"Why tomorrow?"
"Because tomorrow you, dear general, will lead your friends into glorious battle and even if we die, we'll be in the history books. Even if we fail, others will rise to take our place until the Earth is free."
A frown. "This 'we' does not include you."
"Yes, it does."
"No it doesn't. And I'm not a general."
"No, you're Enjolras-just-Enjolras."
She pulls his face to hers for one last kiss.
When he sees the shadowy figure helping to build the barricade, the 'boy,' he curses to himself.
"Please leave," he speaks quietly and urgently into her ear, grabbing her arm. It sounds more desperate than he intends it to be.
"You're fighting for what you believe in. I'm defending what I believe in." She brusquely pulls her arm out of his grip and continues to prop a table against the rest of the furniture.
She returns for the chair he holds in his hands. She leans in, planting a quick peck on his cheek before taking the chair and continuing to build their barricade.
And like that, she's again out of his grasp like smoke.
When the barricade is complete, he climbs it with the red flag in his hands and addresses Les Amis.
"Red, the blood of angry men!"
He sees his shadow smiling up at him proudly. The pride in her eyes fuels him.
"Black, the dark of ages past!"
His little army join him.
"Red, a world about to dawn!"
She throws the general a small salute before piping in.
"Black, the night that ends at last!"
He watches her die in the arms of another man.
She was doing what she does best – looking after those she cared about most. And while Marius doesn't see the soldier approaching him, she does. And while Marius strives to chase the National Guard away with gunpowder and a torch, she makes one last sacrifice for her best friend.
He sees it all. The figure rushing to Marius' side, the twist of the barrel to face her instead of Marius, the gunshot as the figure falls to the ground. He wants to rush to her side and yet he is frozen.
Marius gets there first and folds her into his arms.
"Éponine, what have you done?"
"Mon ami, even the hero needs someone to save him." She smiles weakly up at Marius. "Don't you fret, M'sieur Marius. I don't feel any pain. A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now."
Still frozen in his spot, she catches his eye. "You're here; that's all I need to know!" He knows the words are for him when her brown eyes bore into his blue although she dies in the arms of another man, he knows her last words are directed at him. "You will keep me safe. You will keep me warm, and rain will make the flowers grow."
He's not sure if it is rain or tears that have made her cheeks so wet.
"She is the first to fall. The first to fall upon this barricade." They all notice the pain in his voice as he gingerly picks up her still warm body.
Marius, Combeferre, Jehan and Bossuet join the eulogy.
"Her name was Éponine! Her life was cold and dark, yet she was unafraid!"
"We fight here in her name!"
"She will not die in vain!"
"She will not be betrayed."
His mind goes back to their final night before this mess of a revolution. "Mon amour, no matter what happens remember this: to love another person is to see the face of God." Only now he sees the meaning in her words. Only now he understands what she wanted to tell him.
Love.
He speaks loudly so that they can all hear him. "Her name was Éponine and I loved her."
He turns and walks away, gently placing her body in the Café. Can this really be the same Café? Can this really be the same place that contains all those happier, sunnier times?
He leans over her body and plants a kiss on her forehead. To love another person is to see the face of God.
"I see it now, ma chérie. I can see it."
If anyone sees the tears that have fought their way to his eyes, nobody says it.
She comes to him before the end.
The soldiers have cornered him in the top room of the Café Musain. Grantaire stumbles out of a drunken stupor, for the first time sober as a stone, to be by his side.
She beckons to him. Come with me, where chains can never bind you.
He stands defiantly with his friend, passing Grantaire a look of gratitude, the red flag held high in his hand. The renewed fire in his eyes instils a fear in the soldiers' hearts, postponing their execution by a few seconds.
She reaches her hand out. Take my hand; I'll lead you to salvation.
He takes it.
The shots ring out.
Summer 1848
The people of Paris have risen in their tens of thousands. The King has fled. A new republic is born.
Do you hear the people sing
Lost in the valley of the night?
It is the music of a people
Who are climbing towards the light.
Marius Pontmercy walks hand-in-hand with his wife Cossette. They march with the Parisians who have taken to the streets.
For the wretched of the Earth
There is a flame that never dies
Even the darkest night will end
And the sun will rise.
They walk towards Place de la Bastille. The victory march can be heard throughout the whole of France – the cheers, the drums, the sighs of happiness and the cries of freedom.
They will live again in freedom
In the garden of the Lord
They will walk behind the ploughshare
They will put away the sword
The chain will be broken
And all men will have their reward!
They are joined by several figures: little Gavroche eagerly peeks out of his elephant; Feuilly, Combeferre and Bahorel laugh jubilantly, waving the Tricolore and red flags of revolution; Joly, Bossuet, Jehan and Courfeyrac sing the song of victory at the top of their lungs; Grantaire cheers on the marchers with a bottle of whiskey in his hands; Enjolras and Éponine hold hands atop the barricade, smiling radiantly down at the marchers.
Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade
Is there a world you long to see?
"We did it," he says, tears stinging his eyes. He watches as they smile warmly back and slowly disappear into a wall of white.
Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring when
Tomorrow comes!