"Oh, Eponine." Fingers brushed across Eponine's bare shoulders, and she shivered at the touch. Blinking heavy eyelids open, she detected familiar features: dark curls, a wide, sardonic mouth, and a face set in an expression of such uncharacteristic concern that her heart ached on anticipation of its departure. Her chest was bare except for the bandages that encircled it, and she tugged the blankets up to further conceal her breasts.
"I thought you were dead."
She looked away, unable to bear the restrained emotion in Marius's low voice; friendship, she reminded herself. Nothing more. "Why would you think that?"
"'Ponine-" As if she was something precious and delicate, the back of his hand trailed across her cheek. Silence required a supreme effort of will; she craved this contact of skin on skin."You were hardly breathing and there was so much blood and-" Abruptly, his hand moved to cup the back of her head; daring to look at him, she found it difficult to believe that someone like her could ever deserve such tenderness. And this was Marius. She'd practically worshipped him for years.
Marius pulled her close, burying his nose in her hair, and she clung to him. In a moment she'd wake up, she was sure of it. Instead, though, she drifted into a peaceful slumber.
When she next awoke, it was later, as evidenced by the position of the sun. Marius knelt before her, carefully easing her nightgown over her thighs.
"What are you doing?"
"Something I should have attempted when we first met, although I hope you shall not think it too forward of me, besides, if a woman saves a man's life, the man is obliged to be a gentleman in return, is he not?"
And his hand delved between her legs. She was convinced she was dreaming, although the dull ache from her wounds felt real enough to convince her otherwise. What was Marius doing, anyway? She'd seen whores perform similar actions on men, but...
"You will say my name, won't you, 'Ponine?" His voice was very soft and very kind.
Eponine closed her eyes, determined that her voice would not come out as a squeak or a gasp; despite her love, she would never let it be said that Eponine Threnardier, the arrondissement's cleverest pickpocket, was silly or simpering. Marius's fingers, teasing her, made it so hard to concentrate. The sensations crescendoed. Finally, as her body arched in release, she breathed, "Monseiur- m'seuir Marius- ah!"
"Good," he said, smiling, and she collapsed back against the pillows, near-insensible with joy. "Only next time, I think, without the "Monseiur'."
Later, after they had repeated their actions, (Eponine being too injured for anything more traditionally strenuous, although she protested vehemently to the contrary.) Eponine lay cradled in Marius's arms, staring at the patterns of afternoon sunlight on the ceiling. "Marius? All that... We're you really just being a gentleman? Because if that was just out of pity, I can leave right now. You'll never have to see me again, gunshot wound or no."
Marius paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. Then: "You're very precious to me, 'ponine, and I don't think I realized that until I almost lost you. So... No, I don't want you to leave."
Eponine had never felt so wholly content. She snuggled deeper into his embrace. After a moment, she opened her eyes. "Marius, remember what I said when I was delirious? About the flowers... Did they grow?"
"yes- delphinium and larkspur, I think. They're magnificent. Why?"
She rested her head on his shoulder. "Before, I had intended to ask if you'd put some on my grave-"
His arms tightened around her. "Don't say such things."
"-but now... I don't know. Just curiosity, I suppose."
"Well, first thing tomorrow, I'll buy you a bouquet."
Eponine laughed and kissed him, and conversation ceased in the garret for quite some time.