He says goodbye to his family on the platform, his golden hair looking rusty in the overcast light. His blue eyes are glassy and cold, and his mother is somewhat relieved to say goodbye. They know this is his last chance for survival against the infection in his lungs. He deliberately avoids kissing his girlfriend, Georgette, and goes in for a hug instead.
She forces a grin, and for a moment he hates her for pretending that he's not just a side effect to human beings. But that's not fair, because she loves him, even though he doesn't love her. Part of him never wants to come back, because his mother will never stop staring at him.
"Goodbye!" they scream as the train pulls away from the platform. Other people on the train are returning their cries to their loved ones, Enjolras just watches as they fade into the crowd. The train is fast, even as he sees his mother struggle to run after the train.
He doubts he'll live long in this new place.
He hates it. It's full of white and black, and it stinks. His lungs are still bursting, but this time from lack of full air. One day, in 1883, he sneaks over the Containment fence, and outside. And, alas, he sees a girl. She's skinny as a twig. She feels his eyes on her, and she turns her head. Her dress is shorter than the other girls' dresses.
Her eyes shine and her cheeks are red from tuberculosis. "Hello," she says, somewhat suspiciously.
"Hello Mademoiselle," he responds nodding to her. She rolls her eyes.
"I know who you are. Some of the girls in my section were talking about you. You're the Trouble Boy. Can't be swayed by the beautiful long legs of Eleanor, even."
"That would probably be me. I'm Enjolras."
Eponine walks quickly over to him, and thrusts her right arm forward. "Eponine."
"Nice to meet you." He hesitantly takes her hand in his own. "You're quite small, aren't you?" He smirks.
Her eyes flash. "How dare you! I'm not small! Well, I suppose I sort of am, but that's my own fault. I refused to have much of the food. Only enough to survive."
Enjolras snorts. "That's idiotic."
"Shut up!"
He looks at her in surprise. Women don't speak like that around him, ever.
"Why're you out here, anyway? I hate it in there, but why you? Surely you have friends."
Eponine's childlike glow sobers. "No, I don't. None of them really like me much. They all know who my family is, thanks to Eleanor. Because I had to be born into the Thenardiers, who are feared across France."
She made a sword motion in the air.
Enjolras smiles at her then, and the melancholy tone that surrounds him turns slightly happier. Noticing this, Eponine's invisible aura returns and she grins widely.
"You are who you are, not your parents," he says.
"Yeah, but I'm half them."
Enjolras shrugs. "It's soon until role call. I'll meet you tonight?"
"Okay." She skips off and he sees her slip over the fence. He turns and goes back to the main room of the boys building.
Eponine is an optimistic realist. She sees the facts, but turns them into something better than what they are. She keeps her head turned towards the sun squinting through the windows, hence she see the dead being wheeled, because god knows that would be dangerous for her morale. But the truth is, Eponine pretends. She's an actress, the thing she despised in her father. Eponine tries to convince herself with words, like when you repeat a lie over and over and you start to believe it.
She looks for chances to be truly happy in life; and so she meets Enjolras, half believing he was nothing but a daydream.
So when she sees him sitting there, she is overtaken by joy. She bounces over. "Having a good night, Monsieur?" she fakes a bourgeois voice, and he grins.
"I believe I am."
"I think I am as well."
Enjolras smiles at her. "Are you hungry?"
"Hell yeah!" she grins, "I'm always hungry. But there are people who need it more than me. Plus, I don't deserve it."
Her enthusiasm is infectious and he shakes his head slightly. "You remind me of a child."
Eponine crosses her arms. "Well, we have to try and be happy, don't we? God knows we're going to die soon."
Eponine then sits next to him. "Besides, I've been too unhappy in life."
Suddenly, she's not a child but someone ten times her age. It's only for a minute though. That's what reveals to Enjolras the fact that her optimism is a shield, trying to survive in a world of cruelty.
For the world has indeed been cruel to Eponine Thenardier, but that's one aspect that she'll defend, saying that at least she's smarter than you'll ever be.
"Ep?" he asks.
"What is it?" her childish demeanour is somehow slipping away in an hour of conversation.
"I have a bunch of friends, and we hold meetings in the male dorms at night. My room. Maybe you could come?"
"Maybe," she smirks.
Enjolras wraps her hand in his and watches her closely.
There's Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Joly, Jehan, Bahorel, Bossuet and Grantaire.
Eponine is at first dazzled by the wave of new names, but uses the slips of conversation that wander into her hearing to gather who is who.
They are surprised when there is a woman in their bedroom. "Courf!" they laugh at first, but he is just as bewildered as they are, and blatantly refuse that she's one of his girlfriends.
She breathes a sigh of relief when Enjolras enters. He smiles at Eponine. She gets to her feet and does a mock curtsey. Her dark hair falls over her face, a blanket of dark brown. Eponine attempts to blow it out of her face, but eventually has to swipe back. "I apologize, Monsieur."
He tries not to smile, but only manages within an inch of his life. Eponine lies back and watches him talk about the events that have happened. Suddenly there's the sound of footsteps down the hall. There's a mad scramble to blow out the candles and hide. Eponine ends up pressed against Grantaire in the closet. She hears the patron open the door.
Eponine's breath is slow immediately, she's used to this.
...
Suddenly she has a flashback to when her brother was only a year or two. Eponine was probably twelve or thirteen, but she had already become more mother than sister. It was the same year her Father stopped calling her 'Princess' and called her a 'Dirty Harlot.'
She stopped grinning at her mother, instead staring at her, cold, hating her for not saying anything. When her brother screamed too long, he would be beaten, and so she would wake up early and change his diaper and sing to him.
Most of the time he got quiet in time, but this time, her parents were too quick. Her father swept Gavroche up into his arms, placed him over his knee and beat him. Eponine screamed and clawed at her father, telling him to hurt her instead. His hand connected with her cheek, and she heard her mother gasp. Monsieur Thenardier put Gavroche back in his box, and walked off. Eponine saw that her father's punishment for Gavroche had been cut off by her interference.
This was when she fully became a Mother. That was the moment when she decided that she would take a million blows if it meant none for her siblings.
...
The woman passes and Eponine falls out of the closet. It's still complete darkness, and she claws around. "I hate the dark," she hisses, but there isn't fear in her voice; only loathing, dripping with venom.
They all brush it off except Enjolras. They light the candle and the room flutters to light again. Enjolras gets out of his bed and walks over to Eponine. "You okay?" he asks.
She shrugs. "It's only consumption, it could be a lot worse. I could have my tongue cut out."
Enjolras walks outside to watch her climb over the fence. She wasn't supposed to know he was there, but as she is climbing over, she turns her head and waves. As she disappears, he exhales a breath.
He walks back inside and goes to sleep.
The next day he meets her again. They rest against the grass. It's all silence, save for their breathing. Her fingers wrap around his hand. Her eyes wander over to examine his face but he's already watching her. She smiles and flicks her eyes away.
"Hey, Enjolras?" she asks.
"Yes?"
"I know you love the French Revolutions. What about our own revolution?"
Eponine sits up. "I know, we need a reason, but one of the little kids was too loud and they're not giving him dinner. I know, mostly I reject my food, but he's not getting an option."
Enjolras smiles. "Okay."
They spend the rest of the time plotting their revolution.
"We deserve something better than inedible grey lumps! First they're giving us lumps, and then just because we can't sleep we get even that taken away from us. We've had everything taken away from us! Our family, our friends, and face it; for most of us, our lives. But we have hope, and hunger diminishes our hope. Isn't it about morale keeping? Well they're doing a pretty good job of killing us then, aren't they?"
The boy gets his dinner. And they also have bread and cheese for lunch. Seeing this, Eponine waits until they got outside and presses her lips to Enjolras'. His eyes widen, at the impact of her chapped lips pressing into his smooth ones. It is for but a second, but when she pulls back, shame passing like a shadow over her face. In a moment of fight or flight, Eponine runs.
Enjolras doesn't follow her. He just watches her run her dark hair trailing behind her.
Eponine still comes back, and Enjolras walks over to her. His hand wraps around her wrist and she looks up at him in confusion. "I'm sorry," she says.
"It's fine."
Eponine nods and tries to ignore the obnoxious, pulsating beat inside her. "Still meeting me tonight?"
"Of course, Ep."
Enjolras lets go of her wrist and walks over to the middle of the room. His voice is quiet and loud at the same time. Eponine can barely hear him; she's so focused on looking him up and down. His golden curls bounce. Bossuet coughs. Eponine knows that kind of cough, but the others haven't noticed. She clamps her eyes shut for a minute, from the pain. Her eyes open again and keep taking in Enjolras.
His eyes meet hers and all he wants is silence, to watch her, with her dimples and dark hair. But they'd tease him forever. With a slight shake of his head he tares his eyes away.
Eponine can no longer hear anything he's saying, because she knows now. She is falling in love. But then Bossuet coughs again, and she doesn't feel right thinking about her stupid love life when she knows exactly what's happening.
Her eyes squeeze shut again, against the pain of the world, the cruel voices and the shadows.
Afterwards she slips out and waits for Enjolras. Her arms wrap around her legs, and she trembles slightly.
Enjolras comes out and sits next to her.
Eponine sighs. "Sometimes I want to die," she says. Enjolras scoots closer and wraps his arms around her.
"If you're going to die, you won't die alone."
Eponine smiles at the feel of his arms wrapped around her frame. She turns her head to him. And feels his lips pressed against hers.
He's hungry and he's furious. There's the faint tinge of blood on Eponine's tongue. Her tongue slips into his mouth and he stiffens, not knowing what to do. Her hands press against his chest.
Eponine pushes Enjolras back onto the grass. Enjolras feels no guilt for his girlfriend at home; Hell, she's probably married some other man with his pockets overflowing with money.
Eponine pulls back. "Where's your home?" she asks.
"It's in the bourgeoisie part of Paris," he says. "When I get better, I'm getting a small house on the outskirts."
"I'm going with you," Eponine smiles.
"What about your siblings?"
Eponine pauses. "Zelma's probably dead by now, if not, I'll take a trip to the city and take her back with me."
"Okay. You can come with me."
"ENJOLRAS!" shrieks a voice from outside the door. Enjolras groans and gets up to open the door. He opens the door to find Joly, his hair in all different directions, his face red from tears. "Enjolras!" he cries.
"Joly, calm down. What's wrong?"
Joly lets out a wail. "Bossuet." Enjolras follows Joly down the hall, quietly. He pauses when he hears a noise. There's a limp body being heaved onto a cart. Joly's trying hard not to make noises as he watches his best friend being led down the hall.
"Enjolras?" he asks.
"What?"
"We're never going to get better, are we?"
"We will, Joly. Just keep faith."
Joly never does get to leave. The stress of his best friend's death aggravates the infection in his lungs and kills him a week after. One of the lights is that Courfeyrac and Jehan go home.
One by one they leave, from death or going home.
Eventually it turns to Enjolras, Eponine, Combeferre and Grantaire.
They're sitting on the floor of Enjolras' room. Grantaire chugs a transparent bottle of liquor.
"What is that?" Enjolras asks suspiciously.
"Rubbing alcohol. I'm an artist, I know where to find a bottle."
Eponine smiles in mock sweetness. "You'll go blind, you know?"
"So, I'm dying, anyway; what, do you know someone?"
"I know a lot of someones. My father was brilliant at trading alcohol. I know, I hated his guts, but that was one of the places his talents lay."
They talk quietly, their laughter filling the room. It feels so empty, now that the others are gone. Eponine rests her head against Eponine's arm. After a while, when it's really late, Enjolras gets to her feet. "Come on, Ep, it's time to take you back to your room."
When Enjolras thinks his friends aren't looking, he brushes Eponine's ear with his lips. Grantaire opens his mouth to tease, but Combeferre smacks his shoulder. "Let it go."
They climb the fence to the giant expanse of green. Enjolras kisses her there, roughly. Eponine's hand quickly sprints up to grab his hair. She presses against him. She slides her hands down to his shoulders, pulling him down to his knees.
Enjolras stiffens when he hears her cough. He glances up and sees her wipe some blood from her mouth. "Eponine," he says, and he sounds frightened and small. "I love you."
She pulls away from him then, and she looks frightened.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm sick, Enjolras. You'll get sicker."
"If you're going to die, you won't die alone." Eponine smiles then. She's always been slightly selfish.
Her lips meet his again. Her short dress is pulled over her head and left of the grass. Her naked body seems to gleam. Enjolras sees the scars. "Who-"
"My father," she mutters.
Enjolras doesn't ask any more questions, and his lips trail down her tiny body, brushing her scars with the gentleness of a feather.
The night is full of moans, and names, and kisses. They gather grass from the earth beneath them. And instead of taking her back to the other fence for the girls, they sleep there, naked and beautiful.
And in each kiss there is 'I love you' embedded inside it.
She wakes up to his breath in her ear. They're on their sides; their limbs are wrapped around each other. His chest presses against her breast. She startles when she sees the thin grey line on the horizon. "Enjolras," she hisses.
"Eponine," he breathes, because that's what it sounds like. As if she's the oxygen he needs to survive.
"It's almost dawn."
They get dressed and head back to their rooms. As she walks through the door of her room, the door is once again opened by a girl behind her. "You didn't sleep in your own bedroom," she hisses.
"It's uncomfortable. I slept outside."
"Are you kidding me? You're healing, and now you're out to die from exposure."
"Since when did you care?"
"Answer me!"
"I'm not healing. No better."
"Now you say that. What would you know?"
Eponine rolls her eyes. "Get out," she says.
"You were out all night. Did you get some action?"
"No!" hisses Enjolras but he replies too quickly for his own good. "It was humid so I slept outside.
"Sure, sure."
But Enjolras isn't listening to Grantaire. His mind strays back to Eponine and her sickness. The worry in his mind must be evident, because Grantaire asks him if he's okay. "I'm joking, 'Jolras."
"It's fine."
"No, seriously, what's wrong?"
Enjolras sighs. He sits down on his bed, and shakes his head. "Eponine."
Enjolras feels a pain in his chest, and it's not the disease. "She's sick."
Grantaire doesn't cry yet; too many of his friends have died. "I'm sorry," is all the artist can say.
"Don't you remember when you first kissed me? I said I wanted to die and now it's coming true."
Eponine's skinnier than she should be. It's been weeks, and she won't live much longer. She needs help climbing over the fence, and he saw how skinny her joints are. He treasures every moment with her. He spends Sunday night with her in his arms, and those will be what he remembers, what he clings to when he goes home. He'll be going soon.
He told his parents that a friend would be coming for a bit, but they don't know there is not going to be a friend then.
So Enjolras holds Eponine gently, but as though he needs her. Every breath begs her to stay with him, to join him in buying a house outside Paris.
"I'll be right behind you," he says.
"I'll kill you," she winces.
"I'd die for you, anyway," he says.
Enjolras holds her close, and he is guarded for the weeks to come.
He slowly dances with her as the moonlight makes her cheekbones even sharper.
Afterwards, he follows her to her room, helping her over and part carrying her inside. She hates this dependency, but she can't function without him. Eponine holds his hand as he sits by her bed.
The door opens. "So you're the man who's been keeping Eponine out of bed." A girl with dark red hair stands in the doorframe.
"Hello," he says coldly. "I'm Enjolras."
"Martha. And you're Eponine's boyfriend? Thank you. You've kept her happy."
Martha turns and leaves the room.
She dies a week later, at their daytime visit. He watches the light fade from her dark eyes, and the smile on her face dropping. She's heavy as he carries her to her room. He lays her down on the bed, kisses her forehead and- bang!
The patron watches him. "What are you doing, courting one of our ladies."
Enjolras lowers his head. "She's dead, Madame."
He leaves the room again.
Grantaire's left and Combeferre's there.
"Just the two of us, just like it began," he smiles.
"It's been a hideous road to get here. I don't really want to start all over again," Enjolras replies.
He still feels the ghost of her in his arms, and he tries to hold her closer.
"I don't know about you, but this really hasn't made me feel better about living," Combeferre says.
"Yeah. In fact, I kind of want it to end."
"Indeed. We were already fucked up before. They totally fixed me there."
Enjolras smiles slightly. "They didn't like us seeing the bodies. But wouldn't we notice our friends' absence?"
"When I'm going home, it's not like anyone's going to think I'm a hero."
"And if they do, it'll be worse. We're not. The heroes are the dead ones."
Combeferre forces a grin.
"Yeah. When you… first brought Eponine along, we were baffled. Here was the Marble Statue showing feelings!"
"I'm not a statue. I loved her." Enjolras buries his head in his hands, trying not to see anything. In fact, he wishes he were blind. Blind and deaf. So he didn't have to do anything in this nonsensical, fucked up thing called life.
"We all knew it Enjolras, when you spoke your speech and you kept looking at her."
"That's when I was doomed. Eponine's web. We were all pulled into it, but me the furthest."
"Yeah." There's silence between the two last friends, until Enjolras breaks it.
"You know, the happiness thing. It was all an act," he says, "she always thought the world was going to turn against her."
"Except with you."
"Except with me."
The train pulls away from the station nearest to the sanatorium. Enjolras sits by himself, staring out the window. The world wizzes past, and it seems like he's going forward in time. Enjolras cries then, silently, not wanting to be loud.
His golden curls tangle with his fingers, his face presses into his palms. Quickly time moves for him, and he falls asleep, dreaming of Eponine. Forward, forward he goes, not just outwards, but internally as well.
Out of nowhere he pictures a little girl with dark hair and blue eyes. He cries out.
They arrive at the station, and as Enjolras pushes through the crowd, he hides his face, until he bumps into a woman's frame. "Epon-" he catches himself.
His mother smiles at him. "Adrien!"
"Hello, Mother." His voice drips with venom. He hates her. He hates her now, for sending him away in the first place. He hates her for giving birth to him. His mother winces.
"Is that how you greet your mother?" She wraps him in a hug.
Enjolras is unresponsive.
"Sorry, mother. I missed you." Now his voice is honey-sweet, and he scrutinizes her under his fiery gaze.
"Adrien," says another voice. His father stands there, and he's grown a beard.
Enjolras bows his head and then his mother gasps. "Oh, you've been crying!"
Be quiet, he pleads silently.
"Are you okay?"
"Are you seriously asking me if I'm okay? I've just come from a sanatorium. It's a death-trap."
"What about the friend? When's he coming? Oh, did you have a fight?"
Shut up, shut up, shut up! "Mother. There is no friend. And her name was…Epona. Epona Jondrette."
"Oh, why the was? Oh… And Jondrette? She shares a last name with the famous Jondrettes, didn't she?"
"SHUT UP ABOUT HER!"
Enjolras steps back, covering his face again. "How's Georgette?"
"She's waited for you."
"I don't care. She shouldn't have waited, she should've married someone. I'm done! I'm leaving, Mother, Father."
The final whistle calls and he turns and runs and jumps onto the train. His mother doesn't call him back.
He comes back. Of course he does, because he's a cowardly bastard who can't look after himself. A stupid bourgeois boy who loves his little sister. His sister is now six, and she doesn't even recognise him.
They meet up one day, all the survivors at least.
And they can feel the dead in the room with them, they think. Enjolras looks around him, and he can almost see her.
But it hurts even more, knowing that he can almost touch her.
He spends his days mostly inanimate, no matter what his parents say. He reads, and Jehan sometimes sends him poetry.
Eventually he gets out of bed and starts going to the market for his Mother. After a while, he feels something strange inside of him. After a few days, he announces that he's leaving again to another home. Because he knows exactly what's going on.
He's sick again.
He'll be joining Eponine soon.