Okay, so here's the beginning of that E/É fic I've been talking about. For anyone reading this who haven't read my other fic, The Skeptic & His Patria, this sort of ties in with that. Though the plot is mostly independent, so you really don't have to read it to understand what's going on at all. But, if you're interested, it's Grantaire/OC. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! My fist attempt at E/É.

Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis.

Eponine did not know why she continued to return to the Café Musain when she knew for certain that Marius would ignore her presence completely. She wanted to be angry with him, but it was nearly impossible. Sure, he did not notice her there - but he had other things on his mind. The revolution he and his friends were planning too precedence over her and she expected nothing less. Or at least, this was what she told herself to fend off the pain that threatened to choke her each time he brushed past her.

The young woman knew the streets well, and despite her small size, she was not afraid to wander the streets alone at night. Her father and her gang were the most dangerous men in the city, anyway. What did she really have to fear? Of course she knew there were many answers to that simple question, but she pushed the thoughts from her mind. It wouldn't do her well to dwell on them.

In her mind, Marius was concerned for her safety.

She wove through dark alleys, letting the shadows swallow her whole, allowing her to move almost invisibly through the darkened streets of the city towards the familiar café. She was not sure it was the best idea, considering that it was quite late - later than she had ever visited before. She could very well arrive and find the café empty. Though with as much attention as Marius paid her, it would not be much different from usual.

In all honesty, she desperately needed a place to warm herself. Her pale skin, which barely covered her bones, was covered in goosebumps. Her arms were crossed tightly, wrapped around her middle as if to draw in some warmth. That, of course, was impossible thanks to the thin and worm little dress she wore. She shrugged it off - she would rather be cold with nowhere to go then go back home to where she knew Montparnasse was waiting.

Her father would give her hell in the morning, but what was one more bruise?

As she neared the café, she slowed her pace. She was on the street now, where light from the windows of the buildings around her could actually illuminate her small frame. What if no one was there? Or if Marius was gone? She had no place in the café without him there, really. Though it would not surprise her if his friends did not even notice her presence. Perhaps she was destined to live that way. She played hide-and-seek so well that it became impossible for anyone to find her, even if she wanted them to.

...

Enjolras sat in the café which was now empty except for himself. Several books were open on the table in front of him. He poured over them as usual, jotting down notes in the margins - in any blank space he could find - and frantically scribbling onto some of the blank paper in front of him. During the earlier times of the night, when visitors occasionally stopped in, and his friends listened with rapt attention, the words flowed smoothly and naturally. Very few saw all of the work he put into this particular activity. All the better, though. Perhaps it was better that they saw their leader as all-knowing. They didn't need to see all of the sleepless nights. They might doubt him, then.

Though, Grantaire already did. The drunkard didn't hinder his plans much, though. Les Amis viewed his antics as funny. When he insulted the cause, it was never out of malice - Enjolras knew that deep down. The man simply did not believe in anything. It was not shocking or startling in any way to the others. It would not cause their faith to waiver.

The door opened slowly, but Enjolras had turned around before it even creaked.

Sometimes he feared it would be the police, there to crush his plans before he could even take action. He was willing to give his life, yes, but now was not the time. Something needed to happen before their banner could advance - he could not die alone in the café at night.

But it was not the police. It was the Shadow.

"Marius is not here." He spoke more quickly and harshly than he had intended to, but it was true. That could be the only explanation as to why the gamine would stumble into the café.

He didn't see the way her face faltered when he spoke the words, she put a mask of indifference back on much too quickly. Enjolras was not exactly fine-tuned to human emotion.

"Oh." The girl's voice was so deflated that even Enjolras noticed, and he found himself shaking his head as she made an attempt to leave.

She was shivering, and the clothes she wore were not suitable for the weather outside, he was sure. He hadn't even ventured outside that day thanks to the fact that he lived in a flat just above the café, but through the window he could see how everyone clutched their overcoats to themselves as they walked, heads bowed to the wind.

"You do not have to leave," he pointed out, gesturing to the empty room. There were plenty of empty chairs. "Pontmercy might come wandering back in - he's prone to do that." It was a lie, of course. Marius would not be back until the next day - he and the others had left for the evening, presumably to sleep. However, the young woman did not look as if she was in any condition to be wandering the streets.

Eponine shrugged, closing the door behind her. It shut the cold air out, and the warm air of the café allowed her tense muscles to relax just a bit. Such polite revolutionaries. Of course he would be - he probably pitied her like he pitied the rest of the vermin of the streets. She had heard enough of his speeches to know that much about him. His pretty words were all about the same thing. Freeing the people, bringing the light of a new day to France. She wanted to believe them, but she was not naive enough to.

"I'll wait just a while, then," she informed him.

He simply nodded, watching the frail young woman make her way to one of the tables, and nearly collapse into the chair. He pretended not to notice. A young gamine much like the Shadow had visited earlier that evening, and at the first sign of pity, she had taken off.

He turned back to his books and continued to write, nearly forgetting that the girl was there all together until he glanced up to see her slumped over the table, her head resting on her folded arms. Her eyes were closed and her slow, even breathing told him that she was asleep. He sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do. He could wake her up and tell her that Marius had not arrived, but something about the dark circles under her eyes when she walked in told him that she needed sleep. He could leave her where she was, but that wouldn't be right. He couldn't just leave her sleeping in the middle of a café.

He weighed his options as he gathered his books into a neat pile on the table, tucking all of the pages he had written into one of the covers. The girl shifted in her sleep, and one hand now hung limply off the table.

Sighing, he made his way towards her. He decided on taking her up to his flat. She could sleep there for then night. It was the least he could do, really. After all, she kept Marius out of a lot of trouble. The young man was brilliant, but at times he was like a child. The Shadow seemed to know her way around the streets quite well. She was intelligent in the sort of way that a gamine was intelligent, from what he saw. Yet time and time again she would be in the café, staring at Marius with rapt attention barely seeming to notice anything or anyone else in the room. He paid no such attention to her - just that of a friend.

With a shake of his head, he gathered the girl in his arms and stood slowly as not to wake her. It was not difficult to carry her up the stairs to his flat, given that she probably weighed about one hundred pounds - if that. He frowned. There were so many like her - too poor to feed themselves. He still vividly remembered the day when Gavroche had first appeared. He was in far better condition now, but he had been little more than an emaciated little boy then.

He pushed open the door to his flat. It was rather small, just a couple of rooms - his bedroom and a small kitchen and living room. It was cluttered, with books lying about everywhere. He was not concerned, he rarely spent time there. Most of his work, he did downstairs in the café among his friends.

He carried her to his room, placing her on the bed and pulling blankets over her. She had hardly stirred since he'd picked her up, which he was grateful for. Surely, had she woken up, she would have refused his offer of help. He took a few steps back from the bed, running a hand through his thick blonde curls. It was late and he had another full day ahead of him - one that was certain to be interesting.

Silently, he opened the trunk at the foot of his bed and pulled out a quilt. Even lying on the couch in the other room, he fell asleep quickly, more exhausted from the day than he'd thought.