Written for femslash February. It's a modern vaguely dystopian assassin AU written more or less entirely because I felt like it.
Les Miserables belongs probably to the Estate of Victor Hugo, to the people who made the musical, and the ones who made the movie. None of those people are me. No profit has been made save the pleasure of creating it.
Eponine drives. It's not that Cosette can't, but Eponine lives for the rush she gets from being in charge of two tons of metal going at 150+ kilometers an hour and Cosette's not about to deny her sister the pleasure. Besides, Eponine's far less concerned with things like traffic laws so when she drives they tend to get places faster. In their line of work, being early is a sometimes life-saving advantage.
"So where to this time, huh?" They've pulled over on the side of the highway, tinted windows keeping out prying eyes. Eponine's pushed the driver's seat as far back as it'll go and is sprawling across it, legs splayed open in a manner most unladylike. Cosette, by contrast, has her legs crossed demurely at the ankles, skirt sitting smoothly over her thighs. Eponine glances appreciatively down at her legs, admiring their shape until Cosette clears her throat pointedly.
"Bunch of revolutionaries," she says. Her coarse accent contrasts with her dainty appearance - Cosette can fake upper class French with the best of them but with Eponine she doesn't bother.
"Why send us?" Eponine tucks a strand of loose black hair behind her ear and adjusts her position slightly to relieve the pressure of the gun strapped to her thigh. "Too much for the boys to handle?"
Cosette laughed. "Monsieur l'Inspecteur would have you arrested if he caught you referring to him that way," she says.
"Good thing he's not here then," Eponine says. "What's going on?"
A shrug. "Apparently this job needs a woman's touch."
"So they want us to fuck them before we kill them?"
"Won't be the first time." Cosette weaponized her beauty years ago, coating her natural allure in deadly poison and turning it against the enemies of the state. Eponine's seen her work her magic, seen her bat those eyelashes over pretty blue eyes and wind chestnut-colored hair delicately around her fingers to draw attention to her breasts. Cosette wears short skirts and high heels and paints makeup over her face with the skill and precision of a trained artist. Eponine has never seen the magic fail.
She herself prefers more direct methods. She'll never entrance anyone like her sister but she's a near perfect shot with almost any gun invented and she can pick locks like a champion. Cosette chooses a more intimate betrayal; knives slipped between ribs during lovemaking are her trademark. 'Sleep not with the King's Lark,' they whisper all across France. 'Her wings are sharp and her heart nothing but a stone.' Cosette hears the rumors and laughs, a high clear sound that makes Eponine's own stone-like heart beat more quickly. When she was a child she envied Cosette her beauty; now she revels in it.
"Where are we headed?" Eponine asks, before she can be caught staring again. Cosette's got rules about separating her work from her life, rules that Eponine understands even if she hates them. The Cosette who winds her hands through Eponine's hair and cries out softly as Eponine's calloused fingers caress her soft skin is a far cry from the cold-hearted King's Lark, and Cosette doesn't want the two getting mixed up. Whether she's afraid of unleashing the Lark on Eponine or of exposing Euphrasie to the rest of the world Eponine does not know.
"Paris."
Eponine straightens and readjusts the driver's seat. "No point wasting time then." She starts the engine and pulls back onto the highway. "Next stop, Paris."
Paris is pretty much as Eponine remembers: loud, dirty, crowded, ugly. They wind through too small streets until they get to the right neighborhood and park the car in an out of the way alley. Eponine makes triple sure the doors are locked and the burglar alarm set, then stuffs the keys into her jacket pocket and grins. "After you."
Cosette, wearing a skirt that barely covers her thighs and a blouse with the top button undone, grins. "Such a gentleman," she teases, and Eponine shrugs.
"You make a better first impression."
"Too true." Cosette turns and Eponine can see the Lark appear in her stance. As they head towards the café pinpointed as the headquarters of this brewing rebellion Cosette's walk turns seductive, each step emphasizing the sway of her hips and, from the front, the porcelain voluptuousness of her only barely visible breasts. Eponine reminds herself to keep breathing.
A hush spreads through the café as the two of them enter and Eponine can feel eyes from every part of the room evaluating them suspiciously. She almost smirks; let them evaluate all they like. No one's immune to the charms of the King's Lark. Eponine's just there to help with cleanup.
"Excuse me." The Lark speaks the King's French, vowels pure and crisp. It makes her stand out in a place like this, but she can take care of herself. Eponine shifts her stance anyway, just in case. No one pays her any attention. "I am looking for a Monsieur Enjolras?"
No one seems particularly surprised by this statement. A slight ripple passes through the patrons and then a young man with sandy brown hair and the most intense pair of blue eyes Eponine has ever seen rises. "How can I help you, Mademoiselle?"
"I have heard tell that you are the one to speak to if I, that is, I have heard that you are most upset with His Majesty." Cosette pauses, looks down slightly bashfully as though embarrassed by her words.
"You have heard true," he declares. Eponine admires his bravery; few dare speak so openly of rebellion, especially to strangers. He must be either very certain or very foolish. The two, she has learned, usually go hand in hand.
Cosette raises her head. Eponine can't see her face but she can picture the smile she offers Enjolras - part shy, part hopeful, part self-effacing, entirely irresistible. "Would you tell me more? I find myself quite supportive of your cause, but I am afraid complex politics fly over my head somewhat." She laughs a little and, right on cue, he hastens to assure her that there is no shame in admitting ignorance. Within minutes they're sitting down, drinking wine, listening as he enthusiastically outlines the goals of his revolution. The Lark sips her drink and nods in all the right places, waiting for her chance.
Enjolras doesn't bite. Cosette's too much of a professional to break character but Eponine can see her getting confused, frustrated and, eventually, mildly impressed. It has rapidly become clear why this man leads the revolution; Liberty is his wife and Conviction his mistress. Not once has he looked Cosette anywhere but in the face, and most of the time his eyes are so lit up with fervor that Eponine doubts he sees Cosette at all. Eponine has already started working on a backup plan, eyes darting around the café in an effort to work out which of the so-called Friends of the ABC could be convinced to help betray their leader. It's not looking promising.
The door bursts open as Enjolras is declaiming about the necessity of uniting the people and a young man with disheveled brown hair and clothes that have seen better days stumbles in, red-faced and breathing hard. "I'm sorry I'm late," he gasps. "Did I miss anything important?"
Enjolras shoots him an irritated look. Eponine makes note of a potential division within the rebellion and continues to observe the newcomer. She sees the exact moment when he notices Cosette. He freezes, eyes fixed on her and then, after realizing how rude he's being, looks away and starts to turn red. Eponine has seen it happen before; it never fails to bring up feelings of pride and amusement at her sister's power and the susceptibility of men.
"I am sorry Mademoiselle," the newcomer says. He's still not looking at her. "I did not see you."
Cosette rises, excuses his transgression with a pretty smile, lowers her gaze ever so slightly. His blush darkens further.
"I was just explaining our cause to Mademoiselle..." Enjolras trails off, realizing at last that he neglected to ask for her name.
"Ursule," she supplies. "And my sister, Eponine." The newcomer barely glances over at Eponine, all his attention still on Cosette.
"Marius. Marius Pontmercy."
"Monsieur Enjolras speaks quite passionately about the new order," Cosette says, still watching Marius. "Do you subscribe to his ideas as well, Monsieur Pontmercy?"
"It's just Marius," he hastens to assure her. "And Enjolras speaks quite convincingly."
Eponine's eyes narrow ever so slightly at the non-answer. Maybe he's one to watch after all.
"Marius is just here for the companionship," Enjolras says dismissively.
"And the booze!" someone calls out. Enjolras clearly just barely keeps from rolling his eyes. Eponine relaxes slightly; the cracks in the charismatic facade are becoming apparent and the Lark has found a target. She feels the weight of the gun strapped to her thigh and allows a tiny, confident smile to cross her face. These poor schoolboys have no chance.
They're sharing a tiny hotel room, barely bigger than the ones at the inn where they grew up. It's only got one bed and a shower that lets rust-flaked water trickle out in spurts. Cosette strips out of her tights and lets her blouse hang open as she carefully unpins her hair, chestnut-colored locks tumbling down her back. Eponine hasn't bothered changing; she can sleep in jeans like a pro and her strengths don't depend on unwrinkled clothes or carefully applied makeup. She'll tuck her gun under the postage-stamp passing itself off as a pillow before going to sleep but its removal from her person is her only concession to her body's need for sleep.
"We have a plan?" she asks, debating whether or not it's worth finding a sheet to cover the window with.
"Same as usual," Cosette says. She's running a brush through her hair now, separating it into untangled and not. "Though I think Enjolras is yours."
Eponine laughs. "He did seem a bit single-minded," she agrees. "Knowing his type he'll get himself killed without us."
Cosette shrugs. "No point taking unnecessary chances."
"No, of course not." Deciding not to bother covering the window Eponine sits down on the bed, bending to unlace her well-worn combat boots. Carefully she removes the knife she keeps in them for emergencies and puts it under the pillow next to where the gun will be. Cosette's dagger, needle thin and twice as sharp, sits daintily on the bedside table, blade gleaming in the light of the flickering lamp. "And Pontmercy?"
"Leave him to me." From her spot on the bed Eponine can't see Cosette's expression but she recognizes the predatory edge in her tone. She grins.
Pontmercy is at the café when they arrive the next day. He jumps up slightly too quickly, hurrying to welcome them. Well, welcome Cosette. He barely glances at Eponine and the table to which he leads Cosette only has room for two. Eponine rolls her eyes slightly and makes her way further into the café.
She's waved over by a ruddy-faced man with fly-away black curls and a bottle of cheap wine in front of him. He's the one who made mention of alcohol the day before - from the looks of things he and strong drink are old friends. "Didn't think you'd be back," he comments. Even as he speaks his eyes follow Enjolras, sitting on the other side of the café, hands moving wildly as he talks. Eponine recognizes that look; she's worn it herself too many times to count.
"My sister wanted to come," she says with a shrug, accepting the offered seat. The young man shakes himself slightly and summons a waitress over to order more wine.
His eyes narrow as he looks between her and Cosette. "You don't look like sisters," he says at last, suspicion lacing every word.
"We're adopted," Eponine says shortly. The question isn't unexpected - no one would look at Cosette's cream-colored complexion and Eponine's own dark brown skin and think them related. Still, she's not about to give this stranger her family history, not when the suspicion hasn't left his gaze and his hands are steady despite the amount of wine he's had. She wonders if Enjolras set up the interrogation or if it's the man's own idea.
"Sure you are," he says. "Grantaire."
"Eponine," she answers, and they shake hands.
"So," he says, arranging his position in the chair into a more comfortable sprawl. "Enjolras got you convinced yet?"
Eponine shrugs carefully. "He's certainly passionate about his cause. I could be swayed."
Grantaire shorts. "Passionate. Yeah. That's one word for it." He takes a long drink of wine and refills his glass.
"You don't approve?"
"I think it's a fucking stupid idea." He snorts again. "Give the people power and they won't have the first clue what to do with it."
"If you don't believe in the cause, why are you here?"
He gives her a look and shrugs. "Why'd you follow your sister?"
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Are you and he..."
He shakes his head before she can finish the question. "He doesn't give a fuck about anything but his revolution." His voice is less bitter than she would have thought; either he's drunker than he looks or he's come to terms with Enjolras' obsession.
"And you?"
"I don't give a fuck about anything but him." He drains his glass again. Eponine follows his example, eyes straying to where Cosette is laughing with Pontmercy. The Lark's in rare form; it would take a stronger man than Pontmercy to resist her. Eponine looks away.
Grantaire catches the look and pours them both more wine. "To our better halves," he intones, raising his glass.
She clinks her glass against his and they both drink. Across the room Enjolras' voice rings out strong and clear while Cosette laughs merrily in counter melody.
Cosette and Pontmercy go out on a proper date, walking through the Luxemburg Gardens since neither of them have enough money to go out to dinner. Eponine watches Cosette get ready and notices that her makeup's more subtle than usual, highlighting her eyes more than her mouth. She leaves her hair down, soft waves bouncing with each step she takes, and her fishnets tucked into her battered suitcase. Her dagger stays in the hotel.
Eponine manages about half an hour before she tucks her knife into her combat boots and slips a piece of paper between the door and the wall before locking it behind her. She makes her way towards the café where, sure enough, Enjolras is standing in the center of a small crowd, holding forth passionately about the joys of a government run by the people. He's a good speaker, Eponine will give him that. Charisma coming out of his ears and a decent way with words. Certainly his audience is hung on his every word.
Grantaire, sitting in the same corner as before, waves Eponine over and she goes to join him. "Where's your sister?" he asks, pouring her some wine without asking.
"With Pontmercy."
He shoots her a slightly sympathetic look and doesn't press the matter. They drink in silence, listening as Enjolras goes on about his grand plans.
"He's going to get himself killed." Grantaire's got his eyes fixed on Enjolras, following his every move as though he were the sun Grantaire needed to live. Eponine thinks of Euphrasie's fingers on her skin and feels something that might almost be sympathy of her own for the man next to her.
"Yeah," she agrees.
Grantaire sighs. "And I'll be right there with him."
"Yeah," Eponine says again. In her mind's eye Euphrasie has turned into the King's Lark and is walking hand in hand with Pontmercy, laughing gaily with him. She takes a long drink.
Cosette and Pontmercy keep going for walks in the Luxemburg Gardens. Eponine keeps drinking with Grantaire. Enjolras keeps planning his revolution. Eponine doesn't ask why Cosette is taking so long; she knows she'd rather not hear the answer.
"General Lamarque is dead!"
Silence falls in the café at the announcement and everyone turns to look at Enjolras. He rises, eyes shining with conviction and positively glowing with charisma. "Friends," he declares. "Our time to act has come. The good General was our last hope for change within the current structure. With his passing we have no choice but to take matters into our own hands once and for all!"
A rousing cheer goes up and even Grantaire halfheartedly raises his wine glass. Eponine watches the proceedings silently, hand brushing the gun at her side. She and Cosette have to act now or lose their chance entirely. As Enjolras leads the entire café in a rousing rendition of the banned Marseillaise she slips out and heads back to the hotel. When Cosette finds her she's cleaning her gun.
"Lamarque is dead," Eponine says, not looking up.
"I know."
"We're running out of time."
"I know," Cosette repeats, voice emotionless. Eponine finally does look up, eyes taking in the way Cosette is wearing barely any makeup and a skirt that nearly brushes her knees. It looks new; she must have bought it when Eponine was out. She's just come back from a walk with Pontmercy and she looks more like Euphrasie than Eponine has seen in months. Her eyes narrow.
"What's going on?"
"Marius doesn't believe in the rebellion." It's not a direct answer and yet it tells Eponine everything she needs to know. She sets her gun aside.
"We can't save him." She knows her voice is harsh but Cosette is treading dangerous ground and doesn't even seem to realize. "It's too dangerous."
"He's leaving for London," Cosette counters. "They'll let him across the border."
Eponine's heart seems to skip a beat. "What did you tell him?" she demands fiercely.
Cosette won't meet her eyes. "He's a good man."
"Of course he's a fucking good man. They're all good men. We still can't save them or we'll be the next targets. What the hell's gotten into you, anyway? You sound like you're genuinely in love with the man." Eponine trails off, eyes wide with horror. Cosette still won't look at her.
"Cosette?" she asks quietly. "Are... are you in love with him?" It hurts to say the words, hurts more than Eponine thought she was capable of feeling.
Cosette shakes her head. "I... no. But he makes me think what could have been. You know, if."
If. If Cosette's mother hadn't abandoned her. If Eponine's piece of shit family hadn't treated her like a slave. If she hadn't had to take her future into her own hands. If she'd been allowed to be a normal kid and grow up in her own time. Eponine finds any anger she might have had evaporating as she reaches out to pull her sister in everything but blood into a hug. Cosette all but collapses into her arms, hugging back almost painfully.
"It'll be all right," Eponine tells her quietly. " We'll take a vacation after this, okay? We'll go down south and hit the beaches. I'll buy you frilly drinks and you can wow all the southern boys with your beauty. We'll be 'Zette and 'Ponine and no one else."
"I'd like that," Cosette says. Her voice is slightly muffled by Eponine's shoulder.
"It's a plan then," Eponine declares. Cosette looks up, finally meeting her eyes, and smiles slightly.
"I want a new bathing suit if we're going to the beach."
"Fine, but you pick it out or you'll end up with something ridiculous like that dress I bought you last time."
Cosette laughs. "Anything but that," she says. She pulls away, straightening. "Thanks."
"Any time," Eponine says, and means every word.
Eponine and Cosette make love that night, bringing each other to climax under the grimy sheets of the hotel bed, reminding each other through touch that they are not alone.
Inspecteur Javert is leading the men fighting Enjolras' rebellion. He sneers when he catches sight of Eponine and Cosette. "I should have known this would be too much for you," he says. "You were supposed to keep it from coming to this."
"Wouldn't want to keep you and your boys from having your fun," Eponine returns, sneering right back.
"This is hardly a game," Javert says.
"No, it's justice," Eponine agrees, rolling her eyes. "Sorry, my mistake."
"If we could kindly keep the fighting amongst ourselves to a minimum," Cosette interrupts, shooting Eponine a reproving glance. Eponine shrugs, not ashamed in the slightest. She and Javert have hated each other ever since she and Cosette entered the King's service; she's not likely to warm up to the man any time soon. Still she doesn't respond to Javert's scowl and looks at Cosette instead.
"We've earned their trust," Cosette continues, locking eyes with Javert. She's entirely the King's Lark today, all signs of the more vulnerable Euphrasie buried under makeup and fishnets and confidence. Eponine wonders what it would be like to fuck the Lark instead of Euphrasie and looks away. That won't happen. That can't happen. The Lark has wings made of knives and Cosette could never live with it if she hurt Eponine. She pulls her mind back to the present as Javert starts objecting to Cosette's plan. The Lark shuts his protests down with a glare of her own and turns, forcibly ending the negotiation. Eponine follows and together they make their way towards the barricade.
Grantaire is nowhere to be found and neither, to Eponine's secret relief, is Pontmercy. The others are all there though, cobblestones in hand as they prepare to launch them at the King's men. Cosette and Eponine slip in almost unnoticed; those who do catch sight of them pay them no mind. Eponine hears Javert's powerful voice demanding that the revolutionaries stand down and snorts. No one who's listened to Enjolras' impassioned speeches will stand down. Better to start shooting and be done. She draws the gun and waits for the fighting proper to start. Cosette's dagger is nowhere to be seen but Eponine doesn't worry. The King's Lark can take care of herself.
She never does find out who fires the first shot, though she suspects it was Enjolras. Whoever it was, that one shot serves as a signal to the combatants on both sides and within moments the already disorganized rebel force is complete chaos. Eponine gets in a couple shots, taking down a couple guys whose names she never bothered committing to memory, then switches to her boot knife. The flimsy barricade is broken within minutes and the King's men come storming in, led by Javert himself. Enjolras is nowhere to be seen.
Eponine retreats, not wanting to get caught in the brewing stampede. She's lost sight of Cosette, so she ducks into the café that forms one of the barricade walls and heads up to the second floor. She finds Enjolras there instead, with Grantaire next to him looking more disheveled than she's ever seen him.
"Are you here to kill us?" Grantaire asks dully, not looking at her.
Eponine hesitates, weighs her options, then nods. "Yes."
"Traitor!" Enjolras hisses, glaring at her. "Why are you working for a system that exists only to oppress you?"
Eponine shrugs, drawing her gun again. "A girl's got to eat," she says. Footsteps sound on the stairs below and she knows Javert and his men are coming. She aims the gun at the two men. "You'll die a martyr, don't worry."
Grantaire snorts. "Martyrs don't exist," he says. "I thought you understood that. Then again, you lied about everything else."
"I didn't," Eponine says quietly, so quietly she has her doubts that he even heard. "Not about everything."
She shoots Grantaire first, granting the man who could have been her friend the small mercy of not watching his sun set before his eyes. Enjolras doesn't flinch as she turns her gun on him. He cries out as the bullet penetrates his body and falls, landing almost gracefully next to Grantaire. Both of them have stopped twitching when Javert bursts through the door. He stops dead when he sees her handiwork.
"I see I am not needed here," he says stiffly.
Eponine shakes her head wordlessly. Javert hesitates for a moment, then turns and stalks out of the tiny attic room. Out the window the short-lived rebellion is dying down as reinforcements fail to arrive and combatants get picked off. She catches sight of Cosette's hair, strands falling from its careful arrangement on top of her head. Eponine watches her move through the remaining students, dagger gleaming with blood. She turns away.
They meet up after it's all over. Cosette looks exhausted as she wipes off her dagger; Eponine knows she doesn't look much better.
"I got the money," Cosette says quietly.
Eponine nods mutely.
"Let's not come back here for a while," Cosette says. She straightens, sheathing her dagger and ignoring the thieves already scouring the corpses for valuables.
"Yeah," Eponine agrees. "That sounds like a good idea."
Cosette reaches for her hand and Eponine obliges. Together they leave the scene of the slaughter, heading towards their hotel to grab their things and head out. Behind them Javert's men start beating the thieves who've accumulated. Eponine keeps her head turned forward and doesn't think of a passionate man with sandy brown hair and the brightest blue eyes she's ever seen. It's a world where the dog eats the dog and the people wouldn't know what to do with power if they had it.