Touch
by always-a-time
[Enjolras X Éponine]

The June Rebellion - 1832

They were never destined to touch, yet when it all ended (for it always ended, no matter how hard they tried) they were too late.

-.-.-

She was the boy in the scruffy cap, with the over-sized coat and dirty cheeks, in love with Marius Pontmercy. Her name was Éponine, her life was never as she had pictured it to be, but she was unafraid of what tomorrow would bring, because she knew her way around, and that was good enough. He was the student, with his arms full of books and his mind full of revolutionary plans for his mother country. His name was Enjolras, his head filled with dreams of revolution and freedom for France, even as his eyes took in the poverty and disorder on the streets, because it was part of who he was; imagining a better tomorrow.

They'd barely ever acknowledged each other, only the briefest glances of recognition ever passed between them. Late nights at the Musain, and early mornings on the streets. Neither of them ever seemed to rest, both were streetwalkers in their own respect.

He had never understood what she saw in Pontmercy. Marius was a foolish, love-sick boy with no sight of France's bigger picture, no idea of the true meaning of freedom. How could Marius claim to see freedom when he couldn't even see the adoration in the eyes of Éponine Thénardier?

He could see it, it was clear as any of his beliefs, in the way she followed him around, gladly agreeing to deliver his letters to some girl he'd only just met the day before. He saw the heartache in Éponine's eyes and it struck him more than any tragic romance novel ever had. She was his calling, he told himself. She was part of the people who he strove to rise in the eyes of society.

She had never understood how he could sacrifice everything. His money, his education, and his future; all for the freedom of France. How could they win the favour of Paris, how could they overthrow the monarchy when the only goal of the poor was to live another day?

She could see it, it was apparent to anyone who heard a word pour forth from those cupid's bow lips: Enjolras was a brave, courageous, inspiring man. Each passing day he was rallying men to his fighting cause, including Marius. She saw the passion in Enjolras' eyes and it was enough for her to let them all continue to believe Paris would indeed join their side when the barricades arose. Still, Marius was her calling, and she would be part of the people who rose at the barricades.

One day more ...

-.-.-

A heart full of love ...

Marius had sent her with a letter for his love, never seeing the wretched look upon her blemished face. The letter for Cosette was clutched between her dirty, white-knuckled fingers, but she said nothing about it. Nothing about how she knew Cosette as a dirty, ratty girl who ran in and out of the blurry memories from her childhood. Éponine promised to take the letter with haste and Marius wrapped his arms around her in a friendly embrace that made her blink back a sudden rush of emotion.

Delivering the letter was a thankless job for her, but she did it anyways. She did it out of her love for him. Marius had no idea how she felt about him, and it was better that way. Let him love the beautiful, perfect Cosette, who had only ever been the dirt under Éponine's feet until some man had come to take her away. How badly had she wished that he could have taken her away too? This was the price she had paid for her sins, she supposed. Her childhood spent watching Cosette be tormented by her parents, and now Cosette was to be rewarded with Marius' love.

Éponine took the letter to Cosette's father with a stiff upper lip - vowing not to cry when she saw him - because the man who could have given her freedom, once upon another time, did not even remember her face, could not even recognize her beneath layers of grime and years of poverty and theft. It was as if her sins had manifested themselves on her skin, leaving her disfigured and broken. She had grown used to it, more often as Montparnasse came around to see her, whispering soft lullabies that she knew to be little more than blatant lies.

When she left, however, she was close to tears. How had she come to allowing Marius to love this other girl, a girl Éponine had spent her childhood watching grow up through cold harsh winters filled with an empty stomach? She had once questioned Enjolras' willingness to give up everything for France, and here she was, giving up everything she had for Marius. The bitterness seeped deeply into her, past the shroud of darkness surrounding her, nipping at her as she closed her eyes, not quite basking in the hypocrisy of the situation.

Her last chance at happiness had slipped through her fingers the moment she had led Marius to Cosette, she knew this only too well.

Éponine ran back towards the barricades, desperate as she wound through the streets she had once walked during those long, silent nights. There was nothing left to lose if she told him. Nothing left at all.

-.-.-

She was the first to fall ...

That night on the barricade was Éponine's last, and it tore at Enjolras to see her die in Pontmercy's arms. Watching her climb the barricade, he swore loudly at her determination to reach the top, to return to the boy who would never care for her more than a dear friend. She had not deserved such a fate, to die in the arms of the boy who would never care for her the way she deserved.

He watched Marius murmur words of comfort to the wounded woman, attempting to make her last moment happy ones. Had Pontmercy finally realized what he, Enjolras, had known all along? That Éponine Thénardier was in love with him and had always been in love with him?

Only Enjolras saw her eyes shut in contentment and a smile that stole over her tired features when Marius had held her close.

He prayed for her then - that her last moments would indeed by happy ones - and that she would finally find peace. Enjolras wanted to go to her, to pull her thin form into his own embrace and let her know that someone had cared for her, even if it wasn't Marius Pontmercy. That someone had believed in her and wanted to see her shine.

Her body stilled, and before he could go forward to help Marius had already lifted the girl up. The pavement where she had lain shone with her blood. Deep inside the guilt settled in, that his barricade had brought about her death, would bring about any number of deaths.

But this battle was to be fought for every soul in France. These men beside him had chosen to be here, to fight for Patria.

Éponine's body was seemingly weightless as Pontmercy strode quietly across to the tavern, gently placing her body against the wall, placing her hands in her lap. Her wet brown hair hung limply around her face, and Enjolras watched as Marius brushed a few stray locks and tucked them behind her ears. Never again would those wide brown eyes gaze upon the world that had treated her so cruelly. Perhaps it was better this way, he told himself, as he watched Marius hover for a moment before rejoining his comrades.

Enjolras wasn't aware he had walked over to her until he was close enough to touch her. In that moment she became more real, as if up until this moment there had been a chasm between them, and by passing this threshold they would be linked for eternity, just close enough to touch.

Just a little fall of rain, he thought, his eyes brushing over her peaceful, half-smiling face. She could just be sleeping.

With that thought, he was able to turn around and walk in the other direction. His blond hair was damp now, plastered to his forehead and partially obscuring his view. Enjolras pushed upwards at the fringe, his own eyes stealing shut for a second before opening, the blue in them clearer and more determined than ever.

He remembered seeing her one night, hair damped, brown eyes glowing as she strolled down the streets, seemingly unconcerned with her surroundings as she danced along the way. Enjolras wondered if he'd ever catch a glimpse of that kind of pure, unbridled happiness ever again. He wondered.

Combeferre touched his shoulder, non-intrusively. Enjolras was once again reminded of his place. He took a position near the center of the group, and suddenly all eyes were upon him.

"She is the first of us to fall ... " he began, but as a single raindrop struck his cheek, trailing down the side of his face, he thought that line to be the crack in the marble that everyone imagined he'd been made of. The shift of his decision was felt in his bones as he spoke again. "And she will never be forgotten. "

AN: [October 17th, 2013]: I re-wrote this, mainly because I wasn't really happy with this chapter in comparison to the others, and also because it was pitifully short in comparison as well. I re-posted the chapter so that everyone would see it. If you were expecting a new chapter for whatever reason, I'm very sorry.