The economy is slowly but surely failing.

The bright lights will soon die.

Enjolras is stuck in a dying world.

As he hurries to serve the rowdy bar goers, he wonders bitterly what good his law degree has gone towards. He had a dream at some point of being a successful politician who would keep the world in the roaring twenties. However, he watches hopelessly as the current politician does nothing about the failing stocks and allows the country to slip.

And he is stuck behind an illegal bar. He hates participating in something illegal, knowing that if anyone were to find out that he worked in a speakeasy, he would fail in Washington DC.

It takes too long for the last of the patrons to leave, and Enjolras hurriedly cleans up before hopping to his car (he is one of the lucky ones to have one). It is a relatively short ride to his lonely house. His mother is there, but not really. Her eyes are empty as she sits in the empty bed. His father is off in jail, unless he is already out and decided not to return. The Enjolras name is not a clean one.

His car begins to stutter on an empty country road. He curses at the engine and shakes the wheel as if it will do him any good. Disappointment sinks in his heart as the car finally rolls to a stop. He gets out of the car and throws the hood open, only to be hit with a spurt of smoke. Enjolras coughs and steps away.

"Car troubles?" A voice asks from the dark. He squints and manages to just barely make out the figure of a woman stepping towards him. Her voice is raspy and seductively deep. Even though most of her is overtaken by a huge coat, Enjolras can make out the shape of a hip and the curve of a breast. He gulps.

"A little bit," He confesses. "Who are you?"

Her voice is wicked as she says, "I'm Éponine. And who are you, beautiful?"

He reels back at being called 'beautiful', but manages to retain his composure enough to answer, "Enjolras. Gabriel Enjolras."

"Your last name has a nice sound to it… A certain je ne sais quoi," the girl steps into the dimness made from Enjolras's fading headlights and the moon. "Have you ever thought about being famous?"

He holds back his pleased smile. "Sometimes, but doesn't everyone?"

"True, true." Éponine takes a cigar out of her pocket and leans towards him. "Gotta light, pretty boy?"

Enjolras reaches into his shabby pocket and hands off the match box. The girl dances away from him and sticks the cigar between her chapped lips. "You know," she speaks past the obstacle, "It's polite for a gentleman to light a lady's cigar," she snatches the matches. "It's a good thing for you that I ain't a lady."

"Every woman is a lady," Enjolras says. She rolls her eyes.

"Sure. Whatever you say. So, Enjolras, what dreams of fame have you dreamt?" She asks it conversationally, and for a moment the image of the White House flashes before Enjolras's eyes. Something about her prying irks him and he snatches back the box.

"Why does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't have to matter, but why shouldn't it?" She shoots back. "I'll tell you, I want little girls to look up to me one day—"

"That's cute."

"—the way little boys look up to Billy the Kid and Clyde Barrow."

"Aren't they criminals?" Enjolras points out. Éponine shrugs, the lit butt of the cigar seeming to float between them.

"And?"

"Why would you want to be like them? And wouldn't Bonnie Parker be more to your taste?"

"Look, the girl's just out with her boyfriend. She hasn't pulled any crimes," Éponine releases a plume of smoke into Enjolras's face. "Not yet, anyway. She won't be remembered, I promise you. Whereas I will."

"Will you?"

"Yes. I deserve to live the highlife after what I've been through," she looks him up and down, her dark eyes glinting with stars held there. "And you know what? I could see you coming with me."

"Can you?"

"Yes," she steps close to him. The cigar falls from her mouth and into shattered embers in the grass. Enjolras can smell tobacco on her breath. "I can see you dressed all fine in Manhattan silk," her hand runs up his chest and he shivers at her touch. "With a house on the bay and plenty of women at your feet, but only one in your bed."

"That's a nice dream, but if the economy keeps going down, no one's going to live that."

Éponine ignores him. "You know, you're awfully pretty. Or I guess guys like to be called 'handsome', don't they? Your face is nice enough to be on the silver screen, or, no…" Éponine looks up at him with a smile on her face. She is reading his mind, and for whatever reason, Enjolras finds it irresistible. "On the front page of the newspaper after you've been voted into office."

"Can you really?" Enjolras tries to be cold and calculating, but he cannot help but be flattered by this girl's opinion of him. "It'd be nice to steer this country back to success, wouldn't it?"

"People like you and I are wasted in this shit hole." Éponine smirks up at him. "We're too good, no one deserves to live and die in Kansas, but you and I, we deserve it even less."

"Really, now?" Enjolras nearly taunts.

"Yeah. We oughtta hop on this car of yours and drive straight to the east. Keep going 'till we hit water," Éponine appraises his car.

"If it'll ever start," Enjolras kicks the tire. Éponine darts around him and opens the lid, just like he had right before he met her. This time, the smoke is considerably lesser. She frowns at his engine and sticks her hands right in. The long sleeves of her trench coat are rolled up to her elbows and she messes with the wires and battery.

"There! Try it now!" She says. Enjolras, doubting her, walks around to the driver's side and hops in. To his surprise, Éponine jumps into the passenger's. He frowns at her.

"What? I need a ride into town." She pouts flirtily and Enjolras figures that there is no harm in it. She's just a girl who hardly looks older than eighteen. What harm can she do?

He turns the keys and the engine thankfully roars to life. In shock, he turns to thank Éponine, only for her eyes to widen. She curses and jumps into his backseat, throwing herself to the car floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asks. She just stares up at him with wide eyes. Then Enjolras is aware of the sound of another car coming down the lonely road. There is a siren that begins to play as soon as the other car spots him.

"Shit, Éponine, are they looking for you?"

"Maybe," she whispers.

"What do I do?"

"I don't know! Just please, I don't want to go back to jail."

"Back?"

"Excuse me sir!" Someone yells from the cop car. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah!" Enjolras shouts back. "Just had a little car trouble, but the old girl's running again."

"That's good. Say," the car rolls closer, and Enjolras can hear Éponine hunkering closer to floor as the headlights approach them. "You haven't seen a girl, have you?"

"I've seen plenty of girls," Enjolras says logically.

"A politician's answer," Éponine mumbles from the car.

"Be quiet," he tells her through clenched teeth and then says louder, "Any specific girl?"

"Yes. Éponine Thernardier. She recently escaped from the Juvenile hall. She's a small slip of a thing with dark hair and a deep voice." The man says. Enjolras shrugs.

"Can't say I've seen her," Enjolras tells them. They nod.

"Well, you have a nice night, sir. I hope you find your way back alright."

"Me too, officer." Enjolras tells them. In another response, he sends the car driving past them. Once the other car is far enough away, he slams down the brakes.

"Ow!" Éponine's voice is indignant. Enjolras looks back to see her sat upright on the backseat, rubbing her neck where the backlash must have sent it shooting against the headrest.

"What the hell?"

"What are you talking about?" Éponine asks innocently.

"Why are they looking for you? What did you do?"

"I may have stolen a few things," she shrugs. "What does it matter?"

"You mean you're actually a criminal?"

"Hardly," she snorts. "I don't think petty theft labels me a criminal."

"No, just a kleptomaniac. What all did you steal?"

Here she looks down at her hands. "A child," she mumbles.

"What?" Enjolras practically shouts. "You kidnapped a child?"

"It was my brother, and he's only like six years younger than I am. My parents saw the opportunity to get rid of me and they took it." Éponine shrugs. "It's not a big deal."

"But… I just helped a criminal," Realizing what this means, Enjolras reels back. "Shit. If anyone finds out, I'll never be a politician… I'll never go to DC… Shit!"

"Oh, calm down." Éponine's voice is practically in his ear. "You just helped a girl who woulda wandered the country in the dark. You didn't have to know that I escaped from juvenile hall… And nor does anyone else."

Enjolras turns his head, only for his lips to meet Éponine's. Shocked, he takes a few seconds to respond eagerly to her kiss. They pull away messily.

"I like to reward those who help me," she smirks and kisses him again. Her hand, coated with car grease, tangles in his shirt and pulls him into the backseat with her.