A/N: I wrote this story for my sister as she is a huge E/É fan. I've never posted a fic that wasn't NCIS because, well, I've never thought they were worth reading! I am posting this at the request of my sister and I hope anyone reading it enjoys it. I has not turned out the way I had originally intended it to as I found the direction I wanted to take it just didn't seem to fit and it started almost writing itself in a completely different way than I imagined. Anyway, this is the first chapter and I do hope I managed to get the characterisation at least partically correct!


Life in Another's Eyes

She hadn't seen another option, if they were all willing to risk their lives to fight for a cause greater than themselves then she would do it too. Wrapping herself in those bandages had broken her; how could it be fair that in order for him to see her, to really, see her, she had to become someone else? They'd never let her into the barricade if they knew the truth, Marius' shadow was just another distraction from their desire to fight. Twisting a lock of hair that had fallen free, she tucked it beneath the rim of her shabby cap and repositioned her revolutionary pin; it was the only part of her that wasn't covered in years of street filth and grime. She looked at her hands for a moment; her skin was golden brown from a life lived on those rough streets, but to find that you had to look past the engrained dirt and dust that marred her body and permanently festered beneath her fingernails. Her arms, legs and feet were mottled with tiny scars and purple bruises; a reminder of street life and it's cruelty, and then there were the bruises that stung her face whenever her father re-entered her life; a chilling reminder of just how fragile familial ties could be to some people. Marius had never noticed those marks, and that hurt more than the blows that delivered them. Any other guy would want to protect her honour, would want to keep her safe, and would want to touch her in a delicate and gentle manner, kiss away her pain. But then, with skin as dirty as hers, with clothes as ragged and worn, was it really a wonder that he kept her at an arm's length and fell for the bourgeois girl with the perfect hair, the milky skin and the pristine dresses that screamed expense and money?

She stepped out from the building beside the barricade, how quickly they had put it together, how strong and secure it seemed to stand, looming over the dirtied streets of Paris, these men, boys really, they truly believed that this wooden structure would keep them safe from the guards... Well, if they believed it then she would too. Moving along the cobbled stone streets, her bare feet moulded and meshed to the ground below, for the longest time she had gone without shoes and the grazed callouses of her feet no longer felt any pain of the harsh Parisian streets.

"Another body?" She asked of the man she knew to be Courfeyrac; a law student, an Ami and in so many ways the heart of the group of friends who dreamed only of freedom and equality.

"You have come to fight the good fight?" he asked, aiming his gun in her direction, but not in a threatening manner, it seemed this was just a reflex he had picked up from the other men.

"Vive la France!" She chanted with a smile.

"Welcome to the barricade, brother." Courfeyrac nodded and handed her a gun of her own before stepping off to deal with other business.

How easy it was to infiltrate them, it seemed all you needed to be accepted here was a revolutionary pin and a spirit that longed for freedom. The whole band of brothers were in fact a privileged bunch, each of them a college student, each of them coming from great familial wealth, and yet, seeing the injustice on the streets, they had chosen to fight for what the little people needed, the people like her, the everyday Parisians that had so little to call their own.

Carefully she stepped behind the barricade and watched the men as they moved throughout their barracks. They seemed to have no real plan other than instigating the revolution, they were led by an angelic and charming young man, still a boy in features but every part of his speech and his belief could be attributed to manhood. He had the eyes of a person who had slept disturbed for too many nights, rimmed with red yet off set by the crystal blue of his iris'; Enjolras made the ideal leader of the men, a man who had already pledged his life to fight for a cause so much bigger than himself. He turned to look at the new recruit, his eyes bearing down on her, narrowed and cautious, he had little trust in others, despite the great amount required to head off such a mission he had in his hands. His head cocked to one side and she was sure her cover had already been blown, only, nobody knew who she was when she was Éponine, the girl who tagged so loyally behind their friend, there was not a chance they would recognise her as the revolutionary boy she had turned herself into. She gave a brisk nod to Enjolras and he pursed his full lips before nodding back in camaraderie and continuing with his task. Now she was inside, all she had to do was find him, find Marius and keep him safe until this revolution was over.

The barricade was already bustling with men who were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for what it was they believed in. From the outside, she admired their gall, their belief and determination, now she was on the inside she wondered if they were as scared as she, if they truly wanted this life for themselves or if it was the admiration of their fellow peers they sought. Some men wandered around unsure what they were doing, others were born leaders, they took charge and ordered the lowly ones around, directing where reinforcements were required, where food and drink stores should be placed and most importantly of all, where the weapons and ammunition ought to go. She decided she needed to make herself look busy to avoid drawing any unwanted attention to herself.

No sooner had she begun to shift some of the lighter barricade debris that had yet to be afforded a true position, was she beckoned by a tall gentleman with a delicate stance about him. She knew who he was, she had a good knowledge of most of Marius' friends, there was something to be said about being invisible sometimes, and that gave her an upper hand on this task; of that she was sure. This man was Joly, a student of medicine, perhaps the happiest of all of Les Amis despite his continued belief that he had contracted an illness or disease from anyone and everyone he came into contact with.

"A hand to move this?" He asked, signalling to a damaged coffin that had been deplored from the upstairs window of a house. Fragments of wood had splintered all down the left side, a huge crack marred the lid and the groove beaten into the top end upon its landing meant the coffin was no longer an ideal resting place for the dead, although to have any kind of box to house your body in death was a luxury not to be scoffed at nowadays.

"Of course m'sieur." She nodded, attempting to disguise the pitch of her voice and avoid giving the game away so soon. "Where to?" She asked, stooping and slipping her hands beneath the end, feeling the splinters tear at her skin but knowing it would not be fitting to complain; besides, she had dealt with worse, much worse.

"Reinforcement at the side here," Joly explained, heaving the other end of the coffin into the air and beginning to move towards its destination. The sheer weight of the resting place bore down on her, she had not expected something like this to weigh so much; and it occurred to her at that moment, that perhaps it was not the empty donation she had expected it to be, that perhaps whomever had owned this coffin in life was now using it in death. She let the thought leave her mind, she could not afford to think that way, the barricade was sure to bring some bodies and she would have to face them when they occurred, but not before.

"You're a new face," Joly thought aloud. "A new recruit to the movement?"

Éponine nodded. "Came from a barricade across the city," she lied. "Heard this was where those more dedicated were dwelling, some of the others, they liked the idea of revolution but I think when it came down to it, they would not be willing to fight for it." She tried her best to act in a way she believed would keep her from standing out, she knew of how revolution talk excited the boys of the barricade, but she also knew that it was only Enjolras who considered revolution his main and only reason for existence.

"Well, they don't come more dedicated than these." Joly agreed, directing the coffin upright and manoeuvring it into a barren space beside some old furniture. "I'm Joly," he greeted, not holding his hand out to be shaken in fear of the potential health woes that could occur as a result.

"Nicolas." She returned almost as a reflex; it was a name she had not thought of in a long while, a name whose meaning only she knew. It was the name she had given to her youngest brother at birth, before her parents had sold him off like cheap livestock or tacky trinkets. She had cried the day her parents took him away but she told herself it was a better life he was going to, a richer life, a life where the people of the streets repulsed and horrified him; if he ever saw her on the streets and by some familial connection he knew who the sun-kissed girl was to him, she hoped he would turn up his nose in disgust and walk away, because that was the life he deserved.

"Well, when things get rough out there," Joly looked at her with an inherent sadness behind that happy expression. "I wish you good luck." He spoke with honesty before walking away, before she could offer him the sentiments in return.


Night fell quickly over the barricade, the boys, they may have believed themselves men but to her, they would always be boys, took watch in shifts. Supper had been shared around and while she did not get much in the way of food, it was more than she had eaten in a long time. She felt her bony hips protruding against her shabby clothes and huddled herself in more rags as she felt the chill draw in. While the barricade offered some protection from the eastward wind, it did little to mask the icy air that did filter through the gaps in the wood. Éponine shivered as she stood and slowly moved toward the shelter of an adjacent building; a doorway had been her bed for many a night on the street, it made sense that in a time when she was so far out of her depth, she sought to find familiarity.

Curling herself into the doorway, she drew her knees to her chest and silently hummed a tune she had made up as a child to try and soothe the cries of the brother she had called Jacques but her parents had called leverage. Another baby sold to what she hoped was a better life. There were times she had wondered what made her parents keep her, perhaps her compliance with thievery and scams, the things she had gotten so good at as a child, before her conscience had learned to speak louder than her parents, perhaps that had made them keep her around, whatever it was, she did not thank them for it, the street life had been far better to her.

"Éponine." The sound had been so quiet that she dismissed it as a trick of the wind; it was only when it sounded louder and closer that she opened her eyes and saw him standing there. "Éponine! What you doing 'ere?" His accent had grown so thick, so laced with street talk. Everything about him changed so much each time she saw him, his hair now hung limp and scraggled at his face, dirty blonde in colour, it was unclear whether the dark tones to it were from street filth or natural. He stood a good few inches taller than when she last had seen him atop the elephant statue he called home. "Seriously, they'll go mad, they see you in 'ere, s'a boys only barricade!" He chirped throwing his body to the cold ground beside her.

"That's why I'm dressed like this." She informed him with a smile. "Nicolas." She introduced herself.

"You're 'ere for 'im aren't ya? For Marius?" He asked with a touch of sadness to his tone. He'd easily gotten in with the crowd in the barricade despite being half their age, he was a feisty kid with spirit and great heart, and his small posture and ability to climb and weave through just about anything made him the ideal little spy. His long life on the streets meant he had a penchant for faces and knew an ally from a foe by just a glance.

"It doesn't matter why I'm here," she replied, a little embarrassed that even he could see through her so easily, and crushed that he knew Marius wouldn't care if she was there or not. "Why are you here?" she questioned.

"Showin' 'em what the little people can do!" he beamed. "Get enough of us, s'gotta make a difference." He shrugged his shoulders. "Enjolras says if we show 'em who's boss now, they got no choice but to listen, we'll get what we want."

"What do you want?" Éponine asked.

"To live like the rich people." he said flatly. "Or at least not to have to pick up food what someone else drops."

Éponine thought for a moment, he was a smart boy, he always had been. He'd gotten out of the bad life before it had too big a chance to affect him, he'd chosen the streets because they were better for him, and as sad as it was to admit, he had thrived here.

"You go careful out there Gavroche," she commented as the boy lay his head to her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around him and drew him close, imagining each of the siblings she never had the chance to know in his place; of all her brothers, he was the only one to ever be given a name by his family, he was the only one she was given a chance to love and protect. "Enjolras has a lot of big ideas, you just make sure you don't get caught up any place you shouldn't be."

"Like you?" He grinned and she playfully punched him in the arm as they both laughed before settling down to a slumber on the street, his body leant against hers, cocooning each other together, sharing the same blood and body heat.


A light rain had drawn in overnight; a part of her couldn't help but believe that the dark tones of the sky were reflecting the upcoming events that this revolution was sure to bring to their lives. She looked over to see that Gavroche had already woken; he was standing at the barricade entrance with Enjolras sharing a crust of bread and laughing. She admired his ability to find fun in all of this; she put it down to his age, this was all just a game for him, she hoped he'd live to see the truth. She stretched out her aching muscles, the longer you slept on the streets the easier it got, she'd never forget the agonising pain that marred her back for days after her first night on the cold, unforgiving pavements. As she stood, the smell of rotting wood and promise of death hung thick in the air, it was a smell she knew would get engrained in her nostrils for the rest of her life; however long that ended up being.

Having gathered herself a little sustenance in the form of a two day old stale pastry she scavenged from the bakery bins, she headed back to the barricade, stopping off to splash the street feeling from her face, using a shallow puddle of collected rainwater that sat atop an empty barrel of a local brewery. She didn't bother to look at her complexion in the reflecting pool of crystalline liquid; what would be the point when no matter how hard she tried, he would never see herself as anything other than his friend, his little errand girl?

"New guy!" His voice resonated through the barricade and immediately people stopped and looked to him; he was their leader, their instigator after all. "Give us a hand moving the ammunition down to the lines? We have word they'll attack today." he spoke.

She gave nothing but a simple nod and hurried off toward the building they had been storing their supplies in since he had planned this whole endeavour.

Climbing the stairs she almost collided with a clumsy member of Les Amis carting a barrel of gunpowder clearly far beyond his strength; an unease to his movements, slow, lumbering, and with that thought she knew exactly whose face was hidden behind that barrel.

"Grantaire..." she whispered, unable to hold the smile that broke across her face.

"Woah, sorry." The man gasped, peering from behind the barrel and as soon as his mouth opened, the smell of stale liquor filled the air. Grantaire had always secretly been one of her favourite members of The ABC, he was cynical and held little to no interest in the politics and democracy that the others were fighting so hard for. No, Grantaire cared truly for only two things in the world, one could be found inside a glass bottle, something he drank routinely as though he could find all answers he sought waiting him at the bottom, the other was leading the revolution he had no preference for. She had watched the way Grantaire had admired Enjolras in much the same way as she did Marius, that was perhaps what made him a kin to her, their shared woe of unrequited love. Only where she could, in theory, someday make Marius see her, there was little Grantaire would ever be able to do to make Enjolras notice him, namely because Enjolras noticed only Patria; France was the only woman in his life, the only thing he would ever love, and she had a suspicion deep down that it was that knowledge that brought the liquor bottle to his lips so freely.

"Can I offer you a hand?" She asked, wrapping her agile fingers beneath one side of the barrel and helping to lug it down the stairs.

"Thanks, vive la France." Grantaire spoke with sarcasm; she loved his disdain for what he fought for.

The two of them manoeuvred the barrel into the barracks and she returned to make another trip up the stairs when she caught sight of a morose looking person sulking his way back into the barricade.

"Marius!" She gasped with a smile, hurrying over to him as though her life finally was complete.

"Éponine?" He whispered, confused. "What are you doing here? It's dangerous." He told her, as if she didn't already know.

"Got nowhere better to be." She grinned. "So I'm becoming one of the boys, I'd rather spend my time with you."

"This is no place for a girl Éponine, you could die here."

"Could die out there too," she shrugged. "I'd rather die fighting alongside you."

Her words didn't seem to reach him as he sighed and turned to her with a pessimistic tone.

"I don't know what I'm going to do if I never see her again 'ponine." he stressed. "Cosette has touched my life in a way I never thought another person could, she's all I can think about, I see her face when I close my eyes, I smell her perfume with each inhalation, and yet I feel as though no air reaches my lungs when she isn't near." he was lost in a world of feelings and emotions, the same kind she had prayed one day he would feel for her; hearing those words tumble from his lips was like someone was slowly clenching their fist around her heart, bruising it and choking it little by little until there was nothing left to beat, nothing left to fight for.

"Wait, I have an idea, 'ponine, you have to do this for me, you have to take her this letter before she vanishes," He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a cream rectangle of parchment, folded in half with a name scrawled in the most beautiful penmanship she had ever seen. "It's for her, it tells her everything, it tells her how I cannot live without her now I know she exists in this world, it tells her how I will find her, at any cost, so that we may be together, always." He thrust the paper into her hand and folded her fingers over it, having his soft skin touch hers was an agonising feeling, she wanted it so badly, revelled in the tingle his skin left on hers, and yet she knew his touch would be short lived, and where it meant everything to her, it hadn't meant a single thing to him. "Take it to her for me 'ponine, please?" he begged. "You're the only one who can do it, the only one I trust, I can't leave this barricade now, but you can, she needs to know how I feel, you have to tell her." The tone of his voice was so desperate that she felt pleased that for just a moment he could feel what it was to be her, to spend every waking moment wishing for something, for someone you could never have. She wanted to tell him no, she wanted to make him understand the pain of what losing something so close to your grasp could feel like; and yet, she was Éponine, she was his errand girl and if he asked her to walk bare foot across the entire vast landscape of France, she'd do it because he was the one to ask.

She clenched her fingers around the parchment and tucked into her jacket.

"Alright," she nodded. "I'll do it."

She felt his strong hands wrap around her forearms as he pulled her forwards and embraced her. She felt her heart literally miss a beat as her body melted to his as she stood with her arms by her side, too stunned to begin to hug him back. By the time she had caught her breath to do so, he was letting her free.

"You are my angel 'ponine." he exclaimed, hurrying back to the front line of the barricade, leaving her standing cold and empty on the street.

She ambled back to the barricade, as much as she longed to be back at Marius' side, she also hated to return to have to deliver him the word of the girl he had lost his heart to. For so long she had tried to make him hers, she had looked out for him, done everything he asked of her, she had shared her life and bared her soul for him and all she asked in return was that he would love her the way she did him, but she got nothing of the sort. Cosette, she had stolen whatever part of Marius she had never managed to awaken and there was no chance of her ever getting it back. Cosette's father had taken Marius' note with the promise to pass it on to his daughter, but Éponine knew that the girl felt the same way as Marius, there was a love there that was untouchable. How was she meant to go back and tell him that while Cosette was leaving for a safer place, she would hold him in her heart and wait for news that he had survived this revolution?


The sound of the artillery could be heard while she was still streets away from the barricade. The police had drawn in and soon enough the first blood would be shed; she just hoped it wasn't the blood of any of her friends.

She picked up her pace, knowing she had to reach that barricade, she had people to protect, people to keep safe. Her life was worth nothing, she was worth nothing, her father had told her that from when she was young, and if life on the streets had done nothing else, it had reinforced that he had been right. She would be willing to lay down her life if that meant saving one of those boys; they had such spirit, such heart, what they possessed in one grain of their being was worth more than anything she might ever accomplish.