Hello lovelies! Here's part 2 of this weird piece of fic I'm writing. I've had most of this written for months, but I just never had the time to flesh it out and finish it until now.

Thanks so much to everyone who followed, liked and review, and to the Guest: Sorry, my perfection cannot be contained.

A reminder, this fic is for the wonderful Hannah, who wanted a fic based on the song 'Jag Kommer' by Veronica Maggio.

It's rated T for swearing and crude language (for now).

Also, keep in mind that I didn't get any of this beta'd, so if you see some mistakes, sorry about that.

Enjoy.


Part 2

Of hair bands, caffeinated piss, and her oddity

"Thanks so much for coming with me, man. I would've been right fucked if you hadn't had my back in there," Éponine grinned and smacked him on the shoulder in what was probably an appreciative gesture, but still hurt either way.

"What good is a degree in law if you can't help your friends out of a delicate legal bind," Enjolras smirked and held the door open for her as they exited the Palais de Justice.

It was a nice Friday morning. The sun was out and the temperature was still pleasantly high, even though the autumn winds were starting to slowly rear their chilly heads. It was barely past 10am, and whereas the streets had been packed with suits and kids with backpacks a few hours ago, now there was hardly a soul to be seen, except for your rare hobo or common tourist.

"Well, with the parents I have, it's like I'm always stuck between a rock and a hard place. The binds will just keep on coming." She shrugged and looked down as she said this, and he wanted to kick himself for making her remember the drugged up deadbeats she should never have had to call 'mom and dad'. Éponine had balls of steel, but whenever her parents came up, she'd get this really sad look in her eyes that he never really knew how to reply to.

"You'll be fine," he said and touched her arm for a really brief second in what he considered a comforting gesture, but was probably as cold as an ice cube for passionate, fiery 'Ponine, who gave out more hugs than the crazies who hold those stupid 'Free Hugs' signs in the middle of the street, "you always are." It was the only thing he could think of, but it was also a sentence they both knew was an accurate fact, and they both acknowledged this with a quick smile in each other's direction.

"I really do appreciate you coming to help me out, I know it was on short notice and everything," she gave him another smile and stopped when they reached the main road.

Enjolras turned to face her, and they both stood, looking at each other in the middle of the street, like they were ready to go their separate ways, but trying to make the moment last just a little bit longer. Or they just had no idea which way to go, which seemed more probable.

He didn't really have any plans, having cancelled a meeting he had planned with one of his clients. But she didn't need to know about that.

"Well, next time make sure you come to me from the get-go, not fuck yourself over by asking Courfeyrac for help." Enjolras cringed at the thought. "Seriously, what were you thinking?!"

"I know, I know, okay?!" Éponine groaned. "I just hoped that maybe this time he was gonna at least try to be a reliable human being."

He gave her a withering look. "It's Courfeyrac, 'Ponine."

She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, and it was pretty clear even she was aware how straight up stupid she had been to trust the moron.

"Just talk to me first next time you have legal troubles, okay?" he sighed and straightened the glasses on his nose. "Where you headed off to now?"

She scrunched up her face in that way she always did when she was thinking of something. It was cute. She had some cute little quirks about her that weren't really anything special, but they made Éponine… well, Éponine. "Nothing much," she replied, "took today off so I don't really have any plans. Was thinking of getting some breakfast since I didn't have the chance to eat at home."

"Woke up late again?" he smirked at her knowingly. It was a known fact amongst their group that 'Ponine was a complete zombie in the morning. Two separate alarms, with the combined efforts of Gavroche and Azelma were barely enough to get her out of bed at the right hour. It was pretty amazing actually.

"Shut the fuck up," she retorted jokingly and punched him in the chest.

Joke aside, it still fucking hurt.

"You really need to stop with the hitting," he grumbled as he rubbed the sore spot on his pectoral. Good thing he works out, or else that would have knocked the wind out of him for sure. "Mind if I join you?"

He wasn't hungry, but he only managed to have two cups of coffee this morning, which was an insulting amount since he usually drinks at least four before midday, and the buzz was already starting to wear off.

Éponine smiled at him and she looked a bit surprised, which was understandable since he never really asked to join anyone, anywhere. Ever. "Sure, that'd be awesome." And she smiled even wider, and he didn't really know why she did that. Or why it would be awesome. But she'd never really had the best of tastes in company, she used to have a thing for Pontmercy after all.

So they started walking towards a nearby café they knew had good, cheap coffee and acceptable sandwiches, because apparently she was in a finger food kind of mood. "There's never a bad time for sammiches," she explained, as if he already didn't fucking know that.

"So why did Courf stand me up?" Éponine asked after they had reached the café and placed their orders. He got just an espresso, black as tar, while she asked for a ham sandwich that sounded pretty damn good, and some kind of unholy concoction that supposedly had coffee in it. What did she call it? Vanilla Mocha Caramel Frappuccino or some other devil-inspired title that probably had less caffeine than his piss did after a regular work day.

"What, he didn't tell you?" Enjolras replied just as the waitress came in with their orders, and he pretended he didn't see the toothy grin the chick threw at him when she placed his coffee in front of him.

Éponine eyed the waitress with a raised eyebrow and cleared her throat when the woman was taking way too long to lay down a couple of items on the table. "He just said he wasn't feeling okay. And I think that bimbo's probably gonna need new panties by the time she clears our table," she added after the woman finally left their table, taking her sweet time and glancing back at least twice before she retreated into the building.

Enjolras snorted, but chose not to dignify the second sentence with a reply. He was too used to have strange men or women ogle at him wherever he passed. It used to piss him off at first, but he realized that wasn't gonna make them stop, so he just resorted to ignoring the eyes that were always on him at one point or another.

"It's true Courfeyrac isn't in top shape," he answered, smirking, and took a sip from his coffee – Ah, Mana replenished! "Do you remember that 30 year-old woman he's been chasing for some time now?"

"The teacher or the aerobics instructor?" she asked as she began eating her sandwich. And wow, she really gobbled that shit up. It was gone in 3 bites. Did she even chew?

"Teacher. History teacher, actually. Well, apparently, unbeknownst to our Courfeyrac, she not only had a passion for history, but also for medieval torture devices. No, really," he added when he saw the face she made and he started having a hard time not cackling at the stuff Feuilly had told him after Marius had spilled the beans on why Courfeyrac had been walking funny when he got home last night.

'Ponine shivered and took a sip of her tea – seriously, that piss should not be called coffee. "Shit, my mind is going into all the wrong places right now."

"Which is probably the right direction," he chuckled.

Éponine groaned and shook her head, probably to get rid of all the images involving Courfeyrac and his mistress with a passion for ancient S&M. "Seriously, where does he find them?"

Enjolras smirked. "Well, you know Courfeyrac, he's got a voodoo mojo brewing at the go-go that could knock a witch off her broom." He saw the chance and he took it, and he doubted she would get the reference, but he'd always wanted to use that line in conversation.

"Hah!" she exclaimed and actually startled him. The other patrons in the café were giving them weird glances, and he would have been embarrassed had he actually cared. "One Wild Night! You like Bon Jovi?" she asked, looking and sounding like she had just discovered buried treasure.

He wasn't expecting her to recognize the lyrics, but he was pleasantly surprised to find he had been wrong. "I've got ears," he replied like it was the most ridiculous question he'd been asked. It wasn't, but it sure as hell made no sense to him why people would need to know if someone liked Bon Jovi or not. Everyone should fucking like Bon Jovi.

"Some people don't listen," she placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward with a huge grin on her face.

"Some people are stupid." He did the same.

"A truth universally acknowledged," she nodded wisely, and Enjolras had to stop himself from making fun of the Jane Austen reference. "Didn't think you were into that kind of music," Éponine observed and the notion seemed to excite her in some found-another-kindred-spirit kind of way. Strangely enough, he felt the same way.

"I am into all things that are an amalgam of quality, vision, smart wordplay, passion, absurdity, and just the right amount of bullshit," he replied with a smile and a shrug.

She made a face. "And that's applicable to '80s hair metal?"

"I like to believe it applies to most pre-21st century music. After that, the amount of bullshit went beyond the limits of right, and crossed over into the realm of horseshit."

"That is an excellent way of putting it," she laughed and leaned back to rest her back on the chair's backrest, and he found he kinda missed the proximity of her. It made the conversation more… he didn't know what it made it, but it sure as hell was more pleasant like that.

"But I agree," she continued with a wistful sigh – a bit overdramatic if you asked him, but whatever – "2000 was definitely the last year of great music, it ended with Radiohead's 'Kid A'. But what a finish, am I right?"

Enjolras smiled. "Yes. Yes it was." 'Kid A' was actually one of his favorite albums. There was something about the minimalistic style and the weird mix of electronic, krautrock, jazz and other musical styles that should never have worked together, but did, and impeccably so. It really made the blood pump in his music fan veins. That, and any album that used an Ondes Martenot should be reasonably deemed a masterpiece.

"But you said that you liked wordplay in your music," Éponine continued, and it seemed like this topic was right up her alley, since she looked like she was a enjoying herself – he was too – "I'm assuming Def Leppard lyrics adequately fall into that category."

He raised his eyebrows, actually surprised that she would bring Leppard into the discussion, but a welcomed addition it certainly was. He cleared his throat and looked at her with a dark, serious expression. "Razzle 'n' a dazzle 'n' a flash a little light; television lover, baby, go all night; sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet; little miss innocent sugar me." He cleared his throat again after he finished the excerpt. "Éponine, if that's not genius wordplay, then I don't know what is."

She stared at him blankly for a while. Her expression was void and her eyes looked dead, and he worried that she might have had a stroke or something. But then her hands suddenly shot up and she pressed both index fingers to each temple and closed her eyes shut.

"What are you doing?" Enjolras blinked and gaped at her.

"Quiet!" she snapped, but didn't change anything about her position. "I'm currently re-playing the scene of you quoting 'Pour some sugar on me' and imprinting it into my memory for all eternity. This is a very important moment that I need to remember for the rest of my life."

Raising an eyebrow, he found that he could find no reply and he actually had to bite his lip to not burst out laughing. She was such a weirdo. "You're such a weirdo."

Éponine opened one eye to look at him. "And this coming from the man who just spoke the words 'razzle 'n' a dazzle' in a normal, everyday conversation?"

"'Ponine no conversation with you could possibly be considered 'normal'," Enjolras chuckled, and he was expecting her to attempt and fail to get back at him with some form of a snarky response, but instead she just smiled. Smiled really wide. Dimples and all.

"That's true," she replied and once again leaned forward, put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her intertwined hands. "But normal is boring and lacks character, don't you think?"

They were now staring each other in the face from opposite ends of their round table, and though they weren't all that close, Enjolras could still see the several light freckles that covered a small part of her nose and cheeks, the way her eyes squinted just a tiny bit when she smiled, or how the left side of her mouth slightly crooked upwards the wider her grin grew. Things he had never really noticed before, but now found strangely fascinating.

"You're absolutely right," he replied and felt himself become infected by her big, pretty smile.

Yeah, it really did look pretty. It suited her, too. He wondered why he had never realized how nice she looked when she smiled. Maybe he had never really looked, or maybe he had never seen her from this close, or maybe because it had never been directed at him before, but he was glad he finally got the chance to notice it.

'Ponine wasn't a normal young woman. She wasn't a normal anything. What kind of girl would walk into the Palais de Justice wearing a pair of black denims, leather jacket with a Star Wars t-shirt underneath – kudos for the t-shirt though, because Star Wars is awesome – and a pair of ratty old sneakers without batting an eyelash, even though he had made a point of advising her to dress appropriately? She would. And did.

It was a good thing it wasn't an official hearing or anything, and there was no need to suit up. He had just put on a pair of gray slacks and a white button-up, so he didn't look like he was trying too hard, but didn't look like he had just come back from a Green Day concert either.

She defied every rule of social conduct, spat on the traditional and shat on the mundane. No, Éponine wasn't normal, she was strange, she was peculiar, she was off-beat, and she was who she was. And for that, he respected and admired her.

They said nothing for a while, and twirled the left-over coffee they had in their cups. They both had only one or two sips left, but neither were rushing to take them.

He wanted to talk to her more, he felt like they never talked enough, which was weird because he had never felt the need for it before. Maybe it was because he had finally found a person who shared his excellent taste in music that he felt much more compelled to have their conversation continue.

"So, what's your favorite band?" he asked, and hey, it might have been one of the most shopworn conversation starters of all time, but at least he was breaking new ground. It didn't matter if it was lame, as long as they were talking again.

It took a moment before she found an answer, which was understandable because this was a very delicate existential question that should not be taken lightly. You could tell a lot about a person from their favorite band. Like how one who liked The Rolling Stones was more open-minded and welcoming of anything that was out of the ordinary, just like how the band's musical style involved incorporating various different musical genres into their own collective sound. Or like how Queen fans tended to have a bit of a tongue-in-cheek attitude, just like their music. Needless to say, Éponine's answer to this question was a vital element in the future of their relationship.

"The Beatles," she answered and said nothing else, as if just saying it out loud would answer any other questions he could throw at her. And fuck if it wasn't.

There was no need for 'Ponine to explain why The Beatles was her favorite. It was logical. It made so much sense he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it himself. Cheerful, wisecracking, mature, undisciplined, psychedelic, extroverted, optimistic, ironic, and realistic; words that described Éponine just as perfectly as they described the music of the greatest band in the world.

Enjolras approved. And the grin on his face gave visual proof.

And she smiled back at him, looking pretty damn proud of herself. And he was a little bit as well, if he had to be honest.

"So?" Éponine looked at him expectantly, "I'm waiting."

"For?" he shot her an innocent look while he twirled the cup of coffee in his hand. He knew what she wanted to know, but he didn't really want to tell her. It was hypocritical and a bit douchey of him to ask a question he had no intention of answering himself, but he'd never felt comfortable about telling people facts about himself.

"Bob Dylan."

His head snapped up from his cup and stared at her in mild shock. "How the hell did you know?" he asked, curious and slightly pissed that she had learned of this from someone other than him. Probably Pontmercy, the guy couldn't keep a secret even if Courgette's life depended on it.

"I just made a guess," she shrugged. "It makes a ton of sense though, wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out if they knew who you are."

Now he was really puzzled. "Explain."

She sighed and scratched the side of her head. "I don't know man, it just suits you?"

No, that was not good enough. "Not good enough."

"Fuck, fine," she huffed and shifted in her seat. She looked a bit uncomfortable, but he didn't care. He wanted to know how she knew and it was her own damn fault for bringing it up in the first place.

"Okay, so you know Dylan is basically a god – no I'm not saying you're a God, Enjolras, don't give me that look!"

She sighed in frustration, and it seemed like she was having a hard time finding the right words.

After a moment of thinking, she continued. "You know, his music has strong political, social, and philosophical influences, particularly the civil rights movement and his anti-war beliefs… He defied the music conventions of the time and wrote stuff that appealed to the counterculture… He had an extraordinary way with words, he was cynical, and a little bit arrogant... His music was serious, spiritual, rockin', bluesy, jazzy, country…" she took a breath, and seemed to give up on tying the loose ends of her speech together. "I don't know man, his music reminds me of you, and it fits the type of person you are." She shrugged and then snorted, looking down at her own mug and shaking her head. "Sorry, I just really don't know how to explain it. I know I probably made no sense whatsoever."

"No," Enjolras replied, keeping his gaze fixed on her, "it made a lot of sense."

He couldn't really think of anything to say, he was too freaked out and too amazed to properly word a reply. It was a weird notion that there were people who could read him just as well as he could read them; it hadn't been since Combeferre that someone had described him in so many words and in so many different adjectives, and Combeferre never used few words for anything, even his morning cereal. And she compared him to Dylan's music, and though she was wrong because nothing could compare to Dylan's music, it was still probably the most flattering thing anyone had ever said to him. He was actually at a loss for words, and that was a rare occurrence in itself.

Clearing his throat, he brought his cup to his lips and drank the rest of his coffee in one gulp. He noticed she still hadn't touched hers, and didn't look like she was anxious to finish it either. "So, are you going to guess what my favorite song is too?" he asked, trying to get the conversation from weird-awkward back to funny-awkward.

She shook her head and waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Too many possibilities, no way I can guess." She looked up at him with a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes. "What is it?"

"'Talkin' bout a Revolution'" he replied, and hid his disappointment that she didn't even try; but he had to agree, it was a tough guess.

Her eyes widened and it looked like she had not been expecting that answer, but she quickly blinked her surprise away and nodded her head in approval. "Tracy Chapman. Nice! Fits you like a glove."

She laughed and he noticed she was tapping her foot under the table. "Don't you know you're talking about a revolution, It sounds like a whisper, Poor people are gonna rise up, And get their share, Poor people are gonna rise up, And take what's theirs," she began singing, grinning, clapping her hands and bobbing her head in time with the beat, and Enjolras couldn't help but think that she really, really sucked.

Tone deaf would have been a compliment for Éponine in this case. She was totally off tune and she had turned the melody of a powerful anthem of freedom to Ethel Merman's Disco album.

"Please. Stop." He was almost begging her. No, actually he was begging her. He was pleading, she sucked so much.

"What?" she asked, looking all confused. Good Lord, this girl must have been deaf or something, or have too much confidence in herself if she couldn't realize how bad her singing was.

"You know, I'm glad you know and like the song," he paused, and tried to tell her in the kindest of ways that she should never sing in front of him ever again… yeah, he had nothing. "But you really need to never sing in front of me ever again."

She didn't say anything in reply, but let her middle finger do all the talking.

Really, good thing he didn't give a fuck about other people, because the looks the other patrons were throwing them would have made most people want to bury their heads in the ground, ostrich-style.

Well, at least Éponine didn't seem mad at him. If anything, she seemed more bemused than anything. That, and she had stopped singing, so all was well in the world again. Except now they weren't talking again.

Enjolras wracked his mind for another topic of discussion, but he could only come up with a single one. But hey, it wasn't a topic he would bring up with just anyone. It was delicate, and important, and it could make or break their relationship forever.

"So, what do you think about Zeppelin?"

Her head snapped up and her mouth fell open into a lowercase o-shape. "The Led? Did you just ask me about the Led?"

Apparently he had just struck gold. "I did. But take care, I'm gonna be judging you extra hard on how you behave during this discussion," he warned, and it maybe would have been funny, had he not been 100% serious. "So, what do you think about Zeppelin?"

"Mmm, Zeppelin." Her head tilted back and this look of pure ecstasy appeared on her face that matched the orgasmic sound that came out of her throat.

His dick twitched in his pants.

'Whoa, what the fuck?'

Why did it just do that? Sure, he liked Zeppelin more than most people, but he didn't like it that much. Okay, so they were pretty sexy in their day, and their music was basically sex, but his dick shouldn't be twitching for a rock band made up of big haired, white British dudes, no matter how godlike they were.

And Éponine shouldn't be moaning and looking like she had just touched Jesus either. Though, John Bonham did look a little bit like Jesus, and he was definitely cooler. Okay yeah, he would be moaning if he touched the greatest drummer of all times too; shame he'd been dead for over 30 years.

So they started talking about the perfection that was Led Zeppelin. They agreed on Jimmy Page, or 'the pontiff of power riffing' as he was rightfully called, being the best guitarist of all time, which was amazing, since there were very few occasions when two music fans would see eye to eye regarding their own gods of rock.

They actually agreed on a lot of things, he noticed with mild shock. For instance, both of them loving Robert Plant's expressive palette, the high range and loud volume of his voice. Or that Kashmir was actually their greatest piece, contrary to popular belief that Stairway to Heaven, as holy as it was, held the title. Hell, she even gushed over Bonzo's godlike skill and power on the drums with him. That one made him really happy.

Then they analyzed the band's blues and folk influences, the melodies and rhythmic variations, and how their lyrics were basically poetry set to music. An illuminating and highly philosophical discussion it had been.

Then, she actually started telling him about how she lost her virginity to 'Whole lotta love' and that's where he had to stop the conversation; especially when she started getting into the details, and his stupid dick began twitching again for some reason, which was pretty distracting in itself. Good for her for being open and comfortable about her sexuality, he definitely liked that about her, but the images in his head were a bit too vivid for 11 in the morning. Plus, the thought of her being with other men made him uncomfortable, and he just didn't want to think of Éponine in that way.

And this was how one of the greatest rock songs of all times was forever ruined for him. Fucking swell.

And with that charming finale, Éponine finally emptied her gross slush and motioned for the bimbo waitress to get their checks, which she more than gladly did, judging by how fast she got to the table and how long she took till she handed them their change.

Éponine took his change, gaining herself a pretty nasty glare from the chick. Not that she would have cared, hell, she probably enjoyed pissing the woman off. "Who knows what she did with that hand just now," was her reasoning, and he had to admit, it was a good one, though his idea of what she had done with it might have differed a little bit from hers.

Now came the point where they were supposed to part ways. They had gotten their caffeine fix and were now out of the café's premises, so it was only expected that they should just go about doing their own things.

He'd go home, drink some more coffee, relax with a good book (Rousseau, Voltaire, or Neil Gaiman… never an easy choice), and maybe even watch a movie later.

She'd probably just go do some weird shit, like sit around in the park with her iPod, with Iron Maiden blaring in her earphones as she'd watch people walking by and feeding the pigeons. Or maybe sit around in front of the Eiffel Tower, laughing her ass off at disoriented tourists and their stupid photo poses. Or maybe she'd sit around at home, munching on peanuts, reading Marvel Comics (he remembered seeing her with X-Men T-shirts a few times) as she'd wait for her siblings to get home. Éponine's activities sure seemed to involve a lot of sitting around in his head.

"So, what are you up to next?" Enjolras ended up asking. It was mere curiosity. He was actually looking forward to spending the day cooped up alone in his apartment. No, really.

She did the cute scrunching of the face thing again. "Well, I was thinking of going to do some grocery shopping. I mean, I'm out and the supermarket is only a few blocks away, so might as well."

"Oh." Well that was unexpectedly ordinary of her.

"Hey," Éponine nudged him in the ribs with her elbow (and it hurt… again), "I could use a big, strong man to help me carry my groceries." She batted her eyelashes and took a strand of hair and started twirling it with a finger. "Help a girl out, big boy?"

God, he hoped she didn't really believe this shit would actually work on him.

"Yeah, sure."

Fuck!

"Knew you couldn't refuse my irresistible feminine charms," she smiled a crooked smile and blew him a kiss. It was faker than a Las Vegas magic show, but just like those ridiculous spectacles, it did cause a stir somewhere deep down in the hellhole that was his chest. He'd better not be blushing.

"Or I'm just a gentleman," Enjolras deadpanned, looking straight ahead and thoroughly unimpressed by her shit.

"Or I'm just too sexy… too sexy for my shirt… too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurtsss." She licked her finger and pressed it on her hip, making a hissing sound when it touched her skin. It. Was. So. Lame.

"God, you're lame."

"But entertaining," she retorted and then continued her monstrous rendition of that monstrosity of a song.

Enjolras didn't reply, letting her wiggle her butt and hands as she walked, still not caring about what they must have looked like. Because she really was entertaining, albeit out of her fucking mind. And he liked it.

And this is seriously how they walked the three blocks to the supermarket, Éponine singing and dancing to 'I'm too sexy'. Badly. Which wasn't easy but somehow she pulled it off. And Enjolras suffering deep emotional scars and smiling about it.


And there you are. Hoped this much longer chapter made up for the first one.

And yes, I know the direction I went with the characters in this AU is unconventional, but I personally really like it, which in the end, is all that matters.

Please tell me what you thought of it, I'd love to know.

Thanks for reading, and keep being awesome.