UGH, I really actually hate this one. I mean, the ending is fine I suppose. I don't know, help me out guys! Good, bad, indifferent... let me know! Reviews are better that ice cream, it's a known fact. Anyhow, here is the next chapter and I hope you enjoy! Thank you to all the wonderful people who reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story. It means a TON :)

IV.

A K-Way jacket torn to shreds
And a dream inside our heads

The summer ended in the complete opposite it had started: it was boring, quiet, calm... but still filled with nightmares.

About a month into their new living arrangements Enjolras flat out insisted on Eponine sleeping in the bed. He would take the floor. Eponine refused adamantly, something Enjolras simply couldn't understand. He decided that he was going to win this fight by any means necessary, so he settled on sleeping on the floor as well. While Eponine was curled in front of the fire on her makeshift bed of tattered blankets, Enjolras was lying on the other side of the room. It was a standoff of sorts, a stalemate that would only end when one of them gave in and claimed the bed. Even though he woke with his arm and shoulder aching in the morning, Enjolras was determined to win this one. After all, Eponine had an injury as well. Was she being noble? He highly doubted it, since everything she has ever known had absolutely nothing to do with nobility.

As the stale mate continued, both of them found jobs. For Enjolras it was quite easy. Any employer could see he was educated. When he walked into the law office all golden curls, charisma, and Latin words, he was hired on the spot. Eponine was working at a small millinery: a hat shop. Much to her displeasure, it was Eponine's job to sew numerous amounts of frivolous things onto the hats that would then be shipped to Paris.

They would walk home together, both leaving work at the same time, with Enjolras burying his hands deep in his pockets and Eponine taking off her shoes as soon as they reached the small dirt road. She said it felt strange, wearing shoes all of the time. The dirt beneath her feet felt comforting.

They hadn't talked, not really, since they arrived in Toulouse. Their conversations were mostly conducted like interviews, with Eponine asking questions and Enjolras giving short answers. She would pick up on a topic and talk for a bit while he nodded along, pretending to agree with everything she said while actually trying to fight off the voices in his head. They were walking past a tavern one evening; rowdy men were fighting inside and the stench of alcohol poured into the street. Enjolras picked up his pace, only thinking of Grantaire, when he heard a smash.

Probably it was just a broken glass, the sound of one of the brawlers breaking a window, but to Enjolras it was the barricade. That noise threw him into the past. He ducked and shielded himself from imaginary gunfire, bracing himself for the bullet that would surely kill him. They are coming, he thought, the National Guard will kill me too.

Good. I am so tired.

But instead of a bullet he felt a small hand on his arm. He looked up to see Eponine looking back at him, concern in her large brown eyes. His thoughts were jumbled and very, very fast. He was at the barricade, he was certain. He felt it. Then he was pulled back into the present by Eponine, only to notice the specks of gold in her eyes. A rush of panic, the gold in her eyes, and the jeers of onlookers because they thought he was afraid of the broken glass. He shrugged off Eponine's hand and set off toward the house.

They were silent the rest of the way. She almost had to run to keep up with him, for Enjolras it seemed couldn't get to the house fast enough. He made it through the door and he flung off his shoes, his jacket, and headed straight to the wash room.

And after changing everything
They couldn't tell we couldn't sing

Is this what it's going to be like?, he thought. Am I going to walk around being afraid of my own shadow? What am I even doing here, in this lonely house with this girl? He wanted to scream, to cry, to run to Paris this very instant and demand retribution for his pain. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, a shell of the noble man he used to be, and ripped it from the wall.

He was furious. At himself, at the monarchy, at the men in the tavern, at his friends for dieing and leaving him here, for himself yet again because he was angry at the dead…

His sling got caught on that nail in the wall and it startled him, only making him more infuriated. He wanted to rip the thing off, to reverse it and to start again. Maybe they would win this time, maybe he wouldn't survive…. What he would give to have died as well. Enjolras tugged at the strap of his sling, hastily and roughly pulling it every which way until it was half off. He pulled again and a searing pain shot through him as he cringed and gritted his teeth. Eponine was there.

"Enjolras?"

"Leave me alone!"

"Please, let me help you."

She was now close to him, trying to put his sling back on his arm so he wouldn't hurt himself again. He knew he sounded and looked insane, but he only wanted to be left alone with it. He could be like the man that lives over the hill, all alone in his head with nothing but his dead friends for comfort. He just wanted her to go away, to let him fall to pieces by himself.

"STOP!"

He shouted at her, loudly and unceremoniously. Right away he expected some sort of retaliation. He was ready to listen to her shout back. Instead they were both still, with sweat on his brow and his chest rising up and down. Eponine was calm, still holding the sling in her hand. She didn't appear to have flinched. She only stared back at him, and he hated himself for thinking once again about the gold in her eyes at a time like this.

He whispered, "Forgive me." Eponine nodded and made to fix his sling once again, but he instinctively flinched away from her touch.

"Please Enjolras, I know what I'm doing."

He nodded and let her gingerly tie another knot in the strap, adjusting his arm at the same time. He watched her face as she did this, her eyes concentrated on her work with the bandage. For the first time something dawned on Enjolras, something he felt ashamed that he had nearly forgotten. He said in a candid manner, "You talk about a lot of things." Her eyes slowly rolled up to meet his again, and he continued. "But you never talk about the barricade."

She finished with the sling in silence and walked away, not saying anything. He stood still for a moment, realizing that the Parisian girl with the dark hair and the gold in her eyes had seen the same things he had. He felt a pang of empathy, and then stopped himself. He was falling apart at the seams and if he wasn't careful he could take Eponine with him. Out of the two of them she at least deserved to remain sane. She, after all, wasn't responsible.

He scowled at himself. He could hear his friends taunting him now, the smell of wine among them. "The gold in her eyes, Enjolras?! You are noticing the gold of Eponine's eyes? My friends, the stone Apollo is human after all!"

Enjolras left the washroom, temporarily forgetting the stale mate and lying on the bed which was stiff from not being used. He didn't bother with a blanket; he simply stretched out stiffly on the right side and stared at a crack in the ceiling. He could have been there for a few minutes or a few hours, but somewhere during this haze of blurry thoughts and semi-sleep he felt Eponine lay down beside him.

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis