A/N: So! Things got a little interesting in the last chapter, eh? Do Éponine and Enjolras even know what they want right now? Let's find out!
Chapter Four
Enjolras
Thankfully, Éponine and Joly weren't long returning to the Café. I had managed to set myself up in the bed before they got back, figuring that would make it easier for Joly to treat me.
"Well, I see you're well enough to get into your own sickbed, Henri-François," Joly chuckled, taking a seat next to me and opening his bag. "What happened to you? You look terrible."
I snorted a little at his quip, but that set off the pain in my stomach again, and I groaned, holding it before I could answer. "Got in a fight with 'Ponine's dad…Jean-Baptiste," I mumbled, looking away. But if he was going to mock me with my Christian name, I would certainly do the same thing to him.
He raised a questioning eyebrow, checking my vitals. "What was Thénardier's quarrel with you?"
"Me," Éponine said from the corner where she stood. Joly turned to her, the questioning eyebrow still raised. "I took refuge here last night after a quarrel of my own with him…Papa would have killed me if I'd gone back home, so Enjolras let me stay."
"I see," Joly murmured, contemplating.
She leaned past him to look at me. "Henri-François?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
"My Christian name. I hate it."
Joly chuckled. "Well, your vitals are all very good, so you can't be hurt too badly. However, I do want to see your stomach, with the way you're holding it like that." Obediently, I lifted up my shirt enough that he could see it. After the events of this morning, I was sure it would set 'Ponine off again if I were shirtless. I was able to look down enough to notice a rather large, angry purple and black bruise on my right side. Thénardier had definitely done some damage.
Joly's thoughtful doctor face came through as he went back and forth between examining me – this involved occasionally poking and prodding a little, telling me to let him know when it hurt – and thumbing through his huge medical book, muttering under his breath as he did so. I watched various illustrated diagrams of the human body as they rapidly flipped in and out of my line of vision.
Out of the corner of my good eye, I saw Éponine sit down by the door and watch Joly as he worked and read. Our eyes only met once, and she quickly looked away; out of shame or embarrassment, I couldn't tell, and I didn't want to know. It hurt too much to see her like this – more than Thénardier's kick.
Éponine
After about an hour and a half, Joly had wrapped Enjolras' stomach and chest, bandaged his lip, applied a poultice to his left eye, and left more of it with instructions for me to apply it to the bruise around his eye every hour. When I had seen him to the door of the Café, I went back upstairs and sat down next to Enjolras, where Joly had been. "Feeling better?" I murmured, stroking his hair back from his face. I was sure he didn't understand me at all – I knew I was sending lots of ridiculously mixed signals, and I wondered if he could make sense of anything I was doing or saying. Probably not.
However, he seemed to be okay with a little conversation. "A little. You were right when you said your papa has a wicked kick, though," he muttered as he sat up a little. "It's pretty painful…I suspect I'll have an even nicer bruise there tomorrow."
I chuckled a little. "As sore as you're acting and as bruised as you already are, you probably will. I know from experience. Like I said, I got it more than once as a child."
He shook his head. "How'd you cope?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I suppose it's like love, in a way," I said. When he looked at me with a confused frown, I explained. "After a while, you just learn to live with the pain."
He failed to suppress another snort, and I could tell his stomach hurt again. However, he managed to say, "Well…if dealing with this is like dealing with love, then I'll be fine."
I raised an eyebrow at his words, now thoroughly confused and seriously considering bringing Joly back to the Café. Enjolras had never been the romantic type. Ever. France was his only love, and it had always been that way. Everyone at the ABC said he had no interest in women – in fact, in his mid-teenage years, he had vowed to die a bachelor. So far, he was staying true to that – at 23, he had never made any attempt to court a single woman. Admitting to knowing the pangs of love was quite out of character for him. This made no sense.
"Y-you…what?"
"Don't you understand?" he said instantly, clearly pained. "Éponine, I've been in love with you for four years, and it's nearly been the death of me to watch you suffer pining over Marius when I've been standing right there next to him. For the last four years, I've kept silent and waited for you. I can't do it anymore."
I was shocked. Struck dumb, really. Enjolras…in love? With…me? Impossible. "W-who else knows?"
"Just Courfeyrac."
"But…" I stammered; I really had no idea what I wanted to say. I was still trying to wrap my brain around his sudden confession.
"But what?" he said. "Did you not see the signs?"
"What signs?" I asked in exasperation. Suddenly, it was a lot easier to say what was on my mind. "Enjolras, if anything, you were…cold to me. You've always kept your distance from me, which I never questioned, since we were raised at different stations. It was only appropriate of you to be polite to me because I'm a woman, but nothing more. I could even understand when we became friends. We shared the same beliefs in the republic, and we'd always gotten along fine. But…love? With the way you acted, it always seemed out of the question."
His eyes grew wide at my words, and the confusion was evident on his face. I could tell he was rewinding the last four years in his head, trying to see where he hadn't been obvious about his affections for me. "I…don't understand, 'Ponine…" he said, looking almost childlike in his confusion. "I always thought…"
"I know what you thought, Enjolras," I said, perhaps a little too shortly. "It's not the same as what you did." I got up, knowing I was currently unable to have this conversation with him, when he resorted to begging.
"Éponine, wait," he said. "Please."
I sighed, but refused to give in. "Enjolras, I'm going home," I said firmly. In reality, I had no clue where I was going, but I knew I would probably end up there eventually. "I'm not ready to discuss this with you yet, and I'm not ready to make the choice between you and Marius."
"'Ponine…you can't go back there. You'll be killed," he begged. I could tell his voice was desperate, but I refused to look at him. "I know we've got your papa tied up for now, but eventually, he will get out, and he will kill you. I couldn't bear that."
"Enjolras, don't make this harder for me than it already is," I said shortly. "I told you, I'm going home. I can't trespass on your hospitality any longer, especially when you're injured and need your bed."
"The hell with my injury," he growled, starting to sit up. I knew Joly wouldn't be happy with him for trying. "You'll be worse off than I am if you go back there."
I smiled sadly. "Maybe it's no more than I deserve."
"Don't say that."
"Why not?" I asked, now turning back to face him. "Why should you love me? You're a gentleman, a man of status and wealth who chose to mingle with the poor in the hopes of forming a republic. You're the saint. What am I by comparison? The sinner. I'm a street rat, a beggar. A common whore sold out to the highest bidder by her own father. I'm not worth the dirt under your shoes, and despite what you want, your love could never change that, or make me more than what I am. You fell in love with the wrong girl, Enjolras."
As I opened the door to leave, not looking back, all he said was, "I refuse to believe that."
A/N: Aww :( Don't worry, though! Things get better!
