-Part Three-

Dearest Cosette,

You have entered my soul and soon you will be gone. Can it be only a day since we met and the world was reborn? If I should fall in the battle to come let this be my goodbye. Now that I know that you love me as well it is harder to die. I pray that God will bring me home to be with you.

Pray for your Marius. He prays for you.

Everything hurts. Everything aches and burns and throbs and Éponine can't breathe.

She's lost him.

She's lost the only good thing in her life and there is nothing she could have done to stop it. He belongs to Cosette now and the proof is right there in her hands. She eyes his boyish scrawl as she reads the letter once more. She can't believe it.

That's not true. Yes she can. She absolutely believes that Monsieur Marius is in love with the beautiful, sweet, lovely, well-off bourgeoisie girl from her childhood; she completely believes that he will live happily with her, marry her, father her children. She believes it. She believes that doesn't love her. She believes it and it breaks her heart.

How could he though? How could he possibly love a dirty, poor, withering, pick-pocketing, street rat like her? There is nothing special about her. Her hair is tangled and filthy. Her one dress is torn and dirt-smudged. She is littered with bruises and scars. Her face is caked with soot. Her feet are blistered and cracked. There is constantly dirt under nails. Her lips are chapped. Her waist is too small and her problems too big. She has nothing to offer him.

Éponine doesn't even know why she has allowed herself to hope all of these years.

She's trembling. Her eyes are leaking and her face contorting and her chest is heaving and she can't breathe. Great sobs escape her as she collapses against the alleyway.

She has nothing. She is nothing.

She cradles the remains of her shattered heart on the ground of the alleyway for a long while and loses track of time. She nestles herself into the corner, behind a stack of empty crates. This is where she belongs, hidden away from the world, amongst the trash and filth that litters the back streets.

She has already dealt with so much in her life. Every card life has played she has responded appropriately. When Cosette was taken away she swallowed her pride and took on her humiliating responsibilities. When her parents had lost the inn she had cradled her sibling and set to work. She degraded herself to thievery, acknowledging the damage she was doing to her heavenly soul in order to keep her sibling nourished. She had accepted the loss of her father's love and her mother's respect. Although it had taken time, she had moved on from Azlema's death and gotten on with her life. She had smiled at her younger brother encouragingly when he left home to live on his own at such a tender young age, knowing that it would mean a better life for him and a harder one for her. She survived frequent mutilations at the hands of her father and his goons for years. She'd survived.

But she couldn't survive this.

How could one live without a heart? Whether he knew it of now, whether he wanted it or not, Éponine had given Marius her heart. She'd given it away and now she couldn't get it back. But he didn't need her anymore. Why would he ever need her, the poor and useless girl that could offer him nothing, when he had Cosette?

Everything is blurry and shaking and moving and quivering and wavering around her. Her head throbs and her vision swims. Her shoulders tremble and her chest heaves painfully. The noises coming out of her are almost inhuman. She sucks in her trembling lower lip in an attempt to control herself but it is of no use. Her face continues to crumble as she falls apart. Her pulse jumps in her throat and the muscles there contract as she heaves, her lungs struggling to acquire air.

Her hands are shaking and she mistakenly rips the edge a bit. Her breathing falters again. It would be so easy, too easy; to rip the letter completely and throw the pieces into the river. Cosette would never know. Marius would think that she had moved to England and forgotten about him. She might have her chance.

She starts to heave again at her traitorous thoughts. How dare she? Marius is happy. He may not be happy with her but he is happy. And that is her favorite thing about Monsieur Marius: his happiness.

She refolds the letter that was never meant for her eyes and tucks away in the folds of her dress. She drags her trembling hands down her face and pushes her hair away from her leaking eyes. Her lips stretch over her teeth in a grimace she can't control. Crying is not pretty and neither is she.

She can picture it. They will marry, Cosette and him. She will wear a marvelous white dress and they will kiss in a church full of people that love them. Then, later that night they will consummate their marriage and whispered words of love amongst the bed sheets. Cosette will bear a beautiful child with shining hair like hers and freckled skin like Marius'. Their child will grow and so will their love for each other. On Sundays they will leave their quaint country home to attend mass at the convent Cosette was raised in. After, they will return home and play in the meadow behind their home, a meadow bursting with budding flowers much like the one in Éponine's dream, from her childhood.

She covers her mouth to stifle her sobs. That is her dream. She never speaks of it but it is what she longs for. Expect instead of Cosette and a lovely blond child on Monsieur Marius' arm it would be her. He would marry her. He would give her children. He would love her. Not Cosette, her.

Her. Éponine. Éponine who has been his friend for years. Éponine who stood by him when he planned to overthrow the government with his schoolmates even though it terrified her. Éponine who comforts him in his times of sorrow. Éponine who makes him smile when he has cold run-ins with his grandfather. Éponine who makes him smile in general.

Her breathing is coming quick, too quick. So quick her head can't keep up and her vision swims dangerously again. Her muscles tremble and twitch. Her hands begin to cramp and her mouth starts to tingle. She's breathing but she can't breathe.

The thought that this is it, she's finally lost the one thing that she's ever really loved, the person that was never hers to lose in the first place, makes her head throb and her pulse race. Her sobs wrack her body and she can't make it stop. She struggles to take deep, even breaths but it's not working. Her tears have soaked his skin, leaked from her eyes and down her skin, off her nose and into her chest. The ends of her hair and her dress are soaked with saltwater. She can't think and she can't breathe and she can't lose him. But, she loves him.

She loves him she loves him she loves him. And that's why she has to let him go.

And so she picks herself up off of the alleyway and wipes her tears and moves on. She dresses in her father's old clothes. They are too big and fall from her tiny frame but she manages. She tucks her hair up underneath her cap and delivers the note, only hesitating briefly before handing it to Cosette's father. She can't take it back now.

As she leaves the pretty girl's place of residence she considers briefly simply going home, curling up on her cot and wallowing in self-pity. But she knows that's not an option. Marius might not need her anymore but she needs him. She needs to know that he's safe and alright and alive.

And so she sneaks onto the barricade. Her brother is there and her friends are there and her Marius is there and so she's there. She's there and it's hectic and chaotic and crazy and scary. But she stays. There is where she belongs. It is a painful reminder of her everlasting loneliness that no one recognizes her. Not the boys, not her brother, and not Marius. Not until she's hit at least.

It hadn't even been a conscious decision really, to jump in front of that bullet. The bullet meant for her Marius. No, it hadn't been a decision at all; there had been no choice in the matter. He had been his usual stubborn, big-headed, overconfident, brainless self and climbed the barricade without a glance. Suddenly there was a gun pointed at him and suddenly Éponine was running and suddenly she was calling his name and suddenly she had pointed the gun at herself and suddenly there was pain and suddenly she was falling.

She hears cries all around her but she doesn't hear them. She doesn't hear anything really, the blast from the gunshot still ringing in her ears. Her breathing is labored and her chest feels warm and heavy and her head feels light. She is hurting. Her eyes water but only a bit; now is not the time for tears.

And suddenly, he's there. He's standing over her looking like an angel sent from the Lord, concerned and confused and scared. "Éponine, what've you done?" He kneels down beside where she's propped up against the barricade and opens her jacket. The world has gotten a bit quieter. "Oh, God," he cries, looking at her blood-soaked shirt. "It's everywhere!"

He's touching her then. He's touching her and it both thrills and terrifies her. His hands are warm and shaking against her chest where the warm, sticky, iron-smelling blood seeps out of her wound; they are stained red instantly. He's calling for Joly frantically, but Joly is not answering. "Hold on, Ponine. You'll be alright." His words are meant to be gentle but they come out rushed and shaking. He's yelling for Joly again and Éponine can't bare it. His voice is cracking and his eyes are leaking; tears do not suit her Monsieur Marius.

She frowns at the sight of the tears streaming down his face. They stain his cheeks and make his freckles appear blurry. Or perhaps that's just the lightheadedness. His endless green eyes are swimming but she can't catch them. He's staring at her wound in horror, mouth open in shock and terror. She can't stand it. She uses her own bloody hands to cradle his face and force him to meet her eyes. What she sees there breaks her heart.

There are so many words she could say. Don't worry or I love you or It's alright. But, instead she just smiles at him sleepily. "Hold me, Monsieur." He smiles at her in return but his mouth is trembling and the tightening of his skin causes more tears to fall. He readjusts himself so the he can hold her close to his chest. His arms cradle her and she sighs in content. She may not have him but she has this, and it's enough for now.

Her eyes begin to fall closed as the heaviness of sleep sets in on her. She is smiling. How can she not when she is with him? She can feel his chest heave beneath her and it frightens her endlessly. "Oh God, Éponine." He is whispering now, as if trying not to disturb her. Her runs his bloody hands through her tangled hair and wipes the tears she hadn't realized were falling from her eyes. "This is all my fault, Ponine. I'm so sorry." He has managed to control his sobs enough to look her in the eye and her close and make her feel safe. But, Éponine knows him. She knows that he is scared and trying to hold it together for her sake. It makes her love him all the more.

"No, Monsieur. This was my choice." It is a lie. There was only one choice: save him save him save him. But, small comforts are all she can offer him. "Don't fret. I'm not in pain."

"Ponine-"

"Besides," she cuts him off, fearing what he might say. "It was my pleasure to rescue such a lovely damsel in distress. What would your pretty boy hide do without me, Monsieur?" Her heart melts at his laughter; it is a sound that she will cherish in her last moments. But his laughter soon dissolves into sobbing. She shakes as he does. They shake together.

"Please, please don't die on me, Ponine. I beg of you." She brings a trembling hand up to cradle his cheek and uses her thumb to rub at his freckles, indulging at least somewhat in her fantasy to count every last one of them. She tries to smile up at him encouragingly but her head feels heavy and her eyes are weary and she can't hold on much longer.

Somewhere in the distance Éponine can hear Courfeyrac trying to console her brother. It's alright 'Vroche. I know, I know. It's alright. Come here, it's alright. I've got you. The young boy's sobbing makes her heart clench painfully and her chest wound burn; she is forced to tune out her brother's cries.

Marius's eyes are closed as he continues to cry into her hair, murmuring apologies that break her heart. She can't bare this pain. "Marius," she whispers. She'd give anything to see those eyes just once more before she expires. "Look at me, monsieur." He does. The endless green pools of his eyes meet her brown and it takes her breath away. She smiles at him lovingly and he returns it. He runs his hand through her hair one last time and pulls her impossibly closer to him. Her breath is coming out in labored pants now and they both know it won't be very much longer. Her hand is still cradling his cheek and she strokes the skin there once more before whispering to him. "Be happy, Marius."

A fearsome sob escapes Monsieur Marius' mouth as he nods at her request. He leans down and places his lips delicately against hers for the briefest of seconds; it makes Éponine's spirits soar and her heart jump but her body is still weak. She smiles beautifully up at him and Marius is grateful he is able to see in one last time. In this moment, with Monsieur Marius holding her, she is happy. He lays his forehead against her own and crushes her against him desperately. Her hand falls away from his face then and it seems as though a hole has been ripped through his chest.

"Ponine." His voice trembles but she's already gone. She looks peaceful somehow. Even in death she is lovely and beautiful and takes his breath away. He can see the outline of the dimple in her right cheek that poked out whenever she smiled that smile he loved so much, the one that lit up his whole world. His tears come impossibly fast, splattering against her clothes and her skin and her, her, her. But, she is gone and he is here and suddenly the world seems dark and cold.

The world crashes back down around him then. The gunshots have stopped for now and somewhere behind him Gavroche is screaming and crying for his sister; Courfeyrac and Grantaire attempting to console him but to no avail. Enjolras is looking at the pair brokenheartedly as the rest of the schoolboys stare on with tears in their eyes as well. Finally, Joly is there, pulling Éponine out of his arms. He sobs again, reaching for his beloved friend. No, he can't let her go now. "Éponine!" He tries pulls her back down to him but Grantaire and Feuilly, are there to restrain his, whispering words that are supposed to be comforting but only manage to shatter his heart.

Joly takes Éponine from his arms once more and Marius can only watch in pain. "Let me try to make her comfortable, Marius," he says before departing back towards the Café. There is no comforting her, Marius thinks remorsefully. She is dead. The only comfort for her now is God.

His vision swims and he hears Enjolras tell him to rest just before his eyes fall closed and he is lost.

Back in the café, Enjolras and a few of his fellow students regroup solemnly. They speak in hushed tones, there are sleeping boys all around; some that will wake and some that will not. Joly is working on Éponine over in the corner, his growls of frustration draw Enjolras' attention. "It's a shame," he says, approaching the pair. "She was so young."

Joly does not look up. He does not even respond. He is much too busy. He did not tell Marius that she was still alive, did not want to give him false hope if there was such little chance. But he must save her, he must. This is Éponine. Marius's Éponine. Marius' dear friend Éponine and a friend of his own. He did not have time to think on her pretty face or her smile or the joy she brought to the boys' lives every day just by being near and impressing them with her constant wit and banter. No, he hasn't the time. She is important to Marius and important to them, a reminder that even those in the most unfortunate of circumstances can see the world in a new light.

No, she can't die.

Her shirt is sticky and weighed down by blood; Joly had to cut it away. He does not have the time to worry about decency when he cuts the bindings wrapped around her chest away as well. They are in the way and have to go. He uses the extra fabric to staunch the flow of blood from her wound. Her lips are pale and her eyes unmoving but she is alive. She is breathing, very minutely but breathing nonetheless. Joly's hands shake as he uses a dirty pair of tweezers from his bag to extract the bullet from the wound below her right collarbone. It is gaping and ugly and gushing blood. Joly feels a bit woozy. True, he knows what he's doing but he's not a doctor yet. He's only a student and his friends are dying all around him and who knew this revolution would end so badly and this is Éponine and she just can't die. She can't.

With great difficulty he retrieves the bullet and drops it on the floor next to where she lies. There is blood coating his and he accidently nicked a bit of her skin and he's glad she's not awake because it would be agony, complete and utter agony to have someone digging in your skin and pulling something out of you. Joly wipes the sweat from his brow before cracking on. He takes a needle and some thick thread from his bag before setting back to work. He winces as he pierces her skin and cooling blood flows through his fingers. Her skin is becoming more and more lackluster as the minutes go on and Joly starts to panic. Don't die don't die don't die, Éponine.

He finishes with the thread and knots it off at the end, leaving the little bit of string to cut away later. He looks up at her face for the first time since beginning work. It is frighteningly pale and sunken. He freezes at the sight, his restless fingers halting for the first time in minutes. Her chest is not moving. He checks her pulse, desperate to find something. Neck, wrist, elbow, foot, knee, temple. Nothing. He cannot find it.

He sits back on his knees, defeated and heartbroken. Out of breath and dispirited. She is gone. "I'm sorry Éponine. I wish I could save you." He pushes some hair away from her face and observes her pretty features. He swallows back his tears as he thinks of this beautiful girl and the hope and light she brought into the café every day. She was so sad. Sad and beautiful and tragic, this girl that loved with everything she had and made every sacrifice she could for those she cared for. "I'm so sorry." He rises to join the other boys out on the momentarily quiet barricade disconsolately, remembering to avoid Marius's sorrowful gaze when he passes by.

Before he leaves, though Joly looks down at his beautiful, loving friend one last time. She is dead and gone and surely only one of many that will fall upon this barricade.

When the fighting resumes come the morning time it is with an enhanced since of grief. The other barricades have not stirred and they are the only ones left. They are much too prideful to go down without a fight but much too realistic to remain in high spirits. They know they will die today.

Spirits are running low when Gavroche crosses the barricade to gather ammunition. "Come back Gavroche; don't you dare!" The cry alerts Courfeyrac and he is suddenly taken over by panic. He calls for the boy frantically, desperate for him to come back from the immediate danger. He tries to cross the barricade himself but the other students hold him back. They can't afford to lose another friend.

"Gavroche, Gavroche!" He is desperate and there are tears in his eyes. Not Gavroche. Please not Gavroche. The pair had become like brothers over the last few years since the younger boy had left his home. They were constantly in each other's company and Courfeyrac loved Gavroche more than he could bear. When one of the National Guardsmen hit Gavroche square in the shoulder, Courfeyrac breaks free from his companions and barrels towards the boy. Gavroche is knocked to the ground in pain but even still is reaching for an ammunition pack, determined to help his friends in any way he can.

Courfeyrac is just making it around the barricade when another shot is fired, hitting his brother square in the chest. Gavroche is dead before he hits the ground. The sound that comes from Courfeyrac's mouth is inhuman. He is desperate and pleading and sobbing and unthinking. He runs out into the streets and collects the boy, not giving a second glance to the forgotten ammunition packs on the ground. He rushes back around the barricade, Marius covering his back as he carries the boy.

He lays the small boy down on the ground and cradles his body to him. Sobs escape his chest desperately. No, not Gavroche. Please not Gavroche. The Thénardier boy is the closest thing he has to family and now he is gone. The tears come fast and streaming and suddenly Combeferre is there consoling him. But Courfeyrac cannot be consoled; his brother just died. He thinks back to the promise he made Éponine years ago to keep her brother safe no matter what. He looks at the boy lying dead on the cold Paris rue and his tears come faster; he has failed them, Éponine and Gavroche both. He has failed them.

Around him, his friends are a mixture of hatred and grief. They vow victory, they vow revenge. "Let us die facing our foes; make them bleed while we can." Courfeyrac vows for Gavroche though, the spirited young boy – no, man. Gavroche would have hated being called just a boy - brave beyond measure and wise beyond years. "Let them pay through the nose. Let them pay for every man!" He tears blur his vision and he grips Combeferre's arm in pain. But he is determined, determined not to let Gavroche's death mean nothing.

"Let others rise to take our place until the earth is free!" And with Enjolras words, the boys' spirit is restored. They will fight and they will die but they will die in the name of revolution and freedom.

There is panic in the streets now. Civilians hide away in their homes behind locked doors and closed shutters. They listen to the cries of the rebels in the street; cries of anger, cries of fear. But mostly, cries of death. As the rebels run for the Café Musain and for shelter, Marius feels a sharp pain in his side, falling to the ground. He hears someone – the volunteer? – call his name but he is losing focus. His eyes have gone blurry much too quickly. The pain in his side is unbearable and his body starts to shut down. He can see the blood spreading on his white shirt and it reminds him of his Éponine; his darling Éponine that died to save him, only for him to die as well? This thought rekindles something in him and he manages to drag himself a few feet closer to the café before collapsing altogether.

His eyes close and he can see Cosette's face; her beautiful, white as snow face that smiles up at him from the comfort of her blooming gardens at number fifty-five Rue Plumet. Her teeth are white and her eyes are sapphire and her hair is golden and she is the definition of angelic. He smiles at the thought of her beauty. But, just as he is about to lose consciousness, Ponine crosses his mind. Her dirt-streaked, ever-smiling face. Her constant teasing and ability to make him laugh even on his worst days. Her passion and determination and stubbornness that both drives him mad and sends flutters through his chest. The way she would throw her head back so completely when she laughed; there were no soft, lady-like laughs for Ponine. No, if she found something amusing she would grab her waist and squeeze her eyes shut and throw her head back and laugh. And when she was finished laughing, her eyes would shine just a bit brighter than they normally did. It was the thought of those shining brown eyes that lulled him into unconsciousness.

There is death everywhere. Lined up in the alleyways in neat little lines, scattered across the barricade, littering the National Guard's front lines, crowded in the corridors of the Café Musain, and now, surrounding Enjolras.

As three of his closest friends, his comrades, his fellow revolutionaries fall dead around him dread fills Enjolras' heart. His chest constricts as he reaches for them as they fall. They hit the floor with a resound thump, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. There is no longer any hope for them.

A National Guardsmen is there then, standing before him and pointing their guns at his chest. The man's hands are remarkably steady and he looks pleased at having the leader of the revolution up against a wall. Enjolras meets the guardsman's eye, stone-faced and unafraid. This is it, he thinks, flag in hand. Vive la France.

But then Grantaire is there, ever-present bottle noticeably absent from his hand. He pushes past the guardsman to stand next to Enjolras. Enjolras hears the floorboards of the old, crumbling building squeak underneath them. Neither man says a word but they share a common thought: Long live the revolution.

Just as a shot is fired Enjolras feels the floor give out from underneath him. Just as he hits the main floor with a painful lurch, he hears Grantaire cry out above him. There is a painful twinge in Enjolras' arm from where he fell on it oddly but he is alive and well nonetheless. Above him he hears Grantaire swearing and spewing slurred consonants of vive la France! as the guardsman's heavy footsteps can be heard approaching the drunkard.

Enjolras climbs shakily to his feet in the prospect of helping his dear friend when something catches his eye. In the corner lies Éponine. She has been dead for many hours now but how can that be? How can she be dead when he can see for himself that her eyes are open and she is sweating and heaving and vomiting and cowering in the corner and terrified? She looks up unexpectedly and meets his eye drowsily, favoring her right side. Enjolras meets her gaze and he knows then that she is well.

He does not have time to contemplate a miracle from God, or focus on Grantaire's final cry before death on the floor above, or question her miraculous rising from the dead. He can hear the National Guardsman's footfalls on the stairs and, without thinking, he is running to scoop up Marius' Éponine and diving through the hidden door and down the stairs into the wine cellar underneath the bar. His arm tingles painfully as he manages her weight but he ignores it with a muffled grunt. Éponine is coughing and Enjolras presses her mouth to his shoulder in an attempt to stifle the sound, lest she give away their position.

From their hiding spot below ground, in the dark and dank cellar of the Café Musain, Enjolras hears the National Guardsman mutter a disdainful coward, before moving on his way. Enjolras huddles himself into the far corner of the cellar, cradling Éponine to his chest. She is in shock, shaking and trembling and shivering and scaring him. Her lips are a ghostly white and she has dark circles underneath her eyes. Her breath is coming incredibly fast.

"Enjolras," she whimpers softly. Her ripped shirt does nothing to protect against the coldness of the cellar or the situation. There are horrible wracking sobs coming from her mouth, rotund tears fall from her eyes and soak her skin, her wound itches and burns something fierce and she can't stop shaking. The confusion and shock and horror of the situation hit her full force and she begins to hyperventilate. Her stomach trembles and her lower lip trembles and she trembles and she has no idea what is has become of her, her friends, her Marius and she can't breathe!

Enjolras pulls her closer, trying to keep her warm and calm her. He comforts her frantically with soft shushing noises, whispering words of "Breathe Éponine. Just breathe." But it's not working and she can't.

They continue like this until they both lose track of time. By then, the streets are empty once again and they are safe for the time being.