A/N: So this chapter is filler but then again it's not. I know it's not the best either, I'm not too proud of it myself but it is important to the story. It gets better I promise. So as always, enjoy! Please review and tell me what you think!

It was now early August. The physical wounds of the barricade that Enjolras and Eponine both bore were now scars. Yet, the mental wounds the failed revolution left behind weren't so easy to mend, no amount of gauze or slings could heal them, only time. But now without his sling Enjolras could work even harder and move up through the company and fight for that promotion he was striving for. He desperately wanted to be a journalist, to fuel the love of spreading news along with his voice as he did when making his speeches in Paris. In his mind, he could play the role of the revolutionary again, speak with an eloquence and a passion through his writing to stir the people to fight for change. His revolution was not yet through.

As for Eponine, after so long of struggling for a job, she was finally hired to work as a seamstress in a factory of girls, except for the male foreman of course. Slowly, she got into the swing of things, the working life, the long tedious days of sewing and stitching for only 20 sous. The work wasn't hard, however she did not like it. But the other women were kind to her, which made her work bearable, and they loved to gossip as all women do.

Eponine had quickly forgotten her encounter with that pimp on the street and found herself more relaxed and at ease. The darkness of Paris felt so far away, the life she lived as a gamine of the poor was nothing more than a distant, distasteful memory. She was finally free of her chains. How liberating it felt to have a home and no longer be hungry.

She walked through Rennes on her way to the factory, breathing in the air with a gleam of happiness in her eyes. She looked about herself, glancing at the faces around her, the rich with their elegant clothes and beautiful faces painted and not, the middle class, well off enough and content to be a bit grander than the poor. And then, there they were, the poor with their miserable, dirty faces and torn clothes. She had been there. She was once on of the poor, the scum of the earth but no longer, and even though she was happy and thankful with where she was in society, her heart went out to them.

As she walked down the street, she glanced up and stared into the window of the tailor shop. Divine dresses and suits were elegantly displayed for all to see, and Eponine stared in hopeful awe. They were beautiful. She had the money. She didn't have to wear her tattered, old clothes anymore. She could buy something for herself. Maybe, she thought wishfully, maybe I can be beautiful. The thought was so rash and unattainable, but maybe, just maybe now that she had money to spend, she could look beautiful like a bourgeoisie. And as she continued on her walk, she went with lighter step and a blithe smile gracing her face.

As she rounded the corner to the factory, her smile began to slip, and her optimism was fading. The factory building was on the edge of the slums. Eponine had known this when she applied for the job, and she did her best to not let it bother her. But for some reason now, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched even from within the mass of citizens. And not just by a single pair of eyes but many; the thought of being silently watched sent shivers up her spine. As she reached the door, she paused and hesitated before looking over her shoulder. Amongst the many faces, she couldn't catch anyone with their eyes on her. She breathed a sigh, trying to shake her paranoia and entered the factory; she was unable to relieve her anxiety for the rest of the day.

When she arrived home, she found Enjolras sitting on the couch reading. Even as he read he had a stern expression. Why? Why did he feel the need to remain so cold with everything he did? Doesn't he know that it's perfectly all right to show emotion every now and again?

"Monsieur Enjolras?"

"Just Enjolras." He said flatly, not even taking his eyes off his book to look at her.

"Enjolras," she sighed, "may I borrow some francs? I passed by the tailor shop, you see, and saw such beautiful dresses. And I have no other clothes you know. Or shoes. Tomorrow is my day off Enjolras. I would love to buy some things for myself."

At this he placed his book on his lap to glance up at her. He was frowning. Oh why must he always be so unhappy with me? Eponine thought.

"Why are you asking me for money?"

Eponine's brows furrowed, and she shifted uncomfortably as he stared at her.

"The money is just as well yours as it is mine. You don't have to ask me when it comes to little investments such as buying clothes." He said.

He trusts her, she mused as her eyes lightened. She smiled, "Oh merci Enjolras!"

He simply nodded and turned back to his book as Eponine went happily to her room. Inside, she took the single painting from the wall. At the backside of the painting, it was hollowed at to store and hide money. She removed what francs were within and smiled at the money in her hand. There was more than enough to pay for some dresses and a few pairs of shoes. Eponine bubbled with excitement. She pictured herself in dresses so lovely, her hair pulled back with curls, her face full of life. The thought of tomorrow made her grin from ear to ear.

Early that morning, she went into the city to the tailor shop with the francs in hand. Before she entered the little shop, she took a moment to look down at herself. Stained white blouse, dirty brown skirt, ripped shoes. Once she stepped inside the clothes of her life in Paris will disappear. She walked in with a smile on her face and surveyed the room. It wasn't too nicely lit, and the room was a bit dark and dusty, but there were so many fabrics and colors and clothes to browse over Eponine could care less about how the store looked. Then she spotted a tiny, stout, elderly woman. She hunched over as she walked, and her gray hair was pulled back into a poorly done bun. The dress she wore was white with lacing, but the one thing that stood out about the woman were the purple rings under her eyes. The elderly woman eyed Eponine and frowned, probably wondering why someone like her would enter her little shop.

Eponine held back the anger within her as the woman silently judged her. She cleared her throat and spoke, "Bonjour. I'm her for a fitting."

She pushed up the spectacles on he crooked nose and folded her arms over her chest. "I am Madame Volchaire. I run a respectable business here. I don't serve your kind. Get out."

Eponine glared at the boorish Madame. She was used to this treatment and it was to be expected since what she wore was of the poor. So she did her best to contain the rage that boiled within her only because she wanted her dresses. Clutching the francs in her hand, she showed the money to Volchaire who sneered at it.

"I want three dresses. One of satin, another of cotton, and one more of velvet. I don't care what you choose to do with the cotton and satin dresses just as long as you make them well. But what I do desire is that the velvet dress is red. No lacing, and I will explain what I want once we get started. A simply red velvet dress."

Madame Volchaire raised an eyebrow at Eponine before nodding towards the back door for her to follow. Within that back room, the Madame took her measurements and quickly went to work on the dresses. Eponine stood in the same spot until her feet ached and continued to stand for hours more. It was boring and infuriating as the old woman muttered her insulting questions such as how in the world Eponine could afford the dresses. She complained that Eponine was too skinny, that all young girls nowadays were too skinny and spa t rude comments at her, that she homely and her hair was full of knots. Eponine remained silent, biting her tongue until it bled, patiently waiting for Volchaire to finish. When the first dress was complete, Eponine stared at herself in all three of the long mirrors. The satin dress was white and green, green at her torso, which was hugged tight by her corset—poor Eponine felt as if her organs were being squished up towards her throat—and white with emerald designs at her puffed sleeves that looped around her upper arm near her shoulder—her shoulder was left bare—to her back. It was white as well where the dress fanned out at her waist and was also covered with the same green designs. The dress flowed down to her floor, and Eponine smiled in delight. The dress was beautiful. She nodded in approval to Madame Volchaire who simply sighed.

"Let me get you out of that."

Having finished with extravagant of the three dresses, it didn't take as much time for the old woman to complete the cotton dress. It was light blue with sleeves to her wrists. It didn't flare out too much at her waist like the satin one did, but the corset was just as tight. The dress didn't touch the floor though as the first did, but instead stopped right at her feet to cover her ankles. It was a plain yet very fitting dress.

The last dress, the easiest and quickest one to make, was the red velvet dress Eponine requested specifically. This one she walked Madame through step by step on what she wanted. The yoke of the dress was to dip at the center of her chest and stretch to round over the corner of her shoulders. The sleeve of the dress would puff out only slightly and the velvet fabric would stop a little bit above the middle of her upper arm. The sleeve then would be made of black tool and end at the middle of her forearm. At her torso, the dress wouldn't be tight but comfortable, loosen at the waist and flow to the ground. That was all, and once it was refined, Eponine beamed. Out of the three, this one was her favorite. Red really did look well on her. When all was finished, and she chose her shoes, simply flats, having no desire to walk around in heals, she paid the unhappy woman and left the store in her red dress with her belongings in hand. As she walked through the city to head home, again that nagging, uncomfortable feeling that someone was spying on her arose. It bothered her greatly but did all she could to ignore it. It wasn't until she was walking down that dirt road she could relax.

By the time she was home the sun was beginning to set and so while she waited for Enjolras to return from work she decided to make dinner. By the time he came home the dinner was prepared and was just about the be placed on the table. Eponine came out with plates full of food and a smile on her face. She watched as Enjolras stared at her new dress but said nothing. Her smile faded, and she frowned. He couldn't even compliment her. What kind of gentleman is he? But what does it matter what he thinks? She didn't need his approval to feel good about herself.

As they ate together, Eponine stole glances at the man beside her. His face was empty, expressionless, and she couldn't shake the niggling feeling of wanting to ask him something. She wasn't sure what or why. She just wanted to get him to speak to her. She chewed on her lip as she stared at him.

"Do you have something you'd like to say?" He asked, his eyes fixed on the food before him.

"Non, rien." Eponine sighed.

She did have something to say. She wanted to tell him that sickly feeling she had that someone was watching her, and it worried her. She wanted to tell him that she couldn't help but feel that something bad was going to happen. But how could she tell him something so ridiculous as that? He'd laugh at her, surely. He'd tell her she's being foolish and unrealistic. And she'd believe it, or try to. But even as she considered confiding in him, she couldn't help but feel ashamed and embarrassed? Confiding in Enjolras? Have you gone soft? She refused to let go of her independence, of her pride. So she wouldn't let him know. She couldn't let him know. It's not like he'd do the same for her. No, he'd never do such a thing.