A/N: So this chapter's been finished for almost a week now, since Saturday, but there's been problems with the site and saving documents. It's the longest chapter yet, but not by all that much. I hope you guys enjoy it x


"You know Éponine. The girl who used to follow Marius around, like his little shadow. She was quite funny, actually, made me laugh a bit. She was a poor girl." Joly wrinkled his nose when he didn't see any form of understanding cross Enjolras' face. "Well, she's dead anyway. Quite a shame."

Enjolras winced a little when he said that. Probably because of the guilt about the perpetual list of dead people he felt. "I honestly have no clue as to who she is."

"Which is rather surprising, considering the whole point of our revolution was for people like her, and she was the only one that seemed bothered about fighting for the cause, aside from Gavroche." Joly shrugged, trying to tone down the fire in his voice.

"Don't worry, I'm already feeling terrible enough." Enjolras huffed, rolling his eyes. Why couldn't he remember her? If he'd picked her up, while she was dead, said her name to everyone, and then proceeded to make a speech based around her demise, why in hell couldn't he remember her? None of this made sense. His face began to turn red as he thought more on the subject, trying to remember this girl. But he couldn't, and it was infuriating him, more than anything.

"Jesus Christ, Enjolras. Be careful, you'll give yourself an aneurysm." Joly stared at him with confusion and worry.

Enjolras blew out a breath in frustration, and didn't speak again for the rest of the night.


Cosette was beginning to enjoy Éponine's company more and more. It was often lonely, before she had come. She usually had Madame Lapointe for company but, as someone who was twice her age, she could never keep Cosette company as good as someone her own age. And her father would often sit with her, but not as they used to. Cosette found that he was getting very old and would now spend most of his days in his study, writing letters.

"What was he like?" She had asked Éponine one day, after Éponine had bathed and Dr. Marchand had cleaned and replaced the bandages over her wounds. She was plaiting Éponine's thin brown hair so that it would make each strand wavy.

"Who?" Éponine asked warily.

"Monsieur Enjolras." Cosette replied, her voice quiet. She didn't want to upset Éponine, but curiosity had gotten the better of her. "Tell me about him. Tell me about you and him."

"Well, there isn't much to say about he and I, really. But him… yes, I suppose I could tell you about him." Éponine adjusted her sling to a more comfortable position, and Cosette slowed her fingers down as she worked on the plait at the back of Éponine's head, ready to hear about him. "Many of the women around called him Apollo. He was… well, he was rather handsome. He had striking features; large, blue eyes, blonde curls on his head, and a strong jaw. Yes, he was very handsome, but he didn't really have much of an interest in anyone.

"He would always hold speeches, and rallies, in support of his cause. You see, Les Amis De L'ABC were very dedicated people, and would have diminished without someone like him at their head. His words were fluent and he was well spoken. A great man, with great ideas for the future." Éponine was smiling as she spoke of Enjolras.

"But he was stubborn. As stubborn as anyone could be. He rescued me once, from an evil man in a ruelle... " Éponine smiled at her childlike way of putting it, and it spread to a small grin as she thought about Enjolras intimidating Montparnasse. "And then he walked me home in the pitch black of night. He helped to save Azelma too, when she'd been injured on the street. Lent me his jacket when I was cold. And -" She stopped herself, unsure of whether she should even mention it. Her smile dropped and she was sad again.

"And what?" Cosette urged, although part of her knew what Éponine was talking about. There was a silence before she spoke again, and she spoke slowly, hesitantly.

"I'm sure you've already guessed what, Cosette. And besides, I don't know how to put it into words."

Cosette squeezed Éponine's good shoulder after she'd tied the plait into place with a ribbon, and began clipping back loose hairs.

"So what made him fall for you then? If all of the women were after him, but he didn't have eyes for any of them, why do you think he fell for you?" She changed the subject.

"Well, I wouldn't say he fell for me… I'm not so sure he ever really had many feelings for me." Éponine blushed, and Cosette tutted, tugging at the plait she had woven.

"Fille idiote!" She teased gently. "Did you not hear Marius? He said he thought there was something between you and Monsieur Enjolras because of 'the way he spoke of you when you died.', and how he fought the rest of the battle after your supposed death with more bravery than he said he'd ever seen in his life. If that is not obvious then I do not know what is."

Éponine sniffled and laughed a bit. "Well, he did call me his Patria. In the morning after our… union, he had left a note for me, saying not to go to the barricades. He said in it that I was and always would be his Patria." Cosette held a hand to her chest.

"What a beautiful, beautiful story. So tragic, yet so utterly beautiful." Éponine could swear she saw tears in her eyes through the mirror in front of them, but she said nothing.

"Tell me…" She squeezed her eyes shut, and took a breath. "Tell me about you and Marius." She finally bit out. Éponine knew the story already, as someone who had been the bridge between their relationship, essentially. But she couldn't talk about Enjolras anymore. Not now.

So she sat through Cosette's excited chatter about Marius, telling her things that she was already aware of, and pretending to be shocked, or happy, or whatever emotion was needed at each part of the story. The least she could do was make Cosette happy after all of the years she'd been horrible to her.

"Come on, we'll have supper. Are you well enough to eat in the dining room, or would you rather we ate in here?" Cosette asked, standing up from her seat. Éponine got up too, with an eager spring.

"I think we could eat in the dining room." She replied. The room they spent their days in was becoming more and more boring. "Do you think we might be able to go to the markets tomorrow?" Cosette had given her some beautiful garments that she could wear, ones she said she wouldn't wear anymore, and Éponine had been more than eager to wear them. She hadn't worn such fineries since she was such a small child that she retained the excitement of one for them. Plus, she hadn't felt fresh air on her skin, properly, since - well, since the barricades. She longed to be out, keeping busy like she did when she was out in streets.

"I suppose we could. Papa is usually a little unsure about me going out without him, but I'll have you now! I won't be alone, and so he should let us go." Éponine almost felt sad for Cosette as she spoke about the outdoors as if it were an unknown thing. But then she realised that the only reason her father was so uptight about letting her out on her own was because he actually cared about her. Thénardier wouldn't let her do half of the things she'd already done if he'd cared about Éponine.

Thénardier. Éponine hadn't thought about her father up until now. She'd managed to put off thinking about him, but she knew he'd pop up in her brain sooner or later, and there he was, crossing her thoughts. She wondered what scam he was pulling off now, what robberies he was carrying out with his dirty street gang. Éponine shivered at the thought of them.

"Are you alright?" Cosette asked her, catching her shivering. "Are you cold?" Éponine shook her head.

"I just thought about my father for a second." Cosette grimaced, and thought for a moment.

"Yes, that is rather disturbing." She muttered, before leaving for the kitchen. Éponine followed her, nodding her head slightly.

"I've got a rabbit stew on, mes chers." Madame Lapointe said, as the girls entered the kitchen. Cosette smiled at the maid in appreciation, and Éponine was about to do the same until she caught the smell of the food. It filled her nostrils, overpowering her, and before she knew it she was running for the toilet to vomit.

When she was finished, she washed her face and stared at herself in the small, dusty mirror in the washroom.

Cosette was waiting outside for her when she was finished, and Éponine jumped a little when she opened the door.

"Are you okay?" Cosette immediately began fussing, checking her bandages. "Have you got an infection? A virus? Do I need to call Dr. Marchand?"

Éponine rubbed a hand over her face. "Cosette, don't make a big thing out of it. I felt a little unwell, that's all."

Cosette narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized Éponine, furrowing her eyebrows slightly. "If you say so…" She drawled out, not fully believing her but not wanting to force Éponine to talk about it. "Look, Éponine. Your shoulder is bleeding. That can't be good."

Éponine rolled her eyes and made her way to the bedroom. She removed her sling and Cosette helped her to pull her arm out of her nightgown sleeve.

She let out a moan of pain as it moved, squeezing her eyes shut to will the pain away. Cosette unwrapped the bandage carefully, trying to do as she had watched Marchand do, and tutted at Éponine's shoulder.

"Look at this! It's obviously infected. We'll need Dr. Marchand around immediately tomorrow. I'll bet it's given you some sort of bug! Nasty thing." Éponine sighed as Cosette ranted, all the while changing the soiled bandages with fresh ones. "Four days, he said. That'll never do. It's going to have to be every other day. Just look at what this looks like after three days! They're far too fresh to be cleaned every four days."

"You'd swear you were the doctor here, Cosette." Éponine teased, trying to ignore the pain throbbing in her shoulder as Cosette wrapped the fresh bandage tightly around her mangled flesh.

"Well, I should be. The damned thing must've given you a horrible virus. We'll have to postpone our trip to the market for a day, I've a mind to tell that man that he needs to change his schedule."

Éponine wilted slightly, but decided not to make a remark.

"I'm so sorry, Madame Lapointe," Éponine apologised as she took a seat in the dining room next to Cosette when they came back. "I hope I didn't offend you, I have no idea what came over me."

The older woman shook her head, laughing slightly. "Not to worry mon cher, I've taken no offence. I didn't think you'd want any of the stew, so I've buttered you a few slices of bread to settle your stomach a little."

Éponine smiled and thanked Madame Lapointe, who bowed her head to the two ladies and took her leave. It didn't feel right, in Éponine's view, to be treated this way. To be treated as though she wasn't the street grisette she had been a few weeks beforehand. It felt wrong, and she couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable as she slept in fine nightgowns in a comfortable bed with crisp white linen.

She thought more and more on it, as she sat listening to Cosette babble on about meeting Marius in town, and found that she didn't even want to go anymore. Of course, she would go, but it wasn't as exciting to think about as it was an hour ago. Éponine cursed her brain, being able to think so much on something that it turned a simple thought, idea, or memory, to a rotten state. To something that would make her fret, feel physically sick, feel frightened, feel all the types of emotions that one would never want to feel very often. Overthinking things was her biggest downfall.


"Éponine! Look at these apples! Don't they look simply delicious?" Cosette tugged on the skirt of Éponine's dress, asking for her to turn her attention to the array of green and red apples that sat in a box on a fruit stall in the market at Rue Saint Denis. Éponine was too busy staring down at the dress she had on, a sky-blue colour that covered her neck and shoulders, and swept down around her feet, fitted into dainty shoes.

She had never felt more out of place, yet she was in awe of how nice it felt on her at the same time. Occasionally, she would gently sway her hips around discreetly, so she could feel the hem of the dress sweeping silently around her ankles. Éponine felt like a princess and an impostor at the same time, but right now, no one needed to know her name or her business.

She kept her head down, so that no urchins she had met in the past would recognise her and call her out, embarrassing her in front of Cosette. She wasn't sure when being embarrassed in front of Cosette was placed so high on her list of things she didn't want happening, but she gathered it was since getting to know her. Éponine was a prideful person.

Éponine stared up at l'église Saint-Leu-Saint-Gilles when they passed it. She walked slowly, her eyes sweeping over the yellowed bricks of the old church, and she longed to go inside. She longed to go inside because maybe, if she looked at the old stained glass windows and saw the blonde haired angels, she might remember how Enjolras looked. How he looked when he wasn't troubled with the stress of the revolution, like the night they had spent together, his angelic features completely relaxed as he lay underneath her unfazed by her staring as she traced circles on his chest with her index finger.

"Look, there's Marius!" Cosette pulled Éponine along gently and she blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. She stared silently as the two exchanged kisses, not really caring for this outing. Éponine always found that if she was too excited for a thing, it turned out to be terrible. And now, she'd found that if she got too attached to someone, they were always ripped away from her in the most cruel of ways. She could never have anything nice. Her life was destined for the dirt.

She trailed behind the two, not wanting to engage in conversation or even small talk. She was tired and her feet hurt, but she didn't dare complain because she knew how much Cosette had been looking forward to coming to the market, and so she nodded her head along to the conversation and looked at everything Cosette pointed out, feigning interest.

Marius didn't seem on top form either. It was to be expected, only weeks after the death of every single one of his friends, but he was good at hiding the full extent of his depression. He'd often crack jokes that would make Cosette giggle, a hand over her mouth suppressing any laughs louder than socially acceptable in a polite gesture. He'd smile as he watched her gracefully make her way around the busy stalls, tapping Éponine's uninjured shoulder with excitement as they stared at the beautiful handmade jewellry on different stalls.

But at the same time, his mind was distant. He couldn't help but lose focus every so often, and the smell of fresh fruit would change into the stench of gunpowder, and blood. The mother clutching her son close was all too similar to the way that Courfeyrac would keep a tight hold on Gavroche during their rebellion to keep him as safe as he could, still to no avail. Every shout from each stall would make him flinch and jump, but thankfully not enough for anyone to point out, and if they did notice, they kindly didn't say anything

Marius stared out at the sea of people, using Cosette's chatter to Éponine as an anchor to reality as he thought about everything. It was almost a habit now, an addiction, to re-live everything in his head over and over. It caused him pain, but he had worked himself into a mindset that he deserved this pain, since he had lived and they had not.

Sometimes, his conscience would interrupt, with things like Well, if you deserve this, then so does Éponine. Do you really think that Éponine deserves to re-live the pain over and over? Has she not suffered enough? Have you not suffered enough? Or, the classic They wouldn't have wanted this from you. They would have wanted you to carry on, to carry their names through history with the utmost pride and respect. They would have wanted you to spread their morals and ideals, not mope and cry about their deaths.

Yet, the little voice in his head was always overpowered by the vulgar memories he forced himself to go through again and again and again, and he soon found out that it no longer visited him like it used to. Maybe it had just grown tired and given up.

He had never expected something like this to happen, though.

As he stared at the people, his eyes locking on to each and every one of them while he patiently waited for Cosette to pick out a brooch from the array of different jewels, they fell onto one familiar looking person. He squinted, scrutinising the blonde hair sweeping over the man's eyes. He gasped, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Combeferre!" He called, and Éponine looked around as quickly as she could, searching Marius' face before she turned her stare on the crowd. She couldn't find Combeferre, he was nowhere to be found. Éponine jumped as Marius started forward, and Cosette looked worriedly as she watched Marius being tackled by Éponine.

"Marius! Combeferre isn't there! It's not him!" Marius blinked and looked down at Éponine, then flickered his eyes to Cosette before he looked back at what he thought was Combeferre.

He had vanished into thin air. Nowhere to be seen, he searched the crowd frantically, but there wasn't a trace of Combeferre anywhere.

"I…" Marius frowned and looked at the floor beneath them. "I need to get out of this crowd. I'll be back soon." He didn't wait for a response from either of the girls. Éponine dropped her hand from his arm, and he took off immediately.

"Who's Combeferre?" Cosette asked, as the two stared after Marius weaving his way through the masses of people.

"A man, who died in the rebellion." Éponine replied, and Cosette looked at her with a questioning look. "I know he's dead, " She continued, "Because I saw his dead body lying next to me." Her voice was stone cold.


Marius sat on a bench by the Quai de la Seine, after about an hour of slow walking from the Rue Saint Denis, with his head in his hands. He was traumatised by the battle, truly and utterly, but he knew that he would have to suppress what he felt, for there would be no help for a revolutionary, only prison, or an asylum if he spoke about what had happened today, and he could not willingly leave Cosette.

"Marius? Is that you?" A voice called, a frighteningly familiar voice, and Marius looked up. There was no one left to be familiar anymore.

He squinted to get a better look at the figure, silhouetted by the hot June sun, and his face drained of all colour when recognition hit.

"Why, I don't believe it! This must be a trick!" The figure whispered to himself.

Marius edged away on the bench, his arm held up in front of his face as if to shield him from the ghost. "Please!" He shouted. "I know it's not you, not really. I know that my mind is just playing tricks on me! You are not Joly, you cannot be!"

But the hand that gripped his forearm proved that the man in front of him was very real, and very alive.

"Marius, my friend." Joly spoke more gently this time. "It is me. And it is really you." His disbelief was obvious in his tone, and not unexpected. "How did you survive?"

"I-I could ask you the same thing…" Marius replied, standing up cautiously. There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other with no movement. Suddenly, they enveloped each other in a warm embrace, unbelieving of their presence.

When they pulled apart, Joly spoke in a hushed tone.

"Listen, Marius. We cannot speak of this in public." He looked around cautiously. "We should be in prisons, with our heads on spikes for what happened." Standing a little taller, Joly leaned closer to Marius. "You must come to Rue Saint Antoine, and find the convent there. Ask for a Monsieur Vipond, and then we will meet again and speak freely. Dear God, how I have missed you awfully. I thought everyone was dead!"

Marius nodded and took a breath. "What are you doing in a convent? Are they caring for you? You do not look unwell to me, my friend, but I suppose you could have convinced them that there was something wrong with you. You're awfully good at convincing yourself!" Joly laughed at Marius' jab, and shook his head.

"Fool. It is I who does the caring, actually." Marius raised an eyebrow. "Mon ami," Joly whispered, "Enjolras is still alive."

Marius stood back, almost as if the comment had knocked him backwards. "What?"

Joly sighed and shrugged. "I'm not even sure of that myself. He took eight bullets to his chest, and survived. You know how he is, stubborn and all. You'd have to ask him yourself."

"He's conscious? Enjolras took eight bullets to the chest and he's currently up and talking? That man is more than stubborn." Joly laughed.

"Well, he's not up yet. Still bed-bound, but he's definitely getting a lot better. He's starting to sit up by himself now, and he says that he feels little pain but I'm not entirely sure I believe him. He's suffering from a bit of memory loss at the moment, nothing too bad but he's definitely having trouble trying to remember faces and things happening. It's all coming back to him though, with gentle reminders."

Marius nodded. "It's to be expected, I suppose he'd have hit his head hard or something. Éponine is alive too, you know."

Joly raised his eyebrows as high as he could. "Alive? Why, she was the first to fall! How did she survive?"

Marius sighed, shaking his head with raised eyebrows of his own. "I have no idea, really. I knew she was smart about her ways, but I saw her dead body myself. I was so sure she was dead. Yet, she claims to have dragged herself away when the guns had fallen silent and the fighting had stopped, and now she stays with Cosette with two gunshot wounds on her shoulder and hand."

"Well, that's a shock. Now that you mention it though, I don't remember seeing her body with all the rest. Enjolras doesn't remember her at all."

Marius' face dropped.

"At all? He doesn't remember her at all?"

Joly shook his head, mouth turned down with his bottom lip sticking out slightly. "I tried to remind him about her, said that she was like your shadow, that he'd picked her up when she died and based a whole speech around her straight after. Didn't remember a blessed bit."

Marius looked down, a worried expression on his face. "Anyway, Marius. Do as I said, come to the convent on Rue Saint Antoine and ask for Monsieur Vipond. I've got to get back to Enjolras, he's probably driven up the walls with insanity. I'm sure he'd enjoy a fresh face to talk to." Joly pulled Marius into a hug once more and took off, leaving him stood by the Seine with a weird expression on his face.

He was confused, surprised, shocked, happy, relieved, worried, all these different emotions and more at once. He was happy that now three of his friends were alive, shocked and surprised at the chance of that happening, and confused at all of them together.

But he was worried about Éponine. How was he supposed to tell her that Enjolras couldn't remember her?