Eponine woke the next morning feeling better than she had in nearly nine years. Over the last few days she had slept in silken sheets, downy comforters, and thick, goose feather pillows. She had dressed everyday in beautiful gowns, and had found a large selection of hair ribbons, and at night she dressed herself in nightdresses of unimaginable softness. On top of that, she had slowly been getting used to eating food on a regular basis. She had paused last night in her room, unable to believe her luck, and wished that soon Marius would find her.

She had startled herself before when she had looked into a mirror and had found a completely different looking girl from the one she had been accustomed to seeing in puddles and windows. She was no longer ugly. The thought had filled her with hope, hope that if Marius saw her again he might fall in love with her, as she had fallen in love the moment she had heard his voice and turned around to spy on him in the house they had once shared. It had filled her with so much elation that Eponine could not help but begin to sing and dance, imagining that that handsome boy who had so long captivated was with her. She had felt like a princess awaiting her prince. However, with a sudden twist in her stomach, she had thought of the Lark and had hurriedly pushed her back into the recess of her mind, refusing to acknowledge that beatiful girl her love cared so deeply for.

Though he could easily be seen if she cast a glance out her large window, Eponine did not notice Javert watching her, his eyes serious and intense, not wanting to miss a single flickering image of her silhouetted in the window.

The housekeeper who had woken her, Emile's wife, she had learned, helped her stand from the bed, her stomach still sore from where she had been shot. This particular woman's lovely brown hair had only just a few small strands of gray at her left temple, and her brow was almost constantly furrowed in deep thought and contemplation. She was a thin woman, prone to silence but occasionally divulging a smart piece of advice to someone who needed it. Though she had never had any children, she was prone to a motherly attitude, one of the reasons she had made it her new job to look after Eponine so thoroughly. With her husband and mother, she was perfectly content with her life under the employment of Inspector Javert. Though she had never been to school, a grandmother had taught her how to read and write and she prided herself in those special abilities. Her face was soft and pale, devoid of any wrinkle, the perfect personification of gentle kindness.

"Thank you, Sophie." Eponine said, her raspy, liquor damaged voice made softer by her sweetness as the older woman handed her an outfit for the day. Sophie helped her dress for the day, pulling the ties of her corset gently so as not to aggravate her stitches nor make it unbearable for her to breathe. Eponine had informed her that she had never worn a corset before, so she had slowly been drawing them tighter each day to ease her into the uncomfortable sensation.

"Is that all right, dear?" Sophie asked when she had finished, tucking a gray streaked strand of brown hair behind her ear.

"Yes, thank you." Eponine answered with a smile. In a matter of days, she had managed to charm all three of the servants in Javert's household, Emile by her wit, Sophie by her kindness and gratitude, and Laura, the cook and Sophie's mother, by Eponine's love of her cooking.

Several days before, while Laura had been laying out dinner for the pair, she had noticed the Master of the household watching her far too closely. She had later told her daughter ad son-in-law that in all her years of serving Inspector Javert. which had been many, she ad never seen him show so much interest in any particular person. The old woman had gone on to voice her suspicion that their master fancied his adoptive daughter. The three had all agreed unanimously that if the girl turned out to be more to the Master than just his ward, they would not mind so much.

"Breakfast has been prepared if you are ready to eat."

Eponine nodded and Sophie helped her downstairs as she still felt slightly weak after laying in bed for weeks on end. After being seated at the long, mahogony dining table, Eponine looked around herself curiously. Though she rarely saw him, Javert had never been absent from a meal before now, but his usual place at the table was empty and no place was laid out for him. Along with that, she had memorized his work schedule during her days involved with the Patron-Minette and knew he would not be patrolling the streets until later today. This meant that there was no chance of him having already left for work.

"Where is the Inspector?" She asked Sophie, as she laid a full plate of food in front of her.

"Uh, the Master was out drinking last night. He has a headache, I believe." She replied softly. If she hadn't grown so attached to the homely girl Javert had picked up out of the slums, it would not be likely that she would have divulged this slightly embarrassing information, but Eponine had openly revealed her ugly past to the older woman and she felt that the two would not keep things from each other.

"I see. . . ." Eponine murmured thoughtfully, absentmindedly twirling the eggs in front of her with her fork. "Sophie?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Could you get me a bucket of warm water and a rag?"

"Uh, of course, dear, but can I ask what for?"

"For his headache."

As soon as she had finished her breakfast, Eponine found herself standing outside Javert's bedroom door, a cloth in one hand and a pail of warmed water in the other. After knocking on the door softly, she received an irritated "Enter." from the Inspector.

Closing the door behind her carefully so as not to make any noise capable of causing pain, she took view of Javert's room. It was furnished plainly with a four poster bed, a chair, and a desk which Javert was sitting slumped over, red hair buried beneath his thick forearms. Dark curtains were drawn over the window, banishing all thoughts of light from the room and his poor posture seemed to radiate pain and depression and beside this window was the windowed door of the balcony that led from his room. Eyeing his bed with all the wariness of a virgin, she stepped near him and smiled piteously at his obviously head ache induced form.

"I didn't know you drank, Inspector." Eponine commented. She smirked at him, receiving the desired response from Javert when he jumped at the sound of her voice.

"It isn't proper to be in a man's room, you know." He said, refusing to sit up and look at her, his voice slightly higher than usual. The fact that the woman he felt himself attracted to had caught him in this ugly state was humiliating to Javert. He always made himself appear presentable, not one button of his uniform out of place, and he felt as if she had just discovered him in a manner of extreme undress.

"I'm not exactly a proper woman, Inspector."

"Get out, Eponine." He ordered, embarrassment burning in his stomach, etching itself in his soul to put his temper in a foul mood.

Ignoring him, Eponine carried her items over to his desk and set them down by her feet so that she could stand behind him. Javert opened his mouth to repeat his command to her, but his words died in his mouth as her warm hands gripped the back of his broad shoulders and squeezed him gently, kneading her thumbs into his flesh soothingly. A small, throaty sound escaped his lips and he sat up, his spine straightening uncontrollably. Gripping the edges of his desk, Javert found himself leaning into her body as she massaged him gently in an attempt to alleviate his pain. Eponine felt a drip of discomfort when he rested the back of his head against her chest, but she said nothing as she continued to press her palms through the barrier of his policeman's uniform. After he made several more pleasured noises and sent her spiraling into even further discomfort, she released him. She had been around Montparnasse enough times to know the signs of when a man was sexually excited, and Javert would not be able to hide his arousal from her. And then there was the kiss. She was completely lost as to why he did that. She could only conclude that he must feel himself attracted to her. Eponine felt a slight hint of concern towards herself when she recognized these signs in her new legal guardian. It was not so long ago that she had felt the same sort of rush when thinking about the Inspector before, and she could not help but think of what mutual attraction could lead to. Eponine had been close to doing regrettable things several times before for money, but she had always found the light of reason and the threat of sin to steer her away from these actions. There was no way possible she would ever willingly participate in anything sexual with any man other than Marius, whom she would give anything to, but she had lived in the slums long enough to know that men did not always need a woman to be willing with them in their beds.

Well, it's better to be safe than sorry, Eponine told herself, examining Javert's thick, red hair. I shouldn't get too close to him. It'll only lead to trouble.

To clear her mind, she imagined Marius, fumbling with his mountain of leather bound books on his way to work, smiling at her as he passed the ugly girl on the boulevard. His lovely, leaf colored eyes would glint in the sun as he walked with that friend of his, Courfeyrac, his old coat considerably worn at the elbows, his dark curls scarcely covered by his con-caving hat.

"Where did you learn to do that?" He asked her, his voice slightly husky at the prospect of her touching him so closely. His head ache had suddenly begun to recede a considerable amount and he felt his troubles beginning to melt away at her presence.

"I used to be an alcoholic, Monsieur." Eponine said simply, dipping the cloth into the water momentarily. "My sister, 'Zelma, used to do the same thing for me whenever I had too much too drink. She's a kind thing, really. But I haven't gone near the stuff in ages. It leads to bad stuff, I know, I've seen it happen with my own eyes, Monsieur." She refrained from telling him that the main reason she had quit drinking was because she didn't have the money to continue it. "And then, I suppose I changed a lot, too. I met this boy, you see, and then life didn't seem so bad as to need something to block it out all the time. He would smile at me and the world would seem brighter than the hottest summer day, even if it was raining or snowing or the cold made my fingers start to turn blue. Even if he never even noticed me, he made my world complete, Monsieur. For months I lived just so I could see him, just so I could hear him say my name."

A cold spear seemed to suddenly strike Javert squarely in the chest. The way she spoke about this young man, tenderly, compassionately, it was almost like she loved him. How sickeningly romantic, he spat to himself, how disgustingly happy. He was sickened at the thought of some boy flirting with his ward, his soul tinged green with envy, his brow arching in a scowl. She lived just to see him, did she? He felt himself plunged into the cold fire of jealousy, angry, not at Eponine, but at the boy who had captured her attentions. Oh, he would like to set eyes on this boy to see what in him had caught her eye. Was he handsome, pretty, robust, pale, delicate, youthful? Did he speak softly, were his eyes like jewels? Was he everything, he, Javert, was not? Had he placed his fumbling, stupid boy hands on her? He felt the unmistakeable, alarming urge to throttle someone, and this time there was no stupid gendarme present to wrap his hands around.

It came to Javert's attention that he had been clutching the desk so hard that his finger nails had penetrated its surface, leaving large indentations where his hands had been. Extracting himself from the surface of the wood, he took a moment to calm himself, still silently seething.

Feeling that he should say something in return, he cleared his throat casually after a moment of silence and said, "If I cannot call you Madame, you should not call me Monsieur or Inspector, don't you think?"

"Then what should I call you?" She asked, her rough voice cracking.

"I call you by your Christian name, why don't you do likewise?" He said slowly.

"You think that's appropriate?"

"Appropriate enough in private. I wouldn't want you to be throwing my name about every time we're out, though. People will think things. . . ." Javert said slowly and Eponine could not help but roll her eyes at his patronizing tone of voice.

"People already think things." Eponine said, copying his condescending tone, her voice lilting in a sing-song fashion.

"Yes, I'm very well aware of that. That's how I got-" Javert raised his hand and Eponine saw it was ungloved, a bandage wrapped expertly around his palm. Slowly, he lowered his hand and cut off his speech. Perhaps it was not wise to let her know that he had been involved in a fight concerning her. It would make her suspicious, perhaps. The last thing he wanted was for Eponine to know how he felt about her. "Then do whatever you want, good God, it's not like I care about what you call me." He growled, masking his affection with roughness.

"Alright then. . . Arcturus." She spoke his name thoughtfully and he could not help but feel that agitated flutter in his chest again. Inwardly, he almost groaned at the feeling, wanting it to vanish and becoming even more distressed when it did not.

Eponine wrung out the rag so that it would not drip and Javert sighed as the moist cloth made contact with the flesh of his forehead. Calmly, she transferred her massaging hands from his shoulders to his temples and began to press her fingers on either side of his head. He sighed again as the throbbing in his temples began to disappear, seemingly drawn out from the tips of her fingers.

"An alcoholic. . . ." He murmured, enraptured at her touch. His head slumped back onto her chest and Eponine found she did not mind as much this time. He was probably just a little delusional from the pain, she told herself, he wasn't thinking clearly. There was no way he would ever do it again.

"An alcoholic." She confirmed, giving a small nod of her head.

"I've changed in a lot of ways, as well." He said quietly as her fingers traced against his forehead and removed the rag to re-moisten it. "Especially since. . . ."

"Since?" Eponine inquired, curious to see whatever had shaken this infallible man.

Javert's eyes fluttered open and he stared bloodshot at a fixed point on the curtained window in front of him, lost in memories that seemed to have taken place dozens of years ago, but in reality had only take place several months in the past. Like Sophie, Javert would not usually have divulged so much information to anyone, but he could not stop himself from confiding in Eponine. There was something about her that people could not resist to open up to.

"The bane of my career." He said softly. "One man wanted for theft from a child while on parole. I don't know how but that criminal has continued to evade me my entire life. And then, at the barricades when that gamin ratted on me and sentenced me to death after my men shot one of theirs, it was him who volunteered to end my life, the criminal. But he wouldn't kill me. He let me go. And I don't know why. My entire life I've never owed anyone anything, but now I owe him my life. That's. . . that's why. . . I was on the bridge when you stopped me from. . . from commi-"

"Yes, yes, I see." She said hurriedly, for some strange reason fearing the idea of suicide being spoken aloud.

"Since then I've been different. My very existence has been disturbed. It's like my entire life has been a lie." He shook his head. "I can't explain it. That's why, before when I was in your house and it was dark, that's why I kissed you. That is not like me, I apo-"

"No. I understand." Eponine said quickly, not wanting to bring up the topic of the kiss he had forced on her. Quitting her massage of his temples, she let her hands fall to his neck, her thin fingers brushing his skin there before refusing all further movement. Like him, she found herself staring at a fixed point on the wall, her eyes glossing over in unfocus.

"I've been behaving strangely ever since. I don't know what's come over me."

"It's alright. Everything happens for a reason, I know. If I wasn't poor I'd never have met Marius, if I hadn't met Marius I'd never have gone to the barricades to look after him, if I had never went to the barricades Marius wouldn't have sent me away, and if Marius hadn't sent me away I'd never pull you back from that parapet and you'd be dead right now and we'd have never met."

There was a moment of silence.

"Then, Eponine, I'm so very glad you were poor." Javert whispered.

"Well, yes. If I wasn't poor you'd be six feet underground right now if you still weren't floating round in the river." She snorted.

"No." He said, taking one of her hands and laying a gentle kiss to her fingertips. "If you were never poor I'd never have had the pleasure of meeting you."

Absentmindedly, Eponine brushed Javert's hair off of his forehead, the tips of her fingers slightly damp from the wet rag on his forehead.