Erik sighed, closing the door behind them. "Why is it that every time I leave you alone, you end up almost getting yourself killed?"
"I had to do something!" she argued. "I couldn't just let them rob him!"
"Then perhaps it would be better for you to remain here. No more working as a stagehand and no more going out to see those schoolboys. Not if it means you placing yourself in danger over and over again."
"I have to go! Enjolras is planning the revolution and if I don't go to help they'll die!"
"Not my concern."
"They're my friends! If you could have done something to help Christine-to help your friend-wouldn't you do it?"
"Christine is dead. Nothing you say will change that fact."
"And I am going to help my friends whether you want me to or not!" She turned and started for the door.
He grabbed her arm to stop her. "You are going nowhere. I am doing this for your own safety, Eponine. I couldn't help Christine then, I couldn't stop her. But I can stop you."
She tried to wriggle out of his grasp. Eponine reached over and ripped his mask off, gasping as she did so.
He recoiled and stepped back, releasing her to cover up where the mask had been. It was already too late. She had gotten a glimpse of it-had seen the deformity beneath. The sunken in flesh, the parts where it looked more like a layer of skin had been set over bone. The eyes that had fallen back into their sockets, the way his mouth was twisted at the corner into a permanent frown.
Erik knelt on the ground, kneeling before her, covering his face with both hands. He heard something drop to the floor followed by the sound of her receding footsteps. He glanced up, seeing that she had gone, leaving the mask behind. He reached for it and quickly put it back on.
All he had wanted to do was protect her, keep her safe. Eponine. He had wanted to keep her safe. Safe from her father, safe from the gunfire that would rain down on that revolution, safe from the man behind the mask….
Now she was running. Running to those boys, running to throw herself into the line of fire. They were going to die. Erik knew that. He had heard that the police were planning ways to end their revolution, to kill each and every one of them. Despite his best efforts not to, he could see them. He could see their bodies, each one positioned to look as if they were sleeping. He could see Eponine amongst them.
Eponine. He had been drawn to her. He had been drawn to protect her, to keep her safe, to give her a place where she could feel safe with him. He had grown to care for her, to be concerned about her more than any other person.
He realized he had begun to enjoy watching her work more than he enjoyed the performances onstage. He enjoyed seeing the look of determination, the way she was willing to work hard to prove herself. And the softer sides that would show-those moments when she would allow him to see what she was feeling, how much she had been hurt. There was a gentleness to her-one that she had been afraid of showing anyone else.
That gentleness, that small gentleness in her. That small part of her that she had kept to herself, had kept protected from her parents. He had seen that small part, and he had come to love it. He had come to love that part of her and had wanted to protect it, to care for the Eponine who had been hurt, who had kept herself hidden away until it had become all he could see. There was no part of her in his eyes that resembled the Thenardiers-no part that made him wonder if she would be the same as them.
She was Eponine.
And he loved her.
Erik stood and went to change, adjusting his mask as he did so. He would follow her to the revolution. If she planned on dying, then so be it. But she would not die alone. He couldn't let her die alone.