A/N: *AUGH*! I'm so sorry, everyone, for being such a bad updater! The best way I can sum up the reason for my many delays is that the "fall -time monster", filled with limitless homework, tests and projects, hath (yes, I just said hath) reared its ugly head at me, and reared it quite effectively. I can only hope this newest chapter is enough to make up for all the waiting I've put you through.

June 8, 1832

Chapter 10: A Life Burnt Away & A Charity Performed

Azelma helped guide Éponine up the flight of stairs that led to their garret, which made her feel uncomfortably like an invalid. Even though the pain in her shoulder had gradually decreased, with both her and Gavroche wounded Azelma was very much in the mindset that her siblings would shatter like glass if handled too roughly.

She'd spent the night at Rue Plumet, with Cosette, M. Fauchelevent, Gavroche and Azelma. She'd offered her sister the choice of going back to Rue Saint-Denis, to be with their mother, but she refused, adamantly wanting to stay with her. Éponine couldn't remember the last time her sister had been so protective of her; in the old days, it was always the other way around, with Éponine defending her from the likes of their father and his equally wicked friends.

The Corinthe was empty today. The revolutionaries had dispersed, and the Grosjean family was struggling to clean up their wine-shop. Bullet holes riddled the walls and windows, and here and there on the floor were drops of blood from the wounded rebels. Éponine had offered to help them-she was well acquainted with housework-but Madame Grosjean had kindly turned her down. "You've done enough these past three days, my dear." She said. "Let Charles and I do our part now."

They reached the top of the stairs, and found Madame Thenardier sitting on a stool outside the door.

"Maman!" Éponine cried, and tearing herself from Azelma's arm she hugged her mother fiercely. "You lived!"

"So I did." She said plainly, but a rare grin was spreading across her face. "But it's a greater miracle that you're alive. Not many people survive a bullet through the shoulder without becoming crippled, or worse."

Éponine laughed, the kind of laugh people give when they think of something so ludicrous that it could never happen to them. "Count me in with the lucky ones, then. Is the garret unlocked?"

Her mother nodded. "It is. But it took a lot of damage in the fighting, I'm afraid. One of the windows was pierced by several bullets before being shattered by a cannonball. I've swept up broken glass all afternoon. I still haven't the cannonball out, it's too dashed heavy.

"A cannonball?!" Azelma cried excitedly. "I want to see that!" And, taking Éponine's arm once again, she led her into their garret.

Considering it had been through a miniature war, the room looked remarkably tidy. Their beds were the same as they had left them, and despite some extra cracks in the wood, the only new addition to the decor was a black iron ball, no bigger than a large duck.

Azelma crept up to the orb. "It's so big." She whispered. "We should keep it."

"Keep it?" Éponine repeated, incredulous. "You can sleep with a cannonball next to your bed if you want, but leave me out of it."

"Come one, 'Ponine. It would a great reminder of the revolution."

"I have my reminder, thanks." Said Éponine, and she traced her shoulder, where a small white scar still lay. "We have to get rid out it. And we need to figure out something intelligent, because Madame Grosjean isn't going to let us roll it down the stairs."

Her sister didn't respond. She continued to stare, mute, at the cannonball.

"'Zelma? Are you even listening to me?" She asked, a bit irritated.

"What's this black stuff?" Azelma asked randomly.

"What are you talking about?" Éponine asked.

"There is this gritty black dust coming out of the ball. It smells funny."

At those words, Éponine became curious. She took a candle of the mantelpiece, for the room was dark and the windows shut, to see what her sister was talking about.

She got down on her knees and held the candles a few inches above the floor. Azelma was right; scattered around the ball, like a pile of ash, was a sparkly collection of black-colored powder.

Éponine poked the cannonball, and it rolled forward a few feet. There was a small crack in its side, and out of it leaked more black powder.

Now she was scared. Very, very scared.

"Azelma," She said urgently, her voice low. "This is gunpowder. It's put into cannonballs so that they explode on impact. And if it catches fire, it can burn down almost anything."

"So?"

Éponine pointed to the candle-the lit candle-clutched tightly in her left hand. "We're also in a wooden room, in case you haven't noticed."

"Oh." Azelma said quietly. "Well, let's get out of here, and go tell Mama to sweep up the powder too."

Carefully as mice, the two of them stood up. Azelma turned to face the door. Éponine moved to do the same-

When her foot caught on her dress, and she stumbled. Her grip became less firm, and the candle fell from her hand.

Time slowed down. Afterwards, all Éponine could remember was Azelma's shriek of fear at the flaming column of fire, and Maman calling for Monsieur and Madame Grosjean for water, and watching her new life-her fragile, beloved new life-slowly turn into ash.

The next day

Jean Valjean sat down at the table at last with his breakfast. He'd had quite the shock this morning when Marius, beaming and carrying an exquisite English bouquet of flowers, had shown up at the front door and asked for Cosette. His fiancée had appeared from her sleep at his call, and they were sitting outside in the garden, entranced by nothing save each other.

He stirred his coffee thoughtfully. Once Cosette was married, she would move into Marius's grandfather's house at Rue des Filles du Calvaire who, after a brief reunion with his now famous grandson, was only to happy to accept Marius and his step-granddaughter-to-be. Valjean himself was asked to come and live there as well, but he declined. Cosette was no longer his to look after, and as far as he was concerned, the Gillenormand house was no place of sanction for him.

But that didn't make the prospect of moving to Rue de l'Homme Arme, Number 5-a small, rather dingy apartment by memory-any more exciting.

Valjean was almost finished with his oatmeal when the doorbell rang, and little Gavroche flew down the stairs in excitement. "I'll get it!" He yelled.

He smiled. Gavroche had told him that he planned to leave Rue Plumet soon and return home to his brothers, but in the meantime he was quite content with life here.

The boy opened the door, and gasped in delight. "Well, if it isn't Éponine of the nine lives!" He said laughingly. "How are you, dear sister?"

"Just fine, 'Vroche." The voice of the gamine replied. "May I come?"

Gavroche let her inside, and she walked into the kitchen where Jean Valjean was. There was a look of worry on her face that Valjean had not seen before.

"Can I help you with something, Éponine?" He asked.

She nodded. "Yes, monsieur. I was wondering if I could stay here at Rue Plumet again tonight."

Valjean blinked in surprise. "Well, all right. I don't see any harm in that. Is there anything you need?"

"If you've got it, I could use three beds, two sets of women's clothes, a week's worth of food, and more money than any sane man is likely to give."

He arched an eyebrow. Valjean was generous, but he wasn't stupid. "And I'm supposed to believe this is all meant only for you, no?"

She shook her head in embarrassment, like a child caught misbehaving. "No, monsieur. It's for my sister as well. And my mother."

"Why? Has something happened?"

Éponine chuckled nervously, with the air of a person trying to make light of someone tragic. "You could say that. Our garret that we rent, in the Corinthe, it was...incinerated."

A heavy pause fell between them.

"Incinerated." Jean Valjean repeated.

"Yes, incinerated." The girl repeated. "It's all burnt up like a crisp, and now the world knows not to place candles near black powder."

'I think it knows that already.' Valjean thought, but he kept his mouth shut. He stood up, and looked down at Éponine. Though she tried to hide it, Valjean could see small signs of discomfort within her; her cast-down head, her quietness, her fingers clutching the folds of her dress tightly. Despite living in poverty for so long, the concept of asking for charity, at least upfront, was very new to her, and she didn't like it one bit.

Valjean knew that if he gave Éponine what she wanted, she would accept it, but she would treat it more as a gift than an honest reward. But neither could he turn away these three women in desperate need, without so much as a breadcrumb. What was he to do?

He paced about the table, thinking. Éponine watched him with great anxiety, wondering what he would say. Finally, Jean Valjean thought of a medium solution that looked as though it might work.

"I'm going to do something better than a one-night stay, Éponine." He said, a touch of pride in his voice. "I'm going to let the three of you live here, with me."

Whatever Éponine had expected, it wasn't that. Her jaw dropped, and she gestured dumbly about the room. "You mean, as in...here? Rue Plumet?"

"Yes, of course."

"But why, monsieur? Why would you want to do that?"

"It's quite simple, really." Valjean said. "In about a month's time, Cosette will be married and living with Marius in his own house. I will not be joining them."

"But...but," Éponine stammered. "Marius said you were leaving Rue Plumet. Into some new apartment, no?"

"Rue de l'Homme Arme?" Valjan exclaimed, laughing. "It makes a very fine water closet, but not much of a home. No. If I'm going to have three tenants-for tenants you shall be, as I know neither you nor your mother would accept free room and board-then I think I will stay here. Your brother seems to enjoy my being around, for one thing."

Éponine managed a grin. Then she stood up, and engulfed Jean Valjean in a leaping hug. She drew away awkwardly after a few moments, but she was still smiling. "How is it that you are unwaveringly good, Monsieur Fauchelevent?"

It would not be easy to explain seventeen years of change in a moment, so Valjean said something kind and simple. "Because long ago, I was a much different person than I am now." He said. "A much worse person. But if helping innocent people such as yourself, your family, and Cosette is the road to virture...well, it's not that hard after all, really."

She embraced him again in gratitude, and ran off into the hall to play with Gavroche. Jean Valjean sat back down in his chair, smiling at the idea that he may not be so alone after all.

It was such a perfect time, and the sun shone so strong, that no one could see storm-clouds gathering in the distance, growing until they burst.