A/N: Hey everybody! Sorry these updates are taking so long; my life's getting ridiculously busy with school and practicing! I hope you enjoy this chapter; it's a long one, but it's important! You know the drill - read, review, and most of all, enjoy!
(P.S. This is another one where I had to take a little liberty!)

Nine
When he explains that he cannot love,
That he will never be yours alone,
When he tells how the meek, the gluttons, the tempted, the proud are his angels, do not mourn.
Smile, feed him, wash his hair.

Chapter Nine

Enjolras aimlessly wandered the streets of Paris, trying in vain to get his mind off the argument he'd just had with Éponine. No, not just an argument…more of a blowup. They'd both said some horrible things; Enjolras couldn't believe how low they'd gone by the end.

His phone rang in his pocket – as if by divine providence, she was calling him. His bitterness returned, and he hit "Ignore," shoving his phone back into his pocket as he waded through the busy crowds towards the bridge on the Seine.

He braced on the bridge, breathing hard and looking down at the rushing river below. She's furious with me…she probably never wants to see me again…and honestly, I wouldn't blame her. But without her…what do I have left?

"Enjolras!" a voice called out behind him.

He turned, out of habit. "Pontmercy," he murmured as the man approached him.

The younger man reached out and embraced him as the gap between them closed. "I've been looking everywhere for you!" he said. "Éponine's distraught; she told me that you – "

"That I what?" he snapped angrily. "I used her? I lied to her for the last month and a half?"

Marius took a step back, confusion and surprise crossing his face. "Enjolras…" he murmured. "What on earth are you talking about? Surely you didn't actually…"

"No," he grunted. "Not in the way I used to treat women…" he sighed and leaned over the bridge again. "We both said some really awful things…I don't think I know who I am anymore."

The young man sighed, running a hand through his unruly brown hair. "I don't really know what to tell you, Enjolras…just that you need to talk to her again. When she called me she was completely distraught. She wants to make amends."

"That's not the message she just gave me!" he snapped, checking his phone again as it buzzed in his pocket. He had a voicemail from Éponine. "Should I listen to it?" he asked, showing Marius the screen.

He nodded. "I would recommend it."

The Leader sighed begrudgingly, putting the phone to his ear. The message was short, and almost unintelligible through her sobs.

"Enjolras, it's me…" her voice said, before she started sobbing so hard that it was almost all static. "Please call me back when you get this…I'm so sorry…"

Click.

Slowly, almost mechanically, he put the phone back in his pocket, still trying to wrap his mind around what he'd heard. How was that the same woman that had just been screaming at him not five minutes ago?

"I told you, she's not happy with herself for this," Marius said grimly, and the Leader turned to face him. "Talk to her, Enjolras. They call you a master of words for a reason. Surely you can talk to a woman?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again. "Alright. Tell her to wait for me in the Café."

She was still curled up against the wall when he got there.

Enjolras was reminded of a frightened child when he opened the door and saw her sitting there, her knees pulled up to her chest, her head down, clearly sobbing. With a quiet sigh, he shut the door and crossed the room to her, his boots clicking quietly on the floor. She didn't move as he approached her, or when he sat down next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Can we talk?" he said softly.

"What do we have to talk about?" she muttered to her lap.

He internally winced, biting his lip. "I think you know what I mean."

Finally, she looked up towards the door, pushing her unkempt hair back from her face and sniffling. "What's left to say, Enjolras? I tried to apologize."

"And that's why I came back," he said urgently, moving to squat in front of her and grabbing her shoulders. "I have hope."

"In what?" she scoffed. "Me?"

"That we can get past this," he said, wiping away her tear tracks. "I know we both said some really awful things…I don't know about you, but I didn't mean what I said…and all I want is to prove to you that I am a different man."

She looked him in the eye with an intensity that almost scared him. "And how do you think you're going to do that?"

He sighed heavily, dropping his gaze. "I don't know."

Éponine raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh? For once, the great orator of our time, Damien-Henri Enjolras is at a loss for words? I didn't think I'd live to see the day."

"It's not that I have no words," he said shortly. "What I don't know is how to prove to you that I am a changed man. Éponine…when you and I were fighting…I didn't even know who I was by the end of that. I was at the bridge over the Seine…and for a few seconds, I thought about jumping. Like Combeferre almost did, off the Pont de Pierre."

Her jaw dropped. "No…"

Enjolras nodded. "It's true. Both are."

Éponine's gape widened in disbelief. "Combeferre…almost jumped off the Pont de Pierre?"

"He would have, if I'd been a few seconds later," Enjolras said with a grim nod. "I thought he was going to even after I got there…it was a dicey few seconds."

"I bet…" she murmured. "That's awful. But…why would he do that?"

Enjolras debated for a moment on whether or not to tell her the true reason for 'Ferre's attempted suicide, before deciding against it. It's his place to tell her how he feels, not mine. "I don't know."

Thankfully, she seemed content with that answer. "Strange…" she murmured. "He's always seemed so happy, especially around us."

He nodded, finally sitting down next to her and staring at the door for a few minutes. There was a comfortable silence, and neither of them were willing to break it, until Enjolras spoke. "So…are we okay?" he asked a little awkwardly.

Éponine smiled a little. "We're okay."

Relief coursed through him, and he sighed heavily, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. Thank you, Lord…and am I really holding back tears? "Éponine…" he murmured.

She could tell, from that one quiet utterance, that something was still weighing on him, and she pulled back. "What is it?"

He looked down, still unable to meet her gaze, and not entirely sure of what he wanted to say. "It's…complicated."

"Try," she said firmly.

He sighed again, taking a moment to gather his answer. "Ép…you know that I love you, and that I would do anything in my power to make you happy and keep you safe," he said, holding her hands between his. "I would break my back moving the French Alps if it meant you'd be happy."

She could tell there was a catch. "But…?"

Enjolras bit his lip, and Éponine wondered for a moment if he was holding back tears. "But…no matter how I love you, I am not who I am if Patria is not first written on my heart. I will always be called to save the meek, the gluttons, the tempted, the proud."

Éponine was taken aback by his speech, and yet not surprised at all. She knew she had been the only person to crack the heart of living marble within him; why should she be surprised when it repaired itself? Deep down, she had always known that she could never be first in his heart. It was always Patria. It had always been Patria, and it would always be Patria. She felt her throat close up, but she refused to cry. Instead, she called up her best acting skills and forced a smile.

"I know," she said. "And I love you all the more for it."

He smiled, stroking her hair back from her face and placing his forehead to hers. "Thank you, my love," he murmured, kissing her gently. "Alright, I've got to go," he said, standing up to leave.

"W-wait!" she said, popping up from her sitting position against the wall. "W-would you…stay for dinner? I'll cook."

Enjolras chuckled a little. "Éponine, you're the one that burns water, remember? It's alright, really. I'll leave you in peace."

"No please!" she begged, trying to force down the tears welling up in her eyes. "It's…something I want to do. I know I can't cook," she laughed a little uncomfortably, "but…I want to."

The Leader smiled, almost tiredly. "Alright. What magic do you have planned?" he laughed.

She grinned, reaching into the freezer and pulling out a frozen pizza. "If I set a timer, even I can't mess this up!" she laughed.

They sat at the table as the pizza warmed in the oven, talking and laughing. Thankfully, it didn't take long for dinner to be ready. Éponine got them drinks – she jokingly told Enjolras that he had to limit himself to one beer – and the pizza was gone within the next 15 minutes. The conversation, however, went on much longer.

"Do you remember the time Grantaire got so drunk he tried to write a letter to the king requesting that he legalize streaking before exams?" Enjolras laughed hysterically.

Éponine could hardly breathe for laughter. "You're kidding!"

"I'm not!" Enjolras insisted, still laughing. "We have it here somewhere; I don't remember where Grant put it. He joked that next time he got drunk he was going to finish it and send it!"

She cackled, her face buried in the table as she laughed. "Oh my God, that's just like him!"

It thrilled Enjolras to see her so happy, laughing and having a good time. Still laughing, himself, he watched her as she did so, memorizing the tiny wrinkles around her scrunched-shut eyes, the dimple in her left cheek, her beautiful smile. He started to think about the days to come, and his face fell a little.

She noticed, her smile slowly fading. "What is it?" she murmured.

The Leader looked down at his folded hands, all amusement now gone. "Éponine…you know that the last of the preparation for the revolution will be taking place tomorrow. Thanks to Gavroche and his friends, we've been able to stockpile guns and ammunition for months in advance, but tomorrow is the final coordination of our plans."

"Enjolras…" she started to say.

He put up a hand to stop her. "Let me finish. I know I will likely die tomorrow…and if I do – "

"Don't talk like that," she begged.

Enjolras put a finger to her lips. "Please, let me finish. If I do die tomorrow…" his hand reached out to graze hers, running up her arm. "I want you to know now that I would have married you."

She gaped at him in utter shock. "Y-you…what?"

"I would have married you," he repeated, gripping her hand. "I would have made you my wife, and we would have gotten out of Paris to raise a family. I'd go into politics, wherever we moved. We'd have the other Amis out for lunch every Sunday after Mass, and when we had kids, they would babysit for us, so I could take you out on dates – proper ones, wherever you wanted."

Éponine could hardly believe her ears – or her mind, as she imagined a life with Enjolras exactly as he had described. "Darling…" she answered, reaching across the table to take his hand. "We don't need rings, or a piece of paper from the government telling us we're married. We love each other…and we've already shown that."

He smiled, almost sadly. "You're right, chèrie," he murmured, stroking her hand. "You're always right."

She chuckled quietly, kissing him once. "Get some sleep tonight. You'll have a long day tomorrow."

A/N: Feels…don't hate me for them! Please review; I hope you enjoyed!