Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.

Thank you so much for all your positive response to the previous chapter. You all think I'm so mean for keeping you waiting, so here you go. I hope you enjoy this, and your reviews are all very much appreciated.

Gavroche ran.

His heart was pounding so hard in his little chest he thought he might just pass out. But he knew he couldn't stop for a second. Every moment since he had gone, he knew 'Ponine was getting the back end of something bad.

He hated feeling like a coward. Knowing that he had left his sister, his best friend, and the only person that really cared about him anymore behind was enough to drive him mad at himself. However, knowing that he couldn't have possibly done anything anyways was even worse.

There were downsides to being just a pup, after all.

Yet, he had a brain, and knew exactly where he had to go. He remembered the way to the Cafe where the Les Amis had their meetings. Remembering a discussion he had with Courfeyrac, who had told him to go there should he ever get in real trouble, he knew that they would help. His feet pounded the pavement as he ran.

Storm clouds rolled in overhead, and a cold droplet of rain fell upon his nose. It quickly picked up, until the sound of rainwater tapping the pavements soon echoed from all around him.

As he rounded a corner, he could have cried at the sight of the tall, wonky building of the Cafe. A warm, amber glow lit the windows, and he knew that they were there.

A scream crackled through the air like thunder then, drawing his feet to such a sudden stop that he almost fell flat. His heart stopped in his chest. The scream belonged to Eponine, there was no doubt. Tears pricked the back of his eyes as he heard the impossibly loud pain in her voice.

He could not let himself be stopped. No, he had to keep going. Picking his feet up once more, he continued running.

As he sprinted, he remembered all the other times Eponine had taken a beating so that he wouldn't have to. It had happened far too many times.

Something appeared in front of him before he even had the chance to notice. It sent him flying backwards onto the ground, and he yelped out in surprise. Looking up, an instinct of fear made him recoil, his eyes shutting tightly.

"Gavroche!" a familiar voice exclaimed.

Gavroche opened his eyes as his breaths panted from his chest heavily. Above him, a few of the Amis were towering over him with concerned eyes. Enjolras bent down, grasping his lapels, and gently pulled him from the ground and back onto his feet.

"What was that sound?" he demanded. His hands were shaking as he held the boy. "We heard a scream. Was it Eponine? Gavroche, where is she?"

Gavroche felt his lips quiver. The realisation of what had happened hit him harshly and suddenly.

Enjolras' hands tightened around the boy's shoulders. His eyes widened in a panic that the boy had never seen in him before. "Where is she?!"

Someone stepped out from behind the revolutionary leader and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. When Gavroche saw the dark head of Courfeyrac, he felt a surge of comfort rush through him. "Enjolras! He's frightened, look at him!" he insisted fiercely, stepping around him to kneel at Gavroche's side. "You're not doing him any good."

The men fell silent and looked towards the boy expectantly.

Gavroche remembered himself. Of course, he also remembered Eponine, who at that moment, was having unthinkable things being done to her every second that passed. He straightened himself, and searched the pack of students for one particular doctor in training.

"Monsieur Joly! We'll need you to come," he declared, rushing towards Joly and grasping at his jacket sleeve. His lips tightened into a thin line before he forced out the dark truth. "...I think he's gonna kill 'er."

Hidden in the reclusive shadows of an alley, a young woman huddled with her knees against her chest. Warm blood trickled down her skin.

As she clung to herself in the dark abyss of the night, Eponine wondered if she had finally done it. Found herself enough trouble to bring her miserable life to an end. The sharp, metallic taste of blood stung her tongue and burned her nostrils as she buried her head in her arms. Despite the cold cuts on her skin from the rain, she found sweet relief in the cool air. Everything hurt. Her insides seemed to burn from the blunt contact of the baton used against her, and even breathing seemed more difficult than she remembered.

Hatred consumed her. Not for the police, not for her parents, but for herself. She felt like an ugly, useless thing that needed to be put down. She knew very well that she meant nothing to anyone. Gavroche perhaps was an exception, particularly after tonight, but still, he was a child and knew nothing better. He didn't know to hate her yet.

Though she desperately tried not to, she thought of Enjolras. She wanted to stop herself from thinking of him constantly, to stop herself being stupidly infatuated with the idea of them.

Despite herself, part of her wanted to believe he cared. She tried to picture him at the Cafe, wondering where she had been that evening. She imagined him hearing her screams from streets away, and his mindless worry at the sound of her pain. She also saw him running outside, yelling her name, searching for her desperately.

Yet, she knew, no matter how hard she tried to imagine, it was more than likely that he did not care about any more than everyone else did.

Although she could not help it, she knew she was now lost.

No matter how hard she tried, she had done the stupidest thing she could.

She had gone and fell in love with him.

She tried to shift her figure against the wall, but felt pain shoot through her bones. Her lips parted and she released a small whine. The slow, burning agony ran through her blood and tired her mind. She felt her vision falling fuzzy and her eyelids growing heavy. The darkness only meant one thing; if she slept, who was to say she would wake up again? After all, this pain couldn't be possible to fix.

It wouldn't matter anyway.

Who would care if she never woke up?

Despite her body's aching moan, she lolled her head back against the damp brick and shuddered. Letting her eyes slowly close, she wondered if she had a place in Heaven waiting for her when she would awake next.

"Eponine."

Eponine's eyes fluttered open to reveal a blurred, dark world.

A figure was hovering over her, bending down and wrapping strong, warm arms around her numb frame. They placed something upon her quivering body; something warm and soft. She could only make out red in the blurred world through which she saw. Not red of blood, but something much more familiar. Something much more comforting. The only strength she could muster was enough to curl her trembling fingers around the soft fabric that clothed her saviour.

"It's alright. I've got you."

The voice she recognised. As her vision adjusted as well as it could, she made out a familiar form.

"...Enjolras," she breathed quietly.

"I'm here."

Something tightened around her heart. In the darkness, she could see other figures around them, hovering. Moonlight fell upon them and bathed them in silver. They seemed almost angelic. Perhaps she had made it to the other side. She wasn't quite sure how bad she looked, but she was almost certain that her features creased in question. "Am...am I dead?"

The arms tightened around her then. "No. ...No, you're not."

Eponine wasn't sure whether the news was pleasing or not. Letting her eyes shut once more, she realised that the rain had subdued now to gentle, soft drops that cooled her aching skin. The bitter taste of blood lingered on her lips.

"No, Mademoiselle," a different voice cut through the darkness. "You must not sleep. Not yet," it said firmly.

She released a tired groan. "Oh, leave me be..."

"No, you cannot sleep just yet. I have to be sure you haven't sustained a head injury." She recognised the voice now to belong to Monsieur Joly.

"We need to get her out of the cold. Enjolras, would it-"

"We shall take her back to my apartment. You can treat her there," Enjolras replied resolutely.

Eponine's bones stiffened. What would Enjolras' neighbours say if they saw her? What would they think of him for having a gamine sleeping in his home? His reputation would be tarnished. She quickly decided that her health was her own matter, and any tainting of Monsieur's name would not be on her part.

Weakly lifting an arm, she rested a hand against his chest, feeling the firmness underneath the clothing that made her feel so safe.

"No, don't," she breathed. "I'm fine, Monsieur. Just put me down. I can go back to my parents."

Enjolras huffed above her, annoyed. "Nonsense, Eponine. I will not leave you here in your state. Joly will care for you and when you are better you can go back to making your own childish decisions."

Eponine frowned. "I will not spoil your reputation, Monsieur."

"My reputation is my own business. Besides, after we hold our rally, I doubt any of our reputations will still be in tact."

Rally? That was unheard of to Eponine. She twisted her body to question him, but a spark of pain shot through her sides and she crumpled back into a quivering mess of whines and whimpers. She felt Enjolras' warm hands lace through her hair as he softly hushed her quiet cries.

"Let's take her away," another voice interjected. "It'll rain again soon."

This time, when Enjolras snaked his arms around her skinny frame, she welcomed it. Her fingers curled against his shirt and realised that it was his jacket she was now wearing. He began to lift her from the ground, arms cradling under her knees and arms. As she felt her body being pulled from the ground and shifted beyond it's capability, she gasped for air. The pain was sharp and aching, seemingly never-ending. Her skin burned, as if having been torched, and the taste of blood in her mouth now made her stomach twist.

Tears fell freely down her cheeks. Whether it was the pain, the kindness of Enjolras and his friends, or simply the humiliation of having been so weakened, she did not know. Perhaps it was all three that scrambled her emotions.

She tucked her face against Enjolras' chest, and he cradled her tightly against him. "Gavroche-" she murmured.

"He's alright. Courfeyrac took him back to the cafe. We thought it best for him not to see you until you were cleaned up."

"Thank you." Eponine breathed the words wistfully, knowing that no matter how hard she could try and explain, Enjolras would never know how grateful she was. Allowing her eyelids to slip shut once more, she kept herself awake by pinching the skin of her arm every few moments. A minor ache compared to her body's current state.

She heard shuffling of feet around them, and Joly's voice return to say, "Combeferre, go and fetch me my medical kit. Bring it back to Enjolras'."

Combeferre was there? Had she had the strength to open her eyes again, she would have taken a proper look at who else was present. Did they all care enough for her to find her? The thought alone was enough to make her lips quiver and her eyes grow moist with more unshed tears.

By the time they had reached Enjolras' home, Eponine had willed herself fully awake again. She had kept quiet, simply huddled to herself in his arms, gazing upwards with sore eyes. Rain water had drenched his skin, and droplets trickled from his damp curls onto his stony face. Even the harsh elements could not disfigure his handsome features. There was an expression he wore, caught somewhere between portraying nothing at all, and everything at once. His face was set in a stern portrait, as ambiguous as a sculpture, but there was a stiffness in his form. A harsh intensity along his jaw and marking the back of his eyes that made it seem like he was withholding fire.

She did not have the strength to dig any deeper.

As they climbed several staircases up towards where he resided, Eponine silently marvelled at his strong arms as they carried her without so much as a tremble.

"Jehan, get the door."

She saw Jehan pass before them, and heard a door creak open into the silent hallway.

For everything she imagined Enjolras' home to be, she expected something a little more bourgeois. Whilst spacious, his apartment was modest, with little furniture. A large bed, a table and chairs, and a dresser with a matching settee appeared to be the most expensive things. There was no real evidence of self-indulgence or fine luxuries. She craned her aching neck around to get a better view, but saw nothing more than tasteful essentials. It was clear that whatever money his father sent him, Enjolras did not keep for his own purposes. Books, however, were in no short supply. Scattered among the floor, piled on tables like miniature towers; books were everywhere.

Burned out candle sticks also occupied the space, from where she guessed he sat and wrote or read during his spare time.

During her observations, Joly had moved to stand beside Enjolras, and the two stared down at her with creased brows and worried expressions.

"Can you stand?" he asked, drawing her from her reverie. "Or sit, perhaps?"

Eponine nodded, slowly. Enjolras moved her carefully towards the bed, and manoeuvred her so she was sitting upright on the plush, soft mattress. A small groan released her lips as she felt her ribs sting against her skin. As a hand gently clasped her wrist, she turned and saw Enjolras sitting beside her, so close that their arms were touching. The gesture seemed to numb some of the anguish she was feeling. His eyes softened as they met hers, a mixture of sympathy and guilt, both of which she did not fully understand.

"Your wet clothes must be removed," Joly said from across the room. He moved about quickly and efficiently, lighting candles to give the space a warm, comforting glow. "Your injuries I can fix, but an illness will be much more trouble. Enjolras, Jehan, if you would please leave as to give her some privacy-"

"No, don't." Eponine let her hand fall to Enjolras', where it tightened in a silent plead. "I would prefer it if you stayed."

It was not that Eponine didn't trust Joly. In fact, she believed that the man would hardly hurt a fly. However, in the pit of her stomach, she knew that she would feel less safe should Enjolras leave her now.

Enjolras seemed to understand this without further prompting. "...Only if you're sure," was his only comment on the matter.

"You all know just as well as I do what is under a woman's clothes. We can be adults."

He replied with an affirming nod, ignoring any and all bashful sentiments. "Very well. Jehan, watch the door, please."

Eponine watched the other student nod his head, and swiftly make his way out of the room. Joly returned to them with a large bowl with water and a washcloth, small tendrils of steam rising from his hands. He placed them on the table and flickered his eyes to Enjolras.

Sensing an uncomfortable air arising, she chose to stand. Lifting herself from the bed was no easy task, and a small hiss escaped her lips as she felt pain wash through her once more, but it was made easier with Enjolras by her side to steady her.

She went about then shakily unknotting her shawl. As she let it fall to the ground, water stained the wooden floorboards where it landed. She felt hands then at her lower back, where Enjolras had began to untie her poor excuse for a skirt where it was secured around her waist.

"You probably won't want to discuss what happened," came Joly's voice at an attempt to fill the silence. As she looked toward him, his eyes were filled with pity. "But it would help if you told me what it was he did to injure you."

"He hit me," Eponine replied. She had no shame in what had happened. With Enjolras by her side, she knew that it was unlikely she would relive the nightmare once more. With him, she felt safe. "Across my cheeks twice. I was pinned by my throat, and I'm sure something is wrong with my arm. He used his baton to beat me when I fought back."

Enjolras' warm breath tickled her ear then. Whilst the sensation was not unpleasant, his voice certainly was. Laced with bitterness and hardened by rage and disbelief, the rough sound of his voice made her want to flinch. "Baton?" he hissed. "This was a police officer?"

"Yes. One of Javert's men."

There was a pause. Joly was the next to speak, quietly -respectfully- asking the unavoidable question. "...Did he rape you, Mademoiselle?"

It was possible she imagined it, but she was certain that she heard a hitch in Enjolras' breath. "No. He did try though." Despite herself, she allowed a corner of her lips to perk up in self-satisfaction. "I guess I was more trouble than I was worth." As her skirt fell and pooled around her ankles with a small thump. She went to slip off the ratted chemise that made up her top half.

"Where did he beat you?"

"Everywhere."

As she lifted her arms above her head to remove the last remnants of her clothing, her arm spasmed in pain and she winced. A pair of hands from behind her reached over and silently grasped the damp fabric, and gently pulled it over her head. Cool air hit her skin as she found herself standing naked before the two men.

Her eyes travelled up to Joly's, and found his jaw slackened at the sight of her bruised and broken body. She found herself looking down to examine the damage herself. Scars littered her skin, and dark bruises were already beginning to form in various patches. When she caught sight of her hands, it was then she realised that they were caked with blood. Under her fingernails, she knew she carried something from the man that attacked her. Dirt dusted her body, and she wondered whether his shock was for the injuries, or partly for her street-worn appearance.

She winced at sight of herself, but was not as surprised as the other two. After all, what else had she expected?

Turning her head over her shoulder, the sight of Enjolras did not ease her mind. He had turned his head away, glaring into the floor below. His jaw tightened, and his hands were fisted by his side. He refused to look upon her body any more, it seemed.

She wanted to turn to him, wanted to assure him. She wanted to place her hands on his face and make him look at her.

I've had worse, she longed to tell him. I'm alright.

Yet she knew she couldn't do such a thing. Instead, she chose to turn back to Joly and quietly attempt a reasoning.

"Don't think too much of it, Monsieurs. Some of these are old ones, after all."

That didn't seem to rest their minds any easier. His skin pale and his eyes firm, Joly looked over her shoulder towards Enjolras. Something seemed to resonate between the two, prompting Joly to offer him the perfect excuse to leave them.

"Do you have something clean she can wear?"

Enjolras nodded, and moved from behind Eponine and strided towards the bathroom. She watched his retreating back, tense and unwavering, until he moved into the adjacent room and shut the door behind him. As her legs grew tired, she allowed herself to slump down onto the side of the bed.

She tried to keep her lips still as she let Joly sit beside her. As soon as her shoulders began to shake with coldness, she felt Joly pull a sheet from the mattress and place it around her thin frame. For the next few moments, as Joly gently moped at her skin with warm water, she stared into the distance, keeping her eyes on a blank spot of dark green wallpaper. She relished in the feel of the warm water against her skin as it cleaned her wounds, soothed her aching bones. Although it could not quite so easily cure her aching heart. After a few minutes passed in peaceful silence, her timid voice drifted between them.

"Am I hideous?" she asked.

Joly paused in his work, but resumed in a professional manner promptly. "Of course not," he replied, his voice firm.

Eponine turned her head, and caught the young doctor's eyes in hers, which were moist with tears. "Then why won't he look at me?" Her voice cracked into a whisper at the words.

In return, the student's head tilted and he furrowed his brow at her behaviour. "I believe he is upset," he said softly. At sight of her troubled features, he reached over and gently touched her shoulder in assurance. "Don't look so troubled, Eponine. Once we've cleaned you, you'll look as good as new." He sent her a small smile, and honestly, it was enough to make her feel slightly less worrisome.

As he resumed his careful care of her broken body, she watched the bathroom door. Wondering what Enjolras was doing just the other side, she quietly murmured into the air, "Hopefully a little better."