A/N: Me again! If you're keeping up with the blog from which I'm drawing this, you'll know that it's coming to an end very soon (two more chapters and an epilogue to go!), so thank you all for sticking with it! Your reviews have really kept me going :)
You know the drill - read, review, and most of all, enjoy!
Ten
He is a king among thieves.
The leeches will hollow his skin, the crows reduce him to bones.
His own heart will empty him. Allow for the bleed.
Be ready with tourniquet and prayer.
Chapter Ten
All she could see was black. Darkness everywhere, and smoke. She couldn't even see a hint of the fires that had destroyed that block of Paris – just the smoke that remained heavy on the air. She staggered blindly, desperately, coughing and crying out for her lover, praying he would be somewhere, alive and unharmed.
Then, finally, she saw him.
For several minutes, she didn't realize that the horrifying scream she was hearing was coming from her throat. She sprinted to the barricade, trying to climb it as she shook with sobs. There he was, sprawled across the top of it – run through the sternum with his own red flag. The crows were still darting down from the black abyss above, greedily snapping up the last bits of his flesh. Nothing but bones remained of the great Marble Man – the Damien-Henri Enjolras that she had loved.
"N-no…Enjolras! NO!" Éponine screamed, shooting bolt upright in bed. She was panting, drenched in a cold sweat, and couldn't release her death grip on the sheets. Still breathing hard, she took a moment to gather her surroundings – she was in the upstairs room of the Café, in the same bed as she'd slept in the other night.
As she came to awareness, she realized that Enjolras was next to her, and saying her name very urgently. "Éponine! Éponine, are you alright? What was that?"
She swallowed hard, not looking at him. "N-nothing…just a dream."
"Must've been a nightmare," he murmured, pulling her close and stroking her hair. "Don't worry. I'm here, and I'm fine. So are you. We're both alright." He kissed the top of her head, gently scratching the back of her neck through her thick hair.
"Enjolras…" she murmured, her head resting on his chest. "You were…dead. Completely gone."
He frowned. "What do you mean when you say 'completely' gone?" he murmured.
She bit her bottom lip, holding back tears. "Y-you were…a skeleton on top of the barricade. Run through with the red flag." The dam broke when her sentence ended, and she burst into tears.
He sighed softly with pity, holding her even closer. "Oh, Éponine…" he murmured, kissing the top of her head again. "Shh…it was just a nightmare…I'm alive, I'm fine, I'm here next to you…"
She started shaking as she wept, gripping the front of his shirt. "It was…awful…there were crows eating what was left of you…" she cried even harder, gasping raggedly in between sobs.
"Don't dwell on it, my love," he murmured in her ear. "It wasn't real, I swear…"
Éponine's ragged sobs finally turned into ragged breaths as she started to calm down. "I know…but it was so frightening…I don't want to lose you like that…"
"No leeches will hollow my skin, and no crows will reduce me to bones," he murmured in her ear. "I promise you that." He kissed her forehead, nose and lips gently. "Go back to sleep, darling. I'll be right here, all night."
The last of the preparations began early that morning – Enjolras was up by 8:00, and the Amis were congregated at the Musain about 15 minutes later. Gavroche was there too, along with some of his friends who all lived in the elephant in the main square – they'd agreed to let the Amis store their guns and ammunition there, and were singing with each other as they carefully relayed small amounts of ammunition and guns in pieces back to their hiding place.
Éponine did her best to stay out of the way as the men bustled about downstairs, getting counts on guns, ammunition, men that would be present, planning who would stand where for the funeral procession, who would be where on the hearse when the time came…when lunchtime rolled around, though, she cooked up another three frozen pizzas for the hungry men, who devoured them all within a few minutes.
"Thank you, Éponine!" Courfeyrac said through a full mouth, giving her a big thumbs up.
"Yeah, thanks Ép!" Grantaire hollered from his corner across the room as he toasted her with his brandy. She could tell that he was already getting drunk, at midday.
All she could do was laugh. "You're welcome, boys," she grinned.
Enjolras looked over his shoulder to her from the table, grinning from ear to ear. He held out an arm, and she crossed the room to hug him. "Thank you, sweetie," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.
"No problem. You boys get back to your revolution!" she laughed.
He allowed himself a small smile as she walked away from the men, trying not to think about what might happen to her after tomorrow, when he was gone. He watched her smile at Joly, check on Combeferre, chat with Courfeyrac, laugh with Grantaire, and prayed it wouldn't be the last time.
Enough, he told himself. She'll be fine; she knows how to make her way in the world. You have to focus on the task at hand.
"Enjolras?" he heard Marius saying his name.
"Hmm?" he asked a little distractedly, his mind still following Éponine as she wandered the room. "What was that?"
"I was asking if you wanted me to stand with you on the funeral route tomorrow. The rest of the Amis are pretty evenly spaced all the way back to here, and I want to stand by you."
The Leader gave his young friend a smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I would be honored if you would stand next to me at General Lamarque's funeral tomorrow," he said. He knew he was being more emotive than usual, but this might be one of the last times he saw all of them alive. Deep down, in a secret place in his heart, he knew they were all going to die tomorrow.
In an attempt to distract himself, Enjolras turned away from the group at the table, poring over maps of the city, to the drunk in the corner. "Grantaire!" He barked in the best military voice he could muster. "If you're going to be here, man, put the damn bottle down!"
He finished a huge swig before answering. "What's the point of it? You know we're all going to die, Enjolras. I can tell it in your eyes."
Enjolras attempted to shrug off Grantaire's uncanny ability to see right through his calm façade. "Can the nihilism for one night, if you don't mind," he answered through clenched teeth. "Even if we are going to die, we're going to die fighting for a worthy cause – for Patria."
"What is your Patria but a broken mess of filthy streets? Men robbing each other, women and children starving to death because their husbands and fathers can't provide for them?" the drunkard answered, finally standing up. No one in the Amis had ever seen him so spirited – or so articulate while under the influence.
"That's exactly what I'm trying to fix!" Enjolras shouted back. "Who are you to argue against my revolution? You come to the meetings, but you say nothing. You sit in the corner wasting your money on drink and idle pleasure. You believe in nothing!" He turned around, fully intending to walk away and let it be.
A pause. "I believe in you," he said softly.
Enjolras stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning to face him again. The whole Café was now silent, watching to see what would play out between the two men. "W-what?"
"I believe in you," he repeated simply, shrugging his shoulders. "You're the only thing I've ever believed in. All my life, I've felt hopeless. That was why I started drinking when I was thirteen. And then when we got to university, I met you, and the Amis…and for the first time, I felt like I had something to live for. That was why I always came to the meetings so faithfully – because you gave me hope, Enjolras."
The Leader's brow furrowed as he listened to him, trying to wrap his brain around everything that was being said. "Grantaire, what the hell are you saying?" he ended up snapping in irritation. "If you have something important to say, talk to me in private after tonight's meeting."
He would not face this now. He had more important things to face than the ramblings of a drunk man that he didn't even like. The revolution had always been, and would always be, first in his heart.
As much as I hate to think it…even before her.
The planning session went on for hours and hours on end. Éponine thought the Amis were never going to leave the Café, but gradually, they trickled out – Bahorel left first, claiming his girlfriend had texted him, then gradually, they all disappeared – Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Joly, Marius, Lesgle, Combeferre – until Enjolras, Éponine and Grantaire were the only ones left. The Leader was still bustling around, gathering up papers and checking counts, while Éponine did dinner dishes and Grantaire drank. Enjolras turned to the papers on the table before him, not noticing the look Grantaire sent him.
But Éponine recognized it from too many years of seeing it in the mirror. She found herself overwhelmed with pity for the man in the corner, who could only seek refuge from his tormented feelings in a bottle. As she dried the last dish and put it away, she walked over to him and sat down next to him, silent at first, for lack of words.
After a few minutes of silence, as Enjolras went upstairs, he spoke.
"Every moment you spend with him, I envy you."
Éponine looked over at him. "You shouldn't. It kills me to be near him and know that he'll always love something else more. That I'll never truly be first in his heart."
He snorted into his bottle. "You should be happy. At least you have him; that's more than anyone else in Paris can say. I'd give the world for…" he trailed off, taking another swig. "For even a look from him that wasn't scathing. And you…you don't even realize how lucky you really are. He loves you, and wants to wake up next to you in the morning. I'll never know what that's like."
"Don't say that, Grantaire," she said.
"Why not? It's true; we both know it is," he said bitterly, finishing off the bottle. "And he's going to die tomorrow. You know it, too," he added, walking away.
She sat at the table for a long time, dwelling on his words and trying not to cry. The worst part was that everything he'd said was true. She was lucky, and didn't realize just how much she had when she was with him. She should have been happy, grateful. Éponine felt horribly selfish as she thought about her relationship with Enjolras – she had given herself to him time and time again, only to be afraid later of the past, the future – even the present. He knew her so well…and she felt like she hardly knew him at all.
She didn't look up when Grantaire slammed the door as he left, or when Enjolras came back down the stairs in his nightclothes, locking up the Café. "Éponine?" he murmured gently, stroking her hair back from her face. "Are you alright, love? You look…sad."
Éponine smiled, looking up at him. "I'm fine. I'm just a little tired."
"I'm glad you're alright," he said. "I was just about to go to bed; are you coming?"
She nodded. "I'll be up in a few minutes."
Enjolras nodded, kissing her forehead. "I love you," he murmured as he went upstairs, shutting the door behind him.
"He's not as bad as you make him out to be," Éponine said.
They had just made love and were curled up together under the sheets, his arms around her as she rested her head on his chest. "You should give him a chance."
"Who?" Enjolras frowned at her.
"Grantaire," she said simply. "I talked to him tonight while you were up here, and he's not just an alcoholic nihilist. He deserves your pity rather than your scorn."
His look grew darker. "A man who wastes his money on nothing but drink does not deserve my pity," he said coldly. "He comes to the Café to do nothing but drink, criticize the revolution, and remind me of my own imminent demise. Tell me how that deserves my pity."
"He drinks because of unrequited love," Éponine said flatly. "He cares about you at least as much as I do, if not more. The first words he spoke to me tonight were to tell me he envies every moment we have together. And you do nothing but scorn him. Why?"
"Éponine, I cannot love anyone who only opens his mouth to degrade my Patria," Enjolras answered measuredly. "I love you not just because you accept that this revolution is part of me, but because you were the only one to see me as more than just the Leader. I was able to open up to you and show you my true self, more than anyone else I've ever known. I could never have the same connection without you."
She smiled a little at his praise. "And you…you saw me as more than just the daughter of a street gang leader. The reason I'd always clung to Marius like the tail on a dog was because I thought he could make me better than I was…and then I met you, and everything changed. You…actually reached out to me, which was what he never did. I didn't realize until that first night I danced for you downstairs. You…cared."
He kissed her forehead, grinning ear to ear. "And I always will, mon chèrie," he whispered. "Toujours."
Éponine took his face between her hands and kissed him slowly, savoring every instant that his lips touched hers. She could feel the seconds they had left together slipping away, each one causing her almost physical pain as it ticked by. The brontide of his approaching death was constant in the back of her head.
She did her best to memorize every detail of the moment – his weight on top of her, the tickle of the hair on his legs, his calloused hands resting on her bare shoulders as he held her close, his soft lips on hers, the simmering heat between their bodies, the muscles in his arms that bulged as he held himself up on his elbows, the rough stubble on his soft cheeks under her touch – knowing this could be the last time they were together. She let her fingers slip into his hair, not wanting the moment to ever end. "Je t'aime, mon chère," she whispered. "Mon rêve c'était d'être le tien."
The Leader gently stroked her hair back from her face, smiling sadly. "Je rêve d'être le tien aussi, chèrie," he whispered back, closing his eyes and letting himself fall asleep in the arms of his love.
A/N: Yay, fluff! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!