A/N- Gracious, but this chapter gave me grief. I realise Montparnasse hasn't been as much fun since he met Ponine, so I'm working on that... I should have put those last two chapters together, into one...
AmZ- Argh, I know... In my rough draft it was even worse, and I'm trying to fix it but it's kind of hard... The boy has a mind of his own, and he just won't co-operate with me. -grumbles-
Obsetress- Hoo boy, that little rhyme brings back some... bothersome... memories... I don't get why Hugo has an obsessive prettyboy spooning with a hideous louse... But I'm working on it.
Elyse3- Yeah, it's bugging me like crazy. This chapter is confusing, and I had to just up and delete what I had about three times and I'm still not happy with it... Hopefully after the next chapter it'll be smooth again.
Kang Xiu- Yay, I'm glad. I'm starting to get kinda mad at it, though. I think it'll work out in a chapter or two.
nebulia- Yay for angry Thénardier! He's a slimy little weasel, isn't he?
Mlle. Verity- -salutes- I shall do that. Feel lucky and get some sleep, I mean.
Aquamirajie-Tararei- Heavens, what a username you have there, m'dear. All my non-Raoul-ified stories? Do I have that many non-Raoul-ified stories? Hmm... -huggles Raoul- The poor dear.
X
After meeting Éponine, Montparnasse returned to his room and threw himself onto the mattress, falling asleep without undressing. When he awoke at dusk he scowled at his wrinkled clothes and quickly changed into a different suit. He had not been notified of a job planned for that evening, and he assumed he would spend another night working alone. As he was stuffing the wrinkled pants and jacket into his wardrobe and contemplating getting rid of them instead of having them pressed, he noticed mud caked along the cuffs of the pants. He scowled again. Where had he gone the night before that he could have got his clothes so dirty?
It was only then that he remembered Éponine, her father, and his own promise to return the following evening. Montparnasse groaned and buried his face into his hands. What had he been thinking? He had been in an odd mood, he knew that, and her father had angered him. How, then, had he come to be here, dreading another night with the wretched Jondrette daughter?
To be honest, it was not Éponine's company he dreaded. The girl had actually amused him the night before, making him smile once or twice against his own will. This is what he did not want – to grow to appreciate the girl. How would it look for Montparnasse, the devil's playmate, as some of the police had come to call him, to allow such a hideous thing to befriend him? He clenched his jaw at the thought. It would ruin everything he had worked for these last few years.
His mind set, Montparnasse tugged on his boots. He would not return to the Jondrette bridge. He could not risk sullying his reputation as a gentleman by keeping company with beggars like Éponine.
And yet, he had made an appointment, given his word to return. How could he call himself a gentleman if he did not keep his word? It would not be long before Jondrette found a way to join the Patron-Minette, and Montparnasse did want his comrades to hear ill of him.
Montparnasse took his knife from the pocket of the wrinkled suit and looked at the edge of the blade. He was being ridiculous. Who cared if Babet and the rest heard he had broken one appointment with one beggar? He could not risk his reputation for Éponine.
Satisfied, Montparnasse nodded at his reflection in the mirror. He would not return for Éponine. Let her rot alone; let her father beat her until she bled. He did not care.
He set out then, sneaked a rose out of an old flower vendor's basket, and tucked it into his buttonhole. Perhaps to-night he would cut the throat of some bourgeois, or... He reached into his pocket for his knife, but it was not there. He had left it on the floor by the wardrobe. Montparnasse turned around with the intention of returning to his room, but he was not attending to which roads he took, and somehow he found himself at the Jondrette bridge. Montparnasse cursed the absentmindedness that had caused him to return and started to leave, but the youngest daughter, who seemed to have been standing as a lookout, had already seen him and dashed down to inform her family of his approach. The beggars were waiting anxiously for him; Éponine was covering her cheek with one hand. When Montparnasse arrived she hurried over to him, and as she lowered her arm he saw a red mark across the side of her face.
Despite his own confusion, Montparnasse began to bring Éponine along with him every night. Her inexplicable innocence despite her surroundings enthralled him; and more, he knew that keeping company with such a homely thing made him look even more handsome than he already was. He found that Éponine was useful as a distraction when he picked pockets (she objected to him cutting throats in her presence). She became something of an apprentice, a galifard, to him over the next few weeks.
"My hands are cold," Éponine said one evening. Winter was coming on, and the girl's rags were getting thinner. She thrust her icy little fingers into the warmth of Montparnasse's neck, and he shivered.
"Stop that," he muttered, pulling her hands away and warming them between his own.
She laughed. "If I had any money I could get some warm clothes, you know, or something to eat. What an idea!"
"Pick someone's pocket."
"I'd do it," she said, "but I'm not very good."
"Try it," said Montparnasse, dropping her hands. "Get my purse."
"You know I can't."
"Yes, but that won't stop you, will it?"
"No," Éponine said, laughing again, "I suppose not." She crossed around behind him, and Montparnasse looked straight ahead. "Tell me if I do it right."
She was terrible. Montparnasse felt her hand slide into his back pocket, and it made him uncomfortable. "Stop," he said gruffly, turning and pushing her away. "I felt it."
Eponine cursed under her breath, and Montparnasse could not help but smile. "But then," he added charitably, "I was waiting for it, and more I'm a thief myself. If I were some useless bourgeois I might not have felt it at all."
"Then I should try it on some bourgeois stranger?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Why not?"
As if on cue, a well-dressed young man passed them and turned into a narrow alley nearby. Montparnasse put a finger to his lips and took Éponine's hand, leading her to the corner where they could watch the man without being seen. He stood at the other end of the alley and tapped his foot, then took out a gold watch and glanced at it impatiently.
"No doubt waiting for some grisette," Montparnasse whispered.
Éponine nodded. "A fancy watch he has, though. Should I?" Without waiting for an answer she crept into the alley, staying close to the buildings and blending into the shadows as Montparnasse had taught her to do. He held his breath as she sneaked around the stranger and slowly reached into his back pocket.
The man seized her wrist and spun around. Éponine tried to recoil, but she could not break his grip. "What have we here?" he asked hoarsely. "Ah, a little slut with no customers! Don't worry, my dear, ugly though you are, I'll show you a bit of fun. Can't pay you, though." He had pressed her against the wall. "You don't have some wretched disease, do you, my dear?"
Montparnasse found his knife and slipped toward them.
"Montparnasse," Éponine gasped, and her voice seemed more like a warning than a plea for help.
The man released her and stepped away.
"Montparnasse?" he repeated, his voice thick with fury. "Is he here?" He turned and saw the young man coming toward him in the darkness. "You!" he spat. "Look at this little dandy! Ah, and he has a knife! Are you going to kill me, my brat?"
Montparnasse paused for a moment, confused. "Let her go," he said at last.
"Ah, playing hero, are we?" he snatched up Éponine's wrist again. "Is this little louse your mistress, brat? And you wish to save her, I suppose." He laughed again and seized the ragged hem of Éponine's skirt, lifting it past her knee.
And then it happened again. Montparnasse's blood turned hot, and his ears rung. The feeling had been gone for so long, and now its return intoxicated him. He threw himself at the man, narrowly missing Éponine, and had him pinned in only a moment. He brought out his knife and held it at the man's throat.
"Oh," panted his victim, "so you'll kill me now, will you, Jules?"
Montparnasse faltered. "What?"
"Has my boy forgotten me so quickly, then? If it wasn't for me you'd be dead now, or at least a bourgeois locked up in a stuffy mansion somewhere."
"D- Dupont?" he gasped.
"So you haven't forgotten me." And then Montparnasse saw it; those same teasing eyes, colder than he remembered, glittered maliciously under a heavy brow. Time had not been kind to his old playmate, and he hardly looked to be only a year or so older than twenty. "And now you'll kill the very soul that brought you out here, that gave you the chance to be the hunter instead of the hunted, all because of an ugly girl you've taken a fancy to. No, I know you, little Jules, and I know you haven't the courage. You're soft, my brat! You'll never be anything more than a handsome boy with far too much pride!"
Montparnasse thrust the knife into his throat with a vicious twist, feeling that gut-wrenching joy he had grown unaccustomed to since he met Éponine. His old friend's eyes widened, and he reached up to clutch at Montparnasse's bloodstained hands before he fell away and was still.
"'Parnasse?"
Montparnasse slowly got to his feet and glanced up at Éponine. "It's been such a long time since I've been able to do that," he sighed, a smile playing across his pretty lips. He bent back down to clean his knife on Dupont's vest, then glanced sharply up at Éponine. "What was it you said?"
"'Parnasse."
"Don't say that again," he said firmly.
She grinned shakily at him. "What'll you do, cut my throat?"
"I might."
"You won't," she answered. "Anyway, your name is too long. Now I've shortened it."
"Well, what? What do you want?"
She smirked and held out her hand, revealing Dupont's watch.
For a moment Montparnasse could find nothing to say. "You..."
"I," she said. "I took it when the idiot thought he had me helpless."
And then he began to laugh, although he was not sure why. Éponine joined in, and then dropped the watch into her pocket.
"Montparnasse, is that you?" called Babet's nasal voice. The thief was hurrying into the alley. "I thought you weren't joining us to-night."
"I'm not," said Montparnasse. "I didn't know there was anything to join."
"There isn't, much. Barrecarrosse and I were planning a quick job down – " He noticed the corpse at Montparnasse's feet. "The devil! Do tell me, lad, what possible reason you could have had for killing a member of the Patron-Minette."
Glancing at Éponine, Montparnasse said, "He's an old rival of mine. It's his fault I grew up in the streets."
Babet frowned. "You're a fool, boy, do you know that?"
Montparnasse shrugged and nodded.
