A/N: Coming to you live at six in the morning before my first day of senior year. Wish me luck.
Disclaimer: Eponine, Gavroche and Javert belong to Monsieur Hugo.
It was several days (and several disastrously failed wooing attempts) later when Gavroche heard a racket coming from the front lawn. Venturing out to investigate, he was greeted by the sight of Henry Jacobson being dragged up the front walk by another young man. Not waiting to discover the identity of this stranger, he shouted "Someone at the door for you, 'Ponine!" and bolted. He did not want any more contact than was necessary with the Jacobson boy, and Eponine had learned to hold her own against the enthusiastic suitor.
Eponine came down the stairs and opened the door, but upon seeing Henry she gave a startled cry and turned to run. She was stopped, however, by a quietly firm voice that took hold of her like a vice. "Please wait. He has something to say."
Hesitating, she turned slowly around.
"I'm very sorry for causing such a disturbance in and about your household and I regret it terribly and promise never to do it again so there." Henry crossed his arms petulantly, obviously expecting to be set free. No such thing occurred. The young man clutching his ear seemed woefully distracted from his charge.
Eponine had not heard a word the misguided suitor had said. Her gaze was locked upon the dark eyes of his captor which were, in turn, riveted on hers. She took brief notice of the rest of him, and though the rest was handsome to see she paid most attention to his face. His hair was bound back in the French fashion. He was trim but not scrawny, long-limbed but not awkward, and he wore a simple black suit with a maroon waistcoat.
He bent at the waist--just slightly, just enough—and she turned her knees to bob down in the most curious little curtsey. Then, dragging Henry Jacobson with him, he vanished down the front path and out into the street.
The door slammed shut and Eponine jumped.
"Well!" Gavroche crowed with a grin, "Didn't catch his face, but whoever he is, I like him!" He glanced up at his sister. "And so do you, from the look of it!"
"Don't be foolish, Gavroche." She drifted off up the stairs, seeming worlds away.
Javert came into the room then, wiping ink from his hands with a rag. "Was someone just here?"
"Nah," the urchin said, shrugging. "Thought I heard a cat in the compost."
The next day found Mable at the door, fanning herself more furiously than ever and babbling to a confused Javert.
"Oh, it's the strangest thing! He never leaves the house during the day, never, and yet yesterday I entered the library to ask him of his studies and he was gone! He returned not an hour later with young Henry Jacobson and wouldn't say a word! Always such a taciturn child. I just wish I knew where he had been! I asked Henry, of course, but he wouldn't utter a thing. Flushed to the ears when I asked, though, good heavens! I just don't know what to think!"
"Madame," Javert said, raising a hand to silence her, "Who is this person you speak of?"
The fan snapped shut and then open again. "Why, the young man I took in off the street! My little boy! I fear he has been into something terribly nefarious."
Javert's eyebrows shot up. "Who?"
"Have I never spoken of him to you? He does not socialize. He barely speaks but to answer my questions, and leaves the house only to take nighttime walks. I should not call him a little boy, he isn't, really. He came to me not a day before you arrived here, but I have come to love him dearly and he will not tell me what is going on!"
"I think," the policeman said calmly, directing Mable to the door, "That you must take this up with your... little boy. Only he can answer your questions, even if he is reluctant."
But Mable was weeping dramatically and any hopes Javert had had to expedite her vacation from the house disappeared in a cloud of overpowering lavender perfume.
Eponine moved from the top of the stairs, where she had listened to this exchange, to the library, staring out a window without seeing the garden below. Her thoughts, however, were not what one might expect of a girl who has just met a creature as handsome as the one she had come across that afternoon. She did not dream of poetry and picnics in the springtime, she did not harbor fantasies of dances and bouquets of roses. She had only one thought—What is he doing here?
A/N: Shorter chapters from here on out, now that school's starting—and you thought they were short before!
LesMisLoony: I believe we can answer two questions with one quote, here! From "Eponine, An Apparition to Marius": "He raised his eyes and recognized the unfortunate child who had come to his room one morning, the elder of the Thenardier girls, Eponine; he now knew her name. Singular fact, she had become more wretched and more beautiful, two steps which seemed impossible. She had accomplished a double progress towards the light, and towards distress. She was barefooted and in rags, as on the day when she had so resolutely entered his room, only her rags were two months older; the holes were larger, the tatters dirtier. And with all this, she was beautiful."
CelticHeiressFiona: I'm not mad! A little put-out, maybe, but I'll get over it. Thanks for the review!
Chasing Clouds: Ah! Thank you, sir or ma'am, for your kindly appointing me Master of Comedy. I am forever in your debt!
