Authoress's pre-chapter note/warning: This chapter goes beyond the usual rating of the story. If you don't know what happens when a man and a woman love each other very much, you may want to go look that up, and then come back and read this.

January 14, 1832

Two weeks had passed since her wedding, and yet, Éponine felt as though nothing had changed from before. When she'd played at house as a child, she'd imagined something more… loving. Not that Enjolras hadn't been kind and attentive, but he was… Enjolras. He had been treating her very much the way he had treated Marianne: no more flirting, or playful kisses, just witty conversations and the occasional hug.

"What do you think, Erik?" she asked, bouncing the little boy on her knee as they watched Enjolras make his way down the street. "Is Papa getting bored of Mama?" Erik blew his tin whistle. "Oh, what am I thinking? Youʻre still a baby, you don't understand what's going on around you."

"Sing?" Erik asked, grinning at her naïvely. "Please, Mama?"

"Oh…" Éponine looked at his soft gold-brown eyes, and the eagerness of his little face, and sighed. "Fine. What is it you want me to sing?" He shrugged. "Erik… all right, then I'll choose." She sucked in her lips, then thought of something. "Suddenly I see, suddenly it starts: when two anxious hearts beat as one. Yesterday, I was alone. Today, you walk beside me. Something still unclear, something not yet here has begun. Suddenly, the world seems a different place… Somehow full of grace and delight. How was I to know that so much love was held inside me? Something fresh and young, something still unsung fills the night…" Erik snuggled into her, yawning lazily. "How was I to know at last that happiness can come so fast? Trusting me the way you do I'm so afraid of failing you…" she faltered for a moment. "Nevermore alone, nevermore apart, you have warmed my heart like the sun. You have brought the gift of life, and love so long denied me. Suddenly, I see what I could not see… Something suddenly has begun." As the last note left her lips, Erik let out a tiny snore. "You little darling, you…" she murmured, lying him down on the sofa and pulling one of the spare blankets over him. Leaving him to his dreams, she sat down at the desk and began sorting through Enjolras's mountain of papers. His handwriting was close to indecipherable, and she could only make out a few phrases, namely ones like Patria and Revolution, where he'd pressed harder with his pen and written the words almost reverently.

Patria. Éponine felt a little sliver of something cold enter her heart. That was the one name that never ceased to bring a smile to the face of the man who was now her husband. It made her want to scream and throw a tantrum, the way a little girl would. Patria. For one brief instant, she hated that word. Then, a knock came at the door, jolting her back into reality. She placed down the papers and hurried to get the door. The face she saw when she opened it was one she had not been expecting, nor one she was particularly thrilled to see. "Is there a problem?" she asked.

Inspector Vincent Javert gave her a small bow. "Are you Mme. Madeleine?"

"Mme. Enjolras now," she corrected politely. "Is there a problem, Inspector?"

"I'm here on an investigation, Madame, due to information sent from one Sebastien Enjolras III, of Rennes."

"Oh, how is Grand-père?" Éponine asked sweetly. "I hope he wasn't taking that little spat he and Bastien had seriously! My husband loves to ruffle his grandfather's feathers, Inspector, he didn't mean any of it!"

"Then your husband is not planning an illegal rebellion?"

"Of course not!" Éponine said indignantly.

"All the same, Madame, may I come in?"

"No!" she said immediately.

"Why not?"

"My son's asleep in there, Inspector, I don't want you to wake him." Javert's face softened a little at her excuse.

"Of course, Madame. My apologies for the inconvenience. Where might I be able to find your husband?"

"I don't know," she lied, keeping her eyes downcast. "He's out with his friends, I don't know where. I'm sorry, Inspector."

"Thank you for your help." Javert bowed again, and she closed the door behind him. She stood for a moment, her back pressed against the door, then hurried to the desk and scribbled a note on a spare sheet of paper.

Bastien,

Inspector Javert came to the flat asking after you. Your grandfather's informed the police of your fight at Christmas. I'm taking Erik to one of my family's empty residences for a few days — it's a room on the third floor in the building two doors over from the Musain on the left. It's safest there. Hide everything related to the revolution in a place that won't be found if anyone comes to search again, then come find me. We need to do something.

~Éponine

With that done, she hurried to the attic room and stripped off her red dress, rummaging around for her ragged clothes, finally locating them beneath a patterned wool shawl. She almost didn't fit into them now, all the months of good food and enough sleep had made her plumper and healthier, but she managed to get them on just the same. There was something about them that made her hate them even more than she had before. Maybe it was the fact that she now knew what it was like to wear clothes that fit her, warm, well made clothes. Maybe it was that the rags just reminded her too much of another life she'd been trying very hard to forget. Whatever the reason, she hated them. But there was something more important to worry about than her own comfort: Erik's safety. And if Enjolras was under suspicion, then Number 147 Rue Liberté was no longer safe. Not for her, or for Erik. She found his 'exploring' clothes, the ripped clothes covered in soot stains and God knew what else from all the little boy's adventures.

"Erik!" She climbed down the ladder, clothes in hand. "Erik, wake up!" The little boy rolled over, batting a lazy eye. "Put these on." She threw the clothes at him on her way into the kitchen. "Now." She was stuffing a last bit of bread into her shawl when Erik drowsily toddled in, the clothes hanging haphazardly on his skinny body. "Go get me some ashes from the fireplace."

"Ohuh?"

"FIREPLACE." she said loudly. "ASHES. NOW." Erik toddled back into the parlor, grumbling, and Éponine followed him, her bundle of food in hand. He scooped up a few handfuls of ash and held them out to her. "Good boy." She took a pinch and smeared the soot over his cheeks. "Do mine now." He shoved the full load of remaining ash into her face, making her cough. Erik giggled at her, and she smacked his arm lightly. "That was not funny. Now, come on, we're leaving."

"Why?"

"Because it's not safe here anymore."

"What about Papa?"

"He'll meet us there." She handed him the bundle of food. "Hold that and don't make a sound." Erik nodded silently, allowing her to scoop him up in her arms. She carried him out of the flat, locked the door and began to creep down the stairs as noiselessly as possible. They made it through the door and out into the streets. Weak rays of sunlight filtered through a grey wall of clouds and the wind was icy and sharp. Erik whimpered and clung to Éponine's tattered skirt, burying his face in the ripped fabric. "I'm sorry, Erik, we need to do this."

"Why?" he asked again. "I wanna go home!"

"We are going home. Just not to the one we usually do." She picked him up and started running through the streets, sneaking through side alleys and back ways until they reached the grubby little building near the Musain. Éponine climbed the stairs, never loosening her grip on Erik until they were safely in her little hideaway.

"This isn't nice," Erik said, looking around at the faded walls, the worn floors and the cracks that ran throughout the entire room.

"I know it's not Papa's apartment, but we didn't have much of a choice," she retorted, setting him down on the mattress. "I'm sorry, Erik. This is to keep us safe."

"Safe from what?"

"People who would hurt us."

"Like who?"

"Bad people," she said vaguely. He was still too young to understand what was going on. "I'm sorry for doing this, but I just wanted us to be safe." Erik curled himself into a ball, shivering. Éponine bent down and wrapped her arms around him, trying to keep him warm. They sat there for hours until they heard someone climbing the stairs.

"Éponine? Erik? Are you up here? It's me."

"Papa! Papa!" Erik wriggled out of Éponine's grip and ran to meet Enjolras in the hall.

"You're freezing!" Enjolras declared. "Éponine, what were you thinking?" He came into the room, holding Erik in his arms and her note pinched between his fingers. "I think you overreacted."

"Javert knows who I am… who I was. If he'd recognized me, I could've been arrested!"

"But you weren't. There was no reason to move out."

"I was trying to be careful."

"How were you expecting me to explain the sudden disappearance of my wife and son?"

"Oh, am I your wife now?" she asked angrily.

"Éponine, what is that supposed to mean? Of course you're my wife, you have been for two weeks now!"

"You don't treat me like it!"

"I've got a revolution I'm trying to plan, you know that!"

"How is that at all relevant? You made a promise to me, but the minute it was done, you started ignoring me!" she yelled. "I'm not asking for you to put me up on a pedestal, but I just want a little acknowledgment from you that I'm there. That you care about me."

"I do care!"

"Then show it!" she snapped, turning away.

"I will, I promise! Éponine…" He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Come home, and I'll be better, I promise. We'll spend an hour talking every day, and not just about what I want. You have full permission to slap me if I start waxing poetic, to take control of the conversation, anything you want."

"Promise?" she asked, not turning to face him. He didn't answer, but walked around so that they were eye to eye, and kissed her on the mouth. "That's not good enough."

"Then tell me what you want."

"I'll go home with you and Erik and tell you once he's in bed."

Enjolras sat on his bed in his shirtsleeves and trousers, the rest of his clothes strewn carelessly across the floor. A light tapping on the door told him Éponine had finally gotten Erik to sleep. He looked up to see her standing in the doorway, a shawl wrapped over her nightgown.

"Aren't you going to change for bed?" she asked.

"I sleep like this," he answered, shrugging at her and tapping the empty space next to him. "I change maybe twice a week. When I bathe. Come on, sit by me. I'm not going to bite." She stepped around the scattered clothes and sank down beside him. "Now, what was it you wanted instead of a promise?"

"Proof," she replied. "Proof that I'm more to you than just the way to get your inheritance. That you care."

"And do you have any way in particular you wanted me to demonstrate that?"

Her cheeks flushed carmine. "No." Some gut instinct told him she was lying, but he let it slide.

"Well, I've an idea of what we could do tonight. Tonight, we're going to know each other." She squeaked and went even redder. "Oh, for the love of God, not like that. I meant as people. Damn… this really is a topic full of double entendres, isn't it?" She nodded. "What I'm trying to say is that, despite being married, we don't know very much about each other."

"I know you!" she retorted indignantly.

"Really? What's my favorite color?"

"Uhhhh… Uhhhh…" She wrinkled her face and chewed her lip. "Red?"

"No." He laughed gently. "It's blue. The color the sky is when the sun's just risen. I like how infinite it seems, how full of possibilities and new life. It's hope."

"Hmph." Éponine muttered. "I don't get it. What's the point of me knowing your favorite color?"

"It's more about knowing me, as a person. I thought it'd work something like this: I ask you a question, you answer truthfully, then the roles reverse. That's how we'd learn more about each other."

"Well… All right," she sighed, pulling her feet up onto the bed. "How do we start?"

"You ask me."

"No, you go first."

"Very well, if you insist. You know my favorite color now, so what's yours?"

"White. I like snow. I'm not deep about it like you are. My turn."

"Ask away."

"What's your favorite book?"

"The Collected Works of Robespierre." Éponine snorted at his answer. "I stand by my tastes. What's yours?"

"Cendrillon. What sweets do you like?"

"Macarons. Where did you grow up?"

"Montfermeil. Was I your first kiss?"

"Yes. Was I yours?"

"No. That was Montparnasse."

"Did you love him?"

"No fair, it's my turn to ask a question! Now, tell me, have you ever," she posed provocatively, "been with a woman?'"

"No. Are you likewise as innocent?"

"Of course I am! Why have you never had a girl? It's not as if you couldn't get one. I know a lot of girls would jump at the chance to be with someone like you."

"This would be a lengthier answer, are you sure you want to hear it."

"Answer, please."

"Fine. I grew up with Marianne as my primary childhood companion. And I saw what it was like for her, particularly how people treated her after she began… developing. I never saw the decency of it. Maybe that's part of why I grew to be so dedicated to my cause. When I picture the Republic in my mind, I see a world where everyone is judged equally, where a little girl on the streets is just as important as a fat old man in a warm bed. I never really looked at any women because I didn't want to judge them on what everyone else does. I wanted to fall in love with someone who would challenge me, not someone who would comply with me because of our alleged positions. I want someone willing to break rules for me. To be a fighter. Someone who can keep up. So, tell me, Éponine, can you keep up?"

"What do you think?" she asked, rolling on top of him.

"Wait… what are you doing?"

"You want me to break the rules, right?"

"Éponine, I don't under—" She pulled him up by his collar and kissed him deeply, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. "Mmmph!" he pulled away. "What… what're you trying to do? This isn't something you can go back from, Éponine."

"But I don't want to go back," Éponine whispered. "I want to stay here, I want to be with you. I need you."

"Éponine… I don't know what I'm meant to do."

"Simple enough, really, the pointy part goes into me. I saw Father Christmas doing it once when I was a child."

"Do I want to know the details?"

"I can show you. If you want."

"I think I can figure it out. But you're certain? You want me to be your first? Not Marius?"

"I'm trying to let go of Marius as best I can. To be honest, I hadn't really thought about him till now… Oh!" she gasped as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for another kiss.

"Forget I asked. You really want this?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Please, Bastien. Be my first."

"As you wish." As he kissed her again, he felt a bizarre sensation surging through him. Éponine squeaked. "What is it?"

"I think you're excited for this as much as I am."

January 15, 1832

Enjolras awoke to find himself sprawled across his bed, Éponine nestled into his bare chest. "Éponine," he whispered gently. "Éponine, wake up."

"Morning," she mumbled, rolling off him. "Did you like that?"

"Well… yes," he admitted sheepishly. "But we can't do that again."

"Why not?" She pouted.

"Because…" he reached out to touch her cheek and trailed his hand down to her stomach. "We're still planning a war, remember? I don't want to risk leaving you and Erik and… anyone else behind." Éponine blushed. "I'm serious, childbirth is dangerous."

"I know it is. But I'm not scared."

"I know… I am," he admitted. "But don't you dare tell anyone I said that."

"I won't. And I also won't tell anyone what we did last night. Are you sure we can't—"

"We're not taking chances." He brushed a strand of her dark hair off her face. "But I did like it." She giggled a little and kissed him on the nose. "What day is it?"

"Sunday."

"Oh. Then we can sleep in."

"It's already noon, I can tell from the shadows." She pointed at the window, then turned pale. "Oh, God, Erik's probably having a panic attack in the attic."

"Damn… Where are our clothes?"

She laughed and slid out of bed. "I've still got my nightdress on. You can get dressed, I'll get him."

"You're a godsend."

"I know."