Wringing the excess water out of the flannel, Eponine walked back around to Enjolras and placed it on his forehead. She dabbed lightly around his face, trying to clean off the sweat that seemed to pour out of him due to an extreme fever that had plagued him for hours.
Not long after the nuns left Eponine alone with Enjolras, Eponine couldn't help but break down in tears. Looking at Enjolras, broken but alive, left her alone with her thoughts of Marius. The one man who treated her with nothing but respect and kindness was snatched from her. The man she loved.
Even if Marius had lived and married Cosette, have a dozen children and move into a palace, Eponine would have still been content with the turn of events. As long as there was someone good like Marius left in the world, Eponine had a chance.
She wasn't one to cry. Her father would never abide by the sounds of her sobs piercing through the thin walls of their home and the release wasn't worth the fight. Eponine was also not the type of person to show outward signs of weakness. Living in the streets taught her not to let down her guard, if even for a minute. Not every criminal had a soft spot for her like Montparnasse and most would use her tears to take advantage of her.
At some point in the night, Eponine had fallen asleep with her head resting on Enjolras's bed with thoughts of Marius plaguing her mind. She wondered if she could ever get over his death, if she would ever move on.
A few hours later, Enjolras began twisting in his bed, making Eponine jolt awake. Eponine's eyes widened considerably when she looked up at him. As bad as he looked when Valjean first brought him into the church.
Nightmares plagued the young revolutionary. He made desperate calls to Feuilly and Marius, apologizing for the deaths.
It broke something inside Eponine that he seemed to take the brunt of the responsibility. She knew Marius, possibly better than anybody. She knew that he would hate his friend taking responsibility for something that was his choice.
As Enjolras's fever raged on, he began to have muttered mangled conversations with Robespierre and Abbé Sieyès, quoting them at times but generally just thanking them. Sometimes he broke off into Latin or sometimes even into English, speaking to men Eponine knew nothing of, men of the names Jefferson and Cromwell. Her curious side was desperate to know what he was saying.
As frightening as it was to hear the muttered conversations, it was the chills that wracked Enjolras's body that truly worried her. She was far too familiar seeing bodies wracked in chills falling still in the middle of the night while no one cared.
Earlier in the day, a nun thrust an old dress that was from the charity box in her hand. Eponine tried to refuse the gift, her pride forbidding her to take charity even if it was from a nun. It was not until one had very firmly informed her that her blood and dirt matted dress would put Enjolras at danger of infection. If she was insistent that she be the one to take care of him then she was to keep to the basic laws of sanitation.
The dress was navy blue and far too big for her, slipping down her shoulder at any given moment. No matter how tightly she tried to lace it, it was of no use. One of the younger nuns, only a year or two older than Eponine herself, sheepishly told her that it was the smallest size the church currently had.
Eponine couldn't help but snort at that.
It was just another example of how blind the upper-class were in Paris. They may have been more than willing to throw their out-of-style clothes into a charity box in some semblance of alms but they wouldn't use their vast fortunes to create new dresses that the impoverished class could actually make use of.
Maybe paintings and cakes were more important than people to them.
Still, Eponine bent to the will of the nuns and changed. The last thing she wanted was to be responsible for Enjolras getting an infection. His health was already precarious as it was, with his blood loss and high fever. It would not do well for her pride to cause more pain to the young revolutionary.
Every so often, the sound of a gunshot and people screaming broke the relative silence that was present in the church's sick bay. She feared that the sounds were ones of the National Guard fighting back or the bourgeois citizens of Paris revolting to save their precious lifestyles.
These incidents tended to be isolated and didn't last long but they still sent a chill down Eponine's spine.
Eponine was desperate for Enjolras to wake up quickly, if only to ensure him that his revolution paid off. As far as Eponine was concerned, there was no cause to feel guilty because he contributed to freeing the citizens of France. Surely that would help put his mind at ease and keep the nightmares at bay.
At least she hoped so. Eponine feared that Enjolras would feel responsible for the deaths that occurred not only at the central barricade but throughout the city. From what Marius had told her about Enjolras's strong sense of duty to the citizens of France, she was worried that he would even take responsibility for the dead members of the National Guard, even if they were more than willing to kill the students and working class without a moment's thought.
A part of her mind questioned why she cared about Enjolras's feelings. At what point in the night had he gone from Marius's outspoken friend to someone she might care about?
There was the startling fact that Enjolras was the first person to believe in her abilities. He really believed she was meant for something better than keeping watch for the police or aiding in a robbery. For someone like Enjolras, who could lead men to battle and free a city, to believe in Eponine Thenardier meant everything. A part of her feared that if he died, the miniscule amount of confidence she gained would be lost as well.
By nightfall, the nuns had attempted to make Eponine leave Enjolras's side, to go back to her home and allow them to watch over him. Eponine firmly refused, snapping at the nuns with such a tone that she was sure she just sealed her ticket to hell.
It wasn't that she didn't trust the nuns, as she knew they were far more experienced than her. It wasn't so much that she felt responsible for Enjolras's heath (though she was worried about him) or that she felt indebted to him. Though her heart broke for the young man, the real reason that she stayed glued to his side was simple: helping him was giving her a purpose.
Nursing Enjolras back to heath kept her mind off her grief and the shattered existence that waited for her in the streets. With the Revolution waning in Paris, Eponine knew what kind of life awaited her in the streets and it was a less than lucky one.
Taking care of Enjolras was empowering, knowing that it was her and her alone that was giving him some semblance of comfort through his pain. She truly felt that this is what she was meant to do.
As the hours past, his sweating subsided and his nightmares seemed to calm down. The doctor had told her that his fever had broken and that he would be well on the path to recovery by morning. To have a part in that helped heal Eponine's broken heart.
It was only a day ago that Eponine thought her dreams and future lay only in Marius but maybe there was another way out. A path towards freedom that she could carve for herself, using her own talents and intelligence.
If the monarchy was destroyed and democracy formed the future of France, maybe she could even broaden her education, rent an apartment, make herself a home.
Eponine's dreams may have shattered but in those shards laid a thousand possibilities she would have never dared utter until this day.
However, she couldn't dwell on those things when Enjolras still suffered. She had accepted a duty and she was going to see it through the end.
Eponine sighed as Enjolras began twisting in his bed again. He had already broken some of his stitches in the night, which Eponine hastily would patch up. She feared another round of the same.
At least this time he wasn't screaming.
Moving to sit on the edge of his bed, Eponine hushed him, running a hand through his still-matted curls. She remembered using the same technique whenever her sister Azelma would have nightmares when they were children. Since then, Azelma had seen more in real life than her nightmares could ever conjure, so Eponine was a little out of practice when it came to comforting people.
Despite her rusty calming skills, Enjolras calmed down the moment Eponine began combing her fingers through his hair but Eponine pressed on, trying to offer any comfort she can to soothe his feverish nightmares.
"You needn't fret, Monsieur Enjolras," she began in her most soothing voice. A smile appeared on her lips. "Although I expect you'd be cross with me if you heard me call you 'Monsieur' again."
She paused as she untangled parts of his hair as gently as she could. "I wish you weren't trapped in your nightmares, Enjolras. Monsieur Fauchelevant, although I suppose it's Monsieur Leblanc to you, told me that the revolution is succeeding. At least here in Paris.
"I wish you were awake to know that, though," Eponine added mournfully. She wondered how long it would take him to wake up.
From what Eponine knew, a fever was a death sentence. In the streets, people often died from fevers as high as Enjolras's. Of course, it was important to remember that they were already malnourished and lacked the energy to fight off illness, but it still worried Eponine.
She reached over to the bedside table and picked up the still-damp flannel. Eponine was wiping down Enjolras's face again when his eyelashes started to flutter. She braced herself for another round of nightmares, ready to soothe him back to sleep.
The nightmares never came. Instead, he cracked open his brilliant blue eyes and looked up at her. A crease appeared between his eyebrows, showing confusion. He twisted around before letting out a cry of pain.
Eponine put her hand firmly on his good shoulder. "Stop moving," she commanded quietly. She already felt bad enough that Enjolras's screams likely kept the other patients up all night but now he was going to hurt himself. "You're safe, I promise," she whispered, smiling at him in what she hoped was a comforting manner.
She stood up, moving herself off the edge of his bed and positioned the flannel on his forehead. "Are you thirsty?" She asked, earning a nod from Enjolras.
Eponine moved behind Enjolras to prop him up slightly, the best that she could without causing him any pain. His head was cradled between her chin and her shoulder, putting him on an angle to ensure he wouldn't choke on the liquid. Enjolras dirty hair left a smudge on her newly-cleaned face, but Eponine couldn't bring herself to care. Though she did his best to move him slowly, Enjolras still winced when she moved him, but he remained silent, too proud in his awakened state to show that he was injured.
Eponine wondered how he would react if he knew how she had been caring for him since they entered the church. Perhaps his pride would not get the better of him.
Tilting the water glass to his mouth, Enjolras took a few deep gulps before reaching up with and pulling the glass away from his mouth. Eponine set it on the bedside table before trying to move from beneath him.
It was a harder task than trying to prop him up and Enjolas let a groan escape when she lowered him back to the bed, something that she immediately apologized for.
Eponine moved about him, straightening the blankets and smoothing any wrinkles that appeared. When she looked back at his face, Enjolras was looking at her curiously, almost like he couldn't believe that she was taking care of him.
"You must rest, Enjolras," Eponine scolded, causing Enjolras's curious gaze to turn to a glare. Even in his weakened state, his blue eyes still held a fire in them that was unmatched.
"I must fight," he managed to force out.
"There is no more fighting tonight," Eponine assured him. "The revolution has left Paris and I don't think you can make it to Versailles in your condition," she scolded lightly as she placed her hand on his shoulder again, just to ensure that he didn't move.
Enjolras furrowed his sweat-drenched brow. "Versailles?"
"The Parisian end of your revolution is complete," Eponine said softly, smiling down at him. "Cosette's father told me that the fight has moved to Versailles as far as they knew at the time."
Enjolras remained silent but Eponine could tell that his mind was racing with the news of the revolution. A part of her regretted it. Enjolras needed his rest and no doubt he would be desperate for information now.
"It's late," Eponine interjected, causing his eyes to snap back to her. "I promise you, in the morning, I'll find out everything I can but you need to rest now. You're still incredibly ill."
Enjolras contemplated the compromise and nodded. In truth, he felt completely drained and weaker than he could remember feeling. Eager to overcome this, Enjolras decided to comply with Eponine's command.
He settled back into the hard hospital cot and felt the weight of his fever wash over him.
"Thank you for staying with me," Enjolras muttered. He manages to sound firm even on the edge of unconsciousness.
Eponine smiled slightly as his eyes droop. "Just doing my job."
A/N: Wow, a lot of Eponine introspection? I seem to always do that with Eponine-centric chapters. Kid has a lot on her mind, I guess.
So this chapter was a bit of a downer and short-ish, what with Enjolras being SUPER SICK but next chapter, our favourite rag-tag bunch of revolutionaries make their triumphant return! And it's always good times with those guys. Sort of. Better times, anyway.
On another note, the last chapter marked the most ever reviews and the most ever single-day views for this story, which has made my entire life, to be honest. Especially to come on a chapter that I wasn't sure of. Now I feel a sense of freedom which is awesome because my school does NOT give that to me and that's really why I started writing this story. I felt my program zap any sense of creativity out of me that I was desperate to get back and by showing me that you like this story, I feel renewed and I'm so grateful to that because I was wallowing at the bottom of a bottle in dank clubs to have fun and now I'm not.
Mostly because I don't have any money but HEY!
We're also at 100 faves! This is so great, guys. It makes me want to shun my homework to serve you instead.
Glad you guys dig Cosette because she went from a cameo to a once in a while character to becoming a secondary character. I'M SORRY. I LIKE HER.
As far as the next update is concerned, I don't think I'll be able to do any real writing until the weekend. I have a hectic week ahead of me but next week I'm pretty free. I think I have a pretty good idea where the story's going for the next ten or so chapters, so there's that. Maybe Friday?