A/N: I was so excited (again) because I just love this chapter, and a lot of things are updating tonight, so I was like, "Okay. This is happening." *le sigh* I hope some of your faces crack cause you're smiling so wide; it could happen. :D

Pairings: E/É; more to come

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Dinner Parties

True to her word, Clemence convinced Enjolras to allow Éponine to spend her next few days on the couch in the drawing room. That way, she was more connected with the visitors in the house. After a week of her ankle being swollen, Enjolras avoiding her altogether, and Clemence trying to reassure her of whatever, the doctor pronounced Éponine clear to be able to hobble about.

The wrap would remain on for awhile, but he was astounded as to how quick of a healer she was. Éponine tried not to let it get to her. She knew why she healed so fast, but she knew it wasn't her place to say. Because of the recent revelation, Clemence was thoroughly excited. She had something up her sleeve, and Éponine could tell.

On a cool Monday evening, a week and three days after the accident, Éponine was rubbing some cream on her bruised and slightly swollen ankle when Clemence bounded out the front door, dropping beside Éponine on the veranda. The woman elbowed the other and Éponine looked up.

"Yes?"

"I'm throwing you and Enjolras a house-warming party."

"Excuse me," Éponine deadpanned. "No. You're not."

Clemence raised an eyebrow and leaned back. "Sure I am. I've already sent the invitations out."

"Clemence Weller, I can't believe you!" Although she was full of surprise and annoyance, Éponine couldn't help but smile at her sister-in-law's antics.

"Éponine Enjolras, I'm-" Éponine drew in a sharp breath and Clemence stopped talking, sitting back up. "What is it?"

Éponine shook her head roughly. "Nothing. That just sounds-"

"Odd?" Clemence filled in.

"Yes.."

"Is it a good odd?"

Éponine shook her head. "I'm not sure. I've never heard it said before, and I'd rather not hear it again, if you don't mind."

Clemence sighed. "Why do the pair of you hate each other so much? Rogier is a wonderful man, Éponine."

"Oh, I'm sure," she replied, throwing a twig at her feet. "And we don't hate each other.. anymore. We're merely civil. Clemence, he doesn't want me, and I don't want to be in the way. Besides, I have my sister to think about.. I need to get her out of there."

Clemence rubbed her nose. "Éponine, I think Enjolras enjoys your company more than you know." Éponine shook her head. "No, really! When you were stuck in bed, he was agitated and worried. I've never seen him like that, and now that you can walk around, he seems to be settling down. Like it or not, Enjolras is fond of you."

"He's not."

Clemence shrugged. "Believe what you will, but the two of you are destined for one another. You're the most stubborn, argumentative, hardhearted bastards in the world!" Éponine laughed. "And I want the both of you to be happy."

Éponine smiled and patted her friend's hand. "Thank you."

Clemence smiled back. "Now, about this party-"

"The one that isn't happening." Éponine raised an eyebrow and fiddled with her skirt.

"The one that is, actually. I didn't invite many people; Enjolras would likely throw up. But, I did some snooping, like you, and I invited his little group, a few of my friends who will surely become yours, and some distant cousins. Most have accepted. One in particular- Grantaire, I think his name was- seemed very excited."

Éponine sighed and shook her head. "And what of my ankle, huh?"

"It's not until next week. You should be fine by then, dear. Don't try and get out of this!"

"Enjolras is going to strangle you."

"So, you're alright with this," the sister squealed.

Éponine sighed and stood up, heading inside with much effort. "If I have to be."

Clemence rushed forward beside her sister-in-law and kissed her cheek. "You won't regret this, Éponine! You'll have fun, don't worry about anything."

When the evening of the party finally rolled around, Éponine was actually excited. Her hands were trembling slightly as she worked on buttoning herself up. Instead of the party being held indoors, it was set outside because of the extremely nice weather, nearby the pond, which had been adorned with paper lanterns along the side. There was a large tent set up with tables underneath and Clemence was brimming with enthusiasm. Enjolras and Simon both had been opposed to the idea at first, but they soon relaxed and Enjolras found himself at ease with the idea of hosting a gathering.

Éponine's ankle was nearly healed, but she decided to wear simple flats to deter heightening her pain anymore than she had to. For her dress, she had chosen a simple green dress of a soft cotton. Of all the colors in the world, green was her least favorite, but it made her hair stand out when it didn't look too bad, and she was having a good hair day, so she was appeasing herself. Clemence didn't know it, but she had inadvertently planned the party for Éponine's two month wedding anniversary.

She could hardly believe it herself. Two months and it hadn't completely been hell. Éponine smirked to herself and pushed her hair away from her face. She was content where she was now. She had Clemence's company, books to read, and Enjolras to argue with. She was... happy, which was what worried her.

Éponine gave herself one more glance before she exited her room. While she was excited for this party, she was a tad bit nervous as well. She'd never met Enjolras' friends before, besides the three that were present at her accident. She hoped they all weren't dreadful.

Clemence met her at the top of the stairs and the two walked down, arm-in-arm, going over the last minute details. The guests were scheduled to arrive at any moment, so Simon and Enjolras were already waiting in the drawing room, a glass of whiskey already in hand. Clemence left Éponine at the door way and went to loop her arm around Simon's, who was too busy talking to Enjolras about the rebellion to notice. Simon had become rather enraptured by the idea every since Enjolras brought it up at dinner one night. He was convinced Enjolras was doing the right thing, and though he would never tell Clemence, he was intent on joining up as well.

Éponine walked slowly up to Enjolras' side, but she kept her arms together, and she stared out the window. He looked more ravishing than usual. In a tighter suit, not too flashy, completely Enjolras. Éponine could feel her heart beat quickly at the sight of him. Clemence gave her a look that said, "Do something," but she shook her head, shooting her a look back. It was then that the first guest arrived: Clemence's dear friend Anastasia. Clemence introduced her husband, Éponine, and Enjolras and then sent Anastasia's husband in with the men, while she dragged her women off to the dining room.

As the guests began to trickle in, it was obviously a man's world. In total, by the end of the night, there had only been about six women in all, while they were outnumbered by at least ten to fifteen men. Oh well; Éponine liked it that way. She'd much rather be in the company of men than women, but she found herself straddled to talk of babies, and cooking, and cleaning, and pillow talk the whole night. Several times a rather forward young woman named Lucy asked Éponine whether or not Enjolras was "adequate in the bedroom." Éponine brushed her questions off with untestable lies, like always.

By dinner time, Éponine was simply done. She didn't know how Clemence did it: kept the ever present smile on her face, made everyone feel welcome. Well, she must have had practice, but Éponine did feel like doing this again in the future. Finally, she was able to sit down. She was placed beside her husband, on the end of the table full of his friends. There had to be at least nine of them and they were all talking at once, not listening to anyone at all. Éponine's head was pounding terribly. Beside her, Enjolras was deep in conversation with a man on his other side.

After awhile of her just pushing around her food, making small talk with Lucy, Enjolras suddenly had his hand on her shoulder. She jumped. They hadn't touched, talked, in ages. He had completely left her alone after the afternoon he told her about Xavier; even when they passed in the halls, he gave her the cold shoulder. She had only thought that he was slightly embarrassed from nearly crying, but she didn't think he was go so far as to just abandon her. Then again, this was Enjolras; God only knew what was going on in that thick head of his.

He was leaning forward to address his friends, so she assumed he was making introductions.

"Gentlemen," he said. "This is my.. wife, Éponine." She gave them a hesitant smile, which they returned with bright ones. It was clear they found this amusing. "Éponine, may I introduce to you Combeferre, Jehan Prouvaire, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Bossuet, and Grantaire."

They all gave her some sort of greeting and then they went back to their own conversations. Éponine let out a breath of relief, glad they hadn't insisted on talking, and Enjolras sniggered.

"Thought they would bite?"

She turned and glared up at him. "No."

He raised an eyebrow at her and took a bite of his meat. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

She shrugged. "It's all well and good, but I'm sure this is more of Clemence's sort of thing. I can't keep anyone straight or if I'm related to them now or not. Surely you feel this way, too?"

He more or less nodded. "Father used to throw parties a lot when I was younger. Mind you, there was dancing, but I do not dance, which is why I am thankful Simon took that away."

"You know, I could see you as a marvelous dancer, Rogier." Éponine winked and leaned back in her chair while Enjolras shook his head.

"I have two left feet, Éponine. You wouldn't want to dance with me."

She scoffed and turned back to her plate, feeling rather haughty and irritated at the moment. "I didn't say I wanted to dance with you either way." Luckily, she missed the unmasked pain that flitted across her husband's face for a few seconds. He righted himself then and cleared his throat.

"Good, because, I do not dance," he whispered, staring at her, though, she was looking away.

Once everyone had finally left and some of the cleaning had been done and Clemence and Simon had retired for the night, Éponine found herself alone with Enjolras watching the last of the horses or carriages ride away. In spite of what they had originally thought, the night had gone well, and they had both enjoyed themselves. It seemed as if they did that often: judged something before it came to pass.

Enjolras let out a loud, short sigh all of a sudden. Éponine glanced up at him and he shrugged off his outer jacket. "Remind me to tell Clemence to rub my aching feet tomorrow," she said quietly, moving to sit beside him on the couch.

Enjolras laughed and nodded. "How is your ankle then?"

"It's sore." She shrugged, flipping off her shoes. Enjolras looked away, sure his face was heating. Why was he so jumpy all of a sudden? "But I can walk."

"I'm glad."

"Your friends seem jovial."

"They are certainly a hand full, but they're good men."

"Willing to get themselves killed for France?" she asked, standing up to reach for some water. She could feel Enjolras staring at the back of her head. "Or for you?"

"For France," he shot back, an edge on his voice. She nodded, humming, leaning against a desk.

"You know," she started. "We've been married for two months today." Éponine didn't know what compelled her to tell him, but she did, and his reaction was one of indifference.

"Oh."

"It's been a heavy two months," she whispered, looking away, glancing at the ring on her finger; the one she never had taken off for reasons unknown.

"That is has been."

Éponine closed her eyes. Did he have anything to say? Did he not realize that he had changed in the past two months, as well as she? When they'd first met, he'd been hard as stone; now, he was still difficult to talk to, but he cared now. They were.. friends. At least, she'd like to think so. Telling Enjolras about his parents had been her best decision yet. He was much more relaxed and humorous now. She wished he could see that, though. Why did men always have to be so blind?

"Has your opinion changed of me, then? Am I still a bought product in your eyes?" The words were harsh and uncalled for, Éponine knew, but she needed him to say something, to feel something. Even if it was anger.

He shrugged and stood up, crossing to the window. "You were never a bought product, Éponine. Just a girl caught in the wrong place."

"Well, do you still not want me?"

Enjolras considered it for a moment. If he was to not want Éponine any longer, if she were to leave, there would certainly be a tiny little hole that she left in his life. She filled some spot in his heart that he couldn't quite place or understand. They'd created such a routine of avoiding one another, of arguing, of trying not to the think of the other all day but failing. If that routine were to disappear, all Enjolras would have left was the rebellion.

That's all that he had been with before. And if he was going to be honest, he didn't want that; not anymore. He realized that he needed something else to fulfill his life.

She'd changed him from a marble statue to a slightly-less hard statue, one that was cracked and sometimes gently swayed in harsh winds. Éponine was certainly his gust of wind. He smirked at his feet, shaking his head. Yes, the past two months had been heavy and life changing.

"No," he began. "I would like for you to stay." He turned around and gave her a soft smile, which she returned as equally soft.

"Good, because I'm never going home," she chuckled.

"I wouldn't allow it," Enjolras whispered, stepping closer.

Éponine cleared her throat and stepped away from the desk. "Do you really not dance, Enjolras?"

"No, I don't."

"Can you, though?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Would you teach me? Just a small dance."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow and pointed to her foot. "Your ankle though."

"Tosh. I'll be fine," she said, smiling brightly.

"Well," he coughed. "Just a small one."

And so he taught her a simpler form of the waltz. Éponine took to it surprisingly quick. They moved together like machinery: Éponine's hand in his own, her other on his shoulder. Enjolras holding her closer and closer each step until she was nearly flush against him. Their dance slowed down until they were stock still in front of the dead fireplace. Both were silent, too busy trying to calm their breathing and get a grip on reality. Enjolras stared deep into Éponine's eyes and it frightened her just a little as to how intense he was. The moon shinned brightly through the open window and a cool breeze swept in and pulled the sides of Éponine's dress up slightly.

Éponine's mouth went dry, and for a moment, she was unable to speak. "Enjolras, I-" she finally said, but he cut her off.

"My father has only ever accomplished one thing in his life, Éponine, and that's trying to do what he thinks is best, yet failing terribly. He's a horrid lawyer, a cruel husband, and even worse father. But, that aside, he did accomplish a little feat," he whispered, licking his lips.

"What's that?" Éponine whispered, holding onto his arms tightly.

"He chose you," he replied.

Éponine felt her heart take flight. And suddenly, Enjolras was kissing her softly. He'd moved his hands to cup her face and Éponine felt herself falter for a moment. Unlike their first kiss, this one was not on purpose. This one was.. It was real. There was no way in hell that he'd planned on kissing her that night, nor had she planned on kissing him. Éponine could feel how much Enjolras meant what he was doing. She'd given up on her end of the bargain. She didn't care anymore because she had a roof over her head and that's all that mattered.

But Enjolras was kissing her. Bloody kissing her! And he was good at it, too! His lips were terribly soft and pleasant and she couldn't help but hold him so close she nearly enveloped him. Her heart was flipping and her stomach was churning, in a good way. She'd never felt like this before.

Her husband was showing affection. The man of marble was affectionate. Toward her.

He smelled of whiskey and the outdoor night air. She smelled of perfume Clemence had insisted she wore and the sun.

He pulled back and Éponine whimpered, already missing the contact. Their breathing was even more labored than after their dance. Enjolras felt like he was going to burst. That had been a bad move, but dear God, it had been the right one. He opened his mouth to say something, but failed to make any noise.

He needed to move away. But he couldn't risk hurting her again. So, he dipped down and stole another kiss before untangling himself. Éponine remained, dumb-struck, in the drawing room as he hastened away for his own room, stumbling like a drunk fool.

The problem was, Enjolras was no where even near drunk.

Rogier Enjolras was falling in love with his wife. And nothing could stop that.

I AM DANCING IN MY SEAT.