PART IV: RECOVERY
Chapter Twelve - The Aftermath
Smiles1998: I guess you'll find out :) Thanks, I don't even know how I came up with Montparnasse, I guess it just happened and it worked.
AllTheLoveAndAllTheWaiting: Thank you so much! I tried to make the story sort of a "What If Enjolras Had Run Into Éponine at the Rue Plumet?" kind of thing, and that's a lot of the reason why many of them still died.
keepcalmandreadhp: Haha, that was my intention! :)
HermsP: I love you too 3 I'm a fan of bittersweet endings, so I left enough alive for them to grieve but also be grateful they'd survived (in Ép and Enjy's case, for each other).
DramaRose: Yes, notice Valjean (aka Fauchelevent) and Marius were suspiciously not among the dead bodies Éponine saw littering the ground... *hint* *nudge*
Disclaimer: All character and novel rights belong to Victor Hugo. Song lyrics belong to the creators of Les Misérables, the musical. I own nothing except for my own imagination.
He glanced at Grantaire, who was sitting at the far end of the alley trying and failing to look like he hadn't been paying attention. Éponine giggled and reached over to prod him.
"You're a terrible eavesdropper," she told him and he looked up from dressing his wounds with a sheepish smile.
"It was hard not to listen in. I've been waiting for you two to come to your senses for longer than it took for Enjolras to realise he had feelings for you," he said, brushing black curls from his face. Éponine felt a rush of affection for this man- the sarcastic, surprisingly sophisticated, wine-loving cynic who acceptive things with they came with an ironic comment and a swig of alcohol. He was twice the man people saw him as, and she felt honoured to know him.
"I've just remembered," he said suddenly, and from his coat he drew a bottle of brandy, obviously stolen from the Poteau.
"This is hardly the time to drink," Enjolras scolded him, moving to swat the bottle from his hands.
"It's the perfect time to drink," replied Grantaire as he moved it out of danger's way. "Though I took this out for another reason."
"What is it?" Éponine inquired. She'd never heard him do anything with alcohol except drink it.
"We can disinfect wounds with it," Grantaire said triumphantly, opening the bottle and pouring some into his palm before patting it onto a gash, wincing a little.
"That's actually brilliant," Éponine said, smiling. She unwrapped the linen on her arm and dripped alcohol into the bullet wound, secretly relishing the way Enjolras stared at the it with obvious concern.
They sat about in silence, nursing their injuries. Éponine saw that though they'd had their fair share of self-treating experience (Thenardier's beatings, Enjolras' riots, and Grantaire's bar fights required this), they didn't really know exactly what they were doing. She wished Joly and Combeferre were there with them.
Grantaire appeared to be following the same train of thought. "They're gone," he said, and Éponine heard the strain in his voice.
"The guard? I hope so." Enjolras cast a glance over the little of wall of brick he'd thrown together.
"No, the Amis. The revolutionaries. They're all gone, except us." Enjolras' eyes moved to Grantaire's and the pain was reflected in the other's eyes.
"We don't know that," Éponine said, helplessly trying to be positive. "Maybe they... you know, just lookeddead."
"No," Enjolras said forcefully. "Grantaire's right. They're dead and gone. All of them. And it's because-"
"It's not because of you," Éponine cut in sharply, guessing his next words. "They weren't fighting for you, they were fighting for France, like you were." She noticed Grantaire didn't meet her eyes as she said that, but didn't say anything about it.
"It was my responsibility to lead them in and out of battle alive," Enjolras growled, tearing at his hair. "And I failed miserably."
"We all knew the chances of dying were tenfold higher than the chances of surviving," Grantaire told him, as if this would make him feel better. "If anything it's the people's fault. They didn't come with us. They hid like cowards and closed their doors to us."
"It's not their fault that they didn't want to die," said Éponine, though she couldn't help but agree, remembering the bloody faces of the men that had perished with people of France in their hearts.
"You still didn't tell me how you managed to get both of us out of there without a single scrape."
Azelma shot him a smirk. "A true magician never reveals her secrets."
"I went along with your plan, didn't I? You promised if I did you'd tell me." He crossed his arms and jutted out his chin.
"Oh, fine." Azelma sat down in the alley. This is going to be a long one."
"We have time."
She took a deep breath, and began. "I snuck out of the Musain quick and easy. Enjolras' room has a window and it's on the top floor, so the roof was the fast way out. Even better, from the roof I could see everything. I followed the noise of the gunshots and jumped the roofs to the Poteaux, and watched you get captured by the National guard. I said to myself, "I am going to get that man out", and I did."
"Hang on. If you can get out of places so easily, why didn't you escape your parents before?"
Her face darkened. "Thenardier has a way of finding where you are," she said. "As long as I was under his keeping I was trapped. But when Ép and the Amis rescued me I was free; I felt unstoppable."
"So you just went away?"
She shrugged. "Éponine will understand. Anyway, after I figured out where you were staying, I went back to the barricade and picked out a uniform to wear. I dressed up as a drummer, you know, because they're usually younger and smaller, and walked right into their camp.
"I found the door to the basement you were in. I stole the patrolling schedule off a guard and picked the right times to go places where drummers didn't normally go. One person asked why I didn't have my drum with me, but other than that I blended right in. I made a plan to get you out, and it was going to be real complicated, but then I overheard the captain say they were going to execute you. It was the perfect chance. I sabotaged the captain's gun when he wasn't looking - by his face I could tell he wanted to do it himself.
"I went out and bought red dye, then I put it in a thin cotton bag and put it in my pocket. I let it bleed through and thirteen people asked me whether I'd gone to the medical bay yet your not. When the time came I sealed up the bag and went down to you. I just picked the lock and went in when no guards were patrolling the are.
"You know the rest. I told you to act valiant and dying, and you did it perfectly. You even broke the bag right on time, too. The captain's gun went off but didn't shoot a bullet, and you fell with red dye on your shirt. Without checking whether you were dead or not they tossed you in with the dead bodies, where I was waiting for you. We ran off and they never knew I was there."
Jehan was in awe. "Wow. Are you sure you've never done this before?"
She tossed her orange hair with a smirk. "I suppose I'm just talented."
"I know a doctor who won't ask questions," Éponine said.
"They won't need to. Enjolras' face is recognisable throughout the nation." Grantaire tapped him on the nose with his bottle. Enjolras swatted him away with an irritated expression.
"He owes me a life debt."
"How do you know he won't go back on his word? Paris will be offering a lot of money on my head." Enjolras' voice was dull and emotionless. He'd spent years fighting for Patria and she simply slapped him in the face with the pain of reality.
Éponine glanced back at them. "We have to take the risk."
"Besides, I'm starving," Grantaire added. "Maybe he'll give us food."
"Don't get your hopes up."
"We are going to England," his companion declared, out of the blue.
"What?" He jerked up in surprise. "England?"
"We're wanted in this country. Well, you are. Either way, I've bought two tickets to London by ship."
Jehan was surprised and thankful that she was planning on coming along with him. After all, she had no obligation to do anything more for him; she'd already saved his life. Something occurred to him, and he turned to her with a furrowed brow. "You've bought tickets? How did you get the money?" He watched her mime slipping her hand in a pocket. "You stole it?" he gasped, scandalised.
She shrugged. "I do what I have to do."
"Azelma!"
"Oh, don't be a wuss. Be grateful! We're getting a one-way trip out of this shithole of a country!"
"But Enjolras! R! Your sister!"
"They can wait. We can tell them how we pulled off the grand escape when we're sure we're out of the water."
"It doesn't feel right, leaving them behind."
"If you get caught, it's the chain gang- that's worse than death. It's England or that, 'Han."
Well, he couldn't resist her when she called him 'Han.
"What's wrong?" Enjolras had noticed her rubbing at her eyes. The tears and come back.
"Montparnasse," she muttered after some indecision.
He frowned and pulled her into his lap. They'd grown much more physical with each other since they'd confessed of their feelings, surprising them both with how comfortable they were just to be in the arms of the other.
She rested her head in his neck, breathing in the smell of sweat, blood, and the musky scent of Enjolras. "You shouldn't think about him," he replied softly, the usual harsh tone gone, and Éponine was immensely happy that she had finally cracked the marble - and that she was the only one capable of it.
"He saved us," Éponine whispered into his collar bone. Her chin seemed to perfectly into the dip just above it.
"I know."
"He did it because he felt guilty about me."
"He did it because he loved you."
Éponine sat up straight and looked at Enjolras in surprise. "What?"
"Montparnasse loved you, I think, but in his own twisted way." The moon was reflected in his clear blue eyes.
"He was a bandit, a murderer, and a rapist. He wasn't capable of love."
"And I'm the emotionless, rich only child who lead forty-three people into battle only for forty to die, and who knows how many others." Éponine looked at Enjolras, and his eyes were full of anguish again. It seemed to be the only thing in his eyes recently.
"Enjolras..." she didn't know what to say, or to do, except that she wanted to make him smile again. She pressed her lips to his.
He kissed her back, and she felt something wet on her cheeks. When they pulled away, she saw that they both had tears in their eyes. "They're really gone," said Éponine. She was so close to him she could count every teardrop hanging on his eyelashes.
"They loved you like a sister," he whispered back, and they held onto each other tightly as if it was their last link to life.
"Sometimes I imagine our lives if we'd all survived."
"We'd be free."
"Courfeyrac would help me raise Gavroche and give him a role model... a really, really bad role model." Éponine gave him a watery grin.
There it was, the beginning of his half smile, the tiny lilting of a lip. "Combeferre would finally teach you chess. And let you win every time. He'd pretend as if he was actually bad at the game."
Éponine laughed a little. "Jehan would teach me how to write poetry. I still have the one he gave me."
"Feuilly would get you to help him decorate his fans. He always said your fingers were infinitely more delicate and better than his at painting his fans."
"Bahorel would teach me to fight, and next time you won't have to save me 'cause I'll have done it myself."
"Bossuet would play checkers with you and lose every time."
Éponine giggled, thinking of the man's horrible luck. "I'd tell Joly how to get Musichetta to calm down during a fight: it's reciting Shakespeare. She melts at the words of that Englishman. She loves him almost as much as Joly and Bossuet."
They stared at each other, smiling through their tears. "I'm glad you and Grantaire and Montparnasse saved me," Enjolras confessed.
"Me, too," Éponine said. I'm glad I didn't die doing something stupid like trying to save Marius."
"Me, too," said Enjolras, his full-blown smile finally in place. She felt herself fall in love all over again.
AN: So basically from now on it's going to be a series of little scenes of their lives after the barricade. I want the aftermath, but I don't want to cover years with such detail.
It's the home stretch, everybody.