Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis

She'd been living with them for three days.

The boys had moved their desks into their bedrooms so she had her own room – despite her repeated protestations, they'd bought her a bed, a bedside table and a wardrobe from Ikea. Enjolras had gone to get her clothes from the alley and Grantaire had brought the things from the cupboard, so it was even starting to look like her own room; her pictures blue-tacked to the walls, her books on the shelf, her hairbrush on the bedside table. It almost felt like a home.

Physically, she was much better. Her eye was still swollen, but she could open it now, and the bruises on her stomach and chest were starting to fade to a slightly paler purple, instead of the angry black they had been. It was too soon to see much difference in her other injuries, even for a fast healer like Éponine, but the combination of regular meals, small doses of painkillers and a comfortable bed meant that she actually felt fine as long as she didn't move around too much.

Her mind was going crazy though. They'd argued of course, as she'd expected. She'd had a go at him a few times over his perspective on her previous living situation, or her stubbornness, or something insignificant like a comment she didn't agree with about some report on the news, which felt like a big deal at the time but… wasn't really. Something about him was just infuriating, and it felt good to relieve some stress by yelling obscenities, even if she wasn't that mad at any case, after several gentle suggestions of a truce from several visiting Amis, she'd apologised and asked to start over, for Combeferre as much as anything.

It hadn't helped her calm down much - Marius hadn't been to see her, and he still had her phone so she couldn't call him. She couldn't think of anything else. Why wouldn't he come? Where ARE you, Marius? The only difference since her peace offering was that now she argued with herself in her head, rather than out loud with Enjolras.

There had been some good times, and some laughs – she'd got to know Combeferre much better, and found that he was a kind and funny guy, more considerate of others than anyone she'd ever met. There'd also been that incident earlier in the day where she thought Enjolras' eyes were going to pop out his head, and he'd run for the hills like a startled rabbit. Éponine hadn't been able to breathe for laughing for at least twenty minutes after that, his face had been priceless. Daily visits from Gavroche, Joly, Courf and R also kept her spirits up.

It wasn't ideal for anyone, but she felt like she was gradually settling in to life with Enjolras and Combeferre. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

He'd expected it to be awkward. He'd expected it to be difficult, and for them to argue constantly. He'd expected to hate every second.

She was clearly uncomfortable with moving in, and Enjolras had never liked changing his living arrangements, so he was uncomfortable too. He'd moved exactly twice in his life: out of home into University Halls, then out of Halls into the apartment with Combferre at the end of his first year. One room-mate, ever. If he was being totally honest, he also wasn't really sure about living with a girl. He'd never done it before. What if she made him and Combeferre buy scatter cushions and Heat magazine, and left tampons everywhere?

Despite his reservations about the whole situation, he knew it was the right thing to do. Éponine had nowhere else to go, and she was far too injured for life on the streets. His conscience wouldn't have stood for anything but her moving in, at least until she was back on her feet and able to find a place of her own.

Overall, he'd been right about the arguments. Even getting her there had been difficult, as despite his offer to carry her (again) to the car, she insisted on walking there herself. It probably would have been fine, but Joly's apartment was on the first floor, and the stairs were steep: Éponine had tripped halfway down and would have tumbled to the bottom if it weren't for Courfeyrac's quick reflexes. The urge to say 'I told you so' was almost overwhelming and Éponine obviously knew it: she had refused to meet his eyes as he drove her to his… their apartment, clearly frustrated and embarrassed.

Worse was when Enjolras had offered to go and get her things and she had directed him and Gavroche to the alleyway where some of her clothes were. He was filled with fury at when he saw the dusty hole she called home: why couldn't she just ask for help? This isn't fit for inhabitation – the dust, the bricks, the exposure! 'This is why I fight for equality, so people don't have to sleep in godforsaken corners like this, and I didn't even realise one of Les Amis was in this position, what does that say about me?!' When he returned to the flat with the clothes, the anger was clearly written on his face and Éponine knew straight away what it meant. The first real fight of her stay had ensued and it was a fierce one, which was only broken up when Combeferre got home an hour later.

It hadn't been all bad. She'd let them buy her some flat-pack furniture, including a bed. The Amis visited a lot, relieving some of the tension. Also, during the evening of the second day, she had knocked on his door with a cup of coffee: a 'caffeinated olive branch,' as she called it. Leaning in his doorway was clearly uncomfortable for her, but she wanted to talk to him, so he invited her to sit down, despite little voice in his head shouting 'nobody comes in my room. No. Definitely not. Get her out, get her out'. Nervously holding his gaze, sitting in his desk chair, she'd cleared her throat slightly and said quietly 'Ok… I know you don't like me – don't deny it' (He wasn't going to) '- and we don't get on, or whatever. But I feel like since you've been so kind in letting me stay here and doing out that room for me that I really don't want to fight any more. So, I guess what I'm saying is… can we start over? I'd like it if we could be friends, or at least civil to each other. For 'Ferre if nothing else. He's too nice to live in a warzone.'
Her bluntness had caught him off guard, so he'd hesitated for a second before agreeing. 'Yes, of course. I'd… I'd like that.' With a small smile – the dimples were back – she'd handed him the coffee. 'Black, yeah?'
'Yes… thank you'
'No problem.' Then she'd stood up and left the room without another word, leaving him confused and a little relieved.

The most awkward moment of her stay so far had been that morning, when she needed a shower: her leg was nowhere near good enough to stand up unaided for that long, so a bath was the only option. Unfortunately, she needed help getting in and out of the bath, and the bandages had to be removed from her chest beforehand, as well as her leg having to be wrapped in bin bags to keep those bandages dry. Combeferre had helped her with all of this for the past few days, but he was out today, meaning Enjolras' input was required. Neither of them was happy about this.

The leg had been ok - she'd kept her shorts on while he wrapped it –and he'd stood behind her while unwrapping her ribs. The unavoidable awkward part was when she was getting into the bath; she needed to hold his arm to get in, but this was difficult when he was facing the other way so he didn't see her completely naked. She was most of the way into the bath when she'd slipped on the bottom and shrieked, falling towards him and grabbing his shoulder to prevent a heavy fall to the tiled floor. Unfortunately, she didn't have the strength to move herself backwards and into a sitting position after her leg and bashed against the side of the bath, so she had mumbled 'Enjolras, I think you're going to have to help me, I'm stuck'
'What!? Where? How… I… What?'
'It's ok, just take a step forward' He'd obliged.
'Now lean down a bit.' He'd bent at the waist, hearing the splashing of the water as she sat down. Unfortunately, because he couldn't see, he'd leaned very close to her face and a few wispy curls of his hair had got stuck in the plaster covering her cut. As he straightened and stood up, they had been pulled out, ('OW!') the pain causing his eyes to reflexively open, giving him an eyeful of bruised boob and – 'OH GOD, SORRY!' Covering his eyes, he had run out of the bathroom, mortified, into his room and locked the door. The incident seemed to be burned into his mind, which was only now starting to clear, at 4 in the afternoon, approximately six hours later. He still hadn't left his room. He knew she'd got out the bath though, he'd heard the bathroom door go earlier, followed by quiet for the rest of the day. Enjolras supposed it was because neither of them wanted to face the other after such an embarrassment.

The silence in the apartment was broken by the sound of a knock on the door.

Not entirely happy with this one... let me know what you think, please! You're all brilliant :D