A/N: No, I am not dead. I admit, this has been written for awhile but I wasn't liking it so held off on posting until I could maybe get around to revising it some more, but reading it again, there isn't much to do. Just one of those chapters that I wasn't feeling in any sort of way, but had to be written just to bridge a few more ideas. So here it is. Thanks for being patient. I promise the next update will not take almost three months.

The next Saturday would be Éponine's first day of work since Musichetta had been dismissed. Éponine entered the bookstore with no insignificant amount of trepidation. Fraure accosted her almost as soon as she set foot into the break room.

"Bonjour, Éponine." Éponine had barely enough time to nod and reply before Fraure went on, "I'll have you know that Musichetta is no longer working. As she was your partner in the storage room, you'll be working with a substitute until I can find a suitable applicant to consider to replace her."

Éponine knotted her hands together. "Yes, monsieur. I—uh…"

Fruare turned his head a little, like a curious dog. "What is it?"

Éponine stared at him. "I—I wanted to know if there was anything I could say to persuade you to—" She broke off. Fraure raised his eyebrows. "To rehire Musichetta? Please, monsieur," she went on before Fruare could say anything, "she's devastated. She really is in need of the money—"

"She might have thought of that before she fooled around so often," Fruare said sharply.

"Oh, she never meant any harm by it!" Éponine cried. "If you could give her another chance, I know she'd be on top of everything, no more nonsense. And you know she really does work hard."

"Be that as it may—I will not tolerate any nonsense in my store. She had her chance. And she's used it."

"Please—"

"That's enough, Éponine!" Fruare snapped suddenly. "Do not presume to tell me how to manage my own employees!"

Éponine bit her lip and lowered her eyes. "Yes. I'm sorry." Meekly, she turned and hurried away.

"Ah. You're Éponine Thenardier." Another young girl had approached her "Yes. You are?"

"Charlotte Dupont. I'll be working with you until Fraure finds someone permanent. I normally do work with all his files, but he's relieved me for now, says he can manage."

"Oh?" Éponine tried to smile. "Well, that's wonderful. Any…idea of how long you'll be here in the back?"

"Hopefully not for long," Charlotte said. "Fraure's expecting to have a few applicants he can interview by the end of next week."

Well, he certainly gets points for efficiency, if not for decency, Éponine thought bitterly. Her opinion of her employer was now plummeting, as was, she later discovered, her enjoyment of work. Charlotte was a nice enough girl, but she just wasn't the same as having Musichetta around. Their conversations were dull if not awkward, and only seemed to consist of the latest trends in fashion and gadgets and movies…all of which Éponine had limited expertise in. At least Musichetta was able to realize this early on and left them out of their discussions. Charlotte just kept going on and on about them.

That's not fair, Éponine argued with herself. You just met her. It's not her fault.

Still, the day dragged on. It was even more monotonous work than it had before.

"Okay, jobs…" Éponine lay curled under a blanket on the couch, laptop open. "What would Musichetta be interested in? She likes…clothes. People. Music. Dancing…well—ballet. Way to be observant, Éponine." She bent over and pressed her hands to her hands. "Ugh, stop making this so complicated."

"Making what complicated?" Azelma said. She had shuffled in silently.

"Um—helping Musichetta out with her job."

Azelma made a face. "All right. Anything you need help with?"

"Not really," Éponine muttered. "Unless you know a place in need of a twenty-two year old girl who can only work a few hours on the weekend."

"Sorry, I don't. But I'll look around."

"Thanks." Éponine couldn't tell if her sister was being serious or not. She appreciated the thought, though.

"So I tried to get Fraure to take back Musichetta, and I know that makes it sound like they were dating which is just a creepy and scary place I never want to go, but there you have it."

"Hm. Any luck?" came Enjolras's reply through the phone.

"None whatsoever."

"And any luck with the job hunt?"

"Same," Éponine said shortly, buttoning her jacket as she got ready to leave for the Musain. "What about you?"

"Well I haven't had much time to actually—research it, per se," he admitted. "I've mostly just been thinking about it. Any ideas that you could give me? I have to say, I've never really considered what she might find interesting, as a job."

A long pause. Éponine didn't want to reveal that she hadn't been able to muster any ideas. It made her feel inferior, somehow, and certainly as if Enjolras doing more than she was. "Éponine? Are you there?" came his voice.

"Yes," she managed. "I uh—"

"I got it, you're busy," Enjolras deduced.

"I've got a few things you might be able to work with, though," Éponine said quickly. "You know she dances, right?"

"Of course, ballet."

"Okay, so there's that. Um, music, she loves music, and fashion, all things pretty." Like an idiot, Éponine suddenly remembered that Musichetta and Enjolras had already been friends. He already knows all this, like any of this is helpful! Ignoring the wave of stupidity that was sweeping over her rapidly, Éponine continued, "So maybe we can work with finding something in those fields?"

"Sure."

"Hey, I'm almost there. You haven't been waiting too long, have you?"

"Oh, it's no trouble. Keeps my mind off of other things."

"Okay, well—" Whenever he said something ambiguous like that, Éponine was always left confused. "I'll see you in a second."

Enjolras had pulled out his laptop by the time Éponine slid into the booth. On the screen were several tabs, each one with information all about looking for places in need of work. "Hello. Did you think of anything else in the ten seconds that it's been since we last chatted?"

"No. Have you?"

"Mmm…does she like kids?"

"Musichetta? I'm not too sure," Éponine said. "She probably does. Why?"

Enjolras turned the laptop so Éponine could read the screen better. "This ballet school is looking for a teacher for the little ones."

"Well, how often will they need her? She's busy."

"I suppose we'll find that out when we call them." He was already on the phone. "Yes, I have a friend interested in your teaching position, but I wanted to get some more information about it before scheduling an interview." A pause while he listened. "How often would you expect her to be working, how many days a week? Because she's currently enrolled with the Paris Opera Ballet…yes, she doesn't have too many spare days." Another pause. "Her last job she was working on just the weekend…Oh, really? That's perfect. Okay, thank you very much. Good bye."

"Well, what did she say?" Éponine asked eagerly.

"They had wanted someone who could teach during the weekdays, but so far they haven't gotten too many applicants, so they'll still give her a shot. If it works out, she said they'll be able to rearrange other teachers' schedules."

Éponine breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. So this could be it. Did she say anything more?"

"No, only that they were looking forward to seeing someone with the Opera."

"And now what are we going to tell Musichetta?"

" Well, you tell her that we have something that she might be interested in doing. And if she says yes, she can set up an interview. Shouldn't be any trouble."

Éponine was only worried about one thing. "Is there any way you could do some…investigative research on this job? On how likely it is that she'll be able to get it. She's going to take it hard if she thinks she has a good chance and then ends up being rejected. I don't want that to happen, especially since she has to focus on her shows."

Enjolras shrugged. "I don't know. I think she'll just have to risk it. Has she…never been rejected? I'm sure she has."

Éponine frowned at his casual tone. "Well, yes, I'm sure she has too. But it's not like she resigned; she was fired and thinks it's her fault. I'm trying to make her feel better, not more like she sucks at everything."

"As long as you tell her she doesn't, that's what matters."