Warning: Mentions of violence, sexual assault and panic attacks

Chapter Twenty Nine

Getting Better

She did dream that night – no, they weren't dreams; they were nightmares. It wasn't the nightmare she expected, however. They were the old nightmares, images from years ago, the same old hands, the same pain, the same voices and the same feeling of disgust and shame she knew she shouldn't feel.

She woke feeling like ropes were biting into the skin on her wrists, gasping and panicking and horrified that her rescue at the hands of Cosette and Musichetta and the police was the dream she'd actually been having and her nightmare was reality

But Combeferre was there, his warm, soothing voice a welcome change from the cold, biting, rasping tones of Claquesous and his cronies. His hands were warm and gentle against her hips and he just held her, letting her cry into his chest.

"It's okay," he breathed into her dark hair. "I'm here."

She just gripped him harder, her sobs turning into hiccoughs, until she was silent and staring into space. His hands had moved from her waist to tangle in her hair, and she eventually fell into another somewhat restless (but thankfully dreamless) sleep, soothed by his fingers carding through her hair.

OOO

She saw Gavroche about a week after it happened. They had been in touch via phone the morning after. He was all "If I ever wanted to see you so suddenly I'd phone not text and why didn't you phone me", but then he seemed to realise how tired she was sounding and he didn't push it again.

She went to his house, on Juliette's invitation. Combeferre drove here there and promised to pick her up a couple of hours later.

Juliette hugged her as soon as she came through the door. It was a soft and yet firm hug, and Juliette smelled of flowers and lemons and soap. Éponine couldn't remember the last time she hugged someone like Juliette, and she was surprised when she pulled back and Juliette brushed her fingers underneath Éponine's chin.

"I'm glad you're okay," Juliette said, before leading her to the living room. It was painted a deep blue and there were plants everywhere, and all of their cats and dogs seemed to be snoozing on various different soft surfaces. Gavroche was on the sofa, kind of, twisting to reach the TV remote whilst also trying not to dislodge the tabby cat lying on its back on his legs. One of his arms was still bound in a cast. He looked about thirty seconds away from tipping off the sofa.

Éponine moved forward to pick up the remote from where it sat on the coffee table and handed it to him.

He muttered a thank you whilst staring at her with narrowed eyes. Behind them, Juliette said, "Would you like a cup of tea, Éponine?"

"Yes, please," Éponine said, and ushered the skinny ginger cat off the sofa and sat down in its place.

"Are you all right?" Gavroche said immediately, flopping back down into the cushions and waking up the tabby cat in the process. It meowed in a loud, screeching way that almost hurt Éponine's ears it was that irritating.

"I'm all right," Éponine said, shrugging out of her jacket. She stretched her legs out in front of her. "I swear, the bruises look worse than they actually are." That was true, but she still couldn't look at herself in the mirror without feeling like crying.

Gavroche was still staring at her, and his uninjured hand was now tangled in the fur of the tabby cat, trying to placate its agitation from being woken so abruptly. "The police have been in touch," he said, carefully.

"Yeah, I thought they might be." The ginger cat was now staring at her, crouched on the floor, a look in its bright green eyes that suggested her punishment would be swift and brutal.

"I had to give a statement," he continued.

Éponine didn't really know what to say about that, but she said instead, "I'm sorry. It's my fault you got hurt..."

Gavroche shrugged. "It's not really. It's not your fault they're, you know, assholes."

"Assholes is an understatement," Éponine sighed. "But I am sorry."

"I think I understand you a bit better," Gavroche said. "You know when this happened?" He lifted his arm still bound in its cast.

She nodded. The orange cat moved into a stretch and yawned at the same time, the yawn cutting off into a squeak. It jumped onto Éponine and pushed its face into her hand, its nose damp against her palm. She stroked its head gently, and waited for Gavroche to speak.

"You were really angry," Gavroche said. "You were really angry that someone hurt me. And I didn't get it. But I think I get it – you know, now."

"Yeah?" Éponine smiled at him, and then winced as the ginger cat decided to get its revenge by biting the inside of her elbow. She gently pulled the cat away from her and dropped it onto the floor; it landed on all fours and looked slightly bewildered at being dislodged so quickly.

"Yeah," Gavroche said, looking uncomfortable.

"Well, we are brother and sister," Éponine said. "Only, you know, maybe we should leave it to the police this time. Don't do what I did."

Gavroche raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to tell me what you did?"

"No," Éponine said. "I'll never tell you that." She paused. "It might give you ideas."

At that moment, Juliette bustled in carrying two mugs of tea. "I don't know if you wanted one, Gavroche, but I made you one anyway..."

"I didn't, but okay, thanks," Gavroche said, blinking at her.

Éponine smiled at Juliette as she passed her the mug, and she leaned back into the sofa to take a sip.

OOO

Days went by.

The police had been in touch. They had questioned Claquesous, who had denied everything. But they had also managed to catch up with Gueulemer, who had shocked everyone by singing like the proverbial canary. He had wound up confessing to a lot more than just what Claquesous and he had done to Éponine, including the hit and run of Gavroche and Claquesous' involvement in drug dealing.

This was one mess Claquesous didn't seem to be able to slip his way out of, and Éponine was happy that he finally seemed to be getting what was coming to him. It eased her nerves somewhat to know that he wasn't currently on the streets – but only slightly.

The nightmares had become worse, and slowly, nightmares of Claquesous' flat were beginning to take over from the old ones. These nightmares twisted in her brain, giving them horrible, horrible, horrible endings where she wasn't saved and died alone with Claquesous and Gueulemer laughing at her. She woke from these nightmares as she woke from all the rest, either on the verge of panicking or actually panicking.

In these weeks Combeferre was an absolute godsend, for lack of a better phrase. He was patient and understanding and, at her own request, barely left her side. When he did have to, she spent her time with friends. They didn't talk about what happened, and she was grateful that there were no pitying looks from anyone.

No, talking about what had happened was just for her and Combeferre, in quiet moments in bed when their limbs were tangled together and neither of them could sleep. She hadn't realised before just how much talking could help, but she didn't think it would have helped as much if she was telling anyone other than Combeferre.

Although they were talking, and holding hands, and cuddling, and had practically moved in with each other, they hadn't slept together since it had happened. They hadn't really discussed it, but Éponine hadn't felt like it and Combeferre hadn't pushed it.

Things were getting better.

OOO

Almost a month had passed since the attack had happened, and it was Cosette's birthday.

Musichetta had wanted to throw a party, but Cosette had wanted something different. 'Different' turned out to be dinner at a fancy, award-winning restaurant with dishes with names Éponine couldn't begin to decipher. All of their friends were invited, and Cosette's father had arranged for them to be crammed into one of the restaurant's private rooms so they could be as loud and obnoxious as they liked.

Seeing as most of their group could be loud and obnoxious when alcohol was thrown into the mix, the decision was a good one. There was lots of wine flowing and the food (pretentious names aside) was delicious, and when they finally spilled out of the restaurant everyone was in a joyful mood.

Marius hadn't been drinking so he could drive himself and Cosette home, and the rest of the group waved off the giddy couple before discussing amongst themselves the possibility of moving on to the Corinth.

Before discussions could go very far, Éponine looked up at Combeferre and made a decision. She squeezed his hand.

"Combeferre and I are going to go home," she said.

The slightly tipsy Combeferre stared down at her in surprise. "We are?"

"Yes," she said. "We are," she said, trying to give him the most pointed look she could manage.

"Hey, I like your thinking," Musichetta sniggered, flinging her arms around Joly.

Combeferre, however, was looking down at her with interest in his eyes. "Well," he said, "We'd best go find ourselves a taxi, hadn't we?"

They bade their friends goodbye and walked, hand in hand, towards the main street, where Combeferre flagged down a taxi.

Éponine gave the driver her address, figuring Courfeyrac would possibly be bringing back somebody tonight and would be loud and that could be a mood killer.

The back of the car was tense, but in the best possible way. Their hands were still linked together, resting on the seat between them, but now they were sat down they weren't just holding hands. Combeferre was playing with her hand, his fingertips brushing over her knuckles and sliding down her thumb, nails scraping gently over her palm and the inside of her wrist. Linking their fingers together, he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it, much like he had done that day in the hospital, and then slowly turned her hand around so he could see the palm. She watched him as he brushed his lips over the centre of her palm, and their eyes met.

"We don't have to," he said, the words a whisper, so soft they were barely there.

"I want to," she said.

Back at her apartment, she led him into her bedroom. There was no resistance in him whatsoever as she sank onto the bed and pulled him towards her. She reached up to press her hands against his chest and tipped her head up as he ducked down to kiss her lips.

He made a small noise at the back of his throat as she slid her hands beneath his shirt, her nails scraping over the skin of his stomach. She slipped them back out and began to unbutton his shirt, not breaking the kiss. She grinned against his mouth and finally pulled away, flopping back on the bed as his shirt fell open. He crawled over her, bracing his arms on either side of her as she looped her arms around his neck and pulled his head back down to meet hers.

She didn't realise just how much she had missed this; although they had been enjoying intimacy that was a lot deeper in some ways through their whispered conversations and cuddles, she had been needing this too and she wasn't sure she'd even realised. Now, with alcohol flowing through her veins and heat from Combeferre's hands and kisses warming her blood, she wondered why she'd been avoiding it for so long.

It was slow and languid, almost lazy, as they reacquainted themselves with each other's bodies. Afterwards, Éponine felt more content than she could ever remember feeling before, happy lying in the circle of Combeferre's arms and listening to the thud of his heart beneath her ear.

She thought to herself, as her eyes closed and her mind began to drift, that this just might be the first night in a while that she'd have happy dreams. And that thought at the forefront of her mind, she pressed her face further into his shoulder and murmured, "I love you."

With a yawn, she finally succumbed to sleep.

OOO

Combeferre's entire body went tense and for a moment, his grip on Éponine tightened considerably. Then he loosened grip as something twisted and knotted in his stomach in a fashion that made him feel slightly sick.

Her head dropped a little against his shoulder, and a couple of minutes later he heard the softest snore.

As carefully as he could, he untangled his limbs from Éponine's and eased himself out of the bed. Thankfully she didn't stir, her body going slack against the mattress and her head being pillowed by the back of her hand. He takes the time to pull the duvet up around her, tucking it around her neck and shoulders and, because he can't stop himself, he dropped a kiss onto the temple that was exposed to him.

He paused to pull on his boxers and dug out a T-shirt that he couldn't remember stashing in one of Éponine's drawers. He dragged it on over his head before fishing his phone out of the pocket of his jeans.

Éponine's keys were left on the kitchen side so he took them with him, just to be on the safe side, ducking out of her apartment and sitting on the second landing in the stairwell.

He scrolled through his contacts until he found his ICE number and pressed call.

Enjolras answered on the sixth ring, and his voice was husky and deep from sleep. Combeferre wondered for a few moments just how long it had taken Enjolras to abandon the group and go home after he and Éponine had left.

"Combeferre, this had better be good," Enjolras said, or more growled. Combeferre winced, remembering too late just how dangerous it could be to wake up Enjolras at the wrong time. "If it isn't, I'm coming over to Éponine's and seriously hurting you and she won't be able to stop me."

"Éponine said she loved me," Combeferre said, bluntly.

There was a few moments of silence, before Enjolras said, "Isn't this more Courfeyrac's area?"

"Are you kidding me right now? All he'd do is tease and – Enjolras, seriously, I don't know what to do," Combeferre said, raking his hand through his hair.

"I don't really know what you want me to say," Enjolras said. Some of the grumpiness was seeping out of his tone, little bit by little bit. "Is this a bad thing? To you? Because most people would be happy, Combeferre..."

"It's not – it's not a bad thing, it's just – I mean, I am happy – kind of – but..." He breathed deeply. "I don't – I don't know if she means it."

"Right," Enjolras said, dragging the word out. "I think I know where you're coming from." There was another pause, before he said, "Except I really don't. Explain."

"She used to say she loved Marius," Combeferre said. "All the time. And he used to say it back which is, you know, completely ridiculous because we all know he never did, and I don't think she loved him either but they both used to throw it around all the time in front of us and..."

"You're worried that she's seeing you as...another...another Marius," Enjolras surmised.

"Kind of," Combeferre muttered, and he hated himself for it. He felt so stupid, sat in a draughty stairwell in his boxers and an old, ratty T-shirt, his feet turning into blocks of ice, phoning his oldest friend who had never been in a relationship of any type, long term or short and casual. Right now, Enjolras was probably using his laptop to send a Facebook message to Courfeyrac or Jehan to tell them to get in touch and give him some advice, so Combeferre didn't know why he'd even phoned him in the first place, except he really needed to talk.

But now he'd put it all out there he felt like the world's biggest arsehole because he was probably reading too much into it and who was he to say if Éponine loved him or not?

He just hated the idea that their relationship was anything like hers and Marius' – it made him sick beyond belief and it had always irritated him to hear them saying they loved each other – and he'd always privately thought Marius had only been interested in Éponine because he thought he could save her or something noble like that only Combeferre didn't want to save her, he wanted to...He wanted to help her as she helped herself and be there for her and fuck, he wasn't like Marius.

" – Combeferre? Combeferre, are you all right?"

He realised that Enjolras had been speaking to him as he almost panicked. He let out a long breath. "I'm fine. I was just...I was just thinking. Look, you're not – you're not going to tell anyone else, are you?"

"No," Enjolras said. "Do you want me to?"

"Of course I don't," Combeferre said. "They'd only fuss, and I don't want fuss, I just...I just want..."

"I don't think I'm the right person to deal with this," Enjolras admitted. "But, overall, I think it's – it's probably not as bad as you think it is. I mean, you're not like Marius."

Combeferre nodded, even though Enjolras obviously couldn't see him, and waited for his friend to continue.

"The only common factor here is Éponine, and Éponine doesn't act around you like she used to act around Marius," Enjolras carried on. "She used to – well, she used to fawn over him, for lack of a better word. She seems comfortable with you, very at ease, and she tells you things and talks to you and she relies on you a lot. And I'm no expert..." He paused, and snorted. "Like, I'm really no expert, I seriously don't know why you called me –"

"Enjolras," Combeferre bit out.

"All right, all right – so I'm no expert, but sometimes, the way she looks at you – it's kind of how you look at her. Or how Musichetta looks at Joly, or vice-versa, or Cosette and Marius...You know, like she does love you, I suppose. Or care for you. It's a lot better than the way she used to stare at Marius."

Combeferre groaned and pressed his forehead against his arm. "I'm overreacting, aren't I?"

"Possibly." Combeferre heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and he thought they were coming from above. "But it's understandable. You might have more relationship experience than me, I'm not arguing that, but you're still not as used to them as –"

"Combeferre?" Éponine's voice was sleepy and confused behind him.

"I'll speak to you tomorrow, Enjolras," Combeferre muttered. "And thank you."

He ended the call and stood up, turning to see Éponine stood there. She wore his shirt over pyjama pants and had a black cardigan over the top, and her arms were wrapped around herself. One eyebrow was raised in puzzlement.

"I woke up and you weren't there. Have you got my keys?" she said, stifling a yawn.

Combeferre jangled them at her. "Of course. Sorry, I was just..."

She smiled at him. "Is everything all right?" she asked, her tone tinged with concern.

"Yeah," he said, on a huff of breath. "Yeah, everything is fine."