Author's note: Hello! This is my first fanfiction ever, so please review! My French is horrible, so please forgive me. This is an AU that has references from the book and is based off of the movie. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: As much fun I have obsessing over fictional characters, the characters in this story belong to Victor Hugo. This is to simply take my mind off of the fact that the book doesn't fulfill my needs as a fangirl.

Liberté for the Soul

by relievedseriousness

"A boy! Climbing the barricade!" someone shouted.

Éponine hurried, not caring whether the voice came from a soldier of the National Guard or one of the students of Les Amis, and nearly misplacing her footing on the massive fort of furniture. She was dressed in ragged clothes made for a boy, with an old cap hiding her hair - the makeshift disguise. She had barely made it to the top when she saw the metal of a gun glint in the light of the sun, ready to bring down yet another revolutionary. Éponine would've turned cold and scurried on, had not the weapon been pointed at a certain man. Marius.

Rushing forward, she pushed the gun toward her torso just before the trigger had been pulled. A forceful pain pierced her body, letting her enough stamina to crouch down next to an overturned sofa. Her dirty tangled locks tumbled from her head, the cap having fallen off during her descent. Blood poured out of Éponine's body, making her clutch her middle. Closing her eyes, she heard the sounds of guns and shouts. Then it became quieter. She could feel her mind and senses fading; she no longer recognized anyone. Ah, Éponine thought. At last, I am dying. But where is he, my Marius?

"Éponine? By God, what are you doing here?" a voice asked.

"Marius? Is that you?"

There was a split second of silence before a response came.

"You may assume that. Now, let me help you with your wounds."

Éponine considered the reply strange, but she was completely reassured that it was him. No one would care more about her than anyone else. "No, monsieur. It is fine. I don't feel any pain. Just hold me now, and let it be."

Strong arms wrapped around Éponine's body, though slightly hesitant. "But, Éponine, there's so much blood. You must get a doctor. Certainly before a cold takes you in this rain..."

She smiled, only now noticing the light shower coming down. "Please, Monsieur Marius. It's only a bit. A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now. You're here. That's all I need to know."

That breath of his hitched, and exhaled slowly. "Éponine, I am not..."

She shushed him by holding a hand up to his face, stroking the side of it. Éponine's smile then faltered, and the blackness consumed her.

Éponine woke up, her face misted with perspiration. She sat up with some trouble as her torso, was restricted by several bandages. She scratched her head, noticing how an itchy reply from her scalp never came, like it usually did. Éponine was, in a long time, clean, and in a cot in a room that was sparsely furnished - save for the cot and a chair. She looked around. The room seemed familiar.

"Awake?" a voice called out. Éponine saw a girl come in with a tray of hot water and bread.

"Musichetta?" she asked. The girl smiled and nodded. "You were set next to our door and was unconscious for a few days, but we got a friend of Joly's to look at your wounds. It'll take some time to heal, he said, but you'll be up and about before you should be, knowing you."

Éponine felt gratitude instantly, for Musichetta and her weren't exactly close. She had been introduced to her by Joly, of course, one night when she was waiting for Marius at the Café Musain. She had made acquaintances with all the men of the Les Amis, but Marius. He was the sole reason she was there in the first place.

"I-I don't know how to thank you, Musichetta. I am truly grateful. And, I'm sorry for your loss. Really."

The girl set her tray down. "Thank you, Éponine. I'm fine, it's just that, I am with child."

Éponine felt sorrow and sympathy hit her in the chest. She knew how Joly and Musichetta were wild over each other. It was certainly obvious. Joly talked about her every chance he got, despite the protests and groans he got from the other students. Musichetta, though more discreet, blushed every time Joly's name was ever mentioned. It was a fine sight, a student and his grisette. There were many times when Éponine could feel a wave of jealousy wash over her when she was watching the couple. She wished that, if only, Marius and herself would be the same way. But you are just a gamine, Éponine, she told herself. A filthy, corrupted street urchin. He'll never see you that way.

"I'm truly sorry, Musichetta. Joly, he's with God now, but, he loved you more than any man ever will." Éponine told the girl.

"Thank you, Éponine. Now, let's get you some food. I know it's meager, but it'll have to do." She set to breaking the bread into small pieces.

Though Musichetta had stopped talking, Éponine could see the volumes of grief spoken by her grey eyes. She chewed her bread slowly, thinking about the barricade. She hardly remembered anything, just the bang of guns, the flash of the bayonets, and the men, soldier and student, crying for help. Then she was reminded of him.

"Musichetta, I don't want to seem nosy, but where is Monsieur Marius?"

The young mother-to-be cocked her head. "Hard to say. He could be lying in a hospital or a kind home, or probably dead. Last time I peeked out I saw him with an elderly gentleman."

Éponine nodded, murmured something, perhaps a thank you, and fell back in the cot, tired from waking up.

Enjolras sat up in his bed, allowing the doctor to check on his wounds once more. He was in a nightgown, and uncomfortable from the prodding of the doctor's fingers and utensils at his bare chest. From a few feet away, Marius watched.

"He's doing fine, my son. Considerably better than last week. The wounds will heal in a couple of months, hopefully, if there is no infection. You are lucky to have survived, son," Dr. Henri said directly to Enjolras. "Those gunshots had you hanging by a fil, and yet you are coming along better than I thought. They will leave scars though, as I have told you."

The revolutionary was no longer listening. His mind faded to the memories and the terrors of that fateful day, and the deaths that seemed inevitable on the night prior to the barricade, now are impossibly impossible. Death's ever-moving laboratory, Enjolras thought.

"Um, Dr. Henri? I suppose we leave Enjolras to rest now?" Marius asked, seeing his friend's current face expression.

"Ah, yes. I will be back next week, of course, but if you need anything, just send for me."

Marius nodded and called Nanette, the maid, to show the physician the door. Meanwhile, he crept over to Enjolras. "Alright?" he questioned softly.

Enjolras slightly dipped his head. "I am just tired. I'm fine." He sank back into the pillows and turned his back on the young man.

Marius sighed, and left the room, closing the door behind him. Enjolras fell deeper into his sleep, all the while asking himself, What of my friends? My foolish actions that led them to their graves? And what of Marius' shadow? Have I deceived them all?

Regret plunged thick into his veins, and he could not think anymore; not of the barricade, not of the friends that are gone, and certainly not about a young gamine as slumber swallowed his mind and soul.