Chapter Seven
What Love Even Is
A/N: Backstory for anyone who has seen the musical but hasn't read the Brick (which Éponine in this fic is mostly based on): The reason Marius was even at the barricade was all Éponine's doing. After the incident where she stopped her father and the Patron-Minette from robbing Jean Valjean's house, she threw a note to Jean Valjean telling him to clear out. Because he was super paranoid about the police finding him, and there had been some sketchy things happening around the garden (because Marius had been sneaking in for quite some time to visit Cosette, but he didn't know that) he decided he and Cosette had to move immediately. Cosette didn't have time to tell Marius, so she wrote a quick letter with their new address. She looked through the gate and she saw this "boy" (really Éponine in boy's clothing) and gave the letter to "him" to deliver.
Éponine put it in her pocket and did not give it to Marius. She went to Courfeyrac's place, where Marius was living, and she ran into Courfeyrac (who was basically like "wow, that's a funny looking boy, almost looks more like a girl in boy's clothes, whatever." And I'm not trying to insult his deduction skills, but...) And he's carrying boxes and she offers to help him, and he says they're going to the barricade. So in that moment, she decides she's definitely not going to give Marius his letter, and at this point she's ready to "throw herself into that death as she would have thrown herself into any other, and to push Marius into it."
So Marius shows up to the Rue Plumet, and the house is empty, Cosette is gone, his grandfather had just refused him permission to marry her, and he's absolutely in despair. Then this "boy" walks by and tells him his friends are waiting for him at the barricade (And I'm not trying to call his deduction skills into question, but he literally thinks THAT SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE ÉPONINE, but, huh, boy clothes, it can't be.) He thinks Cosette is gone forever and didn't even care enough to tell him where she was going, and he can't get permission to marry her anyway, so he decides there's nothing left for him and goes to the barricade (in the Brick, Marius clashes with his royalist Grandfather because he is obsessed with Napoleon Bonaparte—but only because his father was a Colonel under Bonaparte and fought at Waterloo. That's what causes him to completely switch his politics from being Royalist. He's NOT one of Les Amis de l'ABC. He's friends with Courfeyrac but only loosely acquainted with the others. He got epically roasted by Combeferre because he's, again, obsessed with Bonaparte. He probably wouldn't have gone to the barricade if he could have just been happy with Cosette.)
It's only after Éponine is shot and dying in his arms that she decides to give him Cosette's letter, so he won't be angry at her if they meet again after they both die. At that point, she's satisfied he and Cosette will never be together, so she can give him the letter. "She died with that tragic joy of jealous hearts that drag the being they love into death with them, saying, 'Nobody shall have him!'" Yeah, Brick Éponine is a much more complex and morally ambiguous character. She and Erik have a lot in common.
"Now, you've asked me a question, and I have one for you." He looked at her, his eyes glittering with the reflection of the crackling blaze.
Éponine took a sip of coffee, and then looked at him expectantly.
"I want you to tell me why you were shot."
"I told you. There was a barricade—"
"Yes, yes, the barricade." He waved his hand impatiently. "I saw something of it in the papers, and from that I think I understand their cause better than you seem to."
"Good for you." Finished eating, and the tiredness and pain washing over her, but not willing to admit it and be sent back to bed, she slumped back slightly in her chair.
"I meant, why was a girl like you there getting shot if you hardly knew what it was for?"
Éponine looked into the fire to avoid his gaze. "The boy I loved was there." And there it was again—loved, she'd said. It had just come out of her mouth in the past tense.
"Ah."
"I suppose you would understand that," she said, slowly. "You said you were dying of love."
Erik said nothing save a small murmur of agreement. Then, after a moment, he said, "And this boy, did he love you too?"
Éponine winced with the effort of leaning forward again to grab her coffee cup. She just wanted something to look down at, something to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. Not so much because Marius didn't love her, but because no one did. It hurt to admit how lonely and wretched and unloved she really was. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because he was in love with a beautiful young lady," she said in a thick, low voice. "And I'm not a lady. And I tell lies. And I'm a thief. And I drink whenever I can. And I'm ugly."
Erik's voice thundered and nearly made her drop her coffee cup. "You are not ugly."
"I am." To her great shame, a tear splashed into her coffee. She leaned forward to put the cup down, gasping a little as she settled back in the chair again. She blinked quickly to clear the tears away. "When I was dying, I asked him. I said, 'You found me ugly, didn't you?'"
"And what did he say?" There was something dark and frightening in Erik's voice.
"He just said nothing. He was a kind boy. He would never have said it. But I know he did. After I showed him where to find the house in the Rue Plumet—the one with the young lady—I noticed he was annoyed whenever he would meet me in the street and I would try to talk to him. I hoped he'd at least be glad to see me, because I had shown him the address. He was just embarrassed, I think, to be seen with a woman like me. But the worst part is, he pitied me. I didn't want his pity, or his money." She rubbed the fist of her good hand roughly across her eyes. "I know. I'm ugly."
"You do not even know what ugliness is, Éponine."
"Anyway." She had to finish this story quickly, before she completely broke down. "Anyway, I wanted us to die together there. If we both died, we would be together at last. And we'd see each other again, I hoped. But then I saw a musket aimed at him. And that wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to die before me. And you know what happened. I got shot."
She saw him glance at her mangled hand. "You put your hand over the barrel," he said, in a tone of awe.
"And then I almost couldn't cry out to him, I was so weak. And I thought the last thing I knew would be the cold stones. But I managed to call his name, just faintly." She smiled a little. "He heard me, and he was good enough to hold me. I asked him to kiss me on the forehead after I died. I don't know if he did. I told him I would feel it, but I didn't. But do you know the funny thing about it, monsieur? Erik?"
She paused, met his intense gaze for a moment, then glanced back down. The funny thing. The thing she was just starting to understand herself. The reason she kept thinking of her love for Marius in the past tense. She began to understand it as the words were leaving her mouth. "I don't know if I really loved him after all. I don't think I know what love even is."
Erik was really staring at her now, she could feel it.
"He was so...different than me and my family. He wasn't rich. He lived in the Gorbeau, same's us. But he was so honest, and generous. And warm, and kind. Shy. Very smart. I started following him and watching him, only he never knew it. He never saw me. And then one day I met him, and he let me talk without telling me to shut up, and he let me touch all of his things without snatching them away. And he gave me some money and a crust of bread, and some letters that my stupid sister had lost. I think...I think no one was kind to me for so long, and so I thought that was love. I used to do little things for him, whenever I could. I was willing to do anything for him. Even die for him. I did...I did things I'm not proud of, too."
She stared down at her lap, remembering how it had been her fault, her plotting, that was the reason he was at the barricade getting shot at in the first place. She may have momentarily saved him, but for all she knew, she had ultimately killed him. But she didn't want to tell Erik that. He would be horrified at the person he had brought into his home. Just because he knew what it was to love someone—or think you did—that did not mean he knew what it was to do such terrible things because you couldn't have that person.
She continued, "But I don't think that's love. I think it's just hard to know what love is, when nobody has ever loved you."
Erik got up abruptly and went over to the piano. He grasped the edge of it with his hand, as though he feared he might fall over, and he clasped his other hand over his chin.
"Erik?"
"Nothing."
She was silent.
After a moment, he seemed to regain his composure, and he came to sit across from her. "A beautiful girl like you does not know what ugliness is."
She blinked. Beautiful? Her? Did he really mean that? Did he really think she was beautiful? He hadn't said it like he was trying to make her feel better. He had said it like it was a fact.
Erik stood up and began pacing back and forth. "I do not want to hear you talk again of ugliness." His voice was dark, and angry. "You are so determined not to ask why Erik wears a mask? Well, no matter. I shall tell you. "
Suddenly, Éponine felt white hot pain sear through her body, like the musket ball was ripping through her all over again. She clasped her hand against her chest and hissed in pain, causing Erik to stop and hurry over to her. "It's nothing." She said through gritted teeth. "You were...saying?"
But he was already gathering her in his arms and marching her back into the bedroom. "I knew I shouldn't have listened to you. You're not strong enough to sit up, and I made you talk too much."
She wanted to insist she was fine, but her breathing was ragged and she really wasn't fine at all. Her teeth started chattering. She thought she was going to be sick. Her head was spinning. He laid her down on the bed and started unbuttoning the top of her nightgown. He fumbled around on the nightstand before pulling a knife out of his pocket and carefully cutting through the bandages. He must have been looking for the scissors. She watched his frown deepen as he looked at the wound.
"It's opened," he said grimly. "You've pulled the stitches, moving around too much. I let you move around too much. But worse, it's infected." He felt her forehead. His hand was cold. "You're burning up."
"No I'm not," she said through chattering teeth. "I'm freezing."
He busied himself with tucking her into bed, fiddling with the bed clothes and giving them his full attention.
"Erik?"
He wouldn't look at her. It was like he didn't hear her.
"Erik? I'm dying."
"You will get well," he said decisively, still not looking at her. "I just need to close up your wound again, and after that, you must be a good patient. No more getting out of bed. But you're going to be all right."
"I need a doctor. I'm so cold." There had been an incident once, back in her father's inn, where a man was injured in a fight. Éponine had not seen what happened, but there had been a knife. The man had begged for a doctor, but her father would not send for one. He did not want the police to get involved. They had taken the man into the kitchen, and her mother had roughly tended to him, pressing a frightened and tiny Éponine into service to assist. At first it had seemed he would be all right, but infection had soon set in. He died, and it had not been nice. It was prolonged and painful, and he kept crying out for a doctor, and there was nothing Éponine could do. It was the first time she had seen someone die, and the first time it was her father's fault—that she knew of. He had always been a cheat and a thief, but this was different, and it stuck with her, and she knew she needed a doctor right now. She would have told Erik all of this, but between the pain and the chattering of her teeth, she could hardly get any words out, and she knew she was going to lose consciousness soon.
"Please..." she mumbled, fumbling for his hand. She squeezed his wrist lightly—she had no strength to grasp. "Please, Erik. I was ready to die, but now I'm not so sure..."
Erik waved something under her nose, and she knew nothing after that.
—●—●—●—●—
Éponine awoke, still shaking and feeling ill in her stomach. She was in so much pain, and her head felt funny like someone had given her something. She felt so fuzzy, but she could hear Erik's voice, and that of a second man, too. There was a hand on her forehead which didn't feel like Erik's hand, and a stern voice saying, "She's burning up. What have you done?"
"I haven't done anything!" Erik sounded like a petulant child. "You great booby, always assuming the worst of Erik! I saved her life. And I will let her go, once she has recovered."
"This girl needs a doctor." The second man's voice was grave and long-suffering sounding. "And even then, she may die."
Éponine felt a cold feeling in her stomach. She wasn't so sure she really wanted to die anymore. But that was life, wasn't it?
"I will send for a doctor," said the stranger's voice.
"No you most certainly will not, Daroga! I don't want a doctor here. I don't even want you here. No one may come to my house on the lake."
"Except for the young girls whom you steal away and hold against their will?"
Éponine thought, that was a comment she was going to have to be very concerned about later...if she didn't die.
"I warn you, Daroga: if you try to defy me, I shall forget that I am the one who brought you here, and shall suppose you an intruder. You think you know the horrors Erik is capable of?" Erik laughed darkly. Éponine had heard him be sullen, and even thunder angrily when she spoke of ugliness, but she had never heard his voice sound so...so like Montparnasse, or the rest of the Patron-Minette. "You cannot even imagine what I will dream up for you, my dear Daroga. I wouldn't want to bore you with what you have already seen before."
"Erik?" Éponine's voice was so faint she did not even know if they would hear her. But she felt Erik's hand on her own. Reassuring and cold.
"Do not fear, Éponine. I have called this booby to assist you. He is only annoyed with me because he thought I was dead. I told him I was dying and he wouldn't see me again. It is a small argument, nothing to be frightened over."
"Is he a doctor?"
"No, he was chief of police in his country. Now he lives in Paris and pokes his nose where it isn't wanted."
She couldn't help the jolt of panic that the word "police" always sent through her.
"You came and fetched me here, Erik." The man sounded at the edge of exasperation. "Now what do you want me to do, if I may not send for a doctor?"
"Please...I...I want a doctor." Éponine felt about to faint again. She was going to die while these two stood here bickering. It would probably take them a while to even notice she was dead.
Erik's hand was reassuring on her own, and he addressed the other man. "You must take her to a doctor. Or, take her back to your flat. Send for a doctor from there."
"She is in no condition to be moved."
"Oh Daroga, Daroga! You won't help a wounded girl? And you, always concerning yourself with who cut the chandelier, and who killed Count Phillipe? You, spying on me and poking your nose into everything, even though I would never have harmed a single hair on Christine's precious head? You, Daroga? Won't help a living girl?" His tone was taunting, needling. Almost childlike.
She heard the other man answer with an tired sigh. "Her blood will be on your hands, Erik."
"I am confident you will not let that happen, because you will ensure that she is alive when I come to collect her."
"You said you would let her go!"
"She must finish her recovery here. Now, there's no more time to argue. She needs a doctor, quickly, Daroga! Look at the time you have already wasted. I shall carry her to the fiacre, and then I shall leave you to seek a doctor's care."
Éponine felt Erik's arms effortlessly lifting her again, and she tipped back into unconsciousness.
A/N: Shoutout to the dramatic irony of Éponine thinking, "Just because he knew what it was to love someone—or think you did—that did not mean he knew what it was to do such terrible things because you couldn't have that person." Nah, he could NEVER understand that. XD
