Chapter Twenty-One
Reunited in an Alley with the Charmer of the Shadows
"WHY is he so..." Éponine dropped her head into her hands and growled with inexpressible frustration.
They had been sitting in the drawing room for several minutes, the Daroga kneading his chin and looking thoughtfully into the middle distance while Éponine fumed.
In response, he said simply: "He is Erik." And really, that was all that needed to be said, wasn't it? The Daroga, a long-suffering and good-natured, although not entirely willing participant in all of this, who seemed one of the only people on earth to truly know Erik besides herself, probably knew exactly what she meant. And that was somewhat comforting.
Éponine snorted at the thought that she had gotten herself into a situation where a cop—well, from the sounds of it, a former cop, but then, a wolf certainly didn't change his nature just because he lost his teeth—would be the only person who could understand her.
With a resigned sigh, the Daroga stood. "I suppose we will have to go after him."
Éponine raised an eyebrow.
"If you wish, mademoiselle. Or, you can wait here. It is up to you."
"The past...nearly a day, now, I guess...has been very, very long." Éponine yawned. "I think it might be better for me to stay away for a bit. Away from him, I mean. I need to clear my head. Just for a bit."
The Daroga nodded understandingly. "You are very young, mademoiselle, but, I think, very wise." With another resigned sigh, he said: "At any rate, I must go and speak with him."
Éponine gave him a commiserating smile. "You probably had different plans for your morning, huh? I'm very sorry, monsieur."
The Daroga shrugged. "You have nothing to be sorry about. Erik is my concern. My responsibility."
"Because he makes himself that?"
"No. Because I made him that. If I had wished it, there would have been no more Erik."
"Oh." She could tell there was some nebulous and not entirely happy shared history between these two men, but it wasn't any business of hers until either of them wished to fill her in. "Well, best of luck, monsieur."
"If you need anything, you have only to ring for Darius. Please make yourself comfortable."
"You're very kind, monsieur." She had to duck her head quickly so he wouldn't see that she was almost about to cry. She felt silly, but it had been such a gruelling and heightened period of time for her lately, and she was still not very used to having people show her kindness. She was really pathetic, wasn't she?
The Daroga walked out into the foyer, and she heard the door to the flat open. But it didn't close.
"Mademoiselle?"
"Yes?"
"Please do not go anywhere. I don't want to have to search for you too."
She smiled wryly. "Don't worry. I'm not exactly the sneaking-out-of-windows type." Well, that wasn't exactly true. But she didn't think she would be, in a different life. Maybe this counted as a different life? At any rate, she intended to stay put.
—●—●—●—●—
It felt amazing to both have the outside air on her face and also be actually alone! She hadn't realised how much she had missed that, in the time since she'd been shot. In her life before, whenever she had been upset or confused or needed to think about things, she would always go out and walk by herself—sometimes all night long. She had truly, sincerely tried to wait in the flat like she had told the Daroga she would. It was just that she was suffocating, after weeks of being alone only in laudanum-induced sleep or in the confines of her bedroom in the house on the lake, and she needed to be alone and walk in the outdoors if she was actually to clear her head. She had not gone out via the balcony, but rather slipped out the front door, like an honest citizen.
She hadn't accounted for a couple of things, though. In the first place, this was a fashionable neighbourhood, and not the sort of place she should really be wandering in broad daylight. Even though she wore a new, clean silk dress, it was one that very obviously did not fit her, and her hair was loose and must look frightful, and her general appearance was still quite rough. It was a fairly quiet street, but the people she did pass cast suspicious side-glances, and she knew there were probably concerned ladies peering through lace curtains. Don't worry, she thought, as she glanced up at a curtain that she swore had moved. If I was scoping out for the gang to rob you, I wouldn't be such an idiot as to do it in broad daylight.
In the second place, she was still incredibly weak, and she hadn't gone more than a block before she was beginning to feel it. Her vision was beginning to dim and her head felt light, and the aching of her rib was intense. So, both things considered, she ducked into an alleyway and leaned against a wall, and closed her eyes for a moment.
She wasn't sure how long she had been leaning there when a cloud of very familiar tobacco smoke was blown directly into her face, and her eyes flew open. She didn't even need time to process the pomaded dark curls, the irritatingly technically-beautiful face, the dapper clothes or the stifling combination of tobacco and excessive cologne before her mouth spat out, "Montparnasse."
He gave her a grin that lacked any warmth, and tossed his cigar carelessly behind him. "You look nice, 'Ponine. Although I'm a little hurt. You know I would have dressed you up in silk, if you'd let me." As he spoke, he examined a rose that he held in his hand before stabbing its stem down the front of her bodice.
Gritting her teeth because a thorn had cut her and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it, she pulled the rose out and threw it to the ground.
"Hey, easy. You're not happy to see me? Your very dear friend?" He was throwing her words back at her. From the Rue Plumet.
She sniffed and shrugged her shoulders. "So what? My dear friend who had a blade out for me?"
He pressed his palm into the wall just to the side of her head, leaning over her and engulfing her in his shadow. She glared at him, but didn't move away.
"Oh, you understand I couldn't let you show me up in front of the boys," he purred. "I have to think of my reputation."
She didn't know if she believed him or not. She was never really willing to bet on Montparnasse being sincere, nor discount entirely that he might be. In a lot of ways, until recently he'd been the closest thing she had to a friend, which was, again—a running theme of her life, really—pathetic.
"Anyway," he said casually, "I was hoping I might finally get a warm welcome from you, after saving your life."
Éponine's eyes flew to meet his, her eyebrows knitting together. "What?!"
Almost gently, he took her left hand with the one that wasn't occupied holding up the wall, and held it near his face. "You never would let me have this, and then you go and give it to a musket. That's cold, 'Ponine."
She tore her hand away. Her heart was pounding and her brain racing. She struggled to keep her voice even. "What are you talking about?"
"So, there I am. Out on business. Or maybe pleasure, it's all the same." He flashed a grin at her. "And who do I see but a very funny looking 'boy.' That's new, I thought, so I followed, and, funny thing, the 'boy' made a stop on the Rue Plumet. The so-called biscuit. Said something to your handsome old neighbour, who was there, then went to those student friends of your neighbour's."
"Creep. I told you not to follow me anymore."
"And yet you know I can't keep myself away," he said, in mock-romantic tones, leaning to press a kiss to the side of her neck and earning himself a slap.
"You're disgusting. So anyway, you followed me to the barricade."
"And you're welcome. You'd have been dead right now if I didn't. That stupid neighbour boy of yours just left you to go read his letter. Yeah, you looked dead, but some of us know how to properly check."
After the initial conversation with Erik where it turned out that neither of them knew how she had wound up outside the Opera House, she hadn't really spent much time considering how she had made her way out of the barricade—having had a lot of other things on her mind, and it had certainly never occurred to her that Montparnasse might have been her saviour. "Well...thank you," she said awkwardly.
"Never was very interested in your words, 'Ponine." There was something almost sad in his tone, but again, she never took Montparnasse at face value.
"And yet that's all you'll ever get," she snapped. "Now back up."
He complied, removing his hand from the wall and giving her a few more inches. She stood up straighter.
"Why'd you leave me outside the Opera House?"
"I didn't intend to. I was taking you to someone I know who could patch you up, but then I had to set you down and...take care of something. When I came back, you were gone."
That checked out. Even if she was bleeding out, when his paths crossed with a score he needed to settle or an opportunity to rob someone, or maybe just a bit of skirt to chase after...well then, Éponine could wait. That's the way it was amongst thieves. But actually, good thing that it was. And very fortunate that, of all the places to leave her, he had left her outside the Opera House for Erik to stumble upon.
It was then that she realised he was the one who had the best shot at giving her news of her family. "Hey, what's happened to everybody since then? All of my folks, I mean. Azelma?"
"She's in very good hands," he said, his voice dripping with meaning.
A sickening realisation dawned on Éponine. "God—no." She groaned and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, kind of wishing to gouge them out instead. "Tell me you're not with my sister."
"Why, are you jealous?"
"You're disgusting." She spat on his shoes.
"I gave you plenty of chances, 'Ponine. You weren't interested in any of this. And then some creep crawls out from the Opera House, and suddenly you're all over him."
Éponine's stomach clenched. That had definitely, beyond a doubt been him outside the shop that day. And he probably had followed them, if not then, maybe at some other time. Maybe he had returned to the spot where she'd disappeared, and seen Erik and the Daroga bringing her out to the fiacre. Or maybe he had followed them to the shop that day. Either way, it didn't matter. "Gross. It's not like that."
"Mmhmm. I bet I can picture exactly how it is."
"No, your brain is too much of a sewer to understand. But go on—so my sister is an idiot, great. What about everyone else?"
"Your father is—you know. Thénardier."
Éponine rolled her eyes and laughed derisively. It wasn't that she hated him exactly, because a father is still a father, but she hadn't once worried about him. He was like a cockroach; he'd always be fine. "And the rest of them? Maman? Gavroche?"
Montparnasse's entire demeanour changed, and he looked at his shoes. Reflexively, Éponine grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
"Tell me the truth, please. Even if it's not good."
Still not meeting her eyes, he said, "Your ma's dead. In prison. I heard cholera."
Éponine backed up against the wall and pressed her fist against her mouth. She closed her eyes to stop the tears from falling, because she wasn't about to cry in front of Montparnasse. He wasn't the only one with a reputation to think of. He was respectfully silent while she squashed her grief down, waiting for her to be the next one to speak. She finally managed: "God—in prison. I hate that for her."
The boy, still looking at his shoes, folded his lips together.
Hesitantly, Éponine said, "Gavroche?"
Montparnasse was silent for a very long time, and he finally cleared his throat, flipped himself around and leaned against the wall beside her. Both of them staring straight ahead at the soot-stained brick wall opposite them in the alleyway, side by side. At the same time, they slid down the wall until they were sitting on the ground. Montparnasse had always been fond of her brother, at least in his own way.
Gritting her teeth, she said, "You shouldn't have concerned yourself with me. You should have gotten him out instead."
Montparnasse dragged a hand over his face. "Yeah, well, in that moment he wasn't the one who had just been shot. I thought he'd be fine."
In a softer tone, Éponine said, "I asked Marius to get him out of there."
Montparnasse put his hand on her knee, and she let him. "You know he probably tried. All of those students probably tried. The kid was exactly where he wanted to be, doing exactly what he wanted to do. Always was."
Éponine let her head fall forward, hiding her face against her knees. But she couldn't even cry. It was absolutely crushing and unbelievably unfair. Her brother was the brightest light in the entire city, and he'd had to sleep in the belly of an elephant because he didn't have a proper home, and then he'd spilled his blood for some cause that had obviously been pointless. Paris looked exactly the same. What was the point of any of it?
Montparnasse moved his hand to her back, rubbing between her shoulder blades. And again, she let him. She couldn't really feel anything. She didn't know how long they sat there in complete silence. Then, shakily, she rose to her feet. "Thanks, 'Parnasse."
"Don't you want to know about your old neighbour?"
Éponine did, but only because she needed to know that he was okay since it was all her fault that he was there in the first place. She didn't think she could take that right now, on top of everything else she had just learned. She looked at Montparnasse cautiously.
"Married. Azelma and your dear Papa saw the wedding party, that's how I know. But I guess it doesn't matter to you, now that you've got your creepy little cellar man."
"I'm kind of embarrassed for you. You're with my sister and you're still creeping around and snooping on me." She turned and started to head out from the alley. She had to get back to the Daroga's flat before he returned and noticed she was missing, or before Darius alerted him, and she wasn't sure how long it had been since she left.
"I like to keep up with old friends," Montparnasse said flippantly, rising to his feet. Then, in a more serious tone: "Hey—seriously, 'Ponine. It was good seeing you. Take care of yourself."
"You know I always do," she said, blowing him a kiss. "Thank you—really, for saving me. And for leaving me where you did."
"See you around?"
"I hope not."
A/N: I always liked the tantalising glimpses Hugo gave of the dynamic between these two. There's so much to speculate on there, but this is just how I've always pictured them.
