Chapter twenty:
For hihiyas - for racing me to the finish. You're amazing
Dedicated to my BFF, my person, who'll never read this (even though he totally offered to be my beta for this) but who'll let me ramble at him about tropes and cliffhangers and most important chapters in a fic.
…
Eponine is torn between packing the red top or just shredding it and setting fire to the pieces when there's a knock on the door.
Finally, he's come to his senses.
It has taken him a few days, but he's finally gone back to normal – or back to whoever he was when they Kissed. It certainly was a capital-K Kiss.
She has shared many a kiss with many a man, and many a kiss with many a woman. She knows that a kiss can mean nothing, knows that it can just be a way to pass the time or to fill the emptiness in her soul.
So she knows that this was a Kiss – this is different. This one, it means something, and Enjolras has finally dared to come admit it to her. That has to be it.
It will not make her stay – that cannot be her reason for staying. But at least she will know that he felt it too. She can't be alone in this, right?
"Eponine?" it is Jehan's voice from the other side of the door.
The disappointment she feels cannot be so easily hidden. She will try, for Jehan's sake, because he's been kind to her. She can give him a final kindness in return before she leaves this place for good.
"Come in, Jehan," she will not make the attempt to hide her packed bags.
What is her alternative, leaving in the middle of the night without a word? Even she has her limits with how much of a bitch she is comfortable being. They are far beyond the limits most people have, but at least she has them.
"Oh, Eponine," Jehan notices the bags right as he walks in the room.
"I can't stay," she shrugs.
Inside, she is not nearly that casual about it. She's been hurt, cut to the bone by a brief month-long foray into French small town life. Oh, she's been here longer than a month, but this last month, these last four weeks, they've been the hardest and the greatest at the same time.
She wants to damn Enjolras for doing all of this, but she is much too aware that it is all her own fault. She opened up and now she is paying for it. Consider this her lesson learned yet again – when she gets to Paris, she is sticking to her old plans. There will be no friends, no marble men who turn her world upside down.
"Just give him some time," Jehan sees right through her, and there is no wall she can build that will make him see differently. "He'll pull his head out of his ass soon."
It is too hard to look him in the eye, so she looks back at her clothes, at the bags that hold everything she owns in this world. It isn't much, but it's hers. It's all she has.
"I gave him two days," she finally decides to pack the damn shirt.
"How many days will you give me?" Jehan sits down on the bed.
What? Why would he – oh.
She has been waiting for Enjolras to come to her for two days. She has stayed in town for those days. How many days would she give Jehan? How long would she stay for him? How long would she stay for her friend?
"Why would you want me to stay?" she can't look up just yet.
"We're friends, Eponine," Jehan is ever so gentle.
God, she hates the kid gloves, she really does.
But he is not wrong. He is her friend – and so is R, and so is Chetta. And while she does not know all of the Amis that well, they would consider her a friend in a heartbeat. Even if Enjolras drops off the face of the earth and never says a single word to her again, she still has plenty of terrifying reasons to stay in this stupid town.
It is just not what she does, though. Eponine Thenardier does not stick around. She does not settle down. Not anywhere.
"I know," she finally says, just to break the silence.
"R and I are official and you are the first person I wanted to tell," Jehan just blurts it out, a blush coloring his cheeks.
That startles a laugh out of her, because these two idiots are finally getting their shit together. There is no jealousy, no "if only Enjolras would do the same" – at least not for a little while. There is just happiness.
"How is that not the first thing you said?" she finally looks up, ignoring her bags and joining Jehan on the bed. "Don't bury the lead!"
She has never cared about a growing relationship before, not about someone else's growing relationship anyway. Well, she never really had a proper relationship of her own, so, never. Never ever.
"Well you know we were watching Buffy when you-," Jehan tries to find the least painful word, "danced with Enjolras. I was trying to give you both some time to yourself so I had to keep R occupied. Oh, God, it's not nearly as dirty as that sounds."
"Well it sounds really dirty," she teases, stretching out the word really beyond recognition. "So it can't be all roses and flowers."
"Not this time anyway," Jehan mutters, barely loud enough for her to hear.
Atta boy! Of course, it's not all art and poetry and watching Buffy with those dorks. They should be unable to let go of each other in that disgusting way she's only seen in movies and TV-shows and read about in books.
"Stop looking at me like that," Jehan hits her with the nearby pillow.
"Nope," she smirks. "Not gonna happen. I'm proud of you, padawan."
She cannot wait for Chetta to hear about the latest developments – the woman's been waiting for this for ages, much longer than Eponine herself has been in on the wait. Heck, pretty much everyone in the Amis has seen this one coming (and has been in on the damn bet that Courfeyrac just had to start).
And Jehan and R just really deserve to be happy.
"Talking about me again?" R is leaning against the doorpost, looking for all intents and purposes like a model from a cheesy catalogue shoot.
The new relationship hasn't suddenly erased the marks on R's body, marks left by years of addiction and neglect of his own needs - love is not a magic wand waved to fix all past hurts. There are still bags under his eyes, but his bright blue eyes now appear to see the world more clearly. Cloud nine for him means having both his feet firmly on the ground.
"Not everything is about you," Jehan teases, but there is gentleness underneath.
R just melts at the grin from his boyfriend. Oh, he is trying really hard not to show it, but his happiness just seems to ooze from his pores – it's almost gross, really. The new relationship glow will not last forever, but right now it's almost giving her cavities.
"Though it totally was this time," she has to interject – too much cuteness. "You got here just before we started on the R-rated stuff. Feel free to add your opinions."
It is probably a terrible idea to give R that opportunity, and both she and Jehan know it – time for an immediate distraction.
"You know, it's not the size that matters," Jehan is positively devilish as he pretends to give the embarrassing details.
"I'll show you size," R's hands go to the zipper on his jeans.
"Not in my bed you're not," Eponine really tries to put a stop to it. "I'm mentally scarred enough, thanks. There is not enough bleach in the world."
Thankfully, R keeps his pants on for now, though she suspects that this brief streak of good behavior will not last long.
Time to make an obvious, yet strategic exit.
"So go get some somewhere else," she just cuts straight to the heart of the matter. "I'll be far out of hearing range, bitching to Chetta about how men suck."
She pretends not to hear R's sotto voce "yeah they do" in her haste to get the hell away from all the cuteness.
Happiness is kind of gross, really.
"Eponine," Jehan catches her just before she leaves. "How many days?"
Her heart is in her throat, because she matters. Somehow, for some reason, she matters, even when Jehan has other things to focus on.
"I'll tell you tomorrow."
Both men are smiling when she heads out the door.
e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e
"Relationships are gross," she complains to Chetta.
She is drowning her feelings in girl talk and a giant glass of red wine - Chetta definitely saved her some of the good stuff. It's happy hour somewhere, right?
The other woman nods sagely, even though she is at the center of one of the most complicated relationships Eponine has ever been a witness to. Well, actually it's a relationship that seems complicated but appears completely effortless in practice – and for that she blames Chetta. She has both boys wrapped around her finger (Chetta's even wrapped around their fingers too), and she is none too shy about sharing her feelings about anything and everything.
"I appreciate the support," she comments wryly.
Staring at a particular groove in the dark wood of the bar, she tries to make herself feel more at ease with opening up about her stupid feelings. She despises feeling vulnerable like this, but Chetta deserves more than generalized statements.
"That's how I roll," Chetta grins, counting the money in each of the individual drawers in the register.
It is quiet at the Musain on this sunny Wednesday afternoon. And while she wishes that someone, anyone would come by and distract her from all of her stupid feelings, she knows that the healthier option is to actually talk to Chetta about things – not just about Jetaire finally being a thing.
Yes, she did the whole smushed name thing, only for Chetta to tell her that she is more into Enjonine herself. If she weren't her closest female friend, she probably would have killed her already.
Even though she really is having fun with Chetta, she can't keep herself from looking for Enjolras still, even just from the corner of her eye. Maybe he'll finally show up and apologize for his absence.
That could still happen, right? Right?
"He hasn't been around," Musichetta sees right through her as usual.
"I know," she says.
Because what else can she say?
No one has seen him, though she suspects that he has been hiding with Combeferre somewhere. She wouldn't even blame Ferre for that – he cannot deny a student in need, and he would probably be encouraging Enjolras to spill everything the whole time. She understands Ferre's side of it – but she doesn't understand why Enjolras cannot just man up and talk to her. He can call it a mistake, he can disagree with it being a capital-K Kiss. She just needs him to stop avoiding her.
She is not going to wait around for him to figure his shit out. Not forever.
"You know bartenders are basically therapists, right?" Musichetta looks up briefly.
"Licensed and everything?" she raises an eyebrow pointedly.
It is just so much easier to keep doing the fun banter thing, no matter how many opportunities Chetta gives her to open up. She used to like that about herself, but now that she is trying to break that cycle, it is really a pain in the ass.
"Didn't I send you that e-mail?" Chetta hops onto a barstool.
There is a brief moment of silence she could have used to continue the banter, but she has decided not to fuck herself over again, at least not at the moment. She can always try that again later - if Enjolras ever shows up again.
"So," she figures she might as well give her friend the scoop. "Enjolras and I kissed and now he's hiding from me."
"Men are idiots," Chetta refills Eponine's wine glass. "So did he freak out because he's never had a tongue down his throat or is it a mystery past thing?"
More wine is definitely a good thing if she is actually going to have this conversation instead of just alluding to stuff. Luckily for her, Musichetta has plenty of wine, and plenty of jokes to keep the conversation from getting too… everything.
"Probably the second one," Eponine fails to act casual.
"So he wasn't traumatized by your tongue or you didn't get to first base?"
Is this what real friendship looks like?
e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e
Just until the end of the week, that is what she told Jehan.
So she has a few more days left until the farewell party that Jehan is undoubtedly organizing for Saturday night. She just has to avoid the stupid cops for three more days and then she'll be home free come Sunday afternoon.
Wherever that home may be.
So far Thursday is going by ever so slowly, hiding in the house because the cops are pissy for some reason. Apparently it's been about a month since the statue was "stolen" and they still don't have any leads. They never will, but that is not something that she will ever say to their face – of course Javert and The Asshole still think that she stole a priceless and extremely heavy marble statue from a museum without any help and without anyone noticing anything.
Such great detectives they are, those guys. The logistics alone are impossible, but they're stuck on the girl with the criminal family and past. Sure, she makes a good suspect, but shouldn't they move beyond just her at some point?
Clearly they missed that class in Detective School.
Ugh, where are the boys? She needs to talk to someone or else she is going to keep making these lame jokes to herself – and laughing at them.
R should be home. Jehan is out "running errands", also known as getting party supplies and inviting all of their friends to a surprise farewell party that is not really a surprise to anyone anymore. She'll act stunned in the moment, sure, but she doubts that anyone will be fooled. R might even laugh.
Speaking of, she can finally hear some movement coming from the upstairs. She is on the couch, fiddling with her charcoals and failing to draw anything of significance. There are only so many times she can look at Enjolras' stupid face before she starts to feel the need to rip up every portrait of him she has ever drawn.
"Eponine?" R seems surprised to find her here.
"My dear R," she smirks at him. "Did you really think I bailed already?"
Her bags are still mostly packed, but she has enough stuff lying around to show that she intends to stay just a little while longer. And she promised Jehan that she would not leave without saying goodbye to them.
So what's his damage?
"But it's day thirty," R is actually babbling.
It's not the thirtieth day of the month, so she fails to understand the significance. It can't even be a reference to her menstrual cycle. (What? The boys have figured that one out by now, thanks.)
"Day thirty of what?" she raises an eyebrow.
"He didn't tell you," R's shoulders sag in what appears to be disappointment. "I made him promise to tell you before the end."
This is about Enjolras – of course it is, who else would it be about? This is about the conversation she overheard, about the secrets they have been keeping from her. Does R know why Enjolras is running away from her, from everyone and everything?
If he does know, he's been keeping secrets from her as well. Still, she doesn't want to blame it on him – Enjolras must have asked it of him.
"The end of what?" she breathes.
Whatever the answer to her question is, there is no way that it is good. There is no happy secret to be learned, just more pain coming for her. She can feel it.
"The curse," R speaks ever so softly, and Eponine's blood runs cold.
Of course this is about the curse. Everything has been about that damn curse for this past month. There is always some sort of time limit with these things.
"How is it ending?" she asks. "Did we break it?"
She hopes against all odds. But R is silent, and he refuses to look her in the eye. He is still not telling her what he knows, so she will just have to connect the dots herself.
"We didn't," she realizes, "did we? We failed."
The curse is not broken. They need to try again somehow, before he turns back into marble again. She would hate for him to go through that even for a second. Not when she can be right there with him instead, helping him and giving him another chance. She turned him into flesh and blood once, she can do it again.
"Where is he?" she demands to know.
How could R just let her sit here while he knew this was going on?
"Slow down, Eponine," R sits with her on the couch. "There are some things you need to know first. It's not good."
It was never going to be good, she knows that. So he needs to start talking before all time has run out and she has missed her chance. She cannot miss her chance.
"Tell me," she orders.
"He only gets thirty days," R starts, "and then he turns back into marble."
Way to state the obvious, R.
There is no way she can be nice, she is just irrationally angry at being lied to and being kept in the dark for days when there surely had to be something she could have done to break the curse. She could have been trying right alongside them, and they did not let her do that for some ridiculous reason that she probably does not even want to know – probably for her protection or some patriarchal bullshit like that.
"I figured out that much," she is so damn angry with him right now. "What else?"
It cannot be this simple – curses never are. And since not even the Marble Man himself knows how the curse can be broken… Or does he?
"Did he not let us break it on purpose?" she has to ask.
Her impatience is definitely an issue at this point, since R is not coming up with explanations fast enough. Really, he is not coming up with anything fast enough – maybe he is still thinking of ways to pacify her for one more day.
"Does he know how to break the curse?" she thinks of another question.
"Just be quiet for a second so I can explain," R blows up at her.
Swallowing her anger is so difficult that she almost chokes on it, and judging by the apologetic look she receives in return, R understands that he is on a very short leash at this point. After the lies and the secrets, and now this, he is going to have to come up with something big.
"Enjolras is turning back to marble today," R continues, finally. "And since this is the third time he's been awake to break the curse… This was his final chance. He's the marble man forever now."
Forever? Like, forever forever?
"What?" she almost deafens R.
"He only told me last week," R says. "I was spying on him, because I'm James Bond, obviously. I saw the calendar, and today was circled. He found me in his room and I basically forced him to tell me everything."
And he has known for a whole week and he has done nothing to stop this very moment from happening? He could have stopped the kiss, broken the curse, saved the world. If only he'd told her. If only he'd told their friends so they could help.
"He's been alive before?" she breathes.
That is the part that gets her, knowing that other men and other women have tried in vain to make things right with him, knowing that she isn't all that special. Did he kiss them too, did he make them feel special, safe, loved? Is she not the only one whose life he just had to get involved in?
He has been hiding from her for days now, days that they could have spent together – if only he'd told her they would be the last days.
Now she just has this moment, right now. That is, if it is not too late already.
"Where is he?" She has to know.
"The museum," R answers immediately, for once.
She takes off running, not caring about what she looks like and that she isn't wearing any shoes. Her bare feet hit the floor, and she pulls the front door open so harshly that it hits a wall – R can fix that damage, she can't be bothered with anything but finding Enjolras right now.
The asphalt of the town's main road stings her feet, but she cannot find it in herself to care – there is not much time and she needs to see him, even if it's just for a second. The minutes are already ticking by too fast, but she cannot seem to push herself to run even faster. Her heart is pounding and her lungs are protesting, but she persists.
Finally she can see the museum come into view. It looks the same as it always does when the visitors have left. The doors might be locked, but she has her ways – she'll break the whole building down if she has to.
"Enjolras," she hollers. "Where the hell are you?"
If the gendarmes hear her, fine. They can arrest her as soon as she sees Enjolras – she doesn't even care anymore. They'll have their damn statue soon enough. They can have her too.
Finding that the door is open, she almost falls into the building, her stinging feet briefly unable to carry her in smoothly. Seeing a streak of blood on the smooth floor, she realizes that she may actually be hurt – but that's for later.
"Enjolras!"
There is no response, but she has an inkling of where he may be – he is going right back to where it all started, to where the statue of Man Protesting stood for years. The idiot is trying to fix her problems still.
Doesn't he understand that turning back into marble won't fix anything for her?
"Gabriel," she finally spots him.
He is standing still, his body in the exact spot where she first saw him, wearing just the damn pants he wore when she freed him from stone. He will not look at her, but his body tenses even more at the sound of her voice. She can always spot his tells – and he will always have a tell when it comes to her.
"You lied to me," she finally stops running, breathing hard.
She is just inches from him now, trembling and panting. She is starting to feel the sharp pain in her feet, but she pretends it doesn't matter – because it doesn't, not right now.
"Please, Gabriel," she pleads. "Just look at me."
His eyes are soft when they finally bore into hers. There is no anger there, just a resigned anguish that is impossible to ignore. He has given up, and it might actually kill her.
"R told you, didn't he?" His voice is unsteady, hoarse.
"You should have told me," she snaps.
If he won't be angry, she will just have to be mad enough for the both of them. How can he give up? There has to be something else that she can do – there is always a loophole in the curse in the movies and the books and the stories. So there has to be one here, one that is made to be exploited by someone just like her.
"I didn't want to hurt you," he moves sluggishly.
Her breath is caught in her throat, both because she is not used to running so fast for so long, and because she spots something from the corner of her eye: his feet are slowly but surely turning to stone, starting with his toes and slowly heading in the direction of his ankles. He cannot take another step towards her.
It is starting already.
"I am sorry, Eponine," he smiles now.
No, it cannot be too late. There has to be something else that she can do, some other plan to try, a final desperate attempt to free him. His ankles are stone, the lowest edge of his pants turning to marble as she frantically looks around for a solution where there is none to be found.
She steps closer, takes his hand while it is still warm and soft to hold. He is trembling, just as she is. She doesn't dare hold him; worried he'll turn to stone in her embrace, trapping her inside his hold forever unless she wants to risk damaging him even further than she already has. Instead she places one hand on his heart, needing to feel the pounding in his chest for as long as his heart will continue to beat.
"You did the best you could," he starts, "I know you did. I don't blame you for any of this – it is my fault, all of it. You did more for me than anyone else ever has."
The speech is impossible to listen to, because he is wrong. She did not do the best she could, because she did not save him. There has to be something she missed, something she overlooked or ignored in her anger with his disappearing act. This is her failure, never his.
"No," she shakes her head vehemently.
"Thanks for caring about me," Enjolras whispers.
Tears burn in her eyes, and her vision blurs with it. She blinks harshly, needing to see him clearly – if this is the last time, she wants to remember every inch of him; the exact shade of his eyes, that one ridiculous curl sticking to his forehead, the full lips she kissed just days ago and has been thinking about ever since.
She presses her lips to his again then, just briefly, to memorize the feeling, closing her eyes to categorize every sensation as perfectly as possible.
When she opens her eyes, his thighs are almost completely marble, and she can feel his fingers cooling under her grip.
"Let me go," Enjolras orders. "Before I hurt you even more."
He pulls his fingers away before she gets stuck in his hold, and she chokes back even more tears. She doesn't want to let go. How can he make her?
"Gabriel," she refuses to look anywhere but in his eyes.
The process appears to be moving faster now, his arms quickly encased in stone as the marble moves up his chest. Soon there will be no more heartbeat under her fingers, no life in his vibrant eyes.
Still she refuses to look away from him. How can she look away when this is the last time she will see his smile? Sure, it is tentative and painful, but she needs to remember it.
A tear springs from his eye and she moves her hand from his newly marble chest to wipe it away. He is no longer resigned to his fate – he really does not want to leave her, but no matter how much he may wish to protest, it will change nothing.
"I love you," he whispers.
She stills, in shock, eyes wide open to witness his eyes slowly turning to stone.
He's gone.
"I love you," she whispers to the statue, and finally gives in to the tears.
The sobs take over then, and anything else that she could have said is lost. She wants to throw herself into his arms, but they are cold now. She reaches for him, but nothing happens – shouldn't the words of love break the curse? Those three little words always work in the stories, but of course they do not work now.
There is no Santa Claus, no fairy godmother, and men of marble and messed-up girls do not get a happy ending.
So she curls into herself on the ground in front of the statue, letting the tears fall freely. There is nothing left here that she wants to see.
AN: Thank my beta for how this ended.