A/N: Hmm... that one turned out quite differently than intended. Three times. This is the attempt I settled for, finally. Montparnasse is a creature, that is surely difficult to grasp.I hope you like it, still. Tell me what you think.

Thanks for al the lovely reviews I got, and the favs and follows...

Hope you are still enjoying this.

Till next time!

Spirit

Chapter 8: Honor amongst the wolves

"Let me pass on to you the one thing I've learned about this place: No one here is exactly what he appears."

The small chapel was filled with the smell of incense and the smoke of many candles. Through the windows, darkened by the multicolored wonders that were the glass windows of a church, as well as by the passing of many years, the church interior was filled with a sort of half-light that beckoned the shadows both real and metaphorical.

There were few visitors at this time of day – in the early hours of the evening, when summer daylight was still full outside and there was work to be done – and so there were only four people inside the small church, the two men sitting pretty close together, each of the others lost in their own reveries.

Before a side altar showing a rather crude picture of Virgin Mary, holding her child tenderly in her arms, kneeled – not without difficulty – elderly Michèle Marigot, praying for a safe delivery of her first grandchild into this world, oblivious to the quiet, unobtrusive steps of Sister Benedicta, a girl of barely seventeen, who had come to replace the candles.

Both women were lost to their own errands in this house of god, and so there was enough privacy to be had for the quiet conversation between the two other visitors of the church.

The Hound had just finished reporting the events of the day and their results – not without annoyance at the attempt gone not quite as he expected – and as he fell silent, the man at his side slowly turned his face towards him.

"I see." The voice of the Friend did not betray his thoughts, but he radiated displeasure none the less. There was a silent air of command about him that was not to be ignored

"I have seen her a few times", the Hound explained himself unasked, because he knew, if the question would have to come, things would not become better. "Mostly with the Baron. Yet, I had no indication that she was actually part of their group or capable of anything like what she did. She stayed mostly out of the way. Has some fondness for the Baron, I wager." The feeling of failure was imminent. He had not been their brother for so long, the memory of his choosing was still fresh in his mind. And yet he had returned with nothing to show.

The Friend placed a hand on the bench before him, and the Hound could see it clenching.

"I see", he said again, but there was nothing, that the Hound could have continued to say. The story was told. Silence settled, as biting as a snake in the grass.

"Since when", the Friend finally began to speak, in a dangerously soft voice, "do we deviate from our plans?"

Slowly, the head of the Hound came up, and he faced his brother, who still refused to look at him. Of course, the Hound knew, what had caused the fall from grace in the eyes of the Friend – they knew each other well, after all – but in this, he was not swayed.

"You sent me to hunt a prey", he said, what his brother should, must already know. "And this I do."

"What you do", the Friend broke rudely into his red dreams, "is fulfill the oath that you swore." He did not need to raise his voice. The whispered tone was like the lash of a whip.

But a predator was not cowered by a show of strength.

"They got away", he hissed between his teeth, all the fury and thirst for a prey running seeping into his voice. "I thought I could still catch him."

"And you were seen in the process. Deviations are dangerous, brother. Incidents like these happen. New factors appear. Failure occurs. Learn to live with it. Learn to live for the next day."

"They got away", the Hound repeated, stubbornly, the only argument that counted, and the one argument that his brother refused to see. "No one gets away."

He fought against the racing of his heart, against the outrage and the red dream that threatened to overwhelm him. He remembered the scent of the girl, dirt and fury, blood and anger. Remembered the fear in the two young boy's eyes, the grim, proud determination in the posture of the blonde man. Eponine Jondrette, Marius Pontmercy, Jean Prouvaire, Sebastien Enjolras, he repeated to himself, like a prayer, the names he had gathered during tedious weeks of observing, of questioning, of hunting, and in the case of the former, hectic questioning after the marketplace incident. He had set out to sow as much damage as he might. And he had turned out to kill none.

"And they will not", the Friend intercepted his thoughts. His voice was calmer now, finding its way almost effortlessly through the rage. "But what you need is patience, brother."

His fingers clenched into his trousers, because he knew that the Friend was right. Taking deep breaths, he calmed himself. He had been beyond this already. He should be.

When he moved to look to the Friend again, he saw him smiling slightly.

"Very well", his brother said, appreciatively. "Very well. The next step will come. Don't worry."

The Hound nodded, his control returned at the reassurance of another day. And now, that he was calmer, curiosity awoke, rearing its head like a softer, calmer animal awakening.

"What about you?"

The smile of the Friend widened, and he thought, he detected some satisfaction around the lines of his mouth, as he replied.

"Five."

She drifted through the streets with the ease of long practice and habit.

Summer in the city was upon them, and it brightened even the darkest of quarters, as the dust swirling from passing carriages glittered in the sun and the colors seemed to have taken on a brighter, clearer hue than in the pastel days of spring or the gray, dark days of winter.

Eponine passed easily through the crowds that filled the slum streets of St. Michel, avoided the carriages crowded by beggars and cutpurses, slipped between bulks of people on their own errands and where aptly hid the fact, that she did not know where she was heading.

Almost randomly, she remembered going back to Montfermeil once, two or three years after everything had gone awry, in cue of her parents, who followed their own schemes and plans. She did not remember what they had done there – taken revenge on those, that had owned their inn after them, paid old debts, collected old promises – but she remembered the sun on the dusty pavements, and the echos of smells and voices of a life past, a life so different, that it seemed like a dream in the present.

The strange notion of seeing something familiar with new eyes.

She wondered, what the Friends of the ABC saw, when they roamed these streets together.

She had shed the sling, with which Combeferre had fixed her wounded shoulder, at the first unwatched opportunity. She had struggled with the deed for a moment – it was comfortable and kept her from subconsciously making movements, that shoved pain like a hot dagger up her shoulder and neck – but wearing her vulnerability on her sleeves like this was a dangerous thing in her worlds, both old and new.

It made her an easier target for those predators, who did not mind turning against their own, and it was too clean – and well done – to be used for begging.

Not that she was currently in the need to provide some extra food or money. The afternoon with the bourgeois had left her well-fed and cared for, and as to sleep – that would seem a faraway prospect anyhow with what the night seemed to hold in store for her.

But until then, she was free to do as she pleased, free to catch up on the old errand that she had been kept from by those, that had helped her as well as kept her captive. And directed her steps towards the calmer dwellings of Rue Plumet.

She did not have to move even that far. She was crossing the Jardin du Luxembourg, when she saw the all too familiar figure of Marius, accompanied by the three friends who had gone out to bring him back to the Café. He looked pale, and shaken, and there was a bandage around his left arm that showed signs of dried blood, but his stride was determined, and he was discussing agitatedly with his friends. A fourth young man was accompanying them, barely more than a boy, with sandy hair and eyes that still dreamed of a world too good to be true, a child, no more, who still had to come in contact with the reality of life.

Relieved, she closed her eyes for a moment. He was safe. Not unharmed, but safe. A grace in itself. She hoped that his friends were able to keep him that way. She had other errands to run.

They were obviously on their way back to Saint Michel, probably the Café Musain, the one place, where Eponine currently had no intention going, having just escaped, and so, with a heavy heart none the less, she decided to let them pass, to dive into the crowds populating the gardens, so that not even a stray glance might discover her and seek her out.

She was good at that.

Unless, of course, being matched against someone whose proficiency in this department was equal to hers.

"Running from sweet Pontmercy?"

She did not have to turn around to know who had approached her, so she did not even bother flinching. He was a dangerous man, for sure, but not for her.

None the less, she moved to look him in the eye.

A man barely older than she was, brown, slightly unruly brown hair hidden by a carefully chosen cap of midnight blue. Eyes of impossible, enchanting green, a rogue smile that was dangerously infectious. A straight nose, high cheekbones, surprisingly delicate features covered by rough skin. A carefully chosen coat, just slightly too extravagant, the cuffs a trifle to laced, and yet, from pristine white cuffs propped calloused, nimble fingers, that Eponine knew only too well.

Epitome of contradictions. Dressed up for the occasion.

Montparnasse.

She smiled. This was familiarity returned.

"There's a time for everything, Parnasse", she replied lightly. It would never do well to be too truthful to him, no matter that they knew each other well. He was like a bird of prey. He sensed weakness and thrived on it, even in her and in jest.

There had been a time where she thought, she would go with him. They knew each other with their eyes closed, had shared love and hate among the ruins, that were her life and his glory, but all of that had been before Marius, before everything had changed.

Before she had had a first glimpse of a paradise lost.

"A time for walking with me, Mademoiselle?" He offered her an arm, and the feeling of seeing the same with a fresh pair of eyes returned with fervor. His way of calling her 'Mademoiselle' had a distinctively different ring to it than the address she had received from the friends in the Café Musain.

They had almost said it as if they meant it. For Montparnasse, on the other hand, it was only a game. Nothing more. Just like everything else.

But Eponine, in her own right, was a gambler, too. And so, with her good arm, she took his, wrapping her fingers almost playfully around his biceps in a gesture of familiarity. There was nothing else to do, until nightfall.

"Like all those respectable bourgeois?" she replied, with a slight smirk, as she surveyed the assembly in the garden, families on their outings, students debating – or rather discussing, for there was no Enjolras, no Marius to fuel the discussion with fury and change. He returned the grin, grabbing her arm a little more tighly and starting off in the direction of the fountain, for all intents and purposes imitating the leisurely stride of the cast he was trying to fit in – or mock. You never knew with Montparnasse.

"Exactly so", he confirmed and led her along, actually quite proficient in this act, much more so than herself. She was very aware of her tangled hair, of the dirt on her blouse… of the bloodstains.

That stilled her thought. Had he seen?

"So, 'Ponine, what brought you out in the open so early?" he asked, almost casually. "Given the fact, that we have a long night in front of us, shouldn't you still be in bed?"

Eponine smirked up. He was right in a way. She was not sure yet, what her father had cooked up together with Patron-Minette, but it was certainly to be trouble, long nights out in the streets, waiting, watching and fearing, with a meager reward at the end and a weariness that ate through directly to her bones. But Eponine had never believed in trying to advance in sleep before a night like this. Best get it over and done with, and then mercifully pass out on a full stomach.

"Did I miss the point where my sleeping habits suddenly became your business?"

She did not feel like explaining herself, and a warning shot fired could seldom do harm with Montparnasse. Especially given the fact that she had realized, that his company was probably incompatible with that of Marius – and given the choice, the decision was not a difficult one.

"Everything that concerns you, is my business", he replied smoothly, smiling a captivating smile. "I make it so, you know?" There was the slightest of frowns appearing on his face as he stilled for a moment, watched her, measured her, face and body, and bloodstained clothing. "Speaking of which…" His free hand fingered the clotted blood on the clothing, and something that passed for genuine concern ghosted over his face. "Care to explain what happened?"

Of course he had seen it. It may well be the reason, why he had spoken to her in the first place. Eponine pondered his question for a moment. Her natural reaction was to decline. Explaining things to Montparnasse – whatever things they were – was certainly not high on her list of priorities, but on the other hand.

He might actually know something. And this was Montparnasse. Montparnasse, who had harbored a fondness for her since she was a child. He had taken her distancing with the good humor of the ignorant – his behavior towards her never changed, but he had taken her reservation in his stride as if there was nothing to comment upon.

"Why not", she replied and then she told him. The landscape at least. The attack at the students. Her getting into the middle of things.

She carefully smoothed over the fact that she had deliberately thrown herself into harm's way to protect Marius. There was certainly no reason to tell him that. Either he knew anyway, or he had no business knowing.

Her description of the attacker was as accurate as ever – time had not dimmed the memory of the face that had burned into her thoughts with blazing brightness.

"I've never seen that one before", she concluded, and barely avoided to shrug. "Strange fellow. Had a hint of Argot on his voice, but I've never seen him round the quarter. Beats me who he is." And then, almost casually, she continued, looking into the face of her childhood friend. "You wouldn't know, would you?"

He hesitated, just a trifle too long.

"No idea, no."

Eponine squinted, taking a good look at her childhood friend's profile. His face was handsome as ever, and betrayed nothing. And yet, she had heard the catch in his voice.

"Like I'll believe you", she baited. "You got to do better than this."

"Ponine, you should leave that alone."

His voice was deadly serious, and that indeed got her attention. She remembered preciously few occasions, that were able to wipe the ever present smile of Montparnasse's face. None the less, she pressed on.

"Aha", she said, and could not fully keep the smile off her face. "So you do know that guy."

"I'll laugh about your cheek when you're lying dead in the gutter", Montparnasse said soberly, gazing straight on towards the path they were still making, in a mockery of the bourgeoisie around them. "Cause that's what will happen when you go down that road."

Eponine snorted. His attitude was certainly not appreciated.

"Guy tried to stab me. Sorry for taking that personal."

And sorry for taking personal that he tried to kill the man I love…

"Will you take it personal also when he kills the proverbial curious cat?"

She was on the verge to a snarky reply, when he continued. "Because that's what he'll do. Would be a shame, though." A remnant of the old Montparnasse, in a smile and a twinkle towards her. "At least I'd say so."

"So he kills people to rob them?" Eponine was not swayed. Apart from the fact, that knowledge would possibly be able to save Marius, her curiosity was also peaked.

Montparnasse snorted.

"He kills people to kill them. Because it's interesting, because he likes to do it, and most importantly, because he can."

Eponine pondered this for a moment.

"Charming fellow."

Montparnasse nodded.

"Like I said. Stay clear of him. He's a hunter. Try not to become the prey." It was rather too late for that, Eponine concluded, a shiver running down her spine. Rather too late for her, and rather too late for Marius. Still, she might have fooled herself that there was real concern in Montparnasse's voice.

It was an easy promise to make. Whether Montparnasse was throwing a fit for nothing or whether he was right, she had preciously little reason to seek that specimen of man out.

Unless…

His voice echoed in her ear, rolling around between her thoughts, thundering, whispering, forming a picture – He's a hunter. Try not to become the prey.… and then she remembered, that he had followed Marius – Marius – and she was not sure, whether she was good enough a liar to make that sort of promise.

Montparnasse had seen it in her eyes. He knew her too well.

"Oh no", he shook his head. "You are not mooning about that beggar's baron, you can forget that right away. That's not worth it. Eponine, this is no question of breaking into a house or stealing someone's purse. Drop it. Promise me, you'll drop it."

She did not hesitate for long. They were all liars in their own way.

"I promise", she said.

The false words slipped over her lips so very easily.