A/N: Again, my thanks to Valiya, who brushed up this chapter with lightning speed - that's fantastic, thank you so much!

Also, honorable mentions go to OnginanMaz, Tinmiss and Anabelle, who practically review every chapter they read - I really appreciate your comments.

Since you're not logged in and I can't write you by PM: Thanks for your review, ZigPatch. I'm really, really glad you like it.

So, from there on on with the next chapter, which is slightly Gavroche-centric...

have fun with it!

As always, feedback is very welcome and will be responded to :-)

Chapter 15: The many virtues of Gavroche

"What do you want?"
"Never ask that question."

Marius Pontmercy woke to a slightly burning smell and the glare of the sun through the partially closed curtains. It threw a beam of light somewhere in the vicinity of his field of view and drew him from sleep efficiently.

For a moment, still half-wrapped up in dreams of an enchanted garden and the terrors within, he felt disoriented, unable to understand why the pillow under his head felt flat and hard. But then memory dripped back in small pieces and he began to recall the events of the day past…which reminded him of the burning smell once more, and he quickly opened his eyes wide in earnest alarm.

There was no need, however.

The smell was originating from the stove where a young boy stood, concentrating on the act of preparing something to eat.

Or trying, at least.

Gavroche had apparently lit the fire and was whistling softly to himself as he busied himself by burning a couple of eggs that had not been available in the evening before. He seemed bent and concentrated on his task, not noticing that Marius had awakened, and merrily dashed some salt that he had found – the lord knew where – onto the mixture in the pan.

"Hey little man."

Marius turned lazily on the couch to see Courfeyrac propped on his bed, suddenly struck by a recollection of dark days of golden friendship. He found himself back when he was still struggling with the transition from a baron's son to a student trying to fend and account for his own expenses; where he had spent a good three months on this couch as an offer of his friend to help him get along.

Things had evolved since then. So had Marius, but he had neither forgotten the help, nor the friendly comfort of those days.

Gavroche, being thus spoken at, turned around and grinned broadly.

"Made breakfast," he announced proudly and pointed towards the contents of the pan with a spoon. Courfeyrac raised a suspicious brow, rubbing his hands over his face to clear his thoughts from sleep.

"Where did you get the eggs?"

Gavroche grinned cleverly.

"Madame from downstairs came by to bring you letters," he explained readily. "They're on the table. I asked her if she had something for breakfast. Promised to run an errand for her afterwards."

Courfeyrac sighed, but couldn't hide a smile. Resourceful as ever - Gavroche.

"Gavroche…" he sighed, dismayed at the explanation he would certainly have to deliver to Madame Allevesse sometime about this. But then again, maybe a gamin in his room was slightly better than the one time she had caught him here with Marie... "That's my landlady. Please, don't do anything to aggravate her. I like that flat."

"Don't worry. Told you I liked it, too. Even though it's no elephant." Gavroche used two hands to lift the iron pan from the stove and carried it to the table, placing it there with such a distinctive 'thunk' that it made Courfeyrac flinch, fearful for the safety of the wood. "Breakfast's ready," Gavroche announced, unfazed.

Courfeyrac exchanged a glance with Marius. Wordlessly, they decided to indulge the boy, nodding towards one another before they both got up, still in their clothes from the day before.

They took turns at cleaning up; Courfeyrac supplying a fresh shirt to Marius, whose old one still bore the remnants of the stray shot he had received, while the other helped Gavroche set out the table.

Finally, as they sat down - Courfeyrac encouraged the boy to distribute his cookery between the three of them - steps on the stairway outside the door heralded the arrival of visitors.

One of them was expected. The other, in all honesty, not so much.

Enjolras, albeit rather tired, had an energetic look about him that indicated he had been awake for much longer than either Courfeyrac or Marius. Yet accompanying him was a rather careful, suspicious Éponine. She did not enter the room with the same confidence as her companion, and chose to linger at the door in the unobtrusive manner of hers that he had come to know.

Across the table, and to Marius' astonishment, Gavroche froze for just a moment. His fork clattered a bit too loudly onto the plate, but he quickly recovered and continued to dig in.

Carefully, Marius observed Éponine, who gave him a wan smile from where she was standing.

"'Ponine," he greeted her. "Is everything alright?"

She gave a small shrug and took a few steps towards him, her hands hidden in the folds of her skirt. He realized the sling had disappeared. "How's your shoulder?" In response, Eponine shrugged the good one.

"Better," she said. "Not perfect just yet. Still, much less trouble than it probably was intended…"

"I still feel bad for this, you know?" Marius got up to face her at equal height, and her look softened to something curious as she slightly cocked her head, teasing him a little. "You shouldn't have done it."

"What I do or don't do is for me to decide, Marius," she reminded him softly. "You don't get to say, you know?"

It was indeed, not the first time that he heard this. Éponine prided herself in her independence, and he did not grudge her this triumph. The girl had a life difficult enough, what with her family and the circumstances being what they were. In fact, he was glad that unlike so many of the destitute, she had been able to retain her spirit.

"I haven't forgotten," he gave back. "Still, I can say thanks, can't I?"

"You should know what you can and can't say, don't you think?" There was a slight twinkle in her eye, and it made him laugh in spite of everything. It made him laugh in spite of her sudden and worrying appearance, and in spite of the flash of the knife that seemed to stand between them like an invisible wall.

"Tease," he gave back, and her face lit up with an answering smile. "So yes. Thank you again, Éponine. As soon as I can think of something to repay you for this, I will."

For a moment, she seemed to want to say something. She hesitated as her lips opened, as if in doubt. Then, she was interrupted by a soft, yet determined cough coming from Enjolras.

Marius turned around.

"Ah yes," he said, seeing that the leader of the Amis de l'ABC had taken a seat at the table already and was looking at the pair of them with a slightly reproachful look. "Excuse me, Enjolras," Marius backed off and stepped aside. "You want to sit, Éponine? Have some of my breakfast, if you will. Gavroche made it." Gavroche had burnt it indeed, and even though it was not inedible, Marius was not that hungry. Éponine took the seat, but declined the food.

"So, Enjolras," Courfeyrac began, pouring some water for all of them – it was still a tad bit early for wine for one who was not Grantaire. "What happened?"

It was all the encouragement he needed.

The moment Enjolras began to talk, Éponine realized that she should have addressed the issue of her role in the events in Rue d'Olivel with him before they had arrived.

She had gone through relentless pain to make sure that Marius had never found out what exactly it was that she was doing when she was on her father's errands. But now the deed was done, and all she could do was listen in a mixture of horror and anxiety to his words, wondering if she would ever get the chance to stop him in time.

She threw him more than one imploring gaze, but he seemed not to notice. His steely blue eyes wandered between Courfeyrac, Marius and Gavroche in turn, securing their attention with an ease that was enviable.

However, as she sat there, heart pounding fiercely and as tense as a bowstring, she realized that her fears were unwarranted.

Enjolras smoothed over the Rue d'Olivel events in the most skilful manner, mentioning her role as Hélène's savior. But rather than going into all the details, he made it look like a coincidence, and with such conviction that she could not help but feel a quick rush of gratitude for his consideration.

Any questions that someone may have had were lost in Courfeyrac's rumble of outrage.

He shot up from his sitting position and took to pacing, trying to fume of the worst of his anger as he ran his hands through his short, dark hair.

"An outrage, an absolute outrage," he muttered, stopping abruptly in his steps. "What's going to be next, Enjolras?" he asked, and with some sense of wonderment, Eponine realized that there were tears in his eyes. "Alexandre of all people! Just… gone…" He shook his head and ran his hands over his face. "Just like that…"

Enjolras pressed his lips together, nodding. There was a determination in his eyes that Eponine suddenly realized, masked a sorrow of his own.

The night before, it had been obstructed by her own fear and disorientation, also by the very obvious worry of Combeferre for Madame de Cambout. But now here, there was again a hint of the elusive bond between the friends and those that associated with them.

Marius, to complete the trio, had hidden his face completely in his hands. Eponine's heart went out in response to his anguish, and she got up to briefly place a hand on his shoulder in a timid gesture.

His skin, even through the thick cloth of his waistcoat was so warm…

Beneath her touch, he took a deep breath and removed his hands from his face. A few tears had left wet, glistening traces on his face.

"How is Madame faring?" Courfeyrac asked, his voice slightly wavering as he stepped behind Gavroche. He put his hands on the shoulders of the gamin who allowed it, chewing his lips unhappily.

"She is brave," Enjolras answered, folding his hands before him. "As was to be expected. But she is devastated, of course. I left her to sleep – Combeferre is still with her."

"Small comfort, at least," Courfeyrac answered, but if Enjolras understood the hint, he did not show it. "Still…" He shook his head again, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "What shall we do?"

"We shall show that we are not intimidated, of course!" Apart from Gavroche, Enjolras was the only one still sitting down, and he brought his hands flat on the table as if having come to a decision. Apparently, he had already planned the next step.

"We have to assemble our brothers. Let us meet in the Musain this evening. All of those that we can find. Let's bring together all those that we can. We will spend the day walking the streets of the city, finding our allies, and we will renew the bonds and our common goal this evening in the Musain. We shall do a head count on those that are closest to us. And we shall make sure that all of us know what has happened and what is at stake. Assembling those, we then can probably gather all information on the face of the enemy that there is to be had. Which reminds me – Ma… Éponine…"

She flinched at the surprise of being spoken to and turned towards Enjolras, half-curious, half suspicious.

"What?" It came out harsher than she had intended, but he did not seem to mind. His stern face betrayed nothing but determination and reflection.

"I would like you to speak to Feuilly this evening. He has a gift for the art of drawing, and you have now seen two of the attackers. Since I seem to remember…" there was the hint of a smirk around his mouth, accompanied by a minuscule inclination of his head that might have meant respect or mockery. "Your description of the man attacking us was very accurate. Perhaps, Feuilly will be able to convert it onto paper."

Éponine wanted to protest, or at least argue at the assumption he was taking, but she never came to it. One word gave the other, one thought the next. Les Amis de l'ABC; friends; partners in crime; and companions at their best.

"Maybe when some of the Barrière du Maine come, we can even have a couple of drawings," Courfeyrac nodded, picking up Enjolras' trail of thought quickly. "That way, we could distribute it. We could even…" but then he hesitated, throwing a quick glance at first Marius, then Enjolras. "… can we still print those on leaflets?"

"Whether we still have the resource of Le Globe remains to be seen," Enjolras answered. "Though, I suspect that Madame de Cambout will not give in so easily. However, we should not bother her with this today. Anyhow…"

He reflected for a moment, his fingers dancing on the table in a rhythm of their own.

"We should go to Bahorel to have them help us find the others", Marius added. "That man knows every nook that they may be hiding in; he's going to be invaluable. With the group we will be, we can split up and cover more ground like this."

Éponine watched the students plan out the day in front of them, much in the same way as they had done back in Enjolras' apartment; with Lamarin fidgeting and Combeferre hardly being able to leave the sleeping Hélène out of sight. Again she was struck by the implicit trust and easy companionship between them.

"I'll have to go, though. Got things to do. Places to be."

Éponine's words were unexpected – almost at odds with the air of planning that had taken hold of the room, and she winced internally at her rough tone that had cut through the mood like a silver knife.

They had had to be uttered though, and the students fell silent, watching her.

"Éponine, I'm not sure that…"

Marius' gaze was one of concern, and she reveled in it for a moment. But it was not to be helped. She had dallied long enough.

Her father was in jail, and her mother and Azelma might not even know about it. To make things worse, she had put herself on quite a spot this morning, and even though she had no idea how she would sort this out yet, it definitely needed to be done.

However she would manage that.

"Don't worry about me," she said in an off-handed tone, yet allowing a small smile for him to creep on her face. "I'm bulletproof."

"Knife-proof, more like," Courfeyrac said with a twinkle. "That is a trick you will have to teach me someday, Mademoiselle. Comes in handy, these days."

It was a strange notion, being teased thus. Marius, however, shook his head.

"There are murderers on the loose, Éponine," he protested. "I thought I could stand up against them, but I couldn't. I don't want anything to happen to you."

His concern was warming, and yet… it had a patronizing feel to it that she did not fully like.

"You, Monsieur," she therefore said, a teasing smile softening her words, "are a rich man pretending to be poor. I am just Éponine. I'm from here. They won't even know me."

Enjolras took a deep breath of acceptance.

"And again, you are not to be swayed, I see," he replied. "I trust I will see you in the Musain this evening, though?"

Éponine was on the verge of declining, even as his gaze locked on her, serious and unnerving. And yet, she did not feel as compelled to resist as she had yesterday, or this morning, or after having breakfast with Enjolras in the streets of Paris. There was a subtle shift in the ambience of the room in comparison to how things had been in the back room of the Musain yesterday, and in the way she felt.

She could not place it right away; fishing for thoughts that slipped through her fingers vehemently until a notion finally stuck that had a ring of truth to it.

True. Enjolras had – again – presumed her willingness to help them in their deeds and doings, but this time had been different in a very subtle way. As plans had sprouted and as one word had led to the next – their words became easier to follow with practice. She noticed offhandedly that there had been a task for her among the others; a single line in the story which was, indeed, a first in this group.

It felt as if she was… included in their dealings. Included.

It had been a slip of the tongue; she was almost sure that none of them had even thought about it. But that changed neither fact nor implication.

Her only experience in that sort of sentiment was being included in the plans of her father and Patron-Minette, and that was, of course, a completely different kind of activity. Here, to hear her name in the whirlwind of hopes and schemes was something that she had not been prepared for.

And so she nodded before she had further time to think on it, and found her admittance being reflected by a nod of his own.

"Very well," Enjolras said and got up slowly. "I could reiterate what I have said yesterday, but I think we have already exchanged these arguments, have we not?"

Éponine frowned as she nodded. Strange man…

"Then all that remains for me to say are words of thanks for your help this morning, M… Éponine. It was well appreciated. And I hope that I will see you in the evening, safe and sound."

She nodded, and again he offered her the peculiar greeting that seemed to be a trademark of his, clasping her arm in a curt gesture before, to her utter surprise, he let her go without resistance.

Marius looked as if he was about to protest.

But he didn't.

And Éponine was back out on the streets, left to ponder the strange turns her life had threatened to take lately.

"Oi, 'Ponine!"

Gavroche hurried after her, having excused himself from the company of Courfeyrac and the others with some haste after seeing his sister retreat from the apartment to go about her own business. Éponine was quick and experienced on her way through the streets, but Gavroche was quicker, smaller, and knew his way around.

When she heard him call, she didn't try to run.

"Little one," she greeted him, turning around and smiling carefully. That was good. It had been a while since he had seen her smile. Or at anyone, for that matter. "How are you?"

"Not stabbed," he gave back and nodded towards her shoulder. "You okay?"

She followed his gaze and made a dismissive gesture.

"Don't worry," she answered. "Not worth mentioning. I'm fine."

Gavroche nodded, and together, the two of them set out on their road through the streets. If she was fine, she was fine. She knew her limits. After all, she was still alive.

Gavroche followed Eponine, who apparently seemed to know where to go. He did not mind that she led him without question. There was enough time to check on the boys later.

"That was them, wasn't it?" he asked a few steps further, voicing one of the questions that had driven him out of Courfeyrac's comfortable apartment. He had noticed his sister's anxiety at Enjolras' report, and this told him all he needed to know. Nonetheless, it was nice to see her nod, even though her face closed like a slamming door, and even the memory of a smile seemed suddenly like a very ridiculous notion.

"Care to tell me what really happened?" he pressed on, and this earned him a shrug, along with the true tale of the events last night in Rue d'Olivel and this morning in La Force. While she spoke, they continued through the streets up onto Place Saint Michel, where Gavroche sat on an upturned crate, Éponine leaning against a column, her face forbidding and closed. The gamin felt sad for his sister. In the manner of years, she had gone from an easygoing, lively creature to this closed shell of a girl. Her father's harsh words and harsher hand, the ball and chain of a reputation, the occupation and darkness of the Thénardiers lay heavily on her heart.

This was one of the reasons why he had been glad – surprised, but glad – to have seen her in the company of Les Amis yesterday and today. She usually hung about Marius, but never really mingled.

Gavroche was firmly convinced that Les Amis were the best people in the world. And that, between all of them, there was nothing that could not be sorted out.

"Sure that was clever?" he intercepted, when Éponine told him how she had given her own word for Enjolras' trustworthiness in jail to her father and Patron-Minette. She recalled how he tried to question them and how they refused to answer.

Her stony face softened slightly, and she let her gaze wander over the square.

"Not really," she confessed. "It seemed the only thing to do, though. They wouldn't have told us anything, otherwise."

"Probably right," Gavroche answered. "Still – does he know?"

Wordlessly, Éponine shook her head.

"You should tell him," he advised. "He's clever. He may have ideas. Plus, he's okay."

"Gavroche!" It was the first time she turned to fully look at him since the serious part of the conversation had begun, and Gavroche realized that there was a torn, confused notion in his sister's eyes. "I am not bringing a bourgeois into the dealings of Patron-Minette or my father. It's bad enough that he already has an inkling of what is actually going on with them – and me, for that matter."

"Marius already is in father's dealings," Gavroche reminded her, almost brutally. "What's the difference? He'd help you, I'm sure. You've seen already. He didn't betray you. Enjolras does know the first rule of the streets at least. He doesn't do anything stupid."

Eponine snorted, and Gavroche realized that it had been the wrong thing to say.

"I can't agree on that." She unleashed the anger, fury and confusion of the last twenty-four hours onto her little brother. "That man is trying to start a bloody revolution."

"Why on earth would that be a stupid thing to do?" Gavroche did not understand his sister's reservations. They were leading, essentially, the same life of being downtrodden by those of higher birth and inheritance. He was free, at least, while Éponine was in chains, but it still didn't make sense for her to scorn the cause of Les Amis.

"A few students against the National Guards? Well, I wouldn't know why that would be stupid…"

Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, and Gavroche frowned.

"It wouldn't be that way," he contradicted, remembering what Enjolras said. Or rather, what they all continually said.

The people are on our side. They will rise and fight with us….

"Gavroche…"

Her face had softened a bit.

"I may be no high and mighty educated student, but from what I know we tried that twice before, right? The first time, the streets were bathed in blood, and then we had an emperor. Second time, we ended ourselves up with that king we have now, and we all know how well that's worked out. So why bother?"

"Three times' the charm?" Gavroche suggested courageously, and Eponine shook her head.

"Little brother," she said, and there was an equal measure of fondness and bitterness in her voice. "You are so young." Sadness had crept in her voice that radiated over to him. "It's not working that way. Father's probably right; it's a world where the strong eat the weak. Better be strong then. There's no such thing as helping people just like that."

"They helped you," Gavroche contradicted. Eponine's gaze however, continued to wander over the place, and her brother wondered what was going on in her mind.

"That was probably tit for tat," she said, and the gamin was surprised at how dejected she sounded. Lonely, he thought with a flash of intuition. Lonely and lost.

His heart went out to her, but on the other hand, he would not see his friends' generous nature mocked.

"Not true," he contradicted. "They like you."

She closed her eyes, and a muscle in her cheek twitched.

"Gavroche," she said for what felt the hundredth time. "I don't want to argue with you." She turned towards him and attempted a smile that did not reach her eyes. "I am glad if you're happy with them. Enjoy it. I have to go back to mother and Azelma to tell them what happened."

So that, Gavroche realized, was then the source of her foul mood. She still felt responsible for her father – still felt that she had to sort out a way to bring him out of prison. And telling her, their mother what happened would certainly not end pleasantly.

He only dimly remembered how things had been when he had still been living with them, and he had made it a habit of visiting that particular part of his memory only very seldom and briefly.

There was not much room for pardon in the face of failure.

And Éponine was running free, while the rest of them were not. That did not make up for an enjoyable afternoon.

"I wish you would just leave them," he said.

Éponine shook her head.

"And what about Azelma?"

"She's way older than me. She could…"

"But she's not you!" Éponine gave back, and he had to admit that this was somewhat true. Their sister did not share the spirit either of them had. "We've been over this, Gavroche. We shouldn't go there again."

He nodded, sadly. When it came to their common family, conversations were running in circles, indeed. But Gavroche did not give up that easily.

"So," he said. "You gonna get father out?"

She nodded absent-mindedly, and he grinned and cocked his head.

"Need any help?"

The building he was finally shown to was dirty and rundown, and to his own surprise he knew it well.

He had spent many hours in the vicinity, strolling through the wild greenery next to it, hiding and watching. He wondered what on earth would possess a baron's son to live in a place like this; somewhere dirty, crooked and long past its prime.

It had fairly quickly led to the friend to the hypothesis that Pontmercy's money was supporting the dealings of the rebels.

He still was one of the figureheads, and that had kept the hound on his track.

But today, he was not here for Marius. Not… only him, at least. The young man had not shown during the whole day – he suspected he had crawled somewhere together with his friends – but he was here on a different errand that had not yet been completed.

He knew he shouldn't. The friend would be furious, he would learn, but he was what he was. He just needed to know.

He waited almost the whole morning until, an hour before midday, she finally made an appearance.

She was holding her arm slightly awkwardly, but that was the only outward sign of the run-in they had had yesterday, and yet every moment of the encounter was imprinted into his memory with mesmerizing clarity.

She had gotten away…. She had taken away his prey from him.

It was a part of the ancient game of hunting; the prey trying to outsmart the predator. It was thus imperative for the three students that he had been trailing to try and get away from him and his intent.

But the mingling of an outsider…

It was infuriating, intriguing, wrong and right at the same time…

He had never seen it happen and it shook his world to the core.

He watched her as she approached the tenement and hesitated a moment before entering it, taking a deep breath before the plunge. With the wind, he imagined he could sense something of the scent he had caught yesterday; dirt and anger and youth, and he inhaled, watching her with burning eyes from out of his hideout.

Not now…

The street was too crowded, and she was too quick. The building was full and there would be no panic. She was cleverer than the students. Did the right things. Watched the right corners.

Not easy prey….

He watched Éponine Jondrette enter the tenement and settled himself for a longer watch.

He had nothing, if not time…