The faces in the sky fade, but the heaviness in Enjolras' heart stays.
Gibelote, the waitress who had always been so kind to get him another cup of coffee. Madame Hucheloup, the woman who was as good as a mother to the Les Amis as their own. And Bossuet. The oldest of the group; always the unluckiest in the room. Whatever luck he had left must have run out. Enjolras wants to yell - wants to scream away the pent-up emotions building up in his chest - but he knows that it's too dangerous. Too risky. Even more now, with the distant sound of voices speaking over each other and feet stomping towards Enjolras' clearing.
Looking around, the best option Enjolras assesses himself to have is to climb. Finding the nearest tree, he pulls at the lowest branch and wraps himself around the trunk, hitching himself up by finding his footing on a sturdy gnarl. He tries to remember how Gavroche had done it during their training; with his carbine stashed in his backpack, Enjolras figures that leg swing'ing himself from branch to branch is the fastest way to do it. He's fairly high up - shielded by leaves but still able to see the ground - when the loud group find their way in to the clearing.
"You had one job!" a voice chides, shot back with "You try to snag food while someone's shooting you." The first voice exclaims "I have!", which only garners a disgruntled huff. Enjolras leans over slightly - not daring to breathe - to find what looks to be the Thénardiers. Azelma is giving Éponine a look of utter disdain which Éponine doesn't seem bothered enough to reciprocate. Gavroche seems to be whistling to himself, taking small quick steps around the clearing. When the boy's eyes move upwards, Enjolras presses himself against his tree, trying to disappear among the leaves. "All clear." Gavroche muses. Enjolras lets out a breath.
"Here for the night, then." Éponine decides. "We should keep moving." Azelma insists, putting a scowl on her older sister's face. "We're as good as dead if we try to go out in that dark. If you want to do that, be my guest." Éponine says with an air of finality. She's already setting out her sleeping bag - something Enjolras would kill to have, with the rough bark of the tree pressing in to his back - and Gavroche is slipping in to it, snickering at the look on Azelma's face. It never occurred to Enjolras how thin they were; how utterly impoverished that Éponine and Gavroche are able to fit themselves in to the sleeping bag with enough space for Azelma to slide in, too.
She doesn't, though. "I'll keep watch." she mumbles dejectedly. Éponine recognized this with a nod; does not thank her or even smile; and cozies in with Gavroche. The two are snoring within minutes. Azelma, propped up against a tree opposite them, glares at the two. Enjolras is not sure if it's jealousy, or resentment, or both; she is able to 'keep watch' for at least half an hour before she, too, succumbs to sleep. Enjolras is afraid to doze off - he is, after all, on a tree branch. If he were to roll even the slightest bit in his sleep, he'd fall to his death; and if he weren't dead then, then the Thénardiers would finish him off.
Sacrificing his comfort for practicality, Enjolras manages to stretch his blanket around the expanse of the trunk and tie himself to the tree. He figures that the sun will be warm enough to wake him - when he dozes off, he finds that he doesn't need the sun as a wake-up call. Groggily rousing somewhere around dawn, Enjolras peeks at the clearing to find Gavroche and Éponine still asleep. It's the ideal time to escape. He loosens the blanket to shove it in to his backpack, then begins his perilously quiet descent down the tree so as to not wake the sleeping Thénardiers.
He lands on to the ground with a soft thud. Gavroche merely shifts in his sleep, and Enjolras exhales at how easy his take off is going to be. That is, until he hears the rustling behind him. His heart damn near stops - he had been so fixated on keeping an eye on the two in the sleeping bag that he'd forgotten they were a trio.
Deciding against pulling out his weapon, Enjolras turns slowly, facing Azelma Thénardier. She is lighter skinned than her sister but as wild-looking as her brother, with curly auburn hair thrown in to two messy braids and a splash of freckles across her face. She looks young - around fifteen or sixteen, perhaps just a year shy of Éponine - and the way she is staring at Enjolras is unnerving. He wonders where the intentness of her glare is coming from until he notices what she is trying to hide from him; she holds two packs in her hands, in addition to the one on her back.
A quick glance behind him confirms that the packs are Éponine's.
Enjolras opens his mouth to say something, but Azelma is quick to raise a finger to her lips. "Who will they believe if I throw these in your arms and scream?" she hisses, her gaze fluttering to her siblings. "Leave as if this had never happened. It will save us both the trouble."
With a lump in his throat, Enjolras glances down at the two Thénardiers, still deep in their slumber. Éponine had saved his life yesterday, but who was to say she would be as lenient the second time around? This was still, after all, a fight to the death. "At least leave them something to eat." is all Enjolras manages to choke out. The compromise seems to strike Azelma as odd; she gives him a cynical smile, already backing out in to the woods. "We are used to hunger, monsieur." she says spitefully.
Without another word, Azelma disappears in to the shadows. Enjolras spins on his heel and - doing his best to be quiet - opens his pack, leaves his saltine crackers near Éponine and Gavroche's sleeping bag, and walks in the opposite direction as Azelma.
/
The next familiar faces Enjolras runs in to are Feuilly and Joly.
Enjolras is on his way back to the Cornucopia, hoping to find something more useful - maybe even run in to fresh water - but, instead, he's ushered in to an abandoned home by Feuilly, who claims to have seen him from the window. Joly and him set up camp in the quaint little home. Even Enjolras has to admit that it's not a bad place to be. Everything is generally intact, and the shelves are well-stocked; the only cinch is that it's smack-dab in the middle of the city, too obvious and unprotected for Enjolras' taste.
"We boarded up the windows and triple locked the doors." Feuilly tries to assure him. Joly comes in to the living room, a pot of water in his hands. Enjolras guzzles the whole thing down. "Thanks for the matches, Enjolras. Nothing here seems to work - the stoves, the television." Joly says as he rations more water in to the pot. "We had found the ocean first. Kept moving throughout the night." Feuilly adds. "When we were walking back earlier this morning, we found this place."
Enjolras doesn't have much energy to say anything, so he merely nods and the three let silence fall over them. "Are you better, Joly?" he says after a few moments. Joly's head snaps up, and Enjolras tries to see through his shaky smile. There's a front he's keeping up; a secret he's hiding, either from Enjolras or from Feuilly. "Getting there." Joly answers quietly. When Enjolras turns to look at Feuilly, he sees a flicker of an expression on the fan maker's face. It disappears before Enjolras can place it.
He's about to ask what happened when they hear a loud snap, followed by an indignant yell. The boys share a look - Feuilly is the first to get up. He peeks through the blinds of his window, only to draw back abruptly. "Joly, get me your spear. Quick!" Feuilly commands, to which Joly scurries around the room in search of their packs. Enjolras is on his feet - the urgency in Feuilly's tone fueling him - and is by the window within seconds, looking for what his friend has seen. Down the street, a makeshift net clings precariously to the balcony of another home, pulled at least a few feet off the ground.
And trapped inside it is Jehan.