Chapter Fifteen – Broken Marble

Enjolras' slight cognizance did not last long. Eponine all but dragged him to the entrance of the Corinth, taking his full weight onto her fragile and shaking shoulders. Her heart leapt into her throat as she heard footsteps approaching the door.

"François! Over here," a voice called out.

The footsteps behind the door must have belonged to François, as they stopped their approach.

"François, quickly," the voice insisted. To Eponine's relief, François reacted to the urgency, and she heard him leave. She let out the breath she didn't realise she had been holding. Shifting so that Enjolras's weight rested more securely across her frame, she took what she feared was her only chance.

She stepped outside, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. The Corinth was situated at the back of the barricade. Although Eponine could hear muffled voices behind it, she could not make out what they were saying, but any thoughts of escaping that way were quickly removed from her mind.

Her body trembled, violently protesting against its added burden as well as its injury. She stood no chance of getting far, she was sure of that much. She needed to hide somewhere, and quickly. She made slow progress towards the mouth of the nearest alley that ran along the line of shops behind the Corinth. Her heart thumped so violently, she was certain that the sound would alert the soldiers of her presence.

As soon as she reached the cool damp darkness of the dank alley, she let out a sigh of relief. Now she had the advantage—making her way through the back streets of Paris was second nature to her.

For five minutes, she staggered through the dark twists and turns. Every step was like walking on fire. The strain she was putting on her shoulder caused her wound to bleed again. Tears of frustration sprang into her eyes; her arms, as if of their own free will, released Enjolras, allowing his body to slump against the wall.

"I can't do this—you have to wake up." Her voice cracked as tears spilled onto her cheeks.

"We are not far enough from the barricades and I can't carry you any further. Please, Enjolras."

Eponine felt a shadow move behind her. Jumping up, she turned around, wishing she had thought to remove Enjolras's distinctive red jacket. She would not stand a chance of talking her way out of this situation if she was found.

A figure stirred in the distance, hidden by shadow.

"Who's there?" Eponine asked, trying to appear and sound as threatening as she could.

The figure moved into the light and Eponine found herself looking into the most startlingly beautiful pair of eyes she had ever seen. In a mixture of brown and green flecks rimmed with gold, they seemed to gleam. They were housed by oval eyelids and emphasised by thick lashes.

"Are you from the barricades?" the girl who belonged to them asked Eponine in a hurried whisper.

"Why do you want to know?" Eponine asked, stepping into the girl's line of vision, which was trained on Enjolras.

"Is that Monsieur Enjolras?" the girl asked, ignoring the hostile glare she was receiving from Eponine.

"It must be," the girl continued without waiting for an answer, "he is exactly as Joly described." Tears sprung into her beautiful eyes.

Eponine allowed her guard to drop slightly. "You… you know Monsieur Joly?"

The girl nodded her head fervently, pushing aside a wheat blonde strand of hair that fell across her face. "Oui, he was my…my…. Please tell me, is he ok?"

Eponine cast her eyes to the floor, "I'm sorry, mademoiselle."

The girl choked back a sob, her dainty hand rising to her throat. "And B-Bossuet?"

Eponine shook her head, "I'm sorry. I saw no one else alive."

The girl pulled the plain shawl that she wore tighter around herself, visibly swallowing a sob. Eponine's alert ears picked up a sound far in the distance. Her head swung around towards it; she had wasted too much time, she needed to go.

She grimaced against the strain on her damaged shoulder as she attempted to lift Enjolras again. To her surprise, her burden suddenly got lighter. She turned to see the girl taking the weight of Enjolras's other side on her own shoulders.

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

Eponine opened her mouth, struggling against her natural defensiveness which told her not to admit to this girl that she didn't.

"Come with me, I live nearby."

Eponine bit her lip in hesitation.

"Come," she insisted. "I wanted to help, but Joly said it was too dangerous. We argued…" her voice trailed off.

Eponine would have hesitated longer, but she was certain she couldn't go much further on her own. She nodded, and the two girls made their way through the streets as fast as their load would allow them.

"Eponine, by the way—that's my name."

The beautiful girl smiled, "Musichetta."

~X~

"Well François, what is your report?"

The young soldier stepped forward as the question was asked.

"There were two bodies when we left, sir, but only one when we returned. The man who had fallen out the window was no longer there."

"And he was the leader, you say." Colonel Pacelet drummed a beefy hand against his desk in obvious impatience.

"He was the one the other soldier's identified as the leader when we entered the room."

"And what was his response to this accusation?"

"He simply told us to shoot him."

Colonel Pacelet raised a bushy eyebrow towards his receding hairline. "And the other man, he then claimed he was the leader."

"Correct, sir."

"And whom do you think was the true leader, François?"

"The man we killed did not seem to be the leader to me, Sir. We never even saw him till we entered the room."

Colonel Pacelet stood and began to pace the room with a sigh. "Thank you, François. You may go."

"But Sir, there is a very real chance that the true leader has gotten away."

Colonel Pacelet sighed; he looked into the face of young François and remembered a time when he too had such youthful vigour, and would have been determined to pursue the true leader and bring him to justice. However, that was many years ago. He had seen enough war and suffering to disillusion him and to bring about the belief that the simplest option was always the best.

"But that would only be if he is indeed the leader, and if he is still alive. Even if he was able to walk away, there is no saying that he did not simply walk off and die somewhere else, so I would not give it too much thought, lad."

"And if he tries to do something like this again, what then?" François cried indignantly.

"We will discourage him by making an example of the man we found alive."

"The medical student?" François asked.

"Yes. Make sure we have his trial set for the earliest available date."

~X~

It had taken Musichetta most of the day to convince Eponine to leave Enjolras's side for a moment.

"I need to be here when he wakes up," Eponine had protested.

"You will be no good to him if you have an infection," Musichetta had admonished firmly. With much persistence, she had finally managed to pry Eponine away.

Musichetta had led her away from the spare room in which Enjolras slept, and through the living area to what was evidently Musichetta's own bedroom. The room was much like the girl—simple, yet elegant. There was a small wash basin and a mirror in the centre. On a chest of drawers, Eponine noted two stacks of books: one pile of popular novels; the other, significantly smaller, of medical journals.

Musichetta noticed her gaze. "Joly's," she said sadly. "He liked to have them on hand in case he needed to diagnose himself whilst he was here. I used to scold him for it." She let out a wistful laugh, then sighed, "I would give anything to have him here now, telling me that the way I scratched my nose meant I was coming down with the plague."

"He was a good man," Eponine said.

Musichetta nodded and pointed towards the dressing screen in the far corner of the room. "I drew you a bath; everything you need should be there. I'll leave you a nightgown and shawl on the side. I'm afraid it will be too big for you, but it will do for now. We can see about getting something more suitable for you tomorrow."

Eponine was shocked by the simple kindness of this girl she had just met. "Thank you," she said. Her words sounded insignificant in comparison to her gratitude.

"It's what Joly would have wanted," Musichetta replied with a sad smile.

Eponine slipped behind the dressing screen, and within seconds she was out of her clothes and in the tin tub that Musichetta had filled with warm water. It had been so many years since Eponine had been able to have a proper bath. She let out a satisfied sigh as her body slipped beneath the water.

The water was cold and practically black by the time Eponine eventually prised herself from the bath. Musichetta helped her bandage her shoulder, but Eponine protested against the girl's attempts to brush her hair for her.

"You can't expect to do it yourself, you can hardly move your arm," Musichetta argued.

"I will manage," Eponine countered.

"I'm sorry—I'm just so used to taking charge and looking after Joly and Bossuet, it's become second nature."

She looked so grief-stricken, that Eponine conceded and allowed the girl to brush her hair, embarrassed by the amount of effort that was required to work out the long held tangles.

"Do you judge me?" Musichetta asked suddenly.

"Whatever for?"

"I am—" she stopped and corrected herself, "I was the mistress of two men. I met Bossuet first, you see. He was lovely, but it wasn't serious. Then I met Joly, and there was no way I could not have loved him. But he was Bossuet's best friend. I didn't want to spoil their friendship, so we compromised, we shared. If that makes me a bad person, then so be it. I wouldn't change it even if I could."

"I don't judge you. I've done more foolish things for love," Eponine said simply.

"For Enjolras?"

"No, no. Not Enjolras."

"I'm sorry," Musichetta blushed, "I just assumed."

"No, it's not like that. We are just very old friends—I've known him since I was five." The defensiveness in her voice made her answer more aggressive than Eponine had intended.

"Oh, well I wouldn't have blamed you either way. He's very handsome."

"Is he? I mean, I know he is, but I've just never really thought about it." She remembered the day she had seen him at the rally outside General Lamarque's house, the fire in his eyes. "I suppose there is something about him."

Later that evening, when Musichetta had gone to bed and Eponine sat in the room where Enjolras was still asleep, she thought more on the conversation.

She looked at his motionless face. He really was handsome; she'd seen it before, but she had never truly noticed it. She found it strangely unsettling.

Guilt shot through her. Marius was dead, and in their last conversation he had admitted feelings for her. He had said love! How could she be sitting here pondering whether or not another man was handsome, even if it was only an objective observation? She could scarcely believe that Marius had finally returned her affections, and it didn't feel the way she had imagined it would.

She tucked her feet beneath herself with a sigh and pulled her borrowed shawl more tightly around her shoulders. Seeking a distraction, she turned to Enjolras and began to talk to him as if he was awake.

"Do you remember when I dared you to jump across the brook in the forest, and you didn't make it and fell in? You were soaked," she giggled at the memory, " and you didn't forgive me for the rest of the week. I was always getting you into trouble, and you were always getting me out of it."

She looked long and hard at his face, silently willing him to wake up, but at the same time terrified of what it would be like when he did. She knew him too well to think he would just hop back up and carry on with life as if nothing had happened.

"I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can, there is something I want you to know. I've never really believed in fate, Enjolras; but if I did, I would say there was a reason we have met again now. I've been thinking, and I reckon that I must owe you for all the times you got me out of trouble when we were little. If nothing else, I owe you for all the years that you put up with me dragging you around Montfermeil. So I want you to know, when you're blaming yourself for this later, which I know you will do, I will be here. I'm not going to leave until I know you're ok, because that's what friends do."

He remained silent, and Eponine returned to her own thoughts. Half an hour passed, and her eyelids grew heavy.

"Remember when we played detectives," she said sleepily as the memory floated into her head, "and almost got caught when we found those stage letters? I've often wondered what that was about, who the woman your Pére and Grand-pére were talking about was. I've never been able to shake the feeling that somehow, she was important."

She puzzled over the memory a short while longer, until she could fight her fatigue no more and sleep finally overcame her.

She woke with a start some time later. The crashing of the bedside cabinet falling to the floor had disturbed her sleep. Enjolras sat bolt upright in bed, wild fear sparkling in his eyes.

"Courfeyrac, what's the report?" he shouted.

Eponine stood dumbfounded; he looked straight through her.

"Have the National Guard returned? Combeferre, get the ammunition. Quickly!"

Musichetta came rushing into the room, passing the astonished Eponine and reaching Enjolras's side.

"Relax, relax," she said in a voice both soothing and commanding. "It's over now; you are here with Eponine."

The fear that shone from his eyes began to fade, and nothing replaced it. Eponine watched in shock as the light that seemed to fire him went out. Defeated, he fell back onto the bed, placing a hand over his face. Eponine and Musichetta waited with bated breath, and after a minute he finally spoke.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?"

Eponine finally found the courage to step forwards.

"No, Enjolras, it wasn't a dream."

His gaze flicked over her. "Then why are you here? I watched you die."

"You didn't think you were going to get rid of me that easily, did you?" She smiled, but he did not return it. The darkness in his face caused goose bumps to rise on her arms. He looked as if he had left his soul at the barricade. Perhaps she had only carried a shell home.

"I should be dead," he said bitterly.

"Enjolras, don't talk like that."

His dull eyes fixed on her face. For a second, she thought she saw something glint in them, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

"How did I get here?"

"I found you when I woke up. I realised you were alive and I took you from the barricade. Musichetta was a friend of Joly's," she saw the way he flinched when she spoke of Joly in past tense. "She found us and said we could stay here."

"You should have left me," he whispered.

"No! How could I possibly?"

"How could you?" he said, his tone growing dangerous. "You should have left me to die or to face my fate at the hands of the enemy. I do not deserve to live when all my friends have sacrificed themselves for my cause. Why should I be the only one not to make a sacrifice?"

"You're upset…" she began, but he cut her off.

"Leave me," his voice was cold as ice.

"Please…"

"LEAVE!" he shouted.

Musichetta's hands were on Eponine's shoulders as she gently began to steer her away. Eponine kept her eyes fixed on Enjolras until she left the room. She was incapable of supressing the shudder at the image of her best friend looking so thoroughly broken.

(A/N – A Message from Joly – Joly would like me to say that he is very upset that no one noticed that I didn't list him among the Les Amis that died. In fact he is so upset that he is certain it's bringing him down with the flu!

Thank you as always to all the new and existing followers, including ChasingYou who has been keeping me smiling with all her lovely reviews!)