Chapter Two - Croissants Save the Day

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo: Hi there. I apologise about the clichéness of it all. I'll try to keep it more realistic and genuine (and here I am thinking of Aaron Tveit and Kerry Butler's amazing portrayal of the "real" relationship between Frank and Brenda in Catch Me If You Can).
AviationAce221:
Thank you for the helpful reviews. I really appreciate it, truly. To respond to the "I don't talk when I don't need to" thing, I've always felt that Enjolras has a lot to say (this is seen in the book), but doesn't say it when he doesn't think people need to know what he thinks. Though, of course, when it comes to the revolution he kind of has a spaz about it all. I will look into making less "Enjy the Saviour" and more "We Help Each Other Survive".

Disclaimer: All character and novel rights belong to Victor Hugo. Song lyrics belong to the creators of Les Misérables, the musical. I own nothing except for my own imagination.


He really hadn't been planning to go to the Voltaire, but Grantaire had been craving pastries. The Café Musain served them, but ever since he broke the table two weeks ago Musichetta wasn't about to "serve that inebriated piece of shit anything else for the rest of his miserable life". Bossuet, who usually ended up having to run the errands, had left shortly after Marius had and the other Amis had, unsurprisingly, pretended to be busy with something else.

So, it was left to Enjolras to walk all the way to the Voltaire to purchase a couple measly pastries for someone he wasn't really sure he even considered a friend. He'd agreed even though he'd wanted to finish the paper he was working on for law school, since it wasn't like he was about to get any of it done with Grantaire getting progressively louder by the second.

It just so happened the Voltaire was two blocks away from the Rue Plumet and he heard that scream as if he'd been standing right next to her. And he'd recognised that scream. It was the one that had been haunting him for a month of a half. It had taken him just under ten minutes to find her, far too long in his opinion, but he did, and he had never been so thankful.

He really did have a habit for saving people in danger. By people he meant Eponine, who just made him plain angry because she had been taking it without fighting back.

It wasn't too hard to lose control and almost snap the neck of the man hitting her. But he wasn't about to kill someone who, for all he knew, hadn't done anything bad otherwise. Of course, he later regretted his moment of mercy, but during the time he hadn't known better.


Joly had been a lot less surprised than Enjolras had expected him to be, seeing as he'd returned to the Musain with a bloody, beat up Eponine instead of the Voltaire's best croissants. Instead, the medical student had pursed his lips, touched his cane to the tip of his nose, and ordered for her to be taken to a bed.

"She can use mine," he said, because it seemed only proper, and because he didn't think he was going to be sleeping that night. Not with a paper to be finished.

This was what had surprised Joly and the other Amis listening in.

"Figures," Bahorel said, smirking, because he was Bahorel and didn't think before he spoke. "The first girl in his bed is going to be a half-dead one." Joly took Eponine from Enjolras' arms, which gave the leader of the Amis the chance to turn and narrow his eyes at the muscular revolutionary.

"I'm offering because I won't be using it tonight, anyway," Enjolras said. "She's also in serious danger."

The boxer didn't seem to think much of the fact, and shrugged. "Whatever you say, great revolutionary commander." He exchanged a look with Courfeyrac, the one they used when they were in on a joke Enjolras wasn't.

Meanwhile, Joly had enlisted the help of Combeferre, their usual secondary "doctor", upstairs to Enjolras' tiny room with minimal furnishings.

Enjolras stayed at the Musain mainly because the house he shared with his parents was far away, and he liked to spend most of his time sitting at the table in the corner of the secret meeting room. His parents, who were enormously rich, lived in a mansion on some obscure countryside. He could count on one hand the times he'd visited them since coming to Paris for his studies. Being a frugal man when it came to his own expenses, he'd ended up with a minuscule bedroom requiring ten francs a month. Being generous towards others, however, he took care to always give fifteen.

He watched his two friends carry the unconscious woman upstairs, Joly giving orders on how to hold her so that she wouldn't die on the spot. Joly was, after all, the only medical student Enjolras knew who was a hypochondriac and could also nurse you back to health in record time even with an outrageously exaggerated diagnosis.

Enjolras was hovering, unsure whether to accompany them (it was his room, after all) or to stay down and write his paper.

"Did you get my croissants, 'Jolras?" Grantaire called from across the room.

Enjolras gave him the most fearsome glower he could muster, decision made. "No. And don't call me 'Jolras." He marched up the stairs after Joly and Combeferre, intent on escaping the drunk, who had just begun reciting Sophocles (which Enjolras was somewhat impressed he could do given his current state).

The moment Enjolras stepped into his bedroom, a large piece of torn, bloody cloth was thrown into his face. "Get rid of that and fetch something to replace it!" Joly's voice ordered from somewhere beyond the stench of the slums coming from the cloth.

Enjolras peeled it away from his forehead and realised it was the remains of Eponine's ruined brown dress. "Where would I find a dress? I don't know any women."

"Ask Musichetta," Joly said, not looking up from his applying of medicines. "Tell her I sent you."

Irritated at the idea of being "sent by Joly", Enjolras threw him and Combeferre a dirty look before tossing the soiled dress in a corner and leaving the room.

He didn't tell the Musain waitress Joly had sent him, but he did ask for a dress that would fit Eponine. The dress he was given was dark green and had a band of brown around the waist. She had also supplied him with a pair of brown sandals. They were simple, nothing special, but Musichetta had looked ecstatic as she gave it to Enjolras, and since Joly and Bossuet adored her so much, he took them with a gracious smile.

By the time Enjolras returned to his room Joly had stripped Eponine almost bare, and was stitching a wound on her stomach. Enjolras averted his eyes, but not before an eyeful of half-naked Eponine. His cheeks burned as he handed the dress to Combeferre, his gaze still fixed firmly on the floor.

Combeferre was looking amused. "You'd think he'd never seen a girl in her underclothes. Oh, but wait-"

Joly laughed and Combeferre grinned maniacally. Enjolras frowned. "It wasn't that funny," he said.

"It was, because it's true."

Joly looked up momentarily after his episode of laughter. "It's not surprising you helped a girl, but I will admit, the fact that you're so willing to aid us with her is." He moved on to wrapping her ankle with linen.

Enjolras made the mistake of glancing at Joly, who was still kneeling next to Eponine. He flushed crimson again and turned away.

"He's blushing like a girl," Combeferre laughed.

"You're sounding too much like Courfeyrac," Enjolras said, as if it were a bad thing. In reality they all loved Courfeyrac, who was basically the spirit of the entire group. "And it's because Grantaire is downstairs being unbearably annoying and I wouldn't be able to do anything useful anyway."

"I believe you," Joly said, in a tone that hinted the exact opposite. "You might as well go get more water for her, then."

"More linen wrap while you're at it!" Combeferre called, as Enjolras trudged out of the room with a sigh. He was supposed to be the leader of the French revolution, not an errand boy.


He'd finished the paper earlier than expected. Exhausted, Enjolras checked his pocket watch and saw that it was four in the morning which was relatively early for him - normally he worked until six. Perhaps he would actually get some sleep.

He dragged himself to his room and pushed open the door, only to see Eponine sleeping soundly underneath his covers. He would have jumped had he been too sleepy to care. He'd forgotten she was there.

Enjolras let himself stare this time, mainly because he was too tired to restrain himself.

Now that Joly had wiped almost all of the dirt and dried blood from her olive skin he could see that she was actually quite beautiful. He imagined with more nourishment (she was so stricken with malnutrition he could see her ribs through the sheets) she would have curvy hips and breasts. Her waist was astonishingly small, though from hunger or lucky genes, he wasn't sure. Her thick dark hair lay spread on the pillow in a mess of tangled waves. The shape and pallor of her face was gaunt and pale with prolonged hunger, but angled and rounded in the right places. He wasn't sure why Marius had never considered her as more than a friend, because not only was she utterly in love with him, she was really rather pretty.

Upon seeing the scars on her face, arms, and feet, which were the only parts uncovered by the blanket, however, Enjolras felt a familiar protective fury. Convincing himself he would have felt this way regardless of the woman, he sat himself down on the chair in the corner of the room, eyes still fixed on Eponine.

He fell asleep thinking not of his upcoming speech like he normally did, but of his new roommate.


Marius came late to their next Amis meeting.

"You're late," Enjolras said, not even looking up from the stack of papers in front of him.

"I know. I'm sorry." The young baron sat across from him, between Courfeyrac and Prouvaire.

"You were late last time, too, if I recall. And you left early," said the golden-haired student, now fixing the other man with a piercing look. "Would you like to provide a reason?"

Marius had the decency to look abashed. "I was at the Rue Plumet."

This alerted Enjolras, who sat up straighter, but displayed no further sign of recognition. He'd found Eponine around the corner from the Rue Plumet. He kept his face impassive, however, as he spoke. "What were you doing at the Rue Plumet, exactly?" The only person to notice Enjolras' reaction was Combeferre, who had always listened to him closely. Now he watched his best friend even more carefully.

"Well, meeting Cosette," said Marius, a little cautiously. He knew Enjolras didn't appreciate distractions. "She's the daughter of Monsieur Fauchelevent, or Monsieur Leblanc, as some of you know him."

"You will have no time to meet this Cosette if you wish to dedicate yourself to our cause," Enjolras said, preparing to give him another one of his lectures. "The funeral will be in a mere four days, and no doubt there will be a riot. Even the guards know that - especially the guards. We'll need to be very careful in planning the rebellion, and we can't have anybody making a mistake. That means you can't be fretting about a woman, because it might get you killed."

He may not have agreed with Marius in terms of politics (one word: Napoleon), but he was the leader of the group. He felt responsible for all of them, and if one of them got hurt without cause under his direction, Enjolras would never forgive himself.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand, Enjolras," Marius started, "being someone who doesn't believe in love, but Cosette is everything to me. I cannot live while we are apart."

Oh, I believe in love, Enjolras thought disdainfully. I believe in love of my country. Love of Patria. But he didn't say this to them. Instead, he gave a slight scoff. "She is more important than the whole of France?"

Marius looked like he wanted to hit him for a moment, but visibly breathed deeply to calm himself down. "I'm sorry for not being on time for the meetings, but I won't apologise for loving Cosette. I will, however, try to balance my time between her and the revolution the best I can. Anyway, she's said her father's considering moving away after what happened last night." Here he bowed his head to veil his despair at this fact, so Combeferre was once again the only one to see the alarm that flickered in Enjolras' eyes.

"What happened last night?" Combeferre couldn't help admiring the evenness in his tone and the emotion-devoid smoothness of his face.

"I was talking to Cosette, and someone - I don't know who, but it sounded like a woman - screamed, and Monsieur Fauchelevent came running out of his room, thinking it was Cosette. He doesn't know I've been seeing her, and he wouldn't be happy to find out. I left." It was only after Marius had finished speaking that he noticed the gradual darkening of Enjolras' eyes.

"The woman that screamed was your friend Eponine. She was attacked by a man in the alley near the Rue Plumet." Enjolras' voice was chilly and dangerous.

"What?" Marius leapt to his feet, shock lining his features. "I thought she'd left!"

"You knew she was there?" Enjolras' face was no longer expressionless but openly livid. Marius instantly regretted his words. "You knew she was there and you still fled?"

"I didn't know she was there," Marius defended. "I didn't know! I told her to leave ages before, she didn't need to be there anymore!"

It was the wrong thing to say. Enjolras' fingers curled into fists. He couldn't remember ever being so angry at somebody in public. "You were the one that brought her there?" he practically roared. Everybody watching the spectacle unfold jumped in their seats.

"Well, yes, but... why do you care?" Marius exclaimed in a last-ditch effort to deflect Enjolras' rage.

"Because, Pontmercy," growled Enjolras, using his last name in his ire, "now she's recovering from near death in my bedroom!"

Marius was effectively shut up and sat back down, face ashen. "Near death," he whispered to himself as other men snickered slightly at the words "my bedroom". Enjolras wasn't surprised to note that it had been Bahorel, Courfeyrac, and Grantaire.

Enjolras forced himself to calm down, relaxing his hands and wiping them on his vest. Within milliseconds his face had closed up into marble again. "Well," he said, voice controlled and seemingly unruffled. "We should move onto the meeting."

Heads around the table nodded hastily, afraid to provoke the wrath of an angry Enjolras after his previous display.


AN: Can I just express how happy I am about the helpful reviews?