Chapter Five - To Die
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.
Bed rest, Éponine soon learned, was less than satisfactory. First of all was the problem of rest in itself- she was a waif, used to being constantly moving, running, thinking up new ways to trick someone out of their money. Staying still for more than three hours at a time was incredibly frustrating. Besides that, when she wasn't being paid a visit by one of the Amis (they were all very nice to her, and perfectly willing to sit and chat with the injured girl), she was sleeping off the pain. When she wasn't sleeping, she reflected. And more often than not, she came up with bewildering conclusions.
Most of the time, she thought of how her father would be beating Azelma to a pulp, and how he would beat her to a pulp when she finally went back. It was mostly brought on by concern for her sister, who would be responsible for collecting a minimum of five sous instead of the usual three sous, and it was hard enough to get more than two a day. Éponine tried to concoct a plan to return during the wee hours of early morning and received the beatings for Azelma when her father was hung over and at his weakest, and then sneak back out. It would require perfect timing, however, because Thenardier was a very intelligent man with a constantly working mind, and it was only in the ten-minute period of alcohol-induced morning sickness that wasn't thinking straight. The plan never succeeded, however, because someone had stationed a guard, always one of the Amis, after her first failed escape attempt.
She also thought of Marius, which was nothing new. What surprised her, however, was that every time she thought of how beautifully grey his eyes were, another pair of eyes, a piercing sky blue, would dominate her thoughts, and these eyes were much brighter and filled with a flame only one person in the universe possessed. Why had Marius, in her thinking, become connected to Enjolras? During the time when she'd usually despair over her unrequited love for her neighbor the baron Marius Pontmercy, Éponine found her thoughts drifting to the golden-haired leader of the insurgents and his changing demeanors: sometimes harsh and brittle, sometimes soft and sensitive (this side only revealed itself when they were alone). Sometimes cold, sometimes hot.
He confused her, and she didn't like it. Still, she thought of him and his touch and her name on his lips.
Éponine discovered a more than sufficient distraction to her musings: food. Musichetta, who had taken to visiting her lover's patient as well, kept the end table full with a nearly constant supply of breads, meats, cheeses, fruits, and soups. Musichetta wouldn't tell her who paid for this food, but Éponine strongly suspected a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed revolutionary.
She ate a little more every meal, her appetite growing like a child's, and soon she began to become healthier. She started to look less like a young boy, and more like a woman. Her thighs, hips, and breasts filled out ever so slightly, though traces of the gauntness remained. Musichetta commented happily on her restoration and seemed proud of her part in it. Éponine found herself becoming closer to the thoughtful, genuine woman, which was of course unsurprising, seeing as she was her only female companion.
True to her prediction, Éponine grew more and more fond of the other Amis, each of whom earned a place in her heart. Joly, of course, came regularly for check-ups and she welcomed the cheerful man, who almost always stayed to talk about his troubles with Musichetta. He'd recently had an argument with her, and she still wasn't speaking to him.
Bossuet often accompanied him, seeing as they were best friends and did everything together. He was the only bald man of the group, and had by far the worst luck, but he never seemed to be upset about it. If anything, he was amused by his bad fortune, and pretended to greet it with a "hello again, evil genius".
Courfeyrac, sometimes with her brother, also visited often. The playboy behavior that used to irritate Éponine now made her laugh, now that she knew he only ever meant well and that it was just to keep him confident and optimistic. She loved to see him play with her brother; it was comforting to know that though she couldn't be around Gavroche much, he had an older brother figure to raise him.
Bahorel was always entertaining to have around. They engaged in many battles of wit, and made many memorable jokes that Éponine still snickered to think of. He promised to teach her how to box once she was able to stand up, but made her swear not to tell Joly about it, who would surely have his head for encouraging unsafe behavior in a patient.
Combeferre was always polite and invigorating to talk to, just because he was such a quietly brilliant and philosophical man. He was an avid player of chess, and told Éponine he would introduce her to the game once he bought a board of his own (he had long been using Jehan's). He often brought a new book for her to read, because his book collection was apparently "much more extensive and of higher quality than Enjolras'".
Jehan was probably the nicest, sweetest person she knew, and also the most awkward. He was incredibly shy, and it had taken ten minutes for them to start an actual conversation. He soon proved extremely talented once he began to talk about himself: he played the flute, the violin, could paint, write poetry, and compose music. Éponine was still waiting for a promised copy of his latest poem.
She hardly saw Feuilly. He was a fan maker who did his business in the streets, from early in the day to late at night, stopping only for an hour or so at the Musain for a meeting or a quick gathering of his friends. He earned three francs a day. Like Éponine, he was against any charity offered by the wealthier Amis. They spoke about the people of France and the struggles they went through each day, which both she and Feuilly knew all too well.
Grantaire, or "R" as many called him ("It's a pun. Grantaire, Grand R, you see?"), was almost always drunk. This made for hilarious company. While many others found it obnoxious and over-exuberant, Éponine thought he was funny, and admired his ability to be both carefree and startlingly aware of the world around them. Though they didn't see each other much, the times they did were some of her favourites.
Neither Marius nor Enjolras visited her.
He knew he had developed something of a soft spot for her. He was different around her; he displayed his real emotions (God forbid!) and he couldn't help but obey what she said. This made her dangerous and a distraction from what was important at hand: the revolution.
Enjolras resolved to distance himself from her and work on planning the rebellion for the 5th of June.
He had the other members work hard as well. On top of their regular schoolwork (or in Feuilly's case, his work), the Amis gave speeches, tried to talk influential members of their society into joining the cause, and drew plans for the funeral. Courfeyrac enlisted Gavroche's help, and the little gamin collected useful intelligence by spying on the various city guards and soldiers. Even Musichetta helped by eavesdropping on the customers of the Musain. Enjolras commanded Jehan to find something to inspire the group, and the musician composed a song to lift their spirits. The Amis made it their official anthem.
Enjolras not only received orders to work on various things, he assigned himself tasks to keep busy. Eventually he was buried up to his neck in jobs. He barely found time to eat.
He became stressed and constantly on edge, snapping at anybody and everybody who irritated him in the slightest. Grantaire took the brunt of the insults. The drunk never complained or said anything back, and every day he took his place next to Enjolras like a loyal dog. The Amis wondered why he did, and Grantaire said he would always be there, no matter what Enjolras said to him.
The leader himself felt a little guilty, but quickly drowned his feelings in sketching out a detailed map out a map of the place the funeral would be held.
When Enjolras and Marius finally did see Éponine, they came together in a whirl of shouted words and stomping feet.
Joly had just informed her that though she should try to keep from moving too much, she was officially relieved from bed rest.
"I strongly suggest you wait to be admitted," came Enjolras' voice, cold and full of foreboding, not long after the hypochondriac had left.
"The others never needed permission!" Marius ejaculated, clearly angry. Éponine's ears perked up like a cat's, and her heart pounded in her chest. She, after all, was still in love with him.
"The others didn't get her almost killed," countered Enjolras. They were getting progressively louder and nearer.
Did Enjolras think it had been Marius' fault she'd been attacked? It had been nobody's fault but her own.
"In the name of God, Enjolras! It wasn't my fault!" Marius finished saying this and the door flew open.
Éponine felt like a mouse caught in a trap. The two men, who had obviously been glowering at each other, had turned their eyes to her. This felt all too similar to her daydreams: two vastly different faces fighting for dominance in her mind.
"Marius!" she finally exclaimed, pretending she hadn't heard a word of their argument. "It's a pleasure to see you." She didn't like the triumphant look he threw at Enjolras, whose face had closed up again.
"It's wonderful to see you're alive and will," Marius smiled warmly, coming towards her with arms outstretched.
"I am," beamed Éponine, lying through her teeth. Her shoulder gave a flash of pain as he gave her a quick hug.
She appraised the man, looking him up and down. He was just as she remembered: dark and neatly trimmed hair, high cheekbones, and eyes always full of compassion. He was happy. As Marius released her she realised why- the feminine scent of perfume that went with him meant he'd recently been with Cosette.
The resent that coursed through her was more for Marius than the lark. It caught her unawares; she'd never felt anything but love for Marius before.
"I hope you're not still hurting?" Marius said hopefully. Behind him, she spotted Enjolras discreetly rolling his eyes.
"I feel no pain," Éponine lied again, just to please him. This time, Enjolras snorted quietly in derision. She really shouldn't have believed he would buy her lies. Marius was gullible enough, but the perceptive Enjolras could scent lies like a trained hound.
"That's good." Marius was still smiling. Éponine cherished moments like these, when Marius' attention was on her, and not Cosette. Especially now, it felt only fair, since she had risked her life for him.
"Why don't we let her have her rest," Enjolras cut in rudely, his words more of a statement than an offer.
"I think she's well enough to talk a bit more," Marius ground out, suddenly vexed.
"In that case, let's allow Mademoiselle to tell us herself," Enjolras drawled, exaggerating "mademoiselle" just to annoy her.
Éponine felt indignation well up within her. How dare he make her pick a side? She turned to Enjolras with a question of her own, eyes narrowed, "Why do you think it is his fault?"
Comprehension flickered in his eyes. He now knew she'd heard them talking. "Isn't it?" he inquired.
"No," said Éponine. She surprised all of them, including herself, by lifting a hand to silence Marius when he opened his mouth to gloat. "It was my own. I was the one that screamed."
Marius looked confused, which had been her intention. She didn't want him to know she'd taken the beating to save him and Cosette. It was, after all, extremely uncomfortable to find out that someone had nearly died for you while you were having fun with your lover. However, she wanted Enjolras to know, and she knew with his quick mind he would extract the meaning from her words.
He seemed to be frozen to the spot. Éponine watched him carefully for any reaction. "Your own fault," he echoed at last. His face contorted in an expression of pure rage, but went back to normal so quickly she thought she'd imagined it. "I see." His voice was monotone.
"Actually, messieurs, I'm feeling a little tired now," Éponine said, squinting her eyes so that it looked like they were drooping with sleepiness. "I'd appreciate the time to rest."
Marius nodded quickly and stood back up. "Of course. I'll see you later, Éponine." He looked to Enjolras expectantly.
"I need to get my notes," the blonde said. "I'll meet you downstairs." His voice brooked no arguments and Marius disappeared quickly.
Enjolras had obviously gathered she had wanted to see him alone, because Marius had once again been the only one to fall for her act.
They stared at each other, one anticipating a reaction, one looking emotionless.
Finally Enjolras spoke. "Why did you do it?"
"My father and his gang, the Patron Minette, were about to rob the Rue Plumet. I didn't want them hurting Marius." Éponine decided she might as well tell the truth, because he would see through a lie anyway.
"No. Why did you do it for Marius?" Enjolras was completely still, having been that way since she'd told him how she'd screamed.
Éponine had her answer ready, and she replied without hesitation. "I would do anything for him. I'd die for him."
You would die for a single person?" Enjolras couldn't seem to grasp the concept.
"Yes." Éponine paused, trying to think of something he could relate to. "Ah! It's like you and the revolution. You always talk about how you would be a martyr for your mistress Patria."
"Patria is my mistress, that is true," Enjolras agreed. "But she stands for the entire population of France. Marius is insignificant in comparison. I am insignificant in comparison."
Éponine didn't think it was possible for Enjolras to be insignificant in any way, shape, or form, but she understood what he meant. "When you are in love with somebody," she said slowly but surely, "That person becomes more important than the entire Universe."
Enjoras stared, and swallowed before answering. "And is that what you are? In love?"
"I am in love with him," Éponine said confidently. Something nagged at her in the back of her mind, but she ignored it.
"But you doesn't love you back." He said it plainly, causally, but Éponine still felt the impact of the words.
"No," she said, a little sadly. She'd long accepted the fact, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it.
"So why do you love him?"
"It was such a simple, innocent question. Éponine found it unanswerable. "He's nice to me. He's considerate," she said at long last. It wounded bad even to herself. The voice nagged again.
Enjolras raised a single eyebrow. She was reminded of Gavroche, who also could do the same. "And that's why you're in love with Marius Pontmercy?"
"I"m in love with Marius Pontmercy," confirmed Éponine. They stared at each other, and then Enjolras looked down at his fists. They were tightly clenched against his legs.
"I have people to meet," said Enjolras. And then he was out the door before she could say anything else.
She tried to get some rest (because she was actually a little tired) or focus on saving Azelma, but her brain was stuck thinking of what Enjolras had asked her. So why do you love him?
She had not been able to find an answer. The voice nagged even louder. It was trying to tell her something, but what?
Marius had first caught her eye because he was attractive. He still was, but now that he'd seen other attractive men (Courfeyrac was ruggedly handsome, Jehan was delicate and beautiful in his own way, and Enjolras was a fucking angel), he no longer ranked so high in her standards. He was very nice to her, but so were the other Amis. He respected her as a person and didn't think her below him just because of her social status, but that wasn't so different from the Amis either. Some of others, including Enjolras, Jehan, and Combeferre, even called her mademoiselle, which though she hated, she was flattered by. The voice that was shouting something to her was suddenly understandable.
The missing piece had been found and now it clicked into place: She wasn't in love with Marius.
He had been an infatuation. She was in love with the idea of him, or rather, what he represented to her. He was her first taste of a better life, and of equality and freedom. She became addicted to the world and opportunity, and thus, she was addicted to him. Then the Amis came by and she realised that he was just one of the many poeple out there that also believed in respect and equal rights.
This revelation made her jump out of the bed. Her ankle wobbled unsteadily, but she hardly noticed. She had to tell Enjolras. She didn't know why, but she trusted her instincts and right now it was vital that Enjolras knew she did not love Marius.
Éponine half ran, half limped down the steps to the secret meeting room. Her eyes roamed it wildly.
The Amis that were in the room at the time (Joly, Bossuet, Combeferre, Jehan, Bahorel, and Grantaire) stared at her as if she were insane.
"I told you to try not to move around," Joly said disapprovingly. She didn't hear him.
"Where is he?" Éponine demanded, hair flying, chest heaving.
"Who?" asked Bahorel, but Combeferre just pointed to the door.
"Enjolras left just two minutes ago. I don't know where he went." The room chuckled collectively; they didn't expect Éponine to start racing for the door.
"Wait, what?" Grantaire gaped as Bossuet called after her:
"You've forgotten your shoes!"
Éponine glanced down at her feet, which were indeed bare. It hadn't even occurred to her. She'd lost her father's old boots weeks ago, and she'd been going barefoot since. Whatever, she thought, and kept sprinting.
She turned a couple heads as she flew down the streets of Saint Michael, shoeless, bandaged, and half crazed. Every time she saw a red ipece of clothing she would think it was Enjolras' military vest or his maroon coat, but it never was.
Ten minutes later she slowed to a halt, breathing heavily, ankle sore and every once in a while giving a twinge of pain. He was nowhere to be found and she was pretty sure she'd been going around in circles.
Just when she was about to give up, she saw another flash of red and looked up half-heartedly. It was Enjolras, rounding the corner. Éponine shouted "Monsieur!" and followed, nearly tripping in her haste. She called his name when she was close enough and he whirled around, shock evident in his face.
"Éponine!"
"Enjolras, I-" she fell into a coughing fit. He reached her in two quick strides and grasped her arms with incredible gentleness.
"Are you alright? What are you doing here?" She was glad to hear the concern in his tone.
"I have to tell you something. I made a mistake. I thought I loved him, but-" Éponine was bent over from the sheer force of another set of wracking coughs.
"Regain your breath before saying anything else," he said. It sounded like a command, and she obeyed.
She gulped lungfuls of air before finally speaking again. "I've realised: I don't love Marius. I was in love with the idea of him: someone who lived a better life and didn't care that I was poor and still was my friend. It wasn't love at all, it was obsession!"
The words were tumbling out of her and soon she was saying things she didn't even know she knew. "And I said that I would die for Marius- that's still true. I would, because he's my friend. I would put my life on the line for any of the Amis! That means I love them, and that's different from being in love with them. If I loved someone, and if they were the most important thing to me, I would live for them, too. To die is one thing. To live is another."
Éponine finished her speech, smiling up at a shell-shocked Enjolras. "And you- I don't know how, but you made me realise it!" With this she threw her arms around the wide-eyed man, and held him tightly to herself.
Enjolras had never seen her so exhilarated.
He hadn't wanted to go anywhere in particular, just away from the Musain, and away from her. It made him indescribably irate to know that Éponine had willingly gone to accept her father's punishment, simply because she loved Marius. He wasn't sure whether to be angrier that she loved him, or angrier that she'd gotten hurt for such a reason. After considering these choices further, he decided he'd be angry at himself for getting angry in the first place.
He'd needed to get away before he threw a fit in front of her.
Enjolras stormed out of the Musain without a second glance behind him, picked a direction, and kept going. He didn't have a certain destination. How she managed to find him, he had no idea. But when she did, he'd been unsure whether to yell at her or wrap her in his jacket she was shivering so much, but then she'd interrupted him.
What came out of her mouth was the best thing he'd ever heard (it even rivaled hearing her say his name). She finished and stared at him with big, starry, dark eyes. Enjolras experienced a strange, rushing sensation, as if he had stumbled upon some great understanding without knowing what it was yet. His stomach churned, and the world around him blurred as if he was moving past it at a tremendous speed. He was falling into a deep abyss, and Éponine was waiting for him at the bottom of it.
She didn't love Marius Pontmercy, she never had, and somehow this was the most important thing.
She wrapped herself around him and he automatically returned the hug, as if he hugged people on a regular basis (he didn't). They stood there in each other's embrace in the middle of the street. People pushed past them with disgruntled noises, and some pedestrians shouted for them to stop blocking the road, but Enjolras felt none of it.
Nothing but Éponine.
AN: It's moving fast, I know. I don't know if you guys like that or not.
