Chapter Six - Look At Her

keepcalmandreadhp: To be honest, I've always thought that if Enjolras had lived in the original plot, he would have wished to die. After all, Marius had Cosette and his grandfather; Enjolras had nobody. He was an only child, lived alone, and was never interested in being in a relationship. He'd have been ridden with guilt and frustration and misery and that's much worse than being dead. You can take what you will from that :)
Smiles1998: Thanks for the feedback!
idreamadreamtoo: Thanks loads! I'll try to keep you happy with the writing :)
FreeToRun: Wowowow you're so awesome! Thanks for making my day better!

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.


"Thank you," Éponine said once they broke apart.

"You're welcome," Enjolras replied, though he didn't know what he'd done to help her reach her epiphany.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and his brain was whirling with something unfamiliar: complete chaos.

"I need to return to my parents," she said. "Azelma needs me."

Enjolras knew he couldn't do anything to stop her, so he settled for a compromise. "Let some of us come with you, so you won't get hurt."

Éponine rolled her eyes as if she thought it was a ridiculous notion. "I've been gone for five days. I'll get very hurt."

"Don't say that," he bit out, hating the image of a bruised and bloody Éponine that came to mind.

She gazed at him, searching for something in his face. She must have found it, because she heaved a sigh and said, "My father will have his gang members with him. They won't back down from a fight. They might even be looking for one."

"We won't back down, either. Besides, it'll be good practice for the 5th." Enjolras had gone through days and days of strenuous planning and organising for the funeral. June 5th, whether it worked or not, was going to be epic.

"Joly told me about the rebellion. I was wondering if I could-" Éponine was cut off when someone shouted her name.

"Éponine! Is it really you?" A tall man with a deceptively skinny build (he was very strong in reality) was scurrying down the street. His top hat wobbled precariously on his head.

Éponine's face turned white, blanching in fear. Enjolras recognised the hat and the curling sideburns, and felt a growl build in his throat.

"Father," Éponine said sweetly, turning with a fake smile.

"Where have you been? Your mother's been worried sick!" He drew the girl into a tight embrace. Enjolras noticed he dug his nails into her back and narrowed his eyes. This worried-father facade was not about to work on him.

"Just staying with a few friends," said Éponine, her smile straining to stay put.

"Ah! Your friends, of course," the father said warmly. "Next time, you have to tell me where you're going, though." Not likely, thought Enjolras, gritting his teeth. The protective lion inside of him roared and bared his teeth.

"I will." She seemed to be making her replies as short as possible.

"And have you gotten skinnier? I'll have to feed you more!" Thenardier laughed uproariously and Enjolras knew he was planing to starve as well as beat her when she returned. Thenardier thumped her on the back. Éponine fell forward and Enjolras caught her just in time.

"And who might you be?" Thenardier turned to him with a threatening glint in his eye.

Enjolras faced him with flinching. "Enjolras. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He twitched his lip in a polite smile.

"I might have you meet the rest of the family," Thenardier said, giving a toothy grin and displaying a mouthful of rotted teeth.

"I would be my pleasure," Enjolras replied understanding the veiled meaning: the Patron Minette would be there when they got back. He squeezed Éponine's shaking arms to reassure her.

"I'll show you home," Thenardier said, and began to lead them away. Éponine gulped in fear.

Enjolras held onto her wrist as they followed him, keeping himself between the frightened girl and her father.


"I'll be back as soon possible." Enjolras whispered to her once they reached the Gorbeau tenement.

"Where are you going?" Éponine whispered back, panicked, but Enjolras had left. She shivered. Without him there Thenardier would surely beat her.

"Home sweet home, dearie," Thenardier mocked with a snigger as he went in before her. She repressed a shudder and took a deep breath before stepping in after him.

Azelma was scrubbing the floors. She was the only one in the family who had inherited their mother's flaming orange hair, frizzy and uncontrollable. She often pulled it away fro her face with a rag that she tied at the back of her neck, especially when doing the chores. The youngest Thenardier sister, like the rest of the children, had their father's thin frame, but was also very short, making her the physically weakest in the family. She got sick often, which was all the more reason for Éponine to take the bulk of the work.

Now Azelma was kneeling on the dirty floor trying to scrape away a lump of something sticky and unrecognisable. The Thenardieress was sitting by the dirty window watching her work, mug of ale in hand.

Thenardier's massive boots plonked down on the space in front of Azelma, narrowly missing her fingers. It sprayed mud everywhere, destroying half of her hard work. The small 17 year old girl visibly slumped in disappointment.

When she caught sight of her sister, she scrambled to get up, barely containing her relief and joy. "Éponine!" she cried, hugging the older girl by three years. "He said you were dead," she whispered into her ear. Éponine couldn't help but feel a flash of admiration for her father's cunning. Telling her she was dead would stop any further questions about her whereabouts and provide an excuse for Azelma to do all the work Éponine was responsible for.

"Ah, you're back," the Thenardieress said as if she'd just been away for an errand. She waved a fan back and forth lazily. "Have you brought anything back?"

Éponine thought fast. The only person she was afraid of more than her father was her mother, capable of being both maternal and destructively violent, much like a tigress.

"I have some cheese," Éponine said, digging into the pocket of her dress and drawing out a wedge of Gruyére cheese. She put it on the small round table they used to eat on, as if it would lessen her punishment.

"And you think that's enough, is it?" Enough to make up for five days' absence?" Thenardier grabbed her by the sprained shoulder and flung her against the wall.

Tears of agony sprang to Éponine's eyes but she forced them away.

"This family tries to support three children," Thenardier hissed, momentarily forgetting that they no longer saw Gavroche as their own, since he ran away so long ago. "We have monetary needs. Do you know what happens when you go missing? Azelma has to support us," he growled, accentuating "Azelma" by lifting the younger girl by the hair and shoving her in Éponine's face.

"Don't hurt her!" Éponine shouted desperately as her sister yelped in pain. "It was my fault, don't harm her! She didn't do anything..."

"That's right!" Thenardier crowed, dropping Azelma, who collapsed to the floor, a trembling pile of rags and red hair. "She doesn't do anything! She's a useless piece of merde! She couldn't find a sous if it were shoved up her ass!"

Éponine watched her mother give Azelma a hefty kick and order her back to work. Azelma, tears streaming down her face, scrabbled sightlessly for the mop. "She tries so hard for you!" Éponine shrieked, blind with rage and anguish. "Look at her! She's on her hands and knees!"

"She's on her hands and knees like a common, dirty bitch!" Thenardier roared back. Spittle landed on Éponine's forehead. "Who will make up for her incompetence?"

"Me!" Éponine begged, hands now clasped together. "Me! Please!"

Thenardier pulled his arm back and punched her in the face. Éponine's head snapped back and hit the wall, and she tasted blood. "You asked for it," he smiled humourlessly so that it more resembled a grimace. He picked up a clay cup and smashed it on her head. Blood trickled into her eyes, and she closed them. Her legs trembled with the effort of standing up. Enjolras, where are you?

As if he had heard her silent cry for help, when Thenardier reached for something else to throw at her, the door broke off its hinges. Four men came barreling in, followed by a smaller, shorter one. Through the stream of crimson she recognised them: Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Grantaire, and Gavroche.

The moment they came in Thenardier banged on the door to another room and three of his gang came out: Claquesous, Montparnasse, and Brujon popped up from what seemed to be nowhere.

"Don't you dare hurt my sister," growled Gavroche, and the two opposing forces fell into each other. Soon, the tiny house was a battlefield. People threw punches, kicks, and basically anything they could find. Madame Thenardier screeched at the loss of their plates and bowls, and Azelma crawled into a corner to avoid getting hit.

Enjolras found Éponine and helped her up, holding her to his chest. She breathed in his scent before opening her eyes and blinking at him to clear the blood. "Azelma," she said, and he nodded. With a gesture to Courfeyrac, the man picked up her sister and brought her to where Enjolras was standing, holding Éponine.

"Get them out of here," he ordered Courfeyrac. "To the Café." Enjolras purposely avoided saying "Musain", should Thenardier or his followers hear them and find them.

"Can you walk?" Courfeyrac asked Azelma, who nodded wordlessly, green eyes wide and glassy. He scooped Éponine up and grabbed Azelma's hand. The three ran out the door, Azelma trailing a little behind, weak from hunger and sleep deprivation.

"They're getting away!" screeched the Thenardieress. Her husband hurried to intercept the escapees, but Enjolras was ready for him and knocked him away from the door with a plank of wood that he swung like a bat.

"Don't even try," he snarled, marble face transformed into that of a fearsome beast.

Some time later Courfeyrac had managed to take Éponine and Azelma back to the Musain, thanks to the two sisters' directions as they ran through narrow alleyways and secret escape routes. Éponine kissed him on the cheek with a tired but genuine smile, relieved that her sister was safe. She was more than sure her brother would take care of himself, so she wasn't too worried.

"Tell the kind man thank you," she instructed Azelma gently.

The frail girl turned her face up at Courfeyrac. "Thank you," she said, and fainted.

Combeferre was next to them in an instant. "Get Éponine somewhere to sit down!" he ordered as he lifted Azelma in his arms. "I'm taking her to Enjolras' room," he explained to Éponine as Courfeyrac filled the others in on what had happened at the Gorbeau.

Combeferre hurried up the stairs as Bossuet pulled up a chair for the elder sister. She thanked him and put her swollen ankle on another chair so she could inspect it. "Where's Joly?" she asked the bald man, who shrugged.

"Left with Musichetta not ten minutes ago. Just before Enjolras came bursting in asking for people who could fight."

"And Courfeyrac and Bahorel volunteered," guessed Éponine with a small smile. It sounded just like them.

"Correct. Grantaire joined them. Not sure whether it was because he was bored or drunk. Gavroche went as well. He follows Courf and Bahorel everywhere, especially if it's to save his sisters." Bossuet wiped sweat from his brow and offered Éponine some wine, which she readily accepted.

"Thank you," she breathed, before draining the entire cup of its contents.

"A girl who can drink," laughed Feuilly, who was watching them. He had just arrived for his lunch break.

"A girl who's very thirsty," Éponine corrected with a grin. "Though she can drink as well."

"Then have another," Courfeyrac invited, pouring her more wine. He poured himself a coup as well, shaking his dark, shaggy head like a dog. Sweat flew in all directions.

"You're revolting," Jehan remarked mildly, flicking a drop from the page in his book.

Éponine smiled fondly at the timid man as he wrinkled his nose in disgust when Courfeyrac purposely shook his head some more, this time in Jehan's face.

"Stop it," he said crossly, using the book to lightly hit the man.

Courfeyrac laughed boisterously and sat back in his seat. Éponine giggled along with him and sipped at her wine. "I wonder how Enjolras and the others are doing, beating up my father and his gang," she said absentmindedly.

To her surprise she found she didn't care all that much that her family was being attacked, now that Azelma was safe with her and being taken care of by Combeferre. She trusted the Amis with her life. What spoke greater volumes was that she trusted them with Azelma's life, too.

"Don't tell me you're worried for him," Combeferre snorted. "He may not look like it, but he's a better fighter than the most of us combined."

Enjolras, thought Éponine, was not built like a fighter like Bahorel was. He was elegant and graceful, more like a cat than a bear. She had seen him hold Thenardier by his throat to the wall, however, with ease. Her father wasn't the heaviest person, but he wasn't exactly light either. It had to take no small amount of strength to lift him by the neck.

"I believe it," Éponine said with a shrug.

"She can't help but worry for him," Jehan said, and everybody turned to look at him. "She loves him."

Éponine spluttered. "I do not," she protested vehemently. And she didn't. She'd just gotten over Marius, and she wasn't about to make a second mistake. Though if she were in love, she supposed Enjolras wouldn't be a bad choice.

"I thought you liked Marius," Courfeyrac said, head swinging towards hers.

"I might've," Éponine admitted. Once she knew she wasn't in love with him, it was much easier for her to discuss it with others. "But not anymore."

"How do you fall out of love with somebody?" asked Bossuet, who had always loved Musichetta.

"Quite easily, I'd wager. Jehan does it all the time." At this, the hopeless romantic gave Feuilly a dirty look, which he returned with a teasing grin.

"I don't think I ever really loved him," Éponine said as she massaged the shoulder Thenardier had re-injured. "I just thought I did."

"But," Jehan interjected, "You know you love Enjolras."

"You wouldn't be the first lady to," Courfeyrac said. "He has many admirers. After all, he isn't bad looking. Don't tell him, though, he'll start hiding from the public so they'll not distract him from his precious revolution. He hides enough from the outside world already."

"Don't be ridiculous," Éponine said, though her heart dropped at Courfeyrac's words, which obviously meant Enjolras didn't have eyes for anybody. "I'm not in love with him. We are just friends."

"Jehan's just being a romantic," Bossuet said assuringly.

"I may be a romantic, but I'm not blind. When Mademoiselle Éponine looks like him it's like she's seeing the face of God." At Jehan's words a red flush came on Éponine's cheeks.

"I know very well he's not God," she said, drinking more of her wine to hide her blush. He was just very attractive. What female wouldn't look at him admiringly? "Besides, Courf said he wasn't interested in women, anyway."

"I wouldn't say that," Combeferre, who had come down the stairs. "I'd say he has eyes for one in particular but is too stubborn to admit it."

"Our Enjolras? In love?" Feuilly said incredulously. "Impossible."

"Who is it?" Courfeyrac asked, eyes darting towards Éponine. She didn't notice.

He shook his head. "I wouldn't tell his secrets without his permission. And he won't even admit it to himself; how will he admit it to someone else?"

The room was silent as everybody pondered which girl might their solitary leader be in love with.

"Éponine," Combeferre said after the momentary lull in the conversation. "While Joly is gone I'll do what I can with your wounds. Come upstairs to Enjolras' room. It's practically an infirmary now anyway."

The men chuckled and Éponine smiled as she took Combeferre's proffered arm and allowed him to lead her upstairs.

She could get used to this kind of life.


The fight had lasted longer than Enjolras had anticipated, but the Amis had the element of surprise. They quickly lost the disadvantage in numbers after Enjolras hit Thenardier and knocked him unconscious. It was also thanks to Bahorel, who had charged Brujon head-on and bashed his face in with a well-aimed stool. To everybody's surprise, the Thenardieress also leapt in the fray, and she was a ferocious enemy in combat. It had taken both Bahorel and Grantaire to bring her down. Gavroche, though small, was fleet and agile on his feet. He wove around attacks and dodged everything Claquesous threw at him, dealing his own quick punches.

Enjolras left to face Montparnasse. They each had a personal grudge against each other: Enjolras hated Montparnasse for nearly slitting Éponine's throat, and Montparnasse hated Enjolras for stopping him and then shooting him in the arm.

"You think you can play the knight in shining armour and claim her as your own?" Montparnasse spat, swinging at the side of Enjolras' head. "She's mine!"

Enjolras blocked it deftly and stepped in to knee him in the stomach. He noticed Montparnasse's arm was bound where he had shot him. "She's neither mine nor yours," he responded calmly. "She's not property. We are all equal in the eyes of God."

"Spoken like a true democrat," Montparnasse sneered, leaping back and successfully avoiding the attack.

"It's only fair," shrugged Enjolras, sidestepping a kick. "Equality is a right everybody deserves."

"Life isn't fair," the other man replied hotly. "You may be an idol among your followers but in my world I am also a hero. I take from you rich bastards and give to the deserving poor!"

"I completely agree," said Enjolras to a startled Montparnasse. "That the poor deserve as much money as I, and I admit that I have much. However, stealing and murder is not the right way about it." He held Montparnasse's arm in a vice-like grip and twisted it behind his back before securing his own arm around his neck.

"And- and a revolution is the right way?" Montparnasse coughed. "I know you are staging a rebellion tomorrow at the funeral. How many people will die there, for you? For fighting against you?" He gave up trying to dislodge Enjolras' arm and instead ran backwards, driving him into the wall.

Enjolras winced not from the impact, but from the words. "I do not enjoy death, but I utilise it for the greater good." He flipped them around and slammed Montparnasse face-first into the wall.

"As do I," grunted the other man, disoriented. His nose had broken with a loud crack, and blood dripped onto the floor.

"Then we have an understanding," Enjolras said cooly, picking up a nearby bottle and breaking it over Montparnasse's head. He slumped to the ground unconscious.

"Only you would have a chat with the man before taking care of him," Grantaire said from behind him. "Why not just knock him out?"

Enjolras turned, and saw Grantaire, Bahorel, and Gavroche standing over their respective opponents all unconscious on the ground. Gavroche was looking remarkably proud of himself, a bruise forming under his eye. He was probably the only twelve-year-old Enjolras knew who could take down a full grown man with little to no help (even if he didn't know many children).

"I like to hear the reactions to our work," Enjolras said as he wiped his hands on his pants.

"If you're quite done, I'd like to go see my sisters," drawled Gavroche, raising one eyebrow.

Enjolras cocked an eyebrow as well. I do, too, he said to himself. "Very good, Master Gavroche," he said, and stepped away from the limp form of Montparnasse.

Bahorel stage-whispered to Grantaire, "Did he just make a joke?"

Enjolras ignored their sniggers and lead the way out. "We're going back to the Musain."


AN: Thanks for all the reviews, readers! I really appreciate them. Love y'all!