PART III: REVOLUTION

Chapter Seven - The Day Before the Storm

DramaRose13: Oh my Rowling. Do you ship them too? GAH! I LOVE YOU! They won't interact at the Musain much, but... well, I won't give anything away :)
Vermillion Focus: Agreed on that point. You're welcome; thanks for reading :)

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.


That night, Éponine was officially invited to that night's Amis meeting. "Because it'll probably be the lsat one," Grantaire said with a dry grin. He had been sober, and Éponine had been by his seriousness and awareness of the world around them. She had the feeling this was why he drank so much: he was so perceptive that he carried the burden of knowing how cruel the world really was.

She'd only ever lurked in the back of the room, eyes embarrassingly fixated on Marius. She wasn't proud of it, but she'd never actually listened to what the Amis were saying during the past meetings. She'd certainly never been invited.

Éponine had never seen so many people in the back room at once. The Amis usually came and went, dropping in from time to time to have a drink or talk with friends. Enjolras was the only constant resident of the Musain. Now, though, every member Les Amis de Café l'ABC were seated at the table in the corner, which was also the largest one, and the one that Enjolras normally did his work at. The meeting had yet to commence, but everybody, even Marius, had taken their seats and were speaking to one another, laughing and drinking. Grantaire winked at her and took his seat next to Gavroche, an honorary member.

The room was filled with a different atmosphere altogether. Though it still had the amiable feeling of companionship, the scene of wine and bread, and the dim lighting of the lamps on the wall, there was a certain buzz of restlessness among the people. An electric thrill ran through the room: the feeling of a pressured piece of glass, or a dam about to break. The Amis, Éponine realised, were anxious for the revolution to begin. The thought filled her with fear and excitement.

"Éponine! It's good to see you're well," Marius greeted her.

She glanced in his direction. Not even the slight fluttering of the stomach. "Nice to see you, Monseiur," she returned with a polite smile. "I still have my broken wrist, but even that feels much better."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Enjolras watching them carefully, and she shot him a friendly smile. He seemed to consider something before giving her a tiny, barely visible smile in return, a quirking of the mouth. Her stomach became a flurry of beating wings and she dreaded what her reaction would be if he gave her a full smile.

"Come sit with us, Ponine!" Gavroche cried from his seat, squashed between Courfeyrac and Grantaire.

"I'm not sure I should," Éponine replied, hovering at the table next to it, not wanting to intrude upon the circle of brothers and their gathering.

"You might as well," said Courfeyrac. "You've been living here for the past five days."

Éponine fought a blush at the round of laughter and hesitantly sat next to Joly, who gave her a reassuring pat. Grantaire, sitting on her other side, smiled at her and passed her a cup of wine.

"Gents," said Enjolras loudly, standing up. Everybody quieted and turned their faces to his commanding presence. "There is one more day before the storm; the time has finally come. It's time to show France what liberté, égalité, and fraternité means!"

Éponine watched him speak and was entranced. In the candlelight he blazed with an intensity she had seen in no other. Enjolras was a brilliant speaker; his words flowed effortlessly; his expressions contrasted perfectly with each other and added to the performance. The gestures he made had just the right amount of exaggeration and subtlety. Éponine felt as if she were witnessing a natural phenomenon.

"Amazing, isn't he?" She looked to the right and saw Grantaire nodding towards Enjolras, eyes full of veneration. "Everybody's enraptured."

"He's... he's like nothing I've ever seen before," said Éponine honestly.

Grantaire gave her a little grin. "You should see him preach about infidelity to the cause," he said.

Éponine could imagine it, looking up at the impassioned man and seeing his blue eyes flare with the light of hope and confidence. It was the light of revolution, and they were holding it in their palms, blowing gently at it and wishing with all their had that it wouldn't go out.


Later that night Enjolras was once again alone with Combeferre. The other Amis had left to go home, and Éponine and Azelma were sleeping in Enjolras' room upstairs.

Combeferre watched Enjolras scan his papers with a forehead wrinkled in concentration and anxiety. Knowing his friend, he was making sure there was not a single detail out of order.

"Enjolras."

The man glanced up at his name. "Oh, you're still here? It's late; you should start heading home."

"I just have a question."

Enjolras had gone back to staring at the pages in his hand. He waved for Combeferre to go on without looking up.

"I want to hear the truth."

"You'll get nothing but," Enjolras reassured, flicking through another pile.

"What is Éponine to you?"

Enjolras froze. He had decided it was better to go through this rebellion with Éponine instead of trying to avoid her, because it was just too difficult. He felt himself drawn to her, and sometimes when she was in the room he would gravitate towards her, and he had to stop himself before anyone else noticed. He had been pretty sure Combeferre noticed, but now he knew for sure.

"She'd a friend to me, and a good companion," Enjolras said, not wanting to lie to Combeferre but also not wanting to say something he would regret.

"You promised nothing but the truth," Combeferre pressed on, eyes fixed intently on Enjolras' still form.

"I may," began Enjolras, choosing his words carefully, "have developed a soft spot for her."

"And you're afraid this "soft spot" will be a distraction from the task at hand?" Combeferre inquired, gesturing to the pages and pages of arduous planning.

"No," said Enjolras, shaking his head. Now that he had admitted to having a "soft spot" he found himself willing to tell Combeferre about his peculiar relationship with Éponine. "I used to, but now I've decided it's even more distracting to keep myself away from her."

"And you're still sure there's nothing between you two?" Combeferre was doubtful. It seemed there was.

Enjolras gave Combeferre a calculating look. "Can I trust you not to say a word?"

Combeferre returned the look. "I'm insulted you'd even think I would."

"Then you can tell me whether there is something yourself," Enjolras said, and told him everything.

"It sounds," Combeferre said slowly after he had finished, "like you're in love with her."

Enjolras scoffed. "Don't be daft. When have I ever been in love? My only mistress is Patria."

"You told me to tell you what I thought," Combeferre shrugged. "That's what I think." He peered into his wine cup and saw that there was only a little left.

"I respect your opinion, Ferre, but you can be sure I am not in love with Éponine." Enjolras' tone clearly said there was nothing more to discuss about the matter.

Combeferre shrugged again, finishing his wife and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Then that's that, I suppose," he said, letting it go.

But he knew better.


The Amis grouped together in the same room the next morning, full of excitement. Grantaire was looking especially drunk, and Gavroche was performing an improvised ditty to his amused audience. Enjolras was the only person with a frown on his face, flipping through pages of sketches and notes with an expression of deep concentration. He ran both hands through his hair over and over so that the blonde curls stuck up in the air. His teeth dug deep into his lower lip.

Éponine couldn't help but watch him, smiling slightly at his obvious anxiousness. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he jolted before looking up at her with large blue eyes.

She snorted in a very unladylike way. "Someone looks stressed. Are you okay?"

"Great. Why wouldn't I be great? It's great." Enjolras turned back to his notes, raking his fingers through his hair.

Éponine raised her eyebrows. She hadn't expected him, always so calm and composed, to be so nervous just hours before the funeral. "You're clearly not. Do you need something to drink?" She reached for a bottle of wine, but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Her skin burned under his cool fingers.

"Are you insane? I can't drink, especially now. This is when it all starts. We have to get it right. This isn't a rally, it isn't a riot, it's a full-blown rebellion. This is war. We need to make it right, if I drink I can't-"

"Enjolras," she said, and he shut up. "Calm down. Having a fit isn't going to help you pull this off either."

He stared at her for a moment longer before taking a deep breath, nodding, cheeks colouring slightly. "Right. Yes. You're right." He set his papers down and held onto the table for dear life as he took a couple more calming breaths.

Éponine watched him until he looked up at her again. "You've worked so hard for this," she said. "You have worked out every possible outcome, you've calculated every possible route. You have nothing to fear."

He gazed at her before biting his lip again and letting go. "Of course. Nothing to fear," he echoed. He stopped gripping the table, but she could see his hands trembling.

She reached out and took his hand in hers, keeping it from shaking. "You're our leader, Enjolras. You're going to be at the head of our army, leading the charge, and you're going to be amazing."

Éponine grinned encouragingly at him, and his eyes held hers with an expression akin to wonder. She found she couldn't look away, caught in the blue depths.

And then he gave her a smile, where his lips curved crookedly and the corners of his eyes crinkled. His perfect white teeth peeked out from behind his lips as dimple formed around his mouth. She hadn't thought it was possible for him to look more handsome, but there he was, looking fucking glorious. Éponine's knees wobbled as she felt her belly do somersaults and she had to hold onto a chair to keep herself from sinking to the floor.


He approached her sometime around lunch, when it was just the two of them sitting around eating, Éponine occasionally going up to check on Azelma. Their other friends had left for a group lunch, and they'd been the only ones to decline (Enjolras insisted he wanted to go over the plans some more, and Éponine wanted to stay with Azelma).

"May I ask you a bit of a personal question?"

Éponine looked up, surprised, but smiled and nodded. "Of course. God knows I owe you, anyway."

"You don't owe me," Enjolras replied reflexively with his own tiny smile, "but I'll ask it anyway. What exactly did you do for your father?"

Éponine's face darkened, and she suddenly looked twenty years older. Enjolras immediately regretted approaching her at all, and opened his mouth to apologise, but she was already answering.

"Many things. Mostly helped out with minor gang robberies, if you're talking about jobs for my father in particular. In general though, besides the regular chores, Azelma and I made pretty good thieves and pickpockets. Sometimes we were sent to play up the "poor, starving, sick daughters" act to garner some pity change. The bourgeois think a bit of charity will clear their record of stepping all over us on a regular basis." Éponine scoffed in disgust. "Sometimes I was sent to the docks." Enjolras almost shuddered at the thought of her selling her body for several francs. "My father didn't trust us with the harder jobs. He didn't think we would be able to handle it."

"What kind of harder jobs?" Enjolras inquired, curiosity getting the better of him.

Éponine met his gaze with a bitter smile. Enjolras felt chills at the hollowness of her eyes. "Oh, you know. Torture. Murder. The men were rapists when they were in the mood, too."

Enjolras felt himself stiffen. "You shouldn't have had to live with people like that."

"Oh, I'm one of the many," Éponine smiled, a little condescendingly. "I'm lucky. I only spent three months in prison. I know a kid in my neighbourhood who spent three years and came back funny. Wouldn't leave his room or talk to anybody except himself. He died a few months ago. Sixteen."

Enjolras had to turn away from her so she wouldn't see the rage in his face. He wasn't one that desired death, but he had never wanted to kill anybody more in his life. He wanted to find whoever did this to these children and make them suffer.


When he wasn't brooding or giving speeches or scolding Grantaire, he had taken to smiling. Enjolras didn't know what to think of that, except that it felt good. He wasn't sure why he didn't do it more often. In fact, when Éponine smiled her beautiful smile at him (but virtually everything she did was beautiful, so Enjolras really shouldn't have been surprised), it felt only natural to smile back.

He really didn't mind having her around. But he wasn't about to let her go to the funeral with them.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked when he saw her standing up to go with the boys. Everybody turned as one to stare at her.

She looked around and straightened confidently. "I am going to stage a rebellion." Enjolras almost dropped the red flag he was holding.

"No," he and Joly said at the same time.

"No, you're not," Enjolras shook his head emphatically. His heart sped up. He wasn't about to let her get hurt a fourth time. He would lose his mind and he needed to be calm for the most important event in Les Amis history.

"Not with your ankle, wrist, and shoulder," Joly added.

Éponine looked affronted, and her dark eyes hardened. "I can handle myself perfectly, thanks for your concern," she spat.

"That doesn't mean you won't get hurt again," Enjolras pointed out. "Which is much more likely with your current injuries."

"Why are you going, then?" Éponine countered, pointing at the cut on Grantaire's forehead and Gavroche's black eye. "You were just off beating up the Patron Minette!"

"None of us broke a wrist or sprained anything," Enjolras said. Please just make this easy on us, he pleaded silently. He was having a hard enough time saying no to her.

"Azelma's not as badly injured as you and she's not going," said Joly, who Éponine glared at, expression betrayed.

"That's cos she's not an Amis!"

"The more important part is that she's not being an idiot and risking getting even more hurt than she already is," Enjolras snipped.

"You're taking a twelve year old with you!" Éponine finally cried, throwing her arms in the air.

The Amis looked at each other and then down at the smirking gamin.

"That twelve year old knocked out Claquesous," Courfeyrac said. "And he's more stubborn than you are."

Éponine stared at them all in disbelief. "Are all of you against me on this?"

"Absolutely," said Enjolras firmly. "Let's go. We have a funeral to attend." He flung open the door and marched out before he could run back and beg for forgiveness at the feet of the outraged gamine.


She was going whether they allowed it or not. She was Éponine Thenardier and disobeying the rules was in her blood. So is thievery, she thought to herself as she slipped a hand into Enjolras' drawer and took out a white shirt.

She saw Azelma looking at her curiously. "Don't you say a word," she warned her sister, who shrugged and lay back on the bed.

"I've never told anyone your secrets before. Why would I start now?" Azelma replied, crossing her arms.

"You're right," said Éponine, slipping her dress over her head with her healthy arm. "You wouldn't."

Ten minutes later she was dressed in part-bourgeois, part-gamin clothing: Enjolras' shirt, Courfeyrac's vest, Jehan's pants, and Gavroche's boots. She tied her hair in a bun and put her brother's hat over it. To finish the look she found a rag on the counter of the Musain and wrapped it around her neck, so that it looked like a loose-fitting tie.

"That's not bad," Azelma praised her. "Have you been taking lessons from 'Parnasse?"

The murder/thief/fraud was also a master of disguise. "No," answered Éponine with a smirk. "I'm just a natural." She gave her sister a salute as she left the room. "Wish my luck!"

"You'll need it!"


AN: Did you catch the Next To Normal reference? Also, do you guys like Azelma? I find myself liking her a lot. I've got an idea what her personality will be like, which you'll see more of later.