EPILOGUE

KaraTheTexan: *fistpump* References! I love that shit. And Aaron. So it works out well.
a-little-fall-of-pain: *emits a sound between one that a kettle makes or that a dying cat makes* THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU
Smiles1998: Indeed. Is 'great job' meant to be a question?
DramaRose13: Thank you very much :) I do ship one-sided E/R, but it wasn't really highlighted in the story so it was more "Grantaire really admires Enjolras" and less "Grantaire is hopelessly in love with Enjolras", but you can look at it from either point of view. If you want to see some of that crush going on, if I write another E/É I'd make the E/R more obvious.

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.


Enjolras didn't think was right that they had a funeral for him. If he had been there, he'd have snorted and said something caustic about funerals being a waste of time and money.

But he wasn't there, and that was the reason they stood around the hole in the ground shoveling dirt onto his body.

He looked drunk even in death.

Éponine was gradually soaking the shoulder of his red jacket (yes, he still had it) so he brought her to him and held her tight because he knew she liked it when her chin is fit into the crook of his neck just right.

Her sister wasn't crying because she was too busy trying to comfort Jehan, who was the one with tears running down his face. Azelma's jaw was taut as she held back her own sorrow to extinguish her husband's.

Musichetta was clutching onto Cosette and they were weeping together. The former had gotten to be friends with the drunk after the barricades, finding refuge in his detached view of the world after the loves of her life had passed away.

Marius was cradling the two-year-old Fantine in his arms. The child was sleeping and blissfully unaware of the grief around her. If he were there he woudl have made some sardonic comment on the rest of humanity being just as ignorant as the toddler.

And Enjolras? He glared at the grave as if it had insulted him. He didn't understand. How could he die, after all this time? How could he give up? He had been with them all the way through. He had saved his life, for God's sake! They'd been finally recovering from the barricade. Enjolras could talk about it without getting into one of his moods. Éponine could share stories about the trouble Courfeyrac and Gavroche got into. Musichetta could hear Joly or Bossuet's name without flinching.

They'd been getting better.

And now it seemed they were back to square one.


After Marius and Cosette had another daughter (named Gabrielle, for Marius' mother) and Azelma and Jehan, shortly after, had a son (named Gervais, after Courfeyrac), Enjolras kept seeing Éponine giving the infants longing looks.

"Do you... are you interested in having children?" Enjolras asked her tentatively while they were laying in each other's arms, early in the morning.

"Yes," Éponine had whispered in reply. "Yes."

"We can try," Enjolras said, as he kissed her on the forehead.

"No," said Éponine.

"But I thought..."

"I can't raise children."

"Of course you can," Enjolras said, smiling at her. "You were brilliant with Gavroche and Fantine adores you."

"I can't," repeated Éponine, her lower lip trembling.

Enjolras stared at her in confusion for a second before it hit him. She was scared. She'd seen exactly what bad parenting looked like, and she was afraid she'd take after the people that had raised her. "Ponine, you're nothing like your parents," he told her firmly.

"I'm more alike them than you think," she replied bitterly. "Apollo, I have no idea how to raise a child properly. I'm bad at taking care of things, including myself. I want to give him a normal life where he can feel safe- how do I do that if I don't even know what that means? Why the fuck would you choose me to raise a kid?"

"Because you can do it," Enjolras said, sitting up and laying his hands on her shoulders, "You have a mother's instinct and you know exactly what can go wrong, meaning you can prevent it before it happens. There's no right way of raising a child, but you have all the right intentions and I know you can carry them out, and that's what counts. And we'd make the most beautiful children, Ponine. Can you imagine? Your eyes and your hair?"

Éponine laughed. "I'd want them to have your eyes."

"Blue eyes are overrated. I like yours better," he said, grinning because he could never resist it when she was smiling, too, and looking so beautiful and alive.


He didn't go to her funeral.

He didn't think he could take the guilt if he did. Because it's his fault she's dead. He had gotten her pregnant, and she hadn't made it through childbirth, taking their son with her. He'd killed her- indirectly, but it was still his fault.

Marius didn't think so, neither did Cosette or Jehan or any of the others but he knew they were just in denial.

He still went home expecting her to bound out of their room and bowl him over in a kiss, bringing them both to the ground.

He still woke up thinking she'll be beside him, grumbling in her sleep about him opening the curtains and letting the sunshine in.

He still walked into the Musain looking for her behind the counter chatting with Musichetta.

He felt her beside him, all the time, but when he looked she was never there.

And she won't ever be, not anymore.


He sees her. He sees all of them. They are smiling at him, and he wants to cry from the joy that wells up in his heart at the happiness in their faces.

He's missed them. He's missed her, especially. He hasn't seen her in seven years, and that's already as bad as the fourteen he hasn't seen the rest of them.

He hasn't stopped thinking of them. Not a single one. Not Combeferre, not Courfeyrac, not Bahorel, not Feuilly, not Joly, not Bossuet, not Gavroche, not Grantaire, and certainly not Éponine. It's because he still loves them. He loves all of them, even Grantaire, the idiot that didn't die on the barricade but by drinking himself to death five years after. It's the reason he doesn't mind when the bullet enters his body the second he steps out the door. In fact, he welcomes it. He's a little guilty about leaving the others behind, but he knows they'll understand.

The last thing his killer saw was his peaceful smile and his arms outstretched, as if embracing another.

"Nice of you to join the party," Bahorel says sarcastically.

"Took you long enough," Grantaire jokes.

"Can you believe we don't get sick anymore?" Joly is grinning wildly.

"Bossuet's luck is still the same, though," Feuilly says, patting the bald man on the shoulder.

"Ferre's been winning way too many chess matches without you here," Courfeyrac complains.

He feels warmth flood his body and he finally smiles, for real, for the first time in seven years.

Suddenly she is there, touching his hand with her own. She is exactly as he remembers, with the flowing dark hair, warm golden brown eyes, and soft, soft skin.

"Enjolras," she whispers, but it's clear as day and the husky timbre of her voice is so achingly familiar he shivers.

"Éponine," he breathes in reply, grabbing her hand tight, entwining her fingers.

"Welcome to the tomorrow that never came," she says with the grin on her face he's missed ever since she'd left them. "Here we live again."

And then he kisses her and touches the curve of her jaw and the satin of her hair and the silk of her lip. It's been so long, but now they have longer.

"We'll live forever."


AN: Aaaand that's a wrap!

Thank you all so much for reading my little story! Thanks especially to all of you that followed, favourited, and reviewed, truly, from the bottom of my heart because I could not have finished it without the support of you guys.

I'm writing a modern AU of E/É with one-sided E/R, but that won't be up for a while and I don't even know if I will put it up. I'll see how good or bad it is. Either way, I hope to be writing more in the future, whether it's oneshots or chapter fics!

Any reviews that are put in from this point will be responded to via PM, so don't worry, I'll still reply to you!

Thank you again for reading. I didn't anticipate this many people to like it, so thanks for telling me because otherwise I would have perpetually been like "omfg I have failed them all" and would probably have not continued it.

I love you all.