I do not own Les Misérables.
So, you know how I messed with history two chapters ago? Well, now I'm messing with geography. England in my story is further away from France than in real life, and the journey by ship between the two countries takes about a week . Sorry about that.
The days pass, and Eponine and Marius grow steadily stronger. It isn't long before Cosette is helping Marius to walk through the garden with her arm braced against his back, and although each step takes phenomenal effort, he can't help but smile. Cosette has grown into her nickname, Lark, once again; she sings to herself in a sweet soprano as she cooks and cleans and mothers them all.
Eponine stays indoors. She's dropped all the weight she gained under Cosette's care, and she's swimming inside her borrowed gowns. She favors the seat underneath the window in her room; she sits and stares out at the sun-soaked yard and worries at the cuff of her dress with shaking fingers. Enjolras reads out loud to her, hour after hour, to keep the ghosts at bay.
…
It's weeks before Eponine unintentionally smiles at something Cosette says. That same day, Marius makes the trip around the garden without Cosette's help.
That night at the dinner table, Monsieur Fauchelevent clears his throat and brings up the topic of England.
"Wanted men cannot stay here under the police's noses," he says. Cosette misses the significant look the three men share, but Eponine doesn't.
They decide unanimously and without discussion. It's time to leave France.
…
"So what was that all about?" Eponine looks somewhere off at the floor as she speaks. Enjolras stands in her doorway, pale and colorless as a wax doll.
"What was what all about?"
"You and Marius and Monsieur Fauchelevent were acting like there's some big secret."
He sighs, and tells her everything. Her face goes perfectly blank, an indication of shock.
"He wanted to go to England alone after Cosette's wedding. But then the two of us came along and complicated matters…I can't stay here, because of the police and everything, and you can't stay here, because of Patron-Minette. So Marius and I managed to talk him out of going." Enjolras paces as he explains.
"Good. It would be cruel to separate him from Cosette. He adores her."
"And she him." He pauses. "So…England."
"England." She tastes the word.
"We'll get you your own clothes there," he promises. Her tiny form is lost in the dresses meant for someone ten centimeters taller. But they can't risk a trip outside—his visit to the bank to withdraw his considerable funds was terrifying enough—, and he knows instinctively that she would refuse to leave the house anyway. "Do you speak English?"
She shrugs, half-embarrassed. "A little. I learned when I was a child, and afterwards I tried to remember…"
"I can teach you."
He does his best in the following days. Their ship sails before the week is out.
…
On the first day, Cosette stays below deck and is violently seasick, but Enjolras can't drag Eponine down into the cabins. Wind nipping at their hair and clothes, the two of them stand at the bow and stare at the horizon and feel a huge weight being inexplicably lifted off their shoulders. He stands behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist and his lips in her hair; the older passengers watch them and their seeming harmony, and smile.
Starting on the second day, the two couples spend every possible minute out in the fresh air. Cosette experiments with Eponine's hair and chatters on about fashion and flowers and wedding plans; she gets both men to laugh, and Eponine to blush, with stories about Eponine's antics as a child. Marius recounts everything he's read about their destination, and Enjolras brings up heavy English books and has Eponine read out loud. Endlessly patient, he translates, explains grammar, and helps her with her pronunciation.
Slowly but surely, the bruise-like shadows under Enjolras' eyes fade, and he stops listening for phantom footsteps or feeling ghostly hands on his shoulder. Unable to further burden Eponine, he turned to Cosette one evening back in Paris, and she held him while he sobbed out his rage and guilt before reassuring him that it wasn't his fault, he'd done everything he could, he hadn't led his friends to their deaths, he had made a difference. Her words finally start to take effect—an effect strengthened by the quiet reassurance of Eponine's hand in his.
"He died a hero's death," she says of Gavroche one day, and he's finally on the path to recovery.
Eponine loses her post-miscarriage pallor. Marius gains back the weight he lost during his convalescence. Cosette is lovelier than ever and practically aglow with love.
…
Jean Valjean stands at the stern, staring at the unbroken horizon line where France used to be and imagining himself back to the hospital in Montreil-sur-Mer. Seeing his daughter find love only reminds him of the romance that was crushed before it could begin. To distract himself from the still-present guilt and pain of Fantine's death, he imagines how happy she would be to see her daughter grown up and beautiful and ecstatically in love. How proud she would be of Cosette.
He wonders what she would make of Eponine. He didn't know her long enough to be sure whether she would be as forgiving as her daughter, but he cannot imagine someone so deeply defined by maternal love hating someone as fragile and haunted as his daughter's one friend.
He can almost feel her fragile little hand in his aged one.
…
It takes them a while to find the three small townhouses, but when they do, they all know at once that they've come home. Cosette will stay with her father at the small on the left until the wedding, when she will move in with Marius next door. Eponine and Enjolras take the beautiful white cottage on the right, and no one comments on the impropriety.
…
They spend another few days at their hotel while they furnish and ready the houses. Eponine hums to herself as she hangs up curtains and scrubs floors, and Enjolras drags the practical furniture into neat arrangements. Cosette and Eponine make arrangements to visit a dressmaker.
Seated in the bedroom, Eponine brushes through her hair meticulously that night. She's obsessive about this ritual—she's trying to clear out the blood and smoke and sewer water that cling to her soul, even though she scrubbed them off her body long ago.
She waits for Enjolras, but he doesn't come. Finally, she gives up and wanders into the living room, looking for him, clearing her throat loudly when she finds him lying on the sofa.
"What are you doing?" She cocks an eyebrow, and he starts because of how many times he's seen that expression on Gavroche's face.
"I won't share a bed with you until we're married," he explains calmly, standing up.
"You didn't have these qualms before…"
"…Before the barricades, when I didn't know if I would survive the week."
She only shrugs and slips casually out of her nightdress. Being as sensual as possible, she runs her hands over her own body.
He looks away deliberately.
Undeterred, she kisses the base of his neck and tangles her fingers into his hair, pressing her body against his.
"Well, I tried," he mutters, and she grins viciously in triumph.
…
She wakes up to find herself using Enjolras' head as a pillow. He's awake, and his fingers trail up and down her spine with a feather-light touch. She stirs against him, and he smiles, leaning towards her.
Their kiss is interrupted by a brisk knocking on their front door.
"Cosette," Eponine mutters.
He laughs. "Better not keep her waiting. She's a force to be reckoned with."
…
She also has very good taste in clothes. Eponine, who has no experience whatsoever in picking out fabric or designs, finds herself very glad of her friend's expert opinion once the dressmaker has taken her diminutive measurements.
"Cosette," she says suddenly, while Cosette inspects a length of pretty emerald velvet, "Why do you not hate me?"
Cosette seems genuinely surprised. "Why on earth would I hate…oh." Her eyes widen. "Oh, Eponine, of course I forgave you for that long ago. It wasn't your fault. How could you have known any other way?"
"I was vicious."
"Many children are. It doesn't matter. I'm just glad to see you happy with Julien. Marius can be a bit dense sometimes, as much as I love him."
Eponine winces. "So you noticed too? That I followed him around like a lovesick puppy?" A few months ago she would have been utterly unable to imagine having this conversation, but now it feels natural, even good.
"I think everyone did," Cosette says gently. She turns back to the fabrics, running her slim white hand over some airy blue material. "This is nice," she murmurs, distracted.
Eponine has one thing left to say. "Thank you."
"Whatever for?"
"For everything." She clears her throat. "I've never really had a friend before."
Cosette smiles. "Neither have I."
…
October is a good month for a wedding, Eponine decides.
And it is. Cold, but good. The dirty and crowded seem like a fairy city to her as she steps into the church in the white satin gown Cosette chose for her. Deceptively simple at first glance, it sports delicate lace at the sleeves and intricate embroidery at the neckline. It's beautiful. She's beautiful.
There are six people in the little chapel: the priest; Jean Valjean, old and gray and smiling; and a beaming Cosette, with her hands twined around Marius'—a sight that fills her with joy instead of sharp slashes of agony.
She dances in the warm marble arms of her husband in the golden glow of a dozen candelabras.
Yay, a slightly uplifting chapter! Hope you all enjoyed it! The next one will probably be the last, but I'm not sure yet.
Please review!