Courfeyrac was the first into the motel room. He yanked the curtains shut and flopped himself down on one of the beds. "Dibs," he called out, making sure everyone knew the spot was his.

Enjolras put his backpack down on the other bed. "You'll be the first person the police grab if they find us here."

"Aw, don't be sour just cause I'm next to the air conditioning. We can always share, you know."

"You snore."

"And drool," Eponine added, putting her stuff next to Enjolras'. Jehan came in, sorely disappointed by the arrangements. There was a large wet mark on his shoulder where Courfeyrac had fallen asleep earlier. He sat down next him again despite it.

Combeferre had the most luggage, so he came in last. No one missed the cursory glance he gave to Eponine before taking his things to an overstuffed chair in the corner. She might have moved, but she was too tired and grumpy from the day's perils. Screw generosity. Tomorrow they would all be dead anyway. If tonight was her last, she wanted to spend it in a bed. Besides they all owed her favors, even if she didn't want to admit it out loud.

"I'm going to take a shower," Enjolras announced.

Eponine didn't see the point in getting cleaned up to be murdered in only a few short hours. Sure, she had dolled herself up for both suicide attempts, but only after using the bathroom and making certain she would be found within a reasonable amount of time first. This time would be bloody and dirty, and martyrly. She'd probably end up wetting herself, and her corpse wouldn't be scraped off the cement for days. Taking a shower now wouldn't do the morticians any good, but she didn't tell Enjolras all of this. He wouldn't want to hear it.

Courfeyrac cranked the air before falling asleep. It was fine and dandy for him, he had Jehan to spoon with and keep himself warm, but Combeferre was blanketless and Eponine suspected she had the start of a fever. She pulled the comforter off and tossed it to him to make up for taking his spot on the bed. Then she wrapped herself in Enjolras' discarded red pullover. The water in the bathroom shut off, so she pulled the sheets up to her chin and feigned sleep so that he wouldn't get upset about her wearing his most prized possession. The fuzzy brown thing he lent her was outside in the car, not a place she was willing to venture to.

He crawled in beside her without a word, turning the lights off as he did. It was some time before he stopped shifting around and found a spot the could be deemed, in the most liberal sense, comfortable; the bed was the best one could rent at forty dollars a night. Then he started whispering. To himself, she assumed, as the things he said were incoherent and came in short outbursts. She peeked at him, his arms were outstretched above his head, his fingers steepled like a businessman's.

"Enjolras," she hissed. Maybe he was having a religious moment or a seizure. He dropped his arms to his stomach.

"Sorry. I didn't think you were awake."

"I am too," Combeferre stage whispered.

Enjolras sat up a little to whisper an apology to his friend in the corner as well. His chest was bare, she noticed with and unreasonable feeling of shock, when the sheet slid down his body. She completely desensitized to anything that had to do with the human male form, but somehow this was different. He was Enjolras for god's sake! People like him were never without a wristwatch and a smart pair of shoes. Him being without a shirt was completely inconceivable. He was practically naked! Wait-

"You're wearing pants, right?"

He gave her a look as he lay back down. "Course I'm wearing pants." She waited a while before reaching out to touch him with her foot. It brushed against his bare ankle, a hem nowhere in sight. She quickly apologized before reaching out with her hand. Maybe they were bunched up a bit? She meant to lightly touch the fabric on his legs, but instead brushed against something distinctly butt-like. "That would be my ass." She drew her hand back as if he'd burned her and balled in into a fist. No one ever touched Enjolras' butt. She was pretty she even HE never had.

"Sorry..." The following silence was heavy and awkward. She needed to say something. "How much does it cost per touch? I didn't mean to steal the merchandise."

"No charge. Just don't do it again."

"You'll never be able to support yourself on that! Even common whores such as yourself have bills to pay."

"Fine. A million dollars."

She couldn't believe he was playing along. The stress of tomorrow must really be taking a toll on him."What?! In this economy?"

"I'm worth it. Go big or go home."

She started to giggle at him which in turn made him giggle. Combeferre's pillow hit them. "If you two think you're going to be acting like little girls all night-" Eponine threw the pillow back at him.

"Only little girls start pillow fights."

Enjolras pulled on the blanket to get her attention. "Seriously. No more talking."

"You're the one who was talking to himself in the first place."

"I was just going over tomorrow's plans. I'm done. Now, go to sleep."

She closed her eyes, but focused on Courfeyrac's snoring instead of trying to sleep. Mostly, she was afraid that she would have the nightmares again. It was hard to will herself into a realm where every second was fear and pain.

Around two in the morning she started to drift off, only to be kicked awake by Enjolras. She kicked him back but he didn't retaliate. The bed started to shake a little. She turned over to ask him to knock it off, only to see him twitching like a dog having a dream about chasing cars. His face was scrunched up like someone had stabbed him in the stomach. For a fleeting moment, she considered letting him suffer through his nightmare like he had done to her the night before, but then thought better of it. Slowly, so as not to startle him, she ran her fingers down the back of his arm, and then shook his shoulder a little. It was too much. He began to whimper like an injured dog. She tried whispering his name instead, and ran a finger down his spine. If any of the boys woke up and saw this, they might get scared or start to question his faith in tomorrow's revolution. He stopped shaking and rocked a little instead. The line transformed into the deck of a ship. Below, she traced swirling waves and clouds across the spasming muscles in his back. The muttering and rocking stopped. She continued drawing, a sun on his shoulder with uneven rays radiating out towards the sea.

"Stop."

Then an 'M' for a seagull in the sky. She dropped her hand and tucked in under her cheek.

"What were you doing?"

"Guess." When he didn't, she wrote the word boat between his shoulder blades. "I used to play draw pictures on 'Zelma's back when she had nightmares and couldn't sleep." She listened to him breath for a few minutes. "What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't know."

"Was it about tomorrow?"

"I don't remember." He was whispering even quieter than she was. Maybe he knew it was best not to trouble the boys too. He rolled onto his back and mopped his forehead with the back of his hand. His too-long hair stuck to his hot face. "Stay here tomorrow. We can come back for you when this is all over. It wasn't fair of me to ask you to come. I know you don't want to be here."

She was quiet a moment. Where was this coming from? "You don't know anything. Besides, if I wait for you lot to come back, I could be waiting my whole life."

"It's going to be dangerous. You could get hurt. Or die."

"I'm aware."

"I can't ask you to risk yourself for something you don't believe in."

"Are you scared about tomorrow?"

"No. Are you?" She could tell he was lying.

"No. Do you think it will work?"

"It has to."

"And if it doesn't?"

"I'll be dead. We all will be." He pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes and sighed.

She let his conclusion hang in the air for a while. Her own life was of no consequence. She didn't want to die, but she didn't want to live either. Enjolras was important. He was a guiding light. He had a certain spark that couldn't help but inspire even the most downtrodden. The boy was alive in ways most people never are. She was a moth to his torch of purpose. Just being near him made her feel comfortable, even when he was scared like he was now. Everything Grantaire had explained to her one drunken night months ago was finally making sense. He couldn't die. It was impossible to imagine him as anything other than living.

"You'll win. You'll be great. Who wouldn't want to be great?"

"I hope you're right. Either way, you should stay here tomorrow."

"I don't care about dying, Enjolras."

"I do."

"You can't tell me what to do."

"You've proven that time and again."

"If I have to, I'll take a bullet for you tomorrow. You'll be fine. I won't let anything happen to you. Okay?" She meant for her words to be comforting, but even before she saw his face, she knew that they angered him.

He rolled to his side so that he could chastise her properly. Their knees knocked together, but neither repositioned themselves. "Stop it. You're an idiot."

"You've proven that to me time and again."

"No. Eponine, you don't owe me anything. You're not going to get shot for my sake. Don't try to be a hero, I don't want it. If things get bad, you can leave. You don't even have to come."

"I thought you appreciated loyalty. You'd take a bullet for any one of them," she gestured to the boys sleeping in the bed next to them, "right?"

"Yes, but-"

"And I would do the same for you." Her voice was beginning to raise. Why was her saving him such an issue? Where were these double standards coming from?

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm not. They need you. I'm not important. If it comes down to it, I'd sacrifice myself so that you could live. I'm not afraid."

"I know you aren't." his fingers brushed the scars on her shoulder so briefly, she thought she might have imagined it. "Just don't."

"What are you so scared of?"

He rolled back over to face the ceiling. "Don't you feel it?"

"The impending doom?"

"Yeah."

"Everyone can. Is that what your dream was about?"

"I sliced your throat." Eponine ran her fingers over the lingering bruise on her neck. Phantom trails of blood wound their way down to her collarbone, tickling her. "I carved up Courf, and then I lit Combeferre on fire. It's stupid, but I feel like it's a warning."

She looked at the sleeping boys. "Have you told anyone else?"

"Of course not," he scoffed. "It's stupid. It's just the stress."

"When you were drunk that one night-"

"I wasn't drunk."

"When you were drugged, you told me you thought that we were going to lose the fight."

"I also told you that you should marry Uncle Sam so that we could be in-laws. I was drugged."

"You remember saying that?"

"I remember scrubbing it off my arm for a week."

"Do you remember what happened when Caesar ignored dreams and premonitions?"

"I thought you believed we were going to all win and live."

"I thought you couldn't remember your nightmare."

"We can't just turn back because I've got a bad feeling."

"We can do whatever we want. That's the point of the fight, isn't it? Freedom?"

"Innocent people are dying for the government's agenda. That's what it's about." He had the flame of revolution in his eyes again. Gone was the loose conversation of a three am discussion. "If you come tomorrow, you can't do what you're planning on doing."

"What's that?"

"You can't die. I know you're not actually loyal. You think this is a suicide mission. It doesn't have to be, okay? Promise me you're not going to take the easy way out. When tomorrow's over, you come back to me. Swear it."

"You too." She felt about under the covers for his hand, and wrapped her pinky around his. If he squeezed back, it was imperceptible. He rolled over again so that his back was to her, confident in her promise. It took about an hour before Eponine was certain he was asleep, but eventually his breathing slowed to that of a dreamer's. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she wrote a long and winding apology across his ribs. When she felt finished, she kept close to him, palm pressed on his back above his slowly beating heart. For a moment, she caught herself wishing he were Marius instead. She pushed the thought away with such vehemence it surprised her. Marius had forsaken her; this is what she had left. A boy with as much fire in his soul as on his tongue. He was pushy and terrible, but he was also genuine and kind. He wasn't her best friend, or even a particularly good one, but tomorrow they would be loyal to each other, and it would only be until death that they would part.