A/N: Hello, friends! Thank you SO MUCH for your patience as I try to get on a regular update schedule! These next few weeks will be hectic for me; I've got a really important band trip this weekend, and it's almost crunch time for finals. (Eeeeeek!)

Anyway, here's chapter 4! I apologize for the ridiculous length, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. (Also, a HUGE shout-out goes out to OpheliaTheActress; I couldn't have finished this without you! :) ) You all know the drill!

Finally, Thursday night arrived.

Enjolras straightened his tie as the pasta sauce finished simmering on the stove. He was about to leave to pick up Éponine for dinner, and he wasn't sure why he was so nervous. He hadn't been able to get his mind off of the way she had so quickly kissed his cheek three days ago, and then acted like it was completely normal. Father never mentioned that women could be so confusing, he thought as he walked out to his car.

The whole drive to West 10th, he caught himself wondering what she would look like tonight. The dress she had worn on their first date had been absolutely lovely…what would it be tonight? He shook the thoughts out of his head as he climbed the stairs to her door, knocking three times. "Come in; it's open!" he heard her holler. Enjolras chuckled a little, shaking his head, and opened the door.

Her apartment was small, but clearly clean and well kept. He had stepped into a small sitting room with a couch and recliner; the kitchen was right behind it. A small hall was in front of him that he presumed led to her bedroom, judging by the ray of light that flooded through the open door and onto the floor. "Éponine?" he called out, shutting the door behind him.

"I'm in the back; come on through!" she yelled again. With another laugh, he proceeded tentatively down the hall.

When he reached the threshold of her room, he couldn't believe his eyes.

She was leaning towards the mirror on her dresser, putting in her earrings, but the deep-red dress hugging her body was what caught his attention. His heart nearly stopped when he noticed the open back and neck. Her long, dark hair was up in a bun, with a couple of small curls framing her face. When she turned to look at him, he noticed that her eyes were gently lined with makeup, and her cheeks lightly covered with blush. "Hello," she said, smiling breathlessly.

For the first time in a long time, Enjolras was at a complete loss for words. She was breathtaking, a very picture of beauty. "Hello," he finally managed to whisper. "You look…incredible."

She chuckled nervously, smoothing the front of the dress and looking down at the floor. "Well, you did tell me to be togged to the bricks," she teased. "But thank you."

He laughed a little. "It's perfect, Éponine. Even in my favorite shade of my favorite color."

She grinned. "Pure luck, I suppose."

"Yeah…" he murmured. "That must've been it." He couldn't believe how distracted he still was by her – the dress, the hair, the makeup, everything…she was the most beautiful woman he'd seen in a long time. "Ready to go?"

She nodded, picking up a sheer red shawl that was lying across her bed and draping it over her shoulders. "If you are," she grinned.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he chuckled, ushering her in as he re-locked the door and shut it behind them. "Make yourself at home."

His apartment was mostly bare, but clean. There was a sofa in the living room with a reading lamp, and a coffee table in front of it. In the back corner was a Steinway and Sons grand piano, the lid open on the tallest peg, several books and even more separate pages of music spread out on it. Tall bookshelves lined the rest of the walls. The hallway to the bedroom was on Éponine's right, the kitchen to her left. The susurrus of wind outside soothed her as she looked around.

"You have a really nice place," she said, smiling.

"It's not much, but it's home," he smiled. "Dinner's on the stove."

"Perfect," she said as they walked into the kitchen. Enjolras seated her at the table, before getting both their plates and serving spaghetti and meatballs.

"I have another extra treat," he grinned, going to a locked cabinet under his kitchen sink. He reappeared a few moments later with a bottle of red wine, grinning from ear to ear.

"You sneaky bastard!" Éponine laughed. "How'd you manage to get your hands on that?"

"I have friends in high places," Enjolras grinned, pouring two small glasses and handing one to Éponine. "So how was your day?" he asked as they sat down to eat.

She laughed again. "Long and difficult! I had to get up early this morning to finish cleaning my apartment, and Mac's been calling me in to work daytime shifts most of the week, since he let me have tonight night off for the ballet," she grinned.

He grinned back. "I'm so glad he did. You're going to love it. My father will be meeting us there."

"Sounds perfect," she said. They paused for a while, eating and enjoying the other's presence, before Éponine spoke again. "You know…I really don't mean to pry, Enjolras, but you mention your father all the time…what about your mother?"

Enjolras looked away, setting his fork down. "I was actually just talking with my father about her earlier this week. She committed suicide when I was four," he said. "She got some sort of melancholia after I was born that never went away."

Her face immediately transformed into shock and sympathy, one hand covering her mouth. "Oh, my God…I'm so sorry, I didn't mean – "

"No, it's alright," he assured her, putting his hand on hers on the table, and she uncomfortably relaxed. "I'm okay to talk about it; just don't mention her around my father. Ever since she died…he's just been an angry man. I don't know what it was about my mother's death that changed him, but he's been festering for the last 26 years."

She put her other hand on top of his, as if in sympathy. "What was her name?" she asked softly.

He smiled. "Maëlys."

"That's beautiful," Éponine said, smiling a little. "I know how it is to lose your mother…mine got a fever after she had my little brother. I was only about 9 or 10 when she died. We didn't have the money for a doctor."

Enjolras' face adopted the same sympathetic look that hers had moments before, and he reached out to her free hand with his. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

She shrugged, a sad smile on her face. "What can you do?"

He pondered for a moment before he answered. "Remember fondly, and live to make them proud," he said, smiling gently and running his thumb back and forth over her hand. "What was your mother's name?"

She smiled. "Coralie."

"Beautiful," Enjolras murmured as he picked up his fork again. "She certainly named her daughter well," he grinned. "Where's she come up with Éponine? It's lovely."

She blushed heavily, and was thankful that the lighting in his apartment wasn't too bright. "If I remember correctly, my name comes from the ancient Gaul Epponina. She was the wife of a man named Julius Sabinus, who rebelled against the Roman Empire. She protected her husband from the Romans for years, and chose to die with him when he was finally captured. My mother was quite the history lover."

Enjolras' eyebrows went up. "Wow…prime example of true love."

"Something you don't find a lot these days," she said quietly, taking a small sip of her wine. "At least…it's not something I've found yet."

He smiled gently as he set down his wine glass, taking her hand again. "You'll find it someday, Éponine," he murmured. "I know you will."

She smiled back, gently weaving her fingers through his. His big hand was gentle, warm and calloused against hers. "It's nice to know someone still has faith in me," she murmured.

Enjolras brought her hand to his lips, making her blush one more time. He grinned again, proud of himself, before he checked his pocketwatch. "The ballet starts at 7:30, and it's almost 6:30. We should go if we want to meet my father and get good seats."

Éponine was in awe from the moment they pulled up at Carnegie Hall.

The building's façade was huge and imposing, and she couldn't help but feel caught up in her surroundings as she watched the dozens of men in suits and women in long dresses going into the hall, laughing and chatting casually to each other.

How did I end up here when I'm just a speakeasy bartender?

"Alright," Enjolras said as he got out of the car, adjusting his jacket. His voice jerked her out of her reverie, and she turned to look at him. "My father has said he'll meet us right by the house doors. Ready?"

She nodded, smiling stiffly. "Sure."

"Don't worry, Éponine," he said gently, offering her an arm. "You look absolutely stunning, and you have nothing to worry about, anyway. Everything's going to be fine." She took his arm, still blushing and they joined the file of people flowing into the hall.

Enjolras quickly spotted his father, standing by the door to the theatre in a suit almost identical to his. He waved with the arm that wasn't escorting Éponine to catch the man's attention, and he responded with a nod, closing the gap between them.

"Hello, Richard," he said stiffly.

"Hello, Father," Enjolras answered in almost the same stiff tone. "Éponine, this is my father, Richard Enjolras, Sr." he said, gesturing to the broad man in front of them.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," she said softly with a slight curtsey.

"Father, this is Éponine," he said, mimicking the gesture to her.

She made eye contact with him again, and immediately regretted it. She could feel his cold eyes judging her, trying to make her feel like she wasn't good enough for his son. However, she held it until he turned around and walked away into the house.

Enjolras sighed in mild frustration, and Éponine looked at him in worry. "Don't fret; it's not you," he said. "Like I told you at the apartment, he has an engrained dislike of all women since my mother died. Come on, let's catch up to him and get our seats. We want to be ready when the ballet starts."

Éponine skimmed the program as she and Enjolras sat down next to his father; she was suddenly thankful that he was in between the two of them. The background chatter washed over her as she read through the long list of names – characters, dancers, members of the orchestra, they went on for pages. "So, what's the ballet about?" she leaned over and murmured to Enjolras.

"It's based on an old Russian folk tale," he explained. "The story centers around the hero, Prince Ivan," he said, pointing to the name in the program. "He sees the Firebird in the garden of Kashchei the Immortal and captures her. She begs Ivan for her life and agrees to help him get to Kashchei in exchange for her freedom."

"The Firebird's a she?" Éponine asked in surprise.

Enjolras chuckled. "Yes, she is. Anyway, Prince Ivan sees 13 princesses in the garden of Kashchei the next day, and falls in love with one of them. Ivan asks Kashchei for her hand, and they argue. Kashchei starts sending magical creatures after Ivan, but the Firebird bewitches them into a dance before putting them to sleep with a lullaby. However, when Kashchei awakes, the Firebird enchants him into another dance. She then gives Ivan the secret of his immortality."

"Which is?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"His soul is contained inside a giant egg," Enjolras grinned. "Prince Ivan destroys the egg, which kills Kashchei and lifts all of his dark enchantments. All of the 'real' beings awake, and celebrate Ivan's victory with him and the Princess he loves."

"Sounds like it's going to be incredible," she grinned.

"It will be," he grinned back. "This is my fourth time to see it, and the first three times always kept me completely captivated."

The house lights started to go down, and gradually the chatter ceased. The maestro, whom Enjolras murmured in Éponine's ear as he entered was Arturo Toscanini himself, bowed to the audience's polite applause before descending to the orchestra pit.

The music started, the curtain went up, and the ballet began.

Éponine's jaw dropped at the elaborate sets and costumes, and the beautiful dancing on stage. Everything flowed perfectly with the gorgeous music, and Enjolras even pointed out the characters as they appeared, to help her keep them straight. More than once, a sudden sforzando in the orchestra would catch her by surprise, and she'd instinctively grab his hand. When she realized what she'd done, she'd quickly return her attention to the stage, hoping he didn't notice her blush.

Enjolras could hardly pay attention to the ballet. He so loved watching her take it all in, a little at a time. He pointed out the characters he'd mentioned to her in the story, and smiled gently whenever she grabbed his hand in surprise. She was constantly alert; even when the music calmed down, the dancing kept her captivated. The awe and wonder in her eyes was one of the more fulfilling things he'd seen in his life.

By the finale, she was completely drawn in; he thought her eyes were going to pop right out of their sockets. The last two minutes of triumphant brass fanfares soared through the hall as Prince Ivan and his Princess ascended the steps to the top of the set, and when the last chord rang, the audience erupted in loud applause. Éponine was on her feet with the rest of them, clapping with an enthusiasm he'd never seen in her before.

"So what did you think?" He grinned as the lights came back up and they picked up their belongings. "Did it live up to your expectations?"

"It surpassed them by so much!" she laughed. "That was absolutely incredible. I see why you love it so much, Enjolras."

From behind him, he heard his father's quiet, derisive snort. "Such a simple-minded, dingy little girl," he muttered under his breath as he shrugged on his overcoat.

His son bristled at the comment, but chose to ignore him. Don't give him any ammunition, Richard. "I'm glad you enjoyed it so much, Éponine," he smiled. "I'd hoped you would."

She grinned again. "If you gents will excuse me, I've got to make a detour to the ladies room," she said. "I'll be right back."

"Alright, we'll wait for you right here," Enjolras called before his father could say anything else. He smiled as she left, before his father grabbed him by the arm to get his attention.

"Enough, Richard."

"Enough what, Father?"

"When do you draw the line between prosecuting the poor and dressing them up for the ballet, son?" he snapped. "Where does it end?"

"Not with her," Enjolras snarled, jerking his arm free of his father's iron grip. "Éponine is not one of the low-life poor you prosecute in court, Father. The fact that she works in a speakeasy is not an imminent representation of her character. She is a good person, and I won't hear otherwise."

The older Enjolras snorted again. "I've raised a fool. One minute, you have this girl dressed up for the ballet, but just you wait, son. Once you turn your back, she'll turn into a grifter. A moll."

"Well, maybe I won't turn my back at all, then," he answered coldly as Éponine reappeared. "Ready to go?" he asked kindly. She nodded with a smile, smoothing out the front of her dress again. "Good; I'll take you home. I'll see you tomorrow, Father," he said stiffly, before giving Éponine his arm again to leave the theatre.

She spoke again once they were in his car. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" he murmured. "I'm fine. It's just my father…" he sighed in frustration again as he started to drive back to Éponine's apartment. "He thinks that if he can't have someone to love, then I can't, either. I don't want to sound like a petulant child, but it's completely unfair."

"No, you're completely right," she said. "I was always told as a little girl that everyone finds love in their own time. Maybe some people won't be able to hold onto it as long, but he should at least let you have the chance to go out and find it." She paused. "And when you find it, Enjolras, your father should approve of your choices."

At her words, small smile crossed his face as he turned towards West 10th. "Thank you, Éponine. I'm glad you're on my side."

He was almost regretful when he pulled up by her building and walked up the metal steps with her to the front door. It had been a perfect evening, and he wasn't ready for it to end. This was his least favorite part of every time he'd seen her – somehow, he always ended up walking her home, and he hated watching that door close behind her.

"Thank you for bringing me with you tonight, Enjolras," she said, still smiling. "And I hope you can smooth things over with your father."

He snorted a little. "Well, that one's doubtful, but I'm glad you came," he smiled. "I wouldn't have wanted to share that performance with anyone else."

She grinned again. "Hey…you wanna come in for a nightcap? I have some contraband of my own in the kitchen," she grinned. "Working at a speakeasy has its perks."

Enjolras wasn't about to pass up a chance to spend more time with Éponine. "Absolutely," he smiled. She grinned, unlocking the door and pushing it open. "Welcome back to my apartment," she laughed. "Make yourself at home; I'll get the liquor."

Enjolras couldn't help but smile as he surveyed his surroundings again while she walked into the kitchen. He unlaced his dress shoes and took them off, leaving them at the door as he followed her towards the kitchen. "I'm not sure if you like Jack Daniels or not, Mr. Enjolras, but it's all I've got," she grinned, holding up a bottle and two shot glasses.

"You remembered," he said, grinning broadly.

"Of course I remembered! It's my job to remember patrons' preferences," she laughed. "Go ahead, sit at the table," she said, popping open the bottle and pouring a liberal amount into each glass. He grinned as he sat down at the table, leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head as he watched her carefully carry the alcohol over to him. "Enjoy," she grinned, setting one of the shot glasses in front of him, before sitting across from him at the table.

Enjolras raised his glass in a toast. "To us," he said, smiling.

Éponine raised her glass in return. "To us," she echoed, mimicking his smile. The glasses clinked together, and together, they shot.

"Aaaaaaahh!" Enjolras exclaimed, shaking his head back and forth rapidly as the whiskey burned down his throat. "I haven't done that since law school!" he laughed, setting down his glass.

"You want another round? Or will that be too much to handle?" Éponine winked.

"Hit me!" he laughed.

Together, they did three more rounds, before Enjolras decided he'd had enough. Once she put the liquor away, they decided to sit and talk for a little while longer; Enjolras didn't feel like leaving, and Éponine had no desire to kick him out. They moved out to her couch when the kitchen chairs got too uncomfortable, and seemingly never ran out of things to talk about. She told him about growing up the oldest of five siblings, living over an inn; he told her about growing up an only child, and his friends from law school. The only reason he knew time was passing was the way her hair was gradually falling out of its bun, and that his body felt gradually more tired when he tried to adjust his sitting position.

"I've actually known Combeferre since I was a child; his father and my father are law partners. And then there was Grantaire…" Enjolras laughed. "I was never particularly close to him, partly because he was always drinking himself into a stupor. More often than not, he would miss class because he was either hung over or still drunk from the night before."

"Not a name I've heard at the Whitehorse, surprisingly," Éponine laughed. "Did you all go by your last names?"

He nodded. "Pontmercy and I both came from wealthy families, but the others were poor. They worked day and night when they weren't in class to put food on the table for their families, or to pay off their school loans. My father actually wrote checks to most of their families to help them finish paying their tuition last year."

Éponine raised her eyebrows. "That's very generous."

"My father can be a good man, when he's not blinded by his emotions," Enjolras remarked. "It just upsets me, the way he thinks of and treats women. I mean…" he paused, and she turned to face him a little better. "I haven't known you more than two weeks, and already…I feel really close to you," he said a little lamely. "Being around you…I'm happier than I've been in a long time."

She smiled back. "I know exactly what you mean," she said. "When Mac introduced you to me at the Whitehorse…I knew I was going to enjoy being around you. And so far…I really have, Enjolras."

Enjolras smiled at her. "I'm glad you say so," he said softly, reaching up to tuck one loose curl out of her face.

She blushed a little at his touch. "It's true," she murmured, smiling.

Enjolras' smile never wavered as he turned to face her on the sofa. His fingertips tarried along her jawline, gently tracing the outline of her face, before one came to rest under her chin. He suddenly felt incredibly aware of the touch of her skin against his, the gentle sound of her breathing, the look in her eyes…was it anticipation? Almost unconsciously, he imperceptibly leaned towards her, his lips parting ever so slightly.

He felt her breath mix with his for just a moment before Éponine closed the gap between them, and his eyes closed almost instantly. Her mouth was small, but warm, soft and sweet against his. Enjolras' hand rested on her arm as his lips gently moved with hers, their heads slowly tilting in opposite directions. His other hand moved up to cup her jaw as hers went to rest on his chest; her touch sent chills down his spine. His hands reached around to rest on her back, in her hair, just as hers went underneath his suit jacket. The warmth of her small hands through his shirt intensified his chills, and he pulled her even closer. "Éponine…" he whispered longingly between kisses.

She pulled back from him long enough to catch her breath, before putting a finger to his lips. "Shh…don't speak," she murmured, leaning in to kiss him again. Enjolras kissed back, unable to refuse her. His left arm tightened around her waist; the other hand tangled further into her hair. His tongue traced over her lips, begging entry, and she immediately complied. Their mouths opened further as their bodies pressed closer; he could almost feel her heart pounding against his chest. One minute, her hands were grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, the next running over his back, sides and chest. His hands ran up and down her back, marveling at the softness of her skin.

They kept kissing, hands everywhere at once, until Enjolras finally had to stop for breath, pulling away from her with a gasp. "Éponine…what was that?" he whispered, still slightly out of breath.

She was already looking away from him, and also breathing heavily. "It was perfect," she whispered. "But…"

"But?" he asked gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She bit her bottom lip, clearly trying to figure out what she wanted to say. He had to go now, before things got anymore involved…but no one had ever kissed her like that before. No one had made her actually feel loved or wanted before, and she loved that feeling.

But he can't know, Éponine.

"I…" she whispered, trying to form a sentence that was the last thing she wanted to say to him.

"What's wrong?" he asked nervously. "You can tell me, Éponine. It's alright."

She pulled her arms in, folding her hands on her lap as she had before their first date. "It's just…I don't know how quickly I want to take this," she said. "I mean, we've only known each other for a couple of weeks…that kiss was wonderful, but – "

Enjolras cut her off by putting a finger to her lips. "It's fine, Éponine," he said gently. "I completely understand where you're coming from. It just kind of…happened. I was surprised at myself, to be honest."

She smiled again, clearly relieved by his answer. "Thank you for staying with me this long," she said quietly.

"Of course," he said, smiling at her before checking his pocketwatch. 10:30 pm. He sighed quietly as he put it away. "Damn…Combeferre and I have to go into our fathers' office tomorrow; I should get going."

Éponine nodded, standing up as he did. "Thank you so much…for everything tonight," she said as she opened the door for him. "I really loved spending so much time with you."

"I did, too," he smiled. "Goodnight, Éponine."

"Goodnight, Enjolras."

She waited until his car drove away to punch the wall. Why, dear God, why did this man have such an effect on her? The way he'd smiled at her, touched her face so gently, kissed her so sweetly…

Can people really fall in love so fast?

Maybe they can, but you can't, Éponine! He's going to end up just like the rest; you're just begging to get your heart broken again. He may care about you now, but only because he doesn't really know you, and he never will.

She walked back to the kitchen, locking the whiskey and shot glasses away as she thought about him. I'll wait until I hear from him to decide anything about his character, she resolved. Let's hope it's soon.

Enjolras got back to his apartment around 10:45, still thinking about the way the night had ended. What the hell was he supposed to make of that kiss? It had started off perfectly, just the way he thought it would…but then, when it finally ended, she had looked…scared.

What on Earth is she so afraid of...? He picked up the phone in his kitchen, dialing his best friend as he thought about her.

"Ugh…Enjolras, do you realize what time – ?"

"Combeferre, listen to me," he said.

A/N: So how about that kiss, huh? As always, questions, comments, and concerns are welcome, and in fact, encouraged! Thanks for reading!