A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who left such lovely reviews! Your feedback is very encouraging to keep this going, so please continue letting me know your thoughts. Don't be shy. :)

Disclaimer: Les Misérables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

Chapter 2

"Another day, another destiny..."
-Les Misérables

Éponine found herself immediately dragged to the kitchen to devour buttered bread, cheese and wine, all of which were the best she had ever tasted. Her immunity to hunger had become so great that she devoured her first helping in minutes, without taking time for breath and without awareness of how starved she truly was.

Marius had excused himself momentarily to see to his guest, much to the poor girl's mixture of curiosity and disappointment, as having just reunited with the lad, she wasn't keen on letting him out of her sight. She was reluctantly offered second helpings by none other than the house maid, Molly, who looked thoroughly disgusted to be serving a young woman of lower caliber than she. Éponine could read the angry, old hag's judgmental eyes like the back of her hand, and even she couldn't deny that being served at all felt oddly strange and unnatural. However, Molly did as her master instructed, though she turned up her nose and stalked out of the kitchen after Éponine finished her second meal, looking as though she could easily go for a third.

Éponine's stomach felt rapturously fulfilled, the contents of which were luxurious from the impoverished standards and helping sizes she was accustomed to. After guzzling down the remainder of her wine, she wiped her mouth in satisfaction, and stumbled slightly when getting to her feet.

Marius soon returned and escorted her to a guest room on the second level. A faint light glinted from down the hallway, momentarily catching Éponine's eye.

"Our second guest is staying there," Marius explained, having casually turned his head to catch the curiosity on her smudge-ridden face, "and you're just around the corner here."

The door creaked and opened to a dark, bare room. Marius placed the lit candle holder in his hand on an end table, situated next to a comfy-looking bed that immediately captured Éponine's attention.

An actual bed, her mind reeled. Pillows! Sheets! Dear Lord, how wonderful that looks...

"Cosette, myself, and Grandfather are on the opposite end of the second level," Marius continued, not catching the wonderment in Éponine's enlarged, brown eyes. "You'll meet him tomorrow. He has to go into town in the morning, so I would imagine sometime in the afternoon or early evening."

Éponine peered down at her soiled toes and shabby, flimsy-threaded green skirt covered in dry mud patches. She swallowed and met Marius's eyes, reddening in the face.

"Monsieur Marius, I... With all due respect, I simply cannot meet your grandfather. I'm not suitably dressed or bathed—"

"Molly will run you a bath tomorrow, and Cosette will see to getting you some fresh clothes."

"Oh!"

Éponine rattled where she stood. She didn't want help from Marius's lover, wife, and companion for life. No! She neither desired, nor appreciated, Marius's and Cosette's pity, for that matter, which this obviously was. A deeper part of her also detested the gentleman's soft reminder of where she stood in life, as if she wasn't acutely aware of the fact. She knew that Marius meant no offense by his generosity, and yet, she couldn't help but inwardly seethe.

Of course her clothes were tattered and torn, her skin and hair dirtied from the Parisian streets. She was one of the "Miserables," after all—a child born to ruin, who sprang into the world only to suffer in order to survive. Dressing in something more suitable wouldn't change her grim circumstances, she knew, and the rags on her back were one of the few personal items she had left to truly call her own; the last remnants of Éponine's pitiful existence, but it was hers nonetheless.

"I - I can't allow you to do that, Monsieur," she pleaded, breathless and lost for words.

Marius merely smirked—that dashing, cheeky simper that had always set her heart aflutter, as it affected many a young woman, regardless of class—and shook his head as he brushed past her to the door. He turned around when he reached it, taking a moment to eye Éponine up and down with another glimmer of incredulity.

"You will allow it, Éponine," he asserted with kindness in his voice. "It's the least I—we—can do for all that you've done for us."

Before Éponine could protest again, Marius gave her a quiet, respectful nod and shut the door, leaving her to her thoughts. Éponine wrapped her arms around herself, hardly able to grasp that she was here, with Marius, so close to her heart's desire. Yet, he wasn't hers, and still felt as far away as ever.

Why on earth did you come? her conscience berated. He was never yours to lose, and now here you are, his charity case! Dear God Almighty, you cannot stay! In the morning, you must say your peace and leave!

Exhausted, Éponine gazed longingly at the bed that awaited her with a delight she hadn't experienced in ages. She sunk down onto the duvet, ignoring the fact that she was still filthy, and curled up contentedly beneath the covers. She couldn't even recall the last time she had slept in a proper bed. Perhaps sometime in her youth when she was six or seven?

No, longer than that... God, this feels wonderful!

Just before sleep easily overtook her, Éponine thought fleetingly of the second guest down the hall. Marius had mentioned that she knew said person, but Éponine had very few acquaintances, and most of those that she had maintained contact with were dead, one of them having met his demise during the overthrow of the barricade: her dear little brother, Gavroche.

Who could it possibly be? she wondered; but sleep was a much more welcoming alternative to thinking, and, soon, Éponine was fast asleep, snoring lightly beneath the covers.

"Awake, Missy!" a voice hissed in her ear, startling Éponine out of her deep slumber.

The divinely warm covers were thrown back, and Éponine's skin was hit with the sting of the morning's chill. The sun was only beginning to rise, but most of her room was still immersed in darkness. A plump woman soon came into view beside her bed: Molly, the maid, and the annoyance she bore was acutely felt.

"Bath," she commanded, placing her hands on her round hips. "Out of bed! Now!"

"Oh... I..."

Éponine stumbled to sit upright, disoriented from the most peaceful sleep she had experienced in years. She stood before Molly, who examined her up and down with a critical eye before huffing and stomping away.

"Come!" she demanded, not stopping when she threw the door open and marched on.

Éponine fumbled after the elderly woman, discomforted at being handled and waited on at all, yet alone by a servant of slightly higher stature than herself. She understood the woman's temperament and bit her lip nervously.

Soon, she found herself in a lukewarm tub, shivering as she was manhandled by Molly, who scrubbed her too roughly whilst griping under her breath all the while. Even if the water itself was tepid, the bath was heavenly. Éponine's entire body had been soiled so long she wondered if the grime would actually wash off.

With lots of harsh and heavy duty scrubbing, as well as yanking and tugging at her limbs and hair by the grumpy maid, Éponine's body was scourged of the gritty, dismal life she led. As she emerged from the bath, her bruise-covered remains wrapped in towels, she couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Her mind knew she was probably kidding herself—no amount of water could cleanse her of the commissary that was her existence—but, for the moment, she felt almost well again; above that of a street rat. It was a fleeting sentiment, but a positive one.

Éponine was led back to her room, where Molly stripped her sheets that had been embarrassingly soiled the night before; she had to look out the window as to not be reminded of the fact. What Marius must have thought of her filthy appearance!

Marius...

Éponine was lost in thought as she stared out at the streets below, quiet and not yet awoken to the rising sun, or so it seemed, when a sweet voice interrupted her musings about a certain unattainable, dark-haired gentleman. She jerked and turned around, wrapping the towels tighter around her quivering form.

"I'm sorry, Éponine, I didn't mean to startle you."

It was Cosette, looking beautifully at ease and refreshed in a pale green gown with her blonde curls whisked back into a bun. She offered Éponine a happy smile, one that inwardly made her stomach churn. For the life of her, she couldn't understand the woman's kindness from the night before. Then again, now that it was only the two of them, perhaps her true colors would finally make an appearance.

"I - I'm sorry, Madame," Éponine blushed profusely. "I didn't hear you come in. I - I'm not decent yet. The maid took my clothes..."

"Oh, you won't have need of those anymore."

Éponine rattled; so this was some kind of joke at her expense. Cosette had taken the clothes right off her back, the sole possessions she owned, and cast them aside. Éponine could feel her cheeks burning, until the fetching young lady spoke again, drawing closer.

"You're to attain a fresh wardrobe. My husband and I discussed it last night. I have a few items of my own that should do for now. Molly should be along with them shortly."

Éponine felt overheated and immediately averted her eyes. "I... Thank - Thank you, Madame, for your generosity but—"

"Please, Éponine, you may call me Cosette, remember? There's no need for such formalities."

Éponine kept her head lowered, however, and nodded respectfully. "Thank you, erm, Cosette, but I... I cannot accept such generosity. I - I can't—"

"Nonsense." Cosette reached out and touched her arm, hidden beneath the towels that kept her from being entirely exposed. "Shall we let bygones be bygones? You saved my husband's life. There's nothing to thank for allowing me to illustrate my appreciation."

Éponine blushed and, for a moment, she forgot that she was quite cold standing in nothing but towels. "Madame—Cosette—I – I told Monsieur Marius that it was nothing. Truly."

"You're too humble," Cosette issued with a soft smile that caught Éponine's eye. "I understand, too, that you brought him to my house. Had you not done so, I... Well, it's likely to assume we'd have never met again. You've done a great deal for me personally, Éponine. In many ways, you're responsible for securing my happiness..."

Éponine startled at that revelation. She hadn't interpreted her actions that way and had only acted with much reluctance and heartache. Watching Marius—her Marius—fall in love with another had been the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. The fact that it was Cosette only burdened her heart further. Her father's beatings, her mother's scorn, even the few men who had robbed her of her chastity paled to the anguish of seeing Marius fall for someone else.

"I... I'm glad you're happy," Éponine whispered so quietly that her voice barely registered; it had taken all of her inner strength to even force the lie out, because, truth be told, she was far from happy for the higher beauty standing before her, who had robbed her of the one joy in her life.

"Thank you," Cosette returned just as quietly. "We haven't always gotten along, you and I, but we were both children then, caught up in matters that weren't necessarily our faults. I'm prepared to let it go..."

Molly suddenly reemerged, discontentedly holding a handful of finely-tailored dresses in her arms. Cosette's smile widened.

"But enough of such things. Let's get you dressed, shall we?"

Enjolras's eyes fluttered open to faint rays dancing across his room, peeking in from the half open window to his right. He slowly turned his head to gaze out at the rising sun and rose-tinted sky and sighed heavily—an audible illustration of rue he would never share. Sensing that the fever had past, the terrible aches all over his body remained, and his head felt too dense when he strained to crane his neck. There would be no getting out of bed today.

When will I ever?

Enjolras made a discernible growl, aggravated to no end, and turned away from the soft light streaming into his bedroom. He would continue to reject the wretched sun. As long as he could do nothing and feel nothing, looking upon what little beauty he found within these four walls served little purpose but to deepen his wallowing despair.

By all accounts, he shouldn't be alive, in bed, to awaken to such a glorious morning as this. And Enjolras knew it. He was forced to acknowledge that hard-hitting reality every day since that unforgettable morning in June; and there seemed to be no end to the terrible pang in his chest that accompanied each rising sun, each morn, each passing day.

I should have gone with them to the end... I should have died, too... God Almighty, why didn't you take me? Why am I still here?

An unsettling ripple coursed through Enjolras's veins. Perhaps it was the shooting pains he so often felt in his chest from whence the bullets had entered. No... He knew what that trembling, all-consuming pain was: abandoned hope.

Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut, unmindful that he was no longer alone with his disheartening thoughts. The deafening silence, however, was enough to send him over the edge. How much longer could he withstand this; withstand life?

"Enjolras?" came the quiet echo of a concerned-sounding Marius. Enjolras shot his eyes open and was met by the sight of his friend hovering over him, his brow marred. "Are you all right?"

"Yes..." He hated how despicably weak he sounded. "I... I could use some water," he confided, realizing his mouth was parched.

"Of course."

Marius shuffled away out of sight and soon returned with a glass in his hand. Enjolras struggled to sit up, knowing the attempt would probably be futile, seeing as he had little to no physical strength. How quickly his body had turned on him.

One of Marius's hands slipped behind his head to lift his neck, followed by a splash of cold water that was pressed to his lips. Enjolras drank the fresh liquid gratefully, even if he remained mortified by every attempt Marius and his family made on his behalf, such as now. The act of drinking water was apparently too physically trying, and Enjolras wasn't a man who desired pity or concern, nor did he appreciate having to helplessly rely on the kindness of others.

He had always been a resourceful man, even when in the good graces of his father, but that life was no more. His joining the revolution had put a stop to his inheritance, as well as the close connection he shared with his mother. He had learned early on in his university days to look after himself. Life was cruel, unpardonable, and full of unwanted surprises.

Therefore, it felt entirely wrong to be imposing upon Monsieur Gillenormand's territory, even if he hadn't been the one to invite himself. Marius's grandfather seemed to have taken a liking to him, despite his "grave political faults," but being welcomed was one thing, staying was another. The sooner Enjolras could walk and be on his way, the better, only what the once physically strong, capable young man thought would be days in bed had turned into weeks and then months, his health failing and deteriorating rapidly.

Only I won't die! he would grouse once alone. God, why won't you let me die?

Enjolras was rarely capable of leaving his bed anymore, save but to relieve himself, and even then, he required assistance. Not only was it emotionally and mentally crippling to such a fine gentleman in his prime, to Enjolras, it was inexcusable and weak.

It's punishment, he concluded, which did nothing for his ever-growing melancholy. God's punishing you for your damned revolution, for leading those men to their deaths. Yes... This is nothing less than you deserve, Enjolras, and you well know it!

"Better?" he vaguely heard Marius suddenly inquire, to which he nodded and collapsed against his pillows, closing his eyes.

Damn the symptoms! He was sick of being so tired and spent all the time, lying in bed and sleeping the days away. What he wouldn't give for a stroll, to go outside and breathe in the fresh air and let the summer sun beat down upon him, despite the ever foul stench of the Parisian streets, twice as assaulting to the senses this time of year.

Enjolras was accustomed to an active lifestyle; he could recall the countless times he had aimlessly walked the various parks all over the city, reeling and obsessing over the rebellion and plotting with the Les Amis de l'ABC. The passion and fervor for change was widespread and hung in the air; the sheer will to make a difference vast and growing, and the determination to rise against the state lingered, even now.

For one man who had ascended to lead his rebellion into the setting sun, that resolution and fight was over, ripped from his grasp when it snatched his friends away at dawn. Enjolras tried not to let his mind drift to the revolution too often these days, but the act was near impossible. If this was to truly be the rest of his life—wallowing in sickness and being of little to no use to anyone—then he would have rather died on that battle field, at that café he and his friends had plotted their revolution and met their violent ends.

All save for him and Marius. The two lone survivors.

"Would you like to sit up?"

Enjolras opened his eyes half way and shook his head. He knew what Marius was doing, and he was too weary for small talk or company today. No... He wished to be alone with his thoughts.

"Aren't you having breakfast with your family this morning?" he mumbled, feeling a wave of sleep deprivation wash over him.

Enjolras hoped Marius wouldn't stay long. Sometimes his friend's mere presence pained him too greatly. He was a representation of Enjolras's past, of everything he had fought and lost. His friend would have died, too, and been another number amongst the dead, had not the late Jean Valjean intervened and come to his rescue.

"In a little while, yes," Marius answered, giving him a small smile. "Our house is slowly being invaded, as my grandfather would say. We're expecting additional company this morning."

"Oh?" Enjolras's heavy eyelids fell. "Who?"

He wasn't remotely interested; all he could think about now was sleep.

"Éponine."

Enjolras reopened an eye. Was he expected to know who that was? Apparently Marius sensed the man's confusion and chuckled lightly, tossing his head back and forth.

"I suppose you wouldn't remember her. She never said much. She only hung about because of Gavroche and me." He paused to run his fingers through his hair as Enjolras looked on indifferently. "She showed up here last night; I couldn't believe it! I thought she'd died, Enjolras, but somehow she lived too. Another miracle in all of this mess..."

Enjolras swallowed hard and rolled his head towards the window again, away from Marius, whose face had suddenly fallen. " I - I'm sorry, Enjolras," he whispered, his voice soft and pained. "I didn't mean it like that. Please, understand... My feelings about that day haven't changed, I—"

"I think I'll rest...for a while..."

Marius went still in his chair, his eyes gazing worriedly at the back of Enjolras's mop of gold curls. Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked out of the room, but not before turning back to ensure that his friend was all right; or as well as could be expected.

Enjolras's eyes were closed, his chest evenly rising and falling. He appeared to have fallen asleep, and Marius could only hope he hadn't sent his friend into another downward spiral. With one last careful look over, Marius quietly closed the door and left.

Éponine appeared for breakfast looking a remarkable sight. Her long, brown locks, once greasy and unkempt, had been effortlessly pulled back, showcasing her natural waves. Her pale yellow dress, though not of high class but still a far cry from the rags for clothing she had worn all her life, hugged her slender waistline. The sleeves conveniently covered her many bruises, although a few cuts on her face gave away her social position as a commoner—a Mademoiselle who had 'entered' a higher class of society, not by birth or position, and, who, in actuality, held no merit.

For Marius, however, it was examining Éponine through a new set of eyes. With the dirt cleansed from her face, she was quite handsome, and he noted her sepia-colored irises for the first time, as well as the traces of a rather attractive mouth. She no longer resembled a nobody, or, worse, the street rat who did as she was told because her father would beat her otherwise. No, she almost passed for a lady, and the result left him dumbstruck.

Her impression, too, also proved agreeable to Monsieur Gillenormand, who had been well informed of his newest guest's arrival, as well as her involvement in saving his grandson from certain death. The elderly gentleman tipped his head to her in gratitude more than once and held small conversation with the otherwise quiet, soft-spoken girl.

"Thank you for your generous hospitality, Monsieur Gillenormand," Éponine issued once afternoon tea was concluded, feeling quite out of her element. "I don't know how to repay your kindness—"

"Nonsense, my child," Marius's grandfather waved away her politeness with his hand. "You did a great service to my grandson, and for which I owe you my thanks. Do stay a while and keep our lovely Cosette company. I'm sure she could use with more ladylike conversation?"

Cosette smiled brightly, in a manner that seemed to glow from within. Éponine found herself envious. She would never possess such natural beauty.

"Of course! Perhaps Éponine and I can take a stroll in the garden this afternoon."

"I - I would like that," Éponine returned, still feeling terribly out of her depths; her cheeks had been a blushing rose all morning.

"I hope to converse with you later, Éponine," Marius stressed as well, shooting her his ever handsome grin. "I do still need to hear the tale."

"The tale?"

"Your miraculous survival, of course!"

"Oh..." Éponine felt her cheeks radiating at such interest, innocent as it may be, and bowed her head. "If you'd like, Monsieur Marius."

"It's settled then!"

"Do you suppose your friend would care to hear the tale?" Monsieur Gillenormand suggested, which raised Éponine's eyebrows.

The three of them had been talking in circles about this other guest of theirs for quite some time, much to Éponine's ever heightening curiosity, but, thus far, no name had been dropped. After a while, Éponine couldn't help but wonder if they were being purposely secretive, or simply unaware that their present company had no idea to whom they were referring to.

An hour later saw Marius and his grandfather saying their goodbyes—Marius leaving for a class at the university and his grandfather to do 'business' in town, much to Éponine's private disappointment. She could have stayed in the company of Marius for as long as he would have her, although the stealing glances between he and Cosette were enough to knot her stomach. She hated catching those quiet moments of adoration that so often passed between them. What she wouldn't give to have Marius look at her in such a way.

If only once...

"Shall we take a stroll?" Cosette asked her after a short period of silence followed the men's departures.

Éponine nodded and followed Marius's other half into a pleasant backyard that sprouted with vibrant blossoms and hedges. It was the end of August, and the heat was rather intolerable, but Cosette showed no signs of discomfort as they strolled together, at first without speaking before the pretty blonde broke the silence with a question.

"Are you settling in well?"

That question shook Éponine to the quick. 'Settling in'? she thought, alarmed. She certainly didn't think she would be encouraged to stay another night.

"Oh! I..."

"You are planning to stay, aren't you?"

"St - Stay?"

"Well, naturally," Cosette giggled, as if the answer should be an obvious one. "You don't wish to return to... Well, where you were, do you?"

"I... Well..."

"Or do you already have a place to stay?"

"I... No, not at present, Madame."

"Cosette," she corrected gently and patted Éponine's arm. "Marius was talking last night about... Well, about your unfortunate circumstances. I'd like to pluck you out of such a horrible place. I remember it well, and when my father came for me..." Cosette sighed and gave Éponine a rather downcast smile. "Well, he saved me from ruin. He plucked me out of the darkness and gave me a better life. You should have the same opportunity, Éponine. I'd like that for you."

Éponine jolted and ceased walking. None of Cosette's unprecedented kindness was making sense to her. They had never gotten on well as children, and her own parents had seen to treating Éponine well above the fetching young lady before her, as she wasn't their own. Éponine, too, wasn't opposed to the greater attention she received, at least whilst her mother and father were halfway decent towards her in her youth.

"I - I don't understand," she found herself confiding aloud.

"Understand?" Cosette eyed her curiously.

"We... My parents were very unkind to you, and I..."

Cosette regarded her seriously, though her crystal-blue eyes were warm and inviting. "You were a child, Éponine, as was I. I bear you no ill will. I hope I've made that clear."

"Yes, you have, and... And I'm very grateful, but..."

Éponine found herself at a loss for words. She stared down at the ground, unable to look upon Cosette and all of her boundless generosity. Either the lady was playing Éponine for a fool, and still saw her as nothing more than a street rat, or she saw something else—someone better—and, even if she didn't believe it herself, Éponine could sense the sincerity in Cosette's manner.

"I believe my husband wishes to discuss it with you more in person, so I will naturally leave the details of your remaining here to him. I do hope you'll stay. It's an opportunity to make a fresh start, and one I think you should take; it likely won't come your way again."

"I..." Falling short of speaking, Éponine bowed her head and peered up at Cosette timidly. "Thank you, Mada—Cosette. I... I hardly know what to say."

A light pressing of the woman's hand to Éponine's shoulder assured her that nothing need be conveyed. When she met Cosette's sympathetic gaze, she found the young lady beaming, though she didn't know why, and with a charming glow that was entirely her own.

"Then say nothing," Cosette whispered, easing an arm through hers.

Éponine remained quiet, though slightly more at ease, and allowed Cosette to lead her through the garden for the good part of an hour. Together, the two ambled about, taking in the vast greenery and magnificent splendor of Monsieur Gillenormand's hoard of rich, colorful flowers.

"How is he?" was the first question Marius asked upon his return later that afternoon.

Éponine had been left to her own devices following hers and Cosette's casual stroll through the garden, and, not really knowing what to do with herself—and not wishing to intrude further upon the large house that wasn't her own—Éponine retreated to her room for a time. When she heard footsteps echoing down the hallway, she peered out of her door to find Cosette on her way down the stairs, and her host informed her that she had been checking in on Marius's friend to ensure that he was all right.

Who that friend was, however, Éponine still didn't know. The reminder was beginning to aggravate her, though.

"He was quite tired last I checked, darling."

Marius's mouth drooped. "Yes, he was this morning too when I looked in on him..."

Cosette took his hand in hers, staring up at him from her comfortable recline in a chair, as Éponine looked on from her own perch across the room. "Remember your own fight," Cosette replied with a soft smile. "It was quite an uphill battle for you; it's the same for him."

"Yes, but his fight is quite different from mine."

"I know, my love, but don't lose faith, or it will certainly affect his recovery."

"Yes, I know." Marius smiled down at his wife before reaching down to place a tender kiss on her mouth. Éponine looked away, feeling a sudden stabbing pain in her chest. "You're right, as always, my dear."

"Of course I am," Cosette giggled close to his face.

For a moment, it was as if Éponine were not present. Just as before, she reflected, her frown deepening. Why would you expect that to change, Éponine?

Marius caught the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and finally realized that he and his wife weren't alone. "My apologies, Éponine. Did you have a good time today?"

"It's all right, Monsieur Marius; and I did, thank you. Madame was kind enough to show me around the garden."

"Yes," Cosette agreed, tittering happily, "and we almost caught heat stroke before deciding to smartly return to the house."

"Very smart, indeed," Marius chuckled; he rose to his full height but kept his hand intertwined with Cosette's.

"I'm afraid your story may have to wait, Éponine. I really should check on Enjolras and see how he's faring."

Enjolras? Éponine breathed. A name at last!

And it was a name she recognized instantly. The surprise on her face was unpreventable. After all, she had long assumed the man to be dead; the leader of the revolution—the fierce freedom fighter, dressed in a fine crimson waistcoat that seemed to symbolize the very sacrifice of his rebellion—had gone down with his brothers, or so that was what Éponine was told before her own version of things became fuzzy and unclear.

"Enjolras?" she murmured in awe, her shoulders straightening at the name. "But he... But I thought... He was the last man standing that day, wasn't he? I - I heard he was shot several times?"

Marius, understanding that Éponine wasn't privy to the story of his good friend's remarkable survival, firmly shook his head. "No, Éponine," he drawled with a smirk, "Enjolras is very much alive. Well, he isn't at all well, but he's alive, and staying in this house until he recovers."

Éponine looked away, her mouth still hanging open, hardly able to believe it. Her curiosity about this 'guest' had risen now that she could finally put a face to his name.

"So, you see," Marius continued, his smile broadening, "we have more than one sensational survival story that's come out of all of this..."

A/N# 2: As previously stated, things will progress slowly, but it's a start!

See that review box below? -ahem- "Won't you say? Will you tell?"