A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback! It really does make a difference to this whole process hearing from you, the readers, and I'm honored to be on your Alerts and/or Favs lists as well. Onward!
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 3
"Did you see them lying where they died? Someone used to cradle them and kiss them when they cried..."
-Les Misérables
A burst of light momentarily obstructed his vision, and Enjolras raised his arm to shield his eyes. The fierce pounding of his heart was so great that he was sure it might burst; or was that merely the sound of the canons breaking through their barriers? Perhaps it was the bullets being fired to his left and right, missing him narrowly by inches. How quickly a man could be brought down by centimeters of lead.
Once his eyesight cleared, Enjolras found himself face to face with one of the enemy overrunning the barricade—his barricade—and he reacted on instinct. His musket was near empty, and a man in uniform, who couldn't be much older than Enjolras himself, had his musket aimed directly at his chest. Enjolras pushed the gun aside just as it fired and missed. He slammed his fist hard into the soldier's face, hitting him between the eyes, and the solider slumped over where he was, either unconscious or dead, but the pain that shot through Enjolras's knuckles on impact was acute.
"THERE'S MORE MEN! THERE'S MORE MEN, ENJOLRAS!" someone was screaming at the top of his lungs.
Enjolras made a quick survey of the scene. An overwhelming array of red, white, and blue was marching towards he and his brothers, their guns raised high and their swords drawn. 'This is it,' he thought fleetingly, before two more soldiers appeared at the top of the barricade. Enjolras's adrenaline kicked in like a wildfire, and, drawing his sword, he sent the tip of his blade into the soft flesh of the soldier to his right and kicked the musket of the other away with his boot, enough to send the man flying over the barricade. A second severe punt to the head toppled the soldier over completely, where another freedom fighter, Joly, delivered a bullet to his brain. Blood splattered, its overpowering stench assaulting Enjolras's senses. The soldier had never even stood a chance.
Then again, neither had he or his friends. This was their death march; the final battle. Only it was all going to hell in a hand basket.
The great buzz of cries and shouts mixed with the firing of guns put Enjolras off balance. "ENJOLRAS!" several of them cried; some strong tugging at his arms or coattails pulled him away from the top of the barricade at last, just as more soldiers came charging through.
"PLEASE!" some of the men—his friends—screamed towards the heavens, or, rather, the closed shudders of occupied flats that lined the street from whence the barricade had sprung. Some were even pounding on the doors and weeping like children. "PLEASE! HELP US!" they begged with tears in their eyes, but their desperate cries for refuge went unanswered.
Enjolras seized those he could by the shoulders and pulled them away towards the café. "Back!" he ordered amidst the chaos, to anyone who would listen. Several bodies already lined the cobble-stone street, dead or wounded, Enjolras knew not. There was no time to pick out the living from the fallen. The sight and smell of blood was overwhelming.
"We've got to barricade the door!" one of them exclaimed, as men ran and screamed to and fro.
"THEY'RE COMING!"
"We've got no ammunition!"
"Help me, for God's sake! HELP ME!"
"IT'S LOST, MEN! WE'RE DONE FOR!"
The wails, the never-ending howls of doom, shook Enjolras to the core. He was supposed to be strong—he was their leader, after all—but their shouts of distress were so great and so fierce, and the fear so prevalent in their eyes, that it was all Enjolras could do not to crumble to the floor.
'You brought them to this...'
It was the only bitter reflection his mind could grasp at, as his brothers lay dying, scattered and divided, the enemy driving them backward into a trap. Before he was aware of his own steps, Enjolras found himself on the upper floor of the café, where he and the Les Amis de l'ABC had plotted their glorious revolution, the days of which seemed to stretch out for all eternity, in which France would be reborn and renewed.
'Look upon that world now, Enjolras... What do you see?'
The soldiers had broken through the lower level with ease, and the atmosphere had gone eerily quiet. The soft pattering of the enemies' boots below made those up top with Enjolras—Joly, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac—quake and whimper like children, hovered together in fear. Enjolras's heart was pounding furiously, never more alive than in this moment.
Shots were fired, and Enjolras rattled and shook. His three friends, alive only moments ago, now lay dead at his feet. Yet, Enjolras was untouched, though his boots rooted to the spot near a large, open window. There was nowhere to go.
'No path but to God Almighty...'
For a split moment, the sole freedom fighter still standing, with his golden locks and angelic face, turned his head towards the East and gazed out upon the rising sun that peeked through the darkened alleyway, soaking it in gentle spotlight. There, Enjolras looked down upon his stormed barricade, at the countless dead bodies, both enemies and brothers in arms, blood-soaked and done for. This place had once held such promise and resistance but was now disintegrated, brought to nothing but ash and dust.
Enjolras could smell the blood rising from the earth, the rotting flesh, the sulfur and gunpowder. 'Yes,' he thought, hearing the approaching soldiers marching up the steps to put an end to his rebellion. 'This is it...'
Enjolras reluctantly turned his head away from the window to face the swarm of red, white, and blue. Their muskets were raised, though it would take only one of them to pierce his flesh and kill him on the spot.
As Enjolras braced himself to meet his end, a familiar face suddenly emerged amongst the deadly weaponry: Grantaire. He had awoken from his drunken stupor, but there was a soberness in his eyes, a fire unlike any Enjolras had ever seen. He frowned as his friend approached him, until he realized Grantaire's intentions before they echoed from his mouth.
"I wish to be shot with Enjolras," he insisted, and the commander nodded in accordance to the man's final wish.
In that moment, Enjolras was relieved. He wouldn't be going out of this world alone. A brother, a true and loyal friend, would be by his side. They would meet their Maker together. He and Grantaire stood at attention, and, slowly, Enjolras raised the French flag grasped tightly in his hand.
'Yes... This is it...'
"Vive la France!" he bellowed.
The shots rang out, followed by a flash of white light, and Enjolras felt two blows hit him in the chest and abdomen, and another two bullets scrape his shoulders. He stumbled backward over the railing of the open window.
And then everything went black.
Enjolras shot up in bed, uncertain if he had cried out in his sleep or if it had only been in his nightmare. Pearls of sweat dripped from his forehead and his breathing was strenuous as he came to. His hand instinctively reached to touch where the bullets had struck.
Enjolras blinked, soaking in his darkened surroundings. It was nighttime, with the faint moonlight pouring into his bedroom. His body gradually began to relax. He was alive. He wasn't back at the café, trapped on that upper floor where he was sure he was about to face his death.
Just as he began to relax, Enjolras's twinkling eyes fell upon a moving shadow at the doorway to his room. The door was slightly ajar, although it shouldn't be. It was always left closed. Then, it dawned on Enjolras that the shadow he was looking at wasn't a shadow at all but a figure, and it was staring back at him. His eyes widened in alarm, and only more so when whoever it was let out a faint gasp and made an escape. He could hear the person's feet skid along the wooden floorboards as he or she pounded away out of sight.
"What the hell..."
"So, you were wounded in the stomach, my dear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Surely, cleansing such a wound must've been difficult?"
"It was, Monsieur Gillenormand, yes."
Éponine set her fork aside, resounding that she wouldn't be getting to take a bite of her hot meal. She had been interrogated all of dinner by Marius and his grandfather, who were hungry for details about her survival, whilst Cosette looked on across the table from her, quietly encouraging her to speak when prompted.
"How on earth did you manage to get to a doctor?"
Éponine discretely twisted her hands together in her lap. "Well, Monsieur, I... I confess I don't remember all of what went on in those early days. I remember passing out, then awakening during the ambush. Someone had tended to my wounds—I believe it was one of the women, another sympathizer. She must've realized I was still breathing... I had so many bandages wrapped around my torso that it was difficult to move or breathe.
"I crawled, stopping often because it was too painful to move, but also I was getting trampled on by both sides. It was all rather chaotic, Monsieur. Somehow though, I fought my way free to the other side. None of the soldiers noticed me. I suppose they simply took me for..."
Éponine let her words trail off. The elderly gentleman to her right, Monsieur Gillenormand, merely nodded for her to carry on with her story and kept his face blank.
"There's a nunnery not far from the café. I... I'm not sure how I managed to crawl my way there, but I did. I suppose someone on the street or one of the convents discovered me and took me in. They sent for a doctor. All I remember is waking up three days later. The bullet had been removed, but I was weak and had lost a great deal of blood and strength. The nuns said if I hadn't been wrapped in bandages straightaway that I surely would've died."
"It is remarkable that you survived, Mademoiselle."
"I feel most grateful, Monsieur."
Marius angled his head curiously. "When were you well enough to the leave the nunnery, Éponine?"
"Only some three or four days ago."
And only because I was determined to ensure that you were still alive...
Cosette unexpectedly raised her glass of wine. "Well, we're grateful you're alive and on the mend, Éponine," she stated with such grace and civility, in a manner Éponine still couldn't quite believe. Marius and his grandfather additionally raised a toast to her health, causing her to blush and avert her eyes to her unconsumed dish.
"What of your family?"
Monsieur Gillenormand's question made Éponine jerk. "They - They're well, Monsieur," she choked out.
"Surely, they must be worried about your welfare? You were in a nunnery for some two months. I assume you had communication with them?"
"I..." Éponine caught Marius's eye and then Cosette's, who was giving her a sympathetic look that she didn't care for. "No," she mumbled under her breath, hoping the conversation would move on from there.
Monsieur Gillenormand wasn't ready to concede, however. He put down his fork and eyed Éponine critically.
"You mean to tell me you've had no contact whatsoever with your family these past months, Mademoiselle?"
"That - That's correct, Monsieur."
"Why ever not? They must be worried sick about you."
"I... Erm, well... No, Monsieur. I - I'm sure, at this point, that they believe I'm dead."
And I'd prefer to keep it that way.
Monsieur Gillenormand's eyes widened. "Then why on earth haven't you contacted them? That's most bizarre that you wouldn't notify your family of your whereabouts."
Before she could explain, however, Marius thankfully interceded. "Grandfather, please," he insisted in a hushed tone, giving the old man a look that meant for him to desist. Luckily, Monsieur Gillenormand took his grandson's hint, though not without a lingering expression of puzzlement.
"Éponine, would you care for a tour of the house?"
Éponine's eyes lit up immediately at Marius's kind gesture, as well as an excuse to dismiss herself from Monsieur Gillenormand's relentless interrogation. "Oh, yes, Monsieur Marius, that would be wonderful!"
"Come."
As Marius rose from his chair, he turned thoughtfully to Cosette, who took his hand in hers. "I'll check on Enjolras; see how he's doing," she assured him in her gentle way.
That name stopped Éponine in her tracks. She had stayed up half the night wondering about the peculiar gentleman in question. Though she had only been at the house two days, both nights she had heard cries coming from down the hall. On the second night, she decided to investigate the source of the sound, which led her directly to Enjolras's bed chambers, where she found the familiar, sandy-haired gentleman tossing and turning in bed—almost violently. She didn't expect him to wake up and fled when his eyes spotted her hidden in the shadows. Cosette's mentioning of the man made her cheeks redden.
What if he mentions that I was there?
Marius interrupted her worries, beckoning her to follow him out of the room and down the hallway. The estate was vast and refined, tastefully decorated with rich, earthly-colored furnishings. After falling into comfortable conversation for some time about Marius's family history and the estate, which Éponine found immensely fascinating—nothing about Marius wasn't to her—he surprised her by turning the tables on her, as they walked along a corridor covered in vibrant tapestries and family portraits.
"Does your family truly believe you're dead?" he asked most casually.
Éponine stopped, finding herself staring into a pair of intrigued eyes that were well attuned to her circumstances. "I..." Éponine found herself confessing rather easily, "No, Monsieur Marius, they don't."
"Just Marius, remember?" he corrected her with a handsome smirk, and to which she returned his smile.
"Marius. I - I don't want them to know. If they found out I was alive or that I've come here..."
"I understand. I think it's for the best." Marius led their walk forward, though he kept a reasonable pace. "What will you do now that you're on your own?"
Éponine sensed this coming. Cosette had been good enough to inform her of it the previous day, and, now, she found herself thankful for the forewarning. That charming Cosette, she reflected with a scowl, her bitterness surfacing despite her best efforts.
"I... I confess I'm not sure, Mons—Marius. I can't take further advantage of your hospitality, though. You've been so kind to me, you and..." She swallowed hard. "Cosette. I'm most grateful to you both, and to your grandfather, for letting me stay here."
"That's what I wanted to discuss with you, Éponine."
Marius stopped and faced her head on with his hands placed firmly behind his back. Éponine folded hers in front of her and tried not to appear as nervous as she felt. Spending several days in Marius's presence made her realize how much she didn't want to leave again. There was also the harsh-hitting fact that she truly had nowhere to go.
"Yes?" she pressed, hoping the urgency in her voice escaped his notice.
"I think you should make a fresh start, Éponine."
Her brown eyes looked into his, this time filled with hope. "A - A fresh start?"
Marius smiled warmly, making her heart flutter. "Yes," he insisted. "We could take you in. Cosette could instruct you, you'd have a roof over your head, and you'd never go hungry again. In exchange, perhaps you could help us with occasional errands and some general household duties that need attention. We have a maid, Molly, whom you've met, and a caretaker, Tom, who do the majority of the housework and outside maintenance, but there are other duties I'm sure Cosette could use a second pair of hands to help with."
"Oh... Well, I..."
Éponine could hardly believe such good fortunate. In all her years, she had never been presented with the opportunity to actually better her life. In her world—the world of the le Miserables—such opportunities were not to be born. They died out at infancy, never to resurface.
How was this possible? She couldn't fully comprehend yet what was happening but could sense the world shifting beneath her feet, and, for the first time, it was for the better. She smiled up at him, enthused and appreciative all at once.
"Oh, Monsieur, I - I don't know what to say..."
Marius extended his smile. "Then say 'yes,' Éponine."
The two of them shared a giggle, and Éponine found herself caught off guard by his quiet, breathless laughter. She had heard it a dozen times before, and yet, hearing it now was a comfort she hadn't realized she missed.
"I... I would be most grateful, Monsieur Marius. Y - Yes."
"Marius, Éponine," he chuckled, not completely understanding the magnitude of his offer, or so Éponine thought. He enfolded his hand over her shoulder. "I'll need to discuss the details further with Grandfather. We only briefly touched upon it this morning at breakfast.
"I haven't told him much about your circumstances, Éponine, or your family, for that matter. I'm afraid I'll have to be much more forthright with Grandfather from here on, and I wanted to give you fair warning. I know of your parents, Éponine. They made an unexpected visit at our wedding."
Éponine's eyes went from bright to horrified in an instant. "Oh, no! Oh... Mon—Marius, I'm so sorry! I'm so terribly—"
"Don't apologize, Éponine." Marius firmly shook his head. "Your parents' conduct is not your responsibility. I know that they looked after Cosette when she was young, because she and her late father told me. And it was only when discussing you after... Well, after everything that went down, that Cosette told me she knew you as well. She only recently explained yours and her upbringing to me. I... I'm not blind, Éponine. I've known things weren't well with you, but I... I saw no way of changing it on my own. I was a fool. I thought our revolution would change everything; that it would change your circumstances for you..."
Marius clamped up and turned away from her, releasing his hand from her shoulder and staring down the empty hallway at nothing in particular. Éponine stepped forward. She longed to touch his face, to feel the delicacy of his skin, but refrained.
"I know, Marius," she offered in a sad whisper. "I suspected you knew more about me than I wanted you to. I mean..." She shifted awkwardly and peered down at the used, green shoes on her feet; it felt odd to no longer be barefoot, and she was quite surprised that she and Cosette were roughly the same size in all manner of things. "One only has to look at people like me to know the truth."
Éponine gazed up at him again and forced a smile. "I know you tried to make things better, Marius. You and...Enjolras, is that his name?"
"Yes." Marius cracked a smile as well, though Éponine could tell it was false, as though he were trying to suppress certain dark thoughts that were evident behind his eyes.
"I'd like to meet him," Éponine pressed, mostly in an effort to get off the painful topic of her family.
To her statement, Marius's demeanor suddenly brightened. "And you shall! I daresay he's probably sick of having nothing but the three of us for company."
"How is he?" Éponine encouraged the talk further as they continued their mindless stroll of the house. "Is he well?"
"Alas, no," Marius sighed, "but he's getting there. He's been suffering bad bouts of fever since he arrived, but the fevers seem to be ending."
"That's very good news."
"I hope so."
"How did he come to be here?"
"I sent for him." Marius led her up the spiral staircase towards her room, climbing the steps slowly so as to extend their talk. "When I was still laid up in hospital, my grandfather sent out inquiries to look for any survivors. I suspected there wouldn't be any, and those two days were agonizing, waiting on what I assumed would be false hope.
"They found Enjolras barely alive back in his own flat. God only knows how he got there. He was being looked after by a woman of no notoriety, and I wonder if she did him more damage than good. He'd refused to go to the hospital himself for fear of being picked up by the police."
"How awful." Éponine drew a puzzling sort of frown as they reached the second floor. "How did he manage to escape?"
"I hardly know. He's been too sick to give me the story. I'm anxious to hear it myself."
"I'm sure it's quite a tale," Éponine grinned, keeping pace with Marius as they rounded a corner and came to her guest quarters. "I look forward to hearing everything, and meeting your dear friend, Marius. He was quite something at your meetings. I remember them well."
"You do?" Marius's eyes searched hers with interest. "They were quite something, weren't they?"
"Yes... Very."
And just like that, the intensity to Marius's gaze was gone, as if cast out like a flame. He straightened and presented her with another one of his less than genuine smiles.
"Well, I'll talk to Grandfather soon. I need to see to my friend, too; we haven't spoken since this afternoon."
Éponine's regard softened. "You're very kind to look after him, Marius."
"It's the least I can do. Enjolras is like a brother to me, and when my grandfather cast me out for a time, it was Enjolras who took me in. You could very well say I owe him, just as I owe you."
Éponine wrung her hands together and averted her eyes to the floor. "I've told you, Marius, you don't owe me anything. I daresay your friend would say the same." She was surprised when he laughed—a loud, robust chuckle that made her angle her head in curiosity.
"You're right," he confessed, his infectious smile returning, "he does; he tells me so all the time."
"Well, perhaps there's some truth to what we say."
"No," Marius insisted, and his gaze became thoughtful. "Only generous people who help others without expectation of anything in return say things like that."
Not knowing how to answer, but finding her face flushing, Éponine bowed politely and said her goodnight. As Marius turned to leave, however, a pressing thought came to Éponine and she spun around. It was now or never, and it was the reason she had come. She had been waiting to continue their conversation from that night before the barricade ambush, so she sucked in a breath and called out to him.
"Marius!" He met her gaze, waiting. "I - I've been wanting to ask you...about that night..." Marius merely kept his eyes on her, and Éponine realized she was going to have to be more courageous than she wanted. "What I said to you... How I felt..."
Marius blinked and stepped closer. Éponine searched his face, and her heart was nearly pounding out of her chest.
"Éponine, it's all right," he whispered as gently as possible. "It all happened so fast, and you thought you were dying. People sometimes say things in the heat of the moment they don't mean. You needn't be worried."
Éponine felt her breath stall, and not in a good way. She tried not to let the hurt show, but the pain in her chest was agonizing, as though her heart were being squeezed too tight.
"Oh... I..."
She quickly looked away, feeling the prickling sensation of tears forming in her eyes. Her throat was constricting, too, as was a heat trickling up her neck and onto her cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Éponine," Marius apologized and grabbed her arm. "I didn't mean to upset you by discussing that night. I - I imagine it has to be quite horrible to remember. Do forgive me?"
Éponine took several calculated breaths, willing herself not to break down and cry. So little he sees, even now... Even after I confessed everything...
Éponine chewed her bottom lip and hesitantly met his eyes, hoping she wouldn't start crying on the spot. She was stronger than she realized, though, for she managed to keep the tears at bay.
"You needn't apologize, Marius," she forced the words out. "I'm the one who brought it up. I'm sorry."
Sorry I ever told you how I feel about you...
"Well, it's all right now. You're all right. That's what's important."
"Yes..."
The silence stretched out before them for too long. Marius adjusted his waist coat and bid her another goodnight. He caught her subtle attempt to reach out and take his arm, however, and hesitated.
"Yes?" she asked curiously.
"I - I'm sorry. I had a question for you, Marius."
"What is it?"
The lovesick girl buried within longed for Marius to scoop her up in his arms again, just as he had cradled her that night at the barricades, and confess that he returned her love and affection, but the miserable grownup side knew that wasn't to be. He had already dismissed her feelings as nothing more than an illusion, and it had always been painfully clear that he never thought much more of her than that of a friend.
Or his messenger, she lamented to herself.
Éponine sucked in another breath, suspecting she wasn't going to like what she was told. "Why me, Marius? Why are you helping me? I... I don't understand..."
Marius returned her question with another attractive smile, one that made her legs melt against the door to her bedroom. She found it suddenly trying to stand here, both so close and so far away from the man that she loved.
"Because I owe you, Éponine," he replied, "as I've told you before. I owe you a great deal, and I think this is the best way to repay you: a second shot at a better life. I think it's the least you deserve."
With that, Marius glided away, leaving Éponine breathless where she stood, contemplating his heavy-handed words that lingered in the air long after he left. They weren't declarations of love, but, to her desperate way of thinking, they were of another kind of affection, and just as potent as any amorous confession could be.
Or perhaps you're just fooling yourself again, Éponine!
One thing was certain, however: Marius Pontmercy, the man she hopelessly loved, was going to change her circumstances. Forever.
Éponine was awoken in the middle of the night by the same unsettling sounds coming from down the hall, where she now knew the former revolutionist to reside. They were faint, for the most part, and, at times, Éponine was tempted to climb out of bed and investigate again, only she had been caught the night before doing so. If the man awoke and found her hovering just outside his bedroom, he would surely think her unstable, perhaps even tell Marius and his wife.
If he hasn't already...
After listening to the man cry out for nearly an hour, Éponine huffed in defeat and sat up with the blankets wrapped around her tiny frame. Night terrors were something she understood all too well, and the poor man's cries of distress weren't worth letting go on for too long. She also desired sleep and wasn't about to get any if she heard that all night.
It wasn't surprising to Éponine that no one else could hear the gentleman's nightmares echoing from down the hallway. The guest quarters were on the opposite end of the large house, far away from Marius, Cosette, or Monsieur Gillenormand to overhear and come running to aid.
Éponine resolved quickly that this would have to be her doing. She had lost her opportunity the night before, but lack of sleep made her bolder than usual, and, thus, she wrapped an old shawl of Cosette's around her shoulders and reluctantly eased out of bed, hissing when her toes met the cold floorboards. It may have been summer, but nights could still get chilly enough to warrant a gripe or two.
It's better than where you resided only two months ago, Éponine, she reminded herself as she crept out the door and down the hallway, her feet barely making a sound.
She paused at the door to inhale nervously before entering the man's room. She could hear him tossing and turning and, sure enough, found him entangled within the bed sheets, mumbling incoherently. The door creaked as she made to close it, and, for a moment, she startled, thinking she may have awoken Enjolras, but then he began crying out again in sleep, and her body relaxed, though only temporarily; Enjolras's night terrors were unsettling to behold, and seeing them with her own eyes made them worse.
Éponine approached the bed with caution, not really sure of what to do. If she woke him, she risked being seen indecent. Her intentions would probably also be misconstrued. She didn't know him and he certainly didn't know her, and finding a stranger standing next to his bed in the middle of the night would probably send the wrong message.
But then, allowing the man to continue thrashing about and whimpering in his sleep didn't sit well with her either. Éponine observed the man quietly at a distance. With her eyes well adjusted to the dark, and the faint trickling of moon light seeping through the window, Éponine could make out his sharp features, even with the shadows that danced across his face.
Enjolras was scruffier than she remembered, though that was hardly unexpected. He also looked like a man who had been through something terrible. His face was paler and his cheeks were sunken in, but he was still a good-looking fellow. His blonde curls were messier than she remembered, but his head had evidently been tossing back and forth for some time.
Suddenly, Enjolras called out into the darkness and his entire body twitched. "Get...out..." he moaned.
Éponine jerked where she stood, panicking for a moment until it dawned on her that his eyes were still closed. She inched closer and tentatively reached out to him when his upper body flinched again and she reared back, prepared to run out of the room.
"Get...out...now..."
"En - Enjolras?" she chanced speaking, thinking he might wake.
"I...said...get out... Get...somewhere...safe..."
Éponine froze. Why did that command some eerily familiar? She stared down at Enjolras, confusion marring her brow, as he carried on rolling his head back and forth.
"This...is it... No... NO!" Éponine leaned forward and delicately touched his exposed arm, praying he would calm down. "No," he continued to moan against his pillow, "Joly... Courfeyrac... My friends..."
Éponine carefully sat down at the edge of his bed. Her heart was pounding, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the nervous possibility of waking the gentleman up, the thought of him finding her there, or of him spotting her in nothing but her nightgown, which clung to her figure and left her more exposed than she would have liked. She gulped down her reservations, however, and began rubbing her small hand up and down the length of his forearm.
"I'm sorry," he whispered repeatedly, each time fainter than the last. "I'm sorry..."
Something in his pain-filled apology tugged at Éponine's insides. His voice sounded so fragile, like glass, ready to shatter into a million pieces. She didn't know the man well at all, but in the few encounters she had had with the revolutionist, she couldn't recall him looking or sounding so utterly defeated, and, for whatever reason, it saddened her.
It took several minutes to realize that, along with his perpetual apologizing, Enjolras was also soundlessly crying. She witnessed a small teardrop fall from his face and stilled momentarily. She wanted to brush it away but suspected she would wake him if she did. He wouldn't want to be seen like this either, she concluded; so, she continued rubbing her hand up and down his arm in a gentle, repetitious rhythm, until Enjolras was no longer softly crying or moaning but sleeping quietly and comfortably.
After a while, Éponine ceased and drew back from the bed. For reasons she couldn't account for, she was rather reluctant to leave him.
What if the night terrors start again? Perhaps you should stay... No, what if he wakes up? He shouldn't see you like this. You shouldn't be here. Go back to your room. Quickly!
Éponine bit her lip and started to make her way towards the door when another thought came to her. She turned around and stared at the sleeping stranger.
Then again, would you want to be left alone with your nightmares, Éponine?
Sighing, Éponine quietly resolved to stay and sunk into a sofa chair next to Enjolras's bed. She curled her knees against her chest and wrapped her shawl more securely around herself, snuggling into a ball and watching Enjolras sleep. She had never seen someone sleep peacefully, but it would seem that was now the case. His strong, angular jaw was relaxed and his eyelashes fluttered every so often, but he otherwise didn't move or moan.
That was relatively easy. Between the lull of Enjolras's steady breathing and the breakdown of her own exhaustion, Éponine found her eyelids drooping. Just a few more minutes, she told her herself, and then go back to your room... Just a few more minutes...
Éponine's head slumped against the back of the chair, and, a minute or two later, she was softly snoring, her comfortable breathing matching Enjolras's as the pair of them slept soundly.