A/N: I didn't realize till uploading this chapter that when I said you'd get more interaction between them soon, I really meant it. ;)

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 5

"In the rain, the pavement shines like silver..."
-Les Misérables

Éponine stirred and rolled over in bed. A cry in the dark. Her eyes reluctantly opened, adjusting to the moonlight that cast strange patterns across the floor. Awareness of the source of the sound registered and she sat up, taking a moment to awaken further before climbing out of the warm comforts of her bed. It would take quite some getting used to having a bed to sleep in, but it was divine, all the same.

Not that it kept away her own nightmares, but they seemed to have lessened significantly since coming to Marius's grandfather's home. That made her smile, though only temporarily, for she heard the cry again, and it startled her out of falling back asleep.

Wrapping a shawl around her nightgown, Éponine tip toed out of the bedroom and down the hall to Enjolras's room, her mind fighting her all the way there. Either she was too tired to argue with her conscience, or her instincts told her to ignore the weariness she felt at the back of her mind.

Éponine opened the door and it creaked loudly, halting her in her tracks. She listened for sounds of movement and was relieved to hear none. She wasn't as nervous as the previous night and couldn't account for why that was, but hearing Enjolras's night terrors put her on edge, for whatever odd reason.

Enjolras mumble something incoherently, which informed Éponine that he was still sleeping, so she crept inside and shut the door behind her. Surveying him from across the room, it was clear that he was in the midst of another nightmare. Probably about the barricade, she considered with a frown.

Even with her mind still fighting her every step, Éponine approached the bed and timidly reached out to take Enjolras's hand in hers, remembering how her touch the night before had calmed him down rather quickly. To her surprise, he quieted almost instantly, his breathing leveling out and his body no longer twitching in fear, sadness, remorse, or whatever it was.

Éponine stood by the bed for quite some time, her hand locked in his, mindful of how remarkably comforting the feeling was. His hand was warm, his fingers limply intertwined in hers. Yet, it felt strangely appropriate.

You should go back to your room, her mind cautioned.

Instead, Éponine gently squeezed Enjolras's hand. She considered sitting down in the sofa chair, but that meant unfastening her hand from his, and she wasn't ready to do so. Taking a deep breath, Eponine decidedly eased herself onto the edge of Enjolras's bed, making sure to put some distance between herself and the relative stranger, and prayed he wouldn't wake.

Why was she doing this? What compelled her to hold the hand of a man she hardly knew in the middle of the night because he was having a nightmare?

Lots of people have them, including you! she contemplated. You should go back to bed before he wakes up, Éponine. You shouldn't be here. This is ridiculous!

Just as she was finally considering that very idea, Enjolras's steady breathing suddenly hitched. Startled, Éponine peered down to find a pair of intense, blue eyes gazing back at her, and she thought she might be sick. Luckily, she gasped instead.

Oh, no...

"You," he whispered, his tone accusing and, at the same time, alarmingly calm.

"I... I'm sorry," she stammered back, quickly withdrawing her hand in an attempt to rise and leave the room; but Enjolras's low voice stopped her.

"No..."

Éponine jerked when he lazily reached out to take her by the hand again. Her entire body tensed, prepared for something dreadful to follow—perhaps some verbal assaults or even a smack or a punch. That was normally what happened when she did something that displeased her parents, and the pounding of her heart rang in her ears.

When she chanced a glance down at Enjolras, though, his heavy eyelids were closing. Within seconds, he was fast asleep again, his thumb gently pressed into her palm, his figure slack and completely relaxed. Éponine let out the breath she had been holding and allowed herself to scan his face in the dark.

A faint, bluish light fell upon his lax features. His jaw, which Éponine observed had usually been tightly clamped, now hung loose as he lightly snored in sleep, and the few lines around his eyes and mouth that had made him quite the expressive speaker were soft, even faded. She hadn't noticed the prominent cupid's bow of his upper lip before, nor how a few golden curls seemed to effortlessly fall against and perfectly frame his face. She may have had her heart always set on one unattainable man, but Éponine was no fool or lacked proper cognizance when it came to the opposite sex.

Enjolras cut a handsome, refined figure by any standards. He was distinguishable in a crowd and, much like Marius, received more than a few double-takes on the streets. His features were elegant and other worldly, "carved by angels," as some silly women described him. The thought made Éponine smile. She remembered the charisma and charm with which he had so often spoken at the meetings of the Les Amis de l'ABC—the way he could attract an enthusiastic crowd and rally those to his cause with such passion and, at the same time, grace. It wasn't his words alone that drew people to him like moths to a flame; Éponine had seen for herself how close acquaintances like Marius could be sucked right into his realm with a piercing glance or a few choice words. It was admittedly intriguing, but she had been focused on more important matters: those that belonged to her heart, and her heart belonged to Marius.

Up close, Enjolras still possessed all of those qualities that Éponine had quietly perceived from a distance. Upon closer inspection, however, Éponine found something too drastically had shifted. Perhaps it was only in sleep that some of the enchantment washed away, replaced by a different glamour—one that no longer resembled the blazing sun but the chilly, night sky. It was melancholic and tragic instead of bursting with hope and capability. And it turned Éponine's soft smile upside down.

You really should go back to your room, you know...

Éponine already knew that wasn't to be, though. If she removed her hand again, he might truly wake up, or the nightmares might recycle and start all over. There was still the awkward fact that she was sitting on the edge of his bed, and staying up the rest of the night wasn't an option either. She could already feel her eyes growing heavy and yearning to close. The feel of his warm hand encasing hers was soothing, comforting enough to make her body melt into the duvet and long to lie down.

Éponine willed herself to stay put, though it didn't take much convincing, and shifted carefully to lie opposite a slumbering Enjolras. She curled herself into a ball and tried to crane her neck to see his face. His eyes were still shut.

Hopefully, I'll wake before he does, was the last thought that entered Éponine's mind before she succumbed to sleep, her head nearly touching Enjolras's blanketed feet, with her hand still holding his.

Luckily, Éponine awoke at dawn, unsure of where she was before the recollections from the previous night came flooding back to her. Her hand was hot and sweaty, which made her grimace, until she sat up and realized that she and Enjolras had held hands throughout the night, never unlocking their fingers from one another's grasp. Éponine couldn't be sure of how she felt about that, only that the act itself had kept her from tossing and turning as she normally would have done; if she were being truthful, their hand-holding was rather nice, even consoling...

Suppressing a yawn into the crook of her free arm, Éponine tried to stretch without moving the bed too much, fearful of waking the gentleman still snoring beside her. His body hadn't shifted since she fell asleep, and Éponine suspected their hand-holding had proven the same for him: a peaceful slumber without rolling and twitching and waking himself up in the middle of the night, as he probably normally does.

Enjolras's attractive face, unbothered and as lax as before, looked even more alluring in the dim, pinkish glow of dawn. The gentle rays peeking through his window cast themselves across his angular jaw and high cheekbones, brightening his strong features and golden, tight curls.

Feeling suddenly sheepish for staring so outlandishly at the man, Éponine blushed and slid her legs off of the bed. She thought she was safe to get up and stretch when Enjolras suddenly twisted his own legs beneath the covers, his mind and body awakening at the same time as she.

Damn it! Éponine cursed her bad luck. She hastily removed her hand from his a second time but was caught off her guard. Enjolras's hand grabbed her wrist, firmly holding her in place, and she let out a nervous gasp when she peered down to find his bright eyes staring up at her, wide and alert.

"You," he repeated the same as before, and much like a pawing wild cat before it strikes.

"M - Monsieur..."

"What are you doing in my room?"

"Pl - Please, Monsieur," Éponine tried desperately to wiggle herself free, but his grip was strong, "let go!"

"Not until you explain yourself," he ordered in that commanding baritone she remembered well from the barricade, adding as he made to sit up, "again," to further emphasize his point.

"I... You were having another nightmare and—"

"And what concern is that of yours?"

Flushed and excited, Éponine narrowed her eyes defensively. "You've been keeping me awake at night, that's what!"

"Does that warrant you sleeping in my bed chambers?"

Éponine felt her cheeks radiate with humiliation but Enjolras was now blushing too, apparently lamenting the suggestion his questioning prompted. "If you're trying to insinuate something, Monsieur—" she began before Enjolras heatedly cut her off with another outburst.

"I'm trying to understand what the hell you're doing in my bed!"

The remark only added embarrassment to injury for both. The two of them stared hard at one another, despite the obvious uneasiness that had settled upon the room. Finally, Éponine gave up trying to writhe herself free and frowned, defeated.

"I tried to move to the sofa chair last night, but you took possession of my hand again."

Enjolras blinked, the panic evident in his blue eyes. "I - I did?"

"Yes... Rather than disturb you again, I laid down on the bed and tried to get a few hours' rest." She bit her lip, her nerves quickly overpowering her anger. "I - I'm sorry for waking you, Monsieur. I was only trying to calm you down. Your night terrors are quite loud and would've kept me up all night if I hadn't..."

Éponine went quiet as Enjolras released his grip on her wrist and averted his eyes. After a moment or two of watching the man struggle to reply, he offered, his voice exceedingly soft, "I apologize for my actions. I was startled was all." His mouth bound itself into a tight grimace as he carefully met her face. "Did I hurt you?"

Éponine was taken aback by such a question, simple as it may be. No one ever asked after her welfare or how they physically treated her. It was common place to be manhandled in her old world that she wasn't prepared to receive anything remotely apologetic in this one.

"No, Monsieur. I... I'm fine. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right."

Enjolras grunted, trying unsuccessfully to pull himself onto his elbows. He winced in pain and attempted to scoot backward and away from her, though without much progress.

"Would you like some help?" Éponine whispered, earning a cautious look over from Enjolras, now awkwardly positioned on one elbow.

"I... No, I'm fine, thank you."

Éponine forced a smile and, not really knowing what else to do, she withdrew from the bed to sit in the sofa chair a few feet away. Drawing her knees up to her chest again, she wrapped her arms around her legs, keeping her nightgown tucked beneath her feet for warmth, and watched quietly as Enjolras struggled to cushion several pillows behind his back.

Once he was situated more comfortably, his sharp eyes cast themselves upon her again, scanning her face with a mixture of lingering confusion and, perhaps, interest, though she couldn't be sure. Despite his disconcerting complexion, which was much paler than Éponine remembered, he resembled much the same leader she knew from the barricade.

"You're Éponine?"

It was a statement rather than a question, and Éponine's back straightened. "You know my name, Monsieur?"

"Yes, Marius told me, though I recognized you from before," he mumbled, causing her face to redden. "I'm not sure why you felt compelled to lie to me yesterday."

"L - Lie to you?"

"Yes."

Enjolras awaited her explanation with a suspicious-looking scowl; Éponine couldn't help but find the revolutionist intimidating, even now that there was a considerable gap that separated them. Being bedridden didn't seem to make a difference either.

"I..."

"Cat got your tongue?"

Éponine found her nerves quickly evaporating. "No," she challenged defensively. "Maybe I didn't particularly want you to know who I am."

"And why's that?"

"What does it matter?" she snapped back, earning a raised eyebrow from Enjolras.

"Lying says a lot about one's character," Enjolras drawled, his intense eyes pinning her into the sofa chair. "I never thought your face dishonest, Mademoiselle, which is why I find it perplexing why you would feel that you couldn't be honest with me."

Éponine quickly avoided his careful scrutiny. "Please don't call me that again..." Her mouth opened and closed several times. Finally, she frowned in a manner that took Enjolras aback. "I'm surprised you would even remember who I am... Most gentlemen wouldn't..."

Enjolras's knitted brow lessened. "I remember your face. You were Marius's shadow. Wherever he appeared, so did you." He paused, sensing the anger now penetrating through her amber irises, so deep, yet mistrusting of others. "I'm not one to forget a face."

"No, I suppose you aren't." Éponine ground her teeth; the notion of being called 'Marius's shadow' brought her to a new level of humiliation. "I'm not his shadow," she insisted with more bite.

"Would you prefer that I call you his huntress, his stalker—"

Éponine gaped, affronted by such labels. "Please, Monsieur—"

"His messenger? Perhaps that is most appropriate."

Éponine swiftly turned her head so as not to look at him. Even though Enjolras's expression was softer than before, those fierce, blue eyes appeared ready to gnaw her to bits. His tongue was biting and unforgiving, even if deep down Éponine knew his observation was perfectly correct.

"You're cruel, Monsieur," she whispered through a strained voice, weaving her arms tighter around herself.

"Forgive me. I don't mean to be. I'm simply more blunt than most company would prefer."

"Insensitive is more like it..."

"That too."

Éponine hesitated to look but chanced a quick glance in his direction, relieved that Enjolras was no longer holding her hostage with his gaze. He had quietly brought a book into his lap, removing a thread for a bookmark, which Éponine noted just happened to be red, and began to read.

Éponine watched him in silence for a time, scrutinizing his pinched up features as he read. She felt irritated and flustered. If this was his gentlemanly manner of ignoring her or requesting that she leave his room, she wasn't about to concede so easily.

"I wasn't his messenger."

"You ran errands for him all the time, as I recall," Enjolras returned without looking up.

"That was out of kindness to a friend."

"A friend who used you to do his bidding, no doubt."

"I'm sorry?" Eponine's mouth fell open; the man seemed to be full of insults and she couldn't understand why.

"I believe you heard me, Mademoiselle."

"Marius is my friend." Éponine could no longer withhold the pain in her voice.

"As he is also mine."

"We've known each other a long time, Monsieur."

"As have we."

Éponine chewed her bottom lip to keep from snapping. "That is why I hung about him so much and helped him a great deal: because we're friends." She made sure to emphasize the words, but, to her discredit, it garnered little reaction; or, at least, not the kind that she had hoped for.

"Is that so?" came Enjolras's nonchalant reply that only compounded her anger further.

"You sound as though you wish to enlighten me, so please don't let me stop you."

"To the contrary, Mademoiselle, I have nothing colorful to add."

"Would you stop calling me that?" Éponine huffed, and Enjolras cast his curious eyes upon her at last with one eyebrow arched. "I've told you before—"

"Are you not being taken in by the Pontmercies?"

"I... Yes..."

"Then you are a Mademoiselle now, Éponine; or shall be in time."

"I'm no such person..."

"Oh? Why is that? Because you came from more humble beginnings?"

"If you wish to put it so directly, Mon—"

"As I've already explained to you, that is my nature."

"Yes, I've noticed!"

Enjolras smirked at Éponine's frustration, and she wasn't sure what to make of his treatment, nor his peculiar simper. On the one hand, it was undoubtedly attractive, to the point that she was temporarily left breathless. On the other, it was absolutely infuriating.

"They won't be able to change who I am," she grumbled, trying to ignore his smile. She felt terribly shamefaced all of sudden. "I'm a commoner off the streets. Bathing me and putting me in pretty things won't change any of that."

Enjolras, who had returned to his reading material, shrugged off her point. "You'd be surprised."

"Oh?"

"I believe Madame Pontmercy came from such beginnings as yours, and look how well her life has turned out."

Éponine fell silent, though she sensed the man was aware of her staring and watching him closely, taking in his fair point in quiet contemplation. She hated being trumped, even if Enjolras was right.

"We're not the same," she insisted after a lengthy pause.

"No one is."

"Do you have such a simple answer for everything?"

Unsurprisingly, Éponine received no answer, only another nettling, small smirk that made her grumble and cross her arms. When the silence between them became unbearable, she caved into her irritations.

"Aren't you going to reprimand or threaten me again for invading your privacy, Monsieur?"

"You explained why you were here, and I find your explanation logical, though I daresay I still don't quite understand why you bothered. So, why should I reprimand you?"

"You... You aren't going to tell Monsieur Marius or his wife?"

Enjolras turned his head and regarded her seriously. "I wasn't planning on it. Should I?"

To this, Éponine's face flushed with relief, though she couldn't be sure if it was because of Enjolras's suggestion or the manner in which he was now regarding her, both considerate and respectful. "I... I'd prefer that you didn't," she pleaded softly. "Like I said, Monsieur, I meant no offense."

"Enjolras."

"I'm sorry?"

"Considering we, erm, shared a bed last night, you needn't call me 'Monsieur.'" To avoid further embarrassment at both their expenses, he added quickly, "You may call me Enjolras."

Éponine's mouth slowly curled into an anxious-ridden smile. She drew her feet down to the floor and surveyed the book in his hands, nodding at it with interest. She was desperate to move past the awkwardness of the situation but also found herself not quite ready to leave yet.

"May I ask what you're reading...Enjolras?"

"You may." His eyes glinted, catching the rising sun in their depths. "It's a book from the university. Marius was good enough to bring the majority of my things to catch up on my studies." His eyes directed towards a stack of books on his end table. "I'm studying law."

Éponine examined the books, her eyes lighting up at the sheer amount that not only covered his end table but a nearby writing desk as well; she was unaware of Enjolras observing her fixation with a peculiar interest of his own. He bookmarked the page he was on and closed it, giving her his full attention.

"Do you read?"

Éponine's eyes fluttered. "I... No, I've never learned..." Her head sulked towards the floor.

"You needn't be ashamed, Éponine. You'll be afforded the opportunity to learn now that the Pontmercies have taken you in."

Éponine's head jerked up, her eyes glistening with wonder. "I will?" she murmured, unable to contain her excitement.

"Of course. I would imagine you'll learn many things... Art, literature, dancing and crocheting..."

To the latter two, Éponine curled her upper lip in disgust, which earned her a soft rile of laughter from the charming man a few feet away. The sound, though gentle, was infectious and she found herself chuckling too.

"Must I?" she very near groaned; she couldn't imagine herself learning how to dance. She could barely keep from tripping over her own feet most days, and crocheting sounded terribly dull and unexciting.

"If you wish to become a lady, Éponine, than I'm afraid you must be well versed."

Éponine broadened her smile, however, and her enthralled eyes returned to his vast, disheveled book collection. "I'd love to attend a university someday..."

"Perhaps you may."

Éponine snorted, unconvinced. "There's no place for my sex at a university, Mon—Enjolras."

"Says who?" Enjolras challenged, laying his book upon his lap.

"Erm, says gentlemen like yourself."

"I'm not like other gentlemen."

Éponine couldn't prevent projecting a halfhearted smile for him; she may not have known him well, but like other gentleman he most certainly was not, and she could attest to that from the limited time spent in his presence before.

"Well, perhaps someday you'll prove me wrong, Enjolras."

"You're very mistrusting of others." There was no accusation to Enjolras's tone of voice; still, his spot-on perception made her blush. "That's a very good thing, Mademoiselle. I daresay you know how to look after yourself."

"I've survived this long, so I suppose it's habit; I must be doing something right."

"Yes, indeed..."

Éponine shyly turned to the book in his large hands and extended an arm. He flinched, though it was too subtle for Éponine to notice.

"May I see?" she asked ever so quietly.

Quickly understanding what she wanted, Enjolras conceded with a polite nod and handed the book over to her. Holding its weight in her hands felt enormously satisfying. Éponine turned it over several times, her fingertips caressing it as though it were something sacred; an important item that must be guarded at all costs. She had never owned a book in her life, though she had been tempted to buy one or two with the few scraps of money she snatched on the streets. There was no way to buy anything, though, without her father either catching her in the act or for fear of discovery, and what would surely follow thereafter; he never missed a trick and never missed the opportunity to take every last ounce that his children earned, so Éponine had never chanced it.

Today, there was no abusive elder to peer over her shoulder or assault her for her curiosity, so Éponine eagerly flipped through the various pages, giddy with excitement at the wealth of knowledge the item in her hands contained, though, for the moment, the text was entirely foreign and unknown. The idea of finally learning to read, however—a life-long dream for a little girl growing up on the hellish, dark alleyways of Paris—felt suddenly accessible for the first time.

The leather binding was worn, and a few pages had been torn at the edges, but the condition didn't matter to Éponine. It was the text therein—the enticing old, worn scent of an education—that awaited her; an opportunity to better herself as she had never imagined. She was abruptly apprised of Enjolras observing her with his arms laced across his chest. His eyes were twinkling at her in amusement, even if his mouth wasn't smiling. Éponine carefully closed the book, though she ran her fingers over the cover, as though it were a lover and needed to be mindfully touched.

"Would you like me to teach you?" he surprised her by asking.

Éponine's ears perked up. "Teach me, Monsieur?"

"Yes... To read."

"I..."

Enjolras surveyed his quarters, this time his mouth forming into a glum frown. "Considering the fact that I'll likely be confined here for some time yet, I see no reason why I couldn't instruct you, if you wish."

"In - Instruct me? Really?"

Enjolras gave her a curt nod. "I could teach you to write as well, if time permits us."

"You... You'd do that? For me?" Éponine's eyes narrowed, a wave of skepticism passing by her eyes. "What's the catch?"

To her further astonishment, Enjolras laughed yet again; it was the second time in only a span of a short sitting that she had heard the gentleman do so, and both the sight and sound was wonderfully appealing, for reasons she didn't quite understand, though Éponine quickly realized in that moment that she had never really seen or heard Enjolras smile or laugh before. Not in any of the times she had spent at the cafe, where he and the Les Amis de l'ABC plotted and discussed their rebellion, whilst others drank themselves into an oblivion. He had always struck her as too serious, too sober, and too stern. Then again, she had been too focused on Marius to take much notice of anything else, including him. Seeing the attractive, blond gentleman's face entirely relaxed, if only for a moment, was a remarkable change to take in.

"There's no catch, I promise you," he insisted, and his laughter soon subsided. "I have ample time on my hands and someone who's eager to learn, which would make my efforts worth the while. I'd be putting you at a disadvantage if I didn't offer. Besides..." Enjolras's scowled, the seriousness of his features returning. "Being confined to these quarters has left me bored out of my mind, and I'm rather tired of being unuseful. Consider it a win-win for us both."

"I see..."

"What do you say?"

Éponine's earnestness burst through without much further consideration, and Enjolras found the young lady's smile, so vivacious and bright, endearing. It was childlike, filled with wonder and hope that he couldn't quite understand. Why hadn't he noticed it before?

Because she never smiled, Enjolras, his astute mind reminded him. And probably with good reason; you remember what she looked like before. I'm sure you can imagine what she came from...

It was remarkable for both to think on how different their lives were only some two months ago, each facing death and loss and what little hope they still clung to. Éponine was about to comment on her stroke of good fortune when a few more rays trailed across Enjolras's angelic face, and she quickly turned her head towards the window behind her.

"Oh... I - I should probably go back to my room."

Enjolras bowed his head courteously. "As you wish."

He watched the dark-haired Éponine rise to her full height, finding that even her slender figure resembled that of a teenager rather than a grown woman. She was short and petite and would have likely possessed curves if she hadn't spent the majority of her life near the point of starvation. He blinked and distractedly reopened his book. To be caught staring at a woman, particularly one who wasn't his wife, in her nightgown wasn't to be born.

Neither is allowing a strange woman to enter your bedchambers to hold your hand through a nightmare, Enjolras...

Éponine paused when she reached the door handle and turned to thank Enjolras for his proposition. "I'm sorry again for disturbing you last night, Mon—Enjolras," she repeated. "It won't happen again."

With that, she nodded respectfully and left the room, her footsteps quietly echoing down the hallway back to her quarters. Enjolras looked on after the closed door from whence the dark, curious female had exited, uncertain of how he felt about her promise never to revisit him at night again. The isolation that always took over when he was alone was also, for the first time, discomforting.

A/N #2: It's the start of something, yes?