A/N: I don't really have an excuse for the tardiness of this update, only that I've been going through a fairly tough time recently and haven't found joy in writing like I used to... Updates may be infrequent until things (hopefully) get sorted out, but I'll do my best...

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 7

"To be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight..."
-Les Misérables

Enjolras awoke to the soft sound of turning pages. Confused, he rolled over to discover Éponine exactly where she had been when he drifted off to sleep: sitting in the worn sofa chair, though positioned ladylike with her feet on the floor rather than curled up with her knees bent to her chest. She held a thick book in her hands—one of his own—and was thoughtfully flipping through each page, her eyes transfixed on the text, which he found more than a little perplexing, considering the young woman couldn't read.

"Looking for something?" he groggily inquired, startling her to the point that the book nearly dropped out of her hands.

"Oh!" she gasped, a wave of awareness washing over her. She giggled nervously. "Sorry, I... I like looking at the pages."

"Looking?" he repeated, not following her thought process.

"The text." She roamed her delicate fingers over one of the pages to illustrate her point. "I can't understand any of it—yet—but the words themselves are rather...beautiful to look at, if - if that makes any sense? It's language, ideas mashed together to make something thoughtful and coherent; something valuable and sacred..."

Her cheeks gained more color at Enjolras's silence, as well as his furrowed brow. Sensing that she had just sputtered nonsensically, her cheeks began to burn.

"Do you think me foolish?"

Enjolras didn't answer right away. Rather, he tried to shift himself upright by propping several pillows against the headboard. Once he was more comfortably positioned, he regarded her with less tension—or perhaps puzzlement—outlining his face.

"No," he answered quietly, though Éponine wasn't convinced.

"Are you mocking me, Monsieur?"

"No, not at all, Éponine. In fact, I share your opinion. You're correct. Words are knowledge, words are power, words are...yes, quite beautiful, if you can develop the tools for using them as such."

Éponine's face brightened, like the flame of a candle sprouting to life. She carefully shut the book and handed it back to Enjolras, who shook his mop of curly, golden locks in refusal. Her smile turned into a quizzical frown.

"No, hang onto it. You may find it stimulating once you come to understand what it says."

"But..." Éponine turned over the book with newfound skepticism. "It's a law book, isn't it?"

Enjolras's angelic features didn't give way to any parting information, however, much to her dismay. What good would a book like that do her?

"Perhaps it is," Enjolras shrugged off her inquiring, though there was a hint of playfulness—a small glimmer—in his eyes she hadn't recognized before. "Perhaps not. Either way, I'm not telling you. You'll have to read it and find out for yourself."

"This?" Éponine's brown eyes grew as large as saucers. She flipped through the pages to further exaggerate her point. "You honestly expect me to be able to read all of this?"

"Of course I do. Not now, naturally, but eventually, yes. Why wouldn't I?" When Éponine didn't answer, only eyed him sidelong as if he had gone entirely off his rocker, the glint of amusement vanished, replaced by a grave look Éponine knew well. "I'll be tutoring you to read, Éponine. Have you no faith in my abilities to help you?"

"What? No, of course I do, Mon—Enjolras. I just... I figured I would learn the basics, but that it may be too late to..."

Enjolras's eyebrows rose. "To what?" Reading her hesitation with ease, he added, "You don't think you're at all capable, is that it?"

"I didn't say that."

"No, you said it differently, but you implied the same message."

"I did not."

"Why do you think so little of yourself?"

"Why do you presume so much without knowing a thing about me?" she challenged, finding she didn't like the severity of Enjolras's tone, even if she knew he meant no harm by it.

"On the contrary, I don't presume to know anything," Enjolras replied with, to her, a surprisingly gentleman-like tone, one that was both reserved and polite. "You've already told me before that you aren't a lady, have assumed that you can't change or better your life, and have just now informed me that you don't think you can improve your knowledge. To me, that's a person who sees very little value in herself."

Éponine turned away quickly, gliding a hand over the cover of the book she held and inspecting it with keen interest. "With all due respect, I think I know myself far better than you do," she mumbled, though not low enough for Enjolras not to hear.

The few wrinkles on Enjolras's forehead heightened, making him appear older, even wiser, than his years. "You don't believe you deserve a chance."

Although Éponine wanted to be affronted, his words rung true. She decidedly chose not to look at him, however, and slowly shook her head in an attempt to spurn his spot-on candor.

"Considering who I am, Enjolras," she began cautiously, "and where I've come from and who my parents are..."

"I know who they are."

The candidness of that remark, and the fact that it carried no suggestion of discrimination, caught Éponine off balance. She met the intensity of his thoughtful, blue eyes, feeling more unsettled than before.

"You do?" Her voice barely carried across the small gap that divided them, but Enjolras nodded in return, his expression not betraying his tone as she would have expected.

"Yes, I do. I don't intend to judge you for your family, Éponine. They chose their path long ago, and their decisions shouldn't undermine, nor overshadow, your own. You have a choice, with a clear path before you that leads to something better. Walking it will be half the battle, the other will be coming to accept yourself under these new conditions that society will place on you. And, I'm afraid, that's not something anyone else can help you navigate. You'll have to find your way through it on your own."

"On my own," Éponine murmured, her visage poised and reflective.

That's nothing new to me.

"You must start by being less critical of yourself; it will only hinder your ability to learn."

"I see..."

Enjolras sighed and eased his head back against his pillow, his eyelids growing heavy. "Is it Madame Pontmercy?"

His question was so direct, and so unexpected, that, at first, Éponine could do nothing except blink several times. Her heart suddenly began to race. Was the gentleman insinuating something? Was there some accusation to be born from his harsh-sounding inquiry? Éponine reacted by narrowing her eyes.

"I don't follow."

"Are you sure of that, Mademoiselle?"

"You are mocking me."

"You make an awful lot of assumptions for accusing others of the same," Enjolras retorted, keeping his voice level and controlled.

"Why did you bring her up then?"

"Only to understand what makes you so hesitant to move forward. Judging by your reaction the other day about Marius—"

"Please don't bring that up again..."

Enjolras regarded her grimly, his mouth cast in a concerned frown. "Have you dealt with the matter?"

Trying not to appear as mortified as she felt, Éponine answered through gritted teeth, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I have."

"I'm relieved to hear it."

Éponine abruptly shoved the book back towards Enjolras with more emphasis than she had reckoned. She quickly brushed off her dress and rose to her full height, looking down upon a now befuddled Enjolras, whose eyes darted from the book to her and back again.

"I see you had no nightmares this time."

Enjolras blinked, a cautiously indifferent expression forming on his pallid face. "No... I suppose I didn't..."

"That is good, Monsieur."

Enjolras noted the shift in her icy tone of voice and couldn't help but grimace. He knew he could be brusque, but that was his nature, and hadn't he warned her already? By pointing out her insecurities and attempting to help her move past the hesitations that held her back, Enjolras realized he was expected to pay the price for it.

"Now that you're awake, it would seem there's no reason for me to stay unless you require anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

Éponine bit her bottom lip to keep from snapping. "Yes?"

"You would do well to be more guarded with your emotions. It's unbecoming to strangers."

"I... I'm sorry?" Éponine's mouth fell open, and even more so when Enjolras's hard expression broke into rough, unruly laughter.

"Éponine, you're to be a Mademoiselle. You'll find that people in high society are far more circumspect. Their faces aren't nearly as open and honest and forthright as...yours, I'm afraid. It's something you'll want to work on safekeeping for yourself and yourself alone." When Éponine opened her mouth to object, the heat in her eyes obvious, Enjolras added, "Trust me, you'll thank me for it later."

Doubtful! she wanted to scream but, thankfully, refrained.

Éponine straightened her shoulders and offered Enjolras a curt bow; the anger that projected from where she stood could cut the atmosphere like a knife. She needed to escape this small confinement, and quickly.

"Good day, Monsieur."

"Enjolras," he interrupted as she made to leave; Éponine peered at him over her shoulder, her eyes still tapered. "Given the circumstances of me being your future instructor, you should call me Enjolras. It's easier that way." His irises too turned into near slits as he appended, with bite, "Provided it isn't too unbearable for you."

Éponine could feel the embarrassment of the situation churning her stomach. She turned around with the wrath in her expression dissipated.

"I'm sorry, Enjolras," she apologized softly, bringing her hands together. "I know you mean well. I suppose I'm still struggling to come to terms with how drastically my life has changed these past two weeks. Nay, these past two months. My life's been turned upside down and my emotions are...unguarded. Do forgive my lack of civility? I... I don't mean to be so rude."

Enjolras searched her pretty, carmel-colored eyes quietly before complying with a dip of his head. "I understand, Éponine, thank you. I hope this isn't a sign of things to come in our lessons, however?"

"No, Mon—Enjolras. Again, I apologize."

"Apology accepted."

Enjolras instructed her silently to take back the book she had thrust into his hands, and Éponine accepted it with another polite bow. Not sure what else to say, Enjolras chose to end their conversation by burrowing himself beneath his blankets. He didn't look all that comfortable, leaving Éponine to suspect that his injuries had done more damage than what met the eyes.

"Can I get you anything?" she offered in a much gentler tone than before.

Enjolras, it would seem, wasn't remotely interested in furthering their discussion or accepting anything from her. Rather, he looked depleted and tired, and he answered with a small toss of his head.

"No, thank you, I'm fine. You may go."

"Very well. Oh! Madame Pontmercy mentioned that my books should be arriving today. In fact," she gazed towards his open window, "any moment now."

"I'm glad to hear it. We'll begin tomorrow then."

"All right."

Enjolras's eyelids flickered a few times before he mumbled, "Until tomorrow then," and turned away from her in bed to rest, leaving Éponine to stand awkwardly where she was, watching him as he started to fall back asleep.

"Until tomorrow then..."

Éponine awoke the next morning revitalized and excited. Her books had arrived with Marius upon his return from university as Cosette anticipated, and now she would be able to begin her tutoring sessions as she had been longing to for days. The only disquieting inkling that remained was the previous conversation she had had with Enjolras, which had touched upon sensitive nerves she wasn't prepared for anyone to uncover. It was as though the man, still a relative stranger, had peeled back several layers to her person, laying bare her fragilities as though they were common knowledge.

Maybe you really do need to work on better masking your emotions, she considered gravely, climbing out of bed and setting about dressing herself for the day.

Molly was supposedly going to be along to help her get ready this morning, but, as had been the case several mornings already, she hadn't shown, and Éponine wasn't about to hold a grudge about it, nor complain to the Pontmercies. She preferred to dress herself anyhow. That crabby old woman was purposely rough with her whenever they were alone, strapping her corset too tightly and practically pulling strands of her hair out whenever throwing it up into a half or full bun.

Besides, she liked having the early morning to herself, if only to be alone with her thoughts. Although this morning held promise and an air of eagerness, Éponine hadn't slept all too well. Not that that's anything new. As she set to brushing her wavy, dark locks while gazing into a small handheld mirror, as it was all that had been given to her by the bad-tempered maid, Éponine's mind wandered to the recovering gentleman down the hall. She had heard those cries yet again sometime during the night, just as she had many nights before, and found the circumstances increasingly disconcerting. Both times that she stayed in his room whilst he slept, she hadn't heard Enjolras make a sound, and yet, when she wasn't around, the cries never let up, even if they were fairly infrequent.

It's probably the comfort in not being alone, Éponine concluded with a mere shrug. She craned her neck to hover over the mirror that now lay flat on her writing desk so she could use both hands to tie back her hair. You remember how you slept better the nights Azelma crept into your room. Those were the only nights you both managed a decent night's sleep.

By the time she was through making her hair somewhat presentable, Éponine resorted to dressing herself, giving up on Molly making an appearance entirely, and tread downstairs for breakfast, fidgeting with her latest ensemble like always. Even after a few weeks spent in the lovely confinements of Monsieur Gillenormand's home, as well as the regular company of high society, it was still very odd for the poor young woman from the Parisian gutters to be clothed in material that wasn't torn and tattered or covered in mud. Wearing a suitable corset in itself had been an adjustment to the flimsy, poorly concocted article she had worn for years. Trying to lace it herself was nearly impossible, but she made due the best she could, ignoring the smug smiles she sometimes caught from Molly when passing her by in the corridors.

When Éponine entered the room, Monsieur Gillenormand was already seated, and greeted her warmly from his spot at the head of the table. "Come in, my dear," he beckoned to her to have a seat to his right, which she meekly complied to with a slight curtsey. Once seated, Éponine's hungry eyes roved over the table, surprised to see not two but three more place settings.

"Are you expecting company this morning, Monsieur?" she asked as docilely as possible.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course!" he chuckled and his bushy mustache gave a happy twitch. "Enjolras will finally be joining us this morning."

"Oh!" Éponine couldn't contain her surprise.

"I think giving the man a change of scenery might cheer him up a bit. Marius has been suggesting so for some time, but, well, we wanted to wait and see what Dr. Roux said; must take necessary precautions when it comes to the relentless fevers he was having for a while."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"I'm told Enjolras has volunteered to tutor you in reading and writing?"

"Yes, he has, Monsieur. I... I'm most grateful to be given the opportunity."

"And you should have it, my dear. I daresay it will do Enjolras a world of good too."

"Yes, so I've been told."

Monsieur Gillenormand's grey eyes turned grim. "He's been secretly miserable for a long time now, poor fellow. I can tell; not that I blame him. Who would? What with what he and Marius have gone through... It was their own faults, mind you," he grumbled with a hint of exasperation, "for going and getting themselves into such trouble, but all the same..."

Éponine smiled fondly at the elder gentleman. There was something infectiously warm about the bushy-haired nobleman, despite appearances. Though outwardly cold and snide, Éponine had quickly discovered soon after arriving that he was as genteel and kind as a grandfather could be.

"You're fond of him, Monsieur," she whispered, her kindness extending across their short separation.

"Indeed, I am," he confessed quietly. "I visit with him often; check on him as Marius does. He's a smart young man with considerable promise and a good heart. I'd hate to see him waste his talents on something as drivel as politics."

"You're not fond of the revolution, I trust?" Éponine certainly knew his answer; he very nearly growled in response, causing her to suppress her giggles as best she could.

"Not in the least, Mademoiselle. Oh, I would like to see more done for the less fortunate, to be sure, but I wholeheartedly believe in the monarchy. I see no reason why we should change. None whatsoever."

Éponine couldn't help but muse over what surely delightful, colorful conversations Monsieur Gillenormand and the revolutionist might have had on such a subject; her grin spread wider at the animated image that sprouted to life in her head of the elderly Gillenormand and fiercely passionate Enjolras debating back and forth from dawn until dusk, without taking a moment for breath. Both were equally volatile men, though stubbornly set in their opposing beliefs.

Éponine was about to ask after the amusing vision she had in mind when Cosette came strolling in, hardly making a sound as she took a seat catty-corner to Éponine. She bowed dutifully to both, and Monsieur Gillenormand wasted little time in addressing her before she could so much as open her mouth.

"Is he coming?"

"Yes, Monsieur. Marius is with him now. I thought best to go on ahead."

"Yes, yes, most sensible." He gestured to Molly, who had also recently entered the room, to fill the porcelain cups with hot tea, which she did whilst purposely scowling at Éponine all the while. "I hope the trek down here isn't too much for him to bear?"

"I know, I've worried the same, but Dr. Roux said the exercise would be good for him, as long as he doesn't overexert himself."

"Can he not walk?" Éponine asked, somewhat alarmed.

She knew, of course, that he was still recovering from his wounds, but she thought he might at least be able to get in and out of bed on his own. Cosette confirmed her fears with a somber shake of her head.

"He can, but not far, and not at all well. It's going to take time before he'll be able to manage much on his own."

"Cripple a man and you might as well rob him of his dignity too," Monsieur Gillenormand muttered, which quieted the room thereafter. Cosette and Éponine readily drank their tea in silence, reflective on the elder's choice words.

After several minutes, soft shambling near the entrance caught everyone's attention, and the three turned to find Marius gingerly leading Enjolras into the room by his arm. In his opposite hand, Enjolras held fast to a cane, which Éponine instantly concluded had to be a lender from Monsieur Gillenormand himself, seeing as he had several that he substituted on a daily basis.

A bit winded and still looking quite pale, Éponine couldn't help but wonder if Enjolras was indeed well enough to join them at all, though he was handsomely dressed for the occasion. He wore an attractive plum-colored waistcoat, beige vest, black trousers, and matching high boots. If one glanced at the striking gentleman from a distance, Éponine gathered that they would never have sensed the emotional and physical challenges he had endured. Éponine also suspected that only she could perceive the hint of debauched pride in Enjolras's eyes, which were once bright and alive, now terribly sheltered and reserved.

Enjolras greeted them all with a civilized bow that, to Éponine, seemed rather strained and subdued. She couldn't help but sympathize, and tried not to let her reaction show as Marius helped him maneuver into a chair opposite her, between Monsieur Gillenormand and Cosette. Marius then came around to occupy an empty chair next to her, and, for the first time since her arrival, the once besotted Éponine thought nothing of being so close to him. Rather, her eyes were focused on the former freedom fighter directly across from her.

"Good to see you up and about," Monsieur Gillenormand subtly brought a hand up to squeeze Enjolras's shoulder, a motion of attachment that didn't faze anyone in the room, though Éponine admittedly found their exchange fascinating.

"Thank you, Monsieur."

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Very well, thank you," he fibbed, something that everyone knew to be untrue and willingly ignored, including Éponine.

Their eyes briefly met when Enjolras's swept the table. Éponine smiled as pleasantly as possible, but the unenthusiastic response she received for her efforts wasn't at all surprising. Keeping his mouth firmly shut, Enjolras simply tipped his head, and a few stray curls brushed elegantly across his eyes, catching the natural light that trickled in from a window at her back.

If Éponine could describe the delicacy of such a moment aloud, and had she not been entirely distracted by it to begin with, she would have called the gentleman's mere head toss 'bewitching.' Instead, she bit her bottom lip, confounded by the strange gravitational pull that such a gesture provoked, and quickly looked away, just as Enjolras too returned his attention to the platter of mouth-watering food in front of him.

Éponine, what was that? Did you just... No. You're overly excited, that's all. Speaking of which, get a hold of yourself!

Marius scooted in his chair, eying Éponine sidelong, and, unawares of the concerns formulating in her head, piped up, "So, Éponine, I understand you'll be beginning your studies with Enjolras today?"

"I— Yes," she stammered, feeling like an utter fool, though no one else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.

Enjolras took a bite of his buttered bread before addressing her, his impressive stare pinning her into the back of her chair. "You have your books, I trust?" he inquired, to which she nodded accordingly.

"Yes, I do, Monsieur."

"Good. We can begin shortly after breakfast." He turned to Monsieur Gillenormand, his expression reserved and as serious as ever. "That is, Monsieur, if you wouldn't mind lending us use of your parlor for Mademoiselle's first lesson? I think we both can agree that the parlor is better suited for her studies than my," he awkwardly cleared his throat, "personal quarters."

"Yes, yes, that's fine, Enjolras, although," he regarded Marius's friend with careful consideration, much like he did his own grandson, "Dr. Roux said you shouldn't overdo it. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to teach from the comforts of your bed?"

If the old man thought the proposal improper or the slightest bit humiliating, he didn't show it. Éponine caught the flush of scarlet that emerged on Enjolras's high, perfectly carved cheeks and darted her eyes about the room as a form of distraction. Cosette and Marius, however, seemed otherwise unaffected.

"No, Monsieur, the parlor should do fine."

"Very well, if you insist. I still say you should get yourself back into bed when breakfast is through, but then, I'm an old man, and, with that remarkable privilege, it seems to offer me very little say anymore."

"Nonsense, Grandfather," Marius chimed in with a humored smirk. Enjolras too nearly smiled, though it was more out of respect than actuality; or perhaps that was Éponine's misinterpretation. "You have the luxury of being able to tell Enjolras to do whatever you so desire. In fact, I encourage it. The man never listens to me."

"You would," Enjolras sputtered, which only earned him more snickering at his expense. "As to your concerns, Monsieur, I thank you, but you needn't worry. The exercise is good for my legs."

"Yes, well, you young men think you're invincible. Wait until you're as old and decrepit as I am, and you'll tread life far less carelessly."

"Oh, Grandfather, come now," Marius chuckled and shook his head. "Enjolras isn't doing anything Dr. Roux hasn't instructed him to."

Monsieur Gillenormand turned to Éponine and grumbled, "I told you no one listens to me," to which everyone laughed, including her.

"Your advice is very sound, Monsieur." Éponine was surprised to find Enjolras's piercing eyes staring at her, their conveyance unreadable. "I'm sure he'll consider your advice very carefully."

"Yes," Enjolras murmured compliantly, though Éponine wasn't convinced, "I will."

The rest of breakfast passed by pleasantly enough, though Éponine and Enjolras were mostly silent, allowing their three hostesses to fill the room with gossip, general news, and lighthearted banter. None of them seemed to notice Enjolras's rather bleak, worn mien, and Éponine wondered if they were simply choosing to ignore it in an effort to draw him out of his black mood, or if they were truly as oblivious as she feared.

Éponine found herself unconsciously watching Enjolras take the modest of bites and scatter the food around his plate without eating much at all. More than a dozen times, his fetching blue eyes trailed off, either staring absently at his platter, his glass of water, or some other uninteresting table setting. The drastic change from the engaging, lively Enjolras she had so often seen at the café, and later at the barricade, was gone, replaced by someone else, and the more Éponine saw of it, the less certain she grew of who the man really was.

This other person wasn't at all interested in...anything. He was barely responsive and appeared to be going about the daily motions of his life without much thought to the future. The confirmation of what Éponine's eyesight couldn't ignore upset her more as breakfast continued.

"Why don't I help setup the parlor for your use then?"

Marius's suggestion disrupted Éponine's quiet monitoring; it was only then that she realized that breakfast was concluded. Cosette and Monsieur Gillenormand were already getting to their feet and gently hoisting Enjolras out of his chair by the arms, even as he protested that he could handle himself "just fine." Taking his cane in hand, Enjolras reluctantly allowed Cosette to escort him out of the room and down the hall to the parlor, as Éponine followed respectfully at a distance. Monsieur Gillenormand excused himself for the day, though he made sure his guest was comfortably situated at a large writing desk in the room before taking his leave.

Marius properly set the writing desk at an angle so that Éponine could take a seat next to her instructor, then supplied them with plentiful paper and pencils. It would seem that Marius had already taken the liberty of having Éponine's books brought down, as they were neatly stacked when they entered and ready to go.

"Now then," Marius said once he was through setting everything up for them, "do you have everything you need?"

"I believe so," Enjolras replied, shifting about in his wooden chair and trying not to cringe as it squeaked; it wasn't subtle enough to bypass Cosette's attention, who presented a cushion to place behind his chair.

"Is that better?" she asked sweetly, to which Enjolras politely bowed his head and forced a smile.

"Yes, Madame, thank you."

"It's no trouble." Cosette turned her attention from Enjolras to Éponine and back again. "I'll send for some tea later this morning and collect you both for lunch."

"Thank you," they each expressed in gratitude.

Marius informed them that he would be off to the university for most of the day, and then the two newlyweds left the room. Once they were gone, however, the room resumed its stiflingly quiet atmosphere. At such closeness too, Éponine could detect Enjolras's weariness from his trek across the house, as well as his general disgruntlement at being waited on hand and foot; it was all prevalent in his saddened eyes, even with them turned away from her towards one of her books, which he opened and placed in front of her. Éponine waited patiently for him to begin the lesson.

"Are you familiar with any of the alphabet?" he began, looking her straight in the eyes.

Éponine buckled nervously under his unwavering gaze. "Erm, alphabet?"

"Yes, the twenty-six letters that form our language?"

"Only vaguely, Monsieur."

"Enjolras, remember?" he insisted softly. "We're alone now. I don't mind you informally addressing me by my first name."

"Sorry, Enjolras."

"And you needn't apologize either."

Éponine couldn't prevent the heat that warmed her cheeks. Enjolras noticed and grunted, the harshness of his expression dissipating before her eyes. A few curls still hung in his eyes, which Éponine secretly admired as she listened to his instruction.

"These are the twenty-six letters to which I'm referring."

He glided the first page of the book towards her and pointed to the letters with his finger. As Éponine went to slide the book even closer, leaning forward in her chair to get a better look, her hand brushed his, sending a jolt of electricity through her fingers that briefly left her paralyzed. She hastily moved her hand back, as if she had somehow offended him or brought about the same sensation, when Enjolras pushed the book closer, as she had tried to do herself.

"You needn't be shy, Éponine," he insisted, misinterpreting her movement. "They're yours to inspect and study as thoroughly as you wish. Have a look at them first, and then we'll begin with each letter, first learning the enunciation and then putting them to memory."

"Thank you."

Éponine smiled weakly and took the book in her hands, trying to memorize each letter, though it seemed silly as she didn't know what any of them were. Are you actually going to try to impress him, Éponine? her conscience mocked.

Do shut up!

Such a hussy! Why are you even bothering?

I'm not doing anything of the sort!

Why the sudden interest?

Interest?

Yes...

I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, and, anyway, I'm supposed to be concentrating.

Very well.

Humph!

"Éponine?"

"I... I'm sorry."

"Do you need a moment?"

Éponine's mouth slumped and she lowered her book. "No, why?"

"You look...distracted."

"No, not at all; I promise!"

"All right." Enjolras gestured to have the book back, which he then put in between them. His eyes briefly scanned her face and his voice was strained when he pressed, "You can move a little bit closer if you wish. I won't bite."

For the first time that morning, Éponine smiled fully, and in good humor. "If what I remember of you before all this is any indication to go by, I beg to differ."

She hoped it would bring out his naturally alluring smile for a change, one she had glimpsed before, when he proceeded to laugh twice in her presence. To her surprise, her baiting worked. His lips stretched into a captivating, almost sly grin, and he quickly turned away from her, a few more curls falling against his distinguished nose and long eyelashes.

"That was a different time," he returned after a moment, his genteel smile lessening and his gaze drifting far away. "A different place." His blue eyes slowly drew back to her, and they were no longer smiling. "That was a different me..."

"I don't believe it," Éponine replied in a gentle whisper, unaware that she was gravitating towards him again, subtly but all the same.

"You don't know me. You didn't know me then, just as you don't know me now."

"I know I don't..."

But I'd like to, she found herself confessing, if only in her head.

"Then you best not speak of such things."

Like the rug being ripped from underneath her feet, Enjolras's face hardened, ending whatever peculiar exchange they had shared. Éponine blinked several times in an effort to recover.

"Now then, shall we begin?"

Éponine forced some composure and nodded emphatically. "Yes, lets."