A/N: Les Misérables didn't win the Best Picture Oscar?! Whattt?!

-ahem-

Anyway, a little more information in this chapter. This may be a "slow burn" story, but things are about to start heating up. ;) Thank you again so, so much for all your feedback and enthusiasm! I really can't thank you guys enough, because it's been feeding my deprived Muse like no one's business!

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 9

"But the tigers come at night with their voices soft as thunder."
-Les Misérables

Enjolras startled. A scorching pain in his chest just below his collar bone on the left side and another on the right side of his torso shook him out of his black out, only a gravitational force was making all the blood rush to his head. He was discombobulated and confused, until he quickly realized he was dangling upside down, hanging hopelessly out of a large, second-story window, with his leather boot wedged in between one of the bars of the railing—the sole thing keeping him from falling on his head.

'Dear God...'

Enjolras heard men shuffling about inside the café. Another wave of dizziness hit him and everything from moments before came flooding back to him. He had been shot only seconds ago. He was supposed to be dead. Yet, here he was, dangling upside down by his boot, with excruciating pains running through every part of his upper body.

'But...'

Enjolras quickly made to stretch his neck to check how far up he was when his foot suddenly slipped between the bars and he found himself falling, weightless, spiraling towards the ground in a matter of seconds. There was little time to react. His body abruptly crashed. He expected to land on cold, hard cobblestone and break his neck and everything would be over. Instead, something less solid, though still hard enough to have an impact, broke his dangerous fall.

Enjolras's eyes shot open at the overwhelming stench of blood, and he willed himself to ignore his injuries as he quickly determined what had prevented him from hitting the hard ground: a dead body.

Enjolras winced and rolled off of whomever it was and onto his side, in desperate need of air. He could feel his body weakening by the second and sensed he was losing blood. If he had a prayer of getting out of here alive, he would have to act fast.

Enjolras was about to start making his way across the cobblestone street when the echo of footsteps exiting the café reached his ears, and he went as still as he could, his back turned away from the soldiers who had shot him moments before.

"Hey, looks like the traitor lost his footing after all," one of them snickered.

Enjolras sensed them coming towards him and his pounding heart beat harder at their approaching footsteps. He tried not to breathe. Ironic, his mind fleetingly mused, considering he needed oxygen now more than ever.

"They never even stood a chance. Look where all their efforts got them," another cackled loudly. "This one here was the ringleader, and now look at him. All of his comrades, dead. How's that for eternal sin?"

"He'll be rotting in Hell with the rest of them."

One of them spit on the ground near Enjolras's head. "Vive la France, my arse!" the soldier snarled through his teeth; several others piped in with a resounding uproar of laughter.

It was a mockery of him and his brothers' revolution, of everything they had fought so hard and died for, and Enjolras's face paled where he lay, helpless and exposed to all of his enemies. Suddenly, another soldier's boots closed in on them, and the laughter was cut off by the superior presence of whomever it was.

"Show some respect for the dead!" the man—he must be the commander, Enjolras concluded—demanded of his men. "Get that area cleaned up first. And treat them with some humility, for God's sake!"

Some general shuffling and muttering under their breaths sent the soldiers away, until all was quiet and still. Too paralyzed to move yet, Enjolras waited several minutes, enduring the terrible pains in his body as best he could, before slowly chancing to move his head. The area surrounding the café was deserted, until he realized that the soldiers were merely on the opposite end of the broken barricade, seeing to and collecting their dead first.

'Trapped.' Enjolras panicked. 'Why should you run? Shouldn't you die with them?' Enjolras breathed heavily and lay his head down flat upon the cold surface. 'It'll all be over soon... You'll slip away... It's almost over...'

"Pssst! Hey!" someone hissed at him from somewhere beyond his peripheral vision.

Enjolras went stiff as a board, though his fearful eyes tried to discretely scan his surroundings, his heart thrumming so fast he thought it would surely burst. He spotted an elderly plump woman, dressed in tattered clothing and grimy from head to toe, as well as another much younger girl who had to be her daughter. She was dressed similarly, and the two of them were crouched at a half-opened doorway, beckoning to him with frantic waves of their hands.

Without much thought, and hearing the voices coming from the opposite side of the barricade, Enjolras made a hasty decision. He began crawling his way across the dirty, blood-soaked street, fighting the indescribable pains that shot through his body at every turn. Heaving several audible gasps that nearly sent him crumbling onto his side, Enjolras made to escape what he had lost. He spotted a few of his brothers amongst the dead he was forced to climb over and tried desperately to block out their faces, those bloodied, lifeless corpses that would still be alive 'if you hadn't started this whole mess!'

'What the fuck are you doing?' his conscience berated him as he crawled his way to safety. 'You spineless betrayer!'

Evidently, the women, whom Enjolras assumed had to be living in one of the flats above, were too cowardly to risk exposing themselves as sympathizers by aiding the revolutionary leader away from harm. So, they cowered in their hiding spot, encouraging the wounded freedom fighter to come to them, and as quickly as possible.

"Hurry, Monsieur!" the mother urged, her eyes darting frantically from the soldiers to where Enjolras was, not far away now.

"I can't... I can't..."

Enjolras finally caved into the pain that had been fighting him all the way and collapsed onto his stomach, wheezing and gasping for air. He shut his eyes, but the next thing he vaguely knew was being hurriedly rolled onto his back and dragged into an apartment, the two women huffing and sputtering excitedly under their breaths that they must be "out of their minds" to be helping this strange man on the verge of death.

"Bring him upstairs! Hurry!"

"I'm trying, Mama! The man's dead weight!"

"Poor fellow. I hope he's still alive..."

"Mum, he - he's been shot."

"Who wasn't?"

"But..."

"Ignore the blood, just help me get him onto the bed!"

After stomping and heaving several times, Enjolras found himself plopped down onto a firm mattress and convulsed at the pains that shot up his spine at impact. He would welcome death now with open arms. Why was his body fighting it? He should be dead.

'God, let this end!' he wanted to scream but was too weak to open his mouth. He could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness as the women covered him with blankets and opened his shirt to inspect his wounds.

"We'll have to move him, Mattie!" the mother insisted after dabbing cold water on his bullet wounds and attempting to cleanse the areas, as well as stop his bleeding; Enjolras reacted and arched his back. He thought he would cry out but could do nothing but wince and thrash about to illustrate his discomfort. "He can't stay with us! It's too dangerous!"

"But - But how will we manage to get him somewhere safe?"

"We'll have to wait till they go."

"What, are you mad, Mama? He won't last a day if we don't fetch a doctor now!"

"We'll take him to Tempeste."

"You cannot be serious! That scandalous lass? He won't last but a few hours in her care!"

"Scandalous she may be, but she cured your brother's gout, didn't she? You saw the proof of it yourself!"

"Be that as it may, Mama—"

"Or you could fetch her here?"

"She wouldn't dream of it, Mama! You know that."

"Then we must take him ourselves!" There was a short pause. "Unless you'd prefer to have the man die in your bed?"

"No! I wouldn't!"

"Then we have no choice, Mattie!"

"But... Just by association, we could..."

"We stood by and did nothing, watching those boys die needlessly today!" the mother exclaimed, and both she and the young girl's wretched, mournful sobs could be heard, suddenly clawing their way to the surface. "The least we can do now is help this one!"

"I... I think he was the one in charge, Mama."

"Yes... I think you're right." A few dampened curls were brushed out of Enjolras's eyes, though he no longer stirred. "Now, fetch me some rags and another bucket of water. The cloth will have to do for bandages. He's lost a great deal of blood already. Hurry!"

There was some more general scurrying and commotion happening all around him, but Enjolras couldn't hear or make sense of it anymore. He could feel himself slipping away, and it wasn't long afterwards that he blacked out again.

"Enjolras?"

Enjolras blinked rapidly. His brow was furrowed in confusion. Slowly, it dawned on him where he was and had been since after breakfast: in the grand parlor at Monsieur Grillenormand's house, with his pupil, Éponine, seated at his side. She had been attempting to read a few sentences to him aloud, as instructed, when his faraway gaze caught her attention and she stopped. It had become a familiar distant look of late; in fact, ever since her studies began weeks before, Éponine had paid witness to it on a near everyday basis. Though she tried to be respectful and not draw attention to whatever was distracting him, it was difficult not to address the matter when her instructor wasn't providing her with feedback and, instead, staring off into the distance, lost in another time and place.

Memories, she concluded easily enough, from the barricade, no doubt...

"Are you all right?" she pressed to him as gently as she could.

Enjolras straightened his vest and tried to play it off, as had become his coverup. "Yes, I'm fine," he insisted, though, to the contrary, he appeared quite shaken. "Please, go on."

"I'm afraid I can't make out this word."

Éponine glided the book towards Enjolras, pointing to the questionable text with her index finger; but when he inched forward in his chair to inspect her problem, he winced in pain and his upper body quivered. The action unnerved Éponine enough that she tossed the book aside.

"Shall we take a break?" she suggested by way of distraction, knowing she wouldn't get on good terms with him by drawing attention to his inflictions. Giving Enjolras a small smile, she awaited his response, and he firmly shook his head.

"No, that's unnecessary."

"With all due respect, Enjolras, you..." Éponine sighed and quickly surmised to be at least partially honest. "You don't look well. You're quite pale, in fact."

"Thank you for your observation," he chastised her with a freshly cold stare, "but I'm fine." He then grasped the top of his cane, contemplating before thinking better of his behavior; his countenance softened. "But, perhaps, a short break is warranted."

"Shall I make us some tea?"

Enjolras stared at her anew, his blue eyes surveying her curiously. "Make tea?"

"That's right. Seeing as the maid is out on an errand with Madame Pontmercy, I think I can manage. I do know my way around a kitchen." She shot him a rather sheepish smile. "Well, sort of..."

Not really knowing what to say, Enjolras chortled and leaned back in his chair with a resigned sigh. "Very well, Mademoiselle."

Éponine couldn't stop from rolling her eyes. "I do wish you'd call me Éponine. At least, during our lessons."

"As would I, but you need to get used to the address. If you don't, you'll never believe it."

"I fear you're right..."

"I usually am."

Éponine caught the slight curl at the edge of Enjolras's lips and smiled as well. Wasting little time, she rose from her chair and excused herself to the kitchen, where she was surprised to discover that she really could manage her way around relatively well.

Humming mindlessly as she put the kettle on, Éponine allowed her mind to wander to the curly-haired gentleman waiting for her back in the parlor. It wasn't the first time that her thoughts had thoughtfully considered him in recent weeks, but then, she was also less and less focused on a certain married Marius Pontmercy these days, and was becoming increasingly aware of that significant change in her heart.

In the weeks spent with Enjolras as her tutor, he had met her approval as a more than adequate instructor. She was making considerable strides—he had already called her a "remarkably fast learner," which Éponine took pride in hearing—and she found herself routinely looking forward to her morning studies, even with the minor bump in the road, such as now.

Both tutor and pupil were falling into a comfortable rhythm with one another, though it left little wiggle room for polite conversation outside of Éponine's lessons, even when she and Enjolras took breaks. Enjolras's take-charge approach was straightforward and serious. He was precise and thorough and requested that Éponine repeat words and phrases from her textbook back to him multiple times; or until she had perfected them to his standards, which Éponine learned early on were quite high. She didn't mind, however. Instead, she rose to the challenges he presented her with, enjoying the opportunities to prove herself, even if she wasn't sure what she was trying to prove exactly, nor to whom her efforts were directed.

Yourself, of course! she would try to convince herself, though her heart wasn't at all persuaded.

To his credit, Enjolras was an encouraging teacher. It may not have been in his nature to shower her with praise when she did well, but he still coaxed her forward all the same. He demanded the same, if not more, from her with each and every lesson, and Éponine did her best to meet his expectations, sensing she was surprising even him with her progress. His approach was neither gentle or cool, and Éponine ended up being normally drained by the time lunch arrived, but she discovered that she preferred not being treated like a delicate flower. Enjolras didn't teach her as though she were a fragile creature, and Éponine found that she much preferred the freedom fighter's tough love approach over any ridiculous propriety that was so often bestowed upon the female sex—at least, in the upper classes.

Yes, Enjolras was an adequate tutor. More than adequate.

His infrequent loss of attention, however, was becoming too diverting to ignore, though Éponine didn't, as of yet, have the forwardness to address the problem. A handful of times, she found Enjolras shifting away from her lessons—those fiercely guarded eyes glazing over, his mind reverting back to the horrible trauma from that fateful day in June.

This wasn't the first time Éponine suggested that they break for tea on account of him getting distracted, and, she suspected, it wouldn't be the last. Éponine hadn't chanced bringing forth the topic of the barricade again, though the idea was never far from her mind. Enjolras, on the other hand, showed no interest in a rehash of their sensitive talk from weeks before, and Éponine couldn't help but wonder how the man hadn't so much as confided in Marius yet, despite their being as thick as brothers.

How lonely he must be...

Éponine frowned at such a dismal thought, forgetting the tea altogether. It was true. After her morning studies with Enjolras, she and Cosette spent the afternoons together learning the ways of becoming a lady, leaving Éponine to wonder what Enjolras did to occupy the remainder of his day. With the exception of dinner, Éponine knew not what he did, and the notion of being left all alone to himself day in and day out saddened her a great deal.

The sound of the steaming tea kettle rattled Éponine back to her senses. She scurried to get everything prepared and returned to the parlor carrying a tray of the hot tea with two cups and saucers, managing—proudly—not to trip over her feet as she did so.

Enjolras was preoccupied with staring out the window at the fallen leaves that scattered the grounds. Éponine quietly placed the tray on the table and poured him a cup. When she presented him with his tea, however, Enjolras didn't flinch or make to look her way. His weary eyes continued to gaze into the soft illumination of the overcast morn, as though he weren't aware of her presence at all.

Not again...

"Enjolras?" Éponine whispered and waited. There was no response, so she gently prodded his shoulder. "Enjolras?"

Enjolras jolted back to his senses. It was then that Éponine realized his face had gone as white as a sheet, and she quickly sat down beside him and scooted her chair closer.

"Enjolras, are you sure you're all right?"

"What?" His eyes darted about the room, his face contorted in either confusion or worry. "I... Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

Éponine cautiously drew back, unsure if she should press him with her next question, "Would you like to go back to your room and lay down for a while?" to which he shook his head, determination lining his features.

"No, of course not, why would I?"

"You're looking a little pale."

His high cheekbones suddenly resumed their natural glow. "I feel fine," he insisted, quietly turning away from her.

Not really knowing what else to say, Éponine intertwined her fingers together in her lap. The man wasn't budging, and she didn't have the stamina to push him after how cross and upset he had gotten before.

"As you wish."

"Are you mocking me?"

Éponine's mouth fell open in shock. "No, of course not!" When he only glowered at her through beady eyes, she inquired, with more urgency, "Is it improper for me to ask after your health, Enjolras? Really."

"You could keep such curiosity to yourself."

"I didn't realize such a base question was off limits."

"It isn't," he mumbled, shifting in his chair. "Only unwarranted."

"Well, I certainly know that now."

"Bon." *

"Are you really that angry with me?"

Éponine couldn't help feeling affronted by his put-off attitude; it reminded her of the previous time she had attempted to broach the topic, and, judging by Enjolras's facial expressions, it would appear the same recollection was running through his mind. His jaw was clenched as he peered out the window, though his weary eyes soon fell upon hers again. This time, their attention was significantly softer than before.

"No, I'm not. I apologize, Éponine. That was rude of me."

Seems to be a pattern...

Éponine laced her arms across her chest and slouched a bit, forgetting to play the part of a lady for the moment. Enjolras didn't seem to have noticed; or, if he did, he didn't correct her posture.

"I know what you're thinking about when you do that..."

Enjolras immediately straightened. "Do what?" he challenged through narrowed eyes.

"When you lose your focus."

"I'm merely distracted by matters that aren't your concern."

"Is that all?"

Éponine frowned slightly whilst Enjolras searched her attractive face, his own both guarded and critical. It was a long while before he addressed her again, so much so that Éponine grew uncomfortable with the heaviness that settled upon the atmosphere by then.

"You would do well to not ask me such questions."

Éponine could feel her heart pounding a little harder in her chest. She ignored whatever strange sensation passed through her body and inched closer, despite the warning that was clearly tied to his stoic reply.

"I mean no harm, Enjolras—"

"I know you don't. But don't."

"I just want to help you."

"Well, I don't need your help." He took a deep breath and glanced towards a clock on a mantelpiece nearby. "I need you to finish your tea so that we can resume your lesson."

The finality of those words put an invisible barrier between them that Éponine knew she wouldn't shake. With a disappointed frown, she quietly took her tea in hand and sipped its soothing contents, though there was nothing about their brief exchange that could thaw the chill that had settled in her bones.

Enjolras barely touched his tea, continuing to stare out the window for a time in silence. The tightness of his pursed lips, however, told Éponine that he wasn't distracted like before. He was simply choosing to ignore her.

Once she was through, Éponine took the book back in her hands and resumed where she had left off, whilst Enjolras surveyed her with a dismayed scowl.

"Can I finally say it?"

Enjolras paused his gentle prying into Monsieur Gillenormand's extensive book collection. He, Marius, and his grandfather hadn't stepped out of the library since breakfast. With the weekend in full swing, Cosette had taken Éponine for her first outing in Paris since her arrival for dress fittings.

Enjolras had smirked at Éponine throughout breakfast as Cosette prattled on and on about various fabrics and the latest fashion trends. All the while, Cosette's blue eyes lit up with excitement. Éponine, meanwhile, smiled meekly but otherwise picked at her food and offered very little by way of enthusiasm.

Having remembered Éponine relaying to him before her thoughts on how her better circumstances wouldn't change the way others viewed her, Enjolras studied her guarded expressions throughout their meal, and realized that Éponine had gotten better at masking her emotions.

Perhaps she took my suggestions to heart...

Before the ladies took their leave for the morning, Enjolras and Éponine exchanged understanding smiles, and that small token of appreciation Enjolras encountered before she exited left him undeniably curious, and, if he dared admit it, a tad anxious for her return. Whatever this gravitational pull was, it was becoming harder to control, and ever more so by her continued studies and the occasional wandering eye.

Get a hold of yourself, Enjolras, he silently scolded himself once she was gone. She's your student, and a friend of Marius's. That's all.

"Enjolras?"

Enjolras drew his head up from the law book he was examining. Marius was standing by and scanning him worriedly.

"Say what?" he encouraged, as though there had been no lapse in the conversation.

"You're starting to look and sound more like yourself again."

Arching an eyebrow, Enjolras held up his cane as a demonstration against Marius's observation, but it only earned him chuckling at his expense from both his friend and Monsieur Gillenormand, who was sitting comfortably on a large sofa with a cane of his own propped against his knees.

"You won't need that soon enough," Monsieur Gillenormand assured him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Wait and see."

"That we shall," Enjolras concurred, resting the cane against a large writing desk. He leaned into the structure and carried on with his reading, allowing for Marius to prattle on as usual, filling the silence with conversation.

"We need to start discussing your return."

That immediately got Enjolras's attention. He glanced up from the book again, his brow furrowed.

"My return?"

"Yes! Perhaps to university, or to politics, or to...what's going on out there."

"Don't even start on that, Marius," Monsieur Gillenormand all but growled.

Marius made a passing smirk in Enjolras's direction, but his handsome friend was too caught off his guard to react with humor. He blinked and regarded Marius seriously.

"Have you given it much thought then?" Enjolras provoked, to which Marius nodded back.

"Of course I have! And not just me! Shall I tell him, Grandfather?"

Monsieur Gillenormand encouraged his grandson with a slight bow, which all but made Enjolras's throat drop into the pit of his stomach. He couldn't help but feel as though he were being setup against his will. Whatever offer was coming his way, he wasn't prepared to answer. Not by a long shot.

Marius stepped forward and took Enjolras warmly by the shoulder. "We'd like to offer you a position in Grandfather's law firm, once you're feeling well enough, of course. It would be a good way for you to get back on your feet."

"Marius," Enjolras lowered his voice, feeling, for a moment, like an utter fool, "I haven't finished my studies yet, and after what happened..."

"We've thought about that too," Monsieur Gillenormand inserted with a twinkle in his eyes. "Considering your former," he cleared his throat disapprovingly, "political position in the public eye, Marius and I fear the possibility of discovery should you decide to return to university; it could be life threatening. You certainly have enough schooling under your belt, however, for me to take you on as an apprentice, as I've already done with Marius."

"An apprentice?"

Enjolras couldn't contain his surprise. As grateful as he was to the old man for taking him in, he would never have expected such an outpouring of generosity, even if he and Monsieur Gillenormand were getting on so well.

"Yes and why not?" Marius grinned broadly, as though the idea were entirely his own. "It's what you've been studying for so long."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes skeptically. "I had hoped to possibly return to university and finish..."

"Yes, well, with everything that's happened, that may not be possible, Enjolras," Monsieur Gillenormand shrugged, but they all knew he wasn't all that disappointed at the idea. "Here, you'd have the opportunity to practice Law, and learn the ropes from me."

"With all due respect, Monsieur, Inspector Javert is dead. The authorities wouldn't know what I look like or who I am."

"I don't think it's a risk you should take," Monsieur Gillenormand insisted with a firm shake of his head. "I told Marius the same, but, well, he doesn't listen to me. He also wasn't as much of a face in this revolution as you were. Please tell me you will at least illustrate some common sense?"

Enjolras considered the unexpected, and enticing, proposition before him, his face marred in concentration. Marius was eying him supportively, as was Monsieur Gillenmorand, but it did little to sway him in either direction. Enjolras wasn't surprised to be told that the prospect of returning to university was slim. He wasn't even sure if he possessed the passion, nor the desire, to return to his old life anyhow, though he had been uncertain where that ultimately left him. Thinking of the future had proven too exhausting since his brush with death, too daunting and too much to bear. Now, it had literally been thrust onto him without warning, and Enjolras found himself ill-prepared to answer.

"Actually," he drawled, swallowing hard, "I hadn't given much thought to returning to Law. In fact..."

Marius's eyebrows rose high on his head, waiting, and Monsieur Gillenormand's expression had gone from one of anticipation to suspicion. He rose from the sofa and cautiously approached both men, keeping his eyes on a conflicted Enjolras all the while.

"Lately," Enjolras continued, "I've given consideration to becoming a full-time tutor."

"A tutor?"

It was Monsieur Gillenormand who blurted out the term, stunned and with his mouth hanging open. Marius too appeared struck down by the proposition.

Enjolras straightened his shoulders, and a muscle in his jaw twitched defiantly. "Yes, it's taken too much time for me to realize how poorly educated the miserables are. They have none of the opportunities we do, Monsieur; no one has been willing to step in and give them the proper education we should all be entitled to—"

"Now wait just a moment," Monsieur Gillenormand put up a hand to halt his validation, but Enjolras cut him off.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but I cannot, in good conscience, accept your offer. It would be wrong of me, when my mind has changed."

Marius stepped closer, his expression urgent. "At least think on it, would you?" he pleaded in a hushed tone.

"I've had considerable time to think on it, Marius. My decision likely won't change. I appreciate the offer, Monsieur Gillenormand; I really do. You're very generous to think of me, but to take it would be wrong. I'm sorry."

"But... I don't... A tutor?" The elderly man's bushy mustache twitched, his grey eyes as wide as saucers.

"Yes," Enjolras laughed softly, "is that so hard to believe? I've been tutoring Mademoiselle for some time, and I think she's done remarkably well."

"Well, yes, that's all well and good, but... A tutor? You'll make little money going that route! What about your education? What about your status?"

Ahhh, of course, my 'status'! Enjorlas did his best not to snort disrespectfully and locked eyes with Marius, who seemed to silently understand and be conveying the same thoughts that were running through Enjolras's mind: Didn't we severe those ties when we began standing up for democracy?

"I understand your concerns, Monsieur, but I simply cannot..."

"Grandfather," Marius piped in, taking Monsieur Gillenormand by the arm, "I do think Enjolras has given this a lot of thought, and, truth be told, he's looked more invigorated the past few weeks with the work he's doing with Éponine than I've seen him in quite some time. Ultimately, it is his decision. Perhaps we should support Enjolras and let him give it a try? If it turns out it isn't to his liking, then perhaps we could revisit our offer in the future?"

Monsieur Gillenormand sized up before Enjolras, a mixture of growing anger and disappointment sweeping across the deeply etched lines on his face. "Very well," he huffed, "if he thinks he knows what's best for him!"

Before Enjolras could plead his case further, Monsieur Gillenormand turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, muttering under his breath as he went. The two gentlemen stood on, watching him go with guilt and uncertainty laden in their faces. Once he was out of sight, however, Marius turned to Enjolras with a look of sympathy.

"I'm sorry... It's tough for Grandfather to understand our positions. We're living in a world he doesn't recognize anymore, and he finds that difficult."

"I understand, and his and your offer was appreciated, Marius. Please convey that to him for me again, won't you?"

"Of course I will." He latched his hands behind his back and gazed at Enjolras up and down. "So, is this what you really want?"

"I'm almost certain."

"I daresay it probably suits you better; I'm surprised, though, all the same."

Enjolras smirked and turned to the next page of his book. "You shouldn't be. I thought you knew my mind rather well."

"Well, seeing how your sessions with Éponine have been going so well, you're right, I shouldn't be too surprised."

Enjolras blinked at that comment. It may have been an innocent one, with no hidden innuendos behind it, but Enjolras couldn't prevent his posture from going rigid. He also didn't know how to reply, and was grateful that Marius didn't catch the slightest hesitation in his features. He turned away to take his grandfather's spot on the sofa.

"She's progressing nicely," Enjolras eventually forced the words out, judging Marius's casual reaction for any hidden meanings.

"Yes, she has. She speaks very highly of your instruction, you know. That should help soften the blow for Grandfather, I think."

"I hope so."

It wasn't Monsieur Gillenormand's ill feelings, however, that had Enjolras's mind reeling like a spinning wheel. He found himself struck by the notion that Éponine had spoken so highly of him, and to Marius of all people. He wanted to be frustrated with himself for even entertaining the thought of a young woman paying him a compliment, but he couldn't stop the weak smile that formed at the edges of his lips, even as Marius continued to browbeat him with how to put Monsieur Gillenormand in a better mood for dinner.

* Translation: "Good."

A/N #2: Okay, okay. Scold me for the lack of E/É interaction in this chapter, if you must, but just know that I intend to make it up to you next time... ;)