A/N: It made me smile to know how some of you wanted to see a certain scenario involving a reverse of nightmares in this story, as it's something I already had written. It may not be the way some of you've envisioned it, however, but I still hope this chapter meets what many have been waiting for...

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 10

"Do I follow where she goes?"
-Les Misérables

"Your studies seem to be progressing nicely?"

"They are, yes."

"I'm so glad to hear it!"

"Your instructions have been just as helpful, Cosette, truly."

Cosette smiled at Éponine's compliment and the two sat in silence for a time, watching the colorful streets of Paris fly by in the horse-drawn carriage they occupied. It was one of many outings Éponine had made in recent weeks for dress fittings. Cosette, Marius, and Monsieur Gillenormand himself were preparing to introduce her to society in the coming months, and, as Cosette put it, "you must wear only the finest!"

Éponine didn't mind wearing Cosette's hand-me-downs, however. In fact, she preferred the material. It was more comfortable, the worn corset less confined, but she could only refuse so many times before her remarks were ignored outright. Even Enjolras had eventually told her to simply go along with Cosette and indulge her.

"The Pontmercies are doing you a kind service, Éponine," he reminded her on more than one occasion. "Let them show you off."

A piercing December gust had settled in the air and Éponine couldn't be more grateful to be sitting inside their warm carriage, with a roof and closed doors to protect them from the relentless chill. Seeing the poor shuffling the streets for shelter, money, and food made her shiver for a different reason, however. Éponine remembered well her circumstances this time last year, when she had spent dusk until dawn scrounging for whatever she could find, and nearly froze to death in the process from the pathetic excuse for clothing she wore, including possessing no shoes to protect her toes from frost bite. It had been a miracle that she didn't end up with such a condition.

"How are you getting on with Enjolras?"

That brought Éponine out of her somber reflections. "Well enough, I'd wager."

Cosette's pretty smile grew faint. "Does he..." She stopped herself and waved her hand to put an end to her thought. "Forgive me, I'm speaking out of turn."

"Go on," Éponine urged her, uncertain of what was coming.

Cosette reluctantly continued, "Does ever speak to you about...you know..."

"About the barricade?" Cosette nodded, her pale face poised. Éponine sadly shook her head. "No, he doesn't; not much. I've tried to bring it up in conversation a number of times, but he doesn't want to speak on it."

"I thought as much. I only asked because Marius is concerned."

"Oh?"

"Yes... Enjolras won't so much as open up about his survival. He's afraid if Enjolras remains shut down too long that it will affect his recovery."

Éponine illustrated her understanding of the matter and peered out the window, at nothing in particular. A group of children who couldn't be older than seven or eight were racing down the street, undoubtedly in search of shelter.

"I made the mistake of telling him that not too long ago," Éponine confessed as they flew past.

"And what was his response?"

Éponine turned away from the window with a frown. "He got angry and stormed off."

"Oh... Well, that's unfortunate."

"It is, but, to a certain extent, I understand his pain. It has to be exceedingly hard on him."

"Yes... Well, as long as his tutoring gives him something to do, then I'm content not to push the poor man, and neither is Marius."

"I think he enjoys it immensely." Éponine hastily added, feeling anxious for whatever reason, "I mean, not with me, per say, just the act of having purpose again. He's become quite passionate about it; much like the old Enjolras I remember speaking at rallies, talking of revolution."

Cosette's attractive simper returned, though wider than before. "I know what you meant," she assured Éponine softly, turning her own attention to the spectacle of people walking the streets. There was something in that smile, however, that knotted Éponine's stomach, as though the woman could see through her carefully masked interest. "Besides, he told Marius recently that he wishes to become a tutor."

That brought a shocked reaction out of Éponine. "Really?" she gaped. "As a career?"

"Yes," Cosette looked pleased, and Éponine's reaction followed suit.

"Well, I think that would suit him very well."

"I think you're right!"

Enjolras tossed and turned for the good part of an hour before surmising to sit up in bed. There would be no getting to sleep with the day he had had. So much time spent alone with his thoughts could be both a blessing and a curse, too often leaving him with no peace of mind.

It was well past midnight, and his bedroom was now submerged in darkness. Dr. Roux had been by earlier in the day to check on his wounds, which continued to heal nicely. He no longer required bandages. The doctor had informed him that his scars from where the bullets pierced his skin would likely remain for the rest of his life, but Enjolras was unfazed. It was of little price to pay, considering his friends' ultimate sacrifices.

Enjolras watched the shadows dance across the walls, his mind otherwise absorbed and awake, too on edge for sleep and too tired to know what else to do except prolong the act until his eyes eventually closed of their own free will.

Éponine's lessons had been going remarkably well—academically, anyway—until that casual stroll some weeks ago disrupted everything, as well as the subsequent conversation Éponine had tried to have with him over tea about opening up to her. It was more than once now that the young lady had made mention of his damned troubles, and that was all it took for his insecurities to creep to the surface in the form of snapping and shutting her down on the spot. She hadn't said anything too prying that should unnerve Enjolras to hear, but playing over their cold conversations—well, cold on his part—repeatedly gave him pause. Too much pause, apparently, seeing as he couldn't sleep because of it.

What else is new?

There was also the daily visible proof that Éponine was over Marius, and, he didn't know why, but it felt like a small triumph that expanded in his chest whenever he caught sight of it. He even found himself smirking almost smugly at times and would have to check himself in the off chance that anyone else was looking. There was a respectful, albeit invisible, distance between them now that only those privy to the young woman's private sentiments could detect, Enjolras amongst them. She and Cosette were also getting on well, and there was something to be said for a woman befriending the wife of the man she had once taken a bullet for.

Yes, she really has changed...

Her withdrawn demeanor over dinner, however, was troubling. Éponine had barely made eye contact with him tonight, nor offered much by way of conversation, instead choosing to sit quietly and allow everyone else to fill the room with chatter. More than once, Enjolras had been tempted to approach her and ask what was the matter, but decidedly chose against being direct in the end.

Not that he normally concerned himself with how others chose to behave. He had never had time to consult a lady's heart or feelings before, whatever they may be, and Éponine wasn't particularly difficult to read. There was a time when she wore her sentiments on her sleeve like armor, to be sure, but she had grown more careful and guarded since then, as he had once suggested she should. Tonight, however, had been an exception.

It was a worry Enjolras pondered in the quietude of his bedroom most of the night. Was it a result of his doing? And, even so, why should it be?

More to the point, Enjolras, why do you care?

Perhaps, deep down, he knew his answer. He was fond of the girl, if only a little. He rather enjoyed her somewhat clumsy attempts at civility, though she was improving every day, and not because it was humorously maladroit but, rather, endearing. With more polish and practice, Éponine would most certainly perfect her skills at becoming a Mademoiselle—there was no doubt about that in Enjolras's eyes—but there was a fascinating aspect to her person that would always set her apart from other ladies.

To Enjolras, this had nothing to do with her upbringing. It was, more simply, her. It was evident in that unpretentious shyness she displayed to outsiders, combined with the bold prowlness that surfaced when she was alone in his company; a mixture of alluring contradictions—of a young woman who wasn't quite sure what she wanted out of life but was open to trying everything—and Enjolras found it immensely appealing.

It didn't change the fact, however, that Éponine seemed to possess a keen insight Enjolras wished she didn't. When it came to unearthing the emotions he held back, the troubles that plagued him and for which she had already witnessed numerous times, or the weaknesses about his character he would much rather keep to himself, Éponine hinted at knowing them all.

They had both survived the horrors of the barricade ambush, and yet, their experiences had altered them in very different ways. Éponine had crawled her way to safety, just as he had, but she escaped quietly, and without looking down the barrels of several loaded guns beforehand. She hadn't watched those brave men die, many of them weeping and crying for their mothers; or seen her own brother fall, which she must surely be secretly thankful not to have witnessed.

No, it isn't the same...

Then again, wasn't all death and destruction the same when one put aside the details that complicated its simplicity? They had both experienced love and loss: Éponine in losing any chance at Marius's affections, as well as the death of her brother, and Enjolras's loss of his cause, of Patria, of the ideals he held so dear.

'I just want to help.' Those were her words to him on more than one occasion, and it was those words that kept recycling in Enjolras's head. She wanted to help him...what, exactly? Move past the pain? Pluck him out of his despair and piece him back together like a broken instrument that would never properly play again?

No... It isn't that simple. Nothing is simple anymore.

And yet, the offer kept ringing in Enjolras's ears, mainly because Éponine kept up her pursuit, and yet, Enjolras still found her kindness unexpected, as had the discovery that holding her hand in the middle of the night was such a comfort. Finding her acting less than herself tonight plagued him more than he knew it should.

You should go to bed, Enjolras.

Enjolras grunted and slipped back underneath the covers, bringing them up to cover half of his face. He needed to rest, and it wouldn't do any good to think on...this, whatever it was.

Just as Enjolras closed his eyes, however, an alarming cry from down the hall reached his ears, jolting him straight out of bed faster than he thought himself capable. Fumbling for crimson-colored robes draped at the end of his bedpost, Enjolras wrapped the material around himself for added warmth and, with his cane in hand, progressed down the hall in haste, though it took him more time than it ought to reach the source of the noise: Éponine's bedroom.

Enjolras stopped before the door and listened intently; muffled squeaking from the bed, followed by soft moans and cries in the dark, told Enjolras that Éponine was in the midst of a night terror. Should he go in and wake her up?

To enter a lady's chambers without permission? You're a fool, Enjolras!

Enjorlas scratched his head and thought over his dilemma. Then, he remembered what he had made Éponine promise some many weeks ago and straightened his posture, along with his resolve. He pounded the door loudly and the cries abruptly ceased. Sensing that she had woken up, Enjolras knocked on the door again, only with less severity.

"Éponine? Éponine, are you awake? It's Enjolras."

Why did the silence make his heart beat so furiously against his chest? Enjolras swallowed and stepped away from the door, deciding it would probably be best to leave the poor woman alone and go back to bed, when the door suddenly creaked open, and a rather disheveled-looking Éponine stood before him in her bare feet, her nightgown hugging her petite frame, along with the shawl given to her by Cosette that was draped across her shoulders. She was shivering from the cold, but also from perspiration, which he could see trailing down her face, neck, and heaving breasts...

Enjolras, get a grip!

"En - Enjolras?" She rubbed at her eyes, her brow furrowed in surprise.

"Yes, I - I'm sorry," he found himself stammering and despised himself for it, "but you were having a nightmare. I overheard you, so I came to check that you were all right."

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, did I really wake you?"

"No, I was already awake."

"Oh... Surely, it must be well past midnight?"

"Yes, it is."

"I see..." She trembled again and wrapped her shawl more securely around her shoulders.

"Are you all right to go back to sleep?"

Éponine's gentle eyes searched his, and, even in darkness, the exchange left the pair of them temporarily short of words. "I think so," she muttered at last, giving him a soft smile that spread to her eyes.

"Very well." Enjolras nodded, wholeheartedly wishing to get away from whatever peculiar feeling had crept over him, leaving him unstable and anxious. "Well, erm, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Slowly, he turned on the spot and headed back in the direction of his room, when some light pitter pattering along the floorboards reached him and Enjolras whirled around to find Éponine standing right behind him. She paused, almost running into him, and hurriedly fastened her shawl around herself again.

"Will you be able to get back to sleep?" she questioned.

"Pardon?"

Éponine's cheeks reddened. "Sleep," she repeated, feeling utterly foolish for approaching him like this. "Erm, I mean, your nightmares..."

Enjolras searched her eyes for a long moment before caving his shoulders. The small smirk he bore caught Éponine off guard, and her heart inadvertently fluttered at the sight of it.

"Would you care to sleep on my sofa chair?"

"Oh! I... Well..."

"The one that's terribly uncomfortable?"

"I don't mind," she responded faster than she wished to.

Enjolras's alluring smile broadened. "All right," he conceded and quietly led her back to his room, "but only until dawn," he added once the door was closed and he had situated himself back in bed.

"You don't have to speak to me as though I'm a child."

Éponine's grumbling made Enjolras sit up. "What?" He tried to suppress a chuckle, particularly at catching the immature pout lining Éponine's pink mouth.

"Oh, just give me your hand, would you?" she sighed, holding out her hand to him as she settled into the sofa chair she had brought closer to the bed. She curled her knees up to her chest and looked terribly uncomfortable; or so Enjolras thought.

Enjolras cautiously wove his larger hand through hers, and a familiar wave of calmness befell them both, allowing each to immerse in the warmth of the other's presence. With their fingers loosely braided together, Éponine's and Enjolras's bodies relaxed, sinking into a pleasant intimacy as they held steadfast to one another.

"Would you like to tell me what was troubling you tonight?"

Éponine's head perked up. The silence had grown comfortable enough to doze off, but when she met Enjolras's eyes, she found him wide awake.

"Nothing," she answered, her voice low and hushed. Then, thinking better of keeping silent, she consented with a sigh, "I've been having these nightmares the past few nights..."

"Go on."

Éponine bit her lip. "Of my parents..."

After a considerable pause, Enjolras shifted beneath the covers, but otherwise kept his unwavering gaze on her. "You think they'll return to claim you?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"Marius sent them away." He suddenly added with concern, "I'm assuming he told you?"

"Yes, he did, and it's fine. I just... I don't know. I can't help but worry; 'wait for the other shoe to drop,' as they say."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

Her rhetorical question surprised him; Enjolras blinked and nodded against his pillow.

"Yes, I do. They were unkind, Éponine, and undeserving of you."

They fell back into a easy silence after that. Enjolras was the first to fall asleep, and it was only once Éponine was certain the man was dozing that she chanced opening one eye to stare at him without reserve. He was indeed fast asleep and snoring softly, his mouth slightly gaped, though something was different this time. If Éponine dared believe what her eyes showed, Enjolras was nearly smiling.

Listening to the man's even breaths, and aware of his slight tightening of their interlocked hands, a grin mapped its way across Éponine's face; one that was filled with, for the very first time, a sense of utter contentment and hope.

Éponine yawned and unfurled her legs, throwing them over the sofa chair. Prying open an eye and turning her head, the darkened sky told her it wasn't quite yet dawn, but it would be upon her soon enough. She hesitantly sat up and arched her back before peering over at the gentleman she thought was still asleep, until she squinted to make out his face.

Enjolras's eyelids were half open but staring at her, nonetheless. They were gentle and unperturbed as they roamed over her face. Slowly, his lips etched into a soft smile that left Éponine bereft of air. Eventually, all she could do was smile back.

It was then that it dawned on her awakening conscience that their hands were still intertwined. She peered down at his hand holding hers, looking circumspect, before stealing another glance at Enjolras, only to find his thoughtful reflection unchanged. She hardly knew what to think but finally, after staring at each other for a while, she decided to rise.

Enjolras held her back from loosening her grip on his hand, however, and tugged ever so slightly. Silently, he coaxed her back to his side, only this time onto the edge of his bed, and Éponine braced herself, unsure of what he wanted. His eyes, filled with consideration and intrigue, searched hers for an agonizingly long moment before he craned his neck and pulled down on her head at the same time.

It was swift, unexpected, and, at first, terrifying—at least to Éponine, who nearly gasped and fell off the ledge of the bed—but the overpowering sensations that overtook her after contact with those masculine lips wore off her initial shock. Enjolras was kissing her on the mouth, and not just a light exploration of a kiss, but one that was fully engrossed and consuming.

Éponine couldn't prevent the soft moan that escaped her mouth, and that was all it took for Enjolras to press back. His hand scrunched the long, brunette tassels that wove between his fingers, and Éponine's hand came up to graze his cheek, feeling some of the brittle, morning stubble lining his jaw. Her breasts were lightly touching his chest, and, if she were paying attention to anything but his lips, she might have sensed his pounding heartbeat mixed with hers.

His lips were supple, appetizing, and seemed to match hers perfectly as they delicately massaged and pulled and sucked. As abruptly as he laid that smoldering kiss upon her, however, Enjolras suddenly broke it off, the shock of the situation taking over. He gaped up at her, astounded with his own forwardness.

The awkwardness would have been painful had Éponine not chosen at that moment to laugh, albeit nervously. Not knowing how else to address what had just happened between them, Enjolras reddened in the face and struggled to speak.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out ungracefully. "I don't know what came over me."

Éponine, too, blushed profusely. "It was a surprise." She tried to calm her thrumming heart, but she was so caught up that she could hardly speak, let alone remain subdued about it.

That was amazing! her mind was screaming. She desperately wished to taste him again.

"Are you truly sorry?" Éponine found herself asking before she could stop herself. Her question was met by an indecipherable expression form the handsome gentleman lying beneath her. "Do you regret kissing me just now?" she pressed softly for an answer, unable to bear the growing uncertainty knotting in her stomach.

Enjolras wasn't a man easily lost for words, but it would seem there was a first time for such an occasion, and that time was now. She lowered her eyes a fraction or two when he didn't say anything.

"Because I don't regret it," she mumbled; her words hovered in the air for a time, the two of them staring deep into each other's eyes, each intently studying the other.

"You don't?" he finally uttered.

"No... Do you?"

Enjolras sighed and shook his head. "No, I don't. I've been wanting to kiss you since..." His eyes trailed to their still interlocked hands, and his thumb grazed the inside of her palm, which he then properly laid against his chest. "Since our stroll through the house all those weeks ago. That day you offered to help me, to get me to open up to you, it... It meant a great deal to me, Éponine. Far more than you realize."

"I meant what I said," she returned quietly.

"I know you did."

A fetching blush trickled onto Éponine's cheeks. "I never would have thought that we'd..."

She cut herself off and, again, giggled somewhat nervously, a gesture that Enjolras matched. His laugh was soft, yet spirited; more so than she had ever heard before.

"Nor I."

Éponine sat up straight and brushed her free hand through her hair, smiling down at him all the while. "I... I should probably go back to my room."

Enjolras met her suggestion with a small smile of his own. "I suppose you should."

"I'll see you at breakfast."

Éponine rose and, reluctantly, unfastened her hand from his. It felt alarmingly cold and empty all of sudden to not be holding hands, but Éponine forced herself to press on. Before closing Enjolras's door, she peered over at him; he was staring back at her with equal curiosity. Unsure of what else to say, Éponine giggled and drifted out of sight.

Once alone, Enjolras mindlessly ran his fingers over his moistened lips, the lingering trail of Éponine's warm touch, as well as her lighthearted laughter, ringing in his ears long after she was gone.

Molly scrambled to finish the cleaning in the parlor room before making her way to the kitchen to start breakfast. Monsieur Gillenormand, the Pontmercies, that fine gentleman of a guest, and that thorn in her side, the damned lucky Mademoiselle, would be up within the hour, and there was still much to do before breakfast could be served. Exhausted from another back-breaking previous day of intensive physical laboring, Molly was more than ready to throw in the towel, and it wasn't yet dawn.

Madame Pontmercy had picked out some hair accessories during their last trip into town that she wished to go over with the Mademoiselle this morning, and that would surely include Molly's involvement in making her hair presentable for the day.

Molly tried not to let her resentment show as she started on breakfast. Tom was already up and about as well, seeing to Monsieur Gillenormand on the upper level. Molly was quickly distracted by ever ill thoughts regarding the additional female party to the house.

What did that Mademoiselle do to earn such luxuries as a comfortable bed, pretty clothes on her back, and bountiful food at her disposal?

Nothin', that's what! she snarled, aggravated to no end. Sure, she had saved Monsieur Marius's life, but so what? It didn't warrant the kind of attention the hussy was getting these days, not in Molly's sharp opinion. I certainly won't be serving her much longer, I can tell you that much! That lass has overstayed her welcome!

Tom had grown wary of her bitter remarks as of late, so Molly mostly kept them to herself, but her strong sentiments hadn't changed, and they never will! I'll be damned if I serve someone so far below myself!

Molly huffed and set about getting coffee ready. She would need to go up and wake the Pontmercies, as light was starting to seep in through the windows. Molly's limbs were worn out, and her swollen feet were throbbing, but she would have to soldier on. There was nothing to it with those who led the sort of life she did.

Molly wiped at her sweat-laden brow and stomped out of the kitchen and down the hall, making her way towards the staircase entrance when several creaks from upstairs halted her in her tracks. Were the Pontmercies already awake?

No... They rarely ever wake before I've gotten to 'em first.

They weren't coming from her Master's side of the house either, that much was certain, and yet, Molly could detect distinct footsteps tip toeing down the hall. In fact, they sounded like they were coming from the gentleman's guest quarters.

Merde! * she cursed her rotten luck. Probably needs help gettin' down the damn stairs.

Sighing away her aggravations, Molly muttered irritably to herself and climbed the stairs, heaving her hefty frame up to the second level. She prayed she wouldn't find him, actually; she needed to see the Pontmercies first and continue with breakfast.

If she found no one, however, then there would be cause for concern. The stressed maid had seen to the rodent infestation that plagued several households, including her Master's, last summer, and finding a repeat of the problem would do nothing for her tattered nerves.

Not this mornin'!

Squinting against the faint light of dawn, Molly sauntered forward off of the stairs when something caught her eye straight ahead. Someone—a slender figure—was gliding down the hallway in nothing but a tight-fitting nightgown. Her dark tresses fell off one shoulder and swayed back and forth, as she made to discretely leave the bedroom of one that wasn't her own and retreat back to hers. She was too busy giggling and pressing a hand to her mouth to notice Molly watching, hidden away in the shadows. Her door creaked behind her as it shut, and Molly froze where she was, a devious smile making its way across her flushed face.

Not such a Mademoiselle after all, are you, Missy?

* Translation: "Damn it!"

A/N #2: Finally! :)