A/N: We're quickly reaching the end. Only one chapter (Epilogue) to come after this installment. I can't believe it's almost over! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. I felt this chapter was necessary to move our couple truly forward...

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 19

"Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise"
- Les Misérables

Enjolras stared out the window of the carriage, apprehension lining his brow. Éponine didn't miss the nerves that brewed below the surface, or the way his hands fidgeted together in his lap, or how decidedly he peered out the window as though unable to look away, and yet, unwanting to move forward. Silently, she reached across the gap between them to squeeze his slightly quivering hand, reassuring him quietly that all would be well; or so she hoped. Enjolras blinked and turned his expression of uncertainty towards her, his mouth firmly cast in a frown.

"Ready?" she whispered, trying to sound as encouraging as possible, knowing how difficult this endeavor would likely prove.

Enjolras's mouth twitched and he returned her question with a rhetorical one of his own. "Will I ever be?"

He didn't wait for Éponine to reply; it wasn't really necessary.

Enjolras opened the carriage door before Tom could and stepped out into the bustling Parisian street beyond. Keeping his features set straight, he offered his wife his hand as she, too, emerged from the carriage to join him.

Without a word, Éponine allowed herself to be led on the arm of her husband onward, the inseparable pair weaving their way through the crowds. It didn't take much convincing—between the couple's apparel and simple manner of walking—that they didn't exactly fit in with the swarms of people converging on this part of town. It was certainly of a higher class then where Éponine had been plucked out of but still relatively poor by comparison to Enjolras's background.

Their presence earned a few stares and upraised eyebrows, but Enjolras was too distracted to take notice as Éponine did. She suspected that anyone they may happen to run into wouldn't, in all likelihood, recognize her. Between her changed demeanor, altered appearance, and even in her method of speaking and moving, Éponine's identity was virtually unrecognizable now.

There was also the fact that it had been well over a year since she or Enjolras had last been to these parts, and for quite legitimate—and obvious—reasons. Today, Éponine felt nothing but calm and collectedness as they drew closer to their destination. She knew the struggle and will might prove more trying for her husband, but he had gone along with her suggestion, not backing down from the idea as she feared he might.

There was no mistaking his understated misgivings at present, however. His stance was rigid and his hands were clamped. Éponine gazed up at Enjolras's profile, wanting to ensure he was all right, but suddenly he ceased walking, and Éponine was forced to trace his eyesight to the vision that stood before them. A short distance away stood the abandoned, boarded up cafe—its remains a gripping reminder of where the countless meetings of the Les Amis de l'ABC had long been held. A symbolic place where they had conversed so adamantly about change and evolution. The emblem of the falling barricade, where so many lives were lost to the cause.

Éponine surveyed the place for only a moment. Its remnants meant very little emotionally to her, despite the spot having served as where she nearly lost her life. She had never known the men well that so often gathered there, after all—Enjolras's closest friends—nor expressed much interest in their revolution, as she had been too wrapped up in unrequited love to concern herself with their political aspirations.

For Enjolras, however, she knew how grave and trying this moment was, so she turned her attention to him, wanting to feel for any signs of distress or need of reassurance that this emotional undertaking would surely call for. If he had need of her, then she would be present.

"Enjolras?" she tentatively whispered to him, watching the contours of his face morph.

Enjolras's eyes shifted but remained fixed ahead. He silently strolled forward, beckoning Éponine to keep pace with him as he approached the door to the cafe with open reluctance. Before reaching it, he paused, keeping his eyes directly in front of him. The door appeared to have been picked over, undoubtedly by poor souls in need of shelter for the night, which the deserted cafe provided.

A place of refuge... Of closure, Enjolras pondered silently as he pressed a hand to the door. It easily gave way, creaking and scraping as he pushed it open with hardly any effort.

"Éponine?"

His voice had never sounded quite so unsteady, and that perked her ears up. "Yes?" she returned, scanning his focused eyes intently.

Finally, he turned his head towards her, but his face was a mask of apathy—a look she detested, and yet, painfully understood. Her new husband wasn't a candidly emotional gentleman. Unlike Marius, he wasn't prone to outspoken sentimentality, and, in that moment, Éponine comprehended his request wholeheartedly before it came. He wanted to be alone inside the cafe and wished to face the demons of his past on his own without an audience.

"Might I have a moment?" he requested with a perceivable edge to his voice.

Éponine smiled up at him with as much warmness as she could bestow. "Of course." She squeezed his arm for added measure. "I'll wait right here for you."

"Would you..."

Fully aware of what he wanted to ask but simply couldn't, Éponine lengthened her smile to illustrate her reassurance. "I'll be along soon."

Enjolras's blue eyes flickered, showcasing the level of his understated gratitude. He looked like he desperately wanted to return her smile but was emotionally too raw to do so. To Éponine, however, it didn't matter that he couldn't. She encouraged him forward with a nod, and Enjolras tore his gaze away from her to the door that beckoned him inside.

Hopefully forward and into our future, Éponine considered as Enjolras's arm unfurled itself from hers.

With a hesitant step or two, Enjolras strode inside the cafe, his boots echoing along the wooden floorboards as he entered the forsaken establishment, now barely recognizable, and wandered his eyes about the room. Éponine could make out shattered pieces of glass and overturned stools and tables strewn about. It was alarming to see the remains now that the place had been emptied, although traces of the overrun barricade lingered everywhere in its aftermath.

It seemed that the French army had made quick work of sweeping the place before leaving it to its ruin. Splatters of dried blood could still be found on the floors—a sight which unsettled Éponine to discover, and her heart instantly fluttered nervously for her husband, whose eyes had unfortunately located the red stains as well. His body became suddenly paralyzed to the spot, for it was nearly a minute of Éponine staring at the back of his head from the open doorway before he moved an inch.

"Enjolras?" she chanced addressing him.

At receiving no answer, she cautiously stepped inside and approached him, forgetting for the moment his request to be left alone. Halting behind him, Éponine waited another moment before timidly reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. His curly head bent in her direction, but he didn't turn around or make direct eye contact. His gaze returned to the blotched floor with a solemn expression she couldn't make out.

"Enjolras?" Éponine spoke again after an agonizing period of silence. "Are you all right?"

Éponine waited, her heart thumping excitedly the longer the quietude stretched. He didn't speak for another minute or two, so Éponine stepped back, removing her hand from his shoulder, and turned away to leave him be, sensing that he truly did want to be alone with his grief, when he startled her by grabbing her wrist. She turned to him, leaning closer to try to see his face, but Enjolras continued to stare dejectedly at the ground.

"No," he mumbled, and Éponine thought she heard his voice catch in his throat. "Please... Don't go..."

Éponine weaseled free of his grasp but remained and took him by the hand. She stared sadly at his broken profile.

"Are you sure?"

Enjolras turned his face to meet hers, and the anguish and pain evident in his eyes nearly fragmented Éponine's determination to stay strong for him. "Yes," he returned in a clearly tortured whisper. "Please stay?"

Éponine nodded and compressed his hand, reassuring him in her affection way that she wouldn't leave his side but to help him through his despair as best she could. Enjolras's fleeting appreciation was overt, for that moment, as they locked eyes before it passed away, replaced by returning dark sentiments of shame and melancholy. He cast his head back to the floor again for another weighty pause in which neither of them spoke. Then he lifted his head to finally take in the rest of the room.

"Grantaire used to sit over there in the corner." Enjolras pointed to where traces of the bar remained. There was no liquor or glasses, only a broken shelf of where the contents used to be. "I never thought he paid much attention to what I said; or that he gave a damn about the revolution one way or the other." He stopped to swallow the emotions creeping up the back of his throat. "He proved me quite wrong..."

Éponine instinctively leaned into him and brushed a hand along his arm. She remembered Grantaire more than any of the other men, though not for particularly positive reasons. The university student had proven himself quite the drunkard, and the one characteristic Éponine had made any study about the man was that he didn't—or couldn't—take anything seriously. How he had ended up a part of Enjolras's troop of revolutionists never made much sense to her; but then, she hadn't questioned it. Her mind had been preoccupied with Marius, and Marius alone.

"He stood up for the cause because he believed in it," Éponine offered softly to Enjolras, who was clenching his jaw tightly.

"He didn't believe in it," came Enjolras's sullen reply. "He believed in me. And I failed him."

Éponine clutched Enjolras's arm in an attempt to shake him in order to be heard. "You didn't fail him, Enjolras. You didn't fail any of them. They believed in this revolution, knowing what was at stake, and the people still believe in that cause. You didn't let them down, my love. You were overrun. None of you stood a chance, but you stood anyway because you believed in something greater than yourselves."

Enjolras peered down at her, a severe frown still lining his mouth. His eyes desperately searched her face, wanting to accept her point of view; but their forlornness showcased the internal frustrations. Éponine brought a hand to his cheek and saw the visible strain ease at her gentle touch, if only a little. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before reopening them and turning away towards the stairs.

Éponine, too, turned her attention to the steps, sensing that the next emotional hurdle upstairs was about to prove itself even harder. Her husband sauntered forward without a word but held tight to her hand as they climbed the stairs together to the second level.

What lay beyond they both already knew: the spot where Enjolras made his last stand, where the leader expected to die alongside his comrades whilst surrounded by infantry. Their footsteps felt heavy as they climbed, each step a physical struggle, particularly for Enjolras.

When they reached the top, they both halted in their tracks. Éponine waited patiently for the man at her side to make the first move.

Enjolras stared straight ahead and slowly drew away from her side, his hand eventually falling out of hers. It was a sunny afternoon, which allowed streams of light to make their way into the room between holes in the walls and the large, boarded window. Blood was once again splotched all over the floor, leaving a trail that stopped at the window.

Enjolras's blood.

Éponine observed her husband's reserved stance. He lingered in the center of the room, some of the light casting itself like a glowing hallow around his golden locks. Éponine was momentarily left breathless by the tragic sight of him, dressed in his best crimson-colored coat with his back facing her as he stared at the window that had served as his escape that fateful day.

It took Éponine a moment to tear her eyes away, for something else caught her attention: Enjolras's hands at his sides were trembling and soon grew worse. Before long, his entire body was silently shaking, and Éponine's legs kicked into action. She dashed over to him but just as her hand wrapped itself around his arm, his entire body crumbled to the floor, taking Éponine with him.

Unable to prevent his fall, Éponine collapsed at his side and scooted as close to him as possible, wrapping an arm around his back, dismayed at the unsettling feeling of his strong body shaking against hers. Then she saw his face and nearly lost what little willpower she had left to remain collected. His eyes were pinched shut, his mouth was quivering, and he was breathing heavily, crippling under the weight of his suppressed despair from returning to such a dark spot of his past.

My God, what have I done? Éponine fretted, afraid she might have doomed him by bringing him to this godawful place. She thought the act might help with his recovery and allow Enjolras to move forward by confronting the trauma head on, not aggravate matters and make things worse for him.

"God forgive me," he muttered over and over again, his breathing unsteady as he fought back tears and proceeded to tremble in his wife's arms.

"Enjolras—"

"Have I fallen so far?"

"No! No, you haven't! It'll be all right. It will, I promise you."

"Will it?"

"Yes, love. It can. It will."

Enjolras ran a hand over his face and turned again to Éponine, his expression wrought with a most desperate hope. "Thank God for you," he murmured painfully, doing his best not to lose his composure. Éponine found her throat constricting, particularly at what he conveyed next. "You told me once that God works in mysterious ways... That there's not always a reason for the events that happen in our lives, but that our survivals are God's greatest act of mercy..."

Éponine recalled that particular conversation and she inadvertently wove her arm tighter around him, her breath catching in her throat. "You're right, I... I did."

Enjolras's mournful gaze softened a little and he reached his hand out to stroke the side of her face, allowing himself a thoughtful moment to rub his thumb along her chin. He sighed heavily, as though releasing the great weight of the matter from his shoulders.

"I think you are the reason, Éponine. I think God saved us so that we could save each other. I... I'd like to believe that's the 'why' that's been missing in all my suffering, in all my questioning my survival, in all my hating and despising God for letting me live whilst my friends perished." He paused to stare deep into her eyes, no longer in agony but in love. "You're it, Éponine. You have to be."

Éponine was silent for a long time, unaware that a tear had fallen down her cheek. Once she managed to find her voice again, she broke out in a smile, her eyes watery, though brightened.

"And you're my reason."

Enjolras returned her declaration by bringing his arm around her neck. Éponine was the first to move in for a kiss and captured his lips with warmth, easing into him as Enjolras's arm coiled tighter around her, bringing an emotional Éponine to his chest. When their mouths parted, Éponine snuggled into his neck and, for a time, the two simply clung to one another in the middle of the cafe, Enjolras slowly letting go of his searing guilt at long last with faithful Éponine at his side.

Éponine knew his self-reproaching had finally passed when he stopped shaking and his breathing calmed. All the while, he had held her close, wanting her near, and Éponine was quite glad that she had acted on instinct and followed him inside the cafe rather than wait for him to brave the place on his own.

"You all right?" she asked him once she was sure his composure had returned.

Enjolras didn't answer straightaway, but he compressed her to him, which assured her that he was fine before he verbalized so. "Yes," he whispered next to her ear. "Or I think... I hope... I will be."

Éponine nuzzled his neck again before laying a tender kiss upon his cheek. "You will, love. You will."

It took several minutes longer to will one another off of the floor. Enjolras took a moment to survey the room for the last time through dry eyes and then allowed his wife to escort him out of the cafe by the hand.

Shutting the door at long last felt eerily final to both, yet necessary. A sense of completion lifted Enjolras's spirits a little, for he decidedly did not look back as they left but pushed ahead onto the streets.

Stepping out of that deserted establishment and into his future was, for Enjolras, surprisingly liberating. As emotionally wrought as the afternoon had begun, it had ended on poignant reflection and a final, promising resolution.

Strolling arm in arm down the street, Enjolras looped a hand through Éponine's and brought it to his lips to kiss appreciatively. "Thank you for bringing me here," he stated quietly and fondly. "I was hesitant, but it was the right course."

"Did it help?" Éponine was quite hopeful that it had, but she desired to hear the words from his own lips.

"Yes, indeed."

"I'm so glad."

"I... I'm not sure if I'll be able to ever fully forgive myself..."

Éponine shook her head. "You made leaps and bounds today, love. I daresay with more time you may. One day at a time."

"Yes..."

They soon reached their carriage, where Tom was awaiting their return, and Enjolras climbed inside after Éponine, choosing not to gaze out the window as before. He would never look upon that painful place ever again.

As the carriage began to move, Éponine presented her pensive husband with another question. "Do you believe?" she inquired with a sweet regard and a small smile. "Truly?"

Enjolras pondered her question for a time, but eventually his lips slowly curved upwards and his eyes, too, glimmered in unison. He nodded to his considerate wife, this time without any hint of the reservations that had held him back on their journey there.

"Yes, my dear." His contemplative face peered out the window at the passersby walking the streets, their garments alternating from poor and desolate to refined and extravagant. Eventually, his eyes fell back on her, the fairest of any woman he had glimpsed out of the window. "Yes, I do believe. You are my reason."

"What is this?" Monsieur Gillenormand demanded, eying the lavish dinner table of meats, breads, and colorful pastries with a twinkle of suspicion. "You better not have made a career change on me, Marius. I'm holding a wooden stick and won't hesitate to reach over the lovely Madame here to clonk you on the head!"

Cosette and Éponine both giggled, each seated at the gentleman's side. Marius shook his head with a smirk and eyed Enjolras, amused, though Enjolras merely brought a glass of water to his lips and said nothing.

"I assure you that isn't necessary, Monsieur," Cosette tittered happily, her rosy cheeks glowing against the dramatic candle light displays.

"Then out with it, would you?" Monsieur Gillenormand pointed his dinner fork at his grandson and narrowed his eyes as well. "Or I shall force it out of you, one way or another."

"What happened to the 'I'm an old man' woes?" Marius met the gentleman's threat with a merciless tease.

"I am an old man," he growled back, "but I'm far lighter on my feet than you've ever been, young man; that's for sure!"

"I don't doubt you. That's probably true."

"It is true," Enjolras corrected, his tone and face serious save for his eyes, which only Éponine could decipher were humored and game.

"Well?" Monsieur prompted his grandson to speak up, his scrutiny darting between a beaming Marius and granddaughter-in-law. "Out with it!"

Marius casually turned to his wife. "My dear?" he encouraged her to speak and fell silent.

Cosette's taunting smile spread from cheek to cheek. To Éponine, something was slightly altered in her lately. She had had her suspicions, of course, though they hadn't been brought up by her friend at all. Out of respect for Cosette, Éponine hadn't asked, but she did share her impressions with Enjolras in private.

Cosette's eyes scanned every watching eye in the room. Then she braced Marius's hand in hers and called out with a showering glow on her face, "Marius and I are expecting!"

A/N #2: Yay! :)

Epilogue to come sometime next week. Thank you to all of you who've stuck it out to the (near) end!