Wow, two reviews for one chapter. Excuse me while I glow in joy. You reviewers are the best, and thank you very, very much! I'll probably be updating this and my La Traviata fic (*hint hint*) once or twice per weekend, since that's when I have actual time. I hope you enjoy!

Eponine shivered, not quite knowing why. What was happening? She was about to round a corner when she heard someone calling her, and saw someone scurrying toward her.

"Ponine! Ponine!"

"Zelma?" Eponine asked, watching her sister, Azelma, stop by her.

"Where are you off to?" Azelma asked.

"Leave me alone, Zelma," Eponine grumbled, not in the mood to speak to her sister. She left before Azelma could stop her, running toward the closest route to the Seine.

Erik snuck behind her, silent. She doubts, for the moment. But in time, she will see how faithful Erik can be!

She jumped in and out of a ditch that was in her way, walking a little slower, looking around. What had she heard? What had that been?!

Erik knelt in the ditch, watching her as she went. He would find something to eat, and then return to hide in the lane, until her return.

Eponine looked around, shaking. It was getting cold, but she didn't have a place to go. Her father was still in jail, and she'd been separated from her sister until just a minute. But Zelma would find her way around well enough. Her stomach growled in protest to the temperature and her clothing, but she ignored it, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself.

She decided that the only thing left to do was to sleep, so she went back to the ditch she'd been in before. It wasn't near any buildings, but behind one, and partly in an alleyway, one a bit away from the one where she'd hallucinated.

Erik waited there, in the alleyway. She will come back. She must! Her own happiness depends upon it. And any future purpose to mine. He sighed. And so I must have patience.

Eponine settled into the ditch, propped up against its wall, but not being able to sleep like she wanted to. She began to sing a ditty in her scratchy voice, under her breath, trying to get away from her own thoughts. Marius...he'd never love her, would he? No. But...that voice had said that it would help her. It'd called itself the Angel of Music. But she never loved music...

As time passed, Erik went between the sides of the alley, looking out each way, until he spotted her there in the ditch. Near me. Surely she will come with the next morning.

He did not let himself sleep, fully, lest he miss her, but allowed himself a half-rest, still alert, as always.

Eponine slowly drifted into sleep, humming slowly, her head bobbing. Her sister was probably okay, maybe with Montparnasse...everything was fine for her to sleep...

Once Erik awoke fully, he walked back to the end of the lane; once he saw that Eponine was still there, he stood to wait, and watch, attentively. Surely she would not still be there if she did not wish to return. But as time wore on, and he continued to wait, he wondered more and more what he could do if she spurned him. Could he bear to be spurned, not for something as great as love, but merely a helping hand? Could Erik take such rejection? He stood and waited and watched, and the sun rose. Would she come, so he could be her guiding angel? Or would she cast aside the Angel of Music, leaving him again alone, bereft of Christine, of love, of Paris, of Eponine... of everything but the music inside. If she will not come, I must follow.

Eponine woke at the crack of dawn, as she always did, and scurried out of the ditch, looking around. In what little daylight there was, the alleyways were faintly lit up, and she could see a shadow at the end of one, darker than the others. She dismissed it, hardly remembering what had happened the day before, and trotted quietly across the street.

From the shadows, a trickle of music washed over her.

Have you now come to meet the Angel here?

Eponine looked up, startled again. "Oh, no, not this again..." She thought for a moment, deciding to bargain with this mysterious hallucination. "If I do speak to you, will you come out?"

The music was like a breaking tide that roared above, crashed down, bubbled about, pulling at her and then receding with the ebb.

Oh, would that this sad Angel, alone, could

Come into the bright light of happy day

But never should you set your eyes on him

He will sing, and guide with the lonely words

But to him is barred freedom, for all time

Eponine had had absolutely enough; this had to be real, and whoever this was was being repetitive and annoying. She thrust her arm into the shadows and groped for the source of the voice. "Then I'll bring you out myself." Admittedly, the music had been soothing.

Erik dashed back, and the song turned grim, filled with deep longing and forsaken love.

If you will not accept Music's Angel

Then let all despair fall unabated

For if you spurn him, he cannot assist

And you will have lost your chance to find love

And sent him to the blackness of his mind

Eponine's face twisted into an expression of confusion, annoyance, and horror. "What are you? What's happened to you? Why won't you show yourself?"

The mournful music screeched and wailed, calling down the passions of being alone, abandoned, inward pity and hate, love that turns to anger and again to love within a single phrase.

Eponine listened, squinting at the intensiveness of the song.

Do not ask who is this grave angel here

Through his life, he has fallen, so he hides

Do not ask what he is, do not wonder

If he is shown, you will cry in terror

Let only the music into your heart

"But I don't care for music," she murmured defiantly.

The flowing tune turned inward, wafting as if in a sigh.

Do you reject this angel's aid?

Will you go about life alone?

Without his support and caring?

The angel prays that you rethink

Lest you lose all, for want of love

"No!" she said loudly. "I just want to know what's going on!" She reached out without warning and grabbed his shoulder; her eyes widened to the size of saucers.

The music stopped.