Thanks for the reviews! Hugs and rainbows to you!!

I have two papers due in the next two weeks, so I might be a bit slower putting out chapters, even though I'd rather write this anyday.

Also [if you're interested in more stories by me…not to sound vain!!], see my poll. I have a new story idea, but am not sure how it will go over.

Thanks!

3

"Take care of me? But you're already doing that," Eponine pointed out, looking up at Feuilly.

"Well, yes. But remember what you were thinking when we were sitting by the river? That someday the man of your dreams would come and sweep you off your feet, and take care of you forever?"

"Of course," she said, looking a bit sad, "but that whole dream was ruined by what 'appened last night."

"Just because Marius –" he began angrily, but she interrupted.

"It's not about 'im. Well, it is," she paused, frowning, to gather her thoughts. Feuilly waited impatiently, biting his lip and watching her.

"I am upset about what 'appened with Marius. I've loved 'im since the day we met. But I'm not stupid. 'E betrayed me. I can't be in love with someone who 'urts me like that," Eponine said softly.

"But you were so upset about him this morning," Feuilly said carefully, frowning. His stomach was twisted into a knot with anticipation. He wanted so badly to know what was coming, and yet feared it. Eponine was so volatile, he was afraid of upsetting her and having her run off barefoot into the cold Paris day. He felt that if he said the wrong thing now, he would never see her again, and the thought distressed him more than he would ever admit.

"Yes," she replied, "I'd 'ate to meet the person who is betrayed by someone they're in love with and isn't miserable the next day. But then," she blushed a bit, "then you 'eld me in your arms, an' some'ow I wasn't so sad anymore," Eponine was thoroughly pink now, from her cheekbones to the tips of her ears, but she continued bravely, "An' last night, as Montparnasse was pulling me away, I thought of you. Ow you listen to me, an' care about what I 'ave to say. An' some'ow I knew that you would 'ave stopped 'im."

"Of course I would have stopped him," Feuilly said gently, "I care about you."

"I 'oped you did," Eponine said, smiling a little, "because I think…I think I care for you too. All I wanted last night was to see you. I must 'ave walked a mile to get 'ere."

"Oh, Eponine," he said softly.

"It's all right. Me feet are tough. An' it was worth it. I'm glad I'm 'ere."

"Yes. I'm glad too," Feuilly's heart soared, and his stomach untwisted. A large grin spread across his face, and he was sure that he looked stupid, but he didn't care. He'd never felt anything like this before. Eponine spoke again,

"I was so scared that after the row we got into. I thought you wouldn't speak to me anymore because I was so stupid, an' I couldn't see past that…that…worthless Bonapartist!" she said vehemently, causing Feuilly to laugh aloud and hug her.

"An' I didn't know if you'd still want me after Montparnasse…" she trailed off and looked at her lap. Feuilly grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up so that her eyes met his. Her lower lip was trembling. Eponine opened her mouth to speak.

"Sssshhh," Feuilly hushed her, "I know that whatever he did to you wasn't your fault. I'll never make you talk about it, and I don't blame you for it. I care for you in spite of it. I don't think anything could make me stop caring for you." He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She laid her head tentatively on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"I like this," Eponine admitted softly. Feuilly nodded, resting his chin on top of her head. She sighed and yawned.

"Are you tired, ma chère?" he asked. She nodded, blinking sleepily. The conversation seemed to have tired her greatly, for her face was pale and beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. Feuilly touched her face; she was burning hot. Just then, Eponine pulled the blankets up to her chin, shivering.

"I'm so cold," she said between chattering teeth. Feuilly frowned and put his hand on her forehead again.

"You're hot to the touch."

"I feel like I'm outside in winter," she replied.

"Lie down," he said, tucking the blankets around her, "I think you're becoming ill."

"No, 'm all right," Eponine maintained, "I'm jus' tired, that's all."

"Then sleep," Feuilly said gently, "I'm going to fetch a doctor."

"You can't," she insisted, "I can't afford one. An'…I don't want you to leave me alone."

Feuilly sighed. She was right; neither of them could afford a doctor, and he wasn't very keen on leaving her alone, although the realization that this Montparnasse who had terrorized her didn't know her location was comforting. He had feared that the brute had been the one to dump her on the steps.

"All right…I'll stay here with you. Now sleep, chère. I'll be right here, I promise." He fetched a book from the shelves on the history of Italy, and sat on the only other piece of furniture in the room, a rather hard chair that he had padded with a pillow.

Eponine sighed, and tossed and turned for a bit. Finally, she asked timidly,

"Would you read aloud to me?"

"I don't know if you'd find this interesting."

"It's history, isn't it? Of…It-aly?"

"Yes. It was written by Francesco Guicciardini in 1561."

"I think history is interesting," she said, a little defensively, but then admitted, "even if I'm not sure where Italy is."

"It boarders France on the southeast," Feuilly explained, "and it's beautiful. I'd like to visit someday."

"Read to me," she begged. He smiled and conceded. At first, she asked frequent questions about what words meant, or where something was, but she soon drifted off to sleep. Feuilly smiled and began to

Eponine slept peacefully for awhile, but was soon tossing and turning, her brow creased with worry. Her lips moved and her throat worked as if she wanted to scream, but the only noise she could force out of her throat was an occasional soft whimper.

Feuilly was torn between waking her and letting her sleep when she sat upright, a strangled sob tearing from her throat and her eyes wide open. He was at her side in an instant, holding the shaking girl and whispering soothingly into her hair.

"Shhh, 'Ponine. It was just a dream, chère."

"It…it was so real," she panted, clutching at him. Her face was now gray, and her skin was chilled to touch, yet she threw off the blankets.

"What did you dream of?"

"It's a dream I have often. It's dark an' I want to scream and run, but I can't. I can't move anything, and I can't breathe until I wake up. An' I know I'm dreamin', but I can't make myself wake up," she said, her eyes wide in her ashen face, "I'm 'ot. Is it warm in 'ere?"

"No," Feuilly said, "and you're cold to the touch. An hour ago, you were hot to touch and shivering with a chill. I must leave you for a bit, 'Ponine. I'm going to fetch my friend Joly."

"Why?" Eponine looked absolutely terrified.

"He's a medical student," Feuilly explained, "and you're ill. He can help you."

Eponine opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off firmly,

"I'll lock the door. You'll be safe, I promise. You need a doctor, 'Ponine. I'm afraid for you." A pleading note had crept into his voice, making it crack a little with emotion. She didn't look terribly happy, but she conceded.

"Hurry back," she begged. Despite the situation, it made Feuilly smile to know that someone needed him. The orphan in him had always wished that someone would care for him as Eponine did, that someone would miss him when he was gone, and delight in the moments spent together.

"I promise I will," he said, kneeling by the bed, "is there anything you need while I'm gone?"

"No," Eponine replied. He hugged her and kissed her softly on the forehead, tucking her in before fetching his coat and dashing out of the door.

French translation: chère means "dear" – but you probably already knew that.

Also, I don't own A History of Italy by the guy with the really long name that I'm too tired to type!