Éponine opened her eyes and moaned. She was in a room, and was lying on a table. There was a chair next to her, and someone was sitting in it. She could smell blood and sweat.

"Where am I?"

"Barricades. The soldiers came and we fought them off. You took a bullet for Marius," said the guy on the chair. Éponine turned her head and saw Grantaire.

"Any deaths?" she asked weakly.

Grantaire shook his head. "At least none of our friends." He sighed. "You know, everyone pretty much hates Marius now."

"Why?" asked Éponine, frowning.

"Because if he had been paying attention, he wouldn't have almost been shot. And you wouldn't have taken that bullet." Grantaire said, taking a sip from his bottle.

"Why does it matter? We're both alive," mutter Éponine.

"'Ponine, we almost lost you a couple of time. Joly was freaking out. There was so much blood. Regarding Marius, I would have done what you did if that was Enjolras. But Enjolras isn't that stupid," said Grantaire.

"How long have I been out?" asked Éponine, weakly.

"Not long. You were unconscious for a little bit. We haven't had a second attack, but it's coming. Right now, we're taking roll-call. Stupid, but Enjolras wants to do it," said Grantaire, rolling his eyes.

Éponine nodded. Joly went over to check on her.

"Your wound is healing nicely," he remarked.

"Can I fight again?" asked Éponine.

Joly pursued his lips, "Not on the front lines, and not the next attack. I don't want that wound to be reopened."

Éponine sighed and nodded, knowing this deal was as good as she'll get.

Joly opened his mouth to talk when shouting came from outside.

"YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HER, MARIUS!"

"I DIDN'T WANT HER TO TAKE THAT BULLET!"

"YOU ARE SO STUPID!"

Enjolras walked into the make-shift hospital, his face red. He smiled when he saw Éponine awake.

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay," admitted Éponine.

"Good," said Enjolras. He went over and kissed her forehead. "You had me worried there."

"Fearless leader was afraid?" mocked Grantaire. Enjolras shot him a glare, and Grantaire hastily got up and left.

"It's fine, Enjolras. And don't be mad at Marius, it's not his fault he's an idiot," Éponine said, putting her hand on his cheek.

"I have to finish up with roll. I promise I'll come back when I'm done," said Enjolras.

"Take your time, this revolution is more important than me," said Éponine. Enjolras kissed her again, this time on the lips, and then left.

"Enjolras," Combeferre ran over to him. "We have a problem."

"What?" asked Enjolras, instantly becoming serious again. He had been smiling before, happy to see Éponine awake.

"Jehan. We don't know where he is," said Combeferre. "We've checked everywhere, the wounded, the dead, and the café."

Enjolras's gaze traveled to Javert. "A hostage for a hostage," he muttered.

"Enjolras!" came a shout from the front of the barricade. Courfeyrac was looking outside, with an expression of horror. Surrounded by soldiers, at gunpoint, was Jehan. He looked like he had been in a fight, yet he was standing as proud and strong as Enjolras.

"Well?" Combeferre asked. "Javert or Jehan?"

Enjolras paused and thought. He hated that spy, and wanted him dead. But to have Jehan murdered because of this? Jehan's life was worth more than Javert's. "Get something white and go and fetch him," he said.

The students climbed the barricade and watched. Combeferre took out his handkerchief. Courfeyrac's eyes locked onto Jehan's. In that second, something passed between those two boys. An unspoken emotion, a shared passion. And, staring into Courfeyrac's eyes, Jehan raised his head and shouted, in a voice equal to Enjolras's power and Grantaire's volume, "Vive la France! Long live France! Long live the future!" And the guards shot at Jehan. Courfeyrac watched in horror as the bullets pierced the boy. Jehan was flung forward, and fell onto the street. The pool of blood swirled around him and mixed in with his hair. Courfeyrac was in shock. He was white and shaking, and close to tears. He felt someone's hand on arm, and pull him back from the barricade.

Enjolras looked at his friends. Their faces bore a mixture of shock, disgust, anger, and sadness. Courfeyrac had sat down, and Combeferre was desperately trying to comfort him. Enjolras turned and walked to Javert. Javert looked up into the leader's face. "Your friends have just shot you," he told him, and then turned away.