A/N- When this chapter picks up, it is November of 1830. Just, y'know, so we're clear. I would hate to cause any confusion. And for some reason, Montparnasse is not being a tremendous ass... go figure! Eh, I've always had a soft spot for him, for some insane reason.

Also, you'll forgive me if I don't try to "write" accents. I always find that to be incredibly tacky unless done really well, and therefore should be left up to the masters of the art (Mark Twain or bust).

1: Four Years Later

"Well now, what have we here? Bless me if it isn't Eponine Thenardier!" Montparnasse said, his raspy voice cutting through the rumble of voices that filled the cafe.

The young barmaid turned around to face him. The auburn hair she had inherited from her mother was bound up messily atop her head, with a few stray wisps escaping to curl about her face, giving her a frowsy, hassled appearance. In contrast to her flaming hair and pale skin, her dark brown eyes marked her undeniably as her father's daughter. Where her sleeves were pushed up past her elbows, he could see a few little round scars, reminders of the fire that had robbed her of parents. Her apron obviously did little to prevent or conceal the stains on her skirt, and Montparnasse would have bet any amount of money that she was entirely unaware of the dusting of flour across her left cheek. She had grown up nicely, he mused. Scrawny, certainly, and no great beauty by any mark, but she had a certain charm to her that appealed to him.

"I haven't got the time for you, 'Parnasse," she said, but the little smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth belied her harsh words.

"Come on now," he said, letting a grin spread across his own face in response. "Surely you have just a minute to spare to tell your dear old friend what you've been doing?" She let out a sigh, making a show of how much of a bother pausing to talk to him would be, but nevertheless eagerly leaned forward, resting her elbows on the countertop. She poured him a whiskey and pushed it across to him.

"Last I heard, you were living in Montreuil-sur-mer with your father's good-for-nothing sister," he drawled, looking deliberately at the far side of the room. Then his glance shot to Eponine's face, just catching the tail end of a grimace she thought she had concealed rather well.

She shrugged. "You heard right. Tante Adilene was good enough to take us in after the fire. But I'm not staying there anymore, and neither is 'Zelma."

"Oh? Why ever not?" he asked, guessing he already knew the answer. Adilene Thenardier was well-known to him.

Eponine gave him a wry look. "I believe you're the one who described my aunt as good-for-nothing," she said. "Money she's got, but compassion hardly any. Soon as I was a bit older, I scratched right out of there quick as I could. Got myself a job, as you can plainly see-" She gestured to her ale-soaked apron. "-and as soon as I'd got enough saved, I took Azelma off her hands as well."

Montparnasse concealed his grin. Eponine Thenardier had been an independent little thing as long as he'd known her. Even as a small child, she'd done things her own way or not at all. This turn of events since last he'd seen her was hardly a surprise. "And how is little Azelma?" he asked pleasantly.

"Not so little anymore," she replied with a fond smile. "She just turned fifteen last week."

"And your brother?"

Eponine made a valiant effort at maintaining her smile, and very nearly succeeded, but a little tightness around her eyes betrayed her. "Gavroche is fine, or so I've been given to understand. He's still with Adilene."

"And I imagine that's not much to his taste?"

"Not even a little," she said with a little smirk. "He is a holy terror when he wants to be, and he and our aunt are constantly at odds. But she has him in school, learning sums and things, which is better than he likely would get if I tried to manage him. Maybe someday..." She sighed, eyes faraway. "Is it wrong to want us all to be together, even if it's not really what's best for him?" she asked, almost rhetorically.

Montparnasse shook his head. "Losing your parents and the little ones was hard on all three of you."

"That was a long time ago, 'Parnasse," she said firmly, and apparently that closed this particular discussion, because she continued on to say, "And what about you? How are you faring?"

"Well enough," he said. "You know me, always busy."

"Any of it legal?" she asked shrewdly.

"Some of it," he said airily.

She smirked. "Well, it's a better answer than the last I heard of you," she said.

At that moment, Roxanne Lefroy, the proprietress of the Cafe Musain, bustled out from the back of her establishment and upon seeing Eponine deep in conversation instead of convincing the rest of her patrons to consume still more of her rather excellent brew, proceeded to whack her sharply upside the head with the flat of her hand. "Hop to it, Thenardier!" she barked sharply.

Eponine gave Montparnasse a wry look before turning away. "More wine, gentlemen?" she cried jovially, raising a chorus of "Ayes!" from all over the room.

"I was having a rather nice conversation," Montparnasse told Mlle. Lefroy ruefully, before tossing a coin her way in payment for the whiskey he'd been nursing all this while. Before he exited the establishment into the gathering dark outside, he caught a glimpse of Eponine weaving through the crowd, full bottles in her hands and wearing a saucy smile on her lips that was belied by the dark circles beneath her eyes. She nodded in his direction. He shook his head in some amusement before disappearing into the night.

It was long past midnight when Eponine arrived home, and her feet were aching. That wasn't anything particularly new, but no matter how used to it one got, that did not alter the simple fact of it. As she pushed open the door of her tiny apartments on the Rue de la Huchette, she took note of the unexpected light that met her eyes.

"You ought to be sleeping, 'Zelma," she said before she'd even laid eyes on her sister.

"I wanted to wait for you," Azelma said. Eponine sighed, closed and bolted the door behind her, and turned to look at Azelma.

The younger Thenardier girl was seated on the low cot that passed for a bed, a basket at her feet and a few sheets of pink-stained paper in her hands. The two were plainly sisters- their matching button noses and deep-set eyes declared that- but it was obvious who the great beauty of the family was. Eponine's features were unremarkable, neither unattractive nor beautiful. She had the sort of face one simply forgot about, and were it not for her striking red hair, few would recall ever seeing her. Azelma, by contrast, was delicate and lovely. She had inherited their mother's deep green eyes, and her dark hair fell in waves down her back. Though she was freckled from too much time in the sun, she had the better figure by far. Eponine had made sure of that; even when money was tight, she ensured that her sister would never go hungry, even if that meant going without herself.

"I don't need you waiting around for me," Eponine said snappishly. "You'll make yourself sick if you start skipping sleep."

"Like you do?"

"I have things to do," Eponine pointed out.

Azelma rolled her eyes. "As if I didn't," she responded.

Eponine sighed. In the last few months, Azelma had taken to twisting and selling paper roses. While she was grateful for the extra income, her little sister's habits worried her. "I wish you wouldn't, 'Zelma. Standing out on the street all day... things happen, you know. Believe me, I've been there."

"I'm not even a year younger than you," Azelma pointed out hotly. "And I'm not made of porcelain, 'Ponine! You're not the only one who can take care of herself!" Her expression softened and she offered a teasing smile as a peace offering. "We're Thenardiers, remember? We're made of sterner stuff than that."

Eponine shook her head. "I know that, 'Zelma. I just..." She sighed. "I just want to give you a better life. Find you a nice husband who'll look after you."

Azelma giggled. "You'll be married ages before I ever find a man!"

Eponine laughed bitterly and sat down beside her sister, reaching over into her pile of papers and beginning to twist them around the metal stems. If they were going to waste candle wax, twisting roses, they might as well make the most of it. "Hardly," she said, as lightly as she could. "I doubt anybody'd want the likes of me. Besides, just look at you! Mark my words, 'Zelma, any day now some charming lad will come and take a fancy to you and he'll sweep you off your feet and then you'll be out of here!"

And then it will all have been worth it, she thought to herself. Azelma was smiling softly to herself, no doubt lost in a daydream, and Eponine took the opportunity to sourly reflect on herself. Azelma, she was sure, would find herself a good man. She was beautiful and sweet and charming, just intelligent enough to be appealing without making a potential husband feel threatened. Someday she would snare the attention of a grocer or a printer, someone who would be able to support her.

As for herself, however... well, she had long ago accepted that she had been created to save her siblings. She wasn't meant for romance or a fine life. Her destiny was of a plainer sort, much like her appearance. No man wanted a girl like her, especially a girl like her who came weighed down with the support of two younger siblings.

For some twenty minutes the pair of them sat there on the cot and twisted paper flowers, until the single candle was nearly spent. Azelma looked up at the little light and, as if suddenly startled, jumped to her feet. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I nearly forgot! There's a letter from Tante Adilene!" She went to the table and picked up an envelope which she showed to her sister.

Eponine dropped the last paper rose in the basket. "Leave it," she said, stretching her cramped muscles. "I'll read it tomorrow."

She pulled off her stained dress and exchanged it for her nightgown, observing as she did so that there was a growing tear down the seam of the latter garment and making a mental note to stitch it up the next day. She retrieved her heavy (and very much stolen) man's coat from where it lay over the back of the chair, and went to curl up next to Azelma on the cot. Within minutes, sleep was upon her.