3

Éponine dashed out of the Café and into the cool night air. Her head was spinning and her heart was racing in her chest. She knew that the revolution meant fighting and that fighting meant that Marius could die. Unconsciously, Éponine hugged herself tightly to keep the ever rising tide of panic from drowning her, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the holes in her tattered green dress. A soft sigh escaped from between her chapped lips as she leaned her body against the doorframe, resting her head on the well-worn wood and closing her eyes thoughtfully.

Marius had asked her to wait at the Café until he had returned so that she could take him to see his new lady love, that bourgeois two-a-penny thing, Cosette. What he saw in her past her beauty and money, Éponine could not tell. She smiled crookedly at the memory of tormenting Cosette as a child. Behind the smile her heart was aching.

"The world really is a remarkable place."

"Why's that, 'Ponine?" said Marius as he casually walked up to the entrance to the Café. Éponine's eyes flew open and she straightened her posture, nervously smoothing the ragged folds of her skirt. Her crooked grin became a contented smile when Marius reached her side.

"No reason, monsieur. Are you ready?" she said as eagerly as possible, grabbing his jacket sleeve. He nodded, his voice failing him at that moment.

The pair set off silently in the direction of 55 Rue Plumet. Marius was lost in his thoughts of Cosette – of her beautiful smile, her flowing, flaxen tresses, and the way his world seemed to change when their eyes met. Éponine could feel her heart falling apart, piece by jagged piece, every time he said her name.

The rain had stopped along with Éponine's tears. She didn't know how late or early it was, or exactly why she was still walking; all she noticed was that her feet had carried her back in the direction of the Café Musain, and she was standing on the Pont Neuf. The only sound was the drip, drip, drip of the fresh trickling from the bridge and into the river below. The crooked eaves of the buildings on the Place Saint-Michel were swallowed in the inky blackness that comes with that time of the night. Éponine knew her way around, despite the only lights being the moon and the stars, half hidden by fleeing rain clouds.

Éponine splashed her feet idly in one of the deeper puddles in the middle of the uneven street, dirtying the handkerchief worse and worse by the minute. There was an acute stinging sensation radiating from her foot but Éponine paid it no heed. She was coping with her broken heart as best she could: by pretending that Marius was with her.

"I always find that, in the rain, the pavement shines like silver. Wouldn't you agree, mademoiselle?"

"Enjolras! I-I…," she managed. The girl's eyes were wide as she stopped her reverie to look up at him. Enjolras thought he could hear her heart beat faster than a hummingbird's wings in the deafening silence that followed. She had not heard him approaching and was only alerted of his presence when he was standing only a foot or so away from her, on the outskirts of her puddle.

"I apologize; I did not mean to catch you unawares. I thought that you had heard me walk up," he said with a slight bow. Enjolras began to walk past the girl, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

Unexpectedly, the gamine stepped out of the puddle and touched Enjolras' arm gently to stop him. When the realization of what she had done set in she withdrew her hand with embarrassment and shock. The rhythm of their heartbeats became synchronized.

"Wh-what brings you out so late, monsieur?" Éponine asked when he had turned to face her again. His stony face was covered in an inexplicable and uncomfortable blush that, had it not been so dark, the girl would have noticed and laughed about.

Clearing his throat, Enjolras explained that he couldn't sleep and, as he lived just across the bridge on the Quai des Grand-Augustins, he often walked himself into weariness on nights like these. Éponine could guess why he wasn't able to sleep without asking; it was practically written all over his face.

"Will Marius die monsieur?" Éponine whispered, staring searchingly into his face through the darkness. Even the gloom couldn't hide Enjolras' obvious annoyance.

"We stand on the brink of war – a war that may change your life for the better – and all you can think of is Pontmercy?"

It wasn't a question, it was an accusation. Although his face remained stony and calm, his voice was cut with frustration. When Éponine floundered for a response, her mouth opening and closing again in indignation, he cocked a perfect eyebrow and crossed his arms in impatience. There were so many things she could throw back, but they were all too terrifying to finally say aloud. I love him, she screamed in her mind, but only on my own. As the seconds continued to tick by and the pair continued to become increasingly agitated, Enjolras chose to be the bigger – or perhaps, the lesser – man in the situation. He turned on his heel and began to walk in the direction of Saint-Michel.

"Don't you dare turn your back on me! Do you think that all I am is Marius' shadow? I have feelings, too!"

Enjolras turned around slowly, having only made it a few feet away. Her shout was ringing in his ears, the sound of her anger bouncing around his brain. In the time it took him to face her, Éponine had closed the gap and was standing on her tip toes, her face only inches from his own. Her eyes were ablaze with anger and drowning in tears simultaneously. He opened his mouth to make a mocking remark but was stopped short by a swift slap to the face.

Enjolras felt nothing but shock for the seconds following her outburst. His mind went blank for the first time since he had heard that Lemarque was dead, and it was his turn to open and close his mouth like a fish. The stinging in his left cheek brought him back to reality and he lifted his hand to stroke the tender, reddening area.

Éponine's mouth had fallen open and her eyes had grown as wide as saucers from the moment she felt herself make contact with his skin. She shook her head dumbly, her arms snaking around herself tightly. She tried to hold her body together as she was overcome by violent sobs.

"I'm sorry, monsieur. I'm so sorry," she repeated, her eyes focused on his chest and the gold buttons on his crimson jacket, unseeing through the hot tears that were streaming freely down her cheeks.

As the shock wore off completely, Enjolras took in the sight before him. Here was a girl, this pitiful gamine, who had just assaulted him. She was thin, she was dirty, and she was crying. Her tear-soaked eyes were windows to her very heart and soul, and Enjolras saw them both being ripped to shreds. His own heart, reserved only for France and kept under lock and key, ached for the fragile creature. The frustration that was there before and the anger that was threatening to bubble over when she had slapped him, evaporated at the gut-wrenching sound of her sobs.

Wordlessly, Enjolras stepped forward to close the remaining inches between them. She flinched, holding her arms in front of her face to defend from his inevitable retaliation. Gingerly and ever so cautiously, he wrapped his arms around her flimsy frame. Éponine froze, holding back her sobs in fear and surprise. When she realized that he was not trying to harm her, her body sagged into his chest and her arms moved to clutch onto his sleeves as her sobs shook her again. Enjolras held her with her head tucked securely under his chin, uncomfortable and unsure.

"Please, monsieur, please do not leave me right now," she managed to choke out as he had moved to awkwardly step away from the embrace a few silent minutes later.

"What has you so upset?" Éponine could feel his chest rumbling as he spoke, and the feeling was strangely reassuring.

"I have been left once already today. Please don't leave me, too." She knew that she need not say anymore, Enjolras could draw his own conclusions.

Marius.

Enjolras sighed, his exhalation of breath ruffling her hair, but he did not try to move again until she was ready. How could he? He felt oddly responsible for the girl. After all, she was practically the embodiment of all he was fighting for. This was like a chance to prove his dedication to France, and to this child without a friend.

The pair stood in that pose in the middle of the Pont Neuf for what seemed like eternity, but was in reality only a few minutes. Éponine calmed her sobs and her tears soon transformed into sniffles, and her tears turned into hiccups. She had slowed her racing thoughts by listening to the thump, thump, thump of Enjolras' too quickly beating heart. For the first time in her life, she was not picturing Marius was holding her when she closed her eyes. This man, this living statue with a gentle heart, was offering her his honest friendship and that was more that anyone had ever given her before. That knowledge was a soothing balm to her wounded spirit.

A/N: I know it's a little rushed, a little sappy, and a little out of character, but I tried really hard to make it as in character as possible for Enjolras. And no, this isn't the start of something super fluffy just yet. I've got big things planned for the next chapter though, so just you wait. Bear with me! Oh, and any comments or suggestions are welcome as always. Much love, everyone!