5

It was finally here: the moment Les Amis de l'ABC had been waiting for, planning for, and dreaming for, for what felt like a lifetime. General Lemarque was dead and June 5, 1832, was his funeral. That beautiful June day marked the start of la revolution. The hundreds of people who had gathered throughout the streets along the route of the funeral procession seemed to melt into one mass that moved, breathed, and felt as one. The people of Paris were all mourning the loss of The People's Man.

The friends had settled on meeting on the left bank, near the start of the Pont d'Austerlitz at noon, right in front of the Jardin du Roi. It only seemed appropriate to meet in front of something named for the man they were preparing to overthrow. Enjolras was making his way down the Sein by around ten, choosing to walk and clear his mind despite the summer heat. He wanted to get there early so that he could, quite literally, smell the roses, possibly for the last time, and steel his nerves before his comrades arrived. By the time Enjolras had reached the gardens it was nearly half-past eleven. His leisurely pace had allowed him to fortify his resolve, preparing for the battle to come.

Stepping into the shade of one of the trees that marked the grounds of the garden, Enjolras fished out a handkerchief from the pocket of his crimson jacket. As he mopped his forehead, he remembered giving Éponine a handkerchief just like the one he held in his hand.

"I promise that I'll be okay, monsieur," she had insisted fiercely, repeating her protests again and again. Once or twice he had feared for the safety of his jaw as she nervously flailed her leg.

"Nonetheless, friends check on one another," he had said, the look in his eyes invitingly open. Éponine gave in, or perhaps she had been too dumbfounded to protest any further. Either way, the look of confused happiness on her face as Enjolras had gingerly bandaged her foot was enough to leave him feeling mute as well.

Enjolras was brought back to the present, unexpectedly feeling eyes boring into the back of his head. He turned around and quickly found the culprit: a young man, sitting alone on one of the garden benches, wearing a tricolor on his dirty tan overcoat. Enjolras smiled crookedly at the sight of the tricolor, the symbol of the revolution.

He pocketed the handkerchief and walked over to the boy, his crooked smirk becoming a confident smile. The already nervous boy looked around frantically, obviously for an escape route. In his wild motions and turning of his head, the floppy hat he had been wearing slipped off and a waterfall of dirty brown waves fell with it. Her body stiffened and the frightened creature stopped searching for a way out. Realizing that her cover was blown and her plan foiled, she slowly turned her head and met Enjolras' smiling blue eyes apologetically, a worried giggle escaping her when she saw his jaw drop and his smile vanish in recognition.

"Éponine!" he whispered wide-eyed. Enjolras closed the rest of the distance in quick, furious strides. He sat down next to the girl and placed his hand on her arm, both out of concern and anger.

"Yes, monsieur," she said as sweetly as possible, ignoring how Enjolras tightened his grip on her at her smile, "I've come to help!"

"Oh, have you now?" he retorted, his hand falling away from her arm and balling into a fist in his lap. His knuckles were white and his heart was beating fast. Enjolras didn't give Éponine time to respond.

"I thought you were here, acting as though you gave a damn about this revolution, to be with your Marius. Tell me, Éponine, who is General Lemarque?"

Éponine was prepared. She raised an eyebrow, putting her practice to good use after long days studying the bourgeois women of Paris at café, and sat up straighter in her seat. The feminine ferocity of her gaze and posture was at odds with the masculine clothing she wore. Enjolras held her gaze, impatiently awaiting her answer.

"You know that I am fighting for Marius," she began, speaking as she would to a child. Enjolras jerked his head away angrily, glaring out into the gardens as though it was the fault of the birds, pedestrians, and flowers for his irritation. Éponine reached across to his lap and touched his hand gently, hesitantly, as though he was a rabid animal that may attack her. The light pressure and warmth of her hand on his bare skin surprised him enough to momentarily erase his anger. When he returned his gaze to her face, Éponine continued.

"I am also here to fight for you, monsieur."

His heart stopped mid-beat. What does she mean? Enjolras' mind flew in two directions at once and no thought was clear enough to take hold of. His marble face cracked and a softer man showed through for the briefest of moments before he shook his head to clear his mind. Regaining the ability to speak, he asked the only thing he could.

"Why, 'Ponine?" His voice was heavy with disbelief and his blue eyes were full of unasked questions. Enjolras captured her frail hands in his, giving them a light squeeze. He ignored the judging glances and open snickers of the passers-by at the sight of two men sitting in such a pose. Éponine blushed a deep red that matched Enjolras' jacket, tearing her eyes from his to stare at the worn brown fabric of her trousers.

"Because you have been so kind to me, monsieur. I haven't any idea why you have offered me your help and looked after me, a piece of garbage from the street, as you have. I need to repay you." She gave him a warning look as he opened his mouth to protest and then continued:

"I'm a poor girl and have almost nothing. Although it isn't worth the chain for your watch, what I do have to give should hopefully make us even. I can pay you with my life."

She ended her declaration with a confident smile, masking her inward turbulence. Éponine's eyes were fiery with the passion and conviction of her confession while Enjolras was left speechless once more. His usually perfectly smooth forehead was creased with the evidence of thought as he attempted to formulate an adequate response. Neither dared to speak, but the silence was broken by the sweet sounds of birds chirping from deeper within the gardens. Unfortunately, as he began to thank the girl, the rest of his speech was interrupted by the familiar sound of his friends calling from down the street.

"Enjolras!" called Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, and Gavroche in tow. The group was still far enough away not to notice that the figure next to their friend was Éponine.

The girl yanked her hands from beneath Enjolras' and quickly hid her hair beneath her floppy hat once more. She finished her work just as the men made it over to the bench. There was a murmur of confusion as the students tried to figure out who the stranger was next to Enjolras. Gavroche gave his sister a little wink, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest in satisfaction. He had helped his sister with her disguise and he was certainly proud of his handiwork

"This 'ere's one of my friends," said the little gamin, indicating Éponine with a gruff nod that made him seem far older than eleven.

Éponine, who had been unconsciously holding her breath, let out a sigh of relief as the newcomers' interest was satisfied and they turned their attentions to Enjolras. There was business and war to discuss after all; there was hardly time to exchange social pleasantries with a street urchin. As the rest of Les Amis de l'ABC gathered around the bench, along with a few of Gavroche's actual friends, the hour of fate was approaching.

When the bells chimed twelve o'clock, the only two missing from the group assembled were Grantaire and Marius. However, there was no time to ask of their whereabouts or wait any longer, as the drums of the funeral procession could be heard in the distance. Before standing up, Enjolras gave Éponine's arm a small and unnoticed squeeze of reassurance and appreciation.

"There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes," Enjolras said before leading his friends, his soldiers, towards the Pont d'Austerlitz. The beating of their hearts echoed the beating of the steady sound of the drums as they walked bravely to face their foe.

A shot rang out above the sound of the crowd and the procession, followed by screams of panic. For one brief moment it was as though time itself had stopped and people of Paris were frozen, out of fear, out of shock, and out of excitement. Suddenly, as though everyone in the crowd exhaled at once, the moment of silence and inaction was shattered by sounds of more gunfire. From their end of the bridge, the group of students could make out a fellow congregation of revolutionaries beginning to skirmish with the national guardsmen who were accompanying the body of General Lemarque.

"The time is now! The day is here!" cried Enjolras, pulling his pistol from its holster and raising it in the air. His soul was soaring and his blood was pounding in his ears. Never before had he looked more like a statue carved by Michelangelo than he did in that moment. Éponine gazed up at his shining face in wonder and admiration, immobilized by fear and confusion. Shouts of approval came from his friends as and other revolutionaries and citizens within earshot.

"Vive la France! Vive la France!"

"To the barricades!"

A/N: Sorry it took so long, guys! It took me forever to finally be satisfied with what I had written enough to upload it and show you beautiful people. It's a tad longer than usual, but only by a little. It's also heavily É/E, but with purpose. I also think I dropped my first cuss word - wooo! Anyway, the usual: questions, comments, concerns are welcome and appreciated, and I've already got Chapter 6 started. I won't promise anything quick on that one either though, 'cause it's kinda pretty important. It may take just a bit. I deeply appreciate each and every one of you, have a pleasant day!