6
Les Amis de l'ABC ran as quickly as they could back to the Café Musain. The burning of their muscles was easily overlooked by their frantic and childish excitement. Éponine had been led by Enjolras who had grabbed her hand before running off behind Courfeyrac from the Pont d'Austerlitz. She couldn't determine if her breathlessness was due to their fast pace or that he was still holding her hand when they came to a much appreciated stop.
Éponine cleared her throat pointedly and as manly as possible, tugging her hand lightly from Enjolras', afraid that one of the students had seen. Thankfully, they had not. Everyone was far too busy running around, inside and out of the tavern, hurriedly making their wartime preparations. Enjolras hardly noticed the change either; his dream was about to be realized. All thoughts were turned completely to France and his responsibilities for the first time since Éponine had kissed his cheek. Nothing else mattered but his men and the orders he gave.
Grantaire sauntered out of the Café, a bottle of wine already in hand despite it being only two o'clock in the afternoon. Those who had already begun to search for supplies were torn: should they stay and watch the argument that was sure to be entertaining, or should they follow orders? Most chose the latter. Bahorel and Lesgle hung back, pretending to be busy fixing each other's tricolors.
"Ah, so it lives! And here I was, Grantaire," began Enjolras threateningly, "worrying that you had finally drank yourself to death. How kind of you to show your face."
"Don't get your trousers in a twist there, Enjolras. I am here for the important part, am I not?" The glare Enjolras had been giving Grantaire increased tenfold at his speech. Grantaire cracked a smile and crossed the remainder of the little square to clap Enjolras on the back and hand him his bottle of wine.
"Drink up now, while you still can."
The anger remained on Enjolras' face for only one moment longer before his expression softened to its usual stoniness. With a small chuckle and an incredulous shake of his head, Enjolras pulled Grantaire into a fleeting hug. The look on the drunkard's face when Enjolras broke the embrace to continue his work was heart breaking.
The little square in front of the Café Musain looked as though it had been overrun by worker ants. The children of the revolution were running, throwing, drinking, and laughing as though they had limitless energy and strength. The members of Les Amis were drawing their motivation from Enjolras, whose inspirational and stern words were echoing between the buildings every minute or so, and whose face seemed to be shining as though it was a lantern in the dark.
A man had volunteered to get information from behind enemy lines and, although none of the students had ever seen him before, Enjolras permitted him to leave. A heavy load seemed to have been lifted from their shoulders with the knowledge that they would be one step ahead of the foe.
The gamine, disguised as a gamin, slunk unnoticed to a doorway of an empty apartment and watched the barricade rise, like a wooden sea monster from an uneven and dirty expanse of stone ocean.
"We need as much furniture as you can throw down!" called Courfeyrac to the ladies in the apartments and businesses above. They were quick to oblige, both out of their own excitement for the coming revolution and in response to his handsome face.
Chairs, bedframes, mattresses, and even a piano or two came flying from windows, doorways, and roof tops. Éponine flinched at each loud crash, betraying her femininity. Lucky for her, the only soul aware of her hiding spot was a matted orange tabby cat which was winding between her legs, seeking any and all attention it could receive. Éponine leaned her back against the worn wood of the doorframe and slid down into a sitting position, pulling the pitiful animal into her lap. It let out a soft mew of protest, but its discontentment was soon replaced by the sound of purring.
Éponine let herself get lost in her thoughts as she petted the cat absentmindedly. Where was Marius? With Cosette. Then there is no hope? No, he was never mine to lose and he'll never be mine. Then why are you here? There isn't any reason left to live, she began to think, but that still small voice inside her head disagreed. Éponine dug deeper. I am here to help monsieur Enjolras; I owe him. Again, she was met with inward disapproval and a feeling in her gut that it wasn't the whole truth.
She shook her head, irritated. What was the point in looking for a reason to be there? In a few hours she was sure to be dead, reason or no. However, the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach to admit God knows what persisted, and her gentle caresses became heavy-handed swipes. The tabby hissed in objectionand leapt away, seeking refuge across the way with Grantaire.
Sighing heavily, Éponine leaned her head against the wood behind her back with a dull thud. The barricade was growing exponentially. As its size increased, so did the sense of purpose and pride that was so thick in the air on the Rue de la Chanverrerie that it was almost tangible. She let her eyes wander in search of Marius, hoping that he had shown up while she wasn't looking. Instead her eyes fell on the man in a crimson jacket.
Enjolras was running in every direction. He was busy lending a hand or asking for things to be done, joking with his friends, and scolding the idle Grantaire and Bahorel. A thin layer of sweat had appeared on his chiseled features in the heat of the summer. His shaggy waves had long ago been pushed to one side.
Éponine's pulse sped up. In his passion and excitement, the man was absolutely beautiful. It was not in the same way that Marius was handsome; this was a raw and masculine beauty, whereas Marius was the kind of reserved and gentlemanly attractiveness that was conventional and to be expected. Enjolras was the statue of David come to life. Éponine smiled almost imperceptibly as he climbed atop the nearly completed barricade and surveyed the street beyond. In those moments, he was glorious.
He felt her eyes on him again and looked over at Éponine's hiding spot in the doorway. The girl-man gave a quiet squeak and averted her eyes as quickly as possible. She groaned inwardly as she heard Enjolras climbing down the barricade. She stood clumsily, hitting her elbow hard against the side of the building. Hitting her funny bone only served to increase Éponine's embarrassment.
"Mon Dieu! Are you alright?" Enjolras asked with a chuckle, standing in front of her with his hands planted squarely on his hips in mock judgment. She cradled her tingling arm in the other and bit her lip.
"Of course I'm alright. I am a man after all," she answered, making her voice as deep and sarcastic as it could be.
The tension was broken and the awkward friends laughed at her feeble attempt at humour. Enjolras was happy to hear an honest laugh come from the girl. It was a pleasing sound; not gruff or menacing like the laugh he had heard on the bridge the night prior.
"I am glad that you are here, Éponine," he whispered when their laughter was over. He made sure there was no one in their corner of the street to listen in. She made no reply but grabbed his hand, cut and blistered from moving broken furniture and loading muskets, and gave it a small squeeze. Her brown eyes met his and she thought that she could read something deeper behind his usual stoic look. A shiver went down her spine.
"Enjolras!" called Combeferre, obviously distressed. The student of philosophy waved a hand anxiously, signally that he needed to speak with Enjolras. There was a great commotion by the entrance to the finished barricade.
The leader of Les Amis ran quickly to his friends, letting Éponine's hand slip from his without a second glance. She watched him go regretfully. The man they had sent out earlier to learn the enemy's plan was back just as the sun set. Éponine took to the shadows and ran out into the streets of Paris in the direction of 55 Rue Plumet.
It was Javert. Gavroche exposed him and Enjolras had him thrown into the tavern. The Café was serving as a makeshift hospital, and now a jail. The people would decide the fate of Inspector Javert. In the excitement of the discovery, no one had noticed the absence of the mute newcomer, dressed in baggy brown trousers and a floppy grey hat, and the aftermath of the exposé had covered his reentrance as well.
Enjolras was pacing like a wild beast in a cage. His expression was blank but his eyes were murderous. This set back could prove fatal. The sound of boots on pavement roused him from his morbid thoughts. When the understanding of the sound and what it meant sank in, he stopped dead in his tracks. The anger in his eyes was replaced with determination and fear.
"To arms!"
The barricade was alive again, and its little worker ants scurried to find their pistols and carbines. Marius was still absent and Grantaire tried his damnedest to hold his gun steady in one hand while holding his wine in the other. He managed to only spill a few drops, but his aim was still questionable. Gavroche grabbed a musket that was far too big for him and turned to look for his sister. Finding Éponine standing near the entrance to their fortress, he picked up a pistol and ran over to her excitedly.
"Take this, aim it at their heads, and kill some fuckin' soldiers!" instructed Gavroche before he scampered off again, swinging his too-large gun wildly.
As Les Amis de l'ABC took their places on the towering wooden structure, their only defense against the guns and canons of the French National Guard, Éponine climbed in with them. She held her pistol in her frail and shaking hands, unsure of herself and of her future. Her mouth was set in a grim line and her thoughts were on Marius, whom she had seen only minutes before. She had found him sulking in the garden of 55 Rue Plumet, lamenting the sudden disappearance of his darling Cosette. It was all she could do to find it within herself to speak to him, but she had known that it was necessary.
"Monsieur," she had said, disguising her voice as best she could. The sound startled the boy out of his reflections and he looked up from his seat beneath a tree. He hadn't recognized her.
"Monsieur," she repeated, "I believe your friends are waiting for you. At the barricade on the Rue de la Chanverrerie."
She walked away when he nodded in understanding, turning her back to hide her tears.
"Who goes there?" called an army officer, his booming voice echoing down the narrow street.
"French Revolution!" Enjolras shouted in response. And then it began.
The National Guard fired first, but every bullet fell short and only hit their sturdy wall. The children of the barricade retaliated fiercely.
"Take that, you bastards!" yelled Bahorel proudly. He had killed the first National Guardsman. The boys hooted and hollered in support and three more were felled by Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and the doe-eyed Prouvaire.
Blood was flowing across the vast sea of pavement. It did not take long for students and their supporters to be wounded by bullets or debris; several died in the first few minutes of battle. Screams of agony and the cries of men who were caught by death were heard ringing through Paris from the barricades throughout the city. The smoke of gun fire and the torches illuminating the tiny battle field was billowing and mingling in the air, like an early morning fog.
Éponine was nearly frozen with fear. Montparnasse had taught her of guns and the art of killing and she racked her brain as best she could to remember what he had said. Who'd have thought that he would ever come in handy? If I come out of this alive I'll be sure to thank you, 'Parnasse. She looked around in panic as the grunts and curses of a soldier fell on her ears.
"They're climbing the barricade!" Gavroche screamed, coming face-to-face with a panting National Guardsman.
Éponine's eyes swiveled to the front of her, looking out over the wall of furniture. Sure enough, there was a soldier who was running towards her section of the barricade. She took aim with her pistol, screwed her eyes shut, and fired her first shot. She quickly reopened her eyes and smiled wide in satisfaction. The bullet hit home and burrowed deep within the poor bastard's lower abdomen. A dark red circle formed around the hole almost instantly, blood seeping through the white and blue of his uniform. The dying man fell to the ground in agony and was trampled by his comrades who were inundating the barricade.
Gavroche let out another scream. This one was wordless but his terror spoke volumes. Éponine's heart stopped as she realized that his gun had misfired and the soldier with which he had been grappling raised his bayonet to spear the little boy.
Before she could move however, the snarling man let out a yelp of pain and dropped his weapon. A bullet had pierced his right eye. The lifeless body toppled backwards and his head hit the cobblestones with a sickening crunch. Gavroche, who had been rooted to his spot atop an old chest-of-drawers, climbed with the speed and agility of a spider from the top of the barricade. Éponine turned to see who had saved her little brother. Her heart sung in her chest and her stomach did a flip when her eyes fell on Marius, who still held his gun in the air.
The young man tore off his blue jacket and ran to the centre of the wooden wall. Grabbing a barrel of gun powder and a torch, he half climbed, half sprinted to the top to meet the onslaught of soldiers. She made a movement to go after him. He could die.
Before throwing her pistol to the ground, Éponine shot at two soldiers who had crawled over a piano in front of her, bayonets raised. When she was sure that they had been killed, or at least slowed in their pursuit, she began to climb in the direction of Marius. He had a gun aimed at the back of his head. Just as she reached him, Éponine heard a terrible scream.
Looking quickly down at the right side of the barricade, Éponine's stomach fell to her feet at the sight of Enjolras being attacked by two men. One had just dug his bayonet into his left thigh. She had to make a choice, and fast. She looked back at Marius and knew that she had to save him. With one last glance at Enjolras, who had fallen to the ground, Éponine stepped between Marius and the National Guardsmen's carbine. Her heart was breaking.
A shot was fired. The bullet passed through the mysterious newcomer's hand and passed into his chest, just above his heart. The shot was followed by a cry of pain and then silence. The fighting had stopped; all eyes were trained on Marius.
"Get back or I'll blow us all to Hell."
"You wouldn't, you'll take yourself with it!"
"And myself with it," Marius said, low and menacing. He lowered the torch he held in his right hand to the barrel of gun powder in his left.
The boy's eyes had closed and his body had slipped painfully from the barricade to the street. He heard the officer call for a retreat and smiled, his lips turning blue from the exertion and loss of blood. His hat fell to the ground as he slumped over, lying with his cheek to the pavement. It was Éponine.
She felt tiny rain drops falling on her head and onto the stinging hole in her hand. I'm dying, mama. Will you miss me?
"Éponine!"
Strong, warm hands were cradling her fragile and cold face, wiping the rain, hair, and blood from her forehead. With difficulty she opened her eyes and saw Enjolras' pained face inches from her own. He slowly moved her into a sitting position, stopping every time she winced, leaning her shoulders against the barricade. She smiled again innocently and held up her wounded hand. The blood flowed down her arm and pooled in the elbow of her shirtsleeve.
"What've you done?" he asked, his voice thick with thinly veiled emotion. She can't die. If she dies, I've failed her.
The wounded girl's eyes fluttered shut again. She heard the thudding of frantic footfalls and the warmth on her face disappeared. Éponine knitted her brows in protest. She heard Enjolras calling for Joly, the medical student of the group. It warmed her slowing heart to know that he was trying to save her, despite her decision to help Marius over him.
"'Ponine?" asked a new voice. It was Marius, who had come to kneel in front of her broken body. The concern was obvious on his face.
"It'll be okay, monsieur. You're alive and my duty is done."
Éponine opened her eyes as she spoke, not wanting to miss her last chance to see his face, to study his brown curls, to memorize his endearing freckles. Marius insisted that she would be alright, but she held a bloodied finger to his lips. He bowed his head and looked at the hole in her shoulder in silence. The blood was flowing freely down her borrowed shirt. Éponine's eyes closed again as she slumped forward and laid her head against Marius' knee.
"Marius," she said weakly, lifting her head, "I think I was a little bit in love with you."
A silent semi-circle of revolutionaries had come to stand around the pair. No one spoke and hardly anyone dared breathe. Prouvaire, ever the sentimental poet, took his hat from his head and placed it over his heart reverently. The rain increased and Marius moved to shelter the dying creature. She shook her head as forcefully as she could muster, her usually pale skin growing whiter with each movement.
"A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now, monsieur." There was no humour or pain in her voice; she merely stated it matter-of-factly.
Éponine looked around for Enjolras. She found him on the edge of the assembled group of men, his arms folded over his chest and his stony face unreadable. The blood was dripping down his left leg from where the soldier had stabbed him and Joly was insisting he come inside the tavern to have it bandaged, but he didn't even acknowledge him. He kept his deep blue eyes trained on Éponine.
"Monsieur," she said, meeting Enjolras' gaze unsteadily. Her vision was becoming fuzzy. The look in his eyes was sheepish, as though he were afraid of finding death in her face.
"I'm a little bit in love with you too, you know." With that, her eyes closed a final time and her body fell to the cobbled street.
A single tear escaped from Enjolras' eyes and blended in with the rain and blood on his granite cheek.
A/N: Wow, that was fast! Look, guns! The f-bomb! LOVE! Don't hate me? WE AREN'T DONE YET! I realize that this isn't 100% "brick" timeline, but I needed to change things around. Review and edit if and when necessary.