17

Enjolras arrived punctually, knocking sharply on the door just as the first of the half-past bells began to toll. Madame Simplice was elated to see that he had made good on his promise, though quite unsurprised. When she opened the door, the man she found standing before her appeared even more disheveled than he had when she had sent him away, though he had shed his thick layer of blood, sweat, and mud. Madame Simplice gave the man an extravagant once-over, tutting softly.

In his haste, Enjolras had left his cravat untied and hanging loose about his neck, his shirt sleeves were unevenly rolled to his elbows, and his long blonde hair was still damp from his quick wash. He had neglected to put on a jacket, and the black vest he wore was wrinkled from its time spent in his small bag. Nonetheless, the life had returned to his eyes, and colour was coming back to his cheeks and high forehead.

"Well," she drawled at last, her displeasure with his appearance plain on her face, "I suppose you will have to do as you are." Enjolras ducked his head and gruffly cleared his throat, making no apologies. In the privacy of his mind, he was blaming the old woman's curfew for his appearance. Madame Simplice smiled condescendingly and stepped back from the door, ushering her helper in quickly.

Enjolras turned to look the woman in the eye as soon as she had closed the door, his passionate gaze boring into her. He held his hands outstretched before him, as though he were awaiting arrest, and chased all cynical thoughts from his mind. "Madame, tell me what I must do, and I will obey."

Madame Simplice laughed, the sound like that of rustling paper.

"All I ask of you is to watch over our petite fille long enough for this old woman to get some rest." Enjolras nodded, his eyes flicking between Madame Simplice's face and where Éponine lay on the bed, tangled in a mass of damp sheets. Panic rose to meet his apathy. "I trust you know how to cool a fever?"

"My closest friend is –" Enjolras caught himself, a lump of bitter emotion forming at the back of his throat. Memories of Combeferre flooded his senses, but he pushed them reluctantly away. "Was a student of medicine. He taught me a few of the necessities."

"Very well. Take good care of mademoiselle; I will be back before noon." The old woman led Enjolras to Éponine's bedside, made threats on his life should Éponine get worse while she was gone, and scuttled out of the room.

The silence that fell in her wake was deafening, and Enjolras was left with only his thoughts and Éponine's soft mewls for company. He busied himself with the tying of his cravat, but that amusement was over too soon. Silence stretched on again, and Enjolras cleared his throat just to fill the space. At the noise, Éponine's eyebrows drew together and her head lolled on the hard pillow.

"Mademoiselle?" Enjolras called hopefully, settling down on the wooden stool Madame Simplice had left him. The girl convulsed feebly in an attempt to cough and Enjolras' hands flew to her shoulders, steadying her lest she reopen her wounds.

"Éponine?" His voice was gentler this time. A soft groan was her only response, but she stopped squirming beneath Enjolras' firm grip as though she had heard him. Enjolras sighed and he removed his hands from Éponine's shoulders as swiftly as he had placed them there. Touching her felt wrong; it made the man uneasy.

The room became muffled once more. Enjolras' breathing echoed around the small chamber and the stagnation was drawing him into his mind once more, toward the precipice from which he knew he would not return. In vain he wished that Madame Simplice would return early to save him from himself.

As an excuse to employ his mind, and to keep his body from answering the ever-inviting call of sleep, Enjolras dabbed at his patient's forehead every three minutes, reciting the alphabet forward and backward before starting over again. He spent three quarters of an hour in this manner, but he noticed with frustration that the cold water was doing nothing to improve Éponine's condition.

"Combeferre, what would you do?" he breathed, wiping sweat from Éponine's furrowed brow.

Enjolras sat sprawled in an overstuffed chair in his parlor, mumbling feeble complaints to no one in particular. A soft chuckle came from somewhere behind him.

"Do not laugh at me, Combeferre," the invalid snapped, "Be serious."

"I am serious, but I cannot help but laugh, mon ami. You look and sound absolutely dreadful," his friend replied evenly, coming around to face Enjolras. He had a spoon full of medicine in one hand, and a damp cloth in the other. Enjolras' bleary eyes darted suspiciously between the two, unsure of which he would detest most. He seemed to have decided on the medicine, his blue eyes coming to rest on the spoon with contempt. Combeferre grinned. "It won't be that bad, Enjolras."

"That may be easy for you to say, as you are not the one who must take it!"

Combeferre snorted, and gently shoved the medicine in Enjolras' face, ignoring the man's inane protests.

"You know, for someone who is planning a revolution, you are acting awfully cowardly."

Enjolras' mouth fell open, and he glared at his friend in indignation. Without another word, he took the spoon and downed the vile liquid in one go. The doctor smiled triumphantly down at his patient, who returned the sentiment with a sneer.

"Now, that should take care of your cough, and this," Combeferre leaned down and placed the cloth across Enjolras' eyes, "will bring down your fever."

Enjolras blinked quickly, chasing away the memory and returning to the present. Combeferre had been right right; the cool water had brought his temperature back to normal, and perhaps it would work on Éponine as well. It wouldn't hurt to try, he thought, picking up a fresh cloth from the bowl Madame Simplice had set on the nightstand. With shaking fingers, Enjolras placed the compress across Éponine's eyes, taking care to do exactly as Combeferre had. He ignored the gnawing ache in his chest at the thought of his friend.

Éponine jerked her head away from the cold water, and Enjolras placed his hands on either side of her face to keep her still. He wiped away the stray rivulets of water that ran down her gaunt cheeks, and smoothed her tangled bangs beneath the cloth. Enjolras had never seen something so fragile; it was as though the girl he had seen at the barricades had vanished, and an autumn leaf was in her place, shaking and pale and breaking. Enjolras let out a long, weary sigh.

In the silence, Enjolras felt himself being swallowed by the room. The stone walls were reaching out to him, and a restless knot settled in the pit of his stomach. He thought he heard Bahorel's raucous laughter from somewhere behind him; chills dance up Enjolras' spine, and he began to talk to stifle his imagination.

"What am I to do, Éponine?" he murmured, busying his hands with wringing out a fresh towel. "Can I really give up, say that my cause was not just enough for our Good Lord, and walk away? The guilt – the doubt," Enjolras paused, swallowing the lump that was rising in his throat, "it is unbearable, yet here I am, alive. And for what? My hopes and my dreams were pinned on this revolution; what is my life to become now, without it?"

Enjolras looked down at Éponine as though expecting an answer. Naturally, she made none; she slept on as though he weren't there and the ringing hush fell once again. Anxiety rose in Enjolras' chest, and he shut his eyes for fear of glancing around and seeing the phantom faces of his fallen friends. He thought that he could feel them in the room.

"Éponine, please," he pleaded, his eyes still closed and his hands balled into fists against his thighs.

"M –"

His eyes flew open, and Enjolras scanned Éponine's face for any sign of change. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips were moving laboriously. He knelt down beside her bed, taking care to favor his injured leg.

"M-Marius," she breathed. Her brows knit together in concentration, and her eyes were darting frantically behind their lids. Almost as quickly as she had begun to awake however, Éponine slipped back into her deep sleep.

Enjolras' mouth snapped shut, and he stood as quickly as he could, pushing himself up and away from the bed. He felt betrayed, and he was flexing the muscles in his jaw in anger, but why? The door to the chamber opened before he could come to any real answers.

"Bonjour," a man's voice called from the doorway. Enjolras turned to face the newcomer, and was almost surprised to see a man in regal robes standing where he was expecting Madame Simplice to be. "I am monseigneur D'Arcy."

"Jean-Luc Enjolras."

The little old man smiled warmly, despite Enjolras' cool manners, and the younger felt a pang of regret for acting as he was. The priest gave him no time to correct his mistake however, and he stepped into the room with a liveliness that was unusual for his age.

"How is our young lady this morning?" he asked, squinting down at Éponine's sleeping form. Enjolras gave a brief overview of what he knew and witnessed, leaving out her calling out for Pontmercy. D'Arcy smiled again and, turning to Enjolras, asked, "And, pray tell, who are you to her? A husband, perhaps?"

Enjolras' face darkened, and he heard Éponine's voice ringing in his ears.

"Marius."

"No one, monsieur," Enjolras replied, bowing his head respectfully to discourage any further questioning.

Taking the hint, though not without giving Enjolras a knowing smile, the old man merely clapped his wrinkled hands together. "In that case young man, you are an exceptional fellow for doing such a kind deed as looking after a stranger."

Enjolras shook his head, "It is the least I could do."

"I have known many, Jean-Luc, who have done less than you for those who have meant more; what you are doing is admirable, and the young lady will appreciate it."

If she notices.

A/N: Hey guys, sorry this took so long. But hey! I wrote it on Barricade Day, and it's up before the end of the June Rebellion. Also sorry this chapter is so short; I realized that I couldn't continue what I had started for much longer without getting into the next part that would take a lot longer to set up, and I wasn't about to make you wait any longer than you needed to. I promise this won't happen again (extenuating circumstances, like a bad break up, graduation, exams, etc., kinda got in the way of all of this, but that's all done now). The next chapter will be coming soon, darlings. Thank you for sticking with me! Have a lovely rest of your June Rebellion.