She felt as if her heart stopped.

"Gavroche, what are you talking about?" Éponine held herself back from shaking him. "Arrested?"

"The police came and I saw them getting handcuffed—"

"Who? Who did you see, Gavroche?" she screamed.

"Everyone! Grantaire dropped me off and went back to see if there was anyone else who got away, but I don't think there was!" he yelled to get the information through her hysteria.

"What about Enjolras?" Éponine didn't want to think about Enjolras's golden presence kept in a dank cell. She'd been there, and she didn't wish that on anyone, least of all the golden boy she…. she cared about. "Did he—"

"He was in the middle of it," Gavroche sounded close to tears. "At least three officers were on him at once and—" Gavroche buried his face in his hands. This time Éponine did shake him, her heart beating fast.

"And? And?" she was screaming again. The fear in her brother's eyes was almost enough to calm her, but not quite.

"And they were beating him," Gavroche whispered. "I think he was unconscious by the time they got him cuffed."

"Oh, God!" Éponine cried, standing away from Gavroche and pacing nervously. "What are we going to do? How will we know if he's alright?"

"I don't know…" Gavroche sounded scared. "Éponine, there was so much blood…" finally Gavroche started to cry. Éponine felt close herself, remembering the nightmarish vision of Enjolras surrounded by his own blood—it was no longer a nightmare, now. It was simply the truth.

"Hey, hey, don't cry…" Éponine's voice was thick, but she pushed through. "We'll be okay, alright?"

"What about them, Ép? A couple of people got shot, what if it was one of ours?" Gavroche was practically hysterical. "I didn't see Courfeyrac before or after, what if he was shot? And also Marius!"

"Shh, shh…" Éponine smoothed back Gavroche's hair. "It's alright, it's alright."

"What if it's not?" Gavroche whispered. "What if they're in the same prison as our dad?"

She suddenly remembered something very important that—in the midst of things—had faded from her memory. "Shit, Gav… I forgot to tell you. He's not there anymore."

"What?" Gavroche yanked away from her, his eyes wide. "Where is he then?"

"He's… around here somewhere. I had a run-in with him a few weeks ago," Éponine said. She ignored his hurt expression. "But that's not important right now…"

"Well, what can we do?" Gavroche wiped away his tears and straightened his shoulders. She felt pride fill her. Her brave little soldier. He knew how to act during a crisis.

She sighed, "We have to wait it out, I guess…."

Gavroche and Éponine fell asleep in the office, his head in her lap and her arm cradling her head. She was curled rather uncomfortably because Gavroche, even in his smallness, took up most of the couch. They left the front porch light on to let Enjolras know that they were waiting; if he were to come home, that is.

They slept restlessly, neither of them truly falling asleep.

At around six in the morning, there was a harsh rapping on the door. Éponine, who practically slept with one eye open in her worry, leapt from the couch, forgetting Gavroche who tumbled to the floor.

"Ouch! What the hell?" he complained, but she ignored him, jumping over his tired form and running to the door, not thinking of who could possibly be waiting on the threshold.

Standing there in the blue dark of early morning was a sheepish-looking Enjolras and an unfamiliar blond woman. The woman gave Éponine a strange look, but after a moment simply shook her head.

"You know what, I'm just completely done with asking questions," she politely breezed past Éponine, dragging a limping Enjolras with her into the house. She went straight to the living room, where she deposited Enjolras rather roughly on the couch. Éponine went straight to him, completely ignoring the stranger in their midst.

"Gavroche told me what happened, are you alright?" she asked. She was just barely aware of the woman's presence behind her.

Enjolras tried to sit up and winced. "I'll be fine, just—"

"Just a concussion, a sprained ankle, possible internal bleeding, and plenty of epidermal bruising," the woman cut him off, glaring. Then she turned to Éponine and her expression softened. "Look, sweetie, I don't know who you are, but can you go get some medical supplies from the upstairs cabinet for us?"

"She has a name," Enjolras's voice was strangely weak. It worried her. "It's Éponine."

As it had the time before, a familiar little jolt hit her when he bothered to say her first name. However, the woman seemed to be oblivious to the importance of Enjolras's saying of Éponine's name.

"Well then, Éponine, can you do that for me?" The woman was assertive without being bossy and cool without being rude. She was beautiful and well-kept, with a tailored suit and smooth hair. She was everything that Éponine could never even hope to be.

"Yes, of course," Éponine cast one more worried look at Enjolras's sprawled form before running out of the room. She bumped into a sleepy Gavroche in the foyer. He rubbed his sleep-crusted blue eyes and blinked up at her.

"Is he home?" Gavroche asked. She nodded. "Is he alright?" he was so nervous, and it struck Éponine suddenly that Enjolras was as much of a father-figure as he ever had, excluding perhaps Courfeyrac. She had never seen Gavroche worry for anyone but her.

"He's a little roughed up, but he'll be fine. There's someone else here, but I don't know who she is…"

"She's… nice," the woman commented as soon as Éponine was gone from the room.

"Don't be fake," Enjolras scolded. The woman sighed, sitting next to him on the couch and pushing his hair away from his bleeding temple. He winced even though her touch was gentle.

"I just worry about you, Luke. You get involved with your cases a little too much. Is this girl just one of your charity cases or… is she your girlfriend?" she seems hopeful that it is the second.

"Neither," Enjolras said quickly. "Éponine is… she's my friend. Her home situation is… less than desirable. And, well, I'm a human being. I couldn't let her stay in danger."

"You could have just called social services," she pointed out.

Enjolras sighed, "She made me promise not to tell."

"There's more to it than that, I think," as always, the woman was wise. Sometimes Enjolras found himself forgetting, in her absence, how perceptive she was. "You want to keep her close."

"So what if I do?" He snapped at her. The woman frowned and withdrew her hand. A frostiness set in her eyes, just as blue and cold as his. They had more in common than just their eyes. In fact, she was the older, female version of Enjolras. She possessed smooth golden curls frozen over with a silver frost and chiseled, handsome features with a seriously set mouth that seemed to permanently pout in the way that a model's mouth does.

Her voice was stern when she said, "Don't speak to me that way, young man."

Enjolras sighed, regretting the moment he tried to vocally dominate her. "Sorry, mother."

Mamajolras in the house!

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*kisses*