Author's note: Hi this is morbidsweetie13. It's still sweetangel014's fic but since she will be unable to post it today, she requested me to do it for her. She sends her love, well wishes and a box of assorted cookies.

Ehehehe, awkward, yeah. Anywho, she just wanna ask me to tell you guys to review this one since she's been edgy on what you people really feel about this piece of hers. Love it? Hate it? Or tolerate it? Hey don't ask me, I'm just the messenger girl. But here's what she wrote:

sweetangel014:

"A/N: Hello my darlings, I hope you weren't too shocked to see me update in such a short period of time but it's because of you reviews that got me writing in such speed! To be honest I don't really know if I was to update because the lack of feedbacks but a particular review from Mademoiselle BellePheonix whose kind and touching words gave me strength to continue on. Thank you for your kind words cherie, I will dedicate this chapter for you~! And also thanks to PerkyTurkeyBaby who never failed to send me a review :,)

I look forward to hear from you readers and please, read and review so I may know what your real thoughts are for this fic.

Disclaimer: Any familiar characters and settings belonged to Monsieur Victor Hugo and the film directed by Monsieur Tom Hooper."

So, READ and REVIEW for this fic or I will come and find ya! Hahaha kidding!

From Me To You

There she was, alone again in the street. It was in grim humour that she was in the same state earlier. Marius was firm with his decision to meet with Cosette and his actions had thrust the final dagger into her heart that resembled a pin cushion. What does that woman have that she doesn't?

'Everything' the voice in her head reminded her. And it was right.

With just a single look from that short time she saw Cosette on that fateful day; she looked every bit of a porcelain doll as Eponine had seen before. Long waves of flaxen coloured hair and wide blue eyes. Pure ivory skin and she donned a lovely dress that Eponine would only dream of touching. On her arm was her 'father' though from the stories of her parents, he was the one who took Cosette away and they lived in secrecy. She was her opposite; while she was happy in her childhood and grew up in a miserable state, it was now Cosette who gets what she desires. 'Look what has become of me' she wistfully thought. Frustration with Marius and the manner of her living, she walked in a brisk manner, almost defiant as though she won't crumple under the pressure the world had thrown at her.

A survivor and a fighter at heart. Yes, that's what Eponine is and with God as her witness, she will never be broken again.

Soon, she entered the cafe where the fire in the fireplace was just minutes into dying out and only a lone candle was lit. Enjorlas, now sporting a bandage on his hand, looked up with his books and parchments in his hands. "Is something wrong?" he asked. Though he doesn't really care for her, he was curious on what made the woman stand up and run away. And that usually associated with the Pontmercy. And maybe it did since he saw the corners of her face red as well as her eyes. Eponine just shrugged in indifference and walked in front of him, "Nothing that would really concern you mon- I mean Enjolras"

The lack of formality with his name was of strange taste in her tongue. Except for Marius, she had never called another man's name with such familiarity. He didn't look offended since he was the one who encouraged this as she did with her name before he straightened up and walked by her to blow the last candle. As she watched the smoke dance and curl on the air, she saw Enjolras just standing by the foot of the stairs before she realized he waiting for her.

"You said you needed a place to stay, yes?" he said as she joined him, she nodded slowly before they walked out of the cafe. He led her though several boarding houses before they stopped at a small loft near a park. It was simple and could be easily overlooked if it was to compare with the townhouses beside it. He fumbled to get the key since his arms was laden with heavy books before he froze when he felt a small hand enter his front pockets.

While her face remained stoic, she could hardly hide the fact she was amused by the reactions of the student. He refused to meet her eye and she could hear him swallowing audibly before she felt the key and fished it from the interior fabric. She stabbed the key into the hole and twisted it. Enjorlas grabbed the knob and pushed forward to reveal a rather messy room. One would think that someone as organized as he would have a tidy living space but then, she mused, he wouldn't have time to clean after himself while he was so busy planning and preparing. He placed his books on a surface, maybe a table, since she couldn't see much on the poorly lit room and almost tripped on a discarded shirt. In the darkness, she heard a sound of a match being struck and a small spark of fire glowed within inches of her.

Enjorlas lit several lamps in the corners of the room, filling the flat with a soft glow. Stacks of tightly furled parchments were placed on random corners, books both thick and thin dominated the tables. Several articles of clothing were strewn about on the hooks of the coat hanger and chairs. On the other side, she could see three more doors, where they led to, she wouldn't know.

"Make yourself comfortable" he invited, easing himself out of his vest and placed it on the tattered couch. She walked across the room, eager to examine the chart that depicted the outlined city of Paris. Slowly, she took it from it the hook that kept it in place and held it by the closest lantern to inspect. She's quite literate and although her parents used to spoil her, she always had a secret thirst for knowledge that can't be extinguished by dolls or trinkets. "There's supposed to be a passage here" she said. "Pardonnez-moi?" Enjorlas replied, rolling his sleeves to his forearm.

Holding up the chart for him to see and pointed at a small dotted mark near Notre Dame, "There's a small passage way that can lead out of the city, it's the l'Ossuaire Municipal, the catacombs of Paris".

Enjolras took the chart and soothed it on the table, "I had read about this place but they say that it was closed off because of the unsafe structure. And we need weapons Eponine, not an escape route" he reasoned. The gamine shook her head as she rested her hands on the edge of the table, "It's just precautions. Who is to say what will happen during the battle? And we can turn it into a small hideaway to heal the injured."

"A covered place for the dead, fitting for people who are to die as well" he muttered solemnly.

"Or a beacon of hope for the future" she argued. Somehow, the leader was still a bit pessimistic despite her reassurance of help. Had he have no faith in her? Then again, the man wasn't as trusting as Marius was with her abilities. It was all in a leap of faith and he was a blindfolded trapeze artist trying to balance everything without falling from the wire that separates him between life and death.

Enjolras sighed, the woman has an extensive knowledge of the underground networks and it would be useful in case the plan didn't go as smoothly as they had anticipated.

A curious sound emerged from his left side. He looked at Eponine who turned her head to the opposite direction and pursed her lip, it took another sound from her side to make him realize that it was her stomach who demanded attention.

"You should have said you wanted something to eat" he scolded her, walking to a cupboard and fetched a loaf of bread and a silver triangular plate. He took off the cloche to reveal a hunk of cheese. It was a very simple meal but for someone like her, it was like manna from the heavens above. But before she could even take a step forward, she stopped herself and stared at him. Enjolras tilted his head slightly on the side, she was hungry wasn't she? So why won't she take it?

Folding her hands in front of her, she just stood there as though she was waiting for something. It was a few more moments before she breathed out, "Have you eaten yet?" Her voice was soft, mostly due to her hunger.

For the first time in his life, he was shocked by one woman in just one night. She was already frightfully thin but she was still concerned if he had already filled his stomach? The very idea of someone thinking of him before themselves was almost nonexistent to him. Eponine Thenardier, such an unusual woman. If he was to offer the same food to another street dweller, they would have taken it even before he could blink and ask for more. "I've already eaten so don't you fret" he answered. He can't help but let a small teasing tone that sounded foreign in his own ears but she nodded and approached the food and ate it. Not minding her manners as she shoved the food in her mouth and a hum of contentment did he truly saw the extent of her hunger.

After she wiped her mouth with the hem of her dress, not at all bothered that she had showed her undergarments to him, she thanked him and walked towards the couch. "Where are you going?" he asked, "Do you believe I would let a lady sleep on the uncomfortable couch whilst I have access to a bed?" Eponine looked at him a let a chuckle escape her mouth, "Surely you must have known by now that I am no lady? If I can sleep on the cold cemented floors of my own home, surely a couch is an improvement."

"And as the man of this house I order you to take the bed" he firmly stated, crossing his arms.

Eponine blinked once, then twice before she copied his stand with a belligerent face, "Has anyone ever told you that you're impossible?"

"On a daily basis, but by God, you are the most stubborn person I've ever met."

"You must have mistaken me for mirror monsieur for it is you who is the stubborn one. I can adapt well in any environment though it is quite different to see you so chivalrous," she said, a playful tone seeped in her voice.

Enjolras fought the urge to slap his face in an immature manner and let out a frustrated sigh, "I thought women would appreciate chivalry?" Women, he could never understand them. Such fickle creatures that can't seem to be transfixed with one objective. And the primary examples were his mother and aunts.

"Chivalry is only a cover of men who wants to get something in return" the woman huffed, sitting on the couch and stretched out, letting her dirty feet lie on the armrest. Enjorlas finally had enough, this woman- no, this girl would be daft if she thinks she could do whatever she pleases in his own flat! With quick and long strides, he caught her by the waist and with her extremely light weight; it was without difficulty as he threw her on his shoulder like a sack of flour and proceeded to walk towards his bedroom. All the way she was shouting and kicking in retaliation.

She was right though, she wasn't lady. Her mouth spouted different and rather colourful curses that he had only heard sailors would dare enough say (even when he heard Gavroche utter argot words that got him in trouble numerous times), she kneed him on the stomach with that bony knees of hers and her hands curled into fists and beat on his back. It was until he felt something on his neck did he stop. Something wet slathered through the collar of his shirt and an unmistakable set of teeth embedded to his skin. But instead of letting her go like she had intended, he wrapped his arm tighter and opened the door and kicked it widely before he tossed her on the bed.

Eponine tossed her long hair away from her face to glare at him only to see him glare back with his hand on a wound she bestowed upon him. "My patience is wearing thin mademoiselle, now please give us both the blessing of a good night's rest. Tomorrow will be long and we have to prepare" He closed the door, not slamming it like she had expected and walked away in soft footsteps. Her eyes adjusted with what limited light the moon provided her. There was only one window draped with a thick curtain, a simple desk with several notes filled with neat and narrow writing, no doubt it was his. A red jacket that imitates the colour of thick blood and finally, the bed she was unceremoniously threw upon. There were only two pillows and the blanket was thin but it was more than enough for a poor girl like her.

He had given so much for her and how she treated him back had brought her shame. She did after all, kick, curse and even bit him on the neck for his objection of letting her sleep on the couch. Not many men would have the decency to offer that, men she knew wouldn't even let her have the crumbs that fell on the table. She would just have to apologize and make it up to him. She always hated it when she felt indebted with someone.

The sound of screams and yells have surrounded the barricades, the furniture they gathered proved no match from the canons of the soldiers and the horrifying yells and cries threatening to blow his head off. The smell of gunpowder was overpowering and he felt something wet draped on the left side of his body. He turned to see Combeferre, his back drenched with blood from a bullet wound on his chest. The soldier had no face, only wearing a uniform that signified which side he was on. Before could call out to his friend, several shots were heard from behind him. Slowly, Grantaire, Bahorel, Joly, Prouvaire and Feuilly fell in front him, all their bodies were littered with bullet wounds and several of their supporters were gunned down as well. Agony enveloped his being and he cried out of anger, sorrow and retaliation. He griped his rifle and fired it at the nearest faceless soldier. He fired a stray gun from the ground and stabbed them with the tip of his sword before he retrieved his pistol he always kept in the inner holster of his jacket.

Where are the others?

The thought entered in his mind as he began to look, around. Courfeyrac was slumped against a broken table with his eyes wide open and a trickle of blood exited from his forehead, which might have been the cause of his death. Prouvaire was beside him but his back was eagle-spread and he lay on his own pool of blood. Marius was nowhere to be found. Enjolras let out a cry of despair, but his tears never fled from his eyes. Instead he took a shaking breath and journeyed on, firing at every faceless soldier that came his way.

There he came upon the gallows, he would have thought it was strange to have one in their perimeter but there was a plaque with the word 'traîtres' painted in black and two bodies hung side by side. A body of a young woman and a boy swung side by side from the ropes that were tied around their neck.

Something told him to run, dare not to see the faces of the poor souls who were marked under treason by the perpetrators and hanged. But slowly, their bodies twisted to his direction and he felt nausea hit him with full force.

Little Gavroche who kept their hopes up and a little glimpse of happiness in times of despair now stared at him with empty eyes, his body now lifeless and his skin now in a sinewy pale colour. The woman was in far worst shape. Her hair was cut in an uneven fashion which spiked to the small of her back and her exposed skin revealed lashes from that of a whip. His eyes steadily went to her face only to see a bag placed over her head but he could make out streaks of blood pooling from the bag to her neck.

Then, something was pressed at the back of his head, prompting him to turn. But how could he? Fear had gripped him and rooted his feet to the ground. The sight of seeing his friends dead made him wish he was dead as well.

"Turn around" the rough voice ordered. Yet he didn't comply.

Is it merely fear that made him frozen? Or was it defiance that will make him firm to his cause until the very end of his days? He wouldn't know as the sound of a gunshot echoed through and he felt himself being pushed forward, something went through his chest and he felt his eyes slowly closing, his gaze still transfixed on the woman whose face he hadn't seen.

Enjolras gasped for breath as he opened his eyes. Every pore in his body flooded with cold sweat and his palms shook. He was never a superstitious person but he had heard several gypsies have said that some dreams were the manifestations of events that were yet to happen. With his throat dry and his body still flinching from the nightmare he had experienced, his thoughts were now plagued with second-guesses. It was unusual for him to act this way; he was the one who would calm the men of their fears, the one who would forge on to the battlefield, whether he dies or not was out of the question. A hand was placed on his mouth to stifle a sound of anger and confusion that threatened to awake his 'friend' from her sleep. The fear of the uncertain, that was what troubles him. He is but a school boy who banded together people with the same idea (though he wouldn't say the same with Grantaire) and declared that they will spark the first light in the dreary darkened lives of the common people while not regarding the fact that it would get them all killed.

He was about to back out, about to say the words of surrender if it weren't for Eponine. She has no clue that she was the reason the fight for freedom wasn't thrown off the table and into the sevine. Forgive a desperate man who wants to find a solution to their never ending problems.

The morning came within a few short hours of Enjolras' nightmare. He changed his upper garments and washed his face on the water basin. Carefully entering his bedroom, he saw Eponine curled in bed, still fast asleep with her hair fanned out on the pillow. She looks peaceful while asleep, like she was far from her daily battle against poverty. Enjorlas quietly took his red coat from its hook and walked out of the bedroom and headed out for the meeting place. But not before a small voice intercepted his departure, "Not going to leave me, are you?"

Grantaire yawned widely as he squinted from the sunlight. It is the day of reckoning... or at least it was, but in truth he wasn't at all disappointed. He wasn't very keen on spilling his blood until he's at least seventy years of age and had done something very unforgivable. The fact that Enjolras have put the plans to a periodical halt meant they could at least fix several loose ends, like; not dying. With a groan, he rubbed his temple with his hand; getting a hangover was something he could never get used to even when he drinks every chance he could get. His head felt as if someone had taken delight on swinging a sledgehammer to his temple and his mouth was awfully dried out. Joly gave him a cup of coffee but it was for naught, that remedy had failed him time and time again and his lack of sleep would just make him more impatient and hotheaded. Courfeyrac cupped his eyes from the sun's unforgiving rays to see the outline of Gavroche sitting atop of the Elephant of Bastille. The boy had resided in the empty crevice for many years and it served as his home, fortress and lookout tower.

Joly whistled at them and pointed at the crowd for them to see Enjolras donned in his red jacket with the patch pinned on his left breast pocket. Combeferre was the first to greet him; he nodded in return and began to rub his temples. The men looked at him with worry; it's not like Enjorlas to show weakness or even a hint of being tired but he is human after all so they can't expect him to be in his best shape every minute of every hour. He distributed the red flags amongst them with the instruction of waving them as high as they could while the procession traversed. Out of nowhere, a young man wearing a brown hat separated from the crowd. He was a small man, reaching as high as Enjorlas' ear appeared. He wore a worn down coat filled with holes and a hat that covered the upper half of his face. On his chest was the patch of Les Amis.

"Do we know you, le petite?" Prouvaire asked as the stranger walked towards their group. With a tiny smile, the 'boy' lifted the rim of his hat slightly and they saw the face of Gavroche's sister.

"'Ponine!" Courfeyrac hissed, "You shouldn't be here! Danger lurks at every corner, they won't take pity on you even if you're a woman." Eponine's smile stayed in her lips as she walked with them towards the middle of the streets which were marked by lines on the ground.

"I had nothing to fear. Am I not a member of Les Amis de l'ABC?" she asked casually before a hand came to cover her mouth. Enjolras' eyes flashed in like a warning sign over hers and his whole frame was taut with tension, "I thought I told you to stay behind?" Most of the group knew that whenever he used that tone, he is at the end of his patience and it would be a wise decision to follow his orders.

But the gamin, her stubborn soul and a persistent attitude won't back down. Instead, she pulled his hand off of her mouth and shook her head like a dog that was trying to get water off of its ears, "I don't want to wait around in the café like a worried wife for you boys to come home." Enjolras was about to retort, about to scold her for being so careless and naive when the sound of drums echoed through the long stretch of the road. People, young and old, rich and poor, men and women gathered by the sides to pay their respects to the fallen 'man of the people'.

Where the people see this as a loss, the government see this as an occasion. No doubt the parliament is now celebrating the death of their rival while the poor had come to the procession to mourn. Lines of drummers came first, each note echoed their heartbeat and slowly, a black horse drawn carriage was accompanied by the official military pomp.

Enjolras clenched his hands as the first line marched in front of them. When the black carriage arrived, he waves the crimson flag and with his first wave, all other flags scattered among the crowd, waving them and chanting the words "Vive le France! Vive le Lamarque!" Their cries echoed through Paris, the wind carried their voices throughout the gates and for all of the whole France to hear.

Thenardier hacked a cough before he spat out a wad of spittle on the corner. He leaned on the wall and watched the Patron-Minette work their way through the throngs of spectators; pickpocketing the people of their money and jewelry. Babette returned with a fancy necklace his wife would love to get her claws on, Montparnasse came back with a pouch full of francs and sous and Brujon... he must have lost his way. The man has little to no sense of direction, so it should be no surprise to him that the crétin would one day wander off to the bars of the coppers. Claquesous insisted on staying in the shadows for the meantime, promising to aid them in another mugging. Parnasse watched 'yond the crowd before he felt his jaw dropped. He nudged the bemused Thenardier who answered with a sharp "Wot?!"

"Oy boss, ain't tha' Eponine over ther'?"

With a hand over the men and women's heads, Thenardier pushed the little boy who was standing on a crate and used it to take a better look. His eyes never lie, there was his daughter wearing a man's clothing and stood next to a bourgeois student who was waving a red flag, chanting the same words they're all shouting.

'Ain't they the revolutionary boys?' he asked himself, trying to recall any information on them in his mind. Yes, it wouldn't be unusual to see her with them but she always accompanied the gangly youth with a freckled face and brown locks. This one was entirely different, and if his still sharp memory serves him right, that'd be the leader. The blond hair and that loud voice that irritates him whenever they make some ruckus near the town square. He had to give them some gratitude though, the more idiots flocking to hear their 'speeches', the more opportunity they can get to rob someone. He whistled to Parnasse and whispered in his ear, "Get the boys ready. We're going to have a little reunion with the slut of a daughter o' mine"

Eponine shouted 'til her voice gone hoarse, the rush of adrenaline that filled her veins vanished as soon as the last of the soldiers vanished from their view. Some of the civilians followed them while others, like the Les Amis, gathered together and begun to walk towards café Musain. Enjolras let out a rather loud exhale that made Combeferre look at him with concern, "Are you ill my friend?"

"No, just tired. But we must carry on, we still need to plan out everything" he grated out, adding more pressure in his legs so it could carry him faster.

Eponine lagged behind with Grantaire who was groaning, "I really need some gin right now" She rolled her eyes and continued listening to his rants before Courfeyrac loudly wondered, "Has anyone seen Marius?" For a second or less, she froze before she went on as though she didn't hear anything. "Aha, maybe he was busy looking for his lady love?" Grantaire teased.

"Ahh to love young is something so beautiful and so pure" Prouvaire swooned, waving his hand in a flamboyant manner that Eponine stopped herself from commenting in rude words to the poet.

"Eponine, I need you here!"

Enjorlas' voice called her out of her stupor and ran towards him, not paying attention to the wicked glances that of Grantaire and Joly's before they snickered and Joly whispered, "Is this the beginning of love for our forlorn Enjolras?"

Grantaire snorted as he walked by his friend's side, "I bet fifty francs and my whole beer keg that Eponine would be the first to show motives my friend."