A/N: This isn't much of a chapter, but it's something that bridges across to what is coming. Thank you for the follows and favourites and reviews I have already, there isn't many but for me, it's honestly so amazing. I appreciate them so much, and as long as they're there, I will definitely continue with this if they will me to do so.
Enjolras hadn't seen Éponine again since that night, not counting the time she had stolen his wallet back for him down along the market on Rue du Bout du Monde, around five days after their first meeting. She said she'd have stolen it for herself, but she liked Enjolras and said she never stole from friends. After Enjolras had barely thanked her, she nodded, and took off into the dark shadows of an alley, leaving him standing speechless.
He sat hunched over a desk in the Musain, pondering over his notes for a speech he was planning to deliver soon, at that same market where he met Éponine again, which was always abuzz with the people he was targeting with his speech. Joly sat quietly behind him, reading a book.
It was relatively quiet upstairs, if you ignored the noise coming from the café downstairs.
But Enjolras was startled when the sound of frantic running came up the stairs, and he twisted in his seat to get a view of what was happening.
A flurry of two blonde haired boys had come up, ignoring Mame Hucheloup's protests and swattings with a towel.
Enjolras sat up immediately, and Joly put his book down, standing up from his armchair.
"Gavroche? Navet? Are you well?"
"One of the Thénardier sisters has been glassed, sir!" Navet spoke urgently, his little chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to get a sufficient amount of air in his lungs after being out of breath from the run.
Enjolras stood up and pulled on his coat.
"Where? Where is the injury?" Joly asked, packing the first aid things in his medical satchel.
"It's on 'er head, Joly. Right at the top." Gavroche spoke with a grave tone. "It don't look good. I ain't sure she'll live, what with the amount of blood there was and all!"
Each jumped into action, the sound of their boots stomping down the wooden stairs of the Musain, dust falling down from each step, onto some poor unsuspecting customer underneath.
"Which Thénardier sister?" Enjolras called out to the two smaller boys, but they were too far ahead to hear him.
Éponine awoke to the sound of brawling outside her window. A group of gamines were fighting over something, but she was too bleary eyed to see what it was in their hands. However, she did spot her little sister among them, and leapt to her feet when she caught her eye.
Azelma seemed to be trying to break it up, but Éponine knew of her little sister's troublesome side and didn't doubt that she had started it.
As she ran down the flight of stairs, there was a sickening thud of glass breaking over bone, and Éponine stopped as she heard it, before she quickened her pace.
She ran out into the street, which was empty apart from the two girls lying in the road, a pool of blood beginning to get bigger and bigger around them. Éponine's heart felt like it had stopped as she realised that it was her sister who had been attacked, as her friend cradled her unconscious body.
"Marguerite!" Éponine shouted as she ran to Azelma. "Go up to my room, and grab a towel. Go, now!" Her sister's young friend nodded, and she moved Azelma's form to Éponine's lap, before rushing to her feet to get to Gorbeau House for something to help cease the blood flow.
Éponine tried to examine her sister's wound. Her tears made it hard, but it was obvious enough to see that she had been glassed, and there was a large gash, filled with shards of green glass, right at the top of her scalp.
Two young boys came running to their setting, who Éponine discerned to be Gavroche and his friend Navet.
"Gavroche!" She called, desperation evident in her voice.
"What 'appened?" He ran to her, and knelt by Azelma. "We heard the scuffle!"
"Gavroche, Navet, do you know any médecins? Someone in training, any friend that can help us! She will die without medical attention!" The two boys both nodded frantically.
"We'll be back as soon as we can!" Gavroche called as they sped off back the way they came.
He hated to say it, but to his relief, Éponine was sitting up, cradling her younger sister in her arms. A bloodied rag was pressed to the top of her scalp, and there was a pool of blood near them, as well as shards of broken glass, what was once, quite obviously a large green bottle.
"Let me see her, Éponine!" Joly called, and Éponine began to sob as she saw help coming. She nodded and moved Azelma so Joly could get a better look at the gash that had stopped gushing blood and now just slowly seeped blood.
"We need to get her back to the Café." Combeferre noted to Enjolras, who was bent over beside him.
"No, there's too many people in the café. We'll take her to the Corinthe." Enjolras interrupted, stoically.
Alright. Help me lift her up. Get her head, don't let it fall… There's a good lad." Combeferre held Azelma in his arms, and began to walk to the wine shop, carefully so as not to let the bleeding start again.
Enjolras looked back down at Éponine who was having trouble getting to her feet. He hooked his hands under her arms and gently hoisted her up, making sure she was steady before he led her to the Corinthe.
Azelma's head was in Éponine's lap as Joly removed the visible glass and stitched the wound shut. There was a bottle of wine that was to be used as an anaesthetic for Azelma when she woke up, but the atmosphere was so dull that if she did not wake soon, someone else was going to open it up.
Éponine had since moved, and Enjolras stared at the blood on the skirt of her dress.
"What happened?" He finally asked, and Éponine shrugged, shaking her head.
"I heard fighting, so I looked out of the window, and saw Azelma in the midst of it all. It looked like she was trying to break it up, but…" She took a deep breath. "I've no doubts that she started it too. Then, as I'm running down the stairs, I hear a glass being deliberately smashed over something, over what sounded like bone, or something that belonged to a body. It turned out that I was right, and it was my little sister being glassed across her skull. Stupid girl." Tears began to fall down Éponine's cheeks as she remembered the sight of her younger sister lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood, near death.
"What makes you think she started it?" Enjolras asked, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees.
Éponine laughed. "She is mischievous. She doesn't have control on when she stops."
"Are you like her?"
"Oh, no, M'sieur. If I were, I'd probably be dead by now. No, I am only mischievous when I need to be. If it is a life or death situation. But I know when to stop, when enough is enough. I have boundaries. Azelma, clearly, does not."
Enjolras turned his head to look at the young girl on their large table, sprawled out unconscious, on her front. She looked like Éponine, but they did not share the same beauty.
He looked back to Éponine, who had closed her eyes. Her chest was rising and falling with a steady pace, much different to the one she had earlier. She had long, dark eyelashes that fanned over the top of her high cheekbones, covered by slightly reddened skin. Her waist was tiny and her arms were thin, but Enjolras still found her beauty astounding. Of course, he kept that to himself.
Éponine's eyes fluttered open again, and she sighed a deep, heavy sigh, that sounded like it carried the weight of the world on one breath. Her head lolled to the side to look at Azelma, wondering whether she had woken or not. When she saw that she had not, Éponine turned her head to look now at Enjolras, who let his eyes flit away the immediate moment they made eye contact.
Éponine stared at his golden hair, it's waves almost waterfalling from his roots. She had seen pictures of angels on stained glass windows at l'église Saint-Leu-Saint-Gilles on Rue Saint-Denis, and they too had hair like his; blonde, curly, soft-looking, and quite unkempt but fell perfectly about the face. She wanted to run her hands through it, tug at it, and stroke it tenderly.
She wanted to kiss along his jawline, it's tempting sturdiness calling to her as he stared out of the window, the bright daylight highlighting his features in a white glow. His top few buttons were undone, exposing some of his chest, and Éponine wanted to run her hands over the (what she imagined would be) smooth skin.
Éponine found herself wanting a lot from this man, and when he turned his head to look at her again, his blue eyes boring into her own brown ones, she had to physically stop herself from being obvious about her attraction to him, restraining herself from squirming in her chair with arousal.
"Are you hungry?" Enjolras asked, and Éponine ignored the dull ache of hunger in her stomach, shaking her head no. It wasn't that much of a lie, because although her body needed food, every time she closed her eyes she could see Azelma's bloody wound, and that made her feel sick.
Anyway, she wasn't a charity case. She didn't need to be fed like a starving, dependent child. She could fend for herself, she was always finding little jobs around Paris that paid her. Obviously, they weren't a full time thing, always just a one off. Sometimes, the bibliothécaire on Rue Plumet would let her arrange the shelves when they got too messy, and would pay her around five francs for it. Éponine made a mental note to pay him a visit soon.
"She's waking up," Joly called, rising from his chair where he sat next to Gavroche. Éponine and Enjolras both got to their feet, moving to the table where Azelma laid.
The young girl groaned as the pain of the injury started to hit her, a throbbing that she couldn't describe. Éponine poured a cup of wine quickly, holding it to Azelma's lips so she could drink from it.
"What happened?" Azelma's hoarse voice croaked out, and Éponine frowned.
"We were hoping you could tell us, actually. Are you alright?"
"Not particularly, no. I've got a gaping wound in my head from where I got glassed earlier. Apart from that, I'm fine."
Enjolras, Joly and the others nearly snorted at Azelma's fake nonchalance, accompanied by her argot and rough accent, only Éponine's face of fury was not one to be reckoned with.
"You idiot." She hissed at Azelma. "You could have died today, mucking about, fighting over a piece of bread or, whatever it was you were fighting over. And you lie here and make jokes?"
"Calm down, Éponine." Her impudent sister retaliated, waving her hand about in dismissal. "I'm alive, aren't I?"
"Only just, if it wasn't for Joly!" Éponine pointed at him, and her sister gave him a warm smile.
"Thank you very much, M'sieur. I am forever grateful."
Joly smiled and shook his head.
"It was nothing. Honestly. You'll need to try and keep the wound from infections, as you'll be very vulnerable and prone to them if you don't keep it clean." Azelma nodded, understanding how grave the effects could be, if she had a careless attitude about it.
A few days later, Éponine had been in town when she heard that all too familiar voice, yelling about basic human rights for all, the unjust monarchy, how the change that was long anticipated was soon to come.
She joined the crowd and stared at Enjolras, standing on a flight of stairs above everybody, eyes looking over the crowd as they shouted words of agreement back.
Marius stood by his side, and Combeferre stood a few steps down, not saying anything, just surveying everything.
Éponine found Gavroche in the crowd, atop Courfeyrac's shoulders, his fist in the air and a proud smile on his face. She couldn't help but smile at how close he had become with the Amis. They thought the world of him and would do everything to make sure he was safe and sound, which did wonders for her because it alleviated the pressure of having to look out for him all the time.
The click-clack of horses hooves was an immediate indicator to Éponine that the police were here. It was apparent to everyone else too, because people began to scarper every which way, almost trampling others.
The Amis looked terrified, realising they had no where to go, and Éponine would roll her eyes if she had the time, but she didn't.
"Courfeyrac!" She called, beckoning him. He shouted for Enjolras, Combeferre and Marius to join him, and, with Gavroche still on his shoulders, he began to follow Éponine, who was nimbly getting around, quick on her feet. He let Gavroche down, who began to do the same, and the six found themselves sneaking through twisting and winding roads, going through houses and kitchens and at one point, a brothel.
It didn't matter though, because they were safely away from the police, who Enjolras was sure had warrants for arrest. They had followed some streets none of the Amis had ever even seen before, and it lead them straight to the Musain.
Éponine sat on a step with Gavroche, each munching on a shiny green apple that she had nipped from one of the kitchens they had escaped through.
"Did you enjoy your tour of Paris désolée?" She asked, but no one spoke. The images were stuck in their heads, of mothers desperate to feed their children, of prostitutes selling their bodies with no better choice, fathers stealing to help pay for their family's well being, and destitute beggars with nowhere to go.
They had seen these kinds of things before, but to see them all so frequently, one after the other, several in one place, it was maddening. The reality of it all could reduce a man to tears, and the fact that it had not already struck one of the four Amis that stood outside the Musain was surprising.
"I suppose you definitely know what you'll want to talk about in your next rally." Combeferre mused, quietly. Enjolras leaned back against the wall, staring at the grey Parisian skies, wondering if there really was a God, and if there was, why he was letting all of this happen.
There was a large crack of thunder, and suddenly, as though the heavens opened up to answer his question, rain began to lash down. Éponine groaned, and her hair began to flatten around her face as the rain poured.
"Come on," Combeferre began walking to the café. "We'll sit in the Musain 'till its over."
Each of them relished in the warmth of the Musain as they escaped the cold rain, bodies shivering and teeth chattering. Gavroche was curled up like a cat, asleep in the armchair next to the fire upstairs, after Éponine stroked his damp hair away from his face in a soothing motion for a while.
"You're cold," Enjolras almost muttered to himself when Éponine had pulled her ragged shawl tighter around her. "Here." He shrugged off his wine-coloured jacket with the red cuffs and collar, and replaced her shawl with it. Éponine would have protested, were it not that his body heat still radiated off of it, making her even more tired than she already was. She wanted to fall asleep in it, clutching it like a child would with their favourite toy.
Plus, his smell was heavenly. It wasn't perfumed, it was a gentle, natural one, mixed slightly with the rain from earlier.
"Won't you be cold?" Éponine asked, stifling a yawn. Enjolras chuckled, shaking his head.
"No, I'll be fine. I've warmed up since we've been in here. I've got to get some work done, will you be okay?"
Éponine didn't even bother hiding her yawn this time, as she nodded her head yes, leaning her head on her arm to sleep.