Marius is thrilled to see them.
Marius had looked at Cosette like his world had fallen apart without her – and who knows? The boy is prone to melodrama when it comes to matters of the heart.
And when he'd seen her… he swept her into his arms in a crushing embrace and cried, "Éponine, you are the dearest friend that has ever lived! I knew you would bring her home safely to me, I knew it!"
And she felt… fine.
It was to her deepest unsettlement that she realized the dizziness from being spun was a stronger feeling than pleasure at his happiness or misery at the soft words he showered on Cosette.
There are things she likes about being back.
The baths, she'll admit, are nice. The first one had been under Cosette's insistence – and, actually, at Marius', too. Éponine had scrubbed her skin pink and scratched her nails against her scalp until the soap bubbles stopped coming out grey and stumbled into her borrowed bed feeling more physically together than she could remember being in… well, ever. The next required far less prodding, and she felt hardly any guilt once they (rather grudgingly) allowed her to carry the water in and out herself.
She is pleased to note, too, that her coloring has evened out just a touch underneath the dirt, and though rations aboard either ship were, out of necessity, hardly ample (and here, she does not dare put on airs and fancy herself a lady enough to dine at tables where everything set out is clean and new, but rather sneaks scraps afterwards), there is more of her to hold when she pinches at her side.
She does not allow herself to be dressed in bright gowns – 'won't take your charity, or your money neither, no sir' – but retrieving the money she'd stashed away is a simple matter, and it manages to purchase her that which is better-fitting, and in newer cloth. (Between setting it out and counting it, there's more than she remembered, but if Cosette had a hand in it, the lady feigned innocence well enough.)
There are others she doesn't.
It's difficult to sleep on floors that do not tilt (she took one look at the ridiculously plush arrangement of blankets over the wooden frames and instantly reassigned herself away from it), and the occasional murmur of a footman or a clamor from the streets is nothing compared to the whistle of the wind and the shouts of those trying to reach beyond it.
If she wakes at odd hours, as she is wont to do, she cannot slip away and walk around; if she does walk around (for what hold does propriety have on Éponine Thénardier? Nothing and no one has truly held her since she was eight and her world of soft laughter and warmth bled away into visions of dirtied cobblestone, why should this be any different?) then she meets no smiling face on her way.
But whether she could learn to temper the bad aspects with the good does not matter; she cannot stay forever. A sense of obligation drives her, though it is not to the usual suspect this time.
If it was only a matter of keeping Marius happy, then she could grow used to this, to this world of too-softs and too-cleans, where everything is powdery and lacey, where sharp words are blunted and intentions are masked – Marius is certainly grateful to the point where he shows no resistance to the idea of Éponine as a permanent resident, an odd little addition.
But… it's not, this time.
Éponine is not made a fool for much – she can charm and con with the best of them, and has, in fact, done just this; she knows when a wretched soul on a street-corner is truly destitute or whether he has blackened his teeth with ashes in order to evoke more sympathy; she knows how to pick out a likely target from a crowd and how to see which ones would pick her pocket right back; she knows how to tailor her speech in response to an aristocrat's rich tones and when it is too much effort to bother.
Éponine is a fool for love.
She has skulked around alleyways for love, delivered messages for love, waited hours in the rain for love, gotten herself captured for love, organized escapes for love, and still, she is not loved. Not like she wants.
It's different for everyone, she knows; she's seen it.
Azelma wants riches, dresses adorned with ribbons and baubles that would set off her hair, or match the color of her eyes, expensive little trifles bought exclusively for her – but at the end of it, Éponine knows Azelma wants someone who would care enough to lay down everything to their name. It's why Éponine has never thought her sister is quite the fool their father says; Azelma wants grand gestures, but the girl does not mistake them for love, and neither does she brush away gestures of love when enacted by the penniless.
(In all honesty, Éponine hopes that her sister will be swayed by the kindness of a particular guard at Les Madelonettes, who had a hand in keeping them from the coldest and dampest cells so that they did not fall ill like their mother, but she can be at least content that her sister recognized the efforts.)
Gavroche – well, the boy is fourteen, and shows more interest in the theater than in any romantic pursuits, but Éponine thinks even this holds more wisdom than her own methods.
And Éponine wants… happiness. Éponine wants willing arms around her, and kind words, and she could not care less whether the speaker has only the clothes on his back or is the king himself, as long as she is happy.
She has never really known where to obtain this happiness.
With Marius, she had thought. She held a prince in her mind, appearance ever-shifting, until she met him and all her dreams of love bore a freckled face with a lopsided grin beneath the crown. He has been the only one she thought would suit her, but now… he is gone from her.
The thought that stays whispers that she would not take him even if he offered; Cosette is no longer a darkened shadow in the corner of her mind, but a light in her own right, and she would not dim either one with her actions, if she could help it.
And… she has felt happiness. Not the kind she dreamed of, to be sure, but real, and quickly given.
If she can find such happiness without the discovery of a prince… well, it's certainly an intriguing thought.
And there is one who could help her find out. Whatever she is to do in the coming days, she knows she must see to her brother, first.
Gavroche sees people in all states. He watches the faces of the audiences – at the theater, at the opera, at the guillotine – he understands them at their highest, at their lowest. He is allowed to creep underfoot because of his age, his size, and so he hears every secret that is whispered on Parisian streets.
And, even if she learns nothing else, and she has no doubt that he is well – he is Gavroche, after all – she wishes for news of her sister.
Cosette comes to her as she is tying up her hair in preparation to leave. The lady is nervous, and it does not take long for the reason why to emerge. "Éponine, there's something I thought you should know. Really, no one is supposed to know, but I thought… you knew them better than I, and you may have seen kindness from them, even in those circumstances."
Éponine stills at the mention, though she keeps her tone casual. "Oh?"
There's a moment more of fidgeting, and a sigh. "They've… sent the Sentinel after them."
Éponine's fingers spasm on her skirt.
The Sentinel, captained by a man said to hold the intensity of Orion himself, and a hunter of equal intensity. If the Amis are caught by such a man…
She murmurs gratitude to the lady as she kisses her cheeks, already distracted by the search she begins with renewed vigor.
He is not hard to find.
He sits on the edge of a tiered fountain, watching over those who pass by, and looking all the world to be a ruler in his own domain.
She knows he notices her, but she signals her intention of conversation by quietly calling, "Gav."
He looks up lazily, and grants her a genuine smile. "'Ponine. Where've you been?"
When she hesitates, thinking of where to begin, he waves a hand. "'s alright, I've already heard." A rueful smile overtakes her; Gavroche had always been the cleverest of them.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," she begins, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "What can you tell me of the Amis?"
A/N: This chapter was fun to write. =w=