That feeling of uneasiness stays with Éponine long after the event, follows her back all the way to the docks, to the boarding of the Barricade, and up to the point where she gives a weak little wave to the Amis on deck – until Bahorel crosses the deck in only a few long strides and sweeps her into a hug.
And it is as if the floodgates have been opened, with the way she is suddenly surrounded, and with so many questions directed to her.
Some of her worry was misplaced, it seems, as those who knew – Grantaire and Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, and Bossuet, each – explained what they could of the situation (that they had faith in her to assume she would be found trustworthy enough to return and the strange warming effect this has on her is something to be examined later), and so she finds she has an easier time of it, of the explanations and shamed apologies alike.
There is, still, much that is repeated.
However, they do need to cast off, and quickly, too, so there is not enough time for all the questions they seem to have – or so she thinks.
In between her steadying and securing and scurrying about to ensure that everything is doing well, she invariably finds herself assisting someone, and that someone is, she finds, always ready to talk.
Bahorel is entirely sure of their ability to deal with the Sentinel – or any other threat that faces them for that matter, he states, and she laughs and finds it hard to argue.
Grantaire is all steady wit and gentle jibes, and she nearly stumbles in her steps from so much laughter.
Courfeyrac seems hesitant, at first, though his comments are no more few than those from the other Amis – their center, as she has heard them call him, for how easily he connects to people, and she has caused him harm through this. By the time she has left his side, however, this is long forgotten – a comment cut through the doubt, and from there, camaraderie unbound.
Jehan asks her questions about Marius and Cosette, about meeting and memories, and when he repeats small details in order to better understand some aspect, she sounds like a romantic heroine. He makes her sound this way, sound as though the things she suffered through made her into something more, something better, gold left over in the ashes, burned clean and pure, and if she fools herself for a moment into thinking this is so, what harm is there in it?
Joly seems to feel horror on her behalf for the conditions she lived in (though Bossuet suggests it is mostly for how unsanitary they were, which elicits a burst of laughter from her and a look from Joly that is likely meant to be stern but is really just fond);.
Feuilly's questions come with the understanding of one who has come from the gutters, and she thinks that maybe, maybe, she can rise up, too.
With Combeferre, she receives encouragement through a quiet nature, and she sheds her hesitance slowly, and begins to think not all she says is to be regretted.
She gets sympathy, but not pity; none play at understanding, exactly, only express a desire for it; and Éponine is caught up in the force of their vivacity.
Her path does not cross often enough with Enjolras' to exchange talk, but she sees him, and with the wind in his hair he looks a little bit reckless – a little bit like the boy she thinks he could have been if his shoulders were not weighed down with the potentials of a thousand suffering people, and if Apollo reaches more towards the sun he was born for, if Atlas shifts a little bit of his burden – then there is no harm in that, either.
By the end of it, by the time they have set sail and left the lights of the city behind them, when all she can see is the dim glow of the lanterns set by the stairs and the captain's cabin and the glimmer of unknown and unnamed stars above her; the wind around her surges through her hair and her clothes and carries her about as if she is dancing; she is so tired, and yet she is so happy that in her stupor, she would gladly agree to any task set before her.
She is happy to sit in at the 'meeting' (outside Enjolras's cabin/meeting room instead of inside, those in attendance fluctuate with each passing minute, as there are still vital tasks to attend to and things that must be done, so what is said is thin in comparison to that which she normally hears from them, skeletons that have yet to grow flesh), even as her fingers ache around her pen and her eyelids grow steadily heavy.
When they separate, she must watch them go before she, too, stumbles down below to the room that is still set aside for her, for the fear that perhaps her good fortune is only imagined, but – no, now her cheeks hurt from her wide smile and the sheets beneath her fingers are rough and surely, surely too heavy to be conjurations of her mind.
There is an unspoken part of her that wonders if this is what it is like to be home.
Notes: Minor wall of text (which is unfortunate after a short chapter that has come so late) because… well, because I feel as though certain things need explaining. There's more, but these are the ones that leap to mind.
As for the whole thing about Éponine's need to have a 'turning point' when it comes to wanting to help others – Éponine is not particularly altruistic, true. The line was meant to convey the sense that she thinks even if she had been given every chance, she still wouldn't have had any sort of perfect life, because she is Éponine, and she mucks things up for herself. The best she could have hoped for, in her mind, was something a little less terrible, which is what she wishes for someone else.
The importance of the near-kiss versus an actual kiss: Éponine grew up thinking that physical intimacy was power. This is partly drawn from the Lovely Ladies' song, and the line "see them with their trousers off, they're never quite as grand" in particular. They're in a terrible situation, certainly, but they see how men they might once have viewed as 'grand' are really nothing of the sort, and seeing through this projection grants them a sort of power. I could go into more detain about this, but… well. Then, of course, the whole thing sort of sets in Éponine's mind the idea that Enjolras is kissable, and is not necessarily a man of marble – and, to some extent, does the same for Enjolras.
And there we have my inept attempt at explanations.
(If you have any questions about why I included something, it is very possible that I will give you a paragraph of explanation, sorry. But, I mean, feel free to ask!)