Hi guys.

I'm sorry for keeping you waiting for such a long time. I know it's uncharacteristic of me, but I'm not abandoning the story, I promise! This week I had to defend my thesis (I passed with honors!), then I got really drunk with my friends to celebrate, and I've been busy ever since.

However, the main reason for taking so long to post was because this chapter was incredibly difficult for me to write. I had really, really bad writer's block and I just couldn't figure it out. But I did, I got something that I'm pretty happy with. Not 100%, but I'm never 100% happy with anything I write. It's better that way, I think.

On that note, I have to say that I'm dedicating this chapter to my lovely friend Inge (textsfromumbridge on tumblr, go follow her everyone), aka ThinksInWords. This chapter would not have gone up without her, and because of such, I'm dedicating it to her. (Dear Inge, sorry that you get THIS chapter, of all of them! =P).

To make up for my absence, this one is extra long. Also, I think you all might be pretty ok with what happens in it.

As always, thanks to everyone for the reviews/follows/favorites. You guys are incredible and I heart you and there are just so many feels.

So. Here we go.

Disclaimer: Still crying.

Eponine was there every day with Gavroche, as was Azelma, though she usually was long gone by the time her older sister arrived. Enjolras met her there when he was out of work and class, and would always chat extensively with Gavroche before leaving. He was much clearer, even on the second day, and seemed to be improving little by little with each passing hour.

Gavroche told him that the rest of their friends stopped in as they could to visit and bring him little gifts – books, magazines, games. He was excited to get out.

A few days later, Eponine met with the social worker, who had gone to speak with Gavroche. She granted Eponine temporary company, informing her that when she filed the papers to become his permanent guardian, someone would come and investigate what Gavroche's long-term situation would be.

That night, Eponine sat down with Enjolras, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Clémence.

"They're going to come and investigate the place before they let him move in with us," she said, taking a bite from an apple. "I don't know how they'll feel about the fact that I'm 24 and live with three men, but if I can prove to them that we have our shit together, maybe they'll be ok with it."

"Where will he sleep?" asked Clémence.

Eponine glanced at Enjolras. "Well, we have the pullout here in the living room, but I don't think that's acceptable for a teenage boy who needs privacy and rest and a stable environment. It's fine for when he comes to visit, and honestly I think he'd probably be fine if that was the situation, but they won't care. He needs his own space. We were thinking that maybe we could turn the office into his room? I know you boys like to go in there to do some work, but the desk and the shelves could stay. There's that small closet, and I could go get a bed and a dresser to put in there for him. It'd be a little tight and you all would lose some space, but at least he would have his own room," she suggested. The office was a fairly small room, and Enjolras especially often would shut himself in there to study and to write.

Grantaire, already a little drunk, loudly suggested, "You two haven't slept a night apart since this happened, and we all know you've been fucking all year. Why not just move into one room together and give Gav the other one? That way you don't have to buy any new furniture, he'll have a bigger space, and we won't lose our study area."

It was deadly quiet – save for Grantaire's guffaws – and palpably awkward. Enjolras felt himself flush, from his forehead to his ears to his chin and the whole way down his neck. He couldn't bring himself to look at any of them, especially Eponine, though out of the corner of his eye he could see a blushed cheek.

She stood up after a moment, rather angrily, and snapped, "You better sober the fuck up, R, and get that booze out of here. I'll kill you if you're the reason my brother is sent back to my parents or put in foster care," before stomping off into her bedroom and slamming the door.

Enjolras, equally as irritated, waited for a moment. Then he got up and followed her without a word to the others – who cared? Their history was now very much out in the open. He could go talk to her after something like that without needing to worry about what the others might think.

He knocked softly and entered without waiting for an invitation.

Eponine was sitting on the edge of her bed, head in her hands.

He shut the door behind him and quietly asked, "You ok, Ep?"

She sighed. "No. No, I'm really not ok. That fucking jackass' alcoholism is going to completely ruin any chance that I have to help my brother."

Enjolras sat down next to her, consciously leaving a few inches of space between them. He could feel the anger and humiliation radiating off of her.

"Oh come on, perhaps it was in poor taste, but he was just being Grantaire. Besides, I suggested the same thing at the hospital to you when Gav was brought in, and you laughed."

She glared at him. "That's because it's you."

He sighed. "We'll keep him in check, Courfeyrac and I. Don't worry about him, you worry about Gavroche."

"I have to worry about him. I love him to death, I really do, but if he fucks this up, so help me I'll –."

"Eponine," Enjolras said, taking her hand. "Stop. It will all work out. We'll figure something out."

She turned to look at him. Suddenly the anger was gone, replaced by genuine anxiety and even a little fear on her face.

"You think so?" she asked, chewing her lip unconsciously.

He brushed aside a lock of her hair, tucking it meticulously behind her ear. Unable to help himself, he leaned forward, brushing his lips beneath her earlobe. She did not pull away, just sucked in a breath. Her hand twitched in his.

"I know so," he whispered against her neck. He planted slow kisses down to the hollow of her collarbone. His hand was tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, and she was leaning her head back, exposing further to him her taught skin.

Enjolras shifted, his free hand finding its way to her thigh. One of her hands was gripping his upper arm, the other was on his chest.

He left a trail of kisses along the length of her jaw, driving her crazy.

He teased her several times, taking away absurd amounts of pleasure when she moaned quietly or gasped or even growled in frustration, smiling against her neck when she begged him to kiss her lips.

He took his time to get there, slowly making his way back up her neck, his fingers squeezing her thigh tightly. He was hoping to give her an even bigger hickey than the one she had received at the wedding. When he nipped her neck, she clenched his shoulders so tightly and gasped so audibly that he couldn't help but laugh against her. He was glad that he could hear the TV out in the living room, and found himself wondering in the back of his mind if someone had turned it on to drown them out, knowing what would probably happen.

Enjolras found his way to her mouth, kissing each corner just to frustrate her more before finally, finally, covering her lips with his own.

In that moment, the world might as well have stopped spinning. It seemed to last for years, that slow kiss; they were practically frozen there, soft lips on soft lips, noses brushing. He was kissing her like for once he was the sea and she was the shore, ebbing and flowing, pulling away and then rushing back towards her; flat, rolling swells, calm and tranquil and serene.

Then suddenly, she was the ocean again, she was curling and crashing waves, washing over him, and she was surrounding him like the violent breeze during an angry storm.

She tasted like salt and apples.

Enjolras' hand was under her shirt before he even realized that Eponine had somehow managed to pull his own off without him even noticing. Her hands were roaming over his bare skin, just as his were doing with hers.

An instant later, her shirt was off, and he was kissing down her neck again, down her chest, hands running over the cups of her bra and around to the back, pulling apart the clasp. He slid it off her and tossed it across the room, massaging and kissing her chest. Her nipples were hard against his tongue and his palms.

They stood up long enough to yank off each other's pants before falling back onto her bed.

She was clinging to Enjolras, kissing him urgently, as though her very life depended on it.

His knee was between her thighs as he knelt over her, pressed hard up against the junction between her legs. Eponine groaned into his mouth, crawling up her bed and pulling him along with her lips.

He replaced his knee with his hand, feeling how damp she already was even through her underwear. He settled on top of her then, feeling himself throb against her as he kissed her neck, her collarbone, her chest. She squirmed beneath him, wanting him.

They rolled over and suddenly she was straddling him, kneeling over him and kissing the length of his torso. She looked up at him mischievously as she pulled off his boxers. He groaned, his hand knotting into a fist in her hair.

When they found themselves face to face again a short time later, he flipped her over, then sat back on his ankles. One of her legs was between his, the other was bent. He kissed her knee, then down her thigh, stopping just far enough up to make her wriggle a bit, then he did the same with the other.

Enjolras kissed her lips again then, reaching down to slide off her underwear and throw them aside. Her arms were wrapped around him, and he was propped up on one of his elbows, grinning against her mouth as his free hand slid down her body and began to explore her. Eponine gasped against his lips, digging her nails just a bit into his back.

She was talking, he realized. No, she was begging. "Please, please," she was saying against his lips.

But he did not give in to her, instead kissing his way down the length of her body and paying attention to the places he had missed when he had earlier kissed her thighs.

When he looked up, she was biting her finger to keep from crying out and gripping the sheets with her other hand. She let her hand go from between her teeth, eagerly allowing Enjolras to replace its presence with his lips. She placed the unoccupied hand on his neck, and her other had found its way to his upper arm.

He took advantage of her distraction to do it them. She gasped against his mouth, and he against hers, as they began; he had surprised her, he was delighted to realize, and she had momentarily frozen.

Then she writhed beneath him, just as he did on top of her, a slick sheen of sweat between their bodies.

She was moaning into Enjolras' neck, into his shoulders, into his mouth. Eponine was vaguely aware that her fingernails were digging deep into his back, and she had to gasp multiple times, begging him to slow down to stave off her moment.

It didn't help, though he proved to be so on his game tonight – or maybe it had just been so long? – that she let go several more times.

She wasn't aware that she was whispering in his ear until he stopped. Confusion and anger filled her for a moment.

Fuck.

Had it happened again? Dread replaced the frustration. Had she said Marius' name again? She had hardly thought of him for the last month, even before everything that had happened. Why would she be saying his name now?

"I'm sorry," she heard herself plead. "I didn't mean it, I –."

She stopped when she saw his face. His eyes were filled with lust, of course, half-lidded and dark as usual, but there was something else in them. It was something fierce, something she didn't recognize. He was breathing heavily against her. She was suddenly afraid; not for her safety, but for what she had done. Their fight last time this had happened was awful. Somehow she knew that if she had made the same mistake again, she would lose him and there would be no winning him back.

But instead of pulling out or getting angry, he tenderly stroked her sweat-soaked hair; she was surprised by how gentle it was, especially after how rough he was being with her tonight.

"Say my name again," he whispered hoarsely.

His name? She had said his name? Eponine felt her face break into a devious smile as she tangled a hand in his blonde locks.

"Enjolras," she hissed. "Enjolra–," but before she could get out that last syllable, his hips bucked into her, and with this renewed gusto she was soon gasping his name (though involuntarily) as he brought her to the edge again.

Finally, and simultaneously, they collapsed, both completely exhausted and breathing hard and utterly satisfied.

It was the best he'd ever been, and not just because it had been a while for both of them. No, something was different tonight, though Eponine could hardly put her finger on it. But this rejuvenated and increased chemistry between them was exactly that – between them. She knew that something was happening if she wasn't even aware of Marius' existence, not like she used to be, not even at all, anymore. She hadn't thought of him even once, in fact the only man she could think of at all was Enjolras. It was an odd feeling, an odd realization, but, as she stared into those bright blue eyes of his, it was liberating.

I'm over Marius.

Was it thanks to Enjolras?

A few days later, Eponine found herself in front of her parents' rundown hotel, a rented moving van parked behind her. She had insisted on driving there (and had a ton of fun doing it), but was promptly banned from driving back to the apartment by Combeferre and Enjolras, who were riding with her. Apparently they didn't like her driving.

Joly pulled up in his car behind them, Bossuet, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly with him, ready for the hard labor. Eponine had decided that, instead of going and buying new furniture for Gavroche, they would just come and get his own furniture and move it up into the den. Then he would have his own things, and would really have no reason to come back here.

She had been fairly at ease on the drive over (though she seldom drove, it was always a very relaxing, distracting activity for her), but now standing in front of the building, staring at its dirty, broken-down façade, she felt only trepidation. The boys were laughing behind her, but they sounded so far away.

Eponine rarely came here anymore, and she saw her parents even less. But it was by her own design; generally, if she had to come by, it was to pick Gavroche up or drop him off (Joly was kind enough to drive her little brother around when he could), and she hadn't been inside in years. In fact, she probably hadn't set foot inside the place since she left for college. She had lived in campus housing the only year she had gone, had gone home with Musichetta for the holidays, and after dropping out had lived on her own before moving in with the boys.

The rooms in the hotel were rented not by tourists, but by the dregs of society: drug dealers, sex offenders, thieves. They checked in, and never left. There was a small common area with a bar and some gaming tables, and it was there her parents spent most of their time, finding ways to cheat people out of money, and causing problems with for the equally-as-squirrelly neighborhood around them with their troupe of scum.

It was a toxic environment to grow up in, and being here brought back a flood of memories of the years of misery and abuse she had undergone.

What upset her more was that now her friends, whose help she desperately needed for Gavroche's sake, would see what her life used to be, what she had grown up in. She would be lying if she tried to say that she hadn't worked extremely hard throughout her friendship with them all to hide this place, her past, from them. And now it was all about to be undone. They would look at her with sympathy, with regret. They would walk on eggshells around her, ask her if she ever wanted to talk about it, even press her for details. She couldn't take them pitying her; she took care of herself, and she didn't need anyone's help. She didn't want things to change between them.

A hand squeezed her shoulder. Eponine snapped out of her reverie, turning to find Courfeyrac smiling encouragingly at her. She nodded, and turned around to look at her friends.

They were goofing around, as they were wont to do. It made her smile. Until she locked eyes with Enjolras.

He was watching her, studying her carefully, as though she were one of his law textbooks. Irritation suddenly bubbled through her. This was what came from opening up to someone. They treat you like you're a volcano, about to erupt at any moment. Well, Eponine Jondrette was no sentimental fool.

She wasn't only irritated at his concern for her; after they had slept together the other night, she had woken the next morning to his absence, and he had been cold and awkward around her ever since. She wondered what she had done this time.

Sometimes, Enjolras acted like a bigger woman than she was. Sometimes, she thought she was the man in their – whatever it was.

Joly began complaining about the cold, and that he had a weak constitution and surely would catch something.

"How are you going to be a doctor, if you're so afraid of getting sick all the time? Isn't the point of being a doctor to help people that are sick? Generally that means you have to be around them, and breathe their germy air," Bossuet chided, finishing the sentence as though he were some sort of horror movie monster. They started bickering, earning laughs from the others.

Eponine looked at Enjolras, who was still carefully observing her. She couldn't help but roll her eyes animatedly and purposefully stomp off towards the entrance.

She took a deep breath as she walked inside, trying to calm herself. Her parents were nowhere to be found. Maybe they were out. Without waiting for them to show up, she began ascending the stairs up towards the rooms she had grown up in.

When she walked inside the Thénardier apartment, it was even worse than she remembered it. It was filthy – trash everywhere, clothes strewn about, the kitchen was dingy and dirty. There was a baseball-sized spider web crack in the TV, and a rather putrid smell seemed to be floating towards them from the refrigerator.

Eponine could feel her cheeks burning with shame. How would she face her friends after this? They had all grown up in solidly middle class families – and those were the poorest among them, but they were all quite wealthy, especially by her standards. How would she be able to look at them again, knowing that they knew where she came from and just how bad it was?

The shame was immediately replaced by a wave of overwhelming guilt. She had mostly taken care of the place when she lived there, and when she left, she supposed she had more or less abandoned Azelma and Gavroche. How could she have been so selfish, to never come home and check that they were all right? No wonder her relationship with Azelma was so strained.

Eponine cleared her throat purposefully, and stormed off down the short hallway, kicking aside trash and clothes as she went. She heard the boys follow behind her.

The apartment was tiny – a kitchen and living room together, a small bathroom, two bedrooms, and a very small spare room that looked as though it would have been an office. That had been Gavroche's bedroom – when he was born, she and Azelma were forced to move in together, and shared until Eponine went to school. When Azelma moved out, Gavroche had moved into their old room, and that was where Eponine led the boys.

None of them made any comments, though whether it was because they knew her too well or because they saw the stony look on her face, she wasn't sure. Instead, she just began packing up Gavroche's few things, and pointing out to the boys what was going.

Eventually, their easy banter began to pick up again, which was a relief for Eponine. Joly and Bossuet were arguing, as usual, Feuilly was laughing, Courfeyrac was making fun of them, and Combeferre was bossing them around. Normally that job was saved for Enjolras, but seeing as he was being exceptionally quiet and staying extremely close to Eponine, it fell to Combeferre to give directions.

It was fairly quick work. The only furniture in the room was Gavroche's bed and a dresser, besides a small table and chair he used as a desk. Still, Eponine carefully packed up the boy's books – most of which she had given him – his posters, his CDs, his ancient guitar, his skateboard, and whatever other knick-knacks there were, Enjolras cautiously helping her.

The boys had taken the dresser down to the truck (they simply removed the drawers and took it all down separately) and were busy dismantling the bed when Eponine's parents arrived.

"What the fuck is going on in here?" her father's livid voice shouted from just inside the apartment door.

Eponine felt her face blanch. The boys all froze and looked at her.

Thénardier stormed down the hall, followed by his wife. His eyes swept over the boys before settling on his eldest daughter. They seemed to be black with rage.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Eponine very slowly, very calmly, stood up from the box she was packing and wiped her hands on her jeans. Then she looked her father square in the face, chin held up in high defiance, and she coolly told him, "I'm moving Gavroche's things to my apartment. See, I was granted temporary custody when he gets out of the hospital, which by now you should know."

"You little bitch, Eponine," her mother snapped. "I'm his goddamn mum, you've got no right coming into my fucking house and take him away."

Eponine just regarded her coolly. "Actually, I do. That social worker that stopped by to respond to my complaint about you? Well she didn't seem to like the conditions that Gavroche was living in. And I don't blame her – seriously, was I the last one to clean this place? That was going on seven years ago –."

"Get the fuck out of my house," Thénardier spat. "You ain't no daughter of mine."

"Nor do I want to be. These are Gav's things, so he's getting them. You're not permitted to see him anymore, and before too long I'll be his legal guardian, and I will do my damnedest to make sure that he never sees either of you again," she said evenly. She had expected to be stressed when she finally encountered them, but instead she just felt numb.

Her father strode across the room, hand balled into a fist at his side. Eponine flinched instinctively as he raised his arm, but then Courfeyrac was in front of her, and Combeferre had grabbed Thénardier's raised arm. All the boys were up, and they were angry.

"I recommend that you go down to the bar and pour yourselves some drinks while we finish up here. Eponine has indicated that you like to start drinking rather early, so it shouldn't be too out of the ordinary for you. We'll be out of your… home soon, but until then I suggest you stay far away from Eponine." She turned to look at Enjolras, the only one who had met her parents before, standing next to her. He was bright and angry and fierce standing there in front of her, looking as though he would be willing to start a war on her behalf, standing there in all his golden fury. Part terrible warrior, part guardian angel. In spite of herself, and in spite of the situation, Eponine felt her stomach flutter.

Thénardier was no fool – he was more than outmatched by these boys. So he wrenched his arm free from Combeferre's grasp, and grabbed hold of Eponine's upper arm (she had stepped around Courfeyrac and Enjolras to face her parents), wrenching her close to him. He pointed at her with the other hand, only centimeters from her face, and snarled, "You ever come back here, little bitch, and I'll kill ya myself."

The boys – all of them – had immediately started forward when he grabbed her, but he had released her before anyone could do anything about it. Still, her only response was to spit in his face. Thénardier lunged at her then, but Combeferre and Bossuet were quicker, stopping him before he could even take a step.

They dragged him yelling and screaming from Gavroche's room, his wife stomping away after them.

When Enjolras looked at Eponine, she had turned to the window, but was rubbing her hands together agitatedly. He approached her, gently brushing his hand against the small of her back. "You ok?" he asked, taking her arm at the elbow and gently lifting it for inspection. Red fingerprints lay like burns in her skin. He brushed the marks lightly, murmuring, "These are probably going to bruise."

Eponine just wrenched her arm out of his gentle grasp. "I've had worse," she snapped, though her face was stony and unreadable.

Joly, Feuilly, and Courfeyrac were watching her with concern, but she couldn't bear to meet their eyes, so she busied herself in packing up the last of a box. However when Bossuet and Combeferre returned and began questioning her, she held up a hand to silence them, and whispered a simple, "Thanks," looking around at each of them. She felt incredibly awkward, though they all just regarded her with worry.

It was silent for a few long moments, before Courfeyrac suddenly burst out, "Ep, did you see your dad's face when you hocked that loogie at him?" He was laughing.

"It was not a loogie," was her dignified response, though her trademark half-smile lit up her face.

And with that, the tension dissipated. A short time later, they were all wrapped back up in their heavy coats, and the truck was packed, save one last box that Feuilly was carrying out. The others had waited outside, though Eponine and Enjolras had accompanied him back up to Gavroche's room. Enjolras waited for her patiently as she stared darkly around the apartment.

Without a word, she left her childhood home. They descended the staircase, and at the bottom, just before the rundown building's front door, Eponine stopped, having caught the eye of her mother in the next room. She was holding a bag of frozen peas up to Thénardier's eye, and glared at her eldest child with an expression that Enjolras felt bordered on hateful.

He snaked his arm around Eponine's waist, trying to be comforting, as she jutted her chin out ostensibly at her mother. "See you in Hell, mom," she murmured, then twisted out of Enjolras' grasp and swept out the door. Enjolras took a moment to glare at the lowlifes before him, and followed her, slamming the door behind him.

On the ride back, it was just he and Eponine in the moving van. Courfeyrac had lamely excused himself to Joly's car, not even trying to be sneaky about giving his friends some alone time.

Twilight had fallen, and there was a ton of traffic, so the ride home was a slow one. Eponine was curled into a ball in the passenger's seat, staring out the window.

Enjolras awkwardly cleared his throat. "I'm glad Gavroche will be out of the hospital in time for Christmas. We'll have to go all out with the decorations this year. Not that we don't always do it up, anyway." He was staring at the lights that had been put up all around them. Even though Christmas was still several weeks away, the entire city was already festively decked out and completely in the Christmas spirit.

Eponine rounded on him. "What the hell is your problem, Enjolras?"

He glanced at her, but was not exactly surprised. The tension between them the last few days had been tangible, and it was his fault. He had barely spoken to her since they… since the other night.

"Eponine –."

"No," she snapped. "You have been Mr. Supportive and Mr. Boyfriend for the last couple weeks. But you didn't talk to me for a few months before that. And now that we're finally getting past that, you suddenly give me the cold shoulder again. I have enough on my plate without having to figure out what the fuck is going on in your head."

"Eponine, I don't know if right now is really the time to talk about this, especially with what you just went through with your parents." The truth was, he didn't know what his problem was. He had been so ecstatic to be back together with her all this time, to have her really need him for once. But then the other night….

Well, they had made love. That was the only way to put it. It wasn't how it used to be, it wasn't the sex they used to have. And when he had awoken the next morning to find her wrapped tightly in his arms, her face devoid of its usual concern and nestled against his neck, he had felt so overwhelmingly in love with her that the knowledge that she didn't feel the same way was suddenly so much more than he could bear. So he had extricated himself from her side, feeling guilty when she stirred and frowned in her sleep, reaching out in the now-empty spot he had left behind, and he had gone back to his own room.

Was this what her feelings for Marius' had been like? Completely overwhelming and totally all encompassing? He had never even really had a full-blown crush on a girl before Eponine, much less been in love.

"Now's the perfect time," she snapped. "We're stuck in traffic and we're alone together. Now be honest with me, what's going on with you? Why all the weirdness all of a sudden?" she demanded.

He sighed, mussing his hair with his hand out of frustration. Finally, he asked, "What happened between us the other night?"

Eponine was quiet for a moment, regarding him a tad suspiciously. Finally, she shrugged and said, "We fucked. For the first in months, I might add," she grumbled, crossing her arms.

Enjolras almost smiled. But instead, he quietly asked, "Was that all it was? Just us screwing around again? Using each other to get our kicks and then continuing on with our lives?"

She was looking at him with confusion, measuring him up with her eyes. He could see her doing it from the corner of his own. How could she still not understand?

He thought for a moment that she would dance around the subject like she usually did, feigning ignorance and innocence. But this time, she didn't. This time, she was mature enough to actually give him an honest answer.

"No," she murmured. She was quiet for a long while, staring out the window. Just when he thought he would have to break the silence, she asked exasperatedly, "When did this all get so complicated?"

She was grinning at him, he realized, and he couldn't help but smile back. He was about to come up with an answer when they both realized they had turned onto their block. Joly had already parked in front of the apartment building, and now Jehan and Grantaire were standing with them, waiting to help move Gavroche's things in.

Later that night, they all sat around the apartment together, drinking beers, eating takeout from the Musain, and chatting. Marius, Cosette, and Musichetta had come over to help them unpack Gavroche's things, and Eponine had even called Azelma and Montparnasse, who arrived in time to help Eponine hang Gavroche's posters around the little office.

Now, they were all squished into the living room– on the couch and recliners, on kitchen chairs they had carried in, on the floor, against the wall. Eponine was sipping a beer, her head resting on Grantaire's shoulder (she had been quick to forgive him for his comments the other night).

She couldn't help but study Enjolras, sitting on the floor between Courfeyrac and Bossuet, deep in conversation with them, arms loosely around his knees and a beer sitting on the floor in front of him.

He was right, things between them were different. It had been changing a lot, of course, but now whatever they had went beyond being friends with benefits and beyond even the fight they had over her feelings for Marius. No, something had happened in between Gavroche's accident and now, just in those few short weeks. And the other night, well there had been an entirely new energy between them. It wasn't just for fun or because he was stressed or she was angry or whatever; no, it was an entirely new dynamic.

Were things different because of Gavroche, because of all the stress she'd been under? No, she knew it went deeper than that. She had accepted Enjolras' comfort, his help. She had let him see her come undone, turned inside out, no longer the strong and independent woman who needed no one.

Eponine knew that she wouldn't have been able to deal with the whole situation had Enjolras not been there for her. He had taken charge, had been her strength, had taken care of her. It was he who had flipped her right-side-up again. It was he who had remade her whole.

He had seen the monsters that swam deep in the sea that was her soul; he had seen the demons that she couldn't drown. There was so much more down there in those depths, in the corners of her mind and the recesses of her subconscious, than he could ever know; nevertheless, he had scratched the surface of it all and had kept her afloat.

Clémence is right; he probably has feelings for me. The thought didn't displease her. Nor did it surprise her. After the other night, well, it wasn't really a question anymore of whether or not he liked her. And he had acted every bit the boyfriend through the ordeal with Gavroche. And people didn't just do shit like that – sure, they are as helpful as possible, as the others had been, but they certainly do not act like her boyfriend and shower with her and wash her hair and hold her at night in while she cries in his arms – unless they care deeply for the other person.

Maybe that's why he had gotten so mad at the wedding. Maybe he had feelings for her then and she had been too stubborn and too blind to realize it. It certainly made sense, given his reaction. And it even made his current attitude more understandable. Sort of.

That night, Eponine snuck into his room. He was passed out, snoring lightly, and did not even twitch when she crawled onto the bed and sat cross-legged next to him. Nor did he wake when she poked him.

Enjolras did, however, wake up when she picked up a free pillow and smacked him with it.

"What do you want, Eponine?" he grumbled groggily, rolling over to look at her through bleary eyes.

"I can't sleep until we finish our conversation," she replied matter-of-factly.

"What conversation? Go back to bed…." He rolled back over.

She hit him with the pillow again.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Eponine, it's, like, three in the morning. I have work tomorrow, and class," he informed her, sitting up. The blankets slipped from his shoulders, and Eponine found herself momentarily distracted by the fact that he hadn't worn a shirt to bed.

Enjolras just looked so good without clothes on.

"I just – we need to talk," she said, tearing her eyes away from his body.

"At three a.m.?" he asked exasperatedly.

"Yes."

He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. "Fine," he snapped, turning on his bedside lamp.

"My goodness, you certainly are grouchy late at night, aren't you? Usually you're much more excited when I surprise you in bed," she teased.

"Usually you're naked," he retorted, earning a laugh from Eponine.

But she sobered quickly. "We were talking earlier about what's changed, what's gotten so complicated here."

"So we were," he agreed, rather grimly. "What of it?"

"Well…. Are you still mad at me? About Marius, I mean?"

Even in the dark, she could see that he was a little surprised.

Enjolras seemed to be choosing his words carefully. Finally, he told her, "I'm mad about a lot of things, Eponine."

When he didn't continue, she asked, "What does that mean?"

"I'm mad that you've loved him for 6 years. I'm mad that you never thought enough of yourself to look around and see all the people that could treat you the way you deserve to be treated because you're too busy pining after a man who's never spared you a second glance. You are so much more than that, Eponine. And you deserve someone who can and will and wants to take care of you," he told her, his voice breaking a bit at the end.

"And that's you, then?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"It could've been. But fuck, Ep, you're just so infuriating. You're stubborn, you know? And yeah, I'm stubborn too, but when will you learn that you can let someone in? You keep yourself so isolated, and you cut yourself off from your own feelings and instead obsess over a man who hardly ever gave you the time of day. You push everyone away; anyone who tries or manages to get too close, you just completely shut out. You want someone to come along and save you, you want a prince charming, but you're more interested in being saved than the guy doing the saving."

She wasn't looking at him. "So you're still mad then," was all she said.

He gave her that half-smile of his, the one that made her stomach flip. "I'm always mad at you, Ep. I'm still furious about Marius, but how could I stay mad after everything you've been through the last few weeks? And after today, I understand why you are the way you are."

Eponine's head snapped up, her brown eyes flashing as they met his. "I don't want your pity," she told him angrily. "I'm proud of who I am. I had to fight like hell to get to where I am, but fighting like hell has made me who I am. So don't talk down to me like I'm some sort of big, sad mystery. I am the way I am because I did what was necessary to get out of the slums."

He smiled at her again, "Ep, calm down. I'm not pitying you or trying to make you mad. All I'm saying is that I understand why you don't let anyone in. With the exception of Gavroche's situation, that is. Thank you, by the way, for trusting me enough to help you get through that."

"I wouldn't have gotten through it without you," she admitted, her face unreadable. He wasn't surprised by her abrupt delivery; Eponine was no fan of sentiment. In fact, she was looking down at her hands when she said it, avoiding his gaze as she absently played with her fingers.

"As glad as I am to have helped you, and to be talking to you again, I'm still rather upset about the wedding," he told her, somewhat mercilessly.

"It wasn't on purpose," she mumbled under her breath, still staring down at her hands.

"I know, but to be trying so hard… and then to hear his name anyway… it sucks, Ep."

She was sure it did, especially now that she understood that even then, Enjolras had feelings for her. She found herself wondering when exactly those feelings began.

"I know you can't help who you love, but I wish it wasn't him," he told her, voice cracking again. He sounded suddenly tired.

"It's not," she confessed quietly, looking up from her hands to meet his surprised gaze. "I've been over him for – well, I'm not sure for exactly how long, but I've moved on. The day everyone told me they knew about you and me, he and Cosette were there. He… well, I wasn't affected by him. Nor have I been, when he's been around since. I don't know if I'm completely over him – honestly, I think a little part of me will always love him – but I'm not in love with him at all anymore. I don't think about him, I don't fantasize about him, I hardly even think of him if it's not with the rest of the boys."

Enjolras just stared, then cleared his throat awkwardly. He had been waiting for these words for months, but realized he had no idea what to do with them. And it didn't seem like Eponine really knew either.

"Well… that's good news, then. I'm glad he won't be causing you any more heartache," he said diplomatically.

"Me too."

Silence. Long, awkward silence.

Finally, she asked, barely above a whisper, "Can you ever forgive me?"

Enjolras felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile. "Well given what happened the other night, I'd say my lingering anger isn't really going to affect us at all, so it doesn't matter."

She just looked at him. His unspoken words, we made love, floated awkwardly in the air between them.

"But yes, I forgive you," he told her with a smirk, eager to break the uncomfortable silence. He was still a little angry and hurt, but it was quickly dissipating.

This was a new Eponine – one who wasn't in love with Marius, one who had finally opened up a bit, one who would hopefully let him even further in.

Maybe this new Eponine would drown in his tide, just as he had in hers.

Maybe this new Eponine would fall in love with him, too.

I hope the smut was ok hahaha. I've never written it before and I felt really weird about it, so I tried to keep it marginally classy...?

Anyway, please review, please visit me on tumblr, please PROMPT ME!

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