Trigger warning- references to domestic violence and drug use

A/N: Hi everyone! Just wanted to say thanks for all the support. You're really all very lovely. I wanted to update yesterday, but I was visiting some family. But This chapter is a bit longer, so that should make up for it I hope.

Again, thank you guys for all the support, it really means a lot to me.

Enjoy!

This heart's been sleeping for months
This heart can't wait to see you
This heart doesn't wanna convince you that
This heart will not collapse

-Mary Lambert, This Heart

It had been only a few days since Marius had seen Cosette. In that time, Éponine had figured out Cosette's number and even her address. As soon as she handed her friend the piece of paper, he was gone. Éponine couldn't help but feel that if she hadn't asked Marius to come down to the café, he would have never met Cosette.

Éponine tried to take her mind off of Marius by learning the names of all the regulars of Café Musain, particularly the members of Les Amis. Courfeyrac she already knew, and Grantaire she had quickly grown fond of. Although perpetually drunk, he had a friendly (if not a little troublemaking) persona that reminded Éponine of her little brother. Combeferre, although quiet, seemed to have a good nature about him. Enjolras seemed to only smile when someone offered a good idea.

The next member she met was Joly, who entered with Musichetta only minutes after Cosette had left. She could only assume that he was Musichetta's 'personal emergency' that made her leave Éponine alone on her first day. He was an anxious man, who's color only seemed to return to his face when his female counterpart was around. Immediately after shaking hands with Éponine, Joly had dumped about three quarter-sized pumps of hand sanitizer onto his hands. Musichetta laughed and told her not to take it personally.

There were four members who she did not meet on her first day. First was Jehan. He was tall and broad-shouldered but he was also humble and soft-spoken. When he did speak, he did so eloquently, even when ordering. He was painfully shy but he was so kind that Éponine could see why people were drawn to him. The second was Bahorel. Apparently, he had a habit of being late. He also had a habit of missing class, Éponine assumed, because he didn't even have to ask Courfeyrac for his notes; the classmate just handed them over.

The third was Bousset, who Éponine hadn't met till her fourth day. He had gotten back into town the day before, but had managed to lock his keys in the car and had to wait for a locksmith. And despite having spilled his coffee at least twice within an hour-long period, he still remained in good spirits. Bossuet told her that, although always unlucky, at least his life wasn't boring. The fourth was Feuilly. In only one conversation Éponine shared with him, she could tell he was a patriot. He spoke of France as if she were his mother. In fact, France was all he spoke of.

The boys had all taken a liking to her as well. They appreciated her common sense and her knowledge of everyday life for the average citizen of Paris. Grantaire especially appreciated her realistic ideals and her lack of expectations for the changes of society. Éponine couldn't help but to notice how Enjolras was the only one not outgoing or friendly towards her; he rarely even made eye contact.

It was her fifth day of work. It was dark outside, and most of the shops around were closing. Musichetta was out with Joly once again, leaving Éponine the responsibility of closing the shop. She was nervous. Her past responsibilities were more about sneaking in and out of homes unnoticed.

Éponine seriously doubted that anyone else would enter the shop, but Musichetta insisted that they couldn't close till eleven. "With a university just down the road," she said, "you never know who's gonna come in here at ten-thirty needing all the coffee we have in store."

It was ten-forty-five. Everyone had left, even all of the Les Amis. Except for Enjolras, who was reading intently from a textbook. Éponine had already wiped down all the tables- except for the one Enjolras was studying at- stored away all the coffee, and swept the floor twice. And still there were no college students bursting through the door, desperate to pull an all-nighter. So she stood behind the counter, drumming her fingers. For a moment she started dreaming about what Marius might be up to, but she realized that he was probably with Cosette and didn't wish to linger on the idea any longer.

A man entered the shop, jolting Éponine from her daydreams. His hood didn't allow for anyone to recognize his face, but Éponine knew who it was anyway.

"Claquesous," Éponine said. A feeling of dread washed over her. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Relax, Thénadier," he said, pulling his hood down. His dark, deep-set eyes shadowed his face. It was almost as if he was wearing a mask. "I brought you a present." From his back pocket he pulled out a little plastic bag of white powder and tossed it at Éponine. She caught it as a reflex, but upon realizing what it was, she shoved it into her jeans as quickly as possible.

She turned to Enjolras, who was still sitting in the back of the room. He was watching them, and Éponine was almost sure he had seen the exchange. "I don't do that anymore, Claquesous," she hissed.

Claquesous took notice of Enjolras as well. "Oh really? Gone a few months and you're already in bed with the rich?"

"Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

"I have news," Claquesous replied, a bit of a smirk on his face.

Éponine's stomach lurched. News on the street was always bad. The fact that it was something that made Claquesous smirk meant it was even worse.

"It's about your sister."

"She's in juvie," Éponine replied coolly. Claquesous wanted to distress her, but Éponine wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Yeah, well she's getting out."

Éponine couldn't stay composed at such news. She let out a small gasp, but tried her best to collect herself. She pretended to absentmindedly scrub at a small stain on the counter. "…And? I assume Azelma is just going back in with our parents, isn't she?"

"Actually, I heard she was thinking about moving in with Montparnasse."

Something had snapped inside Éponine. This wasn't worry, not anymore; this was fury. "Get out."

A clattering came from the back of the room. Enjolras had stood abruptly, knocking over his chair.

Claquesous's smirk broadened to a grin. He backed towards the door, his eyes shifting between Enjolras and Éponine. "You know, I'm sure he'd take you back. If you begged," he said, and left the shop.

Éponine took a couple of deep breaths, but she was unable to compose her rage. She grabbed the closest object to her, a mug, and threw it at the spot where Claquesous's head had just been. It shattered violently against the wall.

She remained behind the counter, her chest heaving. Enjolras took a couple of quick strides towards the direction of the door and knelt to pick up the shards. This seemed to shake Éponine from her haze, and she joined him. "I'm sorry, it's just Claquesous, he…" Éponine began. She looked up at him. He was watching her, but the minute they made eye contact he adverted his eyes and returned to picking up the pieces.

"No, it's fine."

"No, really. I mean, the guy just knows how to get under my skin—ow!" she had been picking up the fragments with her left hand and placing them into her right, but she had closed her right hand around the shards. She hadn't realized what she had done until her hand began to bleed.

"I'll call Joly, he can get them out—"

"No, really, it's not a big deal, I can get it myself—"

"No, stop, Éponine. You're gonna make it worse—"

"I've gotten glass out before, it's really not that bad anyway—"

The continued to interrupt each other for at least a minute, all the while she plucked at her hand. Finally, Enjolras had had enough. "'Ponine, stop!"

The use of her nickname got her attention. She stopped picking at her hand, which had bled even more to stain her shirt, jeans, and even the floor.

"Just let me call Joly, okay?" he said, a bit less harsh. He started to pull out his phone, but it wasn't necessary. The young student entered from the back room. He and Musichetta were laughing about something, and it must have been particularly funny because it took them a moment to realize they weren't alone.

"Éponine, dear! I figured you would have already closed and left for the night! Oh my god, what happened?" The young café owner rushed over to her employee.

Éponine turned to Enjolras, who was watching her again. Éponine was usually quick with a response, so why was it taking her so long tonight?

"I tripped," Enjolras offered, turning to face Joly. "Wasn't really paying attention. I guess the mug just slipped. Sorry," he added to Musichetta.

"Oh, it's just a mug," she waved. "But Éponine, your poor hand."

"Here, Éponine," Joly said, pulling out a chair for her. "I've got a first aid kit in the back."

"That's really not—" Éponine didn't see Enjolras roll his eyes, but she could feel it. "Thank you," she said, finally complying. Musichetta pulled up a chair beside Éponine, holding her uninjured hand and stroking her matted hair. Joly came back with a black bag. He washed his hands three times, then pulled up a chair across the table from Éponine.

He motioned for her to put her hand on the table. She hesitated, but obliged. She didn't really care for someone who was practically a stranger to be this close to her, especially her arms. You don't live on the streets without acquiring a few scars, and Éponine was no exception. Some were memories of generic cuts, others were track marks. Her parents and Montparnasse had even given her quite a few. She even had a chemical burn from a break-in gone wrong. She cursed herself for not wearing longer sleeves.

Joly, of course, didn't comment on any of these. In fact, the only time he did speak was to ask Musichetta to get him a bowl to put the glass splinters in. He worked with great care. Enjolras, meanwhile, continued working on getting the remaining pieces off the floor. Musichetta said she would take care of it, but he was nothing if not assertive.

It took Joly another fifteen minutes to stitch up the cuts—a step that Éponine again insisted wasn't necessary. Éponine was starting to realize that other people were beginning to look out for her. It wasn't just her and Gavroche anymore. Her family was growing. First it was just the Thénadiers, then it was the Thénadiers and the Patron-Minette, the crew that she was often entangled in, mostly because of Montparnasse but also because of her father.

Then she met Marius, and through him, Les Amis. The students weren't like the Patron-Minette. They didn't use her for her skills in pickpocketing. They didn't hit her, throw things at her, spit at her.

The idea of Éponine having friends was peculiar and a bit uncomfortable.

"All finished," Joly said, bringing her thoughts back into the café.

She thanked him, looking at her cloth-wrapped hand. The cuts burned a little, but she hardly noticed.

"Éponine, you should really head home," Musichetta said, patting her shoulder.

"But I haven't finished—"

"No, really. It's fine, dear. Me and Joly will take care of it. Enjolras will drive you home, won't you?" she gave a look to the revolutionary.

"I actually enjoy walking—" Éponine started.

"Well in that case, Enjolras has two legs that work perfectly fine. At least I would hope so, I always see him hopping on and off a stage to give a speech." The café owner was practically shooing them out the door.

"I—uh—okay," Éponine gave in for the third time that night. When she and Enjolras were outside, she turned to him and said, "Thank you. For not telling them about what really happened."

"Which way?" was all he said.

"You really don't have to walk me home."

"Which way?" he repeated.

"You're really stubborn, you know that?"

"Determined," Enjolras corrected. Éponine crossed her arms in frustration, and Enjolras smiled at that.

Éponine huffed and pointed to the left. The two of them began walking.

A/N: for those of us who aren't experts in narcotics, heroin comes in powder form. Also, track marks are what they call the marks left after using a syringe to shoot up. (Sorry if that's horribly depressing).

Oh you want to know what isn't as depressing? More couples feel they can open up when walking then they can during basically any other type of activity. *hint hint*

Of course, feel free to review or send me a PM. I love feedback! :) Thanks again for all you guys do!