Trigger Warning: violence and drug use

A/N: I know I post the trigger warning every time, but these next few chapters could be getting grittier (I won't know until I write them, but I'm letting you know now).

Anyway, on to something happier-

Wow a hundred of you guys want to read more? Words cannot describe how grateful I am. Honestly, I hope you all find a hundred dollars tomorrow when you're walking down the street, because y'all deserve it.

Oh, another (hopefully!) happy thing- I was going to make this chapter really long, but I decided to cut it into two- with the second part almost done (I should be finishing tonight!). You know what that means? A quick update! Yay!

Again, thank you all so much.

Enjoy!

The cinders, they splinter
And light the path
And these strange steps
Trace us back, trace us back

Flow sweetly, hang heavy
You suddenly complete me
You suddenly complete me

-Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Hysteric

"So, not to sound ungrateful or anything, but um… why are you giving me a ride?" Éponine asked, climbing into Enjolras's car. The front was clean, maybe overly so, but the back was cluttered with textbooks and legal documents.

"Well… I'd do it for any of the guys. Only a few of us have cars so we all give rides a lot. And I think they basically consider you one of us by now."

Oh. "So, if none of my usual subjects interest you, what do you want to talk about?"

Enjolras shrugged, which invited a loud sigh from Éponine. "What? I just don't think you'd be interested in anything I have to say."

"Why, because it's all about your revolution?"

"France's revolution, actually."

Éponine snorted. "You're honestly telling me you don't do anything else all day, except go to school and sit around and talk about anarchy."

"That's not how I would have worded it at all."

"You don't drink, or go to parties, or hook up with girls, or watch sports…."

"I think you've been spending too much time with Grantaire."

"Your life centers around this fight. Why? Why is it so important to you?"

"Why isn't it important to you? I figured you of all people would want this."

Éponine could feel a cold sweat beginning in her hands and face. She knew it was obvious when they looked at her: underfed, sunken skin, ratted hair. There was also the issue of her wearing the same pair of jeans every day to work. Sometimes her street accent still showed through, although it had been becoming less of a problem since getting a job at Musain.

Still, she was more than a bit irritated at him commenting on her life. Admittedly, her annoyance was irrational, since she touched on the subject herself last night. "That was a low blow."

He seemed to have realized what he said. "I didn't mean that as an insult—"

"Forget it. I just don't get why a bunch of rich schoolboys are fighting for street kids who don't give a shit about you, but whatever." She thought about adding 'no offense' at the end, but she wouldn't have meant it.

"But that's just it, isn't it?" He flicked a blonde curl from his forehead, and for a moment Éponine caught a glimpse of how young he was. He was so busy acting in control, trying to lead the men, that she forgot he was only about twenty. "Nobody gives a shit about anybody. The rich are exploiting the poor, the poor are too busy trying to survive to notice, and everybody forgets that we're all human. We're one of the world's most developed countries, yet children are starving to death while politicians are buying yachts. If the people knew, really knew-" he trailed off. "The point is, until the poor are released from the oppression of those in power, none of us are really free."

Éponine finally understood what the rest of the Les Amis saw in him. It wasn't the words he said—they were, admittedly, fairly average—but the way he said them. It was his pure passion for the cause. It didn't matter if she believed what he was saying, because he believed it. She swallowed hard. Éponine, you're getting sentimental. "Idealism like that will get you killed," she told him.

"Probably," he agreed. He stated it so factually it made Éponine shiver just slightly.

"And what do you think will happen? If your revolution fails?"

"They'd see the revolt as treason. If we're lucky, we'd go to jail for the rest of our lives."

"And that's okay with you?"

"The guys and I have talked about it. The cause is worth much more than our lives. We are nothing compared to the good of this country." Again, he was almost impassive about the idea. It was a reality he had obviously accepted.

"I wish I were able to afford to think like that. There are maybe only two people in the world I would die for, but never a stranger."

He didn't reply, so she watched him drive. She didn't have her license, but Marius used to drive her sometimes. He was attentive, painfully so, and never once went a notch above the speed limit. His stops were complete and his turns slow. His eyes hadn't left the road since she had gotten into the car.

"You hate the government, yet you study law and can't even break the speed limit. You're a bit of a contradiction," Éponine observed.

"Says the girl who cares too much but not at all."

"Oh, so you have noticed me? I thought you've been ignoring me this whole time." Embarrassing him was the only way she knew how to pay him back for his comment.

It worked too, because his face reddened enough for Éponine to notice, even in the dark.

"What's this I see? Are you expressing an emotion irrelevant to politics?" Éponine smirked.

"I'm not—"

He didn't have time to defend himself, because he had pulled up to Eponine's gritty apartment. "Thanks for the ride!" she said quickly. She was determined to have the last word.

"Wait!" he said, turning to her as she was awkwardly half-in, half-out of the car.

"What?"

"Marius and I are leading a rally tomorrow morning. He's never done one before. It's at the university. I'm sure you're probably angry with him—not that he would see that if you punched him in the face—but I think he could really use your support."

Éponine nodded slowly. Why didn't he tell me himself? "I'm not angry at him. I'm happy for him, really. Yeah, I'll go."

"Okay. Ten tomorrow."

That's so early, she groaned internally. "I'll be there."

She sprinted up to her apartment. When she was in, she peered through her grimy blinds to make sure he had left. When she could confirm that he was gone, she grabbed the packet from underneath her mattress and left her apartment just as fast.

It wasn't just Montparnasse who was there, but all of the Patron-Minette. Claquesous, most of his face shadowed by his hood, sat on the couch with his legs propped up on the coffee table. Babet, clever but a bit greasy, was casually leaned up against the back wall, a look of apparent apathy on his face. Brujon, a giant of a man, cracked his knuckles.

"What, are you trying to intimidate me?" Éponine laughed. "You know my father. You know I can't be scared."

"What could have possibly brought you back here, Éponine?" Montparnasse smirked. Éponine wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face.

"This," she said, digging the plastic packet and throwing it onto the coffee table.

Montparnasse plucked it off the table, chuckling at some joke only he knew the punch line to.

"I know it's worth something," she told him.

"Ah, so those bourgeoisie boys not paying your bills yet? Why not just grab a couple wallets? That's all you're good for anyway. Or is it because you've started to miss me?" he snickered.

"One other thing. Stay the hell away from my sister."

"Ah, but she wants to come here. And the Thénadiers always do what they want. Don't you get it, 'Ponine? She'd actually be grateful to live here. So much more comfortable than anywhere else. More freedom than your parents' house, and she'd get more attention here too. Let's face it, you're too busy chasing after that scrawny little rich boy who's too good for you. Come to think of it, I did see him with that blonde the other day…."

Éponine was shaking with rage. Her fingernails pressed hard into her palms, forgetting her wound from a couple of days ago until she felt one of the stitches break.

He closed the distance between them with a few quick strides. He would have been handsome, with his dark hair and pretty face, had it not been for his personality, which was just too easy to hate. He shoved the powder back into the front pocket of her jeans, smirk still plastered on his face. "Next time," he said, leaning in to her ear, "don't return a gift. It's rude."

She could see the redness around his nose, the traces of whatever he snorted last. This was stupid of you, 'Ponine. She set her jaw and turned to the door. She was almost out when she heard Montparnasse say, barely above a whisper, "I'll tell your sister you say hi."

Éponine had been fighting her impulses this whole time, but she couldn't take it anymore. She crossed the room in no more than a second and raised her fist. But Montparnasse had expected this reaction, was maybe even wanting it. He caught her fist with one hand and retaliated with the other. Éponine wasn't hurt, but it was enough to startle her.

"Brujon, get her out of here," he told the giant.

He obliged, picking her up easily although she fought him, kicking and scratching. He—quite literally—threw her out onto the front step and slammed the door. She spat at the spot where his face had just been.

She'd get them back. She wasn't sure how, but she would.

Éponine stepped off the porch and onto the street. She could have turned right, to go back home, but instead turned left towards her friend's house.