A/N: Hey everyone!
Thank you so much for all the reviews on the last chapter! They all really mean a lot to me! It sounds like you guys enjoyed it; I'm glad.
I'm leaving tonight for a trip for a few days, which means I plan on doing lots of writing while I'm gone! I can't wait to update again (which is your guys' fault for being so nice to me).
I wrote this chapter in a rush because I wanted to update before I had to go- so I didn't have anyone edit it. Just a warning.
The lyrics I post are usually just ones I have from my writing playlist that I feel fit the chapter. Consider it recommended listening. But I especially recommend this song. It gives me lots of Les Mis feels.
Do you guys think the E/E is going too slow? I have it planned as picking up a lot in the next couple chapters anyway, but I'm curious to what you guys think.
Thanks for your continued support!
And sorry. Just... sorry.
Find a place to put your hope in
See how they open up the gates
for those who push them over
Uh oh, the cold composure
I'm not afraid to die tonight, I'm not afraid to...
-House of Heroes, Buckets for Bullet Wounds
The coffee was a bad idea. The combination of milk and acidity created an unholy mixture that made Éponine even more nauseas, although she hadn't thought it was possible. Still, she drank it, because Grantaire bought it for her and she didn't want to seem ungrateful. At least her nausea matched her current mood of self-hatred.
The square at the edge of the university was packed. Éponine hadn't been expecting more than a couple dozen people, but there were at least a hundred. And there weren't just students, either. Older men and women, some with young children, also gathered in the square. Some wore nice suits and fancy dresses; others, tattered skirts and ripped jeans.
Marius and Enjolras were both on stage. She was nervous for Marius—she couldn't hear what he was saying, but she hoped it was being well-said. Enjolras, on the other hand, was apparently doing just fine. She could tell by the way his expressions, his arm movements, the way he leaned into the audience. How anyone considered him unemotional, she didn't know.
"Look at him! The blonde one! He's so hot!" she heard a girl say to her friend. She was, maybe, a couple years younger than Éponine.
"You're not his type," Éponine replied.
The girl looked more surprised than offended. "What's his type?" she asked.
"France," Grantaire said, laughing. He pulled the two of them further into the crowd.
He saw her, at the edge of the crowd. She was standing right next to Grantaire. Of course they were late. He looked like his usual hungover self. She was in her clothes from yesterday, with the addition of one of Grantaire's jackets. For some reason, this irked him. He chalked it up to his mind making the jacket a metaphor for Grantaire's ridiculous, childish behavior.
Enjolras watched Grantaire lead Éponine through the crowd to the very center. If there was one thing Enjolras could count on Grantaire for, it was that he would get the crowd excited. Second to tormenting him, this was the drunk's favorite thing to do. The girl, however, seemed too focused on Pontmercy to join him.
"How long can they get away with this?" He heard Courfeyrac shout from the crowd.
"How long can they hide behind their locked gates and golden walls?" Enjolras said to the crowd in reply. "How long before we bring them to our level, the level of the streets?" He allowed himself a small smile. "Citizens of France, I implore you to ask yourselves, when the power is in the hands of the few, are any of us really free?"
Even at a distance, he saw the unkempt girl's eyes flick up to him. Maybe she was paying attention after all.
Grantaire moved closer to the stage, and he saw another person trailing them. It was Gavroche. Grantaire picked him up and Enjolras bent down to help hoist him onto the stage. Éponine watched them do this, but her face was unreadable, neither approving or disagreeing.
"Mesdames et Messieurs, I give you Gavroche, leader of the streets!" Enjolras announced.
From his side, Pontmercy threw him a glance of bewilderment. He'll get over it, Enjolras decided.
Marius, Gavroche, and Enjolras were all off the stage. The rally was over, wasn't it? So why was everybody still standing around? The audience was starting to feel like a mob, everybody pushing and shouting. Éponine spotted Marius and tried to make her way towards him. When she was within arm's reach, another man came up to him. It was his grandfather, Monsieur Guillormand, looking as disappointed as ever. Éponine decided it was best not to interrupt and let the crowd swallow her back in.
She could hear sirens but couldn't see the police. She was too small and surrounded by too many tall men. Still, the gathering moved as an organism, shoving its way back from the loud shrieking. She heard it, quietly at first, a whisper barely audible around the general buzz of the crowd. "Vive la France."
It came from what could be called the front of the pack. She moved behind an elephant of a man and stood on her toes to see all the boys beginning to form a line between the people and the police. Again, she heard it. "Vive la France."
It began to grow louder. Others joined in, raising their fists. "Vive la France!"
Soon she was yelling it, too, although perhaps just because everyone else was. "Vive la France! Vive la France!"
She could hear her heartbeat throbbing in her ears. There was a sort of energetic frenzy that came with being a part of this rally. The air was thick and hard to swallow, and her vision was becoming blurred.
The mass was shoved back into an adjoining square, where police made no move to arrest anyone. Rather, their intention was just to break them up. The citizens dispersed frantically, still pushing and shoving.
It was only a matter of time before Éponine lost her balance and fell to the hard ground. Before she could realize what had happened, Enjolras was standing above her, holding out a hand to help her up. She ignored it and pushed herself to her feet.
"What did you think?" he asked, apparently unoffended by her rejection.
"Pretty words," she said.
He took this as a compliment, although she didn't necessarily mean it as so. Before he could discuss it with her further, Courfeyrac ran up to them.
"Hey, 'Ponine. Um, Enjolras, it's about Lemarque."
Enjolras nodded excused herself, taking the hint. She continued her search for Marius, but he found her first.
"'Ponine! Oh, thank heavens. I need a favor, 'Ponine."
"Anything for you," Éponine replied, smiling meekly at the idea.
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and offered it to her. "I saw Cosette and her father. They were down the block, that way, in that old antique store. Slip this into her pocket. I know you can do it."
"Doesn't she have a phone? Can't you just text her or something?"
"Please, 'Ponine. Do this for me."
She looked up into his eyes, so desperate and needing. She couldn't say no if she had wanted to. But with taking the note from his hands came the realization that he would never do something like this for her.
She walked away from him without saying another word. She made her way down the block quite easily, most of the rally attendees having already spread. She hesitated when she came in front of the antique shop.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Marius loved Cosette and not her. That her parents couldn't possibly care less. That the Les Amis cared more about an idea than her. That her sister was moving in with a man she despised. Éponine didn't deserve any of what had been given to her, but that's the way the world was.
She entered the store. From the counter, she could feel the shopkeeper glaring at her suspiciously. It didn't really bother Éponine though. There were worse reactions she could get.
She meandered down the aisles till she finally saw the lark. Éponine stopped, not sure if she could go through with this.
It's for Marius. All you have to do is brush by her and drop the note in her purse. Easier than snatching a wallet, at least. Still, she felt nauseas, and this time it had nothing to do with the hangover.
Éponine took a deep breath and pattered down the aisle. Cosette was examining two different vases with a determined look on her face. Éponine casually brushed up against Cosette and dropped the note in her purse without a sound.
"Oh, pardon me!" Cosette said, turning to Éponine.
Shit. "My fault," Éponine said, turning back to walk away.
"Which do you like better?" the lark asked her, hold the two vases for her to see. The one on the left was tall but plain. The one on the right was short, but was pretty and pink-tinted.
"You don't want my opinion," Éponine said, still trying to leave.
"Please! I'm completely torn."
The sooner you answer the sooner you can get away. "That one," she said, pointing to the tall one. "It may be plain, but it'll hold the flower stems better."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Thank you, I'll definitely get this one then. I can just tie a ribbon around it or something."
Again, Éponine tried to walk away. "Wait, don't I know you? You look so familiar somehow…" Cosette said, stopping her.
"Doubtful," Éponine lied, shrugging.
"No, I'm sure of it. Like I used to know you a long time ago, like, uh… what's it called? Oh! Déjà vu. Like that."
Every ounce of Eponine's body was screaming to get away. Please don't let her remember.
"Oh! I got it! I saw you at that café, Café Musain! Just a few days ago. You make really good coffee. Oh, sorry, I'm sure you have somewhere to be. Anyway, thanks again for the help! I'll see you around!"
Éponine nodded and scampered away as fast as she could. She took the emptiest allies, not because they were safer (which they weren't) but because she could no longer face anyone.
Éponine seemed to have a talent for not getting what she wished though, because she turned a corner, and because she was looking at her feet, ran into the people she wished to see least of all.
"Éponine," her father hissed. He was surrounded by the members of the Patron Minette, but her mother was nowhere in sight. "Montparnasse told me you tried to come back to him. It was only a matter of time, after all."
She shot Montparnasse a look, who sneered in return.
Her father leaned in closer, his breath a mix of tobacco and alcohol. Éponine tried to back up, but her shoulder blades hit the brick behind her. "I got a job for you."
"Montparnasse lied," she said boldly. "I'm not coming back. I won't, not ever."
Her father grabbed her shoulders, shoving her further into the bricks. "No. You'll come crawling back. You always do." He let her go, spat at her feet, and walked away. The rest of them followed behind.
The last one to walk away was somebody she hadn't seen till now. A young girl, around fifteen, with big doe eyes that didn't fit her face and dirty hair. "Azelma?" Éponine said, barely above a whisper. "You're out?"
The girl nodded. Her face was the painful mixture of sadness and betrayal. Éponine reached out to the girl, but her sister just padded away, following their father.
Éponine wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly freezing although she still had Grantaire's coat. Her mind was consumed by only one thought; I have no one.
Enjolras and Combeferre stood in the dingy hospital room. The offensive scent of bleach was giving headaches to them both. Outside the door, Courfeyrac stood watch. They weren't supposed to be in here, but with Joly working as an intern and the entire building understaffed anyway, it was all to easy to get in.
On the bed lay the unconscious Lemarque, perhaps the only man that Enjolras could inspiration from. He was a friend to the people, the embodiment of what Enjolras's revolution stood for.
The door to the room burst open. "Joly? What is it?" Combeferre asked his friend.
Joly was hyperventilating, his lips already a shade of blue that matched his scrubs. He leaned over, trying to suck in as much oxygen as possible, but to no avail. "Musichetta... called... Éponine... work... didn't show..."
Courfeyrac came in, grabbing the panicked man's shoulders. "Joly, we don't understand what you're trying to say. Is she okay?"
Joly shook his head.
Enjolras made the quick few strides to his friend and leaned in to him. "Joly," his voice was as calm as it could be, "where is Eponine now?"
"Her... ah-ah-apartment," Joly choked out.
Enjolras was in his car before his friends could collect themselves.
A/N:
I didnt want to kill the mood by adding an A/N after this but I feel like I need to reassure you guys that this fic isn't going to end anytime soon, so don't worry too much.
*deep breaths*