'Cause lately I'm not dreaming
So what's the point in sleeping?
It's just that at night,
I've got nowhere to hide
- Jack's Mannequin, Hammers and Strings (A Lullaby)
Enjolras parked his car illegally. If he got a ticket, he could argue it later. It wasn't important right now.
The apartment's landlord looked like the type of person to own such a run-down building; he was greasy, balding, and wearing a stained, too-small shirt. "Third floor, last door on the right," he said, not looking up from his computer. Apparently Enjolras wasn't the first one there.
He sprinted up the stairs and down the hall. Arriving at the room, he banged his fist on the door, which really wasn't necessary because it swung wide open, already unlocked.
The main room was the nearly-empty kitchen joined with a small living room, which housed only a tattered old sofa. "In here!" somebody called from one of the three adjoining rooms. Enjolras assumed the door in the middle was the correct one.
He guessed correctly. The small bedroom was already crowded. In the opposite corner was Jehan, not crying but on the verge of. Next to him was Bahorel, looking uncharacteristically pensive. In the opposite corner was Bossuet, wearing a frown that didn't suit him at all. Next to him was Feuilly, his arms crossed and his eyebrows pushed together. Combeferre was closest to the door, and was almost ran over when Enjolras entered the room.
In the center of the room lay a mattress, on the floor without box springs. Musichetta was sitting there, holding Éponine and stroking her hair.
The tattered girl was sick. But it wasn't the flu. Her skin looked blue, and she was disoriented, squeezing her eyes shut and opening them repeatedly. He could hear her shallow, raspy breaths, even from his distance.
"What the hell happened?" Enjolras demanded.
"She relapsed," Musichetta said. "I think she overdosed."
Enjolras was apparently the only one that didn't know she was an addict.
"Why aren't we taking her to the hospital?"
"That would destroy any chance of her getting custody of her sister," Combeferre answered.
"What?" he turned to look at his friend.
"She didn't tell you? We told her to talk to you about it."
Enjolras clenched his jaw.
"Nevermind," Combeferre said. Éponine's whole body convulsed."It's the least of our problems right now."
Joly and Courfeyrac burst in next. The medical intern had a needle and a clear vial in his hand. "Sorry… had… to… sneak… stole…" he held the vial up to finish his sentence for him, then gave it to Musichetta as he checked on Éponine.
Joly grabbed her wrist. "I can't even feel her pulse," he announced, which was a mistake since it sent Jehan into a burst of tears. Bahorel put his arm around the poet.
Whoever was lying on this mattress, it wasn't Éponine. Éponine was the girl whose coffee was sometimes disgusting and sometimes perfect, depending on her mood. She was the girl who offered her opinion when she wanted to, whether or not they asked for it. He came to the realization that he knew her a bit better than anyone would give him credit for, but it still wasn't enough.
Musichetta handed the vial and needle to Joly, and Combeferre stepped up to hold onto the girl's shaking and already-bruised arm as Joly injected the narcotic antagonist. Enjolras made his best effort to contain the white fury that was building up inside of him.
He was angry that his friends were here, watching this, and that it was clearly destroying them. He was angry that Grantaire wasn't here. He was angry at whoever gave Éponine the heroin. And he was angry that he was too caught up in the thrills of planning the revolution to remember that the Les Amis were individuals with their own lives.
When the others moved away from her, Enjolras approached Éponine. He, gently as he could, turned her face towards him. Her skin was freezing, not hot like he expected. "What are you doing?" Musichetta demanded, about ready to slap the revolutionary away from the girl.
Enjolras ignored her. "Éponine, I need to know where you got it from." His voice wasn't as severe as it could have been, but he still used a sternness that came along with desperation.
Her pinpoint pupils managed a glare at him.
Marius stumbled in, looking completely disheveled.
"Pontmercy!" Enjolras exclaimed, grabbing the startled boy's shoulders. "Where'd she get it?"
"I- I dunno , I mean… she could've gotten it from anyone."
"Well who did she used to get it from?"
"Montparnasse. But she doesn't really see him anymore—"
"Address?"
"Enjolras, don't," Combeferre protested.
"Marius, I need an address."
Marius nodded solemnly and dug through his pockets for a pen. He wrote the address on the back of a receipt and handed it to him.
"Enjolras, no!" Combeferre protested, much more loudly this time.
Enjolras ignored him. "Bahorel, I assume you're coming?"
Bahorel actually grinned. "I was praying you'd ask." He patted Jehan's shoulder as he left his side. Bossuet and Feuilly shifted to move around him.
"Be careful," Courfeyrac told them. "From what little Ép has told me, he's not really somebody you mess with."
Enjolras nodded, and he and Bahorel left immediately.
Down the stairs they passed Grantaire, who, despite being sober, looked absolutely awful. He was carrying Gavroche on his back, although the boy didn't look like himself. The normally cheerful, free-spirited boy was completely distraught, and rightfully so given the state of his sister. Enjolras and Bahorel weren't thrilled with the idea of Gavroche seeing Éponine, but there wasn't much they could do about it. Besides, they didn't have time to stop and argue.
"Is this it?" Bahorel asked.
"Must be." Enjolras turned off his car and the two of them walked up the steps to the door of the filthy building. It was the last in a series of houses of poverty-ridden houses, this one looking particularly rundown.
Enjolras knocked. And knocked again. And again. Then Bahorel moved his friend to the side and banged his fist on the door.
Finally, a voice came from the other side. "What do you want?"
"We're looking for Montparnasse. Apparently he can hook us up," Bahorel said.
"Yeah? Who told you that?"
Enjolras and Bahorel exchanged a look, and Enjolras nodded. "Éponine," Bahorel answered.
There was a pause, and then the click of the door lock, which cued a quickened heartbeat from the two boys. The door had only opened a crack before they shoved their way in. Bahorel had the man's shirt in his fist before he could realize what was happening.
Enjolras recognized the man. It took him a second, but he identified him as the one who spoke to Éponine the night she cut her hand. He couldn't remember his name, but he knew this wasn't Montparnasse.
Enjolras grabbed the man's face in his hand and turned it towards him. "You gave it to her, didn't you? When you went to Musain?"
"It was Montparnasse's. I'm just the messenger," he choked out.
"Where is he?"
"Out. I d-dunno where, I swear."
"Fine. You're going to deliver a message for me. Tell Montparnasse that Éponine is part of the Les Amis now. When he so blatantly harasses one of us, it affects the rest of us. I'm trying to start a revolution, and he's getting in the way. Next time, it'll be the entire Les Amis on your doorstep, not just us. Do I need to repeat myself?"
"Don't make him repeat himself," Bahorel added, if only to get the chance to say something at all.
"I got it," Claquesous tried to nod, but found it difficult because of Enjolras's grip on his face.
"Good. Bahorel, let him go." Reluctantly, Bahorel did so.
Enjolras prided himself on self-control. He preached to the other Les Amis that any various desires should be kept in-check, that letting their feelings guide their lives was anything if not childish. But now, all he could think about was Éponine's bluish body convulsing on the mattress, and he felt one impulse he wasn't going to deny. He punched Claquesous square in the jaw. His knuckles instantly began to throb, but the cracking sound made when Enjolras's fist connected with the other man's face was worth it.
Enjolras adjusted his jacket and guided his friend out the door. When they were outside, Bahorel gave him a look.
"What?"
"I don't see why you got to do the talking and the punching," Bahorel complained, much like a child at a grocery store.
"You could have punched him," Enjolras said.
"I figured you'd get angry at me."
"Since when do you care if anyone is angry with you?" Enjolras opened his car door. "If anything, you deliberately make us angry with you."
Bahorel huffed and got into the car. "Whatever. Let's just get back."
Back in the apartment, the boys were all in the living room. Enjolras had been gone at least a couple of hours, a bit longer than they thought. Apparently, Éponine had woken up and kicked everyone out of her room (literally, in Courfeyrac's case). She did, however, allow—actually, request—Marius to stay.
Jehan was on the couch, Gavroche asleep on his lap, Courfeyrac and Feuilly on either side of them. Grantaire sat at their feet. Combeferre stood in the kitchen, a stoic expression on his face. In the corner, Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly were whispering.
When he noticed their return, Joly approached Bahorel and Enjolras. "How is she?" Enjolras and Bahorel asked at the same time.
"She's going to be fine," Joly said. "But the stuff I gave her will give her some pretty nasty symptoms. Like she's going through withdrawal."
"After one use?"
"Part of it will be psychosomatic," Joly said. Enjolras could have laughed; how ironic the statement was, coming from a hypochondriac.
"So…" Bahorel said, observing the room, "looks like we'll be camping out here for a while." He went over and made himself comfortable next to Feuilly.
Marius came suddenly from Éponine's room, swinging the door so haphazardly that it banged against the wall. He looked incredibly pale. Everyone who was on the couch stood, including the no-longer-sleeping Gavroche.
They all stood there, staring at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something. "She's conscious," he finally murmured, then brushed past them. "I just… have to go… do something really quick."
Everyone watched him leave, confused at why he would just run off like that if she was fine. "He's just overwhelmed," Combeferre said finally.
The rest of them sat around for what seemed like ages. Gavroche had fallen right back to sleep. Nobody was comfortable with how still the boy was lying; much like his sister, it didn't seem like that was really Gavroche curled up on the couch.
Finally, Courfeyrac said, "Somebody should go check on her."
"I actually value my life, but thanks," Grantaire said.
"Wouldn't it make sense for Joly to do it since he's the doctor?" Feuilly said.
"He's not a doctor, he's an intern," Musichetta said, almost a hiss. "And he's sleeping." Indeed, the intern was asleep, assuming a position not unlike Gavroche's on top of Musichetta's lap.
"This is the most useless argument I've ever watched," Bossuet said.
"Why don't you do it then?" Grantaire challenged.
Bossuet shut up at that.
Combeferre sighed loudly.
Enjolras rolled his eyes. "You are a bunch of children. Every rally we go to, we could be beaten or arrested. And now you're worried about an underweight girl who, until a few hours ago, wasn't even conscious?"
"Don't harangue us because you don't understand women," Grantaire said.
Enjolras would've been irritated by Grantaire's little jab had he not been so impressed that he actually knew what harangue meant. He made a move to the door.
"Enjolras, she's gonna kick your ass—" Grantaire began to warn.
"She really doesn't want—" started Courfeyrac.
Enjolras knocked on the door.
A/N: Hey Im back! Yay! If you got confused during this (sorry) this is basically me tying up all the loose ends that are mostly from Chapter 3.
Shout out to my dad for trying to educate me in heroin addiction (not that he reads this, but still). I really do try to be as accurate as possible.
Thanks so much for all the help with the progress of their relationship. Any fic involving Enjolras's relationships is going to be partly OOC, and I wanted to make sure that, although I have to change his character minorly, I was doing an okay job at it. I always value your opinions and I really appreciate you taking the time to help me. I love knowing what you guys are thinking so if you have a question or comment or tip please don't hesitate.
Oh, by the way... I already wrote the next chapter (completely) so I'm sending it to tumblr user winnif (she's super cool by the way) to be edited and I'm posting it tomorrow. My other go-to editor is tumblr user upwardlooking. I just dont give them enough credit for putting up with me.
Happy late Easter, if you celebrate it:)