-Chapter 10-

The baroque, iron-gate creaked as Èponine opened it, ready to enter the garden of the small flat in La Rue Plumet. It was night and the streets of Paris were mostly empty, Èponine had made sure that no one was following her.

The small garden was totally overgrown, but Èponine liked it somehow. A little bit of nature couldn't hurt in such a loud and noisy town. She looked up to the houses dark windows and remembered the first time she had stood in front of it. Over the stupid heartache months ago she had totally missed the building's beauty.

She nervously unlocked the door and entered the empty apartment. A small foyer let to a welcoming living room and a small kitchen. The other door would for sure belong to a guest bathroom. The flat was nicely done up and furnished mostly in white and pastel-blue. She let the keys fall on the commode next to the door and entered the living room, which contained a magnificent set of book shelves that took up one of the walls. The pastel-blue divans and sofas looked pretty comfortable and the rest of the room reminded her of an English tea-house.

Passing the book shelves, she let her finger glide over the backs of the books and she felt the little girl inside of her awakening, which had loved to read and get lost in fantasy worlds before her parents had sold all her books. Hesitating before entering the first bedroom, Èponine wondered how Cosette and Marius could leave the books behind, it had something sad and lonely to see them left alone with all the other things in this old house.

Alone, just like me, Èponine thought and entered the first bedroom. To her surprise she found a note lying on the pastel-pink covers of the grand canopy bed. She picked it up and started to decipher the quirky handwriting:

My dear Èponine,

I already had the feeling that you wouldn't show up here until it was evening. Marius told me once that you don't like it to be trapped in a house longer than necessary. So I decided to leave you a note just so you can orient yourself.

I left you some money on the kitchen-counter, you can use it to buy food and other things you need. I know that you are frowning while reading this and I'm telling you: Marius' and my fortune is big enough to cover your needs for this winter! So don't you dare feel guilty or bothersome, we do this because we care about you!

Maybe you have noticed that I left many things behind after moving in with Marius. You can use everything you need and in the wardrobe are all my old dresses. Marius bought me so many new dresses that I didn't feel the need to take them with me. Feel free to wear them, they are yours now! In the bathroom you will find soaps, lotions and other stuff.

I told the others about your incident today and they are very concerned about you, but they promised me (against their will) that they wouldn't bother you until you think it's safe for you to return. But they made me swear that I'll stay in contact with you and that you won't break all ties!

If you need help or just someone to talk, contact or visit me! I think if you are dressed like a proper Mademoiselle, the National Guard wouldn't recognise you.

Have a good first night! There is no one who I'd rather entrust with my former house than you, dear 'Ponine!

Yours

Cosette

Èponine smiled down on the letter. Who would have thought that she and Cosette would one day be so close? Five months ago Èponine would have rather risked her life on the streets than lived in Marius fiancée's former house! What a silly girl she had been only five months ago.

Turning around to face the wardrobe, an excited glaze flashed up in her eyes. How long had it been, that she wore nice, clean and proper dresses? Her parents had lost their fortune when she was six, so she had lived fifteen years either on the streets or in old and wrecked inns or studio apartments.

Fifteen years of pure fighting for survival. Èponine opened the wardrobe and observed the dresses in awe. About twenty-five dresses, simple but proper and some of them even exclusive. The dresses proved to Èponine that Cosette had furnished the whole flat, because the dresses were also mostly pastel-coloured. Pastel-blue, pastel-pink and pastel-green were probably her favourite colours. Some other dresses were dark-red, night-blue and mint-green, but it was clear that Cosette liked light colours.

The fabrics were soft and clean and Èponine was almost afraid that her hands would leave dirt of the streets on them. She had to withstand the desire to take one of the dresses out and try it on.

The flat was a dream- no -something Èponine had never even allowed herself to dream of!

. . . .

It was already past midnight when she left the bathroom. After observing the dresses, she had decided to take a bath. Gazing at her reflection in the grand bathroom mirror, she didn't know if she was crying out of happiness or sorrow.

She was wearing a white, tea-length nightgown. If she wouldn't have been so skinny, the nightgown would have been body-hugging apart from the long, loose sleeves. Her skin was no more covered with dirt and her hair was combed and fell loosely over her shoulders and spine.

In a way Èponine actually found herself pretty, even beautiful. But she still couldn't deny that her past had left marks on her. Her skin was tanned and pale at once. Improperly tanned by the sun of the past summer and improperly pale from the lack of food and sleep. Yes, she was slim and had a good figure, but she still didn't look healthy. And last but not least: Years of abuse of cause didn't leave her unscarred. Healed scars on her neck and one on her left cheek. Then there were of cause the scars of the June Rebellion, the one on her hand, where the bullet had shot through. The remaining scar of the bullet-wound, which had shot through her chest, was luckily covered under the nightgown with the half-healed stab-wound of her encounter with the National Guard some weeks ago and all the other lacerations on her stomach, which her father was responsible for. And now blue bruises were forming around her wrists where the officer had held her in his iron grip this afternoon.

And of cause the scars on her forearms were still there. The self-inflicted gashes that wouldn't heal until her heart healed from all the pain she had endured.

Èponine knew: she was a pretty woman. But she could have been so much more… She could have become a young, educated and cultured woman. But now not even pretty clothes could make a proper woman out of her.

She was not a bourgeois, young woman. She was a waif and nothing more... Realisation caught up with her and Èponine was once again crying over what had become of her.

She tried to stop the tears but they were flowing inexorably down her cheeks, in the end leaving her sitting on a kitchen-chair with a kitchen knife in her right hand. Èponine didn't know how she had made her way from the bathroom to the kitchen, her mind was busy fighting her soul, which told her to find release in the cuts on her arm.

As the cold blade touched her shaking forearm, she hesitated and a memory appeared before her inner eye. She saw Enjolras' bleeding hand holding hers and his other hand brushing over the cuts on her forearm and a warm feeling spread in her chest followed by a strangling feeling of guilt.

She told him that she would stop, that she would be fine. It was so much harder to hurt herself, knowing that there were people who cared. Ever since their first argument some weeks ago after his speech, everything had changed. He suddenly saw her or better, he actually noticed her.

With a frustrated sigh she let the knife fall on the kitchen table. No, he would notice… If she didn't stop, he would notice and ask her about it. He would be worried and try to talk to her about it. Èponine could already see his grey-blue eyes in the mind's eye, filled with concern.

But on the other hand he hadn't talked to her again about that night. He had completely avoided her over the past days. Normally she was a confident, young woman, but she hadn't dared to ask him about that night. She was scared that he would tell her, that she should just forget the kiss and his words, that he thought it a mistake and that he had avoided her because he was embarrassed. That it had just been an irrational reaction and that she shouldn't tell anyone, because he didn't want anyone to know.

The last thought hurt Èponine the most, because Enjolras himself had told her during their first argument that the chance of a proper student, in that case Marius, wanting to be together with her was small. Wasn't it controversial that he now told her that he cared for her? A few weeks ago Èponine didn't even know that Enjolras even had the ability to care.

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by a silent noise that came from the foyer. A shiver ran down her spine and she cursed herself for not lightening the oil lamps in the kitchen and in the foyer.

The noise sounded like footsteps approaching and Èponine silently stood up. Her hand found the knife again and she didn't dare to breath.

Cosette would never visit her past midnight and the Amis had promised to stay away from her. No one had reason to be here.

Panic overwhelmed her! A bourgeois house in a good area was always popular with street gangs, especially when not inhabited. Or better: Not inhabited until this evening!

Whoever this was, he wasn't very quiet and he was alone. She heard how the person passed the door of the kitchen without entering, but the dark was hiding details about his appearance. It was for sure a man, but everything else remained as dark as the rest of the flat.

Her hand clenched around the knife's grip and she started moving slowly. Blood of a stranger on the floor of Cosette's beautiful house wasn't nice, but it was way better than her own blood, so she approached the person silently from behind.

The next things happened so quickly that Èponine had no time to react. She attacked the man from behind and tried to put the knife against the man's throat, the sound of her sudden movement made the man jump and turn around before the knife even touched his skin and Èponine felt a fist hitting her stomach. She stumbled backwards and hit the ground.

The next thing she felt was the man's weight on her body, holding her down so that she couldn't flee. A painful grip tightened around her wrist, pressing against the already hurting bruises from the past afternoon, trying to force her to let the knife fall. She yelped out in pain and suddenly the man stopped yet still didn't let go of her wrist.

"Ponine?! Is that you?" the man asked in shock and the second Èponine heard his voice, she knew that it was no one else but Enjolras.

"Yes, for God sake! Who else did you expect?!" she hissed and breathed heavily.

"I don't know! I didn't expect a girl in a nightgown attacking me with a kitchen knife! What is this all about?" he asked and she wasn't sure if he sounded rather angry or amused!

"Oh, yes! Of cause," she laughed ironically "You burglarise Cosette's flat, knowing that I live here although you promised to not contact me! And after that you nearly knock me out?! Are you sure that you're in the position to ask me what all this is about?!"

"Wow, wait! First of all: I didn't burglarise this flat, you left the door unlocked! Secondly: I came here this evening around eight o' clock and you weren't here, that's why I came here to make sure that you were here and not somewhere on the streets. And thirdly: You were the one, who attacked me, so my instincts kicked in! Are you alright?" his last question was signed by true concern and Èponine felt a heat spreading in her stomach.

"I've had worse!" she answered and avoided his hand as he tried to help her up. Throwing the knife on the next best commode, she started lightening the oil-lamps in the living room. He followed her without hesitating and Èponine felt his gaze upon her while she moved through the room.

"Your wrists… Did I just-" he didn't finish the sentence, but Èponine knew what he adumbrated. Following his gaze, she looked down on her wrists, which still carried the blue and hurting souvenirs of her encounter with the inspector and his painful grip.

"No, no… The inspector today condescended to leave them as souvenirs" she said and Enjolras eyes directly flashed up in relief and anger at once. Relief, because he could have never forgiven himself, if he had hurt her. Anger, because someone else had dared to hurt her! He couldn't tear his gaze away from her.

She was wearing a tea-length nightgown and looked truly angelic. Her skin was clean and her hair framed her face with dark curls that perfectly fit to her dark-brown eyes, which observed him sceptically. They looked glassy and her slightly tear-stained face told him that she had cried not long ago. He was about to ask her, but she let out a loathly groan.

"Enjolras, don't tell me that I actually look presentable the first time in about fifteen years and the only thing you notice is that I cried?" she sighed and almost sounded like a pouty little girl.

"So you did cry" was his reaction to her question and she rolled her eyes theatrically. Hiding a smile, he ran his fingers through his hair and watched her as she sat down on the pastel-blue divan and suddenly the reason for his visit came back to his mind.

"I now, we all promised to give you space until you are sure that no one is haunting you or using you to get to us, but this is my fault and I can't sit in my flat, knowing that your life is once again turned upside down" the moment he had promised Cosette that he would not visit her, he had known that this promise was made to be broken. The National Guard was specifically searching for him and a second time she had risked her own well-being to save him and the revolution.

"Why should this be your fault? I was unfocused and let myself be caught while pickpocketing people! My carelessness is hardly your fault!" Èponine said, shaking her head in disbelief. Or was it his fault? She had been thinking of him while she had been caught. Since when made a man such demands on her thoughts?

"This is the second time that someone threatens you to release information! I don't want you to risk your life for me or anyone else!" he heard that his voice had gotten louder again, but he didn't care. She had to stop playing with her life and he had sworn to himself that he would never again be responsible for one of his friends' deaths.

"Yes, says the one, who jumps off a bridge right into the Seine to save me! I don't think that you have any right to tell me what to do! This is just so typically you! You are of cause allowed to risk your life, but I am not! Tell me, why do you even care? Do you even care?" she sounded desperate now and all the questions, which had formed in her head over the past days, finally came to light. "I mean, you are supposed to hate me! What do you see, when you look at me? You see everything that you fight against, everything that you want to change…" her voice finally broke and she pulled her knees up to her chest as if she was trying to shield herself from whatever answer she would get.

Disbelief was practically written on Enjolras' face, because his mouth was slightly open and for the first time in his life he was at a loss for words.

"How can you even think that I don't care?! Two nights ago I… I-" his voice broke and he panted for air. She looked at him full of expectations, hoping that he would finally comment on their kiss, but no words came.

"You can't even put it in words. Is the memory of our shared kiss so chastening that you can't even talk about it?!" she spat and against her will tears started to cloud her view. Not wanting to cry in front of him, she gave him a last defiant look and after that focused on her hands, which were slightly shaking.

"Èponine, you know that that's not true! I don't know how to deal with this situation. That's new territory for me and all I know is that I don't regret this kiss, because it felt good. It felt right, whatever that means for us…"

Her heart skipped a beat as he said 'us' and it calmed her down to hear that he didn't regret their kiss. It would have besmirched the memory. An uncomfortable silence filled the room and Èponine felt the heat crawling up her cheeks, because Enjolras' gaze was still locked on her face.

"Maybe we should just wait and see how everything develops?" she said subdued and saw how relief signed Enjolras' face. Maybe he was a good orator when it came to political speeches, but defining relationships was neither his nor Èponine's territory. Both were just not used to talking about emotions.

Èponine smiled shy, trying to rerecord the silence and glanced at the set of bookshelves. "I still don't understand how Cosette and Marius could leave their books behind. There are so many great books…" she wondered and her distraction succeeded. Oh, she knew him all too well. Books would always catch his attention.

"I don't know if you noticed it, but Marius isn't really a friend of books and literature. The books here would hardly be of his interest." He answered and turned around to face the bookshelves. "I mean, Condorcet, Rousseau, Voltaire, Olympe de Gouges, Plato and Socrates, Ovid's ars amatoria," Enjolras laughed "Marius is truly a good friend, but he was never interested in such philosophical, historical and political books".

"If I were Cosette, I would have taken the books with me no matter what Marius said. I mean, they are her belongings!" Èponine said very determined and Enjolras chuckled at this comment.

"That's why Marius and you aren't destined to be a couple. He wouldn't survive it, because you're too determined to defend your view and he's too callow to handle such a stubborn woman. You would be his death, that's why he fell in love with Cosette: She's affable and easy to get along with." Èponine couldn't hide her laughter.

"Enjolras! That's cruel, she's a very nice girl!" she declared.

"I never said she wasn't. Far from it, she's very sociable. And her selection of books actually shows that she is also intelligent. But I think that there's a difference between being intelligent enough to understand books, and being intelligent enough to actually implement the things you read."

"Well, if you put it like this, I guess you're right…," Èponine admitted the thought made her smile "I would never let a guy make my decisions!".

"Yes, I thought so…" Enjolras answered before taking one of the books out of the book shelve and sitting down on the ground in front of the divan, leaning with his back against the soft fabric of the cushion. She had a good view on his blonde curls now and she had to resist the urge to run her hands through them just like when they had kissed.

He seemed to be completely calm, sitting in front of the divan on which she sat and Èponine wondered if he was just very good at hiding his feelings or if he was simply calm. She stretched out on the divan, trying to get a better view on the book he had chosen and looked over his shoulder.

"Sir Thomas More's Utopia… Good choice. Renaissance humanism is truly interesting" she said and Enjolras head snapped up and he turned his head to face her, looking startled.

"How do you know so much about history and literature?" he asked and Èponine had to hide a chuckle.

"Well, I guess hanging around with upper class students has a bearing on me," she smiled and rested her chin on his shoulder. For a second her lips accidentally brushed against his neck and she tensed.

He seemed to have realised her body's reaction to the physical contact and laughed teasingly "You're so nervous this evening 'Ponine, what's going on with you. Normally you're so tough."

"This is the first time since many years that I sleep in a proper building with proper clothes and everything. Of cause I'm a bit out of countenance!" she snapped.

"Oh, so my flat doesn't count as a proper building?" he asked smiling, wanting to lean his head against hers, but resisting the urge.

"Well, that doesn't count! Both times I slept at your flat I wasn't really conscious!" she pleaded and he put on a fake hurt expression.

"Yes, 'Ponine. Try to save your neck!" she slapped him on the head playfully at that comment and he burst out laughing.

That was when she realised that it was so easy to just talk and laugh with him. Never before had she seen such a relaxed side of him.

. . . .

After about an hour of talking Enjolras felt the light weight of Èponine's head turning into one of a sleeping person's head. She was sleeping on her side and the way she was coiled up reminded him of a cat. Only cats could sleep in odd-looking positions without feeling uncomfortable.

Since she was using his shoulder as a pillow, he didn't have the heart to move and leave her. The dark circles under her eyes told him that she usually didn't sleep very well and now he could also assume why.

Their conversation had let them to other, less amusing topics. She had told him how she escaped the barricades: Just like the Les Amis, the National Guard had mistaken her to be dead after taking the bullet for Marius. She had been unconscious, but the bullet blocking the wound had prevented her from bleeding out. They had taken her to the morgue with all the other corpses and she woke up surrounded by corpses in all stages of decomposition. Luckily a doctor, who wasn't ill-disposed towards revolution had found her and helped her out to provide her. The same man's influence on the conduct of the morgue had also made it possible for the Les Amis to bury their fallen friends.

No, he wouldn't wake nor leave her. It felt too good to see her save and soundly sleeping…

. . . .

Wow, finally done! I'm truly sorry for the long wait, but I was somehow not able to upload chapters anymore. I didn't have access to my fanfiction account! Luckily fanfiction fixed it! Did anyone else have problems with fanfiction lately?

To Lapiz Lazuli Luna: Here as I promised! That's how she survived the June Rebellion, I hope it's not too creepy! (:

I wrote this chapter listening to Empty Chairs At Empty Tables sung by Fra Fee and I am still deeply moved by his voice! I have to say, it's my favourite version of the song!

I hope that I'll be able to upload soon!

Do you guys like it? Please tell me! (;