A/N: This is a pretty short chapter, but that's the least of my worries with this one.

The next two weeks were anything but easy. Éponine's morning sickness worsened greatly and she wondered why it's title referred to a specific time of day when really the sudden nausea hit at all times. Enjolras was trying desperately to be supportive –he had begun reading a large pile of books about child rearing-, but he still had his dark moments where his body would stiffen and he became a different version of himself; one that no one, including him, was fond of. As more of his memory slowly came back to him, his night terrors of the rebellion also appeared to worsen. At least once every night, he would wake the entire household with his horrified screams. Éponine would always be the one to wake him from the nightmare and comfort him until he calmed down enough to fall back asleep. She could tell Enjolras didn't like feeling burdensome and at first he tried to protest and assure her that she didn't need to worry about him, but he quickly realized that Éponine would never stop coming to his aid. And he honestly did not want her to. On nights when he was feeling particularly scattered and she sat with him, her petite hand in his, and he felt their bond, he invited her to sleep next to him in the bed they once shared every night. He tried to insist that in her condition she should take the bed and he could move to the couch, but she wasn't going for it. "I'm only barely pregnant, you are in much worse condition," she had told him one night after he attempted to pull his weak body from the mattress, groaning with each movement. She had lightly pushed him back down and said with a smile, "I'll reconsider your offer when I'm huge and waddling everywhere."

The rest of the amis had begun to drift in and out of the apartment more frequently, becoming more adjusted to their news post-barricade lives. Joly and Combeferre returned to school while Grantaire sold his art and Courfeyrac did, well, whatever it was he did to keep himself occupied. He confided in Éponine one night about his intentions.

"I want to create a school for street urchins," he murmured, lying on his side in the darkness after the others had fallen asleep. "Like a boarding school, I guess, y'know so they would have a place to live too and get an education as well."

"I think that's an incredible idea Courfeyrac," she told him earnestly. With Gavroche being his clear motivation for wanting to develop such a place, Éponine couldn't help but love the idea. She wondered if things might have ended differently for her dearly departed little brother had he been able to have a proper roof over his head and a reasonable education. He was a cunning and crafty kid, he no doubt could have handled it, and most certainly would have benefitted. This would mean a new beginning for so many street kids.

"I've been speaking with a couple of friends who went to school to be teachers," he continued. "It's difficult convincing them since I can't guarantee much of a paycheck, but I think they're coming around. I'm certain I could convince my parents to allow me to use their second home as the facility, they never use it much anyways."

Éponine tried to imagine, as she had spent so many nights on the streets doing before, what it would have been like to grow up with privilege. She barely had one home at a time throughout her childhood, let alone two grand houses. It seemed like a fantasy. The excess though was awfully wasteful, but at least Courfeyrac had intentions of putting his money and extra space to good use. It was such ideals as these that brought about the rebellion in the first place. Society was advancing, and though it was a dream Éponine would likely not live to see become a reality, the massive wealth disparity would decrease. Those barely hanging on to the bottom wrung of the ladder would eventually find steady footing and maybe even those who were so high up that the beggars looked like ants, would step down a wrung or two for the sake of the people as a whole. It was something worth fighting for.

A dull ache in Éponine's midsection caused her face to cloud over. Noticing her preoccupation, Courfeyrac whispered, "Is everything alright?"

"Just a stomach ache," she replied. She whispered a goodnight to Courfeyrac and rolled over on the couch, cuddling beneath her blanket. Admittedly she had felt slightly off all day, but she chalked it up to lack of sleep from Enjolras' late night shouting and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, quickly falling asleep.

Éponine was roused from her slumber by a cramping in her abdomen. Feeling clammy, she kicked the blankets off and felt something wet between her legs. She sat up and noticed the dark red blood pooling on the couch cushion underneath her. Immediately filled with dread, she screamed and without really thinking it through, the first name she called out was "Enjolras!"

Hearing her yell, Grantaire lifted his head to look at her, his eyelids heavy with sleep. When he noticed the panicked expression on her face, he immediately sat up. "What's wrong, Éponine?"

She bowed over in pain. "I'm bleeding," she grunted from between tightly clenched teeth.

"Joly!" he yelled, moving over to her and gasping at the amount of blood surrounding her.

The other men woke from their individual slumbers and Joly quickly rushed over to assess the situation as the others crowded around. After several moments of tense examination, Combeferre pulled Joly back slightly and whispered something in his ear that Éponine couldn't make out. Joly nodded morosely, looking down on her.

It was then that Enjolras burst through the bedroom door and rushed over in a limp to see what all the commotion was about. He sucked in a shocked breath at the sight of Éponine sitting in a pool of her own blood, tears streaming down her face and she folded in on herself. He knelt on the floor next to her and massaged her back as she let out pained whimpers, her arms wrapped protectively around her midsection. "What's going on?" he shouted. "Joly? Combeferre? Why is nobody doing anything?"

"There's nothing we can do," Joly sighed. "She was only nine weeks along, there's no way…" he trailed off, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"What do you mean I was nine weeks?" Éponine panted. She already knew the answer, but she had to hear him say it out loud in order for it to be real.

"I'm so sorry, but Éponine, you've lost the baby."

A/N: Ahhhh I feel like a terrible person! Especially after their little moment at the end of the last chapter, but it's all part of the plan, my dear readers. Please don't give up on this story! And PLEASE REVIEW!