Ch 2
Enjolras had agreed to change the arrangements of their meetings. He told her that whenever she came to a meeting, he would give her a sign that meant his desire to meet that night. And that sign was a simple one: his red coat. Today he wore it as he and the Amis planned and worked, their voices low and hushed, and while Éponine was curious, she kept to herself, her eyes shifting between Marius and Enjolras every so often.
That night in the brothel, in the room the Madame supplied her with—the cheapest furniture and bedding, there was even a broken chair in the corner that neither the Madame nor Éponine bothered to remove, in the room she paid for with her earnings, she waited. In the room that was barren, void of pleasant memories as any other room she inhabited, she never took clients. Why should she when they preferred the comfort of their own flats and sometimes even fucked her right there in the alley? She felt a sense of pride as she stood in her room, the only thing she could say she owned. She would not have it soiled. Maybe she should light some candles. What would Marius think of this room? What would Enjolras?
"Girl."
Éponine turned to see the stout Madame, her brown, graying hair pulled up into a bun, a few strands loose. Her flesh, that at one time in her life had been taught and smooth, sagged from her bones as if she was beginning to melt. The bodice of her cotton dress seemed to be the only thing keeping her together.
"That client of yours is waiting for you."
Éponine smiled lightly. He kept his word. "Thank you, Madame."
Éponine walked out of her room, down the hall and into the foyer. She expected to see him sitting in his typical spot by the fireplace, but the space was vacant. Her brows furrowed, and she glanced around, searching for him amongst the other men as ladies took them by the hand back to their rooms. But then she spotted him by the red of his overcoat standing by the entrance talking to a woman. Or rather, he was being talked at by a tall red headed woman. Éponine immediately recognized that beautiful auburn hair, her hourglass figure, her elegant dress hugging her frame perfectly. She was too lovely to paint her face, and Éponine was bland in comparison. Abella could steal him, Éponine thought, and her stomach twisted, her blood rushed and boiled.
And then Éponine saw the look on Enjolras' face, and she nearly burst into fits of laughter. Despite Abella's advances, her lovely smile and honeyed words, her tantalizing touches, staring up at him from underneath her long eyelashes in hopes of seducing him, Enjolras said nothing to her. Instead he stared at her with an utter lack of interest, and she saw in his eyes the exasperation threatening to crack his resolve.
"Abella," Éponine began, her hands at her hips. Abella turned and saw her, tilting her chin as she folded her arms across her chest. "You've bored him enough don't you think? I'm sure your mouth could be used for something more towards your skills."
Abella dropped her arms and shifted, her hands curled into fists at her sides. She glanced back at Enjolras and opened her mouth to speak, but he was already taking steps towards Éponine. Abella glared at her before striding off, the taffeta ruffles of her fiery magenta dress shuffling as she went. Éponine looked back at him, and he said nothing, impassive as always. He brushed passed her and headed to the chair by the fire. Following his lead, she sat across from him, leaning back in her chair.
"Did she have anything interesting to say? Or was it her breasts that kept your attention?" Her tone dripped with sarcasm and more annoyance than she'd prefer admit.
"She never had my attention, Éppie." Enjolras replied gruffly, and he did not look away from her.
She could feel her cheeks heating and glanced at her hands in her lap, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, hiding behind the strands of dark hair in her face. "What did you come to talk about?"
The fire sparked and spat, slowly eating away at the logs, its flames licking up and dancing, lighting their faces in orange flickers. It ate at the silence between them, and Éponine waited for him to speak. He glanced at her and then at the fire, his expression grim, and she wondered if this meeting place made him uncomfortable. Or maybe it wasn't so much the place as it was the occupation, her occupation. She would not allow herself to feel insecure about it. She needed this job. She would not allow herself to starve again.
She would not think on it, repressing the thoughts as she did before. Instead she waited on Enjolras and noticed the crease at his brow again. That crease was so often there. Why doesn't he just pay her for it? She mused. The crease would be gone for at least a few hours. He could relax. Maybe he would enjoy it. Maybe she would.
"Would you like something to drink?" She said.
He shook his head, and the silence lingered. His hair was disheveled, his tie loose. Stubble grew on his cheeks, chin, and up his jawline. Purple rings were under his eyes. Marius would never allow himself to look like that. But Marius and Enjolras were nothing alike. Marius did not have his worries, his stress. He was no leader, he did not need to carry such burdens. But where Enjolras was cold, Marius was warm, he was kind, he held love above all else, even his country. Maybe soon he will realize that she loved as he did and loves fiercer than Cosette ever could. Maybe soon he will see her as someone more than a gamine, and she will have her chance.
Enjolras' eyes shifted from the fire to her, but still he said nothing as he stared at her. Frustration was in his features, and the look he gave her brought no warmth. How could someone who loves his country and its people, someone willing to through his life away to ease the suffering of others be so cold, so unfeeling?
"Do you have something to say?" She said.
He blinked and looked away at nothing in particular, shifting his eyes away from her. His face changed again as if her voice called the source of his agitation. He looked at her again, his eyes gentle, lips parted.
"I am afraid."
Her eyes widened momentarily. He was a man of surprises, she gave him that much. "Afraid of what?"
"Failure."
A chill shivered through her. "Failure?" She repeated.
His eyes deep and blue returned to hers, and she hated the look he wore. There was fear beneath his hardened mask. And there was something akin to melancholy too.
"What if I am leading my friends to slaughter? Of all their faith and mine, I cannot shed the feeling." His voice was low, was grave, "What if we fail?"
Éponine's heartbeat slowed, her stomach bunching, her tongue fumbling behind her teeth.
"The day is coming closer," he said. "I do not doubt the citizens. I will never give up on them, but what if it is not enough?"
He is afraid. He was telling her his fears, and she had to offer some counsel. But what could she say? He was a man of marble stone, and she was witnessing his cracks for the first time. She sat and stared her hands, the fire, the table, until her eyes turned blank as she tried to collect her thoughts.
"I shouldn't have come to you," Enjolras stood from his chair, his cross expression returned.
He turned to leave, and Éponine jumped to her feet to pursue him. "Enjolras wait—"
"Spare me, Éponine." He walked out of the brothel.
Éponine stood perplexed in the center of the foyer, stewing from the sting of his rejection. Perhaps she should go to him, follow him and talk to him, attempt to bring him some sort of counsel, comfort. But why should she? He left the brothel, embarrassing her in front of her coworkers. He abandoned her. He left of his own accord and did not want her company. She sighed and raked her fingers through her hair before turning back to sit at table they shared. He hadn't always been so course, so angry, so reserved. But could the stress be his only reason for reticence? She glanced about the room, a few of the other ladies, Abella included, smiled at Éponine. He left me, she thought, but he'd never favor any of you. Then she noticed the money he had left behind. She took it. He paid her in full.
Éponine could not shake the empty feeling that followed her, haunted her from the night before. Her insides twisted in discomfort at the thought of seeing Enjolras as she approached the café. Marius will be there, she told herself, and in any instance that would have been enough to reassure her. Not this time.
When she entered she looked about warily. Gavroche smiled in greeting as he passed by her and existed the café. One of them must have sent him on an errand. Courfeyrac and Joly offered pleasant "hellos" and "how are yous" to which she replied with a small smile, enough to suffice. They welcomed her in, and immediately and much to her displeasure her eyes were drawn to Enjolras. His expression was of indifference as he stared at her before returning to his work. His red coat was missing. Disappointment replaced all other feelings she held in that moment. He will not see her tonight. She will have to take up customers again. She won't see him waiting for her by the fire, will not listen to his voice as he opened up to secrets he shared with no one else. Tonight she will not feel that small sense of pride he invoked. Tonight she is not special.
She blinked the hurt from her eyes, hoping he did not notice, and looked away from him, glancing over faces until she found Marius who was in the corner at a table speaking with Jehan. She could feel Enjolras' eyes following her as she walked across the room to Marius.
"M'sieur Marius," she smiled.
"Ah, Éponine!" He said grinning, "Jehan has helped me find the perfect words to express my love for Cosette."
Her smile faded, "Oh?"
"It was no trouble," remarked the poet. "But I do think we should return to the task at hand." He was referring to the map of Paris laid out on the table before them.
"Yes, yes," Marius replied genially as he stood from his seat, "Momentarily, my friend." He looked back at Éponine who held her breath, forcing a smile, already knowing what Marius had to say.
"Would you be so kind," he said, "as to take this letter to Cosette for me?" He handed her the letter along with a few sous as payment.
She nodded, her heart aching, the letter like stone in her hands, and he thanked her before returning to sit and discuss with Jehan. Éponine stared at the letter and money in her hand. Turning, she glanced at Enjolras and flushed. He was staring at her. Had he been watching the whole time? But there was something in his gaze, something she had no seen before, she could not recognize, and it made her uneasy.
No matter, she thought, pocketing the letter and the coin. She strode across the room, her eyes downcast, and left the Musain. She walked a few feet before stalling and looking back at the café. Maybe Marius would come for her? Or if she returned Enjolras would be wearing his coat? Her jaw tightened, fighting the hurt that was brewing, succumbing to her rage, and her hand curled tight about the letter in her pocket. She gritted her teeth, chiding herself for her sudden dependency and walked the streets.
As she went, she saw Gavroche walking towards her, his eyes down at the ground while kicking a stone. He trailed behind it and kicked again, a small smile on his lips. He paid Éponine no heed, he hadn't looked up from his stone, and sang. It was a song she had never heard, something ominous even as it came from the mouth of a child. She slowed her walk and listened and watched him as he passed her by.
"The spring is sweeter, under the earth
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
The steel has dulled, and the iv'ry's cracked
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
The fire is ice, and the rain falls up
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
The sun is falling, the flowers rot
The shadows come to dance, my king
The shadows come to play
The shadows come to dance, my friends
The shadows come to stay"
A/N: The song is not mine. I changed the lyrics to fit my story, but I still cannot take credit for it. It is from GRR Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire.