14

The days became monotonous.

They were all the same if she stayed inside. Cleaning, lounging around, conjuring things that she changed her mind about ten minutes later. One day, Courfeyrac turned up and had lunch with her and Gavroche, and that made a nice change, but that was only the once.

So Éponine took to wandering the streets during the day just as her brother did. Staying in the apartment all day and then all night was just too much, but spending the day outside and returning at night made the monotony just a little easier.

Some days she would meet up with Combeferre and they would go to the library. She discovered an author she became quite fond of who wrote romantic mystery novels and they kept her nights occupied. Combeferre was slowly working his way through the works of Clémence Lefèbvre.

"It's a shame Enjolras is being so introverted lately," Combeferre confided in her, "Because I think he'd find these books really interesting."

Éponine herself tried reading Clémence Lefèbvre's first volume but she didn't find it as interesting as her mystery novels.

There was one day when Combeferre was meeting up with Éléonore and Éponine decided to go to the library herself. She'd reached the end of her mystery novel series and wanted to try and find something new, and she had to return her book at the same time.

She'd thought she had become quite used to the unfamiliar streets here, but on this particular day she had to admit quite quickly she'd managed to get herself lost. She wasn't sure where she'd gone wrong, whether she'd made a wrong turn at some point or just missed one.

She set about trying to right her mistake and get back onto a track she recognised, but it was not so easy.

"How have you managed to do this, Éponine?" she said out loud to herself, hugging her book to her chest. "Idiot…Stupid, so stupid…"

"Do you need some help, mademoiselle?"

She stopped and turned to face the man who had spoken. She'd spotted him as she'd turned up the street but she'd paid him no heed. He was tall and very thin, wearing black clothes that hung off his near skeletal frame. He was wearing a green cap and she saw his face and knew him instantly.

His name was Douvillier. She had been fourteen when she had last seen him. He had borrowed money off her father, which made him an idiot as far as she was concerned, and he hadn't been able to pay him back. He'd been punished for that, oh yes; her father had Montparnasse slash Douvillier's face twice in the shape of a cross. She'd been witness to that but she'd run off before the aftermath which she'd assumed was a beating.

She hadn't seen him around much afterwards, but when she had she'd seen the gashes on his face heal but leave a permanent scar, a constant reminder of the time he crossed her father. He'd died of some illness, she'd heard later. Her father had been bitter about his death because he'd never got all of his money back.

"If it isn't Thenardier's oldest brat," Douvillier said, his mouth stretching into a grimace of a smile. "What brings you here?" His eyes drifted to her destroyed hand. "Always wondered if I'd see one of you Thenardiers here. I'd hoped it'd be your father."

Éponine took a step backwards. "You know him," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "Slicker than grease, is my father. He'll outlive the best of them."

"He ruined my life," Douvillier hissed, pushing off the wall. "He ruined my life!"

"You shouldn't have borrowed money off him," Éponine snapped. "Only a fool borrowed money off him, everyone knew that!"

"I lost everything," Douvillier snarled, walking towards her. Éponine had never been one to run away so instead of moving she let him draw level with her, get in her face. "I lost everything because of your father and that gang of his!"

"It has nothing to do with me, monsieur," Éponine said, her voice snapping. "Do you understand? I have nothing to do with what my father did to you. So, if you don't mind –"

She turned to try and walk away but Douvillier's hand reached up and grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm.

"You can make it up to me," he said suggestively, looming over her.

Éponine was not an idiot. She'd had suggestions given to her like this before when she was alive. She knew what he meant.

But she was not alive, and she was not living the life of Éponine Thenardier anymore. Here, she was simply Éponine, Éponine who had her own apartment to call home and a brother to look after, Éponine who was actually respectable and didn't occupy her time stealing things but reading books.

"Take your hand off me, monsieur," she said, her eyes flickering from his hand to Douvillier's face. "I am not making up for the actions of my father."

His hand tightened, twisted her arm further. It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable and put the rest of her body in an awkward position.

"Come on, Éponine," Douvillier whispered. His eyes trailed over her body. "You were a child when I last saw you…" His tongue flicked out, wet his lips. "You're not a child anymore…"

Éponine looked up at him with unimpressed eyes.

"You're still scum, though, Douvillier," she said.

He raised his other hand. She knew he probably intended to smack her across the face, but she was one step ahead of him. In her other hand she still held quite a heavy, hardback book, and she hit him in the temple with one of its sharp corners.

It was enough to shock him and send him stumbling away, his cap falling off. He released her, and she picked up her skirts and hurried off down the street.

She barely realised that she was running until she heard someone shouting her name. That was when she noticed her feet were going too fast.

"Éponine! Mademoiselle!"

She almost began to run faster until she realised that it was not Douvillier who was shouting her but somebody else.

She stopped, turning her body towards the wall of the nearest building and leaning her back against it.

Enjolras was walking towards her, a perplexed expression on his face. "Is everything all right, mademoiselle?" he said.

"I'll be fine in a moment, monsieur," she replied, watching over his shoulder for Douvillier. "I ran into an old acquaintance of my father's. He wasn't very happy."

She tried to meet Enjolras' eyes, then, but as usual he was looking at some spot just above her head. She felt like kicking him in the shins.

"Did he hurt you?" Enjolras asked.

"Of course not," Éponine said, shaking her head. "I think he intended me to sleep with him but…" She gestured with the book in her hand. "I hit him with this and he let go of me."

"You should be more careful, mademoiselle," he said, voice seeming to verge on an exasperated sigh.

"I got lost," Éponine snapped. "I thought he was offering me directions. It's just unfortunate that we happened to have already met and he hated my father."

"Don't you usually walk with Combeferre?"

Éponine rolled her eyes. "Yes, but he's with Éléonore."

"Where were you heading? I can walk you there," Enjolras suggested. "In case that man – whoever he is – shows his face."

"You really don't need to," Éponine said, smoothing down her skirts. "Yes, Combeferre normally walks with me, but I have also walked plenty of times alone and have never run into trouble. This place is a haven compared to Paris, anyway."

Enjolras didn't move. He tucked his hands into the pocket of his trousers, and lowered his eyes to hers. But it was only for the briefest of seconds, and then his eyes were off looking down the street.

"Still, mademoiselle," he said. "Let me walk you to wherever you're going."

She was about to say no again when she thought she saw Douvillier emerge from the street opposite. It wasn't him – it was just another very thin man who happened to own a green hat – but it was enough to make her body start.

She ran a shaky hand over her hair. "All right."

A/N: Thanks for the reviews/alerts/favourites, I really appreciate it :)