40
Stepping into the blue light was like she was trying to squeeze herself through a gap that was far too small for her. It felt like her entire body was being squeezed. But then she was back in her apartment, breathing heavily, with Fantine by her side. She stumbled to the sofa and collapsed onto it, burying her face into her hands.
"Éponine," she heard Fantine saying. "Thank you. I really appreciate you for doing that for me."
Éponine spoke into her hands, not feeling quite ready to look the other woman in the eye. "You didn't give me a choice," she spat. "You forced me to go! I didn't want to!"
"Éponine, I had to," Fantine replied, her tone desperate. "Please, understand it – he could not be alone, not after all he has done for me. I wanted to be able to thank him –"
"And that couldn't have waited until he died?" Éponine lifted her head up, throat aching and eyes burning. "You had no right to drag me into this!"
"I had no choice," Fantine hissed. "Don't you see? Look at me!"
Éponine blinked at her. And she did look. And she saw, she saw what was bothering Fantine.
Fantine was changing. Her face, which had been narrow and gaunt before, the bones of her jaw and cheeks prominent and sharp, was beginning to fill out. The dark, bruise-like marks beneath her eyes were fading, until she no longer looked so tired. The flesh around her shoulders and neck, exposed by the low cut of her dress, was clearly becoming a little more plump, her collarbones becoming less obvious.
Fantine's mouth was twisted, and there was pain in her eyes. "I'm…It's done," she said. "I don't think…I don't think I'm going to be here for much longer –"
Éponine pushed herself to the edge of the sofa, gripping the edges of the cushions so tightly her knuckles went white. "What are you talking about?"
"I needed to thank him," Fantine said. "He raised my child and I needed…" Her eyes closed, and then she was gripping at her hair. Éponine's eyes widened. Her hair, which had been short tufts up until now, was growing and it was growing fast, the golden waves tumbling past her shoulders, shining brightly in the light of the candles. She was beautiful, Éponine thought.
Fantine ran her hands through her hair in an absent way, as if she had forgotten she was not alone.
"I needed to thank him," she murmured. "Because I was told – I was told I would not stay here past his death."
Éponine rose to her feet and cautiously stepped towards Fantine. The woman was so preoccupied with winding her fair curls around her fingers that she hadn't noticed her shawl slipping to the ground, pooling at her feet.
"What's happening?" Éponine asked, trying desperately to keep her voice level.
"I'm moving on," Fantine whispered, her voice breathless. "I think that's what they call it…" She let her hands drop from her hair, the softly waving strands falling over her chest. "I've never…I've never seen it happen before. Only seen friends go."
She looked at Éponine with wide, damp, sparkling eyes. "Look after Inès," she said. "Promise me you will look after Inès. She needs to be looked after."
"I can't –" Éponine began, but Fantine shook her head, stepping forwards.
"Promise me," she said. "I don't – her family will not make her happy, Éponine, but she likes you. If anyone can help Inès find happiness, it is you!"
Éponine shook her head, and suddenly Fantine's hands were biting into her shoulders. Fantine shook her. "Promise me!"
"I promise," Éponine said, the words spilling over her lips before she could think of what she was saying.
Fantine closed her eyes and stepped backwards. She reached up and touched her face, poking at her newly fleshed out cheeks in a surprised way. Éponine could see the outline of Fantine's tongue running over her teeth.
"I always thought I would get to meet Cosette once more," Fantine whispered. "But I know I won't. She was beautiful. I won't get to tell her I love her."
Éponine's throat was more than aching now. It was sore. She wanted to cry, and she wasn't really sure why.
"I can't ask you to do that for me," Fantine said. "That's asking too much, I think."
There was an odd, dreamy expression on Fantine's face now, but as quickly as it appeared it faded away, and she became very stricken all of a sudden. She tried stepping towards Éponine once more, but she stumbled. "You must help him," she said.
"What?" Éponine moved towards her in an attempt to help the woman right herself, but there was nothing to touch. Her hand went through Fantine's arm as if she was running her hand through smoke. "Help who?"
"Valjean," Fantine said. "He deserves it. Oh, they all deserve it!" Fantine stood up straight. "I want to help you," she said. "I want to do all of this myself. I'm asking so much of you, little Éponine, and it's not fair of me. I just – I don't want to go!"
It started with Fantine's feet, her boots slowly disintegrating and curling outwards like smoke, and then her whole body was rippling and twisting and fading.
Éponine stared at her. Their eyes met for one last time, the darkest brown on the lightest blue. Éponine could see everything in Fantine's eyes – her panic, her sadness, her regret, her happiness, her reluctance. She felt it, too, but then Fantine's head seemed to explode – no, explode was too much, it was too violent, too aggressive – her head just…It went away, leaving behind wisps of yellow and gold and blue and a rosy, pinkish white.
It took Éponine a few minutes for it to truly sink in that she was alone and Fantine was gone, the only reminder that she had ever been there the shawl lying in a heap on the floor.
Éponine's knees gave way and she was crouched on the floor, picking up the soft cotton in her hands, winding it around her fists and wrists and she was crying, sobs torn from the very depths of her body. She had a horrible feeling she might be wailing like a baby, and she couldn't tell what was wrong – it was just too much, all of it was too much, everything was too much.
The door to the apartment banged open and Gavroche burst in. He was not alone. Combeferre ran in behind him, closely followed by Enjolras. Combeferre reached her first, his long legs eating up the space between them, and he was knelt beside her, his arm around her shoulders.
All she could do was hold the shawl out to him. "She left this," she whispered, the tears on her face hot and cold all at once. She looked around at the men stood over her – Combeferre was frowning, Enjolras' face was expressionless, and Gavroche looked like he was panicking – and Courfeyrac was just slipping through the door, concern written all over his face.
Combeferre took the shawl, gently unwinding it from Éponine's hands. "What happened, Éponine?" he murmured.
Éponine bowed her head. "She didn't want to go," was all she could whisper.