60

Éponine hadn't even realised there were tears in her eyes until she felt one slip down her cheek. Suddenly angry, she dashed one away with the side of her hand.

"Éponine?" Courfeyrac's voice was gentle in its concern. "Oh – please don't cry – look, we can – I can go after him if you want –"

"No," she said, her voice wobbling dangerously. "I don't want that. I just –" Why did everyone have to be unhappy? It seemed that no one was happy here, not really.

"Then please, stop crying," Courfeyrac said. His arm wrapped around her shoulder. "I don't like to see you cry."

"I'm not crying," she said, swiping away yet another tear from the other eye. She blinked hard. "I'm just...I'm just a bit overwhelmed, Courfeyrac. I'll be fine."

He looked down at her in a way that suggested that he did not believe her. "Maybe you should send everyone home," he said, with a frown.

"Absolutely not, I didn't organise this party for nothing," Éponine said. She let out a long and shaky breath, and touched her fingertips to her temples. "I'll be fine, as I said. It's just...I can't help but worry."

"Maybe you should worry less," Courfeyrac suggested. "As I said, you can't fix everyone, not with the best will in the world."

"But I can try," Éponine said, a touch fiercely. "I just need to know what's going on."

"Some things are best left alone," Courfeyrac said. "Éponine, this is a private matter, and you barely know Joly. What makes you think –?"

"But I can try," Éponine repeated, cutting him off.

Courfeyrac stared at her, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. Eventually, he said, "Yes, I suppose you can."

She relaxed a little. "Thank you," she muttered, not really sure what she was thanking him for.

"But not tonight," Courfeyrac said. "You didn't throw this party to run after Joly, did you?"

"No." Éponine covered his hand where it rested on her upper arm. "I did not. Besides, he probably wants some time alone right now."

Relief flooded into Courfeyrac's eyes. "At last!" he said. "You talk some sense –"

"Oh, shush," Éponine said, gently pushing her elbow into his side. He jerked away from her, laughing, but his laughter came to an abrupt halt when someone cleared their throat behind them.

It was Enjolras, his face severe and one eyebrow raised.

Courfeyrac's face soured as his laughter died in his throat, and he quickly removed his arm from Éponine entirely. Éponine sighed.

"What is it, Enjolras?" she asked, keeping her tone calm.

"I came to see where you had all gone," Enjolras said, now looking at her instead of Courfeyrac. His eyes had softened. "And to make sure that everything is all right."

"Well, as you can see, it is all right," Courfeyrac said, "So you can go –"

"Courfeyrac!" Éponine scolded. "Just stop it, both of you. I don't want this to descend into an argument."

"It's not going to descend into an argument," Enjolras said. "I'm going to leave. Thank you for inviting me."

Éponine bit back a groan. "You are ridiculous," she said. Beside her, Courfeyrac nodded in agreement, until she shot him a scowl.

"I am not ridiculous," Enjolras objected.

"Yes, you are, and you're behaving like a child." Éponine threw her hands up in the air. "Courfeyrac and I were not doing anything wrong, Enjolras, and there is also no need for you to leave. Thank you for coming to make sure that we're all right, and now, we're going to go back inside, to the party, and you are going to have a nice time, and we are not going to discuss this any further this evening."

The two men stared at her, and Enjolras' mouth opened as if he was going to argue with her. But he didn't.

Éponine shot them both a warning look before striding past them and ascending the stairs to her apartment once more.

She was not surprised to find that Bossuet was hovering near the door as she came in. When he saw her, he passed a hand over his bald head and pursed his lips. "Is Joly all right?" he asked.

"He's gone home," Éponine said. She decided not to mention the Portal she had seen him looking in.

Bossuet's face almost seemed to collapse a little. All of a sudden, Bérénice was there, her hand on his elbow. "Shh," she said, drawing Bossuet close to her.

Éponine felt awkwardness twist in her stomach and she slipped away from them both before she felt like she was intruding too much.

The general impression she got from the remaining people at the party was that they were trying to pretend that nothing had happened. Combeferre, Éléonore and Prouvaire were talking to each other, whilst Bahorel, Feuilly and Gavroche were trying to coax Hyacinthe into attacking a ribbon.

She found her cup was not on the table where she had left it. She looked around, wondering if somebody had moved it, and her eyes fell on Grantaire, who now sat on the sofa. A cup was in his hand, and he tipped it at her. "I hope you don't mind," he said, "But I took the liberty of helping myself to your drink."

"I do mind," she said. "But does it matter?"

"Not particularly, no." He patted the empty seat beside him, and she sat down, perching on the edge. He looked past her, towards the door. "Where are Enjolras and Courfeyrac? You didn't dare leave them alone?" He clasped a hand over his heart. "They will tear one another to pieces."

"They are grown men," she said. "And they cannot carry on with this...Whatever it is."

"Hmm." Grantaire took a sip from his stolen glass and smacked his lips together in an obnoxious manner. "You know, I still remember you as Marius' little shadow...A dirty slip of a girl, fawning desperately..."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I suppose it is something you are trying to forget," he said.

"Not forget," she said. "Put behind me might be a more accurate term."

"You have changed," he said.

"Well, yes," she said, beginning to feel a bit annoyed. She hadn't drunk nearly enough Bliss to take Grantaire in good humour. "I'm in a better position to clean myself these days, so I am not so dirty anymore."

"There's that," he said, and let out a bark of a laugh. "But the fawning desperately..."

"Oh, please, drink up the rest of that Bliss," she said, her tone disgusted around the edges. "It might put you in a better mood, and would lighten this conversation –"

"I'm just teasing."

"It's not very funny teasing," Éponine said sharply.

"I was joking. I apologise – you do not fawn anymore." His eyes narrowed slightly. "It is more like others fawn over you. It must be nice, to have such a change of events."

"No one is fawning."

"Of course they are," he said, and took a big gulp of Bliss. "Everyone has noticed it, as I'm sure you know. The question is..." His gaze turned speculative. "Why?"

"Why," she said. "Well, that is an interesting question. If you ever find out the answer, please let me know."

"Oh, I'll be sure to." He drained the cup in his hand. "Would you like me to get you a drink? To replace the one I stole?"

"Please," she said. Grantaire rose from his seat and ambled away. When he returned, he was carrying two cups of Bliss and some food balanced precariously on his arms.

"I was feeling hungry," he said, by way of explanation.

"We don't feel hunger here," she pointed out.

"A craving, then," he said, letting the food – some buns – drop onto the sofa cushions as he handed her one of the cups. He moved the buns out of the way with his newly freed hand, and then rested them on his lap. He took a big bite out of one of them and then held out the other to her.

"No thank you," she said.

"Well, if you're sure." He shrugged. "So, when do you think Enjolras and Courfeyrac will return?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Maybe they're actually talking," he suggested.

"I hope so." She wrapped her hands around her cup, held her palm over the top.

"It's just so..." He gestured with the half-eaten bun in his hand. "Curious. Isn't it? Wouldn't you say?"

"What exactly is it that you find so interesting about this subject?" Éponine asked.

"I think it would be stranger if I didn't find it interesting," he said, then resumed chewing. He swallowed, and washed down the mouthful with some Bliss. "I can't recall Enjolras ever being enamoured with a person before. Well, that's not strictly true. Has anyone mentioned his infatuation with Courfeyrac?"

Éponine nodded her head. Behind Grantaire, Éponine saw the door to Inès' bedroom open, and Inès slipped out. Inès' eyes looked red and slightly damp, and Éponine frowned, and then tracked her movement as she slipped past the conversing trio of Éléonore, Prouvaire and Combeferre and began to pour herself a glass of Bliss.

"But no one really speaks of that," Grantaire continued.

"No, I know," Éponine murmured, watching now as Inès downed the entire glass she had just poured. "If you'll excuse me..."

Grantaire waved a hand, and she handed him her glass of Bliss. "You have it," she said. "I'm not really in the mood."

"Actually drinking it would change that," he murmured, but put down his buns to accept the glass from her.

She joined Inès by the table of food. "What's the matter?" Éponine asked.

"Nothing," Inès said, tone surly. She was in the process of pulling apart an éclair, cream all over her fingers. She lifted them to her mouth and licked some off her thumb, then wrinkled her nose.

"That's a lie," Éponine said, keeping her voice low and soft. There were still tears clinging to Inès' dark eyelashes.

"I just..." She flapped a hand. "It is nothing. Don't worry."

Éponine pursed her lips. "Is this about your...Your man?"

Inès glared at her. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course it is," Éponine said, more to herself than to Inès. "How stupid of me – I knew it was one of them, of course..."

"I just – I just want to leave it alone, I just got a bit – overwhelmed, is all." Inès swallowed, licked another finger. A tiny speck of cream remained on her lip. "It's hard."

"I know it is," Éponine said. "You might not believe me, but I do know how that feels..."

"It is only worse because this has happened before, and I swore I would not let this happen to me again." Inès dropped the remains of the éclair onto the tabletop, and Éponine had never been more thankful for the table cloth she had thought to put down. Inès held up her hands. "I need to go and clean them," she said, her voice dull, and she turned around and slipped back to her own room.

It was then, watching Inès' journey back to her own room, that things clicked into place inside Éponine's head. All it took, really, to work it out was one look, one look that she caught because Inès had to pass Gavroche, Feuilly and Bahorel to get back to her room. Bahorel looked at her, and it was more than just a passing glance; there was concern on his face, and his lower teeth were sinking into his lower lip. His hand twitched, as if he was going to reach out and take hold of Inès to ask if she was okay. Éponine thought back to Inès' description of the student she was in love with, and found it matched.

She heard the front door open. She looked towards the sound, and saw Courfeyrac and Enjolras slip back inside. Bossuet and Bérénice were still in the entrance hall, murmuring quietly to one another. Courfeyrac caught her eye and smiled – a brilliant, dazzling smile – but she turned away and started across the room towards Bahorel.

"Bahorel, a word, please," she said, ignoring little Hyacinthe as the kitten launched herself at Éponine's yellow skirts. Gavroche removed the cat firmly but gently.

Bahorel looked confused, and stared down at her. "Sorry?"

"I'd like to speak to you," she said, and then led him into the dark purple room that had been Fantine's private room.

Once they were inside, Éponine shut the door behind them. Bahorel was fidgeting. It was almost comical, to see such a large man suddenly acting like a child who was fearing a scolding. Éponine suspected that he knew what she wanted to talk to him about.

"What are your intentions towards Inès?" she asked, calmly.

"Inès?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't – I don't have any intentions towards her."

"Really?" She let her disbelief colour her tone completely. "I'm not an idiot."

"Has she told you this?" he asked.

"No," Éponine said. "She told me that there was someone, but she didn't tell me their name. I worked it out, though, because as I said, I'm not an idiot. If it isn't actually you, then I apologise, but I find it highly unlikely that Inès would describe any of the other students as masculine."

He scowled. "I don't know what you want me to do," he said.

"I want you to stop hurting her," Éponine said. "Which you are, by the way, if you hadn't noticed."

"Of course I've noticed," he said. "I can't help but notice. And I feel terrible about it, if it helps, but I can't..."

"Do you have feelings for her?" Éponine cut him off.

"I don't know," he said, sounding frustrated. "Does it matter?"

"If you don't, then it's fine," Éponine said. "I understand that – that's an entirely different issue – but if you do, then –"

"She's younger than me," Bahorel interrupted.

"She isn't." Éponine shook her head. "She's actually older than you, by about thirty years."

"You sound like her. But the point is - she doesn't look it, and that makes me feel uncomfortable," Bahorel said. "And there's also...well, most of the time, she doesn't behave like she is older than me. Don't tell me that she does, because she can be incredibly immature and she behaves like the thirteen year old that she looks like."

That stopped Éponine from saying anything more, because she knew, deep down, that Bahorel was right. And coming from someone like Bahorel, who even whilst alive, had skipped through, causing trouble for the fun of it, and in death spent most of his time drinking Bliss or running around with a child...

"It is not..." He wrung his hands together. "There – it – there are a lot of problems. You must see that. And I don't...I don't know...how I am feeling."

Éponine sat down on the armchair.

"I didn't mean to sound like I was angry," she said.

He didn't speak.

"I'm just worried," Éponine continued.

"So am I – I do care about her." He let his hands unlink, swinging loosely by his sides. "She is a nice girl – a lot of fun. But..."

She held up a hand. "You don't have to explain yourself," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I really am. I shouldn't...I shouldn't have done this, it's none of my business."

"You've taken Inès under your wing," Bahorel said. "Everyone can see you care about her a lot. I don't – I don't mind, Éponine."

"You should." She linked her fingers together, and glanced towards the door. "This party is not what I imagined it to be."

"No," he said. "But there's still time – it isn't over yet."

Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door. It opened, and Courfeyrac's head poked through.

"Are you two done yet?" he said, his tone light. "Jehan has suggested a game of charades. Even Enjolras is excited."

"I've never played," Éponine said, slowly rising out of her seat.

"Don't worry, I will explain." Courfeyrac opened the door a little wider, and held out his hand for her. She accepted it. Behind them, Bahorel had a grin on his face. Éponine stepped to one side to allow him to leave first, and then pulled the door shut behind them with her free hand.

"Is everything all right?" Courfeyrac asked in a low voice.

"Yes," she said. "And you?" She glanced towards Enjolras, who was actually smiling, sat beside Combeferre on the sofas.

"We have come to an agreement of sorts," Courfeyrac said. He was still smiling, but for once it did not seem to meet his eyes. Éponine squeezed his hand.

"Come," she said. "You said you'd explain to me..."

"Yes!" He released her hand, clapping his together in a show of excitement, before turning towards the rest of the group.