62
Éponine found herself outside Enjolras' flat, banging with her fist on the door.
It opened and Combeferre stood framed in the doorway, looking confused. The puzzled expression only became worse when he realised who was making the noise.
"Éponine," he said. "What -?"
She pushed past him. Enjolras was sat on the couch, but he stood up when she entered. He had his eyebrows raised, and he pushed some hair out of his eyes as he looked at her.
"What's the matter?" he said, his brow furrowing and the corners of his mouth turning downwards.
"I know," she said.
"Know what?" he asked.
"I just met with Clémence," Éponine snapped at him. "And she told me the truth."
Behind her, she heard Combeferre shut the front door. In front of her, Enjolras had gone very still. His face was blank.
"She told me that Courfeyrac will move on and you will fall in love with me," Éponine continued. "She told me. You could have told me – "
"You didn't need to know," Enjolras said, and he said it with conviction, like he really believed that, and a red mist descended and Éponine found her arm swinging through the air before she could really think about what she was doing. Her open palm connected with Enjolras' cheek. If he had been able to feel pain, it probably would have stung a lot, but as it was the blow just snapped his head to one side.
"Don't you ever make that decision for me again," Éponine said. "The next time you know something about me and I ask you to tell me, I expect you to tell me. You don't get to decide what is best for me, I can do that for myself."
Enjolras turned his head so he was looking at her. "I know everything about you," he said. "I don't want to, but I do. Do you want to know everything?"
"No," she said. "But that isn't the point, Enjolras. You had no right to keep this from me."
"This isn't just about you," Enjolras hissed, his eyes like chips of ice. "This is about me, too."
She slapped him again, this time on the other cheek. It wasn't as hard a smack this time, more of a swat that made him twitch away.
Hands wrapped around her waist and Combeferre was pulling her backwards. "Let's go for a walk," he said, in a tone that made no room for arguments. "Enjolras, you stay here."
She let him drag her outside and onto the street. He didn't ask for an explanation, but she gave him one, a proper one. It all came pouring out of her, unbidden. By the time she was finished, they were sat on a stone bench; Éponine's fingers were knotted in the yellow fabric of her dress, and she felt like crying.
Combeferre's hand had a gentle grip on her shoulder. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Éponine breathed deeply, tipping her head back. She hadn't realised how angry she was until she had actually laid eyes on Enjolras; her anger had only grown until she had snapped. Thinking about those words – you didn't need to know – made something nasty twist in her stomach, made her hands itch again.
"You need to speak to Enjolras," Combeferre said. "Let me finish. You need to speak to him again, when you're calmer. I can completely understand why you are angry, Éponine, but slapping him in the face is not the way to deal with this situation."
"He deserved it," she grumbled.
"Well, that's how you feel now," Combeferre said. His mouth twisted, as if he was trying hard not to smile.
She didn't respond to that. He gave her shoulder a small squeeze and then let go. "I'm going to go back to my home," he said, "And have a word with Enjolras. When you've had time to calm down, come and knock on the door, all right?"
She nodded, and he left. She watched as an elderly couple shuffled past, arm in arm; then a young girl with a basket of fruits in her arm, looking pleased; a gaggle of children speeding past, breathless with their laughter. Éponine envied all of them. Her anger was dissipating slowly to a small point, barely noticeable anymore; it was replaced by a feeling of general unhappiness, glum and miserable in her chest.
She stood up, shook out her skirts and smoothed them down, and turned back towards Combeferre's flat. She reminded herself to stay calm as she approached, climbing the steps and rapping on the door.
Combeferre was there, his face tight and serious. "You must promise that you're going to remain calm," he warned, not opening the door any wider.
"I will," she said, and he moved aside. Enjolras was sat on the sofas. His mouth was set in a thin line, and he looked no happier to see her than she imagined she did.
"Enjolras and I have had a word," Combeferre continued. "I'm going to go to my room, but if I hear raised voices again I will come out and Éponine, you will go home."
"You're treating us like children," Enjolras said, through gritted teeth.
"Well, if you must insist on acting like children," Combeferre said lightly, walking over to his room and disappearing inside, shutting the door behind him.
"I'm sorry for slapping you," Éponine said. "That was wrong, and I shouldn't have done it."
"Thank you," Enjolras said stiffly.
"But," she said, "You were wrong, as well. You should have told me when I asked."
Enjolras looked away from her. "Maybe," he said, quietly. "But as it was, I was just trying to protect you, Éponine. You must know that."
"I can understand that's what you think you were doing, but you weren't protecting me at all," Éponine said, shaking her head. "When someone wants to know something, as bad as it might be, as upset as it might make them, you should allow them the dignity of knowing what they ask to know. It's not like this was a small matter, Enjolras, this was huge..."
"I would have told you," he said.
"You should have told me when I asked."
"Clémence shouldn't have told you, that wasn't fair," Enjolras said, as if she hadn't spoken. "It wasn't her place –"
"She wants to see you," Éponine cut him off. "She wants you to go and see her."
"Good," he said. "I need to have words with her anyway."
"I'm glad she told me," Éponine said. "So don't be angry with her, because –"
"As I said, it wasn't her place," Enjolras said, stubbornly.
"She saw it too," Éponine pointed out. "She sees what is going to happen, too. You're not the only one with that power."
His mouth was screwed up. It did, for once, make him look unattractive, and she could see the irritation burning bright in his pale eyes.
"So what do you plan on doing now?" he demanded.
"I haven't decided yet," Éponine said. "But I think we should tell Courfeyrac the truth."
Enjolras' mouth twisted even further. "No," he said. "Absolutely not."
"He deserves to know!" Éponine said.
"You think he deserves to know that one day he is going to fade away? A man like Courfeyrac, will fade away? He does not need to know!" Enjolras said hotly.
She hadn't thought of it quite like that, but he was right, in some ways; the notion of a man as bright and full of life as Courfeyrac fading away in the manner Fantine had made her feel sick. But she stood her ground, because she knew what was fair.
"He needs to know," she said, firmly.
"I will not let you tell him," Enjolras hissed, getting to his feet. "You cannot –"
"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do," Éponine snapped. "I think he should know, so I am going to tell him –"
At that moment, Combeferre came out of his room, his cheeks flushed red. "You have both started to raise your voices," he announced, "So I am intervening."
"We're not children," Enjolras said, rounding on him. Éponine wasn't sure she'd ever felt so surprised in her whole life; she'd never imagined that Enjolras would snap at Combeferre of all people, not like that.
"Be quiet," Combeferre ordered. "I thought both of you had calmed down, but I can see you haven't. Enjolras, sit. Éponine, sit."
Éponine was the first to lower herself onto the sofa opposite Enjolras', but he eventually sat as well. Combeferre stood between them, his arms folded over his chest.
"I can't believe I'm having to do this," Combeferre murmured, then shook his head. "Éponine, you think Courfeyrac ought to know."
She opened her mouth to respond, but he held up a hand for silence, and then continued. "Enjolras, you think he shouldn't."
Enjolras didn't try to speak, but just scowled.
"I think," Combeferre said slowly, "That you should give Courfeyrac a choice. Tell him that he has the chance to find out, and respect whatever decision he makes. Enjolras, that means if he says he wants to know, he will be told and you will not complain. Éponine, if he says he doesn't, you don't breathe a word. Is that understood?"
Éponine glared at her lap. "Yes," she ground out.
Eventually, Enjolras also agreed.
"I also think that you two should stay away from one another for a few days," Combeferre said. "At least, that is what I would advise. You're only going to carry on arguing. I was naïve to think that a few minutes alone would be sufficient..."
"I agree," Éponine said, "I don't want to be anywhere near him right now."
"The feeling is completely mutual," Enjolras said, and stood up. "If you don't mind –"
The door to the apartment opened with the scrape of a key in the lock, and Éponine heard Courfeyrac say, "...then we can visit Jehan and see if he wants to..."
His words trailed off when he saw the three of them. He frowned at first and then looked confused.
"What's the matter?" Bahorel placed his hands on Courfeyrac's shoulders and moved him out of the way.
Courfeyrac shrugged off Bahorel's hands and walked over to Éponine. "Is everything all right?" he said.
"Éponine and Enjolras would like to speak to you," Combeferre said, dropping his arms from where they were still folded over his chest and marching over to Bahorel. "Alone," he added, with a warning look to Bahorel, who looked as if he was about to object.
"This seems serious," Courfeyrac said. Combeferre ushered Bahorel out of the flat, and then the three of them were alone. Courfeyrac hovered between the sofas, looking completely lost.
Éponine sighed and held out a hand to him. It was her hand that had the hole in it, but he grasped it tightly and allowed her to pull him down onto the sofa beside her.
"What's the matter?" he asked, looking down at her, his teeth worrying his lower lip.
"Clémence asked me to come and see her today," Éponine said. "She told me the truth."
Enjolras let out an angry sounding huff. Éponine glanced at him.
"And Enjolras isn't very happy about it?" Courfeyrac guessed, also looking towards his friend. He gripped her hand tighter.
"No, I'm not," Enjolras said.
"And I'm not very happy with Enjolras," Éponine said. "We've been arguing. But..."
Courfeyrac sighed heavily. "I see."
"I think that you deserve to know the truth, too," Éponine said. "Enjolras obviously disagrees. Combeferre thinks we should give you the choice, so...Here we are, giving you a choice." She tried smiling at him, but it felt tight on her face; he wasn't looking at her, though, he was watching Enjolras instead. But Enjolras was staring up at the ceiling, as if he was trying to ignore what was going on around him.
"The truth about...About why Enjolras has been behaving...oddly," Courfeyrac murmured. "It's tempting," he admitted. "I would like a proper explanation."
Enjolras lowered his head and met Courfeyrac's gaze. "Please," was all he said, a soft sound that had Courfeyrac clutching her hand even tighter.
"I'm sorry, Éponine," Courfeyrac said. "I agree with Enjolras. I'd – I'd rather not know."
She gaped at him, and slid her hand out of his. "But –"
"I don't need to know," he insisted. "I – I care a lot about you, Éponine. That's all I do know right now. And my gut is telling me that I'd be a fool to..." He shook his head, dark curls bobbing. "I can make a guess at the truth, and I don't like it. I don't want it confirming for me. I'd rather just..."
He reached out for her, cupped her face in large and warm hands. It was slightly awkward from how they were sat on the sofa, but his touch felt wonderful. Neither of them spoke, but just looked at one another, for a long time. Eventually, Courfeyrac said, "I care about you."
She wasn't sure why he had said those four words, just breathed out and barely able to be heard, because she already knew that; he'd already told her, she was sure he'd already told her.
"I don't need to know," Courfeyrac said, a little louder. "I appreciate you feel like you do, but I...I can carry on not knowing, Éponine. It doesn't matter to me."
She nodded, wordless, and leaned into him. His arms wrapped around her tightly, and she buried her face into his chest. She couldn't hear his heart beating, and that almost made her feel sad. She wished she could hear his heart beating.
After a few moments, Enjolras cleared his throat. She drew away from Courfeyrac, and her eyes met Enjolras'. His bright blue eyes looked slightly damp.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Courfeyrac shook his head. "You don't have to –"
"I do," Enjolras interrupted. "I haven't been very fair, to either of you. I shouldn't have been treating either of you in the way I have been. It wasn't fair of me, and I'm sorry."
"Thank you," Éponine said, her voice crisp.
He inclined his head, and let out a long breath. "Excuse me," he murmured, getting to his feet.
Éponine watched him leave with her arms still wound around Courfeyrac, and wondered to herself exactly when and how Enjolras would fall in love with her, and wondered whether he already might have.