Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis. I wish.

One of the first things you learn growing up on the streets, whether you're in San Michel or Timbuktu is that you need to watch your back. All the time. But on perfect days (like Éponine's Christmas Day) you tend to forget lessons like this one, and consequently you can never know who's watching you.

Because someone is always watching.

Éponine's shadow sat on the first floor of the fire escape on the building opposite, just close enough to the wall that you'd have to be looking for them for you to notice they were there. Curled up in a vain attempt to stop the bitter, snow-laced wind from shaking their impossibly frail frame to breaking point, they watched the whole day through the window. They saw Éponine open the curtains to let in the morning light at half past nine. They saw her grinning and laughing as two small boys ripped their way through piles of presents as big as them. They saw her beside herself with gratitude at her own pile of presents, clearly picked with love for her by friends. They saw her throw her arms around the tall, handsome man beside her after opening a small jewellery box. They saw the glances that Éponine and said handsome man kept sneaking at each other; the way she looked at him; the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't looking. They saw the four of them tuck into the biggest meal the shadow had ever seen for dinner. They saw them pile cosily onto a couch together, before being joined by another man (who was obviously pissed as a fart) carrying tubs of some sort of snack. They saw Éponine and the tall, handsome one put the kids to sleep, and then fall asleep together with the drunken guy in the living room, smiles on their faces.

They watched, and they tried to understand.

The shadow knew what had happened not so long ago, on the Rue Plumet. They'd half expected to hear of her body getting picked up off some dump somewhere, or fished out of the Seine after that. Shows where running away gets you. Dead.
But Éponine wasn't dead: she looked better than ever! How had she done it? She had gone from the worst place in Paris to a cosy apartment with dinner in the oven, at least one handsome guy in the living room who clearly cared deeply about her, and a happy family all around her.

Maybe the reason the shadow I'm on a godforsaken fire escape in the snow while Éponine enjoys her perfect Christmas is because I didn't leave when I had the chance.

Because even Azelma would admit that life had gotten significantly worse for her since her sister left. First there was picking up the slack in the workload in the bar. Then taking the beatings when Thénardier realised Ép wasn't coming back – the worst she'd ever had, by a long way. Then there was the back room: Éponine had been right about that, too. She got almost as many guys each night as Éponine, but they paid less and never told her she was beautiful. They told her she wasn't as pretty or as good as her sister.

Didn't stop them visiting, of course.

There was only one who was nice to her, who took care of her. Montparnasse had visited the inn the day after a bad beating, and apparently decided to take her under his wing: he snuck her food, he got her painkillers for her injuries, and he tried to distract Thénardier so her workload was less or so she could take a break. She honestly thought she might have died without him. He went regularly, all through the summer – actually, other than a three-week gap leading up to Christmas, when she'd missed him terribly and didn't know where he was, she'd seen him every few days since July, when Éponine had run away.

Of course, he didn't do this for free. She had to show her… gratitude now and then. But it was a small, not unexpected price to pay for his help. That was how the world worked, after all: you don't get anything for nothing, and NOBODY wants to help you for nothing. Now she thought about it, Éponine was probably shagging those blokes in return for staying in their flat.

Why was she watching, you ask? Why not contact her sister? Knock on the door, call, text? Well as it turned out, Azelma was in a hell of a state – more trouble than she'd ever been before, and it was all her fault. There was nothing she could do about it, and when her Pa found out, she was going to be in seriously deep shit. So she was watching to see if Éponine was in trouble too – if she was, maybe they could help each other. That was what people did.

But Éponine wasn't in trouble. She was in her element. If Azelma didn't know Éponine and Gavroche were brother and sister, she'd have thought she was looking at a happy young family on Christmas Day: Mother and Father very much in love, two bouncing sons (one with his dad's golden curls, one dark like his mother), Uncle Drunkard visiting for special occasions. What possible reason would Éponine have for helping Azelma now? She wasn't a Thénardier anymore. Those days were far, far behind her, that much was clear. Azelma was on her own.

As the lights in the apartment went off, Azelma stood up. Her weak, frail body shook with shivers so strong she could hardly stand, and the cold wind took what little breath she had away from her. Pulling her hoody as close to her body as possible, arms wrapped around her stomach, she braced herself for the long walk back to the inn.

Maybe her Christmas present would be a night off.

Then again, maybe not.

Sorry it's so short! I'll be back as soon as I can, promise!

I'll also reply to all your reviews really soon, so so sorry for being so rude and useless!

Hope you're all well! If you can find it in your hearts to leave a review, they make my day :) Thanks, lovelies, love you all! :)