I'm not dead! I hope at least someone is still out there, here's the next chapter! I'm not silly enough to promise another deadline for me to break now, so suffice to say I'll do my best to update more frequently from now on!

Disclaimer - still no

Éponine Thénardier surveyed the scene in front of her with distaste. It had just gone half past eleven at night and she was standing behind the bar of her parents' inn in Paris. In front of her, on the bar, was a pile of filthy glasses and a rag that looked as though it had been fished out of the Seine after several years in the mud. All around her fights were breaking out, drunkards were falling off the rickety old barstools and a few prostitutes were trying desperately to pick up customers.

Not that long ago, this would have been a typical night for Éponine. With a sigh, she picked up the first ancient, chipped pint glass and the rag and started to wipe it out, raising her eyes with resignation to meet Thénardier's from across the room with a barely perceptible nod.

He'd told her about her mother that day. How she died in prison, her body finally succumbing to the decades of poverty and misuse. She wouldn't have expected the news to hurt – they were never close, after all – but something about the inevitability of it, combined with the well-hidden pain in her father's voice hit her in the gut and took away whatever fight she had left after three days of resistance.

How ridiculous was that? she thought to herself with a humourless laugh. Three solid days of being locked in that tiny room, with only the Patron Minette for visitors and she didn't give in. The souvenirs of their visits twinged as her arms moved, every flex and stretch of her muscles a niggling reminder of the life she had grown up in. The life she had left. The life she was back in.

It would be so easy to fall back into it all –Grantaire was gone, Enjolras didn't want her any more… maybe Montparnasse had been right. Maybe this was where she was supposed to be. Maybe it was all she was good for. She could shut the pain down, lock it away in a small corner of her gut where it would become nothing more than an all-too-familiar dull ache, and she could ignore it.

Don't wish
Don't start
Wishing only wounds the heart…

Éponine picked up another glass and turned her hand over to reach the bottom of it. As she did, she caught a sight of a thin white scar along the inside of her thumb.

She got that scar on a job for Thénardier, when she was about 14. It should have been an easy "grab the TV and get out" job, but Montparnasse and her father ran off and left her when the house owner woke up unexpectedly, forcing her out of a first-storey window and over the garden wall, the top of which had been helpfully covered in shards of broken glass.

As she stared for a second or two at the scar, something popped into her head that hadn't occurred to her.

How did Thénardier know where I was?

How exactly did he find me?

A thick lump of rage rose in her gut as she realised she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

That shitbag. That complete SHITBAG.

Montparnasse must have told him. As if he hasn't done enough, as if KILLING AZELMA wasn't enough, he's fucking told my Pa and now I'm stuck here in this dump. Worst of all, I'm stuck here in this dump thinking I belong here!

It was a eureka moment as she suddenly realised I am NOT staying here

I have a little brother who needs me and friends who like me and a job I enjoy
…and ok so I maybe don't have a boyfriend anymore and OK, so I've hurt my best friend, and my sister is gone and my mother is gone but I don't need to be on my own anymore and I definitely don't need to be here.

I need to be anywhere but here

And in that moment, Éponine decided to leave. She slowly put the glass down and then quietly turned, exiting the bar and climbing the stairs to her old room as quickly but silently as she could. She paused only to grab an old t-shirt of Azelma's and a tattered old jumper of her mothers', then she pushed open the window and climbed onto the ledge.

Her legs were out and she was lowering herself as close to the ground as she could get when her father came into the room, his expression one of confusion and rage, but his eyes full of nothing but fear.

"Yer NOT leavin'" he roared, starting on his charge towards the window. Fear rose in Éponine's stomach and she dropped suddenly, crumpling on the street with a grunt of pain. As she scrambled to her feet, she looked up at Thénardier's face hanging out the window and met his eyes defiantly.

"I'm not scared of you anymore, Thénardier" she called up. "I don't need you anymore, and I'm sure as shit not staying here to rot away with you and your bastard friends!"

"Get your arse back in my pub ye little shit, or al –"

"NO! I've got a good life now, and you're not fucking ruining it for me, d'you here?! Stay away from me, stay away from Gavroche and stay away from my friends!"

"Yer a cocky lil' hussy, but just wait until I-"

"Until what?!" she laughed. "GO AWAY, THÉNARDIER! AND TELL THAT BASTARD MONTPARNASSE TO DO THE SAME!"
"IF YER MOTHER COULD –" he fumed down at her.
"YEAH, WELL, SHE CAN'T, CAN SHE?" Éponine yelled. "I'm sorry she's dead. I'm even a bit sorry for how your life has turned out. But I'm not sorry for leaving you here because I want more, and I deserve more. I am more! You are nothing!"

And with that, she ran away, never looking back. She doubted her father even tried to follow her.

She had really done it, she realised with a grin as she ran. She was finally, FINALLY free of Saint Michel.

She was free of everything.

Enjolras was alone in the flat, beside himself. It was 10pm, three days after The Incident, but he could do nothing but think it through over and over: if she had just left, why wouldn't she take her phone? What about Gavroche and Jacques? Where would she go?

He didn't care what Combeferre said, she wasn't ok, and he was going to find her. With this decision, he grabbed his keys and strode out the flat and into his car without another thought, making the short drive to Saint Michel virtually on autopilot while he desperately tried to form a real plan. After a while, he just parked somewhere that looked fairly safe and decided to get out and wander around. Solid plan, Enjolras he berated himself sarcastically. Just wander around Paris. That'll do it.

It was a terrible plan, and he knew it. But it was the best he had, and if nothing else it felt better than sitting and waiting at home for her never to turn up. The dark, shadowy streets seemed to close in around him, but he ignored the niggling feeling that he was being watched and just ran around the streets, searching for something, anything familiar that could direct him to the Thénardier's inn. After all, that seemed to him to be the best place to check first.

Montparnasse was keeping a low profile.

Actually, Montparnasse was always keeping a low profile, so in reality, Montparnasse was "keeping a low profile" like a hermit in a mountain cave was "having a quiet night in". Montparnasse wasn't just hiding; he had disappeared into the Parisian streets themselves, in the way that only someone born and raised by them can. Word had reached him that Thénardier was after his blood, and he didn't much fancy that conversation. Not that there would likely be many words involved.

He emerged from his hideaway not long before midnight every night to gather any supplies he needed, to sort himself out somewhere nicer to stay for a night or two, or just to stretch his legs: Montparnasse wasn't a man who enjoyed being cooped up, and he rarely stayed long in one place. He told himself it was a necessary precaution, but he wasn't convinced he could keep it going much longer. Being a lone wolf was one thing: being cut off completely was quite another.

With that in mind, he made his first reckless decision in weeks and turned on his phone.

Completely by coincidence, two other people wandering the streets of Saint Michel that night also made important decisions around the same time. A small but powerful girl carrying nothing but a couple of jumpers set her heading for the only safe place she'd ever known, and a strong but increasingly desperate man looking for her made a reckless choice that even he was half-convinced he'd regret.

Montparnasse's phone rang, showing a call from the last number he expected. "Hello?" he answered, confused.
"They've got her" a breathless voice burst out from the other end of the phone. "I'm sure they've got her and I can't find the inn and I'm scared I can't help her and I need you to help me find her because you're a generally shitty person but you owe her and I think you care about her and you just need to HELP ME SORT THIS, OK?"
Montparnasse was taken aback by the panic in Enjolras' voice, and could only ask, rather stupidly, "you can't find the inn?"
"I DON'T KNOW WHERE IT IS"
"Right, I almost forgot you were a posh boy… where are you now?"
"I have no idea all I can see is a butcher and… a pub called the Dog and Parrot"
"God, why are you there?"
"MONTPARNASSE"
"Not so loud, ok? Seriously, what was your plan, to just run around the streets trying to find Thénardier's place?"
"MONTPARNASSE!"
"Ok, ok, sorry" he conceded. "I'll go to the inn and see what's going on. You just be ready with the car to come and get us out, right?"
"What, I'm not going to do anything?!"
"You going in all social justice guns blazing will just get you killed, so leave it to the professionals, ok?"
He heard a frustrated sigh and a mumbled "fine" before he hung up the phone. Feeling alive again for the first time in what felt like forever, Montparnasse grinned and grabbed his jacket.

Les Amis were a subdued party that evening in the Café Musain. Sat around the table in the corner, some could only stare blankly at the empty seats that felt like holes in their hearts, while others desperately tried to rationalise the situation.

"I can't believe R finally did it" Bahorel admitted with shock for the third time that night.
"I don't think anyone can" Joly agreed.
"I wish he hadn't" Bossuet added wryly, to a murmur of agreement.

Musichetta had watched them all wallow for days now, and she'd had enough. "Per l'amor di Dio… did you really think his feelings were going to go away if he said nothing, hmm?! Don't you think they would have when that beautiful fool Pierre arrived if that was the case?! Grantaire was always going to blow up and if we know that boy we know there's no point in talking to him for a few days until he's calmed down, capishe?

So, what about Enjolras and Éponine, hmm?! I don't know why I'm surprised none of you imbecilli saw that coming, but EVENTUALLY Enjolras was going to find someone, right?! So we knew something like this was going to happen! Now, Éponine will come back eventually, we know she will not leave Gavroche or Jacques, and I flatter myself she wouldn't leave me in the lurch like this, so unless something terrible has happened – which we have no evidence for – she'll be back on her own, and so will Enjolras. When that happens, do you really want to be the ones sitting there having sat on your arses doing nothing the whole time?! I DON'T THINK SO! So DO SOMETHING!"

It was as though she had set a fire under the table; every man around it jumped into action at once. Her work complete, Musichetta nodded to herself and retreated behind the bar to clean the kitchen.

Dio aiutami she thought to herself, I hope I'm right.

I know it's not my best but I'm trying to get back into it! Let me know how you all are, if you're still there!? :)