TRIGGER WARNING: Thénardier is abusive (nothing graphic). Reference to coerced/unwanted prostitution. Strong language.
One evening, after the ABC Meeting ran particularly late, Grantaire asked Éponine if she'd like him to accompany her home. She arched an eyebrow at him.
"It's dark," he explained. "These streets aren't exactly safe at the best of times, much less at night."
She barked out a laugh. It sounded like stones grinding and clattering against each other.
"Maybe I should walk you home. Trust me, I know how to survive in these streets better than the likes of you." She tweaked one of his buttons, playfully.
Grantaire figured she probably had a point, so he didn't press the matter.
When Éponine arrived home, her father was sitting at the kitchen table, pouring over a map and some plans. His head jerked up at the sound of the door creaking open, and his eyes narrowed.
"There you are, you little slut."
Éponine ignored him and proceeded to shuck off her trench coat.
"Montparnasse came calling on you. You missed him."
"Sorry, papa."
Thénardier snarled. "Sorry doesn't change the fact that you missed him." He stood up from the table and began stomping over to Éponine. She clenched her jaw a little more tightly, but made no other sign of a reaction—not even when he seized her elbow in an iron-like grip. "Don't snub 'Parnasse, bitch," Thénardier growled. "You need to earn your keep around here."
"'Parnasse doesn't even pay, Papa."
Not like the customers her father also made her see…
Thénardier twisted Eponine's arm roughly, far past the natural rotation of her shoulder. She couldn't help but cry out.
"He's one of my most valuable men," her father spat. "Our missions don't succeed without him. So you'd better make sure you keep him happy."
Thénardier gave her arm one last wrench—then stalked off.
Éponine walked into Le Café a little later than usual the next day.
"Vite, vite!" Grantaire teased, beckoning to her with mock urgency as he pulled out her chair. "Pontmercy's been here a good quarter hour already. You'll miss something! He's already turned at least 3 pages in his book."
Éponine scowled and took the seat. Grantaire had learned that the gamine's scowl was a couple notches more irritated than an eye-roll—so he let the teasing drop.
"Whiskey?" He slid her the bottle without waiting for an answer.
As Éponine brought the bottle to her mouth for a sip, some whiskey sloshed sloppily onto the table.
"Damn." She lifted up a fistful of her skirt, evidently not caring for modesty, and wiped up the spill.
When she picked up the bottle again, Grantaire noticed she was holding it with her left arm; her dominant right hung limply at her side. He frowned slightly.
"Something wrong with your arm?"
"What?" Her voice was sharp.
"You're right-handed," he stated simply.
Éponine glanced down at her limp arm, then back at Grantaire. Then, she settled further back into her chair and took another sip of whiskey, without a word.
"Éponine?"
"What."
"Your arm. What's wrong with it?"
"I strained it playing croquet." Her voice was soaked in sarcasm.
Grantaire frowned more deeply. "Funny. Seriously, what happened?"
"God, 'Taire. Mind your own business, won't you?"
Grantaire bit his lip. But he'd come to know that stubborn pout of Éponine's well enough to understand there was no getting further with her now.
"Fine," he muttered. "But if it's bad, get Joly to look at it."
Éponine gave him a long, hard stare. Not as though she was trying to stare him down, he thought... More like she was trying to figure him out.
Finally, she let out a little huff, turned away from him, and continued drinking.
When Éponine got up to go, Grantaire stood with her. She tilted her head at him, questioningly. Normally the drunk stayed til Enjolras left — which meant he was always the last one there.
"What are you doing?" she asked as he put on his coat.
"I'm going to walk you home."
"Ha! That again. Didn't I set you straight about what a moronic idea that is?"
Grantaire gave her a cool, level look and proceeded to do up his buttons.
Her jesting expression faltered and her forehead creased in a deep frown. "You're serious, aren't you? 'Taire, I told you I know how to take care of myself in the streets."
"Well, by the looks of that useless arm, you aren't taking care of yourself very well."
Éponine cocked an eyebrow. "Just what exactly do you think happened to me?"
Grantaire shrugged. "No idea, since you won't say. But unless you can confirm you weren't hurt by some bastard trying to mug or rape you, I'd like to walk with you."
"Mug me?" Éponine snorted, derisively. "You may be a halfwit, 'Taire, but I assure you thieves are smarter than that."
Grantaire's eyes flicked down to the gamine's tattered clothes, and he sighed. "Fair. Rape, then."
Éponine stared at him hard. Then, something like a sneer began to curl on her lips. "And what makes you think I trust you not to rape me, once we're alone in those oh-so-scary streets? Aren't you a known womanizer?"
Grantaire blanched.
Éponine watched, suddenly frozen, as hurt crept into his eyes.
Éponine wasn't typically one to regret anything she did or said... She barreled through life boldly, abrasively. But at the sight of Grantaire's stricken, wounded face, she felt her gut tighten painfully.
She opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it.
"I..." Éponine stared at Grantaire, tongue-tied for once in her life. Half of her burned with the unfamiliar desire to apologize. The other half reeled under a peculiar urge to sharpen the insult even more. Drive a firmer wedge between them... snap him out of his bizarre solicitude for her well-being.
She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and worried it with her teeth, as her gaze flicked anxiously over Grantaire's face. His eyes were on the floor now, so she could no longer see the expression in them. But he seemed... dispirited. Considering the gallons of consumed spirits that were perpetually flowing through his veins, Éponine may have found this an amusing paradox... if it hadn't been so unsettling.
Finally, Éponine lifted her chin. (She would deny that it trembled slightly.)
"See you tomorrow, 'Taire," she said, flatly. Then turned and walked out.