Summary of last chapter, for those who skipped after the trigger warning:
Basically, the main purpose of the chapter was to introduce Montparnasse in person. My Montparnasse, like the canon Montparnasse, is a devilishly handsome, very dark and dangerous young man who'll easily murder anyone he pleases. Where I'm expanding beyond canon is in the details of his relationship with Éponine. The book references that he likes to "amuse himself" with Éponine - that's the case in this fic, as was already implied in previous chapters. New information from last chapter was a) He's often violent with Éponine when he "amuses himself" with her, b) He's jealous/possessive - e.g. jealous of her crush on Marius. Éponine recognizes this and is quick to downplay her affection for Marius, as she's afraid Montparnasse will murder him or something. c) It's suggested that, in a weird twisted way, Montparnasse might actually have some measure of real affection for Éponine? To the extent that that's possible when he's still happy to abuse her and watch her be abused... For example, he draws a line and asks Thénardier not to hurt her as badly next time, saying he'd "rather keep her alive". High bar I know. (Sarcasm)
Oh, and it's also communicated that Éponine doesn't desire her physical relationship with Montparnasse.
Éponine stopped showing up to Le Café Musain.
"Where's your sweetheart, Grantaire?" Courfeyrac asked good-naturedly on the fourth day of observing the sot sitting alone at his table.
Grantaire looked up at him with dull eyes. "Dunno. Not here."
He didn't bother to correct Courfeyrac's mislabeling of his relationship with Éponine. It didn't matter what they thought.
It was obvious to Grantaire why Éponine had stopped coming. She'd learned of Pontmercy's new love interest and lost hope. There was no reason for her to come anymore…
He tightened his grip on the bottle of absinthe and his features twisted into a sour expression. You would think, though, that after she called him a "good friend", she'd at least come to say goodbye. Even if the friendship wasn't enough to keep her around.
He knocked back some more absinthe.
After a full week of no Éponine, Grantaire took to wandering the streets at random. He kept his head up as he walked, eyes peeled for a glimpse of his friend's jagged cheekbones and small, sharp chin. Her brown cap and threadbare trench coat. Her mane of tangled, colourless hair.
He never saw her. Until one day, it was precisely because he wasn't looking – and neither was she – that they met.
It happened at the market. Éponine was running, weaving deftly through the stalls and crowds. But Grantaire happened to cross her path just as she was glancing over her shoulder to verify that she still wasn't being pursued. (Grantaire had been wrong that Marius's new lover was the reason Éponine stopped coming to Le Café. She'd simply been trying to hide her injuries from her notoriously solicitous friend. However, Cosette was the reason Éponine took to thieving again.)
Grantaire grunted as a pair of sharp shoulders rammed into his chest and a head knocked against his chin, causing his teeth to clank together painfully. His hands instinctively flew to the gamine's elbows to steady her. When she pushed off of him and his eyes lighted upon her face, he cried out in surprise.
"Éponine!"
Other exclamations died on his tongue as he fully took in the sight of that face… At least a third of it was mottled with the yellowish green of fading bruises.
Grantaire paled. "Éponine…" he rasped, barely above a whisper. "What happened to you?"
Her eyes, which had flashed in alarm upon recognizing him, quickly regained an affected coolness. "Hullo 'Taire," she said nonchalantly. "Fancy crashing into you."
"Your face," Grantaire persisted. The words seemed to scrape his throat raw as they came up. "What happened?"
"Hit with a croquet ball. Crowley, that sport's so dangerous."
"Damn it, Éponine! Would you be serious for one bleeding second?" He clutched her arms more tightly and bore into her with anguished, imploring eyes. "Is someone hurting you?"
She wriggled, trying to break free his grasp.
"Are you safe?" Grantaire pressed. "Do you need to get away? You can stay with me, Ép."
Éponine laughed sardonically at this, recalling how her sojourn at Grantaire's house had been what led to this particular beating. Her laugh also served the purpose of covering up the discomfiting emotion that was rising in her at Grantaire's display of concern. She wasn't used to being moved — or to being cared for.
"You're way off base, 'Taire," she said. "Better to let it drop. I can handle it."
"Éponine, what's it?"
"Not your business. Now if you'll kindly let me go..." She tried to wrench away from him again, but he only tightened his grip. "'Taire, you're hurting me."
Horror streaked across Grantaire's face. He promptly released her arms and snatched his hands back, as though he'd touched a hot stove. Éponine's eyes widened slightly and a peculiar amount of emotion darted across her face. For a moment, Grantaire thought she might start to cry — which would have been surprising indeed. But she promptly wiped away the expression and barked out a derisive laugh.
"You're so easy to play," she sneered. Following that, she spun on her heels and began jogging off.
Grantaire stood stricken for a moment – then he called out to her. "Éponine!"
For whatever reason, she actually slowed to a halt. She stood, seemingly undecided, for several seconds, her back turned to him. Grantaire watched as she raised an arm and appeared to draw the back of her hand across her eyes. When finally she made up her mind and turned to him, her face was impassive.
"Yes?"
Grantaire was aching and quivering with a dozen questions and supplications. But with great effort, he shoved down all entreaties regarding her safety which had already been rejected. Instead, he allowed himself one question which he hoped might still stand a chance.
"Will you come back to Le Café?"
Éponine seemed to soften. Seeing this, Grantaire's heart leapt. As she gazed at him, he thought he saw a glimpse of the Éponine who'd smiled up at him from his bed that one evening. The Éponine whose rough, sneering demeanour and carefully guarded fences had fallen away for a moment — a moment just long enough to call him a friend.
"Yes," Éponine replied, nodding slowly. "À bientôt, 'Taire."