A/N: Updated and edited because of comments from the wonderful judybear

It's been a while since a chapter ran so thoroughly away with me. Well. that's how it's wanted to be, so that's how it is.

Thanks so much for enjoying, reading and reviewing, PMing and all that.

Hope you still like this. a comment makes my day :-)

Chapter 37: Things said and unsaid

"I have been many things in my life. I have been silly. I have been quiet when I should have spoken. I have been foolish. And I have wasted far too much time. But I am still what I am .. and I am not afraid."

When Éponine finally awoke, about the time that the two o'clock bell struck, it was to the sound of snoring. The grating sound found its way first into her dreams, dragging her out of the void persistently, but, at least relatively gently.

As consciousness returned, she realized that on top of the snoring, the room was also filled with quiet talking. It had not bothered her before – growing up the daughter of an innkeeper had rendered her fairly immune to sounds while she was trying to sleep – but now that she was hovering on the edge between sleep and wakefulness, it was enough to fully drag her to the surface.

She recognized the words of Enjolras, Bahorel and Jehan, conversing quietly, and eyes still closed she began to listen into their conversation.

They were discussing Picpus.

While Éponine knew very little about the allies that they had there – except for the fact that very few of them had shown up two days ago (which was worrying) and the fact that amidst their ranks there was a real-life brother of the Picpus fraternity (which was odd).

Apparently, Enjolras, Bahorel and Jehan were throwing together what they knew about the lodgings, regular haunts and whereabouts of the members of the Picpus cell. If they themselves were unable to provide a headcount, Enjolras concluded some time into the conversation, it would have to fall to the Amis de l'ABC to hold things together.

"They are, on the whole, an excellent crowd", Enjolras continued, and Éponine could almost hear his frown in his voice. "Or were, depending on how things stand. A diverse group if there was ever any; students and workers, people born on French soil and those from the colonies. Resourcefulness, determination and diversity combined. Ah, alas."

"It is worrying indeed", Jehan concurred, and Éponine, deciding that the conversation was boring her and did not promise to become more interesting any time soon, opened her eyes and looked around.

The snoring obviously belonged to Grantaire, who had taken up the couch already prior to her arrival, and he was still deeply asleep, oblivious both to her scrutiny and to the others' conversation that was kept soft for both their benefits.

Enjolras realized that she was awake in a matter of seconds.

"Good morning, Éponine", he greeted her, while Bahorel gave her a nod and a grin and Jehan added his own, slightly quieter wish. Éponine threw a quick glance out of the window and raised a brow at the height of the sun.

"You have an interesting conception of the word 'morning'", she retorted Enjolras' comment from when she had arrived in Rue Pascal, and this earned her a slight twitch of his brow, before he nodded, his gaze already wandering back to his comrade.

"There is some coffee on the stove", he said, obviously for her benefit, "and I think some remains of the brioche that Madame Alevesse brought up in the morning."

Éponine, having been able to grab a bit of said Brioche before she went to sleep, remembered it fondly and got up without hesitation to get the promised breakfast.

She could get used to this, she thought, as she took a seat in one of the chairs at the grand table, watching the conversation between the three while she munched away at her breakfast. Since she had been drifting into this story, her life had become more dangerous, more interesting, and better filled with comfortable sleeping places and meals.

She was not sure yet whether she had made a good trade, but it was too late to turn back anyhow.

The conversation drifted slightly, to people she did not know, and still feeling tired, Éponine took the opportunity to relax a bit more deeply, to wake up in full and chase the remnants of the last night out of her bones.

At least her father and his associates were safe. That had been a kind of duty, but in doing it, Éponine, to her own surprise, had realized how little pleasure she took in it.

Pleasure was a strange thing to muse upon, she thought, as she took a sip from her mug and contemplated the concept.

As a child, pleasure had seemed to be the ultimate means and the ultimate goal. In her memory, the sunlight was always golden in Montfermeil, and the memory was distant as a dream, and just as cherished.

Since they had arrived in Paris, pleasure had not been among the chief principles of her life. What before had seemed like an endless game of wonderful things and places, had turned into a deadly struggle.

Where before there had been pleasure, now there was the need for survival.

Éponine wondered when she had last done something she took pleasure in.

Of course, there had been Montparnasse, her friend – and more than that – of earlier days. There had been pleasure, but mingled with wariness, because she did not know how not to be wary, these days, and because she knew who and what he was.

And then Marius… but with Marius pleasure and pain came in equal measures.

She had paid the thought no heed – there was no time to contemplate such things in the normal course of her life – but she had realized this as she was crawling over the roofs of La Force; cowering in the shadows, heart hammering for fear of discovery.

And there had been a thing she had taken pleasure in. She only realized it as she felt the weight of the whole escape operation on her own shoulder, and there were memories of the evening in the Musain.

Her and Courfeyrac shooting around between the attendees, explaining this, organizing that, keeping away questions from the main room, directing those that had a story to tell…

She wondered if this was anything like running an inn had been for her parents, but there was no denying that she had liked the hassle, the sense of usefulness, and, above all, the fact that this was an occupation that she could have easily refused without any further consequences.

That night, Éponine had realized the difference between doing something out of necessity and doing something out of volition.

Having come to that conclusion, Éponine took another sip from her mug and wondered if she should join the discussion between Enjolras, Bahorel and Jehan – of which she had completely lost track – or find something else to do. Voices in the corridor however did interrupt this thought and heralded the return of the inhabitant of the apartment and his friends.

Éponine placed her face in her hands and discreetly pinched her cheeks in the hope of getting some color to return into the pallid skin – one never knew if Marius would not notice some day.

The discussion between the newly arrived was clearly heated, even before she could understand the words, and all three of them participated in it with equal fervor. The three friends interrupted their discussion and even Grantaire stopped snoring and raised his head.

Once again, Éponine was gripped with the notion that these young men were not so much individuals, but part of a single, harmonized being, so very much in synchrony with each other despite all their differences.

The door flew open and she beheld Marius, who entered first.

She could tell at first glance that something must have happened between them leaving for the mansion of the de Cambouts and now, because the look in his eyes was dark and frantic, and it locked on her the instant he entered the room.

It had been a long time since that had happened, and for a wild moment Éponine wondered if it was due to her reddened cheeks or another miracle that had happened, but she was not blind to the expression in his eyes.

Adoration this was not.

"Is it true?" he asked.

"Marius, that's not a good idea."

Courfeyrac's voice was warning, his hand on his friend's shoulder restraining. But Marius shook off the gesture and stepped up a few steps towards Éponine. There was some turmoil in his eyes, and Éponine would have almost shivered at it.

"Is it true?" he repeated, and Éponine, even if she would have wanted it, could not reply except to counter with a question.

"What?"

"That…", Marius' hands flayed helplessly for a moment, but then he composed himself. Ignoring another warning from Courfeyrac, that indeed put Éponine on edge, he drew himself up to full height and assumed some form of dignity as he asked. "That you tried to rob Madame de Cambout."

Éponine was gripped with horror and shame.

She had never wanted him to know. Never, never wanted him to know. Reflexively, her horrified gaze first went to Enjolras – whose blue eyes showed a mixture of surprise and displeasure which told her immediately that he had not betrayed her – and then to Combeferre – whose face was rueful and sad – and then back to Marius.

It was a hard thing, meeting his gaze. She was not ashamed by what she was as a general rule. She was a survivor, did what was needed, but she had not wanted Marius to know. His image of her was so important to her, and slim as her chances at favor in his eyes were, they dwindled even further as soon as he realized what she was doing.

He was born a baron's son. He had no idea what it meant to live like she had.

His hardships were a game, a pretense at being poor. But there was the grandfather; this Éponine knew well; and before he starved, there would be a way out.

He had no right to judge her.

But she had never wanted to be a criminal in his eyes.

However, Éponine was also proud. And she knew that lying would not be useful anyhow. He knew already. He was only asking her for the sake of pretense.

She straightened herself – feeling the knotted muscles and cramping stomach rebel angrily – and gazed at him defiantly.

"Yes", she said, simply.

He slowly shook his head. Courfeyrac, after this exchange, had stopped trying to hold Marius back, and all the room receded until it was just them, and his exasperation and her pain.

"How could you?" he asked. "I know your father was involved in shady dealings. But I would have thought you would at least not participate in it."

There was such disappointment in his voice that it struck Éponine right to the core. The urge to justify herself was almost overwhelming, but there was a little, stubborn voice inside her that refused to do so. What did she owe him?

"How did you think food comes on our table – if it ever does? There's little else to do, you know?"

Marius shook his head.

"That's not true, Éponine", he said, voice almost kind and certainly patronizing.. "One can provide for themselves without resorting to be a criminal. I have done it for a long time now."

And that was the final straw. Éponine exploded.

"You? Hah! That's easy to say for you with your fine words, and your languages and university study…. A tough life indeed. You walk into a place, and of course they hire you. You're rich, your clothes are good, and there's that aristocrat name of yours. Of course they hire you! But me… look at me! Do you really think anyone would give someone like me even a chance?" She spread out her arms in an almost dramatic gesture. "Here's something you probably didn't know, for all your talk of revolution and all: They don't. What if I'm fed up with being bullied around? What if I'm fed up with being given the crumbs of the table?! I don't beg for what I want. I'm better than that."

Marius gaped at her with an open mouth, obviously grappling for composure and words, but Éponine was not done.

"I've stolen. Yes. I don't regret it."

"But it's wrong!" Marius contradicted weakly, but Éponine only snarled back.

"I don't care about right or wrong! I had no choice and I surely won't apologize for trying to get by. Here's the thing. You can afford to be lawful and good when you're on a job or a full stomach, or you have a rich grandfather in the background whose money you could always take if things got really rough and you got tired at playing the poor man. But I can't. So I provide for myself. Your precious Gavroche does nothing else."

"That's different", Marius intercepted. "He's…" but he saw the error of his reasoning in the same moment and Éponine did not even give him the opportunity to think. Every word that she said hurt, but they had been bottled up inside her for too long, and she was furious, so furious, at him, at bourgeois naivite, at the way her life had turned, at Paris in general and every single person in the Gorbeau house in particular, and she unleashed it all on Marius' head.

She knew if she ever stopped, she would never start again.

"He's a little thief. I'm a big thief. Where's the difference?"

Marius shook his head.

"I thought we were friends", he said, and the almost whiny tone in his voice, and the fact that he was so obviously oblivious to the reality that whatever they were, friends was not the adequate word to describe it, did nothing to quench her fury.

"We were anything but friends", she gave back. "I was useful to you. That's how you are, bourgeois boy. You take what you need and spit it out broken. Just like you did with me. And the worst thing is I let it happen. We were never friends, Marius."

He obviously hadn't even considered that. And just half an hour ago, her heart would have gone out to the hurt in his eyes.

But now fury and pain covered everything.

"So now I'm not what you thought? Tough luck. Same with me, you know? I actually thought you were decent. Well. I won't make that mistake again."

And then it was all too much. The crowded room, the eyes on her, the fury and the hurt.

And Éponine did the only thing she could.

She bolted out of the apartment, out of the house. Away from his eyes, away from his words, away from his condemnation and her own pain, as if she had not tried before to outrun her life and failed.

As the door closed behind the fleeing gamine, the silence that settled was almost deadly.

Courfeyrac usually thought himself to be fairly experienced when it came to discussions and quarrels of various kinds. Apart from the group he called his friends – and whose diverse characters and convictions gave ample opportunity to settle debates and soothe ruffled feathers – he had also had his share of difficult negotiations in the course of their planning and discussion.

He had stood inside a working man's tavern, with no one but quiet, thoughtful Feuilly at his side and a set of words to convince those before them to their cause.

He had been inside fights, in the streets and on the barricades, two years ago, and had experienced the tenseness and worry that accompanied these situations only too well.

And he had spent a lot of time before and after that in negotiations, sometimes calm, sometimes hectic, where emotions were running high and knives were almost out.

But in all his experience, he could not remember ever having seen a conversation gone so dreadfully wrong. Even though, in all honesty, he had felt the impending catastrophe like a storm cloud forming on the horizon. Given the way that both Combeferre and Madame de Cambout had behaved in the prison, Courfeyrac thought it was fair to wonder if the whole world had teamed up to become socially insensitive and all around crazy today.

Or if this was just a ploy to drive him mad.

The silence became oppressive. Éponine's callous, painful words were still hanging in the air, and Marius stood, unmoving, taking deep breaths.

Courfeyrac swallowed the urge to shake his friend, but he could not bite back the comment that was so close to his lips.

"Let me be the first", he began, slightly sarcastic, "to congratulate you on how well you handled this particular conversation." He did not mean to fuel the fire any more than necessary, but he was only human and this day was quickly wearing out his patience for stupidity.

Marius slowly shook his head.

"I had not thought…", he began, uncertainly, passing a hand over his face to collect himself. Bahorel snorted dismissively.

"That you had not thought is obvious. But was that really necessary?"

"It was revealing in any case." Enjolras' eyes were locked to the door that the gamine had left through, eyes slightly narrowed. "And slightly surprising. I would not have thought that she prided herself in her deeds. Perhaps I have made an error."

Courfeyrac suppressed a deep urge to groan in despair.

"Please, Enjolras. Let's all not overreact… more, shall we? I think we can safely assume that the girl was slightly emotionally compromised. I'm not sure we should take all this at face value."

"Emotionally compromised, yes." Enjolras' lips twitched slightly in something that could have almost been disdain. "That is indeed a female trait."

"That's a bit too easy, my friend." Combeferre, looking more exhausted by the minute, stepped up to Enjolras and captured his attention. "We all are compromised, in a way. These last three days have been…", he hesitated and Courfeyrac felt compelled to finish his sentence with 'hell', but Combeferre settled for "difficult. Much more so for her."

"You were always very willing to forgive."

For those who knew him well, there was a slight, hidden fondness to Enjolras' voice, but his tone made also clear that it was the fondness with which one regards a harmless folly. Combeferre's ability to redirect Enjolras' thoughts had quite obviously suffered during the last days.

"There is nothing wrong in forgiveness", Combeferre answered. "Man is good. He sometimes lacks the chance to show it."

"There is something wrong in forgiveness if remorse is not genuine", Enjolras retorted and Courfeyrac had to admit that he did have a point in this, that could not be fully neglected. "It is telling of both character and intent."

"Oh please", Bahorel interrupted their discussion. "Can we please not over interpret this? You jumped at her, Marius, and I'm certain you were the last person she wanted this to know. And in front of all of us, a fine tribunal. Outnumbered, surprised and – yes – somewhat compromised. Of course she fights back. Wouldn't you do the same? I dare you to tell me otherwise, and I'm telling you right away I don't believe you. All of you." His posture was relaxed as his gaze and a pointing finger wandered along the line of those assembled, but it was a deceptive calm, like that of a predator before the jump.

Bahorel was capable of breathtaking nonchalance. And breathtaking anger. And for the moment, he silenced Enjolras.

But the danger of the situation was not alleviated yet.

"Why would she be compromised?" Marius frowned. "I mean, I thought we were friends… which we were apparently not…" He had the decency to look slightly unsettled and unhappy at this prospect, "… so I could – if we were friends – understand why she wouldn't want me to know. But these last days I've seen practically nothing of her." He shook his head slightly. "What's going on with her?"

Now Courfeyrac did groan. He had always suspected that his friend was blissfully oblivious to Éponine's attachment to him – while Marius was naïve and somewhat caught in the dogmata of his youth, he was no bad fellow. Him being unawares was the only reason Courfeyrac had had to explain the thoughtlessness and sometimes downright cruelty he had displayed towards the girl, who was so obviously smitten with him.

It had been difficult to imagine, but Courfeyrac had been willing to believe it none the less.

Now that he saw it confirmed, however, he was not sure if he should feel relieved at the fact that Marius was indeed what he had thought he was, exasperated at his naïve perception of the situation or slightly unsettled at the fact that such a lack of empathy indeed existed in the world.

He settled for middle ground and stepped up to his friend to fulfill the duty no one else would want to carry out.

"You must know she thinks the world of you", he formulated carefully – like Éponine Marius could be proud if cornered and exposing his lack of perception in front of all their friends was not the best way to calm the situation – and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Marius shook his head, and Courfeyrac was surprised to see tears glazing over his eyes, valiantly fought, but unmistakable.

"Haven't you heard what she said? We were never friends." There was a slightly bitter tone to his voice.

"And that is true. You never were, Marius. She thinks too much of you to settle for friendship."

That had the message sinking in. Marius' head whipped around to Courfeyrac, staring at him with wide eyes.

"What?!"

"Oh please", Bahorel threw into the discussion again. "You can't have overlooked the eyes she was making. You must be joking."

Realization was only slowly dawning in the young baron's eyes.

"But that can't be true. I mean… she led me to Cosette. She even stood watch for us."

"Yes", Courfeyrac answered with angel's patience. "And having her do that was, if you forgive me for saying so, not one of your brighter moments. But well, the deed is done."

Marius pondered this for a moment. A variety of emotions was wandering through his eyes, conflicted, confused and thoroughly hurt.

"Why didn't she ever…", he began to wonder, but then he chased away this thought with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand. "Never mind." He took a deep breath. "What you think you saw in her behavior is one thing. That's speculation. A fact is that she's… well… a criminal."

"I'm sure that the perception that she did this mainly to survive, is not wrong", Combeferre reiterated, but Marius was not so easily convinced.

"Have you even listened to her?"

"I have", Courfeyrac answered, and in addition to his glare to Marius he also included a quick glance to Enjolras for good measure. The latter stood, arms crossed, eyes slightly distant as he followed the conversation. His face did not betray his thoughts. "But I also listened to what she did not say."

"She feels trapped. Or felt trapped." Probably none of them had expected Jehan to join the conversation, but there he was, still sitting at the table, looking up at them with a slight frown. He had not raised his voice, but they were used to his quiet tones and so he was heard none the less. "She has no choice."

"Exactly!" Courfeyrac beamed at him. For all his timidity, Jehan did have a notion of hitting the nail on its proverbial head.

"And I was under the impression that the last days had… shown her other options", Combeferre added carefully. "Which is a feat to be encouraged, not destroyed." This was probably as much a reprimand as he would give, to either Enjolras or Marius, but Courfeyrac was not sure that the message was strong enough in the tense atmosphere of the room.

"Men do not change", Enjolras said coolly. "They unmask themselves."

"You, quoting Madame de Stael?" Grantaire, who had watched the scene slightly grumpily from the background, gave a barking laugh.

"And inaccurately", Jehan pointed out quietly. "For this quote was in the context of pointing out the differences between men and women."

Bahorel let out a laugh of his own.

"Then Madame still leaves some hope for Éponine at least. Encouraging."

The darkening of Enjolras brow showed clearly that he took neither Jehan's reasoning nor Bahorel's teasing lightly, and Courfeyrac scrambled for a possibility to calm the situation. Since there was no easy way to do this and remain with their current point of discussion, he changed the subject, and rather abruptly. He winced internally at the inelegance of it, but there was no time for finesse.

"All of this aside", he answered, "we have news from the prison."

It was, at least as far as Enjolras was concerned, the right thing to do. He could almost see him drawing back into the situation at hand, blue eyes focusing on him again instead of fixing on something that only he could see.

"All right", he said. "Tell me, then."

And Courfeyrac, in the hope of distracting everyone from the matter at hand, launched into a full narrative.

When he ended, quite some time later – which he deliberately took to give everyone the possibility to calm down a bit – the situation seemed slightly less tense.

They had brewed some coffee and shared between them the remnants of Madame Alevesse's brioche, as the uneasiness slowly drifted from the room.

Courfeyrac had carefully avoided the difficult matter of Eponine's involvement and only informed the others that they had promised some help in preparing Madame's defense. It was only when he turned to his partners in crime of this morning's journey that he realized that Marius was missing.

He must have stolen out of the apartment while he was telling tales and everyone was shuffling around making coffee and bringing the brioche.

Courfeyrac had to admit that he had not expected that amount of stealth of him.

"Now just so that I understand this right." He was surprised that Grantaire had joined the discussion. He had been lurking around on the sofa while the rest of them had grouped around the table, looking grumpy and very much not awake yet. Now, however, he seemed slightly more alert, and there was a definite smirk on his face. "After all that happened before, including three of us almost getting ourselves killed, some others of our friends turning up dead and a creepy man running around in the city, out for blood, we just let go two of our number without that ridiculous following around each other that we've been doing for the past three days. Right?" He snorted. "Some plan. Having the girl that was almost killed by a madman and the guy that is certainly – evidence provided in abundance only recently – least able to take care of himself running around the city on their own. Doesn't anyone think that's kind of… inconsequent?"

Bahorel let out a healthy swear, and Courfeyrac felt shock coursing through it. He had not thought of this matter before, but Grantaire was painfully right.

"Yes", he therefore confirmed. "I guess we have."

"Well", Enjolras replied dryly. "As to Éponine I do have my doubts that given the time passed we will be able to find her if she does not want to be found. That is unfortunate, but now it can not be changed on short notice. As to Marius, I think we can all guess where he went." He looked around at those assembled and frowned slightly, assessing their numbers.

"Very well. Combeferre, I seem to remember you know where this paragon of a woman lives, that Marius keeps on talking about. Go and see if he went there and bring him back, if possible. Jehan, you should go with him, it's better if you are not alone. In any case the two of you have more patience on these matters. Courfeyrac."

Without warning, Enjolras had switched into a mood of planning, of assessing the things to be done and their natural consequences. Courfeyrac raised his head at being addressed and was almost relieved that the situation seemed to be back to normal for the moment.

"I seem to remember Éponine and Marius live in the same building and I seem to remember you know where that is." He did not even wait for a confirmation and continued. "I do not think she will be there but it is worth a try at least. If not, it may be a good idea to enlist the help of a gamin or two to find her. She is probably better sought out by one of her own. Take Grantaire with you. Bahorel and I will stay and begin on gathering information for Madame de Cambout's defense."

"You're clearly delusional if you think I'd do that", Bahorel snorted. "You know how much I care for these things."

"Heaven knows I do", Enjolras answered drily. "Do what you will then. I would ask Courfeyrac, but he knows the lodgings of Éponine."

Courfeyrac did not care much for another quarrel. He was not exactly keen on getting into law work right now, but his reluctance was nothing compared to Bahorel's aversion.

"I can explain the way to him", he answered. "Then I can stay and we can work this out together."

Enjolras nodded.

"If you want to. Just as well."

He gave a last glance around and then nodded, briefly to himself.

"Well then. Let's get to it."