This story is humbly dedicated to Alfie Boe and Samantha Barks (pictured as Eponine in my icon for this story), in thanks for their truly inspirational performances. They will always be my favorite Valjean and Eponine, and they were a big part of why I became a Les Mis fangirl in the first place.

Eponine giving Valjean the letter Marius wrote to Cosette is one of my favorite moments in the play, partly because I love Valjean's reaction to that letter, and mostly because it's the only time when Alfie and Samantha sang to each other. I wanted there to be more to that scene, hence this story. This is my first Les Mis piece to be tagged to the musical, not the book, and my also first that isn't about Valjean and Cosette. I hope you enjoy it!

(For my own reference: 53rd fanfiction, 3rd story for Les Miserables.)

Sweets to the sweet, farewell!
I thought thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet maid,
And not have strewed thy grave.
– William Shakespeare, Hamlet

When he handed her the letter and asked her to deliver it to Cosette, Eponine was sure that if Marius listened carefully, he might actually hear her heart fall out of her chest and shatter like glass on the cobblestones.

But he didn't hear it, of course. When it came to Eponine, there was so much that Marius didn't see or hear. His eyes and ears and heart were full of Cosette, the Amis, and their plans for revolution. While he cared about Eponine more than anyone else in her life, his feelings for her were still small enough to fit into the space left over.

Letter in hand, Eponine left the barricade and began the walk to Cosette's house on Rue Plumet. Just a moment ago, she had hoped that since Marius was so concerned for her safety and urging her to leave the Amis' barricade, that he might finally, finally be starting to see her as something more than just a friend.

God, how could she have been so foolish? What was the matter with her? Her head had accepted that Marius would never love her as he loved Cosette – why couldn't her heart?

Eponine's spirits sank with every step. What if – God forbid – Cosette remembered her from years ago, when they were both little girls at her parents' inn in Montfermeil? What if she was still angry over how horribly her parents had treated her and now wanted to take it out on Eponine? It would be so easy for Cosette to boast about how she meant everything to Marius, and Eponine wasn't sure if she could bear that.

But it seemed unlikely that Cosette would remember her. Those years at the inn had been miserable for her, and she probably didn't think back to them often. Still, only by reminding herself that she had promised Marius to deliver this letter was Eponine able to force her feet up the walk of the handsome house where Cosette lived.

She rang the bell with her heart hammering in her chest, but Cosette didn't answer the door; her father did, and Eponine was so relieved that her words fled. The man asked her politely, "Yes?" but she only stood there, staring at him, like a deaf and dumb fool.

Cosette's father was much the same as Eponine remembered, when she had last seen him during her parents' botched robbery in the lower city. He was old, but handsome for this age. He was still strong and mostly dark-haired, and it was clear that he was well-to-do because he appeared to have all his own teeth. He smelled pleasant, too, like shaving cream and peppermint – so different from her own father, who always reeked of pipe tobacco at his best, and stale alcohol at his worst.

He didn't become impatient with her, as she had expected. When she said nothing, his brow furrowed in concern, and a pang of longing spread in Eponine's chest. It had been so long since anyone besides Marius had looked at her with even the slightest concern.

"Are you all right, boy?" he asked kindly. "Are you lost?"

She was confused for a moment, when he called her boy, and then she came to her senses and remembered that she was still in disguise as a boy, to sneak onto the Amis' barricade, and that she had come here to deliver Marius's letter. She hurriedly pulled it from her pocket and held it out to him, stammering that it was for Cosette, from a boy at the barricade.

She glanced at his hands as he took the letter from her. His hands were so clean, so unlike hers; there were no calluses on his palms or grime beneath his fingernails. Eponine could tell that he never made those hands into fists and used them to hit his daughter. Her father hadn't had hands like that for a very long time, not since they lost their old inn and life dropped them at the bottom of the heap.

The man frowned as he looked where Marius had written Cosette's name on the envelope; he obviously didn't like his daughter receiving a letter from a young man, and again, Eponine couldn't help comparing him to her own father. He was so far from protective of her that a few years ago, when Eponine became a teenager and started getting a figure, he had tried to convince her to go into prostitution. He even would've acted as her pimp, had she been willing to go along with his scheme.

Just remembering it, years later, still made Eponine feel a bit nauseous. That her own father had been willing to whore her out... that her mother hadn't objected... But despite it all, she had managed to keep herself pure. She was saving herself for Marius, and even though it was now more obvious than ever that Marius didn't, couldn't, would never love her that way, she was proud of herself for it. She had so little control over anything else in her life, and nothing else of value to offer Marius.

She was grateful when Cosette's father interrupted her thoughts. "She will read it tomorrow," he said, slipping the letter into his own pocket, and perhaps Eponine looked doubtful, because he added, "You have my word, and here's for your pains." She was dumbstruck when he pressed a coin into her palm. She hadn't asked for any payment, hadn't expected any.

The man stepped back inside, but before he closed the door, he added in a firm voice, "You go carefully now, and keep out of sight. The streets are dangerous tonight."

Then the door closed, and Eponine was left on the front step, alone again, wondering if Cosette knew how lucky she was. God, did she even have the faintest idea of how lucky she was? Eponine had been jealous of her because she had the devotion of Marius, but now, she thought that perhaps she was more jealous because she had that kind old man for her father. She wondered what it must be like to have a father who never hit you or called you bad words or tried to strong-arm you into selling yourself... but she couldn't imagine.

Eponine sighed and looked down at the coin in her hand, expecting to see a small, dull copper centime. But instead, she found that she held a larger, silver coin engraved with Napoleon's profile. He had given her a sou, and for a moment, she could only stare it, shocked. She couldn't remember ever having so much money all at once, all to herself.

Her mind reeled with possibilities of how to spend it, but she didn't pause to consider them all, or to think of what would be best in the long term. Eponine had already decided to stop considering the long term. The Amis always talked of tomorrow, but she felt reckless with the sou in her hand and thought only of today, of right here and now. So she hurried to the nearest chocolaterie and shoved open the door. It was warm inside, and the air smelt so sweet that Eponine could almost taste it.

The two other customers in the little shop – a man with a gold-tipped cane, and a woman with a fur muff – looked at her with distaste as she studied the glass case full of sweets, and Eponine wondered vaguely if she smelt bad. She probably did. She couldn't remember the last chance she'd had to wash her clothes, much less her own body, unless wandering the city streets in the rain counted. But she couldn't smell herself, and Marius would be too kind to ever tell her if she stank.

She spent the entire sou on a large chocolate religieuse with whipped cream and powdered sugar on top. It was the richest, sweetest food she'd ever tasted, and for once, she ate quickly, without worrying about making it last, without wondering what she would eat tomorrow if she finished this now. Then she licked her fingers, licked the wax paper, and began the walk back to the barricade. She now felt strangely at peace with what would happen there tonight.

Eponine had already decided to give her own life for Marius, if she had to. When the troops came to attack the barricade tonight, she would throw herself in front of a bullet aimed at Marius, if the opportunity came. And likely it would. Likely she would die on that barricade tonight – in the rain, judging by the gray storm clouds starting to gather over the chimney-tops. She would die without her parents knowing or caring where their only child was. She would die a virgin, because the only man she'd ever wanted to give herself to hadn't been interested. Worst of all, she would die without Marius knowing how much she loved him. But at least she would die with the taste of chocolate still fresh on her tongue. At least she had allowed herself that one small luxury before the end.

Somehow, it seemed fitting to Eponine. That kind old man who had taken Cosette from the inn years ago and raised her as his own had surely also given her the first chocolate she ever ate. Tonight, without knowing it, he had come full-circle by giving Eponine her last.

FIN