10 Years Before

Children her age only very rarely stayed at the inn.

And when they did, it was never for long.

It was nearly Christmas, the first time they met. An older man appears at the door one evening in December, and a small boy, perhaps maybe a few years older than she is, is all he has with him.

The father and the boy stay for three days and three nights. She spends the first few days watching him curiously. The boy stays quiet unless his father speaks to him, he eats very carefully, and when he isn't speaking to his father or eating, he is reading.

He has a stool pulled as close to the dying fire as he can without there being danger of it bursting into flames. He does all he can to drain the last hours of light from the fire as he pours over the book in his lap.

"What's it about?"

He looks up. "Pardon?"

"What's your story about?" She stands as far away from him as she can, only close enough so that he can hear her. In the flickering light of the fire he can make out a tiny girl, not so much younger than he is.

"Oh, ah." He looks down at the page for a split second, "A king. Knights. Slaying dragons, fighting the enemy."

"That all?"

"No."

She takes a step closer to him, into the light. The rest of the inn is noisy, filled with drunks and clattering silverware and the scraping of tables against the stone floor. By the hearth tucked in the corner, however, they both find it strangely quiet.

"I could read some to you." He offers.

"What's your name?" She asks.

"Enjolras."

She wrinkles her nose, and for a second he thinks she might laugh, but she doesn't. "That's a bit of a mouthful."

"I suppose." He can't tell if she's making fun of him or not.

She chuckles to herself.

"Well, what's your name, then?" He questions, raising an eyebrow.

She crosses her legs, sitting on the floor beside him. "Start reading, maybe I'll tell you."

He spends the rest of the evening reading to her, but she never tells him her name.

Three Months Before

The evening goes much as he expects it to. Les Amis throw the quiet murmurs of revolution, of an uprising, back and forth between each other, but nothing is really decided, at least not to the degree he really wants. News of Lamarque's ailing health has made it's way to the public, which is what is currently disturbing the students.

Enjolras leans back in his seat. He is the only one left on the upper floor of the tiny café, save for Grantaire, who snores softly at a table in the corner. The light haired boy leans over his own table. Maps, diagrams, and scribbled musings cover the wood surface. He sighs, rubbing his hand over the side of his face.

There is so much to do, he thinks, so much do before they can make any real difference.

He stands, as if to get a better view of the pages. He brushes a rude drawing of Joly done by Courfeyrac away from the edge of a map. He had earlier drawn lines through the map, tracing streets, possible points for a barricade.

His thoughts were interrupted however, by the appearance of a small brunette marching up the stairs. It takes her a moment to notice him looking at her.

"Oh," She's surprised he's still there, "My apologies, monsieur. I don't mean to interrupt. I came only to retrieve something…"

She trails off as she finds what she's looking for draped across the back of chair on the far side of the room. As she goes to fetch it, his eyes follow her across the floor. He spots the jacket before she grabs it. He raises his eyebrows. He recognizes the waist coat as one that belongs to Marius. She keeps her head down, and for a moment he thinks she's embarrassed.

"Why are you always running errands for him?" He asks before he can stop himself. "Last time I checked, Marius is quite an able-bodied young man."

She stops a few feet from him, "It's no business of yours who's jacket I may or may not be retrieving. How do you know I'm not robbing him?" She smirks a little bit, or at least he thinks she did.

"You're right. I didn't mean to offend you, mademoiselle."

She shakes her head quickly, "You don't need to bother with any of that. I'm hardly a lady." She glances down at her tattered dress, somewhat subconsciously.

"Fine then. Goodnight, Éponine."

She takes a step toward him, "What's that you're looking at?"

His eyes flicker down to his notes, and for a moment he isn't sure he wants to share them with her, but before he can stop her she's standing beside him. Her dark eyes sweep the maps, a concentrated expression on her sunken face.

She points to a route he's drawn in himself, "If you're looking to get there, it isn't shown on the map, but there's a narrow alley between these two building that will lead you there quickly." She pauses for several seconds, scanning further. "And here, you have drawn in the most direct route, though you're forgetting the market that sets up in the square. Diverting around the church here would be much faster."

He looks at her, and he can't help but be a little surprised. "Thank you." He manages.

"Glad I could be of help. You know what they say, I know my way around."

She seems to remember the coat weighing in her arms, and turns to leave quickly, "I'm sure we'll see each other soon, Enjolras."

She reaches the stairs, but his voice draws her back, "Éponine…" He isn't exactly sure what it is he wants to say, "I'm sure there's some leftover food here, if you'd like to stay. And I'm sure there's just as many frequent mistakes in my mapping job."

She smiles, and he notices her dimples for the first time. "Would if I could. But Éponine's got places to be, unfortunately. Jackets to return."

He nods rapidly, as if to say that 'yes that was a ridiculous idea go return the god damn jacket', and turns away from her. He hears her leave, but doesn't look up again for another three quarters of an hour, when he hears someone on the stairs again.

"Does your offer still stand, monsieur?"

One Month Before

It has been two months since she had stayed behind at the café and corrected his map work. At first it happens only once every few weeks, but her visits soon become as frequent as once a week. Before either of them know it or care to admit it, she stays behind every night after every meeting, discussing the things she had been too timid to say in front of the other boys.

One evening however, she doesn't show up to the meeting. He isn't too thrown by this, because she's missed them before. She always shows up to visit him afterward, but he never asks her where she spent the earlier part of her evening. On this evening, he's facing away from the entrance, but recognizes the pattern of the footsteps when he hears someone coming up the stairs.

"You're becoming a bit full of yourself, Ep, thinking I'll stay up to all hours waiting for you…" He says lightly, throwing a glance at her over his shoulder. But the second he sees her, his grin falls.

Dark bruises have blossomed across her delicate collarbone, at the point where her neck meets her shoulder. He doesn't even want to guess as to the state of the skin concealed by her dress.

"Éponine…" He crosses the room in a few strides. "What happened to you?"

Instinctively, his hands reach out to touch her, but he immediately drops them to his sides.

She shakes her head, not meeting his gaze, her matted curls falling in her face. "Not anything you need to concern yourself with." She tries to smile, but he catches it falter before it can even be considered a valiant effort.

"Éponine, please."

"Enjolras, you can hardly expect my parents to not notice the lack of money I've been bringing home… I've tried to tell them that it's because I've been spending all my free time in the company of a rowdy group of drunk men, but they're more interested in the men who'll pay me for my company."

She says it casually, but he still flinches as the words come out. He has had his suspicions about how she attains the small amount of money she has, but hearing her somewhat confirm them sets him off balance.

As if he can't restrain himself, he reaches out, pushing a messy curl back from her face. His hand trails down until he traces his pointer finger carefully along the length of her darkened collarbone. It also proves as another reminder of how thin she is.

He has half a mind to give her all the money he has. He knows she'll never take it. His hand reaches her shoulder and he pulls her skinny arms through his grasp until he's holding her hands in his.

"Where are you staying tonight?" He asks without looking up at her. His eyes can't seem to leave the bruises around her neck.

For a moment she can't move, frozen in place by his touch. But his question snaps her back to reality, "The answer to that is one I don't usually know until I wake up the following morning wherever I may have ended up."

She knows he doesn't appreciate her jokes, not at a time like this.

She sighs, "I imagine I'll probably go back home."

He shakes his head, "Not if this is what happens to you when you do." He says gruffly.

She isn't sure what to say.

"Come home with me." He says, and it's not a suggestion, but a demand. "You can stay there as long as you need to."

Somewhat boldly, she takes two fingers and lifts his chin to look at her. It's the first time she notices his blue eyes.

Three Weeks Before

She's been staying with him for a week, but they never speak of it. They go to his apartment quietly at the end of the day. He always offers her the bed, which she takes after much coercion. He curls up in an armchair, though it always takes him much longer to fall asleep than her. She leaves early in the morning, while he's still pretending to be asleep.

She's now easily as much a part of Les Amis as anyone. She laughs along with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and drinks in the corner with Grantaire when Enjolras is getting on her nerves. She is no longer afraid to share her ideas about the revolution with the rest of the boys. She talks less and less of Marius, but that doesn't stop Enjolras from noticing how her eyes always follow the tall boy as he moves about the room. Besides, every living and breathing moment of Marius' is now dedicated to finding the girl he spotted on the street. Éponine keeps a brave face, but she doesn't deny it bothering her when Enjolras asks her about it.

The fire of revolution has been burning brighter than ever of late. The nervous chatter of the earlier months has become excited, spirited debates. His men are as ready as he is. Well, all but one.

Enjolras has lost track of the amount of times he, and many of the other boys, have called Marius childish in his relentless pursuit of Cosette and the happily ever after that she represented. Young love was fleeting, and it was a distraction. To him, the streets of Paris should serve as a backdrop for a revolution, not romance. His friends are in a half-drunk, half-excited frenzy. The talk of revolution gives off a pure, raw feeling of hope. Led by Grantaire, some of the amis are singing- loudly, and not to mention, off key- some old war song. The mood in the room is exuberant, contagious. Courfeyrac jumps to his feet, pulling Éponine with him, spinning her around as they join in the song. The rest of the room is suddenly on their feet as well, and all Enjolras can hear is the laughing, cheering and singing that fills the small café.

He can't help himself as he watches Éponine, her face flushed and her eyes bright. She throws her head back in a laugh when Courfeyrac dips her in the middle of their dance.

He can see her dimples when she laughs.

He stands, wondering if Courfeyrac will let him cut in.

The room is so loud, so full of life, that he only barely registers his own teasing words toward Marius echoing through his mind.

He is a hypocrite.

Two Weeks Before

It rains harder that evening than it has in months.

He barely goes home anymore, unless Éponine physically drags him. Mostly he just stays in the café, overlooking details, searching desperately for things they could have missed. In reality, he never goes home because it's a grim reminder of what could easily be. They could give up, forget the revolution, and the fleeting moments he spends back at the apartment with Éponine could become his everyday routine. It's all becoming too tempting. It stirs at the doubt buried deep in his mind, that a flaw in the plan could unravel everything, and he could be leading himself, his friends, her, to their deaths.

He can't dwell on this much longer, thankfully, as he's pulled from his thoughts when she appears at the door.

She leans against the doorframe, looking tired and hassled, not to mention soaked. "Hey there, monsieur."

He surveys her carefully as she wanders into the café, drawn toward the warmth of the fireplace, "I thought you left with Marius?"

She sits down by the hearth, her back to him. "I found Cosette for him," She says, a trace of humour in her voice, "I was no longer needed."

She pulls all of her messy hair to one side, wringing it out a bit. Against his better judgement, he reaches out and places his hand alongside her shoulder, near the base of her neck. Her skin is cold to the touch.

"You're freezing." He points out.

"I hadn't noticed."

He grabs his long discarded jacket from the table and awkwardly arranges it around her small shoulders.

She adjusts the too-large coat a bit herself as he sits down. "Thank you," She mumbles, managing a small smile.

"I'm sorry about Marius." He tells her, though he's not completely sure that he is.

She doesn't say anything for a very long time, her dark eyes trained on the fire, "It's of no consequence now." She gives a half-hearted shrug.

He sighs lightly, and reaches out to touch the small of her back. Neither of them speak for several minutes as he gently traces his hand along her spine in what he hopes is a gesture of comfort.

She finally speaks, "Do you have any idea how it feels to have the person you love madly in love with someone else?"

He immediately drops his hand, and doesn't answer.

One Week Before

"Enj, are you even listening to me?" She asks.

Truthfully, he isn't. His eyes are trained out the window of the café, overlooking the dark street as she goes on about something Marius said earlier that day. He stands, ignoring her question, peering out the window, out to where, in his mind, he imagines their barricade, their own rebellion being built. The final plans are still being finalized. This should have been said for weeks ago, and he knows it. They should be more prepared by now. This wasn't a silly game. This could quite possibly be his final act, his final labour for his beloved Patria. But he was behind. He was distracted.

"Éponine, I think you should go home." He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, "Well, back to the apartment." He clarifies. That was her home now, anyway.

"Pardon?"

He turns back to face her for the first time in a while, "The revolution looms nearer every day. Your role is becoming smaller. We've reached the point where I can work out the rest for myself."

She frowns, and he notices he still thinks she looks beautiful, "You don't want me hanging around anymore, then?"

He clears his throat, "No." He lies.

"You've been in a foul mood for days, Enjolras. Why don't you tell me what's wrong?" She stands defiantly, still several inches shorter than he.

He drags a hand through his unruly hair, swearing under his breath, "It's, it's…the issue is you, Éponine. And me… Us, we're… it's…"

"Damn, Enj, you've made some of the best speeches I've ever heard and now you've got your tongue all tied up over a few bloody words?"

He glances to her, standing by the main table looking over to him. He isn't sure if he wants to yell at her or throw himself out the café window and be done with it all.

"It's you." He says again, "And the revolution. You- You're in the way."

"I'm not following."

"I can't afford to care about something more than I care about the rebellion!" He raises his voice louder than he means to. "One false move and everything could fall apart."

She approaches him noiselessly, cautiously, as she always does. His loud voice doesn't frighten her. She reaches out, and touches the side of his face gently. They had barely touched, save for on accident, since the night they spoke of Marius.

He is a fearless leader, and the last thing he is scared of is dying. Dying in the name of his country, of his fight, seems like a good way to go. But as he looks at her, her thick, dark eyelashes, and her wide, ever-questioning eyes, he realizes that as much as the revolution is worth dying for, he also has something worth living for, too.

One Day Before

There's one day to go, one day more. The evening is setting and the café is alive with activity. Rifles are being loaded, resources are being gathered. Spirits are high. When Marius shows up, pledging his allegiance, it makes everything all the more real. After months of planning, months of talking, it was happening tomorrow.

And for a moment, panic overwhelms him.

Enjolras stumbles outside. The street is dark, mist heavy in the air. It's cold, empty. Flags are hanging out of windows along the street, and while it should make him feel assured, it doesn't.

He's had probably one too many glasses to drink, and he silently curses Grantaire as he leans against the outside wall of the café and slides to the ground.

If he was wrong, if the people didn't respond, if no one stood behind them…

There were a million variables that could go wrong.

His shoulders begin to shake and he pulls his knees to his chest. They were too young for this. He shouldn't have to worry if he was going to survive the next few days. He shouldn't have to be concerned with what he has to die for.

"Enjolras?"

Of course it's her. It's always her.

"Did Courfeyrac make fun of your jacket again?" She laughs lightly, as if she's completely oblivious to what's going to happen tomorrow.

He doesn't respond, so she kneels down in front of him.

"Enj?" Her fingers tilt his chin to look up at her. He watches her mouth curve downwards and her brow knit together when she sees the look on his face. "What's the matter?"

His mouth doesn't seem to be working properly, he opens and closes it a few times but no sound leaves him. Instead, he just shakes his head and looks down at his lap.

She moves and sits beside him. Half automatically, he wraps his hand around hers. He needs to hold onto something as the hope of his revolution is slipping away from him.

"What if it doesn't work?"

"What if what doesn't work?"

It's as if he can't force the words from his throat, "I don't know it will work. Before… I could- I'd swear on my life that it would work. But now… my doubt grows every day."

"Why?"

"Because now I have something to lose."

He doesn't specify any details, but they both know he doesn't need to say anymore. She reaches out and wipes at his face with the pad of her thumb. When she's finished, she gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, "It will work."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it has to. Because I know you. Because it will work."

"What do you think you know about me that makes you so sure?"

She smiles, and it glows in the darkness. For a split second, he's reminded what he's fighting for. "There's lots of things I know." She pauses for a moment, then adds, "Because a long time ago a little boy read me a story about fighting for what's right."

He looks at her, and she's smiling as she watches him register the memory. He looks at her, and he isn't so afraid anymore. He looks at her, and he remembers what he's living for.

The Day Of

He thinks that he's the first to realize what she's doing, possibly before even she knows what's going to happen. The soldiers climbing the barricade are dangerously close- not to her, nowhere near her, but to Marius. Marius isn't paying attention to the guns pointed at him, and within a few seconds, he'll be dead.

But suddenly, Éponine is right beside him and his heart is caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything is frozen.

Her name tears from the back of his throat at the same time she pulls the barrel of the gun to her chest. She crumbles back against the wall of broken furniture, against the barricade they had built earlier that day. Against the thing he thought he cared about the most.

Everything has stopped. The world has gone silent. Miraculously, soldiers are retreating. Marius has done something, but Enjolras doesn't register it.

Though everything seems to be working in slow motion, the following events happen quickly. From afar, Enjolras watches Marius realize what has happened, sees the recognition of the girl who has been in love with him her whole life flicker across his face.

They exchange quiet words, ones he can't nor cares to hear. The skies open and it begins to rain, though Enjolras doubts anyone notices. Marius cradles Éponine, rocks her until she falls asleep in his arms. He kisses her forehead as she lays limp. It's what she would have wanted.

Enjolras looks away.

An undetermined amount of time passes. He forces himself forward, untangling the skinny girl from Marius with the help of Joly. He's sure to lay her down carefully, determined to protect her from any more harm. He sits back on his heels in the back of the café where she now lays, as Joly confirms what he already knows to be true.

The young medical student leaves him, and Enjolras doesn't know whether it's to let him grieve in peace or if he's as shaken by the first fallen revolutionary as he is.

He recalls the first time they met, ten years earlier, when she curled up before the fire place and fell asleep as he read to her.

He pushes some hair back from her face, and tries to smudge some of the dirt from her cheeks. He wipes his eyes on the back of his hand, and part of him wants to lay down beside her and remain there forever. He takes her small hand and places it alongside his cheek, covering it with his own.

With a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist, he drops her hand and rises to his full height.

She's the first casualty of their war.

The Day After

He's cornered.

He's bloodied and bruised, and everyone is dead but him.

He's the only one left, and the revolution has failed.

He must die with the knowledge that his revolution failed.

He's left now only with images of the friends that fell around him.

On the upper floor of the café, where the revolution was born, the revolution would die.

He thinks inexplicably of Éponine, and the time they danced in this very room only a few weeks ago. It can't possibly be the same place.

The group of soldiers advance, and all he has to hold onto is the red fabric in his hand.

He looks up in time to see Grantaire break through the crowd, sauntering toward him with no difference in his stride than that of his everyday movements.

The soldiers allow him to do so, and he takes his place beside him.

Enjolras raises the flag defiantly.

Grantaire hits the ground a beat before Enjolras falls backward out the window.

And he's the last casualty of their war.