A/N: So this is my first chapter story with Eponine and Enjolras. It follows the muical plotline, but instead of using the musical personalities of the characters, I chose to use Victor Hugo's character personalities. Well at least, I attempted to. You may envision the characters as you wish, but in my mind, Enjolras is Aaron Tveit and Eponine is Asia Argento from the French mini series. Why Asia? Because as I read the book, I pictured her as Eponine. She's a dark, ruthless woman while being so worthy and deserving of sympathy. And Aaron because he also resembles the Enjolras in the book, beautiful, blond hair, blue eyes, harsh as hell. Anyway, enjoy! Please read and review!

She knew the streets better than most, a horrid place filled with thieves, beggars, whores—the life of the poor. They stole and they begged, sold themselves for mere sous, and at the end of the day they still waste away, waking to face the poverty in its cruel torture all over again.

Eponine Thenardier knew this routine as she knew the back of her hand, bracing herself each waking hour as she struggled to survive. She could handle it. She was strong-willed that way. But without her sister Azelma, each day seemed that much tougher, not to mention the beatings Eponine received. Together the Thenardier sisters used to split the beatings, but no longer since Azelma disappeared. Yet, without her, there was one less mouth to feed, to steal pockets for, and for that, Eponine was grateful even though she missed her sister dearly.

The gamine wandered the streets eyeing each passer-by, rich and poor, for easy pickings. Pockets that is, for their wallets. Thenardier—or Jondrette or whomever he was impersonating today—demanded she hold her keep and go to work, knowing his daughter wouldn't be able to rake in more than a couple francs if lucky. She was a money source and nothing more, a servant of the Patron-Minette.

Hours went by as she scurried around like a shadow, picking peoples' pockets and only came up with a single franc and a couple of sous. With only this to show for hours work, she knew her father would punish her. As she continued on her search, a bourgeois university student in maroon with curly blond hair caught her eye. Inwardly she smiled, he had to be carrying a decent amount of money. Silently she crept up to the unsuspecting man, her fingers itching inside his jacket's pocket. Her heart sank. Empty. Her hand retreated but then she was grabbed at the wrist and her heat leaped to her throat and her stomach churned. Blood faded from her face as the man stared down on her, his piercing blue eyes boring into her.

"Wrong pocket," he said sternly.

"I'm sorry Monsieur," Eponine replied hastily as she tried to flee into the safety of the crowd. He tightened his grip on her.

"Don't you think it's a bit foolish to be blindly reaching into strangers' pockets?" He asked, his tone cold.

How dare this man, this bourgeois have the gall to say such a thing? "When you're starving you don't have much of a choice now do you, Monsieur?" Eponine retorted.

The man could see the fire in her eyes, a vibrant ferocity that burned from her very core. "You don't know what it's like being poor, nibbling on crumbs, being hungry for days with barely a shirt to keep off the chill. We sleep on the streets while you kick us in the dirt." Her words dripped with venom.

He relinquished his grip on her, his eyes lightening and his features softening. "I can assure you I'm not one to do such a thing towards you and the rest of the suffering. And after the revolution you shall be free and no longer sleep on the streets."

Eponine's brow furrowed, "No. That silly revolution plan people are talking about can never change who we are. Nothing can change the plight of the poor. The rich, people like you, have no sympathy for us. There is no more kindness in this world."

He stared at her, this uncommonly intelligent street girl. But having no time to argue and defend his cause, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out five francs and handed them to her.

"No I can't take this. I don't want it. I don't need it!" She tried to hand them back, but he stepped away, a faint smile on his face.

"Have a little more faith Mademoiselle." He turned to leave.

No one, especially from a higher class had ever called her Mademoiselle. It startled her greatly. "I can't keep this! I have no means to pay you back." She said.

He turned his head to face her, his eyes so kind from how they were before, "It is a gift." And he was gone.

At this Eponine was dumbfounded. A complete stranger showed her, an urchin, a worthless gamine, kindness. She stared down at the five francs, feeling them in her hand. She smiled lightly, shoved the coins in the pockets of her brown dress, and hurried back into the darkness.

Marius Pontmercy walked into the Café Musain, his green eyes shimmering with excitement, his smile stretched from ear to ear. He sat at the table amongst his friends and Combeferre eyed him quizzically.

"Marius, what has become of you? You've never looked so happy." He said.

"Some wine and say what's going on!" Grantaire managed not to slur despite he was already drunk and handed Marius a bottle.

Marius smiled lightly, "I walk by her nearly every day at the Luxembourg Garden. And each time I see her face, I feel my soul on fire!"

Grantaire choked on his liquor and let out a drunken laugh. "I am aghast! Is Marius in love at last? I've never heard him 'oooh' and 'aah'."

The Les Amis laughed at the love struck Marius as Enjolras remained uninterested sitting in his chair in the corner reading.

"You talk of battles to be won," Grantaire continued, gesturing to Enjolras who glanced at him with his eyes and an uncaring expression, "And here he comes like Don Juan. It is better than an opera!"

But as Marius continued on about the girl he was fawning over, the Lark he called her, Enjolras couldn't help but listen and grow more and more annoyed. Loving a woman was succumbing to a caged fate and those so strong and secure lose themselves. It turned men into fools as it has done so to Marius. Enjolras could never allow himself to love anyone other than his country. Patria was his only mistress, and his love for her was stronger than any man could give a woman. Soon enough Enjolras couldn't handle Marius's babbling, made his way to the group and sat next to him.

"It is time for use all to decide who we are." Enjolras was speaking directly to Marius, "We all know where we stand in this unjust society, but it's the poor that suffer the most! Have you asked yourselves the price you would pay for the rights of the people? We have a duty to our people to end suffering."

Marius didn't have to think before he answered, "Had you have been there you might know how it feels Enjolras! But how could you? All you love is your dear Patria."

Enjolras scoffed, "And you've been blinded by a woman. Who cares about your lonely soul? We're striving towards a larger goal; our little lives don't count at all."

"Come now Enjolras, don't you think you're being a bit dramatic?" Grantaire spoke, "Let Marius be. So he's in love. As long as he aids in the rebellion, who is he hurting?"

Enjolras didn't argue with him. Grantaire was right no matter how much he hated the drunkard. He then turned from his friends to go back to his reading. He wasn't about to continue the senseless conversation with Marius and could frankly care less if he was in love. As long as the Les Amis were faithful to their cause, the revolution, then Enjolras was grateful.