Oh...My...GOD! I DID IT!

I finally have this chapter done! I seriously cannot fucking believe it!

I'm so sorry it's taken so so SO long to get this chapter out. I've been dealing with depression for the last few years, and it's taken all the joy out of writing or just being in fandoms in general.

Luckily, I've been feeling better lately, so I managed to finish this sucker and get it online.

I still promise to finish this fic if it's the last thing I do, I just hope it won't take me as much to post another chapter.

Thank you for reading, and please enjoy.

May 31st 1832

In medicine, it was always of grave importance that those who followed its path understood and accepted the inevitable cruelty of death.

As a medical student, Combeferre never had an issue with the physical aspect of the trade; he would never bat an eyelash before blood, bodily fluids, exposed innards or broken bones. What distraught him was having to stand by, hands bound by the unbeatable shackles of human fragility and watch as another life became unsalvageable. He hated few things, but it was the feeling of helplessness in front of a dying man that ranked highest on that very short list.

Combeferre glanced over at Enjolras, whose pale face gazed into nothing, too furious and, he guessed, too afraid to speak or even raise himself from the chair he was occupying.

The man the blond was sat next to showed similar emotions, though his thick dark beard provided a good enough mask that only the trained eye could catch the underlying grief. What gave Louis Auguste Blanqui, a 28 year-old passionate political activist and fellow leader of Les Amis du Peuple away was the nervous habit of rubbing his dark brown eyes, as if he believed the action could erase the weariness and terrible sights away. Since arriving at l'Hôpital Cochin, the man's eyes had become swollen and a bloody shade of pink from the constant rubbing.

"And NO ONE knows WHY he did such a foolish thing?!" Blanqui asked for what must have been the seventh time that morning and his eyes briefly glanced over at the hospital bed before him, where a wounded Évariste Galois lay almost motionless, save for the agonized frown on his sweaty face and his slowly moving lips.

"All we have are a few letters from a Mlle. Stéphanie-Félicie Poterin du Motel whom Galois apparently had taken a liking to, the known fact that he received a bullet in the stomach in a duel of suspicious circumstances and a few unverified accounts of whom the other party was, none of which weighing much validity," Enjolras answered for the seventh time that day.

Blanqui sighed and rubbed his eye sockets once more. "And there really is nothing to be done?"

"The gunshot ruptured his stomach. The ensuing peritonitis has sealed his fate, I am afraid," Combeferre explained, and after glancing at the dying young man, continued, "perhaps we should summon a priest to perform the required offices... It cannot be long now."

"I do not need your priest!"

They all started at Galois' unexpected burst.

"Évariste -" Blanqui began, but was immediately stopped short by his comrade's cry of pain.

"Étienne..." Galois gasped when the bout of agony ended. "Where is Étienne?"

Enjolras' jaw visibly tightened and he raised himself from his seat to walk over to the younger man's bed. "We have sent word to him. I am sure it will not take long until he comes," he told him, surprising Combeferre with the gentleness and consideration his best friend showed the patient. A never before seen kindness and understanding painted the blond's charming features, enhancing the beauty of them in such a way that everyone's eyes were immediately drawn to him.

It would have been a lovely sight had this behavior not shocked and confused the medical student so profoundly. Yet another change had occurred in his friend that he was not privy to. It had reached a point where Combeferre no longer knew what to think or believe anymore. Constantly was his best friend's character evolving into someone he did not know nor understand. He wished they owned the time or willingness to discuss the matter, but as things were, the opportunity would not show itself anytime soon.

"Enjolras... Please... Étienne..." Speaking required great effort from the young mathematician, yet still, the name of his leader would not leave his lips. His bloody arm shot out and grabbed Enjolras' coat, who was leaning over his bed in worry.

"I am sure he will arrive soon," the blond tried reassuring Galois, but his words no longer held any veritas, as the anger exuding from his voice erased any hope or expectation he could have conveyed.

Tears welled up in the 21 year-old's eyes and for the first time in his life, Combeferre saw a man lose the will to live. It made his own eyes sting with sadness and pity.

After a few more moments of pained cries, Galois, whose hands were still clutching Enjolras' jacket, pulled him down with the little remaining strength he possessed and whispered something in the blond's ear.

Those had been his last words, for not an hour later, after the bells of Notre Dame had struck ten times, Evariste Galois was dead.

Enjolras stared blankly at the lifeless body, his blue eyes following the trickle of blood that dripped from the young man's mouth. Then, after a brief shake of the head, he walked over to the far end of the room and slammed his palm against the wall so hard it made the other two men jump.

"Enjolras, please," Blanqui started in a reproving tone, but the blond, without looking at anything besides the dirty wooden floor, immediately raised a reddened hand, demanding silence.

The young doctor glanced from one man to the other and then at Galois' corpse, wondering what words could possibly calm or soothe the heavy atmosphere. But judging by the flush of rage that colored his best friend's cheeks, he decided remaining silent would be the best course of action for now.

It had been a long time since Combeferre had seen the Chief look so enraged. He worried what repercussions this anger may have, but he knew better than to try and approach the matter, lest he wanted to be caught in the crossfire.

As he watched Enjolras stomp towards the door, halfheartedly wiping at the bloodstain on his shirt, the Guide understood what the blond's aim was, and while he agreed but did not condone of what he was about to do, he prayed his friend would have enough sense not to endanger what they had been working on for so long.

"Where are you going?" Blanqui sputtered indignantly as Enjolras passed by without even acknowledging the older man, something the politician did not take kindly.

"Where I have to go," was his answer, and just before he was about to step out, Combeferre remembered something.

"Wait, what did Galois tell you?"

This made the Chief stop in his tracks and turn his head so they could see the ice-cold rage in his eye.

"They know."

e-e-e-e

The Théâtre du Vaudeville, home of the most charming pétites pièces and most outrageous comédies en vaudeville was arguably the centerpiece of le rue de Chartres, yet Enjolras could not care less of its grand exterior or the lively atmosphere that encompassed it.

The attractions of the theatre were invisible to him. All his eyes perceived was the red of his fury and the defined path he was walking, or rather, stomping on.

It was not long before he spotted the tall, lanky silhouette of Étienne Arago, director of the theatre since only 1829. The behind-the-curtain revolutionary was at the moment in cheerful conversation with a man of considerably smaller stature than himself, but much larger in girth. Arago's smile briefly faltered the moment he caught sight of Enjolras approaching at a heavy pace, but he quickly recomposed himself and spread his arms wide in fake welcome, his eyes flickering to the blood stained shirt just slightly visible under the student's buttoned up jacket.

"Enjolras! What a delightful surprise to see you here! I did not think vaudeville was to your fancy." Arago chuckled and then turned to his companion. "Please let me introduce my dear friend and literary colleague, Honoré de Balzac. He and I have written together a novel some while ago, of disappointing success I am afraid. Still, contrary to myself, Honoré will one day become a great - "

"We must speak." Enjolras cut the older man's speech that he had lost track of since 'delightful surprise.' "Now."

He did not care for his rudeness, nor of their setting and least of all of Arago's click of the tongue and dangerous glint in his black eyes.

"Forgive me, Honoré, this seems to weigh some importance. We will continue afterwards, it should not take long," Arago patted Balzac on the shoulder, gave him a pointed look that screamed 'you saw nothing today' and then turned to the blond. "Let us take this to my office," he suggested and motioned with his long arm to his left, encouraging Enjolras to precede him.

Inside the director's office, Enjolras briefly observed his surroundings. It was a chamber of relatively small dimensions, with one wall covered by a massive bookcase, one fairly cluttered desk, a chair behind it and two in front for the rare visitors. He did not feel like sitting.

Arago pointed to one of the chairs and motioned for Enjolras to sit.

He did.

And so did Arago in his corresponding seat at the other end.

"That was rather unmannerly of you, my friend. I should have thought a man of your upbringing would know better. And to walk around Paris in such a state." Arago shook his head and took a deep breath. "Now, what seems to be the problem?"

The man's pretend ignorance and whimsy made Enjolras' blood boil. Of course he knew what the problem was; the bastard knew very damn well…

"Galois."

Only for a brief moment did the older man's back straighten and his blinking rate increased.

"He is dead," Enjolras continued in a cold voice, not hiding even the smallest sliver of anger.

"Ah." Was all Arago said.

There was a pause.

"Ah?" The blond repeated his words disbelievingly. "Ah!? Is that all you have to say?!"

"Keep your voice down." The older man snapped and glared at him. "And what would you have me say?"

This caught Enjolras off guard. "I - I don't know. Anything! He was your colleague. Your friend! Are you simply going to overlook his passing and go on with the rest of your day?!"

How could anyone be so calm when a friend had just died? Enjolras couldn't understand. Had he been in the opposite chair, he would be bereft with grief and despair; even the thought of losing any of his friends made his stomach churn and his hands shake with fear. It was a future that very well might come, but the notion was too horrid to acknowledge.

"Evariste was..." Arago inhaled a long breath and his gaze lowered, "more than a friend." He shot Enjolras an intent look and said no more.

It took a moment for the younger man to understand, but when he did, his mouth fell open and he was forced to shake his head violently to bring himself out of his stupor.

"I -" he tried to speak, but his words failed him. This explained why Galois was so desperate to see the revolutionary leader once more.

"You do not need to say anything," Arago interjected. "What is done is done. Evariste was a fool and too easily deceived. He should not have involved himself in Mille Motel's plight, let alone take it upon himself to resolve it."

He chuckled. "Funny how it was the one time he showed kindness to another. And the one thing he gained in return was his demise."

Enjolras listened without a word; he was far too confused and numbed. He could find no rhyme or reason to the man's train of thought.

"He... Was your friend..." His sweaty fists shook on top of his knees and his jaw hurt from the grinding of his teeth. "He was more..."

"I have no need nor sympathy for fools like him." Arago replied calmly and rose from his seat. He took long, lean strides towards the office's only door.

"Friends and lovers are not family, they are not related by law or blood, they are not clients or partners or leaders; their worth is only measured by what they offer and give. If they provide nothing then they are useless."

The force with which Enjolras grabbed the older man by the cuffs and slammed him against the door knocked the air out of Arago's lungs.

"Then is that what la Sociéte is to you as well?! A group of soldiers?! Peons who are meant to serve and sacrifice themselves for your whimsy and visions of the greater good?! WILL THEIR DEATHS MEAN NOTHING AT ALL?!''

His heavy breathing was the only thing that fueled his self-control enough that his fists still hadn't connected with Arago's flesh. The desire was there, and it burned hotly, but his reason watered down his fury enough that he knew he would leave the place with his hands still clean.

In turn, Arago looked down on him calm and unimpressed, as if Enjolras was nothing but an annoying fly whose squashing would take more effort than it'd be worth. It was demeaning and infuriating.

"Stand down, Enjolras." Arago spoke slowly and calmly, but the hidden danger behind his words froze the student. Physically, the man was by no means a threat. However, if one knew Étienne Arago, then they knew that his strengths were darker and more terrible than those of the most brutal fighters.

Unwillingly, the blond stepped back and released his senior, lowering his arms and balling his fists at his sides. Anger steamed inside of him and were he unaware of the repercussions, what Enjolras would have done would have been, by law and moral definition, unforgivable.

After he readjusted his cravat, Arago walked up to where Enjolras stood and firmly slapped his cheek. It wasn't a staggering blow, but it was enough to twist his head sideways and cause a sting on his skin. There was not much pain, but what was predominantly felt was the shock and surprise of this normally calm man having raised his hand. He really didn't know how to respond.

Not like he would have had the opportunity, for Arago's long fingers had grasped his throat and were keeping his words tightly locked in.

"You listen to me, you ignorant tadpole," the older man spoke harshly and rapidly, spraying Enjolras' face with saliva, "these are times when emotion and attachments are the greatest mistakes someone like you or I can make. We are tools! We are a resource of France just as are her fields and factories. We exist to regain her freedom, nothing else. You might lose everything you cherish or hold dear in this war, and if you cannot will yourself to accept and willingly give them up, then you have no business being a member of la Sociéte des amis du peuple." His eyes shone with anger and what Enjolras recognized as hidden hurt. He almost felt sorry for him.

Almost, for his own anger and disgust outweighed any other feelings. "Galois is dead and no amount of pseudo-righteous patriotism will make your absence from his deathbed be condoned or forgiven. If not by Galois' spirit, then most certainly not by me." His rage fueled his body and with relative ease pushed Arago away from his person.

"I will not abandon our cause," Enjolras continued, breathing heavily and staring up at the man before him with disappointment and disgust. "I will fight for my country under your leadership, for I still admire you as a leader, but as another gentleman and human being, you have lost every ounce of my respect."

"That is all I need." Arago replied coolly and straightened to arrange his messed up cravat once more. "Please see yourself out, I trust you remember the way." And without so much as sparing the blond one half of a glance, he turned around and headed for the office exit.

"Galois said they know," the student called out, stopping Arago's long strides.

His head turned only a fraction, but enough to contour his interest. "Who knows?"

"The National Guard. The nobility. The king." Enjolras informed grimly, his head lowered by the weight of this knowledge. "They know of us. You should thank Galois for this, at least posthumously. You raised a good soldier." His voice echoed his disgust as well as mirrored his stance on the matter.

A short break was followed by a stiff, "I see," and without so much as another syllable, the revolutionary leader leisurely walked out first, leaving the blond alone with his thundering emotions.

Enjolras' jaw was still set and his fists were balled so tightly he could feel his fingernails break the skin of his palms. Forgetting his regard for propriety, he stormed out of the office and then the theatre, incapable of registering his surroundings or his own thoughts.

Red hot anger coursed through his veins and burned his nerve endings. Were he more reckless and had not known of a better solution, Enjolras would have gladly taken his rage out on each passerby he met as he sped down the street and towards the Gorbeau house.

e-e-e-e

The day had been boring thus far.

Éponine sat on the floor with her legs stretched out in front of her and softly hummed to herself. She did not care how out of tune she was or how unpleasant her voice sounded; to her inner ear, it was definitely better than the depressing silence that stuck to her room like fungus.

She had been sitting like that for most of the day. Her body had none of its usual energy; instead there was just dullness and exhaustion, and no desire for anything other than rest or perhaps food. In more despairing moments, the gamine wondered if she had turned ill, yet the lack of any other symptom quelled those fears.

'It must be the heat,' she mused, looking down at her drenched chemise.

An unexpected heat wave had attacked Paris these past few days, making it seem as though the horrendous storms from barely a week ago had never been at all.

She wondered why for only a moment, the subject becoming boring and meaningless once she realized she could find no answer for it other than God's whimsy.

Recently, Éponine had come to find that simple answers such as 'coincidence', 'chance', 'fate' or 'God's will' no longer satisfied her curious mind. She now wondered how rain worked, how horses pulled carriages, why rainbows existed and why people like her were starving while others could not carry their own bellies around.

Her mind sought knowledge and understanding more than it ever had. The reason for this, she guessed, may have come from her unpleasant bout with Marius and the feeling of deep humiliation of having been looked at as nothing short of a stupid, uneducated child.

The baron had since then remorsefully apologized, saying in more words than necessary how sorry he was for what had occurred and how everything had been nothing but an unfortunate misunderstanding.

Of course Éponine had forgiven him instantly... How could she not? Where there was love there was always forgiveness, and Marius had truly been honest in his apology. And yet, somewhere deep within her heart, the humiliation and anger lingered, making way to a very different kind of feeling for the baron she did not quite seem to understand yet.

She wondered briefly if she should go visit him, make heads or tails of her heart, but the desire to remain peacefully on the floor surprisingly won over her desire to see Marius.

Luck had been on her side today, a rare occurrence indeed, for her father had dismissed her assistance early, claiming to not need her skills for whatever daily scheme he had concocted. Of course, Éponine would not complain. Helping the old man had stopped being a satisfying affair years ago. Now it was mostly a grueling task that either had her ending up with more scratches and bruises than her body could sustain at a time, or with memories the likes of which no girl her age deserved to be plagued by.

Even though it wasn't in her character, Éponine did not mind feeling bored every now and then. She felt deserving of this small luxury, of a few moments of relaxation and solitude, when she allowed her imagination to soar and when no one would disturb this wonderful calm with their toxic presence.

Yet, she had thought this too soon, for not a moment later, her ears picked up the sound of commotion somewhere outside her room. She could hear the old landlady's croak of a voice blabbering something in response to another speaker, whose words held a heavy weight of malice that conflicted with the crystal clarity of the voice.

It was a familiar tone, but it was muffled enough that Éponine couldn't figure out its owner, so she shrugged it off in favor of returning to her monotonous musings. At least until the heavy pounding on her door beat them away.

The fury of the knocks startled her. It was clear that whoever was on the other side of her door had a bone to pick with the Thénardiers, no doubt not a rare event in itself, but still not a pleasant thought, especially when the eldest daughter of the family found herself on her own, without much means of defense.

Slowly, she raised herself to her feet and tiptoed to the door, aiming to peek through the keyhole at the person who was so keen on entering her flat.

"Éponine, open up!"

This time the voice was undoubtedly recognized.

"What in God's name does he want?" the gamine huffed and hurried to let the young man in before he announced his presence to the entire tenement. That was the last thing she needed, for people to learn of her involvement with the leader of those silly boys.

Opening the door, she glared up at Enjolras, who stood in her doorway, glaring back with no less ardor. But unlike him, Éponine froze when she got a better look at him.

The blond's skin had an alarming red hue to it and she noticed how the vein in his temple bulged out, drumming in the tempo of what was without doubt pure rage and fury. When her attention was caught by a red stain that was barely visible under his jacket, Éponine was hit by a sudden wave of worry and anxiety.

"Enjolras, are you - ?"

Before she could finish, the young man barged in the room, slammed the door behind him and latched it shut. Then, like a whirlwind, he reached out and grabbed her. His large hands clasped the gamine's head like in a vice and pulled her to him, crashing his lips over her own so hard their teeth connected painfully.

Éponine couldn't even gasp, Enjolras mouth was so consuming she did not even have air to spare for shock. Only for a short second did she instinctively try to push him off, but it quickly ended when his tongue slithered in between her teeth and began furiously flicking her own. For the same reason as before, Éponine did not have enough oxygen to sigh.

Pushing her surprise and concern aside, at least for the moment, the girl surrendered to his smothering embrace, reason steadily retreating to make way for a stronger emotion that began steadily burning inside her chest and between her legs. It was astonishing how just his kisses could cause such a stir in her lower abdomen, an unheard-of reaction for the waif to experience with any other man, let alone someone she had no real feelings for.

With just the contact of his warm mouth, a pool of excitement formed at the juncture between her thighs, enough that it had her body on fire and her heart thundering.

Enjolras kissed her rough and hard, more so than ever before. He bit and chewed on her lips, his teeth scraping her bottom one in a wonderfully painful way that made her groan appreciatively. His hands moved around her frame much the same, pinching and stroking her skin barbarically, so unlike his usual way of touching her, but not displeasing in the least.

Her own hand slowly slid down his front, feeling the unevenness of his toned chest, which briefly reminded Éponine that she had never actually seen it for herself before, and stopped at the protruding bulge of his pants. Smirking from the feeling of his stiff cock against her palm, she began stroking it in eager anticipation.

The revolutionary growled and pushed her lips away, holding her at arm's length. His darkened eyes roamed down her meager frame and with a savage gleam in his eyes, pulled her back onto him and dropped down on the floor, taking her along with him.

He practically slammed her on the cold ground, nestling himself between her legs while his hands furiously began pulling the barrier of her clothes away.

Éponine looked on in wonder as Enjolras unceremoniously dragged her chemise down, exposing her breasts, and roughly thrust her skirt up, bunching it at the waist. Her eyes widened and her mouth hung ajar when he literally ripped her undergarments off and threw them aside.

She had almost asked what in the world had happened to him, this way of acting being completely out of character for the usually stoic student, but then he slammed his mouth over her breast and her unsaid words came out as one loud moan.

His hands grasped both breasts and began molding them like clay between his long fingers. While one of her nipples was being viciously sucked on, the other fell prey to his thumb and index which pinched and rolled the small tip to a maddening effect.

Breathing heavily, the nerve endings of her breasts electrocuting her with each suckle or squeeze, Éponine felt her desire drip between her legs and onto the dirty floor beneath them. In desperate need of something to ease the ache in her sex, she bucked her hips and thrust her center flush against his, groaning as the pressure on her clit brought just enough comfort to keep her sanity intact.

Feeling her wetness against his groin, Enjolras growled again (which the gamine found illogically erotic), and removed one hand from her breast and shoved it between her legs, cupping her sex in his palm.

Éponine cried out when he crassly began stroking her, his mouth and other hand not for a second pausing their assault of her breasts.

It was unbelievable. For a moment, the girl wondered if the person who was on top of her was the real Enjolras. His behavior was so abnormal, had she not been blinded with pleasure, she would have been wary of him. Her eyes briefly caught the crimson stain on his shirt and the wave of anxiety hit her anew.

Was he hurt? No. He wouldn't be able to move like this if he was.

Had he hurt someone? Plausible. The student had never once put on the mask of a saint since she had known him, and Éponine knew perfectly well what he was capable of, having seen it with her own eyes months ago, but it still did not explain the anger that seeped from the young man like miasma.

Seeming to have noticed her hesitation, Enjolras shoved two fingers into her so suddenly and so forcefully it stole the breath from her lungs. He began pumping inside her slit hazardously; his long calloused fingers rubbed her insides, making her juices slosh out everywhere and causing screams to tear her throat apart.

Mind losing to her body, Éponine's hips swayed against his hand, trying to push his fingers in further, not feeling full enough to satisfy her hunger. She needed so much more to feel sated, especially now, when he was more ardent than he had ever been and more desirable than she ever thought possible.

A protesting sound accompanied his hand leaving her core and the release of her breasts, but was soon followed by an impatient whimper when Enjolras began swiftly undoing his trousers at last. He shoved them down to his ankles, releasing his throbbing cock, and without even waiting one second, parted her legs and impaled her with one wild thrust.

Groaning with every push of his hips against hers, Éponine felt like she was being slowly crushed by the indescribable feelings he was forcing out of her. Her hands shot up, grasped his blond locks and pulled the revolutionary down into a kiss, throwing control to the side and succumbing to her own wildness.

They were both untamed and uncontrollable, their bodies screamed loud wet sounds as he pummeled furiously into her. It was the messiest, crudest and most incredible sex they had ever had and Éponine loved every second of it.

Bearing his white teeth at her, Enjolras looked more like a wild animal than the angelically beautiful, stoic young man she was accustomed to. His face was redder than his favorite jacket and his eyes showed no sanity, just blue haze. He fucked her like he was possessed, ramming his cock into her opening with such force it was just short of being painful, but shook her blissfully from her core to the tips of her hair strands.

Neither of them had a chance of lasting for long, the friction between them too unbearable to withstand the inevitable peak that would soon tear them apart.

Enjolras, close to orgasm, clutched her by the wrists and pulled her arms over her head, pressing his weight down upon them as he lifted both their hips higher. He roared when he shoved his cock in deep, smacking his pelvis against hers with resounding force, hitting so many sensitive spots it made the gamine shriek with each thrust.

Her eyes watered from the feelings in her core and her throat ached from the constant screams he tore from her mouth. When she felt completion approaching, her inner muscles clenched, preparing for the onslaught of turbulence that would surely rip her apart.

It did not take long before Éponine felt his cock twitching inside of her, responding to the tightening of her center. It only took a few more thrusts for Enjolras' mouth to fall open and his eyes to go up into his head as his orgasm spilled into her.

Feeling him come inside sent the gamine over the edge as well, her back bending and a ragged gasp leaving her lips as she felt her body shatter. There were a thousand suns in front of her eyes that surrounded two large blue ones that shined brighter than them all. In her state of bliss, she did not realize at first that they were his eyes, but as her vision steadily focused, she found Enjolras staring down at her, sweaty, red-faced and just as lost.

Exhausted, his body collapsed on top of hers and his blond head fell into the crook of her neck, where she felt his heavy breathing in her ear. With no little amount of surprise, Éponine noticed his hands leaving her wrists and coming close to her body. For a moment, it looked like he was going to embrace her, but as if he had changed his mind at the last second, he left his arms parallel to their bodies and clenched his fists.

What was wrong with him? Éponine couldn't help wondering just what had happened to the student that would leave him in such a despairing state. More than that, she wondered if she truly wanted to know.

She heard his breathing steadying and slowly, very slowly, Enjolras raised himself, avoiding her eyes, and hissing as his sex slipped out of her own. He stared at his shining cock and frowned.

Éponine followed his movements curiously. It was like watching a child awkwardly trying to make sense of something he had never before witnessed, except his eyes didn't show wonder but grim confusion. Whatever was going on in that pretty head of his, it made her feel sorry for him.

He suddenly winced when he tried getting to his feet and their eyes fell in tandem to his knees, where trickles of blood fell from newly formed scratches on his skin.

Éponine just couldn't believe her eyes. Just how unfocused had he been that he had not realized his knees were scraping painfully on the floor as he fucked her?

"Enjolras what happened?" Laying her concern on the table, she glanced up at the blond while he fastened his pants and stubbornly ignored the injuries on his legs.

"Never you mind," he snapped back. Like him avoiding her eyes had not been enough, Enjolras turned around and showed her his hunched back as he finished dressing.

'To hell with that!' The gamine thought and raised herself up, adjusting her clothes to decency as she stepped forward to give her sudden visitor a piece of her mind. Grabbing him by the shoulder, she spun him around ready to raise up a storm, but the moment those tired blue eyes came in contact with hers, the girl faltered. She knew something bad had happened, but the young man's eyes told the tale of just how much of an effect it had had on him. There was a slight prick she felt right then in her heart, an uncomfortable sensation which could have come from either pity or concern, both emotions she did not usually feel, especially for someone like him.

Without truly understanding why, Éponine closed in on the revolutionary and gently cupped his cheek in her palm.

He twitched and looked down at her with a wary glance when her touch came in contact with his skin. Nevertheless, he did not pull away.

They stared at each other for a while, she concerned but understanding, he confused but grateful. Strangely, they knew what the other meant to convey without any words spoken.

Éponine would not ask if he did not want to be asked and Enjolras appreciated this small kindness greatly.

She could not bring herself to press the subject further; the gamine knew well enough what it was like for some things to weigh too heavy to be shared with others. That kind of self-preservation was difficult to live with, but if she could do anything to support him, it was to let the matter go.

"Thank you," Enjolras muttered in a voice so low she had to strain to listen, "and I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Éponine tilted her head in confusion and removed her hand from his cheek, lowering it to her side where the lack of warmth on her palm made her form it into a fist.

"For..." he blushed and gestured awkwardly at her body, "you know."

"Oh!" Éponine laughed. "Well, don't worry about that." She bit her lip. "I think you made up for your impromptu visit in full," she stared up at him through her eyelashes and smirked at the fidgeting it induced in the young man.

Still, there was one small problem they needed to work out.

Not really finding any other solution, nor having the time to think of one, Éponine lifted her hand and looked up at him expectantly. "Now pay up."

Enjolras blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said pay up."

The blond's gaze moved from her hand to her totally serious expression several times before speaking. "I'm sorry, but I don't follow."

'Of course he wouldn't.' Éponine rolled her eyes. "Listen, you came barging into my home in the middle of the afternoon, locked us in and made me scream so loud the entire boulevard probably heard me climax."

She ignored his blush.

"Now, you'll bet my father will get wind of this, and when he does I'm going to have to find a decent enough excuse as to why a bourgeois student like you would ever come see a person like me."

It looked like Enjolras was about to say something, but he thought better of it and began searching in the pockets of his jacket. He took one franc and put it in the gamine's hand.

"I'm not aware of the rates for things like this, but I assume this should...cover the expenses?"

Her eyes widened as she weighed the coin's value in her hand. "This is too much! No one would pay this much for a fuck! Please give me something smaller!"

"But I don't have anything smaller." He replied with a shrug as if it were nothing out of the ordinary - rich stinking son of a bourgeois.

"Besides," he continued, "I should think one Franc is not a considerable amount seeing how I've troubled you today." His gaze darkened and he heaved a heavy sigh, the troubles that were plaguing him seeming to return. "I... did not mean to, but I just... I needed..." He broke off and looked at her. She was startled to see the loneliness and despair that faced her, emotions so foreign to his features, yet there they were, directed at her, showing no opening for comfort or advisal.

While Éponine was still scouring her mind for a word or two, there came a sound from the hallway, and less than a minute later, the pair was abruptly startled by the front door forcefully opening with a bang.

She couldn't immediately see who it was, for Enjolras had instinctively jumped between her and the door, but the moment the newcomer opened his mouth to emit a slur of vulgarities, her blood froze in recognition.

"Papa?"

In her fear, she only just managed to catch the blond's twitch and sudden rigidity, nothing surprising given who they were now facing. 'Now, how should I get out of this one?' she grimly thought.

"What in the hell are yer doin', girl?" Thenardier croaked, his breath stinking of rum and something stale, as he glowered at the pair. Only when his eyes settled on Enjolras did his glare turned into a pensive frown.

The old man's bloodshot eyes went from Éponine to Enjolras in quick succession, glancing at their red faces, glistening skin, and disheveled clothing. His eyes widened for a second before settling down with a glint she knew too well.

Turning to the student, he flashed him a toothless grin and, as if glazing his voice with honey, before his daughter's very eyes, the petty con artist turned back into the snake tongued innkeeper from the past. "Welcome monsieur," he said and made an over the top bow to Enjolras, "and thank you for taking an interest in my eldest daughter." He winked in her direction, which did nothing but make Éponine sick with dread.

"I must confess you have caught me off guard. I didn't know she had taken up the trade again," Thenardier continued, his words knives in the girl's stomach, "but with a customer like you, monsieur, of course she could not refuse."

"Papa," she tried to make him stop, but it was her who was halted by her father's threatening glare, which Enjolras did not miss.

The student did nothing, however and simply watched silently as Thenardier moved past him and held his palm open in front of his girl, in a similar way as she had done to Enjolras. He forced the Franc out of his daughter's hands and, at seeing the rich sum, the old man's smile widened, making his vile aura even more pungent.

"Monsieur, by my word, to think that you would offer so much for this girl of mine! You are too generous!"

"I think I should leave," the student cleared his throat, and Eponine noticed the vein in his temple bulging again.

"You're most welcome to come by again, Monsieur," the damned bastard kept blabbing, grinning like a wretched hound, "I assure you ain't gonna find nobody better than my 'Ponine." He approached Enjolras, put a grimy hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear: "I made sure she learned young," he said and winked at the young man.

Eponine suppressed a gasp when she saw the blond's complexion go from pink to bright red faster than she could blink. She heard his breath come out harshly and rapidly through his nose and noticed his fists clench so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Good day," Enjolras choked out, and like a whirlwind, without sparing a glance in either hers or her father's directions, fled the room. She heard his feet stomp on the rickety stairs of the Gorbeau house and the entrance door open and slam shut, leaving Eponine in a fit of silent shivers.

Thenardier seemed less than oblivious to the student's departure, his attention too captured by the gold coin in his hands. "Ya did good, girl," he sneered and patted her roughly on the back, a caring gesture if she ever saw one. Too bad it made her sick to the stomach.

Before she knew what she was doing, Eponine whirled around and dashed out, following the young man's steps, almost as blindly as he had walked them.

'What am I doing?' the gamine wondered.

She thought about the disgust and anger he must have felt. Enjolras was no child, no matter how he behaved. It should have been no secret Eponine had been touched by other men before...

So why had he been so furious?

Had he been disgusted by her? Was the thought of touching a former nightwalker that unpleasant?

For someone like him, pure and innocent of the worldly ways of adults, of course it would be.

'It would be a shame for it to end like this,' she thought as she raced down the stairs, ignoring her father's calls and the people she passed by. Éponine couldn't think of any other reason for the pursuit except for her unwillingness to part ways with the student in such a form, preferring to ignore the idea of her not wanting to part in any way at all.

Out on the streets, her eyes darted around, but could see no sign of the blond revolutionary. Following her instincts, she sprinted in the direction of Le Musain, his home away from home, hoping she would catch up before Enjolras could reach the more crowded areas of the district. It would not do to cause a scene, especially for someone as respectable as he.

It was almost unnoticeable, but good that she had trained her senses well, for she barely missed the spot of red in the back of her eye as she passed one of the adjacent alleys to the main street.

There he was, furiously pacing the closed off alley, his hands clasped behind his back, chin down and blonde locks jumping in time with his stomps.

Relieved, the gamine turned and ran in his direction, only to stop mid step, almost tripping, as Enjolras suddenly stopped and slammed his palm on the brick wall before him.

Jaw set and chest rising with every deep, loud breath, the young man seemed as terrible as she had ever seen him, and before she could even properly observe him, he slammed his palm to the wall again.

After a minute, he did it again. And then again. And again… until she could take it no more.

The girl forced his hand to stop by grabbing it in her own shaking ones.

"Stop it!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing, have you lost your mind?!"

Startled, Enjolras stared at her, not quite seeming to yet grasp the situation.

"I understand you are angry and disgusted," she blurted out, talking faster than her mind could think, "I am sorry I lied to you. Yes, I was a whore. I have been had by many men, and it is not something I take any pride in." She swallowed, keeping her head down, unable to look him in the eye, yet still holding his hand tight in hers.

"But I swear, I have not touched any other man since the day I first had you. I have not given myself to anyone else but you since then. I understand if you want nothing more to do with me. I am sure you must feel aghast that you have been with someone as dirty and tainted as me, and I promise I will never seek you out again, I just wish you did not leave this place holding a grudge, as I will hold none towards you. I know you probably hate me right now, and I cannot blame you, but I just -"

"What?!" Enjolras asked.

Éponine then raised her head, and found him staring down at her, confused, still dishevelled, still red in the face, but much calmer than before.

"I- I just…" she stuttered, not knowing what else to say. "I just did not want us to part ways like that. Even though you hate me now, and you are disgusted by me, I still wanted to at least apologise for not being completely honest with you."

She was never one to easily apologise, but the gamine had the capacity to understand where she had erred. It had not been a nice thing to hide this side of her past from him, for such a long time, and knowing the kind of person he was. It was her mistake, and she could only do so much to right this wrong.

"'Ponine, I do not hate you," he surprised her by saying, "how could you possibly think that?"

Staring at him in disbelief, the girl shook her head. "Because I hid my past as a street walker from you, I let you touch a body that was dirty, I let you kiss lips that have been kissed by other men, and have a woman that had been had by too many others before you. I am horrible, I know, but I could not help it. Being with you was so enjoyable, I could not bring myself to give you up."

"'Ponine!" he breathed, clasped her head in his warm hands, burying them in her hair, and forced her to look at him. "I am not angry with you. Nor do I hate you. And under no circumstance am I disgusted by you."

It was difficult to believe, but his eyes showed he was speaking the truth.

"If anyone deserves those feelings," he continued, speaking through gritted teeth, "is that man you call your father. The thought of what he must have put you through..." she felt his hands tighten around her scalp, before he took in a deep breath and his hold relaxed.

"It is not your fault, Éponine."

Those few words felt like daggers in her stomach. She felt a million pricks on her body, and she could see tiny bumps form on her skin. It was the first time someone had said those words to her, and the impact was one she could not easily explain. All the girl knew was that there was an immense feeling of relief settling in her chest, and she chose to focus on that.

"I do not blame you for not telling me," Enjolras continued in a much softer tone, "and I understand why it is something you are uncomfortable with discussing. I am not an absurd man. I recognise when something is not my business and I accept your choice in keeping this matter to yourself. But I am also not naive," he added, "I knew from the beginning I was not your first, and I did not care. I still do not care. The past you is something out of my grasp, but the present you is not."

She did not understand.

"What are you saying?"

The blond took a deep breath. "What I am saying is: I may not be able to change your past, but I can change your future." He removed his hands from her and began searching one of the pockets of his coat. From it, he removed a key, finer that any one she had ever carried, and handed it to her.

She still did not understand.

"It is the spare key," he explained.

"Spare key to what?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes in a way that ticked her off.

"The spare key to my flat, 'Ponine, what else?" he said snobbishly. Were she not so shocked, she would have felt a want to slap him on that pretty face.

"Why…?"

He sighed and looked down.

"Listen, 'Ponine, I will not lie, or pretend to be a better man than I am. Yes, I am giving you this key so you may seek sanctuary whenever you need it, but I will not deny that it is also for my own selfish whims."

Enjolras really was not himself today, she thought.

"I don't follow..."

"I…" he faltered.

"Yes?" she pressed.

"I… need… you..."

The words fell from his mouth so strangely and awkwardly that it felt like he was speaking some foreign language. Frankly, it even felt foreign to her own ears.

There was no scenario she could imagine that had him saying that to her. She was more than confused, and she would be lying if she didn't admit there was a flutter somewhere in her chest. Her cheeks felt hot, and the gamine was in such a stupor, that no reply would form on her lips.

No less red in the face was the revolutionary, his stance slightly out of the ordinary, in an almost shy kind of position. He scratched his head.

"This is a difficult time for me, 'Ponine,' he managed. "There are so many things…" he took a deep, ragged breath, that sounded too heavy for someone his age.

"There are so many things I must deal with. So many things I must see to. So many things I must see… I do not wish to admit it, and I will deny till my dying breath ever having said this, but I cannot handle it."

Now that was something she would remember for a long while: the great Enjolras admitting weakness.

"I want to help you, I truly do, with all my heart, but… I need your help as well."

Another miraculous turn of events: Enjolras asking for help. This was by far the strangest day the girl had had in a long time.

"What can I help you with? I'm just a street rat," she replied, confused.

He shook his head. "You are not, 'Ponine. You are you." And here, he truly sounded honest, and it was something she appreciated greatly.

Enjolras came closer and placed his hands on her waist, his gaze fixing on her own. "It is not easy for me to ask this of you, and I will bear you no ill will should you refuse," he said softly, very unlike himself, "but I need you… like I needed you today."

Eponine's eyes widened, but she continued to listen.

"Before… being with you today," he carried on, "I have never felt so angry. So discouraged. So… afraid." His mouth twitched as he said that last word. "At first, I did not quite understand why I sought you out, but after I felt the incredible relief you gave me, I realized what a massive difference it made."

He took a deep breath. "Eponine, you are the only thing that can calm me down."

She blinked, and as she understood, a cheeky smile crept on her lips. "You mean to say that you want to fuck me whenever you're stressed?"

He cringed. "Please don't put it that way."

"But that's what' you're asking of me. To be at your cock's beck and call whenever it needs to take a load off."

"'Ponine, that's not what it is," he spluttered, now red in the face. "What I want is - "

"You'll have to pay me." Eponine said before he could finish.

It was his turn now to be confused, but the gamine wasn't going to waste any time.

"My father will wonder where I disappear to. Being out and about is not enough reason for a wolf like him. He can smell lies from kilometers away. Now he believes I've taken up the trade again. If you give me enough to prove to him that I've been… busy, it would make life much easier for both of us."

The girl was smiling as she spoke, and seeing this appeared to have given Enjolras optimism as well.

"So… you accept?" he asked, in a hilariously timid way, so uncharacteristic that it was almost endearing.

She nodded. "I accept."

Grinning, the blond squeezed her waist gently, and bowed his head, aiming for a kiss, which she quickly stopped with a hand on his lips.

"If you accept to pay me on a daily basis, provide me with food, and not throw me out should I ever want to spend the night."

Enjolras took her hand in his, and removed it from his lips.

"I accept."

Returning his grin, Eponine tilted her head and welcomed his soft kiss, as if they were sealing a silent pact between them.

It was the perfect deal. She would have food, a soft bed to sleep in every now and then, and Enjolras. That last one was the greatest benefit of all, for that meant the days of begging and pleading for him were over, and Eponine would at last get to enjoy him like she had always wanted.

Thanks again for reading and have a good one.