Marriage of Convenience

 Stupid, worthless girl.

She cowered at her father’s feet as the insults rained down just as hard and heavy as the blows. She lay there on the floor in a crumpled heap, one arm wrapped around her head in a feeble attempt to protect herself, the other arm outstretched, her hand full of small coins. 

It hadn’t been enough. Of course, it never was enough money. And he was in a drunken rage, which made it worse. He had thrown her to the ground, kicking her, almost before he even bothered to look at the coins she had managed to scrape up. 

“Stop… please…” she whispered, tasting blood. She dragged herself up as he snatched the money from her hand and shoved it into his pocket, snarling at her all the while. Today she had let him beat her… tomorrow she would fight back and the beating would be worse… all these years and she still didn’t know the best way to deal with his outbursts.

“Out. Get out of here, girl,” he snapped suddenly, his eyes vicious as he clamped a filthy hand around her arm and dragged her to the door. She clung desperately to the one franc she had managed to keep back from him as he threw her out into the street… and somehow, it slipped from her hand…

oOo

He saw her for the first time on a cold, wet, gray afternoon. She was on her knees in the ditch, hands scrabbling for something in the muddy water, her tears mingling with the rain. Something about her made him stop in his tracks. He stood still for a moment, just watching silently… hesitating… wanting to see if he could help somehow and yet not sure if he should interfere.

She groaned, sitting back on her heels and dragging the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a muddy streak. He stepped closer, catching a glimpse of her face… dark, deep-set, troubled eyes, sharp cheekbones that jutted out like she was half-starved, a long, thin scar running down her left cheek from the temple to her jawline.

“Mademoiselle?” he ventured, taking a step nearer. She started, glancing up at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. She looked him up and down before she answered, with a piercing glance that seemed to go straight through him. 

“What do you want?” she spoke sharply, one grimy hand slipping between the ragged folds of the threadbare shawl wrapped around her shoulders and tied in the back to keep it out of her way. 

“Only to see if I can help you…” he spoke tentatively. Her hand withdrew partially from her shawl, long enough to let him see the wooden handle of a knife before she thrust it back inside the fabric. “Have you lost something?”

She glanced from him to the puddle she had just been digging in and back again, her head tilting to one side as she stared, as if she was trying to determine if she could trust him. “I’m fine, monsieur,” she answered, her voice sharp. “Walk on. I don’t associate with your type.”

He might have left… had not something in her eyes made him stay. She had told him to go… but her eyes seemed to call out to him… there wasn’t just anger there. It went so much deeper than that. Something lost and hurt and lonely and heartbroken. And so he knelt in the mud beside her, his gaze earnest.

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she bent her head, raking her fingers around the cobblestones as she tried to busy herself with her search. She wanted to jump to her feet and run, but… although she would never have admitted it… she was fascinated by this obviously bourgeois young man who would dare to kneel on the street in the mud beside a girl like her.

“I… I dropped a franc…” she muttered, hating the fact that she felt blood rushing to her cheeks. He nodded, searching alongside her, suddenly acutely conscious of the weight of his wallet in his pocket. He could have given her fifty times the value of her franc right there, but the fierceness of her tone seemed to say she would never accept it.

“Here…” he smiled a little awkwardly as his fingers brushed against the round metal disk, nearly hidden under the filth of the street. “I found it…” he wiped the coin against the hem of his coat and held it out to her. She snatched it from his hand and scrambled to her feet, lifting her chin high.

“Merci,” she murmured, curling her fingers around the coin. “Good day.” She turned to walk away. He followed, keeping in stride with her as she moved rapidly down the side of the street in the direction of the market. She smirked a little as she walked. She could have lost him easily, in less than ten seconds… but she kept on walking… slower than she usually did. 

“Heading to the market?” he said after a moment of silence, during which he had been trying to think of something to say. It was all he could think of.

“Oi, non, monsieur,” she grinned sardonically. “I am on my way to the ball… don’t you see my fine gown?” she held out her tattered skirts with a mock genteel gesture and bobbed a curtsy at him. “I am to be presented to the queen,” she tilted her chin higher.

He stopped still again, unsure how to react to that. The edge of defiance in her voice warned him from playing along. They made a ridiculous contrast, the pair of them… she with dirty bare feet and nearly threadbare rags, her dark hair hanging in a tangled mass over her thin shoulders, a tattered boy’s cap shoved on her head, the brim tilted rakishly over her forehead… and he with his obviously expensive and well-made suit, boots nearly new, golden hair tied back out of his way, however carelessly. 

She threw back her head and laughed as he stared at her, bewildered. Her laugh belied her looks and the harshness of her voice… it was light and musical… almost silvery. Somehow it made him feel more at ease, and he managed something of a smile.

“I’m going to get some food,” she answered honestly. “Look at me… when do you suppose I ate last?” she grinned wider as he hesitated, and shook her head, answering her own question. “It’s been two days now. I suppose I shall collapse soon if I don’t get something.” She was brutally honest about her situation, and yet she spoke nonchalantly, as if there was nothing at all startling about what she had said. She was simply stating fact. “Thus I am grateful to you for finding my franc, monsieur. But again, I bid you good day.” There was something to her speech that set her apart… as if she had been well educated somehow.  Yet another point of fascination about her.

“I was about to eat,” he shrugged, trying to sound offhand. “Would you join me?”

“Join you?” she treated his invitation as if it was a joke, letting out another silvery laugh. “Really, monsieur. Again, I tell you, look at me. I can’t go anywhere with you.”

“It’s a warm day,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard her. “I’ll grab a few things at the market, and we can find somewhere to sit outside. A sort of a picnic, if you will,” he grinned at her.

She looked at him, hard. But he didn’t flinch as her gaze raked over him, piercing more than ever.

“I don’t take charity,” she tossed her head, dark hair flying wildly around her shoulders. 

“Who says it’s charity?” he shrugged again, carelessly. “We can go together and each buy something, and then share.”

She gripped her franc tighter. “What’s in this for you?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Except that I won’t have to eat alone.”

It seemed an eternity before she finally nodded, her eyes still wary. “Alright,” she agreed quietly. He stuck out his hand.

“If we’re going to be friends, let me introduce myself. I’m Enjolras.”

“Eponine,” she said slowly, ignoring his outstretched hand. 

oOo

Eponine wasn’t one to cry. She stood still in the center of the room, her thin frame trembling like a leaf in the wind, but she would not cry. Her chin jutted out defiantly and she narrowed her eyes, hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” she pronounced each word slowly and distinctly, as if explaining something to a small child. Her father was half-drunk already and he only threw a lazy, leering grin her way before tipping back his head to take another swig from the foul-smelling bottle in his hand.

“Course you will,” he laughed. “I’ll have none o’ your fits of self-righteousness, ‘Ponine. Truth is, you belong to me. And you do what I say you do.”

“I belong to myself,” she snapped. “You have no say over me.” She was trying not to show how terribly afraid she was. She had tried to stand up to him before… and failed completely every time. He would only beat her if she didn’t back down. 

He stepped toward her threateningly and she backed up instinctively. It made him laugh. He kept moving forward until she felt her back hit the wall behind her and she flattened herself up against it, recoiling at the smell of the whiskey on his breath as he loomed over her. 

“Pity you scarred up that pretty face of yours,” he mused, suddenly serious as he frowned at the scar on her cheek. She clapped her hand over it to cover it. The scar she had gotten in a knife fight with Montparnasse. He had laughed at her too. They were always laughing at her… why? Was she only a joke to them? A plaything to be tossed around at their will? Her anger rose, almost drowning out her fear… almost, but not quite.

“I’ve decided,” he added, sneering down at her. “It’s high time you were married, ‘Ponine.” 

“M… married?” she choked out, her eyes widening. That was the last thing she had expected to hear from him.

“Don’t you know? Stupid female brats are under the protection of their father until they’re twenty-one,” his voice changed to a mocking tenderness. “And then they are thrust alone into a cruel world… unless they have a husband to look out for them.”

Well, it made sense somehow. He would control her legally as long as he could and then transfer her to someone he trusted so that his twisted control over her would never truly end. 

“I’m only eighteen…” she faltered. 

“Too old,” he frowned deeper. “And you’re getting too much for your poor old father to handle. You need someone younger, someone who can keep up with you… who will be able to guide you through life and make sure you’re always safe and looked after…”

This time, Eponine laughed. Scornfully. “There’s not a single man in the whole of Paris for me,” she spat out, tossing her head. “They’re either gutter trash or bourgeois scum, and I’ll have none of them.” 

Her father’s lips curled into a slow smile and he backed away calmly. “Oh, you will,” he spoke easily. “In fact, I know a trustworthy young man who would be glad to take you under his wing. He has already agreed to marry you.”

“You’re lying.” Eponine pressed her hand against her chest. Her heart was racing.

“Oh no,” his smile widened and he took another drink before he spoke again. “You know Montparnasse has had his eye on you for a long time, girl.” 

oOo

“I now pronounce you man and wife… what God hath joined together let not man put asunder…” the words echoed distantly, as if in a dream. They hardly registered in Eponine’s mind. She simply stood there, as stiff and still as a statue, her hand limp in Enjolras’ grasp. The ring on her finger, a simple silver band, felt unnaturally heavy, as if it was weighing her down.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest added, smiling a bit uncertainly at the new couple. It was obvious that something was off between them and he wondered if perhaps it had been an arranged marriage… or a forced one. 

Eponine felt her heart stop beating. She hadn’t been expecting this. Of course, she assumed that most couples kissed after the ceremony, but she hadn’t realized it was actually a part of the ceremony. What on earth was she supposed to do now? She went even stiffer than before, if that was possible… a pale, white marble statue, trembling under her new husband’s gaze. He was staring at her in an odd way, looking almost… afraid. Uncertain. 

It felt like an eternity that the two of them simply stood there, looking at each other in something akin to horror… and it must really have been long, for the priest leaned forward, his brow furrowed slightly. “Monsieur…” he spoke almost in a whisper. “You may kiss your bride.”

Enjolras hesitated a moment longer and then bent his head awkwardly over Eponine. She didn’t move… afraid to duck away and afraid to stand still… but she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. A heartbeat of time passed before she felt the gentle pressure of his lips against hers. It startled her, the sudden warmth and tenderness of the feeling. She didn’t dare kiss him back, just stayed there and let him kiss her… it only lasted a moment and then he straightened up again and she opened her eyes with a barely perceptible gasp. He let go of her hand and she pressed it against her heart, feeling it race beneath her fingers. The priest was smiling sadly at them.

“Go with God, my children,” he spoke and Enjolras nodded at Eponine before stepping forward and offering his arm. 

“Shall we, Madame?” he murmured and she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow in a timid, tentative gesture. They didn’t speak as they left the church and he helped her back into the carriage that had been kept waiting in front of the door for them. It was only after a few minutes of driving in silence that he finally broke the silence.

“Well…” he said slowly. “I… since I haven’t found a place for you yet… you’re… uh… welcome to stay with me for now. You can… you can have my bedroom. I’ll give you complete privacy,” he stammered, his face turning red as he avoided her gaze. “I’ll start looking for a place for you first thing in the morning, but you can stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you,” Eponine murmured, staring down at her hands, twisted in her lap. “I’ll… I’ll do that. Until I have a place.”

“As for work… pity there aren’t more suitable options…” he grimaced. “Perhaps a shop, or… do you sew?”

“Not a single stitch,” she answered almost harshly and then quickly changed her tone. “I mean… I can mend and things, but I can’t do fancy work, not the kind they’d want in a shop. Anyway, I couldn’t abide sitting still for that long…”

“Well, let’s see…” he frowned deeper. “There’s always domestic service, if you’re alright with such work. Education, of course… like a governess… or a nurse, for younger children. Uh, perhaps a waitress at a tavern, but those aren’t always the safest of places…”

“I can take care of myself,” Eponine snapped, and then cringed under the look he gave her. He was right, of course. She knew that even better than he did.

“Maybe a hospital,” he went on, a bit hesitantly, his eyes worried. “What do you think?”

“Perhaps… a shop of some kind…” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t think I could handle being a servant of any kind… it feels… degrading. But any kind of shop… I would gladly do that.”

He nodded, managing a reassuring smile. “I’ll see what I can find. As soon as possible. But again, I assure you, you will have my full financial support. Always.”

“I still don’t understand,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. But she didn’t argue further. 

oOo

“Are… are you sure that we did the right thing?” Eponine spoke uncertainly as she stood in the middle of his bedroom. It was plain and starkly furnished, but still obviously expensive. Luxurious, really, especially compared to what she was used to. He paused in his whirlwind ‘tour’ of the room, glancing at her as he closed the wardrobe door.

“There was no other legal way to go about it,” he shrugged. “I’m… I’m sorry… but I… well, with my name… you’re under my protection. Your father… he has no legal authority over you. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He took a step nearer, fidgeting with his hands as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. His eyes were deep and earnest, more so even than they had been the last time he had explained this. “You’re safe now, Eponine.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, being somehow completely drained of words. She felt a sudden intense longing to be wrapped in his arms and she could hardly understand why. She wanted to know what it felt like to be held like that… to hide her face against his shoulder and sob her heart out… to feel his lips against hers again… warm and gentle and comforting… She shook the thoughts away quickly, with a shudder of remorse. What was she thinking? He was her husband in name only. She could expect no more. He already had been more generous than could possibly be expected of any man… he had given her his name. Now she must spend the rest of her life forever in his debt.

“You’re probably tired,” he went on, obviously not sensing her inner conflict. He seemed terribly awkward, talking faster and faster, almost tripping over his words. “Musichetta sent over all the things you’ll need… nightgowns and stuff…” he gestured towards the bundle on the dresser. “I’ll give you money tomorrow so you can get whatever else you need… and… well, if you’re hungry, I’ll get some food out. Do you like tea?”

oOo

Notes:

-he finds her a job working in some sort of shop and a room above it where she can live. It’s in an older part of the city and a little distant from him, but close enough that she can easily get there when she needs to. 

-they live together for about a week, which is terribly awkward. She finds herself growing attached to him somehow but does her best to ignore the feeling. He avoids her more and more the longer it goes on and seems relieved when she moves out. 

-for a while they visit each other and meet up regularly to spend time just as friends, but their relationship becomes strained and as the revolution draws closer, they fall farther apart.

oOo

She wanted to cry. But she couldn’t.

She hadn’t moved from the window since she had dragged herself inside early that morning. It was night now, and black as pitch, with not one star out to pierce the gloom. It was a perfect sky, she thought. As dark and empty as she felt inside. She should have let herself die at the barricades.

(several more paragraphs of angst, most likely)

Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she slipped to the back door and let herself out into the alley. She stood there on the doorstep for a long time, gulping in deep breaths of the warm June air as she stared at the brick wall of the building opposite and the faint glow of light from a flickering street lamp on the other side of the alley. 

Before she could turn back inside, she heard something… a faint, weak sound… almost like someone groaning. The sound startled her and she glanced around the alley, her heart pounding oddly, before she dropped her gaze to the ground. There was a man lying crumpled at her feet, one bloody hand outstretched, palm up, the fingers limp. She clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her cry of surprise and darted another alarmed glance around her before dropping to her knees beside the prostrate figure. His face was turned to the ground, but she recognized him immediately, her heart twisting with fear as she reached out hesitantly, afraid to touch him.

“Enjolras?” she whispered uncertainly, her hand hovering over his head. “Can… can you hear me? It’s me… Eponine…” she let her hand drop gently into his hair, wincing when she realized it was matted with blood. What was she supposed to do? He had been at the barricades… surely if they knew he had gotten away they would come looking for him… she didn’t have time to stop and think. She had to get him inside somehow… and quickly. The problem was… he was twice her size. And hurt badly, from the looks of it. 

“Please…” she muttered, her voice panicked, moving her hand down to his shoulder. “Please, wake up…” She tugged at his shoulder, managing to turn him on his side, and slipped her hand under his head to lift it from the ground. “Enjolras, listen…” she leaned closer, her voice taking on a frantic edge. “I’ve got to get you inside…” She could just barely make out the outline of his face in the darkness. He was so pale underneath the blood that it frightened her. Was he even alive? No… she couldn’t think like that… she just had to move… 

Biting down hard on the corner of her lip, she hooked her hands under his arms and lifted him as much as she could, desperate to at least get him in the door. He was heavier than she had expected but somehow she managed to drag him inside, bit by bit, leaving a trail of blood behind. She collapsed beside him on the floor, kicking the door shut as she gasped for breath, willing herself not to cry… not yet. He stirred, turning his head, his lips moving, but she couldn’t understand his incoherent murmur. She was up on her knees again, bending over him, cupping his face in her hands as she whispered urgently.

“Enjolras, please… please, can you… can you move at all? I need to move you, just a little… please help me…” His eyes flickered open halfway and fell shut again, his head lolling in her hands. He couldn’t seem to rouse his strength enough to even come to full consciousness. For a moment Eponine considered just leaving him there… but right inside the door was too risky. “I… I need… please…” she went on breathlessly, not sure even what she was trying to tell him as she crouched down beside him and turned him over, dragging him onto her back. He sagged limply against her, his arms draped around her neck as she tried to get a firm grip. His weight was almost too much for her to bear. How she managed to actually get to her feet, dragging him up with her, she never knew. She choked back a sob of relief when she managed to get him into the back room and let him drop onto the bed. 

She locked the doors then, both in the shop and at the back of the building, before closing all the shutters. She just wouldn’t open the shop in the morning, and if she kept quiet enough, maybe people would think no one was here. She took a moment to breathe, slumping against the wall as she glanced down at her bloody hands and then at the trail that led from the back door to her bedroom. Her shawl had slipped off somewhere, probably in the alley. She didn’t care. 

“Dear God, give me strength,” she murmured under her breath as she trailed back to the bedroom, pausing in the doorway as she stared at her husband’s limp body draped crookedly on the bed, his head hanging off the side. Her husband… her breath caught for a moment at the thought of the phrase. She was married to this man… 

“Why, though?” she whispered as she moved to his side, gently lifting his head and pushing him farther onto the bed, grunting with the effort. “Why did you come to me? I… I’ve barely even seen you since…” she shook her head, letting her words trail off as she adjusted the pillows under his head. “And what can I do? You need a doctor…” tears filled her eyes as she brought her lantern closer to the bed so she could get a better look at him. Of course she couldn’t get a doctor… there was no explaining any of this without admitting that he was… well… a traitor… 

“I’ll do what I can,” she went on, wondering why she was talking to a man who was so deeply unconscious that he really seemed dead. “But I… I…” she reached out tentatively, brushing her hand over his forehead, pushing back his bloody curls. There was a deep gash in his forehead and a long, thin cut running from his right cheekbone to his jaw. The head wound, that had to be bad… but what scared her the most were the bullet holes in his shirt. “Please wake up… please…” she slowly unbuttoned his tattered shirt, pushing the ragged fabric aside. “Oh, dear God…” she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth as she drew in her breath, horrified. There were… bullets… in his body… she counted them, her hands shaking as she tried to force herself to remain calm. Six. Six bullet wounds. At least, that was as much as she could see, but there was so much blood…

“I can’t,” she gasped out. “Enjolras, I can’t do this, I can’t…” her breathing quickened, coming out in hurried, panicked bursts. There was no way she could get those bullets out of his body. He would die. And he would die if she did nothing. And if she went for help, she’d compromise his hiding place, and… and he would die. She folded in on herself, sinking to her knees and dropping her head onto the bed as she burst into tears. Her mind spun endlessly, trying to rack up something to do… anything… but she couldn’t think… and she was so weary… She clutched the covers with both hands as she buried her face into the mattress, sobbing as if her heart would break.

“Ep…” she didn’t even hear it at first when he tried to whisper her name, his voice was so weak. He never got past the first syllable. His hand shifted, moving slowly as he tried to reach for her. He was trying to open his eyes, but his eyelids were so heavy. He managed somehow to lift his hand and dropped it heavily onto her head, his bloody fingers tangling in her hair. “Ep…”

She stilled, growing quiet. She could hear his breathing, shallow and raspy. He was trying to choke out words, but she could barely hear them.

“Don’... Ep… don’... worry…” he whispered, his voice slurred. “Jus’... lemme go…” 

She lifted her head in alarm, grasping his hand as it slid down her head and pressed against her cheek. He opened his eyes halfway, looking at her wearily, and closed them again. 

“No,” she spoke almost sharply, pressing a desperate kiss to the palm of his hand. “I’m not going to let you go.” She jumped to her feet, a wild idea forming in her mind. “I’ll… just give me a little time… I’m going to figure this out…”

There was a medical book in the shop. Could she… did she dare? She rummaged frantically through the shelves in the darkness of the shop, realizing she had forgotten to bring a light, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have time to go back for that. She found the book… a dull and heavy thing bound in leather… and ran back into the bedroom, slamming it down on the dresser as she flipped through the pages. There were several chapters devoted to surgery… military surgery… and yes… it gave instructions for bullet wounds. She ran her eyes over the page, muttering aloud to herself, and then picked up the book with one hand, her lantern with the other as she mentally calculated a list of supplies. The least she could do was try.

oOo

Eponine never could think back to that night afterwards without panicked feelings of terror. It was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. It must have been some kind of miracle the way she was able to do it, feeling dizzy and sick as if she would topple over in a dead faint at every moment. She had followed the instructions in the medical book down to the last detail, stoking up the fire, boiling water, sharpening and sterilizing kitchen knives… she cried out to God as she worked, almost screaming in her desperation.

She was glad he slipped back into unconsciousness before she went to work removing the bullets. And yet, that made it ultimately more frightening. A hundred times that night, she thought she had lost him, he was so pale and still… and there was so much blood… dear God, there was so much blood…

She felt hysterical when she finished, her hands trembling so violently that she could barely control them, her vision blurring over. And yet somehow she found the strength to finish cleaning and bandaging the wounds, even changing the linens on the bed and switching her filthy, bloody nightgown for a clean dress. It wasn’t until late morning light filtered through the slats in the window shutters that she found herself with nothing left to do. And that was when it hit her, the realization of what she had accomplished. She stood stock-still, just staring into the distance, her eyes wide and glazed over… and then her knees buckled, carrying her almost to the ground. The last thing she remembered before darkness closed in on her was dragging herself onto the bed beside Enjolras, colliding wearily against him. She heard his groan of pain as she sank into the mattress… and then she fell insensible… whether she had fainted or simply collapsed of exhaustion, she never was sure. But she fell into a sleep so deep that she didn’t even dream.

oOo

Eponine opened her eyes, blinking hard as she frowned into the darkness. She was lying on top of the covers, fully dressed, and it must be the middle of the night. That was odd. She had the vaguest memory of something terrible happening, but she couldn’t remember what. It took her a few moments to suddenly register the warmth of Enjolras’ body pressing against her and the horror of last night came back to her in a rush. She sat bolt upright with a gasp, fumbling for the lantern on the table beside the bed, and lit it hastily. Golden light flooded the room, shining on the ashen face of the man beside her. He seemed to be asleep, lying stiffly on his back, dried blood staining the bandages that covered his torso. But then he opened his eyes, turning his head slightly as he glanced up at her.

“I’m… I’m so sorry…” her voice hitched as she scrambled off the bed, clutching the lantern tightly. “I… I didn’t mean… I… I was so tired… I mean I didn’t think… I didn’t mean to take advantage…” she stammered, her head spinning wildly. 

He shook his head, the movement so faint it could barely be detected, then grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut. “No…” he rasped out. “You’re… my wife…” The effort of speaking seemed to cause him worse pain and he fell silent.

“I… but our agreement…” she protested faintly. His face twisted with pain and she bit back further apologies and explanations. “I… I should get you something to eat.”

“Didn’t… think… I’d live… another day…” he spoke haltingly, his voice painfully hoarse. One hand moved to touch the bandages over his ribs, and he winced. “You… what… what did you do?”

“I took the bullets out,” Eponine murmured, her face growing pale. “I… was afraid to get a doctor… I thought they’d turn you over to the authorities… so I did it myself. I hope… I’m sorry… I didn’t know what else to do… I can get you a doctor if you think it’s best… I just… I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No doctor…” he managed and drew a deep, gasping breath. He looked as if he wanted to say more but didn’t know where to start and lacked the strength anyway. It seemed ridiculous. Eponine had never wanted anything more in her entire life than she wanted a doctor at that moment. But she nodded, knowing that any contact with anyone would put his life in even more danger than it already was. She sat down gingerly on the side of the bed, sliding one hand behind his head to lift it as she reached for the glass of water on the bedside table with the other. She held it to his lips and he drank thirstily, although it seemed to hurt him to swallow. “More…” he gasped out as she pulled the empty glass away and she nodded, using the edge of the blanket to wipe away some of the water that had spilled down his chin.

“I’m going to go heat up some broth,” she said softly, helping him to lie back again. She ran her fingers through his hair for a moment, careful to avoid the bloody bandage that covered the gash in his forehead. “And I’ll bring you more water.”

He reached out, brushing his fingers against her arm as she moved to get up. “Heat it… in here…” he muttered and she glanced at the hearth still covered in a few glowing embers. The fire had died down since she had started it last night. 

“Why?” she frowned. There wasn’t exactly a kitchen in this building, but her other room had been where she always did her cooking. The fireplace was much larger and more convenient there.

“Don’t… wanna be… alone…” he whispered, his words barely audible. She stared at him a moment or two, a little bewildered. Maybe he was getting delirious. She was expecting a fever of some sort, although she was dreading it. As soon as she got some broth into him, she would score the medical book again to see if there was anything she could do to prevent fever.

Delirium or no, she heated up the broth in the bedroom after all, kneeling in front of the tiny fireplace. He wasn’t able to eat much, although he made a valiant effort, thanks to her scolding. Half a bowl of broth was all he could manage before he had to give up, too tired to go on. And then she had to go through the grueling process of changing his bandages and checking the wounds, according to the book which had become her lifeline. It was dreadful though because she had to drag him into a sitting position in order to wrap the clean bandages around him, and it hurt him terribly. He grit his teeth, trying so hard to hide it for her sake, but it was nearly impossible. She was crying by the time she got him settled back down again… weary and frustrated and miserable.

It had only been a couple of hours since she had woken up, but she was so desperately tired already, and it was the middle of the night anyway. So as soon as she had done all she could for Enjolras, she set about making herself a bed on the floor, dragging a few spare blankets from one of the dresser drawers.

“What are you doing?” he murmured, turning to glance down at her as she spread the blankets out on the floor.

“I’m going to sleep here,” she flushed, dropping her eyes. “Unless you’d rather I slept in the other room… I just thought…”

“No…” he let his eyes fall shut and he was silent for such a long moment that she thought he had fallen asleep. He reached out towards her then, wincing as the movement caused him pain. But he managed to touch her arm and it sent a jolt through her, so strong that she gasped. “We… we can… share…” he whispered. “Please.”

“But I…” Eponine stammered, prepared to argue, but the words died away before she could get them out. Suddenly, she really didn’t care anymore. If he was alright with it, then what did it matter? Regardless of what he had said and the agreement they had made… she just wanted to be close to him. Just for now, while he was hurt   and there weren’t other options… and after he was better, things could go back to the way they were.

His heart sank as he watched her face. He had presumed too much… had forgotten somehow in the middle of all the pain and grief, the true nature of their marriage. He shouldn’t even have come here… should have just stayed to die or let himself be captured by the authorities. But she was nodding slowly, murmuring something so quietly that he couldn’t hear it. She lay down beside him, moving stiffly and hesitantly as if she was afraid of him… or at least afraid to hurt him.

“You’re sure?” she whispered as she turned to face him, her expression anxious. Having her so close to him… it made his heart race. He longed to reach out and pull her closer, to wrap her in his arms… but even the slightest bit of movement sent fresh agonies of pain into every fibre of his being. Nevertheless, he managed to move his arm enough to take her hand, gripping it tightly at first as the pain flared up, and then relaxing his hold slightly but not letting go. 

“I… I came here… to die…” he whispered back, letting his eyes close again. He wanted to watch her face, but he was too weary… and keeping his eyes open took too much effort. 

“You’re not going to die,” she said firmly, squeezing his hand. “I won’t let you die.” 

“Sorry…” he mumbled, squeezing her hand back weakly. “Was… selfish of me… I… didn’t think… and if… if I had died here… you’d have had to deal with that… ‘m sorry… Ep…”

“No,” Eponine was blinking back tears. “Don’t talk like that. You helped me… now I’m helping you. Now I can give something back.”

“Jus’... wanted t’see you again…” he was talking too much, struggling to breathe. It was scaring her. “I… I am dying… I… can feel it…” he groaned and she choked back a sob, gently pressing her fingers against his lips to silence him.

“Shhh…” she murmured. “Just stop. Stop talking. Rest. Please.” Tentatively, she moved closer, laying her hand against his cheek. “Just rest. You’re safe here. I’ll keep you safe. You’ll be alright, do you hear me? Everything’s going to be alright.” She was talking as if she was trying to comfort a frightened child. The words were just as much for her as for him… she was trying to convince herself that somehow it would be alright… but she couldn’t believe it. She had never felt so helpless. 

She lay there, running her fingers over his cheek as he fell asleep, watching the shallow, uneven rise and fall of his chest, and silently willed him to keep breathing. Moving her hand to his neck, she felt for the faint flutter of his pulse, counting the heartbeats as the book had instructed. Too fast… it was racing unnaturally… what did that mean? 

“God… please…” she murmured, biting her lip as she sat up slowly, trying not to wake him. She couldn’t even think of words to pray, so she let it go as she reached for the book on the table beside the bed and dragged it onto the mattress, holding her lantern over it. She flipped through it for what felt like ages, rapidly scanning the pages and then going back to read more carefully. It was hard, reading by lantern light, and her head was starting to hurt. It seemed to be getting cold… or maybe that was just because she was tired… she set the lantern aside and shoved the book away, moving to feel Enjolras’ forehead. His skin felt like it was on fire, sweat beading in his hairline and trickling down his face. Fever… 

Eponine let her shoulders slump wearily for a moment, wishing she could just collapse wearily onto the bed and let herself weep. But there were things that must be done for fever… Thank the Lord she had herbs. Those would help tremendously… at least half the book was devoted to the use of herbs. Some would even help with the pain. She could start there.

oOo

“Enjolras…” Eponine murmured, sitting down carefully on the edge of the bed and reaching to smooth his hair back. He was drenched with sweat and she bit her lip harder, her brow furrowed. “Can you hear me?” She slid her hand under his head to lift it. “Listen, I need you to drink this…” she reached for the steaming mug of tea she had set on the bedside table. After careful research and rummaging through her cupboards, she had combined as many herbs as she could think of to help with the fever and the pain. He opened his eyes halfway, glancing unfocused at her, barely coherent. 

“It’ll help with the pain,” she went on, hoping her voice didn’t sound as panicked as she felt. He must have understood for he managed to drink most of the tea, pausing often to gasp for breath. “How are you feeling?” she asked quietly as she helped him lie back again. “Can you hear me?” She hardly expected him to answer, but she asked anyway. He mumbled something that she couldn’t understand, but at least it was something. “You’re burning up with fever,” she sighed as she crossed the room to soak a strip of cloth in the clean water she had just brought in. “I never really dealt with fever before, so I hope I’m doing everything right… but then… neither have I ever dealt with gunshot wounds…” she laughed humorlessly, talking just for the sake of hearing a voice. She gently wiped his face with the damp cloth before pressing it to his forehead and let her fingers run absently through his hair. 

A sudden pained expression crossed her face. The book had recommended cropping the hair during high fever. He had such an abundance of thick, heavy golden curls… she hated the thought of cutting them off. Especially without his permission. But she doubted he could give her a coherent answer. 

“Did you know…” she whispered, hoping he was asleep and couldn’t hear her. “You’re… so handsome…” she laughed softly, trailing her fingers down the side of his face. Before she realized what she was doing, she bent forward and pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek. It was an almost unconscious gesture. She pulled back quickly, surprised with herself. He stirred slightly, his lips moving, but no sound came out. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I just…” she shrugged, glancing toward the shuttered windows. Just the tiniest bit of light was beginning to peak through the cracks. She had spent the whole night awake again. If she kept it up, she would surely collapse… but of course, she couldn’t sleep… and yet, she knew she had to. 

She was so tired, she could barely drag herself into her place on the bed, her hands shaking with exhaustion as she tried to draw the covers up over herself. It was strange, the way she could hardly seem to make her fingers function anymore. She fell back wearily, moving closer to Enjolras almost instinctively, letting her head rest against his. She would just let herself sleep for a little while… and darkness closed in on her before she could form another thought.

oOo

She woke hours later to find him delirious, his fever higher than ever. Several attempts to rouse him resulted only in him opening his eyes halfway and muttering words that made no sense. She couldn’t get him to respond to her… she had to force his mouth open to pour broth and tea down his throat. After reading several pages out of the book, she tried poultices… horrible smelling things with mustard and onions and all sorts of random herbs. 

She lost track of time completely. Day and night seemed the same somehow. The clock ticked on steadily but she no longer bothered glancing at it. She worked over him for hours that day, doing everything she could think of and at last sat limply on the edge of the bed, wiping sweat from his face and chest as she silently prayed the same broken prayers over and over. She was so tired… bone-tired and soul weary. And it seemed that nothing she could do could bring the fever down even a little.

With a sudden firm resolution, she crossed the room to where her sewing basket stood by the hearth. Rummaging through it, she pulled out her scissors, grimacing as she stared at them. Well, it had to be done… might as well get it over with. 

“Forgive me for this…” she murmured as she lifted his head into her lap, running her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “At least it’ll grow again…” She cut it as short as she could… and she cried while she did it, although she mentally scolded herself for being so ridiculously sentimental about it. Golden curls spilled over her lap and fell onto the floor. She swept them away afterwards, setting a few strands carefully aside, just in case he… but she wouldn’t let herself think about that. It was like she had somehow formed a brick wall in her mind that kept her from thinking about the worst…

“There…” she said softly as she sank down onto the mattress beside him, feeling that she could rest for a few moments at least. “I’m sure that feels better, even if it doesn’t look so good…” she laughed a little, in spite of herself, but it came out a bitter, mournful sound. She turned on her side so she could face him. 

“I wonder,” she said after a long silence, “If you can hear me… and I wonder… if I knew for sure… what would I even say? I mean… there are a thousand things I want to say, but I don’t think I should say them…” she exhaled slowly, reaching out to trace her fingers across his cheek. “Enjolras… it’s kind of a funny name, isn’t it? I mean… it sounds good, but also a little funny at the same time. And what is even funnier is that it’s my name too. Eponine Enjolras… I never once even stopped to think about that… I was Thenardier for so long, you know… and we never really were together so I forgot… that we’re… married…” She paused, grinning a little ruefully. 

“Mind if I nickname you? Like… like Enjo. It’s easier to say than Enjolras. Or I suppose I could call you Freddy… although that wouldn’t fit you at all. And saying Frederic, well, it has as many syllables as your last name, so that wouldn’t make anything easier. Nor any of your other names, for that matter. Why do you have so many names? It’s ridiculous. To be honest, I’ve forgotten most of them…” He stirred a little and her sentence stopped dead in its tracks as she held her breath, waiting. But he didn’t even open his eyes.

“I… I want you to wake up…” she spoke in a tiny voice, half-choked with sudden tears. “Where are you, Enjo?” She pushed herself up on her elbows, bending over him, her face only inches away from his. “I… I know you can’t hear me, but I’m going to say this anyway. And… well… it’s probably better that you can’t hear me because… you wouldn’t want to hear it. But… I can’t hold it in me. Enjo… I want to be with you. I want… I want to stay with you. Like this. For always. I… I want to wake up beside you every day for the rest of my life.” A tear fell from her eyes and landed on his cheek. She wiped it away with her thumb as she cupped his face in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, blinking hard. “So terribly sorry. I… I know you don’t love me like that… and I know you never wanted my love… I agreed to this, after all, this… this business partnership of a marriage. I… thought I’d be content to live like this. But… but when you get better you’ll go away and I’ll… I’ll be left alone again…” She slumped over him, pressing her forehead into the crook of his neck as she let herself cry.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, lifting her head after a few moments. “I’m going to lose you, Enjo, no matter what happens. I’ll lose you if you die, and I’ll lose you if you live… but then… you never really were mine to lose, were you…” her voice trailed off and she bent her head lower, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Please don’t leave me,” she murmured, her tears starting to fall again. “Please… Say something. Anything. Can you hear me?”

Silence. His lips moved, just barely, his breath quickening as if he was struggling to speak. And then he whispered her name. It was all he could say. He fell silent and still again as Eponine bowed her head, trying to ignore the fears that seized her heart in an iron grip.

oOo

Eponine woke with a gasp, drawing herself upright as she glanced wildly around the room. Something had startled her out of deep sleep. She turned to Enjolras, her heart skipping a terrified beat as she glanced him over. He was tossing his head restlessly, fingers fumbling aimlessly with the edge of the blanket. He was trembling all over and drenched in sweat, muttering an endless stream of nonsense. She bent close, trying to catch his words, but they didn’t make sense… just bits and scraps of things all jumbled together. She caught a few names that she recognized… Combeferre… Courfeyrac… Grantaire… Joly… Jehan… and then her own name… more often than the others. He was saying things about the barricades, about revolution… about death. He seemed to think they were in the room with him.

“Enjo, listen…” she took his face in her hands. “Look at me… Enjo, I’m here, I’m right here…”

He opened his eyes, his gaze wandering over her face, glassy and unfocused. He didn’t seem to recognize her. His voice went on, slurred but growing louder, more urgent. He was trying to tell her something… or whoever he thought she was… desperate apologies mixed in with his torrent of words. 

And that was when she heard pounding at the front door, the sound striking fear into her heart. She clapped her hand over Enjolras’ mouth, muffling his voice, hoping that if they were quiet enough, whoever was out there would go away. There was a moment of silence, and then they were knocking again, louder this time. 

Minutes ticked agonizingly away, every second seeming to drag on three times as long as it should. Eponine didn’t move, scarcely daring to breathe. Enjolras was tossing beneath her, muttering against her hand as she held him tightly, too frightened to be gentle. The person at the door was growing more insistent. And then they were shouting…

“We know you’re in there! Open this door in the name of the king! Open, or we will break it down!”

Eponine’s heart sank. Her eyes scanned the room, hoping for some way of escape to magically appear. There was nowhere to go… they were trapped. And even if she left the door locked and bolted, they surely would make good on their threat to break it down. The most ignoring them could do was buy her a few more moments… and it would make them suspicious anyway. 

A sudden idea struck her and she jumped to her feet, hardly hesitating as she dragged Enjolras off the bed. He groaned in pain as he collapsed half on top of her, his body a dead weight. She squirmed out from beneath him, barely pausing for breath as she raced across the room to snatch one of the clean cotton bandages from the dresser. She had to silence him somehow and this was all she could think of… she forced his mouth open, shoving the wad of fabric inside.

“I’m sorry, Enjo…” she whispered frantically, blinking back tears. “Just bite down on that and… and breathe… you’ve… you’ve got to stay quiet or…” she couldn’t bring herself to say more than that. But it wasn’t like he could understand her anyway, could he… 

She was running out of time. Her heartbeat rose wildly as she pushed him under the bed. She rushed around the room, snatching up bandages, jars of herbs, the torn scraps of the shirt he had been wearing when she found him… anything she could find that would be a tell-tale sign that he was here. She had no time to catch her breath and so she simply forced herself to breathe somewhat normally as she hurried to the door. 

“Madame Enjolras?” an officer of the royal guard stood on the doorstep, glowering down at her. She shook her head at first and then nodded, hesitantly. Of course… Madame Enjolras… that was her name… “Have you seen your husband since the night of June 6th?”

“I…” she hesitated, her head spinning. She could see three more armed guards standing behind the officer. “He… uh… we don’t… live together…” her voice caught a little and she quickly wiped away a tear. “Um… do… do you know where he is? Is he alright?”

“He won’t be by the time we get through with him,” a younger guard snapped and the officer cast him a harsh glance.

“Mind if we come in and look around?” the officer raised an eyebrow, leaning forward and glancing around what he could see of the shop from the doorway.

“I’d… rather you didn’t…” Eponine stammered, hoping desperately that her protest wouldn’t be seen as suspicious. “I… uh… am closed for a few days. The… uh… well, everything going on in the city, you know, and with my husband missing…”

“But if you don’t live together, that shouldn’t make too much of a difference, should it?” The officer smirked slightly, looking almost amused. Eponine realized her hands were trembling and hid them in the folds of her skirt, hoping  he hadn’t noticed. He only waited a moment longer before stepping forward, pushing past her and into the shop. “We’ll only be a few minutes. Don’t mind us, Madame.” 

Eponine found she could scarcely draw breath. She curled her hands into fists, her nails digging painfully into her palms as she tried to think. If she went back to the bedroom, surely they’d follow her there. But if she stayed here and waited, they might look more carefully. She cast an uncertain glance at the officer, wondering if he possibly could be the type to be sympathetic.

“Monsieur,” she murmured, trying to look more tired than just frantic. “Pardon… I am not feeling well… You won’t mind if I go lie down while you continue your… search?” she gestured vaguely at the guards who were rummaging through her bookshelf. “Please don’t let them make a mess of my shop,” she frowned, pressing her hand against her head. 

“Of course, Madame,” he nodded curtly and she withdrew quickly to the bedroom, resisting the urge to drop to the floor and check on Enjolras. She lay down gingerly on the bed, holding her breath. She could just barely hear muffled groans beneath the bed and her heart twisted fearfully. A few minutes passed as she lay there, listening to the laughter of the guards as they sounded as if they were pulling her shop to pieces. There was a knock on the bedroom door and before she could answer, it opened, the officer himself standing in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, Madame,” he flushed a little, glancing hastily around the room, barely taking time to look at anything. “I simply need to check on everything here… it seems all is well. We’ll be leaving now. Hope you feel better soon, Madame.” He seemed uncomfortable and stepped away quickly. Soon she could hear the front door closing behind them… she slid from the bed and rushed into the other room to make sure they really had gone.

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Eponine gasped as she knelt beside the bed, pushing aside the medical supplies she had stashed down there and managing to grip Enjolras’ arm. She had to go halfway underneath to get a firm enough hold on him to drag him out again. “Are you alright? Oh my word, I’m sorry…” she gently pulled the fabric from his mouth and then wrapped her arms around him, lifting his head to cradle it against her heart. “I’m so sorry,” she choked back a sob, bending to press a kiss on his cropped hair. 

“Eponine…” he whispered her name hoarsely, lifting his hand and letting it fall limply again with a groan. 

“What did you say?” she murmured. “Enjo… can you hear me?”

“Ep…” he turned his head, hiding his face against her shoulder. “I… I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Eponine tilted his head towards her, feeling his forehead. He still felt hot, but he seemed more coherent. Maybe… maybe the fever was breaking? She bit her lip, hoping against hope…

“I…” he opened his eyes, staring blankly into the distance as if he couldn’t see her. 

“What’s wrong, Enjo? Tell me what’s wrong…” her voice hitched frantically. “Tell me how I can help you…”

He blinked at her, his eyes wandering from side to side, not fixing on anything. “I… can’t see…” he sounded merely confused. “Is it… dark… in here?” 

Eponine glanced around the room, noting the natural light coming in through the shutters. It was dim inside, but light enough to see easily. “Enjo…” she touched his face gently, pulling back his eyelids so she could see his eyes. They were such a beautiful, deep blue… but dull, streaked with red, and completely unfocused. She shook her head, helplessly. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do…” What was this? Was he going blind? Could… could fever do that? Or was it something that happened at the barricade? She moved to get up but he managed to grab her arm. His grip was weak, but it was enough to stop her.

“Please…” he rasped, his voice pleading. “Don’t… don’t go…” She froze, staring down at him. There were tears in his eyes. Lifting his hand higher, he traced his trembling fingers over her face. “I… can’t see you…” his voice broke and he fell silent. 

“You’re just tired,” Eponine murmured hopefully, catching his hand and pressing a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “You’ll be alright if you just rest for a while.”

“Not… not unless… you rest too…”

Eponine smiled sadly, leaning forward to drag the blankets off the bed, the pillows toppling over the edge along with it. She wrapped him in the blankets and lifted his head enough to settle a pillow beneath it. “I’m right here,” she assured him. “Right beside you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

She lay down beside him, resting her head on his pillow. She wanted so badly to wrap her arms around him, but she was afraid to hurt him, so she held as still as she could. He smiled faintly, his eyes closed. “You cut my hair.”

“I’m… sorry…” she faltered. “The fever…”

He reached for her hand and squeezed it faintly, but he was quiet after that. Eponine lay wide awake for a long while, listening to his breathing as he drifted off to sleep. It was still too shallow, too irregular, and he still burned with fever… although perhaps it wasn’t quite as high as it had been before. She tried to convince herself that it was getting better as she forced her body to relax. If she got too run down, then there would be no one to help him. Her last thought before she fell asleep was wondering what time it was, what day it was… and how long had it been since the battle?

oOo

“I need help…” Eponine sighed wearily, bending until her forehead rested against Enjolras’ uninjured shoulder. She had managed to sleep for a few fitful hours and woke to find the fever even worse. He had been in and out of delirium for a long time now… sometimes he would seem alright and talk halfway normally and just when she thought he was out of danger, he’d slip back into his muttered ravings without warning. He was getting more restless, tossing violently sometimes. And he was still on the floor… she couldn’t find the strength to get him back into the bed, and he couldn’t get there himself. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” she murmured. He was quiet now, seeming almost to be asleep. She lifted her head, reaching automatically for the bowl of cold water she had set on the floor beside him, wringing out another cloth to press against his head. “There’s nothing more I can do on my own…” 

His lips moved and she paused, hoping he was having a lucid moment, not just another fever dream. But he fell silent again. A few moments passed before he managed to get a sound out. “Ep…”

“I’m here,” she laid her hand against his cheek. He took a deep, slow breath.

“You… can… let me go…” he whispered hoarsely. Her own breathing quickened, panicked. 

“Don’t be silly,” she tried to force her voice to stay steady, but it wavered fearfully. “I… I just… I need help. Surely there’s someone, Enjo, someone you trust? A… a doctor, maybe?”

“Everyone… I trust… is dead…” he muttered, tossing his head restlessly. Eponine blinked hard, a tear trailing down her cheek. “Except… you…” he added after a pause. “The… the best thing… I ever did… was marry you…”

“Enjo, please…” Eponine shook her head, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry…” his brow furrowed. “I… I did it all wrong… but I’ll… I’ll go and… leave you free.”

“If you dare die on me, so help me,” Eponine muttered, clenching her teeth. “You’re not going to die, do you hear me? You’re not. You’re going to live, and… and you’ll be better soon… and… and I’ll stay with you… and…” she stopped abruptly, not knowing what she was saying. He wasn’t answering her. “Or I’ll go if you want me to,” she added in a whisper, her voice choked with tears. “I will. As soon as you’re better. I know… I know what our marriage is supposed to be. I won’t overstep my boundaries, I promise…” she paused, a shiver going down her spine. She could have sworn she heard the shop door opening it… hadn’t she bolted it? She went stone still, not even daring to breathe as she hovered protectively over Enjolras. There was a moment of silence, and then footsteps echoing through the other room.

Eponine leaned forward, her hand inching toward the first thing within reach… the medical book… three inches thick and weighing at least ten pounds. It was the best she could do in the way of weapons. The footsteps were coming nearer and her heart was pounding so loud, she was half-certain that the person out there was only following the sound of her heartbeat. She managed to grip the book and pulled it carefully toward her. The footsteps paused again and then seemed to turn, coming towards the door. They were uneven, as if whoever was out there was limping heavily.

And then the door flew open. Eponine cried out, lifting the book and throwing it with all her might. Whoever was out there yelled, startled, and managed to duck just in time, the book sailing over his head and landing with a thud behind him.

“Who are you?” Eponine screamed, bending to wrap her arms around Enjolras’ head, holding him so tightly that he groaned in pain. “What are you doing?”

“Eponine… Eponine, please… calm down…” the newcomer said quickly, crouching down and holding out his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you…”

“What… Combeferre?” she whispered disbelievingly, blinking at him through tearfilled eyes. She could see his face now as he moved closer to the lantern light, his eyes filled with bewildered concern.

“I… I thought I should come and make sure you were alright,” he said softly, looking down at the wounded man on the floor, and he turned visibly paler. “Dear God, is it Enjolras? I… I thought…”

“Oh, Ferre…” Eponine gasped out, her voice breaking. She set Enjolras’ head carefully down and scrambled, half-crawling across the floor to where Combeferre was kneeling, throwing herself at him with a sob. “I… I can’t… I can’t…” she burst into tears, her head drooping as he hugged her awkwardly. “I’m so glad you’re here…”

Combeferre only nodded, a little bewildered as Eponine sobbed against him. He let her cry for a few moments and then pulled back, frowning at her. “What’s happened? I… I thought Enjolras…”

“He made it here the night after the battle,” Eponine murmured, wiping away her tears as she turned back to her husband. “He’s… he’s hurt really bad. High fever, six gunshot wounds.”

“Six…” Combeferre’s eyes widened. “Have you called a doctor?”

“I couldn’t… I thought it would be too risky… Enjo agreed…” she bit her lip. “The… uh… the book I threw at you… sorry I did that, by the way… it’s a medical book. I’ve been reading it… and I… well, I sort of… removed the bullets…” she glanced tentatively at Combeferre and cowered under his horrified gaze. “I… I did everything it said… uh… you’re… a medical student, right? Can’t you help him?”

He stared at her a moment longer and then seemed to snap into a professional attitude, yanking his coat off and rolling up his shirt sleeves. “I got hurt on the barricade myself,” he said matter of factly. “Shot in the leg. It’s bad, but I can still work. I’ll need your help though.” He bent over his friend for a few moments, checking his pulse and feeling his forehead. 

“Anything,” Eponine nodded breathlessly. 

“First we need to get him off the floor,” Combeferre’s tone was perfectly calm, but he grimaced as he spoke. He was hardly putting any weight on his right leg. “I need you to support his head. We have to try to move him with as little trauma as possible…” 

They managed to lift him fairly easily and Eponine sighed in relief once they had him in the bed again. Combeferre set instantly to work, carefully pulling away the bandages Eponine had wrapped around Enjolras’ torso while she ran to fetch the supplies he asked for. She built up the fire, setting water to boil for tea and broth to heat and then straightened up, fiddling nervously with the hem of her apron as she watched Combeferre bending over Enjolras. He was being very quiet, and after a few minutes, he turned and looked at her strangely.

“Eponine… come here…” he frowned and she trembled, biting her lip as she moved to his side. It was impossible to read the meaning in his face or voice. “You… did this?” he gestured vaguely at Enjolras and Eponine forced herself to look once again at the deep, ugly wounds in her husband’s body. What had she done wrong? She nodded slowly, unable to find her voice. “And you say you got all this from a medical book? No… no medical training whatsoever?”

Eponine shook her head. Combeferre shook his own back at her, looking even more bewildered.

“If I didn’t know different, I’d have thought a trained surgeon did this,” he murmured, reaching down to trace gently around a bullet hole in Enjolras’ side. “These are bad wounds, but they are well on their way to begin healing. The night after the battle, you say? So three days ago…”

“You mean… you mean I did alright?” Eponine stammered, hardly believing what she was hearing.

“You did marvelous. There really isn’t much more that I can do. I’ll dress the wounds and give him what I can for the fever, but there is no need for more surgery.”

“So he’ll live,” Eponine cried joyfully, her heart flooding with relief. 

“It’s… it’s too soon to tell,” a pained expression crossed Combeferre’s face. “His chances are fairly well, and he’s young and strong, so it’s possible he’ll make it through… but the fever… it could take him yet. Or if there are internal injuries beyond what we can help…” he shook his head and sighed. “Does he know that you love him?”

Eponine turned pale, staring at him, as she tried to find her voice. Taking her arm, he led her to the far corner of the room, lowering his voice to a whisper. “The revolution failed, most of us died on the barricade, there’s a bounty on his head… he needs something to live for, Eponine.”

“But… you… you know… why we got married…” Eponine stammered nervously. “It’s… more like a business partnership… he… we’re not supposed to… be in love…”

“Well,” Combeferre grinned. “Whatever it was supposed to be in the beginning, I think it’s changed, hasn’t it? I know, I know, I’m a man, and men aren’t supposed to be intuitive about things like this, but… I know what it looks like. Love, I mean. So you’d better tell him, before it’s too late. Something to live for… it makes all the difference in the world to someone who is… dying…”

“He can’t even hear me,” Eponine murmured, dropping her eyes. “I… I told him that I didn’t want to lose him… that I… wanted to… stay with him… but he wasn’t even conscious.” 

“Fever makes you weak,” Combeferre sighed. “Sometimes a patient is awake but doesn’t even have the strength to open their eyes. It’s almost like a semi-consciousness, but they’re aware of what is going on around them. That’s why I’m whispering now. He’s not asleep yet… anything you say now, he can hear.” He looked at her sadly and his voice softened. “While you have him, Eponine… don’t take him for granted.”

“You’ve lost someone,” Eponine realized, frowning. He nodded slowly, avoiding her gaze. She reached out, laying her hand on his arm. “Who was she? What happened?” 

“She was poor,” he shrugged. “Not destitute, but… not from my social circle. My family disapproved,” he spat the words out angrily. “They threatened to cut me off from the inheritance… which was ridiculous anyway, since I’m their only son. There’s nowhere else for the money to go. Not that I ever cared about the money. I refused to break off my engagement, so they resorted to other measures. Paid her family off. The next thing I knew… she was gone.” His voice trembled and he turned away from her, keeping his head down as he focused on clearing up the supplies he had been using. “I’ll be back to check on him in the morning.”

“Stay,” Eponine said quickly. “I can make up a bed for you in the next room. It’s dangerous for you to be out on the streets.”

“Alright,” he nodded wearily. “Probably best anyway, then if the fever gets any worse, I can help.”

oOo

Left alone with her husband, Eponine paced the room, twisting her hands together. She glanced often toward the bed, her eyes searching his face. He hadn’t moved in such a long time, lying as pale and silent as death. 

She didn’t know what to say. The idea terrified her. Love him? Did she? She was too afraid to love him. She couldn’t even let herself try. Love wasn’t supposed to have any part in this relationship. She was going to make a fool of herself and he would never want anything to do with her again. She had promised him that she didn’t want anything more… 

“Oh, Enjo,” she gasped aloud, crossing the room in two hurried steps and sinking down to sit on the bed beside him. “Please… please don’t die…” she couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say, just choked out those few pained words as she leaned forward, laying her hand against his head. “Can you hear me?” she murmured, trying to calm her voice. She ran her fingers over his cheek, her touch gentle, almost caressing. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say…” Her voice lowered to a whisper as she bent over him, her face only inches away from his. “I’m… Enjo, I’m afraid…” 

She paused, watching his face closely for any sign he had heard. His breathing was too quick for him to be asleep. But he didn’t move. She let the silence lengthen as she lay down carefully beside him, turning on her side to face him. 

“I’ve said it before… and I’ll say it again…” she pressed her forehead against his cheek and reached carefully for his hand which lay motionless on his chest. “I know this wasn’t supposed to happen. We had an understanding about it… and I wasn’t going to overstep my boundaries, not ever. And at the time I promised, I meant it… I liked you a lot, as a friend, but I didn’t love you.” Her voice wavered and she blinked back tears. “Enjo… I… I love you now…” she faltered, not knowing what else to say, and so she kissed him instead, just one gentle, lingering kiss. His lips burned against hers, fiery hot with fever. 

His eyelids flickered slightly as she pulled away and he turned his head toward her, the movement so slight that she barely caught it. His lips moved, forming words, only the faintest bit of sound coming out. And then suddenly he fell into a terrible stillness. She froze, staring at his parted lips, waiting… praying… for the next breath that didn’t come. His chest stayed motionless beneath her trembling hand.

"Enjo?" Her voice was shaking, filled with panic. Scrambling upright, she dug her fingers into his shoulder, shaking him slightly as if she could force life back into him. His head lolled to the side, his hand falling limp, still clutched in hers. “No…” she gasped out, disbelieving. “No, no, no… don’t you dare…” 

She hesitated for a moment, too confused to completely understand what was happening. And then she practically screamed Combeferre’s name, bringing him on a panicked, limping run, his eyes wide as he staggered into the room. He didn’t pause to ask questions, just took the situation in at a glance and moved to bend over Enjolras, pushing Eponine impatiently aside. A few moments passed and he looked up at her, his face pale and grim.

“He’s…” he shook his head, words failing him. “He’s… gone…”

“No!” Eponine cried out, refusing to believe that she really had lost him. “It… it can’t be…” She shoved past Combeferre, throwing her arms around the limp body of her husband, desperate jumbled prayers hardly forming coherent thoughts, only please, God, please over and over. She buried her face against his chest, wishing her own heart would stop beating when she couldn’t feel the beating of his.

“Please don’t,” she sobbed brokenly, clenching her hands into fists as she held him closer. “Don’t leave me, Enjo. Don’t leave me. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you, I love you, I love you…” Her hysterical sobs slowly subsided into quiet sniffles. She was too weary to cry, too weary even to think. She didn’t want to think. She just wanted to die. Behind her, she could hear Combeferre saying something, but she didn’t bother listening. She didn’t care.

So consumed she was in heartbroken, wrenching grief that she didn’t even notice the faint tremor of movement beneath her. She just lay there, motionless, not knowing as his hand twitched over the blankets, just the weakest shift of his fingers. She felt it then, the gentle pressure of his hand on her arm, slowly sliding up towards her shoulder and coming to rest on her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. She caught her breath, hardly daring to hope. Maybe she was dreaming… or maybe she had died somehow and was in heaven. She reached up, pressing her own hand over his to keep it there before lifting her head the tiniest bit, pulling back so she could see his face. His eyes… his eyes… were open… just halfway open… she could just barely catch a glimpse of deep blue and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life.

“Enjo…” she burst into tears all over again, reaching to squeeze his hand as his eyes fluttered shut again. “Keep breathing… keep breathing… oh my word, you scared me so bad…” she choked out, leaning forward to brush her lips gently against his closed eyelids. 

He groaned faintly, his forehead creasing. “Hurts…” he whispered, his voice weak. “Hurts… Ep…”

She scrambled back quickly, getting her weight off his body as she glanced around frantically for Combeferre. He was already there beside the bed, feeling Enjolras’ pulse, his eyes wide and his face pale. He looked up at her, shaking his head, and muttered something about miracles. “His fever is broken…” he spoke, his face softening with relief. “What are you waiting for?” he added abruptly as she sat there, staring in amazement. “Get some food in him… the broth, quickly… brew some more tea, use the herbs I showed you, especially yarrow… make it strong.”

The broth was still warm over the fire and Eponine poured some into a bowl, her hands shaking. She sat beside Enjolras, lifting his head as she held the spoon to his lips. He shook his head faintly, trying to refuse, but she pressed his lower lip with her thumb until he opened his mouth. 

“You will eat this, every last drop, do you hear me?” Eponine spoke harshly, her voice trembling a little as she scooped up another spoonful and forced it into his mouth. He opened his eyes again, his eyes wandering unfocused over her face. 

“Ep…” he murmured, his voice wracked with pain. “I…” his fingers tightened around her arm. Summoning every last bit of strength he had left, he pulled her weakly towards him.

“What is it?” Eponine whispered, her face only inches from his. “You have to stay still, you’ll hurt yourself worse…”

“I… I love you…” 

She was silent. He was trying to look at her, struggling to see her face through the blackness that clouded his vision. Forcing through the pain, he lifted his hand to her face, tracing his fingers over her cheekbone, down to her jawline before cupping her chin as he pulled her closer. “Stay with me…” Her lips fell against his, gentle and lingering. He didn’t have the strength to kiss her back. His eyes fell shut again. He was weary from the exertion. 

“I’ll stay,” she whispered, reaching for the spoon as she pulled slowly away. “You must eat,” she added, lifting the spoon to his lips again. He ate without protest this time, although slowly, and swallowing seemed painful. Her mind was whirling… too many emotions, too fast. So she grounded herself on what she could control at the moment. 

oOo

“Tell me about her,” Eponine insisted, looking curiously at Combeferre. He was in a chair by the fire, the medical book open in front of him. She was sitting on the bed, leaning against the frame behind her. Enjolras seemed to be sleeping now, his head resting in her lap while she ran her fingers through his cropped hair. He was peaceful for now, and she was desperately grateful for that.

“Huh? Tell you about who?” Combeferre glanced up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he frowned at her over the book.

“Her… the… the girl you loved…” Eponine said softly.

“I already told you about that,” he mumbled, hiding his face in the book again.

“No, but… I mean… what was she like? What was her name? What… what exactly happened when…” she trailed off, hoping she wasn’t being insensitive. Combeferre was quiet for a long time. Just when she thought he really meant to completely ignore her, he spoke again.

“Her name was Aurelie,” he set the book down and took off his glasses, fiddling nervously with them. “She was little… about your size. Golden hair… big brown eyes… a laugh like music…” he shrugged.

“Aurelie,” Eponine mused. “I know an Aurelie. Works at the boulangerie at the corner of Rue Saint-Denis.”

“Hmm…” Combeferre shrugged again. “My Aurelie, she was a seamstress. Family owned a ramshackle little shop in a run-down part of the city… I don’t know where they went after my family paid them off… America, maybe… I didn’t see her before they left. They sort of just vanished, and then later my father told me what had happened. Tried to get me to marry some bourgeois girl… I wouldn’t do it though.”

“Did you ever try to find her?”

“Course I did,” he laughed bitterly. “I’ve been looking for her for three years. I should probably just give up. She’s likely married by now…” he closed the book with a bang and shoved it aside, sitting in silence for a few moments. “Aurelie… it means golden one… she… was just like a ray of sunlight…”

“It’s a pretty name,” Eponine nodded. “I haven’t a clue what my name means or where it came from. I wonder what Enjolras means…” she bent to press a kiss to her husband’s forehead. “The Aurelie I know, I think her last name is Edouard… Aurelie Edouard… I always thought it sounded like such a stylish name…”

“Edouard…” Combeferre murmured, staring at her. His face had gone a little white. “Did you say Edouard? Funny… my… my first name is Edouard…”

“Huh, interesting…” Eponine leaned back, her eyes drifting aimlessly to the mantle over the fireplace. It was cluttered with random odds and ends of bandages, bunches of herbs, dirty tin mugs, and candlesticks mostly burnt down. “I met her three years ago, when she started working there… the family who owns the boulangerie, their name is Dubois. An elderly couple, actually. No children.”

“Three years ago,” he mused, his brow furrowed. He seemed in deep thought for a moment or two and then shook his head firmly. “My Aurelie, her last name was Valjean. Aurelie Valjean.”

“Aurelie Valjean..” Eponine echoed.