Okay, well, obviously this is my first Les Mis fic. And yes, it sounds like the fic is on drugs because it's totally AU. But give it a chance, lol! It doesn't end the way you think it does (unless you're creepy and know things I don't). It's a cross between the musical and the book. Mostly the musical with book elements in it. Mehhh. I couldn't decide which one to base it on, so it's a book/musical love child, right? Right!

GO SEE JON LEE PLAY MARIUS IN LONDON. Except get your eyes offa him, cuz I claim him as my own. My . . . precious . . . Not that I'm possessive or anything. But honestly. He's better than any Marius on the face of the Earth.

I suppose I should start the fic. Please don't flip out, cuz it's a little weird . . .

Pairings: Marius/Cosette or Marius/Eponine, depending on the way you interpret it.

Genre: Tragedy (it's Les Mis. DUH lol)

Disclaimer: Do I look rich and famous? If I owned Les Mis, I'd play Eponine. Plus I'd make out with Jon Lee and my life ambitions would all be fulfilled. SO THERE.

Gavroche was restless. It was Marius who knew this all too well; he wondered if the boy would ever sit down and give up his constant fidgeting. As street-smart and unimpressed as Gavroche acted towards the Revolution and its planning, it was evident that as the great day came closer by the hour the urchin was growing more and more nervous. Unfortunately for Marius, Gavroche had decided that he was the only one worth fidgeting about.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” Marius suggested kindly, his patience wearing thin. Yes, he had a fondness for Gavroche, and they were great friends and everything, but he could only take so much!

If anything, though, the suggestion only made Gavroche more determined to stay awake. He frowned defiantly at Marius. “No, I’m not yet tired,” he said indignantly, sitting down beside Marius. “Besides, the barricade’s barely risen. You all need my help. After all, I am the leader.”

Marius nodded, a weary smile playing at his lips. His arms and legs ached from the heavy lifting. As fit as he was for a boy of nineteen, the endless chairs and tables and shreds of wagon and wood had taken a toll on his body. All he wanted was to lay down and sleep right there on the cement. But as Gavroche had said, they were scarcely halfway finished with the work. The barricade beckoned him and he stood back up, putting a hand on Gavroche’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you go help Enjolras with the task assignments? He certainly could use your help,” Marius appealed to the little urchin. No doubt Enjolras would chew him out for it later, but it would keep Gavroche out of trouble for the time being.

Just as Marius knew he would, Gavroche was back up to his edgy feet at once and purposefully making his way towards the other man. Marius breathed a small sigh of relief, starting to rejoin the other students at the barricade, but the shadow of a slight figure behind him caught his eye. He turned around.

“Eponine,” he gasped, startled. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

She grinned dangerously at him. “I’ve got you worried now, haven’t I?” she prodded him, stepping closer.

Yes, she did. Didn’t she know what was going to happen here? In only hours time, bullets would litter these streets, bodies would leak blood. Possibly his own body, and certainly the bodies of his friends. How could she stand there, so naive and uncomprehending? Smiling coyly at him, as if it were all a game? Were they not going to die soon? Was he disillusioned in the seriousness of this revolution, or was she?

“Go home, Eponine,” he commanded her, his voice nearly quaking with ferocity.

She looked stung. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, gritting his teeth. He looked anxiously toward the barricade. “You have to get out of here now. This is no place for you. There are going to be shots fired; people are going to die out here. Don’t you understand? You’ll die if you stay. So leave.”

“I just wanted to see you,” she protested, grabbing his arm, her eyes full of tears.

He relented. She was only a girl . . . but dear God, hadn’t it only been weeks ago when he was only a boy? When had he become this lifeless, death-facing creature and not the boy from the cafe any longer? But she didn’t understand, even if she pretended to. And he couldn’t make her. Sadly he took in a deep breath, putting his hands on her shoulders and staring her squarely in the face.

“I know . . . and any other time, I’d be glad. But ‘Ponine, I would never forgive myself should something happen to you. Please do as I say. Please get out of here before it gets rough,” he begged her, feeling responsible for her life.

Eponine didn’t appear as if she would budge. Instead she pleaded to him through her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Marius . . . you don’t mean to say that you’ll die, do you?”

How could he lie to her, his best friend?

“Everything will be alright,” he said, gaze cast to their feet, unable to look at her with such a blatant mistruth on his lips.

“Marius . . . I’m not leaving you,” she said earnestly.

She was so stubborn that he felt himself growing angry with her. She must have thought herself some daring, valiant friend in staying here with him; she couldn’t see how damn foolish she was being. It wasn’t her fault. Eponine didn’t know any better. But the National Guard didn’t care who knew better and who didn’t—they’d kill her either way. In her ragamuffin clothes, she’d be mistaken for a skinny revolutionary boy in an instant. She’d be dead before she could scream.

No. Not Eponine. He couldn’t let that happen to her, not when so much was already at stake. Tonight he had already lost Cosette to the distant Atlantic seas, and he refused to lose Eponine too.

His heart panged at the thought of his Cosette. Would he ever see her again? Ever see her beautiful, angelic face, feel her gentle touch and cold, delicate hands? The thought of parting with her forevermore was unbearable. How terrible reality was to him now. How cruel a fate to suffer after love plagued him so suddenly, so breathlessly!

Then suddenly he had an idea. In his pocket was the letter addressed to Cosette . . . the letter he never found the time to send in the craze and madness of the preparations. If Eponine delivered it, she’d be at least two miles away from the fighting. She’d be safe—surely she would not come back upon hearing the gunfire in the distance.

“Oh, but Eponine, you’ve saved me! Here,” he said, producing the crumpled letter from his pocket. He smoothed it out and folded it hastily. “Might you send this off to Cosette for me before the fight? She’s leaving tomorrow. I need her to read this.”

He waited hopefully for her reaction. She deflated, but reluctantly received the letter anyway. “Yes,” she said dully, “I’ll deliver it.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he exclaimed, “Thank you, Eponine, you’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”

She smiled weakly. “That’s what friends are for,” she said, putting the letter in her pocket carefully. Suddenly she was crying real tears, looking at him desperately. “Please don’t get hurt,” she said passionately, pulling him into a fierce hug. “I love you.”

He hugged her back, wishing he could end her tears. He hated so much to see her upset. “Oh, ‘Ponine, I love you too. You’re the best friend anyone could ever have. And I swear to you, everything will be okay . . . ”

She stiffened. “How can you promise?”

“As long as you stay away, it’ll be okay. I need you to make me that promise. I won’t be able to sleep tonight if you don’t promise me,” he threatened her, diverting her question. “Deliver the letter and stay out there. This isn’t your fight.”

“Marius, it’s not yours, either!” she protested.

“Yes it is, ‘Ponine. One day you’ll understand.” How could he explain himself? The rage burning in his veins? The ghost of his father, constantly haunting him day and night, whispering in his ear as the Revolution neared? It was in his blood, to fight for justice. To fight for freedom.

A small doubt still gnawed at him, though—how could he kill another man? To end a person’s life, a person he didn’t know, a person who had a family at home waiting . . . it was still unthinkable. It was different for whoever would shoot at him. Marius had no family; not after his grandfather had cast him out so cruelly, at least. Nobody would miss him if he died . . . Cosette would meet another nice boy in England, and Marius could only pray that he would treat her as well as she deserved.

Enjolras intervened when he saw that Eponine was still hovering about the barricades. “Go on, Eponine,” he said firmly, motioning for her to leave. “Say goodbye.”

She choked back a panicked hiccup.

“It’s not goodbye,” Marius was quick to assure her. “I’ll see you soon. After the fight. I’ll be there, alright? Wait for me. Now go,” he bid her, pushing her towards the ever-mounting pile of scraps and useless objects. She took his hand and allowed him to help her cross; he walked with her a ways until they were alone.

“Take care,” he told her, touching her face.

Eponine flinched. “You too,” she said, casting her eyes to the floor.

“Hurry up, kid, we got a barricade to build!” Grantaire called to him. “Don’t want to be stuck on the other side, now, do you?”

With one last wave to Eponine, he made off for the barricade, running back numbly in the cold night.

TBC.

Btw, there are four installments of this. This is part one. You'll see the others soon, I promise :D.