Eponine had dosed off against the banister of the stairwell. She hadn't realized that she'd even fallen asleep, but the sun was streaking through the broken and dirty windows like a new morning. She drowsily opened her eyes, rubbing away the sleep and looking around confusedly. She was disoriented. As she rose slowly everything came flying at her suddenly.

"Enjolras!" She gasped, rushing towards the room where she had left him. As she approached the sofa he made no sign of stirring, no sound of a reply. "No…" She knelt beside the sofa and took his cold hand in hers. "Enjolras."

It was an agonizingly long moment. He made no sound and she held her breath. Was his chest moving? She couldn't tell. He was like ice. He looked like a Greek god immortalized in marble, laying there with his mouth just slightly open and his eyes shut. Like an angel fallen from heaven and landed, gracefully, onto the sofa. Like a saint lain out on his tomb.


"Enjolras!" Eponine couldn't control herself as she suddenly pressed her lips to his lips and felt the surprised gasp on his side. "Oh!" She clapped her hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

His eyes drowsily opened, they moved wildly as they tried to focus on her face. He tried to laugh at her awkwardness but instead found himself choking on his painfully dry mouth. "I am dying."

"No. No. No. You can't." Eponine squeezed his hand desperately, feeling a sudden rush of blood to her head. Her eyes were drumming with the beat of her heart. It was deafening. "You can't die and leave me."

"I waited… until you came."

"No. No." Eponine bit her trembling lip; she gnawed on the spot until she could taste her own metallic blood in her mouth. "You can't leave me."

"If things had been different." Enjolras fought to keep his eyes open. "If we had found our feelings sooner."

Eponine shook her head in disbelief. She hadn't even had time to come to grips with whether or not she did love him. Her heart ached to think of her life without him, only to realize her life had never had him. It had always been Marius it had never been Enjolras. But here lay a dying man that she would give her very soul to. "Don't die. You're going to be alright. I prom-"

"Don't." Enjolras waved his hand to hush her, his arm falling limp across his chest. "Promise me you'll keep living. Do yourself well in life. You're…" He groaned in pain, his lips trembling and his jaw causing his teeth to chatter. "Made of finer stuff. You're destined for more."

"I'm destined for you." Eponine said, trying to spur him on to living. "You seemed fine last night."

"Last night was a long…" Enjolras fought to catch his breath. He could feel the heaviness in his chest now, in his lungs. He was bleeding internally and there was nothing either of them could do. "time ago."

"But we haven't had enough time."

"You have time… Use it. You could have died in the skirmish but you didn't. My name will be forgotten but you have to keep living to remember it. Keep the boys of the barricade alive in here." He could barely lift his arm as he reached to touch his hand against her chest, just above her heart.

"No." Eponine lost control of the tears as they poured from her eyes. "Don't leave me."

"One… last kiss."

Eponine slowly leaned in towards him, cupping his cheek and kissing him with a sweet and tender kiss. Her lips moved against his until she felt his fall slack against her's. "NO!" She shouted, burying her face against his blood stained chest. "No, you weren't meant to die. You were meant to live. NO! Enjolras. No." She clutched his body, shaking him and begging him. But her cries and screams fell on deaf ears. He was gone. He had died with the kiss of a beautiful, misunderstood, young woman. A woman that he had hardly known, but in his last few hours of life he had decided that he cared for her deeper than he had cared for any other woman he had ever known.

Eponine. The bedraggled, flea-bitten, downtrodden, poor whore. Of every woman in France he had chosen her. No, he hadn't chosen her. God had chosen her, because He knew that Enjolras' death would bring salvation to the young woman. She had always secretly admired the brilliant young student, though she knew little about him other than his impassionate speeches he gave to the Amis. He was everything she wasn't.

He was everything she needed to know that she needed to be better. She didn't have to be bound to the lot in life she was born into. No, with Enjolras' death she realized that she was the one that had to go on to represent the men who had fallen. She was the one to keep their purpose and the passion alive. One small female voice in a sea of shouting men could change something.

In the church of Notre Dame, years after the July Rebellion an older, well dressed, woman stood in the place of what had been a filthy, poor young woman. She had married a common worker, who had had a small fire within him to be greater. She lit the fire and made it stronger and together they climbed the ladders of the world. He worked to achieve in life and he did.

Eponine brushed her fingers across the marble cheek of the statue that was carved atop her old friend's grave. "In the end, you saved me."

A/N: I know… I sort of abruptly ended this story but… This was what I planned on happening. Also, I'm trying to finish up stories before Uni starts next Monday. 18 credits of History and English. But I hope this story didn't disappoint. I gave it my spin and gave Eponine a life.