This is my first Les Mis fanfic. I discovered Enjolras/Eponine fanfictions maybe a week ago, and my life is now complete. Read and review, please! (If you would, please tell me if you think that this is plausible, or not sappy enough, or really anything.)
"Marius," I say. My voice elicits no response from the huddled mass at my feet. "Marius!" I snap. He looks up at me, pain in his eyes. For once, I think viciously, and then regret it. The poor boy – and he is just a boy – has just lost a friend. But nothing more. I tell the snide voice in my head to shove off and look back at Marius. "You have to let her go. She's gone now."
"She can't be! 'Ponine, you can't leave me!" he cries. Éponine was always around, it's true, but this wailing is ridiculous. What's more, it doesn't change the fact that she's . . . dead. She's a bit of a mess, really; we'll have to clean her up before her funeral. Two words I never thought I'd have to think.
"Marius, look at me," I command, willing myself to be strong. Because if I can't be strong, who will be strong for me? "I'm going to find a place to put Éponine. We'll give her a proper burial after the battle. Dry your tears and rejoin the fight. For Cosette," I add. No one can say I don't know how to motivate my men.
He wipes his face and drags himself back to the barricade, taking a gun from Grantaire. I can't be away from my men for long – without a leader, this revolution could topple at the drop of a hat. But as a leader, I feel obligated to take care of Éponine. She's the first to fall, after all. That's why I'm doing this personally. Right?
I can't believe that she took a bullet for Marius. Well, that I can believe. Everyone can tell, the way she looks – looked – at him that she'd go to the ends of the earth and back for him. Everyone except Marius, the idiot, and now that she's gone, he'll never see the girl I see. Éponine is – was – a smart, strong, loyal, brave, lovely – you can't see it, but I just know there's beauty there - girl who loved him with everything that she is –
"Ma –," a voice moans, interrupting my mental tirade. Éponine's eyes flutter open. "Marius."
She thinks I'm Marius. Damn it. She's nearly dead and she's still pining for him. Quickly, my mind is made up. I'll pretend I'm him, give her some last happiness before she goes on. "I'm here, 'Ponine," I hear myself say softly. I've always hated that nickname. It gave Éponine false hope, as though it were a term of endearment, and it made her sound like a little girl, not the brave woman she is. But she looks so fragile now, and her face is so pale. I can see more veins than I should be able to. Actually, as I've been carrying her, her coat is half-off and the shoulder of her chemise has slipped down, so I can see a lot more than I should be able to.
"Stay," she murmurs. I sit down, fixing her shirt. How long does it take to die? Mon Dieu, that sounds awful.
"I'll stay," I whisper, stroking her hair. It's softer than I'd imagined. She seems cold, so I nestle her closer to me.
"I can't, can I?" she asks boldly. It takes me a minute, but I realize that she's asking whether she's going to die.
"Well, we thought you were dead. I can try to bind you up, but I think you've already lost too much blood." She deserves to know the truth. I will ignore the irony in that statement.
"You aren't Marius," she says flatly. She looks more alert now than since she – died? She must have lost consciousness. "I know Marius, and you aren't him. He would try to protect me, hold on to the stupid hope that I'd live. Who are you?" She begins to kick, but she doesn't have the energy for it.
"It's me, Éponine," I whisper, my voice strangled . "Not Marius, no. Enjolras. I'm sorry for deceiving you. I just . . . I wanted you to die happy."
"I think -." Her sentence is cut short as she coughs up a bit of blood. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."
I don't know what to say to that, so I just hold her closer, trying to shelter her from the rain and wind.
"Enjolras?" I can barely hear her, so I lean in as close as I can get without touching her. She wouldn't want anyone that close but Marius.
"Yes?" I could count each eyelash over her almost-closed, almond-shaped, chocolate-brown eyes.
"Thank you." Her eyes shut. She looks happy now. I sit with her until I can no longer see her chest rise and fall.
I bring her to the café. She'd always loved it there. I lie her on a couch, brush her hair back, and exit the café for the fight, leaving, "You're welcome," hanging in the air.