Chapter Text
It was a whirlwind. Fire and ice, lightning and smoke, showers of sparks and a steady drizzle of rain. It was over in a moment. A desperate shout in the darkness, a daring threat given in a trembling voice, a single gunshot… and a lone figure crouched alone on the cobblestones, unnoticed in the flurry of activity.
Alone, Eponine Thernardier gasped out her final breaths, her crippled and bloody hand pressed against the gaping wound in the side of her body. She didn’t regret it. In the midst of her pain, as the darkness closed in on her, she felt a strange sense of peace and relief. She was leaving the misery of her pathetic little life behind forever.
“Eponine?” Marius’ voice, frantic and worry-laden, pierced like a ray of sunshine through the cloud of pain that surrounded her. “What have you done?” He spoke in horror as he stared down at her. Her vision had cleared slightly and she smiled sadly up at him, reaching out with her good hand to pass him a crumpled sheet of paper.
“It’s from Cosette,” she murmured breathlessly. “I’m sorry.”
And then she found herself wrapped in his arms, her weary head resting against his shoulder and his hands covering hers.
“Don’t you fret, Monsieur Marius,” she choked out. “I don’t feel any pain.”
How could she tell him? Did the right words even exist to explain to him why she was glad to go? She longed for the peace and comfort of death. She could feel it stealing over her, like a warm and heavy blanket. Her head lolled against his shoulder and her eyes fluttered closed. There wasn’t time to tell him.
“A little… fall… of rain… can hardly… hurt me now,” she whispered. She could feel the raindrops dripping from his chin onto her forehead and the warmth of his breath against her hair.
“I’m here,” he spoke with a sob. He was crying for her. She smiled.
“That’s all I need… to know. Just hold me… shelter me… comfort me…”
This was all she asked of life… just to be held by him. It was more than she had dared dream for, to die in his arms. In her death, life was giving her the greatest gift it had ever held for her.
“Rain… rain will… make… the flowers… grow….” Eponine gasped, struggling to draw breath. The strength was gone from her body and she knew her moment had come at last. “I… I believe I… was… a little bit… in love… with you…” She laughed faintly as she said it… the mere shadow of a laugh. She was gone.
Marius pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there. A thousand thoughts raced across his mind, but he couldn't find the courage to bring them to the surface. He filled his head with revolution to crowd out the pain, even as he cradled the body of his friend, tears stinging his eyelids, trickling down his cheeks and mingling with the rain.
Someone was pulling his arms away and he glanced up dully at Enjolras’ grim face. The leader did not speak, but he knelt on the muddy cobblestones, lifting the body of the girl into his arms. She lay limply against him like a tattered rag doll. Enjolras shifted her weight to support her drooping head, and he looked silently at Marius. His eyes were accusatory, filled with that strange and terrifying light that made Les Amis almost afraid of him at times. Marius looked away.
Eponine’s broken body was carried into the Cafe Musain and laid gently on the bare wooden floor. She was only the first to die. Before the sun set on the following day, the floor would be covered with the bodies of those who now fought so fiercely behind the barricade. And the leader in red, so full of vivid life that he seemed incapable of dying… he would lie by her side.
Eponine stirred restlessly, groaning as she opened her eyes. She felt cold and stiff and damp. And this… was this what heaven looked like? She blinked, frowning as she glanced around her. She was curled up on the doorstep of what looked like a rather lopsided tenant house. Above her was the crooked overhang of the roof… beneath her, cold gray stone… and across from her… a row of miserable little shops.
No. No, no, no. She must be… in hell. Doomed to wander the miserable streets of Paris for eternity, as she had done in life. Her heart twisted within her in fear. She had thought death would bring her welcome peace. She could scarcely imagine a worse fate than this. Was she never to escape?
She stood gingerly, gathering her baggy coat around her. She was still wearing the bedraggled men’s clothes she had donned for the barricade. But they weren’t stained with blood, as she had expected them to be. Untucking her shirt, she lifted it just enough to inspect the side of her torso. Aside from the bruise she had gotten when she had tripped in the gutter a few days ago, there was nothing. She inspected her hands. Not a mark on them that wouldn’t wash off. Strange that death would remove all trace of her fatal wounds while still leaving her in these filthy clothes and in the same slums of Paris.
And strange that she should feel so… alive.
Stooping, she scooped up her cap where it had fallen on the doorstep and crammed it back over her tangled hair. She must look ridiculous… she almost laughed at herself… but who cared how a ghost looked? Well, this was what fate had doled out to her, she might as well make the best of it. And first, something to eat… but did ghosts really feel hunger?
She glanced down the street first one way and then the other, and her eyes widened. This was the Rue de la Chanvrerie… and that was the Cafe Musain. And… the barricade was gone. Not a single trace of it left on the empty street in the dim red light of morning. Where were the soldiers? And the students? She stared at the cafe, catching a glimpse of movement at the window. Someone was standing there, looking down at the street below.
She shuddered, an eerie feeling creeping over her. This had happened before. Something just exactly like this. She had stood here before, right in this exact spot, looking up at that window, meeting the eyes of the man who stood inside. She knew him… the leader of Les Amis, the man whom everyone had counted on to lead them through the revolution.
Had they… won? Was she… how far into the future had she been dropped? Or… or maybe it wasn’t the future…
She didn’t know how long she stood there in the street, waiting and watching, frightened and bewildered. It was all so familiar. She had lived this before. Just… just yesterday, wasn’t it? People were starting to trickle in and out of the Cafe Musain. The students were moving around inside… she stared at the windows, whispering the names of each one she recognized…
“Courfeyrac… Combeferre… Jehan… Joly… Enjolras…”
They were all there, they were alive, they were unhurt… and they were doing exactly the same things they had done the morning of the battle. She inched her way closer until she was in front of the cafe, and then inside. No one seemed to notice her presence. Well, that made sense, if she was a ghost. Perhaps they couldn’t see her. They rushed around her, preparing guns, stacking crates of ammunition and kegs of gunpowder along the walls. She caught snatches of conversation… they were talking about General LeMarque, of the barricade, of the revolution… Eponine clapped her hand over her mouth as she cried out. This was… this was the day of the battle…
“You there, Citizen!”
Eponine jumped, startled, as she turned to face Enjolras. He was looking straight at her… he could see her.
“Monsieur?”
“Are you with us?”
“Y… yes…” she stammered. He was frowning at her, his head tilted to the side as if he was trying to puzzle something out.
“Wear this,” he pulled something from his pocket and held it out to her… a tricolor cockade. She stepped closer, reaching out tentatively to take it from him. Her hand touched his… real, solid, warm… alive. She gasped, jerking her arm back. He snatched her wrist and pressed the ribbon rosette into her palm, squeezing her hand gently.
“Courage, Citizen,” he murmured. “God is with us. We will win this battle.”