When will you learn? (Eponine)

[Deleted]

Combeferre did nothing but nod briefly when Javert said that he would release the girl. In all honesty, he was relieved. Of course he would have fought, gotten either Enjolras or his brother to take her case—not his father because his father would see no benefit in the matter—and paid whatever must have been paid in order to keep her from going to jail. She had done nothing wrong, he would not have stood by idly while an innocent woman was thrown in prison. Even the sight of her in handcuffs made him boil in anger, but he stayed as calm as he could for her sake. Combeferre had an even temper. There were few things that could truly anger him, but this disgrace to the justice system was certainly one of them.

“The truth?” Combeferre repeated, glancing at Eponine questioningly before returning his eyes to Javert. He didn’t have the slightest idea what he meant. He recalled Mylene asking something similar, and him replying something along the lines of all he knew was that he loved her. He refrained from smiling at the memory—it was quite funny to be sure, how lovesick he had been, that he was even now. The inspector’s next words caused his blood to run cold. Thenardier? As in Louis Thenardier? She was related to the man who had indirectly caused the riot at the parade, and that innocent woman’s death.

And she was his daughter. He was silent for a few moments—shocked, but he would not let him see that. He was still afraid that he would take her away. Yes, he was disappointed that she had not told him, but as far as he was concerned, her familial background had little to do with their friendship or his love. He knew her to be an intelligent, strong-willed woman, and he honestly did consider it a privilege to know her. He realized that Javert had asked him a question. “Yes.” He wasted no time in his reply, even though he had only been half-listening to what he had said, since he was so enveloped in his own thoughts. She was a thief, he had said. Well, she did steal your book. He cared little about that, as he had told her. He had been too impressed by her willingness to learn to be angry. The only thievery that he had witnessed was her stealing his heart. “Yes, I know that he is her father. She told me the day we met.” he lied smoothly, keeping his eyes fixed on the inspector’s. Feigning knowledge was a lawyer’s trick—he had seen both his father and his brother use it on the occasions he had sat in on their cases. He didn’t like being dishonest, but if it meant keeping her out of jail… “I’m well aware of who she is, and I thank you for your efforts to keep me informed, but I know very well whom I have allowed into my home. She has not stolen anything from my neighbors, nor from me, so I can vouch for her behavior here. Will that be all?”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine felt the tension drain from her shoulders when Javert said he would release her, and she finally allowed herself a deep breath. It took all her willpower not to smirk haughtily at the inspector and slip out of the cuffs right then and there. There was a procedure to this, and she had to follow it, she knew. Any breach in that procedure and Javert might see it as either an insult - not that she cared - or as adequate reason to stay and question Combeferre further - which she cared about a great deal. Her supposed crime merely carried a prison sentence, and a shorter one at that. What Combeferre and his friends were planning was nothing short of treason against the crown. If any of them were found out, they would be arrested, tried, and executed. Having even one of them caught put all of them and their entire plan at risk. Eponine would not dare jeopardize her friends' lives just for the chance to rub her lack of guilt in Javert's face, no matter how much she dearly wanted to.

As Javert continued to speak, her eyes grew wide, realizing what he was going to say. When he looked back at her, she silently pleaded with him, shaking her head, imploring him not to continue. He was right, she hadn't told Combeferre the whole truth about who she was. When he had agreed to release her, she let herself dare to hope that he wouldn't reveal her indiscretions to Combeferre. But that was just too much to ask of the honor bound policeman. She stole a glance at Combeferre, finding him looking at her, his eyes full of questions. She opened her mouth, eager to cut Javert off, explain that there was nothing to warn Combeferre of. She was her father's daughter in many aspects, but she would never ever rob her friends. Friends were one of the few luxuries she had in her life and she would not risk them for a few coins. They were worth so much more to her. She had gone out of her way to warn members of Patron-Minette that her friends were off limits. But before she could get the words out, Javert had spilled it all. Her full name, father's name, her criminal station, all out.

She waited for the inevitable anger, the hurt in Combeferre's voice at the betrayal. Eponine expected that while she might get released, she would quickly be sent on her way. Her throat tightened with apprehension, her scraped up palms gripping the books in her arms. Then Combeferre did something that nearly struck her to the floor. He lied. He lied to the inspector. Her head jerked up to look at him, her mouth falling open slightly. Of all the people she knew, she would have bet money that Combeferre would never lie, especially not to an inspector. She stared at him, amazed that he pulled it off without stuttering or turning red as she had seen him do so many times. It wouldn't be too far of a stretch to believe Combeferre. His voice was even, his face impassive. She almost believed herself she had told him that first day they met. Aware that she had been gaping at him for some time and must look like a fish, she quickly closed her mouth, glancing at Javert to see if he bought the lie too.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

When he turned back briefly, Javert saw that she could not have told him everything about her. A look of desperation was in her eyes, one that he had seen so many times before. And like so many times before, he would not heed it now. There were some secrets which could not remain hidden. So after giving the girl a cold stare, he had put his attention back on the man and proceeded to tell him the truth, all of it. He watched the man's face as he related it, not because he still suspected him of being her accomplice but simply because the direct gaze was his way. It seemed to him there was some slight shift in his expression, but the inspector could not be sure. His face was not fully in the light.

His answer came like a blow to Javert, but he did not buckle, merely glanced away for a moment. What had that act been about then, he wondered as he cast a look behind him at the girl. She was still there, petrified that he would air her dirty linen like this in the presence of a man whose confidence she had gained under false pretenses. If she had told him, why should she be so concerned whether or not the inspector did the same? It was a mystery, but it was one for which Javert had no time to tease out the tangled threads. Since the man would not file a report, and since he was unconcerned about his student's past and family, there was nothing more for him here. It was not against the law to be a fool. "Well, it's your own purse and your own reputation to stake," he said grudgingly, finally voicing aloud his previous thought. "I hope you've considered it all thoroughly."

Still, Javert was disappointed to lose his prisoner. He couldn't very well arrest her for a robbery that evidently had never happened, and there was no evidence available for the other times. And the neighbor's complaints had been just that, complaints, vague suspicions with nothing to back them up. Javert had made the same mistake, especially as he already knew the girl, but there was nothing that would stand up in court. With a sigh he nodded curtly to the man; no need even to ask his name, since there would be no report. "Yes, that is all," he said as he unlocked the cuffs he'd placed on the girl's wrists just minutes earlier. He eyed the Thénardier girl sharply as the second cuff clicked open and he wrestled them from her with perhaps more force than was necessary. "Watch yourself, girl," he warned her, "I don't want to be summoned here again."

Pocketing the iron manacles once more, Javert again addressed the man before taking his leave. "Well, I am sure you know where to find the police if worst comes to worst. Until then, thank you for your time. Good day." And bowing slightly, he turned, brushed past the girl still standing in the doorway, and went out.

[Deleted]

Combeferre wondered worriedly if his act had worked. He was not used to lying so blatantly, and he figured that he was not too good at it. If the policeman caught him in his lie, he could get in trouble for lying to the police. Even so, she had done nothing wrong as far as he was concerned, and he didn’t want her to be taken to jail. She did not deserve to spend any time there. If she had stolen, Combeferre figured that it was out of necessity, not greed.

The inspector’s words echoed what his father would tell him no doubt if he ever did tell him that he intended to marry her. “I understand.” he answered unflinchingly. He knew even simply their friendship would tarnish his reputation, but he didn’t care. He was a revolutionary for one thing, that was enough to stain his reputation in the eyes of the bourgeois once they did fight at the barricades. And even if he wasn’t, he loved her regardless of what anyone thought.

The medical student was aware of how roughly the man spoke to Eponine, and tried to subdue his indignation as much as he could. His face appeared calm, even though internally his blood was practically boiling. “Good day.” he replied coolly, watching the lawman leave and shutting the door behind him. He waited until he heard the footsteps fade before letting out a sigh of relief.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, not out of anger, but if anything, hurt. “It wouldn’t have mattered, surely you know that—you must know that.” Just because she was his daughter, it didn’t mean that she was anything like the gang leader. She was a good person, in his eyes, at least. “Do you honestly think that I care so little about you that I’d be bothered by something like that?” he questioned, his eyes gazing into hers. Surely she at least had the suspicion that his affection for her went beyond simple friendship. “You mean…a very great deal to me, Eponine.” More than you know. “I know I don’t have any right to ask for your trust, and I understand that you don’t give it easily, but…I just wish you had had more faith in me.”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

As Javert warned Combeferre about her, Eponine had to bite back a dozen sharp tongued comments. She knew that if she just kept her mouth shut, he'd release her and be on his way. There was no need to risk all that by getting obstinate. She may be willful and stubborn to a fault, but she wasn't stupid. So instead she grit her teeth and endured Javert's terse warnings to be on her best behavior in an angry silence, her eyes glaring daggers at him. The only sound she made was a hissing wince as he pulled the cuffs off her, dragging them roughly across the tender abrasions on her palms. She yanked her hands back, holding the books easier without her wrists bound. Her angry gaze followed Javert as he once again warned Combeferre about her and made his farewells. It wasn't until he brushed past her and Combeferre closed the door that she finally released the breath she had been holding, the tension finally easing.

Only for it to slam back into her like a wave crashing on the rocks as Combeferre began asking questions. Though his face remained mostly unreadable, Eponine could clearly hear the hurt in his voice. She should have expected it, she hadn't trusted him with her past. But she didn't trust much of anyone with the truth about her past, it wasn't just him. She hadn't even wanted Marius or Courfeyrac to find out, but they had, and they had not turned on her. And yet the betrayal in his voice, the hurt in his eyes, pained her more than she could say. It struck to her core and stifled the angry responses she usually had for people who discovered her past, burying them instead under a heavy sense of guilt.

Shifting slightly under his gaze, she stared back for a moment before dropping her eyes to the books in her hands, adjusting her grip to spare her palms. Eponine wanted to tell him it was none of his business where she came from, who her family was, but she knew that wasn't true. They had become close friends over their time together, and while she might not have told him when they had properly met, she had no right to keep him in the dark about who she really was. With her spending so much time with him, it was reckless of her to let him continue without knowing what an association with her truly meant. When she finally spoke, she started quietly, preparing herself to be asked to leave at any moment.

"Combeferre... It's not that I didn't trust you. You earned that a while ago." She raked her hair back, sucking in a short breath between her teeth as she was reminded about the scrapes. "It had nothing to do with having or not having faith in you. Maybe it did at first, but please understand that's not just you. Almost no one outside of Rue Saint-Denis knows about who my family is. I mean, they know who they are, they just don't know I belong to them. Even among Les Amis... Only Marius and Courfeyrac know." As she continued, her voice became stronger, the reason she had kept it from him becoming clear even to her for the first time. "I liked you not knowing. I'm sorry, I know that sounds horrible. But when I'm around you, I can pretend. I can imagine I'm just some common girl from the slums. I don't have to be Eponine Thenardier, daughter of a couple notorious conmen. I don't have to be the girl who was taught to steal and lie and cheat on my father's knee, long before I knew what those words meant. Combeferre, I've seen things, and done them, terrible things to too many people to count. But when I'm with you, that girl isn't me. I'm just Eponine, stubborn gamine. And I liked being her. I like who I was around you, who you saw when you looked at me." She swallowed hard, searching his eyes for his reaction. "Maybe it wouldn't have mattered to you, but it meant the world to me."

[Deleted]

Her wince had not gone unnoticed by Combeferre, but he wanted to hear her explanation. He was not angry, he didn’t think he could ever be angry with her, not for this this in any case, but he just wanted to know if she did think him to be as shallow as the rest of most people in his class were. He was surprised when she answered that she had trusted him for a long time. He valued her trust immensely, and he hoped that she knew that, as well as the fact that he did trust her, despite what had just occurred. Perhaps it was foolish of him but the old adage that people in love tended to be foolish was proving itself true.

As she explained that she had been taught to follow in her father’s footsteps from such an early age, he didn’t feel pity, but rather compassion. He knew that her story was not a rare one, not at all—plenty of people were forced to do what she and her family did. Perhaps he did pity the others, but he did not pity her. He did not wish that he could do something, that he could ‘rescue’ her, because he knew her well enough to know that she did not want to be rescued.

He was silent for a few moments, and he realized that she was looking at him expectantly, but he did not return eye contact, since he needed to collect his thoughts. His view of her had not changed and he doubted it ever would—that much he would say to her. She had a right to know why, in fact he would not be at all surprised if she asked him why. He needed to give her an answer. He had not been prepared for this in the least. “Eponine, as far as I’m concerned, you are not a common girl from the slums, as you say. Yes, you are astonishingly stubborn,” Despite his rather grave expression and the seriousness of the situation, his lip twitched in a sort of half smile, “But you are also very bright…and by far the most extraordinary person I have ever met. That is why it never would have mattered.” He gingerly took a step toward her, meeting her eyes. “And nothing I have learned today has changed that. I want you to understand that I am not angry with you—I understand why you kept this from me, and your secret is safe with me” He hesitated and then laid his hands over hers. “I also want you to know that…” He looked away for a moment as he tried to think of the right words. “I…I am very fond of you, Eponine. In fact, I must tell you that I, that I, l-lo-“ His eyes drifted down to their hands and he suddenly remembered the expression on her face when Javert had released her. “My God, are your hands alright? Perhaps I should take a look. S-so they won’t get infected. E-excuse me.” He let go of her hands and left the room, silently cursing his lack of courage as he went through his medicine cabinet.

He had been so close—what the devil was he afraid of? He knew that at first he had told himself that it would be better for the both of them if he took the relative secret of his unspoken love to the grave, but now knowing what he knew today, he was certain that he had been wrong. Whether she returned it or not, he needed to let her know before he potentially died that he was—had been—on her side, and that she was loved. It should have been simple, but it was not. What if she didn’t believe him? What if she was angry with him for just telling her this now? A thousand unpleasant scenarios played through his head, and Combeferre withdrew a bottle of aloe vera from his medicine cabinet as well as some bandages. He needed more time, that was all. When he was prepared to do so, he would tell her. He emerged from the room as if nothing had happened. “I’m sorry, I should have taken these earlier.” He set the bandages and the bottle on a table and held out his hands for the books.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Despite how calm he had been before, Eponine expected Combeferre to react to the truth of her betrayal, the purely selfish reasons for keeping it from him, the way most everyone else in her life did when they discovered they had been double-crossed.  With anger and violence.  The common sense part of her, the part of her that had grown so close to Combeferre in such a short time, told her she was being foolish, that even if he was angry, it wouldn't be nearly as bad as she had experienced from others in her life.  And in many ways, she knew that.  She knew that Combeferre was not like her father or Montparnasse or any other man she knew for that matter.  He was kind and gentle and she had never even heard him raise his voice in anger.  She trusted him, more than just about anyone else.  She feared he'd tell her to just leave before he'd ever lay a hand on her.

And yet when he teacher for her hands, she couldn't suppress a flinch.  Her instincts told her to be ready for the blow to come, her body tensing involuntarily. When his hand rested on hers instead, her eyes drifted from them to his face. Finding him turned away from her, she frowned, his words growing quiet under the hammering of her heart in her ears. She ached to see him so hurt, unable to look her in the eye. He had said it didn't matter, that his opinion of her hadn't changed. He promised to keep her secret, but all she could focus on was the way he kept looking away.

So when Combeferre began to stutter again, telling her he was fond of her, it took her a moment to realize what he was saying. He was fond of her? What did he mean by that? There were so many ways to interpret that, from close friends to... No. It couldn't be that. Stop it, Eponine. You've been down this road before. You're still down this road. Just stop. She didn't know why she was so prone to reading too much into her friendships with the students, first Marius and now Combeferre. She had always been a bit of a dreamer, but this was something different. Girls like her were not someone men like the students looked at as more than a friend, and she knew that deep down. As Combeferre rushed out of the room, Eponine drew in a deep breath, trying to comprehend what he had just said, or almost said to her. He was fond of her, very fond. He wanted her to know something. What was it? Why had he not finished?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Combeferre came back, carrying a bottle and bandages. Reluctantly Eponine finally released her grip on the books, letting him take them from her arms. Glancing down at her hands, she saw the red scrapes that she had gotten in her flight and bit her lip. Most of the time she would just let these heal on their own, never worrying about infection. She felt a little awkward, letting him take her injured hands. She watched him, trying to find a way to tell him what she was thinking. After a few quiet moments, she cleared her throat. "I understand, Combeferre. I really do. I look forward to our lessons too." That had to be it right? What he was trying to tell her. Maybe if she let him know she hadn't read too much into his behavior, but that she felt close to him too, he wouldn't be so nervous. "Your probably one of my closest friends."

[Deleted]

Combeferre busied himself with treating Eponine’s scrapes, trying not to think of how he had botched his confession—or near-confession at least. Why had he been so reluctant? There was nothing wrong about his loving her, not in theory anyway. Of course he felt bad about the fact that he was simultaneously planning to take part in a revolution, which, he reasoned, was part of the reason he had stopped himself from telling her the truth. Then there was the guilt of going to his grave keeping how much he cared about her a secret—either choice was potentially the wrong one.

He administered the aloe vera and then began wrapping the bandages carefully. “Try to be careful with them so they don’t reopen.” he instructed, his blue eyes flickering up to her brown ones before focusing on the business of securing the bandages. “There.” He tried to ignore the fact that her eyes were on him, but his attempt only lasted so long. He did look up and their eyes met again when she cleared her throat.

He mustered a genuine smile as she said that she looked forward to their lessons, but that smile faltered when she said that he was one of her closest friends. She was one of his closest friends as well but she was much more than that now. His future—at least the future he wanted—his world, the one for whom his heart beat…

God, you sound like Jehan--or worse, Marius. Either way he was a goner. He was not sure when exactly it had started, but he had fallen too far to stop now. And he no longer had any intentions to stop. He felt no shame in his feelings--not that he ever would. The only thing he had initially been ashamed of were the 'side effects' so to speak, such as losing all sense of reason, but thus far he was not experiencing anything too drastic, as far as he knew. “And you are one of my dearest friends as well, Eponine.” he answered with a nod, trying to keep the pain off his face. He had no reason to feel that way—after all, it was his fault for never telling her. But had she really not noticed his rather obvious gazes? Even some of the things he said, most of the time unintentionally, could indicate the way he felt. He did not blame her for not seeing, but he was discouraged. He opened his mouth, contemplating telling her then and there that he didn't want to be friends, that he loved her and had for some time, that his fondness was not simply the kind one friend had for another. He wanted to tell her that he had been putting it off because he did not think it would be fair, but he could not die without letting her know. Yet he closed his mouth, unable to utter three simple words. Perhaps she simply wanted them to be friends and nothing more. Why burden her with the truth when she didn't care for him in that way? At least she was aware that he cared at all.

An idea crept into his mind, and he looked down at his feet, shuffling them uncertainly before finally looking up at her. “I was…thinking—would you perchance like to have dinner with me? Not as teacher and student, but as friends, as you said? In the Luxembourg? It’s such a nice evening and the flowers are in bloom…” He spoke in a hurried, anxious manner, and he knew that it was a horrible idea but he would use any and every excuse to spend more time with her before he and the others answered the call of La Patria. "A picnic, i-if you'd like."

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Scrunching her nose up, Eponine winced as Combeferre administered whatever was in the bottle across the tiny cuts on her palms. Each time his fingers passed over her palm, it hurt, but she didn't want him to stop. There was something comforting about the motion, the feel of his hand lightly grasping her own, that quashed her tendency to stubbornly refuse help from anyone. When his hands left hers to begin wrapping her bandages, a frown came unbidden to her face, a slight feeling of loss and sadness flickering in her heart. Only barely hearing his admonitions to look after her slight wounds, Eponine nodded her head, fighting back the urge to reach for his hand again, just to feel his fingers against hers once more. Why was she feeling this way? Was she really that much of a dreamer, to think that someone like him would even look twice at someone like her? Hadn't she learned her lesson with Marius? Wasn't she still learning that lesson every time she saw the young Pontmercy?

And of course her feelings were confirmed when he finally spoke. They were dear friends, that was what he had meant. Eponine thanked the heavens she had not assumed more and made a fool of herself, ruining the friendship she treasured with him. She smiled reassuringly at him, the gesture never quite reaching her eyes, and flexed her fingers, testing their use in the bandages. It was little more than an excuse to give her a moment to compose herself, gather her wits and slip back on her mask of friendly indifference. She was Eponine, self-reliant street urchin. The last thing she needed was someone taking care of her, especially someone who knew nothing about the life she led. She could look after herself and the sooner she stopped pining after these students who looked at her as nothing more than a friend, the better it would be for her. Not that she was pining over Combeferre. The way she was feeling could just be marked down to spending so much time together. Right? He was so kind and compassionate, it would be easy to mistake that for affection when it was directed at someone like her, who knew so little compassion or affection in her life.

When he invited her to dinner, her first instinct was to roughly remind him again that she was not in need of his charity. That she did not want his food and would not take it from him. But the fiery anger that usually welled up in response to this kind of request failed to appear. Instead she thought about how he had lied to the police. For her. He risked his own freedom and well-being to keep her out of prison, when it would have been just as easy to keep quiet and let Javert continue on his mission to wipe out all crime in the city single-handed. She owed him, and oddly enough, that didn't eat at her, making her apprehensive as it usually did. And it was obvious he wanted to take a meal with her, and if she were to be honest, she wanted to join him. She wasn't quite sure why, but the feeling was definitely there. So quietly she nodded to him. "Of course. That would be nice." Eponine liked the gardens anyway, as one of the few gardens in Paris that weren't walled off from people like her. And she was hungry, even if she'd never admit it to him. So a picnic might be a nice distraction from the battle in her mind, to forget how his hand felt holding hers, to box and lock away those dreams.

((Finished and to be continued in a new thread!))