Something Has Scarcely Begun ( Eponine )

[Deleted]

 
Combeferre glanced up at the clock hanging on his wall and checked his pocket watch for the umpteenth time that hour. It had been rather pathetic of him to do so, but he was counting down the minutes until their lesson. Their last one had started out brilliantly. She had complimented him on his piano playing, he had stuttered and blushed in response for reasons still unclear to him. She had been so willing to learn, so amazingly astute—just as fine a student as any of his friends, finer even. But then he ruined everything. He offered her food as politely as he could, fearing for her health, and then he tried to trick her into having some croissants by trying to make her feel guilty. It had backfired horribly and now she was—probably still—angry with him.

She promised to let him know if he insulted her and that she would return today for another lesson. He was afraid that she would not show up. He could not find it in his heart to blame her. All of this was his fault and his alone. If he had only been more perceptive, he would have known that he was treating her unfairly. He had insulted her pride and her independence—as well as her intelligence by trying to trick her—and for that he was deeply remorseful.

He had made a mess of his study so that she could clean it, as per their agreement. In exchange for his teaching her, she had offered to clean his study. Yesterday he had cleaned it has usual, leaving virtually nothing for her to do. That didn’t bode well with Eponine at all, so immediately after she had left his flat—disgusted no doubt by his completely idiotic behavior—and tossed papers and books eschew so that his study was in complete disarray ( or disarray by his standards at least ). It was an improvement in any case from yesterday.

Now if only he could be sure she would be here. She had told him that she would—she had even seemed upset when he had said ‘goodbye’, apparently wanting to see him again or else she would have been alright with him saying it. Was that what it meant? Women are so confusing, he thought despairingly, sinking onto his piano bench and playing the beginning notes of Mozart’s Piano Sonata Number 16 to calm his nerves.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine had spent the better part of the previous night and all that day debating with herself whether or not to go to Combeferre's flat that afternoon. Their first lesson had gone so disastrously, and she knew it was partially her own fault. She had become so accustomed to people using her and lying to her that she had expected the same of him. She had begun looking for signs of deception and even the littlest detail turned into a full blown con her in eyes. After she had made it home the previous night, after she had had time to think about what had truly happened, she deeply regretted yelling at him. The look of pain and fear on his face was too unpracticed to be anything but genuine. It broke past her well-built defenses and stung her to know she had caused it. So she had resolved to give him another chance. How could she not? While she ate her small bit of bread, she thought of the food he had made for her, just for her, and she couldn't help but smile. As she practiced her writing, getting down her thoughts for the day, she thought of how he had helped her through the more difficult words in the book he had given her to read, never once criticizing her for how little her education compared to his. With each hour that passed, she more she felt giving him a second chance was the right thing to do, no matter what the voice in her head said.

So just before 4, Eponine had started her way through the city again. Again, she kept to the main road, and again she avoided looking like she was sneaking about. She had taken her shawl off her shoulders, bearing them to the heat of the afternoon sun, and tied it over her head like a kerchief. Anything to make her look more like a cleaning maid and less like a starving thief. Again she climbed the stair to his flat, surprised to find her heart beating harder with each step. And once again, she was stopped at the door by the soft sounds of a piano. Did he play everyday just before 4? She tried to decide whether or not to disturb his playing, the tune making her smile. Last time she had just stood on the landing, mesmerized by the song. And when he had come to the door at her knock he looked frantic, like he was about to come looking for her. She wouldn't put him through that again, not after storming out the day before. No doubt he was even unsure she would show up today. He certainly seemed to be shocked that she agreed to come back. She wouldn't put him through the agonizing wait if she could help it. So she adjust the kerchief on her hair and raised her hand to knock on his solid door for the second time in as many days.

[Deleted]

Combeferre could still feel his anxiety in the back of his mind as he played through the Sonata. What if she didn’t come? He most certainly deserved to be stood up after he treated her like that. Oh foolish, foolish man! he thought to himself bitterly. If only he had been more prudent, more polite, more sincere. But that was the problem—he felt that he was being sincere in his concern. Maybe the problem was that he had shown little restraint in the fact that he cared. He hesitated at that word—‘cared’. It could mean numerous things. He cared for people in general. So, it should come as no surprise to him that he cared for Eponine as well.

However she was not like a stranger he gave alms to—first of all, he was pretty sure that she would feel insulted if he even tried to take that approach, and he did not want to. Yes, he could see that she was poor and underfed. But that was not his chief motivation in wanting to help her. Then why do you? This was beyond just doing what he thought was right, or even his desire for universal education. It had crossed that line when he had practically begged her not to leave. She was his friend, was she not? At least he considered her to be—he had no idea if she considered him a friend. The odds of that being the case were slim thanks to his injudicious comments.

Yes, we are friends. He refused to believe this had anything to do with the reason why he stuttered whenever they spoke, or could barely hold eye contact with her, or why he always blushed whenever she smiled at him. Those reactions were inexplicable. It must have been because she was the first person outside his usual group of friends that he had tutored, and he was generally not the most social being to ever walk the earth. That must have been it.

He paused in his playing when he heard a knock on the door and sprang to his feet. “I—I’m coming!” he yelled, grabbing his tailcoat, which was draped over the back of a chair, and pulling it on. He hurried past the piano but then stopped, picking up his music and scattering it over the instrument. He then quickly ambled to the door and opened it, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “Hello, Eponine. Come in, please.” He stood aside and added, “I’m glad you decided to come—n-not that I doubted what you said,” he amended quickly, squeezing his eyes shut in mortification. When he opened them, his azure gaze was apologetic. “I just, I’ve been thinking and…everything you said to me was what I deserved. I’m sorry. But today I hope that we can start with a clean slate…would you like to continue with Aristotle or um, clean first?” He noticed that she was wearing a kerchief over her head, and understood that he could not dissuade her from her deal—not that he would ever offend her by trying to do so again.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine tried to keep her face neutral, her expression unreadable. She told herself that while he was getting a second chance, he had betrayed her trust, and she needed to keep her defenses up. But as soon as Combeferre's voice rang out through the door, stuttering and stumbling over his words, a small short laugh escaped her mouth as she shook her head. When the door opened and he smiled at her, relief relaxing his face, she smiled back, unable to stop herself. As she stepped inside, his stammering seemed to worsen and she looked over her shoulder at him, finding him wincing. He was right when he told her that he was no great speaker if he couldn't get through a simple greeting without tripping over himself. Briefly she tried to remember any other time she had heard him speak, apart from their lessons. She couldn't think over any particular instance. Truth be told, most of the time she was paying more attention to Marius than anything at the meetings, and what speeches she did remember were mostly from Enjolras. Those and the occasional drunken comments from Grantaire that made her laugh.

Slowly, Eponine realized he had opened his eyes and was looking right at her as she studied him. The regret was evident in his eyes, the way he stood, his whole form. She turned towards him, crossing her bare arms before deciding that might look a little too hostile and just dropping them to her sides. His apology stirred something in her and she shook her head. "No, Combeferre. I should apologize. I overreacted. I'm sorry." Eponine stopped, shocked at her own words. She hardly ever apologized, to anyone. Even if she was indeed in the wrong. Her pride just would not let her. And yet, she had just freely admitted that she had overblown what he had done yesterday. Why? It was true, she had overreacted. But even if she had admitted it to herself, why tell him? Why put herself in a position of embarrassment with him?

Eponine shook herself from her thoughts, her fingers playing with a fraying thread of her skirt. She finally allowed herself to look around his flat again, finding it much as she had seen it yesterday, everything in it's place. Except for two things. The paper on his piano was no longer neatly stacked, but strewn across the top haphazardly. She stepped towards the instrument when something caught her eyes. A few pieces of paper on the floor just beyond an open door. Carefully, she walked on her bare feet across his wooden floor, the boards creaking. She put a hand on the door frame and peeked into his study, already guessing what she would find there. Sure enough, there were papers laying on the floor, the desk, a couple were even in the chair she had sat in the day before. Beneath some of the papers on the desk she could see books. They were leaning against one another, looking much like an avalanche of paper and leather. Despite the rest of the flat and even the room, being perfectly in order, there was absolutely a mess for her to clean. She stared in disbelief for a few moments, trying to process what was before her.

Then she did something she hadn't thought would happen today. She laughed.

[Deleted]

Combeferre was mentally kicking himself for his stuttering. He had told himself that he would not, and yet he had. Why couldn’t he speak to her without faltering? Yes, he knew that he was quiet and shier than most, but this, this was absolutely ridiculous. It had never been this bad. Was he afraid of her? He supposed he was in one sense—yesterday when she had berated him, he had been fearful. It was not just because of her lashing out at him, but because he feared that she would leave and never come back. He didn’t know why the prospect scared him so much, but he was certain that it did.

He was surprised at Eponine’s apology. He did not expect her to express regret for what she had said. Nevertheless he was glad because the apology in conjunction with her being here gave him hope—hope that perhaps she didn’t despise him. “I still maintain that the fault is mine—but thank you for coming. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re here.” he replied, offering her a bashful smile. “I, um, I hope that we can be friends, Eponine. I truly meant what I said about us being equals. You’re my student, yes, but learning is supposed to go both ways. The teacher learns from the student almost as much, if not as much, as the student learns from the teacher.” the young man stated philosophically.

He noted that she was very quiet in the few moments that passed, and watched as Eponine walked into the study. He followed, anxious to see her reaction to the mess he had created. “I really didn’t mean to make too much of a mess—I didn’t want it to seem like I was tricking you again because I’m not, but I also didn’t want you to think I was using you as a maid and lazy…” He spoke rather quickly, but was thrown off when Eponine started laughing all of the sudden. He was stunned for a moment or two—not only because he didn’t understand why she was laughing, but also because she had such a charming laugh. He blushed, embarrassed at the fact that she was laughing as well as his own thoughts. “I don’t understand, what’s so funny?” He was not annoyed as he said this, but instead confused. Even so, a faint smile remained on his face.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine held her hands over her stomach, nearly doubling over in laughter. She didn't know what had gotten into her, but it felt like the tension that had been building up since she left the night before had finally snapped and unwound as she realized he had made a mess of his precious space, just for her, to make her happy. The moment she had pieced that together, the laughter erupted out of her, completely unstoppable, and she had to grip the door frame to remain upright. After a couple seconds, she heard Combeferre ask what was so funny and she covered her mouth, stifling the light laughs that just wouldn't stop. "It- It's just-" She tried to form up a sentence and pull in a breath past the laughter, without much success as her eyes started to water. Finally she turned and looked at him, wiping the tears from her eyes as the last couple chuckles finally subsided. Still grinning widely, she gestured to the room. "You did this? For me? I'm not sure if it's the funniest thing I've ever seen. Or the saddest."

Eponine crouched and grabbed a piece of paper from the floor, holding it up to him. Her eyes danced with barely held back laughter as she turned it over in her hands. "Combeferre, really? Anyone can see this is a mess for the sake of a mess." From her position near the floor, she reached for two more pieces of paper, stacking them with the first with a smile. "What did you do? Just throw a bunch of papers in the air?" A snicker slipped past her lips as she thought of Combeferre, neat and tidy Combeferre, standing in the middle of his study, paper raining down around him, a panicked look on his face as each page hit the floor. She stood, stepping over a few other discarded pages to set her gathered ones on the desk. Her fingers trailed over the spines of the toppled books. She looked up to find Combeferre smiling at her and shook her head. "How many times did you make a mess and clean it up before it was just right? More importantly how did you keep yourself from going a little mad and straightening it all up again?"

One by one, Eponine started stacking up the papers on the desk, still letting out a quiet laugh now and then. Most had words she could not understand on them, notes for his courses no doubt. His handwriting was so neat and crisp, nothing like the scratch of her own or the flourish of Marius's. She found she actually preferred his handwriting. It was easier to read, to make out each letter apart from each other and discern each word. Sighing at her inability to understand what the words were though, she pushed the stack to the opposite side of the desk. Her mind drifted back over what he had said before her attack of laughter and she smiled down at the books she was stacking back up. She didn't have many friends. Mylene, for one. And of course Marius and Courfeyrac. But that was it, in fact she spent more time alone than anything else. Friends were not a luxury she could afford in the slums of Rue Saint-Denis. Most of the people there avoided her due to her association with her father and those that didn't had the wrong idea about her because of the same. "I'd like us to be friends too, Combeferre. And lesson number one? You don't have to go out of your way to make a mess. I'm not going to storm out. Just... maybe don't clean up after yourself like you usually would. I won't be offended. I promise."

[Deleted]

Combeferre blinked again at Eponine’s question. “Of course I did.” he replied seriously, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Of course he had ruined—in his mind—his study for her. Looking back he may see his actions as silly, but at the moment they seemed to be perfectly logical. “You didn’t want me to clean up after myself because I’d be doing your job, and so I didn’t…” he stated, running a hand through his flaxen hair. “I mean, of course I did…disorganize a few things because I…I don’t have any need of a maid—only a friend and a student. But since we made a deal I wanted to make sure that you had something to do so you knew I wasn’t trying to deceive you.” he explained, somehow managing to keep a straight face even though her laughing had made him want to join in as well.

“You’re right, it is…” he admitted with a bashful smile. “And I did…i-is that a bad thing?” She didn’t seem upset at him, just amused. It was out of the ordinary for him to purposefully make a mess of his study, to be sure, but he honestly thought that this was what she wanted. His eyes widened at her further questions and he looked down at his feet as he shuffled them. “Seven.” He chuckled a little at her other question and finally answered, looking up. “I’ll admit it was difficult, but I’m very disciplined.” he replied in jest. “I just didn’t want you to get angry at me again…and leave again.” he stated softly. “Being able to continue with our lessons is worth the discomfort.”

He smiled when Eponine confirmed that she too would like for them to be friends. “Alright…alright, I’ll try.” Not cleaning up after himself was almost like a foreign concept to Combeferre. He always felt the need to clean up his and other people’s messes. He was not as meticulous as Joly was but his flat had a certain organization to it, and disrupting that organization was certainly a remote concept. Nodding at her promise, he answered, “Understood.” It was a comfort to him that she had promised not to leave as she had yesterday. Truth be told, he had worried whether or not he would see her again—not because he did not trust her, but as he had said before, he worried. One day he might communicate that worry in an eloquent, serious manner, but that day obviously wasn’t today.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

As Combeferre tried to explain himself, Eponine continued around the room, stooping to pick up the discarded paper that had been scattered around. She glanced over at Combeferre from time to time, smiling when she saw him run his fingers back through his blonde hair. It mirrored her own nervous habit of raking her crooked bangs out of her face so much, the gesture surprised her. She found herself trying to unravel the mystery of the student before her, so passionate about his ideals and plans for the future of the country he would gladly lay down his life and yet nervous in the presence of a common gamine, terrified of offending her. In a way, she supposed it made him more accessible, more approachable than the marble leader she saw in Enjolras, who spouted the same glittering descriptions she'd heard Combeferre support in the meetings she'd attended. No, Combeferre's flaws, if they could be called that, made him more human, more real. If the people truly were to have a champion, Eponine would much rather it be him. Not that she wanted him to die. Far from it. No more than she wanted Marius or Courfeyrac or any of them to die. Since the May Day Parade, the city had become so hostile, just needing one spark to blow the whole lot of it wide open. She wished she had the students belief that the citizens would rise with them, but she couldn't fool herself. She knew that if she wasn't friends with then, she would find a place to hide and wait for the whole thing to blow over. She feared the rest of Paris felt very much the same.

Eponine chuckled again, shaking her head as she set the papers on the desk. "Seven? The first six weren't quite right?" she asked, retrieving a page from the chair she had used just yesterday before smiling up at him. It touched her that he was so concerned about making her happy, about making sure she was comfortable. It had been a long time since anyone had gone out of their way, gone against their own desires or nature, to do that. Not even Marius had really done it. Combeferre really was unique, a bourgeois who did more than just speak of equality. He lived it, or at least tried. She laughed quietly as his joke, crossing her arms as she smiled over at him. "Disciplined, huh? You must have the willpower of a god to see your beautiful study in such a state and not lift a finger to do anything about it." Her grin widened into a teasing smirk as she leaned over to him, just a few inches from his face. "After the seventh try."

Laughing Eponine finally picked up the books from the desk and made her way to the bookcase, searching for the empty spaces. Most of the titles on the spines were too foreign or complicated for her to read and she chewed her lip as she tried to figure out where each book went. So many were the same size and she was sure if anyone had a system for organizing books, it would be Combeferre. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Do these have a certain order or do you just put them wherever they can fit?" He was smiling that warm, tender smile at her again and she couldn't help but smile back, no matter how much she had told herself not to let him past her defenses again. She wasn't sure how long her focus had been off the load of books in her arms, but it shot back when she felt them tipping. Before she could do anything to stop it, the lot shifted and tumbled to the floor. Letting out a hissed string of curses, she knelt to try and gather them up again, hoping she hadn't ruined any of them. "I'm sorry. So sorry. Grabbed too many."

[Deleted]

“I tend to consider myself a perfectionist.” Combeferre admitted with a slight smile in answer to Eponine’s question. It was true, he was a perfectionist. He approached everything he did with a critical eye, and if something was even the least bit off, he would go back and fix it. He often did get upset if he made mistakes he could have prevented—hence why he was so worked up after she had walked out the previous day. He was determined not to let that happen again. He learned from his mistakes, and he hoped that these lessons made him a better person overall.

Diligence in mostly everything that they did was a quality that he and Enjolras shared. Enjolras was definitely more zealous than he was. Combeferre was usually willing to stop working when he felt exhausted, whereas Enjolras was willing to forgo sleep to finish the job. Being a medical student, he knew the risks of skipping out on sleep, and he was always getting after Enjolras whenever he looked particularly tired.

He realized that he might have been a little extreme in his attempt to make sure that he was actually giving her something to do as per their deal, but making a mess for the sake of appeasing her was natural to Combeferre. Since she had been averse to more traditional gestures of hospitality like freshly baked croissants, he had done this. He had also feared that she would be disgusted or even angry over the mess because he was making her job harder, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, she appreciated what he had done or tried to do at least.

He dipped his head with a sheepish chuckle when Eponine commented about his having godlike willpower. “I wouldn’t say all that.” He was disciplined, yes, but even he was capable of losing control of his emotions. The parade was the particular incident he was thinking about. When the woman had been shot, he had lost his reserve and yelled accusations at the National Guardsman who had killed her. Only the realization that arrests or worse would be made if he had stayed had kept him from grabbing the man responsible.

When he looked up, her face was alarmingly close to his, and he was unable to look away. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find any words. When she finally went back to picking up the books, he exhaled, surprised to find that he had been holding his breath. He blinked the transfixed, trancelike look off his face and shook his head.

“I used to at the beginning, but not really. I tried to set them up chronologically, and then alphabetically—now there really isn’t that much of an order other than the fact that each author’s works are in the same place, just so I know where to find them.” he explained. “It really doesn’t matter all that much—I’ve been through all of them so much I know the spines like the back of my hand.” he stated with a chuckle. He was surprised when the books fell to the floor, and even more surprised at some of the things she said next, but shook his head vigorously, briskly crossing the room and kneeling down across from her. “No, it’s perfectly alright, don’t worry.” he answered kindly as started picking up books and organizing them into a neat stack. At one point, his hand brushed hers by accident when he went for the same book that she did. His eyes found hers out of habit, and he held her gaze for a few moments before clearing his throat and fixing his glasses as they slid down his nose. He stood and handed her a few of the books silently, secretly contemplating what had just transpired.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine laughed again, trying to keep it from erupting out of her again. "A perfectionist, huh?" She gestured around the room that had so recently been a clutter of paper. "This must have been hell then. Nothing in the right place, all out of order." She flipped through a few pages in the stack she had placed on the desk. Even if she couldn't understand most of the notes, she knew there were bound to be some pages that went together and no doubt they were out of order too. She made a note to ask him about getting them back the way they should be later.

When Combeferre's hand brushed hers, Eponine jerked her hand back. It wasn't a fearful or angry movement, simply a reaction, an instinct. It had been a long time since she was comfortable with anyone touching her without warning. She knew he meant no harm to her, she could never believe he would want to hurt her. She wondered for a moment if she would ever be able to allow someone to brush against her unexpectedly without immediately retreating. Her eyes darting up to find him looking at her, his expression hard to discern. Why was he so difficult to read? She usually had such luck getting a feel for people in just a short amount of time, but there was something about Combeferre that made it frustratingly hard. It was like he wasn't even sure what he was feeling or was fighting something, hiding it from the world or Eponine or both. She searched his eyes for some sign, some signal that would make sense and lead her to some sense of what he was thinking. Instead he just cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses before standing.

Eponine followed him to her feet, clutching the books in her arms tightly, her brow furrowed. As he handed her a book, she took it, sliding it quietly into a space on the bookshelf before glancing at him. They continued like this, in silence, her taking books from his hands and replacing them on the shelf and stealing glances at his face, growing more and more confused. When they had finished, she had had enough and turned to face him, placing her hands on her hips. She couldn't stand not knowing anymore. "What has got you so thoughtful and quiet?"

[Deleted]

“It was vexing, yes, but I think I can safely say that it was worth it.” Combeferre answered with a rather intrepid smile. It was only after he said what he did that he realized how forward he had been, and he looked away, having been staring at her more intently than he was aware of. He tried not to think about how he had felt when their hands had touched and their eyes had met rather briefly.

She had pulled her hand away swiftly, and he wondered if she thought him too bold—he wasn’t trying to be. He wasn’t trying anything—he didn’t even know what ‘trying’ meant. They were silent for so long, he wondered if he should apologize for making things awkward for her. He honestly didn’t know what had come over him—what was happening—that his eyes were constantly drawn to hers and he couldn’t stop blushing whenever their eyes did meet.

Naturally he was surprised when she asked him what he was thinking about. He wracked his brains for an explanation. She could not possibly know what he was really thinking. How ever could he tell her? He didn’t even know what or why he was thinking about what he was—about why her eyes were perhaps the most entrancing he had ever seen. Dear God, stop this madness. “Hmm? Oh, I’m Combeferre, I’m always quiet and thoughtful. I am the quiet, thoughtful one. It’s what I do.” he answered with a nonchalant shrug, trying to stay calm. What in heaven’s name was the matter with him? He had held women’s hands before, at least a few times—only because he was made to because the situation required it. One had to hold his partner’s hand whenever the pair danced, but that was beside the point. Never before had he felt so mesmerized, so fascinated by another human being. And it petrified him.

Yes, he was reserved, he knew that, but he had never been this clumsy, this nervous, around anyone. He could think of no viable reason for why he was acting the way he was. Perhaps he was under the weather. No, I would know if I was sick. He was not all too crazy about self-diagnosis, at least not in the way that Joly was, so perhaps consulting a doctor—an experienced one—would be a good idea.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine raised an eyebrow at Combeferre's statement. Was he flirting? He certainly was looking at her rather sincerely, a smile still on his face. For a moment, she wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. Combeferre was probably the last person she would have expected to actually flirt. Courfeyrac, sure. Maybe even a little teasing flirt from Marius. But Combeferre? The only one that would have struck her as even more unlikely would have been the marble chief himself, Enjolras. And yet, he had plainly said that the discomfort of ruining his study had been worth it. It wasn't as obvious as the flirting she was used to hearing, lecherous statements and double entendres. There was no leering stare traveling over her form or grab for her arm or waist. Almost the instant it was spoken, Combeferre had looked away, busying himself with a book in his hands. Perhaps it hadn't been a flirt after all. Just some misinterpreted jest between friends. It wasn't like Eponine hadn't been doing that for a while now. Every time Marius spoke to her, she could feel her mind begin to pick it apart, looking for any sign, any signal that he returned the feelings that burned so bright in her own heart. It was wonder he hadn't seen them yet. But now here she was reading too much into something Combeferre said, feeling a shadow of the same flutter she felt when Marius teased her. She had felt it the day before too, when he had asked her if she was an angel. Was she really that lovelorn, that she would even look for affection in the ever studious Blaise Combeferre?

Eponine's arms went from her hips to crossed across her chest. She shook her head at him, a strand of hair working it's way loose from the makeshift kerchief she had tied over it and falling against the side of her face. She smirked and stared at Combeferre, letting him get his rather vague explanation out before speaking. "Ah, but that didn't answer my question. I know that you're the quiet, thoughtful one. I have attended more than one of your meetings, remember?" Eponine blew a breath out of the corner of her mouth attempting to get the bit of hair out of her face, succeeding in only making it move back an inch before falling against her cheek again. She tried to ignore as she continued, focusing on Combeferre. Something was on his mind and she was dying to find out what it was. "I asked what had you so quiet and thoughtful, not why you were." She grinned at him, drumming her fingers on her arm in an effort to appear impatient. But anyone really looking at her could see the laughter glinting in her eyes.

Despite everything she had told herself through the night and day, Eponine found herself relaxing more and more in Combeferre's flat, in his company. He was so nervous and earnest in the way he acted around her, it made it almost impossible to stay angry with him. Even if she wanted to, she found she simply could not stop from returning his warm smiles. And she didn't want to. She was genuine in her desire to be friends with him, for however long he'd have her. She was no fool to believe their friendship would deter him from the revolution he and his friends had been planning for as long as she had known them. But her heart clenched at the thought of losing them, of losing him. She had only just begun to get to know him. It solidified her belief that she and Mylene were doing the right thing planning to rob the Guard's weapons stores. For just the chance that they might survive, that her new friends would still be alive after the battle, was enough motivation for her. For now, she resolved to enjoy Combeferre's company and lessons as much as possible.

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When he chanced another glance at Eponine, she did not seem to react to his statement, other than cocking an eyebrow. His face flushed and he paged through the book in his hand briefly before setting it on the shelf. What was he doing? He had never taken a fancy to anyone—he recognized beauty, yet he never really acknowledged it, simply because he had never had an interest in any woman romantically. Was he going against his unromantic nature now? No, no, no, no, this isn’t happening. This won’t happen, his mind insisted firmly. He was not—could not—have anything other than platonic feelings for her. He barely knew her. She was pretty, he would admit that. No, pretty seems too lackluster a word…beautiful, striking… He realized that he was staring and he tore his eyes away again, but not for long.

His attention was drawn to her again when she smirked at him and pointed out that he was evading her question. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?” he observed, an amused smile on his face. Of course it just made things worse for him because obviously she wasn’t going to let up in her questioning, but he found her tenaciousness rather remarkable. “You would make a fine journalist. Are you familiar with Marat?” His compliment was genuine, but he could not deny that he was trying to change the subject. However, he knew that mere flattery would not be enough to get her to drop the subject, so he had to come up with an answer.

He was distracted momentarily from her question as he witnessed her attempt to blow her hair out of her eyes. He let out a chuckle involuntarily at the scene, finding it endearing. Dear God, what is wrong with you? “I…I was only thinking…” Of how lovely you look when you smile. He would never say that, regardless of whether or not it was what he was truly thinking. “Was...was thinking o-of Lemarque, and his funeral.” he blurted out instead, rubbing the back of neck. “I was thinking about whether or not this is what he would have wanted. He spoke out about injustice, yes, but he never incited the people to rebellion. Of course that’s how the Revolution came about, but surely it must be possible to enact change without resorting to violence. There must be some way.” He knew that there was not, which was what frustrated him to no end. He did not want to kill anyone, and he didn’t want to see his friends killed either. If the streets of Paris would be watered with blood, then they had to be sure that real, positive change would be the result. Otherwise, it would have all been for naught. “It…it just concerns me how eager everyone is to fight.”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine tilted her head to the side, laughing quietly. "Relentless? No, no, Monsieur. Stubborn! Like a mule." She added tapping her bare foot on the wooden floor to her fingers drumming, trying to look for all the world like she was losing patience. Of course the smile on her face and the twinkling of her eyes ruined the whole illusion, but she didn't care. Her eyebrows shot up at his next comment, and she shook her head, the bit of hair falling in her eyes again. "Oh, no. You aren't going to get out of this by complimenting me. Don't you have to be able to write well to be a journalist anyway?" She stared at him, fixing her brown eyes on his face. Her hand left it's drumming on her arm to brush the hair back and tried to hook it behind her ear. For a moment, it seemed to work, barely. But her gaze never left him, even as he tore his away. Why was the stalling so much? Was there something she was not meant to know? Her curiosity grew more with each stutter or stumble. "Well, come on. It can't possibly be as bad as all that."

When he finally answered her, the smile fled her face like leaves before an autumn wind. So that's it, what was bothering him. The coming revolution, the funeral and all that followed. She felt guilty for pressing him, for not having it at the forefront of her mind as well. She had simply been happy in the moment, reveling in the comfort and company of her lessons with him. If her life had taught her anything, it was to cherish the happy times, for she never knew when they would be gone forever. To spend the present worrying about the future was a futile effort and a waste of the joys life gives so sparingly. She thought about the funeral and what the boys had planned, more than she liked to admit. The back of her mind hummed with buried thoughts and fears of what would happen to her friends, of what she could do to help. Even what she could do to stop it from all happening, as if laying in from of the rolling war machine would bring it all to a grinding halt. "I doubt LeMarque wanted to fall ill and die either. Life rarely gives us what we want." Her voice carried no disrespect, only a hint of sadness at what she had seen in her own life, of unrequited love and lost fortunes. "You didn't resort to violence, Combeferre. None of you did. The state drew blood first."

Closing the sparse distance between herself and Combeferre, Eponine unwound her arms and gripped his arm, much as she had the day before when he had spoken of his father. "I don't think they as so much eager as they are willing. I don't think any of them really wants to fight. I cannot believe any of them wants to kill anyone." She had been around the Amis enough to know that even the most rebellious among them was a good person at their heart. She had seen men who were eager to fight, to kill. She had seen the predatory gaze, the cold fire that built up in a man when he caught sight of his prey. And not a single one of these students had that look to him. "You know them better than me. Can you honestly say that any of them is looking forward to a fight? Or are they just preparing for something they find a necessary evil?"

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“Well, that would come in handy sometimes. Better to be tenacious than slipshod. Obstinacy, or stubbornness as you put it, is a quality I very much admire.” Combeferre answered, the smile still on his face. “And that is a trait vital to journalists. Jefferson once said, ‘The only security of all is in a free press. The force of public opinion cannot be resisted when permitted freely to be expressed. The agitation it produces must be submitted to. It is necessary, to keep the waters pure,’” he quoted from memory.

“It would help, yes, but I believe that it’s the message behind the writing that is most important. Even so, all things get better with practice. Do you like to write?” he asked. He often penned the pamphlets the society gave out, finding that he was better at writing than he was at giving speeches.

Why was he always rendered speechless whenever she looked at him. His pulse always escalated and whenever he did speak, he fumbled. It was an anomaly—this only happened in her presence. Perhaps he was sick—that was the only viable explanation that he would consider. The other one was too outlandish.

He dared to look up when she commented that life didn’t give them what they wanted. “True.” he agreed softly, glancing out of the window of the study pensively. If it did, they wouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place. He said nothing at first when Eponine tried to reassure him that they didn’t start the ordeal. “But whoever is in power in the end will lead the people to think the other side did. If we win, then we’ll say that they’re the monsters, and if they win, they will call us the same. While I don’t agree with the monarchists or the king, I don’t want anyone killed. I don’t want to kill anyone.” he responded emphatically, his earnest eyes meeting hers again.

He fell silent, awestruck, when she laid her hand on his arm again. His eyes never left hers as she spoke. When she posed her questions, his face grew thoughtful and then he shook his head. “No, of course not. I know they don’t want to take up arms against the king. And I also know that everyone knows the consequences of our actions…” He paused and then added, “I don’t want any of them to die. And I don’t think I’m ready to die myself.” It was perhaps the most honest admission he had ever made. He was not frightened, nor was he prepared for death. “I believe in what we’re doing, I just wish there were some other way around it—but I know full well that there isn’t.” He hesitated a moment and then added frustratedly, "She was right there--the woman they shot. Only a few paces away--and I was trained, I could have saved her if I had gotten there in time!"