I'm so sorry this chapter was long in coming. Thank you again for all your lovely reviews and I hope you enjoy this final chapter. I hope it doesn't disappoint. I know some parts (such as the storm) are rather 'unrealistic', but please bear with me. For the last time, "Hope you enjoy!"

Chapter Thirty

Eponine sat dejected by the kitchen window. Outside, dark clouds rumbled and the heavens rained down with a vengeance. Such cruel weather, and on a summer day! The sun should be out and shining; the town should be bustling; the children should be out of doors, laughing and romping about.

They should be splashing themselves with buckets of icy cold, not to mention wonderfully refreshing, water from the well… instead, Someone above the grey clouds was laughing and pouring buckets of unmerciful rain that pounded the ground with fury.

Eponine looked up at the sky and cried: "Oh! Please stop it, will You? I know You love the world and You want to hose Your gardens, but can't You stop pouring Your water for an hour or two? Please just let me have a little sunshine!"

Laughter pealed on the stairway. Eponine turned to see Grantaire chuckling as he climbed down the stairs. "Don't be angry with Him, 'Ponine," he laughed, "The world needs some rain now and then."

"But not at the moment," grumbled Eponine, leaning her head on her hands and letting out a melancholy sigh.

"And besides," Grantaire added, "You might need some rain too."

Eponine scowled at the stormy weather. "Why would I need that?"

"Well," came the thoughtful reply, "you know, it usually happens that when the rain dies down the sun comes out of his hiding place and fills the world with light. We don't see anything special about that light when the sky's been sunny all day long. But when it's dark… that's the time when we want sunshine most, when we search for it."

"Yes, yes. So can't the rains die down already?"

Grantaire laughed softly. "Maybe it's waiting for something." He turned and made for the living room with a book tucked comfortably under his arm. "By the way, I think Enjolras is outside."

"What?" cried Eponine, aghast. "In this weather?! That storm will be the death of him!"

Grantaire chuckled and muttered under his breath, "If you don't kill him first."

But Eponine was already running out the door. The moment she stepped outside, she was enveloped in the raging storm. The wind howled unmercifully. Eponine raised her hand to her forehead, her eyes squinting in the fog.

"Enjolras!" she cried. Her voice was lost in the wind. She tried again. "Enjolras!"

She took one step. And then another. Soon she was running breathlessly in the storm, soaked to the skin. She couldn't see where she was going, but she kept on running, calling his name and starting to wonder if perhaps Grantaire had decieved her. Why in the world would he do such a thing? Telling herself that Grantaire would never commit such a crime, she took another step, and then another.

She was lost. The mist was thickening; the sky darkened; the wind screamed. It was that moment when the heavens took one last deep breath, when the world braced itself and prepared for the last outburst.

The darkness was overwhelming; falling to her knees and thinking herself lost forever, she covered her face in her hands and hoped for the light to come.

…

"Margot, have you seen Eponine?"

"Sorry, no. Last I saw she was sitting in the kitchen." As Enjolras hurried down the stairs, Marguerite added, "Oh and watch out, Enjolras! She'd worked herself into a fiery mood when I left her."

Paying no attention to her warning, Enjolras clattered down the stairs, his hands feeling the railing as he went. He met Grantaire halfway down.

"Enjolras! Need any help getting down?"

"No thank you," replied Enjolras impatiently.

"How's the eyesight?"

"Fine."

"Improving?"

"Yes, yes—have you seen Eponine?"

"Oh!" Grantaire had been waiting for this question and, feigning indifference, answered his impatient companion with a calm: "I believe she's out for a walk."

"Out!" cried Enjolras. "In this storm? What in the world does the mad woman think she's doing? If she's killed herself, I'll… I'll—"

"Yes, you'll denounce the world with all the passion you can muster and then promise never to forgive her till she comes back while she'll be frolicking happily in heaven. And when she hears you calling angrily for her, she will, being frightfully terrified of your wrath, run down from the skies and hurry into your arms. Now you hurry up, before she DOES die of cold!" With that Grantaire grabbed Enjolras by the hand, led him quickly and not at all carefully down the stairs, and pushed him out the door.

It was at that moment that Enjolras realized how foolish he had been. "GRANTAIRE!" he stormed, "Let me in! How in the world am I supposed to find Eponine if I can't see!"

"You can't see either way," came the reply behind the door, "It's dreadfully misty, you know."

"Let me in, you… you traitor! You'll have to help me find Eponine! She's out there… all alone! In this storm!"

There was no answer behind the door.

"Grantaire!"

No answer.

Enjolras turned, his back to the door, his chest heaving. No thoughts of his own safety passed his mind. He only thought of Grantaire betraying him, of Eponine blinded somewhere in the middle of this roaring storm, of his helplessness—his terrible inability to save her. He heard the wind screaming and felt cold water raining down furiously over him, trickling down his face and soaking his clothes. "Maybe Grantaire is right," he murmured to himself, "A man might as well be blind in this storm. But a blind man knows how to use his senses." Holding on to this piece of hope, Enjolras got down to his knees and felt his hands touch the hard pavement. Then, taking a deep breath, he crawled.

It is a strange thing to see Monsieur Enjolras crawl. Never, in the history of mankind, has any person lived to see Monsieur Enjolras crawl, except for his mother, who had probably forgotten the strange sight. (He had worn a long gown then and sucked his thumb and gurgled.) But to see the great, superior Enjolras crawling! If one of those 'flippant' young ladies looked out the window at that moment and saw her dreamy statue crawling, his hands searching desperately in the great storm and his helplessness more evident than ever—that lady would perhaps have thrown away every single fancy that she had conjured up in her mind about being Madame Enjolras.

Unless that young woman really loved him; unless she knew that the Great Enjolras was suffering from such 'humiliation' for her. That woman would only love him more than she already did.

Enjolras crawled. His breath came short and he shivered. The rain felt like ice. Suddenly the hard pavement under his palms turned into soft, wet grass. After the slippery, solid ground, the grass almost felt like velvet. He stood up and took a hesitant step forward. His eyes blinked and through his blurry vision he saw colors of grey and black. His eyes widened; he thought he saw something, the outline of a rock. He stumbled towards the large rock, hope building in his chest. When his hands fell upon it, expecting to find the roughness of a rock, they found instead what felt like wet hair.

His hope soared. Bending down, he lifted the 'rock' and embraced it, using his large frame as a shield against the howling winds and rain.

…

Poor Enjolras. Those were Eponine's thoughts as she dreamed. Poor, poor Enjolras. I've failed him. She could picture him in her mind, as helpless as a child in the raging storm. She shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, squeezing her body into a ball. Hot tears fell down her cheek. A storm cannot kill a person, she thought. You're being melodramatic, 'Ponine. But sickness can. Azelma almost died from it. And a falling tree… and a warm sunshine… Her nightmares ceased. She fell into a dreamless sleep.

The first thing she heard was a lark singing. Its song was beautiful. Then she felt the sunshine warming her face, and a cool wind blow past her. And then she heard a voice.

"Eponine? 'Ponine?"

She opened her eyes to see Enjolras looking down at her with large concerned eyes. He held her in his arms. "You're safe!" she said in wonder.

His lips formed a tight smile. "Well, no thanks to Grantaire. I thought you were lost."

Eponine laughed feebly. "What? A storm kill me? Thenardiers are tougher than that, Enjolras!"

Enjolras smiled radiantly now as he saw life returning to her pale cheeks. "Let's just hope you don't catch anything, or Combeferre's going to have a lot of sleepless nights."

"I am so glad," she sighed happily.

"Why is that?" asked the other gently.

"You're alright, and the sun is shining."

Enjolras laughed quietly. "And I can see," he murmured. "All it took was a desperate chase in a blinding storm."

She looked straight into his eyes with wonder. "Then I am so glad He made it rain."

"Eponine?"

She cocked her head curiously as he said her name. His voice sounded tense, almost nervous. "What is it, Enjolras? Is something wrong?"

"No," he replied hesitantly.

"Lost for words? At last! A miracle!"

"If you were in my place, you'd take years and still never find the right words!" retorted Enjolras, shifting uneasily.

"The right words for what?"

"For confessing one's undying love."

Eponine snorted. "Of course you can't find the right words for that. Undying love is a completely absurd idea that people just made up to—" she stopped short and looked up at him, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping open like a fish out of water. "What did you say?" she whispered.

"I said that I'd never be able to find the right words for my undying love for Eponine Thenardier, because there are no words to describe my love, because even if I found such words I would be too arrogant to confess them to you, because—Eponine, are you alright?"

As she listened, Eponine had been growing paler and paler, and at last she had interrupted him by throwing her hands over her face. She hid from him as he bent forward anxiously. "Eponine?" said he, worry coating his words.

"Oh, of course I'm alright, you old fool!" cried Eponine, throwing her arms around him and hiding her face in his coat.

"Eponine, are you crying!?" Enjolras' lips had twisted into a ghost of a smile, and that little smile was filled with all the pride and joy of the world.

She withdrew her arms and looked up at him, her face scarlet.

"Well you don't look really pleased! This is the result of swallowing my pride and confessing my heart?" said Enjolras, imperiously. Really his heart felt weightless, like a feather.

"Really, truly your heart?"

"Really, truly my heart."

Again she hid her face in his coat, and again he scarcely dared to breathe as he felt her soft cheek brush against his. When Eponine opened her eyes, she realized that they were sitting on a bench, in none other than the garden of the Rue Plumet.

Enjolras had found his light. Eponine Thenardier had found hers.