Light My Candle

The next hour or so consisted of nothing more than shocked silence. Neither Joly nor Enjolras could wrap their heads around the idea that Marius Pontmercy had beaten this helpless waif of a girl into submission and caused her memory loss. Eponine watched them stare at her blankly before shrugging her shoulders and turning back to the play that still lay open in her lap. She alternated between reading the dialogue—which she found outdated and tricky to read, having not read anything so sophisticated for a long time—and watching the sun move across the sky from the large window in Enjolras' flat. Thanks to a knowledge she did not know she possessed, she could tell that it was approximately 2 o'clock in the afternoon.

To Enjolras and Joly, this was one of the longest days they had ever lived through. Enjolras could not understand how only hours before he had been arguing with Combeferre about the topic of marriage. His day had been derailed by his discovery of Eponine, but he found he did not mind the distraction. People believed that his life was exciting and exhilarating. He was the leader of a revolution. His friends especially believed that his life was filled with excitement, though not of the same kind that they often took pleasure in. However, Enjolras found that his life was filled with schedules and speeches, books and essays. The only thing he truly found exciting anymore was the revolution, which was also very scheduled and precise. He found Eponine's condition, as dire as it seemed, to be a break in the monotony. However, Enjolras was having difficulty believing that his closest friend would be capable of such…evils.

Neither of the men in the room knew how long they had stood there watching her in silence, but it seemed like hours before Joly finally spoke.

"Do you think he hurt her?" Joly peered up at Enjolras.

Enjolras ran his hand through his curls, a habit he had picked up as a child. "Marius could not hurt an insect. He is one of the most non-violent people I have ever met, which leads me to believe that no, he did not hurt her." Both men were whispering to ensure that Eponine would not be able to hear their conversation.

"Then how did she come to be like this?"

"I am not sure, and I doubt that she knows herself. What do we do?" Enjolras asked the premedical student. For once, it seemed that Joly's over cautiousness would prove fruitful.

Joly sighed and took off his spectacles to clean them. "I'm not sure myself. As I said, this is not my area of study. I am sure I could find a professor at the school that could help. For now though, just ensure that she does get into any trouble. We are not sure how far back her memory loss goes, so she may get lost or have difficulties with simple things. She may also have headaches or some pain due to her injuries. Tomorrow I shall go to the school and attempt to find someone to help her. Right now though, I am due to meet with Musichetta," Joly explained. "She wants me to take her to the opera." Joly rolled his eyes in amusement. Enjolras felt a flash of anger at his bespectacled friend. A girl they both knew was injured, and Joly was more interested in keeping a date with the girl that he shared with Bossuet. Joly must have seen the anger in his eyes, and hurried to explain. "Enjolras, there is really nothing I can do as of now. I'm sorry. Attempt to keep her comfortable and assist her should she need anything. That is all we can do right now."

"Combeferre should be back soon. I doubt he would take kindly to a random woman living with us." Enjolras attempted to reason, but he knew even before the words came out of his mouth that his excuse was a weak one. The fact of the matter was that Eponine made him uncomfortable. Any woman normally put him on edge, but Eponine and her memory loss made him more wary than was usual.

"Combeferre and Hélène are attending the opera tonight with Musichetta and I. I will inform him of the situation. Should he take issue with Eponine staying with you, remind him that he has a furnished home close by that he plans to move in to with Hélène after their wedding. If he is uncomfortable in any way, invite him to take his leave." Enjolras sighed as his excuse was debunked, which caused Joly to chuckle under his breath. "However, mon ami, Combeferre is a medical student as well, so I highly doubt that he would protest to a patient staying with you. Now, if you'll forgive me for my abrupt departure, I must be off." Joly clasped Enjolras' arm before turning to leave. He called back a farewell to Eponine as he swung the door shut behind him.

Enjolras stared at the door for a moment, attempting to will Joly back in to the room. Realizing that his behavior was unbecoming, Enjolras turned back to Eponine, who had remained seated on the sofa with her legs tucked up underneath her. From the looks of it, she was only a few pages into Julius Caesar but she seemed to be enjoying it.

Coming to the inevitable and somewhat undesirable conclusion that she would be his companion for the night, Enjolras turned to her and said, "Should you need anything, mademoiselle, I shall be in my room. Do not hesitate to ask me."

Receiving no response, Enjolras dedicated himself to finishing the speech he had left from that morning. Without the distractions that came in the form of his dreams, Combeferre, and Grantaire, Enjolras was able to focus more clearly on his eloquent wording. Occasionally he heard Eponine flip the page in the other room, but all in all she was a very quiet person, which aided in his focus.

Eponine, on the other hand, was entranced by the play that she was reading. She found it so interesting that the times really hadn't changed all that much. The government was willing to stab people in the back in order to get what they wanted at any time in history, so it seemed. Eponine thought of Enjolras, and how he was willing to take extreme measures in order to protect his city. Throughout the day, Eponine had remembered bits and pieces of who Enjolras had been to her. He had been like a god; the leader of the revolution that would change France was a god with his halo of golden curls and his faithful saints. However, Eponine did not relate Enjolras to Cassius or Casca, who had plotted against Caesar's rise to power. Brutus reminded her of Marius, who was willing to stab his best friend, just as Marius had been willing to do to her. But there were things about Brutus that reminded her of Enjolras, or what she remembered of him. Brutus treated Portia as an equal. He did not demean her, and he attempted to protect her from being associated with the traitorous plan. Enjolras had brought her to his home to protect her, and treated her as an equal, which nobody else had ever done. Marius treated her like a puppy, her father treated her like a slave, and Monteparnasse treated her like a warm body that was at his beck and call whenever he wanted her. Enjolras treated her like an equal, or he had so far. He did not look down upon her, nor did he speak to her condescendingly. He asked her if she wanted to do things, not demanding them like her father and 'Parnasse did. She liked that. She liked him. She had only truly known him for a couple of hours, but she liked him. She liked the way that he treated her like a lady, not a gamine. She liked the way that he wasn't ashamed to be seen with her in public. By God in Heaven, she liked him! The thought scared Eponine, seeing as how the last person she had loved had treated her (waking in a bush and knowing that the man you loved had put you there was enough to scare any woman off of the emotion for a while), so she decided to turn back to the play to clear her head.

It was not until hours later that Enjolras looked up at the clock in his room, and found that it was far past supper time. He strode back into the living area to find Eponine squinting at the final pages of Julius Caesar.

He cleared his throat, and she jumped in her seat, staring up at him with wide startled eyes. "Oh, monsieur, I'm so sorry. I must have lost track of the time."

"Mademoiselle, please, call me Enjolras. And it is quite alright. I should be apologizing to you, in fact. I have not been the most gracious of hosts, seeing how we have both missed both our midday meals, as well as dinner."

"That is alright, monsieur Enjolras. I feel as though I have had less to eat before." Enjolras shuddered internally at her confusion. Her memories were so muddled that she could not comprehend her life before this day. It was quite sad to watch.

Though her head was still foggy, Eponine could remember bits and pieces of her life now that the shock had worn off. She remembered most of her time in Montfermeil, but things got hazy around the time that her family had made the move to Paris. She could remember long nights in a dingy café, listening to Enjolras' speeches and spending time with a particularly amusing drunkard. She recalled much of her time with Marius, but all of her memories of him were now tainted with fear. She did not remember much of her time on the streets, which aided in her confusion.

"Well, if you are not hungry, I was planning on going to sleep now. You can take my bed, and I will sleep in Combeferre's room—"

"Oh please, Monsieur Enjolras! Can't I please stay up a few more moments and finish the play?" Eponine pleaded.

Enjolras was shocked. He had not known the girl could read, let alone get excited about a book. But there she was, sitting on his couch, begging him to allow her to finish one of Shakespeare's classics.

His shock caused him to relent. "Yes, fine, but Joly will have my head if I allow you to strain your eyes. Allow me to find a candle for you to read by." It only took a few moments, and finally he came up with a candle that was unfortunately missing its holder. He retrieved a match from one of the cabinets in the kitchen and lit the candle. He handed it to Eponine. In the new found light, he noticed her trembling and a fine layer of goose pimples on her thin arms. "Mademoiselle, you are shivering."

Eponine looked down at her arms. She laughed breathily, as though she had not noticed the chill. "I guess I am, Monsieur Enjolras. It is a little cold in here, but I have handled worse." She moved her hand quickly as she laughed, and the candle blew out. She held it out to him. "Could you please light my candle, monsieur?"

Enjolras took out another match and held out his hand for the candle. Eponine stood as he handed it back to her, freshly lit. She stumbled as she made her way back to the couch, catching herself before she hit the floor, and somehow managed to keep her candle lit.

"Mademoiselle, are you alright?" Enjolras asked urgently, reaching a hand out to help her regain her balance.

"I'll be alright, Monsieur Enjolras. I'm just a little weak on my feet, I suppose. I guess my head is bothering me more than I thought." Eponine wandered over to the large window and stared down at the street below.

Enjolras could not help but watch her. Even with her bruised face and the issues with her mind, she was a striking enigma. In less than 24 hours, Enjolras had somehow come to care for the girl. He genuinely cared about her wellbeing, and he hoped that her mind would recover after a good night's sleep. He did not think it fair that a girl who was given such a difficult station in life would now be burdened with an unreliable memory. He prided himself on helping the poor, beaten, and downtrodden, and in his mind, that was what he was doing. He was doing what was humane by helping her, and that was all. He kept repeating this mantra in his mind, but could not help but notice how nicely the moonlight illuminated her hair and face.

Enjolras sighed and ran his hands through his hair. His friends constantly teased him about not taking any interest in women, but it wasn't that. Not at all. He noticed women, and appreciated them from a distance, but did not allow them to distract him from the greater good.

So deep was he in his thoughts, he did not notice Eponine turning around, nor did he notice that he was still staring at her. Eponine noticed though, and despite her fragile condition, she thoroughly enjoyed his gaze. She saw Enjolras as a charming, handsome man who had taken her in during her time of need. Not many men were that sweet. Marius had certainly proven that to her.

She had been wary of all the men she had passed on the street when she was going to the Gorbeau tenement, which she was fairly sure she lived in. She had stayed close to Enjolras when he was leading her from the tenement to his flat. She had even been slightly fearful of the doctor friend he had brought over to examine her. But she found that she had no fear of Enjolras whatsoever. She found that fact very curious. She could not remember having any attachment to the man before this day, but now she found that he was the only one she could trust fully. The feeling that that gave her was an odd one. She felt that she was not used to trusting people, but she also felt that he was the person to put her trust in. She could feel it in her gut; he would not let her down should she need him. The thought caused a jolt of fear to course down her spine, but Eponine could not pinpoint why she was afraid.

Eponine finally decided to interrupt Enjolras' thoughts. "What are you staring at?" she asked sweetly, as if she did not know.

Enjolras shook his head. "Nothing, mademoiselle. I just became lost in my thoughts, pardon me."

Eponine turned back to the window and surreptitiously blew her candle out. She liked the feeling she got when Enjolras was in the room, and she wasn't quite ready to give that up just yet.

She cut Enjolras off as he opened his mouth to excuse himself from the room. "It blew out again, Monsieur Enjolras. Could you please light it again?"

Enjolras sighed. It had been a long, exhausting day, and all he wanted to do was sleep. Nonetheless, he reached for the matches again. Eponine brought the candle to him, and he lit it. When the flickering flame once again illuminated the room, Enjolras was took a step back. The flame from the candle threw her bruises into sharp relief, and he was startled by how close she suddenly was to him.

"Mademoiselle…" Enjolras attempted to think of something that would relieve the growing tension, as well as end their encounter. He racked his brain for a kind way to dismiss her, but for once came up with no words. He avoided looking straight at her until he heard her hiss of pain. Some of the wax from the candle had dripped onto her finger.

"Are you alright, Mademoiselle?" Enjolras questioned, barely stopping himself from grasping her hand to remove the wax that had caused her pain.

Eponine smiled coyly—she had not missed the hand that had drifted towards her. She sauntered so close to him so that he could feel the heat from the candle and her body radiating against him. "I'll live, Enjolras. I've obviously been through worse." She looked pointed down at the bruises that lined her arms.

Enjolras took a large leap backwards and nodded at her. "Alright then, goodnight." Enjolras had to contain himself from running towards Combeferre's bedroom. He slowly closed the door, leaving it open a crack in case Eponine should need something during the night. He shed his shirt and collapsed onto Combeferre's soft bed.

Despite his unsettling encounter with Eponine, Enjolras found himself dozing within minutes and just about to cross the border into a deep, and hopefully dreamless, sleep. Alas, it was not to be. Before Morpheus could slip him away, a quiet knock came at the door.

Enjolras shot out of bed and grabbed the match book purely by instinct. "Did it blow out again?"

Eponine stood huddled in the doorway with the unlit candle. She nodded her head and he proceeded to light the flame again.

He studied her for a moment. She showed all the signs of having lived a tough life on the streets. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken in her face. How had she come to be there? She knew how to read, so obviously someone had taken the time to teach her. His mother had teased him before she died that he was always so curious about everything around him, and Eponine was quickly becoming something he was curious about. He did not know anything about her and, in spite of himself, he wanted to know. He wanted to know everything. He could not help himself from asking, "How old are you, Mademoiselle?"

Eponine looked thoughtful for a moment. She could remember her time in Montfermeil, and knew that she had not truly celebrated a birthday since she had lived there. "I am 19, I believe, monsieur." Enjolras nodded, thinking that the age suited her face, if not the terrible knowledge that remained hidden in her eyes. "How old are you, monsieur?"

"23 years old, Mademoiselle." Enjolras also had not celebrated his birthday for a long time; since the death of his mother, in fact. He had stopped putting stock into the idea that a birthday was something to be celebrated when he realized that many of the street children did not reach their first birthdays.

"Monsieur, please call me by my Christian name. I am not fond of formalities, I don't think. They seem to make me uncomfortable." Eponine looked up at him with her large brown doe-like eyes.

Enjolras prided himself on being a scheduled, planned man. He had his routine, and he preferred nothing interrupting it. With the exception of his closest friends, he never called anyone anything other than their titles. Therefore, he could not explain the sudden spontaneity that caused him to say, "I will call you by your Christian name, if you promise me two things."

Eponine shook her head vigorously. "Oh yes, monsieur. Anything!"

"Firstly, you must not call me 'monsieur'. I go by Enjolras. That is what everyone calls me, and that will include you. Agreed?" Eponine nodded her head eagerly, looking every inch like the puppy that she used to be when she followed Marius around. "Secondly," Enjolras took a deep breath. He had no inkling as to what demon or angel had possessed him to make this second request. "Secondly, you will stay here with me. Permanently." The look of shock on Eponine's face was enough to spur him to an explanation. "At least, until you are well. Joly and I are unsure as to the extent of your injuries and your memory loss. If you left here tomorrow, you could cause serious damage to yourself or others. You could get lost, or get into trouble with the law. It would be safer for you to stay here where someone can keep an eye on you and your health than to travel the streets and be in danger. Are we agreed?" Enjolras stuck his hand out to her.

Eponine slowly took it. "Oui, mon—Enjolras," she said as she shook his hand. She stared up at him with something akin to adoration. Any other time he had been on the receiving end of such a look, usually from women passing him in the market or from the young bourgeois women that his father used to try to set him up with, he had felt extremely uncomfortable. He could not explain why the look coming from Eponine did not bring about the same response. Perhaps it was because she depended upon him to keep her safe, or perhaps it was because he had subconsciously resigned himself to her presence. Whatever it was, it did not cause him to feel uncomfortable but almost…warm…inside.

Enjolras cleared his throat quietly. "Eponine," he began slowly, fighting against his instincts to call her by her title. "Are you finished with the play?"

"Oh oui, Enjolras. It was so wonderful! Parts of it were frightening, but it was a beautiful play," she responded emphatically.

"Well, if you are finished, are you prepared to go to sleep now?" Enjolras questioned, anxious to resume his rest.

Eponine blushed lightly, knowing she had kept him up in order to continue talking to him and flirting with him. Eponine was not usually so forward with men, but there was something about Enjolras' apparent disinterest in her as a woman paired with his caring and gentle nature that made her act flirtatiously with him. Yes, he was just like Brutus in the way he treated women. She responded that, yes, she was ready to turn in for the night, and he led her to her—his—room.

The room was sparsely decorated, with only a large bed and a desk with a chair. French flags as well as the red flags of the revolution hung over the back side of the chair.

Eponine heard Enjolras shift behind her, and turned to look at him. "I will go fetch some water for you to clean up with. Joly mentioned that you should keep your wounds clean."

Eponine nodded as she chewed on the nail of her littlest finger. She continued to gaze around the room with slight awe displayed clearly across her face. Large, thick books were stacked 10 to a pile on top of the desk. Eponine ran her hands over them, and noticed something that was out of place. She picked it up and chuckled to herself before turning away to put it to good use. The bed was large and comfortable looking. Eponine could not help herself from launching herself into the bed, bouncing into the middle of it. It was quite possibly the softest thing she had ever touched. Eponine burrowed herself into the red quilt that covered the bed. It was soft and smelled like pine trees and cinnamon. The scent reminded her of the good times in Montfermeil. She could vaguely remember that Christmas so long ago when the rich man came and took Cosette away. Cosette—Eponine felt bad about treating her so poorly. No person deserved to be treated like chattel. Eponine hoped Cosette was in a better place now.

Enjolras returned to the room with a bowl of fresh water and could not help the small smile that came across his face when he saw her snuggled up into his bed. She looked so comfortable, and he hated to disturb her. But he knew from his experience with Grantaire that sleeping in one's clothes was not the most comfortable thing to do. Enjolras tossed one of his nightshirts on the bed. "Eponine, I have some water for you to wash up with. You may use one of my nightshirts to sleep in, if you'd like."

Eponine took the cloth from the bowl and scrubbed her face with it. It came back almost black with all the dirt that had washed from her face. Enjolras, being the gentleman that he was raised as, left the room as she changed into her—his—nightclothes. When he re-entered the room, Eponine could not help herself from saying, "Merci, Enjolras. It has been a long time since someone has shown me such kindness."

Enjolras shook his head. "Every person deserves compassion and kindness, Eponine. Nobody should have to live in squalor. Please do not thank me; I have not done anything that a good human being would not do as well."

Eponine released a dark chuckle. "Then I suppose that I have not met many good human beings, Enjolras."

He looked down at the quilt. "That is what I am trying to change, Eponine." He quickly stood from his perch on the corner of the bed. He gestured for her to get off the bed and, when she did, he pulled the quilt down. Catching on, Eponine quickly slid between the sheets and Enjolras placed the quilt on top of her. "Bonne nuit, Eponine. I am just in the next room if you need me."

Eponine yawned as she burrowed further into the comfortable bed. "Bonne nuit, Enjolras."

Enjolras looked around the room, seeing if he had forgotten anything. He smiled when he saw the candle burning brightly in a small silver candlestick holder. He leaned over and blew it out, before heading to Combeferre's room for the night. Somehow he knew that his night would not be as dreamless as he had hoped.