a/n: written for the fic war of 2013. prompted by kristina-brammer, prompt being: "in the end, it doesn't matter who you're with. It matters who you've changed."

those you leave behind - modern au - former enjolras x éponine

Éponine sits cross-legged on the floor of the living room, a bowl of cereal in her lap, illuminated by the soft blue glow of the late night news. It's muted, so the voices of the men in her dining room float unadulterated throughout the house.

She scoots a little closer in an attempt to read the subtitles better when the face of a very familiar blonde man is plastered across the screen. A man with dark blue eyes that burn with the fire of indignation, mouth frozen in a rousing rallying cry.

He smiled and placed his forehead against hers with a chuckle. No one ever saw him like this. With his eyelids creased in laughter. His lips used for kissing instead of yelling. It was only for her. It was years ago, but it was only for her.

Voices raise in the other room. She thinks about telling them to keep it down, but it won't do any use. Not with Enjolras and his forever clear voice. Not that he wouldn't try, just that he can't. One of the many things she remembers.

His voice shook her awake. Through the door and down the hall, she still heard him as clear as day from the study. As she stood beyond the doorframe she watched him pacing the floor. The second he realized she was there he shook his head and slammed the door shut.

"The less you know the better."

'Peaceful demonstrations with a militant edge,' the subtitles say.

'Tensions are felt by all sides, forcing the authorities into gearing up for a situation that is sure to escalate,' the anchorwoman warns.

She twists her wedding band. A bad habit that turned into a nervous tick. Éponine should be worried about Enjolras, but that's not her job anymore.

She had heard the whispers. She knew that something drastic was being planned. As he buttoned his coat she grabbed his hands and begged him not to go.

"There will be plenty of people there. They know the importance of standing up and they'll be there."

She told him that he couldn't expect people to be able to make the same sacrifices he did. They might not have the luxury to leave work or family members behind. But he didn't listen. He never did.

Little footsteps turn Éponine's attention to the stairs.

She pads over to the sandy haired child on the bottom step and scoops him up in her arms, placing his weight on her hip in the secure way that only mothers know. "It's far too late for you to be up, little one."

"I know," he says, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists. "I need Papa to get the monsters out of the closet." A smile cracks her lips and she nuzzles her son close to her chest.

"I see someone's up," she turns to see Combeferre behind her, already extending his arms to take their son. "Monsters again, I assume." He picks the boy up and hoists him over his shoulder in the easy way that only fathers know, earning a sleepy giggle in return.

Then he turns back to the dining room, little legs kicking at his chest in amusement. "Enjolras," he calls out while adjusting his glasses with his free hand, "I wouldn't worry about it. We'll have plenty of backers at the courthouse on Friday. They know how much we need their support."

"No, we'll come up with another plan. There are plenty of people who have much more to lose than I do. And that's why you'll be staying at home." He ends in that peculiar way that only Enjolras can, stern yet gentle. In a way that no one wants to argue against.

As a frustrated Combeferre starts up the stairs, Enjolras meets Éponine's eyes and smiles. A small one. Just meant for her.