Hey friends! This is my first non-SITR story, but I just had an idea and kind of ran with it... I hope it's 1. not too confusing and 2. enjoyable!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Les Mis, and the song is by Taylor Swift

You cannot tell how soon it may be too late - Matthew Brady

6 June 2013

They'd thought she was dead. Her eyes had been closed, her tiny body laid discreetly out of danger from the guns and the fighting; the lifelong fight for freedom, equality, to be heard finally over. She wondered what it was like: did Bahorel start breaking things? Did Grantaire stop drinking? Did Gavroche cry? Did… he? She'd never know.

Of course, she wasn't dead. It would take more than a mauled hand and a bullet in her stomach to keep Éponine Thénardier down.

She supposed they won, in the end - her injuries, that is. They kept her down just long enough that it was too late, and yet too early: just in time to see his back at the café window; hear his last shout of "LONG LIVE THE REPUBLIC!" and watch on in helpless horror as he fell lifelessly through the window, suspended just above the street where the bodies of so many of his friends were scattered. A pain far worse than the bullets tore through her as she ran as fast as her broken body would carry her, far from Rue Saint-Denis, the barricade, the bodies. She ran further than she ever had before, but it wasn't enough.

So she ran further: out of Paris, out of France, out of Europe. Hitching a ride as a maid on a cruise liner, she ran to Canada; to a small, French-speaking town where nobody knew her, or anything about her. There, she ran from her past: she died her hair, changed her name, made up a backstory.

Perhaps now, she'd run far enough.

Perhaps not.

7 June 2013

"…the band of rebel students, led by 24-year-old law student Gabriel Enjolras – son of billionaire Antoine Enjolras – was engaged by armed forces yesterday on the streets of Paris. It has been confirmed this morning that all students present were killed at the scene, along with many French soldiers, and one 10 year old boy, believed to be homeless."

8 June 2013

"The late participants in this week's so-called 'June Rebellion' were officially declared traitors to the French nation this morning, in the latest report from police in charge of the investigation into Thursday's events. Detective Inspector Martinet announced at a press conference that this posthumous label means that the students are not entitled to a state-funded funeral, and as such, their bodies MUST be claimed before 10am Monday morning, or they will be disposed of. More information on this story as it arrives."

9 June 2013

"The funeral for the 10 year old boy killed during riots on Thursday took place earlier today in Montparnasse cemetery. The funeral will be the only non-military memorial service paid for by the state, after all other participants were designated traitors to the French nation. Sources suggest that all but one body has so far been claimed by the families of the deceased, with only leader Gabriel Enjolras remaining, although these reports are unconfirmed…"

10 June 2013

9.30am "In other news, a spokesman for the Enjolras estate has stated that the family will not be claiming the body of Gabriel Enjolras, leader of the riots started at the funeral of General Lemarque. With the deadline of 10am fast approaching, it appears the 24-year-old's body will be disposed of without memorial in an unmarked grave."

7.30pm "BREAKING NEWS just in – a benefactor has within the last half an hour been confirmed to have contacted the police force today concerning the body of 24-year-old revolutionary leader Gabriel Enjolras. The man – who asked to remain anonymous – paid for a short service and modest gravestone, and the funeral took place earlier today in Montparnasse cemetery."

6 June 2023

Taking a deep breath, Éponine walked slowly toward the small stone headstone at the end of the row. Ten years of exposure to the elements had done nothing to scuff the inscription.

Here lies Gabriel Enjolras
born 15th November 1988
died for Patria on 6th June 2013

He will live again in freedom
in the garden of the Lord

Laying the red roses she brought with her carefully against the stone, she sat cross-legged on the ground, facing it.

"Hey, Enj" she whispered. Feeling suddenly foolish, she glanced around, but nobody was there except a gardener, far off in the other corner of the cemetery.

"It's been a while. You probably don't even recognise me, all old and blonde and chubby" she laughed weakly. "But then, knowing you you'd see through it in a second. You always saw me, even when I was invisible to everyone else."

The first day he spoke to her, she was hanging around outside Paris University, hoping to catch Marius on his way out of class. Blending into the crowd, she craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the freckled face of her only friend. Perhaps today he would finally see her, and return her love…

"He skipped today. You're wasting your time." The blunt statements caught her off-guard, and she jumped with shock; nobody was supposed to notice her, much less talk to her. Looking up at its source, she met a pair of impossibly blue eyes, set in a strong, handsome face framed by a shock of tousled blonde curls. Marius' friend from the café.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, guard up.
"He's not here, but he should be at the Musain later. If he can get his arse in gear, that is, which isn't always the case."
"What?"
"You are Éponine, right? Pontmercy's friend? You come to the meetings at the Musain most days."
"I… yes."
"He's not here."
"Right. Thanks."

"Have you ever wondered what would have happened if you hadn't seen me that day? I wouldn't have gone to the café that night and actually listened to your speech, so I wouldn't have ended up staying back to argue with you about it until 3 in the morning. So then I wouldn't have had you as an outlet for all my pent-up rage once Marius told me about Cosette. And we would never have ended up drunk and alone upstairs at the Musain that night."

"If you tell me one more time that I don't understand the poor –"they were stood around a map of Paris, lying on a table.
"BUT YOU DON'T! You're just another jumped-up idealist who thinks he can make a difference, when really he doesn't know jack shit about real people!"
"I know about people!"
"Oh reaaaaaaally!? When was the last time you spent the night in a slum, Enjolras?!"
"I don't have to to understand the issues!"
She walked around the table so she was stood in front of him, hands on hips. "Of course you do! How can you possibly begin to fathom the thousands of little problems that make up the big one if you don't even know what they are?! If we're going to win this, you're going to have to-"

And that was when he kissed her: suddenly, fiercely, his mouth pressed hard against hers in a sudden, passionate release of energy. His tongue explored her mouth hungrily as their bodies pressed together, his soft lips meeting her chapped ones in all the ways she never knew she needed. Her fingers tangled in his soft curls, the graze of her fingernails against his scalp producing a low growling noise in the back of his throat that had her wanting more by the second.

They never made it home that night. They lay on the floor of the café, their mingled sweat cooling on their tangled bodies as they slept under a blanket of their own clothing until the morning.

"GOD, you drove me crazy. In every way. But I never wanted… never dreamed I'd have to live without you."

Éponine's eyes filled with tears, and pulling her legs up to her chest, she finally allowed herself to feel the grief she'd run from for a decade.

"Why did you have to leave me, Enj?" she sobbed.

Crying and crying, she thought back through the moments they'd shared during their short but beautiful relationship. Pulling out a notebook, she wrote her first song for ten years.

I still remember the look on your face
Lit through the darkness at 1:58
The words that you whispered for just us to know
You told me you loved me so why did you go away, go away

It was a week into their relationship, and they lay in his bed facing each other, slowly drifting off to sleep. The clock on his bedside table blinked at her: 1.58am.
"Hey, Enj?" she breathed.
"Mm?"
"What's your first name? I feel like I should know."
"Gabriel"
"Haha! Can I call you Gabe?"
"If you absolutely must"
She smiled. No, Enj was fine for her. Her Enjolras. "I think I like Enj better."
Just before her eyes fluttered shut, she heard him whisper "I love you."
Suddenly awake, she'd stared at him through the darkness, his face just illuminated enough to see by the glow of the streetlights through the curtains. The sheen of excitement and fear that filled his eyes as he waited for her response crept across his whole face - his eyebrows were ever so slightly furrowed in the middle, and he bit gently on his bottom lip in a habitual tell of nerves that he always denied he had.
She couldn't understand the nerves. She'd known her answer since the start.
"I love you too" she whispered.
And then he'd grinned and closed his eyes.

I do recall now the smell of the rain
Fresh on the pavement, the day I ran away
That July 9th the beat of your heart
It jumps through your shirt, I can still feel your arms

She'd finally done it. She'd left the inn. She'd left her stinking father and his jobs and his gang of crooks, left her cruel, bullying mother and her snarky sister behind. She hardly noticed the rain as she carried the few things she called her own across town to his door, only becoming really aware of it as she waited on the pavement for him to let her in. The smell of summer rain, Paris, freedom filled her nostrils and she grinned, her face ready to split in half as the door opened to reveal a confused-looking Enjolras in a white button-down shirt and black skinny jeans.

"I did it. I left!" she burst out happily.
"You… you really left? For good?"
"Yes!" His grin matched hers as her kissed her, leaning over the single cardboard box of belongings.
"Oh, damn it" he laughed, taking the box and placing it down inside the doorway so he could wrap her properly in his arms, so proud of her, his girl, that she could feel his heart ready to burst through his chest, wrapped in a tight hug that warmed her very soul.

But now I'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes
All that I know is I don't know
How to be something you'd miss

Pulling the fabric of his old oversize jumper that she wore today for the first time since the night before the barricade up to her face, she smelled the faintest hint of him on it. Somehow, it gave her the strength to write what she really felt, sat in front of his grave.

Never thought we'd have a last kiss
Never imagined we'd end like this
Your name, forever the name on my lips

The idea of failure, where one of them survived, had never even been entertained.

I do remember the swing of your step
The life of the party, you're showing off again
And I roll my eyes and then you pulled me in
I'm not much for dancing but for you I did

The last time they'd gone out in public: Marius and Cosette's engagement party. Enjolras wasn't half a show-off when he drank; spouting off to anyone who'd listen, shouting witty remarks even before Courfeyrac had time to think of one, dancing like nobody was watching – which of course, everyone was. The charisma and pride he carried in his daily life and his politics certainly weren't missing from his dance moves. He was almost a pro, every girl in the room wanted a turn with him.

But that night, he only had eyes for her. And she didn't care, for once, that she wasn't graceful or beautiful, or elegant. He made her feel like she was – he told her she was. And that was far, far more than enough for Éponine.

Because I loved your handshake, meeting my father

She hadn't wanted to show him the inn, but he'd insisted. Of course, the return of the runaway daughter caused quite a stir, especially when she'd turned up hand-in-hand with a handsome, rich, bourgeois boy. Her father walked into the room to see about the commotion, and her stomach clenched in fear, her fingers gripping Enjolras' more tightly.

Of course, Enjolras was as unfazed as ever. Holding out his right hand, he said courteously "good afternoon sir, my name is Enjolras. I'm Éponine's roommate and boyfriend."
Thénardier didn't take his hand, but he held it there. "Roommate and boyfriend, eh?"
"I assure you sir that she has her own room, and in time, I hope to make an honest woman of her."
Thénardier had guffawed. "Honest?! Our Ép!? Bet she 'asn't told you she used to be the town bike in return for a euro or two!"
"She has actually, although in slightly more eloquent phrasing."
"That she steals for fun?"
"That was out of necessity rather than enthusiasm, I believe."
"That she belongs to our Montparnasse over here?"
"Well, there we must disagree, I'm afraid. As far as I can see, Éponine's her own woman, free to make her own choices. I'm only here as long as those choices include me."
Thoroughly taken aback, Thénardier had stood dumbstruck, with nothing to say at all. Enjolras smiled politely and leaned forward to grab the man's hand and shake it awkwardly. "You shake it. It's polite. Come on, Éponine, let's go."

And then they'd run back to the car, laughing all the way at the look on her father's face.

I love how you walk with your hands in your pockets

It was always easy to tell Enjolras was mad when he walked in. Shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, brow furrowed in a furious scowl. She loved it. Her avenging angel.

How you'd kiss me when I was in the middle of saying something
There's not a day I don't miss those rude interruptions

It was a habit of his, from the very first time their lips met, almost to the last. Whether she was arguing with him, fretting about the rebellion, or just talking nonsense, Enjolras had a very specific way of getting her to shut up.

And I'll go, sit on the floor wearing your clothes
All that I know is I don't know
How to be something you'd miss

She looked back at how much she'd changed in ten years and wondered if Enjolras would be proud of her. Would he be mad that she ran away for so long, unable to face her demons? Did he resent her for surviving when he didn't? Would he be proud of the pitiful existence she'd carved out for herself in some godforsaken corner of North America?

Never thought we'd have a last kiss
Never imagined we'd end like this
Your name, forever the name on my lips, ohh

She'd given her name to the cruise liner as Éponine Enjolras, and had gone by it ever since. Silly, she supposed, but she'd be lying if she said it didn't make her a little happy to see it written down, as though their dream of running off to the registry office one day had actually come true.

So I'll watch life go by in pictures like I used to watch you sleep
And I'll feel the world forget me like I used to feel you breathe

She wasn't living, really. Nobody would miss her if she suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth.

It occurred to her suddenly how lonely she'd been.

Wish I at least had our old friends just to ask them how you are
Hope it's nice where you are

Éponine didn't know what she believed as far as afterlife went, but she knew what Enj believed. And she hoped he got the reward he deserved.

And I hope the sun shines and it's a beautiful day
And something reminds you, you wish you had stayed

Wherever he was, she hoped he thought of her sometimes. What might have been if it wasn't for the mistakes.

We planned for a change in weather and time
but we never planned on them changing their minds

"The people will rise!"
"See the people unite!"
"VIVE LA FRANCE!"
"VIVE GENERAL LEMARQUE!"

They believed it would work, that the people would join them, right up until the National Guard arrived.

But they didn't.

So, I'll go, sit on the floor wearing your clothes
All that I know is I don't know
How to be something you'd miss

I never thought we'd have our last kiss
Never imagined we'd end like this
Your name, forever the name on my lips
Just like our last kiss, forever the name on my lips
Forever the name on my lips, just like our last kiss

"SURRENDER AND YOUR LIVES WILL BE SPARED"

Their eyes met, fiery beacons communicating more than words ever could as they stood on their side of the barricade.

"The people will come" he stated, surety in every word.
"I know." She never doubted him for a second.
"So we fight?"
"We fight." A cheer rang up, every man and woman ready for Enjolras' command.
"I love you." He whispered first.
"I love you too". He pulled her in for a kiss, but she pushed him away, grinning, after only a couple of seconds. "Is now the time?"
"There's always time" he grinned at her. Then, he shouted "WE'LL NEVER SURRENDER!" over the top of the huge mass of furniture in front of them. Looking around at his companions, he shouted "FIRE!"

And then they were all atop the barricade, fighting for their lives.

She saw the soldier aim at Enjolras, too late and too loud to warn him, so she did the only thing she could think of and grabbed the man's gun.

And then everything went black.

Éponine stayed at the grave until the cemetery shut, talking, crying and writing. God knows it had taken a while, but she'd finally faced her demons.

Over the course of a week, she visited all her friends, and her little brother, making sure to stop by Enjolras every day with fresh flowers. By Sunday, she had decided to move back to Paris for good, and have her things sent over from Canada.

It was time to make Enjolras proud, and start living again.

Epilogue

Éponine never returned to Canada, instead choosing to buy a studio flat in Paris and pursue her dream of being a songwriter under the name Éponine Jondrette. She gained national and international acclaim, with her songs reaching the top 10 in 54 countries. Last Kiss, the song she wrote in the graveyard, was adapted and released by Taylor Swift as an album track. She never told a soul who it was about, though many people asked.

Her growing popularity alerted Marius and Cosette Pontmercy to her survival, and the three were reunited, becoming great friends. Éponine frequently helped them look after their seven children.

She never fell truly in love again, instead choosing casual relationships, much to Cosette's chagrin.

Tragically, her difficult upbringing caught up with her, and she died of a long-standing undiagnosed condition aged just 53. She was buried in Montparnasse cemetery, on Enjolras' left. Her gravestone read Even the darkest night will end and the Sun will rise. Speculation over this continued for generations, but nobody could ever say for certain if the famous songwriter ever even met the leader of that attempted revolution.

The social inequality in France remained an enormous problem for another two hundred years, when a group of students, inspired by the story of the June Rebellion of 2013, decided to try a revolution of their own.

They were rather more successful.

It's a bit weird, sorry :L

Please review and let me know what you think!

I also have a collection of less... odd stories on my profile, I'd love it if you took a look :)