AN: This began as a short oneshot, but kind of escalated! So I've had to split it up...hope you enjoy!

50 First Dates

It was Courfeyrac who had acted as Cupid.

He had researched every trick in the book, made notes from the cliché old rom-com movies that always ended with a sickeningly loved-up couple. He'd locked them in closets together, forced them to play strip-poker with the rest of the group, arranged evenings out as a threesome and ditched them at the last minute. He'd purposely set up ridiculous arguments with Éponine so that Enjolras would inevitably take her side in the fight. It had been hard work at times, especially dealing with such a stubborn pair as Enjolras and Éponine, but his efforts had paid off in the end.

The couple had point blank refused to give him the credit for bringing them together ("I was thinking of asking her out anyway" Enjolras sniffed), but had agreed to let him perform their wedding ceremony ("At any rate, it'll never happen," laughed Éponine to Musichetta with a mischievous grin, "Enjolras barely had the guts to ask me out, never mind propose!")

Courf is rather proud of his handiwork, if truth be told, and when the rest of his friends hoot and catcall at the unlikely pair wrapped around each other on New Year's Eve, he considers it his greatest triumph.

Two years later and the couple are still going strong, but Enjolras is waist deep in library books and Éponine begins to get frustrated.

"We've barely seen each other in three months! I'm beginning to forget what you look like-"

Even over the phone he can picture her standing there, hand on hip and fiddling with that little strand of hair as she always does when she gets agitated.

"I'm sorry!" he whines, rubbing his tired eyes with ink-stained knuckles. "It's just one more week and the semester will be over. I'll make it up to you, Ep, I swear."

"It's our anniversary tomorrow."

"I know, I'm sorry. I want to spend it with you, you know I do, but there's just so much shit to get through and I'm already pushed for time as it is. We can celebrate next week, when my mind won't be on other things and we'll have the whole entire day and I can cook you dinner and we'll watch a movie, and...Ep? "

There is a lengthy silence, and Enjolras wonders if she's left him babbling to go and make herself a coffee or run a bubble bath (she's done it before).

"...Ep?"

There is a crackle on the other end of the line and her voice pipes up once more, husky and thoughtful.

"You know..."

A slight rustle and sharp click of the kettle.

"You know, you never really asked me out."

"I – what?"

"You never properly asked me out," she says simply. "Courfeyrac did it."

She can virtually hear the hiss of his ears turning red, and smirks as he splutters on the other end of the line.

"Well, not exactly, I mean I was going to...I - "

"Enjolras?"

"Yes?"

"I want a first date. A real one, a proper night out with flowers, where we dress up nice and you hold the door open for me like a gentleman. Then I'll forgive you for all this studying."

There is a pause and a crackle on the end of the line, and Éponine raises her eyebrows sceptically.

"Deal."

...*...

Hanging up the phone, Enjolras slumps face forward over his desk, banging his head lightly against his books. He's never been comfortable with the notion of dating, preferring always to skip ahead to a steady relationship, complete with easy silences and bickering over the TV remote. Courfeyrac's endeavour to set him up with an old-time friend like Éponine was a gift, really. But even Éponine has never been into lovey-dovey romance, at least if her grimaces are anything to go by whenever Marius and Cosette are around. Usually they just hang out with the rest of the gang at the Musain, or watch a movie in Enjolras' flat. Comfortable and easy, and familiar.

Still, Enjolras knows that if his first (technical) date with Éponine takes place at the cafe, where Grantaire will no doubt demand karaoke, he'll live to regret it; especially given how much time he's spent locked away studying lately, which admittedly got him in this mess in the first instance...

The thought startles him out of his reverie. Turning back to his books, Enjolras makes a mental note to ask the guys for advice later.

(He does; and they happily blurt out ridiculous suggestions, each of which he shoots down firmly - but Courfeyrac's eyes light up).

And so, they agree to rekindle their relationship with an actual date the following week.

It's safe to say that the night is pretty much a disaster.

Enjolras has agreed to pick her up from her flat in a car he's borrowed from Grantaire for the evening, and for some reason both he and Éponine are nervous as hell. He grins sheepishly at her when he arrives on the doorstep, and as he hands her a cute little posie of tulips, the brush of his fingers against hers makes Éponine blush. Mentally slapping herself, Éponine hands the flowers to her roommate and flounces out the door, skirts twirling round her ankles, and Cosette sends the pair off with a smile and a wink.

They don't get far down the highway before the car grinds to a slow stop, and Enjolras curses Grantaire to the depths as he wrenches open the bonnet and starts hacking away inside. Eponine suppresses a giggle as she listens to his furious mutterings from inside the car, and bites her lip as she glances out the window at the darkening sky.

"Don't know what the hell bloody dealer he got this rust-bucket from...should've fucking known...piece of utter shit..."

It's a whole hour before Combeferre turns up to give them a lift, and they've missed their dinner reservations anyhow.

They agree to try again another night.

Their second attempt doesn't go much better.

This time they make it to the restaurant, but they are squeezed through the packed crowd to a tiny table barely big enough for a family of mice, as Enjolras loudly informs the entire room.

But when Éponine takes his hand and smiles at him, he forgets the table, forgets the man with questionable hygiene sitting to his right, and simply enjoys this romantic time with her, lost in the way she glows in the candlelight...

That is, until halfway through their meal she reaches across to grab a napkin and knocks the candle flying, abruptly setting the tablecloth alight and screeching at the top of her lungs. The entire restaurant watches in silence as Éponine shoves the flaming table away from her and into a flailing Enjolras' lap, before leaping into the arms of the old man at the next table, whose elderly wife is open-mouthed and staring, soupspoon hovering in mid air and dripping onto her knee.

Enjolras yells in pain as the young waiter runs frantically to the kitchens, squeaking in Italian, before returning and extinguishing the fire with a large bucket of ice cold water. The room erupts in a round of applause, and the old man gives the strange girl an awkward pat on the head to calm her down.

The journey home is a quiet one, but beneath his singed eyebrows and dripping wet shirt Enjolras promises her that they will try again.

For their third date, they decide it may be best not to go for a meal, and walk instead to the local cinema only two streets away.

Enjolras buys a large popcorn and drink for them to share, with two straws (because "ew, germs" as Joly would say, and he's got Enjolras quite paranoid).

The theatre is packed with young couples, and as they huddle together to watch the romantic comedy Éponine has picked out, Enjolras is overcome by a rush of sudden affection for the girl beside him. Stretching an arm out to curl around her shoulders, he accidentally catches the chin of the person sitting on the other side of her, a rather burly fellow with very little neck and fists the size of boxing gloves.

...*...

An hour later and they are still sat in the emergency room.

"Why can't it ever go right?" Enjolras mutters through a wad of bloody tissue held against his swollen lip.

"Well it's not like you meant to hit him, he overreacted," Eponine says soothingly, reaching up to pull a piece of popcorn from his hair. "At least it got us out of that god-awful movie, I don't know what I was thinking choosing something so cheesy..."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

She chews on her lip, face contorting with effort, and reaches for a new tissue.

"It's not funny!"

"I'm not laughing!"

"Yes you ar-"

His protests are muffled as she shoves a new wad of tissues against his mouth with a smirk.

They sit for another half hour in silence.

The fourth time, Enjolras takes Éponine to his favourite spot along the river, where he has conceived to set up a lantern-lit picnic on one of the wooden bridges. Settling down to watch the last rays of a beautiful sunset disappear behind the horizon, they sit side by side on the rug and watch the boats flow lazily up the river below them, pushed gently along by a warm summer breeze.

They have just popped open a bottle of wine when a familiar voice rings out in the stillness of the evening, echoing along the riverbanks and causing the pair to whip their heads up in unison.

"Great, what are we having?"

Enjolras groans in dismay as the rest of Les Amis thunder across the bridge towards them.

Grantaire plops down beside them, reaching immediately for the wine bottle and taking a generous swig. 'To friendship!" he cheers, "Two's company, sure, but now we're a crowd, eh?" He gives Enjolras a heavy slap on the back, nearly knocking the teeth from his head.

Joly peers round at them from his spot on the rug behind Courfeyrac. "Is it hygienic to sit on the ground?"

Scowling, Enjolras inches closer to Éponine and throws a glare at his friends. "We were actually just enjoying some time alone-"

"I know, it gets so tedious, doesn't it?" Grantaire says cheerily. "A lovely night like this ought to be appreciated by as many people as possible."

"I should have brought my sketch book," Jehan mumbles thoughtfully, chewing on his lip and casting a longing glance at the riverbank, where the lights from the cafes are now illuminating like stars that reflect in the water.

Éponine runs her thumb over Enjolras' wrist soothingly as they watch their little picnic disappear by the mouthful.

"Oh by the way, Enjolras," Combeferre leans across, swatting at a mosquito and tapping his friend on the shoulder, "They've finally agreed to let us hold the rally outside the university-"

For a brief moment, the happy revelation startles Enjolras out of his bad temper.

"They did? But how?"

"Grantaire squatted in the chancellor's office until he gave in."

Enjolras splutters his drink in horror. "He did WHAT?!"

Grantaire chuckles through a mouthful of baguette. "Don't sweat it, Chief, I got your back."

"You actually...you squatted?!"

"Is there an extra rug? I think there's dirt over here..."

Enjolras rolls his eyes at Joly and turns back to Combeferre. "How could you let him do that?"

"It's alright. I mean, we got the gig didn't we?" Combeferre gives an apologetic smile. And, well, he's only suspended for a week."

With an exasperated sigh, Enjolras slaps a hand to his eyes.

"Smile!"

A flash of light blinds them all as Courfeyrac snaps a selfie, the rest of the gang pushing each other out of the way to get in the frame.

It's pretty obvious they are here for the night, and Éponine can see that her boyfriend is close to breaking point. Shuffling around so her back is completely turned to their friends, ("How rude!"), she takes his hands and murmurs, "Maybe we should have done something else tonight."

A low whistle sounds behind her. "Yeah, baby!"

"I mean for a date you idiots" she snaps over her shoulder.

Turning back to Enjolras, Eponine tries to ignore the giggles of the others.

"Why don't we hit the town?" she offers hopefully. "It's still early enough - maybe there's somewhere we could go dancing!"

To her shock and consternation they all burst out laughing, including Enjolras.

"What?"

"Enjolras doesn't dance, Éponine," Combeferre states wisely.

"Why not?"

Enjolras clears his throat. "Because I can't."

"Yeah, he makes the Quickstep look like Hopscotch" Grantaire cackles as he pops open another bottle of wine, "Remember when we had to do that class in school? He was kicking the shit out of everyone."

"I'M NOT THAT BAD"

"Alright, Nijinsky, prove it."

"I'm not going to start pirouetting about for your amusement-"

"Good." Grantaire leans across to Éponine and lowers his voice dramatically. "You ever seen those nature documentaries, when they show a piece of salmon trying to escape the clutches of a bear?"

She blinks.

"Hm hm hm." Grantaire taps his glass and nods his head towards where Enjolras sits, open-mouthed and outraged.

Éponine snorts mid-drink and accidentally spits her drink on Enjolras.

"Sorry!"

He simply grunts in response and mops his face.

...*...

Between hiccups and apologies, she splutters with laughter the whole way home, and Enjolras is somewhat disgruntled by the time they all stop to say goodnight, pointedly turning his back on the lot of them and slouching off down the quiet street, hands thrust deep in his pockets.

(She catches up to him with an embrace from behind, and damn it, he forgives her right away.)

To Be Continued.