Title: The Garret of a Bohemian

Author: Camberleigh Fauconbridge

Rating: PG - 13 / T

Pairings: Enjonine [Éponine/Enjolras] Mosette [Marius/Cosette]

Summary: Inspired by Giacomo Puccini's "La bohème". The world's greatest example of redemption is combined with the world's greatest romantic tragedy. A group of friends argue and fall in love as they struggle to survive in a Parisian garret. Not based off RENT. 25th Anniversary. AU. É/E.

Disclaimer: Les Misérables and its musical counterpart are the property of Victor Hugo, Cameron Mackintosh, Claude-Michel Schönberg, Alain Boublil, Herbert Kretzmer, Trevor Nunn, John Caird, all of the casts and all of the creative teams that have produced any production of Les Misérables. La bohème is the property of Giacomo Puccini, Henri Murger, Luigi Illica, Giuseppe Giacosa, Théodore Barrière, Robert Dornhelm, all the casts and all the creative teams that have produced any production of La bohème. No money is being made from this story, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Imagined Cast: Ramin Karimloo as Enjolras/Rodolfo; Samantha Barks as Éponine/Mimì; Hadley Fraser as Grantaire/Marcello; Nick Jonas as Marius/Schaunard; Jonathan Williams as Combeferre/Colline

Author's Note: So this is where Garret strays from the La bohème plotline. In Puccini's opera, Mimì and Rodolfo fall in love within the space of an act (and in the 2008 film, they end up sleeping together within the same act). Highly unrealistic if you ask me, but that's theatre for you. How else would Tony and Maria fall in love in the space of a song in West Side Story, or for that matter, how would Marius and Cosette fall in love from looking at each other in Boublil and Schönberg's musical?

With Enjolras and Éponine, there's no chance of that. Hence the need to expand their friendship first.

Act I: Rodolfo

Scene 4

When Enjolras woke the next morning, he almost forgot about Grantaire's comments.

Then it all came back, all of Grantaire's preconceived notions of Enjolras and Éponine being in love. Having Grantaire out of the garret seemed more and more appealing every second.

But as much as Grantaire's words had made him furious, he knew, realistically, he wouldn't force Grantaire out. They were friends, and friends, however much they got on each other's nerves, did not become acrimonious towards each other to the point of not speaking to each other or refusing to see each other. Enjolras was fed up with Grantaire constantly being drunk and his habit of saying the first thing that came to his head— but Grantaire didn't have any motivation. What would he do if he were forced out? Paint for tourists and spend the money on drink and do absolutely nothing with his life.

If Enjolras could talk to him and reinforce what Combeferre had said, things might turn out to be decent, at least. Bougon

But then he thought of Éponine. Enjolras did not know if Grantaire's comments had spread around the building, but if they had— and if Éponine had heard— if Bougon had heard...

He got up and dressed quickly and silently. It was still dark outside, but he guessed it was around eight o'clock. Would Éponine already be out celebrating, perhaps visiting the family she had left behind? He did not know.

He closed the door quietly behind him and went down one flight of stairs to the floor where he guessed Éponine's apartment was. Though he didn't know which of the two doors was her apartment. He decided to try the right door first. He knocked quietly, but it was Marie who opened the door. The other door was Éponine's apartment, then.

"Why aren't you at Mass, young man?" Marie said.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mme. Marie. I thought this was Mlle. Éponine's apartment."

"It certainly isn't. My room is filled with holiness, monsieur, while that tart over there had a man spend the night with her on the night of the birth of Jesus Christ Our Lord. Shameful and blasphemous. Get yourself to Mass and pray for her sinful soul if you know what's good for you."

Ah. Perhaps he would talk to Éponine later, then. "I—"

"Oh, that tart is headed straight for Hell, I know that for certain." Marie was just warming up. "Men come into her room at all hours of the night, and she doesn't even have a crucifix in her room. I know because I made the mistake of going into her room once. She's full of sin and nothing else. Mind you stay away from her, young man, she'll drag you down if she gets the chance. Why are you going over there, anyway?"

"I have to speak with her, madame. If you'll excuse me—"

"Have you heard nothing I've said, foolish boy? All that girl does for a living is— is— and you're going to go talk to her? You'll end up in her bed instead of having a conversation—"

But she drew back.

"But what am I saying?" She laughed lightly, covering up. "A good Christian shouldn't— well... You are a good Christian, are you not, monsieur?"

"I am, madame. If you'll excuse me—"

He turned to see almost all the tenants in the building on the staircase leading down to the other floors, and Marius, Combeferre, and Grantaire on the staircase leading to the garret. Marie had been speaking with such volume that almost everyone in the building had come to stare. Hopefully Bougon hadn't.

It did not help Éponine's case when the door to her room opened and a man stepped out. He avoided everyone's eyes and quickly went down the stairs.

"Didn't I tell you?" Marie said. "Mind you don't end up the same way." With a small smile that, if looked at correctly, could be taken as a smirk, she shut her door. The other tenants eventually drifted away.

Since he had nothing to lose now, Enjolras went over and knocked on Éponine's door.

He heard a muffled "come in!" through the wood of the door and turned the handle. Éponine's apartment had only one room, so Enjolras saw the tangled bed sheets that gave clear evidence to Marie's attacks. Other than the bed, everything in Éponine's apartment was tidy and clean.

Éponine herself was kneeling in front of the tiny window, underneath which was a faded icon of the Virgin Mary and Infant Jesus. Enjolras found it strange that she didn't have a rug or a pillow underneath her to protect her knees from the hard wooden floor.

As he quietly came in, she was murmuring to herself, "Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus— it's not the right prayer to say on Christmas, but what is it... Dominus..."

"Dominus tecum," he offered quietly.

She did not turn around; perhaps she did not realize who it was that had spoken. "Thank you. Dominus tecum—"

Then she stopped.

She turned slightly, still kneeling, and stared at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to— warn you about something."

"What is it?"

"One of my friends jumped to the conclusion, yesterday, that you and I were in love or had spent a night together. There's a possibility he may spread it throughout the building."

She got up, staring at him, her eyes shadowed and almost dusky. "Why would he do that?"

"To make it seem as if I have— been with someone."

She turned and went to a table upon which was a small jewelry box, clearly angry, the boots of her heels clicking on the old wooden floor. "Does no one respect that there's something called survival? We can't all sit around and be virtuous and expect to see food on the table!" She stabbed earrings through the small piercings in her ears; Enjolras, not knowing anything about jewelry, half-expected her to stab a hole in her earlobe. He guessed she was, without noticing, hinting to her occupation as a lover to the mysterious men she would meet every so often.

Then she turned to him suddenly. "Does your friend realize what will happen if Bougon hears about this?"

"I'm going to talk to him to make sure that it—"

"Talk to him? Talk to him? That's all you can do? Your friend doesn't realize the state of Paris outside your cozy little garret, does he? He doesn't realize that if I'm kicked out, I'll freeze to death and it'll be because of him!"

Was it going to become a habit, whenever they talked it would end up in an argument? "Mlle. Éponine, I promise you it will be cleared up and that you will be in no danger of being evicted."

"And how do I know you're going to keep your word? How do I know you don't have some alternate motive?"

"Do you think so little of me, mademoiselle?"

"Perhaps," she snapped. "Now, please, just—" She pressed her lips together tightly and turned away. "Forgive me, monsieur." Her voice was quieter, softer. "I did not mean what I said."

"You do not have to apologize. Everything you said was perfectly valid."

"But it wasn't, monsieur."

"Look—" He crossed the room and briefly touched her shoulder so she would turn. "You have every right to be angry, for you would affected more than I. If you truly want my forgiveness, then may we shake hands and call ourselves friends?"

"I suppose so, yes." She slid her slender hand into his and shook it firmly. "Friends, if that's what you wish."

"But would you like it as well?"

She considered his question. "Yes. I believe I would." Then her eyes narrowed warningly. "But no 'friends with benefits'. I want to make that absolutely clear."

"I wouldn't ask it of you, mademoiselle."

"Thank you," she said. "And that's another thing. All the honorary and honorifics— if we're friends, then we wouldn't be using 'monsieur' or 'mademoiselle'. Agreed?" He hesitated, thinking of her comments about gallantry the day before, but she seemed to guess his thoughts and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, it won't be that hard. 'Éponine' is certainly much easier to say than 'mademoiselle', Enjolras. I repeat: are we agreed? Or do you have something else in mind?"

"Agreed— Éponine."

"There. It wasn't that hard, was it? What are your plans for this surprisingly fine Christmas Day?"

"I hadn't planned anything. Work, I suppose. And what of you?"

"I might visit my brother." Éponine went back to the jewelry box, looking inside it and shifting through the contents. "He ran away from home a few years before I left, and now he's living on the streets. It's funny that he's happier than he ever was before."

"How old is your brother?"

"Eleven." At his look of surprise, she added: "I know, it's young to be living on your own, but he never did like living at home. He's like me, I guess. I might visit my sister as well, who's still living with my parents— she's about fifteen, before you ask— and maybe meet her in a café or something. Somewhere away from our parents. Then I'll probably work on some mending or embroidery."

"No Mass?" asked Enjolras— before he remembered the conversation with Marie.

Éponine grew still, her hand still resting in the jewelry box. "No," she said softly, looking away. "No Mass."

"If... you don't mind my asking..." he ventured, "why not go to Mass? Unless," he hastened to add, "that's too personal a question, and even more so when we've just become friends."

"No, no, it's all right." She sighed and finally looked at him. "I wasn't really raised with religion, I suppose. My father only called himself a practicing Catholic to get more money, and paid lip service when he had to; and my mother— well, she tried, sort of, but she was never devout. I try—" she gestured to the icon— "but going to a Mass, especially a Mass where all the important, rich figures will be there as well... I don't want to have to stand in the back and feel them all judging me. For what I am."

Again, the almost blatant hint of her other occupation, the one besides mending and embroidering. "The opinion that truly matters comes from Someone who doesn't think like that."

"I know." Then she pushed aside the melancholy, brightening— although almost with effort—, drew a necklace out of the jewelry box, and fastened it around her neck. "Well, I'm off. I have to meet up with my siblings. I have to lock up, so if you don't mind stepping out into the hall..."

"Of course." Enjolras followed Éponine out the door and stood by as she locked it behind her. He began, "Éponine, I was wondering—"

Just then Marie left her apartment, and saw the two together in the hallway. He could almost feel the heat of her sharp gaze as her eyes raked over them. She addressed Enjolras: "Are you sure she didn't coerce you into her bed? And on the day of the birth of Our Lord."

"Madame—!"

Éponine grabbed his arm as he stepped forward. "Enjolras, stop!" she whispered. "Think about this for a second—" Marie smirked, clearly this time, as she went down the stairs, rosary in hand. Éponine continued— "Enjolras, don't be rash about this."

"If anything, you should be rash about this. Why didn't you say anything?" She looked away as he spoke.

"Maybe it's because I'm used to it," she finally said.

Then she hurried away and disappeared down the stairs, leaving him certain of one thing.

He had to talk to Grantaire immediately.