Last revised September 26, 2016

He had to be the stupidest-looking man she had ever seen in her life.

That was Eponine's first impression of the bourgeois boy as she watched him, hidden, from the shadows of the alleyway. She figured he was a university student judging by his age and fancy shoes and tie, but by the way he carried himself, he looked more like a clown in a vaudeville act. What with the way he promenaded down the street, grinning like an idiot and humming a merry tune at the top of his register, only pausing every so often to blow those mussed up bangs out of his face. In the gray sea of gloomy faces that filled Paris' streets, this boy stood out like a yellow canary happily flitting its way through a flock of crows.

Eponine's lip curled in disgust. Some irrational part of her wanted to run up and smash her fist into that stupid smile of his. What in the world did he have to be so giddy about, anyway?

She shook her head. C'mon, 'Ponine. Focus. Then she opened her eyes and fixed them sharply onto her prize – a shiny leather purse clutched tight in the bourgeois boy's hand. Smiling to herself, she crouched low and crept into the street, weaving through the crowd like a cat stalking her prey. The boy skipped blissfully on, oblivious to her approach as the distance between them shrank to a few mere paces. She bided her time, waiting patiently for an opening …

And then like an adder springing out of the grass, she struck.

"Hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm … oof!"

Joly stumbled backwards as something slammed into him hard. A blur of dirty russet hair smacked him in the face, followed by the overpowering stench of sweat and street filth. He blinked and then, just as quickly as it had come, the blur was gone.

"Wha ...?" Joly blinked dazedly as his back collided with some poor old fellow walking behind him. He whirled around and put his hands on the man's shoulders, apologizing profusely.

And with a jolt of horror, he realized both his hands were empty.

Oh no! He spun around, frantically scouring the cobblestones where his purse may have fallen. Nothing. No, no, where is it? He looked up. His eyes narrowed on a head of long russet waves rapidly vanishing into the milieu.

"Hey!" he cried. "Stop! Stop thief!"

Eponine snickered as she snaked her way through the crowded square. She could hear the bourgeois boy yelling behind her, but she just kept her head low and quickened her pace. A commotion erupted behind her. A slamming of bodies, a stumbled stream of apologies and some angry shouts of indignation. She glanced once over her shoulder and laughed. The boy looked like a buffoon as he stumbled after her, his arms flailing as he tripped over beggars and carts and his own two feet while crying, "Pardon! Pardon! Pardon!" to every poor soul he smacked into along the way.

Still, the boy was fast. Too fast. Eponine swore under her breath and darted into a narrow alleyway. If she could just disappear into the shadows, if she could just make it back to her father's den …

She did not see that small rut in the ground it was too late. Not until her foot was already caught and her ankle twisted with a snap, sending her sprawling to the ground.

"Ow!" Eponine cried as sharp pain shot up her leg. Arms stinging, she tried to grasp her throbbing ankle. "Ah, ow!"

"Oh my goodness!"

Her head shot up and she cursed through her teeth as the flustered, stupid bourgeois boy rounded the corner.

"Oh, Mademoiselle!" he exclaimed, falling to his knees before her. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Don't touch me!" she spat, slapping his reaching hand away. She spun away from him and tried to push herself upright only to fall as her injured ankle buckled beneath her. "Ow!"

"Mademoiselle! Oh dear, Mademoiselle. I'm afraid you may have a sprain." The boy crept closer, reaching for her foot. "Here, if you will just allow me to take a look, I can …oof!"

"I said, don't touch me!" Eponine screeched, dealing a swift kick to the boy's chest. Gritting her teeth, she tried once more to stand up only to flop right back onto the dirt. "Augh!"

"Mademoiselle ..."

Eponine whirled on the boy, her eyes blazing murderously.

"Woah, woah, woah!" The boy held up his hands and chuckled nervously. "Take it easy, Mademoiselle. I am not going to hurt you. I just want to look at your ankle."

"Get back," she hissed, fighting to lift herself up once more. "You ain't foolin' me, you stupid … oof!"

"Now, now, stop that," soothed the boy, who was suddenly on top of her and pinning her down by the arms. "You have to stop putting pressure on that ankle or you will make it worse."

At first, the gamine was too stunned to even move. Then she growled and began to thrash. "What are you doin'? Get your hands offa me, you stupid, ugly bastard!"

"Oh my! Such language, Mademoiselle!"

"Get off! Get off or I'll scream!"

"Easy now, there's no need for you to ..."

"Help! This man is rapin' me!"

"Ah! Mon Dieu!"

The boy was off of her in an instant. The gamine moved quickly, scrambling with her frail arms to drag herself toward the alley wall. Then she braced her hands against the bricks, biting back a yell of pain as she began to push herself to her feet.

"Oh no!" the boy cried. "Mademoiselle, don't ...!"

"Shut up! Just stay where you are or I'll scream again. Got it?"

The boy did not answer, which was just fine with Eponine. She continued to lift herself up, centimeter by agonizing centimeter, slipping every so often only to brace herself again. When she was finally upright, she slumped against the wall, leaning all of weight on her good foot. She let out a sigh of relief and then turned to smirk at the boy over her shoulder.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, M'sieur," she sneered with a mock curtsy. "I'll be on my way."

She wobbled as she turned around, putting her back to him. Then she froze as she stared down uncertainly at her injured ankle, which dangled precariously above the ground.

"Mademoiselle ..."

"Shut up!"

She made one painful hop. Then another. She wobbled and swayed and braced herself hard against the wall. Her good ankle throbbed, protesting her efforts, but the gamine refused to accept defeat. She pushed down hard on the balls of that foot and lifted herself up for another hop ... and without warning, her foot slipped out from under her and she crumpled to the ground, her shoulder slamming against the wall with a loud thud.

"Ow! Augh!" Eponine yelled. She punched the wall in frustration, once, twice, and then again, letting out an angry stream of expletives.

"Mademoiselle..."

Her head shot up with a warning hiss. She flung the leather purse at the boy, smacking him right in the face.

"Here! Take your stupid purse," she growled. Squeezing her eyes shut in defeat, she curled into a ball and pressed her face into her raised knees. "You win, okay? Just take it and go. Go away."

When she heard no answer, Eponine hunched her shoulders and sniffled. She couldn't stand this. She couldn't stand looking so weak and pathetic in front of this stupid bourgeois boy. At least now that he had his purse he'd go away and not bother reporting her to the police.

But then she felt a gentle touch at her shoulder and she sprung upright with a shriek.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed into the boy's face. "Why are you still here? You've got your stupid purse. Now leave me alone!"

But the boy just shook his head as he knelt before her. "I can't do that, Mademoiselle. Not when you're hurt."

"Oh, keep your pity," she spat. "I can take care of myself."

"Please, Mademoiselle. I am a medical student. I can help you. Look." The boy opened up his purse and held it in front of her face for her to see. "I've got all the supplies I need right here to wrap up your ankle, if you would just let me ..."

"Oh no." Eponine shook her head and shrunk back, hugging her knees tightly to herself. "Oh no, no, no. You ain't gettin' a sous offa me, M'sieur."

"Oh, of course I wouldn't charge you for it, Mademoiselle."

"Ha! You think I was born yesterday, M'sieur? Ain't no doctor or medical student or anythin' in this town who would look at you for free. You ain't gettin' me indebted to you for nothin'."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mademoiselle."

Eponine glared fiercely at the boy, wanting to call him on his bluff but utterly confounded when she saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "But... I tried to rob you," she said. "I would'a gotten away with it if it. Why in God's name would you wanna help me?"

"Well, I suppose it would be in God's name, Mademoiselle. For He surely wouldn't want me to leave another child of His lying injured and alone in the street unattended."

The gamine's face twisted. "I ain't no child o' His, M'sieur. God's abandoned me a long, long time ago."

The boy's eyes softened at her words. "Oh dear. I ... I'm so sorry you feel that way, Mademoiselle. But then again … maybe that is why God crossed our paths today. To show you that you are not truly alone in this world." He winked. "Perhaps He's sending me to be your angel, Mademoiselle."

Eponine made a loud, choked sound in her throat. "Ha! An angel? Don't flatter yourself, you ugly bastard."

The boy gasped melodramatically and pressed a hand over his heart. "Oh how you wound me, fair Mademoiselle! Well, thankfully for you …" He winked again. "My looks have no bearing on my medical ability, nor on my willingness to wrap up that ankle for you. Free of charge." He gestured toward her foot. "May I?"

Eponine sat silent, contemplating the boy through steely eyes. There's some trick to this, she thought. It's a scam. It has to be. But as she searched his face, Eponine found none of the guile and artifice she'd become so adept at spotting. This stupid boy genuinely wanted to help her, though she had no idea why the blazes he would. The question, then, was whether or not she was willing to accept his help.

And ... a large part of her was not. There was something about this boy that got under her skin and niggled there, and every nerve in her screamed to get away from him.

But much to her chagrin, she could not. Not with her ankle in the sorry state it was in. As loathed as she was to admit it, she was completely at this boy's mercy. It seemed that unless she let him have his way and do something about her ankle, there was no escaping him.

Eponine closed her eyes with an irritated sigh. Well, if that's what it takes to get this stupid boy out of my face, she thought. She leaned against the wall and stretched her leg out, turning her face away. "Fine," she grunted. "Just make it quick, will ya?"

"Ah, good girl!" she heard the boy exclaim. Then his thick, warm fingers were pressed against her bare skin, gently lifting her foot off of the ground, and she bristled at the contact.

"Alright, just relax," the boy soothed. "I'm going to feel if there are any breaks. Let me know if I hurt you, Mademoiselle."

Eponine growled. "Quit callin' me that."

"Pardon, Mademoiselle?"

"I said, quit callin' me that, idiot."

"Calling you what, Mademoiselle?"

"That!"

The boy thought for a moment. "Oh … Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, idiot! Now quit sayin' it!"

"Alright. As you wish, Mademoi – er, I mean, as you wish."

Eponine snorted, then winced as the boy moved her foot about in a slow circle. He stopped.

"Sorry. Does that hurt?"

Eponine bit her lip and did not reply. Rather than press it, the boy quietly resumed his examinations, poking and nudging around the bone as gently as he could.

"Well, nothing is broken. That is good news. Although ..." He poked at one spot ever so carefully. "It seems you broke this foot before. Some years ago."

Eponine's eyes flew open. "How … how did you know that?"

The boy grinned cheekily. "Like I said, I'm a medical student. I've been trained to find those little clues to your past hidden in your anatomy. Especially the ones you can't see with your eyes." He tugged one of her toes playfully. "So what is the story behind that old break?"

Ire flashed through Eponine's eyes. "Nothin.' Mind your own business."

"Sorry. Just trying to make conversation. So why do you object to being called Mademoiselle?

Eponine's scowl deepened. To be honest, she was not quite so sure of it herself. Maybe it was because no one had called her that since she was a child. And she did not need another reminder of what she once was. Especially from this idiot.

"Like I said, mind your own business," she said.

"Then … could you at least tell me your name?"

"No! Quit askin' me all these stupid questions."

"Oh, but ..." A smug smile came to the boy's face. "If I do not know your name, then I will not know what else to call you. So I'd have no choice but to call you Mademoiselle." He smirked. "Isn't that right … Mademoiselle?"

This cheeky bastard! Eponine thought, her annoyance flaring as the boy's expression turned triumphant.

"Ah ha ha!" he declared, wagging a finger in her face. "Got you there, now don't I!"

She slapped at his stupid, wagging finger. "Shut up."

"Aw, don't be mad. I just want to know what to call you, that's all."

"Fine," she snapped. "It's Eponine, if you must know."

"Eponine," the boy repeated slowly. Then his eyes lit up with a gasp. "Oh, that is a beautiful name! Like Eponinna, the loyal wife of Julius Sabinus of Rome! The one who chose to die with her husband rather than live without him. Am I right?"

Eponine rolled her eyes. Of course. Only her stupid mother would choose such a brainless romantic heroine for her namesake.

"Well, Eponine, it is a pleasure to meet you." The boy stretched out a hand. "My friends call me Joly."

Eponine just glared down at the hand as if it smelled of something foul. A few awkward seconds passed before the boy withdrew the hand and wiped it off on his pants. "Okay, well … let's get to wrapping that ankle, then."

The boy reached into his purse and pulled out a small box of some strange-smelling, greasy-looking stuff that Eponine did not look forward to feeling on her skin. As he began to rub it over the top of her foot, she stiffened.

"What's wrong? Does that hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"If you're uncomfortable, you can tell me ..."

"I said, I'm fine!"

The boy stared at her uncertainly for a moment, then resumed his ministrations. Eponine turned her head away and grumbled bitterly under her breath. She despised this boy. Everything about him irritated her. His winks, his laugh, and that stupid, stupid smile of his. And most of all, she hated how he read her so easily. And his touch ...she'd been groped before, of course. By bigger, rougher hands. But his were different. It felt like his fingers were probing through all the layers of her flesh and sinew and bone, uncovering all of her secrets and stripping her bare. And for that reason, his touch felt even more invasive than any brute's. And she despised him for it.

"My, my, the muscles here a bit thin, Eponine," the boy mused. "Have you been getting enough to eat?"

Eponine choked and the boy froze.

"Er … sorry," he said after a moment. "That was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it."

The contempt in Eponine's eyes spoke volumes. Yes. Yes, it was.

The boy laughed sheepishly before ducking his head and reaching for the bandages. Then he began to hum that same annoying tune he'd been humming in the street earlier as he started the wrapping.

"Stop that," Eponine snapped.

"Hm? Stop what?"

"That stupid humming. It's annoying."

"Oh, is it?" The boy chuckled. "Sorry. It's just an old habit of mine. I like to hum when I work."

"Well, I don't like it. So stop it."

"As you wish, Mademoiselle."

"And quit callin' me that!"

"Ah … yes, Eponine."

The idiot couldn't have wrapped her foot fast enough. Two minutes that felt like an eternity passed before he held up the perfectly bandaged ankle for her inspection.

"There! What do you think, Eponine? Not too bad, right?"

Eponine stared down at his finished work. Well, the boy did do a fine job. But the gamine was far too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was in any way impressed.

"Whatever," she snorted. "Merci, M'sieur."

"You're welcome! Happy to be of service. Now ..." The boy reached up to slip an arm around her shoulders. "I suppose I'll be getting you home?"

Eponine instantly recoiled. "Don't you touch me! I can get home just fine on my own."

"What? Eponine, you can't be serious. You know you cannot walk on that ankle."

"Oh yeah? Just watch me, M'sieur," she said, bracing her hands against the wall and beginning to slide herself up with a grimace.

"Stop."

Eponine gasped as the boy's hands were suddenly seizing her by the shoulders and pinning her in place against the wall. Her mouth opened, a dozen expletives on her tongue, her throat widening for a scream ... and then she halted, stunned by the look on the boy's face which hovered just a few centimeters from hers.

Gone was the idiotic smile. Gone was the playful look in his eyes. Said eyes were now boring into hers with frightening intensity, fixing her immobile and stopping the breath in her throat.

"Come now," the boy said sternly, his gaze unflinching. "You tried that already. You know you can't get around like this. Quit being so stubborn, Eponine."

The gamine choked in protest. "You ..."

"I'm not finished. Look, I get it. You're a tough girl. You can take care of yourself. But trying to walk home on that ankle on your own is just foolishness, Eponine. And besides ..." The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "If you ruin that ankle again after I just went through all that trouble wrapping it, I am afraid I will be very cross with you."

Eponine fixed him with a glower, but the boy just clucked his tongue.

"Come on, now," he said. "It's not weakness to accept help when you cannot do something on your own. Let me help you home. I insist." He held out one arm. "Here. Just lean on me."

Eponine growled under her breath. Oh, how she hated this boy. But blast it all, he was right. Again. With a grunt of disgust, she leaned into his grasp.

The boy grinned victoriously, looking so much more like the stupid bourgeois boy she was more familiar with. He draped her arm over his shoulder and patted her hand. "Atta girl, Eponine."

Eponine refused to look at the boy as he led her through the maze of back alleyways. They hobbled slowly, stumbling every few steps, yet she kept her body angled away from his as much as physically possible. She had chosen this route strategically; she would have none of the Parisian masses witnessing her - the proud, cunning Eponine Thernardier - reduced to a helpless weakling leaning on a stupid bourgeois boy for support. She would rather die than let that happen.

Thankfully, the Gorbeau House was located not too great a distance from the place where she had fallen. As soon as it came into view, she immediately began trying to wriggle out of the boy's grasp. "Here we are, M'sieur," she grunted. "Now you can kindly take your leave of me now."

"Oh!" Joly blinked up at the house in surprise. "You live here? At Marius' place?"

Eponine spun on him. "You … you know M'sieur Marius?"

"Why, yes. Marius and I are classmates. In fact, we ..." Joly paused as they both heard a door creak open behind them. Looking up, he laughed. "Well, speak of the devil!"

The gamine turned about, her face immediately lighting up with joy. "M'sieur Marius!" she cried, hobbling eagerly toward the handsome student as he stepped out the door and making Joly nearly trip as he struggled to keep up with her. "Hey, M'sieur! What's new with you?"

"'Ponine?" Marius bolted forward at the sight of his limping friend. "Mon Dieu, 'Ponine! What happened to your foot? Are you alright?"

Eponine giggled and batted her eyelashes. "Oh, 'tis nothin' M'sieur. Just a little sprain. It'll take more than that to take down your 'Ponine. Don't you fret."

Joly turned his head and beheld the gamine's lovestruck face in amazement. Well how about that, he thought. She can smile! And the effect, he had to admit, was quite astounding - miraculous even. Her smile lit up her soiled face like a candle in a dark street, washing all the harsh shadows of her countenance away.

"Oh dear," Marius said, bending down to examine his friend's injured ankle. "Well, thanks be to God that Joly found you then. You've got your arm around the greatest future doctor in all of France, 'Ponine."

"Yeah, well …" Eponine shifted her hip out slightly and gave Marius a wink. "I'd much rather have my arm around you, M'sieur Marius."

Marius laughed lightheartedly, standing up to tap the gamine on the nose. "Ah, 'Ponine. You are such a tease," he said, causing her to duck her head and blush lightly. "Well, it looks like you've got this one, Joly. Eponine lives on the top floor. I'll come by to check on you later, 'Ponine, after I've finished up at the library."

"W-wait, M'sieur!" Eponine lunged forward and grabbed him by the arm. "Are you really in such a hurry? M'sieur Joly has carried me far enough. I think you ought to be the one to help me up to my room."

"Oh, don't be silly, Eponine," Marius answered, extracting her hand from his arm. "Good ol' Joly is perfectly capable of making it up the stairs with you."

The gamine's face fell. "But, M'sieur ..."

"Now I really need to be going." Marius hurried off, calling back over his shoulder. "Take care! Both of you!"

"Marius ..."

But he was gone.

Eponine's hand hung suspended in the air, the fingers opening and closing as she reached after her quickly retreating beloved. After a long moment of silence, Joly cleared his throat.

"Um … shall we be heading upstairs, Eponine?"

The gamine did not reply right away. Then her eyes fell closed and she sagged into his grasp.

"Fine," she muttered. "Lead the way, M'sieur."

Eponine hung off of Joly as limp as a rag doll as they staggered their way up the stairs. Joly gazed at her worriedly, noting the dimness of her downcast eyes, the slight quiver in her lips. He wanted to say something to her, to assure her somehow, but then thought better of it.

He understood there were some conditions of the heart that even the best doctors of the world couldn't fix.

"Here," Eponine said brusquely once they had reached the top of the stairs. She pointed to the first door and pulled herself out of his grasp, leaning against the wall for support. "This one's mine. So you'll be leavin' me here. Alright?"

"Eponine … if you would like, I would be happy to ..."

"No," the gamine hissed through gritted teeth. "I don't need someone to tuck me into bed, so just leave, M'sieur. Leave!"

Lifting his hands, Joly slowly backed away. Eponine glared back at him from her spot on the wall, all hardness and hostility just as she was before. But then her eyes slid closed and all at once, the strength seemed to drain out of her as her body drooped with a heavy sigh. Joly's chest ached at the sound, at the pitiful sight she made just then, looking so much older and wearier of the world than any girl her age ought to be.

"Hey." He took a step forward, a warm smile on his face. "Don't let Marius get you down, Eponine. You're a charming girl. I am sure he'll come around."

Eponine's face twisted bitterly. "You can feel free to take your leave, M'sieur," she growled, her eyes half-opening into slits.

"Please, Eponine. It's Joly."

"You can feel free to take your leave ... Joly. Now get out of here. Now."

Joly sighed. "Alright. As you wish, Eponine." Then, before she could stop him, he grabbed her hand and raised it up to his lips.

"Au revoir, Mademoiselle," he said before pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Eponine yanked her hand back, spitting out an expletive. She wiped the back of that hand on her skirt and then clenched it into a fist, ready to sock him in the jaw. But the boy was already gone, dancing his way quickly down the stairs. And to her ire, Eponine could hear the echoes of that same obnoxiously merry tune echoing up from the bottom floor as he hummed his way out the door.

AN: I know! Totally odd pairing! I am actually an avid Enjolras x Eponine fan, but then one day I randomly read another Joly x Eponine fic on this site, and then the idea to do my own take on it just kinda popped into my head a couple months later and then germinated. So I thought, why not! I'll run with it! Let's see where it goes, shall we? This is just the first chapter, folks. Let me know what you think!