A/N: The beginning of this chapter was inspired by Katie Brown Eyes so give the respected credit to her. The rest of the story is from my crazed mind so I hope you all enjoy it! Also, the character personalities are from the book. I would like to mention though, I'm a bit stuck on whether or not I should make this a tragedy or a happy ending and I am a little stuck on plot so if any of you have any ideas or opinions, please feel from to pm me! I'd really appreciate your input! Enjoy!

A/N2: I have updated this chapter and changed a few things in others. In this chapter, I have made it clear that instead of just one shoulder wound, Enjolras received 8 wounds at the barricade. You can reread this chapter if you wish, but it's not completely necessary. Enjoy.

The rebellion was through, and it had evidently failed. The people did not rise. The barricade had been demolished, and those within perished as they all had planned and were willing to do for their country. Yet somehow during the chaos and the blood of battle, three managed to survive, not all of them men.

One among them was the revolutionary leader, Enjolras, the one most willing to lay down his life for France; he loved his country more than any man could love a woman. In fact, he wanted to die, to die for France and alongside his friends was the very meaning for his life, the greatest honor in his eyes. But he survived through means he did not know, could not remember, his memory fogged from the eight bullet wounds—including grazes—he received which quickly led to infection, a high fever that kept him delirious and unable to piece together the moments on that fateful day and how he escaped.

Just as it was unknown to his friend Marius, a man named Jean Valjean saved the three who survived. He had carried the unconscious Marius over his shoulder and had a bloody girl in his grip, the girl Enjolras had spoken with only once and vaguely remembered, warning her to leave the barricade. She had been wearing men's clothes that day. She too had been shot and was losing a lot of blood. Valjean, with Marius on his back, led Enjolras and the girl through the sewers to freedom on the other side. He took all three of them to a hospital to be treated and paid generously for their care, insuring the best doctors to them, and said they were innocent bystanders that got caught in the crossfire of the battle. No one at the hospital questioned the rich man and did all they could and more for the three survivors.

Marius's grandfather, M. Gillenormand came to the hospital as soon as he heard word that his some had been admitted. When Marius came to and was able to speak, he couldn't tell his grandfather how he ended up at the hospital or who it was that saved him. All he knew was that he was alive along with his friend Enjolras and that street girl Eponine. He was grateful, truly, that at least one of his friends survived the horror of the barricade. Even if it was just one, one was enough to keep him from insanity due to such loss, such grief. But he knew their reunion wouldn't last long. It couldn't. The National Guard would be searching for the revolutionary leader.

So together at the hospital, M. Gillenormand and Marius planned to get his friend out of the city of Paris; Enjolras no doubt would be wanted for treason towards the government. But as he and his grandfather talked, Marius was reminded of the girl that saved him, Eponine. Even as she laid there, her head on his knees on the day she was shot at the barricade, he wasn't sympathetic, caring towards the gamine that took a bullet for him. He felt guilty for his lack of concern, lack of compassion. So to rid his guilt, to make up for his wrongdoings, he arranged for Eponine to travel with Enjolras to the west to Rennes, a two to three day trip by carriage. The trip was to be made as soon as possible despite their injuries; the pair needed to leave soon to avoid detection.

That was how Enjolras came to be riding in a carriage—his left arm in a sling and right leg in a cast, a crutch at his side, his body aching in pain—in the dead of night with a strange gamine he didn't know beside him. It wasn't an awkward ride. Eponine was silent next to him in the carriage, neither had anything to say to each other. The ride was quiet and almost pleasant except for the haunting visions of his friends. They called to him, asking why he survived while everyone else died. They tormented him with their cries of pain; he imagined them scowling down on him from Heaven, accusing him of abandoning them, abandoning all he stood for. Guilt racked his brain and did not fade even as the carriage entered the providence of Brittany to the city of Rennes.

The carriage stopped in front of a cottage as dusk came, Marius's summer home now Enjolras and Eponine's new residency. Their closest neighbors were a quarter of a mile away on either side, a quiet and welcoming silence to Enjolras. It was a humble maison despite Pontmercy's social class, larder than Enjolras's apartment in Paris. The garden was lovely, spotted with flowers and well kept plants and bushes, vines growing up alongside the wall of the house, and wisteria dangling over the windows.

Taking the luggage inside with them—Eponine carried since Enjolras couldn't—which consisted of only a single trunk, Enjolras's—being poor and living on the streets, Eponine didn't have anything with her except what she wore—the two explored the cottage; there were two bedrooms to Enjolras's relief—one with a desk for study which he gladly took—a kitchen and a small dinning room separated by a wall, one bathroom, and a living room with a sofa and end tables, and a bookshelf. There was a fireplace in the living room as well, and Eponine spoke for the first time at the sight of it, both to herself and Enjolras.

"Oh, look! A fireplace! It's been so long since I've been around one, you see. When I was a child back at my parents' inn, we had a lovely fireplace, and Azelma and I used to sit by it and play with our dolls. Oh it was such fun with our dolls." Eponine continued on rambling as Enjolras walked through the house, observing silently, trying to block out the girl's insipid chatter.

The maison had already been stocked with linens, plates, and other necessary household items except for clothes. Enjolras and Eponine would have to buy them. Before leaving, the driver, as instructed, left with them a basket filled with wine, bread and begets, fruits, and deli meats, enough food for a small dinner, and five napoleons and 500 francs were left on the dining room table, kindly given by Marius and M. Gillenormand. It was enough for the two to live off of for a while until they found jobs.

Enjolras headed into one of the bedrooms, the one at the farthest end of the house and sat on the bed, heaving a sigh and holding his face in his hands, the weight of his failure bearing down on him. The thoughts of blood and the sounds of musket fire and bullets, the smoke and the canons, his fallen friends invaded his mind. Why had he survived? More than anything he wanted to die in battle for France, for his beloved Patria. He hadn't planned a life for himself after the June Rebellion, and now that he was alive, how was he to live? What was he to do?

"It is miraculous you survived." He remembered the doctor telling him this back in Paris, "What's even more miraculous is your ability to move so soon. You suffered three bullet grazes to both your left and right arms, and another bullet shattered your left collarbone. That, dear boy will take time to heal and may not heal properly."

"And my leg?" Enjolras had asked.

"I'm getting to that." The doctor replied patiently, "The wound in your forearm is already starting to heal very well despite the fact you've only been here a week and same goes for the one in your hip. As for the wound in your leg, luckily, the bullet didn't sever the artery or break any bones. Regardless, it still ripped through muscle. So that limp you got there, that's not going away son."

Enjolras nodded slowly, his whole body feeling as if it had been set on fire.

"And don't worry about your ear son. You will still be able to hear." The doctor said with a sympathetic smile.

The doctor then left, and Marius walked into the room leaning on a cane. He was certainly in much better shape than Enjolras, and he envied him for it.

"How are you feeling?" Marius asked genuinely.

Enjolras scoffed.

"That well huh?" He replied, smilingly lightly. "My father and I have made plans for you. By next week, you will no longer be living in Paris."

"Where will I be then?" Enjolras asked, his throat dry.

"You and Eponine will live together," Marius told him. "You will be living in the Pontmercy's second house in Rennes. You can start a new life there; no one knows of your predicament here in Paris. You will be safe. But you will need to find a job. People may find it suspicious if you don't show your face and contribute to the city."

Enjolras had nodded to his once good friend, skeptical about sharing a home with some girl of the slums. But Marius had insisted that it was for her protection too although Enjolras couldn't see why she would need it. No one knew she was even within the barricade, but he agreed to it just the same. Even though Eponine would never have even made the list of people he'd choose to share a home with, she indeed was a better choice than that bastard Grantaire. Despite the drunkard's loyalty to him, Enjolras still couldn't stand the thought of him. Oh how he despised him.

"I will write to you when I can." Marius told him with a smile.

"I am in your debt," Enjolras said sincerely, "I cannot thank you enough for all you and M. Gillenormand have done."

Marius smiled a heartrending smile, "There is no debt. You would have done the same."

Enjolras's thoughts were interrupted as the girl's voice came to his ears.

"Monsieur."

He looked up to see the scrawny gamine standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, her shoulder leaning against the doorframe. Her dark brown, nearly black hair was a tangled mess to her mid back. She wore a dingy, tattered, faded brown skirt and a loosely fitted white blouse—it was covered in dirt thus giving off a gray appearance. A black belt hugged her midsection that gave off the illusion that her outfit was a single piece. Not much to look at, Eponine. Even though she had a pretty face, the dirt and grime and ugly clothes hid it well.

"Dinner is ready. Come to the table. You must be hungry." She then turned and walked across the living room. Slowly, Enjolras grabbed his crutch and followed her; the poor man struggled to sit down at the end of the table. The wine had been poured and the plates were filled with the food from Marius. But where was the cutlery? Enjolras was about to say something when he looked up to see Eponine eating with her hands. Though his expression remained hard and cold as usual, inwardly he was disgusted. But as he stared, he noticed her left hand was wrapped in gauze. How hadn't he noticed it before? Had something happened to her at the barricade? He shook the thought from his head, avoiding the struggle of trying to remember.

He ignored her lack of class as she ate with her hands. His mind wandered again back to his friends. He tried desperately to think of all the wonderful memories he had with them but all he could seem to bring to imagination were his friends' deaths. Feuilly, Jean, Bahorel and Lesgle had been blown apart by the canons, their blood splattering over him. Courfeyrac, Joly, and Combeferre were banging on the doors within the barricade, shouting, pleading to be let in. They were all terrified. But what happened after that? More importantly, why couldn't he remember what had befallen him? This angered him, but Eponine snapped him out of his thoughts once again.

"Monsieur, come now you should eat! You haven't eaten since we left Paris, and that was nearly three days ago. Oh how miserable it is to be starving. I should know. You shouldn't submit yourself to it Monsieur."

He frowned, annoyed by her demands despite the fact she was only trying to help. He rose to his feet.

"I'm not hungry." He left the barely touched meal and walked back to his room, leaving Eponine alone.

That night Enjolras slept to his demons and nightmares. Repeatedly he watched and relived his friends' deaths, saw their pain and suffering, the fear and the screams, and all the blood. They cried to Enjolras, begging their dear Apollo to relinquish their suffering. But all the brave leader could do was watch in horror as his brothers crumpled and withered and screamed for mercy that would never come. Enjolras awoke in a cold sweat to his own screams. The room was dark and the house was quiet. How had Eponine not awakened to his violent screams? He sat upright in his bed, panting and trembling, the pain in his shoulder more intense than the previous day. His nightmares were getting worse.

Morning broke through the curtains that covered the window of Enjolras's room. As he started to wake he yawned, his body heavy and his eyes begging for more sleep. He tried to sit up but thought against it when the sharp pains of his wounds became apparent. Sighing, he laid back on his bed until he felt strong enough to get up. When he did, he slowly he rose himself out of bed and did his best to prepare for the day. However, he still felt exhausted despite the fact he slept. His shoulder ached and the pain spread all the way down to his fingertips. His leg and hip burned him, and his ear was throbbing in heated pain How frustrating, he thought, thankful though that his grazes had healed and the wound in his forearm was but a dull pain. He poured himself a glass of water and took out the leftover bread and an apple from the night before and ate. It wasn't much, but it was more than he had last night. That was when he noticed the crowns and francs left on the table. It was all still there. To his surprise, Eponine hadn't taken them; she was a gamine after all. That was when the thought came to him. They needed to go to the market for the day's meals and Enjolras was in no condition to be out walking. He sighed and walked over to Eponine's room though he did not enter and instead, faced away from it.

"Eponine," Enjolras said dryly, "Get up. I need you to go to the market."

All he could hear was mumbles and the sound of sheets shuffling. Not wanting to lose his patience, he walked over into the living room and sat on the sofa to enjoy the silence. As much as he needed her up, he wasn't too fond of the Eponine's prattle, let alone her presence. He glanced over at the bookshelf to his right, and from where he was sitting, he could see that none of the books were worn. He would change that quickly and soon enough need more books. Slowly, and wincing as he did, Enjolras walked over and plucked the one he found most appealing, he turned and nearly jumped at the sight of Eponine before him. She smirked at his reaction.

"Désolé Monsieur. Didn't mean to startle you." She mocked.

Enjolras merely frowned at her. She looked terrible. Her eyes were weary and there were purple rings under her eyes. How could she be tired when she slept so long?

"The money is on the table," he stated, hoping she leave him to his book.

Instead of heading to the kitchen, she approached him and stuck out her finger to press it against the crease in his forehead, rubbing it in attempt to relax the muscle. She flashed him a childlike smile. There was a gleam in her eyes that irritated him. "If you continue to frown your face will stay like that."

Unimpressed, his eyes were cold as he stared at her and swatted away her hand. "I would appreciate it if you left me alone." Enjolras said harshly, no pleasantness in his voice.

Eponine's smile faded along with the glint in her eyes. She too began to glare at him, her eyes just as hard and unfeeling. "I can be just as ruthless as you Monsieur Enjolras." There was a bitterness in her tone that somewhat surprised him. Without saying any more, she turned for the kitchen to retrieve the grocery money while Enjolras retreated to his room thinking nothing of what she had said. Because he didn't care.