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Chapter Text

It was a whirlwind. Fire and ice, lightning and smoke, showers of sparks and a steady drizzle of rain. It was over in a moment. A desperate shout in the darkness, a daring threat given in a trembling voice, a single gunshot… and a lone figure crouched on the cobblestones, unnoticed in the flurry of activity.

Alone, Eponine Thernardier gasped out her final breaths, her crippled and bloody hand pressed against the gaping wound in the side of her body. She didn’t regret it. In the midst of her pain, as the darkness closed in on her, she felt a strange sense of peace and relief. She was leaving the misery of her pathetic little life behind forever.

“Eponine?” Marius’ voice, frantic and worry-laden, pierced like a ray of sunshine through the cloud of pain that surrounded her. “What have you done?” He spoke in horror as he stared down at her. Her vision had cleared slightly and she smiled sadly up at him, reaching out with her good hand to pass him a crumpled sheet of paper.

“It’s from Cosette,” she murmured breathlessly. “I’m sorry.”

And then she found herself wrapped in his arms, her weary head resting against his shoulder and his hands covering hers. 

“Don’t you fret, Monsieur Marius,” she choked out. “I don’t feel any pain.”

How could she tell him? Did the right words even exist to explain to him why she was glad to go? She longed for the peace and comfort of death. She could feel it stealing over her, like a warm and heavy blanket. Her head lolled against his shoulder and her eyes fluttered closed. There wasn’t time to tell him. 

“A little… fall… of rain… can hardly… hurt me now,” she whispered. She could feel the raindrops dripping from his chin onto her forehead and the warmth of his breath against her hair.

“I’m here,” he spoke with a sob. He was crying for her. She smiled.

“That’s all I need… to know. Just hold me… shelter me… comfort me…”

This was all she asked of life… just to be held by him. It was more than she had dared dream for, to die in his arms. In her death, life was giving her the greatest gift it had ever held for her.

“Rain… rain will… make… the flowers… grow….” Eponine gasped, struggling to draw breath. The strength was gone from her body and she knew her moment had come at last. “I… I believe I… was… a little bit… in love… with you…” She laughed faintly as she said it… the mere shadow of a laugh. She was gone. 

Marius pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there. A thousand thoughts raced across his mind, but he couldn't find the courage to bring them to the surface. He filled his head with revolution to crowd out the pain, even as he cradled the body of his friend, tears stinging his eyelids, trickling down his cheeks and mingling with the rain. 

Someone was pulling his arms away and he glanced up dully at Enjolras’ grim face. The leader did not speak, but he knelt on the muddy cobblestones, lifting the body of the girl into his arms. She lay limply against him like a tattered rag doll. Enjolras shifted her weight to support her drooping head, and he looked silently at Marius. His eyes were accusatory, filled with that strange and terrifying light that made Les Amis almost afraid of him at times. Marius looked away.

Eponine’s broken body was carried into the Cafe Musain and laid gently on the bare wooden floor. She was only the first to die. Before the sun set on the following day, the floor would be covered with the bodies of those who now fought so fiercely behind the barricade. And the leader in red, so full of vivid life that he seemed incapable of dying… he would lie by her side.

Eponine stirred restlessly, groaning as she opened her eyes. She felt cold and stiff and damp. And this… was this what heaven looked like? She blinked, frowning as she glanced around her. She was curled up on the doorstep of what looked like a rather lopsided tenant house. Above her was the crooked overhang of the roof… beneath her, cold gray stone… and across from her… a row of miserable little shops. 

No. No, no, no. She must be… in hell. Doomed to wander the miserable streets of Paris for eternity, as she had done in life. Her heart twisted within her in fear. She had thought death would bring her welcome peace. She could scarcely imagine a worse fate than this. Was she never to escape?

She stood gingerly, gathering her baggy coat around her. She was still wearing the bedraggled men’s clothes she had donned for the barricade. But they weren’t stained with blood, as she had expected them to be. Untucking her shirt, she lifted it just enough to inspect the side of her torso. Aside from the bruise she had gotten when she had tripped in the gutter a few days ago, there was nothing. She inspected her hands. Not a mark on them that wouldn’t wash off. Strange that death would remove all trace of her fatal wounds while still leaving her in these filthy clothes and in the same slums of Paris.

And strange that she should feel so… alive.

Stooping, she scooped up her cap where it had fallen on the doorstep and crammed it back over her tangled hair. She must look ridiculous… she almost laughed at herself… but who cared how a ghost looked? Well, this was what fate had doled out to her, she might as well make the best of it. And first, something to eat… but did ghosts really feel hunger?

She glanced down the street first one way and then the other, and her eyes widened. This was the Rue de la Chanvrerie… and that was the Cafe Musain. And… the barricade was gone. Not a single trace of it left on the empty street in the dim red light of morning. Where were the soldiers? And the students? She stared at the cafe, catching a glimpse of movement at the window. Someone was standing there, looking down at the street below. 

She shuddered, an eerie feeling creeping over her. This had happened before. Something just exactly like this. She had stood here before, right in this exact spot, looking up at that window, meeting the eyes of the man who stood inside. She knew him… the leader of Les Amis, the man whom everyone had counted on to lead them through the revolution. 

Had they… won? Was she… how far into the future had she been dropped? Or… or maybe it wasn’t the future… 

She didn’t know how long she stood there in the street, waiting and watching, frightened and bewildered. It was all so familiar. She had lived this before. Just… just yesterday, wasn’t it? People were starting to trickle in and out of the Cafe Musain. The students were moving around inside… she stared at the windows, whispering the names of each one she recognized…

“Courfeyrac… Combeferre… Jehan… Joly… Enjolras…”

They were all there, they were alive, they were unhurt… and they were doing exactly the same things they had done the morning of the battle. She inched her way closer until she was in front of the cafe, and then inside. No one seemed to notice her presence. Well, that made sense,  if she was a ghost. Perhaps they couldn’t see her. They rushed around her, preparing guns, stacking crates of ammunition and kegs of gunpowder along the walls. She caught snatches of conversation… they were talking about General LeMarque, of the barricade, of the revolution… Eponine clapped her hand over her mouth as she cried out. This was… this was the day of the battle…

“You there, Citizen!” 

Eponine jumped, startled, as she turned to face Enjolras. He was looking straight at her… he could see her.

“Monsieur?”

“Are you with us?”

“Y… yes…” she stammered. He was frowning at her, his head tilted to the side as if he was trying to puzzle something out. 

“Wear this,” he pulled something from his pocket and held it out to her… a tricolor cockade. She stepped closer, reaching out tentatively to take it from him. Her hand touched his… real, solid, warm… alive. She gasped, jerking her arm back. He snatched her wrist and pressed the ribbon rosette into her palm, squeezing her hand gently. 

“Courage, Citizen,” he murmured. “God is with us. We will win this battle.”

Chapter Text

Eponine followed along with the crowd, watching in a sort of bewildered awe as yesterday unfolded before her eyes. Every word, every action was repeated, from the mass of people in the Paris streets singing the liberty song in unison, to the students climbing atop General LeMarque’s hearse. The barricade was built bit by bit, broken chairs and stable walls, shattered fragments of ruined lives. Through it all, she caught glimpses of Marius and she struggled against the mass of people to reach his side. All she knew was that, whatever had happened, he had been alive when she died. Maybe he could give her the answers she needed. 

 “Marius!” She screamed his name over the deafening clamor. “Marius… please!” She strained towards him but tripped over a broken chair and fell to her hands and knees. She struggled to her knees, staring down at a bleeding gash in her palm. Blood… another sign that she was alive. She pressed her bleeding hand over her heart and felt it racing. She threw her head back, lifted her chin, and gulped in air. 

This wasn’t a dream, or a vision, or a hallucination. She had been returned to life, somehow given a chance to relive this day. Why, she couldn’t begin to imagine. But one thing she was certain of. She didn’t want to die until she found out. Perhaps… perhaps… she was filled suddenly with a wild hope like never before. Perhaps she was meant to live… perhaps Marius would love her after all! This could be the chance she had never thought she would receive… the chance to live a happy life. 

“Marius!” She stumbled to her feet, snatching at him as he rushed past her with an armload of rifles. She caught his elbow and he turned to face her, gasping for breath.

“Why are you not working?” he cried, thrusting a rifle into her hands. “Hurry, Citizen, it’s begun!”

“No… Marius, please…” Eponine dropped the rifle, leaning forward to grasp his arm. “Listen to me…”

Recognition dawned on his face, swiftly followed by confusion and then fear.

“Ponine! Why… what are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she hissed. “I’m no china doll, Monsieur Pontmercy, not like your delicate little Cosette.”

Marius turned tomato-colored. Whether it was from embarrassment or anger, she couldn’t tell. But she didn’t care. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he urged. “You need to go. Now. This is man’s work.”

“What women can endure, women can fight against.” Eponine bent to snatch up the rifle she had dropped. “Now listen to me. Something is wrong here. Do you feel it? This…” she waved her hand at the ramshackle barricade. “This has happened before.”

“Yes. The July Revolution, two years ago. Did you witness it?”

“No, not the July Revolution,” Eponine groaned. “This. Today. Tell me, Monsieur, what day is it?”

“Why… it’s Tuesday. June fifth. Listen, ‘Ponine, we need to get out of the street. The National Guard is on the way…”

“In the year 1832?”

“Are you alright?” Marius frowned at her, concerned. “Please, Eponine, let’s get behind the barricade.”

“It’s happening again, Marius…” Eponine spoke desperately as she followed him to shelter. “The barricade. Listen to me! It’s the battle all over again… the people sang, they mobbed the streets, built the barricade, then the soldiers came, and we tried to fight them off, you threatened to blow up the barricade if the soldiers breached it, one of them tried to shoot at you but I pulled the gun away, and…” she trailed off. He wasn’t listening. “I died, Marius, do you hear me? I died yesterday! And now I’m alive again, and yesterday is happening again. Do you hear me? I died!”

He turned to her, breathless with that strange excitement she had seen in him the day before. The revolution had become real to him and he meant to give his life for this cause if need be. 

“See, ‘Ponine? See how Paris rallies around us? It’s just like Enjolras said… they have come, and we will win at last.”

“Seems a suicide mission to me,” Eponine murmured as she raised her eyes to the top of the barricade where their leader stood with his blood red flag. Didn’t they know this battle was impossible? But no. They believed, with all their hearts. And Enjolras… there was fire in his eyes. He believed, and because of him, they believed. 

Hunger. Cold. Pain. Exhaustion. Eponine could feel it all. They went deeper than ever before, these human miseries that she had felt nearly every day of her life. Every moment was a constant reminder that somehow, impossibly, she was alive.

The night had become the quiet vigil that it had been the night before. She remembered everything. Every word, every movement. Gavroche was there… he had just exposed Inspector Javert. Now the officer lay bound on the floor of the Cafe Musain. The next gust of wind would carry on its wings the dreaded sound of the measured tread of the soldiers… there it was now. Yes… she had only a few minutes left to live. If she could just figure out a way for both her and Marius to live… 

The way it had happened last night… it had been so fast she had scarce time to think. She brought it into her memory now, muttering to herself as she huddled at the foot of the barricade, her eyes on Marius. She had focused only on him the first time. Now she tried to bring everything else into awareness. She saw Courfeyrac snatch Gavroche from where he clung on the side of the barricade and shove the little boy into an open space at his feet. She smiled, thankful that her brother was being watched out for. She heard the click of a pistol at her side and turned to see Enjolras kneeling beside her, but not looking at her. He was scarcely breathing, every muscle in his body taut as he strained forward, ready to spring at the first sign of an attack.

What happened that night, Eponine never really knew. She had been poised and ready, hovering behind Marius as he climbed the mountain of broken furniture with a torch in one hand and a keg of gunpowder in the other. But something happened… somehow she missed her cue… and suddenly there was a flash of fire and the sound of the gunshot and Marius was tumbling from the top of the barricade. The torch slipped from his fingers as he fell and Enjolras snatched it almost in midair as the powder keg crashed to the ground.

Marius fell in a crumpled heap at Eponine’s feet, blood seeping from a bullet wound in his chest. She knelt beside him, crying aloud in horror as she gathered him into her arms. He looked up at her, his eyes glossed over with pain and his breath coming in strained gasps. 

“Cosette…” he rasped, a tear streaking down his cheek. Eponine choked back a sob.

“I’m sorry, Marius, I’m sorry…” she whispered. “I failed. I’m sorry.”

“Tell her…” he could barely speak, his words interrupted by racking coughs. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. 

“Anything.” 

“I… love her…”

“Oh, Marius…” Eponine choked back a sob. She wanted to tell him… the words were already on her lips… I love you… but she couldn’t make herself say them. “She loves you,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “She left you a note. I have it for you… here…” she thrust the crumpled slip of paper into his hand and he clenched his fingers around it. “I kept it from you,” she went on, her voice trembling. “Be angry at me, Marius, I deserve it. Tell me I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“I do… forgive you…” Marius’ voice was weaker now, his eyes half-closed. “And tell Cosette…” He was gone before he could draw enough breath to finish his words. Eponine bowed her head and wept, clutching his head against her heart.

A heavy hand was placed firmly on her shoulder and she glanced up, blinking her tears away. Enjolras was looking down at her, his face half-illuminated by the flickering light of his torch, and half in darkness.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, almost in awe. She only stared, not knowing what to say. He knelt beside her, reaching out to touch Marius’ head. “You were too late this time…” his voice trailed off.

“Monsieur, please…” she began, but stopped. She didn’t know how to say what she needed to say. He wasn’t looking at her.

“Fate can be changed,” he muttered, speaking more to himself than to her. She wished she could see his eyes. There was something in his voice that she couldn’t define… a strange combination of excitement and fear, sorrow and relief… 

He rose to his feet, lingering a moment longer as he looked down at her. She could have sworn that she saw a tear on his cheek, glistening in the firelight. “Marius was a good man,” he said quietly. “A fool… and yet a good man.” He turned, gesturing to the others. “Combeferre! Courfeyrac! Quickly! Help me get this gunpowder into the Musain. The rain will damage it. Grantaire, so help me… put that bottle down and do something useful or I’ll break it over that thick skull of yours!”

Chapter Text

Eponine watched as the students worked feverishly to store the gunpowder in shelter. It had been raining for a long time now… a steady drizzle that went on relentlessly until she was soaked through. Enjolras had pushed the others away when they had rushed forward in concern, simply shaking his head in answer to the torrent of questions. He had seemed to sense somehow that Eponine needed this moment alone. Only Joly had been allowed to venture closer, long enough to look over the body of his friend and report the news to the rest of the group that another had died. Jehan had been the first to go, executed by the guards before they had even finished the barricade.

Eponine hadn’t moved since the moment Marius had died, still sitting there against the outer wall of the cafe, his head in her lap. She was covered with his blood. She stared blankly at the flurry of activity around her… an immovable statue in the midst of chaos. Her mind was numb and she was almost too afraid to think of what was happening.

How was this possible? She was living time that had passed after her death. This was wrong… she should be the dead one, not Marius. She had wanted to die first so she would never have to live in a world without him. How could life be so cruel, to throw her back into it and toss her such a miserable trick of fate? With a muffled sob, she bent her head, her tears mingling with the rain. It was horrible, seeing Marius lying so still, his face chalk-white and twisted into a grimace of pain. His fingers were still closed round Cosette’s letter in a death grip. She couldn’t do this, she had to get away from him. She looked up frantically, reaching out to the first figure she saw with a trembling hand.

“Monsieur, help me, please…” her voice came out in a weak tremor and she fought to bring it into control. The man turned towards her and she recognized him without surprise. Cosette’s father. Monsieur… Fauchelevent, wasn’t it. Concern and alarm flickered in his eyes as he knelt beside her, reaching out to Marius.

“Is he…”

“He’s dead,” she answered dully. 

“I’m sorry,” Fauchelevent whispered, his eyes searching her face. “Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Eponine muttered. “Can you help me get him into the Musain? I can’t lift him on my own.” 

“I’ve got him.” He lifted the limp body of the young man as if it weighed nothing. Eponine struggled to her feet, glancing at her bloody hands. Her stomach was churning. Pushing away the feeling of nausea, she stumbled along after him, through the darkened doorway of the cafe, watching as he laid Marius gently among the stacks of gunpowder and supplies. “Who is he?” his brow creased as he laid a gentle hand on Marius’ cold forehead. “Poor boy, so young…”

“His name was Marius Pontmercy.” 

Fauchelevent started at the name as if he had been shot. He whirled to face Eponine.

“You said Marius?” His voice was panicked, and almost fierce.

“Yeah.” Eponine shrugged. She didn’t want to discuss this with Cosette’s father, of all people. No doubt Cosette had told him about Marius and he had come to the barricade to find him… 

“Dear God,” Fauchelevent breathed. His shoulders were shaking. “I must… I must take him to… no, no… I… oh, my dear girl…” He shook his head, dropping it into his hands. “Oh Cosette, Cosette, I’m so sorry… so sorry…” He was weeping. Eponine edged away, feeling suddenly awkward and out of place. He had forgotten her presence. Like a shadow, she slipped out of the cafe, wishing the darkness could swallow her up forever. Even in death, Marius was not hers to grieve.

There wasn’t much more that could be done outside. The supplies had been safely stored away, the barricade fortified enough to almost satisfy Enjolras. The students wandered about restlessly, aimlessly, some adjusting bits of the barricade, some sitting higher up on lookout, and some collapsed on the ground in the sham safety of their scrap heap. The rain had paused, and torches flickered here and there, half-illuminating weary, worried faces. They were passing around bits of bread and cheese, although no one was really hungry.

Eponine glanced round the little group, her eyes falling on her brother. She was worried for him. For now he was safe… half-asleep with his head resting against Courfeyrac’s shoulder. He was fighting sleep, the little tiger, forcing his eyes open only for them to lower half-closed again. A half-eaten hunk of bread was clutched in his grimy hand. She almost smiled to see him, her heart going out to the little boy. He was all she had in the world. She was glad he had Courfeyrac to look out for him, noting the protective arm the young man had wrapped around the boy’s thin shoulders. May God protect them both. She breathed a silent prayer to the silent sky… only a few words. She hardly knew what to say.

“Ho, you there!” One of the students called to Eponine, motioning her over. She glanced at him, noting who it was… Combeferre, the law student, the one whom she had heard on more than one occasion dousing Enjolras’ wild fire with his calming influence. “Come here!”

Yanking her cap further down over her eyes and shoving her hands deep in her coat pockets, Eponine shuffled over, hunching her shoulders as she walked. She stopped still at a distance from the young man, her face hidden in shadow, and waited for him to speak again.

“I’ve noticed you hanging around the barricade, but I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. What is your name, boy?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m nobody,” Eponine shrugged, keeping her voice low and quiet.

“It does matter. Are you on our side?”

“Your cause is noble.”

“Chin up, boy, let me see your face.” He sounded impatient. Eponine didn’t move. “Where is Enjolras?” Combeferre called over his shoulder. “Enjolras, over here… do you know this boy?”

Eponine dared to lift her head for a moment, catching a glimpse of a dark form stirring from where it had been leaning against a wall of the Musain. Enjolras stepped forward, arms folded across his chest as he looked calmly at the ‘boy’. Eponine ducked her head under his gaze as the corner of his mouth twisted into something akin to a smile.

“He’s fine, Combeferre, let him alone.”

“But who is he?” …this from Bahorel. He had been sprawled against the barricade, but sat up in interest at the little scene. 

“Oh, give the poor devil some wine and stop talking,” Grantaire called out. “Damn questions. Wine is the answer to all of them, I say!”

“All I ask,” Eponine spoke boldly. “Is to die here.”

“To die!” 

She could hear him moving closer, but she held her ground, her eyes staring fixedly at the cobblestones until his boots came into view. He gripped her chin, gently enough, but firmly, and tilted her head up so he could see her face. Somewhere behind him, Combeferre exclaimed in surprise.

“It’s the Jondrette girl!” This startling news was passed round the little group and Gavroche’s voice chimed in proudly, “She’s my sister!”

“Please, monsieur…” Eponine jerked away from Enjolras. “It’s all gone wrong. I just want to die.”

“Yes… some of us must die. But not because we want to… because we must. Think of why we fight!” His eyes seemed to pierce through her, as if he was reading her soul. “There is more to life than love.”

“How much you say… and yet how little you know.” Eponine laughed bitterly. “You think that freedom is the driving force, the greatest power on earth. And yet I tell you that because of love, kingdoms rise and fall, hearts break and worlds shatter.”

He raised his eyebrows, the fierce passion in his expression giving way to respect. He was almost smiling at her. “Well said, Citizen. Where did you get words like that?”

“I learned from you,” she answered lightly. He laughed.

“You wish to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Then come.” He touched her arm, nodding toward the little circle. “We must rest while we can. Tomorrow comes the battle.”

Chapter Text

It was a restless, miserable night. Eponine huddled in a corner, wrapped in her baggy coat, her teeth chattering with the cold. She was soaked through and chilled to the bone in spite of the warm summer night, her damp hair clinging to her face and neck. Some of the students slept, but only in snatches, waking often to check the barricade and ammunition. Two were sent in separate directions to sneak out the back way to investigate the other barricades that had been built around the city. 

The sounds were frightening that night. The usual nighttime sounds had faded into an eerie stillness. Beyond the dark, looming shape of the barricade was the tramping of military boots and the scrape of cannon wheels against cobblestones. In one of the nearby houses, someone was sobbing. And Eponine thought she could hear her own heart beating.

“Are you alright?”

Eponine glanced up warily to meet Courfeyrac’s worried gaze. Concern and kindness wasn’t something she often saw on the face of a man, any man. That was what had drawn her to Marius, that desperate, longing need deep inside her for simple human kindness. But she turned away from Courfeyrac, resenting his question.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.” She found herself wanting to laugh, and wondered vaguely if she was going crazy. She wiped mud and rain from her face with the back of her bedraggled sleeve and shook water from her hair like a dog. “It won’t be long now,” she added, her voice almost carefree. “We’ll all die soon.” She looked to the rooftops, seeing the first rays of the sun gently softening the darkness of night. “See? Death comes soon. Today is the day of reckoning, Monsieur.”

“Oh, no, Mademoiselle,” he smiled and there was a strange sort of hope in his smile, mingled with that profound sadness that all of them seemed to bear. “It is not death, but life. Today is the first day of our new beginning.”

“I wonder,” said she, thoughtfully. “If you really believe that.” 

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she heard Enjolras’ voice announcing, almost matter-of-factly… “We’re the only ones left.”

Silence followed this statement, broken only by Enjolras pointing out almost triumphantly that at least the powder hadn’t been damaged by the rain. He laid out his plan in a few clipped sentences, steady purpose gleaming in his eyes as he doled out responsibilities. No one saw little Gavroche slipping through a hole in the barricade…

And it all happened so fast. Eponine heard the first gunshot, and Gavroche’s high-pitched voice shout-singing defiantly, “Never kick a dog, because he’s just a pup! We’ll fight like twenty armies…”

Courfeyrac was screaming the little boy’s name. He had started after him instantly, but Combeferre and Joly dragged him back, pinning him down on the cobblestones, lest he run into the open and die instantly. No one gave any notice to Eponine. She practically threw herself over the barricade, tumbling down the other side and crashing to the ground. Gavroche cried out in surprise as he was snatched and pulled to the ground. Another gunshot echoed through the early morning as Eponine wrapped her arms around her little brother and covered his body with her own.

The pain was familiar to her. She remembered it from yesterday. That sharp flash of fire, and then the dull ache as she slumped helplessly to the ground. Gavroche was whimpering in her arms and she held him close, her grip not weakening even though she felt the strength leaving her body. 

“Cowards! You shot a woman and child! Filthy, damn cowards!” They were all shouting. Eponine could vaguely discern voices, noticing Courfeyrac’s voice closer than the others, and then someone was carrying them both together behind the shelter of the barricade again. They were set in a half-sitting position, propped up against the barricade.

“Are they alive?” Courfeyrac was sobbing. Hysterical, gulping, shaking sobs. Combeferre was speaking, saying something in a low, quiet voice. And Joly, Eponine could just barely make out his voice too. She could feel his hands fumbling at her side, gentle fingers against her gaping wound. She struggled to open her eyes, catching a blurry glimpse of  Joly bent over her… and her eyes fell shut again.

“The bullet has passed through both of them,” Joly was saying. “He’s not as bad off as she is…”

“Take… take care… of him…” Eponine gasped. “Let me die…” 

“No. Don’t let her die again.” the voice sounded like Enjolras’, but she could hardly grasp onto the words anymore. Her last memory was of pressing a whisper-kiss to Gavroche’s damp, matted hair… and it all faded to black.