Eponine as stray

[igenlode]

An unexpected Les Misérables fan-fiction: Éponine's one-sided relationship with Marius is one of dog-like devotion in response to casual kindness. After delivering his letter to Cosette, she chooses to go back to the barricades in full knowledge that he will never love her. But he does care about her — a little — and every dog will have its day...

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Lost and Found

So here I am again, in the alleys where I belong: a stray on the street. It’s quiet tonight... like the whole city’s holding its breath, maybe. I don’t remember when I last knew it so quiet.

That old man — her father — he told me to go careful. Said it would be dangerous out... just shows how much he knows.

I reckon all the death in the city’s over by the barricades now, on one side or the other... the cops and the National Guard have bigger fish to fry. And the rest of us — we’re lying low. It’s my kind that make the dark dangerous, M’sieur Father-of-Cosette. And we’re waiting to pick up the pieces.

I’m not afraid to walk these streets alone — this is my time, my place. These gutters are old friends and the moon is all the light I need. I know my way around... even tonight. The pavement shines like silver, and I can dream...

Same old dream, same old story — like a shirt worn so long it stands up on its own. Marius. Him and me in my head, always.

He doesn’t see, I know that. He’ll never see, I know that now — I’m as smart as he is, smart as any of them. I know who it is I’m fooling.

But I know another thing too. I’m out here because he cares. He wants me away from the fighting, back home in the alleys of Paris where I can handle myself. He wants to know I’m safe.

That’s not Marius-in-my-head, the Marius beneath the trees who holds me tight where no-one can see. No, that’s my M’sieur Marius, who gets tired and sad and still smiles when he sees me come by. Who wears out the cuffs of his coats with writing and papers and books. Whose hair falls like that, so as you want to reach out and touch it and brush it back where it ought to be... but you don’t, because he’s no dream. He’s real.

I know the difference, me. I’ll never have more than he gives me, and it’s not enough... but it’s more than I’ve had from anyone, anywhere. And without him — without him, I’m just another stray out here in the dark.

And maybe that’s all I ever was. The Inspector, he’s the hound of the Law: head down, nose on the trail, none too bright. Montparnasse, Brujon, the rest — a pack of scraggy killers who’ll run together one day and snarl at each other’s throats the next. And I was just the stray bitch in the gutter with her ribs showing... but once, just once in a while, some student comes by and tosses her a scrap or two, just a few crumbs of attention, and from then on he’s her life. Her everything.

He’s the only one, see. The only one who treated me like I mattered even that scrap. The only one I could tease with and get a laugh, the only one who looked at me like I was... someone. Not just a bit of skirt or another mouth to feed, but me, Éponine. He’s the only one who was ever kind without an axe to grind by it.

You think my father cares if I get hurt or go hungry, so long as he gets what he wants? Last time he saw me, in Rue Plumet, he swore he’d leather my hide. I’m keeping clear.

But M’sieur Marius, he worries. Just a little... and he had me right there from the start.

I’m that mongrel bitch, see, that poor starving dog in the road who’ll roll over for just a tiny scrap of caring and follow him home all the way. I used to think maybe he could feel for me, and now I think maybe he does... the way he’d feel for any lost creature who latched onto him that way.

He’d be a good master to any stray, you can take it from me. He looks out for me, he’s fond of me, I get the crumbs from his table — a smile, a touch on the arm — and he’ll shed a few tears for me, maybe, when I’m gone. Sure as hell there’s no-one else that will.

But you don’t get romance between a man and the little bitch that trots down the gutter at his heels, with her heart hanging out for all to see. And when something bigger comes calling, something that matters to his world the way she never did — why then, she’s forgotten for that while. Overlooked, until he has time to spare and she can come crawling back for her pat on the head: good girl. Good girl.

I’d have traded all my hopes and dreams away, once, to make him happy. If I could. If he’d just show me the way.

So I got my chance, didn’t I? I found his Cosette for him, back there in Rue Plumet... and I did it with my eyes open. For him.

Oh, I hoped — of course I hoped — that he’d see sense the moment he spoke to her. Two people can’t be made for each other, not like that, not at a glance. Only I saw his face...

And now I’ve brought her his goodbyes from the barricade tonight. It’ll be all over in the morning: her world, and his, and mine.

The students think they’ve got a chance. They think all they’ve got to do is wave a flag, and wait for the People. But the people haven’t come, have they? All over Paris they’re hiding in their beds with the covers over their ears, waiting for the bad times to go away.

I know the people. People like Claquesous and Montparnasse. People who’ll come when it’s all over, when there’s profit to be had. In the morning, when M’sieur Marius and his friends are dead.

I wanted to be with him when it happened. His last thought will be for her, I know it, but his last blood could have mingled with mine out there on the street, where I belong. Even a poor hopeless stray can turn and bare her teeth at the last, before the soldiers come to take her world away.

But I did what he asked... and now I’m all alone again. Safe, free, the way he wanted it.

He was happy with her, see. Even in my dreams he was never that happy with me. I’d never seen him that way, to pretend...

I could shut my eyes and he’d be here again beside me. I could even put that look on his face, the one he keeps for her. In my mind, I can have anything I want... and I’d give it all up for him, the real him.

He’ll never kiss me, never hold me close, never sleep a single night by my side: but it doesn’t matter. He cares, just a little. And I’d climb twenty barricades, risk a hundred bullets, to share in that.

Danger in the streets tonight... not here, but where I’m going. You tried to save me, M’sieur Marius, and I’m grateful. I really am. But now I’m coming home, home to where you are.

I was never your world the way you were mine, but on the barricades we’re all equal, after all. If I live, I’ll lie curled at your feet tonight with the rest. And if I die... maybe I’ll sleep in your arms, tonight or tomorrow.

They’ll have to kill me first to get to you, M’sieur. Every dog has its day.