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Breaks

Title: Breaks Category: Plays/Musicals » Les Misérables Pairing: Enjolras/Eponine Author: AliceInSomewhereland Language: English, Rating: Rated: T Genre: Drama/Romance Published: 05-24-13, Updated: 05-24-13 Chapters: 1, Words: 3,788 Originally posted: fanfiction.net

Summary: When Eponine trips over Enjolras and breaks her hand at a party, he's the only one who can take her to the hospital. But suddenly it becomes less about her hand and about so, so much more. e/é (fic war prompt on tumblr)

Original author’s note: Ok, here's yet another for the e/é fic war! This time, the prompt (from tumblr user stargazingandsunshine) is: "A very drunk Eponine accidentally trips over Enjolras, and she breaks her hand. He has to take her to the hospital. Bonus points if Eponine is a flirty drunk (not that she wouldn't be anyway, but... you know)."

Chapter 1/1

Enjolras isn't quite sure how he ended up here.

No, actually, he is sure. Courfeyrac and Grantaire.

Somehow those two morons always talk him into going out with them and the rest of the Amis, and for some reason, always against his better judgment, he gives them the benefit of the doubt and agrees to go along. Tonight is no different.

The party – yet another graduation party (they graduated from college three weeks ago, for God's sake!) – was at Bahorel's apartment, and it was loud, smoky, boozy, and just about everything that wasn't Enjolras.

So he went out on the balcony, where the breeze was cool and the air clean and the noise confined to normal nighttime sounds rather than the bad DJ skills of Jehan (he was playing "My Heart Will Go On" when Enjolras exited, and that was the last straw for many of the recent graduates).

He was surprised to find Courfeyrac out there with that girl, the one who was in love with Marius Pontmercy. She shadowed him – around campus, at parties, at bars, she was everyone. To his credit, Pontmercy seemed to genuinely like the girl, but he was too thickheaded to see her feelings for him.

Enjolras had no time for nonsense like relationships. He was headed to law school in the fall, and was going to make a difference with his life. Women didn't fit in to that.

But as he stepped outside into the cool night air, he realized he had interrupted Courfeyrac and what's-her-name. They were making out, of course.

Enjolras couldn't help but roll his eyes. Courfeyrac was a manwhore, and as far as he knew, this girl was a tease of a drunk. And given that Marius and his blonde girlfriend Cosette were inside canoodling on the couch, it was not surprising to find what's-her-bucket sucking face with someone kind of random.

According to Courfeyrac, they hooked up semi-regularly. But this was the first time Enjolras had seen it; usually, when she was with their friends, she was either following Marius like a lost puppy or "brochilling" with Courfeyrac, Bahorel, and Grantaire (at least, that was the word Courfeyrac gave it).

When the couple realized that they were no longer alone, Courfeyrac pulled away, grunting and wiping his mouth, glaring at Enjolras, who simply shrugged in return.

Then Courfeyrac actually high-fived what's-her-bucket and left. Enjolras rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe that these were his friends.

She turned to him. He could smell the liquor emanating from her person.

"Enjolras, right?" she asked, flashing a winning smile and flicking her dark hair off her face. He had never officially met her before (hence why he did not know her name), and had actually never been this close to her. She was much prettier than he had previously noticed, with a round face, olivey skin, and dark brown eyes. Her hair was thick and fell in easy waves around her shoulders; it was mussed in the back where Courfeyrac's hand had been anchored.

"Yeah," he said, uncertain of how to tell a woman he didn't know but had spent ample time around that he had never learned her name.

"I'm Eponine," she announced. He wondered if she had realized he didn't know her.

"Nice to officially meet you," he said formally, wishing that she would just go inside and leave him out here in peace.

"Not your thing?" she asked, jerking her head towards the party.

Enjolras shook his head. "Not really."

Eponine stepped closer. He noticed that, despite her sober manner, she tripped over her own feet a bit.

"It helps to be drunk," she offered.

He just looked at her.

"Ah, but that's not really your thing either, is it?"

Enjolras wasn't sure whether she was simply making an observation or teasing him, so he remained silent. Instead of answering, he busied himself with sitting on the floor, against the wall. Courfeyrac had moved all the chairs from the little balcony inside for the night.

Eponine sighed exaggeratedly, moving to sit next to him. It displeased him; he didn't want her company. She would most likely chatter drunkenly next to him for the remainder of the party, avoiding Marius and Cosette (though he was certain she would force him to talk about the couple for hours) and all the other people she could be making out with.

Then he wondered if she would try making out with him. The thought made him scowl. Women….

Eponine stumbled on her way over to him, and he belatedly wondered if he should get up and help her. But it was too late, because she went too far and tripped on his leg and–

She fell to the ground with a thud and an alarming, sickening crack.

"Shit, Eponine, are you okay?" he asked, reaching for her shoulders to help her up.

"Son of a fucking bitch, oh mother fucker that hurt!" she cried as he sat her up.

Enjolras caught sight of her wrist and hand, swollen and looking a bit… off. Eponine followed his gaze, and the impressive stream of cursing began again.

"Let me see," he muttered, reaching out for her. But when he gently touched her arm, she cried out in pain and alarm and wrenched away from him.

Sighing – this is not how he wanted his night to go – he ordered, "Wait here."

Eponine just nodded, hissing through her teeth in pain.

Enjolras went inside, looking for Courfeyrac. But when he found his friend, he was too busy vomiting into a trashcan. Grantaire and Bahorel were both too drunk to do anything, and the rest of his friends were either making out with random people, too drunk, or missing in action. Marius he didn't even bother; the boy made no effort for anyone else when Cosette was around.

He returned to the balcony, opening his mouth to speak, but stopped when Eponine turned away from him, sniffing. "Hey, you okay?" he asked her awkwardly.

Her good hand went up to her face, wiping her eyes. "Yeah, sorry, just a little painful is all," she replied, turning back and giving him a watery smile.

Jesus, now he not only had to deal with a drunk, injured girl, but he had to deal with a drunk, injured, crying girl, he thought. Just his luck.

Still Enjolras, ever the gentleman, offered her his hand. She took it with her good one, and he easily pulled her to her feet. "Let's get you to the hospital," he murmured, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt.

He held onto her arm as he escorted her to his car – which, when they reached it, Eponine announced she loved (it was a vintage red Mustang. He explained that he had saved his money for it for years, and had fixed it up himself. She replied that she loved a man who knew his way around a car, and that car oil on a man was extremely sexy, and a surprisingly good lubricant. He hoped the dark hid his blush).

When she was buckled into the passenger side, and he settled in and driving and trying to keep her from messing with his radio settings (though she seemed impressed with the classic rock station he had blasting), Eponine fixed him with a disconcerting stare.

"I never noticed how cute you were before," she informed him bluntly.

Enjolras flushed. "Oh… thanks."

"Yeah, I get why your friends call you 'Marble Man," she continued with a grin that was a little too mischievous for his liking, especially considering the very real possibility of a broken hand or wrist. "You know, with that chiseled jaw of yours and those text-book good looks." Eponine glanced at him sideways before sliding her good hand towards him. "Unless there's something else that's marble that might've earned you that nickname," she said, walking her fingers up his leg towards his crotch.

Enjolras jumped at her touch and did his best to squirm away from her. When did this car get so small? And how did he get stuck with the job of driving the drunk girl to the hospital? It took him a moment to realize that she was laughing at him.

"You're cute when you're flustered," she informed him.

He had no response. Nor did he respond very much to any of the other things she chattered about on their way to the hospital – it was a fairly short drive, thank god – other than to try and remove himself from her grip when she flirted with him. It didn't take him long to realize that she was teasing him so much because she was getting such a rise out of him, but he couldn't help it. He didn't have any experience with girls, didn't want any girls – especially not silly, drunk ones like her.

Enjolras was walking Eponine into the emergency room, her injured hand cradled against her torso, when she stopped short, just before the doors.

"Are you going to be sick?" he asked, already worn out from her antics.

She just shook her head, slowly shifting her eyes to meet his. She looked wary. "I just don't like hospitals," she said quietly. It was the first time all night, perhaps ever, that he had not seen her drunk or being loud and disruptive and trying to get attention. He wondered if it was because Marius wasn't here.

Something in her face, however, indicated that it was not just Marius' lack of presence that had her mood shifting. It almost looked like fear.

Enjolras walked up to her, gently grasping her shoulders. She looked up at him. "The sooner we go in, the sooner we get out, right?" he asked, not unkindly. He suddenly felt a little sorry for her, and was curious about the memories that had a girl that had always seemed so boisterous and fearless suddenly so small and timid.

Eponine nodded slowly, staring into his eyes as if she would find some sort of strength there.

He put his hand on her back, giving her a very gentle push through the door, and following her in.

"Your eyes are very blue," she told him. It was clear that she was trying to get back to where she was in the car, but her voice had lost its flirtatious edge.

Enjolras waited for her as the nurses took her back to take her vitals. It took only a few minutes, and she joined him in the waiting room almost immediately, still trying not to trip over her feet.

"I hate it when they know I'm drunk," she grumbled.

He wondered what that meant.

"Did they say how long we'll have to wait?" he asked, trying to stave off his curiosity about her experience with hospitals.

Eponine shrugged. "A few hours, anyway. They have to wait for an available doctor, then I have to get x-rays, then probably a cast. Damnit I'm stupid. Look, I appreciate you bringing me, but you don't have to stay. I'll be here all night, and I hardly know you. There's no reason for you to spend your night in the ER with a stranger. Go home, I'll figure out a way home later," she urged.

Enjolras liked the sound of going home, of crawling into his bed and passing out. But his conscience could not let him leave this girl here alone – not when she was drunk, in pain, lacking transportation and company, and obviously a little freaked out. Plus, he was suddenly a little curious about who she really was, apart from her infatuation with Marius, and he was eager to learn more.

"No, no, I'm not going to leave you here alone. Besides, this is like the last hurrah of college, right? My college experience wouldn't be complete without a night spent in the ER."

Eponine gave him a rather large, grateful smile. "Thank you," she whispered, taking his hand in her good one and squeezing it. She laid her head on his shoulder then, and was promptly asleep, her hand still clasped in his.

Enjolras had had the foresight to bring his backpack – which had been in his car during the party – into the ER, and as she dropped off surprisingly quickly into unconsciousness (where he hoped she would sleep off some of her drunkenness), he found himself digging around inside it to find his book (it was his third read of The Brothers Karamazov. He would never get tired of it). All the while, he kept his hold on her hand.

She woke up about eighty pages later, however long that was.

Enjolras felt her stirring against him, and realized that he was still holding her hand. He promptly tried to drop it, but she was clasping him as she came to with a groan.

"Good book," Eponine rasped.

"You've read it?" he asked, surprised.

"Of course, no book has ever taken me on such an emotional journey or made me question my faith the way that one has," she replied, sitting up with a whimper and rolling her neck. "God you have a bony shoulder!"

"So I've been told." Enjolras was incredibly impressed with her. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Any less drunk?"

"Ugh, yes, now I'm hungover. And the booze was good to keep the pain from my hand away, but now that hurts like a bitch too," she responded miserably.

Enjolras realized their hands were still clasped, so he squeezed hers supportively.

They had been reading along together after Eponine woke up. She still would not let go of his hand.

"You read slowly," he remarked teasingly, grinning over at her. The more he learned about her, the more he liked her. She wasn't the obnoxious drunk girl he had always perceived her to be; she was smart, sharp-witted, funny, and extremely well-read. He had entirely too much fun distracting her from her hangover and the pain in her hand by debating different authors and books. Then they had settled into sharing his book.

Eponine shrugged. "I like to really soak it all up, you know? Each word and each sentence. Writing is so beautiful, and authors spend so much time and put so much of their souls into their work. I feel like I'm doing them a disservice if I don't take my time and let what they're saying really settle in."

"You sound like a writer," he joked.

Eponine flashed that beautiful smile at him. "I am a writer – or at least, I want to be one. Someday."

"Really? What do you want to write?"

Eponine was quiet for a moment, mulling over his question. "Happiness," she finally said, her voice seeming a little far away as she stared off into space. "And people," she added, shifting her gaze to meet his. "I want to write about girls who find their way out of their miserable lives and find happiness, about boys who overcome their obstacles and live the life they've always dreamed of."

"Those sound like good books," Enjolras appraised.

She just shrugged, looking off into whatever yesterday her eyes had previously been fixed on. "I used to believe that you couldn't adequately write about something without experiencing it. But I don't believe it anymore. Writers are observers. I don't have to have a happy life to understand what one is and to write well about it. I can be miserable and write about happiness very easily. And I'll get to experience it along with my characters, so that's something, right?"

The depth of Eponine's statement actually kind of shocked him. "You just graduated college, Eponine," he reminded her softly. She looked at him with eyes that were heavy and, surprisingly, a little teary. "What's not to be happy about?"

Eponine smiled patiently and squeezed his hand. "I'm happy to have graduated. It doesn't fix my problems, though. It doesn't fix my life or my past or my family. It doesn't even secure my future. So I'm happy, yes. But it's just a fleeting happiness, not a life changing kind." Her smile was noticeably sadder now.

Enjolras didn't know what to say. She was so much more than he had judged her to be, and he found himself suddenly wanting to find a way to make her happy. He was actually about to tell her as much when the nurse called her name.

Eponine stood with a groan, and he opened his hand to let go, but she pulled him along. "Come on," she murmured, waiting impatiently as he marked his page and threw the book into his bag.

"Eponine Jondrette?" the nurse at the ER door asked.

Eponine nodded. "This is my boyfriend," she said, utterly shocking Enjolras. "I'm bringing him back with me."

The nurse hardly gave him a second glance before leading them back to a curtained-off empty bed. He helped Eponine settle on it – she was awkward with only one working hand – before lowering himself into the empty chair next to her bed.

He waited patiently as the nurse asked Eponine some information – feeling very uncomfortable when they briefly discussed her period (though Eponine didn't seem the least bit distressed) – and then left.

"Enjolras," Eponine said, the humored edge back in her voice, "Your cheeks are red. Is discussing my period a little too much for you?" she teased.

She waited a moment or two, gleefully listening to him stutter, before sobering. "Sorry to drag you back here and call you my boyfriend and everything. I just – I just hate hospitals and didn't want to be back here alone," she told him.

"Why?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

Eponine gave him an appraising look, but did not refuse him the information. "I spent a lot of time in the hospital growing up. For injuries of my own, then when I would bring my little sister and brother. My parents – well, they weren't the most loving…." She trailed off, turning her head away from him as her voice strained.

Enjolras was fairly certain that all this meant that she and her siblings were abused as children. The thought sickened him. No wonder she acted like she did, with one personality for around her friends and another for when she was alone in the darkness. His heart broke a little for her, though he could hardly show it. Somehow, he knew she wouldn't thank him for that.

So instead, he stood up and took her hand in his while she was still turned away. He slid partway onto the bed next to her – it was fairly narrow, and as she was sitting in the center, he had to keep one foot anchored on the ground – and smiled as she turned to look at him in surprise.

"I'm here," he reminded her.

Eponine gave him a timid smile, and actually turned away, hiding behind her curtain of hair.

The potentially very awkward moment (or very touching) was cut short by the return of the nurse, who took Eponine for an x-ray.

An hour later, they were leaving the hospital. It was close to five in the morning. Eponine had broken the part of her hand between her pinky finger and her wrist, and was now grumbling about being in a cast for the next six weeks. Although, the cast was bright purple, so Enjolras suspected that, at least for the time being, she was somewhat content.

When they were back in his car, he dug around in his glove compartment. Eponine looked at him questioningly until his hand found what he was looking for. She smiled as he pulled out a sharpie.

"Might I be the first to sign your cast, mademoiselle?" he asked, smirking at her.

Eponine nodded enthusiastically, smiling as well, and offered him her purple hand.

He gently held it, twisting her arm to where he wanted to sign, then signed his name (and drew a smiley face) right over the break. For some reason, he wanted her to know that he would be there as she healed. He wanted her to know that he would always be there, breaks or no. That suddenly, he wanted to help heal the breaks in her soul in a way that he couldn't heal the break in her hand.

Enjolras let go and she twisted her hand around to look at it, smiling widely.

"You signed over the break! Are you breaking up with me?" she punned, wiggling her eyebrows.

He snorted. "Well, your hand has to heal before you can have that purple monstrosity taken off. So technically, it's like I'll be there, stitching you back together."

Eponine's smile faded from a teasing one to a rather shy one. "That's harder than it looks," she whispered.

He wanted to remind her that her wrist was already set, that it would heal no matter what, but he knew they were no longer talking about her physical break. And he did not hate the thought of healing her other broken parts, because maybe he had some of his own that she could help with.

Eponine was not the girl he previously thought she was, and he suddenly wanted to be there for everything with her, to learn everything about him.

"Challenge accepted," he replied, grinning at her.

Eponine just smiled back and slid her hand back into his. Enjolras' heart quickened at this; he had come to like the warmth during their night in the ER together.

Eponine cleared her throat – it would seem she did not like sentimental moments (even better, as he hated them too) – and said, "Well now I only have one working hand. So let's take a shower, I'll need someone to wash my hair!"

Enjolras felt his face flush and he started the car, hurriedly driving away as though he could leave her teasing laughter behind at the hospital. She was cackling, completely aware that she had succeeded in flustering him, and stroking his hand with her thumb where it was clenched in hers.

#reposting old fics until i die #thanks to the slow death of ffnet lolol #enjonine #enjonine fanfic #enjonine fic #enjonine fanfiction #eponine x enjolras #enjolras x eponine #e/e #é/e

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