tushanshu | 006 ; [ video, open to action ]

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006 ; [ video, open to action ]

[So, it's April. Eponine has sobered up somewhat, gotten her wits about her, and realized she needed to actually go see Marius Pontmercy. And explain. And apologize for being a fool and asking him to kill her, for begging him to love her. It took what courage the girl had left for her to walk over to his suite, and when she knocked, the door swung inward revealing what she feared most. What he said he would not do.

An empty apartment.

You know how Eponine spent most of March on a bender?

She's... about to start it again.

When she finally appears in front of the camera this time, she has dark circles under her eyes, her skin sallow. She's nearly as skinny as she was when she first arrived, and there's a bottle of whiskey in her fist.

She speaks simply, without light in her eyes.]

Marius Pontmercy has gone home.

He has returned home where none of us shall be living, to perhaps June 7th, 1832. He will return to his beloved Cosette Fauchelevent. They shall be married.

[She takes a pull from the bottle.]

And he shall forget all about us.

About me.

[She closes the network connection.]

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No, but that is not different from back in Paris. There I had nothing to eat, and only things to drink. It was not liquor that killed me, rather, a bullet.

[Eponine looks up at him.] I shall not come to harm under your care.

[He frowns at the reminder of where she's from. It's unfair that Gavroche left. It's unfair that Abigail left too. Costigan knows some part of him has her here in a vain attempt to ensure that she stays, to keep her close and try fruitlessly to protect her from powers outside of his control.

He meets her gaze, quietly considering for a moment before he looks to his own glass.] I trust you. You say you can handle more, drink away. Just be careful. There's a fine line between forgetting and poisoning.

[Or a really thick one, but that mainly depends on what one does while one is drunk and he's trying not to think about that.]

You trust me! Oh, m'sieur, you make a grave mistake. No one should trust me. I am a terrible person, as I have told you. Untrustworthy to my last. Yet you see fit to trust me. Such a kind, wonderful man you are.

[She smiles fondly, her eyes looking a little glassy.]

I shall try not to let you down.

You keep telling me you're terrible, but I still don't believe you.

[He takes another sip of his drink, then lifts his eyes, watching her closely. He's acutely aware of her movements, her proximity, and her expressions. This is the time he feels like he should turn on the TV or radio to break the silence and give them white noise and distraction, but none of that exists here.]

You hungry? I can make you something.

Not many do. Not until it is too late.

[She opts to kick off her own shoes, as Costigan himself has done, then nestles back further into the couch.]

Oh. No. I could not eat anything.

What is it you think you're going to do to me, huh? Kill me, betray me, what? I want to know.

[The questions are conversational. Although her insistence grates every so slightly on his nerves, making him question his instincts, he'll listen and take whatever she says into consideration. To help alleviate this paranoia, he downs the rest of his glass and then sits up to pour himself another.]

I do not intend to do any of them, m'sieur. But- in confidence, I am a thief. I am a whore. A liar. I have killed a man, I will have you know. I lured a man to his death, as well. That is the world I lived in, in Paris. I could not trust my own family.

There, loyalty did not exist. [she holds out her glass to him.]

I would not harm you. Not on purpose. But if such a thing arose, where my life were at stake, my survival... My father always said it was dog eat dog. I am inclined to believe him.

Sometimes we do things we wouldn't normally do when we don't have another option.

[It's said in that vaguely philosophical way that suggests it might be a comment more of empathy than his trying to make her feel better. Costigan pours her another glass before returning the bottle and leaning back against the couch as before.]

You're right, about the need to survive.- [His free hand fishes around in his pocket to withdraw his pack of smokes and a lighter.] You mind? [He pinches a cigarette between his lips and removes it from the pack.] -But you aren't in the same situation here. You don't need to do those things. Whether you do now, that's up to you. The decisions you make when you don't have to? That's who you are. Not the bullshit necessity.

[She gestures for him to continue with his cigarettes. What should she care?

She tries to settle in again, keeping her eyes trained on him the whole time. He speaks so well, and when he says it, she wants to believe him. Leaning against him slightly, she nods.] I like when you say it, m'sieur. You speak as though you understand. Many here... They do not.

They do not understand the life I lead.

[He tosses the pack on the table and flicks open the zippo. Breathing deep, he ignites life into the cigarette. Then the lighter joins the pack and he pulls cigarette between his fingers, blowing the smoke away from her and looking to meet her gaze.]

Most of the people here had choices. You deserve better than that, but you aren't a bad person for it. [He takes another drag, watching her, then another sip of his drink. Costigan focuses on the burn in his throat, in his lungs. The whiskey, the smoke. It's a comfort.]

I had choices, too. I often made the wrong ones.

[She likes the smell of his cigarette, she decides, mixed with the whiskey.]

I'd like to think... In the end, I made the right one. Even though it lead me here. [She takes another long drink, closing her eyes as the whiskey burns down her throat. When it passes, she opens her eyes again, closer to him.]

Do you wish to know how I died?

[Again he blows the smoke away. Her death isn't really something he would pry about, but her offer makes it seem like she wants to tell him and he's not one to refuse that kind of camaraderie.]

If you want to tell me. [He replies quietly, his expression softening.

It reminds him of the night spent with Abigail, learning of her murder and holding her as she fell asleep. For some reason, she seemed more like a child to him than Eponine does, despite their being the same age.- Costigan makes an effort to veer his thoughts away from Abigail, to focus on the woman before him.]

The woman who Marius loves... She gave me a letter, to bring to him. Saying that she and her father were leaving for England, where she would be. I was to bring it to him so that he could find her.

[She sets her glass down.] But I did not want her to have him. For years before, she had lived with my family. Her father had taken her away from us, damning our inn. It was their fault that we lost everything. [Don't ask how. It was just how it went, according to her father.] And now, Marius loved her, and did not speak to me save to speak of her.

I did not give him the letter. I disguised myself as a man and went to his home, waiting for him but his roommate found me there instead. He made mention of the barricade, and I followed him there.

It was not hard to break away, before the fighting started. To return to the lark's house, to wait for Marius and to tell him, still disguised, that his friends were at the barricade. I thought, in his throws of sadness, he would gladly agree to fight. And he did. We fought together.

[She laughs, shaking her head, a piece of dark hair falling in front of her eyes.]

[Costigan listens intently with all the gravity the tale demands. He sets his glass near hers, following her lead, watching her. His eyes only leave to glance at where the ashtray is, otherwise never looking away. It's a sad tale and so unlike his own story in so many ways. The idea of loving someone so completely is almost alien to him and simultaneously what he longs for.

He doesn't ask questions of the parts that don't entirely add up or criticize any of her choices. Instead, he only listens silently. His hand lifts as she pauses, pushing the stray hair back while trying to ignore how intimate the gesture feels. It's not like that, he tells himself.]

What happened? [He asks finally, softly.]

[Her eyes meet his, tilting her chin up softly as he pushes her hair back, and for a moment, a ghost of a smile appears on her lips.

There's silence, until he urges her to go on, and she nods.]

There as so much going on, when he arrived. The French Guard, they were storming the barricade, it had started to rain, and then, I saw it. He had pushed Reynaud out of the way, but didn't see another gun aimed towards him. I did.

You see, I hoped to die before him, m'sieur. I knew I could not live without him. We were all going to die there, on that barricade. I could only pray I would go first.

And so I did. I placed my hand, [she starts to absentmindedly rub the palm of her right hand] over the barrel of the gun. My hand was on fire, my arm, and I felt it travel through me. I felt the cold sting of rain on my bare flesh where it had ripped a hole in my shirt. And as it did, I fell, down to the mud and the dirt.

It was fitting, I knew. To die there. Where I had always belonged.

Then I saw him. The fighting had died down, in the rain, and I called his name, crawling to him. He recognized me, would you believe it, m'sieur! [She smiles again, her expression far-off as she swears she can feel Marius' arms around her. Her eyes have been watering, and as she speaks, she does not notice when the tears begin to fall.]

I told him I was there. To die. And that I wished all of us would, and that I was the reason he was there. Then... Looking up into his eyes, I knew I could not take him. I gave him the letter, soaked in my blood. So that he could find his Cosette, if he survived. But I knew there was no hope...

I asked him to kiss me, you know. On my forehead. He did- both then, and before he left here. It was the most kindness someone had shown me my entire life.

[Costigan listens intently, his frown deepening with each revelation and detail. He turns only to snuff out his cigarette in the ashtray before returning his attention to her. His hands lift to her cheeks, thumbs brushing away her tears. He hasn't been shot before. He can imagine what it feels like, given some of the pain he has experienced. Knowing you're going to die though, that's a different beast entirely.]

Hey, hey. [He offers quietly, trying to help settle her down. Costigan considers kissing her hair until she mentions Marius doing nearly the same. Then he reconsiders, his hands not leaving her face as he looks at her, wanting to call her back to the present with him.]

That's fucked. [He says finally.] You deserve better than that, whether you believe it or not.

[She lowers her eyes as he speaks to her, looking at her hands in her lap. Her thumb traces the scar left on her palm. There's one on her back, too; where the bullet had left her.]

You are wrong. I did. I accepted it.

[She swallows.] I am a thief. A whore. A murderer. A devil. I know what I am. I know all that I have done. I am not beautiful. Far from it. I cannot question why he doesn't love me. It's all too clear. I do not deserve him. I never did.

[Costigan jerks her chin up, encouraging her to look at him. It's neither vicious or gentle, a rough gesture designed specifically to draw her attention. He drops one hand down to settle over both of hers, the other still on her cheek.]

Bullshit. I knew the devil and you'ah nothing like him. This guy- look, I'm sorry he didn't love you, I know the feeling, but that doesn't make you inferior. He's an asshole if he didn't even notice you loving him.

[Her eyes widen as he takes her chin, trembling slightly. But she holds her ground. She's unafraid. She refuses to feel fear.]

No- I tell you the truth. Everything I've said is true. I have killed a man, I have stolen so much in my life, and I have sold myself for money, for rent, for goods. All of it condemns me, M'sieur. There is a reason i sought death. A reason I killed myself.

I didn't accuse you of lying. I know you believe what you're telling me, but you're wrong.

[Costigan straightened, withdrawing his hands from her, not meaning or wanting to overstep their relationship. He sighed a little, running one hand through his hair.]

I have done a lot of terrible things too. Beat the shit out of some people, shot them to get answers. I sold drugs to all kinds of people, but mostly the ones who I know didn't want it. I helped the devil get away with a lot of evil, made love to another man's girlfriend, was responsible for the man I respected most in the world getting thrown out a window to fall to his death, and betrayed a man who trusted me more than anyone. Do you think I'm a bad person?

[He is and he knows it, but he hopes she doesn't.]

No. [She reaches for him.] Perhaps you are. You have done the sort of things the men in my life have. But I do not care. You had reasons I am sure.

[So did she.]

To me, you are kind, good, and handsome. Gentle as well. That is all that matters to me.

Then say the same for yourself. [His reply is soft as he meets her gaze again.] You're good people- and beautiful too. Don't let one asshole, even if you loved him, make you think any differently than that.

I am not beautiful. I learned that long ago.

You really calling me a liar right now? [He gives her a light smile, to show he's mostly joking.]

Would you prefer if I did?

You are a liar, Monsieur Costigan. [Eponine holds his gaze, having moved just slightly closer to him.]

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