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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[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.]

Maybe I am. Doesn't mean you should say it. [He replies with the same smile. His body tenses with the nearness of her, some part of him wanting to indulge in his urges while another part of him forced him to remain still. Although intoxicated, he never really loses control of his impulses.]

Too late for that. I have said it. And it does not matter if it is a lie or not. [She can smell the whiskey on his breath. She looks up just slightly, the barest hint of a smile on her lips. That mischievous glint in her eyes.] For I have never felt beautiful. And I never shall.

[Costigan wants to lean forward and kiss her and in that moment of want, he instead straightens and withdraws entirely. Not a moment later, he stands from the couch, looking for an excuse for his sudden action, running a hand through his hair again.]

I'm going to grab some ice. You want some?

[Ouch. Eponine looks away again, blinking back a few tears still in her eyes. She didn't realize how it would hurt, until he pulled away. Rejection after rejection.
She really wasn't beautiful. He had just proven it.]

non [She says harshly before grabbing for her glass. In an instant, the rest of the whiskey in it is gone. He will reject her? Then she will drink.]

[Costigan recognizes the harsh tone and the drinking for what it is. He grimaces and runs another hand through his hair, immediately on edge. His feet remain still, not moving from his standing position beside where she sits.]

Hey, it's not- You're eighteen, Eponine, and I'm- I'm fucked. You're drunk and you want to forget about him, but you don't want me.

So? I have been with men far older than you. I do not care. I am always drunk, M'sieur.

You say I am beautiful. But you do not make me feel so.

[sloppily, she raises the bottle, forgoing the ice and taking another long drink.]

He would not be with me. He thought me dirty, too.

Hey. Hey! [He reaches out to snatch the bottle away from her. If she won't let go, he'll at least hold it so that she can't take another sip of it. Costigan leans down to bring himself more level with her, trying to meet her gaze.]

You'ah nawt dirty. You're beautiful. Don't let me being fucked in the head convince you otherwise, alright? You being beautiful doesn't depend on me or on him or anyone else.

[She tries to wrestle the bottle from him, but in the end, let's it go in favor of another bottle.]

I do not care! I do not care if you're fucked in the head! Will you not comfort me for one night? Tomorrow we will continue as if nothing happened. It's how it always is. I do not want a relationship. I want to feel anything but nothing and pain!

Jesus fucking Christ. [He mutters.

Costigan lifts his free hand to her neck, tilting her head up. Then he closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers, kissing her with all the built up passion of months alone. He leans into her from the awkward position, hungry for the affection she's practically begging him for and pressing out every voice in his mind that says what a bad idea this is.]

[For a moment, she worries that he will not, that he'll kick her out of his apartment right then and there. But he doesn't. Instead, he kisses her, and it feels... So unlike anything else. She kisses him back, setting down her bottle, reaching to his neck to pull him closer to her. So what if she's eighteen? For a girl in France, that makes her more than fully grown. And she kisses like it, too.]

[Costigan breaks their contact only long enough to set the opened bottle aside, on the table, before he returns his attention completely to her. Both hands then slip along either side of her neck, tilting her head to complement his perfectly. Her experience is clear, reinforcing the comments she's made before about selling herself and being with older men. That alone makes him reconsider for a brief second before her fingers on the back of his neck cast all such reservations aside.

He moves to sit on the couch beside her, one hand dropping to her waist to pull her closer and encourage her to continue. She wants to forget. So does he. Maybe this can be good for the both of them.]

[Eponine reacts automatically, pressing herself against him, even as their posture becomes awkward, arching and twisting. It's easy to kiss him, whiskey on both of their lips as she runs a hand through his hair, pulling him closer towards her.

Eponine has always been the sort of girl who knows that tomorrow is not promised. And tonight, tomorrow is the last thing she's thinking of.]

[A low moan escapes Costigan's lips as her fingers run through her hair. His eyes drift closed to absorb the comfort of this moment, of her touch. He's so tired of being alone. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily against her neck as he takes a moment to catch his breath.

The hand on her waist slides around to the small of her back as he then leans forward, encouraging her to stretch out beneath him. His lips find hers again, lusting for her, not wanting to be aware from her for a minute. His hand along her jaw drops away from her to prop against the couch and facilitate their shift.

Again, he withdraws for a few seconds, whispering against her ear.] You're sure?

[Eponine grins into the hungry kisses, resting her head against his forehead when he takes a quick pause.

It's easy to shift under him, being as small as she is, and he helps her far more than others would have. As he pulls away, she leans up, trying to capture his lips again.

You're sure? The words send a strange surge through her. Of course she was sure. Why was he asking? Was it not implied with the way she kissed him? How she had asked? But if he wanted an answer, he would get it.]

Oui, m'sieur Costigan. I am sure.

006 ; [ video, open to action ]

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