Even The Darkest Night Will End

Chapter One: A Pulse

Joly paced the floor of the dirty room in the building far behind the barricade that was set aside for medical purposes, examining each ailing body and scratching his head, dumbfounded. He had been an excellent medical student at L'Université du Paris for three years now, but never was he trained to care for this sort of carnage. He tended to each and every bullet wound inflicted upon his revolutionary comrades by the French National Guard, yet feared terribly of one of his friends dying under his hand. He was doing well so far, but it couldn't be long before his nerves got the best of him. Joly continued to hold onto the small rosary bracelet his mistress Musichetta gave to him and took deep breaths to soothe himself as he refocused on his patients. While contemplating a way to disinfect Bahorel's bayonet wounds, the sound of heavy footsteps came from the entrance of Joly's makeshift hospital as Combeferre carried in a man, dripping with blood, to a cot.

"Jesus, who's that?" Said Joly, rushing over to the patient.

Combeferre fell to his knees, cringed at the blood that stained his arms, and began to tremble and sob bitterly into his crimson hands.

"She's dead." He wailed.

She?

He pondered the thought of the person being a woman for a moment, and wondered if one of the girls from General Lamarque's funeral service had snuck in somehow. Women behind the barricade were strictly prohibited, but if it meant an extra gun firing, Joly was sure none of his men would've said anything.

He quickly tossed his flask of Brandy to Combeferre to calm him down, and further observed his newest victim. He recognized the dirty, sallow face from meetings at the ABC Café and around the streets of Paris, but couldn't quite place a name on it. He cut off the person 's threadbare clothing, revealing blood stained fabric tightly wound against their chest and remarkably thin waist. Joly knit his eyebrows in confusion. The person had eyelashes that were too long, lips that were too plump, and a body that was too frail for masculinity. It had to be a woman, but who? He finally pried the tattered cap off the unidentified person's head and a tangled mess of damp, brown waves spilled out over the woman's bony shoulders. Joly's eyes widened in amazement and horror as he realized that the body belonged to Éponine Thénardier, a peasant girl who was also a friend of Marius. He had often spied her wandering by dim streetlamps late at night and always trailing behind Marius like a shadow.

He put two fingers on Éponine's neck, expecting to feel a eerie silence, but instead, feeling a slight rhythm.

"She's alive! By God, she has a pulse!" Exclaimed Joly in amazement.

Combeferre rose and felt her heartbeat for himself.

"No, that's impossible, I saw her die just then! She couldn't have survived a shot from that close of a range..." He mumbled, in utter disbelief.

"In fact", Joly said, "I think she'll be quite alright, my friend. Get some rest, and thank you for your help."

Combeferre nodded curtly and stepped out into the night.

Joly felt guilty for lying, but this was a war, and there was no time for worry. Her pulse was slow and weak and she had a seeping wound on her side. Though her vital organs were unharmed, the bullet was lodged in a small patch of skin wide of her ribcage and Éponine was losing blood fast; too fast. Joly hastily disinfected her side with gauze and pressed the wound hard. When the bleeding subsided, he removed the gauze and took his pair of medical tongs hesitantly. He figured it was best to extract the bullet while she was still unconscious, but feared she would awaken to a gaping hole in her side. After the bullet was out and Joly was applying slight pressure to stifle the bleeding of Éponine's wound, a cry of terror came from Bahorel on the little bed across from Éponine's. He had regained consciousness and started to panic as he felt the agony of his injuries. The bandage on his shoulder began to slowly turn red again. Joly had just gotten done stitching him up, but with Bahorel's new rise in blood pressure, he knew that the stitches had been opened. He had already lost a staggering amount of blood, and if he were left alone for much longer, death was inevitable. Yet on the other hand, Éponine was weak as well and fading fast. Unfortunately, Joly could not be in two places at once. He was in desperate need of assistance.

**DISCLAIMER**

I don't own Les Misérables, I'm just an insane fangirl who loved the movie and shipped Enjonine really hard, so I won't be making any profit out of this.