A/N ohh lord its over, this is it, the end. ((I wept at this part sorry not sorry))

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EPILOGUE

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Courfeyrac and Azelma had gone on a well-deserved honeymoon at last. Azelma was awarded a King's Medal for Courage in the Cause of Freedom, and spent more time gloating over that than remembering her short time in Grini, but Courfeyrac had been having kittens over it, remembering his own horrible stay there. In the end Enjolras and Gavroche had forced them to spend a week in Norwegian nature, at the Gavroche family cabin. Open space and fresh air would do them both good.

After the war had ended, Enjolras had thrown himself into his job of finding and capturing fleeing Gestapos and known Nazis. But now that his services were no longer needed, and with the Courfeyracs out of town, Enjolras was left alone with his thoughts and the whiskey. And he started feeling restless… and useless.

Useless and numb.

And just a little hopelessness lingered as well, ever since Stockholm.

He locked the door to his apartment and sat down on the sofa, the same sofa where Courfeyrac and Marius had wrestled over an airgun once upon a lifetime ago, and closed his eyes for a second.

When he tried hard enough, he could hear them.

"Hey, look what I have here!" Grantaire shouted, waving a big, expensive bottle of champagne over his head. "I've actually been saving this since April 9th, 1940. Swearing I would not drink from it, until Norway was safe… and free." The others laughed and teased the sentimental side of him.

"We know he's not one to save a bottle of anything," commented Joly, from his place by the window. Instead of the black curtains that had hung there for almost 4 years, the window was now covered with a Norwegian flag, filtering the light trough red, white and blue, and creating a nice, comfortable atmosphere.

Jehan started spewing poetic nonsense, the Bergen-R bordering on making it beautiful or just plain annoying. Marius was smoking his pipe again, threatening anyone that shot it out of his mouth on this day of celebration, would get what's coming for them and Bossuet was telling Grantaire to open the bottle already. The champagne opened with a loud pop and they all hastily shoved their glasses under the golden spray, even though they still left quite the mess on the table.

"Here you go, Feuilly" Joly had offered the shy kid a glass, "Bout time you get some alcohol, maybe we'll find you a nice dame later? Everything is possible now that Norway is free!" Joly winked, Feuilly blushed, but accepted the glass, and everybody else started cheering.

"I would like to propose a toast!" Marius shouted.

"To getting laid!" Grantaire supplied and took a huge sip.

"No, to us." Said Marius and they all raised their glasses with smiles on their faces.

"To peace," he continued, "to Partia."

"To Norway!" they exclaimed.

"To Enjolras." It suddenly fell silent as Enjolras glanced to the left and saw Combeferre sitting on the sofa next to him, it was he who had spoken. He stood and held his glass up, and everyone else did the same, looking at Enjolras as he sat on his sofa.

"To Enjolras." They said.

Enjolras blinked, and he was alone again. The room felt cold and empty once more.

These men, his friends, his brothers, were gone.

And they would never know they'd won them the war.

Enjolras found the bottle of Champagne that Grantaire had hid, opened it, and poured himself a glass.

He silently toasted his friends, the fallen, and emptied the glass in one gulp.

Soon the champagne was empty, and whiskey replaced the bubbles.

Enjolras could hear heels clicking in his living room. Softly, barely making a sound, but in his hung-over state it was still loud enough to be noticed. He continued lying on the sofa, as he had done the past few days, and ignored his wishful thoughts.

"Enjolras," she whispered.

He rolled over, seeing her. She looked out of place in the moody glow the flag had set over the room, she stood in a nice floral dress, different from the near uniform style clothes she usually wore, and the red dress she'd worn when they'd danced in his hotel room, the red dress that had occupied the floor that night. He closed his eyes and remembered the feel of her, bracing himself to see her gone when he reopened them, just like his friends, but she was still there.

"Courfeyrac said you'd be here," she said after it was clear that he would not be saying anything. "He's quite worried, said he'd called you a lot, but you didn't answer."

He stayed quiet, Courfeyrac had visited him every day since coming home from his honeymoon and threatening to blow up the door unless Enjolras unlocked it, not leaving him for hours. In the end it was Azelma that forced Courfeyrac to return home every evening, not wanting to be alone again. Not ever again. He was glad they had each other.

"How did you get in?" he asked, voice hoarse from drinking and shouting his frustrations in the dead of the night.

"I picked the locks," she said, matter-of-factly. She crossed her arms and made no move to leave.

He sighed, sitting up as quick as his throbbing head allowed him.

"And just why have you locked yourself into your apartment?" she asked. "You should be out in the streets celebrating with the rest of us."

He laughed without humour. "I am celebrating," he gestured to the many glasses with traces of alcohol that littered his coffee table.

He sighed once again before he looked at her.

"I don't really have a lot to celebrate."

"Nonsense," she told him as she sat down on the sofa next to him.

"I have no job, no education, no family. No friends," he was getting agitated now, "I'm here and they're dead. Is it too much to ask? Is it too much to ask to have died, and let Combeferre be here in my place?" His voice broke and he felt all the aggression melt away, leaving only the hopelessness behind, "I have no… you." He trailed off, raising a bottle to his lips.

"Enjolras," she said, stopping his hand from reaching his mouth with the bottle. "I had it all; a good job, a nice apartment in Stockholm, and a beautiful house in England. I married a diplomat, whose family and mine have been friends for years, we have a beautiful son, a great boy, and they're waiting for me back in England… but still; I'm here."

"Why?" he croaked, barely holding the tears at bay.

"Why am I here? With an alcoholic who's got no job, no education, no family and no friends, so he chooses to lock himself in his apartment to feel sorry for himself?" she asked.

He blinked and nodded.

"No matter how good my life was, I know it can be better and, well, we have something special, Enjolras, and I don't think I can live my life without it."

He looked at her, feeling hope for the first time since Stockholm, his hands blindly reached out to hold her hands, and she didn't pull away. He could feel her fingers, soft and lean, and it suddenly hit him that she was here. He pulled her closer, cupping her cheek and running his other hand down her back. He only spared a moment to look at her face, brown eyes shining, lips quirked in a hopeful smirk, and her hair a mess as his hand ran through it. He kissed her then, and she didn't pull away.

He would have died a thousand deaths, for his friends, for his cause, for his fellow countrymen, but just then, just there, with 'Ponine holding him close, her chest pressed to his, one arm around his shoulders and the other knotted in his messy blond hair, he would have lived a thousand lives.

He would have lived a thousand lives, just to make her happy.

And knowing that despite his issues; his reoccurring nightmares, his drinking and his demons, and despite the fact that she was technically married to another man, she was utterly and completely his. And it was enough to make him smile again, to make him live, to make an effort. He had found something new to live for.

And he had found a way to stay alive.

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A/N THIS WAS IT!

ALMOST BC HERE COMES THE BONUS:

THis fic is based on a true story.

Enjolras is based on Max Manus who, after the war ended, started his own office supplies company. Courfeyrac was based off of Kolbein Lauring who did fight with Max in Finland and who did go to Grini, and whose wife did receive a King's Medal for Courage in the Cause of Freedom and they lived a quiet and happy life together.

And Éponine, sweet bby, is based off of Tikken Manus, who was a kick ass lady who was married to a diplomat and had a son and got divorced for Max and had two kids with him and a great life, a long life.

And Gavroche, based off of Gunnar "the Chin" Sønsteby. He is Norway's most decorated person.

So yeah, they were real people. Combeferre was based of off Gregers Gram, and damn it he did die at plass cafe and damn it Edvard Tallaksen (Marius) DID kill himself so as to not give up his friends under torture.

They were both awarded medals posthumously.

I am sorry.

And feel free to ask any and all questions about these kick ass people!