WHOO! Did she actually decide to update? That's right; she did. Two people to thank: Toff and Bellaspirita for betaing with all their awesomeness.

Next, a second thank you to BellaSpirita who appears in this chapter- the first OC!- and actually rewrote most of her scene (all of her dialogue, and other sections) so make sure to credit her for that!

Moving on, thanks to all reviewers, and sorry about the teeny three month lack of updates.

COSETTE

Whap!

Cosette sat up with a start, her hair slightly mussed as she looked about wildly. Clapping a hand to her heart, she bit her lower lip, exhaling slowly.

"I imagined it," she said loudly, enunciating each syllable clearly. Presently, she felt her heart slow. She rearranged her pillows and slumped back into her bed, pulling her fluffy comforter around her once again, noticing gladly that the heat in her bed had not vanished with her fright.

Whap!

No imagining, this time. Gathering her courage, she slipped out of bed, crossing the floor to the window silently. She flipped the latch securing the shutters aside and pushed up on the glass. Steeling herself for the worst, she looked down.

"Marius!"

And indeed it was- Marius Pontmercy was outside her house, waist-deep in the back yard's shrubbery, throwing pebbles at her window. Shaking her head with exasperation and soundless mirth, Cosette threw her dressing gown over her pajamas and moved as silently as was humanly possible down the stairs, out the door into the yard.

"Marius, what are you…?"

He hushed her with a raised hand. "I looked for you during your lunch period. You weren't there. Why?"

Cosette bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that the lights in her father's bedroom were still extinguished. They were. "I wasn't at school today, Marius." She sighed. "Look at the flower beds," she muttered, pointing.

"What?"

"Look at them!" Marius nodded, and Cosette continued. "My dad weeds the garden every two weeks."

"Your dad gardens?"

"Yes. Shut up. Papa went through two weeks ago, and he went through again early this morning. He came in early, looking distraught. So I asked him what was wrong. He told me that something had showed up in the garden- something had been left there since the last time he weeded. He wouldn't tell me what it was. And he… He seemed a bit disturbed. I really couldn't justify going to school and leaving him like this…"

Marius shrugged. "I'm sure it's nothing; some neighborhood kids likely threw something over the fence."

Cosette nodded, though she still looked troubled. "I'm sure that's it… I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

Taking Cosette's hand, Marius led her to a small stone bench in the corner of the yard, squeezing her fingers in a comforting motion and glancing at her dressing gown as he did so. Catching sight of some embroidery, he reached out and smoothed the cloth, straining to see what it said. "Euphrasie?"

"Hmm?"

"Your robe. It says Euphrasie."

Smirking in an impossibly sweet manner, Cosette spoke. "My first name; I don't know why everybody insists on calling me Cosette. It's a nasty, common name."

They sat, still holding hands.

"I like it."

"Which?" Cosette tilted her head towards her right shoulder. "Euphrasie or Cosette?"

"Cosette." He lowered his lips to her pale, soft hand.

She was silent for a moment, and then slid closer to Marius. "In that case, I like it, too." He put his arm about her waist, and she leaned her head against the curve between his neck and shoulder. "It's turned so cold," she muttered, not wanting to move a muscle.

He drew her closer. "You should go in, then. You could catch something…"

She nodded. "Come back tomorrow?"

Pulling her into a deeper embrace, he kissed the top of her head. "I will."

Cosette rose and walked back to the back door of her house. Turning, she saw that Marius was still seated on the bench, watching her. She stepped closer to him, taking his hand and pulling him upright. Slowly, she raised her lips to meet his. "I love you." With that, she fled into the enveloping warmth of her home.

Stricken, Marius turned and climbed the fence, clumsily rattling the rusty chain that secured the gate.

As he did so, Jean Valjean made an unwelcome return to consciousness.

THE SPOKEN

"Please take your seats, children." Bahorel and Courfeyrac exchanged exasperated, albeit worried, looks, eyes turned towards the ceiling of the auditorium in a defiant gesture of bravado. Now they turned their attention to the older woman standing on the stage before the school's battered podium. "Now, I know that you're all wondering why you're here…"

"Hah! They're going to give us cookies," Gavroche hissed quite audibly from the seat next to Jehan.

"…So let me assure you that none of your valuable learning time will be wasted." Here, most of the school felt compelled to snicker. "Now. You are all about to be inducted…"

"This doesn't sound good," Combeferre muttered, watching Enjolras' lips press into a thin, tense line.

"…To a wonderful society for our nation's children!" A visceral shiver ran about the auditorium- a shiver mainly comprised of excitement, but also, in part, of severe apprehension. "This society is called the 'Victorious Youth,' and will connect all of you young people with other young people across our country. Now, may I introduce your newly-selected Officer, Dominique Javert?"

The applause was scattered at best.

"Dominique will now lead you in your pledge."

Dominique smiled and stepped behind the podium. "Thank you all. Now. If somebody would be so good as to dim the lights and focus the spotlight on our nation's banner…"

The lights went down, and a voice was heard to hiss, "Go!"

Moving in shadow, a few figures slipped from the darkened auditorium.

ENJOLRAS

"Wait," he whispered as The Spoken emerged, blinking in the sunlight of the main atrium. "Stand close to the doors; we'll want to hear what's going on."

Dominique's voice echoed clearly through the cracked doorway. "Place your hands over your heart, turn to face the flag, and repeat after me.

I promise in the Victorious Youth

To do my duty at all times

In love and faithfulness to the Leaders…

So help me, God.

Congratulations; you are now all members of the Victorious Youth. Now. If somebody would be so kind as to bring the lights back up…" Enjolras peered through the gap between the double doors.

"Well, that was sonorous," Grantaire mumbled.

"Shut up!"

Dominique's voice continued. "Now, in accordance with some new Governmental requirements…"

"Dieu," Bahorel muttered.

"… We would like for you all to take a sheet of paper- I'll pass some around- and write down any problems that you see with the Victorious Administration; with our government. As members of the Victorious Youth, you are all encouraged to have a voice in Governmental affairs…"

"That's bull," Courfeyrac hissed. "Isn't that the same line they used in Communist China? And if you say anything that they don't like…" He ran a finger across his throat in an unmistakable gesture.

"Now, please do not shirk your duties in this matter- this will be asked of all citizens. However, if you have no suggestions for the Government, you are welcome to say so. If you choose to, you may compliment certain aspects of…"

Enjolras shook his head. "We should leave now, before they see us."

"Where to?"

"The café. We ought to pick up a newspaper on the way as well; if this has been reported, we'll need to see where the press stands."

JEHAN

There on the street, the newspaper was ripped apart, each of the nine shouting the headlines for the others to hear, voices raised and overlapping in excitement, anger, and fear.

"Confessional! Thirty-two arrested as terrorists in New York!"

"Streets and highways blockaded in NYC and DC!"

"Uprisings and disorder…"

And, inevitably…

ENJOLRAS

"Let's build a barricade."

The backroom of the café fell silent as Combeferre gave a start and turned to look at Enjolras, his brow furrowed in a classic 'what the hell?' look. "Excuse me?"

"This is enough; the people have begun to rise. We always said that we'd aid the revolution when it came; so let us do as we said."

"A barricade," Combeferre said softly, slowly, as if tasting the word. "Why the hell would we want to do that?"

"You know your history, Combeferre. You tell me."

"You mean… The French Revolution."

"Certainly, you've noticed parallels between their situation and ours. It seems fitting."

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. "And who would lead this… this…insurrection?"

Enjolras lifted his chin sharply. "I will."

The table exchanged glances. "Er… Don't take this personally… But… They will fry us if we so much as think about this." Jehan said, every muscle in his body tense. "Don't misunderstand; we will follow you- likely to what fate we all fear…"

Here he paused, and there was only silence.

"…But are you sure that's the way to go?"

"Look around you! Look at the past fifty years! How do you suggest we go about this? Peaceably… I concur; that would be preferable. Perhaps several thousand lawsuits may be in order? Shall we file them now? No; that's been tried and the involved parties have been arrested as terrorists and shall be executed in light of the massacre. Shall we hold public debates? No; again, we shall be executed as terrorists, should we try." He was silent for a long moment. "We shall meet the same fate, whatever we do. History has spoken. Has anybody a better idea? The idea of a violent death rather discomforts me. Say what you can; once we begin, there will be no going back."

The room was silent.

"Very well; with an insurrection in mind… Well. We'll need more than a handful of schoolchildren; that's certain. Ammunition, a location for the barricade… This is a hefty undertaking." Enjolras stood, his eyes gleaming. "Well, then. We'd best get started. Courfeyrac. You will go to the rest of the students who would be willing to support our cause. Hunt around, but keep your head down. Feuilly. Didn't you have a friend with an uncle who dealt in firearms? Can you talk to her? Combeferre and I will begin a bit of writing… Some literature to distribute to stir the area into action. Jean, you'll help us with that… Bossuet, Joly- don't you have connections at the University? Can you go to them? Bahorel. If you could go to the Plant, the afternoon shift's just getting off in a half hour. They're an enthusiastic crowd there, and they've probably gotten the worst out of the economic drop- I don't doubt that they would be useful." He looked at his watch. "It's half past five now. Tomorrow is Saturday…" He broke off, thoughtful. "Meet here at six o'clock tomorrow."

"Morning?"

"Of course."

Quickly, eight of The Spoken exited the café.

Who was the exception? Well. You may guess, for this is what he said:

"You're an ingrate, Enjolras. I won't come to your funeral…"

FEUILLY

He knocked repeatedly on the door; still no one was coming. He knew that she was home, but that she had a tendency to glue her nose to the monitor while working and ignore anything else. Sighing, he continued to knock for a further five minutes before the door opened a crack, and a face appeared on the other side.

"What kept you?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "Well, it's a pleasure to see you, too." The door opened fully. She had grown since last he had seen her, though she was hardly what anybody could call tall; she stood a full head beneath him at five feet and two inches. Her dark brown hair had grown as well; it now reached her waist.

"Thanks, Caitlin." He stepped into the foyer of her house, and she led him into the kitchen.

"Want something to drink?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks." Taking the chair she offered him, he glanced across the table at her. "So…"

"So, tell me, what's new and exciting? How's school?"

"Turning progressively fascist, actually."

"So I've heard. And I'd imagine that that's why you're here...?"

He smiled vaguely. "Yes. Okay. Long story."

"Do tell."

"Well. You know about the riot in NYC, right? And everything else that's happening? Various uprisings, so on, so forth…"

She made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, I heard something or other," she said wryly. "Sixty-seven college students gunned down by pigs in riot gear or some such thing."

Feuilly shook his head. "Most people- kids, I mean- don't know."

"Well, 'most kids' aren't exactly rocket scientists, now, are they?"

Again, Feuilly shook his head. "No. They're not." He sighed. "Well…"

Caitlin snorted. "Let me venture a guess. You're planning an insurrection, and you want me to provide the ammunition."

"My, but you're astute…"

Standing swiftly, the legs of her chair screeching, Caitlin shook her head. "No-no-no. Am I to understand that you actually, in all seriousness, want me to-?"

"Well, you said it!"

"Sarcasm, Feuilly!" Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she leaned a hand on the table, and leaned her weight on her hand. "I do hope that you realize how heavily-regulated firearms are. It would be nearly impossible to pull off a stunt like this-"

Feuilly grabbed her arm. "Look. Your uncle deals in firearms, right? You could pull something like this off with his help."

She was silent for a moment. "It's not impossible," she said finally.

He sighed, pushing himself further back into his seat. "Isn't there some sort of black market…?"

Caitlin laughed –rather mirthlessly- and sat again. "Yeah. Yes, there is."

"And can you work with it?"

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. "I might be able to. It would be a calculated risk, but I could probably get my uncle to give me the access codes if I tell him that…I'm an officer in the Victorious Youth or something- yes, he supports them; and no, he's not exactly the brightest light in the harbor. But if I'm found out, you do realize that I'll be arrested, and my uncle will likely be stripped of his license and locked up with me. Right?"

"Right. So you'll do it?"

She sighed. "What the hell. I need to get out of the house anyway."