We're so sorry for the long gap between updates - school's been getting really heavy for both of us. Still, at long last, enjoy the new chapter.

The next hour passed as if a dream for Enjolras. Vague events were imprinted on his memory- their arrival at a shabby house; Fauchelevent personally carrying Combeferre, with great gentleness, into a sparsely furnished guest bedroom; Fauchelevent's daughter uttering a cry of mingled shock and delight as she saw Marius descend from the cabriolet. Anything more than that proved to be too taxing to Enjolras' memory.

The next thing he remembered with any great clarity was the arrival of Fauchelevent's doctor, an elderly, kindly man, called Roussel, who might have been the former's brother. Dr. Roussel expelled everyone except for Enjolras, from Combeferre's sickbed, in order to conduct an examination. Enjolras himself would have been sent away as well, if it hadn't been for Combeferre's weak cry when he saw Enjolras departing. So he remained in the bedroom, sitting on the bed, gripping Combeferre's hand for moral support as Dr. Roussel, none too gently, started prodding around his stomach. Several times, Justinien cried out, causing Enjolras to clench his lieutenant's hand all the tighter, and mentally apologize, dozens of times, for putting him through this agony.

By the time the hellish encounter was over, Combeferre had retreated into unconsciousness to escape the pain. Enjolras, his hand still firmly in Justinien's grasp, looked up at Dr. Roussel as he washed his hands.

"Doctor...tell me. Is Combeferre going to be alright?"

Roussel didn't answer for a moment, as he methodically wiped his hands on a clean towel. After what seemed like an eternity to Enjolras, he spoke.

"The operation your friend did to remove the bullet was both very brave, and very stupid. The damage he could have done to himself is unthinkable. But, alas. The bullet was properly removed, and he did minimal internal damage. The boy has good hands, for a student.

"All the same, you're lucky that I'm seeing him when I am - there's the beginnings of a nasty infection that, if left untreated, would kill him off. I'll prescribe something for that. I've already given him something for the pain. But, aside from that...I believe he'll be alright, provided he stays in bed, resting, and gets enough food to keep his strength up."

Enjolras could have fainted with relief. Combeferre was going to live - he was going to be alright. For the first time in the last few days, Enjolras felt himself relax slightly.

"Doctor Roussel, I can never thank you enough for what you have done. For me- for all of us- to lose Justinien...it would have been truly unthinkable."

Roussel gave him an appraising look. "If you're really so fond of him, then I'd think twice before leading him off to take part in petty riots in future. You were lucky this time - don't count on it next time."

Before Enjolras had time to even formulate some scrap of response, Roussel gathered up his things, and left. Enjolras stayed there, frozen by Combeferre's bedside, for quite some time- until M. Fauchelevent himself silently eased his way into the room. He was a large, imposing man, but his size was hardly noticeable to Enjolras, cloaked as it was in modesty and reticence. Taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed, M. Fauchelevent fixed Enjolras with a penetrating look.

"Dr Roussel says that your friend will live. No thanks whatsoever to you, but he will live."

Enjolras' eyes hardened. "Monsieur, I appreciate what you have done for us. It was a thoroughly unsolicited act of kindness that could not be expected from most people. But, with all due respect, that does not give you the right to speak so."

Fauchelevent fell silent, his eyes downcast. At last, he spoke again. "Forgive me, Monsieur. I spoke hastily, and without knowing the full situation. But the fact remains - you are, by unanimous agreement according to the gentlemen downstairs, the leader of this group of outlaws. Thus, this man's injuries are held accountable to you, and to you alone."

"Do you not think that I feel acute guilt for Justinien's injuries and suffering? Believe me, I am only too well acquainted with the fact that I am entirely responsible for this. If he had died, it would have been me who had killed him, just as surely as if I had been the one who shot him." Enjolras fell silent, and ducked his head, trying to hide the emotions currently getting the better of him.

At the sight of the young man's obvious distress, M. Fauchelevent's expression softened somewhat. "But he- Combeferre, isn't it?- isn't going to die. And, if Dr. Roussel's excellent doctoring is anything to go by, he will make a full recovery."

Enjolras rose his head, slowly, his eyes prominent with suffering. "Even if he does, all the suffering he endures throughout this entire ordeal is still my fault. He's my dearest friend, and I've done this to him."

"Morally, maybe it is. But you do not seem to me to be the sort of person who bothers with morality in particular. You're more fixated on the practical, on the concrete, aren't you?"

Enjolras nodded slowly.

"Then, in practice, you have no culpability for Combeferre's injuries. Did you force him to be at that barricade? Is he a weak boy, one to easily be dominated and ordered about?"

Enjolras shook his head. "Most definitely not." His voice failed him slightly on the middle word, but he pushed through all the same.

"Then it was his own decision to be at the barricade. He chose to be there, knowing the risks of remaining. You had nothing to do with it. Yes, it's understandable that you still feel guilty about it - but you must simply be happy that he's going to pull through this."

Enjolras remained silent, his eyes fixated on Combeferre's pale, thin face. At last, M. Fauchelevent rose, with a sigh.

Enjolras inclined his head. "Thank you again, Monsieur. I can't ever begin to repay you for this."

"Make no mention of it. It's human decency, nothing more." Before Enjolras could say another word, Fauchelevent was gone, shutting the door carefully behind him.

Before the door had fully shut, the Amis, minus Marius, all filed into the room, and inquired after Combeferre's health.

"How is he, Enjolras? Monsieur Fauchelevent wouldn't tell us anything more than that he's going to live."

"He's...unconscious, as you can see. The examination was very painful for him, I gather. The doctor said that there's the beginnings of an infection, but that it's easily treated. The surgery successfully removed the bullet, without doing any internal damage, as well...apparently, Justinien is extremely lucky to have avoided doing so."

Enjolras relayed the story, his hand firmly grasped in Combeferre's the whole time. His friends reinforced what Monsieur Fauchelevent said earlier: Combeferre's injuries were not Enjolras' fault.

"You know as well as I that nothing could have kept him away," Courfeyrac said truthfully. "Not if we were there. Not if you were there."

Enjolras nodded, his throat constricted. He would love to believe the words, but he was not sure he could just yet.

A knock sounded on the door, and Fauchelevent's daughter entered.

"Messieurs, my father and I would be pleased to have you join us for dinner downstairs. Madame Toussaint is a wonderful cook, and we've set places for all of you. You are greatly welcome; will you join us?" She gestured out the door, her kind eyes warm.

Feuilly gaped at her, reaching of his head as if to remove his hat, before realizing he was not wearing one.

"Er, yes, Mademoiselle. Thank you."

She smiled and glanced at the others. Courfeyrac snickered at Feuilly, before accepting her invitation as well. The Amis made to follow her, but Enjolras cast a glance at Combeferre's sleeping form.

Fauchelevent's daughter caught the glance, and looked at him warmly and with an understanding that made him somewhat uncomfortable.

"I can have Toussaint send a tray up for you, Monsieur Enjolras," she said, "if you'd prefer it that way."

"Why- thank you Mademoiselle," he said. "I'd prefer not to leave Justinien."

"Of course," she said, before looking at the rest of them. "Shall we?"

Feuilly and the rest followed her like ducklings trailing after their mother, and left Enjolras alone with Combeferre's gentle, steady breathing.

Meanwhile, there was a minor tempest brewing downstairs, as Cosette led the young men into the dining room. M. Fauchelevent greeted them politely, and gestured for them to sit down; they complied. After they were all seated, Cosette reappeared from the kitchen, this time accompanied by Madame Toussaint, both women carrying dishes of food, which they placed on the table. It was then, that Grantaire, having been largely silent up until this point, made a disastrous move.

"Ah, thank you, mon cherie - it has been a very long while since I have had a good meal, but I have never had one served by such a delightful and stunningly beautiful young woman."

Cosette, blushing furiously, ducked her head, and made to leave the room from embarrassment. However, Grantaire seemed to have a different idea and, before M. Fauchelevent had time to act, grabbed her around the waist.

"Come now, my pretty girl, no need to be so prudish and virginal. Has no one ever told you how lovely you are before?"

It was difficult to tell who was more furious at this turn of events: Marius, his face brick red with anger, or M. Fauchelevent, his eyes full of cold, dangerous fury. Both immediately rose and came over to Grantaire's chair - while Marius quickly extricated a frightened-looking Cosette from the drunkard's grasp, M. Fauchelevent grabbed Grantaire by the scruff of the neck.

"There is no place in my house for a man who so insults my daughter. Get out, now."

The other Amis, their faces red with indignation and horror at Grantaire's actions, half-expected him to put up a fight. Mercifully, he didn't.

"Very well, Monsieur, I shall. I did not intend to insult the sainted Mademoiselle, merely to compliment her. She, she understands these things; she is a woman, after all. You are the one who took offense."

With a final nod and slightly leering look in Cosette's direction, Grantaire left. As M. Fauchelevent, still shaking with anger, made his way back over to his chair, and Marius guided Cosette into the kitchen to make sure she was alright, the Amis exchanged looks. It was a few minutes of awkward, tense silence, before Courfeyrac spoke.

"Monsieur, you cannot comprehend how inexpressibly sorry we are for that bit of unpleasantness. Grantaire is...well, let's just say, he doesn't speak for us all. We are just as outraged at his actions as you."

M. Fauchelevent looked up, and shook his head.

"No, I do not think it is possible to be so - but thank you for your apology. It is much appreciated."

At just this moment, the kitchen door opened again, and Cosette and Marius came into the room, arm-in-arm. M. Fauchelevent threw glowering looks, as the two of them retook their seats, giving each other affectionate glances from time to time. Madame Toussaint came clucking into the dining room a few minutes later, bearing the last plate of food, and at her urging, the diners started to eat.

Enjolras only picked at the tray that was brought to the room a little while later. The food was excellent, but he was unable to tear himself away from Combeferre long enough to enjoy it, in any way. After about half an hour, the door of the bedroom creaked open again, and the other Amis, minus Marius, filed in, looking content, their conversation cutting off sharply as soon as they entered the room. Enjolras looked up at them, gesturing to Combeferre's still form.

"You don't have to be silent, he can't hear you, anyways."

Feuilly, apparently, didn't need to be told twice, as he turned back to Courfeyrac, looking unusually animated.

"And she's absolutely lovely. A tender goddess of mercy and kindness and sweetness, just..." He trailed off, words apparently failing him. Courfeyrac clapped him on the shoulder, looking vastly amused.

"In love at last, are we, Feuilly? I agree, Mademoiselle Fauchelevent is an uncommonly attractive young lady. But, remember, she's been claimed by our dreamy Pontmercy. So unless if you're willing to work something out like Joly and Bousset, I'd suggest you find yourself a new girl. And preferably one without a dragon of a father, too."

Feuilly blushed. "But she's just so perfect in every way. Have you seen her profile? So delicate, and noble - just begging to be drawn. Her nose is so shapely...I couldn't begin to do it justice."

"What an unusual fellow you are, Feuilly. Any other man would have realized that her nose isn't the only part of her that's shapely."

Enjolras, having endured this conversation in silence, at last spoke. "Courfeyrac, please do not make such comments about the daughter of our host. I most certainly do not appreciate it, and I'm sure that neither Marius, nor her father, would either."

Courfeyrac fell silent, although the topic of Mademoiselle Fauchelevent was evidently very much on his mind; Feuilly, his eyes and cheeks still bright, kneeled next to Combeferre's bedside, and grasped his hand.

Courfeyrac came over to the bedside, and positioned himself alongside the others; by unspoken consent, the three of them stayed like that for several minutes, watching Combeferre's still form anxiously. Their vigilance was at last paid off as, after about half an hour, Combeferre's eyes fluttered open slightly. Immediately, they sprung into action - Courfeyrac, to pour a glass of water, Feuilly, to go and inform Monsieur Fauchelevent, and Enjolras, to smooth back the hair from Combeferre's forehead.

"You're alright, Justinien. Or rather, you're going to be."

Combeferre, his eyes darting around the room confusedly, didn't ask any questions, but instead accepted a sip of water from the cup Enjolras pressed to his lips. When he was finished, he rested his head back on the pillows, and looked up at Enjolras, his eyes slightly more focused than before.

"It doesn't hurt anymore. What happened?"

Enjolras, happy to hear him speaking coherently again, smiled in spite of himself. "The doctor gave you something for the pain...it's working, then."

"Evidently so."

None of them spoke for a few minutes, until a furiously blushing Feuilly slipped back into the room, looking vaguely star struck. He didn't speak for a few seconds, as he retook his position.

"M. Fauchelevent is very pleased...as are Cosette and Marius."

Courfeyrac gave him a sideways glance. "So you've moved on from 'a tender goddess' to the everyday familiarity of first names, I see."

Feuilly blushed even harder, as he muttered, "She asked me to call her that."

Combeferre gave Enjolras a slightly confused look. "What is going on?"

Enjolras laughed slightly. "Believe me, Justinien, you don't want to know."

Courfeyrac interjected. "I beg to differ, Lucien. Have you ever encountered anything that Combeferre didn't want to know?" He threw an arm over a mortified Feuilly's shoulders. "Our darling Feuilly here has just fallen head over heels for Marius' mistress, and it's very adorable and sweet to see. Ah, young love."

Combeferre shook his head slightly. "Lucien's right, I'd rather not have known that."

Downstairs, now that the worst of the trouble was done with, Cosette took a satisfied seat beside Marius, who was staring catatonically at the wall opposite, more tired than he'd ever been in his life.

Cosette became aware that she was being watched, and turned to see her father staring at them both. Smiling at him, she patted the seat on her other side, until her father came and sat beside her.

"I think there's only one thing for it," she declared, and noticed happily when both men looked at her in curiosity. "Father, Marius and I have decided not to live without each other. You've decided to postpone our trip to England. I think that leaves only one thing left."

Marius' eyes widened at her gall, and he watched as her father turned pale. Marius should have been upset that Cosette robbed him of the chance to be honorable and ask her father for her hand, but he was so exhausted that anything making the decision easier just relieved him. Besides, after the past twenty-four hours, it was doubtful Monsieur Fauchelevent would ever think their courtship honorable.

"I've always wanted a winter wedding," Cosette mused. Marius gulped.

"I think..." Monsieur Fauchelevent began, before shaking his head, resigned. "I think I should speak to your grandfather, Monsieur. We have some arrangements to make."

Cosette squealed, while Marius just sat in shock. He was shocked again when Cosette, after pecking her father on the cheek, leaned over and kissed him as well, right in front of her father. Marius turned red as a beet.

"I'm exhausted- it's been quite a day. Goodnight, you two. I love you both!" she said happily, as if it had always been a wish of hers to have the two of them sitting beside each other. It probably had.

As soon as she was out of the room, Monsieur Fauchelevent turned to Marius. It was clear at once that, though they were working together now, feelings of animosity still lingered. Marius nose throbbed from when Cosette's father had punched him.

"Just because I've agreed does not mean I can't revoke my permission," he warned, his voice so threatening that Marius could not breathe. "You slip up once- once!- and Cosette and I are as good as gone. Anything wrong from you, young man, and I can make it so she won't even miss you. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Marius said, terrified.

"Fine then," Monsieur Fauchelevent said, and excused himself.

The chatter of the amis was cut off when M. Fauchelevent came back into the room, and addressed them awkwardly, although not unkindly.

"It's getting late, all of you - you ought to go to sleep soon."

Courfeyrac jumped up. "Ah, yes, Monsieur, it's as we discussed at dinner- Marius and I will go back to our flat for tonight, and return in the morning. If you don't mind, Lucien. You'll still have Feuilly with you tonight, of course."

Enjolras pulled himself from a quiet discussion with Combeferre. "No, no, I don't mind at all. I thank you for your kindness, Monsieur."

Fauchelevent nodded shortly, before withdrawing. Courfeyrac didn't linger much longer in the bedroom, before saying affectionate goodbyes to Enjolras and Feuilly, giving Combeferre's hand a light squeeze, and going downstairs to shepherd Marius away from Rue Plumet.

A few hours later, the house was dark from the outside; an observer from the street would have said that the occupants were entirely asleep. It was on the contrary, however - the residents and guests at 55 Rue Plumet were still buzzing with activity, albeit silent and solitary. Enjolras remained fixed by Combeferre's bedside all that night, speaking gently to the invalid while he was awake, and patiently holding his hand while he slept; Feuilly had gone off to the bedroom allotted ostensibly to he and Enjolras, where he sat at the desk and daydreamed about Mlle. Fauchelevent; Valjean lay awake, unable to sleep for thinking about that blasted Pontmercy boy, and how peculiarly happy and charming Cosette became in his presence; while the girl herself danced around her bedroom in her nightdress, thrilled to the very core by the events of the past day.

A few streets over, at 17 Rue de la Verrerie, Marius lay happily dead sleep, while Courfeyrac lit a candle, and proceeded to hunt around through Marius' drawers, searching for any evidence of his love affair - a note, a handkerchief, a lock of hair. At last, even Courfeyrac had to admit defeat - and so, slipped back into his bed and, presently, he slept.

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