I'm going to stop making excuses for myself and say that my absence has been a matter of stress, distraction, and a bit of embarrassment. I'm not sure how I feel about this fic anymore, and this coming year I have to write a novel sized work for my creative writing thesis. I can't promise these chapters will come with the frequency I'd like. But I have stuff written ahead, so if someone shoots me a message or a review saying "hey, the fucking fuck? Time to post a new chapter." I'll probably remember and get one to you. It's always your reviews that bring me back to this.

Thanks for bearing with me, and hope I don't disappoint.

Chapter Ten: Cover Me

Jehan kept Grantaire's arm wrapped firmly around his own. Not that he necessarily thought that the artist was going to try and run off again, he just wanted to make sure that he had an anchor of some kind.

He wasn't going to admit his concerns that this was a terrible idea either. They could be wrong about what Éponine was planning, and he knew for a fact that they didn't have all the information. Not even close. But no one else could get to Cosette's house quick enough and Grantaire's van could make a scene. If there was a chance that either of the girls or Marius was in danger, they had to do something. Someone needed to be there.

Despite all of the close quarters and group planning sessions, nobody had been good at communicating what they planned to do when it mattered. Enjolras had run off to New York and came back with some dangerous strategy. Éponine and Marius had run off to Cosette's.

That was the piece that didn't fit to him. Everyone's gone into panic mode, but they've also gone into their familial protection mode. Éponine, no doubt, took off to keep everyone else safe from being associated with her. So it made no sense for her to go from protecting everyone, to risking Cosette and her family. Yes, it was a strategic location, but Éponine and Cosette were good friends, and it made no sense that Éponine would be okay with that risk.

Cosette had once told them that they were all pieces on a chessboard, working together for some greater goal. But the group had been divided since Enjolras had taken off without telling anyone where he was going or what he was doing. When their chief returned, he brought them a plan that (from what little he could glean from Combeferre and Grantaire's behavior the other night) seemed to only include one player. Cosette stopped seeing them, and Musichetta kept away. Then Éponine and Marius went AWOL.

Grantaire looked like he was taking the worst of it. He had barely managed to deal with Enjolras' vigilante ideas when Éponine took off as well. As stretched thin as he was, and pinned down in the house arrest, Jehan hadn't been surprised at all by his reaction. It was horrible of course, pinning his hysterical friend down to the rug and watching him implode. There were too many tragic verses he could write about that look of utter collapse. No amount of expectation could protect him from that memory of holding one friend down, while he begged another to help him.

Jehan couldn't dwell on it though. Not now. None of them had the chance to dwell on it. The houses began to look familiar as they looped around some of the back roads of the neighborhood Cosette lived in. In between him and Courfeyrac, Grantaire trembled. His eyes darted left and right, trying to watch out for anyone.

Up above them, there was a bright waxing moon in the sky. It was a gorgeous sight, and yet Jehan couldn't help the feelings of dread pooling in his stomach. Maybe it was because he was currently taking a 19th century British Literature class, and he was in the middle of the Romantic period. He absolutely loved the theory, the style, and the work that came out of it. And the moon was a common symbol in the genre. It often represented mystery, fear, the subconscious, and illusions. It was the beacon in the realm of shadow and night, and could either inspire or lead you astray.

Everything looks worse at night.

That's what one of his friends had told him the night he was picked up from the hospital. Ever since his Mom had told him "it's probably best if you don't come back," and left him, he'd been in a state of shock. He had kept his head bowed and refused to look the doctors and nurses in the eye when they spoke to him. Then finally, a friend had come to collect him and promised that everything looks worse at night. Just wait until morning.

What followed for the next month were several night times of him nearly going back. Whether to finish the conversation with his Pop, to ask his Mom why she had turned away, or to just try to get his books back, sometimes he didn't even know. But his friend stopped him every time, and every time Jehan had seen her get wearier. So he changed houses, and stayed with different friends. His understanding of faith mixed with the idea of a future that had to be happier than the life he had been living then. And when he got into college on a full ride, he chose to be happy again. He chose Les Amis de l'ABC, and chose to live in daytimes and spend nights with his friends.

But what had transpired this past week had been the decisions of several night times, and not a morning in sight.

So Jehan kept his grip on Grantaire's arm, and let Courfeyrac lead them to Cosette's house.

It was an honest-to-God suburban community. The houses sat in rows next to each other, with a few feet of alley space between every handful of structures. The front had a porch and a little room for a small yard. Most houses just had grass and maybe a bush or two, but Cosette had turned her yard into a full scale garden.

And that was why, when the three of them turned the final alley corner to her house, it took Jehan a moment to spot the dark figure standing on the porch, talking to Cosette. He reacted instantly, spinning around and yanking his friends back to the alley and pressing them back against the wall. Slowly, he crouched down, and the others followed suit.

"Claquesous' here," Jehan whispered as calmly as he could, although he could feel himself beginning to sway slightly. Goosebumps rose on his skin.

"Éponine?" Grantaire whimpered as quietly as he could. His back was pressed against the wall, and Courfeyrac kept an arm against the cynic's chest, physically barring him from getting any closer.

Jehan, who crouched near the corner of the house, peered around to look at the sight two houses down. Underneath the porch light he could see a man who looked slightly taller and slightly broader than average. He wasn't pure bulk like Bahorel; instead, he looked like just about any other man he could pass on the street without a second thought. Perhaps that was better for him though. To be unsuspecting is sometimes the strongest weapon.

Jehan looked across from the threat, and his eyes widened when the face that met him wasn't who he expected. They'd all been prepared to see Éponine meeting Claquesous to barter or threaten him. But pressed back against the front door was a girl with blonde hair, not brunette.

"She's not there," he said puzzled. "He's talking to Cosette."

"What?" Both Grantaire and Courfeyrac hissed, and he had to shush them.

Grantaire pushed his way around Courfeyrac and came to crouch near Jehan. For several moments, he stared at the cynic, looking for any indication of what he might do. The man in front of him looked much more in control than he had half an hour ago, although this sort of control was a dangerous one. Grantaire almost looked like Enjolras the way every muscle of him was tensed, and the way he clipped his words through a locked jaw.

But he didn't look wild anymore. He looked like a man with a mission, and that was better than nothing. So Jehan slid out of the way to give him room to see. Courfeyrac was still crouched a few feet away, staring at the both of them with a look of concern across his face. But Jehan didn't have time to reassure him. Instead, he stood up a bit and peered at the scene from above Grantaire.

"Éponine wouldn't let her do that without a reason. And she wouldn't leave Cosette alone to face him," Grantaire whispered, shaking his head and moving back to the alley.

"Are you sure that's Claquesous?" Courfeyrac, speaking for the first time since Jehan told them that they were going after Éponine. "She could just be talking to her father or something."

"She has one of Ep's knives tucked into her waistband." Grantaire said far too evenly.

That ended that debate. Courfeyrac shut his mouth.

"Let me through," Jehan finally said. "I want to listen, see if we can figure out what they're trying to do."

Without a doubt, Jehan had the best ears out of the entire group, so neither questioned his request. Grantaire moved back and he shifted back to his spot on the ground. This time he didn't even bother with the pretense of crouching, Jehan didn't care enough about his clothes to freak out about sitting on the pavement. He just needed to find out why their little lark was confronting a mob boss, why she was armed, and where Éponine was.

And he needed to stop his head from spinning. That was also important. He didn't have time to feel dizzy and nauseous.

Jehan cautiously poked his head back around the corner, and scowled in concentration. With the largely silent night, he could just hear bits of the conversation.

"…what exactly … supposed to do?" Cosette asked softly.

"Shipments arrive by train every few weeks," the man in shadow said. He was by no means loud, but his voice held more confidence and was much clearer to make out than Cosette's. "You just pick them up and distribute to those who ask."

"And they'll know to approach me how?"

"… word on the street… far more effective than you'd think," Claquesous purred, though the effect was somewhat hindered by the lisp. Then he reached out and cupped Cosette's chin, laughing when she flinched away. "You're not going to be caught, dear."

Jehan's eyes widened and he ducked his head back into the alley. There was a dull throbbing in his temples, and his hands had started trembling in an effort not to reach up and grab his head. But by his side two friends with messy dark hair were staring at him expectantly.

"Cosette's the contact," he whispered to them weakly.

"What?"

Grantaire scrambled back over to the corner of the building and pushed him aside lightly. It was hardly a shove at all, but Jehan still had to steady a hand on the ground to keep himself from wobbling. He glanced at Courfeyrac, who still had the same miserable look on his face that he wore when they were pinning Grantaire to the floor of his apartment. Maybe he had noticed Jehan's unsteadiness, maybe he was still concerned about Grantaire, or maybe it was just the entire situation.

Whatever the expression was, Jehan didn't have time to dwell on it because Grantaire chose that moment to turn back around to face them. The expression on the cynic's face looked nauseous, and instead of focusing on both of them, or keeping his gaze pointed towards the ground like before, Grantaire stared directly at him.

"Éponine's in the bushes next to the porch, I'd bet my life on it," he said significantly. "Hell, I'd even throw some money in that they were recording the conversation for the police."

There was a moment of relief there, mixed in with sick dread as the missing puzzle pieces came together. Somehow, Cosette had been found and targeted so she got through to Éponine (probably through Marius) to explain the situation. Since neither of them wanted to risk any of the others anyway, they just snuck out and made a plan of their own. And if they were trying to get Claquesous to incriminate himself, then Marius was somehow off dealing with the police.

Jehan met Grantaire's gaze, comprehending what the cynic was trying to communicate, and they had a moment of silent of conversation. The tight line of Grantaire's lips and the hardness in his eyes spoke volumes, and Jehan responded with an understanding tilt of the head, a sigh, and the slightest of nods. He glanced significantly to his left and Grantaire pursed his lips. There was an understanding.

The cynic took a few shuffled steps backwards, next to Courfeyrac and let Jehan take his place again. This time however, Grantaire had silently asked Jehan to look for something specifically. And he found it almost immediately.

"Be specific about what I'm supposed to do?" Cosette pleaded with the man in shadow. "Plants would be of a feather here, but salts taste bitter and cause alarm. I want to see your farms before I buy your fruits."

That was the big problem with the girls' plan that both Grantaire and Jehan saw in an instant. As wonderful as she was, Cosette wasn't used to being the center of this kind of attention. Lacking the experience of Éponine, the fire of Enjolras, the cool reasoning of Combeferre, the physical presence of Bahorel, or the quick thinking of Courfeyrac she was unfamiliar with how to coerce Claquesous into incriminating himself. And if she lacked subtlety and tipped him off, she was on her own.

"She's fumbling and he's getting suspicious," Jehan hissed back to his friends.

"Can she recover it?" Courfeyrac forced the words through his teeth, worry lacing his voice.

He kept his eyes glued on the alleyway where it was quickly becoming clear that no, she couldn't.

"You're asking a bit many questions for my liking, girl," Claquesous snarled, taking a step closer.

Jehan's legs protested but his mind flared into action. Éponine couldn't protect Cosette if things went south without compromising herself, and wherever Marius was it wasn't close enough. This was their major flaw; Cosette's inexperience would get her in trouble. Quickly, Jehan sprung to his feet (wrapping a hand around the corner of the building to steady himself) and glanced back at his friends.

Jehan shook his head and ran his hand through his hair to muss it up. By this point, he felt himself getting slightly dizzy, but it wasn't too bad just yet. He had maybe a few good minutes for Éponine to send a warning signal and for help to arrive.

"If Claquesous tries to hurt Cosette, Éponine's not gonna stay hidden," Grantaire said. But it was a debriefing, not a reassurance. He had already known what Jehan was going to do.

"It's not going to come to that," Jehan promised darkly. His knuckles tightened around the corner of the house to offer him some much needed balance.

"Jehan?" Courfeyrac asked, out of the loop. Worry was starting to creep into his friend's voice.

He took a steadying breath. That was part of the conversation; Courfeyrac hadn't been handling any of this well. Seeing Grantaire's panic attacks over Claquesous' arrival and Enjolras' disappearance had been the beginning and this afternoon had only made it worse. Courfeyrac with his wavy brown hair and his dopey smile really was the center of their group. When he was surrounded by his friends, he thrived. But when the group splintered, panicked, and threw themselves recklessly into danger, he started to splinter. Jehan hadn't had the time to check in with him since the pinning Grantaire to the floor incident.

Because as things got more real, more immediate, Grantaire shifted into practicality mode. He could see Éponine was in danger, and he had to think of the best way to protect her. But Courfeyrac had just been slipping more and more into a helpless mindset. And he wasn't going to like what he and Grantaire had decided.

The cynic slipped his arms around Courfeyrac's arms and chest and pulled tight so he couldn't get away. Realization dawned on the law student, and he scrambled to try and pull Grantaire off of him. But the shorter man held firm, despite the struggling.

Ever since Jehan had told Courfeyrac about the story behind his head injury he had always said the same thing. "You shouldn't have faced them alone; someone should've been there with you." The Amis had only known about the scar for a few weeks, and then his roommate had finished his medication when he had an episode. Courfeyrac had been so pissed that he refused to let Jehan stay in his own room that night, and bought an air mattress just for him. That night while he was about to go to sleep, Courfeyrac had called down and asked how he got it.

Jehan had told him the story about coming out to his parents. How his father held him down and beat him, yelling at him to "take it back." How his Mother wouldn't look at what was happening and refused to stop it. How in a fit of passion, his father had grabbed one of the tools on his desk in the garage and swung. How he woke up in the hospital next to his Mother, who said "it's probably best if you don't come back."

Courfeyrac looked shaken after that story. He had jumped down from his lofted bed, sat on the floor by Jehan's head, and carefully brushed a thumb over the scar tissue. That had been the first time Courfeyrac had said it: "you shouldn't have had to face them alone." It hadn't been the last time he'd said something like it though. And every single time the topic came up, Jehan always suspected that Courfeyrac was actually trying to say "I wish I had been there for you."

Whatever the crisis in the friend group, Courfeyrac tried to be there for it. Even if he couldn't help, he tried to be there. But too much had happened in the last few days, and Courfeyrac was spread too thin trying to keep up with what was happening.

Now, he was helplessly struggling against Grantaire's hold.

"She needs backup," Jehan said by way of apology, and ducked around the corner to go face Claquesous. And he tried to ignore the final hiss of his name from the alleyway, cut off by the sound of a hand covering a mouth.