A/N: I really don't know what inspired this, but… here you go. xD

"Papa?"

"Yes, Cérise?"

Cérise propped her elbows on her father's armchair. "Tell me about maman again."

The older man sighed, looking over at his daughter. She was the spitting image of her mother, with golden hair flowing down her back, sparkling blue eyes, and skin a delicate cream color. Even at ten years of age, he could see his wife in the little girl. Even down to her lilting voice, her ever pleasant attitude, and her smile that could brighten a room of pessimists. Yes, Cérise was a mother's girl, not that he complained. It was a peaceful reminder of the woman he loved.

"Cérise, mon cher, it's nearly your bedtime."

"Papa, please?"

With a sigh, Marius lifted the little girl onto his lap. "Very well," he murmured. Cérise giggled, settling into her father's embrace. He couldn't help but smile. "Her name was Cosette. I met her many, many years ago, when I was a student at the university."

"The one Jacquot goes to, papa?"

"The same," he continued. "Back then, I had many very good friends, like your mother. One of them led me to her, found out where she lived and brought me to her." He paused, bowing his head silently. He remembered the street girl well. His best friend, and always would be. "Some of them jeered at me for being in love." He remembered the ABC boys just as perfectly. The drunken, the passionate, the determined, every last one of them he recalled to perfection.

"Will you ever let me meet your friends?"

Marius' heart sank. "Not for a long time, Cérise."

"Why not?" Marius was silent. "Papa?"

"Cérise, mon cher, they are no longer among us."

Cérise fell silent, curling up in her father's lap. "I'm sorry, papa."

He kissed the top of the little girl's head. "It is quite alright, cherié." With a sigh, he continued. "Your mother was a beautiful, strong woman. You look just like her, did you know?"

"I do?" the little girl squeaked. Marius chuckled, nodding.

Just then Jacquot stepped into the doorway of the sitting room. "Cérise, it's nearly nine o'clock."

Cérise pouted, looking up at her father, who only gave her a 'go on, dear' sort of look. With an overly dramatic sigh, she slid off of his lap and walked over to her brother, walking with him out of the room.

"A moment, Jacquot?"

The boy looked back at his father. In the candlelight, he was deathly pale. His eyes were more sunken in than he'd been only a year before, his curly gray hair was ruffled to a fault. He knew his father was old, but the eerie feeling he got from the man's appearance in the dim light could not be shaken.

"In a minute, father."

Jacquot led Cérise upstairs. The little girl looked up at him with a furrowed eyebrow. "Is papa alright?"

"I'm sure he's fine, petit," he assured her. As soon as Cérise was in her bedroom, he headed back downstairs, hands folded behind his back.

Marius was facing the wall, staring at it as if in deep thought. His entire expression was distant, and his eyes were glazed over.

Jacquot cleared his throat. "Father?"

He turned around, and to his surprise, the older man's eyes were full of tears.

"Father, what's wrong?"

Marius bowed his head, walking over to his son. He had his mother's eyes. His father's unruly hair. "My son, my dear son…" A hand was placed on Jacquot's shoulder. "I am old. I fear I will be gone sooner than you think. I've lived my time, I've done what I must on this earth. I've raised the two most amazing children in France. I am content."

"You cannot be serious!" Jacquot exclaimed quietly, shaking his head. "No, father, we need you! France needs you!"

His father merely shook his head. "When I am gone, you shall take my place as councilman."

"You know much more about the republic than I do!"

"Do not be so modest!" Marius reprimanded, amused. "You've been studying law and politics for three years now."

"But father-"

"No, Jacquot."

"Cérise-"

"Must not know." Marius sighed, glancing at the flame of one of the sitting room's candles. "My son, if you would give me a moment alone…"

"Do try to live in my absence," Jacquot said seriously.

Marius laughed.

With a sigh, the young boy left the room, his head spinning. Marius Pontmercy did not give up. Why did he talk of death so fondly? Discreetly as possible, he stood outside the doorway, back pressed against the wall. He wanted to know what was going on.

His father continued to stare at the flame. He often did his best to forget his school years, the rebellion, the people he knew… often, though, it did not work. The memories ceased to leave him.

He sat in his armchair, burying his face in his hands. "My friends, if you could see France now… Éponine, you had so much to live for, even without me. Courfeyrac, you had a life! Perhaps it solely involved women and clothes, but it was a life! Enjolras, by God, you would've been the best president of France there could've ever been… Joly… Laigle… Jehan… dear, sweet Jehan… Feuilly… Bahorel… Combeferre… Grantaire! All of you had lives to live, futures ahead of you… yet you sacrificed… for nothing…"

Jacquot could not bear another word. He'd heard his father speak those names. It only brought him pain to hear them. Without a sound, he trudged upstairs. The name 'Courfeyrac' in particular rang in his ear. He'd heard most about him. Flirtatious and young, he once shared an apartment with his father. He was gone.

Marius folded his arms over his knees, his forehead resting on his fists. "Why… why! You all had something to live for… and you are gone. I shall welcome death gladly, my friends. I shall!"

"M'sieur." Marius started, jumping from his seat. He hadn't heard that voice since he was a schoolboy. Rough and coarse from years of shouting and drinking, yet somehow softened and sweeter. Perhaps death healed worn voices and throats. Perhaps heaven healed it all.

"Éponine…" he murmured. And Éponine it was, but not as he remembered her. Not only had the scratchiness of her voice faded, but in the same fashion, so had the dirt and grime from a life lived in poverty and the streets. No longer did her joints protrude from her skin. She appeared well fed, clean, and more like the girl he might've known if she'd lived to see the republic. Her reddish brown hair was pinned up, and she wore a sort of flowing silk dress that covered her feet and spilled around her.

"M'sieur Marius," she said warmly, a smile spreading across her features.

Marius stood, rushing over to her. He caught her hands in his and kissed them, oblivious to the tears streaming down his face. "Oh, Éponine… dear, dear Éponine…"

"Marius," she repeated. He looked up at her. "It is time for you to come home."

As if an invisible force had pushed him, he felt something fall from him and drift to the other side of the room without a noise. Glancing behind, he saw himself, slumped in his armchair, looking perfectly content.

Dead.

His eyes then fell on a mirror opposite him. He was a boy again, with a mess of curly hair, freckles dotting across his face, in a suit he remembered from his wedding day.

"You don't mean…" There was an odd change in his voice, just as there had been in Éponine's. It would not only take some getting used to, sounding like his much younger self, but to have the same softness to his voice as Éponine had.

"I knew it wouldn't be too long." Marius looked aside, and there was Courfeyrac, that cocky grin spread across his face he remembered so well. "What, no hello for me?"

"After all this time-!"

"Witty as ever, I suppose."

Marius bounded over and embraced his old friend. "It's good to see you, Courfeyrac."

"Don't be so formal!" he reprimanded with a chuckle. "Jacquot to an old friend."

"My son-"

"Was named after me? Truly, I'm touched."

Marius rolled his eyes, clapping Courfeyrac on the back. "You ought to be, my friend."

"Marius."

This time, he need not take a moment to realize who it was. He rushed over and took his wife in his arms, spinning her in his arms and kissing her deeply. It had been far too long for the forever young lovers, and time had done nothing but strengthen his love for her.

"Oh, Cosette…" She was just as beautiful as he remembered her. Blond hair flowing down her back in soft curls, her porcelain skin gleaming in the candlelight, her blue eyes sparkling in happiness.

"Our children," she said proudly, "have been raised by such a brave, wonderful man."

Marius beamed at her, keeping an arm around her and glancing around the room. It was an unknown man who he noticed next. He was smiling widely. His hair was liken to Marius', in rumpled curls, and he was dressed in a suit similar to his, differentiating in the waistcoat color. "My son. I could not be more proud."

Marius choked on his breath. "C-Colonel Pontmercy? Is it really-"

"As your cheeky friend, here, has stated," Here, Courfeyrac grinned in recognition- "you needn't be so formal."

Marius nearly flew to his father, embracing him as any son should. The two clung to each other a good moment or so, though no amount of embraces could make up for lives and childhoods lost.

He looked back and forth between his friends, his father, and his wife. Then it hit him. "Cosette, the children-"

"Are safe. Living under the republic, in Jacquot's care as well as your friends from the council."

"Then what next?"

Éponine beamed at him. "The tomorrow you fought for is waiting."

Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? Somewhere beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see?

Do you hear the people sing? Say, do you hear the distant drums?

It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes!

Tomorrow comes!