A/N: Okay this is my first attempt at Les Miserables at all, so forgive me for any mistakes. This fiction is based on the musical, not the book or any movie adaptation. In the dream, Mark is referred to as Marcello, who is the character he was based on in La Boheme, so they are slightly different, but it will be Mark as we know him.

Could life get any worse? For Mark Cohen, it really couldn't. He was running out of money he received for Today 4 U and was in desperate need of a job. However, as a second-class citizen he was basically shunned from the exclusive, elite, world of the working-class. The rent was building up and there was nothing he could do. The fascist, pias government wouldn't even spit their carb induced saliva in the general direction of a bohemian artist. Even when he tried to repent, even when he wanted to reform, even when he was ready to give up his art and work for a living, they wouldn't allow him. Yes, for Mark Cohen life was about at its lowest point.

One day Mark came home to an empty loft. The soft creaking of the floorboards left a macabre, foreboding sense of danger in the air. He tossed his worn, corduroy jacket on the withered floor and unraveled his scarf from his neck, which quickly joined his jacket in their accustomed home by the door. The wobbly, metal table in their kitchen area bore a note from Roger:

Mark,

Band gig audition today. Be back by 9.

-Roger

Roger was never good with communication; he had once left Mark waiting at the Life for 3 hours because he forgot to tell Mark about a date that he got earlier, but he always left a note for Mark if he would be gone for extended periods of time.

Mark decided to seize the opportunity to relax and clear his head. So, he did what any other American would do in such a time of despair: he took a nap. He lay down on the beaten, patched couch, kicked off his shoes and tried to clear his memory of his misfortune.

He waltzed in to what seemed to be a café; however everyone in the area was drinking. It was a dark, yet well lit room with ornate tapestries and wooden chairs and tables all around. All of the young men on the premises wore matching uniforms with the exception of one who proudly sported a red vest with brass buttons and a red sash worn in the same fashion as a cummerbund.

"This must be some sort of meeting," he thought aloud when one of the young men noticed him.

"No really, I hadn't noticed," he stated sarcastically.

"Would you mind telling me where I am?"

"Marcello, where the hell is your brain? Are you drunk already? You always were a lightweight," the man chuckled raucously.

"I don't understand,"

"Well let me go over it again, slowly this time," he spoke as if addressing an idiot or a small child. "I am Combferre, your friend. This is the ABC Café, and we're here for the nightly meeting with Enjolras." Enjolras must have been the one in the red vest. He did look very leader-like. At that moment, he pounded the pommel of a rapier on the table and began to speak.

"Friends, the time has come. The revolution must begin immediately. With Lamarque dead we cannot afford another moment at rest. The time has come to take action into our own hands. We must fight for our rights as citizens of France. After the first revolution, we achieved equality for a brief period of time. Brothers, now we must join forces again and unite for the common cause: equality. Equal opportunity for every man to succeed," he spoke triumphantly and raised a glass to the ceiling. At that there was a cheer, but Enjolras was not finished, "or perish. We cannot expect to be treated as the elite; that would make us as pitiful as the upper-class now. Everyone, go to your respective leaders now, except Marcello. Marcello, come with me, I have an idea that I want to run by you," he smiled sweetly and stared straight at Marcello.

They began to disperse when Enjolras quickly added, "Oh and gentlemen, don't let the wine get to your brain."

"Great speech Enjolras, you're quite the orator, as always," he added, just to stay in vogue with the situation. In reality, he had absolutely no idea what was happening to him. If you can't fight them though, join them, and he definitely did not want to fight Injures. He had an undeniable presence and charm about him. However, the charm he possessed was not schmoozey or romantic; it was the power of a strong leader with firm beliefs and a brilliant plan.

"Why thank you, Marcello. Always nice to know that you approve," Enjolras replied a bit coldly, but followed with a warm pat on the back, it felt like the most prestigious complement a man could receive. "So, what do you think of beginning the revolution?" he asked as he pulled up a chair for Marcello at his table with the maps of Paris.

"To be honest, I feel it's a waste of your time. Wouldn't it be better to work on surviving in your current state rather than to put it all on the line?"

"I see your point. It's a very strong point; it's also the point that is keeping many from joining us in our crusade. Men don't want to risk what they already have for the possibility of a better life, but they often neglect the less fortunate. At least we're alive, at least we're educated, and at least we can fight. We're not fighting for ourselves; we're fighting for those who don't have the voice to fight. Don't you see, Marcello? We're fighting for everyone!" Enjolras exclaimed passionately while grabbing Marcello's arm and shaking it rapidly.

"I suppose I do, in a chivalrous sort of way. What do you propose for those who can't help their situation?"

"It's our job to fight for them, isn't it? We need to help those in need, don't we?" Enjolras's voice began to trail off into the distance as Mark regained his consciousness.

"Mark, you're awake, aren't you," came Roger's gruff voice.

"Yeah, yeah I'm awake," he replied with a blank look on his face.

"You okay?" Roger inquired, "You look like you just had a nightmare."

"Not a nightmare, just an insightful dream,"

"And what did you learn in this insightful dream oh wise one?" Roger asked sarcastically.

"Just that it's other people's job to take care of me," Mark replied cheekily. On that note he got up and went to his room. Maybe he would have a more normal dream there.