A/N: I see this as a bit of a trial run, to see how the story is received. This is a mix of book/musical/movie and headcanon.

Disclaimer: I don't own Les Misérables, only my original characters.


Chapter 1

The neighbourhood of Saint-Michel lay mostly dark, shutters closed tightly against the cold November wind. Despite the near deserted streets though, it wasn't quiet. Boisterous laughter from the bars and cafés, the sounds of family disputes and arguments on the streets could always be heard regardless of the time of day. One figure stood out among the rest, dark coat wrapped tightly around her frame and face buried in a thick scarf. Her pace quickened and soon she reached her destination. The two story building didn't look like much from the outside, but lights were shining through the windows and the sounds of revelry from inside heightened in volume when she pulled the door open and entered. At once, the familiar sounds and smells of Café Musain surrounded her, bringing a warmth to her chest. She unwrapped her scarf revealing a rosy face with full brows over hazel eyes, delicate cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips that curled into a smile when her name was called.

"Sophie!"

She walked towards the back of the café to meet her friend. "Feuilly, how fine it is to see you."

"You've chosen a fine night to join us," he said as he offered her his arm and lead her upstairs. "Combeferre tells me Enjolras has an especially invigorating speech planned for tonight." He knocked in a particular pattern on the door they had now come to stand in front of, and her stomach clenched. She hadn't set foot in the back room for months, since before the riot at Place Vendôme.

The door opened, and with Feuilly's call of "Look who I found!" Sophie found herself the centre of attention.

"Sophie!"

It was Courfeyrac who spoke first, rising swiftly from the table and nearly spilling his wine in the process, and flouncing towards her. Only Courfeyrac could flounce and still look dignified. Sophie laughed when the dandy swept her off her feet, spinning her around and placing a wet kiss on her cheek.

"How I've missed you," she spoke when he finally set her down. "Have you managed to stay out of trouble while I was away?"

"Not in the slightest," he grinned, helping her out of her coat.

Less flamboyant, but no less heartfelt, reunions followed. Combeferre kissed her hand; Joly tried to dissuade her hug with regards to his cold, and possible pneumonia according to himself, but she hugged him anyway. Bahorel shook her hand vehemently, and Jehan kissed her cheek. Pulling back, her gaze was drawn towards the table in the corner and her stomach clenched. Enjolras' deep-set eyes were locked on her, brows knitted together. She'd almost forgotten how intense his gaze could be. His blond curls looked as if he'd run his hands through them in frustration multiple times, which was highly likely.

He stood when she approached the table. "Citizeness Guilhon. I did not know you were back in Paris."

Her heart sank at the formal address. "I arrived from Bernay only earlier today."

Enjolras looked as conflicted as she felt, and he braced himself to speak but was interrupted by a large crash. They both looked over and Sophie laughed. Grantaire had slid off the chair he'd been sleeping on and was now trying to stand, muttering curses underneath his breath. His eyes met Sophie's, and he grinned. He was by her side in an instant, almost tripping over his own feet and sending them both tumbling into a table in the process.

"You are a sight for sore eyes!"

"I'm happy to see you," she smiled, brushing some dust from his emerald waistcoat.

"Come, join me for a drink."

He whisked her away to an empty table and poured her a drink. Courfeyrac and Joly soon joined them and struck up a game of cards. Through the game, the laughing, and the teasing, Sophie was painfully aware Enjolras was sitting a few tables away. A few times she thought she saw him looking in her direction from the corner of her eye, but when she dared to look he was always staring down at the papers in front of him.

The scrape of a chair against the floor and Enjolras calling out "Friends, brothers!" made everyone look up, and Sophie put down her cards as he climbed onto a table.

With the first words leaving his lips, Sophie was enthralled. There was something about Enjolras that inspired people, made them hang on to his every word. People were drawn to him like moths to a flame, which Sophie thought ironic given the fearless leader's adversity to the insect. He spoke with passion, his eyes fiery and cheeks flushed. Ambitious and focused, he lived for the people and for the revolution. Grantaire teased on several occasions that the leader's lips had touched nothing but food and drink, and thinking of it made Sophie flush because she knew the statement was untrue.

She was pulled from her thoughts when the entire room broke out in loud applauds and cries of 'Vive la France!'. Enjolras stepped down, grasped Combeferre's outstretched hand and nodded at something the bespectacled man said. The meeting continued, and Sophie sat back and mostly listened. Months away meant she needed to get caught up on the new business. Once the meeting was over the noise level rose again, more card games and louder conversations started and Grantaire ordered more absinthe.

Courfeyrac threw his cards on the table. "Damn it all to hell!" Two pairs with sixes and threes were no winning hand, and he eyed the small pile of coins he had now lost. Maybe he ought to write his mother and ask for more funds.

"Watch your tongue," Jehan commented, not looking up from his booklet where he was practising his Hebrew.

"You brute," Grantaire slurred, aiming a kick at Courfeyrac's chair, "that is no language to use in the company of the weaker sex," he winked at Sophie.

She grinned as she showed her winning hand. "Women may be considered the weaker sex, but there is nothing more fragile than the male ego."

Both Courfeyrac and Grantaire let out such hearty laughs it drew the attention of other members of the room and Sophie's eyes met Enjolras'. Unwavering she met his gaze in a silent challenge. It was he who broke the contact first, drawing his eyes back to the pamphlet in his hands. She allowed her eyes to rest on his form a few seconds longer, taking in his undone cravat and rolled up shirtsleeves. The flickering candles on the table lit up his face, illuminating his aquiline nose and clenched jaw. Looking back at her tablemates, she didn't miss Grantaire's sly grin. A drunkard he may be, but he saw more than people gave him credit for.

She pocketed her winnings and smiled. "One more game?"

It was late when the weariness of the day swept over her. The back room was still animated with spirits and conversation, though Jehan had left an hour earlier saying he wanted to catch the moonlight over the Seine and practice his Hebrew, and Courfeyrac had left with a wink claiming he was meeting a friend for a nightcap. Grantaire had retreated to his usual spot in the corner, drinking absinthe and looking sullen, and Enjolras and Combeferre were in deep discussion, voices hushed and heads close together.

Yawning, Sophie stood and walked over to Enjolras and Combeferre to say goodbye. "It's been a lovely evening, but I'm rather tired so I think I'll retire."

"You should not walk home alone this late," Combeferre said, standing up straight and wincing as his spine cracked.

"Oh, that's not necessary, it's nowhere near your lodgings."

He looked as though he wanted to object but before he could, Enjolras spoke. "I can escort you, with your permission."

Heart pounding, she nodded. "You may."

He waited by the door while she said her good nights, and they walked in silence downstairs to the main area of the café. His guiding hand on the small of her back made her spine tingle. Once outside she had no problems matching his determined, fast-paced steps. That was one thing to be said about Enjolras; he always walked with purpose, even when he didn't have one.

It was he who broke the silence. "How is your father?"

She gave a dry chuckle. "That is a complicated question."

The corners of his mouth curled upwards slightly. "That sounds ominous."

Sophie pushed back a strand of chestnut hair that had escaped the pins. "He disapproves of my decision to live in Paris, as well as the company I keep." She smiled sadly. "For all intents and purposes, I no longer have a father. He practically disowned me when I made it clear to him I would be returning to Paris. After what happened to Joseph, I can hardly blame him."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you. I'm sure he will come around soon enough. He's always been hot-headed."

"I know the Amis are overjoyed you are back, Prouvaire especially. He's tried to convince each of us to join his poetry meetings while you were away."

Her stomach sank slightly. They were overjoyed? Did that mean he wasn't? "You are talented with words, why didn't you join him?"

Her words made him chuckle, no doubt in response to a memory of such an affair. "I did, although I must confess my patience for poetry is lacking."

They had now reached her tenement at Rue Meunier, which was darkened. Stopping on the stoop, Sophie turned to face him. "Thank you for walking me home, it really wasn't necessary."

"Think nothing of it. Good night, Citizeness."

"Good night, Monsieur." Sophie felt his eyes on her as she unlocked the door and let herself in. Leaning back against the closed door, she sighed deeply. "You're a fool," she said to herself, pushing her body away from the door and heading upstairs to her flat.

Locking the door behind her, Sophie lit a candle in the kitchen. Neither the nook she called bedroom nor the combined sitting area and kitchen were spacious, but both rooms had large windows which meant she saved on candles during the summer months. The small flat had been her home for almost a year, since she moved to Paris to be closer to her brother. It was through his medical studies Joseph met Joly and Combeferre, and by association the rest of Les Amis de l'ABC. In his weekly letters he would write about the injustices he saw every day on the streets, and also praise the students and their fight for the equal rights of the people. His passionate words had awoken something in her, a sense of fight she'd hardly known existed before. Convincing her father of her move to Paris hadn't been easy, and there had been months of bargaining and pleading before he finally gave in. And now he wanted nothing to do with her.

She slumped down at the kitchen table with a sigh, leaning her elbows on the surface and burying her face in her hands. Unwelcome, a sadness rose inside her. "I miss you, Joseph," she said aloud, her voice meeting nothing but silence.

Enjolras looked at the closing door and then stood there until a faint light flickered alight in a window upstairs. Only then did he move, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and walking home briskly. His mind, which was usually bursting with ideas for next meetings, speeches and facts relating to his school work, was overtaken by a single subject which pushed all other things aside. Sophie. When he'd seen her at the Musain earlier that night after months with no word he didn't know what, or how, to feel. Relief, uncertainty, longing, hesitation.

Contrary to what his friends believed he wasn't totally oblivious to women, but there had always been more important things to focus on than chasing after skirts, and most women failed to keep his attention for more than five minutes. Until he'd met her. She had walked into the Musain alongside her brother like she'd been there a hundred times before, and that kind of confidence attracted attention. Most of the other members had welcomed her into the group without hesitation, but of course he had made things difficult from the start. He'd told her no women were allowed at the meetings, and she had called him out on his hypocrisy in such a manner he'd scarcely been spoken to by a woman before. And that was how she came to stay. She was different from the bourgeois girls his mother had pointed in his way during his youth, with their inclination for drama and shallow dispositions. There were a calmness and level of self-assurance in the way she carried herself which had peaked his interest.

Reaching his tenement, he let himself in the darkened building with his passkey. It was a small tenement with only three flats, which he preferred given his less than legal activities and his inclination for pacing at all hours. His flat was bare, bordering on Spartan in all ways but for the overflowing bookcases and large wooden desk it had taken himself, Combeferre, Feuilly, and Bahorel to haul up the two flights of stairs. Lighting the candle on his desk he slumped in his chair, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose to try to fight away the headache that had been plaguing him the entire day. Had Joly been there he'd most likely force him to drink some ungodly homemade concoction and order him to get more sleep, but there was no time for that. Looking at the papers littering his desk, he set to finish the paper which was due in the morning. Another sleepless night it would be.

Despite having been away from the city for months it took Sophie less than a day to adapt back to the city life. It was decidedly different from the country home where she had been born, and where her father still resided, but she much preferred it. She stopped by a small café to buy breakfast, and her heart ached when she saw how the beggars were overlooked by the people passing by, with not as much as a glance thrown in their direction. She put a couple of sous in as many outreached hands she could until her winnings from the previous night were gone. Still, she wished she could do more.

The biting wind from the previous night had swept away, leaving the day cold but crisp with blue skies and a pale winter sun. Since the weather was so fine she decided to walk to her destination instead of taking an omnibus, and she took the way through the Jardin du Tuileries. It was one of her favourite places in Paris, and she and Joseph had spent much time there in the past. It was difficult walking through the beautiful gardens without her brother, but she knew that if he was beside her he would tell her to brighten up. He had been an unwavering optimist, and thinking of it made her smile.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle!"

Sophie stopped and turned at the voice, and was greeted by the sight of a lancer walking briskly towards her. For a split second she was transported back to Place Vendôme, and her breath caught in her throat. As he came closer, her breath returned as he turned from a faceless symbol of her brother's demise to an unassuming young man. Tall and pale, with light brown hair beneath his hat and a moustache to match.

He held up her handkerchief. "I believe you dropped this?"

"Thank you, Monsieur. It must have fallen out of my purse," she breathed in relief, reaching out to claim the handkerchief back.

"Think nothing of it, I was merely doing my duty." He bowed deeply. "Lieutenant Léon Bouchard at your service."

She curtsied lightly. "I thank you again for your kind service, Lieutenant. I hope you have a pleasant day."

"Likewise, Mademoiselle."

Continuing her walk, Sophie sighed. Although the Lieutenant had been perfectly polite, soldiers made her nervous. Perhaps it was because of the less than legal activities she was involved in, perhaps it was the memory of the faceless soldier at Place Vendôme. Most likely it was both.

A boutique on Rue Duphot was her destination, and despite her shoes needing a cobbler and her clothes being both worn and out of fashion in comparison to those around her, Sophie walked into the boutique with her head held high. She was met by a blonde woman in her early 50s, who was wearing a rather ostentatious mourning dress.

She smiled when she spotted Sophie. "Mademoiselle Guilhon, this is a surprise. I trust you are well?"

"Bonjour, Madame Jamet. I am well, thank you." She twisted her purse string between her fingers. "I've come to ask for a favour. Since I'm back and planning on staying, I'm in need of a job. You were very understanding of my needing to leave after my brother's passing, so I've come to ask for my job back."

Madame Jamet frowned. "I'm sorry, Mademoiselle, but I have no job openings at the moment."

Sophie's heart sank. Pressing her lips tightly together, she managed a weak smile. "I understand. I'll try some other places then. Good day to you, Madame."

Letting the boutique door close behind her, Sophie let the smile falter. This was hardly the end of the world, but it complicated things. Even though she had never shared her brother's blind optimism, she still tried to see things in a favourable light. Crossing the street, she spotted a familiar figure walking towards her, only taking his eyes from her to give a wink and a grin to a young woman walking past.

"Courfeyrac, what a pleasant surprise!"

The dandy stopped in front of her and made an embellished bow, holding his hat over his heart. "Your faithful servant, Mademoiselle."

"Say, is that a new hat?" she teased, for Courfeyrac had a knack for buying new hats every other week. Partly because he always seemed to lose them in some inexplicable way, and partly because he liked to keep up with the latest fashions. He had a reputation to uphold after all.

"As a matter of fact, it is." He put his hat back on carefully as not to disturb his dark curls. She took his offered arm and the two walked down the street. "You should get a new hat as well, you're looking a fright."

Sophie chuckled. "We cannot all have your keen sense of fashion. So tell me, why are you here at this time of day? Don't you have classes?"

"I was visiting a special friend," he grinned mischievously, "who knows better than to mock my hat."

"Mock your hat? I wouldn't dream of such a thing."

They walked slowly with no particular destination, enjoying the sunshine and each others company. Courfeyrac was her closest friend of the students in the Amis, unlikely it may seem at first glance.

"I've not asked you what you're doing out and about today. Visiting a secret admirer perhaps?" Courfeyrac winked.

Sophie laughed. "I was looking for work actually; I used to work in a boutique near here, but they turned me down this time."

He mock gasped. "Work? That is quite unfitting for a woman of your stature. You should find a rich husband instead to provide for you."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm just waiting for your proposal, dearest."

They stopped for lunch at a nearby café, visited frequently by the dandy. After a meal of bread and warm soup, Courfeyrac spoke. "How are you, really?"

She plastered a too wide smile on her face. "I'm perfectly fine." At his pointed look, she averted her eyes and let the smile falter. "I'm fine. It's strange though, being here without Joseph. The situation with my father is troublesome. I'm torn between being angry, sad, and understanding his reasoning."

"Your father will come around, I'm sure of it. I think it's strange without Joseph too," he admitted. Meeting his eyes, she was surprised to see melancholy in them. "It took weeks before I stopped expecting him to walk into the Musain, and Combeferre still counted him in last time he spoke of our medical resources."

This made her smile. "Jehan sent me some lovely poems whilst I was away, and they made me miss him a little less."

Courfeyrac touched her hand gently. "We'll always miss him, he was a good man." He glanced at his pocket watch. "A change of venue perhaps? Classes are out for the day, I daresay our friends are already at the Musain."

The sun had disappeared behind the horizon and they walked quickly to keep warm. Both were rosy-cheeked and giggling when they entered the back room of the Musain, and a cheer went up in greeting. Courfeyrac got them some mulled wine and Sophie removed her scarf while taking in the room.

At one table Jehan was writing furiously in his notebook, clad in a waistcoat in an unflattering shade of green which clashed horribly with his cravat. Joly was tending to Bossuet, who had a split lip, whilst talking to Bahorel who was nursing his bruised fist. There was a story to be told there, she wagered. Feuilly and Enjolras were having a discussion about France's involvement in the occupation of Poland, and Grantaire sat in his usual corner nursing a bottle of absinthe. She joined Combeferre at a table, and soon Courfeyrac appeared with their mulled wine. He sat with a sigh and slung his arm over the back of Sophie's chair.

She took a sip, feeling the liquid warm her from within. "How much do I owe you for the wine?"

He waved away her question. "It's on me, think nothing of it."

"You paid for lunch," she protested. "I'm not your mistress, I can pay my own way."

"Get the next one and call it even," he winked.

"Are you even capable of interacting with a woman without flirting with her?" Combeferre asked, and the dandy laughed.

"Not really. Isn't that right, cherie?"

Feuilly joined them, and let out a laugh. "He even flirted with the bearded lady at the fair last summer, remember?"

"In my defence, she was very beautiful, even with the beard."

"Was that the same one when Bossuet tore down three stilt walkers?"

Feuilly nodded at Sophie's question. "And Joly bought a remedy for coughs which turned out to be cat droppings," Courfeyrac laughed, nearly spilling his drink all over himself.

Turning away from the conversation her eyes fell upon Enjolras, who was watching her with a furrowed brow. Hesitating only for a moment, she rose and walked over to him, hands clasped firmly around her mug of mulled wine. "I'm going to Place Vendôme tomorrow. Will you come with me?"

Enjolras put down his pen and nodded. "I have classes until midday, if you don't mind waiting until then?"

She nodded. "That's fine. Thank you."

His eyes softened. "There's no need to thank me."


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