A.N. - So, this was - quite obviously, I think - inspired by the SVU episode "Behave" - so any similarities are not coincidental. Just pointing that out now before someone blows the whistle on me. :p

Also, I've kinda crossed this over with Count of Monte Cristo (some of the characters are featured) so that ALSO isn't coincidental.

This is a modern AU, set in a large city. I'm not sure exactly where - you decide. :) Also, it's just a writing habit of mine that in all my modern Les Mis AU's, Enjolras looks like Aaron Tveit in real life - that is, he's got dark hair. Lastly, this story contains elements of an abusive relationship, non-consensual sexual behaviors, and bad BDSM etiquette. If any of these are triggers for you, you might want to consider skipping this story.

Otherwise, read on, and don't forget to drop me a review!

"But were there any traces of cocaine in the bloodstream?!"

Combeferre made a sound suspiciously like a groan somewhere behind his hands, before dragging them up his forehead and through dark blond hair, making a mess of his once immaculate ponytail.

"I ran the blood work twice – your guy was drunk, not high, and – "

His pager beeped suddenly, and he dashed off for the emergency terminal, flashing an apologetic look and leaving Marius in the hospital corridor with his mouth gaping and a steadily worsening migraine.

Boville chose the moment to duck out from behind the records desk.

"Don't tell me –"

"Nothing! Not a fucking thing!" the lawyer groaned loudly, flushing a bit at the reproachful glances from the triage nurses.

Boville sighed.

"Ok – ok, we rake Félicienne over the coals a bit longer –"

"It's too late now, they'll have trashed any more evidence, and Jondrette's already arraigned – Villefort's going to gut me like a fish, and if we don't find s –"

Rubber wheels screeched on tile.

"Make a hole-!"

Both men threw themselves against the triage desk as four people rounded the corner towing a metal stretcher, as Combeferre attempted to mollify the bloodied figure writhing against the restraining straps.

"Holy shit..." Boville muttered under his breath, and Marius silently agreed, wide-eyed.

Whoever he was, he couldn't have been very old – though it was hard to tell under all the red-brown crusting that coated most of his face, and combined with the constant screams ripping from his throat – Marius wondered for a moment if he'd taken a wrong turn, and stepped into a horror film.

Combeferre was relentless.

"Calm down, you're gonna be fine, okay?! – Fav, get me a sed! – It's okay, it's okay, just calm down -!"

The screams only grew in intensity, and underneath the webbing of blood, blue eyes took on something like feverish madness. Marius remembered something like it from a serial arsonist he'd put away for life.

"You don't get it!" the animal howled, twisting under the restraints in a frenzy. "He'll kill me!"

The breath caught in Marius' throat as couple of rubber-gloved paramedics pinned the man's bashed head to the plastic cushions, his screams dissolving to sobs and wordless begging as a needle slipped through the exposed skin of his neck, and he gradually went still.


"White male, probably early twenties – the paramedics said he was found in a dumpster three blocks away, wrapped up in a blanket and a couple of towels."

Marius frowned slightly. "Drunk?"

"Nope – no alcohol in his blood, although I could smell it all over his clothes. And before you ask, he's not homeless – there was no sign of wear on the clothing, his hair's trimmed, and his fingernails are clean."

"So – maybe he ducked in a bar, things got out of hand –"

"That's what he was trying to tell me, and..."

The blond physician bit his lip, and dug his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. Marius swallowed. "And?"

"And I've treated street fighters before – they're angry, not terrified, and you saw how he acted earlier..."

"But the blood –"

"Glass bottle to the head – I pulled about eight shards out of his scalp, we've got him on a blood bag now."

Marius winced.

"Jesus... sounds like brawl material to me –"

"Well it would be, if the glass weren't orange."

The frown deepened, and Combeferre flashed him a humorless smile.

"I room with a wine connoisseur, remember? Last I knew, Caravanseri Glow was the only booze on the market sold in orange bottles – it's high-end white wine made on some private vineyard in California. Not exactly what you'd find them pushing in some dump bar downtown, never mind smashing over someone's skull."

"Unless he's your husband." Boville shot out from the desk.

Marius bit his thumb a moment, before responding.

"Did he give a name?"

Combeferre sighed.

"Not yet, but I can keep you posted if–"

"No," Marius cut across, glancing towards the screened window to the exam room.

"No, I'll stay here."

Another, deeper sigh was his immediate answer.

"Make yourself comfortable then – he's still doped up on painkillers."

Nodding, Marius turned back to the desk, where Boville gave him a withering look.

"Come on, not again –"

"Laurent, it's – it just doesn't feel right –"

"Think about your job for a moment, Pontmercy, and reconsider what you just said."

He sighed.

"Alright, fine. I'll be back in tomorrow – keep them all hopping on the Jondrette case, we don't need him slipping loose again."

Boville rolled his eyes as he stuffed a few last papers into the file carrier.

"Javert's going to have your ass on a platter, I hope you realize that –"

"Javert has been obsessed for twenty-two years with a cold case," Marius cut across. "I think he can let me branch off for one night."

Shrugging, Boville reluctantly turned toward the elevator, and Marius sank into one of the waiting chairs, watching the human traffic sweep by. Nobody noticed him.

Bloodied, insisting of mortal peril... In some jurisdictions that would be more than enough to secure legal involvement, but with Javert, who knew? The man certainly knew how to run a police precinct, but when it came to crime-hunting... He'd been known to lock teenage shoplifters in the tombs, and in the next hour make deals with organized crime lords – often for information on a felon he'd let slip through his fingers decades ago.

Marius sighed dejectedly. Somehow it always came down to that same dogged obsession – he'd put forward motions more then once to have the captain declared mentally unfit for duty, and yet, every time...

The door to the exam room squeaked open suddenly, jolting him from his mental ramblings.

"Here."

A plastic bag dropped into his lap with a muffled 'thump' of fabric, moments before Combeferre latched the door shut.

"Well, John Doe is back in the land of the lucid – I'm keeping him for overnight observation though, just in case that head wound gets nasty. His clothes are all there." he muttered, nodding at the bag.

"Anything unusual?"

"Well, I'm no forensics expert, so don't take anything too seriously, but... the zipper on his jeans was almost snapped off, a few buttons on his shirt were done crooked, barefoot, no jacket, no i.d., and, uh... commando."

Marius was dead silent as his tongue traced the roof of his mouth.

"There were also no rips to the clothes, nothing to correspond to either the lacerations or the bruising."

"... Any guesses?"

The doctor wet his lips slowly.

"Either someone was in a hell of a hurry – or he's in bed with his girlfriend, they argue, she grabs the wine bottle – "

"-one thing leads to another, and when he blacks out she worries that he's dead and gets frightened –"

"- so she yanks his clothes on, just enough to get him decent, wraps him up in the bathroom towels, and tosses the body in the dumpster downstairs." Combeferre finished quickly. Marius raised his eyebrows.

"Hardly the perfect crime – I mean, if she wanted to deflect blame off herself, then the easiest thing would be to put the bottle next to him, and –"

"Save that for the professionals, Counselor – I'm just making sure you don't need to make a transfer from the trauma unit to the morgue." the blond cut in, ducking back into the room. "I'll let you know if anything comes up."

Marius sighed and rubbed some of the exhaustion from his sagging eyelids, as he popped the seal on the bag.

Nothing unusual, at first glance – pale blue button-down, jeans – designer label, though – and a few splotches of red around the collar. There was a thick scent of blood and garbage, along with something faintly like – damn. Ohhhhh, damn.

"Hey Adrien?" he called out, glancing around uncomfortably at the corridor's other occupants.

Combeferre poked his head back out of the doorway.

"Um, did... did anyone think to do a rape kit?"

He frowned. "Why?!"

"Well – don't ask me how I know this – but his jeans reek of semen."

An uncomfortable swallow was the medic's only response for a moment, before his voice returned.

"Firstly Marius, whatever happened with you and Edmond is none of my business, and second, unless he drops this alley brawl story he's sticking to and claims there was a sex assault, I can't touch him with so much as a Q-tip."

"Then... then can't we pull implied consent –?"

"Tell me I am not explaining the law to a district attorney."

Marius groaned.

"Fine. Just – can I talk to him?"

Blue eyes narrowed, and fixed him with a glare.

"Look, if you're just going to pull another one of your –"

"Adrien, listen to me – you and I both know that mugging claim is bull-shit. Now if I could just have a little time, and try to coax him into talking, then isn't that better for everyone involved?"

It took a minute, but eventually the blond bit his lip and nodded.

"On a couple of conditions – I'm going to watch you through that window. You start getting heavy-handed or pushy, and I'll yank you out of that room so fast you'll have to file a stolen goods claim to get your stomach back. And you're going to wait until tomorrow morning – he's still not as stable as I'd like."

Marius let his lips tighten, and shoved the bag against Combeferre's chest.

"Alright. Let me know when it's good for you."

"If I could, I'd let you –"

"I know, I know. Don't worry about me – I'll just count the freckles on my hands. Should kill a couple of hours."

A.N. - Thoughts thus far?