A/N:

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

Chapter 2

The shop Sophie was headed to the following morning was a far more modest establishment than her previous workplace, located near the north-west corner of the Jardin du Luxembourg. Through the shop window she could see her friend by the workbench sewing on lace trim to a dress, and she pushed the door open with a smile.

Musichetta's face lit up at the sight of her friend. "Sophie!" The two friends hugged. "Henri told me you were back. I was wondering when you'd come by and see me."

"I'm happy to be back," Sophie admitted. "It was wonderful to spend time with father, but I was going a bit stir crazy being away from the city. How are you?"

Exhaling through a smile, Musichetta brushed an unruly dark lock away from her forehead. "I'm good, just busy. One of the girls quit a couple of weeks ago, so we've been behind on orders."

"You wouldn't be in need of an extra set of hands? I'm looking for work, and you know I have the experience."

"That would be wonderful!" Musichetta exclaimed. "I'll talk to Monsieur Foulon when he comes in later today, but I'm sure it won't be a problem."

Sophie breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. I'll admit I was a bit worried about not finding work again after I returned."

Musichetta stepped back to the workbench. "I thought your father sends you money?"

Sophie followed, leaning back against the workbench and unbuttoning her coat. "He used to, yes, but as we are no longer on speaking terms I doubt he will continue to do so."

"I'm sorry, that is terrible. If you need help with anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Sophie smiled lightly. "Thank you. But enough about me! Have I missed anything particularly interesting while I was away?"

As it usually does in good company, time flew as they caught up with missed events. The two women had become close friends rather soon after first meeting, being close in age and of similar disposition. Shorter than Sophie, Musichetta had deep brown eyes, a dimpled smile and dark curly hair which frequently broke loose of the combs and pins she tried to coax it into. The seamstress had been a breeze of fresh air for Sophie who, while she adored her brother and the Amis, missed female company.

Glancing at her pocket watch, Sophie stood. "I need to get going. I'm meeting Enjolras at the Sorbonne, and I don't want to be late."

Musichetta smiled mischievously. "I see. We wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

Sophie winked. "Punctuality is a virtue."

After saying goodbye, she strode towards the Sorbonne with fast steps. She had barely reached the plaza when the doors opened and students began spilling out, talking animatedly to each other. She spotted Enjolras' blond curls right away, and when their eyes met he nodded in acknowledgement.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting," he said by way of greeting when he reached her, pulling a worn leather satchel across his body.

"Not at all, I only just arrived." They started walking, and Sophie took a last look at the building with a sigh.

"Is something troubling you?" Enjolras asked as they boarded an omnibus, stepping aside to let her sit before taking the vacant seat by her side.

She shrugged. "I was just thinking of universities. Do you think women will ever be allowed the same education as men?"

"I do," he spoke with confidence. "It might be slow, but change is inevitable. Regardless of sex, education is important. An uneducated mind is an ignorant one."

"By that mindset, I suppose I'm to be considered ignorant?" she teased, touching his arm briefly.

Enjolras chuckled. "No one who spends more than ten minutes with you could accuse you of being uneducated."

Alighting the omnibus, Sophie's heart was racing. As she looked around Place Vendôme she was struck by how different it looked from when she was there last. No panic, no soldiers, no gunshots. Instead, there were people strolling through the square and fiacres driving past.

She exhaled shakily. "How can life go on as if nothing happened here? Like people weren't killed, like dreams weren't shattered?" the words tasted bitter in her mouth and she tore her eyes away from the scene to the revolutionary at her side.

His brows were knitted together, face filled with tension. "Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there. People do remember, and it's with the memory of that the people will rise again. Your brother didn't die in vain."

Turning to face him, Sophie stepped a bit closer. "Hearing you say that means a lot to me. I've been angry at Joseph for making the decision he did that day, but he wouldn't be my brother if he didn't fight for what he thought was right. He was like that ever since we were children, but meeting you and the rest of the Amis made the notion of change more real to him."

He cleared his throat, and her eyes were drawn to his lips when he wet them before speaking. "I feel I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for not writing you while you were away. I must admit I wasn't sure what to write, or if a letter from me would even be welcome."

Sophie's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, remembering her harsh words towards him in the days after Joseph's death. "I want to apologise too. I was unfair to you and said a lot of things I didn't mean, and I'm sorry for that. I regret leaving things on such terms between us."

"As do I. We both made mistakes we wish could be undone." He lowered his head to easier look into her eyes and when he spoke, his voice was low. "For what it's worth, I've missed you."

She smiled. "I've missed you as well." Their eyes stayed locked until the intensity became too much, and swiftly she looked away.

He cleared his throat. "It can't mean anything, not now. There is too much going on, more important things."

She nodded, biting her lip. His words didn't hurt because she agreed with them fully. There could be no distractions. He was the fearless leader, a sober believer with strength in everything he did. Most people knew him only as the driven and passionate leader of the Amis; with words as his weapon and determination for the cause in his heart. They didn't know the other side of him; the side that didn't get enough sleep, occasionally doubted himself, and was incredibly stubborn.

It was his natural curiousness that had first drawn them together, after that first night at the Musain. He found her opinions intriguing, and she had for the first time found someone outside her family who was interested in what she had to say. For months they would meet and discuss everything from politics and philosophy to art and literature. Sometimes he would escort her home after meetings, or they'd simply walk around Paris, having discussions and getting to know each other. The realisation that her feelings for him ran deeper than friendship had taken her by surprise.

"Enjolras, I-"

"Sophie, Enjolras!" Jehan Prouvaire was walking towards them, carrying several thick, leather-bound books which he almost lost his grip on when he stopped in front of the pair. "What a wonderful coincidence to see you here!"

"Good day, Jehan," Sophie smiled.

"Where are you off to?" Enjolras asked, reaching out to catch a book right before it fell from the poet's arms.

He took the book with a grateful smile. "To a poetry meeting. We're having a debate on Boccaccio's Decameron versus the Divine Comedy," he added, his voice and face alight with excitement. "Would you wish to join me?"

Enjolras shook his head. "I must decline."

Sophie smiled. "That sounds interesting, I'd love to come with." She turned to Enjolras and laid her hand on his arm. "Thank you for coming with me, and for the talk."

He covered her hand with his for a second before seeming to catch himself and stepping back slightly, letting her hand fall away. "Think nothing of it."

Saying goodbye to his friends, Enjolras watched Sophie take Jehan's arm and as she laughed at something the poet said, a strange feeling fluttered somewhere in his stomach. It wasn't jealousy, but more a sense of longing. While he had meant what he said to Sophie about distractions, he knew his feelings for her ran deeper than anything he'd felt before. But it wasn't to be. She was a beautiful woman, she would undoubtedly draw the attention of many eligible men, all of them better suited for her than him. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he headed for an omnibus that would take him to Combeferre's flat. The medical student looked up at the sound of the door from his place at the desk, a half-dissected moth lying in front of him.

"I was not expecting you until later," the medical student said, abandoning his experiment.

"I can leave and come back when you're done with that thing, if you'd prefer it," Enjolras said wryly.

Combeferre chuckled. "No worries, I can continue later. How was Sophie?"

Enjolras sat on the only other chair in the room. "She was upset, and rightfully so. It's only been a few months since Joseph's death, after all."

"There's something else bothering you."

Enjolras feigned ignorance. "Then you know more than I."

"You're skilled at many things, my friend, but lying isn't one of them."

Enjolras averted his gaze to the glowing embers in the hearth. When he first realised his feelings for Sophie ran deeper than friendship and admiration, it was Combeferre he confided in. His childhood friend, who always steered him in the right direction with his calm and logical reasoning.

"It's been difficult not knowing what to say to her after the way we left things. You know I'm not exactly well-versed in matters of this nature."

"I'd say that is a normal reaction, no matter how much or little experience one has had with women. Did she say anything about it earlier?"

"We both did."

"And? For God's sake man, do I have to pry the words out of you?"

The revolutionary leader gave a dry chuckle. "It doesn't matter what was said, it's not the time for such affairs. There are more important things to focus on."

"There is more than one path of life to walk, my friend. Do you not wish to-"

"No," he interrupted. "If we succeed I will tell her, if not..." He suddenly looked exhausted, and his blue eyes were dull as he looked back at his friend. "I won't burden her with grieving my death."

Combeferre sighed. "I believe it's already too late for that."

–

Life fell into a routine over the following weeks, and Sophie welcomed the familiar pacing of everyday life. She was offered the position as a seamstress at the shop on Rue Hermel in the days following her visit there, and although the pay was less than at her previous employment she enjoyed the work immensely. Her employer, Monsieur Foulon, was a kind and reasonable older man who never raised his voice in anger, and she fell into easy friendships with the other girls who worked for him.

In the second week of December, the Amis arranged a protest against the unsafe work conditions in the city's many factories following the death of two workers. Sophie watched with pride as Enjolras climbed on top of a cart to deliver his rousing speech to the cheers of workers and other people who had gathered. When the gendarme arrived she narrowly escaped being injured in the scuffle, but a few of the Amis wasn't as lucky; Bousset suffered a twisted ankle and a bloody lip and Feuilly and Courfeyrac both sported matching black eyes. The dandy also lost his hat in the commotion, which truth be told grieved him more than his black eye.

Christmas passed without much of a fuss; no one was going home for the holidays so the day was spent at a café, eating and drinking the day away. Jehan read a poem which had more than one person near tears and Bahorel and Grantaire gave a horrendous rendition of Dans cette étable that had them laughing until they cried.

"You'll come with us tomorrow night?" Musichetta asked as she and Sophie sat and mended shirtsleeves. It was the day before New Year's Eve, and there was a newly opened dance hall which Courfeyrac had roped several of the others into going to with him.

"Yes, of course. Who else is joining us?"

"Henri and Courfeyrac, obviously. Grantaire said he might meet us there, so I suppose he already has plans. Combeferre wanted to come as well, and he said he'd try to convince Enjolras to join us. Lord knows that boy is working too hard, he needs to come out and have some fun."

Focusing her attention back on her work, Sophie couldn't help but silently agree. When the bells from the Saint-Sulpice struck five o'clock, the two women stood from their positions. Sophie stretched out her sore fingers and started clearing the workspace for the day. "Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?"

Musichetta nodded. "Henri said there's no meeting tonight though, so we may even leave early for once."

Laughing, Sophie put on her pelisse and scarf. "I don't believe we've ever left the Musain early, and why should we when there's good wine and good company?"

"Hear, hear!"

They said goodbye to Monsieur Foulon and left the shop arm in arm. The Latin Quarter was alive with activity; many cafés were starting to fill up with patrons as workers got off their shifts. Crossing the street Sophie saw a familiar face; the Lieutenant she had met at the Jardin du Tuileries almost a month earlier. His face lit up with recognition as they halted in front of him.

"Mademoiselle, what a pleasant surprise."

"Bonjour, Lieutenant."

He turned to Musichetta and gave a curt bow. "Forgive my rudeness, Mademoiselle. Lieutenant Léon Bouchard, at your service."

She smiled. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm Musichetta Vallee. I didn't know you were acquainted with my friend here."

"We've met only briefly," Sophie explained. She didn't like the look on her friend's face, and hoped she wasn't about to do anything stupid.

Bouchard looked back to Sophie. "So briefly I never learnt your name, Mademoiselle. Would you oblige me?"

"I'm Sophie Guilhon."

"Are you familiar with Le Perchoir, Lieutenant?" Musichetta interrupted, and despite the dread filling her, Sophie had to hold back a chuckle. Subtlety had never been her strong suit. "We will be there tomorrow night to celebrate the New Year, perhaps we shall see you there?"

His moustache twitched as he smiled. "Perhaps, if duty does not call me away elsewhere."

Sophie forced a smile on her face. "It was lovely meeting you, Lieutenant, but we must be going." She practically dragged Musichetta down the street. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she clenched her jaw. "What was that good for?" she asked when they were out of earshot.

"I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about," Musichetta fired back, voice light with good cheer.

"That was very untoward. I don't even know him!"

"Does that mean you can't get better acquainted? He's a fine looking man and you need some romance in your life, Sophie. I'm not proposing marriage, only conversation and maybe a dance or two."

Sophie snorted. "You'd have us married by Easter, I've no doubt."

Musichetta only grinned in response.

The back room of the Musain was packed, which was usual. An unusual sight was the sight of Bousset holding back an angry Jehan, who was so red in the face he matched Bahorel's favourite waistcoat, and a student Sophie didn't remember the name of screaming curses at him. Despite the uncharacteristic behaviour from the poet, the lack of responses from the rest of the room told her it wasn't a serious argument.

"This is a welcome sight," Sophie quipped, hanging her pelisse on the coat stand before joining a table where Courfeyrac and Feuilly were playing dominoes, and Enjolras was deep in a discussion with Joly.

The fan maker smiled at her. "Bonsoir, Sophie. I didn't hear you come in."

"Do I want to know what's going on there?" She motioned over to where Jehan and the student were now talking in a more civilised matter, although Bousset looked ready to step between the two men again if necessary.

"Artistic differences."

"We had an interesting encounter on our way here," Musichetta said as she sat at the table, and the tone of her voice caused all occupants to shift their focus to her.

Courfeyrac raised his brows when Sophie's cheeks flushed. "This sounds promising," he grinned.

"We ran into an acquaintance of Sophie's, a Lieutenant Bouchard."

Whistles and jeers sounded at the table, and Feuilly nudged Sophie's arm so forcefully she spilt her wine. Only Enjolras and Joly had the tact to not join the teasing. The medical student looked mostly amused by the tone at the table, grinning as he smoked his pipe.

Wiping her hand on her skirt, rolled her eyes. "He is only an acquaintance, and barely that."

"We'll see about that tomorrow," Musichetta laughed.

Courfeyrac turned to Enjolras, his cheeks pink and warm. "What of tomorrow then, fair Apollo? You'll be joining us for the festivities, I hope. It would be cruel to deprive the young ladies of Paris of your beautiful statue."

Enjolras looked unamused by his friend's drunken ramble. "Don't call me that. I've not yet decided on tomorrow."

"You should join us," Joly said. "There are many reasons to celebrate the birth of a new year."

Courfeyrac raised his glass in a toast and slung his arm around Sophie's shoulders. "For the wine, women and song if nothing else!"

"I'll leave that to you, my friend," Enjolras said dryly. "I'm afraid none of those things fit my character."

Sophie met his eyes briefly before she looked back at the drunken dandy and shrugged his arm off. "Wine, women and song are what you do best, Courf. Well maybe not the song, you have a terrible singing voice."

He gave an exaggerated gasp, green eyes wide. "Oh, the insult! You'll never get a husband if you don't watch your tongue."

Sophie groaned. "Are you and Musichetta conspiring against me?"

"Hmm, am I what?" Musichetta turned her attention away from Joly at the mention of her name.

"A conspirer," Courfeyrac grinned. "To save fair Sophie from spinsterhood."

"I hardly think spinsterhood starts at twenty-four."

"Thank you, Joly," Sophie said. "It's good to know someone is on my side."

"I am on your side," Musichetta said. "I just also happen to want you to be as happy as I am."

"As if any man would want a bluestocking as a wife." The voice was low but still audible.

At the next table over two students had been listening in on their conversation. The one who had spoken evidently hadn't counted on his comment being heard by anyone but his friend, and now found himself the subject of seven pairs of icy stares. He showed no sign of shame for his statement, meeting their stares with a raised jaw. Sophie's cheeks flushed with equal part embarrassment and anger.

Courfeyrac stood swiftly, his chair toppling over by the force. "You piece of-"

"Étienne!" Sophie said sharply, the use of his first name making him halt. "Don't."

"That was untoward and out of line," Enjolras said coldly, and the student squirmed under the blond leader's intense gaze. "Citizeness Guilhon is a friend and an ally to our cause, and I will not tolerate such comments. Understood?"

Disgruntled, the student nodded grimly.

"I need some air," Sophie said, standing. She felt as though all eyes were on her as she walked out the back door and down the steps which lead to Rue des Grés.

The narrow street was empty and the cold wind was refreshing on her flushed cheeks. She leant back against the brick wall and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply as she tried to calm herself. The sound of the door to the Musain opening reached her ears, the sounds of revelry becoming louder and then diminishing as the door closed again. Footsteps coming down the stairs and a deep sigh filled the air. She opened her eyes to see Enjolras, half-obscured by darkness.

"Are you alright?"

She shrugged. "I'm fine. It's hardly the first time such a comment has been made in my direction, nor do I suspect it will be the last. I've learned to simply ignore it, though I admit it's not always as easy as it sounds."

"Nevertheless, the remark should not have been made."

Sophie gave a dry chuckle, rubbing her neck. "I can't say I disagree with you."

A comfortable silence spread between them, the kind that comes when two people know each other well. Dark as it was, Enjolras found it easy to study her without appearing to be outwardly staring. A few locks of hair had escaped the pins and was blowing around her face, and there was a glow to her complexion which could only partly be explained by the intake of wine. Her blue work dress was simple, and though he knew nothing about women's fashion, nor did he particularly care to, he couldn't deny the colour suited her well. Watching her as he was, he noticed when she gave an involuntary shiver from the cold.

"Shall we go back inside?" he suggested.

She pushed herself off the wall and nodded. "I feel considerably calmed down, albeit a bit embarrassed."

"It's they who should feel embarrassed, not you."

She gave a small smile and mumbled a quick 'thank you'. He gestured for her to walk up ahead of him, and as she went up the stairs he held back a little. Taking a deep breath, he watched her for a second before continuing up the stairs. Maybe this was going to be more difficult than he thought.

Like it? Loathe it? Love it? Let me know.