Courfeyrac stood watching as the girl continued to sob. He saw her not-so-subtle glances his way, and he understood that she had something to say to Marius, but did not want to say it in front of him.

"Well, Marius, you know where to find me," he said as if their conversation had not been interrupted by some catastrophe. "After ten or so you know we'll be at the cafe. Goodbye. Er, lovely meeting you, Mademoiselle."

Neither paid him any mind. As soon as Courfeyrac had left, Cosette sighed with relief.

"Please tell me what happened," Marius pleaded, guiding Cosette to the old, battered couch he and Courfeyrac had pushed against the wall of their small main room. He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and gently shook her. "Please."

"You'll hate me," she said, her voice choked.

"I couldn't."

"You'll be very angry," she revised.

"Are you hurt? Did you do something?"

"I'm... no, well, I didn't do something. Someone else did."

"I will only be angry with them," Marius promised, hoping he could keep it. "But please tell me what happened."


Cosette said goodbye to her father; he would be gone for the evening.

"I'll be back in the late afternoon tomorrow," he promised, kissing her forehead.

She gave him an empty smile- he was off to secure goods for their journey toEngland. "Have a safe journey, father," she bid, meaning it.

She did not know where her father went, but every few months he left for a few days to keep their household running smoothly. She always assumed he was going to their bank, and it was probably where he was going now.

After her father left, Cosette kneeled beside the couch in the living room and prayed for awhile. It was rather dreary here in the rue de le Homme l'Arme. She had no piano, so could not practice her music. She had no garden to walk in, and the apartment was very small and stuffy.

Cosette sighed. She refused to dissolve to tears, but she felt utterly abandoned in this horrible, small, lifeless apartment completely decorated in brown. She would not see Marius that night- he was off seeing someone, and Cosette pouted. He had not told her where he was going. He was doing something to ensure they would not be separated, so she could not be too resentful. She prayed for him to succeed, and prayed for her father's safety and for him to have a miraculous change of heart on his journey.

Toussaint was out buying some food, so when the door to the apartment opened Cosette barely noticed. She had probably returned.

"Hello, Mademoiselle," a man's voice interrupted her prayers.

Cosette nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked up and saw a thin, good looking young man.

He gave her an engaging smile. When he spoke, his voice was soft and kind. Cosette's suspicions evaporated.

"I work nearby here, Mademoiselle, and the porter let me up. I was just here because, you see, my little sister has just vanished."

"That's terrible!" Cosette said, getting up. She noticed the young man's shiny, dark hair and his flash of white teeth when he smiled. Despite her misery from the moment before, she flushed. He was very handsome.

"The porter said a young woman lived here with her father. He said you two might have seen her, since you had only just come by this way from the outside."

"Oh- he isn't home now," Cosette said. "I don't remember any little girls nearby. My father may, but like I said, he's not home."

"He isn't?" the young man said, looking genuinely concerned, but pleasant. Cosette's heart fluttered, and she wanted to help him.

"No, I'm sorry," Cosette said. "Do you have any idea where she could be?"

"Not a one," he said. Curiously, he stepped further into the room.

He looked at her steadily, with a half-smile on his face. A smirk. For the first time, Cosette felt an unpleasant warning in her heart, and took a step away from him.

"Is there something else you need?" she volunteered.

"I was going to ask you to come help me look," he confessed, the softness of his voice gone. She noticed that, when he looked at her that way, he did not seem so good looking anymore. "But I think I might be detained here for a while longer."

"Here?" Cosette asked, her voice quivering. She cleared her throat.

"Yes," the young man said, now positively menacing. He stepped closer to her.

"Monsieur, I think maybe you should leave," Cosette said, praying for Toussaint to come back. "Or we can take this conversation out onto the street."

"No, I don't think so," he growled.

One moment, he was several paces away from her, and she was standing looking at him. In another, she was forced to the floor.

He pushed her with a hefty might, and she stumbled, tripping on her skirt.

"What-?" she gasped.

"Shut up!" he growled. He pushed her shoulders to the ground, so she was laying flat on her back on the floor of the living room.

The man kept one hand on her chest, forcing her to stay down. Cosette was hardly able to breathe, and he fumbled with something on the inside of his coat.

She screamed, but the sound only escaped for a second before he produced a knife. She gasped, and the air caught in her throat.

"Shut your mouth, girl," he said, his eyes hungry and terrifying.

His eyes, which had seemed charming only a minute ago, now looked like burning coals, the devil's own stones. Cosette could not move a muscle, let alone make a sound. How had she ever found him charming? The only part of her that seemed to be able to react was her heart, which was beating with an extreme force, as if to assert she was alive.

Cosette was certain that, in a few minutes, she would not be. He would surely slit her throat right here.

But he did not slit her throat- instead, he was lifting her off the ground, only high enough to get his hand behind her back. Before Cosette could realize what he was doing, she heard a tearing sound.

She cried out and started thrashing against him as he tore at her bodice. He stilled, and pressed the knife to her throat again.

"If you don't shut your pretty little mouth," he warned, his breathe foul and sour on her face, "I will carve some nice pictures into your pure, soft white skin." He said the last words like purrs, pressing his face against her neck.

Her eyes were wide in terror as she felt his lips against her neck, and her stomach turned over when she felt his tongue, cold and slimy, lick her skin there. Her hands shook wildly.

He was so close to her that Cosette could feel the roughness of his cheek, smell the tobacco on his breath. Then, he caused her to cry out by kneeling on top of her legs, his entire weight pinning her to the ground. Gripping her hair and twisting it back, he warned her not to make another sound.

Cosette obeyed, fearing his wrath if she didn't, with tears streaming down her face. She tried to escape in her mind, and began to pray silently. In a minute, she lay naked beneath this evil man, who lay on top of her, smiling as though she should be happy he was doing this.

And all she thought he was going to do was kill her. She wished he'd killed her now. This was far, far worse.

Closing her eyes, she continued to pray to God, apologizing for whatever sin she must have done to deserve this. Cosette, who had known her fair share of misery before this, reached a new level when she felt him shove his fingers up inside of her.

"You'll be happy when this is through," he said, planting disgusting kisses on her neck and her face. Feeling like she would heave, Cosette turned her face away.

This angered him.

"Look at me," he commanded. When she did not, he tore at her hair again, forcing her head up. Then, once she was looking at him, he slammed himself into her.

Cosette could not help it- she screamed, sobs wracking her body. She had never felt that kind of pain before- it was unlike being beaten or starved; she could almost taste blood.

He did not stop. Thrusting himself into her again and again, he continued to mutter horrendous words that Cosette had never heard before, but knew they were filthy. Her back chafed on the rough, cheap carpet on the ground. Each time she opened her eyes, she only saw his face, and she knew she had never hated anyone before this. But now she felt hatred boil inside of her and she longed to kill him.

But Cosette would not let herself give into evil. She closed her eyes, and tried to shut her ears, to rid herself of the noises he was making and the triumphant gleam in his eye.

She had thought the worst thing a man could do was hit you, or kill you. She'd seen men from the galleys- they were dirty, huge, animalistic. This man was pretty like a girl, and was more evil than she could have even imagined.

The image of the snake from the story of Adam and Eve flashed into her mind. That was right. He was a snake. The devil's own servant.

After almost ten minutes of this torture, he shuddered and gave a revolting sigh. Cosette glared at him with utter loathing, but remembered something her father had told her.

He did not approve of violence, but he'd told her one thing about how to deter a male attacker. He had told her where to kick them, should it ever be necessary. Cosette, who did not generally endorse violence either, suddenly realized she would never have a more necessary time.

She played it well; she turned her gaze from disgust to sweetness.

"So that's it, is it?" he said as he pulled out of her. "I've changed your mind? I told you you'd enjoy-"

She kneed him with all her might, and watched as he convulsed, his eyes closing. He did not make a sound at first, but then he cried out, grunting in pain. She made her next move quickly. She felt behind her frantically, until her hand closed on the cool silver of one of the candlesticks her father brought everywhere with them. Dreading it, but also savoring it, she smashed the candlestick onto her attacker's head.

He fell against her, knocked out. Crying out in disgust, Cosette used most of her strength to push the man off her.

Standing was difficult- she was bleeding, and could not walk without wincing. But she knew she had only a minute or so of complete safety. She found her gown, and put it on without her corset, thanking the thick material. It would not show the fact that she had forsaken undergarments. On another day, she would have never gone out that way, but then she hardly cared.

She did, however, take the time to stash the candlesticks in a cabinet above the kitchen table. If he wanted to steal, he would not take those.

With that, Cosette left the apartment.

But where to go?

Her father would not be home for another day. Another girl would have gone to the police, but the thought of those frightening men in their uniforms only made her heart pound more. Police, her father had always warned, could not be trusted completely. They always had their own agenda.

Then she remembered Marius had given her his address. She'd even written it down- the adrenaline pumping through her helped her recall the street name, but not the number.

Forgetting that he was supposed to be out, Cosette just put as much distance as she could between she and her own apartment. She asked a woman with a child for directions, like her father said to do if she ever got lost.

After stopping several more times for directions, Cosette found the rue de le Verrerie. After some more inquiries, she found what must be his building. A quick conversation with the porter, who saw only a hysterical girl and not any kind of threat, let her up.


Marius did not speak for a long time. Cosette had told her story straight, almost tearlessly. She sat beside him, looking at the opposite wall and never at him, her voice emotionless as she talked.

Marius got up then, his movement strict and powerful. His fists were clenched, and there was tension in his jaw. His eyes were intense, and a vein throbbed insistently in his temple.

"I'm going. Where did you say your apartment was?"

"What?" Cosette asked, not expecting this reaction.

"I am going to your apartment," Marius said through clenched teeth, pacing back and forth frantically. "He might still be there. That bastard- I'll kill him-"

"No, no you mustn't!" Cosette pleaded.

"He will not get away with this! What the hell is wrong with the porter, letting him up? Cosette, stay here, I'll be back-"

"No!" she screamed.

Marius stilled then, and looked at her. He had never seen her look so terrified.

"Don't leave," she begged in a small voice, her eyes huge. Though her volume was soft, the intensity of her plea was unshakable. "Don't leave me alone."

"I won't," he promised. His vengeful thoughts pounded in the back of his head, demanding attention. Cosette's tearful expression drove him back to his senses.

Killing a man would make him no better than this man, in the eyes of the law. Actually, it would make him worse.

"I'll stay," he promised. "But he will not get away with this. Tell me again what he looked like."

"Not now," Cosette pleaded, shielding her face from the light and from her sight against Marius. "I don't want to think about it now."

"You don't have to," he said soothingly. "You're safe here. No one will touch you ever again, I won't let them."

"May I stay here?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. "Do you want me to get the police?"

"No," she said sternly. "I don't want to talk to the police."

"Why not? Cosette, they might help-"

"It was shameful enough, telling you," she explained. "I won't tell strangers about this. No matter what, they can't make him take back what he did to me. And I don't trust the police."

"Alright then," Marius said, not knowing what he could do to help. "A doctor? How badly are you hurt?"

"I don't want to talk to anyone else tonight," she pleaded. "Just let me stay here."

"Of course you'll stay here," he said again. He rose up and filled a teapot, boiling some water over the fire. While it heated, he went into his and Courfeyrac's bedroom, where he stuffed away the belongings strewn about the room (all Courfeyrac's). He put the extra, clean blanket on the bed that they only used during cold nights, and took the old worn one with him for the couch.

When the water was done boiling, he made her a cup of tea, and took the rest back into his bedroom. He filled a washbasin with the hot water, and put a clean linen cloth by it. Then he put one of his nightshirts on the bed.

"Sleep, Cosette," he advised when he came back out. It was already dark outside, and she looked like she had been through hell.

Well, she had, he knew.

She nodded, and rose up. Without a word, she went into the bedroom.

He sat on the couch for a few minutes, his stomach in knots, churning and stewing in hatred and anger.

No one would hurt Cosette in Courfeyrac's apartment, he knew. The porter was a good man. He could just drop a word to him that no one, not a soul, was to come up to the apartment.

Then once she was asleep, he could leave.

And kill him.

He was interrupted when the door to the bedroom opened again. Cosette emerged, the nightshirt hanging nearly to the floor. If he'd been in the mood, he could have laughed.

But the look in her eyes stopped him.

"You'll be here, won't you?" she asked. "You won't leave?"

He shook his head, feeling his hopes of revenge shatter again. "I'll be right here."

As if to prove it, he drew his legs up onto the couch, too, and covered himself in the old worn blanket. "If you need anything, wake me up. I won't mind."

She nodded. He did not know what to say to help make this better; she looked like a ghost. The only solid thoughts he could maintain right now were violent ones, and he knew that was the last thing she needed.

He offered up the only words he could think of.

"I love you," he said softly.

The sad look on her face actually lightened a bit at that. Her eyes seemed to brighten.

"Thank you."


"Where the hell isMontparnasse?" Thenardier growled.

Babet shrugged.

"You," Thenardier spat at him. "You were supposed to distract that porter. What happened?"

"I did!" he said. "I got him all the way around the corner, explaining directions. He was off his post nearly five minutes- enough forMontparnasseto get in."

"But you didn't see him come out?"

"No," Babet spat. "And when he didn't for nearly twenty minutes, I gave up on him! I left! It was broad daylight! We shouldn't have been staging a kidnapping in broad daylight."

"Only because the little lark wouldn't come out in the night," Thenardier reminded. "We had to get her to think she was coming willingly, remember?"

Gueulemer shrugged. Claquesous, who would have much preferred doing this by night, kept his mouth shut. Thenardier could rant and rave as he liked, but it wasMontparnasse's neck on the line if he was caught, not any of theirs.

Suddenly the door burst open, andMontparnasseentered the room. He was a large, purple lump on his forehead, a crazed look in his eye, and no girl on his arm.

"What the hell have you been doing?" Thenardier demanded. "Where is she?"

"She ran off- she's a feisty, violent thing you can't hold down."

"Of course you can," Gueulemer protested. "Get a good hand round her neck, and she'll come with you!"

"That wasn't the point, idiot," Babet snapped. "We only sent you because we thought she'd follow you. We didn't send you to go and get yourself damn near arrested. What happened?"

"Well I went in to get her, and she was just... all alone. Did anyone tell what a pretty little thing she is?"

"We all saw her before," Thenardier reminded him.

"Well I didn't remember! So I thought to take some liberties before I got her here-"

"We didn't send you so you could act like a drunken dandy. We sent you to get the girl here!"

"Where all you would have been to try and take her first,"Montparnassesaid. "But at least this way, I had her first. But she knocked me out with something, and when I woke up she was long gone."

"But now you lost her." Thenardier said this simply, and was already walking in a circle, recalculating.

"I don't see what the damn point was. The apartment was in shambles, a poor little place,"Montparnassewhined, not liking the blame for this to be all on him. "Why don't we set our sights higher?"

They ignored him.

"Now she'll tell her father, and with one description to the police, they'll know it was us," Babet complained.

"Oh no," Thenardier said with a gleaming smile. The rest of his gang did not know the story, and he was pleased to withhold the information from them. Still, he reveled in this. "They won't tell. That man won't tell a soul."


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