A/N: Hello again dear readers. Here is the next instalment in what I hope is an interesting story. It would be lovely to hear from more of you, please, tell me honestly what you think of my characters, what you think should happen to our dear Enjolras, I do love hearing from you.

Thank you everyone who has reviewed, favourited and followed so far. Each one of you means so much to me.

Disclaimer: I am not Victor Hugo, therefore I don't own Les Miserables.

And now, on with the story.

By the time Vanessa returned home that evening, she had calmed remarkably. She collapsed into the small apartment looking worn and tired, her face flushed and her hair sticking to her skin with sweat. She hated having to work two jobs, especially two waitressing jobs, but it paid a debt and that was all that mattered. Plus she now had another mouth to feed, though she was sure that as soon as she introduced her new charge to Madame LaMotte and her two children, he would be welcome down in the café to be fed for free any time.

The owner of the café, who to this day refused to be called a widow, was a kind, affable woman who wouldn't see anyone go hungry, nor would she see them mistreating her staff, something Vanessa was very grateful for. She had owned the Liberté with her husband for over twenty years, and was known throughout Paris for being the woman who wouldn't turn any man in need away. Due to this fact, she was out of profit more often than not. However, the Lord blessed her each month with enough money to pay her bills and the rent and so she did not mind.

Vanessa realised with a jolt that she had been standing in the doorway of her small apartment staring at the sleeping form at the kitchen table for 15 minutes. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, trying to decide what to do. Shrugging off her coat, she glanced at the small clock on the side table, just enough time to bathe and get changed before her evening shift in the Liberté began. She supposed she should also wake up the fragile looking man curled up against the table, so with a another haggard sigh, she walked over to him and gently nudged his arm. "Apollo, wake up," she said with all the gentleness she could muster. When this didn't work, she tried a slightly more forceful approach: kicking his chair out from under the table which sent the poor man flying backwards.

His eyes shot open and he let out a strangled cry as he soared backwards across the floor. He landed in a tangled heap of chair and man, then blinked up at her in confusion. "What happened?" he asked groggily.

Vanessa couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, he looked less and less like the hero of Grantaire's stories and more like a young child. "I came home to find you asleep in the same position I left you in this morning. Have you been there all day?" she asked.

Frowning for a moment before realisation hit him, Enjolras nodded. "Apparently so. What time is it?" he asked through a badly suppressed yawn.

Vanessa glanced at the clock. "Half past three," she replied, "I've got about an hour before I need to go downstairs and work. Do you think you can entertain yourself for twenty minutes while I change and then we'll go get some dinner?"

She sauntered off into her own room leaving Enjolras to sit on the floor feeling even more confused than he had before. Eventually he decided he might as well get up off the wood. There was no doubt there would be a nice, colourful bruise on his left hip in the morning. With twenty minutes to spare, he looked around the room for something to occupy his time, and a pile of sketchpads stacked up against the sofa caught his eye. They were hidden among the other books, but Enjolras had seen them often enough to recognise them as different from the dull hardbacks that surrounded them.

Grantaire's sketchbooks were a common topic of conversation among the Amis after meetings. Enjolras had only ever looked at one of them in the time he had known him, but he had been surprised by the cynic's talent. Not a day went by when you wouldn't hear Grantaire's comments on the ugliness of the world; it seemed true beauty, for Grantaire, could only be created on a page.

Enjolras slowly made his way over to the sofa and picked up the first one. After glancing at the closed door separating him and Vanessa, he looked back at the cover of the book. It was a simple black covering with string sewn into the binding to keep it together, evidently well used, and had smatterings of paints and silvery smudges of charcoal smeared across the cover. Enjolras held it as carefully as if it was a small child, cradling it in his lap. He delicately opened the first page and found a very familiar face staring back at him.

His own piercing blue eyes glared back at him with a passionate fire. The piece was a perfect reflection of the real man, or at least the man that he had been. The golden curls that framed his face were coloured with a gentle wash of paint, so that each curl seemed to shine and glint as though the sun had caught it. He really did look like he belonged in some ancient legend. The painting took Enjolras' breath away. He had known Grantaire was good. It was only now he realised how good Grantaire actually was.

On turning the page, Enjolras found a beautiful woman glancing at him through long, delicate lashes with a gentle, affectionate smile gracing her cracked lips. The woman seemed shy, as though not used to the attention of the artist. The drawing was in charcoal, but each detail of her face was as intricate as that of the painting on the previous page. Enjolras could practically touch the hollow of her cheeks and the dirt streaked across her left cheekbone, which protruded painfully from beneath her skin. She was gaunt and looked as though she hadn't slept in months, yet there was a peculiar unearthly beauty about this lady of the streets. Enjolras wondered how on earth Grantaire had met this ethereal creature. He wondered on the identity of this young waif for a while, drinking in every miniscule detail of her image.

He remembered seeing this woman before. Those dark, brooding eyes that seemed to accuse Enjolras through the page.

"We must have education for all, not just for the bourgeois who lord over the masses!" Enjolras finished his speech, slamming his fist passionately onto the table in front of him. His fiery words were met with rapturous applause from the crowd crammed into the second floor of the Musain. There were cheers and calls of agreement from almost every man. It seemed that at last Enjolras had found a way to speak to the people he would one day fight for; through passionate words and promises of a better tomorrow, he managed to stir in them the desire to join his battle against the inequality of man.

He moved away from the table at the head of the room, satisfied that he had no contest for their attention now. All he needed to do was allow them to mull his speech over between themselves and wait until they came to him.

"What about the women?"

The throng of men parted and Enjolras saw a dark haired woman in the centre of the room, hand on her hip and a calm, defiant expression on her face.

Enjolras swallowed, unsure of how to broach this subject. In all honesty, education for women was something he had taken for granted in his speech. Of course he thought it was necessary, but it was necessary for all, so that included women, obviously. Or at least, Enjolras thought that was what he meant.

He coughed to cover up his momentary pause and frowned down at the woman. "Mademoiselle, of course women should be able to receive an education," he said calmly.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" the woman asked. "It seems to me that only thing you're interested in is wasting lives on your barricade." The room fell into a strange silence as everyone waited to see Enjolras' reaction.

Slowly, Grantaire rose to his feet and placed a hand on the woman's forearm in a brief moment of sobriety. She glanced down at it disdainfully and brushed it off before looking back at Enjolras with accusation in her eyes. In the silence of the room Enjolras heard Grantaire whisper to his friend.

"Please, not now," he begged

With a fire that held all her pain and anger in her eyes, the woman glared at Grantaire. "No," she said, her voice rising so the whole room could hear. "No I shan't just be quiet while you pine over him and his pointless revolution!" She turned to face the room. "How is this revolution going to change the world, answer me that? Can anyone?" She looked around the room, as did Enjolras, and to his dismay, none of his Amis would look her in the eye and stand up for what they believed in. How could one woman make his men lose their faith?

He was furious.

Finally, Vanessa's eyes met Enjolras' and she raised an eyebrow. Enjolras felt a fierce anger rise in his chest as he began his answer, "This revolution that you have so little faith in is going to change the world by releasing the masses from a system of government that has oppressed them for years. The barricades will bring a new tomorrow and a new government that cares about the people of France. We care about the people of France, all of them! The men, the women, the children; we all deserve the same. Every person deserves the chance to have a life worth living, don't you think, mademoiselle?" The sarcasm and disdain in his voice as he spoke her title shocked Enjolras. He knew this was a childish thing to do, but he had no power over his own tongue at the minute.

There was a ripple of laughter. The men in the room all thought he was mocking this woman. Had he been? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that in defence against this sharp tongued woman, he had turned to infantile tactics that would patronise her, and that had not been his intention. He looked down at the brunette who was still glowering at him with dark, venomous eyes. They sent a shiver down his spine, though he would never admit it. Swallowing thickly, he turned away from the mass of bodies and moved over to his table, where Combeferre and Courfeyrac sat, both staring at their respective drinks. Combeferre looked up sheepishly, and gave Enjolras an apologetic smile.

"Mon ami, you gave a great speech," he offered.

"And I ruined all my day's work in one sentence. No: one word. How can I call for equality when I can't even give it?" Enjolras replied

"Indeed," came a low voice from behind them. It was the woman who had just thwarted his work, her dark blue eyes brimming with loathing as she placed two more drinks on the table and picked up the empties. Realisation dawned; she was the barmaid here, so making a fool of her probably wasn't his best move . . . "Maybe now you can live what you preach and do some good before you destroy lives on your barricade of death," she hissed before turning away. Grantaire was blocking her way, glaring at her as though she had just told God himself that he didn't exist.

"What are you doing, ma cherie?" he asked in a hushed voice, though Enjolras heard perfectly. He also saw the way Grantaire gripped the dark haired woman's arm, the red marks that were forming around his hand.

"Giving him the wake up call he needs. You would do well to heed his lesson, now let go of my arm!" she growled. She pulled away from him with enough force to unbalance the cynic. With one, teary, hate filled glance back at Enjolras, Vanessa stormed out of the room and downstairs to the kitchens. Enjolras had never felt more wretched.

Grantaire meanwhile, was frozen in exactly the same position as before, stuck between running after Vanessa and staying with his Apollo. In the end it was Enjolras who won out, much to the dismay of the furious, heartbroken young woman sat downstairs crying in the kitchen.

Enjolras only stopped staring at the strangely beautiful woman when the door to Vanessa's bedroom opened and, suddenly, he didn't need to wonder on her identity any more. He could perfectly imagine her younger, too thin and with dirt marring her alabaster skin, and the image was forever seared into his memory. Vanessa looked at the book with a moment of sorrow before glaring at Enjolras with hatred flaming in her stormy blue eyes. "What are you doing with that?" she snapped.

"I'm sorry, I never got to see much of his work before, I was just interested." Enjolras said sheepishly.

Vanessa seemed to mellow and walked over to look at the page, then smile sadly. Evidently this portrait held a special place in the woman's heart. Her face had softened and Enjolras found she was quite beautiful when she didn't frown. Of course Enjolras could appreciate her beauty, yet felt nothing towards her; he was, as was usual for the revolutionary, indifferent. And that was all he had been for the past few months, unwilling to permit himself to feel anything for fear that the guilt would overwhelm him. The only time he had allowed any emotion to seep through his defences, he had lost it completely and ended up on the bridge.

"He was very gifted, no?" Vanessa said quietly. Her eyes were distant. Wistful, even. Enjolras' heart ached for her; she must have loved the cynic very much. She took a deep, shaking breath and turned away as to hide her tears from the ever observant Apollo.

Enjolras nodded mutely and stared at the book, not knowing how to comfort the brunette beside him. The silence that blanketed the room was heavy, Enjolras staring at a portrait before him, Vanessa standing at his side. Her eyes had glazed over with tears; it was obvious she was remembering some far off memory and, in all honesty, Enjolras didn't have the heart to break her from such a thing. After all, in this time of mourning, all she had were her memories, just as he too, only had his memories . . . . however he still didn't know if they were doing him any good.

After a tense pause, Vanessa seemed to snap out of her daze and studied Enjolras, who in turn looked up at her with expectant eyes. He was about to say something when a low growl cut across his words. He coughed to cover up the embarrassment. "Sorry, I forgot to eat today," he said as way of apology.

Instead of the silence he had become accustomed to with Vanessa, she replied with a sort of half-disguised laugh.

"Well, there's a surprise." It was nice to see a genuine smile on her face, Enjolras decided. Through her giggles, Vanessa said, "You wouldn't believe the amount of times Combeferre or Courfeyrac would come to me with that same exasperated expression and ask me to get you some soup because you had forgotten once again to eat for a week!" Enjolras quickly found that Vanessa's smile was infectious, she seemed to light up the room with her crooked grin. "Do you remember the time you forgot to eat and fainted during a speech?" she asked.

Enjolras groaned. "Yes, I never felt so mollycoddled in my entire life!" He shook his head in mock horror. "Even Jehan talked to me as though I was an infant."

Enjolras' reaction only added to Vanessa's good mood and she began to laugh freely. "Well, we don't want to make the same mistake," she grinned. "Shall we go down to the café and get some food before my shift?" She gestured to the door.

It was as if all the pain and anger had melted away in the brief moments of her laughter and she was a new person. She was much brighter, she seemed happier, but Enjolras knew that wasn't the case. Instead of trying to force her into talking about her feelings, something he himself was terrible at, he chose to enjoy the brief happiness they could share. He followed her out of the small flat and down a flight of shambling, winding stairs that hugged the back wall of the café which brought them to a small courtyard behind the kitchen. In the courtyard sat a young man, his head thrown back so that he could enjoy the bright orange glow of the sun as it filtered into space. Enjolras watched as Vanessa came to a stop in front of the young brunet, blocking the sun. Moaning at the sudden lack of warmth, the teen opened his eyes and jumped when he saw the reason behind the disappearance. "Vanessa!" he squeaked, standing to attention.

A chuckle escaped Vanessa's lips. "Bonjour Claude, having a nice nap?" she asked.

"Erm, yes," he stammered, then changed his mind. "No, no I wasn't sleeping!"

Claude, at 19 was not as naïve as his sister, yet had a strength that surpassed all those he met. He too had a gentle beauty to his strong, dark features and it was said among those who knew him well that he was almost a perfect replica of his father. He shared the same dark eyes and rich chestnut hair that his mother had fallen in love with. Claude was Vanessa's constant shadow since she had begun working for the LaMotte's four years ago and was fiercely jealous of any man who held her attention over him. It was not lost on Vanessa that she had this young admirer, however she chose to ignore him for the most part, hopeful that he would eventually find a woman who would distract him and hold his heart forevermore.

Vanessa's laugh only got louder. "Don't worry mon ami, I won't tell your mother. Just as long as you make sure to do my lock ups next week, okay?" She winked.

With a relieved sigh, Claude nodded. "Yeah, sure. Do you want me to do tonight as well?" he asked, halfway through a yawn.

"No, I think I'll do tonight." Vanessa looked past the young brunet into the kitchen. "Is your mother in the kitchen?" she asked.

Claude nodded. "She's already cooking the meals." His eyes flitted over to where Enjolras stood bathed in the shadows of the afternoon, he started as he saw him. "Vanessa, who's this?" he asked, his voice turning sharp with accusation.

"Come into the kitchen with me and you'll soon find out," she laughed, wrapping an arm around the slender shoulders of the brunet and grabbing Enjolras' wrist as she made her way through a small door into the dimly lit kitchen. "Madame LaMotte!" she sang, "Madame, where are you?"

A gentle looking, elderly woman emerged from the storeroom, her blonde hair frazzled from the heat of the stove and her cheeks had a rosy hue to them. "Vanessa dear, you're not needed down here for another hour yet," she said kindly. She had a soft voice that painfully reminded Enjolras of his mother.

At this moment a whirlwind of movement came blurring through the door into the café, "Mama, I'm back," a young, gay voice called. The tempest came to a halt and as the steam of the kitchen settled around her, a radiant blonde was revealed. Genevieve, who was maturing into an ever joyful, beautiful, golden haired young woman who could have rivalled the beauty of a cherub. But Genevieve was a very naïve young woman, and in her heart she was still just a child. She had somehow kept her childlike innocence after 21 years of living in some of the darkest corners of Paris. She had a smile that spoke of freedom from the horrors that Enjolras had seen, and eyes that sparkled with the joys of life, those very blue eyes suddenly locking onto Enjolras'. Her jaw dropped open as though she had seen the Lord himself before her, her hands dropped from where they had been unbuttoning her coat, the basket she had been holding dropped to the ground.

She was infatuated. In all honesty, Enjolras was used to this sort of reaction from women now, though he hadn't expected it in his current state.

Vanessa had also noticed the apparent infatuation of her friend and chuckled. "Gen, dear, wake up," she laughed and pulled Enjolras further into the room. "May I introduce to you, Monsieur Enjolras. He is staying with me in my rooms for the time being. Enjolras, this is Madame LaMotte, the owner of this fine establishment, her daughter, Genevieve, and her son, Claude." She gestured with a flourish to each as she introduced them, then grinned at Enjolras. "They are my own little family, I have no idea what I'd do without them."

Enjolras nodded respectfully. "Madame, it is an honour to meet you," he said. He bowed deeply to Genevieve. Then he extended a hand to Claude, which was eyed suspiciously by the younger man. It took a nudge in the ribs from Vanessa as she passed for him to accept the gesture. "It's good to meet you, monsieur," Enjolras said, silently taking in this young man who obviously saw him as a rival.

Madame LaMotte cut in when she saw her son's jealous glare. "Well, Monsieur," she said loudly, "would you like something to eat? I know our dear Vanessa is partial to a meal or two that she doesn't have to cook herself." She winked with a mischievous grin.

"I'll take you up on that offer!" Vanessa hollered from in the café. Her call caused a ripple of laughter among the little group; Enjolras felt more like part of this family in just a few minutes than he ever had in his own.

Madame LaMotte plated up enough meals for each of them. "Well, come on then you rabble!" She laughed as she made her way out of the kitchen.

She set the plates down on a table and gestured for them to join her. Genevieve and Claude quickly took a seat at either side of their mother, with Claude on her right and Genevieve on her left. Vanessa had taken one look at the glare Claude was giving Enjolras, and sat beside the young brunet. Slowly, Enjolras took a seat between the two young women and shot Vanessa a grateful glance. She nodded her understanding.

As she came to the end of her meal Madame LaMotte leaned back in her seat. "So, Monsieur Enjolras," she began cheerily.

Enjolras cut in. "Please Madame, I would prefer it if you dropped the 'monsieur'. It's just Enjolras."

This gained him a chuckle from the elderly woman opposite. "Very well, Enjolras. If I may ask, how do you know our dear Vanessa?" she asked between mouthfuls.

Both Vanessa and Enjolras froze, neither wanting to bring up their relationship. Vanessa stepped in. "I met Enjolras when he was in need and invited him to stay with us until he no longer requires my help."

Madame LaMotte noticed the guarded look in her adoptive daughter's eyes and frowned, however she decided that was a conversation she must have with the girl later. Instead, she smiled warmly at the newcomer and turned the conversation onto setting up for the night. "Well, he's very welcome to stay as long as he pulls his weight. Speaking of which, Gen, ma petite, Claude is going to the church for his lessons and it's my night off, so you two are on your own tonight."

Vanessa nodded. "That's fine, we can handle ourselves," she said with a grin. She glanced at the window. "Better start getting ready then."

Enjolras followed her gaze and found he was looking at quite a gathering of men already waiting for the café to reopen for the evening. He watched as Madame LaMotte collected the plates and took them into the back, Claude made his way through the kitchen to collect his coat and satchel before his evening lessons and Genevieve and Vanessa pulled on aprons and lit candles. As all this happened, Enjolras felt impossibly redundant. It was as though he had simply disappeared from view. He felt as though he should maybe get up and help the two young women. However they kept insisting that he needn't get up, Genevieve especially as she kept coming back to his table with another refill. It seemed he was spending the evening in a café, the first time in over a month. He just prayed he would be left alone.

A/N: Me again. Just wanted to remind you that it would make me very happy if you reviewed. It doesn't take long . . . unless you take ages to type. See you in a week.
Mags