Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Pairings: J/C; slight E/E

(For future reference, that indicates the parings presented in each chapter; just in case you were wondering.)

What She Really Is

Cosette felt her heart race, then stop, race then stop. She couldn't catch her breath. She saw stars. The ground beneath her wobbled. But soon, she felt a hand on her elbow, guiding her to a stone bench. She sat down with a heavy sigh and a hand upon her chest.

"Mademoiselle, are you well?"

The old woman shooed the man who tried to help her away. She then sat beside Cosette, taking her hand into her's. Cosette turned and stared at her with wide, fearful eyes. Her mother? Cosette.. Cosette never, ever heard a lick of information about her mother. Her father refused to touch the subject at all. When she had been younger, she had lived with an inn-keeper, his wife, and their child, what was it? Esmeralda? Eponine? The fact of the matter was, Cosette didn't know what to do. She didn't know whether to trust the woman or not. So, she tried to at least get an inkling of who she was.

Cosette licked her dry lips. "Your name, Madame?"

The woman frowned and leaned away. "Why would you need to know that?"

Cosette looked away for an answer. "So I know who I am addressing, of course."

The woman looked wary, but complied. "Madame Lombert."

Good; a name. Just in case the woman tried to kill her, Cosette would know who she was. "Merci, Madame. Now, you say you know about.. my mother?"

Madame grinned a toothless grin. "Certainly. One of my finest customers. I got a pretty penny for that hair of hers."

At this, Cosette turned to face Madame fully; she placed her hands on her lap and wrung them together. "What are you saying?"

Madame shook her head and held out her hand, intending for more to be given. Cosette sighed; she didn't have any more money with her. She'd brought only what she needed for the market. "I have nothing, Madame."

"Well," she began, cocking her head to the side. "You could give me this." Madame held up Cosette's shaking hand and pointed to the thin gold ring on her finger.

It had been a birthday present from her father; one of her favorite possessions. If what this woman was saying actually held any weight, it would be a fair trade indeed. Cosette slid the ring from her finger and placed it in the woman's hand.

"Bien. Maintient. Your mother came to us one day down here looking for money. She'd just lost her job and was in need of a way to pay a man who took care of her child. At first, she only wished to sell this old, silver locket; a piece of her girl's hair was inside. A man offered her little money and she wasn't satisfied. I had been watching all along, you see.

"She had such beautiful brown locks, very soft. I offered ten francs for all of it. She agreed. Poor girl worked for the whore-man for quite some time before she finally fell sick. One of the best, I might add. Did everything for her child. When she became ill, she also became feisty. She wanted nothing to do with her business but was in too deep to leave. She would fight men off and get in trouble, but never arrested. Until, one evening, she clawed a man's face and was arrested on the spot. Another man appeared, huge man, might I add; real handsome and well off. This man apologized for her, promised he would find her child, and they went off to a hospital somewhere. I ne'er saw her again. I can only assume she died. Tragic really."

Madame held up the ring to her eyes. "This real?" she asked.

Cosette was unable to move. Unable to think; unable to breath. Oh, God, she needed to get out of there. She needed.. she.. She didn't know what she really needed. Her father had said one thing about her mother to her when she turned twelve. He'd said, "Your mother was strong and good. She was pure, like you, my flower."

Oh, how wrong he'd been! How he'd lied through his teeth!

Cosette stood up, shaking. Madame attempted to help her, but Cosette roughly pushed her away. "Get your hands off of me," she growled. Madame wasn't shaken.

"Well, whatever you wish. Thanks for this." she lifted the ring up to show Cosette one last time.

At first, the young girl was tempted to steal it back and run all the way home. But it was from her father, the liar. Good, let the old hag have it. Melt it down; sell it. Whatever. Just as long as Cosette never saw it again.

Cosette swallowed and nodded, tears brimmed in her eyes, but she refused to look weak in front of these people. A group was slowly gathering around the two; women half-dressed, men more than drunk, children clinging onto their barely-alive mothers, street-rats. If Cosette was anything, she was kind; she was good.

But Cosette was not weak.

Lifting her chin up, Cosette straightened her shoulders and turned on her heels. She left the Red Light District without a glance back. When she reached the corner, though, she broke.

It had been several days since Jehan Prouvaire had first met Cosette. She was quite possibly the jumpiest woman he had ever laid eyes upon, as well as the most beautiful. Jehan had a thing for dramatics. He liked to sometimes blow things out of proportion with flowery words and grand gestures. Women often found him to be rather.. girly, for lack of a better word. But, in truth, Jehan was more manly than half of the men affiliated with Les Amis. He was certainly the bravest, certainly the softest, too. Like Enjolras, Jehan was ready to give up his life on a whim for France. Though this meant he would never become a world famous poet, Jehan was surprisingly content with going down in history as a revolutionary.

Joly collapsed into the chair beside Jehan with a hearty laugh. Marius followed closely behind Joly, holding a mug in his hand. Jehan looked up from his notebook; he closed it slowly.

"So, Jehan my boy, what is it today?" Joly nodded toward the notebook.

Jehan hoped his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. "Studies on the continents." This wasn't entirely a lie. Three pages back was where he'd left his unfinished report on Asia.

"Oh.." Joly nodded his head with a wink.

It was then that Marius leaned in. "Yesterday, at the rally, I saw this girl." Jehan froze. "She was.. wearing purple, rather pale looking.."

Joly rolled his eyes. "This must be the second time this week, Marius, that you have found you're true love!"

Marius leaned back, on the border of anger.

Joly continued. "Don't play coy with me. I know you, Pontmercy. Just last week you came bursting in saying you'd found 'the one.'"

Marius blushed and looked away. "Forget I said anything."

Jehan let go of the breath he'd been holding. While Cosette had made her completely unnecessary exodus when he'd merely winked at her, Jehan didn't want Marius did get involved with the poor girl. He hoped he would find her again soon. Just to smooth things over; let her know he meant no harm. Maybe Courfeyrac would come along to attest to this. Jehan shook his head with a smile. No. Courfeyrac would scare her even farther away.

Enjolras hopped up on a nearby chair, raising his hand to quiet the mass of men in the room. His blond hair glowed, and a rare smile graced his face. "Mon amis, tonight we dine as victors!" a small cheer flew from the men. "For at our last rally, not one, nor two, but four new men signed up to help us in our fight!" another cheer rang out. Enjolras waved his hand over to the men. The four of them sauntered up, looking too proud of themselves. Enjolras then made the proper introductions.

"This is Victor Lorcy." Enjolras indicated the shorter gentleman with flour smeared in his black hair.

"This is Remi Ruel." A stocky man, older, too. He was well off, according to his pins and badges from war.

"This is Augustin Ledger." Like the others, he was in his early to mid-twenties. Very tall, very thin; mousey, but tough.

"And this is Fabin Lorrene." More exotic than the rest. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair.

"Please, introduce yourselves and make them feel welcome." Enjolras hopped down and clasped them all on the shoulders, beaming. He slowly made his way over to Jehan, while the others greeted the new men.

"Think they'll last very long?" he asked. Last time, two men had signed up; both dropped out within the week.

Enjolras shrugged. "Certainly Remi. Victor, possibly; he should just stay in the bakery, to be honest. Certainly not Augustin; he's here for the long haul. Fabin might just be here for the women... or the glamour.. I don't know."

Jehan smiled softly. "You're doing very well, Enjolras."

"You too."

Jehan laughed harshly. "You're just saying that."

"No! I can feel some of them slipping."

Jehan knew he was speaking about Grantaire. The lump never did anything to help, or to contribute; he was just in it for the booze. "Well, Grantaire never does anything. If he's the first of us to leave, at least we won't be loosing Combeferre."

Enjolras smiled sadly. "Yes.."

"Is there something on your mind, Enjolras?"

Enjolras snapped up. "No. No." He was lying and Jehan knew it, though he didn't press it. Probably just school..

But, school is was not. Enjolras hadn't seen Eponine since he saw her bruise those few nights ago. He was getting worried. Montparnasse was ruthless; he would stop at nothing until he got what he wanted. Enjolras was worried for her safety, that was all. Or was it? He didn't know himself. Every time he got around her, he got a little nervous. Enjolras wasn't one to be nervous; not even when giving his speeches. Enjolras was worried he would trip up, do something wrong, and she would think less of him. He didn't understand why she did this to him, and frankly, it was annoying.

Just forget about her, Enjolras. For the night. Find her later, if you must. But for now, try and relax, he told himself.

"Relax?" he scoffed. "I don't relax."

Cosette slipped inside quietly. The candles in her father's room were out, or at least she hoped. She couldn't see any light underneath the door. Of course, it was well past the evening hours. Maybe he would have gone to bed, trusting her to return home safely. Cosette knew this would be a long shot.

She tip-toed into her room and lit a candle by her side. A circle of light illuminated her room. She nearly screamed when she saw him.

Valjean sat waiting in his daughter's desk chair. She came in quietly and lit the candle. He blinked to become adjusted to the light. He saw her intake of breath and eyes widen.

"Cosette," he said.

She stared at him. "Papa," she whispered.

"What pray tell is this?" he held up the revolution rally flyer.

He watched, too, as her eyes closed in embarrassment. "A flyer, Papa."

"For the revolution?"

"Yes."

"Did you lie to me? Did you go to this meeting?"

Cosette hesitated and then nodded.

"Why?"

"I.. I met someone. He wanted to show me what he was a part of. But, it don't matter now. He was only after one thing." she sighed and slipped off her shawl.

"Still, you disobeyed."

Cosette groaned and titled her head back. "I am not a child anymore, Papa! Stop treating me like one!"

"Don't you take that tone with me, child!" Valjean said, standing up quickly. "Where did you go? Who is this boy?" his voice was growing louder by the second.

"His name is.. It doesn't matter; he doesn't matter." she told herself.

"Cosette, I told you that you could go to the market, but you didn't listen. You know how worried I am when you go to things alone."

"Why?" Cosette's head turned sharply. She was eager to get answers. "Because you're afraid I'll find something out?"

Valjean faltered. He lowered his voice. "What?"

"You're worried I'll find out about her right?" her voice was rising quickly; she'd never felt this angry, this hurt. Why hadn't he told her!

"What are you saying, Cosette?"

"You afraid for me to leave you because you don't want me knowing my mother was nothing more than a common street-whore who was unable to keep her legs closed and mouth shut!" Cosette's voice broke and a tear slid down her cheeks. She spoke dangerously low then, "You don't want me to know that I'm exactly like her: worthless and dirty."

Oh, Cosette. Always jumping to conclusions. ;)