Despite his friends' misgivings, Enjolras's plans worked out almost perfectly.

The police chief, tired and annoyed, was glad enough to accept Montparnasse's explanation and send Enjolras and Courfeyrac on their way with not much more than a slap on the wrist and a promise not to do it again (which neither of them had any intention to keep). Now free, Montparnasse showed them to his safe house, where Grantaire, Joly, and most of the others were already waiting. They immediately put Enjolras to bed and sat down around him to keep vigil until the others arrived.

Meanwhile, Combeferre, Bahorel, and Musichetta were having a bit more difficult of a time. They broke into the prison easily enough (as Enjolras had predicted, security was light) but once inside, they were faced with the fact that they would have to take Feuilly and leave all the other prisoners behind. It was a horrible thought; no one deserved to suffer like this. Combeferre went through his own emotional crisis, until finally, Musichetta slapped him and told him to get himself together, and he put away the pain and guilt for later.

Feuilly's cell was easy to find. It was at the end of the block, with all the political dissidents. Musichetta, who had been confined in this very block herself, confidently led the way until finally, they were standing before the door. Then, with great ceremony, she handed Combeferre the hammer-and-pick set she had brought to break the lock.

"If you would like to do the honors, sir?"

Combeferre took the tools with trembling hands. Finally, he was about to see his love again. It had been so long, and he knew things would never be the same, but how would this moment be?

Suddenly impatient, he struck at the lock, clumsily maneuvering until it broke and the door slid open. "Feuilly?" he called.

"Combeferre?"

There was a scuffle and a hoarse cry, and then Feuilly was stumbling through the door, weeping and babbling unintelligible words, and then he was in Combeferre's arms, and that was all that mattered in this world and the next.

Musichetta and Bahorel, knowing that this reunion was too sacred for any other eyes, turned away to allow Combeferre and Feuilly their few moments of bliss. This was not meant for them to see.

All too soon, though, Musichetta grew antsy, knowing that they had to leave before they were discovered. So, not without regret, she instructed the others to pick Feuilly up and go.

"We can go out the way we came," she said. "Don't be distracted, now. The most important thing is to get Feuilly to safety."

Combeferre and Bahorel agreed with this most heartily. They did as she said, lifting Feuilly up between them (it wasn't hard– he had suffered so much in prison that he weighed barely more than a child), and headed for the exit.

Miraculously, they weren't stopped. They made it out of the prison without incident, and made their way through the streets, hearts in their throats, until finally they had reached Montparnasse's door. Musichetta gave the password, and they poured inside, so filled with adrenaline that they could barely contain themselves.

"We made it," gasped Bahorel. "Montparnasse, it worked! We made it!"

Montparnasse smiled, genuine for once. Although he wouldn't admit it, these rebels had won his heart. No more was he the selfish, callow dandy, living for himself in the underbelly of the city. He had seen a flash of light, and was drawn to it almost involuntarily. Never again would the street's song sound the same.

"I'm glad," he said. "I didn't know if you would make it, but I'm glad. Now, come in here. I'm sure the others want to see you."

He was right. The others were riotous in their joy. They kissed Feuilly at least three times each, and cried, and shouted their praises and thanks in such loud voices that Montparnasse, worried, went around the house to put extra deadbolts on all the doors.

Emotional as all this was, it seemed tame compared to the moment when Enjolras saw Feuilly again. Ignoring the admonitions of his friends, he sprang out of his bed and ran to Feuilly, sobbing words that made no sense. Feuilly ran towards him, too, but neither of them were strong enough to pick the other up as they wanted to do, and they ended up in a pile on the floor, holding each other and crying. It was only after several minutes that they would finally allow themselves to be separated.

Overjoyed though everyone was to be reunited, it was late, and Feuilly was sick and weak from his months in prison. He needed care now, and celebration would have to wait until later. So Joly took him into the bathroom to clean him up and assess the level of damage that had been done to him, while Combeferre made him up a cozy bed to rest in. The others weren't particularly helpful, and in fact got in the way more than anything else, but everyone was so happy that it barely mattered in the end.

When everyone finally went to sleep for the night (or morning, really, since it was past dawn now), they did so all in the same room, because they couldn't bear to be apart. Most even climbed into bed with someone else, needing the reassurance that such closeness would offer. Maybe, in the eyes of society, it wasn't proper. But what did that matter? There was love between them all, and where there is love, there is goodness.

Despite all this rejoicing, recovery was slow for everyone. Feuilly had much to deal with after his year in prison, both mentally and physically. He had been so scarred that he was afraid he would never recover, and after a few weeks, he began to give in to despair. But Combeferre, who barely left his side, tried to reassure him.

"It's true, you will never be the same," he said. "You've been through hell, and you can never be the man you were before that. But that's not bad. It merely means you've changed. You can grow from here, grow and heal and become even better than you already are. This has changed you. But it does not define you."

Feuilly didn't know if he could do this. Combeferre might be putting too much faith in him, he thought. Nevertheless, he felt a little better after this talk, and promised himself once again that he would try to rise up and overcome.

He wasn't alone. His friends stayed with him throughout his recovery, sticking close by his side even on the worst days. They were maybe not the most tactful, but their love was real. For the first time in his life, Feuilly felt like he was truly protected and cared for.

After a few months, he was strong enough to hold his baby again, and when he did, he thought his heart would burst. This was different from anything he'd ever experienced, and it was scary, but wonderful for all that. After that, he found it a bit easier to work on healing each day.

Combeferre watched all this, and struggled. He blamed himself for everything that had happened, even things that had no connection to him at all. However, he didn't want to complain or let anyone know that things were less than perfect for him. It was more than he could ask for to have Feuilly back in his life, he thought, and he didn't deserve to seek anything more.

Enjolras was the one who helped him through this. He, too, was struggling through his own recovery, but he was well-acquainted with melancholy, and saw the same signs in Combeferre as he knew in himself. So he did his best to talk with him, trying to get to the heart of the issues that plagued him, trying to provide counsel as best he could.

It took a long time, longer than he would have wished, but in the end, it worked. Combeferre, though not fully healed, became more ready to confront his own pain. He stopped treating Feuilly so delicately, and started thinking of himself as a person once again. It was a long, hard road, not easy for anyone. But he had taken the first step.

During this time, Enjolras was trying to get used to living without Felix. He was safe now, yes, but he felt extraordinarily guilty, and though he didn't want to admit it, was traumatized from Felix's final night. When he changed his wardrobe for a year's worth of mourning, it was as much for himself as for social convention.

It was hard, too, to get used to living without fear. He would still panic and flinch when the people around him so much as raised their voices. Even his friends often terrified him. And sometimes, he couldn't bring himself to speak to anyone. But as the months passed, he began to live more easily. When he found himself actively making friends with the people of New Rochelle– and Harlem– and the tenements– he knew that he had overcome the worst.

A little more than a year later, when Enjolras had put away his black clothes, and Combeferre had finally started giving concerts again, Musichetta approached the others with an idea.

"We are all interested in justice," she said. "And we all share the same outlook. How would it be if we created our own group, dedicated to the liberation of the people?"

"Do you mean like your movement?" asked Eponine. Musichetta shook her head.

"Not quite. My movement is closer to a political party. I think our group should operate on a quieter scale. We would be the group in the back room of a cafe, drawing up plans to change the future."

Unsurprisingly, Enjolras was in love with this idea. He threw himself headlong into the work, so enthusiastically and competently that his friends unanimously voted him to be the leader. He was pleased with this, and took to his new role as if he'd been born to it.

The others were happy, too. This was a way of making a difference, of creating a better world for everyone. They began to make great headway on their plans, and soon, their name was known throughout the entire city.

Montparnasse helped with this. He had undergone a transformation on that fateful night, and was now committed to doing good, although he never would admit it. He had maintained all of his underworld connections, and used them to help the cause, unwittingly creating a spirit of hope and optimism within the depths of the city.

He was not the only one to undergo a change. At first, Grantaire had been skeptical of the cause, kept in place by his cynic's heart and lack of faith. But as time went on, he began to see that there really was good to be found in the world, and that he himself could work to protect and even create that good.

Eponine saw this change, and was delighted. She pointed it out one day, after he had opposed a point at their meeting by calling it "needlessly pessimistic" and he was so astonished that he had to sit for a good hour and think about the man he'd become. After that, he went straight to Enjolras's house, stuck a bouquet of hastily-picked flowers in his face, dropped down to one knee, and asked for his hand in marriage. Enjolras, surprised and ecstatic, accepted with tears in his eyes.

Grantaire and Enjolras were married on a lovely clear day in June. Cosette's father officiated, and Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, and Eponine formed the very enthusiastic wedding party. The ceremony was absolutely beautiful, but it was nothing compared to the reception, which became legendary throughout New Rochelle, and helped to establish Enjolras and Grantaire as the most popular, fashionable couple in the city. Soon, their house was so filled with merriment and love that they remembered their previous lonely years as nothing more than a bad dream.

Cosette and Marius followed them soon after, marrying in a stately, romantic ceremony in midsummer. However, they were in no way separated from Courfeyrac and Jehan; the four of them moved into Enjolras's old house (which he had abandoned, too weighed down by the memories it contained) and began a happy domestic life together.

Combeferre and Feuilly decided to move in together as well, and to take their baby with them. They knew it would be difficult, but they were ready and willing to try. So they bought a house together for themselves, and started on the family life that they felt was so overdue. Little Enjolras (for of course, they'd named their child after their dearest friend) would grow up safe and happy, in a place of love and care.

Eponine, now rich, had time and money to spare for doctors. She visited a throat specialist, hoping to regain her voice, and with time, it began to return. For the first time in years, she was able to sing again. She started singing pieces at Combeferre's concerts, and as her fame grew, so did the number of her performances. Soon, she was a sought-after concert performer, known and celebrated the country over. She and Montparnasse began a casual relationship, though of course Cosette always left the back door open for her, and the two women were often seen cuddling in public. For the first time in her life, she was very, very happy.

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta all moved in together. They were perfectly complementary, the lawyer, the doctor, and the radical anarchist. Each of them continued working on their own projects– Joly to open a clinic, Bossuet to get his degree, and Musichetta to run for office– but together, they provided an unstoppable force.

Finally, Gavroche and Azelma, now brother and sister in name as well as spirit, began for the first time to have normal childhoods. Grantaire and Enjolras spoiled them, but at the same time, tried to bring them up in the best way possible. They both had proper schooling, and went to all the social events for children of their age, and most of all (because both Grantaire and Enjolras knew how important it was), had supportive, pleasant friends. And through it all, they began to see that the future was not such a bad thing after all.

In fact, that was what everyone was beginning to see. Life was still hard, sometimes, and dark, and often discouraging. But there was hope. They saw that now. No matter what happened, they would keep on fighting for a better tomorrow, and someday, they knew the earth would be free. The sun had risen; now it was time to face the day.