A/N Wow, this is my longest chapter to date! Oh, and whoop, whoop! Into double digits now people! As always, thanks to those who have read, reviewed, followed and favourited!

Quick shout out to The World About To Dawn for your encouraging reviews!

Oh, for those of you who were confused about the two people who came in at the end of the last chapter, it was Bossuet (who had had another accident with a set of stairs) and he was being helped by Gavroche. Just thought I'd clear that up.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I thought I'd told you, I'm not… oh never mind. I also don't own the song I use, 'Going Home' by Mary Fahl.

Chapter Ten

The first scream to rip through the quiet of the dark apartment made Enjolras jerk awake, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest, his breath exploding in startled pants.

The second scream spurred him into action, scrambling out of bed, fumbling to light the candle on his desk and scrabbling through his desk drawer in search of the loaded pistol he kept there.

The third scream, this one mingled with a sob, found him opening Aimee's door, gun raised in readiness, the candle lighting the way.

The sight before him made him lower the gun and a surge of compassion flood his heart. Aimee was tangled in the blankets, her hands flailing as if to fight off some invisible attacker, breath was coming in fits and starts as she repeated the same words over and over.

"Papa! No, please don't hurt him, don't hurt my Papa! Let him go, please let him go! Don't touch me! No, don't! He hasn't done anything! Get off me! No, Papa!" She shot upright in the bed, her breath coming in huge gulps, tears running freely down her face. When she caught sight of Enjolras, pistol clasped loosely in his hands, she let out another panicked shriek.

"Aimee! It's all right, it's just me!" He carefully placed the candle down on her nightstand and put away the gun.

She scrubbed furiously at her cheeks, her senses returning to her as she mumbled, "Wh… what are you do… doing in here?" Her hair was a tangled mess down her back, and her too big nightdress (borrowed from Margo) had slipped off one shoulder.

He stepped forwards carefully, his senses for once, ironically, not going into overdrive, "You had a nightmare, Aimee, you screamed."

She nodded, obviously still disturbed, and only half awake. "Wh…why have y…you got a…a gun?"

"I thought someone might have got in."

"Oh. Well…I… I think I'm… I think I'm okay now." She didn't look up at him and obviously wanted him to leave, but for once, Enjolras felt he should stay a little longer.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He sat cautiously on the edge of the bed, keeping his eyes focused on hers to avoid making the situation any more uncomfortable that it already was, "Can I get you anything?"

She shook her head, still not meeting his gaze, looking so heartbreakingly vulnerable that he had to repress the urge to wrap his arms around her and whisper in her ear that she was safe with him, and hold until she fell asleep in his embrace.

He mentally shook himself. Lose the sentimentality, Julien. Sentimentality doesn't help anybody.

She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her knees up into her chest. "You should go back to sleep, you get precious little as it is, and I'll try to do the same."

Reluctantly, he rose, knowing that there was nothing he could do if she did not want him there, "Well, if you're sure…bon nuit, Aimee."

"Bon nuit," she whispered, her still wide eyes darting nervously around the darkened room, obviously far more upset than she was showing.

He paused by the door, saying, "Do you want me to leave the candle?" He knew he had said the right thing when relief flooded her features and she nodded. Putting the tiny beacon of light well away from any flammable objects, he left the door ajar to keep a steady oxygen flow.

"Bon nuit, Aimee," he whispered when he was certain that she wouldn't hear him, "Sweet dreams."

She was quiet and jumpy most of the next day, even when Courfeyrac and Jehan came to visit, complete with the offer of a partial tour of the city.

When she declined, and then retired to her room saying she was a little tired, Courfeyrac cast a worried glance at Enjolras.

"Is she alright? We didn't tire her out too much last night did we?"

"She didn't sleep too well," Enjolras said, rubbing his own tired eyes, "she had a nightmare… Prouvaire!" he snapped, "Get that thing off my sofa please! It's already battered enough without her chewing enormous holes in the upholstery."

Jehan gathered the offending Ophelia into his arms, a hurt look on his face. "She was only getting comfortable," he protested, "It's her way of showing she likes you."

"And I suppose the time she shredded three pages of my copy of Plato's 'The Republic' was another way of her saying she liked me?"

"It was an accident, and I bought you a new copy." Jehan flounced (something only Jehan accomplish while remaining to look dignified) to the door of Aimee's room before sniffing haughtily and going in.

"Do you think Jehan would notice if we killed it and got it stuffed?" Courfeyrac questioned, appearing to flick idly through a book, though Enjolras knew his friend was actually very deep in thought.

This observation was proved right when a minute or two later he spoke up, "What did she say last night in her nightmare exactly?"

So Enjolras told him the events of the night before.

Jehan tapped gently on the door of Aimee's room. Hearing a quiet 'come in', he sniffed haughtily at his friends before disappearing inside.

Aimee was curled up miserably in the chair by the window, a book open on her lap although she obviously wasn't reading.

"Monsieur Prouvaire," she greeted, giving him a half-hearted smile.

"I told you," he chastised gently, "call me Jehan. Friends do not address each other so formally."

She gave a half smile of acknowledgement, but said nothing.

"Would you like to talk it through with me? I have found it to be a most helpful routine if ever I have a nightmare." He ran his hands down the length of Ophelia's body, earning himself little squeaks of delight from the ferret.

She closed the book and turned to face him. "How did you know?" she asked softly.

"As a poet I am deeply in touch with the disturbances in the universe that negative emotions and nightmares create."

She looked at him sceptically.

"Alright, Enjolras may have mentioned it before I left the room, but I still would have realised something was wrong!"

She smiled gently at him, before looking down at her hands that were knotted in her lap. "I don't remember a lot of it," her voice was hesitant; "It wasn't in order and didn't make a lot of sense." She shuddered, reliving the horrors in her mind.

Men, men with dark eyes and dark souls bursting in through the door, gleaming knives, shouted words, a scream of pain uttered by someone she knows and loves but cannot remember and cannot help, words whispered in her ear by a soft voice, a cruel voice, a voice as cold as ice, hands skimming her sides, fighting, running, that voice speaking words that chill her to the bone "I will find you."…

"You're safe," Jehan was now knelt at her feet and she realised she was shaking. He closed his small, almost effeminate hands over hers, his warmth soothing her cold hands, "You're here now. You're not back there, and as long as any of us are breathing no one will hurt you again. Understand?"

Not trusting her voice, she settled for nodding shakily.

"All of us are here for you whenever you need us. You are practically an honorary Ami. In fact," He dropped his voice to a stage whisper, "I think every man in the room last night fell a little in love with you."

She laughed, her earlier troubled thoughts banished by the light and joy that the poet in front of her carried within him. "Oh! I've just remembered!" She jumped up, startling Ophelia who was investigating under the bed, and picked up the winter violet that he had given her the night before. She tucked it into her hair with a radiant smile and on an impulse wrapped the young man before her into a grateful embrace. He held her tight in return, playing with the very ends of her hair that had fallen from her pins. "No more talk of darkness today," he instructed her as they parted, helpfully handing her coat to her. Hooking the offered garment on one finger, she spun gracefully on the ball of her foot, before bouncing out of the room.

After Enjolras had retold the events of the night before, Courfeyrac sat in silence, his hand unconsciously playing with one of his dark curls as he thought.

"It's quite obvious now that something very bad happened to her before she was attacked and before we found her and by the sounds of it her father was on the receiving end of something nasty as well." He paused, "Do you think we should call Dr Dupont back?"

Enjolras shook his head, "He didn't seem to know all that much last time."

"Do you think she'll want to try and find her family?" Courfeyrac's normally playful brown eyes were dark and pensive.

It was a topic that no one had really wanted to bring up, because they felt that if they did, the little bubble of a world that they had built around themselves and this girl would disappear in a second.

Enjolras was saved from answering by the sound of Aimee's laughter. He felt almost relieved at having to drop the subject yet again. "She sounds happier."

The change in Aimee was visible as she came bouncing into the room, a pleased looking Jehan just behind her. Neither of the men were quite sure what the poet had said or done, but they were more than happy to see Aimee acting like herself again.

"Does the offer of a tour still stand?" Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she looked happier and much more relaxed, a faded winter violet threaded into her hair.

"Your wish is my command, mon chèri," Courfeyrac bowed low before formally replacing his hat and offering Aimee his arm. "You're welcome to join us, Enjolras, if you would like?"

"I have things to be doing." His tone was brisk and he didn't even glance up from the textbook he was reading, meaning that he didn't see the flicker of disappointment in Aimee's eyes.

"We'll see at the Musain later, yes?" Jehan called as the trio exited the apartment.

Despite saying that he had work to do, and in fact he did, Enjolras found he couldn't concentrate. It wasn't the thoughts of Aimee's nightmare or even that eventually they would have to start looking for relatives that distracted him. It was the realization that she herself distracted him that was distracting him.

The normal, sane Enjolras who lived only for the Revolution and didn't go to metaphorical pieces over a woman; that Enjolras would get rid of a distraction as soon as he realised it was one. But in this case, he was faced with two quite glaring problems. One, he couldn't very well just 'get rid of' a still fragile young woman who depended on him, and two…

Well, two was the problem that needed analysing. Because the second problem was that he didn't want her go.

Aimee was having a marvellous time. Despite it being a grey and quite chilly November day, she felt warmed by the glow of happiness deep down inside of her. She had pushed all thoughts of her nightmare out of her head at Jehan's insistence and revelled in the company of her two handsome, amusing, and attentive guides.

They went window shopping in the posh parts of town, laughed at the rich people and bought pastries and burning cups of dark, rich hot chocolate on their way to the Musain. Courfeyrac proudly showed her the university that he studied at and she gazed in awe at the huge building. She could almost feel the knowledge radiating from the grey weathered stones.

The only dark spot in the day was on the approach to the café. Although neither of her friends said anything, Aimee felt an unpleasant chill as they passed an alley way and knew without a doubt that it was where they had found her all those weeks ago. She glanced down it quickly and instantly wished she hadn't as images suddenly assaulted her memory.

Rank breath, rough hands on her body, the taste of blood in her mouth as she bit his lip, satisfaction quickly turning to pain as he hit her, screaming, lashing out, pain, always pain, another scream, blood, a dull thud as her head struck the wall, footsteps, an angelic face creased with worry, darkness, those words, "I will find you"….

"Aimee?" Jehan sounded uncertain and she realised she had stopped walking. She tried to explain but couldn't find the words, but it was alright, because Courfeyrac understood and instead of saying anything, he simply pulled her into a gentle but reassuring hug. She tensed for a moment, the bad memories overtaking her, memories of other arms, unwelcome arms, but then she relaxed into the first real hug he had ever given her.

It was the kind of hug where there was no space between them and her face was buried in the crook of his neck and she felt so safe. Then Jehan tried to join in along with Ophelia who was being worn as a scarf again and it all descended into silliness and light-hearted giggles. As they entered the café, she had a strange and sudden urge to see Enjolras and an even stranger urge to hug him the safe way Courfeyrac had hugged her. However, when they arrived in the top room, faces glowing from the cold, he was secreted away in his corner with Combeferre and didn't look like he wanted to be disturbed, his seemingly permanent scowl firmly in place.

She sighed slightly in disappointment and turned to sit with the Amis, but found her way blocked by Feuilly. He looked uncomfortable and was twisting his workman's cap between calloused and paint stained fingers.

"I wanted to apologise," he finally blurted out, "I was… harsh… with you last night and didn't give you a chance to really speak before judging you. I'm sorry."

Her heart throbbed with indescribable emotion, part sad, part happy, part… humbled. "All is forgiven Feuilly and I really do hope we can be friends." He still looked uncomfortable, so Aimee drew upon some information that Courfeyrac had given her. "I understand that you are very knowledgeable where Poland is concerned. I was reading some fascinating accounts about the country in a book of Enjolras'."

His face lit up in a smile and soon they were sat at a separate table, Feuilly swinging between passionate and angry, waving his hands around to demonstrate his points.

"Enough on Poland already, Feuilly," groaned Bahorel, throwing a cork at the animated man, "Let Aimee play something for us."

"I don't know…," Aimee felt nervous. The night before she hadn't been aware that people were listening, and besides, who knew if tonight she would be able to play the piano.

"No harm in trying," Bahorel shrugged, and Courfeyrac and Jehan both gave her pleading looks. Unable to resist them, and feeling somewhat in debt after such a wonderful afternoon, she relented.

"Arggh! Fine, but don't blame me if I don't know how to play, or Enjolras tells me stop because it's annoying him," she threatened before sitting down at the instrument in a fine show of poor grace.

Blankly, she stared at the pale keys, no notes coming to mind. Gradually, however, they filtered into her consciousness and she began to play tentatively, then more confidently as she remembered the tune.

A gentle voice giving instructions, elegant fingers playing the notes in demonstration, that high clear voice singing the words…

Almost unbidden, the words to the song began to tumble out of her mouth, starting as little more than a whisper but becoming purer and brighter as she totally surrendered herself to the music.

"They say there's a place where dreams have all gone. They never said where, but I think I know. It is miles through the night, just over the dawn on the road that will take me home.

Behind her, all the occupants of the room sat in spellbound silence.

"I know in my bones I've been here before. The ground feels the same though the land has been torn. I've a long way to go. The stars tell me so. On this road that will take me home."

Her voice, soft and rich, rose as she sang the chorus. "Love waits for me 'round the bend, leads me endlessly on. Surely sorrows will find their end and all of our troubles will be gone. And I'll know what I've lost and all that I've won when the road finally takes me home."

Enjolras gave up any pretence of work when Aimee sang the second verse. He lost his line of thought as he watched the way she played and sang, every fibre of her being engaged in the music, her heart and soul being laid out bare in the notes and the words. He was mesmerised. He could think of no other word for it.

"And when I pass by don't lead me astray. Don't try to stop me. Don't stand in my way. I'm bound for the hills where cool waters flow on this road that will take me home. Love waits for me 'round the bend. Leads me endlessly on. Surely sorrows will find their end and all of our troubles will be gone. And we'll know what we've lost and all that we've won when the road finally takes me home. I'm going home. I'm going home. I'm going home."

She lingered over the last words of the song then turned nervously to face the room. She was slightly surprised to see far more people there than when she had started. It was Jehan who started the applause, his eyes filled with genuine tears. Soon the room was on its feet. Some of the men even tossed coins in her direction.

"I think we've found an important asset to the cause," murmured Combeferre from his place beside Enjolras.

Enjolras nodded in silent agreement, not seeing his right hand man's knowing smile. If his friends could show this amount of passion over a song, maybe there was hope for the cause yet.

A/N So I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. I'm not too sure as I'm not getting that many reviews (hint hint!).

I'm going to try and put some more songs into this fiction as music is going to be a large part of both Aimee's past and future and also, it is a really lovely way to show the emotions that the characters are feelings but would find hard to verbalise. If anyone has any suggestions for songs I'm open to them!

Until next time, mes amis!

Libz