/Oh, have I been busy! High school drains the soul, my friends. I'm back on a roll, and I am typing up Importance of Being Marius you are reading this! That one is a "lazy fic" as I like to call it. I may update it like, once a month. Please don't mind. I'm uploading a one shot later for Welcome to Night Vale so check back on my works if you're interested in that jazz. I know I said a while back about uploading a new crossover, and I was about to, but are you guys ch- you know what? I'mma post it. I'm far enough with it already.

After supper that night, Captain Valjean retired to the balcony. His eyes were tired. Hands that seemed to be years ahead of the rest of him grabbed onto the banister. During dinner, Combeferre had inquired his father if he was feeling ill, the mention of which sparked something within the Duchess and had her doting annoyingly upon him for the rest of supper. It would be sizable lying to say he wasn't relieved to finally leave her at the table.

"There you are!" her voice, which had suddenly become incredibly obnoxious, erupted loudly from the door. "I must speak to cook about the schnitzel. It is entirely too delicious for my figure… And it makes you much too quiet at the dinner table."

She looked at him expectantly, but he simply continued to stare out at his garden.

"Or was it the wine?" she picked up again. "Undoubtly the wine."

Still, he spoke nothing. The Baroness became determined.

"You have no idea the trouble I'm having…" said she, loud and into his ear. When her beginning statement sparked no action she continued, "trying to decide on a wedding present for you."

You know, it was getting rather bothersome how silent he was. She may as well be talking to a wall. She'd have gotten more of a reaction from it.

"Oh, I know. I'm enough. But I do want you to have some little trifle for the occasion. At first I thought of a fountain pen… but you've already got one. Then I thought perhaps a villa in the south of Scotland… but they are so difficult to gift wrap. Jean, darling, how do you feel about yachts? A nice, long, sleek one for the sea, of a tiny one for your bathtub?"

"Auriville," he spoke finally, murmuring her name like a forbidden word.

"Where to go on our honeymoon?" Auriville went on, as she'd almost forgotten he was there. "Now that is an actual problem. A trip around the world could be lovely, but them… Oh, Auriville there must be somewhere better!"

"Auriville!" he snapped.

"Yes, Jean?"

"It's no use," the Captain groaned. "You and I. I'm being dishonest to both of us, and utterly unfair to you. When two people…"

"No!" the Baroness interrupted. "No, don't. Don't say another word, please. You see, as fond as I am of you I'm not sure you're the proper man for me. Independent… I can't be with someone who is independent. I need someone who needs me desperately… or my money desperately. I need Felix to need me…. I've enjoyed every moment we've had together and I do thank you for that."

"Do not think I did – "

"Don't, darling. If you'll forgive me, I'll go inside and pack my little bags."

The Baroness turned and went to the door. "Jean, somewhere out there is a young woman who, I think, will never be a nun."

"Thank you, Auriville."

"Au revoir, darling." The Baroness de Thenard opening the glass doors and left, the scent of her perfume still wafting in the air. Valjean stood by, his thoughts rumbling about his noggin like gymnasts. Then, in a swift movement of joints, he was down the steps and under the awning.

"Hello," Fantine's soft voice called out as he approached. "You look like you've ran a race."

"I thought I just might find you here," Captain Valjean replied. His cheeks were red, but his eyes were energized. "You know, I was thinking about things and wondering… Why did you run back to the abbey? What made you come back?"

"I had obligations to fulfill," she replied, turning down her face.

"Is that all?" he questioned.

"And… I missed the children."

"Only the children?"

"No… Isn't it right that I missed them?" Fantine gasped, pacing about the awning.

Captain Valjean, his mind at the level of a pubescent teenage boy, bit his lip nervously. "I was only hoping that perhaps you… perhaps you…"

"Yes?"

"Well, nothing was the same without you here," he admitted. "And it will all be wrong again if you leave."

"If?"

"I can't help hoping that perhaps you might change your mind," he finished.

"I'm sure the baroness will make things fine for you," Fantine insisted, mumbling.

"Fantine," said Valjean, "there isn't going to be a baroness. I mean, there will… but not in my household. Not as my wife."

Fantine gasped. "What? There isn't?"

"No."

"I don't understand," she laughed nervously.

"We called of our engagement," Valjean explained. "See, you can't marry someone when you're in love with someone else."

"The revered Mother says whenever the Lord closes a door, He opens a window somewhere."

"What else does the Reverend Mother say?"

"That you have to look for your life…"

"Is that why you came back?" he asked, taking her hands in his own and holding them tight. "And have you found it… Fantine?"

She smiled softly and nodded. "I think I have."

"I know you have," he replied.

"I love you…"

"Perhaps I had a wicked childhood
Perhaps I had a miserable youth
But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past
There must have been a moment of truth

For here you are, standing there, loving me
Whether or not you should
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good

Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good," Fantine sang softly, letting the Captain hold her and kiss her and love her. No guilt filled her soul. Only happiness and ease. And, for the first time, Fantine saw a genuine smile spread across Jean Valjean's face.

"For here you are, standing there, loving me
Whether or not you should," sang he.

"So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good…"

Their fingers intertwined together, knuckles turning white for they held one another tightly. "Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could…"

"So somewhere in my youth," she murmured.

"Or childhood."

"I must have done something . . ."

"Something good…"

Their lips met softly in a simple, chaste kiss. Hands against hands, chest against chest. Wind blew through the awning and mused their hair, throwing it about in tangled messes, but not a care was given. Valjean, chuckling and murmuring, pulled away and rested his head against her forehead. "Do you know when I first started loving you?" he asked sweetly.

"Tell me," she breathed.

"That night at dinner, when you sat on that ridiculous pine cone," he laughed.

"I knew the first time you blew that silly whistle!" Fantine giggled, nuzzling into his neck.

"Oh, my love," Valjean whispered into her ear. "Is there anyone I should ask for permission to marry you?"

"Why don't we ask…"

"The children?"