A/N: Thanks everyone! Trigger warnings here for lots of discussion of domestic abuse in its varying forms.

Just a Guest: They can, sadly. The scenario in question here is if the hospital can 'detain' the patient (for whatever reason), not child custody. There is no need for a judge to rule on this.

The case does involve murder and something about land. It's based on a real life case.

Enjolras' parents are not even characterized in canon; no one knows what they're like. But people generally presume that an only son with radical beliefs would butt heads with a (presumably) older and conservative generation. If you ask me though, it's also just as likely that his parents are as radical as he is, but it doesn't make good drama. I've tried the 'parents as supportive people' idea in another fic, but set in the canon era.

Grantaire with Jehan is not a usual pairing but I think it's cute.

Javert has a lot of surprises. He's mysterious in the prequel to this fic "Don't Mess With the Surgeon".

The Most Difficult Jobs on the Planet

I

Even before the last crackle of the intercom fades into silence, Cosette already sees Marius heading to the door. "What are you doing?" she asks.

He gives her a smile that is both mysterious and at the same time determined. "I haven't signed out of the case either. This might take some time, Cosette," he says before walking out and leaving the door halfway open.

'He's going to stall the Cheniers,' Cosette realizes, and the surprised look that she sees spreading over Grantaire's face only confirms this notion. "I'll call Mrs. Plutarque and Eponine," she says. "I think you ought to call either Enjolras or Courfeyrac."

"Good idea," Grantaire says as he brings out his phone. He laughs mirthfully as he looks towards the door. "I like him more and more every day, Cosette."

"How can you just like him?" Cosette quips. Of course Grantaire rolls his eyes at her romantic gushing, but honestly she can't care less. 'Say what you will about him, but Marius is still my knight in shining armor,' she thinks as she searches her phone for the numbers she needs. Sometimes, especially in such a crowd of strong and abrasive personalities, it's easy to overlook Marius' quiet yet valiant ways. She smiles, sure that he's putting up quite the fight already, even though she and Grantaire have only just begun to work.

Her call to Mrs. Plutarque goes straight to voice mail, but thankfully Eponine picks up after only a couple of rings. "Hello, Ponine? You need to come up to the pedia ward right away," she greets.

"I know. I just got the call here in my office," Eponine replies tersely. "I'll be up in a while. Can you keep Elodie calm till we all get there?"

"Sure," Cosette says, even though she isn't sure who Eponine means by 'we'. Before she can clarify this, Eponine hangs up, which is just as well since when Cosette looks around she sees Elodie with a worried expression darkening her bright eyes. "It's going to be fine," she says as she sits next to the girl.

"Someone's coming, right?" Elodie asks anxiously. Her thin hands bunch up her blanket. "Is it them?"

The way Elodie says that single word nearly makes Cosette feel queasy, but she just has to take a deep breath even as she hears the argument growing steadily louder and beginning to echo throughout the corridor of the paediatrics wing. She feels Elodie squirm closer to her as a particularly harsh exclamation pierces the air, followed a moment later by the appearance of Attorney Chenier and Mrs. Chenier haranguing Marius as they all walk into the doorway.

"If you delay us any further, I'll have you all charged with kidnapping and illegal detention," Attorney Chenier threatens. He snaps his fingers at Elodie. "Get your things. We're going home now."

"But Papa-" Elodie protests.

"Elodie, be a good girl and do as your father says," Mrs. Chenier says. She frowns at all the drawings and books around Elodie's bed. "You've been keeping too much junk around here."

"Be reasonable. She still can't walk about," Cosette argues. She can see Marius and Grantaire already discreetly moving so they can get between the Cheniers and the hospital bed if necessary, but she hopes to the high heavens that the situation will not come to that. "Maybe we should have this discussion elsewhere, not here-"

Yet it is at that moment that Elodie sits up in bed and looks to the doorway. "I don't want to go home! I'm not well yet!" she tells Eponine. "Please don't make me go home!"

"Don't be silly, you're perfectly well!" Attorney Chenier bellows.

"If she says she's not feeling well yet, we're just going to have to find out why," Eponine retorts firmly as she goes to Elodie's side. "Hello Elodie. How are you doing?" she asks.

The little girl immediately springs into Eponine's arms and holds on tightly, burying her face in Eponine's white coat. "Do I have to go home?" she sniffles.

Eponine sighs before rubbing Elodie's back and giving her a tissue to wipe her nose with. "It's going to be fine. I just need to talk to your parents for a little bit," she tells Elodie before setting her back down on the bed.

"We don't have time for anymore wrangling," Attorney Chenier barks. "Just sign her discharge papers and get it done with."

"It is not that simple," Eponine replies. "You will have to sign a waiver first. If you insist on having Elodie discharged against medical advice, this hospital and us physicians will not be responsible for any untoward consequences to her health or otherwise."

"You'll make us sign that after everything we've spent on her already?" Mrs. Chenier screeches. "We're not made of money and we certainly don't want you to palm off your jobs on us."

"Come on, we have to go," Attorney Chenier says. "Elodie, stop dawdling!"

"But I don't want to go!" Elodie sniffles.

"Then where will you go?" Mrs. Chenier asks. "You can't stay with them!"

Elodie's eyes are wide and her lip quivers as she looks first at her parents, and then at Eponine. "Do I have to?" she whimpers.

It is just as well that Mrs. Plutarque and Courfeyrac soon enter the room, both of then looking as if they have run most of the way upstairs. "What is the meaning of this?" Mrs. Plutarque asks the Cheniers.

"It means, Madam, that we will no longer pay for Elodie's hospital stay," Attorney Chenier replies. "She is leaving right away with us."

"This is impossible. You know very well you cannot do that," Mrs. Plutarque says. "It would be cruel-"

"You can't detain her here either. My husband and I know our rights," Mrs. Chenier cuts in coolly. "She's taking up an extra bed which can be used for another patient who really needs it more than she does. I'm sure that the hospital wouldn't like this situation."

"We're also sure that you and your spouse haven't forgotten your restraining order," Courfeyrac chimes in. "You want to have her discharged to stop paying her hospital bills, very well then. All the same she can't go home with you though, since that would violate the court order being enforced for her safety."

Attorney Chenier rolls his eyes and swears while Mrs. Chenier pauses and gives her daughter a brief look of concern. "This is ridiculous. We're her parents," she finally says.

"She will go to a foster home or halfway house until the custody case is decided on," Mrs. Plutarque says as she crosses her arms. "She cannot stay with you two."

Cosette tears her gaze away from this argument and looks to where Elodie has buried herself under the blankets. This child needs a haven, desperately, and she will not find it in the middle of this firestorm. So she clears her throat and steps forward. "Mrs. Plutarque, she can stay with me. You might remember that I applied to be her guardian," she says gently.

Mrs. Plutaruqe stares at her for a moment before her eyes widen with comprehension. "Ah yes you did. This is on very short notice though, as you can see."

Cosette nods. "I've been preparing for a while." The truth is that she and her parents are so used to taking in people almost at the drop of a hat, and so it never really takes much work to shelter a guest. 'She is more than a guest this time, and she will definitely take a lot more care,' she reminds herself. "That is of course, if it's permissible?"

"I personally approve of the idea," Courfeyrac says, giving Cosette and Marius an encouraging smile.

Marius grins at this show of confidence. "I'm with you on this one, Cosette," he says in his girlfriend's ear. He nods to the social worker. "What do you think, Mrs. Plutarque?"

The social worker sighs deeply. "Since no one else is around, you will have to do." She looks steadily at the couple. "It's a good thing you're both in the health profession.

Cosette looks to Eponine, who is biting her lip while listening keenly to all of this. She knows that her friend has been aware of the possibility of this scene, perhaps anticipating it, but knowing does not make this matter any easier. 'I'm sorry Ponine,' she wants to say, but now is not the time for such an awkward apology. "Is it fine with you too?"

"You and Marius will do great," Eponine says, smiling quickly before anyone else can catch the slight hurt in her eyes. "I'll write up the home care instructions for Elodie."

Attorney Chenier gives Eponine a dark look as she excuses herself, and then he fixes his steely glare on the rest of the group. "If the brat gets too much for you, don't call us to take her back," he warns. He throws a castigating look at his wife when he sees her hesitate and move as if to hold out her arms to Elodie, and this is enough to get the woman to follow him out the door without a single parting word.

Suddenly the air in the hospital room seems so much easier to breathe. "I guess this means welcome to the family, Elodie," Grantaire quips after a few moments.

Everyone laughs but Cosette still catches the very shaken and sober look on Elodie's face. 'Please accept me,' she begs silently. 'I may not be Eponine, but I'll try my best.'

Suddenly she feels Marius' hand brush against her wrist. "Shouldn't we call your parents?" he asks when she turns to him.

"Ah yes. They need to finish fixing things up at home," Cosette says as she brings out her phone. She can sense that they'll be celebrating tonight, and she hopes that by the time that rolls around, this anxiety can fade a little bit, or just enough to help Elodie hold herself together in the storm.

II

The moment Eponine feels her eyes begin to grow hot, she wipes her face before her tears can leave blots all over the discharge papers she is signing at the nurses' station. 'I thought we got over this years ago!' she can't help thinking. There had been a time when she could still afford to get attached somewhat to patients, when 'separation anxiety' was still perfectly understandable. Now she knows why there have to be rules about maintaining a professional distance; aside from ethical issues, there is the fact that there would be nothing of her left she allows herself to get so intensely involved in her patients' dealings.

She sighs with dismay as she picks up her pen to continue writing the prescriptions and instructions for her patient's home care. Of course she isn't completely immune to Elodie's flights of fancy; the little girl makes it so easy to pretend when she laughs, begs Eponine to tell her stories, and basically brightens up during each afternoon visit. 'It's just instinct,' she tells herself; after all isn't it understandable for a woman of her age to feel protective towards a vulnerable child? Yet there is still a pull she cannot quite put into words, something that reaches deep down into the very fibre of her memories. 'She's not you, not your younger self. Stop projecting these things,' she repeats to herself over and over.

At that moment she hears her phone ringing, but when she brings it out she finds an unfamiliar number on the screen. Unlike most people though, her situation requires for her to at least investigate these calls. "Hello. Who are you looking for?" she greets.

"For you, Eponine," a familiar voice greets smoothly. "Montparnasse speaking by the way."

"I thought you lost my number years ago. What's new?" she replies. It's always good to hear from a fellow survivor, especially when his voice brings back memories of afternoons in abandoned lots, picking up cigarette butts to warm cold fingers, and lessons on climbing fences and darting along rooftops to escape the neighbourhood watch.

"You tell me. And I didn't get this number from my old files; you're listed on the doctors' directory. What's this I hear that Zel is now also known as Mrs. Maurice Courfeyrac?"

"It's true. Don't let it get out though."

Montparnasse laughs sardonically. "Tell that to the courthouse paparazzi." The sound of crumpling foil comes from his end of the line. "Your folks are asking about you."

Eponine shuts her eyes as she tries to imagine Montparnasse looking a bit more drawn and far less boyish as he drops by the penitentiary. He's one of the few people she personally knows who still contacts her parents without risking any legal ramifications. "What do they want now?"

"What else do they want with two lawyers?"

"It's not happening. Their sentences are final, no chance of parole. Tell them to give it up."

"I'm not telling them anything, I'm only giving you a heads up," Montparnasse says. "You might even want to consider changing addresses."

"I'm not letting them bully me, Zelma, and Gav," Eponine retorts. All the same she figures she may as well change the locks on her apartment, just for her peace of mind. "Must you contact them?"

"Who else is going to make sure they get fed, or that they aren't bumming favors from the wardens?" Montparnasse says. "They're flaunting your brother-in-law's name to scare the other inmates."

Hearing this is enough to make Eponine cringe. "I guess I should warn Courfeyrac then."

"Well if there's anyone who needs warning, it's your man. Talk has it he's rubbing elbows with a certain former inspector?"Montparnasse asks pointedly.

"He's not rubbing elbows with Javert; he's only getting him as a witness."

"What a smart bastard."

"Takes one to know one, so that makes us three of a kind," Eponine laughs. She wouldn't have survived her adolescence if Montparnasse had not taught her a thing or two about being ruthless on the streets. 'The thing is he doesn't grant that knowledge to just anyone,' she remembers a little bitterly; while this helped save her from many a scrape, it still left her siblings out in the open.

Montparnasse also chuckles at the other end of the line. "Anyway the boss is coming back, I'd better go. Watch your back, Thenardier," he says before abruptly hanging up.

"Damn you Montparnasse," Eponine hisses as she tries to dial his number again, only to be told by the operator that the number is out of range. 'He knows more but he's still got his skin to save,' she realizes. She doesn't even want to know what sort of business her former boyfriend is still mixed up with to this very day.

As she erases the call from her cellphone's log, she suddenly imagines the landline in her phone ringing and someone else-her siblings, or Enjolras, or Courfeyrac, or even Elodie picking it up only to drop it with fright. 'You can't drag them into this,' she chides herself. The phone call has only driven home the reasons she cannot indulge that fantasy life that Elodie loves to console herself with. How can she care for such a fragile child when there are so many shadows lurking in the corners, when she does not have enough hours in the day to manage everything, and when even the state of her lease is so uncertain? 'You really can't hang on to anything, can you, Eponine?' she can almost hear her own voice saying even as she tries to fight it back with the memories of the past few months, all the way up to last night at Enjolras' apartment.

There has to be a way that she has to stop thinking of herself as being on probation in her own life.

Before she can send a message to her siblings to explain Montparnasse's phone call, she sees Cosette exiting Elodie's room. "Do you have a minute?" her blonde friend asks awkwardly.

"Yeah. I was going to explain some stuff to you about caring for Elodie. You know, the home care stuff," Eponine says, hoping that she still sounds calm.

"That's one thing," Cosette says with a slight smile. She takes a deep breath and wrings her hands. "I know that Elodie wishes it was you and Enjolras taking her in. I'll do my best, but she's always going to have a special place for you two."

"Cosette, please don't," Eponine mutters. This somehow feels even worse than the time not too long ago when she learned that Marius was head over heels for Cosette. She had only been attracted to Marius, and in fact the succeeding days proved how fleeting that feeling had been. It's a very different story though when it comes to being protective towards Elodie.

Cosette looks down. "I'm sorry about this."

"Why should you be?" Eponine slams down her pen against the station counter. "You and Marius will be able to give Elodie a good home, someplace that's safe, wherein she'll never have to worry about people leaving or not being there for her. Your parents are there. It's a big house, near good schools..." she trails off when she sees Cosette's stricken expression. 'It's everything I can never give her,' she almost says but she wills herself to control her tongue for once.

"If you want, I can just take her in temporarily," Cosette offers. "Long enough for you and Enjolras to get things together so you can be her guardian."

"No. She'll love you, and my taking her in would uproot her again," Eponine says flatly. "I have to do what is best for her."

"She'll do better with people she already considers family," Cosette points out.

That last word falls like fire on Eponine's ears, and she has to shut her eyes. She remembers all the sidestepping she had to do at school when anyone asked about her 'home situation', all the nights crying to Montparnasse after tiffs with her father, and most vividly of all, the time when she became certain that any attempt at a 'real' family life would mean excluding her parents from the picture. 'I don't even know what that is,' she muses. She wonders if Enjolras and Elodie are also just as clueless as she is, but the thought only makes her uneasy. "You know better than I do," she finally says. "Me as a mother? I don't even know how to do it."

"Eponine, no one does," Cosette reminds her. "Not even my mother knew everything."

It is all that Eponine can do not to laugh ruefully as she suddenly remembers tearful scenes in the Fauchelevent household whenever she and Cosette were back in town for home visits. "She did get a lot right," she replies. "I mean, just look at you."

Cosette shrugs. "She's not the only woman I look up to, you know."

III

Combeferre never knows what to say to the Dupond family, even if they have become a familiar presence already at the Saint-Michel Hospital. 'Will it ever be more than the fact that he is stable?' he wonders silently as he checks his patient's vital signs and looks him over for any bedsores. "How is he taking his physical therapy, Ma'am?" he asks the wan woman sitting next to the hospital bed.

Mrs. Dupond sniffles and wipes her face. Her despair is almost palpable even before her words leave her lips. "He shoos away his therapist sometimes. Like he doesn't want to do things anymore. I've tried talking to him, but what can I do?"

Combeferre looks to the silent man lying with the blankets drawn up to his chest. "Chretien? How are you feeling today?" he asks calmly.

Dupond gazes briefly at Combeferre before he resumes staring into space again. "Fine. Nothing is changing," he says in a soft, slurred voice. "I want to go home."

"You will some time. You're making progress," Combeferre assures him.

"Won't be. Won't be doing." Dupond raises both his hands for a few moments. "No go."

"One thing at a time, Chretien, honey," Mrs. Dupond pleads. "You'll be biking again, fixing the roof-"

"No, no!" Dupond snarls, weakly clenching his fists and yanking so hard that he nearly rips out the IV line taped to his left hand. "Can't!"

Combeferre takes a few deep breaths as he listens to Mrs. Dupond's entreaties growing more and more frantic with her husband's monosyllabic retorts. He knows that behind Dupond's broken speech is the pleading of a man who misses being the protector, and who cannot accept that his spouse and his children have spent the past weeks feeding him through a tube and changing his diapers. 'This isn't disability, it's robbery,' he realizes, and once again he inwardly curses those men who assaulted Dupond that night on Avenue 54.

He clears his throat as he lays a hand on Dupond's shoulder. "It's difficult, yes, but you've come so far," he says. He looks to Mrs Dupond, who is now dabbing at her eyes. "She's just trying to help you."

Dupond's lips quiver as he glances from his wife and then to the physician. "Tired."

Mrs. Dupond's face crumples as she gets up and excuses herself to the small hallway outside the neurology ward. Combeferre sees Dupond close his eyes and wave him away, which becomes the physician's cue to simply finish checking over the IV lines and other monitors attached to his patient before leaving to continue his rounds.

He finds Mrs. Dupond pacing the hall as she dabs at her eyes. "How do you do it, Doctor?" she asks brokenly when she sees him. "How can you see people like this every day?"

Combeferre looks down as Mrs. Dupond's question suddenly brings back a vivid memory, that of the afternoon when Enjolras was shot and rushed to the emergency room of this very hospital. 'At least then I could trust Eponine to save him,' he thinks, which is more than he is willing to say for himself where taking care of Dupond is concerned. He looks steadily at the wan woman in front of him. "I just do the best I can," he finally says.

"Don't you get used to it?" she asks between sniffles.

"No. Not really." He knows that the day he is no longer bothered by the sight of suffering will herald the end of his vocation as a physician. The horror is a motivator in itself, but certainly not as strong as either duty or compassion. "It's always a little different each time around."

Mrs. Dupond nods as she wipes away the last of her tears. "You're a good boy. Most other doctors would turn us out by now."

Combeferre bristles slightly. "I can name a compassionate colleague or two, dozens more."

Mrs. Dupond shakes her head with wry disbelief before looking back towards the room she has just vacated. "I miss him. He was so kind...you know I used to call him my prince..." She blushes at her sudden sentiment. "You're a nice young man to listen to all of this everyday. Your girlfriend is a very lucky woman."

Combeferre shakes his head, knowing all too well who the matron is referring to. He's not sure how she found out, but then again it is not as if he has been deliberately hiding the fact that he's made a particular friend in the past month. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Yet. I've seen you two talking at the bookshop," Mrs. Dupond teases. "Her name is Flora-"

"Florence," Combeferre corrects her.

"Ask her out already!"

"Someday, soon."

Mrs. Dupond smiles a little more hopefully as she goes back to the hospital room. "I'll try to talk to Chretein again. Maybe you're right. Maybe it will work."

"If you need help, do not hesitate to ask," Combeferre offers. He figures that he will have to seek assistance from a properly trained counsellor either in the psychiatry department or from among the agencies that Eponine works with. Sometimes looking to solutions is the only balm he can afford for himself and his patients when the wounds in question are of the more intangible sort.

His mood lifts a little by the time he returns to the surgery staff room, which is abuzz as usual with lunchtime chatter. As soon as he opens the door though, everyone in the room falls silent. "Did someone die?" he asks.

"No, we just don't want to be rude to the new chief resident," Eponine calls from where she is reading through some articles.

"What new chief resident-" Combeferre begins before everyone breaks into applause. The truth hits home when he sees Mabeuf also applauding enthusiastically. It cannot be a joke if even the boss is in on it. "Just now?"he asks.

"The committee made its final decision yesterday, but I was thinking of how to break it to you," Mabeuf replies cheerily. "Congratulations, Combeferre. You'll do this department proud."

"Thank you. I hope not to disappoint," Combeferre says politely as he shakes Mabeuf's hand. Of course the back of his mind is already pondering on all the things he will have to work on thanks to his new position; there will be courtesy calls to schedule, documents to accomplish, and endorsements to make, but none of that diminishes that wonderful sense of accomplishment that suffuses his being. Not even the eye rolls and silent grumbling of some of his former competitors does much to bog down his mood.

He looks to Eponine, who is already engrossed in writing a paper for her class later that day. "Looks complicated," he remarks on seeing the statistics she is studying.

"It takes getting used to," she says as she continues typing. She smiles over her laptop screen. "You were such a shoo-in. Everyone was going to protest if the committee didn't make you the chief resident."

Combeferre manages a smile as he sits down, feeling that old sense of competition beginning to dissipate. It only seems fitting that now they should taking on these separate challenges instead of trying to edge out each other. 'It makes changing the world a little easier,' he decides. He notices that Eponine is sighing deeply, and it dawns on him what she is probably thinking of. "Just because you sent Elodie to a better home, that doesn't mean you won't see her again," he says tentatively.

"It's not that," Eponine says wryly. "Cosette pretty much wants me to come over every day just to help get Elodie settled in." She looks around as if to make sure there are no eavesdroppers. "Auguste's parents are in town. They turned up at his place last night."

Combeferre feels as if something has hit him in the stomach as he imagines what must have transpired; there is no way that such a meeting would have gone well, especially if Eponine happened to be caught in the crossfire. "What did they say to him?"

"A lot of things. That he's being a disappointment, that no one will be there for him if things go wrong..." she trails off. "They've done it to him all his life, haven't they?"

"It was worse when we were kids," Combeferre says. There's no point mincing words when describing his best friend's situation; anyway he knows that Eponine can see past euphemisms and whitewashing. "Every bad test, missed goal on the football field, or even just speaking out of turn, they'd always call him worthless. A mistake. Not fit to be their son. You get the picture."

She nods slowly. "They never hit him?"

"They never dared." He pauses to see Eponine's reaction, and to his relief she seems anything but fazed by this turn of events. "How is he holding up?"

"Stoically," she quips as she smoothes out a crease in her white coat. "If it wasn't for the obvious resemblances, I'd think that Auguste was adopted."

Combeferre laughs, knowing what she means. "Nothing of his idealism and spirit."

Eponine nods again. "I guess it's true what they say that family are the people one chooses."

"Perhaps," Combeferre concurs. In a way it makes sense that things should fall together this way, what with all of his friends finding each other and working with one another. 'It's the art of fixing the broken things,' he realizes even as he hears Mabeuf calling him for their first meeting with the consultants of the department waiting in the next room.

IV

The call comes when he is in the middle of meeting with a client seeking assistance on a debacle involving the local police. "Excuse me, I have to take this call," Enjolras says as he quits his seat and goes to the far corner of his tiny office. "Good afternoon Mr. Bamatabois," he greets this court official.

"Thank you for picking up right away, Attorney Enjolras," the official greets smoothly. "The venue has already been finalized for the Transnonain trial. It will be in the Sixth District, in Port Town."

"Beginning the ninth of next month?" Enjolras clarifies. He knows the place being mentioned; in fact he lived there for a time during his internship as a law student. 'All the way across the country,' he notes, remembering the four days it took for him to drive to his temporary home.

"Yes, that very day," Bamatabois replies. "Javert has already been informed. The witness protection program has already made his arrangements. You only need to worry about your own plane ticket."

"I see. Thank you Mr. Bamatabois," Enjolras says. As he ends the call, he feels that same eager anticipation he always has when there is a breakthrough in a case; now that the trial has been scheduled, there is less of a chance for the defendants to make any legal manoeuvres against Dupond, Javert, and the families of the murdered tenants at Transnonain. 'They have delayed justice long enough,' he thinks as he goes back to his meeting.

As soon as his client is gone, he sets about to booking his flight. All the while his phone beeps with message after message; for a moment he worries that they will be from his parents badgering him about the case, but to his relief he finds more welcome names in his inbox. 'Combeferre is now a chief resident, Elodie is home from the hospital with Cosette, and there's a ramen night to celebrate. This can get interesting,' he muses.

At that moment a yawn sounds from the next cubicle. "Ramen night at the Fauchelevents!" Courfeyrac says cheerily as he pushes back his chair and saunters over to Enjolras' workstation. He puts his hands akimbo as he catches sight of the computer screen still showing the airplane ticket reservation. "That's where the trial is going to be?"

"Yes. It's safer for the judge and the defendants since they won't have to deal with agitation within this metropolis," Enjolras explains. "Two weeks away."

Courfeyrac whistles. "Should I book a ticket too?"

"No need to," Enjolras replies. "Azelma needs you here more."

Courfeyrac's shoulders slump with visible relief. "So who will be accompanying you?"

"I'll go alone," Enjolras replies. Technically he won't be travelling with Javert, even if they will be headed to the same place.

Courfeyrac whistles. "Just like old days, when you worked there?"

"I won't be incommunicado this time," Enjolras assures him.

"I don't think that Eponine would let you disappear for that long anyway," Courfeyrac teases. He sticks his thumbs in his belt loops. "I saw your parents driving by the mall. Have they contacted you yet?"

"They dropped by last night," Enjolras replies.

Courfeyrac cringes. "Damn. Was Eponine over there too?"

Enjolras nods, all the while remembering Eponine's quiet but firm resolve during the debacle, and everything she said and did in the aftermath, all the way to her staying the night till they woke up in each other's arms at the crack of dawn. 'No one else you know can be so strong,' it occurs to him. "She wasn't scared," he remarks.

"That's our girl," Courfeyrac agrees. "If you're going to be away for two weeks, you might need to warn her in case there are any reprisals."

"That goes for you, Azelma, Combeferre, and so many others too," Enjolras points out. Now that he thinks about it, their entire group of friends is entangled in this case one way or another. He is not sure if he ought to deplore this as a downturn in professionalism or as an affirmation that he is no longer living so apart from his friends.

It only becomes clearer to him later that evening at the Fauchelevents' house. Even if the place is so big that their motley band can move about comfortably all over the ground floor without ever bumping into each other, they all still end up crammed in the living room, rolling shakers of condiments across the tables to each other and passing around huge bowls of soup. "This is what we do every week, Elodie," Musichetta jokes with the little girl who is joining them for a little while before her bedtime. "We're not boring grown-ups."

Elodie giggles, nearly spilling soup all over the pillows propping her up. "What about spaghetti night?"

"There, you heard the kid!" Bahorel hollers. He whistles to where Eponine, Azelma, and Gavroche are returning from the lanai, where they have been holding some serious discussion for the past half hour. "No long faces allowed tonight, you three!"

"Says the one extending his face with a goatee!" Gavroche retorts, miming stroking a tuft of facial hair.

As Bahorel makes a cheerful verbal rejoinder, Enjolras catches Eponine's eye long enough to see her gesture to the lanai. He picks up his bowl of ramen as well as hers, and then follows her to the next room. "How did that family meeting go?" he asks as soon as they close the door behind them and sit on the floor cushions strewn all over the tiles.

"You make it sound too serious," Eponine quips as she takes her bowl of soup and balances it on her lap while he merely sets his aside. "Though it is something pretty bad."

"Work related?" Enjolras asks.

"That's the one thing that's going right, sort of," Eponine replies. She takes a deep breath and bites her lip. "My parents are sort of trying to make contact. Not directly, sending out feelers if you will. I don't have a good feeling about this."

Enjolras squeezes her wrist. "They're in prison. They won't come and harm you."

"They still know how to make things difficult. They've tried it before, they can do it again," she explains. She sighs as she adjusts their hands so that her fingers are wrapped around his. "I can't hide my past from you, Auguste. It's too obvious and messy."

"We'll handle this," he tells her. He knows better than to say that they'll be safe and that everything will be okay. In fact he does not know what to expect at all from a possible confrontation with the older Thenardiers. 'Eponine doesn't need a rescuer though,' he realizes. He knows that he will have to step up to do something more difficult, but certainly more worthy of the strong persons that he hopes they are shaping up to be. "What I mean to say is that you can count on me," he adds when he feels her squeeze his hand once more.

"Thank you," she whispers. She pauses to eat some more of her soup before meeting his gaze more eagerly. "So now that Elodie is living here, that makes the entire custody thing moot?"

"Pretty much, even if her parents have yet to be officially sentenced," he replies. He takes both her hands, knowing that he cannot put off announcing his own news any longer. "Almost as soon as that happens though, I have to fly out for the Transnonain trial."

Her eyes go wide as her lips form an 'o' of surprise. "That's going to take two weeks, you said?"

"Two, maybe three at the very worst." He pauses, wondering if she will be upset. "It's not very long."

"I know, but I am also aware of how you and I can sometimes go stir-crazy," she jokes. "I'll be fine. I'll even make sure that Courfeyrac doesn't break your office in your absence."

"He's not that bad," Enjolras scoffs. He can live with his friend's brand of disorder to some degree. "Though I need to make sure that mail and newspapers don't pile up outside my door."

"You know, more of your clients should switch to digital."

"Easier said than done."

She rolls her eyes. "Just give me your spare key."

"Will do," he says over the knocking on the lanai door. "What's going on there?" he calls.

"We're just opening up a bottle of wine, among other things," Prouvaire replies. "Want any?"

"Time to rejoin the rest of the world," Eponine says ruefully as they get to their feet. "At least we have some days to talk about this."

'Thank whatever powers are out there for that,' Enjolras thinks as they return to the living room. An assortment of mismatched glasses, filled with either wine, cider, or soda, is already lined up on the table. "Are we really being this formal?" he asks.

"How often do we get to celebrate anything, and two things at that?" Courfeyrac asks as he picks up a glass of wine. "You do the honors."

Enjolras rolls his eyes, knowing that he's never been much of a toastmaster. Nevertheless he picks a glass of cider and holds it up despite the catcalls and laughter of some of the more raucous of the company. He looks to all of his friends gathered in the room, a sight which he would have deemed impossible just a few months ago. "To everyone here and to their dreams. May they come to fruition sooner rather than later."