The barricade falls silent. All of them stricken with grief. Matilda stopped her screaming with a hand over her mouth, only tears falling down her cheeks. Enjolras clenches his fists until his knuckles turn pale white, his nails digging into his palms. That's was his friend. One of his best friends. The youngest, the wisest, the charmer, they all couldn't hate Jehan, not even a little. He was too sweet and charming that it was just too hard to even try to dislike him, and now he's dead. They all stagger down the barricade, tears in all the boys eyes.

"Enjolras-" Marius says.

"Just rest," he says. "We have a lot of work to do tomorrow." His heart aches inside his chest, two friends in less than a day, how many more lives have to be lost?

The leader looks at Matilda who still cries. He climbs over to her and wraps and arm around her shoulders. She leans on him, still holding onto the small flower that Jehan had picked for her.

A rose by any other name, would smell just as sweet.

His words that he recited repeat in her ears. The flowers isn't a rose. No. She was the rose. She was the outcast, the gamine, the unwanted that somehow made a place in the hearts of rich boys who just wanted to change the world. She was the different one that they accepted.

Metaphors. She smiles. The beauty of it once you know the meaning. "Prouvaire," she says.

Enjolras kisses her forehead. "Yeah, that was his real name."

Jehan's body still lays on the other side of the barricade, face down. The bright and smiling face now bloody and blunt. Matilda looks away and looks up into Enjolras's eyes, resting her chin on his chest.

"Promise me something?" she says to him.

"Yes?" he replies.

"If we die, we have to die together. In the same room, holding hands."

Enjolras shakes his head. "No. Because we're going to make it out of here alive. Maybe with a leg or an arm missing but we're going to live and we're going to have our wedding," Enjolras says in a rather assuring way. "How does that sound?"

Matilda smiles a little. "Okay." They kiss each other then go separate ways. Enjolras goes over to Combeferre and Courf to settle down some plans and strategies for tomorrow, Matilda on her own little corner once again.

She plays with the flower Jehan had given her, twirling it around in her fingers. The flower isn't being. No bigger than a grown mans middle finger, the stem lush and green, the petals small and fragile around a bright yellow bud. The one flowers that grew in between the stones of the filthy grounds of Paris. Tell him just how much you love him. Words of his advice. His love advice. Why shouldn't she follow it?

"Sorry miss, may I take a seat?" A voice startles her. She looks up to see the old man she saw carrying Gavroche into the cafe earlier.

"Sure."

The man wears an army uniform, his grey hair indicating he's much too old for this. His face covered in wrinkles, dark circles beneath his eyes. The man sighs and looks at Matilda, catching her staring at him.

"Do you think I'm too old for this?" he asks.

Matilda turns bright red at the question, being caught staring at someone is rude. "No, sir. Well-"

"I'm not really here to kill anyone, miss. I'm here to bring one of the boys back to my daughter who sorely loves him. Yet I still don't know which one he is."

"Do you know his name? I know most the boys here, I may know which one you're trying to find," she says.

The old man looks into the starry sky, scratching the side of his head. "Marius, I believe."

Matilda's heart skips a beat. Cosette's father. This is him. She tells herself. Eponine died for this mans daughter. A sudden hate comes to her for Cosette, but she knows she shouldn't. "My best friend died because of your daughter."

The man looks at her, his face confused. "I'm sorry?"

"My best friend died for your daughters happiness. She redirected a soldiers Carbine into her chest before he could pull the trigger on Marius."

The old man inhales deeply, the air sucked through his gritted teeth. "I'm sorry about your friend."

"You should be, she didn't deserve to die, this wasn't even her fight." Matilda doesn't know why she suddenly turns so rough towards him, she barely knows about this man but yet is angry towards him because of his daughter that she has never even met. She tries to move away from him, but the man grips her wrist. His hands rough and tight around hers, she tries to wriggle out of his iron grip, but it doesn't work.

"I understand you are upset with your friends sacrifices. But they sacrificed themselves to protect someone or something they loved. All of them. Wouldn't you sacrifice yourself for him?" Matilda glares at him, her eyes sneering at the stranger. "I've seen how you look at that boy, the one that leads the others, the one in the red. I've seen what he would do to protect you, the question is; would you?"

For a moment, Matilda doesn't know what to say. "Of course I would. Enjolras is the best thing that's happened to me, I would do anything to protect him."

The man lets go of her, Matilda rubbing the red marks around her wrist. She gets up and turns away, she sees Marius by the barricade, patching holes from gun fire broken bits. Matilda sighs. She knows the man is right, that it was Eponine's choice to die, that Eponine had thought about her fate. She shouldn't hate him for Eponines own fault.

She turns around and points to Marius. "That's him, the one in the blue vest patching up the barricade, that's the boy you're looking for." The man nods and smiles at her. Then she turns on her heels and walks.

Enjolras POV

I watch the soldiers hastily as they prepare for tomorrow. The head artillery rolling in canons and readying gun powder for their weapons. Most of my friends now have fallen into a deep sleep, some snoring, some huddled together to keep out the cold. Matilda waits for me by the bottom of the barricade, hugging herself to sleep. Today hasn't been a great day. Two of my friends died in front of me and I did nothing. Nothing. I could've run out to save Gavroche, tackle him down so he wouldn't get shot. I could've tried to persuade the soldiers not to shoot Jehan, or maybe even shoot one of the executors to buy time so one of boys could run out and grab Jehan and pull him to safety. But I did nothing instead.

Now leaning my back on the barricade I try to think. Will this revolution succeed? I don't know anymore. I was sure before, so sure that the people would rise up and stand with us. But none of them have stood with us yet. None have even tried to help. We're alone and abandoned by those who still live in the fear and control of the government. They won't think of what it would be like for their grandchildren, or their great grandchildren. Their just afraid. I won't let that stop us though, not now, it can't be now. The faith of the boys have to be kept high for their sake.

"What are you thinking about, my friend?" Combeferre asks as he climbs up towards me. He sits down on my right with a book in his hands. His glasses propped up on his nose, skewed as always. The thing that surprises me as that he has a Rifle with him for once.

"Just small thoughts, nothing too much," I reply to him.

He chuckles. "So does that mean your knuckles have turned white for no reason?"

I look down at my hands and he's right. I haven't realised that my hands are clenched into fists, so drowned into my own thoughts I didn't even feel that.

Combeferre laughs and opens his book, to be more precise, his journal. Filled with writings and pictures of Les Amis, a map of Patria, his own private journal. For memories, the only way to keep memories alive.

"So why is it that you, a man of logic and peace, carries a weapon around?" I ask him. My elbows rest on my knees, propped up in front of me.

"A man has to be alert, and I bought this for you." Combeferre hands it to me and I examine it closely. Still polished and new. He hasn't used it yet, the smell of fresh gun powder wafting up into my nose.

"Where did you get this?" I ask, my hands wrapped tightly around the barrel.

"It's my fathers, he was going to give it to me for my 26th birthday, but I found it when I was ransacking the house for a weapon one time."

"Would he mind if I use it?"

"It's mine now."

"Well then, would you mind?"

He hesitates to reply. Biting his lip he shakes his head. "No, I don't mind."

I nod at him and push myself up on to the edge of the barricade. The head artillery soldier is still there, his men starting to daze off, yet they still push themselves to work. I take aim and point my muzzle at him. I squint my eye, preparing to pull the trigger, until a hand covers the muzzle and I jump.

"You never told me it was for murder," Combeferre says.

I scowl at him. "This isn't murder if I am killing to avenge my friends murder that is upon his hands."

"I don't want this rifles first shot to be for vengeance, Enjolras, I want it to shoot in a fair manor," he says trying to grab it out of my hands. "Look at them, Enj. Their our age, just under orders like we all are to you."

I jerk it back to me. "This is for Jehan," I say. "He never did anything in the past days, he didn't kill, he didn't ambush, he was just here. They killed an innocent, just like they killed that woman at Lamarque's funeral. You nearly beat that soldier to the brink of death out of hatred and fairness, so don't tell me that this wouldn't be fair either."

Combeferre sinks down and takes his hand of the muzzle, he watches silently below me as I take aim, a single tear rolls down my cheek. I don't want to do this, but I have to. I pull the trigger and I duck behind the barricade, not wanting to see if I killed him or not. I hear a loud thud and angry shouts from the other side and I know that I hit him.

I look at Combeferre who stares at me bluntly. "Do you feel any better now?"

I sigh. "No."

"Exactly," he replies bluntly. I hand him back the rifle and he jerks back. "No, I don't want it anymore, it's yours." He shrinks back down the barricade and walks into a corner and falls asleep.

I stare down at all my friends who all sleep peacefully. They don't know what's coming for them, what will be of tomorrow. The battle definitely will be gruesome, many of them may not make it. I lean back and I start to cry slightly. This feeling of crying was different. I cry of grief and guilt, that my friends would die because of me. Its my fault that they are all here, they didn't have to be but I gathered them together and now their at their death wish.

I stare at Matilda who still sleeps, shivering in the cold. I climb down to her and kiss her on the forehead, she groans quietly and turns to the other side. I smile at her. Watching her sleep makes me feel more calm. I could just take her with me now and run, leave now and live the rest of our lives together. But that just wouldn't be fair.

Instead I just sit down next to her and try to sleep, dreading for tomorrow.