When Annette opened her eyes, the sight that she woke up to made her wish she never had.

Bodies littered the floor, blocking all exits and any hopes of escape. Blood pooled into the deep cracks in the wood from the ceiling, dripping in a slow and steady rhythm. She stood on her bed, her island of comfort and safety, until it disappeared from beneath her feet and she was standing ankle-deep in blood. A scream dried up in her throat when she saw the dead, bloated body of Courfeyrac floating past her. Then she recognized the rest of the faces around her; Eponine, Combeferre, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, Jehan, Feuilly, Grantaire.

Her heart seemed to stop completely when she realized one was missing. She shuddered, her head spinning, yet everything so clear and focused at once, when she saw him.

He stood still and perfect and unharmed in front of her, his appearance somehow fresh and unscathed. Annette wanted to run to him, run away from all this death, when she saw the red bleeding hole in his chest. Right where his heart should be.

"You left us. You weren't there," Enjolras said accusingly, staring at her with sad eyes. Annette opened her mouth, terrified, wanting to say something.

I never left. I never left! She thought over and over again, forgetting everything but this terrible new reality. She—

"Annette! Annette, are you alright?" Annette woke up with a wheezing gasp, clinging to whoever it was sitting next to her. Eponine.

She cried into her shoulder, shaking and sweating from the terrible dream. Eponine clutched her almost as tightly as Annette did, whispering something inaudibly over and over again. Annette felt as though she were falling, and needed something to ground her to the world. When she heard another voice in the room she started and pulled away, thinking this was just another dream, with more corpses and faces to haunt her. She saw a small flame appear and blaze, filling the room with a dim glow.

Combeferre held a candle, and suddenly Annette remembered. Lunch, the walk, falling asleep on the bench, falling on the ground, a bushy haired man with a mustache and Combeferre leaning over her, pressing things to her forehead. She looked away, mortified at the events. It was impossible to hide any longer. Her secret was out.

Eponine got up, returning with a glass of water for Annette. Silently Annette took it, and though she tried to keep her hands steady, she splashed a good portion onto the sheets.

"Does it happen often?" Combeferre asked tiredly, rubbing his temple. Annette nodded.

"Why didn't you tell Courfeyrac?"

Annette stared into the glass in her hands.

"You know why."

"I do not. You did not need to put yourself in harm's way because you were afraid, Annette."

She didn't respond, and set the glass down on the floor. Her head was dizzy with something strange and unfamiliar, and she had to blink to keep herself awake.

"Dr. Bouchard gave you laudanum to sleep. You ought to stay in bed the rest of the day, and eat as much as you can." Combeferrre took her hand and felt her pulse. "Don't go to work or meetings or anything the rest of the week. Don't even leave your room. And, Annette," he added seriously, the candle casting long shadows on his face, "talk to him. Talk to someone, anyone. You shouldn't keep it all to yourself until it's too late."

Annette nodded tiredly, her eyelids heavy and drooping. She did not know how exactly she was tucked back under the covers only to fall asleep once more.

———————————

Annette was reading Sense and Sensibility when the knock at the door came. Without a second thought she jumped to open it. It was probably Jehan, coming to retrieve his poetry book from the night before. He'd thought it would make her feel better. She needed company anyway.

She opened the door, then immediately closed it again. She stared at the closed door in shock, unable to comprehend what she'd just seen. Then she opened it again, to make sure this wasn't another nightmare.

But it was real. Her father. Tall, silver hair, thick spectacles, permanent frown, mold on his right cheek. It was him.

Before she could close the door again he put his hand out and walked into the room. Annette suddenly noticed Courfeyrac behind him, and hoped against all hopes that this was not an intervention.

The two Courfeyracs sat down in the armchairs. Her father looked around dubiously with a critical eye, taking in the tasteless furniture and disgraceful books lining her shelves. He shook his head silently, knowing full well Annette saw the gesture.

"What are you doing here?"

"Paying you a visit," her father replied. "Courfeyrac told me you are not well."

Annette laughed drily, sending murderous glares to Courfeyrac. "I am well. Would it take me being on my deathbed for you to come over?"

He was silent. Then, after a pause, "I understand we have not always gotten along, Annette, but it is time for you to quit this foolishness."

Annette clenched her fists, trying to get herself to calm down. "What do you mean? What foolishness am I exhibiting?"

"You know what. This. Living here, working at a cafe, hanging around Courfeyrac's friends. It's a disgrace, and you should not be doing it now in your condition."

"And what's my condition?" Annette challenged. Would he take it further, would he really dare to go there?

"Dying." He said it calmly, and, though Annette would never recognize it in his voice, sadly.

Annette could not even look at either of them anymore. She would not.

"I am sorry, but I do not tolerate visitors who come to insult me. Have you come with a purpose?"

He gave her a warning look. "Listen to me, Annette, I am still your father. I decide what is best for you. You are coming home with me, as of right now. We will get proper doctors and take you to the country for the winter and spring, and if you're well by then we'll move to England. What you need is a change in scenery." Again, he made a small gesture with his hand around the apartment, showing just what he would change.

"I am not going anywhere. I will see none of your doctors, and I am neither going to the country nor to England." Annette longed to take one of Courfeyrac's bouncing curls and give it a good tug. He had said nothing so far, but even so she found him guilty.

"You will do as I say! What have I done to make you hate me so, Annette? I put food on the table, a roof over your head! And what do I get? Insolence and disrespect."

"I do not hate you," Annette said automatically, a twinge of guilt already poking at her. Then she remembered, this was what he said every time to win. He made her feel guilty, and gave her that sad, forlorn look as though he were all alone in the world. Well, it wouldn't work this time.

"Then why do you treat me like this?"

"Because for more than fifteen years you made me feel inferior to everybody!" Annette burst. "You always reminded me how kind you were to have taken me in, even after your wife died, to have kept me still. If I was not the perfect daughter, fluent in Latin and Italian, able to paint with watercolors like the other girls, accomplished on the piano, thin enough to wear the dresses Madame Chiry made for the balls—you made sure I knew it. I do not want that life, having to attract suitors to have worth. I would rather work for whatever I earn, like everyone else must do. Have you seen what is going on in the streets? People are killing each other for survival, and we—" Annette couldn't go on any longer. Out of breath, she was seized with coughing, and it wasn't for a long while till she regained her composure.

Monsieur de Courfeyrac stared at her in surprise, a whirl of emotions visible on his face. He twisted his hat in his hand, and for a while, was completely silent.

"I want you to come home, Annette." Annette sensed this was his last plea, and he would not argue further. She regarded him for a while, sitting in her chair. He seemed old, older than she'd ever seen him, older than he should look for his age. He seemed lonely.

"You are the one who sent me away." Her words hung still in the air as Monsieur de Courfeyrac lifted his face to her. Why must he look so sad? It made her feel worse, and less sure. What if he really did want her this time?

Monsieur de Courfeyrac stood up. He took a final look around her apartment, as if trying to imprint the horrors in his mind, and nodded to Annette.

"Good day, Annette. I hope this life you choose can please you. I will come back soon, to see if you've changed your mind," he added, his gaze steady.

Annette did not waver. "I will not. Farewell, Father."

Monsieur de Courfeyrac winced at her coldness, perhaps remembering the days she'd called him "papa."

"Good-bye."

He turned and left, closing the door firmly. After a few seconds Annette turned to Courfeyrac angrily.

"Why would you—you know I—we—" she started crying. Courfeyrac quickly stood and moved to her.

"It's only right, Annie, even that. Would you hide it from him like you did from me?" He let out a bitter laugh. "It's not right, Annie. We're supposed to tell each other everything." With a sigh he hugged her close. Annette stopped crying and pressed herself tightly to him.

"I bet Enjolras would be envious to see us now," Courfeyrac said sweetly. Annette didn't speak, but planned on telling his mistress, some interesting facts about Courfeyrac's love life.

"By the way, he's been wanting to see you. Give the poor boy a chance, won't you? I can confirm you are the first and only girl he's ever cared about, or even acknowledged for that matter. A waste, I'd say, with that face, but—" Annette looked up at him, knocking his chin with her head. Courfeyrac flinched.

"You've done your brotherly duties well enough. I suppose you have places to be?" She pulled away, crossing her arms over her chest to replace the sudden lack of warmth.

Courfeyrac shook his head cheerfully, then his face fell. "Actually, I do. Bahorel and Bossuet are meeting me in a bit." He paused. "Should I tell Enjolras not to bother visiting?"

He was testing her. But she did want to see Enjolras, awkward as it may be. And since she wasn't really going anywhere for another few days, what else did she have to do? That was what she told herself. It would be fine, right? She had to see him at some point.

"Tell him whatever you want, I do not care," she said, attempting a casual tone. Courfeyrac grinned and patted her head.

"Yes, I'm sure you don't. Well, I'm off." He have her an exaggerated bow and tip of the hat and left.

Annette collapsed into a chair, deep in thought. Would her father come again? Did he really mean what he had said? He must have. Removed and cold though he'd been in the past, he had never lied to her. It almost saddened her to know without a doubt she would not go back to him. She wanted to be able to get on with him, yes, but not if it meant losing all of what she'd been building for the past couple of years.

It wasn't long before she heard another knock at the door. Annette lingered in her chair a moment. Could Enjolras really be here so soon?

It seemed he could. He was a little breathless and red in the cheeks, and his cravat had been hastily tied. But he was here.

"Hello," he said awkwardly, a little flustered. Annette gave him a little smile and let him in.

"You were quick," she said to fill the silence.

Enjolras sat down across from her, his feet tapping out a nervous beat. Annette suddenly regretted everything. The tension was unbearable.

"You wouldn't see me," Enjolras replied questioningly.

Annette looked down. "I didn't need you to see me like that, Enjolras. Anyway, I'm fine now, so what does it matter?" She painfully forced a smile, trying to assure him.

Enjolras shook his head. "Do not say that. I know you're not, Annette. You don't have to explain."

So he knew. He knew everything.

"What now, then?"

"What do you mean?" Enjolras asked confusedly. Annette tried not to cry. Surely he must know; was he really going to make her say it?

"You know what. I am a bomb waiting to go off. At best I'll live through the winter. So what is the point of this, of...of us? I'm sure you can find many better ways to spend your time." Annette's cheeks burned red, she knew, and she looked away.

"Annette," Enjolras said softly, "I am not leaving you. Maybe you don't have forever, but none of us do." He paused, as if trying to formulate more words. "You really ought to go to Combeferre if you want wise and inspiring words," he said, laughing nervously, "all I can say is..."

Annette held her breath, and dared to look at him. He was hesitant all of a sudden, almost shy. It was unlike him.

"I think...I love you."

Annette slowly took one of his hands in hers.

"I know I love you."

Enjolras smiled. "Good grief, I would be scorning anyone else, Courfeyrac, Joly, Bossuet, if they talked like this."

"I suppose we should stop now then, before we turn into those ridiculous love-birds we've seen at the Luxembourg," Annette joked.

Enjolras nodded. "I beg of you, do not call me your calinours* or chaton.*"

"But they suit you so well!"

They spent a while more joking and poking fun at each other, when Annette asked the question she'd asked Courfeyrac.

"Don't you have somewhere to be? I'm sure you are busy with the meetings at the cafe, and the revolution and whatnot."

Enjolras shook his head with a small smile. "I do not need to be anywhere but here."

Annette was content. After a while, Enjolras noticed the chess board on Eponine's bed. Combeferre must have left it behind a while ago. He walked over and picked it up.

"How about a round, Mademoiselle?"

Annette laughed, her eyes never leaving the chess board. "I must decline, my good sir."

"Why?"

"I...I never learned to play," Annette said quickly. Enjolras shrugged.

"I can show you. It isn't too difficult once you understand."

He set the board on the table between them. He spent the next half hour telling her what went where, what it did, and the rules of the game. Annette admittedly didn't listen very much, but she watched as he grew animated as he spoke.

They played a while, and Annette was sure to make a couple of mistakes along the way, even if it were just to keep Enjolras talking. As the game progressed, however, she found herself getting deeply invested and she stopped. Whenever she captured one of his players she'd feign surprise and say,

"Hmm, seems like you've lost your luck today."

Then Enjolras went on a tangent about how there was no such thing as luck, and it was a sorry excuse by people who either valued nothing they did or had no motivation to do anything.

Annette carefully moved her knight several spaces and captured his bishop. Enjolras stared at her, dumbfounded. As the game progressed and she kept taking his players, Enjolras gave her a suspicious look.

"It seems to me you may be familiar with this game."

Annette smiled and sighed half-heartedly. "Do you really undervalue your teaching that much?"

"Normally I would not, but I have remained undefeated for every game since I was ten."

"Then perhaps, Enjolras, you had better be on your guard."

Enjolras said nothing. He remained stoically silent. Then, all of a sudden he seemed reanimated and triumphantly moved his queen and trapped Annette's king. Clearly this was his favorite part. His eyes burned with passion as he kept his eyes on the king.

"Down with the king!" He exclaimed. No matter which way she chose, he would win. Annette watched his liveliness with a smile. God, how she loved him.

*calinours — teddy bear

*chaton — sweet little kitten