A/N: So, it's March 13, 2015. That means it's been a year since I first uploaded this story as a OneShot. In honor of being one year old, I thought I'd celebrate with a chapter.

For this chapter, we get to see the all the other characters that I've neglected for awhile. Hope this one isn't too boring and I hope it makes you a bit excited for what will come next. SPOILERS: The next and final two chapters will have your heart racing…hopefully anyway…if I can write them well enough anyway.


...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 28 - Of Holding Back and Holding On

...

"So what do you want to drink...or eat really? It is dinner time, isn't it. Well, it doesn't matter. Hey, you know what? I can even buy a drink drink and keep it in front of me, but you can have it. That's something a cool big sis would do, right? Ha, see...I can be a cool big sis."

"No one said you weren't, 'Zel," Gavroche groaned, falling back against the bar chair and sighing, the idle bar chatter filling in the growing silence between them. He wasn't trying to be such a prude, but he couldn't help it, he couldn't even act nice if he wanted to in this moment - pent up anger, vexed feelings, it all came out now that he was seeing his sister again for the first time in years. And all the while, she just droned on cheerily as if no time had ever passed, as if they were just kids again, sneaking around town after school getting a soda or candy. He nearly chuckled to himself. Time's sure have changed, haven't they?

"Well what do you want? Anything you want. It's on me," she prattled on in the seat beside him. "We can get dinner here too or somewhere else if you'd prefer..."

"Whatever."

The way her face suddenly fell, even Gavroche had to admit it hurt a little. He didn't do it deliberately, but the words just came out with the attitude already laced in them.

Azelma dropped her face back to the menu, eyes losing their sparkle by the second. "I was just trying," she whispered.

Closing his eyes in contemplation and heaving another sigh, Gavroche leaned forward across the counter next to her. "Sorry," he offered, the words still coming out bitter. "Sprite," he said and then she looked at him with the corners of her mouth twisting up.

"Seven and Seven?"

"Just Sprite."

With a defeated but contented sigh, Azelma looked ahead to behind the bar, watching to see if she saw either Enjolras or Courfeyrac. Her whole face lit up when she saw those familiar faces - one of whom always made her smile.

"Oh, look, there's Courf. Let me introduce you," Azelma said, bouncing slightly in her seat like a child. "Courf! Come here!" she shouted across the bar.

Suddenly, the attention of the brown-haired man turned their way and his knitted brow expression transformed into a smile. "Hey, 'Zel!" he called out, making his way over to them. The blonde bartender had looked their way at the same time, but he flitted a brief smile before returning his attention back to a customer's drink.

Visibly, Azelma's whole demeanor excited as her boyfriend swayed closer to her. Gavroche could sense the change in the atmosphere, her air of excitement now turning to giddiness and he loathed her at how happy she was.

"How are you, babe?" Courfeyrac asked with a peck on her cheek. He leaned away from her revealing her rosy red cheeks and the sparkle in her eye that seemed to reappear like magic.

"Good, good. But look, this is my brother, the one I've told you so much about. Courfeyrac, this is Gavroche." She held her palm out towards her brother as if showcasing him her her boyfriend.

"Hey, kiddo," Courfeyrac said with an outstretched hand.

In response, Gavroche eyed him up and down with a look of disgust. "Kiddo? I'm not twelve."

"Whoa, sorry," Courfeyrac relented. "I didn't mean it like that - "

"Gavroche," Azelma scolded. "Be nice."

The younger of them huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. "Nice to meet you," he forcibly responded. "Can't say I've heard much about you though."

The little dig of the knife cut Azelma deep, a small wince eliciting from her muscles just from his words alone. Air seemed to evaporate from between them, forcing their words away as each struggled for something to say next.

"You're a bartender here then?" Gavroche continued.

"Yup, worked here a few years now."

"Cool, I'll take a Sprite and a burger, medium. And sautéed onions if you've got 'em."

Azelma shut her eyes for a moment and glared at her brother upon opening them. "Gavroche - "

"Nah, it's cool, 'Zelma," Courfeyrac interrupted. "It's my job." He sucked in a small breath to hide the wound of his words and looked at Gavroche fully with a smile. "Cheese too?"

Gavroche grinned. "Cheddar." And Azelma let out an irritated exhale.

"Relax," Courfeyrac chided in a whisper, grabbing Azelma's hand and rubbing his thumb along the back of it lightly. "And what can I get you, babe? The usual drink? Or something a little more exotic today?"

A smile returned to Azelma's face from the mere contact of Courfeyrac's hand alone. "What kind of exotic?" she smirked.

"Hey," a breathless voice said, distracting the couple from their little display of affection.

Immediately, all three looked up to see the blonde bartender, hair a touch disheveled and red vest hanging slightly crooked on his broad chest.

"Oh, Enjolras!" Azelma nearly squealed. "This is my younger brother, Gavroche. He just turned eighteen - "

"That means he's not a kid," Courfeyrac finished with a small wink at the younger man.

Yet, Gavroche remained unamused and fixed his glare on Enjolras.

"Nice to meet you," Enjolras started. "I'm Enjolras, your sisters' friend - "

A sharp scoff from Gavroche cut Enjolras off. "Friend? You're shitting me, right?"

"Gavroche!" Azelma scolded, yet again. "Language."

The blonde gaped, perplexed and astonished at the audacity of the teen. "I'm..." he said, struggling for words. "I mean...Well, yeah, I'm both of your sisters' friend."

"Whatever," Gavroche said, puffing out a breath of air upwards so that it blew his light brown hair out of his face.

As Gavroche sat back and sulked in his chair, Azelma took charge of the conversation. She sat up a little straighter and locked eyes with the blonde. "I think I'm ready to go to the police, Enj."

His eyes widened momentarily and he leaned the bulk of his weight on the counter in front of him, fingers spreading apart. "You think so?"

Slouching down a little at his question, she gave a small shrug. "Well, yeah, I've been talking with Courf the past week about it. I think it's time. I really..." she sighed, "I honestly just can't take the worry that something bad is happening to her and we haven't done anything. I just want to see her."

"I know," Enjolras conceded. "I think we've waited long enough. And this time, I have her address - "

"You have her address? How - When? When did you get it? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Christmas day, when she came over...right before I called you. It just slipped my mind while I was on the phone with you, I guess."

"You're an idiot, Enj, but I love you! Ah! Yay, let's go." She wiggled in her seat, all ready to slip from the chair and forgo dinner for a trip to the police station.

Gavroche fisted his hands before finally slamming a fist down on the counter, causing the other three to look his way. "Bullshit!" he snapped. "You all don't think I really know what's going on here? God! I'd have to be blind to miss it! God! I just...I can't believe this..." In one swift movement, he had his chair pushed back and was on his feet. He met Enjolras' eyes darkly and with a vexed breath he spoke: "That's low, man. Real low. That's my sister! That's Éponine! But I guess I shouldn't expect anything less from some asshole bartender."

"Gav, what are you talking about?" Azelma asked, embarrassment for his actions leaking in through her words. Yet, he ignored her, stalking off and out of the doors of the the Musain. She looked back worriedly at the two men and apologized. "I really don't know why he's acting like that. I should go talk to him."

She began to move out of her chair but Enjolras stopped her. "If you don't mind, maybe I can try to talk to him. His anger seemed to be at me, not you. Maybe it was something that I did."

Azelma only shrugged "I don't know." But she relented. "You can try, I guess, but come get me if he still won't talk."

It didn't take long for Enjolras to place his rag under the counter, put on his black pea coat and take his fifteen minute break a little early. He walked down the block, looking both ways to see if there was any teenage boy in sight. Picking right first, Enjolras kept his eyes peeled as he slowly walked along, nerves shooting through him like fire.

Finally, his heart nearly skipped when he recognized the light brown mop of hair sitting on a sidewalk bench facing a Dunkin' Donuts. His head perked up and eyes narrowed as he saw Enjolras approach.

"Can't you just leave me alone?" Gavroche deadpanned as Enjolras took a cautious seat beside him.

"Look," Enjolras began, rubbing his chin. "I'm sorry if there was something I said...or did - "

"You really are stupid, aren't you?"

The blonde winced a little as a sudden fit of anger engulfed him. He was trying to be civil but this kid had another thing coming with that smart mouth of his. Fingers clenched beside him, his heart rate began to increase. "Enough with the crap, kid, I'm done trying to be nice. I don't care if you're Éponine's brother or not, you don't get to talk to me like that or treat your sister that way."

"Seriously?" Gavroche flared, eyes setting aflame. "You seriously are going to tell me how I can and can't talk. So what? Just because you're banging my sister, that makes you my dad?"

Enjolras sat taken aback, anger momentarily dissipating. "What did you just say?"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me. I can put two and two together. I realized what was happening the second Azelma mentioned you. For God's sake, just leave Éponine alone. She doesn't need you in her life." Rising to his feet, Gavroche turned to walk away but Enjolras grabbed his arm to make him face him. "Don't touch me!" Gavroche berated, shaking Enjolras off of him.

"Just tell me what you realized," he said, taking a step back, adding some distance between them.

Gavroche whipped around, eye level with Enjolras, the only contrast was the size of their frames. Where Gavroche was much more lean and tall, Enjolras was more broad and muscular.

"It's obvious! Anyone with eyes can see it. This whole thing is just a ploy to get Éponine divorced from Montparnasse. Azelma always hated him, bet it didn't take much to convince her to be on your side."

Don't tell me he doesn't believe in abuse either, Enjolras suddenly realized, trying to fit together what on earth he was talking about. "I haven't convinced Azelma of anything. What do you mean?"

"Ha!" Gavroche laughed, rolling his eyes back and running a hand through his hair. "Since you're so inept at understanding, let me paint you a picture of how I'm sure it went down. You probably met Éponine bartending or some other shit like that. You liked her, you fucked her and then you've probably been planning to get her away from Montparnasse since then. You want her for herself. My only question is why she would cheat. She loves Montparnasse, always had, unless I guess things have changed." He waved his hand as if banishing the idea. "Like I would know, it's not like they talk to me. So anyway, I bet you saw them one day, saw how rough Montparnasse can be. News flash, that's just him! You'd be like that too if you were raised in the filth where we grew up. Well, I bet you decided that Éponine can divorce on grounds of abuse. So you got your friend's help, you got Azelma's help and now you're ready to send Montparnasse to jail and what? You think I'm gonna help too? Think I'll testify for her...for you?"

"Gavro - "

"Well, hell no, I won't. Montparnasse saved my life! He saved all of our lives. Just 'cause Azelma refuses to see that, just because she hates him, it doesn't change the fact that the only reason I've had half of a good childhood was because of him. God! Why can't you just leave them alone? They're happily married, I'm sure they don't bother anyone, why you gotta go and screw that all up?"

People on the street stopped and lifted their heads at the altercation before them, some pausing to watch a moment longer as they strode into the coffee shop, but no one said anything, no one did anything, they all just watched - because that's what people do, they just watch without a word.

"You've got it all wrong," Enjolras growled, white air puffing out of his mouth like dragon's breath while he steeled his eyes at a pausing patron. His glare alone was enough to get them scampering away. "That's not anywhere close to the truth," he said upon resting his eyes back on Gavroche.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Yeah, well, you want to know what really happened? Éponine and I are friends, I swear on my life. I've never touched her. I can't even touch her, she won't let me."

Gavroche minutely calmed down at hearing that revelation.

"Wonder why she won't let me touch her?" Enjolras pressed.

"Duh, 'cause she's married?"

Enjolras scowled. "Because he hurts her. Because she's been hurt her whole life."

"You're just drawing conclusions, how would you know?"

"Because she told me!"

Gavroche took a step back, eyebrows knitting together. "She told you?"

"Yes, Éponine told me what Montparnasse does to her, I've seen the scars and the bruises."

With an eye roll, Gavroche blew out a breath and turned to walk away again. "Then I know you're lying. Éponine doesn't confide in anyone. She never has and I bet she never will."

Enjolras skipped a step to follow in pace with him. "I'm not lying. She didn't willingly open up to me, it took some coaxing," he admitted. "But then she told me a lot, she told me what I needed to know."

"There's nothing you need to know," Gavroche snapped back. "It was just what you wanted to know, just so that you could get her away from Montparnasse, just so she could divorce him."

"My goal has been to keep her safe."

"Sure, sure..." he scoffed, walking a bit faster as he crossed the street, no destination in mind. "You just want in her pants and the only way you'll get that is if she divorces. My theory still stands."

"That's not true. Her home life with her husband isn't safe, I just want to help her."

"No, you want to nail her."

"No, Gavroche - "

"No!" The younger stopped on a dime, curtly turning to Enjolras and pointing his finger at him. "Don't lie to me and tell me you don't want that. Every guy wants her. And you, you're a single bartender with a dick. Why wouldn't you want her?"

It was a low blow and Enjolras' lip rose in disgust. "If you don't want to help your own sister, then fine, she doesn't need you. But I am not about to stand by with all of my facts in order, with her sister's help, and with her address in my pocket and let her suffer by the hands of her husband any longer. I'm done being a bystander and I'm done worrying if she's going to live each night. So you know what? Why don't you do us all a favor and go back home. Go back to New Hampshire, back to your nice rich adoptive family, go to college and just pretend everything is okay. We don't. Need you."

With a shove past Gavroche, Enjolras turned in the opposite direction; hard scowl on his face and hands pushed deep into his pockets.

"Hey," Gavroche called right as Enjolras reached the end of the block.

"What?" he bit back, not turning his head.

"How did you know I was from New Hampshire?"

A bitter laugh escaped his lips dryly. "Because she told me. She told me a lot about you." His feet began walking forward once again before the flashing red hand appeared, he didn't look back and didn't even bother pausing to wait for him.

So, Gavroche stood alone, eyes wide and fear far-reaching, as Enjolras and his black coat disappeared down the block in the sundown, further and further out of sight.

...

When Enjolras told Azelma about his plans to head to the police station the next morning, he asked her to accompany her. She wanted to...it was just...Gavroche wanted to go home, no explanation, no reason, nothing but a simple: "Because I hate Boston!"

And so, Saturday morning rolled around and Azelma took Gavroche back to the train station to end his trip early. Her younger brother had hurt her deeply, but still, she knew that he had hurt Éponine worse by choosing to ignore her.

In Enjolras' mind it was settled, come Sunday morning, he was going to the police station with or without Azelma. It didn't matter if there was going to be a snowstorm, a deep freeze, a freak tropical hurricane, or even an alien attack, nothing was going to stop him from going to tell the police about Éponine.

He sauntered up to the grand brown building, the large clock on the tower reading one-fifteen, he took a deep breath and walked inside. Met with an onslaught of gruff police, Enjolras didn't know what to do first exactly. But casting aside all thought, he waltzed up to the main desk that stretched nearly a mile long, placed Éponine's delicately written address onto the counter, produced a post-it with her house phone number, and then opened up his phone to one of the only two photos he had of her.

His phone illuminated the picture of Éponine standing by herself - clad in her signature white pea coat - in front of the Bobby Orr statue at the TD Garden. That hockey game with her was one of his favorite memories of her, one he'd cherish forever, and one that brought up too many emotions to fully relive.

"Her name is Éponine Moreaux and I have reason to believe that her husband is abusing her." It was a simple sentence that had run through his mind countless times on the drive over, but now that he said it out loud, even he was doubting the legitimacy.

"You have proof?" the round police officer asked.

"She told me."

"That's a big accusation, son."

Enjolras fiddled with his fingers. Why in the world was he so nervous? He had no reason to be. He should be cheering, he was finally helping, right? "It's not a lie," he replied.

"Where is she now?" the officer asked, picking up Enjolras' phone to get a better look at her picture.

"I'm not too sure," he confessed, eyes shifting down to stare at her handwriting. "I haven't seen her since the day of New Year's Eve. But since Thursday I called her house phone each day - twice yesterday - and there's been no answer. I went by her job yesterday around noon and her boss told me that she hasn't shown up for work in three days. No phone calls, no emails, she just hasn't shown up. There is something wrong."

The officer nodded, for the first time actually looking any bit interested in what Enjolras had to say. "If you could please fill out a report with your information," he said, gathering a clipboard and some papers from behind the desk before handing them over. "I'd like to make a copy of this photo to give to some of our officers and we'll get two guys to go over there and check out the scene. Then, we'll give you a call a let you know anything we find out."

Enjolras' eyes scanned the papers in front of him. "But what should I do in the meantime?"

The plump officer shrugged with a sympathetic smile. "You've done what you could. Just sit tight. And if she calls you or you get in touch with her anyway, let us know."

So that was it, one thirty-five and Enjolras was leaving the police station now with a sadder and heavier heart than before. He was so hopeful for things to work out, but now, why did he feel even worse than before he entered the building? Maybe it was because he felt like he really didn't help Éponine at all.

There had to be more he could do, right?

Well, Enjolras waited by his phone all day, the little device not leaving his side for even a second. Every ping and buzz from his friends only shot his hope down each time. At night, he slept with his phone on loud right by his ear - just in case. And it was, Sunday turned into Monday and Monday turned into Tuesday and still there was no call from the police.

On Wednesday, Enjolras finally called them and after telling them it wasn't a life-threatening emergency at the moment, he was put on hold for the next half hour until his patience disintegrated like a fuse and blew up. His knuckles bled from how hard he hit the wall, but hey, at least his hand didn't break, right?

Wednesday turned to Thursday and on Thursday, Enjolras heart skipped a beat when he received a call from the police.

"We went to her house yesterday," an officer began.

"Yesterday?" Enjolras interrupted, anger rising as he spit out a mouthful of his morning coffee. He went to the cops on Sunday. Sunday!

"That is correct. Yesterday at six, two officers knocked on the door, no answer. The house was quiet with only the kitchen light on. After checking the premises, they secured the area, there was nothing there that was seen as a threat." He sounded like he was reading as he spoke. "There was a white Lexus in the driveway covered in snow. The two officers determined that no one was home and they would try again in another day or two. That is all the information we have at the moment."

"What about his job? Did you send an officer to his job? Did you even look up her husband for previous crimes? You can't - that can't just be it."

"Sir, we are doing everything we can at the moment. Once we can determine that her life may be at risk, then we will turn over the case to Adult Protective Services."

"No, no! There has to be something else. Her car was there, she has to be home!"

"Please, sir, calm down. We are doing what we can and it would be best for you to just let us do our job."

He had hung up after that, beyond infuriated and ready to lash out at another wall.

Nevertheless though, Thursday turned to Friday.

Another trip to Attorney Gallagher's office at ten in the morning on Friday and Enjolras was only met with a look of contempt. "You're here more than she is," was the answer he received over a desk of strewn papers, half a styrofoam cup of coffee, and a discombobulated attorney. "I'm a very patient man, Mr. Enjolras, but she must know that her actions will have consequences. I need an assistant in order to work - in order to run my business. How can I do that if she won't come in? This is going on over a week now and it might be time to look for someone new. Feel free to pass that message along if you see her."

Regretfully, Enjolras thanked him and tried just one menial attempt. "Wherever she is, I'm sure she has good reason."

"If it's a good reason, then she can call and tell me it."

That comment was enough to send Enjolras storming from the building without even so much as a goodbye. He wanted to tell Mr. Gallagher what was going on but it wasn't his news to tell, it was her own private life, one he just happened to know the secrets to. He already felt guilty for going to the police behind her back, so he couldn't go behind her back with her boss now too.

After grabbing a quick lunch that he barely tasted, Enjolras went to work, his heart aching, his mind heavy, and his hope dwindling faster and faster.

...

"I've missed this," she said softly.

The cold air rushed by them, sweeping their hair back as they gingerly strolled down the block. In the small windstorm, Musichetta took a step closer to Joly and wrapped herself beneath his arm, snuggling up against him to protect herself from the wind.

"Cold?" he asked playfully.

She nodded in return, engulfing his scent that she had missed for far too long.

"We're almost at the Musain, don't worry."

They walked on peacefully, Joly's gloved hands stroking the material of Musichetta's jacket while she hugged herself closer to him each time a step took her even a fraction apart from him. Musichetta kept close watch at what was in front of them, careful not to accidentally bump into anyone as they walked huddled together. A few homeless men lined the streets every block or so and each time, she cast a sympathy gaze down to them, but this one man she saw sitting in a heap at the side of the building had her eyes bulging.

This poor man was as pale as a ghost, his clothes were torn but not worn, giving them a fresh appearance despite the rips. His eyes were as red as his nose which dripped mucous - which Musichetta hoped - was due to the cold. Around his left eye was a deep black rim and similarly the blackness swarmed on his arms and part of his exposed chest. In all though, she recognized him, minus the reflected colors that spewed across his face the last time she saw him.

She peeled herself away from Joly, staring intently at the man.

"Hey," she said to him as if he were an old friend, but still approached him cautiously.

"Musichetta - " Joly said, silencing himself before he spoke without a filter. Refusing to help was what caused the fight between them in the first place. So this time, he stayed quiet and he let his girlfriend approach the filth-ridden man.

"Hey," she said again, voice much softer and kinder.

The man looked up to her with a curious expression, furrowing his brows. "C-can I help you?" his raspy voice asked.

She squatted down in front of him, Joly right at her heels, placing a hand on her shoulder as if asking her not to get too close. "Don't you remember me? I ran into you the night of the fireworks, New Year's Eve?"

For a moment, his brows stayed knitted together as he waited for the dizziness to pass before he focused his vision on her again. "Yeah, yeah," he mused. "I r-remember now," he said, smiling.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said again, waving a shaky hand in front of her face. "It's just...just my friend..."

Musichetta shook her head, not needing any further explanation. "Don't worry. Why don't you come with me? I'll get you something hot to drink. That's the least I can do for you. You've already done so much for me."

He cocked his head to the side as Musichetta pulled his hand to help stand him to his feet. When she saw how unsteady he was, she turned to Joly while lifting the man's arm around her shoulders.

"Joly, help me with him."

"'Chetta, I - "

"Joly!"

"Fine," he sighed, grabbing onto the man's other arm and forcing more of his weight onto himself rather than Musichetta.

"Well, bring him to the Musain," she said. "Enjolras won't mind."

The man's head perked up, lifting straight out of his dreary and dazed stupor. "Enjolras?" he questioned in disbelief. "You know Enjolras?"

"Yeah," Musichetta started uneasily. "Do you know him?"

"He...he...my friend - "

"He's your friend?"

"No, n-no," he breathlessly responded. "He knows her."

Joly and Musichetta exchanged a perplexed glance as they peered at each other over the man's head. This situation was downright bizarre.

By the time they reached the Musain, Musichetta helped the man into a chair at the bar and was already calling for Enjolras and asking Courfeyrac to get him something hot to eat and drink. The wanted man came out from the back room carrying a fresh bottle of vodka, and grumbling something about yelling inside the restaurant. He lifted his head on the fourth call of his name, eyes widening as he took in the the people in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" he barked, angrily slamming down the bottle of vodka on the shelf and storming his way over to the trio.

"Enj, you know him?" Musichetta asked, gently touching the pale and cold man's shoulder.

"This bastard is Montparnasse's friend. What are you doing with him?"

"My name is Babet," the man wheezed out before coughing into his hands.

"I don't care what your name is. I want to know what you're doing here."

"Enjolras," Musichetta cut in, using her harsh voice she normally reserved for rowdy patrons at The Lounge. "We brought him here. He was lying half-dead on the sidewalk. I didn't know you knew each other."

"I don't know him," Enjolras retorted with wrinkle of his upper lip.

"But...Éponine," Babet said in a near whisper.

Enjolras felt his blood rush cold, every muscle in his body freezing for just a moment. "What about her?"

"I tried to see her - "

"Wait, you know Éponine too?" Musichetta asked, looking between the glaring contest of Enjolras and Babet.

"Yeah...she's the friend I mentioned, the one who..." A cough erupted from him, cutting off his words.

"...the one whose life you ruined?" she finished.

"You ruined her life?" Enjolras could feel bile rising in his throat. If this bastard so much as touched her too, or looked at her the wrong way... But what did he mean by 'ruin her life?' What possibly could have happened? The hounding thoughts of any foreseeable outcome made Enjolras want to vomit up the bile in his throat.

Babet took in a breath, holding back another cough. "I stuck up for her. Yelled right back at Montparnasse for what he was doing to her - "

Enjolras was going to regret asking this, but with a sharp-edged tone he interrupted: "What did he do to her?"

The man in question swallowed. "It was New Year's Eve, he got her drunk just to find out some truth."

It was Musichetta who audibly gasped meanwhile Enjolras only fisted his hand by his side. "But you stopped him?" he pressed.

"I tried to. She was already drunk...she mentioned your name." He watched Enjolras sigh, but the tenseness in his shoulders relaxed visibly being replaced with sudden anxiety. "I stopped her from saying more. Wound up in an argument in the middle of Cheers. I just ended up making things worse." Consciously, Babet realized that he wouldn't say what happened in the alley that night, no point in making mad a man who already held a disdain for him.

"That where you got that black eye?"

"Nah," Babet shrugged. "He kicked me in the balls for that one. Black eye was from yesterday." He paused, casting his eyes down to the counter and when he lifted them, Courfeyrac had interrupted them, placing a mug of apple cider in front of him with a bowl of French onion soup. Babet thanked him quickly with a nod of acknowledgement and unsteadily picked up the spoon. "I went by the house," he said quietly. "I just wanted to see her, I was at least gonna call the ambulance if there was some serious damage to her."

"And did you? D-did you call an ambulance?"

He shook his heart ruefully. "I didn't see her. He wouldn't let me see her. I mean, I showed up at the house around two, there was no answer, house was quiet. So I went back in the evening right when Montparnasse had come home from work. I barged right in the house, hoping she would be there, but she wasn't. 'Parnasse just kept grabbing me and shouting, 'She's fine, she's fine.' I made it to the bathroom and when she wasn't there, I was gonna try the bedroom next - "

"Was she in the bedroom?" Musichetta questioned, hand covering her mouth already scared of the answer.

"I never opened the door. 'Parnasse just attacked me. Beat me so bad, I don't even remember leaving the house. I just remember walking. Guess I passed out at some point and when I woke today, I just sat there for awhile. Then I saw you," he said, meeting eyes with Musichetta and after, he gave a nod toward Joly. "This here the beau you mentioned? You back with him now?"

She nodded shyly. "I took your advice."

He replied with a lithe smile as far as his muscles would allow him to move. "Good." Returning his gaze downwards, he looked at the food in front of him. "And thank you, I'll give you money for this - "

"Don't worry, please."

Enjolras huffed. "What I'd like to know is where is Éponine. The police haven't seen her either."

"Police?" Babet asked, swallowing back a spoonful of soup.

"I went to the police on Sunday. I reported it." He scoffed. "But what help have they been? It's Friday now and no one has seen her. She hasn't even shown up for work."

"Enjolras," Musichetta timidly spoke up. "You don't...think he...that she's...?"

"No," Babet said. "He wouldn't. 'Parnasse is sick and twisted, but he wouldn't kill her. My guess is that he's just got her locked up in the bedroom. He's done something like this before."

Enjolras' eyes bulged and Babet just nodded grimly to him.

"Used to pay me to watch her the days she couldn't go to work. If he ever beat her so bad with an object or something, he'd keep her home until she healed mostly. Betcha this is something like that...but something worse since he's got no one to watch her now. Like hell he'd let me near her again. Man hates me now. That leaves him probably resorting to alternative methods. But one thing is certain, he's mad as hell ever since she mentioned your name. I'd watch your back if I was you."

"He...he..." Musichetta stuttered, hands gripping the side of the bar chair as her face contorted in worry. This was a revelation to her. Never before had she thought about abuse like this. To her it abuse was a punch, a few slaps, pushing and shoving, but never had the full realization hit her of how bad it could be, how one would ever dare to use an object on their spouse. And especially to be so close to her, happening right near her, with no degrees of separation, this was mind-blowing. "He really would...hurt her like that?"

With a look already knowing that he said too much, Babet gave a small nod and Musichetta gasped, face turning white. Joly immediately gripped her hand and brought it to his lips for a lingering kiss. "We'll help," he murmured. "With whatever we can do. We have to get her out of there."

Babet swallowed back the lump in his throat. "And I'm ready to help too, I don't care if he kills me, I'm just sorry I let it go on for so long."

"So what do we do, Enjolras?" Musichetta's worried voice asked as she cast a tearful look up to him.

Enjolras stared down at the three faces before him: Musichetta, Joly, and Babet. Each of them looked to him for the answer to this problem. The might as well have been asking him how to solve world hunger. He felt his heart give way to the splinters and finally split in two. He answered them back honestly; lips trembling and voice cracking: "I don't know."


A/N: Hey! Please send me your predictions. I'd love to know what you think will happen next, or what you would like to happen next. All seems like a standstill right now, eh? Hehe, or is it?