A/N: No notes this time, aside from saying this was a difficult chapter to write. I hope you enjoy it, if that is the right word.

Constructive criticism and reviews welcome

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters from Les Miserables, but I do like to take them out for a spin once in a while to play. I've played with timelines from both the story by the marvellous Victor Hugo, and the actual accounts of the Occupy movement. Be kind, it's about reader enjoyment after all. Thanks for reading!


Empty spaces
What are we living for?
Abandoned places
I guess we know the score
On and on, does anybody know
what we are looking for?

Another hero
Another mindless crime
Behind the curtain
In the pantomime
Hold the line, does anybody know
what we are living for?

The show must go on
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking,
but my smile still stays on

- Queen, "The Show Must Go On


Enjolras sat on the bunk bed at the rear of the deserted tour bus. Exhausted from yet another intense phone call with Eponine, they were increasingly serving not to make his sexual tension any less but rather increase it. Phone sex with her was simply not enough for him any more. Hearing her voice on the line fell sadly short. He wanted to feel his lips on hers, hear the urgent moans in his ears, her fingernails on his back and the warmth of her body closing around his in the height of passion. Together – not separated by thousands of miles and connected only by a phone line.

And it wasn't just the sex. He missed the glorious dimples in her smile. The way she made him warm cocoa after a particularly bad day as if she were psychic. Damn it, he even missed fighting with her in the living room. He could see her enraged face as he absent-mindedly goaded her into an argument about modern day feminism. And the image did not dismay him. He loved her fire. The sound of her deep laughter in response to winning a laugh from him. Absence seemed to make the heart more desperate, and yes, fonder, he had to admit.

He sighed deeply before rearranging his pants and making his way towards the bathroom. In the three weeks since they'd played Kansas City and made their stand against violence, things seemed to have settled. They were still occasionally met by anarchists in the crowd, seeking to disrupt them, but by using the same tactic of turning their backs these groups had no-one to fight and stood out like sore thumbs in the crowd. It was immensely satisfying to Enjolras and the group to see that such a simple action had enormous ramifications for the movement.

The positivity flowed into news reports about Occupy gatherings. Despite the occasional grumbles from city officials and small business owners about the disruptions when Occupy took over a park or a town centre to rally – most people were supportive of the movement in general.

They were now stationed in Seattle, Washington after making stops at rallies in Colorado, Utah and Nevada. The last stop had been hard for him, and for the others. When they stopped in Las Vegas no-one had been able to escape the fact that Grantaire and Courfeyrac would have been in their elements in this bright, gaudy town in the middle of the desert. Courfeyrac, thought Enjolras, would have been knee-deep in showgirls, whilst Grantaire would have taken full advantage of the slot machines and the free drinks handed about. So much had happened since their deaths but the boys were never far from any of their minds, particularly in places where he could almost see them. In a city of so much shallow joy, the group found they could hardly muster a smile, the memories had been so strong. It was almost a relief when they finally departed.

Tonight, the others had gone off into Seattle in search of landmarks of the Grunge period; bars and clubs that had played host to the greats; Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Mudhoney and Nirvana to name only a few.

Enjolras looked at this phone. It had been a few days since he'd spoken with Valjean. Checking his watch he realised it was almost eleven o'clock, which meant it was two a.m. in New York. He didn't want to disturb Valjean so late, but made a mental note to call him tomorrow.


Eponine was also wide awake, even though it was just past two a.m. in the morning. She didn't know if Enjolras was feeling it as well, but the phone calls while exciting and with an edge of naughtiness about them, were not as satisfying as they had been previously. Nothing, not even Enjolras himself on the other end of the phone line could replace Enjolras, warm-bodied and able, here in her bed.

He was at the furthest point from her now that he would be on the entire tour – close to three thousand miles away. She tried unsuccessfully to block the distance from her mind, which was going in circles. Should she leave for a weekend to catch up with Enjolras on tour? How would that affect his mindset and that of the others? They already had so many distractions. Could her fledgling organisation afford for her to leave, even for a short time?

As she pondered this, her thoughts turned to Jean Valjean. He'd spoken to her over a brief morning tea two days prior. He was pleased with the progress of The Village Harvest and the positive impact it was so obviously having in the neighbourhood. He was concerned about her though, he could see that the spark normally so obvious in her eyes, was waning slightly. It was he who had first put the thought of flying out to see Enjolras in her mind.

"Don't be like me, Eponine", he'd said to her.

"What do you mean? Many would aspire to be like you", she replied. Myself included.

"In business, perhaps. I'm a lonely old man, 'Ponine. If not for Cosette my heart would have withered and died long ago", he said sadly, quietly missing his daughter.

"Oh Jean. But surely there have been women in your life?" Eponine felt no embarrassment talking this way with him. She found him to be a comfort, like a warm blanket with a hidden dose of inspiration.

"Briefly. But none who could put up with me and my work, at any hour of the day or night", he'd replied.

"Well, you are quite feisty, and probably a handful", she'd shot back, bringing a smile to his face.

"Takes one to know one", he'd said and for a moment she got a glimpse of the young Valjean.

She chuckled deeply at him.

"So, what would you have me do? Fly out there to see him?"

He took a sip of his coffee before nodding. "Two or three days will not hurt your business. Have your drivers briefed thoroughly and that should ensure it all goes well. And you have your cell phone just in case".

She finished her coffee and rose from the table. "I'll think about it and let you know in a few days, ok? And thanks for the coffee". He stood and she gave him a light hug.

As she walked away he called after her, "Remember Eponine, time waits for no man – and no woman".

She'd grinned at him and given a last wave goodbye.


Now, sitting in the comfort of her bedroom she pondered his words. Maybe I should go to see Enjolras. Things with Mike had settled down. As far as either of them could tell, they were no longer being tailed. Mike had received no more phone messages nor any further meeting requests from his mysterious friend.

Both had found it odd and remained on guard, yet as the weeks went passed and the feeling of being observed receded, their relationship returned slowly to the friendly business affiliation they had enjoyed before. Eponine was slowly growing more and more confident in her abilities to run the company. Something she put down to her own hidden talents but also to the confidence shown in her by Enjolras and Valjean. Neither was the type to give her false praise and she took it to heart when they put faith in her choices.

She looked over to the side of the bed that was now normally occupied by her fair haired man. Taking a deep breath, she hugged his pillow to her face, trying to inhale the scent of him deep into her senses. It was fading though, and in a few weeks it would be gone.

The thought of it was enough to convince her that perhaps Jean was right. A few days absence would not be any real burden on The Village Harvest. She would speak with Jean tomorrow and let him know of her plans to fly across country.


The next day, New York City.

Valjean walked hurriedly along Fifth Avenue. He needed something to eat and and ten or fifteen minutes of contemplation in his favourite place - the French Gardens of Central Park North - before calling Enjolras and Eponine and letting them know what he'd discovered. Finally, he had found the information he'd sought and would be able to expose some of the biggest names standing in the way of the Occupy Movement. He'd come across it himself only this morning but before disclosing it to his team he wanted first to inform Enjolras and Eponine instead.

As he made his way through the throng of the bustling midday crowd, he quickly stepped out of the way of a man barrelling towards him. Even for a New Yorker, the guy was making remarkable haste. He stepped to the left, the man stepped to the left, he stepped to the right, and again the gentleman mirrored his movement. Finally, Valjean made an attempt to step aside completely but instead found the man moving forward and accidentally bumping into his shoulder, rather painfully and sharply.

"Sorry mate", said the man, before being swallowed up in the mass of humanity that is a New York lunch break.

"No problem", he replied.

As Valjean stopped to press the pedestrian button at the crossing across from the park the drug worked quickly. Emanating out from the point of contact on his shoulder, the Hemlock made its way down his arm and up into his shoulder and chest simultaneously, paralysing his muscles and causing him to drop the bag he was carrying as well as his lunch.

He stood still for a moment, a puzzled expression on his face. And then as he felt the paralysis move to his both his legs, he was no longer under any illusion as to what was happening to him. As he went down on his knees on the sidewalk, no-one stopped to ask after his wellbeing. Not until one lady around his own age recognised his face. The kindly women stopped by him. "Jean Valjean?"

"Yes", he responded, his breathing growing ever shorter.

"Are you alright?"

He struggled to form a reply. "I think, I think….heart attack".

"I'm going to call 911, ok?" she said, rapidly dialling in the number before stating the situation and their location.

"Th-thank you", he replied as he lay down on the sidewalk staring up into the bright blue sky of a clear winter's day.

Others had heard the woman speak his name, and now many gathered around him to see if they could help. Some were trying to ask him questions, to gather the state of his illness. He could no longer answer, the poison has silenced his voice, paralysing his lips. He could only look out on them with the hopeless anguish of one trapped inside a body that had ceased to respond to its owners requests.

Through the crowd he spotted a familiar figure, ghosting its way towards him. It seemed not to notice the crowd, nor the panic beginning to envelop it. Fantine.

Please, not now, I haven't shared what I found, he implored with his eyes. They need this.

As if an opaque screen had been pulled down in front of his eyes, familiar scenes from the past began to flash before him; his rough upbringing, the turbulence and uncertainty of life on the streets, his salvation at the hands of the community assisting the homeless and his friendship with the frail and damaged Fantine. Fantine, whose untimely death had led him to the greatest love he had ever known, Cosette.

More scenes came to him, as the paralysis became complete and he felt the tightening of his lungs and the slowing of his heart.

Sitting with Enjolras at the table, discussing all the issues they both held dear. This is the future, he thought. Laughing at the quick-witted and street smart Eponine. Oh, how he adored them both. Now, he was watching Les Amis on stage and feeling the rush of his own youth in them all.

Fantine's translucent image was beside him now, smiling down at him comfortingly despite the chaos going on around them.

"Am I redeemed, Fantine? Did I do enough? Is my soul cleansed? And Cosette? What of my child?" he asked, though never a word passed his frozen lips.

"You kept your promise to me, dear friend. Cosette is safe. And Marius loves her so. He will never leave her."

"I can't leave them. I have something for them. But Fantine I'm tired, I'm so tired". A solitary tear ran down his weary face.

Fantine ran phantom fingers through his greying hair. "It's time to rest now Jean Valjean. You've done more than enough good in this world. Come with me to the next".

As his lungs stopped midway through a breath, he took her hand and Jean Valjean; thief, hacker, saviour, philanthropist, inspiration and father, blinked his eyes one last time as the ambulance pulled on to the sidewalk.

The woman who had stopped to help him saw the light leave his eyes, even as they remained open in paralysis and gently, before the medics got to him, she laid a hand over his face and gently closed them. He was gone. His body looked at peace, somehow smaller now that the spirit within had left. His face had softened too, the kindly but lined visage of one who had fought many battles and been the victor in all, save this one.

The woman looked up before making the sign of the cross on her chest, saying a small prayer for the soul of Jean Valjean. The medics called her over for questioning before allowing her to leave and get on with her day, which was now tinged with sadness.


All your grief
At last, at last behind you
Lord in Heaven
Look down on him in mercy.

Take my hand
I'll lead you to salvation
Take my love
For love is everlasting

And remember
The truth that once was spoken
To love another person
Is to see the face of God.


In Seattle, the group were lined up to get their breakfast at the latest Best Western hotel. Before them tables were lined with all the trimmings of a continental breakfast. Cosette suddenly froze where she stood as a wave of fear and a feeling of loss took hold of her. She dropped the plate she was holding and eggs were sent flying to the ground as the ceramic smashed against the tiles below. Ignoring it, Cosette rapidly pulled her phone from her bag, hitting the speed dial.

"What's wrong, Cosette?" asked Marius worriedly. "Cosette?" The others gathered around her, concerned.

"Nothing. I mean…I don't know. I just have the strangest feeling something is wrong. I need to call Papa".


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

- W.H Auden


A/N: Valjean thought he was having a heart attack but he was actually being paralysed. Hemlock or Conium is a highly toxic flowering plant indigenous to Europe and South Africa. It was a popular one with the ancient Greeks, who used it to kill off their prisoners. For an adult, the ingestion of 100mg of conium or about 8 leaves of the plant is fatal – death comes in the form of paralysis, your mind is wide awake, but your body doesn't respond and eventually the respiratory system shuts down. Probably the most famous hemlock poisoning is that of Greek philosopher, Socrates. Condemned to death for impiety in 399 BC, he was given a very concentrated infusion of hemlock.