A/N A MASSIVE thank you to all you lovely people who reviewed or if you followed and favourited. I can't explain how much it means to me! Things get…interesting in this chapter. R and R if you don't mind so I can see your reactions (good or bad). Enjoy!

P.S. The 50th reviewer will win a one shot written especially for them! Cos' I'm just really lovely like that!

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own Les Mis and neither do you. (Unless you're Victor Hugo, but that throws off the rhyme)

Chapter Eighteen

The groaning sound of the wind rattling at the shutters was the first conscious sensation that filtered through to Enjolras as he slowly awoke. With a soundless groan, he rolled over and checked the time on his watch, groaning again as he saw it was only half past six. Despite what his friends said, and despite the fact that he regularly worked all night, Enjolras did enjoy sleeping. It was merely that occasionally, there were more important things to be doing.

He sat up slowly, surprised that for once he had actually slept in his bed rather than hunched over in his desk chair, not that his back was complaining. Stretching his arms high above his head, enjoying the awaken burn in the muscles, he rolled his neck to work out the stiffness before swinging his legs out of bed, stretching again once he was standing.

The cold water in his wash basin woke him up properly and after a quick wash, he got dressed, ready for the new day. The sound of Aimee moving about in the kitchen reached his ears as he stood before the mirror tying his cravat and he smiled. Gentle memories of the night before flew through his mind; the feel of her hand in his as they walked had felt so right in a way that he couldn't put into adequate words. He was suddenly desperate to see her even though she was only in the next room. He grinned to himself in the mirror as he perfected the knot of his cravat. Even he was starting to turn into Pontmercy! With a final tug on the lapels of his jacket, Enjolras headed towards the kitchen.

Aimee ensured that the fire in the kitchen stove had properly caught before turning away to pour out Enjolras' coffee, adding a splash of milk, just how he liked it. A moment later and Enjolras appeared, decked out in his favourite scarlet waistcoat under his winter jacket. Dark brown breeches and his boots completed his attire. As always, he looked dashing and handsome and Aimee felt a strange flutter in the pit of her stomach as he flashed a genuine smile at her in thanks for his coffee.

"It might rain today," he commented between sips. "It's a good thing you don't need to go out."

The nervous energy that had been plaguing her all night forced her to contradict him. "Actually, I am going out, hopefully." She took in the puzzled look on his face, seeing him check through his memory to see if she had mentioned something and he had forgotten. It was rather endearing.

He must have finally reached the conclusion that he wasn't guilty of a faulty memory, and asked, "I thought Courfeyrac was job hunting today and couldn't take you out?"

Aimee nodded to show he was correct. "I know Courfeyrac is busy, but I really would like to go back to the library to try and see if there is any more information about what we learned yesterday. Then I want to go to the police station." Her eyes flickered up to meet his, questioning. "I don't suppose you could take me this morning could you?"

"I have classes all morning," he said apologetically, and then frowned. "Why do you need to go to the police? I think it might be a bit late to report the attack on you, it was months ago..."

"I couldn't sleep last night," she cut across him swiftly.

"More nightmares?"

His face expressed his worry, so she shook her head to show the negative. "I was thinking, for hours and hours I was thinking, the same questions rolling around inside my head." She held the locket up so that it swung gently before her eyes. "What is the story behind this? What did it mean to me? But mostly; how did this get into my purse?"

Enjolras nodded slightly. The same question had been worrying at his subconscious somewhat as well. He had thought up various scenarios, none of them pleasant, all of them threatening to Aimee's wellbeing.

"Eventually, I realised how simple the answer was." Her eyes were bright with excitement as they met his. "It was my Papa, trying to get in contact with me, it has to be!"

Enjolras didn't seem to share in her excitement as his face shuttered and his gaze turned cool and contemplative.

"Yes, yes, it's a very interesting theory, but highly unlikely." His tone was hard and slightly haughty and Aimee couldn't keep the surprise off her face.

She had been expecting a little more of a reaction than that and certainly a more positive and supportive one. What had happened to the kind and considerate man she had walked home hand in hand with the night before?

He finished his coffee in a few large gulps, then stood, seemingly bored of the conversation. "Stay here for this morning, read or something, and if I have the time I could take you over the library this afternoon."

His total lack of regard for her feelings jarred her. He knew how much this meant to her, how eager she was for any clue as to her past. Swallowing her rising irritation and putting his lack of care down to him being preoccupied, Aimee tried to explain herself and reason with him.

"I don't want to sit around, Julien, when I could be using that time to find out more information about what happened to me and my Father." She was adamant. "If it would be easier, drop me off at the library on your way to classes, I can be ready to go in two minutes. You could then pick me back up after you've finished."

He let out an irritated sigh and peered down at her. It wasn't just his vastly increased height that made Aimee feel small. The way he was looking at her was distinctly condescending.

"From the events you have remembered, it seems highly unlikely that you father is…alive." He measured his words carefully, but his tone was as if he was speaking to a child.

She shook her head vehemently, "I remember him being hurt Julien, not being killed. Also, if I managed to escape wherever we were taken, there is a fair chance he did too." She watched as he pressed his lips into a thin line, a sign of his rising frustration. She was confused. Why was he getting so worked up over this?

"Alright, for the sake of the argument, let's say he is alive and he did slip the locket into your purse. Why didn't he just come and find you and introduce himself properly?" His argument sounded calm and logical and Aimee faltered in her certainty.

"He's probably in hiding." She knew she sounded less certain and hated herself for it. She wasn't going to let his pessimism and cold thinking stop her from believing her father was alive and looking for her.

"You're his daughter, Aimee. If he really cared, he would risk everything for you." His face remained impassive, even as he shattered her hope, and Aimee felt like she was looking at a stranger, or more appropriately, the stranger Enjolras had been before they got to know each other.

She took a deep breath to calm the sharp feeling of betrayal. "I know you may think it is unlikely, but I just feel it in me..."

"I think you're reading too much into this." He cut straight across her and Aimee gaped up at him. "You're being irrational, clutching at the tiniest piece of information as if it were solid truth…"

Aimee felt her temper snap, pushed on by her confusion at his behaviour and goaded by his lack of care. "Well, I'm sorry if it seems like I'm clutching at straws here, but that's because I am!" She jumped to her feet and glared at him. "I don't care how desperate I sound, because I want to believe that my father is alive, that I have someone who might know what happened to me, who might have some answers!"

Her eyes met his, the usually sparkling green hard and sharp. "I am not a fool, Enjolras, nor am I child yet you treat me as if I were an infantile imbecile. No, I don't have hard cold facts. No, I don't have proof, hell, I don't even have a complete memory!" She clutched the locket tightly in her hand and held it up. "I feel though, Enjolras, a deep certainty that someone is out there looking for me. Do you remember what it is to feel?" She regretted her final words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Of course he felt, it was his passion for his country and the people in it that were driving him towards starting a rebellion, not cold numbers and facts. She opened her mouth to apologize but he cut her off.

"I am not prepared to continue this conversation with you until you are calm enough to think logically." His voice had not changed, but Aimee had seen the hurt in his face. Any idea of an apology flew out of her head at his next words. "You are being irrationally emotional about this."

Irrationally emotional?! Her anger flared to the point of speechlessness. She turned away from him, every line in her body tight with anger. "You're going to be late." There was a distinctive dismissal in her words and Enjolras let his frustration flow through. With a growl he rose to his feet and stomped to the door, wrenching it open with more force than necessary.

"Have a good day, mademoiselle." The formal title stung more than an insult but it only infuriated her more. She ignored him as he slammed the door harder than he should have and remained motionless, hearing his boots thunder down the stairs.

Such was the speed of Enjolras' progress down the stairs that he nearly knocked over Margo, who was emerging from her apartment to discover what all of the noise was about.

"Is everything alright, monsieur?" She had not yet had time to braid her hair and it fell in a tangled wave down her back.

"The mademoiselle is being rather irrational this morning," Enjolras ground out, barely pausing on his flight to the door, "I don't think she wants to be disturbed this morning if you wouldn't mind." He caught a brief glance of Margo's surprised face before he was out of the house and tramping away down the street, his golden curls tossed into wild disarray by the wind.

Enjolras kept his face neutral, but his head was in a whirl, all of his thoughts focused on one, now probably very angry, woman. He kicked at a pebble with his boot, furious with himself. He couldn't have made a bigger mess of that conversation if he had tried. But she was just so annoying, and stubborn, and frustrating…and so very vulnerable. He kicked the pebble again, harder, watching as it skittered away from him down the street.

She thought her father was trying to contact her and had given her the necklace. He had considered the possibility, of course, but thought it to be highly unlikely. The man had either been killed outright, or at least so mortally wounded that his recovery would have taken months and months, if he recovered at all. The most likely scenario was that it had been put there by the kidnappers who had somehow tracked her down. The thought of someone watching her, following her scared him, an emotion he wasn't completely familiar with. The thought of Aimee being taken again, taken away from him, filled him with dread.

As far as where he and the Amis were concerned, he knew that their course of action could possibly result in one or more of their deaths. But he also knew that they understood the risks; they all burned with the same fervour, the same passion, and were willing to make sacrifices to see their goals fulfilled. This, however, this panic that he felt, this cold, blind fear that clutched at his heart as he thought of Aimee's desperate vulnerability, her imploring need to feel loved and to belong, a need he so desperately wanted to fulfil. The thought that she could suddenly, violently, be torn from him awoke a fear in him that neither the thought of a soldier's cold bayonet nor the hissing of a hot bullet into his flesh had ever awakened.

That was why he had had to try and dissuade her from this desperate fantasy she had concocted before she got hurt again. Enjolras knew his arguments and his attitude had hurt her, but he was terrified. He was terrified of what she could be getting herself into. She had escaped near death once, by the very skin of her teeth. There was no guarantee that she would escape a second time.

He scowled fiercely at the ground. There were so many things he should be focussing on; his classes, rallies, building alliances with other groups, but he had just had to go and fall in love hadn't he? Now, of all times! He stopped suddenly in the middle of the street, narrowly avoiding being run over by a cart.

Fallen in love…?

His brain raced. Yes, he had admitted to himself that he felt an attraction to Aimee, and was protective towards her, but this, this was something altogether different. He sighed deeply. His friends joked that he wouldn't know love if it walked up to him and kissed him in the street, but he wasn't insensible as to love. Love just hadn't been able to compete with his other passions. That was, until now. Unfortunately, this line of thinking brought his thoughts straight back to Aimee and his heart gave a pang of regret as he remembered her sadness and anger, of which he had been the cause. He caught sight of the time and hurriedly made his way towards the university, thinking over the words Aimee had flung at him.

Do you remember what it is to feel?

That was problem. That was what had sparked his whole reaction in the first place. It wasn't that he felt too little, on the contrary. Where Aimee was concerned, he felt far too much.

Angry tears sat unshed in Aimee's eyes, only her sheer will power keeping them from falling. Dashing a hand across her eyes, removing the water completely, she gave a frustrated growl, mimicry to Enjolras' earlier outburst. Rising to her feet, she began to pace angrily, her fingers subconsciously going once again to the locket. How dare he act like he was the injured party here! How dare he talk down to her and treat her as if she was an incapable fool!

Stalking to the window she watched Enjolras' progress down the street, his blonde curls whipped into a golden haze by the wind. She clenched her jaw in determination. Fine, if he didn't want to help, she would do it on her own.

Throwing on her coat, scarf and hat, she hastily scribbled a note to Margo. She felt slightly bad about sneaking out, but she knew the older woman would never allow her to go on her own. She would probably offer to come, but Aimee had no idea how long she would be out and actually, she wanted to be on her own. As she pulled on her gloves she realised that she was tired of having to depend on other people for everything, was tired of being so needy. Steeled with her new found resolve, Aimee slipped out of the apartment, then out of the building entirely and swiftly made her way out of the street.

After only a few wrong turns and having to ask for directions from a very friendly fiacre driver who eventually offered to drive her there for free, much to Aimee's relief, she reached the library.

The librarian didn't seem too pleased to see her, which was understandable after the mess she and Courfeyrac had made the day before, but it seemed apologies and polite words were the best way around his irritation.

Aimee found very little more information, but what she did find was pure gold, the best being the address of the house, of her home. Aimee felt a flutter of excited nerves as she reread all of the information she had gathered, flagging down a fiacre outside the library.

The journey to the police station couldn't go fast enough for her, but once she was there, her nerves once again assaulted her full force.

No, she sternly told herself, you are not going to back down from this. You need to do this, both to prove to yourself that you are capable of doing something on your own, and to prove to Enjolras that you do not answer to him.

Squaring her shoulders, she pushed open the door and walked in what was hopefully a confident manner towards the desk. She cleared her throat politely to gain the attention of the officer on duty and gave him a bright smile.

"Bon matin, Monsieur, I think I may have some information about a robbery." She kept her tone polite and her expression open, knowing that the difficult part would be for him to believe her.

"When did the robbery take place?" He sounded bored for the most part and Aimee couldn't help but feel annoyed that he seemed more interested in her chest that her face.

"In October last year." She pulled out the page of the newspaper with the missing person notices that Courfeyrac had found the day previous. "It is this robbery."

He briefly scanned the text. "It says here it was also a possible kidnapping."

"Yes, I think I may have information regarding that as well."

"Well," he gave her a look that could only be regarded as a leer. "I'll need to take your name and home address. For contact reasons," he elaborated needlessly, still eyeing her cleavage despite it being covered up.

Aimee inwardly rolled her eyes. She had got so used to being around the Amis, that she had forgotten how rude and inappropriate people could be. "My name is Lyon."

"Is there a first name to go with that? I'm sure a girl as pretty as you must have a pretty name to match." He then actually had the nerve to wink at her. Aimee felt her irritation rising.

"Yes, this is where it may get a little confusing." She pointed to the news article awkwardly. "I think I may be the daughter that is mentioned in the article."

"You think…?" His expression looked bemused and somewhat sceptical.

Aimee began to feel nervous again and unconsciously shifted from foot to foot. "I was violently attacked in October last year a few days after this robbery had taken place. Due to the… injuries that I sustained in that attack…I lost all memory of who I was and of my past."

He remained silent which Aimee took to be a sign that he was listening so she carried on. "I was cared for very kindly by the people who found me and only recently have I been able to regain the memories of the robbery in which my Father and I were the victim of. Even then, the memories are only partial. However," she reached into her coat for her locket, "this appeared in my purse yesterday, and I remembered that this was given to me by my parents." She replaced the locket. "It is my belief that my father escaped our kidnappers as well and that he placed the locket in my possession as a message to me that he was alive."

She felt better for getting it all of her chest and felt elated because the young man was nodding along in understanding, taking in the information seriously. "I have some notes of research I did…" she reached into her bag for the paper, but was cut off by a barking laugh.

"My god, but you're good!" he wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. "Who was it who sent you? Bernard? Jacques? It has to be one of them; they said they were going to play a joke on me one of these days!"

Aimee stood frozen in place, horrified. He thought she was an actress and this was all a joke set up by his friends? "Monsieur," her voice quavered and she hated herself for it, "I am deadly serious."

His laughter abruptly stopped and he stared at her as if she had grown another head. "You're insane," he muttered.

"No, I'm not, you have to believe me!" Aimee knew she was starting to sound hysterical, but she had to prove she was serious.

"You need to leave now." He shoved the news article back towards her abruptly. "I have no time for your crazy ramblings about lost memories and a story you build in your head around an article and a probably stolen locket."

"My Father gave it to me…" Aimee tried once more, tears pricking the back of her eyes.

"Get out!" he roared, drawing the stares of some passing people. "Get out, before I arrest you for wasting police time!"

Her face burning with humiliation, Aimee half ran from the building, choking back her sobs until she found the opening to a deserted alleyway. There, she hugged her sides, gasping in gulps of air, giving out occasional sobs of distress. Enjolras had been right; she had built it all up in her head. The thought made her miserable and her humiliation was still fresh and raw. She also realised that the tiny amount of money that she had managed to earn at the Musain through playing music and singing had been almost completely spend on the cab ride here. With a heavy heart and her tears still drying on her cheeks, Aimee trudged back out into the street, hoping to find someone who was willing to give her directions back to an area she knew.

She had just reached the end of the road and was preparing to approach a shopkeeper for directions, when she felt a heavy hand clap down around her shoulders. Such was her surprise, and fear, that she acted on sheer instinct, spinning around and slamming the heel of her hand upwards towards where she judged the nose of her attacker would be. There was a satisfying crunch and a burst of swearing, but before Aimee could take flight, the hand reattached itself to her arm, its grip tight, but not bruising. Aimee struggled to pull away, but suddenly a ring on the man's finger (for it was certainly a man) caught her eye, seeming somehow familiar.

Realising her mistake, Aimee whirled towards her attacker, apology written all over her face. "Bahorel, I'm so sorry!"

The sight before her made her feel even worse. A steady gush of blood ran from his nose, down his face, dripped off his chin and liberally spattered the front of his shirt and waistcoat, but he looked bemused more than anything. He waved off her apology, clapping a ragged handkerchief to his nose, wiping away the blood matter-of-factly, and then grinned.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, mon petite."

A/N Hope you enjoyed some angst, emotional revelations, and being introduced to a more determined Aimee! I just felt she was always a little…needy. I know she has been through some bad stuff, but she's a really gutsy girl and I wanted to start bringing across that side of her.

Anyway, please do review and tune in next time for some serious drama…

Until next time, mes amis!

Libz