A/N Before we start, here's just a couple of notes. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, I cannot express how much your encouragement, enthusiasm, and kind words mean to me.

Also, I'm going to recommend a story to you all 'Smells like Bohemian Spirit' by FabulouslyFreeSpirited. It is one of the finest E/É fictions that I have ever come across and I can guarantee it will make you laugh, cry, hold your breath with suspense and 'aww'; I know I certainly did.

Okay, drama in this chapter and a little bit of romance. I'll just explain this now for those of you that might get confused. The conversation that Enjolras has with Aimee at the beginning of the chapter, all of his thoughts are in italics. What he actually says is in normal.

Disclaimer: If I had written Les Miserables would I have gone on random twelve chapter long tangents about the Battle of Waterloo? No, therefore I am not Victor Hugo.

Chapter Twenty

The walk home proceeded in silence, each of them wrapped up in their own personal thoughts. The silence was short lived once they arrived back at their apartment, however, as Margo emerged from her set of rooms to greet them. Greeting them was actually more like a thorough scolding.

"You had me worried sick!" Margo screeched, wrapping Aimee up in a bruising hug. "No…no, don't try and get out of it by saying you left a note! You still frightened me to death and Enjolras wasn't much better when he came home at lunchtime to find you gone!"

Aimee quickly glanced over her shoulder to give Enjolras a quizzical look, but he refused to make eye contact, instead just standing by the door with his arms crossed over his chest, his whole stance stiff and uncomfortable.

"Margo, I'm sorry for distressing you, truly," Aimee placed her hands on the older woman's shoulders and smiled, her eyes bright with excitement, "but I have some very important news for you."

"What is it?" Instantly, Margo forgot about her scolding. "Oh! Did you find out more about your father? Your past?"

"A little of both." Aimee gave the landlady, who was more like a mother to her really, a full account of her day, paying special attention to the fact that she discovered the address of what she was sure was her former residence, and the fact that she had been offered a job. "And I just have this overwhelming feeling that Monsieur Chavenage knew my mother," she finished, finally running out of steam, panting slightly from the speed at which she had been talking.

Margo sat thoughtfully for a moment and seemed about to speak, when Enjolras, who had remained by the door the whole time, broke in. "I really do think we should retire for the night, Aimee," he said, tone bland and figure stiff. "You have had a long day and I have quite a large amount of work to do." He held the door open for her, his desire to depart for their own rooms very much apparent.

"Here, take some food with you." Margo bustled into the kitchen and returned with a steaming dish of coq en vin and a plate of fresh bread. "I made too much for me to eat and it will only go to waste." This was a lie of course and all three of them knew it. Margo cooked far too much on purpose so that she could feed her two young tenants. "I'm sure the last thing either of you feel like doing is making something to eat and I doubt you had anything at the Musain." She thrust the dishes at them and ushered them out of the door with shooing motions and a cheerful smile.

She closed it carefully behind them, her cheery demeanour falling away to be replaced with one of worry. She had been watching Enjolras out of the corner of her eye the whole time Aimee had been talking to her, noting his reactions to Aimee's words. His face had remained basically impassive, as if he knew he was being watched, until Aimee began discussing the job she was offered. At that moment, Margo had seen through into the young man's very soul, a bundle of conflicting emotions appearing in his eyes. She sighed deeply. She had a very bad feeling that the discussion the two of them were invariably having right now was not going to end well, one way or another.

Aimee continued to chatter aimlessly as she found them both some cutlery and dishes for the coq en vin and dug a half-full bottle of wine out from somewhere in the back of a cupboard. Enjolras sat at the table, drawing formless patterns onto the wood and nodding his head occasionally to prove he was at least half listening. He had briefly considered retreating for his room the moment they entered the apartment, but quickly brushed the idea aside. He needed to talk to Aimee; this was a conversation that had to happen.

Although he wasn't particularly religious, Enjolras waited patiently as Aimee said grace, giving thanks for the food, the kindness of Margo and their friends, and for the job she had been offered. She had just taken her first bite of food when Enjolras spoke.

"I don't think you should take the job." He spoke quietly, his fork prodding at the rapidly cooling food in front of him.

Aimee paused a moment in surprise before swallowing. "Why?"

Because it will mean you taking a step away from me. Because having a job like that will draw attention to you, possibly the attention of your kidnappers. Because I'm scared for you. Of course, he only said these things in his head. His actual answer was far more impersonal. "I just don't know if you can trust him."

Aimee gave him an odd look, pausing from taking another bite of her food. "I'm not going to run head long into this, Julien. I'm getting information and I'm going to check the theatre, and Chavenage, out before I make any decisions."

But what if you get taken away again? I would feel incomplete without you in my life, which I know sounds silly considering we've only known each other a few months and only been good friends for a few weeks, but still. "But what if you didn't like the job?"He put down his fork, not even pretending to be interested in eating anymore.

Aimee also put down her cutlery, irritation beginning to creep into her voice. "I just said, I'm going to check it out thoroughly. Besides, I love singing, getting to do it as a job is ideal."

What about me. "What about the Amis?"

She smiled, assuming this was the root of his worry. "Julien, I will always make time for my friends, no matter what job I get. Look at Feuilly, he must have three different jobs and he still finds the time to help plan a rebellion!"

Enjolras smiled briefly at that, but only because she would expect him to. Will you have to leave me? Will I have to get used to an empty, impersonal apartment again? "Do you think you will have to move out?"

The question seemed to catch Aimee off guard, for she looked at him with a startled expression. "I don't know?" she said slowly. "I still haven't got all of the details remember?"

Would you want to leave me? Do you care for me? "Would you want to move out?"

Aimee frowned, comprehension dawning in her eyes. "Do you want me to move out?" The question was tentative, her tone nervous.

Enjolras looked down at the table top, unwilling to meet her eyes lest she see the level of emotion hiding there. No. If it were possible I would never let you leave my side for rest of our lives. "If it was necessary for your job, I wouldn't stop you."

Aimee stood up abruptly. "Is that what you wanted to talk about? Do you want me to move out?"

Enjolras also stood up, knowing that the conversation was getting away from him and that he should stop it right now, assure her that she was welcome here for as long as she wanted…but he didn't. "That wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about at all," he insisted, "I simply wanted to discuss the job you have been offered." Which I think is a really bad idea.

"Well, considering you wanted to talk about my job offer, you have spent an awful lot of this conversation talking about me moving out!"

"I'm just concerned about this job, that's all." He ran a hand through his curls in his familiar nervous tic, not feeling very certain about his next words. "I'm…worried…about you. I worry that you're not confident or strong enough to go out into the world on your own yet. I worry that you can't handle yourself." He let out a ragged breath, glad to have partially verbalized his fears, and attempted to read Aimee's face to see what she was feeling. There wasn't a flicker of emotion there; her guard was up, her expression wary.

For some reason he kept talking, even though he knew he really should stop now, and in no time he was ranting, his frustrations of the day coming to a head at the worst possible time. "Do you know how hard it is for me?" he asked. "I'm trying to get myself through university on the miniscule allowance my father sends me, while also supporting two people!" He began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. "Now, on top of that, planning for the revolution has kicked off full force! I have meetings to plan, rallies to organize, I'm trying to form alliances with other groups, printing pamphlets, gathering weapons and ammunition, all while evading the police! And while I'm doing all of this, I'm also worrying myself to death over you and whether this job you've is a good idea or not!"

"So I'm a burden now am I?" Aimee hadn't moved, but her eyes bored into his.

He stopped, holding a hand up in a placating gesture. "I never said that..."

"But it's what you meant isn't it? You don't have much money and it's a struggle to stretch it for two." She took a step towards him, her still quiet voice at complete odds with the fire in her eyes. "You're trying to save the country but you can't do a proper job of it because I'm getting in your way." Another step, larger this time. "I didn't ask for you to worry about me, and I may have been injured, but I am not helpless." Another step. "Yes, I had a bad experience today, but I survived." Another step and she was right in front of him, so close he could feel her breath upon his face with every word she spoke. "I do not understand you, Julien. I thought I did, after the time we spent together. I could read your face, your moods, your tone of voice, and in less than a day you have thrown almost ever preconceived thought I had about you out of the window! One minute you're cold and logical, the next utterly vulnerable and apologetic. In the space of this conversation you have moved from being concerned about my well-being, to suggesting that I am a burden to you as well as being utterly helpless." She leaned in closer still, her lips nearly touching his, but her eyes sparking with anger. "Why do you care about my job? Why do you care about my wellbeing? You've only known me a few months and we're not exceptionally good friends. Why do you care?"

He could feel the bright, sparking energy of her anger and he closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to collect himself. I care because you are the strongest, bravest, most incredible woman I have ever met. I care because I have seen you broken and have helped you put yourself back together. I care because I want to keep you safe from whatever darkness is in your past and has probably followed you here. I care…because I love you. But, once again, he said none of this. Instead he moved his head a fraction and let his lips brush, feather-light, across hers.

Aimee stood frozen, holding her breath as Enjolras lips made gentle contact against her own, waiting for him to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer. She felt safe, complete, as if she had found a missing part of her soul. Then, his lips were gone and she opened her eyes to see him step away, his cheeks burning crimson.

"I'm sorry," his words were garbled and he stared at the floor so as not to meet her eyes, "I shouldn't have done that. It was wrong of me…a-a mistake."

Mistake? The words rang in Aimee's ears and she felt the bright flicker of joy that had ignited as he kissed her fade out. "A mistake?" she echoed dully. "Well, I suppose it is fitting; that's all this whole situation is to you anyway."

"No…" he stepped forwards, his lips ready with more empty words, but Aimee took a step back, putting some space between them.

"I thought maybe…I just don't understand…I…oh, I can't do this anymore." She bolted for the door, snatching up her coat on the way, mindful of the cold even in her distressed state. She paused at the door and held up a hand of warning. "Don't bother coming after me because you feel like it's your duty. I won't be a burden to you any longer," she spat, dashing out of the door, out of the house, out of his life.

Enjolras stood for a moment, staring with unseeing eyes towards the door that Aimee had just slammed behind her. What had he done? With a small groan he collapsed onto the sofa, the same sofa he on which he and Aimee had spent several nights curled up together, limbs loosely locked in the warm harmony of slumber. He rested his head in his hands, dozens of memories, all containing Aimee, flashing through his head like a whirling zoetrope and he was startled to discover tears pricking at the back of his eyes. Just as he was about to self-indulgently succumb to his tears, he heard a light tap, followed by the distinctive squeak of the door opening. In a moment he was on his feet, a mask of self-defence covering his disturbed features. "Aimee, I'm so sorry…"

Only it wasn't Aimee stood in the doorway, it was Margo, her kindly face wearing a sad smile. "You love her, don't you, Julien?"

Her words caught him somewhat off guard, as did the genuine look of motherly concern in her eyes, and he was defenceless to bluster or lie. Instead, he nodded heavily and sank back down onto the sofa.

Margo advanced further into the room, wrapping her shawl tighter around her as she seated herself beside the young man that was more like a son to her than a tenant. "If you love her, Julien, go after her," she coaxed. "Tell her, tell her how you feel; she needs to hear it from you. You need to tell her."

"I can't." His stubborn statement was completely at odds with the lost, haunted look in his pain darkened eyes.

"Can't," she prodded, "or won't? Surely you're not too proud."

"Pride? It's not about being proud," the words appeared to be wrung out from him. "I just can't, Margo. Not here, not now. Don't you see? Everyone is depending on me. We're almost there; everything is coming together, everything we've dreamt of and worked for all these years. I cannot let them down; I cannot risk a repeat of last time. Anything that distracts me now could have terrible repercussions for everyone." He paused to draw a long shuddering breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger before wiping his hand over his anguished face. He turned an imploring gaze upon Margo. "Don't you see? Don't you understand? I can't go after her; I can't let her know how I feel, not now. I have nothing to offer her but turmoil and uncertainty and she has had enough of that to deal with already. No, no, it's better this way, better that she goes, better that she never knows." He stood to leave the room, his hand resting for a brief moment on Margo's shoulder in a rare display of thankfulness and affection. The thud of his boots was heavy as he trudged towards his room, past the remnants of the half consumed meal that he and Aimee had been sharing only minutes before.

Margo's heart broke for him as he soundlessly shut his door, this selfless, inspiring, and tragic young man. "Oh, Julien," she whispered to herself as she left the strangely silent apartment, "to live without love is to be already dead."

The bitter air nipped at Aimee's face as she retraced the route to the café that she had walked with Enjolras less than two hours earlier, her footsteps loud on the cobbles, her breath hitching every now and again as she struggled to control her tears.

She remembered Enjolras' gentle kiss, a kiss that she could still feel, still taste. She could still smell the wonderful scent that was him strong in her nostrils; paper, ink, a hint of his cologne, a touch of male musk. She brutally banished the memory as she remembered his words, his actions. She was nothing but a burden to him, a distraction, a mistake. She wished she could summon up some semblance of hate for him, or at least strong dislike, but the only emotion she could seem to feel was a strange feeling of loss, as if she had somehow lost a limb that she didn't know she had.

She paused for a moment, steadying herself against the crumbling wall of a building, trying to calm her emotions so she could think logically about her current situation. Although the lights of the café shone warm and appealing just a short distance away, she wanted a moment alone to think, to breathe, to process, for she knew the moment she stepped into the room the Amis would begin hurling questions at her.

For obvious reasons she was unable to return to Enjolras' apartment; that conversation, and the kiss, had changed everything. She leaned against the wall, her hands stuffed into her pockets to protect them from the cold as she considered her options. She knew that most of the Amis would be glad to offer her a place to stay, but she didn't feel altogether comfortable with becoming reliant on another of the boys. No, now she wanted to try and do things on her own a little more, without the interference of the well-meaning, but sometimes overprotective, group of young men that were her friends. It would be fairly certain that Eponine would know of somewhere that was cheap to rent, but she would have to beg a place off one of her friends until she got her first pay check. That she was going to take the job at the theatre was definite; she didn't really have much of a choice now.

Her mind made up, Aimee squared her shoulders and started towards the café. It was almost completely pitch black now and as she walked she felt a shivering wave of unease wash over her. Angry at herself, she shook it off. She was going to have to be stronger than that now; she had a life to build for herself, and a duty to fulfil, a duty to discover what had become of her parents. It was a duty she would satisfy with or without the help of Enjolras or the Amis. She had the address of the house she had been living in with her Papa, a lead she would follow up as soon as she could. Unfortunately, that could be quite a significant time, considering everything that she was going to have to organize before then.

The lights of the café shone like a beacon of safety and warmth and Aimee unconsciously picked up her pace, her desire to be amongst her friends again growing stronger. As she passed the alley, the alley that always caused a shiver of fear to run over her, the dark silhouette of a person standing near the entrance, hidden in the shadows, caught her eye for the briefest of moments. A sudden burst of red malevolent light appeared as the figure struck a match and, just for a moment, Aimee received the impression of dark hair, a fashionable hat, and cold, dark eyes. As she stood, frozen with fear, she remembered another night spent hurrying through the darkness, another night filled with terror and sadness. A slithering coil of fear awoke in her belly and she broke into a half run, forgetting about being brave and strong and just wanting to get away from whomever that spectre had been, away from the darkest of her memories.

She crashed through the front doors of the Musain, her entrance startling patrons and staff alike, many of the waitresses calling out concerned greetings as she bolted up the stairs and shoved open the door of the back room. Her entrance caused many of the Amis to jump to their feet in surprise, concern written all over their faces.

"Where's Enjolras?" Combeferre demanded, assuming from her entrance that something had befallen his friend. "Is he all right?"

Aimee gave an empty, humourless chuckle between gasping for air, the sound making several of the young men glance at each other in concern. "He's fine," Aimee managed to say, "but I don't suppose any of you have a spare room that I could use for the near foreseeable future?"

"What happened…?" Bossuet tried to ask, but Aimee waved him off.

"Please…don't ask me, not now." Her posture slumped as the adrenaline left her and she would have collapsed if Eponine hadn't of hurried forwards and put a supporting arm around her waist.

"You'll stay with me," she announced in a no nonsense voice, giving Aimee a reassuring squeeze around her waist, "and we can pick your things up tomorrow."

Both girls missed the significant look that was shared between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, a look that guaranteed Enjolras would be partaking in a very awkward conversation sometime in the near future.

And so it was that Aimee found herself several hours later on a straw pallet on the floor of Eponine's apartment. The apartment was small and glomy and a distinctly unpleasant smell rose from the rubbish heap outside the window two stories below, but Aimee didn't really care. She snuggled down into the blanket Eponine had given her and thought over how much her life had changed in just over a day. Had she only been at the police station that morning? Had she only remembered her mother's song that afternoon? Was it only a few hours ago that she was offered a job? Even fewer hours since Enjolras had kissed her…

She tried to banish Enjolras' face from her mind along with the soft feel of his lips dancing on hers. A few tears rolled unbidden down her cheeks and in the dark of the apartment Aimee didn't bother to wipe them away. Why was it you only truly understood how much something meant to you after you've lost it?

A/N Awww, the ending was pretty tough to write, but now we can get a move on with the real suspense section of the story as well as ranking up the romance between Enjolras and Aimee. Yes, I know it looks pretty dire, but all we writers know that the path of true love never runs smooth! If you really love me, send me a review. Please? Pretty please?

Until next time, mes amis!

Libz