A/N Hello, all you lovely people who are reading this! I can't believe it, but we're now heading for 75 reviews! I am so humbled by the positive response this has received, so, as with my 50th reviewer, the 75th reviewer will receive a one shot written about the content of their choice.

For now, I give to you Chapter 22. *disappears dramatically in a swirl of mist *

Disclaimer: I think, therefore I am…Victor Hugo. Or not. (I think I just did a philosophical disclaimer. Ah, Combeferre would be proud!)

Chapter Twenty-two

The hours passed with painful slowness, but finally his last lecture concluded and Enjolras set out to return home. Despite the low temperatures and chilling wind, the streets of Paris were still bustling, moving, shifting; hundreds of lives playing out on the stage that was the city, no matter how short or insignificant their part. Enjolras relished it, drinking in the sights of the resilient people he fought for like other men might drink wine.

He was just over half-way home when he was accosted by a rushed and panting Feuilly, who barrelled into him in his haste.

Enjolras grabbed the other man by the shoulders and quickly checked to see if anybody was pursuing the fan maker. When planning a revolution one can never be too careful or too quick on one's feet. Upon seeing none, he turned back to the breathless man before him.

"Have we been discovered?" was his first question, asked in a harsh whisper. His friend signalled the negative with an abrupt shake of his head; Enjolras relaxed somewhat. It took him a moment to realize that his friend was holding out a letter to him, his paint-stained and work-roughened hand shaking slightly.

Enjolras snatched the letter, not caring for manners at this moment. He looked carefully at the seal, his heart rate doubling as he saw the distinctive pattern. "Let us get somewhere more private," he muttered, spinning on his heel and making towards his apartment at a greater speed than before.

In a few minutes the two men arrived at Enjolras' address and hurriedly made their way up the stairs, ignoring Margo's cheery greeting, much to her consternation. The moment the door closed behind them, Enjolras broke the red wax seal of the letter and devoured its contents like a starved man, his eyes moving at breakneck speed across the page. Feuilly watched silently, his nerves apparent by the way he gnawed at his fingertips, the nails long since gone. Finally, Enjolras lowered the letter and looked up at his friend. His blue eyes glowed bright with joy and an ecstatic smile broke out across his face.

"He has agreed to meet with us!" Enjolras let out a jubilant shout. "Things are finally moving, Alexandre! Finally! With his help we may actually be able to achieve something!"

Feuilly, slightly startled by the use of his first name, reacted to the news the same as his leader. "That is excellent news, Enjolras," he grinned, the stress lines in his face melting away with the force of his excitement. "You will tell the others tonight?"

Enjolras nodded, his mind already thinking ahead to what needed to be done now. His eyes suddenly fell on the door of Aimee's room and he frowned.

It was slightly open. Just a crack, but never the less he was certain that it had been closed when he went out that morning. In a few strides he was at the door and, cautiously, he opened it fully. His heart promptly sank.

Aimee's room was bare. Everything was gone; her clothes, her books, the few knick knacks she had collected over time. Grantaire's drawing of the Amis was missing from above her bed and her few toiletries were gone from the modest dressing table by the door.

Turning around, and ignoring Feuilly's confused stare, he scanned the rest of the apartment. The patchwork quilt that Aimee and Margo had made together was missing from the back of the sofa, as were the two cushion covers. Everything of Aimee's was gone and Enjolras was struck by how clinical his apartment appeared. Aimee had brought softness to it, a glow of warmth, and now it was gone.

"Enjolras?" Feuilly sounded concerned. "Do you need me for anything else? It's just I have to go back to work…"

When Enjolras turned back to his friend, no trace of his inner feelings were present on his face. "No, no, you may leave," he said with a tight smile. "I shall see you later at the Musain. Don't mention this to the others until I get there, I want to do the full explanation myself." He examined the letter again in a studied attempt at nonchalance. "Some of them will not be happy at being left out of the loop."

Feuilly nodded his assent and left the apartment, closing the door carefully behind him.

Silent and still, as if to hide his own feelings from himself, Enjolras traversed the short distance to his own room, intent on disposing of his heavy book bag and getting a few hours of the work set for him by his professors completed before he was required to leave for the meeting. With a breath of relief, he dropped his bag to the floor with a heavy thump and allowed himself to collapse onto his bed for a moment, perching on the edge and resting his hands on his knees, his hands covering his eyes as if to block out the world for a brief moment of respite.

After a few minutes he forced himself to quit his place of comfort, instead sitting himself down at his desk to work. As he did so he noticed a neatly folded sheet of paper sat atop the pile of papers balanced in the middle of the desk. The words inside were written in a fluid and elegant handwriting that he knew well.

Enjolras,

From now on I shall be residing with Eponine. I am forever grateful for the hospitality and kindness that you have shown me, and give you my unreserved thanks.

Regards,

Aimee Lyon

He stared at the words, uncomprehending for a moment. The message was formal and stiff, so unlike Aimee's personality, yet this was all she left him with. With a low snarl of frustration, his first reaction to the situation, he crushed the paper into a ball, his knuckles turning white. He had ruined the gentle, easy friendship he had shared with Aimee, all because he had let emotions control him. In keeping with this emotional recklessness he threw the ruined note across the room, by some fluke sending it out of the open window.

The rage left him as suddenly as it had come and he slumped in his seat, two more letters sitting on the desk in front of him. One held the news that could change his life and the lives of all of the Amis forever. The other held the potential to send Aimee's life in quite a different direction; a direction headed away from him.

Several hours passed in a blur of forced study and well-channelled frustration, and before Enjolras knew it the time for him to leave for the meeting was upon him. Anticipation rose quiveringly, nerves mixed with excitement, as he grabbed his bag and the two letters and bolted out of the door, pausing only briefly to shrug on his jacket.

He nodded cordially to Margo on the way out in an attempt to remedy his rudeness earlier. Seemingly mollified by this cordial show she replied with a broad smile and a query of whether he would want anything to eat when he returned.

He politely declined, saying, "You're my landlady, not my housekeeper." The slight smile on his face took the bite out of his words and he knew that despite his protests, when he got home that night a dish of something would be sitting in his kitchen, warm and ready to eat.

He kept his pace quick but casual, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. The act was basically pointless, for a man of Enjolras' looks and stature was bound to receive attention, but as usual he saw none of it, thinking he had indeed managed to remain mostly unnoticed.

Upon arrival to the Musain he bid a brief good evening to the waitress on duty before leaping up the stairs and hurrying along the corridor. He gave the correct knock and then entered, making sure to give an entrance that would attract the attention of everyone. He would be in need of their focus in a moment.

His entrance had the desired effect; every eye in the room was drawn towards him, just as he expected. What he hadn't expected was the presence of Aimee and Eponine, sat together at their customary corner table. It knocked his composure for an imperceptible moment, but he pulled himself together and strode to the front of the room. Without even pausing to remove his satchel, he leapt up onto the table, his body afire with bright fervour, his throat aching to speak.

"Friends! Brothers!" His voice was rich and sure, reverberating around the room to capture everyone's attention. "Despite the harshness of the elements outside, the fire of progress burns bright in the hearts of many. They yearn for a better future for both themselves and their children. Yet despite all of this, they do not rise, they do not speak out. Why?" He let the question hang for a moment before answering it himself. "Because they are afraid, afraid of the very establishment that is meant to protect them, care for them. The desire is there though, simply waiting for the match to set the tinder alight, for the bellows to coax the smouldering spark into a roaring blaze. That is our goal; to inspire the people, a task made difficult by the size of our immediate comrades." A few of the Amis muttered at that and Enjolras waved his hands for quiet. "I am not trying to belittle our efforts, but the fact remains that although our group is strong of heart, it is few in numbers. Now," a pause stretched as he looked around the room and no one missed the triumphant gleam in his eyes, "how many of you have heard of Le Faucon?"

There was a brief muttering amongst his lieutenants. Le Faucon, The Falcon, was a name whispered in back rooms such as theirs, a name spoken of with awe and draped in mystery.

He was well known in the revolutionary circle, as well as out of it, as a being a dangerous man. The police abhorred him for the way he always managed to escape capture and for his seemingly innate talent for sniffing out police spies, spies that were never seen or heard of again. The revolutionaries venerated him, especially the more militant branches for they saw him as saviour, a modern King David, the next Saint-Just, a man willing to lead them to battle and emerge with them on the other side, victorious. Adored by the people he fought for, he still rarely came out in public, only having been glimpsed a few times during prison raids to rescue brothers-in-arms.

Oh, yes, they had heard of Le Faucon.

"Thanks to Feuilly and some of his connections, I was able to get in contact with the man himself. I explained our beliefs and our goals and asked if he would be interested in joining with us. Today I received the all-important reply." Here he plunged his hand into the satchel and withdrew the precious piece of parchment. "In the letter he expresses his desire to meet with us, having heard many good things about our group."

A small cheer rippled around the room and Enjolras hadn't the heart to glare at them for interrupting.

"Despite our few numbers, he says that we could be of valuable use to the Cause." Another cheer sounded, but Enjolras waved them down, wishing to continue. "Our relationship with his branch of the movement is still new and tentative, but it has potential to grow into a bond of steel, forged by the fire of our beliefs. With the help of Le Faucon and groups such as ourselves, we have the chance to achieve our dream; a dream of a better France for all where people live in harmony beside one another. Vive l'France!"

A roar of 'Vive l'France!' echoed around the room as Enjolras hopped down off the table, thoroughly pleased with the reaction. That was, until he saw Combeferre. The young doctor was sat quietly, with a slight frown marring his gentle features and Enjolras knew that for some reason his friend was not pleased.

His euphoric mood rapidly disappearing, he braced himself for the next task of his evening as nerves suddenly bubbled in the pit of his stomach. Cautiously, he approached the table occupied by Aimee and Eponine, bidding them a cordial, if somewhat stiff, good evening.

"This came for you earlier." He held out the letter, irritated at the way his pulse jumped when their fingers brushed. He had to forget her, damn it! He had so much more to be focusing on now! Dropping his gaze to the table, the floor, anywhere but her eyes, he missed the flush of colour that infused her neck and face.

"Thank you," she murmured and, taking it as his dismissal, he turned to go.

"Wait!" she seemed embarrassed by her request, but she bravely forced her eyes to his. "I haven't heard of this Le Faucon. Who is he?" Her words lilted up to form a question and Enjolras felt himself falling once again into those intelligent green eyes. But then he remembered that he couldn't be in love with her, couldn't let her get close to him, especially now that things were finally moving. So he kept his voice cool and detached; the very epitome of a polite but preoccupied leader.

"That is really none of your concern. Good evening, mademoiselle." He bowed stiffly, mentally slapping himself for falling back into the society manners that he been ingrained in him since birth, and stalked majestically over to Combeferre.

"Are you alright?" Aimee snapped her eyes up to meet Eponine's, seeing the concern in the other girl's gaze. "He was an unbelievable âne*!"

She gave a watery smile. "I'm fine. Just a little…confused." Confused was in fact an understatement. Her emotions and thoughts clamoured inside of her in a tempest of contradictions. Enjolras confused her, completely and utterly. Was it only two nights before that they had walked home, hand in hand? The man who had handed her the letter was a near stranger, not the intelligent, humorous, passionate man that she had come to know.

Her eyes strayed back to the sheet of paper in her hands and she mentally shook herself. Enjolras, with his mood swings and his revolution, was not her concern now. She needed to get this job, make her own way in the world. If she had money, her own money, at her disposal, her inquiry into her past would be made far easier.

Her resolve hardened, she gave her friend another smile, this one bright, but her face was determined. "Let's have some fun tonight, because tomorrow," here she shook the letter, "is the beginning of something altogether brand new."

"I'll toast to that!" Grantaire, who had wandered close enough to hear her last statement, called to the room at large. "To new beginnings! Vive l'France!"

* ass, jackass

A/N Fillerish, I know, but it had to be done. The appearance of another OC? Bet you never saw that coming! Oh, yes, Le Faucon will be playing a very important part in this tale.

So, next time. Aimee starts at her job, more questions arise over her past, and Enjolras starts towards his alliance with Le Faucon. Well, that's the plan anyway! ;)

Please review! It'll mean the world to me!

Until next time, mes amis!

Libz