A/N Wow, I should seriously start whining more often! It earned me six reviews! Six! Ok, so to some people that may not sound like a lot, but I am writing in a fairly unpopular/underappreciated genre of fanfiction (Amis + OC) so I'll gladly take any that come my way.

Okay, since I am discussing this genre, now would be a good time to recommend some other OC fictions to you. The first is by the wonderful La Patron-Minette whose story 'The Muses' is a truly glorious fanfiction involving numerous excellent OCs. It is emotional and heart breaking, and is one of my favourites on this site, so please check it out and don't forget to review it! The second is The Moon and the Sun by Masked Man 2. I am the only reviewer at the moment, but it is a fanfiction with a lot of potential so please go and show your support.

Now, on with my story! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I had somehow managed to raise Victor Hugo from the dead, do you honestly think that I would waste time writing a fanfiction about his characters when I could be getting him to rewrite Les Mis, so they all don't die!

Quick word: Normal is present time, italics is memory.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Normal was the first word that came to Aimee's mind upon seeing the house; normal and nondescript. The neighbourhood itself tentatively toed the line between respectable and shabby, an old age elegance still clinging desperately to the stained but solid stones of the houses. She stared up at the stone portico, the dark green front door stirring up no new or pertinent memories. As if of their own volition her eyes drifted over to the window to the left of the door, the window that she suspected looked into the parlour.

Her feet suddenly became leaden with nerves as she ascended the three, well-scrubbed steps up to the front door. Her hand did not seem to be her own and she watched dispassionately as it reached for the brass bell pull that hung in her eye line. A single tug sent an audible peal ringing through the interior of the house. The sound seemed to reverberate through her whole being, shaking loose another barrier and releasing a flurry of images that cascaded around her.

They were sat quietly in the parlour that night, each of them engaged in their own tasks. She was reading, though she really should have been sewing up the tear in her petticoat that had come from getting caught on the washing board. Papa was tinkering with something…a clock probably, or maybe a watch. People paid good money to get their watches fixed. The sound of the bell startled them both. Who would be calling at this time of night?

Aimee blinked in surprise when the door opened in front of her, tucking away the torn shred of her past for later, when she would be able to spend time reattaching it to her mental timeline. She now focused on the face in front of her, that of a suspicious, but polite looking, maid.

"Can I help you, mademoiselle?" she enquired, her shrewd eyes curious and guarded.

Here Aimee hesitated. What exactly could she say? The last time she had told the truth it had resulted in disbelief, anger and humiliation; an experience which she was not eager to repeat. No, on this occasion a little….story telling would be required.

"I hope you can." She smiled, making herself seem as innocent and appealing as possible, "I am doing a little research into my family history, tracking down lost family members, old houses, that sort of thing."

"Sounds interesting." The maid, who couldn't have been a day over seventeen, sounded anything but interested, but Aimee pressed ahead regardless, feeling fairly confident as she warmed to her mission.

"Yes, it is, very much so!" she smiled again, but only briefly for fear of over doing the act. "From the research I've done, I think that my Father may have lived in this house at some point." Again, not a lie. "What I was hoping was that I could come in for a moment and have a little look around? Only for a moment? He told me some details about the house that I'd like to check to see if this is indeed the right address."

The maid seemed indecisive, worrying at her lip with her teeth and glancing up and down the street as if she was going to be caught doing something illegal. Aimee saw the moment the girl decided to let her in reflected in her eyes, and in the work-roughened hand that was thrust tentatively out towards her.

With a little sigh Aimee handed over a small amount of money, the coins clinking softly against the girl's palm. She glanced at them briefly, then grunted in acceptance, obviously hoping for a lot more. However, she made no objections as she re-entered the house, beckoning for Aimee to follow on after her, which she did. The smell of soap and wood polish filled her nostrils, mixed with the wafting hint of a rich stew that was no doubt cooking in the kitchen for that evening's meal.

"Where would you like to see first?" The girl seemed uncomfortable with the situation and was obviously eager to get it over with as swiftly as possible.

"The front parlour, perhaps?" Aimee kept her tone nonchalant when in reality her heart was pounding away under her ribs in expectation.

The girl gestured to a door of dark wood panelling and a dull brass handle. With a hand that was shaking minutely, Aimee stepped forwards and twisted the knob, pushing the door open on badly oiled hinges, the groan that they emitted sparking another memory. In the moment before the room came into view a perfect picture appeared in her mind. It was the layout of the room when she and her father had lived there, every detail clearly before her.

The room, when she finally saw it, was of course different, but aspects of it were the same, such as the wooden bookcases that stood against the wall by the door.

The same bookcases they had been flung against. The same bookcases from which she had taken the cast iron bookend to launch through the window.

The sun went in briefly, darkening the room and Aimee saw clearly the faded patch on the carpet by the window.

Blood red blossoms, offset by the black soil, ground into the fibres, broken shards of the pot crutching under foot, hurried footsteps out of the backdoor accompanied by whispered threats hissed in her ear.

She shuddered, another piece falling into place. In small strides she crossed the room, aware of the maid's scrutiny from the doorway, under the pretence of admiring the view, but this was in fact a much deeper moment. She was stood in a place where her present aligned perfectly with her past, a mooring point for the two sections of her life; a square of faded carpet.

She left immediately after that, assuring the maid that she had seen everything she needed to and that she didn't want to see anymore. This was actually true, for the experience had left her more deeply shaken than she would like to admit, and the fiacre ride and walk back to the apartment was spent filled with incessant thinking.

This time tangled reverie was swiftly shattered once she reached the top landing of the building that housed their apartment. Eponine was stood outside their door with Combeferre and Feuilly, all three of them looking grave. Beside Feuilly stood Annette, wrapped in his loose embrace, one hand clutching Musichetta's, the younger girl looking shaken and the older looking livid.

"What's happened?" Aimee asked, sudden images of injuries or arrests filling her mind. She only needed to glance inside the open door of the apartment to receive her answer.

The place had been utterly and brutally ransacked. Furniture was overturned, crockery smashed, the beds flung aside and clothes strewn across the floor.

The solid weight of fear settled in Aimee's stomach, accompanied by anguish that their home had been defiled in this manner. "Who would do something like this?"

"In this area?" Eponine asked rhetorically, then threw her friend an apologetic look for her sharp reply. "Before you ask, no, the porteress didn't hear a thing."

"She wouldn't hear a whole battalion of the National Guard having rifle practice in her kitchen. The old crow is as deaf as a post," Musichetta snarked. She and Madame Corneille did not get on particularly well.

"But why, we've got nothing worth stealing?" Aimee stammered.

"There's always something worth stealing," Eponine chided. "But that's what doesn't make any sense," she muttered to herself, peering closely at the door jam, "there's nothing missing."

"Let me see?" Feuilly requested, leaning closer and taking a good look. After a moment of examination he frowned up at the ex-gamine, "Spite? Boredom?"

"What do you mean?" Combeferre asked, curious as to their words.

"This whole incident doesn't make any sense," Eponine explained. "The lock has been picked, and very well I might add, with a professional tool by an experienced housebreaker."

"For someone that professional to then randomly destroy the interior, and take nothing, just seems downright strange," Feuilly finished. "Why leave such an obvious mess when they could have got in, taken what they wanted, and left without leaving a trace?"

"You think someone would do this because they were bored?" Combeferre asked incredulously, his gentle soul and well-mannered mind unable to truly grasp the concept of such wanton destruction.

"I can think of five or more people that I knew personally," Eponine murmured, not seeing the uncomfortable look that was thrown in her direction by Combeferre. "I'd say that this has 'Parnasse written all over it, but it's a bit…inelegant for him."

"Who?" Aimee queried, stepping into the scene of destruction.

"An old…acquaintance of mine," Eponine stooped and began to pick up the smashed plates. "Damn it all, I really liked this one."

"I'll stay and help you three clear up while Feuilly runs to get a locksmith," Combeferre waded into the mess, loosening his cravat and removing his jacket, his action of hanging it neatly up behind the door bringing a wry smile to Eponine's face, edged with intimate fondness.

As if she was aware of Aimee's eyes on her, she swiftly moved focus, her dark eyes pinning Aimee down. "So, where have you been?"

The next day for Aimee was filled with cleaning, tidying, and taking an inventory of destroyed items and then a shopping excursion to replace some of what they lost in the break-in. Unfortunately, it transpired that something had been stolen during the break-in; Aimee's locket. It had been hidden in the leather bag under her pallet, but was soon found by the intruder. The loss of the necklace affected Aimee badly. She had cried for a good hour upon discovering its absence, the theft of the only connection she had with her family a cruel blow.

However, other than her locket, nothing else had been taken. It seemed that after gaining access to the apartment and finding the locket, the intruder had found nothing else of notable value worth taking and so had settled on simply destroying everything.

The girls were now extremely thankful for the small amount of money they had saved, although once they heard of the disaster, many of the Amis had insisted on helping to pay some of the expenses, even if just as a loan. Once again Aimee was deeply touched by the kindness of her friends and the thoughtful, giving nature they all possessed.

Her destinations involved several pawn shops and peddler's stalls, and after some hardnosed haggling with stubborn salesmen, she succeeded in buying much of what she needed. Her hope of finding her stolen locket was for nought, the precious piece of jewellery gone forever. She fitted what items she could into the large wicker basket that she carried, but arranged for the heavier articles, such as the mismatched but ultimately functional crockery she had bought, to be sent via a horse and cart direct to the apartment building.

Now that her task for the day was done, she slowed her pace on the way back to the apartment, stopping to stroll through one of the parks and sit for a minute or two on the edge of a marble fountain, taking in the decaying beauty of the algae covered statue. Eventually, she did have to return home at some point, but for now she was content to simply sit and soak up the pleasant April sunshine. Tilting her head towards the sun, she let her thoughts completely relax; allowing the tinkle of the water and fluttering shades of red behind her eyelids lull her into a sense of peace. The feeling could never last, however, and she knew this; it was only a matter of time.

As if having been released from behind a dam, every thought that she was holding back flooded through her; the pain, the fear, the joy, the uncertainty, the anger, everything. Every piece of her past that she found always created yet more questions. Was there anything that she could rely on as a certainty?

I will find you, I promise. No matter how far apart we may become, or dangerous it may be, I will find you. Just run, now! Run!

She opened her eyes, blinking away the tears that had suddenly appeared there, stunned by the revelation she had revealed to herself.

The voice that had haunted her nightmares, swearing to find her, it was the wrong voice. So twisted up had her psyche become that she had been convinced the voice was that of her attacker. She was wrong; it was the voice of her father. A shuddering breath escaped her lips, almost against her will and once it was released there was no stopping the silent sob that tore its way through her chest, emerging from her throat as little more than a pained gasp. Vainly, she struggled to contain the emotion, not wishing to have a complete breakdown in public, but it was no use. Another sob ripped free, followed by another.

"Where are you, Papa? Where are you?" she whimpered, covering her face with her hands to block out the concerned and disapproving stares she was receiving from passers-by. So deep was her distress she did not realise someone had approached her until they spoke.

"Aimee? Is that you, Aimee?"

In the brief moment before she recognised the voice, Aimee was shocked at her desperate hope that the speaker was Enjolras. Right then, she wished for nothing more than to hide in the embrace that had soothed her through the darkest of her times, surrounded her with warmth and laughter, simple pleasures that had all too swiftly been revoked through misunderstandings and circumstance. Gathering what was left of her pride and decorum, she hardened her heart, locking away the longing and the pain of her past, and to some extent, her present, and lifted her head to give the speaker a watery smile. "Hello, Marius."

Marius returned the smile, but only briefly, his face soon resettling back into the serious expression he usually wore when not in Cosette's presence. "I need you to help me," he muttered by way of greeting, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a slim packet wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. "Enjolras charged me with picking up the newest batch of pamphlets from the printers, so that's what I did."

Here he paused to glance around, now visibly worried. "The thing is, I think I may have someone following me, probably the police." He fixed her with an earnest, hazel-eyed stare, "I can't be caught with these on me, Aimee. If I'm caught, I could be sent to prison for inciting rebellion. How would I ever be able to convince Cosette to marry me if that happens? I'll be disgraced."

Aimee stared at him, partially amused and partially incredulous at the shallowness of the young man before her. What on earth was he doing mixed up with Enjolras and rest of the brave, selfless young men that made up Les Amis? Marius marched to a different drumbeat compared to the rest of them, a drumbeat that sounded all too much like royalism and selfishness.

"It could lead back to Enjolras in time if they got hold of these," Marius continued, and though his attempt at manipulation was clumsy, Aimee saw the truth in the words.

While she knew it was only a matter of time until Enjolras became a target for the police, if he wasn't already, being traced as the source of treasonous material such as the pamphlets would not do him any favours. She heaved a sigh and fixed Marius with a steely glare, showing she was not completely comfortable with the series of events that was unfolding. "Where is it that they need to go? The Musain?"

Relief washed over his face and he thrust the bundle at her hurriedly, keen to be rid of it. "No, it needs to go to the Corinth; Enjolras has got a meeting there with the Hawk or the Eagle or someone." He paused suddenly, then asked with obvious reluctance, "You do know where the Corinth is, don't you?"

Aimee briefly considered saying that, no, she didn't know where the Corinth was, but that would be a lie, and if Marius really did have someone following him, it could be dangerous for all of the numerous parties involved. "Yes," she muttered finally, "I know where it is. Grantaire took me there a few months ago and I still remember the way."

"I am greatly in your debt," Marius beamed, but seemed somewhat distracted. "If there is any way I can repay you…"

Feeling certain his whole heart was not in the offer, Aimee decided to keep the offer in mind, but not to demand any service at that moment. "I'll think of something," she promised grimly, but Marius barely heard her, swiftly passing her by and hurrying back out onto the street, his step lighter without his treasonous burden.

Pushing aside her weary irritation, Aimee was suddenly struck with a flash of inspiration. Glancing around briefly to ensure she was not being watched, she rolled the pliable bundle into a tight tube, and proceeded to push it down the narrow space in the front of her dress, allowing it then to unfurl and lie flat against her belly. More than ever she was glad that she had chosen to keep her corset very loose that day, as now the only way the pamphlets would be discovered would be if the police strip searched her, and she doubted very highly that that would happen.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and changed the direction of her journey away from home and towards the Corinth.

A/N What? You were expecting dancing in this chapter? Oh, sorry, but that's not for a little while yet. I won't beg for as long as I did last time, but I will say that I would really like reviews, especially what your thoughts are about Aimee's father and Marius' behaviour at the end here. I didn't mean to bash him so much, but…he just irritates me sometimes (all the time) and it appeared somewhat in my writing. Oh, that reminds me, as something to look forwards to; Enjolras is going to find out what Marius did here in the next chapter. How do you think he will react? Leave a review and let me know, my darling readers!