A/N Here we are, the big three oh. Chapter Thirty. A HUGE thank you to those of you who reviewed, especially The World About to Dawn who has returned from an involuntary hiatus. Good to see you back! On the off chance that I reach 125 reviews with this chapter, the usual procedure of a one-shot being given out will be followed.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Unlike Valjean who changes his name every five minutes, my name is the same as it always has been. And my name it not Victor Hugo.

Chapter Thirty

The light of dozens of candles dazzled Aimee as she stepped down from the carriage, her gloved hand resting lightly atop that of Enjolras'. Sliding her hand to the correct position in the crook of his elbow, the two of them stepped forwards, the purity of their costumes standing out amongst the riotous orgy of colour and opulence that engulfed them. They proceeded up the flight of stone steps until they reached the doors, both of which were flung open to allow the guests to enter freely. Enjolras handed over their invitation, still apparently haughty and detached, though Aimee could feel the slight tremor in his arm from the stress of the situation. For a heartbeat she was afraid that they would be rejected, that the invitation would be a forgery and that they would be turned away. However, the liveried servant at the door gave it barely a glance before ushering them inside where another member of staff stepped forwards to take their cloaks.

Despite her best attempts, Aimee could not help but gape in astonishment as they entered the foyer of the ludicrously grand house. Hundreds more candles, burning with a brightness that betrayed their expense, provided light that was magnified by several strategically placed huge mirrors surrounded by grandiose, golden gilding. The press of people was positively claustrophobic and Enjolras kept a firm hold on her arm as they moved as covertly as possible through the laughing, drinking, shouting crush.

Briefly, her mind jumped back to New Year's Eve when they had gone out into the street parties. Enjolras had been just as attentive with her then, the bright blue of his eyes gleaming as he glanced back to check on her well-being. She remembered how close they had stood during the countdown, how close his lips had been to touching her own…

She was torn from her memories, as she so often was these days, by crashing into Enjolras, not noticing that he had come to a sudden halt to avoid a harried servant carrying an over-laden silver tray of wine glasses. The look he threw back at her was edged with irritation, but she knew the sentiment stemmed from nerves and he was not in fact angry at her.

Distant strains of music grew clearer as they progressed through the seemingly endless space of the house; a piano, a cello, some violins. Obviously, a small orchestra had been hired for the evening. The music, a flowing waltz, buoyed her up and gave grace to her movements, making the crazed dash as simple to her as a pre-choreographed dance. She skipped closer to the pale statue leading the way, whispering teasingly in his ear, "After all the palaver I've been put through to get here I expect at least one dance tonight, dearest." The endearment rolled off her tongue far too easily and her belly clenched in fear that she had betrayed herself; left herself open and vulnerable.

His eyes behind his mask flashed startled for a moment, surprised by the soft brush of air across the shell of his ear, but other than that he gave no reply. Finally, they reached the safe anchor of a far wall, two marble columns shielding them from the worst of the noise and heat.

"I need you to stay here," Enjolras informed her, back to using the clipped, formal tone from earlier, "I want to get this over and done with so we can remove ourselves from this…revolting display of wealth."

"Lower your voice," Aimee warned him, seeing a few heads twitch in their direction, "The main aim of this evening is to keep unnoticed. That means no rants about the oppression of the people and the wasteful lives of the elite while we are here."

A heated protest quivered on his lips, but he forced it back upon realizing that she was, of course, right. Getting himself thrown out or arrested would completely nullify the effort and expense that had been poured into this endeavour. Not only that, but it would seriously endanger the lives of the people he cared about.

Instead, he surreptitiously fished out his watch from the inside pocket of his jacket and took note of the time. Quarter past ten. Knowing that he wasn't supposed to meet with the informer for another half an hour or so, but unwilling to move from their sanctuary of relative calm, Enjolras stood back and surveyed the room.

It made his gut churn to see the shows of excess displayed all around him when he knew for a fact that there were hundreds of people that night who had gone without food and were sleeping out in the open. If only these people could be concerned with caring for someone except themselves! If only they could learn to show a modicum of compassion for the less fortunate, for the beggars, for the miserables. Maybe then the utopia that he dreamed of, that he was risking his life to achieve, could become a reality.

Distantly he realized that the music had changed, still being a waltz, but was now a slow and sensuous piece with just a piano and a cello. In the back of his mind he thought he recognized it, but hastily pushed it aside; now was not the time to be wondering about music. A servant staggered up to them, a heavy silver tray held in already tired arms that were beginning to shake from the strain. His immediate reaction was to reach out and relieve the servant of his burden. It was only because of the pointed and pleading look Aimee shot in his direction that he instead took a full glass to ease the load and stood stiffly to the side, his blazing azure eyes staring at nothing, barely contained frustrated fury practically radiating off him. So wrapped up was he that he started in surprise at a light touch on his forearm, a drop of the ruby red liquid spilling over the rim of his glass. It caught the light as it fell, a bead of crimson, to stain the white tile at his feet.

"You must calm yourself," Aimee murmured, her hand still resting on his arm. "If you hold that glass any tighter it'll shatter."

"But just look at them all Aimee," he hissed, "stuffing themselves until they can't move, guzzling wine until they can't even walk in a straight line!" He took a disdainful sip of his own libation to soothe his parched throat and nearly spat it back out again it was so heavily spiced and sugared. "They disgust me!" he growled, tensing his jaw and wondering if he would survive to complete the exchange.

"Enjolras," her grip on his arm tightened when he gave no answer. "Julien," she insisted and he turned his head to look down at her. Hidden behind her mask her eyes were glinting pools of deep forest green in the candlelight, understanding shining out clearly. "I know how you feel, how angry this makes you. You have so much caring in your heart, so much compassion, so much fire that it threatens to burn you up. But right here, right now, there is nothing you can do. If you truly wish to help, you simply need to find this infor…," she broke off hurriedly and glanced around for fear of being heard, lowering her for good measure, "this person, and then we can leave." A smile flashed briefly over her lips, "Even if the downside is that I don't get a dance."

Looking down at her, her earnest and sincere words still filling his ears, Enjolras felt his very soul lighten, the burning, all-consuming fire that roared within him easing to a warming glow. Setting the glass aside on an otherwise pointless table, he took both of her gloved hands in his own. "Rene made the right decision sending you with me tonight," he said lowly, "I confess that there are times I wonder how I managed without you." Closer still he leaned, his warm words brushing over her ear as hers had done earlier, "How I still manage without you."

He pulled back to find her eyes wide behind her mask, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly at the shallow hurried breaths she took. It felt as though he was poised on the very edge of something, a perilous yet exhilarating leap into the unknown of which he was toeing the edge. As if of their own accord his hands slid up her arms, the texture changing from the silk of her gloves to the warmth of her skin, until her elbows rested gently in his grip. The only sound he could hear was his blood rushing in his ears and all he could see was Aimee, her eyes and her scent and her warmth drowning out his senses.

Pushing gently, and using his grip on her elbows to guide her, he walked her slowly backwards into the cooler, dark shadows behind the pillars. Her eyes never left his face as they moved; a contented acceptance showing in her face along with utter, innocent trust. It was this open trust that made him falter, his head turning to the side to draw in a steadying breath and only then that he realized the position they had put themselves in.

Shame flew through him. His hands dropped away, his posture snapping taut. Turning completely away from Aimee, one face in the shifting swirling mass of people caught his attention. Thrown back into mind-set required for this task he studied the face intently, matching up the features with a drawing of the informant that Rene had provided for him.

"I shall return presently," he muttered, moving away quickly, not seeing how her face had frozen nor hearing the shuddering sigh that escaped from her chest.

Like a cat stalking an unsuspecting bird Enjolras moved around the edge of the crowd, his eyes never leaving the unassuming figure of the informant. He was a short man, overweight and red-faced with nervously shifting eyes and a forehead creased from self-centred worrying. His round face was sweating from the heat of the room, the neat moustache adorning his top lip glistening in the light of the candles.

"Are you an enthusiast of hawking, monsieur?" Enjolras said by way of greeting, the code identifying him as Le Faucon's representative.

The little man jumped in surprise, a plump gloved hand flying to his chest in surprise. "That was not a polite way of introducing yourself, monsieur," he reprimanded, self-consciously smoothing the lush cloth of his navy blue coat. Checking a showy timepiece that he pulled from his pocket he raised a brow in consternation. "You are early," he commented.

Enjolras shrugged, "No time like the present. Wouldn't you agree?"

The informer paused and glanced around uncomfortably, "Might I suggest that we remove ourselves to somewhere slightly quieter?"

Inclining his head, Enjolras encouraged the man to lead on. Hesitating for just a brief moment he glanced across for where he had left Aimee, seeing the pale gleam of her dress in the shadows behind the pillar. She had not moved at all. He only hoped it remained that way until he got back; that she would remain out of sight and unbothered by any of the other partygoers.

A small sound of annoyance coming from the informer tugged him back to the task at hand and without another word he followed the man through the crush of stinking, sparkling people.

The heavy sigh that Aimee released as Enjolras walked away seemed to be pulled from the very depths of her body and soul. There was no point in her trying to fool herself any longer, she knew that now; she loved Enjolras and there was no escaping the fact. When she was near him she felt alive, fulfilled, whole. She tilted her head back against the cool of the wall, letting her eyes slip shut in a futile attempt to calm the maelstrom of emotion swirling inside of her.

"Despite it being an over-used cliché; what is a beautiful woman such as you doing stood alone?" The voice was smooth and elegant, as rich as the unfamiliar surroundings she stood in.

With a violent start she came back to herself, a flash of fear igniting within her, eyes widening as she took in the lean figure leant against the column directly opposite her.

The man who stood before her was dressed entirely in black. Black leather shoes, black silken stockings, black velvet knee breeches, a black satin waistcoat embroidered with barely noticeable golden patterns – the only colour visible on him –, a black tailcoat, a black silk cravat with a silver pin, a black mask fastened on a pale face.

His face instantly drew her gaze; the chiselled cheekbones that could rival even Enjolras', the sharp jawline made harsher by his naturally pale complexion and the contrast with his raven dark hair tied neatly with a ribbon at the base of his neck.

"Good evening, monsieur," she greeted politely, moving out of her reclined position to bob him a neat curtsy.

This seemed to amuse him for a shard of a smile glimmered across his thin lips. As fast as a striking snake he had ensnared her hand with his own, bare except for a heavy gold ring, and pressed it forcefully to his lips. "The pleasure is all mine," he glanced obviously at her left hand, "mademoiselle."

Aimee smiled brightly, but it was false and, she knew, tinged with nerves. Something about his actions made her uncomfortable, an uneasy feeling that skittered down her spine like a silent message. These feelings must have been marked on her face for he released her hand and stood back once more, putting a respectable amount of distance between them.

"It is the strangest feeling being stood here," he said lightly, his face suddenly open and warm, the change so sudden it amazed her, "but I feel like a piano key who has just met its other half."

His easy manners and engaging comment made her relax, the fear slipping away once more as she released a light laugh. "It does most certainly seem that way," she agreed wryly, looking back and forth at their contrasting costumes, "If you do not mind me asking, but what are you meant to be representing?"

"Darkness," he replied, the sudden drop in his register making goose bumps break out on her arms, but then he smiled, once more friendly and light, "or at least something like that; maybe a spider? One of those exotic panthers from the jungle? A bat?" He released a warm ring of laughter, "I honestly have no idea, though I like the idea of being a panther. Beautiful, dangerous creatures," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Have you ever seen one?" Aimee queried, having only seen an illustration or two of the illusive creatures.

"Yes," he replied, moving to lean against the wall beside her, "but sadly not alive. A friend of mine acquired the skin of one which he had made into a rug."

"Oh," she murmured politely, personally thinking what a tragedy it was that such an animal had been killed for sport, "So what is it that you do, monsieur?"

He gave her a look of mock affront, barely visible eyes glimmering darkly behind his mask. "My dear lady," he pronounced in a hurt voice, "I am a gentleman. I do not work for a living, unless you include a little investment gambling work."

"My apologies," Aimee stammered, scrambling to remedy her mistake, "I did not mean any insult…"

A chuckle rumbled through his chest and she was startled to discover that he had moved closer without her realising it, so close that she felt his exhale of air across her collar bone. "You really are quite charming when you are flustered," he purred, one hand curling out to wrap around her wrist.

She stiffened in discomfort, her head moving as she searched desperately for Enjolras among the socializers.

"Oh," another puff of air from another deep chuckle, "have I frightened you?"

In almost horrified fascination she turned to look at him, his cocky smirk causing her stomach to roil.

"I think I prefer you when you are frightened," he whispered against her ear, a shiver of panic washing over her as he began to tug experimentally on her wrist, seeing if she would put up any resistance.

"Let me go," she ordered in a shaking voice, "I shall assume you are drunk and not acting like yourself. If you let me go now I won't scream and cause a fuss."

There was no warmth now in the smile he gave her, his teeth sharp and white, "But I would prefer it if you did scream, at least once we are alone."

Now riddled with disgust she tugged to free her arm, wincing as his long fingers tightened their grip. "Let me go," she ordered, preparing to shout out despite knowing that the last thing she and Enjolras needed was attention on them.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything," Enjolras said, appearing suddenly from the right, his voice a whip coil of barely contained fury.

The other man paused, looking Enjolras up and down with a sneering intensity. "Is this your matching ivory key, my dear?" he drawled, finally releasing her wrist, "Such a shame you decided to cut in now, monsieur. Things were just starting to get…interesting."

"We are leaving, Aimee. Now." The command was growled at her between gritted teeth and his grip when he took her hand was less than gentle.

Enjolras' reaction caused her mysterious attacker to smile in sardonic amusement as he pushed away from the wall and made to pass them. "Have a lovely evening, my dear," he whispered as he drew level with her, "I do hope we meet again." He gave another slow smirk, accompanied by a mocking bow, before being swallowed up by the ever-changing, shifting multitude.

"It is nice to see that you were amusing yourself," Enjolras hissed to her as they began to battle their way back towards the entrance hall, "though I find your taste in companions not to my liking." Finding their way blocked by a very large woman in a far too tight red gown he huffed in frustration, "I don't even know why I had to bring you!"

Upon hearing his words she wrenched her hand from his grasp and refused to move another step. "Oh, well that's appreciative of you," she snarled, uncaring of the curious looks her raised voice drew, "Ever the gentleman, are you not!"

They were stood in the lower end of the foyer, so close to the door Enjolras could see the black rectangle of the night sky above the shimmering haze of the candles. The packet of documents handed to him by the informer burned against his skin where they rested above his pounding heart, and a mixture of fear and frustration rushed through him as he took in the stubborn set of Aimee's shoulders and her balled fists. They could not have this conversation here.

"Stay here," he demanded, intent of retrieving their cloaks, ordering for their carriage and getting as far away from this party as was possible as quickly as possible.

On his own it was easier to reach the door where he politely requested for the carriage they had arrived in (once again paid for by the money given over to the mission) and for their cloaks to be fetched for them. He was just about to make his way back to where he had left Aimee, cloaks in hand, when he was grasped by the arm and jerked around. Terror shot through him, his stomach sinking, expecting to be faced with a stern-eyed National Guardsman here to arrest him. Instead he came practically nose to nose with a tall, thin middle-aged man who was quite obviously inebriated.

"I say," the stranger bellowed in a loud voice, "don't I know you from somewhere? Your face looks very familiar?"

Flabbergasted, Enjolras stayed silent and attempted to pull away, but the man's grip was surprisingly firm for one so drunk.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, flinging an arm wide and nearly smacking a passing woman in the face, "I know where I know you from! I know your father! He lives down south, doesn't he? Oh, what was his name? Anglebosh? Elensmosh? Arensass? Ah, I've got it! It's Enjol…"

Before the man could finish and betray Enjolras' identity, a silken gloved hand was peeling away the constricting fingers, white feathers and silver roses were obscuring his vision, and a fast paced language he didn't understand filled his ears.

Aimee smiled widely at the intoxicated man who was staring at her with wide eyes. "Oh, I do apologise for my cousin!" she chattered, her French now heavily accented, "His French is not yet so good. Also he is a little…" She mimed drinking, raising her eyebrows knowingly.

The man smiled bashfully and stepped back, his cheeks rosy from the heat and his eyes glassy from the alcohol. "I do apologise," he slurred, "I thought I knew him from somewhere. Obviously not if you're from…where are you from? Spain? The colonies?"

"Italy," Aimee replied, taking her cloak from Enjolras and fastening it about her shoulders, "It has been truly wonderful to meet you, signore, but we must be going. We begin our journey back to Italy tomorrow so we have an early start! Arrivederci!" Hooking her arm through Enjolras' she towed him the length of the entrance hall, out of the door, down the steps and straight into the carriage that was awaiting them at the bottom.

It was only as the vehicle began to move, leaving the party behind at last, that Enjolras exploded. "What the hell was that!"

She shrugged, mirth dancing in her eyes, "Me getting you out of some hot water. What was it Rene said about me, hm? That I have a sharp mind so I can think on my feet? That I can remain seemingly calm under pressure? You may find my 'taste in companions not to your liking', but I'm pretty sure you're damn glad I came with you now! "

He frowned, still off balance from the whole incident. "What were you even speaking?"

"Italian," was her matter-of-fact reply.

"When did you learn to speak that?" he asked, embarrassment at his incompetence in the situation flooding his cheeks with colour that thankfully went unseen.

"My mother was Italian," she said softly, the unexpected softening of her voice catching him off guard. "It also transpires that she worked at the same theatre I do. It was where she met my…father."

He felt at a loss. There had been a time not so long ago that every discovery that she made, good or not, she told him about it first. But that was before he ruined everything. "I didn't know that."

"I never told you." It was now so dim that he could not see her, but he heard her heavy sigh, "I miss not being able to tell you. I miss the time we used to spend together." Her words were so quiet he was sure that he had misheard.

What did he do? What did he say? How should he act? Now that that the pressure was gone and the task completed his mind focussed onto one simple fact.

He loved her.

It had taken several months, a painful separation and a forced reunion, a savage blaze of jealousy upon catching sight of her in the arms of another man, and a deep respect of her for saving him in the foyer for him to truly accept it, but he did love her. He shifted in the dark, leaning forwards and grasping for her hands, holding them gently when he found them.

"I miss you as well," he confessed in a whisper, the warm privacy of the darkness making the utterance seem almost religious; a confession of the purest type.

They were jolted slightly as the carriage came to a halt, the front door of Margo's house just visible in the night. The windows were dark, the house silent. Slowly, delicately, and never once releasing each other's hands, they exited the carriage. It moved off instantly, disappearing back from whence it originally came, leaving them stood on the street in the stillness of the night. A small breeze blew, whipping around their feet and swirling Aimee's skirts around her legs. She shivered, a small movement, but one he noticed none the less.

"Why don't you come upstairs?" he asked, curiously nervous of a sudden, "It's warmer up there."

"I would like that," she replied, looking down at their still clasped hands as if not trusting her own eyes. Slowly, her head rose, and he held his breath as their gazes locked for a brief moment. "I would like that very much."

A/N Ehehehe! So, what did you lot think? Did you like? Were there parts you didn't understand? What do you think is going to happen next? Hopefully the next chapters should be pretty easy to write as I've been writing this next section in my head for months now and I've finally reached it! Throw me a review to let me know what you think!

Until next time, mes amis!

Libz