A/N Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and favourited. It would mean a lot if you could review this chapter as I think…you all may like this one. ;)

The song used in this, A Thousand Years by Christina Perri, is not mine. Also, search for the 'Wicked' hints in this is you can!

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Me no own. Obviously.

Chapter Thirty-one

They kept their entrance into the house as quiet as possible, tip-toing past Margo's door and avoiding all of the squeaky treads on the staircase. After the dazzling glare of the party, Enjolras' apartment seemed very dark; the only light a dull glow emanating from the smouldering embers of the fire. Despite the lack of visibility, the room was warm and so Enjolras removed his cloak, draping it over the back of the sofa, and stooping to revive the fire, careful not to mark fabric of his costume.

The flames were soon dancing merrily in the grate and Aimee found a few candles hidden away in a drawer that he had forgotten about.

"I didn't think of looking there," he said wryly as the tiny inferno sprung up to give a little more illumination.

"I put them there when I was tidying up once," Aimee said, moving around the room with a familiarity that had not diminished regardless of the time she had spent away, "I remember it used to be such a mess in here."

"A fairly apt analogy of myself," Enjolras commented, lighting two more candles and pushing aside some of the chaos that had been created that evening.

Her only response was a small smile, the action morphing into a grimace as she went to seat herself on the sofa. "I hate corsets," she groaned, "Why is it considered fashionable to cut off your air supply?"

"Just take it off," he suggested, pulling off the tight leather boots with a sigh of relief, but suddenly realised how inappropriate the comment must have seemed. "I, ah, what I meant was, um…"

The sound of her laughter cut him off, her giggles rising in volume and intensity until she clamped a hand over her mouth to stem the flow. All this accomplished however was to cause a very loud and unladylike snort to erupt from her nose. It was such a ludicrous sound that Enjolras could not have restrained the laughter that bubbled up out of his chest even if he had wanted to. They laughed until they cried, not quite sure why, but simply revelling in the comfort brought about by each others' presence.

"Oh my word!" Aimee gasped, wiping away tears of mirth to leave tanned streaks in the powder that had been applied to her face, "I haven't laughed like that in far too long!" Seeing the make-up on her hand she grimaced again. "I really want to wash this off," she sighed, "I hate the feel of it on my face, even for the stage."

"And I refuse to wear this wig for another moment longer," Enjolras declared, ripping the hated object off his head and flinging it away into the darkened edge of the room, "It felt like a small animal was perched on my head all evening; an itchy animal."

She giggled again for a moment, bouncing to her feet. "I suggest we clean ourselves up and then reconvene for something to eat."

"That is the best idea I have heard all day," Enjolras agreed, also rising, "God, I've missed you and your ideas…"

His nonchalant comment sobered the mood in the room instantly, the intimate scene from the carriage coming to the forefront of both of their thoughts. Aimee saw something close to panic dash across Enjolras' face and she knew it was because now that they could see one another, now that they could talk and listen and try to understand each other…he had no idea what to say.

"Actions speak louder than words, Aimee darling, and music will fill the spaces in between the two." The voice was that of her mother, she knew that somehow, and it gave her a bittersweet pang of emotion to know that her mother was guiding her, even if she was not here.

"Aimee…" Enjolras began weakly, obviously having no other words, so instead of waiting for him, she gathered every tattered, shining piece of her courage and stepped forwards, closing the space between them until she could see the different shades of blue in his eyes and the few blond curls attempting to revert to their natural position.

"You know, Julien," she dropped her voice to a husky whisper, her use of his name instantly creating an intimacy between them once more, "I never did get that dance."

Her comment threw him off balance; she saw it in his eyes. "But we haven't any music," he reminded her, his hesitancy obvious though he did not step away.

She quirked an eyebrow at him, "I'm a singer, Julien; wherever I am there is music." The feel of his hand coming to rest on her waist surprised her, as did the sensation of him grasping hold of her other hand.

He stood them in a loose waltz position, waiting for her to make the next move. "Sing then, mon aimé," he breathed, his eyes bright with an emotion she prayed reflected the one showing openly on her face; love.

Her lungs swelled with air as she took a breath, moving closer to him until they touched, joined together and poised on the edge of the unknown, something simultaneously terrifying and wonderful.

"The day we met, frozen I held my breath." The first notes were shaky, her throat not warmed up properly, but it gave them a melody and they began to move. "Right from the start I knew that I'd found a home, for my heart beats fast, colours and promises. How to be brave? How can I love when I'm afraid to fall? But watching you stand alone, all of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow. One step closer…" Her eyes never left his as they danced, sweeping around the small space among the boxes and papers and furniture and packaging that crowded the room, putting everything in her heart into the words of the song. "I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid," she reached up and cupped his cheek, bringing them even closer together, "for I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more." She hummed the instrumental bars of the song, preparing to continue the next verse. Before she could, however, Enjolras took a nervous breath, licked his lips and sang, "Time stands still beauty and, oh, she is..."

Involuntary tears sprang to Aimee's eyes as his untrained but clear tenor voice washed over her, knowing that he meant every word he was singing.

"I will be brave," he continued, "I will not let anything take away what's standing in front of me. Every breath," he exhaled shakily, dipping his head to stare into her eyes, "every hour has come to this. One step closer."

Aimee joined him to sing the chorus, singing the words that resonated with both of them so deeply. "I have died every day waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid for I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more and all along I believed that I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me; I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more."

By now they were simply stood swaying with each other; her arms around his neck, his arms wrapped around her waist, their foreheads nearly touching.

"One step closer…" Aimee looked deep into his eyes, seeing the tears clinging weakly to his lashes. "One step closer…"

She stopped their movement and spoke the final chorus, the emotion overcoming her so much that she was unable to sing. "I have died every day waiting for you. Darling," at this her hand moved to his hair, tangling her fingers in the soft curls at the base, "I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more…" She let out a small yip of surprise as he swung them around quickly and dipped her, his smile as radiant as the sun after a rainstorm; warm and fresh and new. "And all along I believed that I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me; I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more…"

She trails off, the song finished, but he does not make any move to return them to an upright position. They stay as they are, eyes locked, breaths mingling, searching, searching each other's faces for a hint of untruth and finding none.

The feeling he had experienced earlier in the evening returned to him in that moment and, unlike before, he jumped. His lips fell softly to close the small distance between them, the first touch light, tentative. Never breaking the contact, he pulled her out of the dip until they both stood straight, no air between them now, just pure joy. It was an inelegant kiss to say the least, for neither of them had much experience with this sort of activity, but it mattered not to either of them.

Aimee's mouth was soft and warm on his; everything about her so intoxicating Enjolras swore he was drunk. As his hold tightened about her waist, her hands were not idle, sliding down from the nape of his neck to pull desperately at the lapels of his jacket.

The accusing crackle of the papers in his inside pocket tore Enjolras from his ecstasy, as effective at cooling his ardour as if a bucket of freezing water had been pitched over him. Jerking himself away he stumbled backwards, every reason that he had given himself of why this was an impossible liaison ricocheting through his mind. Surprised by his sudden withdrawal, Aimee gasped and half fell forwards, her hand catching the back of the sofa the only reason she remained upright. Turning away from her, shutting her face out of his mind, Enjolras attempted to control his trembling hands, running them through his hair and tugging at his clothing. "I'm sorry, Aimee," he announced shakily, "I should not have done that. It was inappropriate and I apologise."

There was utter silence.

Aimee could not believe what she was hearing. In fact, she was so dumbfounded that she was unable to form words. Stood before her, his back the only thing she could see, Enjolras was silent, unmoving but for his trembling hands that plucked pointlessly at his jacket, delving inside to remove a thick packet of papers. Her silence unnerved him, she knew that from the tense line of his shoulders, the taut tendons of his neck, he was resisting the urge to turn and face her. As if reaching some sort of decision, he squared his shoulders and made to move towards his room, every step he took away from her creating a greater distance between them than ever before.

"Don't you dare!"

The words escaped her mouth in a near hiss, causing him to jerk to a halt and spin to face her in surprise, the shining strands of his loose hair catching light in spun gold shards.

A clap of thunderous determination rolled through her; she released her supportive hold on the sofa and stepped out towards him, closing the seemingly gaping space that lay between them. "Don't you dare!" she repeated emphatically. "Don't do this to me, to us,again! What are you so afraid of?" she challenged. One step closer. "Or is it that I'm not enough, hm? You momentarily forget yourself in a need to slake your desires, but then remind yourself that I am so unworthy of you that…"

"No!" he broke in, horrified, "No! Never that!"

The final space between them was closed as she strode the last steps, crowding her face up close to his, every taught line of her body challenging him, attempting to provoke him into action. "Then what Enjolras!" she asked, exasperated, "What do you want with me? Why do you pull away every time we draw close to one another?"

"It was a mistake, Aimee…" he said coldly, trying to move away, to hide again, but she did not give him the chance, reaching out and gripping his collar tight in her fists.

"Look me in my eyes and tell me that you do not love me." Her ultimatum was blunt and inescapable, her defiant eyes filling his vision, clouding his judgement, weakening his resolve until he wrenched himself away with a sharp twist of his body.

"Is that what you want?!" he shouted, uncaring of whether they woke Margo or half the street. "You want me to confess my undying feelings of affection for you? Then what?" Angry tears pricked cruelly at the back of his eyes. "We live happily ever after?" His snort of derision made her flinch and he hated himself for that. "I am going to fight in a war, Aimee. I could die." The black and white admission of his own mortality brought him up short, but he knew he had to keep going. "I could die and where would that leave you? It would break your heart, I know it would, because…" he exhaled a shuddering breath as one hot tear broke free, "because you feel things so deeply it would destroy you." He raised his hand to dash away the second tear. "I will not be the cause of that."

There was a rustle of material and before he could move away she was before him again, eyes wide and dark, each thread of emerald brilliance tying him to her against his will. Her gentle hands were cool on his hot cheeks as she brushed away the salty admissions from his face.

"When I was lying in that alleyway, oh, how long ago it seems now, I was certain I would die." Her voice was a soothing murmur, a singing stream in the desert of his despair. "But then," a ghost of a smile fluttered past her lips, "then an angel appeared above me, with a halo of golden hair and eyes bluer than a summer sky." Her thumb traced around his eye socket, showing clearly whose eyes she was describing. "I was given a miracle, Julien, a second chance to live and I have come to realize recently that in life you sometimes have to grab things with both hands before they get away from you." She caught a third silver drop and rubbed it out across his cheekbone. "I let you go once. I will not let you pull away a second time." Her eyes never left his, but her fingers were never still; mapping his jawline, his cheekbones, carding lightly through the front of his hair. "And as for your chances of dying…well, a life lived in fear is a life only half-lived, dearest." She leaned in and pressed a butterfly light kiss to below his ear. "Just for this moment, live with me. Say there is no future for us, that one or both of us could die." Another kiss, this one on his jaw. "I know that too, but whenever I am with you…," she pulled back to gaze once more into his eyes, "I don't care…because I love you."

Her final words shattered the last of his reserve. Surging forwards he captured her lips in a searing kiss, his arms reaching out to clutch her close to him, his embrace promising to never let her go again. The packet of papers in his hand dropped uncared for to the floor. She pressed back eagerly, burying her fingers in his hair to secure him to her. They lurched backwards, mindless as to their direction, eventually colliding with the dividing wall of the kitchen.

Enjolras felt as if he were drowning, yet at once filled with oxygen. Driven by an instinct older than time, he moved his inexperienced ministrations to the column of Aimee's throat, the gasp she let out giving him a thrill of masculine pride.

Aimee felt as if she were falling and flying all at once, heady with desire and dizzy with happiness. The insistent pressure of Enjolras' warm lips on her pulse point made her gasp, the feel of his smile against her skin causing an ecstatic bubble of laughter to escape from her throat. Suddenly, he was gone once more, his lips leaving her skin, though he still stayed leant against her.

"What?" she whispered, any other volume seeming to desecrate this moment.

"People, coming up the stairs," he mumbled against her collar bone, pulling away and subtly trying to rearrange his clothing and her own to appear presentable.

He was right. Aimee could hear the thunder of boots rising up the staircase and with a quick-silver smile she moved away from Enjolras and disappeared into the kitchen to rinse her face in cold water, an exercise completed partially to remove her make-up, but mostly to douse the colour that no doubt rode high in her cheeks, a vibrant testament of their passion.

Enjolras had just enough time to retrieve the packet of papers from the floor before a key could be heard rattling in the lock, no doubt the spare that Margo kept in her quarters for emergencies. The door flew open to emit first Rene, then Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Margo, all of whom were out of breath and seeming rather frantic. Upon seeing him stood in the middle on the living room, the papers in his hands and a bemused expression on his face, the quartet came to a halt.

"What the devil are you doing back so early!" Rene barked, striding forwards to whisk the papers out of Enjolras' hands.

"We saw the…light…in the…window," gasped Combeferre, "thought…something bad…happened…Margo said that…shouting….woke her up…god I need to get fitter…"

Aimee appeared from around the corner of the kitchen wall, her face dripping with water. "What are you all doing here?" she questioned brightly, dabbing her face with a dry towel as she crossed the room.

Courfeyrac started momentarily before giving her a long, deep stare that made her feel very uncomfortable. His gaze then flickered to Enjolras and did the same, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "We were coming around anyway for when you returned and saw a light in the window. We thought someone had broken in, not realizing you had returned early."

"I heard shouting up here," Margo asked worriedly, clutching her shawl tighter around her shoulders, obviously roused from sleep, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes!" Aimee insisted with a smile, "Enjolras and I merely got into a bit of an argument."

"I hope you drew somewhat less attention to yourselves at the ball? There were no problems?" Rene inquired, barely even pausing in studying the contents of the package.

"No," Enjolras assured him, "no problems."

"Excellent. I am proud of your work this night, Enjolras." Rene said, securing the package once more and offering Enjolras his hand. "And you too, of course, mademoiselle," he amended, giving her a grateful nod, "Good night to you all."

"We had better be going too," Combeferre agreed, backing towards the door, "Would you like us to walk you back to your apartment, Aimee?"

"No, thank you." She smiled, "We agreed beforehand that I would stay with Margo tonight."

"Then why did you come up here?" Courfeyrac asked, his tone strangely sharp.

Aimee was taken aback, and answered curtly, "We were going to get something to eat, if you're really interested."

"Come," Enjolras said, for once the peacemaker, "we are all tired and short of temper. I think sleep is in order for us all." As if to reinforce his statement, he ineffectually attempted to stifle a yawn.

"Goodnight all!" Combeferre called cheerily from the stairs as he followed Courfeyrac down, the dandy having left surprisingly quickly.

Once outside, the young medic had to hurry to catch up with his friend. "What has got into you, mon ami?" he queried, drawing level and attempting to see his friend's face in the dark.

"Nothing," was his short reply, "I am merely put out that I must now buy Grantaire his drinks for a month."

Combeferre was puzzled for a moment, but a slow, steady smile grew on his face as he understood the statement. "So, Grantaire was right," he chuckled, "they did get together over this ball."

"It would appear so," the other answered stiffly.

Although he had no evidence to prove as much, Combeferre couldn't help but suspect that the Centre's poor spirits were due to the imminent draining of his income thanks to a poorly chosen bet. He frowned. What could be the matter?

A/N So, what did you guys think. Send me a review if you liked it!

Until next time, mes amis!

Libz