Disclaimer: Marius, Cosette, Musichetta, and the Friends of the ABC aren't my creations, they're Victor Hugo's.

    Notes: Ooooh, goodness. Second-to-last chapter. And I'm really not sure if the sentences are accurate. If anyone knows and can correct me, I'll love you forever. I also love forever all who've reviewed. I want to do something for you guys. ;-; Um... could I... er... write something for you? I don't knooow! But thank you anyway.

  This chapter took me forever to write. I didn't know what to do... I kept changing my mind. I do like Louis, though. ^^ Hee hee.

     Life in the jail cell was far from exciting. Even the ones protesting most loudly their captivity had quieted after a few days. Feuilly, using a pin he found in his pocket, had begun boredly carving a bird on the wall. He dutifully added details, for he had a lot of time. Courfeyrac's condition worsened, and there was nothing Combeferre could do. He begged the guards for Courfeyrac to be taken to a doctor, but they didn't particularly care if the prisoner lived or died.

    The dirty cell window provided scant light, only enough to tell when it was night and when it was day. Bossuet soon realized how easy it was to lose track of time, when he awoke one morning and couldn't recall how long he had been there. He tried his best to remember, but he simply couldn't. It had been six days ago when they'd brought Courfeyrac... or had it been only four? The day Feuilly started carving the wall... had that been two days ago or three? He frowned looking at the floor, trying to remember.

   "This one," he heard a guard say gruffly, and he looked up to see a guard leading someone to their cell. He blinked once, twice. The one with the guard... it looked like...

    "Is that-?"

    Combeferre was two steps ahead of him. He practically flew to the door, wrapping his hands around the bars.

   "Pontmercy!"

   Bossuet and Feuilly were at Combeferre's side in a flash. Feuilly noticed that Marius didn't look entirely well... his curls were pitch black against his skin, which looked china-white, except for a dark smudge beneath each eye.

    "We thought that you were killed!" Bossuet said incredulously, looking Marius over from head to foot.

    "Yet here I stand," Marius said, smiling weakly. He leaned slightly to the side, looking past the trio standing before him. His dark eyes fell on Grantaire, sulking in a corner, and Enjolras, who was looking at him with a gaze that seemed almost wary. Marius was a bit hurt by the cold greeting, but he didn't show it. He looked back at Combeferre, Bossuet, and Feuilly.

     "And why do you stand here?" Combeferre asked. "Why risk being associated with rebels and sent to jail?"

    "I am too deeply associated with you to ever think of backing away," Marius replied.

     "What do you mean?"

      "I'm your lawyer."

      "Pontmercy? Our lawyer?" Grantaire spoke up at last. "Then we will surely be hanged."

       "Silence, capital R." Enjolras spoke up, as well.

       "And what have you to say in our defense? The judge knows we are guilty. The people know we are guilty. We know we are guilty. And so do you."

       Marius's face fell. If his friends didn't have any hope of being freed, they didn't need him to defend them.

      "We appreciate it," Bossuet said, seeing his forlorn expression. "Truly we-"

       "No we don't," Grantaire interrupted. All eyes were suddenly on him. "Pontmercy just feels guilty. He is guilty that we were caught and he was not. And he is trying to make up for it... but, of course, staying a safe distance away. A lawyer, not a prisoner. He cherishes his freedom too much. More than us. More than our cause."

     No one, especially Enjolras, missed that Grantaire had called them 'us' and 'our cause' rather than 'you' or 'yours.' But it didn't seem the appropriate time to comment. Grantaire, too, was perfectly aware of it. All those days had given him some time to think. If he was in jail for it, why not join the cause he was imprisoned for assisting?

      Marius left the jail feeling disheartened. He had mumbled a goodbye, saying he'd see them in two days. That was when the trial was. And his strongest defense had never replied to his letter. That day, too, Cosette said upon his return that no letters had come for him. Marius sank wearily down into a chair. Cosette hurried to his side.

     "What's wrong, Marius? Are your friends well?" she asked, wringing her hands worriedly. After this, she vowed, she would make sure that Marius didn't know personally anyone he represented. It was too stressful.

      "As well as one in jail can be, I suppose," Marius said dully. Cosette pressed her hands against her breast. It broke her heart to see him like this. His eyes were so flat, and he was so pale. He wasn't supposed to be that pale. It wasn't good for him to be working so hard, especially when he was just barely healed. But she couldn't stop him, even if he was torturing himself. She couldn't stop him. He was like her father, in that aspect.

     Another way he was like her father was the huge part of him that she didn't know. She hadn't know that he was one of the rebel students until he had shown up at her door, unconscious and bleeding, from the barricade. And she still didn't know. Who were these men that he had fought with? What were they like? Did they have wives or wives-to-be weeping because they were locked away? In that, Cosette supposed, she was fortunate. Marius might be making himself ill and upsetting her, but at least he was free. And at least he was alive.

     Cosette set a gentle hand on Marius's shoulder. He smiled wearily up at her hand put his hand over hers. She was startled by the coldness of his hand, but she said nothing and simply smiled in return.

     "When this is over, Cosette," Marius said, taking her hand and pulling her closer. "When it's over, things can be normal. We can be wed and it won't be like this."

    "Good," she said, smiling. "I'm glad."

      Marius released her hand and she went to her room, feeling mostly happy. Except for one little part of her that wasn't content with the future. It was still worried about the here and now.

      The sun had hardly risen when Cosette awoke. It had been two days since her talk with Marius and, still bleary-eyed, she had the feeling something important was happening that day. But she couldn't recall what. But she neatly brushed out her curls and styled them in a way that particularly flattered her, for if something important was happening, she wanted to look nice. It wasn't until after she had put on her nicest dress that she remembered. Today was the trial.

     Cosette hurried in her dressing and was heading to her door when it opened, revealing Marius.

     "Oh!" he stepped back. "I had been hoping you hadn't dressed yet. I just wanted to tell you that... you don't have to come. I mean, if you don't wish. Trials are such dull things, I wouldn't wish you to attend something you would find tiresome..."

    "What is the matter?" Cosette asked. Marius only babbled when he was upset. Marius sighed.

     "I just... I'm afraid, Cosette. I don't want you to be there to see if I lose. I don't want you to see... them."

     "Why on earth not?"

     "I'm just afraid it will upset you."

      But Cosette insisted. She could, Marius learned that day, be quiet stubborn when it suited her. And so the pair arrived at the courthouse. Cosette took a seat with all the other spectators, gossiping about whether the rebels would be hung or perhaps have their hands cut off. The mere thought made Cosette turn green. Surely they wouldn't...? Marius would be crushed if they did.

    Marius and Cosette had arrived early, so Cosette had a while to wait before the actual trial started. She didn't let herself get bored, though. She thought about all the things she'd been meaning to think about, but hadn't gotten around to. Things such as what to name a girl baby and what to name a boy. She wondered if Marius would protest naming a boy Jean. She thought about what to get Marius for his birthday. She was just thinking about what color rug might be best to put in a baby's room when the defendants were led in, followed by Marius. When she saw them, Cosette turned white.

    Marius had told her she may be upset, and now she saw why. They were merely boys! They were all scarcely older than Marius, and all looked awfully pale and underfed. The only one who looked at all healthy was the noble looking blond, who –though she hated to admit it- left Cosette breathless. He was a breathtaking sort of person, though, and he looked high born. Cosette wondered why he felt the need to become a rebel.

    The judge entered then, breaking off Cosette's train of thought as she rose. When the court seated itself again, the judge started reading off the names. He paused when he reached Gerard Courfeyrac. He looked at the group of rebels, then back down at his list.

     "Where is Gerard Courfeyrac?" he demanded. The thin boy with brown hair and glasses, who Cosette recalled was called Combeferre, tentatively raised a hand. The judge nodded to him.

      "If I may, your honor," he said. "Gerard Courfeyrac died of a fever last night. The guards in the prison wouldn't permit him to be taken to a doctor."

       Marius looked stricken, Cosette saw. That only served to increase the sick feeling in her stomach... and in her heart. The judge cleared his throat, hushing the whispers of the spectators, and the trial began.

       All in all, Cosette found it very tiresome, but she forced herself to stay awake. It would upset Marius if she were to doze off. But that didn't stop her mind for wandering. She snapped to attention, though, when the students were called to the stand. The poor boys had nothing to say in their defense. They would surely be hanged, and the mere thought was enough to almost make Cosette weep. She was surprised to see that the noble blond boy, the one called Enjolras, didn't even attempt to defend himself. He admitted to his rebellious actions with something that seemed like pride. The bald boy half-heartedly defended himself, but gave up about part-way through the questioning. The bespectacled boy who had spoken up at the start of the trial defended himself the best of any. He managed to twist his questioners' words, answering nothing. After he seated himself again, a small group silently entered the courtroom and seated themselves at the back. No one but Cosette seemed to notice.

     About half-way in, the judge said to Marius, "Have you any witnesses to bring forward?"

     All eyes, including Cosette's, went to Marius. She saw him swallow, and glance about. And she suddenly remembered the letter that he had so anxiously awaited in the days before the trial. The letter that had never come. What if...?

    "I will serve witness for the defense."

     All eyes shot to the back of the courtroom, where a young man now stood. From where he had been sitting, Cosette could tell that he was part of that group which had come in late. She glanced over and saw that Marius's eyes were wide as the young man strode to the front of the courtroom. As he passed the students, the one called Combeferre grabbed the young man's sleeve.

     "Louis!" he hissed, so softly that none but Louis could hear. "What are you doing here?"

     "Surely I wouldn't let my only elder brother be hanged?" he said this loudly, and all heard him say it. Now that it was mentioned, Cosette noticed a distinct resemblance between the two. They had the same eyes and hair, and manner of carrying themselves. The young man seated himself at the front of the room.

     "P-please state your name for the court," Marius said, taking a moment to steady his voice.

      "Louis Combeferre," he said confidently. He sat with a straight back, his eyes forward.

      "Could you please tell the court about your older brother, Romaine Combeferre?"

       "Certainly," Louis said, a crooked sort of grin on his face. "My brother and I are from a wealthy family. We were both given the best of upbringings and the finest schoolings. My brother went to Paris to attend school there. He was sent money monthly, and surely wanted for nothing. What reason would my brother have to fight for something as foolish as the rights of the poor? Surely if the poor could simply work a full day without spending all their money on drink, they would no longer be poor."

     Enjolras was livid, but Combeferre laid a hand on his arm. He understood where Louis was going.

      "It truly makes no sense to presume that Romaine, or any of these other gentlemen- hello, Olivier, how are you?- (At this Bossuet gave a half-smile and a little wave to Louis, whom he had never met in his life) would be as involved in something as foolish as a rebellion against this fine city of Paris and this fine country of France. If you believe that you saw any of them there, you truly need to look into a fine pair of spectacles. And even were it them, I'm sure that they did not go there of their own free will."

      "Ahh... thank you, Monsieur Combeferre," said Marius after the prosecution had made it clear they had no questions. The relief was evident in Marius's voice. "You may step down."

     "Oh, God," a plump, chestnut-curled girl sitting next to Cosette gasped. "Perhaps they won't be hanged after all!"

      "One can only hope!" Cosette agreed, and the two girls clasped hands.

       With Louis's testimony, the whole court had burst into excited chatter. The judge slammed down his gavel, and when he finally had the people's attention, he announced there would be a short recess, after which the verdict would be announced. Cosette and the girl beside her rose together, looking at one another for the first time.

     "What is your name?" Cosette inquired, feeling rather foolish not even knowing the girl's name.

     "Musichetta," was the girl's response, and Cosette introduced herself, as well, using Marius's last name. Just to get into the habit.

      "Oh, goodness! You're the lawyer's wife!" the girl's round cheeks flushed with joy. "I simply must introduce you to Olivier, then. He's like to meet you. Sooner, rather than later, simply because... oh...well, goodness, I just have to say it, don't I? He just may not be around later."

      "Whatever do you mean?" Cosette asked.

       "Oh, goodness... Olivier Bossuet. One of the students being tried. I refuse to call them rebels. I do. I do not feel they were rebels at all, I feel they were doing just the right thing! And seeing their friends, God rest them, killed before their eyes... is that not punishment enough for any person?"

      "I agree, I agree!" Cosette said, laying a hand over her heart. "I do! And poor Marius has worked so hard. He wants so desperately... oh, I fear he would just die were they to be sentenced to death."

       "Just do not say it! Saying it makes it too real. I always thought that. Now, I suppose, I realize it is not true. Never once in those two horrid, horrid days did I let myself say there was a chance one of them might be killed, yet..." tears filled Musichetta's eyes and Cosette quickly handed her a handkerchief. Musichetta took it and dabbed at her eyes, smiling weakly at Cosette.

       "We've not much longer to wait," Cosette said gently. That proved quite true, for just that moment the people were ordered to reseat themselves. They did so, and the judge re-entered and seated himself. Cosette was breathless, as the entire court seemed to be. The judge looks solemn.

     "Would Romaine Combeferre please step forward?" The student did so. He walked with a straight back and his head held high, but even Cosette could see how tense he was.

     "The court finds you, Romaine Combeferre...innocent."

      Combeferre and Marius looked equally shocked, and Cosette relaxed the slightest bit. She glanced over and saw that Musichetta was still on edge. She had practically tied the handkerchief she held into knots. Combeferre stumbled over to his brother in a sort of a daze. The judge cleared his throat.

      "Olivier Bossuet, please step forward." The bald-headed student did so. Cosette saw his hands trembling, though his face was relatively calm. Musichetta's hands were to her cheeks, pressing so hard that Cosette was sure she'd leave marks.

      "Olivier Bossuet, the court finds you innocent," the judge said quickly. Musichetta let out a cry, then fainted. Bossuet looked in her direction- as did most of the court- and saw her for the first time. Cosette had whipped out her fan and was frantically fanning the fallen girl. When Musichetta gradually returned to her senses, the court calmed down. As she and Musichetta resettled themselves, Cosette was horrified to hear someone behind her whisper about how disappointed they were that, so far, none of the students would hang. Cosette longed to whirl around and snap back a smart retort, but it wouldn't be proper. Pascal Feuilly was the next name called.

     "The court finds Pascal Feuilly guilty. He is sentenced to four years in jail."

     "Poor dear!" Musichetta said, one hand on her heart. "They had to sentence someone, and he's an orphan... no influential family to get angry. Who better than him?" she spoke calmly, but her face was a livid shade of red.

     Feuilly made no attempt to mask the shaking of his pale, slender hands, and when he reseated himself, he buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook, and Cosette couldn't tell if it was because he was frightened or because the boy was crying.

    "Isaak Grantaire, please step forward," the judge said. The student, who even kind-hearted Cosette found quite unattractive, did as he was bid. He stood nonchalantly before the judge, the only student so far to betray no fear. He did break his casual mask, though, when his verdict was announced. He scowled at having been found innocent.

     The last one the judge called forth was Gautier Enjolras. He walked proudly forward, his shoulders thrown back and his chin in the air.

    "The court finds you, Gautier Enjolras..." the judge paused, and cleared his throat. The whole court held their breath. "...guilty. You are sentenced to be hanged until dead."

    No one said anything. Enjolras maintained his composed and confident posture, but all of the color left his face.