A/N- Sorry that update took so long… my life suddenly got busy. And then I loaded the chapter onto the site to update and I forgot to in updating all my other fics and... well, I have lots of excuses.

Sorrowful Wind-Whisperer- Thanks for deciding to laugh. Yeah, their life sucks quite a lot, but not much worse than... say... Ponine... or Montparnasse... their lives sucked...

elenlaurelin- Yay a squeehuggle! And of course yay for the fluffiness.

nebulia- In the words of dear Enjolras, 'Have faith.' Wow, you know I'm tired when it takes about seven tries to spell the name of an LM char right... That's a little embarrassing... Okay, now I dunno if I spelled that right...

T-R-Us- I know, it's terrible, I have lots of blood on my hands. LOTS. But when I pulled myself out of my narrow world of crossover parodies I found that I really like blood and tragedy and angst. As you might know.

H. Sibelus- It would suck, wouldn't it? Yes, Mark is the sweetness. If anyone ever meets a guy as sweet as Mark, tell me about it so I can stalk him down.

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Nina stared at Mark's pale face, horrified. He was gone… he'd left her. She would have to raise Jehan and Cosette alone… She'd have to start working again… This was the last time in her life she would be able to touch Mark... hold him… If only…

She heard a sound in the hallway and leaned over the rail of the hospital bed, pressing her lips against Mark's forehead. "Goodbye," she whispered.

The door jumped open as the nurse hurried in. She froze when she saw the pained expression on Nina's face. "Oh, ma'am…" she sighed. "I'm so sorry. I am, really. … I was told to tell you that the police brought your son here. He's waiting down the hall in the emergency room."

Nina glanced at Mark again, laying a hand on his cheek before she turned to leave.

"Those are yours, ma'am," said the nurse, pointing to three pieces of folded paper.

Thanking her, Nina took the letters and hurried out of the room. She folded them over again and stuffed them into her pocket before reaching the emergency room.

"Mom? Where's Dad? What happened? Is he gonna be okay?"

"Jé… Oh, Jehan…"

"What? What happened? Mom? … Mom!"

"He was shot," Nina whispered. Her son's face lost all its color. "Some kid at a gas station tried to rob him…"

"Is he going to be okay?"

Nina couldn't find her voice; she just shook her head.

"No, Mom! No! Let me see him!"

"He's dead, Jehan," Nina said bluntly. "Your father is dead."

Jehan's eyes widened. "No," he whispered. "Mom… Mom! Do you know that last thing I said to him? Do you? I told him he wasn't my father, and to stop trying to be! That was the last thing I said to him!"

Nina held her arms out for him, but Jehan stepped away.

It was at this time that the same policeman who had brought Nina to the hospital interrupted.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but we've caught the young fellow responsible. Would you like to come down to the station?"

Nina bit her lip and nodded.

-

John was sitting on a bench outside the police station, waiting for them. Cosette was asleep in his lap. "How's Mark?"

"He'd dead," Jehan said coldly, and hurried past and into the building.

Slowly moving Cosette out of his lap, John stood and faced Nina. "Did that boy just tell me…?"

"It's true," she nodded, blinking back tears.

John stood still for a moment, trying to comprehend what she was saying. Mark, gone? He looked at Nina, who was staring at the pavement and trying not to cry. "Come here," he sighed, holding out his arms. Nina stepped forward and let him hug her. "It's okay to cry, kid," he murmured. "Mark was the best guy I know. He was a great friend… He was crazy about you. I remember the first time he saw you… Your first day at the show… He comes rushing up to me saying, 'Who's she? D'you know her?'…"

She listened to him talk and cried silently into his shoulder. John's voice seemed to be getting hoarse, and Nina realized that he was fighting back his own tears.

"Mommy?" asked a tentative voice.

Cosette was awake; she stared at Nina and John with large, frightened eyes. Both the adults quickly dried their cheeks. "What's wrong, baby?"

The little girl looked seriously from John to Nina. "Why are you sad?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow, honey," said Nina. "John, can you take her back home? Please?"

He took a shaky breath. "Yeah, sure, kid. Hey, little Mark," he called cheerfully, "d'you wanna hang out at my place?"

Cosette's face broke into a radiant smile. "Yeah!"

"Come here, then."

The child clambered down off the bench and went to John, yawning widely. He scooped her up into his arms, and she laid her head on his shoulder – the same shoulder her mother had been crying on moments before. John gave Nina a half-hearted smile.

"Thanks," she whispered. He nodded.

Nina went into the police station, her heart pounding. She was going to meet the man who killed her husband – her sweet Mark. Jehan was sitting on the floor in the corner of the lobby, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head in his arms. Nina saw his back shaking with quiet sobs. She approached the policeman who had brought her there. He was sitting at the desk, watching Jehan.

"Sir?"

The policeman looked up at Nina. At the same time, Jehan's head jerked up and he scrambled to his feet, hastily wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I'm ready," sighed Nina.

He lead her into another room where a teenage boy perhaps a year older than Jehan sat sulkily in a corner. He had long, stringy black hair and dark eyes. When Nina saw him, her thoughts immediately turned to Montparnasse. The boy had black baggy pants and a few odd piercings, but the first thing Nina noticed was his brown leather jacket. She chewed apprehensively on her lower lip.

"This is the murderer," said the policeman coldly.

Nina saw the boy wince at the last word. "He's just a kid…" she muttered. "What… What's your name?"

The boy glared up at her, then returned his gaze to the ground.

"He'll be an adult before he gets out of jail…" she sighed. "One stupid decision can wreck your life."

The policeman agreed with her, adding another insult to the boy. Nina looked closer at the young murderer and realized that his hands were shaking.

"What's your name?" she asked again.

He still did not answer, and she turned to the policeman.

"What's his name?"

"Who?"

"The boy."

"Oh, him."

She waited. "Don't you know?"

"Well, we don't know his last name…"

Nina looked again at the sad figure in the corner. "What do you know?"

"His first name." The officer glared at the boy before turning back to Nina. "Scott."