"Here," Maximilien passed them their tea, sliding the cups along the table as though he didn't trust himself to try and pick them up. He finally sat down himself, then, but appeared poised for action - as though he was ready to leap up at any second.

It was a tense half hour - they were all highly strung, and for the most part kept quiet; Maximilien especially so. Albert didn't think he had ever seen him look so empty and depressed - although behind all that, he was certain he could see the steely determination and hope which persisted in shining through. He was not broken yet, and, Albert hoped, never would be.

A sharp rapping on the door made them all jump violently - Maximilien leaped up and was out the door into the hallway in seconds. Eugénie and Albert followed him, but remained in the doorway of the dining room, fearing they would otherwise be in the way. The maid's corpse lay a few feet away from them; Maximilien must have covered her with a white sheet while he was out fetching tea, for her still, frozen face and bloody uniform could no longer be seen.

They peered around the doorframe, to see Maximilien making his introductions with a man in the dark navy uniform of the Marseilles gendarmes. He was a middle-aged man, maybe fifty or so, with a thin grey moustache and a stern face.

He regarded Maximilien gravely, the focus of his eyes shifting briefly to the crumpled white mound which lay on the floor just beyond - but it elicited no reaction from him, other than a slight hardening of the mouth. "Call me d'Anton," he said quietly, but there was a subtle power to his voice; one that showed he commanded authority.

"Maximilien Morrell," the ex-soldier said, inclining his head, expression deadly serious and filled with a quiet urgency. He moved backwards into the hallway, inviting the other man in. D'Anton followed, but stopped when he reached the heap on the floor, crouching down to get a closer look.

"Would you please explain what happened here to me again? In as much detail as you can." The tone of his voice was not accusatory, which Albert was thankful for, but his cold detachedness was slightly unnerving.

"Yes," Maximilien agreed immediately, closing his eyes briefly in thought and taking a deep breath, "Monsieur de Morcerf and myself…" he nodded in Albert's direction, "left the house in the early afternoon - we were heading for the port, but decided to take the scenic root, as Albert is not familiar with the town." Maximilien swallowed with difficulty, the guilt etched in his voice. "We were gone a long time, I know. On the way there, we met up with Mademoiselle Danglars…" again he nodded in the other two's direction, "and we decided to return. When we arrived back at the house… the door was already open…" He trailed off, while d'Anton merely watched him silently, still crouched next to the dead girl.

Maximilien sighed, a deathly weary sound. "We rushed in, and found Marie…here… dead… I panicked and ran upstairs to look for Valentine and Monsieur de Villefort, but… they were gone." His eyes shone with unshed tears as he mentioned Valentine's name; it was clearly hurting him to stand here, doing so little.

"And do you have any idea who could have done this?" d'Anton's question was mild and directed at Maximilien, but it was Eugénie who stepped forwards, eyes blazing.

"Of course we do! And so should you," she scowled, eyes narrow and filled with anger at the man's silent non-reaction to hearing Maximilien's painful explanation. "In case you were somehow unaware, Andrea Cavalcanti is no longer imprisoned. In case you didn't know, everyone, including all of you lot evidently, have no idea where he is." Her mouth twisted into a smile, and she pointedly ignored the restraining hand that Albert had placed on her shoulder.

"Look, Eugénie--"

"Don't!" she interrupted him, still focused on d'Anton, who thus far had not responded to her words at all. "Look. Andrea Cavalcanti is insane, and has a vendetta against Valentine's father, and my mother. If Valentine and Monsieur de Villefort have suddenly gone missing - conveniently while Cavalcanti is out on the loose, I think it's fairly easy to assume that, yes, we have an idea of who might have done it."

D'Anton merely nodded, and then reached forwards, lifting the edges of the now-stained white sheet, and pulling it back to reveal the grey-tinged pallor of the girl who had once been one of the Morrells' maids. Eugénie seethed above him, but he seemed to be pointedly ignoring her. Instead, he examined the dark, congealed gashes which spread across the body's chest and abdomen. Only two of them were very deep; the rest were shallow - probably desperate swipes from a distance. Her eyes were locked in an expression of surprised horror, evident despite the blankness that death had brought them. He gently shut her eyelids, and replaced the sheet.

"Show me the room where Madame Morrell and Monsieur de Villefort were taken from," he said briskly as he rose, looking behind him in slight irritation as Albert and Eugénie followed, their determination to stay with Maximilien obvious.

Albert was unsure what to think about d'Anton; on the one hand, he did seem like a very capable man, who would be able to handle things rationally and calmly. But on the other… he glanced surreptitiously at Eugénie, watching her has she glared openly at the gendarme ahead of them. Albert was inclined to agree with her - he hoped the man didn't know as little as he seemed, or they could be in for a long session; which, of course, would only delay them in their search for Valentine and Villefort.

Maximilien slowly - almost reluctantly - opened the familiar wooden door at the end of the upstairs hallway. Everything was exactly as it had been left earlier; an overturned chair, scattered books and papers, smashed china on the floor… d'Anton entered and scanned the room, as if he were searching for something.

The room glowed brightly in the false light, but nothing could rid it of the tense, ominous atmosphere which pervaded its every corner. D'Anton didn't seem to want to speak to any of them very much - instead, every so often he'd reach inside his pocked and pull out a small book to scribble quick notes in.

The gendarme stood, and, ignoring Albert and Eugénie completely, focused on Maximilien. "So, how do you think Madame Morrell and Monsieur de Villefort allowed themselves to be overpowered? What makes you so sure that it was just one person?"

Maximilien's entire countenance darkened, his brow creasing in anger, "allowed themselves? I take it, then, that you have not heard that Monsieur de Villefort is an invalid, and spends his days in a wheelchair, needing almost constant care. Valentine would not… would not have abandoned him." A faint spark of realisation lit up in his eyes, then, and he continued, "it would have been Monsieur de Villefort Cavalcanti was after. Valentine probably… probably wanted to be taken as well, just so she could try and look after him…" he broke off, clearly deeply troubled.

The gendarme was nodding slowly, still adding to the contents of his notebook, "do you have any idea where he might have gone now?" Although he was standing in front of Eugénie, Albert could practically feel her anger radiating as d'Anton yet addressed this question to Maximilien.

"Oddly enough," she clearly, stepping around Albert and into the room, directing her gaze specifically on d'Anton, "we do. And if you weren't being such a--" she cut herself off when she felt Albert grab her arm from behind in warning; he was right, this wasn't really the right person to direct her anger towards, and though the possibility was slim, he might be able to help them find Valentine. "Well," she continued, calming herself, "as I mentioned earlier… Cavalcanti is also after my mother, Madame Danglars, who lives in Paris. So perhaps that might be a good place to start looking."

The inspection and questioning took a long time; it was many hours before the gendarme left with Marie's body and, with promises of sending over a forensics team the next day. It was well past three am before any of them could retire to bed - but, unsurprisingly, Maximilien found that no sleep would come to him, when Valentine's side of the bed lay empty and cold. He shivered, very afraid. And, somewhere inside, there was a part of him that was already weeping.

----------------

Albert de Morcerf was not a morning person - anyone who knew him could tell you this; it was never a good idea to try and pay a visit to him before noon, because he simply wouldn't be up. And even then, when he finally did appear, it would be reluctantly and while still yawning. On this particular morning, however, Albert found that he just couldn't sleep. He awoke early, with a heavy feeling of dread settled in his stomach. He lay in bed for a while, burrowed down under the soft duvet as he thought about what they were going to have to do. His face was dark and pensive, shrouded in shadows by the covers pulled up by his head.

What were they going to do if… if…

He couldn't bring himself to finish that thought; no, Valentine had to be fine - she just had to be.

He was abruptly shocked out of his downbeat thoughts by a loud pounding on his door, and a voice yelling at him, shouting at him to… what? It took a moment to register, but he finally realised that it was Eugénie's voice, commanding him to get up and get ready. He slid out of bed, wincing as a sharp pain suddenly made itself known, stabbing at the side of his head, determined and persistent. It was six am.

When he made it outside, brown hair mussed and sloppily dressed, he found Maximilien and Eugénie waiting for him in the hallway. Both looked worn down and weary – Maximilien especially so; he had dark circles under his eyes, and Albert got the feeling that, in fact, he had never been to bed at all. Eugénie wasn't any better off; her face was pale and tense, her brow furrowed in worry, and she took a minute to focus on him once she realised he was there.

"Albert…" her voice wavered a little as she spoke, and she fiddled with a silver ring on her finger, as if she didn't know what to do with her hands. Something else had happened; he knew it immediately. Could see it in the pained emotions in her eyes, and he walked over beside them, looking between them anxiously.

"What's happened?" He couldn't help but feel useless; he was not as involved with all of this as they were, and it pained him that he had to watch them like this, see them go through this torture. Maximilien's expression was stoic, but Albert could see the anger in his eyes.

"There… there was a video call from Andrea Cavalcanti." Her voice was quiet, but oddly calm.

"What! When?" The question exploded from him, anger and shock darkening his blue eyes – that Cavalcanti had dared – had dared to…

She took in a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly. "Just half an hour ago. He… he wanted to talk to me." Albert stared at her in disbelief.

"To… to say what?" He clenched his fists unconsciously, unable to believe that Eugénie had had to face him, after all that he had done to her – and, evidently, planned to do. Maximilien was staying oddly quiet; he watched them sadly, and sat down heavily on a nearby chair. Dawn was breaking, and the first faint strains of sunlight were attempting to light up the shadowed hallway. Eugénie looked almost ghostly in the new light, her pale eyes darting from Albert to the floor, as she seemed to be debating with herself whether or not to look at him.

"Well… as we knew, he has Valentine and Monsieur de Villefort. He won't say where. His surroundings look bare and basic, from what we could tell – though considering he lost his fortune, I suppose that's not really surprising… you know, I wonder if—"

"Eugénie," Albert interrupted, frowning – he could tell she was reluctant to talk about it, but he wasn't prepared to let her go off on delaying tangents when it was clearly something important.

"Yes, yes…" she sighed, and gave him a small, fearful smile, "I… I don't know why… but he wants me as well." A small shudder ran through her body, and she hugged her arms around herself. "His… his smile, and his laugh…"

For a moment, Albert couldn't breathe. How could this be happening? This wasn't… Eugénie was supposed to be safe, and happy – that's why she'd gone away to New York; that's why she'd left him…

After a short pause, she continued, "we have to leave very soon, you know. He's still after my mother, and we must find Valentine and her father as soon as possible. That look on his face, Albert… if he got angry, I don't believe he'd think twice about…"

"No." His voice rang out in the silent hallway, flat and loud. His mouth was set in a hard line, and there was steely determination in his eyes.

"Wh – what?" Eugénie was watching him uncertainly, lips slightly parted in surprise.

He shook his head, ignoring both looks of confusion he was receiving, "no. You're not going, Eugénie."

The sound of the loud slap that followed seemed to echo for an age. He flinched, blinking in shock as a bright red imprint made itself known upon his cheek. Eugénie was glaring at him, the fury in her eyes not at all softened by the few tears that were also gathering there.

"How dare you?" she gestured angrily, turning from him suddenly as though she couldn't bear to look. "This – this is my mother at risk. And Valentine. Where would you suggest I go, hm? Stay here? Oh – wait – that's probably too dangerous too. Back to New York? Where I could just sit, and worry, and make myself sick with the knowledge that maybe I could have done something, but instead my friends and family could be dying at the hands of a madman, just so I could be safe?"

Albert found he couldn't speak, and turned sorrowful eyes towards Eugénie who, it seemed, had just about finished her tirade. Maximilien was looking on still in concern, gaze focused on the livid young woman.

"I… I'm sorry." His shoulders sagged slightly in defeat, and he could feel her anger fade somewhat. "I… Eugénie, don't you understand? If you go after him… what if you're just walking straight into his trap? This must be what he wants you to do… and… and if I can't do anything…" he trailed off, his throat suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight.

When she spoke again, her voice was unexpectedly soft, but still determined and strangely calm. "You think I don't know that? Albert… it's not your duty to save me every time I get into trouble. I…" her voice wavered a little, as some of the anger returned, "of course I'm afraid of him. Even just thinking about what he's done…" she took breath, "the point is, Albert, that this isn't about me, and it's not about you. Poor Valentine… must be so afraid. Angering Cavalcanti by running away is probably the worst thing I could do right now."

Albert was looking at the floor, unable to meet her eyes as she exposed his selfishness. Because in spite of… in spite of everything she had said, Albert still found himself wishing that she was somewhere – anywhere – else, just so long as she was safe. A soft brush against his cheek brought his gaze up, and he found Eugénie looking at him sadly. It was strange, really, to consider themselves now, and how much they had changed in just a few short years. But Eugénie had always been strong, and determined; he knew that, had known if for a long time. She let her hand drop away, but her eyes lingered on his.

"I'm sorry. But you know that I have to do this." Silently, after a moment, he nodded, and she smiled at him.

Maximilien stood up and smiled at them wearily. "Well… I'll go and see about some tea and breakfast before we decide what it is we need to do next. They nodded gratefully, and as Maximilien headed off in the direction of the kitchens, Albert and Eugénie instead made their way to the dining room.

Dawn had broken, though the room was still quite dark. The house felt silent and empty, a foreboding, uncomfortable feeling making the silence feel aggressive. They took their seats at the end nearest the door, determined not to let this get the best of them.

It seemed Eugénie, though, did not really want to let the subject of their previous conversation go so easily. Albert sat staring solemnly at his hands, lost in dark thoughts until the blonde girl seemed to almost read his mind.

"It's not like with Franz, you know," she said quietly, watching him cautiously. She was unconsciously playing with her ring again, and Albert knew, as soon as she said it, that she was anxious about his response.

He almost laughed at the bitterness that welled up inside of him; that she could read him so well, that she could know…

"That has nothing to do with this." And it hurt, hurt so much to think about it, even now. Hurt to remember the pained, ragged breathing; hurt to remember the blood he couldn't stop, which just kept coming, seeping through the desperately made makeshift bandages; hurt to remember his own raw scream, still ringing in his ears; and it hurt to remember… no, it was excruciating to remember the light in those soft brown eyes fading, until there was nothing there at all.

He bit his lip sharply, struggling to prevent the hot tears from spilling down onto his cheeks. And suddenly he was angry with Eugenie, so angry, for making him remember it all so vividly – even though she was right. Because… because… always, at the back of his mind… what if it happened to her, too?

"Yes, it does." The look she gave him only irritated him, because it was so full of pity.

He stared fixedly at the table, pretending to find the dark grain of the wood fascinating.

"You can't blame yourself forever, you know," she continued relentlessly, and all the while Albert just wished she would stop talking about it. He knew that he had never got over it, not really; it was just something that he had tried to control; push to the back of his mind. "…and trying to be my hero won't help you feel any better about what happened then either." It hurt. It hurt a lot, and Albert didn't think he'd ever resented Eugénie as much as he did right then.

"No," he managed to choke out at last, hating the compassion in her cloudy grey eyes, "that's not how it is." He stood up abruptly, his chair falling back to clatter against the floor. "You… and Franz… it's different."

The blonde girl just shrugged and raised an eyebrow, "if you say so," her voice utterly nonchalant, as though completely oblivious to Albert's agitation.

Albert found that he was trembling slightly, and watched Eugénie angrily for a few moments, before turning and striding from the room. He had no idea where he was going, as he turned sharply in the corridor and headed for the front door - he just knew that he had to get away, get out, get some fresh air…

So early in the morning, the garden was naturally extremely chilly. He buried his hands in his pockets as he wandered along the path which ran parallel with the front of the house, breath escaping in puffs of warm air from his mouth. There was a thin sheen of early frost still covering the lawn and flowers; though it looked pretty and sparkled in the light of the rising sun, Albert knew that a few more nights like this, and soon there wouldn't be many flowers left at all.

He appreciated the peace and the silence as he turned to walk down the side path next to the house. Although he hated to admit it, what Eugénie had said was bothering him, undeniably. Was it all true? Was the only reason he was so obsessed with keeping Eugénie safe because of what had happened with Franz?

…perhaps.

He scuffed the grassy ground with his shoe as he walked; half out of petulance, half subconsciously.

Franz…

Even now, he still found it difficult to think about what had happened. About the fact that Franz had died for him - and willingly. He had died in Albert's arms, with a smile on his face.

But he deserved so much more.

The most painful thing about it, though, was that he knew he could have stopped it. Could have saved him. If he'd just woken up a bit sooner; if he'd just run a bit faster; if he'd just…

He pushed open the creaky wooden back gate and slipped through, gazing up at all the tall, spindly trees and bushes. The morning did not seem to be promising good weather - but, he supposed, chances are whatever they decided, today would be spent travelling at least.

Albert walked over to one of the wooden benches and sat down, chin resting on his hands, expression pensive.

"Albert!" The call drifted faintly to his ears from somewhere inside, "Albert!"

He supposed, with a grimace, that it was a sign that breakfast was ready - though to be perfectly honest, he wasn't sure that his body would want to accept any food; his stomach growled, but recoiled at the thought of it. He stood up reluctantly, and made his way back around the house and into the hallway.

Eugénie was sitting quietly with her back facing the door when he entered the room; Albert was quite glad, for he wasn't sure what he could possibly say to her after the way their earlier conversation had finished. The line of her shoulders seemed stiff, and she didn't look up as he came inside. Only Maximilien, was who sitting nearby and pouring him a cup of tea focused on him (and just gave him a very slight, weary smile)

"So…" he said, accepting the steaming cup with a quiet murmur of thanks, "what do you think we should… all… do?" If Eugénie objected to his hesitation over the word 'all', she refused to show it.

"Well…" Maximilien took a deep breath, "we can't really afford to wait any longer. It's… it's getting far too late, and Cavalcanti…" he trailed off, but then shook his head and forced himself to continue, "so, we leave before the forensics team comes. I know we'd be wanted here, but… it's not fair on Valentine." His jaw was set, eyes deadly serious. "First, we head to Paris. I think we should stay with Madame Danglars, even if that is what Cavalcanti is expecting; we have to try and keep her as safe as possible. And, safety in numbers to some extent, I suppose."

Eugénie was nodding, eyes glinting with worry, "I agree. Cavalcanti will have to be keeping Valentine and Monsieur de Villefort somewhere near Paris, so my mother's house can double as a place to search from, too."

They both looked at him questioningly as Albert didn't respond – to be perfectly honest, he did agree that what they proposed sounded like the best course of action, but, conversely… despite her objections, something in him did still balk at the thought of Eugénie coming along.

He forced himself to speak, "yes, yes… of course." Because no matter what his feelings were on the matter, it was Valentine's safety that truly mattered the most at the moment, as he was willing to do anything it would take to help get her back.

If Maximilien and Eugénie noticed how distracted he was, they didn't say anything. They merely nodded to each other, expressions set in fierce determination.

"All right," Maximilien said seriously, "we leave in an hour. Eugénie, are you okay to drive?" She gave him a small smile, and retrieved her gloves from her pocket.

"Of course," she pulled them on briskly, and stood up, turning to face Albert, "we don't know how long this will take, so don't forget to pack."

Albert rested his head on his arms tiredly as he watched Eugénie and Maximilien leave the room. He knew he should get up, and return to his room to sort out his things, but…

His stomach felt as though it was twisted into a knot, and the tension in his neck refused to go away. It was so hard to believe that all of this was happening; he had thought that all the remnants from that time were either gone or finished – and, he thought… thought that maybe, he'd finally come to terms with it all. And yet… it seemed that one part of that nightmarish summer was determined to dredge up the past again.