A/N: Ok, I realize that the ending in the last chapter would imply we're picking off from June 5th - I swear I know what I'm doing. (although I might change the date in the other chapter if it doesn't make sense overall)

November 4, 1940

The rest of Paris was always sleeping when Enjolras went to work. There was no trace of the sun, and darkness provided both a comforting shelter and a mask over one's eyes. Enjolras was careful on these missions - he couldn't afford to be stopped by a German officer for being out before the new curfew had ended.

Enjolras walked briskly through the second arrondissement of Lyon, his eyes and ears alert for approaching footsteps or movement in the shadows. Down Rue de Victor-Hugo and through Avenue de la Bourdonnais, Enjolras kept his head down, his cap pulled over his ears, and his footsteps light. He was to meet someone at the intersection of Bosquet and Piquet; he had to keep up the hope that he would not be left waiting. The sun would be up again soon. Enjolras pushed aside the thought of what that would mean for him - for him and the others.

He was still walking with his head down when he collided with another person.

Enjolras' heart hammered in his chest and he struggled to right himself quickly to get out as quickly as possible. In that instant, his calculating mind started to run through his options. He had not yet been caught, and his face had not yet been identified. If he could just run fast enough -

"Enjolras? Is that you?"

Enjolras' blood ran cold and fear paralyzed his limbs as the alarms went off in his head.

"Enjolras?" The whisper became a soft call, and Enjolras heaved a sigh of relief at the familiar voice.

"Courfeyrac, one of these days I swear you'll be the death of me. Why aren't you at the Invalides?"

As Enjolras pulled the cap out of his eyes, he saw a man emerge from the darkness. His features were almost indiscernible in the dark, but the gleaming brightness of his grin gave him away.

"I wanted to surprise you. Aren't I a gem?" Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras close in an embrace, which Enjolras immediately tried to resist. Courfeyrac murmured in his ear, "There are dozens of Germans surrounding the hospital, mon ami. It's not safe for us there right now. Take the pamphlets to Montaigne, it should be clear."

"Aren't you coming?" Enjolras asked sharply.

Courfeyrac shook his head with a smug grin as he pulled away. "I have a girl waiting for me. Besides, I still have to prepare for the demonstration next week."

Enjolras shot him an icy glare. "Last time you're getting away with this, Courfeyrac."

"Ah, just get home before curfew ends, you old grump," Courfeyrac said with a soft chuckle. "Don't worry about me, I'm doing my part. I think I even got us a new recruit."

Enjolras sighed. "You can't keep trying to recruit your dates to the Resistance, Courfeyrac. Last time you did, that girl - Claire? - nearly gave us away to the Germans for a piece of chocolate."

"Can you blame her?" Courfeyrac's agreeable manner suddenly slipped away, and his grin turned into a scowl. "Damned Germans, they're making fools of us, Enjolras. It's humiliating, all of these curfews and rationing, and -"

"I know," Enjolras said quietly, glancing around again in the dark alley to ensure they were still alone. "But not for long. We won't be able to do anything about it if you can't keep your mouth shut. Not everyone can be trusted. Some people are willing to trade their loyalty to their country for more rations. People are giving up too quickly."

Courfeyrac was silent, until he sighed and smiled a little. "Well, you have nothing to worry about. The recruit isn't a dame, at least where it counts. I'll bring him around next week?"

Enjolras sent him a sharp look. "At the demonstration? We can't risk it, Courfeyrac, we've been preparing for weeks -"

"Strength in numbers," Courfeyrac shrugged. Enjolras noticed a lack of something in his voice, in his face. Courfeyrac was decidedly less buoyant than usual.

"Is something wrong?" Enjolras asked.

Courfeyrac laughed half-heartedly. "Besides our country being ridden with Nazi trash?"

Enjolras blood boiled at the reminder, but how could he forget? He was met with the evidence everywhere he went. It was their lifestyle now. Curfews from nine at night till five in the morning - anyone caught between those times was taken in for interrogation. Paris was hungry - it had been months since Enjolras had last enjoyed butter on his bread or milk in his coffee.

But these things were harder for Courfeyrac, he knew. Courfeyrac, who was used to living and talking extravagantly, struggled to keep his head held high at the new humiliations the Germans caused, struggled to bite his tongue when he knew it would cost him his life.

"It won't last," Enjolras promised him, clasping Courfeyrac's hand in his. "I promise it won't last. We're going to rid our home of the Germans until Paris is free."

Courfeyrac met his eyes, and Enjolras noticed they were worried, more so than he'd ever seen them. Courfeyrac smiled. "Then it looks like we have work to do."

Courfeyrac twisted to reach a leather satchel hanging at his waist, and rummaged through it for a few seconds. He pulled out a thick manila folder and handed it to Enjolras.

Enjolras held his breath as he opened it, revealing a large stack of pamphlets. This was the result of weeks of work, organizing, collaborating - all for a chance at getting the sleeping people of Paris to stir from their compliance to the German invaders. These pamphlets, printed with a call to action, a call to join the French Resistance - Enjolras didn't have much time to distribute them before the sun rose and curfew ended.

"You sure you can deliver them on time?"

Enjolras nodded, admiring the little sketches of barricades and soldiers on the sides of the papers. "What are these drawings?"

Courfeyrac scratched at the back of his neck and cleared his throat. "Grantaire offered to help make them more presentable. He helped a great deal with all of this, actually."

Enjolras stiffened and snapped the folder shut. "He's a drunkard, Courfeyrac."

"He's got spirit."

"He told me he doesn't see the point in resisting. He was seen drinking with the Nazis!"

Courfeyrac shrugged. "You don't know the whole story, Enjolras."

"I don't need to."

Courfeyrac shook his head with a grin. "Of course you don't. By the way," he said slowly, shuffling his feet in a somewhat nervous manner. "Have you heard from...him?"'

"Combeferre?" Enjolras asked dispassionately, watching Courfeyrac's eyes narrow. "I trust you're talking about our friend, Combeferre - he's doing fine. He asks how you're doing, by the way."

Courfeyrac scoffed. "As if I care about that traitor."

"Going to England to handle communications for the Resistance can hardly be called traitorous."

"He left us," Courfeyrac said. "He left France."

"Someone had to go," Enjolras reminded him. "He knew neither of us would want to leave. Don't be petulant, Courfeyrac."

"But I do it so well," Courfeyrac shot back with a grin.

Enjolras smacked him lightly on the shoulder and sighed as he looked up at the sky. "Well, we can't hang around much longer. I should get going."

Courfeyrac nodded. "I'll let you get to it. Be safe, Enjolras."

Enjolras nodded and watched Courfeyrac leave. "You too," he murmured before Courfeyrac was out of earshot.

Throughout Enjolras' entire route, he cursed himself and the Germans repeatedly for the loss of his rusty old bicycle. He never thought he'd miss that unsterilized death-trap (as Combeferre so often liked to put it) until it was confiscated. How useful it would have been on these missions.

Enjolras snuck the pamphlets in mailboxes, gates, under porches, and anywhere inconspicuous to outside eyes but sure to be noticed by the homeowner. As directed by Courfeyrac, he circled back to Montaigne to end his route before reaching his apartment on Rue Marceau. Treading the steps lightly to avoid arousing the suspicion of his landlord, Enjolras arrived inside his apartment and collapsed, exhausted, in a chair. His head throbbed a little with his exercise, and he closed his eyes to enjoy a few moments of peace before officially starting his day.

As he watched the slowly growing streaks of light in the sky through the window, Enjolras was struck by the silence of his apartment, and realized he'd been waiting. Waiting to hear the sounds of the sink running, footsteps pacing back and forth through the rooms, water boiling on the stove, the smell of coffee wafting through the air, the deep hum of a popular new tune. Enjolras shook himself off and stood up, trying not to let his eyes fall on the door of Combeferre's now empty room to his right.

Enjolras retreated into his room and quickly dressed, mentally ticking off the things he still had to get done today. Attend classes, meet Courfeyrac and the others for the meeting...Enjolras walked back to the little kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets for something to eat.

He added to his list, Get more rations.

The Cafe Musain was the perfect place for underground and illegal activity. Such had been Enjolras' motivations in choosing it as a meeting ground. Tucked away in an unsuspicious and remote area in Paris, away from the main German headquarters, and barely afloat in business, the cafe served its purpose for Enjolras and the other members of the Resistance.

Before knocking on the fairly well-hidden back door, Enjolras' gaze swept over the street with caution, eyeing the windows of occupied houses across the street in particular, ensuring no eyes were upon him. Satisfied, he knocked the correct number of times to be granted access inside.

A sentry window that Enjolras was certain had not been there a few days ago opened, revealing the wide brown eyes of Courfeyrac.

"Password."

Enjolras stared into the slot. "What?"

"Password." The word was followed by a series of snickers from more than one person, and Enjolras stifled a groan.

"Damn it, Courfeyrac, you can see my face!"

The laughter quieted down a little, and Enjolras pressed his face to the slot to try to make out who was acting as Courfeyrac's accomplice.

"Can you just say the password, Enjolras? It took us an entire hour to make this. And call me by my codename."

Enjolras decided he'd play along and strangle Courfeyrac when he got inside. "Fine. 'Operation Active Duty.'"

Courfeyrac cocked an eyebrow. "Codename."

Enjolras stared at him for a long time before answering through gritted teeth. "'Apollo' to 'Tomcat'."

Courfeyrac smiled. "Was that so hard?"

Enjolras heard the bolt slide through the lock, and immediately he pushed the door open and shook Courfeyrac by the shoulders, ignoring the fact that his slight figure could do no true harm to Courfeyrac's stocky one. Courfeyrac wore a grin until Enjolras gave him a serious look.

"We're only having a bit of fun, Enjolras, there's no need to get riled up about it."

"There's no time for fun," Enjolras reminded him, trying to maintain his patience. "Come on, let's get this meeting started. Please tell me you've had the good sense to keep quiet in here. Madame Moulier complained to me last week about the noise, and it's only a matter of time before we're suspected."

Courfyerac's smile faded a little. "It'll be fine, Enjolras. We're careful, as always. Go on, start the meeting."

Enjolras shook his head and swallowed, sweeping his gaze over the room. Seven men in total were present today, including him and Courfeyrac. Enjolras contained a sigh and seated himself on the edge of one of the round tables in the middle of the room.

"I'm going to make this short." Enjolras silenced Courfeyrac's snort with a look, and waited till the room had settled again. "Paris has been enslaved, and it's getting worse each day. Workers are being exploited, and food is getting harder to come by every day. These ration tickets - they're not enough for families, for children! Children are already going barefoot this winter. We need more members to join us. We need to remind people that this is not the end, that the German invasion won't last forever. Have you seen the yellow stars the Jews wear? Did you see, Courfeyrac, how our own friend Jehan Prouvaire was barred from the theater yesterday because of it? The Germans are taking our food, our vehicles, our houses, our families - while we suffer."

"What do you want us to do about it now?" The question came from a student of the university with a sickly appearance. "We're already preparing for the demonstration next week, Enjolras."

Enjolras drew a deep breath before continuing. "Get more recruits. Don't give in. Remember what General de Gaulle has been telling us - and never surrender. For now, do everything you can to set the Germans back and convince the people to do something, no matter how small. Our demonstration next week should bring more citizens to our side - it has to." In the brief silence following Enjolras' words, Enjolras knew everyone else was thinking the same thing.

It has to, because we might die for this.

Courfeyrac nodded encouragingly to the others and added, "Enjolras distributed the first batch of pamphlets today along the Bourdonnais route. Tomorrow morning one of you take the next batch along Champs de Elysees. It'll be risky, considering the Germans, but if we can reach the people there, it'll be even better for us. Pierre, can you do it?"

The university boy nodded, already catching Courfeyrac's contagious enthusiasm. Enjolras felt himself relax a little; he was grateful for Courfeyrac's help in this. Despite the teasing and games, Courfeyrac had done so much in preparation and planning that Enjolras honestly didn't know what he'd do without his now second-in-command.

As Courfeyrac continued to organize the men into groups, Enjolras walked over to the wall on which a map of Paris was hung. On it was marked all of the most frequented shops and restaurants by the Germans, their headquarters, and the town halls they had taken over. It made Enjolras wince to see how quickly those marked areas had multiplied in the last few weeks.

As the night wore on, Courfeyrac noted the time to Enjolras and swore eloquently. "Christ, it's nearly nine, Enjolras. You won't get to your apartment before curfew."

Enjolras shook his head confidently. "I'll get home in time, as long as I leave now. Good-night, Courfeyrac."

"Come home with me instead," Courfeyrac urged, worry shining in his eyes. "We can't risk it, Enjolras. Do you even have your papers with you? The goal is not to draw attention to ourselves -"

"I'll be fine," Enjolras promised. His eyes lingered on Courfeyrac for a second too long as he put on his coat and hat. He was certain that Courfeyrac just wanted company. Ever since Combeferre had left, Courfeyrac had been pushing Enjolras into staying late to go over plans, tagging after him before classes, and clinging in ways he simply hadn't before Combeferre's absence. "I'll see you tomorrow, Courfeyrac."

Enjolras offered Courfeyrac one last forced smile before he left. He knew without looking it was reflected on Courfeyrac's own face.

The first thing he saw as he stepped outside was the red lettering sprayed on one of the brick walls of the Musain. The message read:

Vive de Gaulle. Vive la France.

A/N: So this is how our story's going to go! Past = Enjolras POV, Present = Joly POV. Hopefully that makes sense with the narration... :)