Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis.

Thanks so much to those who are reading! :)

The two cynics sat in silence for some time, just staring. It was uncomfortable, but neither did anything to break the silence.

Marie had nothing to say, and she wondered why the young man had called her over when he clearly did not, either. She furrowed her eyebrows for a moment, wondering if she had been correct after all. Perhaps he felt guilty or embarrassed of his original intention, and she had misread it as surprise that she would have accused him of such a thing. Either way, perhaps it was best if she just left. But then she felt herself still rooted to the spot, waiting expectantly for the young man to say something.

Finally, he did.

"Mademoiselle," he broke the silence, concentrating on his words so that they did not come out too garbled. "I simply called you over because I have never seen you here before, and you were sitting alone."

Marie raised an eyebrow. "And you've never seen someone sit by themselves before?" she asked. It was a strange reason to call out to someone, in her opinion.

Of course, she had briefly overheard the ranting of his friends. They spoke of rebellion and of sticking up for the people. She scoffed at the idea. These bourgeois boys spoke with beautiful words, but she knew that the new France that they spoke of would never exist. There was simply no way. These boys could get themselves killed, speaking like they did. It was treason, and though she had no love for the French government, she knew that it was against the law. Why, when these boys had the money they needed to live perfectly happy lives, were they meeting in the dingy little café speaking of revolution? It was idiotic.

Seeing as he had not answered yet, she decided to press further. "Or is this part of your plans?" she asked, "I've heard enough since I've been here... You want to help the poor?" she questioned.

She did not wat for an answer. "Yes, I see now. You want to help the people; and so you speak of revolution and reach out to the gamine sitting in your café."

The young woman's words, which were harsh and biting, were starting to attract the attention of the others in the room. She was not speaking too loudly, or so she thought, but apparently the unfamiliar voice had drawn unwanted attention towards her. The young man who had called her over just stared at her with a sort of thoughtful expression on his face, still making no move to speak. He was probably too drunk. Marie smirked despite her instinct to cower back, to get herself away from the shocked yet pitying eyes of all of these schoolboys. She did not need their attention nor their pity.

"You've found a new friend, R?" Bahorel's voice altered Grantaire to the fact that others had noticed the young woman.

He was struck by her confident speech, when she had seemed so shy only moments before. Honestly, he wished he was just a bit more sober so he could speak in more intelligent sentences than the ones he was sure to come up with soon. He wanted to laugh, Patria was a skeptic, too. His eyes moved toward Enjolras for a moment, and the chief held his gaze for just a second before his too moved to the young woman who occupied one of the seats typically reserved for the Amis.

"Friend?" Marie questioned, "Ah, no... He has found a new urchin to pity, isn't that right?" she asked, her gaze hardening as it drifted back to the young man called R.

"Well, I do not need help, and I can assure you that this rebellion you plan will end in the same place that it began. It is no use trying to change the world."

Grantaire simply let out a short laugh. "Oh, Mademoiselle, you are as much a skeptic as I!" he exclaimed.

Marie was entirely confused. If this man was a skeptic, why was he even there? His friends seemed to speak with such passion, he just did not fit. It didn't make sense.

"Grantaire, perhaps if you would put that bottle down, you would be able to give the girl an answer that didn't leave that look on her face." Grantaire was surprised that it was Enjolras speaking, not sharply, though the words were plenty harsh, he seemed almost amused. Perhaps it was getting too late even for Enjolras to debate politics, for he was sure that this young woman's skepticism was a perfect launching point for one of his beautiful speeches.

"My head is clear," he lied. "It is just hard to believe, Enj. Patria is a skeptic!"

Marie grew more confused by the moment.

Enjolras merely sent the drunkard a questioning look.

"Is this not Patria?" he asked, gesturing toward the woman in front of him. "Look at her!"

The young men all did. Marie shrank into her seat. She had come in expecting to remain invisible, to warm up before she trudged back to her apartment. Not to become the example of Patria, whatever the hell that meant.

"She is clearly poor, looks like she had not eaten properly in some time. Downtrodden and oppressed... The state of our nation, correct?"

Grantaire could almost swear he saw the corners of Enjolras's mouth twitch up just a bit, urging him on.

"So she is too skinny, and her clothes are tattered, and she is dejected, just look at her!" He was repeating his previous words now, a sure sign that he was drunk. "But she doesn't have to be this way. She could be dressed in a fine gown, and she could be clean, and then she would be called a lady and have rich young boys fawning over her. She could be beautiful."

Marie would have been offended if what he said was not true. Instead, she just felt embarrassed.

"And so your revolution would help her," he directed this at Enjolras, who stared at the young man with a sense of curiosity, no longer bothered that he had been pulled away from his previous work. He'd never heard Grantaire even bother to make an argument such as this before.

"But she is a skeptic! She does not want the help. She thinks it is a lost cause as I do!"

Marie's eyes darted around the room and suddenly she felt like she needed to leave, even if these people apparently wanted to help her. She knew better than to get her hopes up that things would improve, and in any case she was too proud to accept charity even in her dismal state. Quickly, and to everyone's surprise, she stood up.

"He's drunk, but I agree with him," she said, already on her way to the door, longing for the cold night air she had been trying to escape from only moments before, wanting the invisibility it gave her. His words shook her for some inexplicable reason, and she did not want to give any indication of this.

"Patria needs help, yes, but she will never accept it." She spoke not only of herself, but of France. "Or, if she does, your help will only be scorned by those who do not understand... You try to change the world so fast, but look how many times it has been attempted before," she was speaking to the entire café now, standing close enough to the door that she could make a hasty exit as soon as she was finished. "Nothing will change."

With that, she opened the door and stepped out into the night, hearing a voice behind her, the voice of the leader.

"You are mistaken," it reached her ears and stung for some reason she could not explain, "Come back again and you will see."

She did not respond, she was already moving out into the street.

Grantaire remained staring at the door for some time after she was gone.