Disclaimer: Yepp, still down own Les Mis.

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It was nearly a week before the young woman visited the Café Musain again. She was not even sure why she had come, other than the fact that it was the one place she could think of that might be safe. The boys were dreamers with their heads in the clouds, but for now, it was just talk. People from the street rarely wandered in, and drinks were cheap. She needed a place to go, and the café was literally the only place she could think of.

Just before she pushed the door open, she paused. She was not sure she wanted to go in. The patronizing and pitying looks she would receive would irritate her, she was positive. But what other choice did she have? After the week she had, going back home did not seem like an option that evening, and she honestly could not bear to walk the streets, either. She was completely exhausted, mentally and physically, and maybe just for once, pity might be welcome. At least she wouldn't feel so damn alone.

So, whether it be for warmth, alcohol, or companionship, Marie pushed open the door to the café and stepped inside.

"Patria has returned!" Jean Prouvaire spoke as soon as he saw the young woman enter the room, his eyes traveling towards Grantaire, a slight smirk on his face.

In the week she had been gone, the Friends had taken to calling the stranger Patria. And, thanks to Prouvaire, it had been assumed that Grantaire was smitten with the girl. Even Enjolras joined in on the joke - occasionally of course, for he was usually too busy for such matters.

Grantaire laughed at the jokes, but secretly worried about the young gamine the entire time. Each time she was brought up, he wondered why she had not returned. Of course he knew the answer. His theory had made her uncomfortable, and of course she did not want to return. But despite that, the Friends had somehow grown fond of the girl they had only once met, even though she stood against what nearly all of them believed in.

His eyes met hers for a moment, as she was already on her way to the back of the room, seeming to ignore the boy's comment with just a shake of her head.

"Well, are you going to go talk to her?" Prouvaire asked, leaning closer to Grantaire with a smirk. "Go win your lady love."

Grantaire just raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip from his bottle. It was early in the night, so the wine was not even half gone. He was quite sober. At least as sober as he ever got.

Despite the looks he knew he would get from his friends, he stood up, bottle still in hand, and approached the young woman. He was concerned about her, after all. Though not for the reason that his friends suspected. Just as before, she was too skinny and too pale, and this time there was a bruise blossoming on her cheek, just below her eye covered mostly by curtains of long hair. He approached her carefully, his expression serious.

Marie had already ordered a drink, placing the money on the table before she even ordered to prove that she could pay for it, even looking the way she did. She was not usually one to drink much, but alcohol could wash away pain and leave her with a numbness that she so desperately needed in that moment. She wasn't surprised that the young man, actually looking decently sober at the moment, approached her.

"Mademoiselle," Grantaire spoke as soon as he was standing near enough, "We have missed you this week."

"None of you even know me," Marie pointed out flatly. These boys really were going to pretend to care, weren't they? Or even worse, actually care. "As I said before, you all really shouldn't bother worrying about people like me. Our lives won't change. Just enjoy yours."

Grantaire didn't ask to sit, he just did. It was brash of him, and he knew that, but he couldn't let her sit there alone. Perhaps Enjolras really had gotten to his head, but even if he did not stand for their revolution, something made him want to fight for this Patria.

"You're hurt."

"Wonderful observation."

And there was the patronizing look. She should have stayed away from the café. But at the same time, it felt nice to have someone care even if it was just because of his stupid cause that would fail - some sort of revolutionary guilt.

Grantaire studied her for a moment. She looked exhausted, and the drink in her hand was nearly empty, probably due to the fact that she tipped her head back every few seconds, draining its contents quite quickly.

"Why have you returned?" he questioned. Clearly, she was not the kind of the person it was even worth beating around the bush with. Despite the fact that he stumbled through most of life drunk, he was quite observent.

"Your liquor is cheap," she answered shortly, draining the last few drops from the cup and placing it back on the table.

Grantaire frowned. He knew he was the last person who should be concerned with the amount of alcohol someone was consuming, but at least he had friends to help him stumble back to his flat. As far as he could tell, this girl was alone. And whoever was in her life, well, the bruise on her cheek could not have been caused by any accidental injury. Clearly, someone had hit her. It was disgusting to think about, really. She was small and looked much to fragile to be able to defend herself.

"That can't be the only reason," he pointed out. "There are plenty of other bars with alcohol just as cheap as here," he told her, "I would know."

Marie laughed, "Wow, you really aren't as ignorant as I would have thought." The words probably were probably offensive, even though it was a compliment in a way. But honestly, the one time before he had spoken to her, he had been completely drunk, it was her only impression of him. What did he expect?

"Everyone says that," Grantaire took the joke well, taking a swig from his bottle.

There was silence for a moment, as Marie had nothing to say, and Grantaire couldn't think of anything.

Finally, he spoke once more.

"But no... You really are hurt. Joly could look at it for you if-"

Marie narrowed her eyes. "I'm not a charity case!" she snapped. "It's a bruise, nothing I can't deal with."

Grantaire threw up his hands as if to surrender. "It was only a suggestion. Calm down, Patria."

"You're not really calling me that, are you?"

"But we are," Prouvaire said as he approached the table as well. Some of the others had sent him to aid Grantaire, mostly as a joke. His smile faltered slightly when he saw the nasty bruise on her face, but he said nothing as he sat down. "Welcome back, Patria."

Marie rolled her eyes, standing up quickly. "I'm afraid I must be leaving, though," she told them. Though, despite the dismissive tone she used, her lips did curve up into a small smile. However, as she moved to step past the table and out of the cafe, a hand closed around her wrist and her first instinct was to flinch back and prepare to run, but then she remembered where she was and who it belonged to. She had already decided that Grantaire was entirely harmless.

"Please, stay just a moment?" he asked, standing as well now. His eyes locked on hers, and in that moment, Marie found herself unable to pull herself free. There was just this genuine concern in his eyes that honestly she had never seen directed at her before in her life. It was almost overwhelming.

She found herself nodding and allowing him to lead her back to the table.

So she had come there for companionship.