Disclaimer: I'm still not Victor Hugo.

Thanks for all of the reviews! You guys are amazing! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Sorry it's taken me longer than I expected to get this up. It was like this chapter didn't want to be written or something. After this week, things will return to normal again but I'm incredibly busy at the moment.

A few days had passed, and Marie and Grantaire once again fell into the familiarity of each other's company. For the both of them, it was an escape from their usual hardships. The most pressing being, of course, that they knew little of love.

Marie was never especially loved by her parents, even as a young child. She was chastised for nearly everything she did - she had never been the most proper young lady. She was never one to sit idly by and pass the time with gossip. She had always been more of a Sparrow than a Dove. Small and flighty, skittering from place to place, doing as she pleased. Her hair would always fall in her eyes, and her fancy dresses nearly always finished the day with some sort of tear or stain, much to her mother's dismay. She would slap the girl's wrists and tell her she had no respect for her clothing while already dragging the young girl out the door to buy something new.

Indeed, the fashionably cut dresses and lace, and the pretty hats and ribbons in her hair had made her look pretty then - when she had a brighter, rounder face and her bones did not stretch her skin - but beneath it all, she had always been a little gamine.

Her family used to use the word as a way to torment her. How strange it was, thinking back on it. They insulted her with the phrase but never expected it to become a truth.

Slowly, however, the truth of that phrase seemed to be fading. Despite her objections, Grantaire purchased her a dress - fashionably cut and made of a deep purple silk. Her hair was soft and clean once more, and the dark waves fell about her shoulders. Her skin was starting to return to its healthy color. She should not accept so much charity, but Grantaire made it difficult not to - and it made him happy. Marie wanted to make him happy.

Grantaire, like Marie, had known little love as a child. He was always overshadowed by his older brother. His accomplishments, no matter how important they seemed, could never match up. His grades were always lower, his essays were never as interesting, the books he read were never the proper ones. His talent for music was never looked on as anything more than a foolish hobby. He was showered with money and clothes and food, but never with the love that the gentle little boy turned young man wanted above all.

"Grantaire, I don't know if I should..." Marie trailed off, clinging to his arm though they had not even stepped out the door of his apartment.

"It has been over a week, Marie, I do not think there is any danger - and if there is, we are well prepared," he told her.

Marie pressed her lips into a tight line. She was still worried - Brujon had been drunk. He probably wouldn't even recognize Grantaire if he saw him alone. He had been safe the past few days walking to and from the café... But, if Brujon or Montparnasse were to pass by when she was with him, they would surely recognize her and everything would be over.

"Come, chère," he spoke softly, kissing her softly and earning himself a bit of a smile on her concerned, worry lined face. "We will be safe, I assure you. I would not even think to bring you out if there were any risk," he told her.

She could not sit in the house all day anymore - he feared she would become depressed and lonely. He hated leaving her alone more than he hated when Joly took his bottle away.

Sighing, she finally nodded and the two stepped out into the streets of Paris.

It was growing warmer, though whether that was the weather actually growing warmer, the new dress she wore, or the fact that she had eaten well in the past few days and was slightly more than skin and bones, she could not guess.

As they walked, Marie began to relax slowly. The sun was only just setting, so the streets were a soft golden color. She knew they were not really as beautiful as they seemed, with the poor still walking them and all, but she found them far more beautiful than she ever thought them before. Perhaps it was seeing them and knowing that she didn't have to wander out that evening, or wandering them with a full stomach instead of a painfully empty one.

They reached the café without incident, and when they entered, she was greeted with the smiles of many of Les Amis. She recognized Joly, Jehan, and Enjolras more than the others - of coure. The rest she did not know the names of, but they all seemed quite happy to see her there. Why, she honestly did not understand. She was no responsibility of theirs, nor had she ever attended their meetings save for the two that she stopped in on briefly.

"You look much better," Joly commented, offering her a smile which she returned easily. Perhaps it was better that she had joined them this evening - when she spent the evenings alone all she could do was worry. She would often try to read, but she would be too dizzy and sick with worry to concentrate on the pages.

"Thanks to the four of you," she pointed out to him.

"It didn't take much work," Grantaire said with a half laugh as he brushed her shoulder with his hand lightly on his way past her. Her face flushed red.

"You've got her blushing, R!" Prouvaire teased as Grantaire made his way to the back to grab a bottle of wine. Grantaire rolled his eyes. It was no secret now that he and Marie were something more than friends. Looking back, it seemed obvious since the moment he met her that he was in love, though he never would have thought so at the time. Honestly, she had at first appeared to him as some sort of charity case he could use to prove himself to Enjolras. But things had changed so much since then. And it had only been a couple of weeks.

"She doesn't like to be made the center of attention," he whispered, coming to her defense. It was the first time that she had been back to the café since the night that vile man had dragged her in by the hair and he wanted it to be a pleasant experience. He knew his friends meant no harm, but she was a very sensitive girl no matter how well she hid it and he did not want to make her feel in any way uncomfortable.

Marie just shrugged, "It's alright, R," she said, testing the nickname on her tongue. She'd never called him that before, and she was not quite sure if she liked it or not. "Let them have their fun."

Prouvaire laughed. Indeed, the young woman seemed much happier than before. The only other conversation he had seen her have, she looked lost and alone. Now she looked quite different - there was a sparkle in her eyes.

"Smart girl," he said with a smirk, walking over to her and grabbing her hand in order to pull her over to where Grantaire and himself were now sitting.

Marie felt almost ridiculous, the way they were treating her as if she were some sort of royalty. But she played along - it was nice.

Her eyes scanned the room for a moment after she sat down. Enjolras had stood, and silence fell over the group. In the corner, she noticed a girl. A gamine like herself. She raised her eyes in question, but did not make any move to ask who she was. Their eyes locked for a moment, and the sadness staring back at her was almost a mirror to her past self, though more extreme, and she could almost feel her heart breaking for the girl though she did not even know her name. She was tucked away so far in the back that it seemed as if she had been hoping not to be discovered.

"As you all know by now, Lamarque's health is failing fast." Enjolras' voice brought her out of her thoughts. Slowly, the image of the girl faded as she listened to words of revolution. This time, she actually let them go to her heart, hope rising instead of fear for once.

After Enjolras finished speaking and the conversation slowly turned to more casual things, Marie found herself sipping a glass of wine that Grantaire offered her. He was drinking as well, not surprisingly. Though it did not seem he was drinking too much more than his friends. His eyes kept locking on hers, a smile on his lips. Marie would smile back and take more sips of wine. It seemed like it could be just a gathering of friends for a good time, not the meeting place of a group of revolutionaries.

"It has been days since you've passed out drunk," Bahorel told Grantaire with a laugh, his eyes drifting over to Marie. "What have you done to our friend?"

Marie just laughed and shrugged, "I've done nothing," she told them. Truly, she hadn't. She had never once told him that he drank too much.

Grantaire knew that though Marie did not want to take credit, she truly had helped him a great deal. Before, he had no reason to stop. He was lonely and needed something to dull his thoughts and the sharp pain in his chest he always felt. Now there was no reason for him to numb himself. The feelings he had were so beautiful that it would be painful to hide them away.

"You've done a lot," Grantaire corrected her.

Their eyes locked, deep brown on blue.

She blushed.

He smiled.

Prouvaire smirked, "Drunk off of love, are we?" he asked.

"Better than any wine I have ever tasted."