A/N: *dodges rotting fruit* I'm so sorry this update took so long! I've had two really busy weekends in a row! Quick point of clarification, from reading thereviews - Colette and Cosette are not the same person. One is the secretary at the law firm; the other is...well, you'll find out! This is a long chapter, but I hope you enjoy! R&R!

Enjolras was struck dumb when he heard her words. He couldn't believe it…his Éponine was a prostitute? Father was right after all, I suppose. I turned my back on her, and look what happened. "Oh, what a fucking day…" he groaned under his breath, his hands clenching and unclenching on his knees.

"Before you say anything else, please let me explain myself," she begged, clearly already on the verge of tears. "I wanted to tell you before, but I didn't know how."

"What is there to explain, Éponine?" he said coldly, looking away from her. "I think you've already told me everything I need to know."

She tried not to wince. "No…I haven't."

Now he turned to face her, and she could hardly bear to see the anger, the hurt, the betrayal in his eyes. "What else could you possibly tell me that could be pertinent after that?" he snapped, making her wince. "As I've said, I think you've told me everything I need to know."

"And I've told you, I haven't said everything I need to say," she retorted, pausing to take a breath. "I didn't give you my actual last name when we met. It's a pseudonym that I've been using for years…so I couldn't be traced back to my father."

Enjolras was trying not to scream. First there was everything that Fantine told me, now Éponine's a prostitute…what could possibly make this worse? "Alright…now seems like an opportune time to tell me," he said measuredly.

She looked away, shamefaced, and barely whispered the last name on Earth that he wanted to hear.

"Thénardier."

He gaped at her in shock. She was the daughter of one of the most notorious thieves of New York, and the one that his father was currently in court prosecuting. "Jesus Christ…you're Thénardier's daughter. Of course," he said to himself, standing up. "Of course, if you're going to be the daughter of a criminal, it has to be the one that my father's trying to throw in jail right now!" He ran a hand over his hair, before unexpectedly slamming his fists on the desk. "Goddammit!"

"Enjolras, please…stop yelling," she whispered, curling up in a fetal position in the chair.

"What the hell do you expect me to do?!" he shouted, unable to contain his anger any longer as he paced behind the desk. "My entire perception of my father has been turned on its head in less than half an hour, and now you tell me this? Am I supposed to accept it all without batting an eye? Am I supposed to act like this is all normal, Éponine?! Because I can't! I don't even know who I am anymore, and I sure as hell don't know who you are! WHERE DOES IT END, ÉPONINE?!"

By the time Enjolras' tirade ended, she was sobbing, her face buried in her knees. Her entire body shook as she wailed, but he couldn't find it in himself to cross the office to comfort her. Instead, he turned his back and forced himself to ignore her crying. His angry last words hung in the air like a dense fog. If Richard Enjolras, Jr. was like his father in one way, is was that he was not quick to forgive.

After a while, she started to quiet down. When he looked over his shoulder, she was looking back at him with red, puffy eyes. "You asked me where it ends?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "It ends here." He stood still as she left the room, slamming the door behind her. He could still hear her crying as she left the building.

Enjolras groaned quietly to himself as he sat back down behind the desk, holding his head in his hands again. God…how am I possibly going to tell Father about all of this…? I never saw it ending like this…oh God…

The door slowly creaked open, and promptly interrupted his spiraling thoughts. "Enjolras?" Combeferre almost squeaked, barely peeking around the edge of the door.

"Come in," his best friend answered a little hoarsely, still looking away from the door. "I'm all done screaming."

"Care to explain what just happened?"

He groaned again. "Make yourself comfortable again."

Éponine ran blindly through the streets, not caring who saw her cry, who she ran into, or even where she was going. She just wanted to get away; she couldn't even stand to think about him. She had always been told, since she was a little girl, that the truth was supposed to set her free…but the anger and hurt in his eyes today when she finally told him the truth had been too much to bear.

She finally found herself outside the general store that housed the Whitehorse as she sank to her knees in tears. He had told her that he loved her, and she had answered him by screwing everything up.

Now he's gone forever.

Éponine didn't know how long she knelt there on the sidewalk, crying, ignoring the gawking stares of all the passersby. It was cathartic for her to unleash the anguish she already felt from losing him. She ignored the footsteps behind her until she felt Mac wrap his arms around her, rocking her back and forth as she cried. "Éponine, dear…" he murmured. "Tell me what happened?"

"I've lost him, Mac," she sobbed. "He never wants to see me again, and I can never get him back after this…oh God, what have I done?" she sobbed even harder. Her sentences slowly turned into random babbling, until Mac had to take her inside. They sat down in the back room where all the alcohol was stored, and Éponine tried to dry her tears. "He told me he loves me, Mac…and now I've lost him forever."

"Who on earth are you talking about, Éponine?" he asked, wiping his big hands off on his apron. "I want to help, but I can't if I don't know."

She took a shuddering breath before she answered him. "Richard Enjolras. He told me today that he loved me, and…" she couldn't bear to tell Mac her secret too, and she broke down in sobs again.

Mac gaped at her in utter shock. "Richard?" he whispered. "I didn't think the man was capable of love…"

"What do you mean?" she sniffled in a small voice.

"For the longest time, he's been unable – and seemingly unwilling – to connect to a woman," Mac explained. "He told me that his law school friends even nicknamed him the 'Marble Man' because of it. I never anticipated the way he'd open up when I introduced him to you. No matter what happens, Éponine, you've changed him for the better."

She sniffled again, drying her tears. "I suppose you're right…I just can't see it anymore. Not after he got so angry…"

Mac hugged her sympathetically again. "Come, have a drink," he said, opening up a bottle of brandy. "There's a spare cot in here; if you don't want to go home, you can sleep here tonight."

"Thank you, Mac," she said, smiling a little.

Enjolras drove away from the office after saying his goodbyes to Combeferre and Colette, still in disbelief over the events of the day. He knew he had to talk to his father about everything soon, but he was dreading the moment of confrontation. Nonetheless, he drove to his father's apartment, trying to figure out how he could find the journal and swipe it without his father noticing.

He parked on the street and went up to his father's door, knocking firmly three times. "Who is it?" the voice sounded.

"It's me, Father," he answered loudly. "I want to talk to you."

Richard Enjolras, Sr. opened the door, still looking surprised to see his son. "What is it, Richard?" he asked, concerned.

The younger man sighed. "You were right, Father."

"Well of course I was," his father answered pompously; Enjolras thought he saw his chest puff out a little bit. "I always am. What was I right about this time?"

"Éponine," he answered. "She's a prostitute."

His father's eyebrows went straight up. "Come in and we'll talk." He stepped into his father's apartment, unsurprised by how immaculately it was kept. It hardly felt lived in as he shed his coat and dress shoes, sitting down in front of the coffee table. "Now, tell me about this prostitute of yours," his father said snidely as he sat down next to his son.

Enjolras glared at his father for a moment before speaking again. "Don't talk about her like that, Father."

"Oh, one minute you're saying I was right, and now you're defending her again?" his father asked in exasperation. "My God, Richard; make up your damn mind about the woman!"

"She's been a good woman to me!" Enjolras barked. He paused, running a hand through his hair. "I still wish she had been honest with me…" he said irritably, "but I don't want you to say that about her."

"What did I tell you when you were a boy, Richard?" his father said sternly. "When we would drive to my office in the morning? I know you still remember."

Enjolras gritted his teeth. "'They all end up like Fantine Tholomyés,'" he quoted. The words were so much bitterer on his tongue after his meeting with her that day. "No. I will not let Éponine be subject to that fate. She deserves so much better, and I want to be the one to show her that."

His father snorted. "Oh, my son. Don't lose your senses entirely because you're dizzy with a dame. Who turned out to be a prostitute, may I remind you."

"Not because she wanted to be," he said quietly.

The elder Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Tell me exactly what happened."

The younger man sighed, recounting the events of her visit to the office, including everything he had said following. "I was probably harsher to her than I should have been…but I was just so angry…"

"Rightly so," his father answered as snidely as before. "She lied to you, son."

"Not because she wanted to," he said as quietly as before, standing up. "Say, Father," he said casually, "Do you still have the journal you kept as a young man?"

"Why do you ask?" his father snapped.

Enjolras froze for a second. "I just remember that you kept one, and I wanted to see the entry from when I was born." Whew. Good save, Richard.

"In my room, on the bookshelf," he grunted. "You can take it with you for a few days, if you like. Just be sure to bring it back."

He could barely keep from sighing heavily in relief as he went back and fetched it. The leather bound book was small, with his father's full name etched on the front. He put it in his suit pocket, resolving to go through it later that night. "Have you got a drink anywhere? I'm parched," he said as he went back out to the front.

"Kitchen, secret cabinet. What do you want?"

The two men walked in the direction of the liquor. "Whiskey, if you've got it," Enjolras said.

"A fresh bottle," his father grinned. "Mac couldn't keep everything he got on this last shipment, so he gave it to me."

The younger man couldn't help but grin. "Sounds perfect."

Father and son drank for a few more hours, but the son was careful not to let anything important about Fantine slip into the conversation. You're her lawyer now. Confidentiality is an issue. It was so hard for him to look at his father in the same, idolized way that he had as a boy. Knowing the truth…it made him anxious to go through the journal. Maybe Fantine is right…only one way to find out.

Enjolras got back to his apartment around 10:30, thankful that he hadn't had too much whiskey with his father. He had some digging to do, and he needed a clear head in order to do it well. He found himself slightly afraid of what he was about to find, but knew it was what had to be done. I have to find out if Fantine was right.

So he sat down at his kitchen table, opened the journal with a deep breath, and began to read.

25 July, 1901

Maëlys gave birth to our first child today – a large, healthy boy. Richard Heiland Enjolras, Jr. was born at 2:30 in the afternoon. He weighed 8.5 pounds, 6 ounces and measured 20 inches long. She only labored for a few hours, and was never in much pain. The doctors were amazed that he was her fist child, with how quick and smooth the birth was for both of them.

Is it not, however, the natural affinity of woman to be suited to easy childbirth? With society's expectations to marry and bear sons to carry on the family name – as my Maëlys has now done – evolution will sooner or later cater to that, if it has not already done so. When a woman is able to easily produce a son, she has fulfilled her purpose.

Enjolras nearly gagged at the misogyny he was reading. He'd never known what a bigot his father could be, but he forced himself to keep going.

So far, baby Richard has been mostly quiet and calm. We are not yet allowed to bring him home from the hospital; the doctors wish to keep him and Maëlys under observation for a few days, to ensure that they both continue to do well.

As for myself, I am simultaneously overjoyed to be a father, and nervous of the duties I now face. I have another member of the family to consider in every decision I make, and he will probably be another distraction from work, especially while Maëlys will be recovering from the birth. She will, no doubt, need my help with him.

As I write this, the two of them are in the bed to my right, sound asleep. Maëlys is holding Richard against her chest; I believe he fell asleep nursing. I am also beginning to feel tired, and I shall close my eyes for a few moments now.

A grainy black and white photograph was paper-clipped into the entry, showing a smiling young woman and an almost-smiling man. The woman was sitting up in a bed, holding a baby in her arms. The man had one arm around the woman's shoulders, but it almost looked domineering, rather than affectionate.

One of the doctors must have taken this for my parents after I was born. I'm that baby.

Enjolras smiled a bit at the image of his mother looking so happy. It was the only time he'd ever seen what her smile looked like. He gently reached out and touched the picture, wishing she were still there, and that his father wasn't so rough around the edges.

How different things would be now…I miss you, Mother.

He allowed himself a few moments of nostalgia, skimming the words on the page back over a few times, before he flipped through several pages to another, much shorter entry.

18 September, 1903

I have just made possibly the worst mistake of my adult life thus far. I had too much to drink last night, and as a result, I must have gone to bed with Fantine Leblanc last night, because I woke up in her hovel this morning. She sleeps in the bed as I quickly write this; I must get home as soon as I can.

Maëlys will be distraught that I never made it back last night, and I don't know how I will have to explain myself to her. Oh God, what have I done to myself? To my marriage? To my two-year-old son? He's just learning to talk now, and my wife has been stricken with some kind of sadness for the last two years since his birth. The doctors can't figure out what it is. Every time I look at them now, I will only be filled with guilt for this wicked sin I have committed.

Enjolras was very nearly ill. So far, she'd been correct, right down to the exact date that they'd slept together. Even though his father's entry seemed incredibly upset and contrite, the facts hadn't changed.

He turned a few more pages and kept reading, his heart racing wildly.

26 November, 1903

I saw Fantine again today, when I was in town while Maëlys was at home with the baby. I did not go back into her bed, but she told me that she is with child. She does not know if the baby is mine, or that of her other lover, Felix Tholomyés. I pray to God that it is not so, and that my conscience can stay as clear as possible. If I have a child by another woman and it becomes public, the scandal would be too much for my budding law firm to bear. I have everything to lose now.

Maëlys went back to her doctors today, and her melancholia is only getting worse. I keep trying to tell her that she has no reason to be sad – I provide for the both of us, and for our son, who is as happy and healthy as ever, and incredibly attached to his mother. Every time I turn my back, I hear her crying when she thinks I'm out of earshot. I don't know what's come over her, and I don't know how to make it better.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep breathing. He still had no definite proof that he had a half-sibling from Fantine, but so far, everything seemed to be lining up with what she'd told him in the office. He re-read the entry several times, hoping the words in front of his eyes would change, but there they stayed. I need some proof.

He turned frantically to the next two entries – several months later, and both were only one short paragraph.

27 June, 1904

Fantine had her child today – a little girl, whom she named Euphraise. She has informed me that we are to call her "Cosette" around anyone else, so others will not know her parentage. I still do not know if she is Felix Tholomyés' child, or mine, but I hope to soon find out.

28 June, 1904

Maëlys' melancholia continues to worsen. She cries all the time now, even in front of Richard. He doesn't know why his mother is so sad, and he tries in his simple ways to make her feel better. It breaks my heart to see this brokenness in my family, that I did nothing to prevent. I can only pray that Fantine's child is not mine, and that Maëlys never knows of my affair.

The next entry was not until the worst day of his life. The page was still crusted with tearstains and spots where the ink had run.

13 July, 1905

My Maëlys is dead. God help me, my wife is dead. I came home from the firm this afternoon, and she was dead on the bathroom floor. Richard was, thank the heavens, still asleep. When I arrived home, there were pill bottles scattered everywhere, and the medicine cabinet was hanging open, I do not know what drove her to this, but I can only assume that the melancholia got the better of her. I am alone now, with a son to raise and a law firm to manage. I don't know how to do this on my own. I loved my Maëlys, and maybe I never said it enough.

I don't know how long I knelt there with her, holding her and crying, begging her to come back. What am I to do without her? What am I to do with my son, and the little girl that may or may not be mine? How can I support all of them? I can only conclude that Fantine Leblanc seduced me, and I will not support her, even if the child I s mine. I do not care anymore.

Good God…she was right.

He let out a shaking breath. Now all he needed was to see the girl.

A/N: So, it looks like Enjolras may or may not have a half sibling; we'll know soon! Please review, and thanks for reading!