A/N: Finally, something to help the process along. Prepare for a time-skip soon…

More Reunions

"I shouldn't have told so many lies."

The professor's daughter, once known as the Old One or Favorite, now wrung her hands in the backroom of the lace shop where she had admitted Fantine and the two little girls. Now Cosette and Eponine sat in a corner furnished with milk and biscuits, their chatter only slightly subdued. Fantine on the other hand sat on a table, listening to her former friend's woes.

Favorite had taken up the habit of pacing. "I was in love with that lovely boy I told you about, but I did care for Blacheville, just a little at least to miss him. Well, when I got home, my mother told me I had been putting on airs. I didn't want to listen to her. Oh, you know it wasn't so difficult to meet other men, but they never paid me anymore attention than a twirl or two, or more than "Favorite, love, come here. I want to see that face of yours." How awful!"

"So how did you end up being the proprietress here?" Fantine asked.

"I'll tell you in a moment," Favorite said patronizingly. "My mother's doing again brought me down. She gossiped too much, she scared every young man! So maybe I wasn't that kind to her, but really, she did not care for me. When we did part company some six months ago, I already had a place here. The rough who owned this place took sick some time after, and gave it to me."

Fantine smiled a little enviously. "Where are Dahlia and Zelphine?"

"I'm not sure," the older woman said. "Last I heard, Zelphine was married to some playwright. Dahlia is still in Paris, I think. So what about you? What have you been doing for yourself? Did that adorable Tholomyes ever come for you, like you hoped he would?"

"He didn't." Fantine answered more coldly. "I went home, didn't like my situation, and came back here."

"Your little one has grown," Favorite said, wistfulness creeping into her tone. "Who's the other?"

"The little girl of a friend," Fantine said. "Her family has fallen on hard times.

"I don't have to look to know that," Favorite said. She bent to open a grubby wood chest and lifted out from it a small chenille dress that had lace sewn everywhere.

Eponine saw the dress and made a face. "Maman used to make better ones."

"Just put it on, Eponine. I'm sure your Maman would want you to wear clean clothes," Fantine said, handing the dress to the child.

"Azelma's are dirtier," Eponine said petulantly before going off to change her clothes in a corner.

"So what can I do for you? You were hoping for a job, I bet?" Favorite said to Fantine. "Well, I'll tell you now that times are much harder. I don't give much."

"I'll take anything within reason," Fantine pointed out. "And I keep a tighter hand on my purse."

A ghost of a smile flitted on Favorite's face. "What do you say you start now?"

"I can, but I think we should see to Eponine's situation first," Fantine said, noticing the little girl emerging from a corner, looking uncomfortable in the garment.

Cosette nearly burst into giggles. "Ponine, you look like a cake!"

"Shut up! You look like a louse!" Eponine yelled.

"Girls, stop that!" Fantine reprimanded, getting up. "Cosette darling, do not taunt people like that. Eponine, where are your parents?"

"They told me to meet them in the Place Saint Michel." Eponine replied. "We have no house. And no food either."

Favorite clucked her tongue in a matronly manner. "The same old story."

"You know, there is another garret room where we are," Fantine said, stooping to speak to the little girl. "What do you say I talk to your parents and suggest that you all come with me?"

Eponine nodded trustingly. "Better than the bridge."

"Good, that's settled then," Fantine said confidently, though inwardly she could feel anxiety welling up within her. "M. Valjean, where are you?"

000

The Place Saint-Michel was what once Tholomyes had described as "merry chaos" to Fantine. However, upon actually seeing it years ago, and once again on this day, Fantine had only one judgment for it: ugly.

"Even now they treat children so terribly," she thought as she saw yet another gaunt child in rags. The slap of bare feet on cobblestone was almost deafening. "No, I don't want to remember…"

"Madame Fantine!" she heard Feuilly call to her. Fantine looked up in time to see Feuilly and Bahorel standing outside a café.

"What are you doing here?" she asked the two young men.

"Celebrating. He is an apprentice now with the fanmaker's," Bahorel grinned. "I envy your freedom, Feuilly: your own money, your own craft, and the occasional lady who will ask for your creations,"

Feuilly shrugged. "It does not look like easy work," he said, hiding his paint-spattered fingers.

Bahorel glanced at his pocket watch. "Now where is Capital R? Did he, God forbid, actually go to class today?"

"Who's Capital R?" Eponine asked curiously.

"A comrade of mine," Bahorel said. Suddenly, a yell came up from the other end of the street. A cabriolet rushing by had gone into a pothole, thus tumbling its passenger out onto the pavement.

Quickly, the entire party rushed over to the aid of the unfortunate passenger. "Oh God! Monsieur, are you alright?!" Fantine cried.

"He's bleeding," Feuilly said, taking off his neckerchief.

Fantine felt sick on seeing the blood staining the young man's face, leaking out from a cut that was barely concealed by his receding hair. "Help me carry him," she begged Bahorel as Feuilly tried to bandage the wound.

"No need to strain yourself," a gruff voice said. Fantine gasped as she watched Valjean quickly scoop up the injured stranger and carry him into the nearby café.

Fantine helped Valjean settle the injured man on the floor while Bahorel raced to the backroom to ask for help. "Where have you been?" Fantine asked Valjean.

"Getting resources. Where are you all staying?" he replied.

"Near here," Fantine said. She glanced at Eponine. "But the Thenardiers are under a bridge."

"Were under a bridge," Valjean said grimly. "I saw them leaving the bridge."

At the sound of this, Eponine let out a cry. "Monsieur, where did they go?"

"I do not know," Valjean said. "I tried to talk to your father, but he was too busy fighting with your mother to argue."

"Where will Zelma and I find them?" Eponine asked frantically. "Are you sure they left?"

Valjean nodded grimly. Eponine burst into tears and had to be led off by Cosette into a corner. Just then, Bahorel returned with the café's dishwasher.

"Louison, can you please help us with him?" Bahorel said.

Louison took the towel she brought with her. "H-how did this h-happen?"

Despite the stammer, something about Louison's voice had Fantine on the edge. "If it is her, how did she get that stammer?"

"He fell," Valjean said. "I think this poor gentleman must have lost his luggage as well."

At the sound of this, the injured young man stirred and groaned. "Not again."

"Don't strain yourself, Monsieur!" Louison cried. As she tried to hold the man down, her sleeve hiked up a little, revealing a gold chain around her wrist.

Fantine let out a gasp, having seen a chain like it before. "Dahlia!"

Louison turned with surprise. "What? Who called me that?"

"That chain you wear--it was Listolier's. He used to wear it in his cuffs, tied thrice," Fantine said almost incoherently. "Dahlia, it's me, Fantine."

Louison nearly burst into tears. "Really it's you! What have you been up to all these years?"

"A lot," Fantine said.

Bahorel's jaw dropped. "You knew each other?"

"Apparently a timely meeting," the patient said wryly. "Like my own with the street, I should warrant. Whose the owner of this unfortunate tie?" he asked, pointing to the bandage.

Gilles raised his hand guiltily. "Who are you?"

"They call me Lesgle, but I have yet to think of a name for myself."

"Lie still, Lesgle. We still have to clean your cut," Valjean instructed. "And I believe the ladies here have some story telling to make."