STILL 1505…

The day passed slowly, but the mule plodded forward obediently, and they reached Lyon just as the sun was setting. René looked over at Giovanni. He was staring out at the Gypsy camp. He turned to René. "Wait here," he said. "I'll come back with my uncle."

Giovanni climbed down from the hearse, and René watched as he approached one of the Gypsy caravans. René glanced back at the hearse. Theresa was probably wondering why they'd stopped, and she was probably lonely too. He and Giovanni had spent the entire day driving the hearse, sitting side by side in an uncomfortable silence. René climbed down from the hearse, leaving the mule where it was. He went to the back and opened the door.

Theresa was asleep, but she woke upon hearing the door open. She looked up at him, squinting, her dark eyes searching for Giovanni. René reached for her, taking her hands. "We've reached Lyon," he said, gently pulling her down. She leaned on him, groaning when she tried putting weight on her bad leg. "Giovanni went to get your father."

He guided her, helping her limp alongside the hearse. He could see Giovanni returning. He was being followed by a tall, thin man. He heard Theresa gasp in delight and surprise, and Giovanni and the man began to run towards them.

"Theresa!" the man reached for her, and René helped ease her into his arms. "Oh God, Theresa, what's happened?"

The man had not really acknowledged him, and though René was somewhat offended, he didn't want to intrude upon this private moment. He turned and went back to the hearse, busying himself with unhitching the mule. He wondered what he would do with the hearse now. He certainly had no intention to return it to Paris. He'd be executed the minute he set foot in Paris, and he had no desire to leave Theresa just yet. He loved her, and she loved him, and he wanted to stay in Lyon with her. He glanced back at Theresa and her father. He had lifted her and was carrying her now, cradling her in his arms like a baby. He and Giovanni were bringing her back to the caravan, leaving René alone in the growing darkness.

~xXx~

"It was the one thing I asked of you! The one thing!"

"Clopin, please."

He knew in his heart that he should not be angry with Giovanni, that none of this was his fault. Still, Giovanni had sworn to protect Theresa, and she'd very nearly been killed. There was a strong chance she'd walk with a limp for the rest of her life. Clopin wished he hadn't let her go at all. He wished he'd never let her out of his sight.

"I'm sorry," said Giovanni. "I'm truly sorry."

"It isn't your fault," said Cassandra. Clopin could hear the crossness in her voice, though, and knew that it was directed at him. He couldn't blame Giovanni for what had happened. Cassandra was examining the wound in Theresa's shoulder, holding the candle up and squinting at it. "Where's the boy who stitched this?"

"Oh." Giovanni glanced back at the door, as if expecting the boy to magically appear. "That was René. I…I left him back by the…hearse…"

"Can you go fetch him? I'd like to thank him."

"Yes, Aunt Cassandra." Giovanni left quickly, his head down.

"Clopin, you have no right to be angry at him," said Cassandra, turning to him. "He tried his best to protect her."

"It's my fault," said Theresa. She looked at him, her dark eyes filling with tears. "I…I disobeyed you…"

Cassandra was stroking her hair, making shushing sounds. "No, Theresa, you didn't do anything to warrant this – "

"I danced," said Theresa, blurting it out. Tears had begun to spill from her eyes, and she wiped them away with her fingers. "Giovanni and I needed money to pay for the inn, and I danced."

"Oh God…"

"Clopin, don't."

"It was the one thing I asked you not to do, Theresa."

"Clopin." Cassandra was glaring at him. She was winding a thin strip of fabric around the wound in Theresa's shoulder even though it wasn't bleeding. Clopin wanted to scream, to strike someone or something. He wanted to find Jean-Claude Frollo and rip him limb from limb. He had done this to Theresa, but there was still that nagging thought in the back of Clopin's mind, that perhaps this wouldn't have happened if Theresa had listened to him.

The door opened behind him, but when he turned, Giovanni was alone. "He's gone, Uncle," said Giovanni. "I don't know where he went."

"Go home, Giovanni," said Cassandra. "We'll find him tomorrow."

Giovanni nodded. "Goodnight." He left quickly, probably eager to get home to Katarina and the babies.

Clopin turned back to Theresa. She refused to look at him, her head lowered in shame, and he suddenly began to hate himself. Despite her dancing, she had not provoked this attack, and he would not allow her to think otherwise. He went to her, sitting beside her. "Theresa…"

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry – "

"No, Theresa, don't be." He put his arm around her and began to stroke her hair. Behind him, he could hear Cassandra telling Martine and Jacques-Clopin to go to bed. He could hear their confusion, their worry, and knew that he would have to explain things to them in the morning. He was not sure what he would tell them yet, but this didn't matter. Theresa was home. The danger had passed, and her wounds would heal in time. "This was not your fault," he said, "you did nothing wrong, Theresa."

"But my dancing – "

"You mustn't think that way," he said. "You didn't want this to happen, did you?" She shook her head. "No, of course not. You're home now, and you're safe. No one will ever hurt you again."

~xXx~

She was more than surprised when Giovanni came through the door. She'd been attempting to put Dante and Musetta to bed, and his homecoming threw everything into chaos, but she didn't care. She watched, wide-eyed, as Dante and Musetta ran to their father. Giovanni scooped them up into his arms, kissing their cheeks and ruffling their hair, and in the next room, the twins began to cry. Normally Katarina would have cursed, but she went to the next room and lifted them, cradling their small warm bodies against her.

Marc and Louisa were six months old and were chubby babies. They were heavy, and she didn't like carrying them both at the same time. She secretly feared that she would drop one or both of them. They had been completely identical at birth, but now that they had begun to grow, their differences stood out. Louisa's hair was curly, falling around her little face in ringlets. Marc's eyes were blue, like Giovanni's, and dimples formed in his cheeks when he smiled.

"And those are the new babies," Dante was saying. Katarina looked over in time to see him and Musetta lead Giovanni into the room. "They're Marc and Louisa."

"Marc came out first," said Musetta. "And Grandmother held him while Louisa came."

Giovanni knelt beside her, staring down at Marc and Louisa. He looked as though he was about to start crying as she handed Marc to him. He took the baby gently, shushing Marc as he began to fuss. "Shh, Marc," he said, "I'm your father. I'm so happy to finally meet you." He kissed Marc's forehead.

She was not sure how long it took for Dante and Musetta to finally get into their beds and fall asleep. She sat on her own bed, watching as Giovanni tucked them in, kissing their cheeks and smiling down at them. He watched them as they drifted into sleep, then he turned and came to her. She had set Marc and Louisa down on the bed, and Giovanni sat down beside them. "I've missed you so much," he said, reaching out and taking her hand. For a brief moment, she was reminded of what it had been like after Dante was born. She remembered feeling Giovanni's arms around her; he'd held her while she'd held their baby.

"I'm so glad you're home," she said, leaning over and kissing him.

He kissed her back. "I shouldn't have left you," he whispered.

It had only been six months. Giovanni was supposed to stay in Paris for an entire year. Why would he return home so soon? Had his grandmother passed away? Had something else happened? "It – it's only been six months…"

"I know." He lifted Louisa into his arms. She snuggled against him, nuzzling closer in search of warmth. "Something happened."

There was something about his tone that she didn't like, and Marc began to fuss. She lifted the baby, rubbing his back until he quieted. Giovanni sighed. "It's a long story," he said, "but it wouldn't be right if I didn't tell it to you now."

~xXx~

He'd stayed in this inn before, months ago when he'd come to Lyon with Jean-Claude. René wondered if he'd stayed in the exact same room. It certainly looked familiar, but he was too tired to think much about it. He lay there in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.

He closed his eyes and found himself thinking of the first time he'd seen Theresa. She'd been right here in Lyon, dancing in the street. People had gathered to watch her, throwing coins into the little purple hat by her feet. She had twirled gracefully, the bells on her sash singing. René wondered if she would ever be able to dance again. She'd been unable to put any pressure on her injured leg. He hoped that that would pass with time; the wound was only three days old, after all. It still needed to heal. He wondered if she'd have a scar, and hoped that she wouldn't. She was far too pretty to be marred like that. The thought of her carrying permanent reminders of Jean-Claude's attempt on her life made René angry, and he rolled onto his side, squeezing his pillow, wishing he could squeeze Jean-Claude's throat.

He would go and see Theresa in the morning. He would introduce himself to her parents, and he would tell them what had happened to their daughter. He would not play the dashing hero, would not ask for a reward. He would merely give them the information. He hoped, though, that they wouldn't hate him as much as Giovanni seemed to. Perhaps they would be able to see through the fact that he was a soldier. Perhaps they'd see that he did indeed have a heart.

René thought of Theresa now, remembering the way she'd kissed him. He remembered her lips – small and warm – pressed against his. He remembered the way her touch has suddenly filled him with happiness. It had been like being reborn. He wondered if every kiss from Theresa would fill him with such ecstasy. He loved her. He loved her more than anything, and he opened his eyes, staring into the darkened bedroom. He would marry her. Her parents would see that he was a good man, that he loved and wanted to care for Theresa. He could surely afford any bride price they asked. Gypsies demanded money in exchange for their daughters, didn't they? He thought he'd heard that somewhere. At any rate, he was certain he could afford it.

He let his eyes drift closed, thinking about Theresa, imagining her lips pressed against his.

~xXx~

The relief that had come with the Gypsy witch's death had spread from him to Cosette. She was calmer now, more relaxed and less melancholy; she'd regained her appetite. She lay there beneath him now, shuddering with pleasure, gripping his hips pushing him into her. Jean-Claude kissed her neck, relishing the way she moaned his name. He loved her so much. Cosette was his everything.

"I love you," he whispered, "I love you so much."

"Jean-Claude…oh, I love you…"

He climaxed, and they lay there, panting and looking at each other. He brushed her auburn curls out of her face, savoring the softness of her hair. He rolled off of her and put his arms around her. She nestled closer to him, resting her head against his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes full of love. He kissed her forehead. "I will always love you," he said.

"And I you."

He held her, watching as she slowly fell asleep. She looked like an angel when she slept, her pale face framed by her curls. He closed his eyes. The Gypsy witch's death had done so much good. René's treachery was, of course, a horrible thing. Still, he had fled Paris and would never return, and this made Jean-Claude happy. René would live whatever life he wanted to, and when he died, he'd go straight to Hell for attempting to help the Gypsy witch. He would burn alongside her, screaming in endless agony, and he deserved to. René's punishment would not come right away, but it would come. Jean-Claude did not have to waste time thinking about him, not while he was here with Cosette.