This last part is shorter. And I hope you like it. I'm super proud of this story, as I've written it all in one day, and it's a rare time when I get a plot bunny and actually finish it. So, I hope you like this. Reviews are appreciated.

DISCLAIMER: I am not awesome enough to invent crazy amazing people like Enjolras, Jean Valjean, Javert, Fantine, Marius, Eponine and Cosette. Therefore I am not Victor Hugo, and I do not own Les Miserables (as much as I would like to).

Part 4: Dying

He stands in front of the door, the parcels clutched in his hands and a huge smile plastered across his face. His heart is hammering frantically in his chest. In just a few minutes, he's going to see her. Only a few minutes.

He got back into the village only half-an-hour ago, ran through the house, depositing his bags and quickly changing into his old clothes, and then out of the back door and across the village, to her house. He knocks at the door as loudly as he can, and, hearing the murmur of voices behind the closed door, begins to smile even wider.

The door opens, and the smile slides off his face, worry and fear replacing the happiness in an instant…all because of the expression on Laure's mother's face. At the sight of him, standing there in the doorway, she bursts into tears. "M'sieur, thank god you've come! Thank god! Come in, come in."

"What happened, Mere Bonnet?" he asks, a fist clenching around his heart. He's gazing around the front room, looking for Laure. But she's nowhere to be seen.

"Through there," Madeleine points to a rickety wooden door in the back of the room. "She's in there," she sniffs. "Don't mind me, go and see your girl."

Enjolras quickly crosses the floor, and opens the door, slipping into the small room that holds a bed and nothing else. He stops in shock. Laure is lying in the bed, under a coarse blanket, shivering and shaking. Her fever-bright hazel eyes are too big in her face, her cheeks are sunken and her skin is sallow. As he watches in horror, she coughs weakly, holding a dirty handkerchief up to her mouth. From this close, he can see that her phlegm is speckled with blood. "Laure," he whispers, moving quickly to sit by her side.

"Alexandre," she says faintly. Her eyes shine. "You came back."

"Did you think I wouldn't?" he carefully puts his arms around her, hating how fragile she seems to be.

"No," she whispers. "But I worried."

He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, trying to hold back the tears that seem intent on forming in his eyes. "I brought you presents, from Paris," he changes the subject, placing the packages on the bed. She smiles feebly.

"You didn't have to," she says.

"But I did," he pushes the book-shaped one towards her. "This one first."

He ends up having to open them for her, as she can barely move her hands. But the illness doesn't prevent her face from lighting up in a beautiful smile as he shows her the book that he picked out for her. "I've wanted to read that since we saw it in that bookshop," she murmurs. "Will you read it to me tomorrow?"

"Of course, cherie," he says. Neither of them mention the fact that she might not be here tomorrow. "Look, and here's your second present," he opens the box for her, and places it in her hands.

"A ring," she breathes, staring at it with those wide, bright eyes. She darts a glance up at him, and a faint pink colour tinges her cheeks. Her meaning can't have been clearer.

"Yes," he whispers, pulling her closer to him. "I want you to marry me. When you've got over your illness, and I've finished university, I would be honoured if you would marry me."

"Of course I would," her tone sounds more alive at the thought. "Yes, Alexandre Enjolras, I will marry you."

"Thank you," he carefully ties the clasp of the ring-necklace around her neck, as she examines it closely.

"I've never owned anything so pretty," she says softly. He smiles at her, placing a tender kiss on her lips.

"I hoped you'd like it," he smiles, but, then, feeling her shiver in his embrace, he pulls his coat off his back, and drapes it around her shoulders, putting his arms back around her skinny frame.

"It smells like you," she says whimsically, resting her head on his shoulder. Then, "I'm so tired, Alexandre."

"Go to sleep, cherie," he whispers, tightening his embrace ever so slightly. "Go to sleep, I'll be here when you wake. I love you."

Enjolras stays at her side, and refuses to leave, even when his family's butler appears at the door wielding a note from his father. The man is shown into the bedroom, where Enjolras is sitting, reading to an exhausted and coughing Laure.

"Tell my father that I am not leaving her until she's on the mend," Enjolras retorts. Laure rests her head on his shoulder, looking at the butler with sleepy eyes.

"Please, m'sieur," she whispers. "Let him stay."

Later on, the butler would remark to his master and mistress about the pain in his young master's eyes.

The days slowly move by – Laure getting weaker and weaker, and more tired with every passing hour. Still Enjolras does not leave her – it hurts so badly to see her like this, but it would hurt more to be in the unknown. To not know what is happening to the girl he loves.

On the fourth day, after her mother has been in with the doctor that Enjolras paid for, Laure stirs briefly. "How're you feeling, cherie?" he asks quietly, kissing her cheek. She just manages a ghost of a smile, before laying her head on his chest again.

"It won't be long now," her voice is a mere breath of wind, sounding so tired and frail that his heart breaks even more with every word she utters. "I…I just want you to know…that…even…even…after I'm gone…don't be sad…" she takes in a deep breath. "Find…find some beautiful girl who'll love you like I do…and marry her…" she manages a small smile. "Name one of the children after me…" she coughs harshly, bringing up more blood. "Follow your dreams…remember always…long live the republic…" she swallows hard, looking up at him to see that there are tears rolling down his pale cheeks. "Remember…I…love…you…" she gets the words out with extreme difficulty, breathing heavily with the effort. "Sleep…now…" her head rests against his shoulder and she falls asleep again.

An hour later, Laure Elisabeth Bonnet, the love of Alexandre Enjolras' life, dies in her sleep.

June 6th, 1832

Enjolras looks around at the soldiers from the National Guard. He flings away the remains of his gun, folds his arms across his chest, feeling the small shape of Laure's ring below his shirt. "Shoot me," he says, in a steady voice.

The soldiers hesitate – but a sharp bark from their sergeant has them forming a line at the opposite end of the tavern. They line up their muskets; he takes a deep breath. Maybe I'll see Laure he thinks, standing tall and straight as their fingers find the triggers of their guns. He can almost feel her little hand on his shoulder, and as he closes his eyes, he can see her smile behind his lids. That thought causes him to smile himself, unafraid, and he's still smiling as the first of the eight bullets pierces his body.