Thank you for the reviews! I hope the story lives up to your expectations. :) As always, mistakes are mine and I don't doubt there are a few. I'm trying to catch them. Let me just say, for the record, that trying to spell these names correctly is HARD! LOL! -Kam ;)

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Two very loud, rather desperate voices floated in the darkness, pulling at him as though from another realm. It was peaceful in the dark.

The voices, on the other hand, were damned irritating.

"Combeferre! Wake up! Oh, for God's sake, let me go!"

"What are you doing to him?"

"I said, let me go!"

"You've just hit the man, is he not already down?"

Combeferre did feel a sting along his cheekbone, and the dialogue above him served to define its source. He moaned, "Grantaire, you would kick a dog in its sleep," and tried to force one eye to open. He managed, and encouraged the other to follow suit, only to wish he had kept both closed.

He saw Grantaire leaning over him, his face distorted by Combeferre's cloudy vision. Grantaire was glaring at him, and his lifted hand was held fast by Marius. "It is about time, you idiot! Why did you have to be struck down? You, the medical student. I could have used your advice, I know nothing other than to use alcohol to cleanse the wound."

Combeferre blinked his friend into focus, wincing slightly against the pain in his head. "And did you?"

"I was sorely wounded, indeed." The man smirked. Marius flung his hand down in disgust and walked away from him.

"Cretin." Combeferre slowly sat up, bracing his head with his hand. "God. Where am I?" He winced at the spinning room, feeling himself tilt to the side.

"Whoa, my friend!" Grantaire bent before him and supported his weight. "If you can not recognize your own walls, you are worse off than we thought."

Combeferre waved him off in irritation. He continued to blink, noticing that Grantaire, despite his sarcasm, was not leaving his side should he pass out. And for several moments Combeferre entertained the idea of doing just that, but something was bothering him. He passes his hand over his eyes, sighing, and squinted toward the window. "Marius?"

"Yes?" Marius turned from the window. Combeferre noticed a white bandage wrapped tight around his friend's hand, and waved him over.

"It is tended," Marius said, rather stiffly.

Combeferre wavered. "You are certain?"

"Well enough."

"Just as well, I'm not convinced I could focus on it." He swung his feet over the side of the bed and pressed the heels of his hands to his closed eyes, pleading inwardly for his headache to subside. He ignored the tilt of his stomach. "How long have I been here?"

"An hour, more or less," Grantaire said, his hands hovering.

A stiffness in his voice made Combeferre glance up. Grantaire looked pensive. Marius was chewing at his thumbnail, his gaze fixed through the paned glass.

"What is the matter?" He looked at each man in turn, realizing someone was missing. "Wait - where is Enjolras?"

"We do not know," Marius admitted after a moment.

Combeferre's eyebrows rose, making his head ache even more. "Pardon?"

Grantaire fisted his hair. "Dammit, the people, they were everywhere!" he said quickly, finally allowing his nervousness to surface. "Enjolras was gone. We do not yet know if he was taken - or arrested - and you were injured. We brought you back."

Combeferre took a moment, not wanting to accept the possibility of Enjolras being arrested. "No one has been to the city jail?"

"It has only been an hour, or three quarters of, since we brought you here," Marius said. "No one has yet seen him."

"Is that why you keep looking out of my window?"

Marius merely pressed his lips together and turned away.

Combeferre knew there was no love lost between Enjolras and Marius. It wasn't that they disliked each other, but were on opposite ends of the pole. Marius had visited the friends in the café more out of the need for companionship than any desire to become involved in events. The fact that he had struck out that day to assist them initially puzzled Combferre, but he never had a chance to place his query. Nor was that time now. Now, he was very concerned for his dearest friend. "Was he injured? Do we know that, at least?"

"I know only what you do," Marius answered.

Combeferre tried to remember. He knew his friend had been held, that he had cried out and the sound had terrified him. Then there were just bodies.

"We must find him," Grantaire said, needlessly.

"I'm surprised you are here and not in the street searching." Combeferre stood slowly, and tested his balance. His head throbbed from where he had been hit, but he could discover no serious injury. His vision was now fine, and he did not sway from vertigo. He would move slowly, then, to see about his friend. His friend - good God, Enjolras was missing? It wasn't possible! "We must convene. Gather who you can and bring them here to me. We dare not go to the café."

"They are nearby. It will take but just a moment," Grantaire said, and was through the door before Combeferre could order him to stay cautious.

"He is worried," Marius said.

"As am I," Combeferre admitted.

"Perhaps Enjolras is hiding along the street."

"Were he in the street someone would know. And he is not one for hiding in shadow." Combeferre turned at the sound of many boots on the stairs. "Were they all waiting in the doorway?"

"Quite nearly," Marius said, with a slight smile on his face.

The Friends of the ABC, minus their astute leader, bustled into the small apartment and spread along the walls, only a few taking the three seats available to them.

Combeferre gestured to his bed, thus providing two more seats, and took himself to the window. "That urchin Gavroche is running for this building," he muttered to Marius. He impatiently waved an arm at him.

Courfeyrac hurried to the window, his hand resting on Combeferre's shoulder as he peered out. "He was sent to the city jail. He has news," Courfeyrac said quickly, giving Combeferre a slap on the shoulder which made him close his eyes briefly. "Bahorel, let him in!"

"It was just Enjolras," Bahorel was at that time saying to Feuilly. "I was not attacked where I spoke, and neither was Joly. Jehan saw nothing amiss." He opened the door at the frantic knock, and admitted the young and mighty Gavroche.

Gavroches was flushed, his cap askew, his small eyes bright in his head. He doubled over as he spoke, his word tumbling out. "I've seen him, he's in the jail!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "He got himself arrested!" He looked around the room. "Listen, I know people! I can get him out, it isn't a problem! He'll have to be snuck out, of course, but he'll be. . ."

"Easy, Gavroche!" Courfeyrac rubbed Gavroche's cap onto his head. "Has he a window?"

"He has. I spoke to him through it."

"Then return to him," Combeferre replied quickly. "Tell him Maruis is on his way. He can get in to see him, the man can talk a cat from its dinner. Then get yourself clear. Oh, Gavroche…" Combeferre hesitated, "is he badly injured?"

Gavorche seemed suddenly embarrassed. "A bit, yeah. Depends on what you think is bad."

"Then tell him both Marius and myself will be in to see him. He is alone in his cell?"

"Yeah. I don't think there's anyone near him, neither. Heard someone but he sounded distant, couldn't make out his words. Enjolras wouldn't let me stay with him."

"Of course not. Go then, pass on my message." Combeferre turned to his friends as the young boy ran out, and Bahorel closed the door behind him. "You gentlemen are free to either remain here or to return to your own dwellings. But I hope to bring back news quickly."

"Combeferre," Courfeyrac leaned in to his friend, "are you well enough to go?"

"I am fine," Combeferre insisted, waving off further looks of concern. He was touched, to be honest, seeing the concern in their eyes. Anyone would be. But now wasn't the time for reassurance.

"Enjolras was attacked, wasn't he?" Feuilly asked. "Someone meant to hurt him. That wasn't just an angry crowd."

"Hurt him or scare him, yes."

"But why?" Feuilly looked genuinely confused.

"I would imagine it is because he has a political agenda!" Combeferre snapped. He rubbed his hand over his face and sent Feuilly an apologetic look. Feuilly nodded in understanding.

Grantaire's face was downcast. Combeferre felt certain he had never seen the man so depressed before, even when Enjolras was tearing into him for his idle behavior. But even then, it was attention from his idol. With his idol behind bars, he more than likely felt as though the sun would never rise again.

"We'll assume the charge is disturbance of the peace," Marius said as Combeferre quickly packed a small medical bag. "With any luck that warrants only a brief stay. There are too many vagrants about. It is possible they will release him within days."

"One can only hope. Come on." Combeferre fought past the nausea which climbed into his throat and made a hasty exit with Marius on his heels.

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Marius explained the reason for their visit to the guard. The man needed a lawyer, and medical attention! Surely he could not refuse! The guard could care less, it seemed, but waved them inside. Marius hesitated before the man, deliberately glancing him up and down, hoping to intimidate with his bold air. Only when he realized he'd been left behind did Marius hurry to match Combeferre's pace.

He rounded the corner into the tiny, dim corridor which was flanked with cells on either side. Two men were curled into their respective corners in their individual cells, both fast asleep. The cells further down appeared empty. Combeferre paused, then rushed to the lonely cell at the end, falling to his knees at the door. "Enjolras! It is I!"

There was a rustling motion, and a shadowy Enjolras rolled over on the tiny cot then quickly rose to his feet. Marius hung back. "Combeferre?" Enjolras asked, and stopped short, taking in his friend's appearance.

Combeferre waved it down. "I'll live. But are you injured?"

"Me?" He appeared genuinely perplexed. In two strides he was across the shadowed cell and grabbing the bars, craning his neck, trying to see towards the door. He aimed hot eyes at his friend. "Combefere, you must leave. Your association will only bring you more harm at this point. Leave me. Now!"

"Nonsense. I have permission to be here." Combeferre was making a face, and raised his arm to block his nostrils. "You could've have found a better place to meet up! What is that stench?"

"I believe…" Enjolras said no more, but tilted his head in the direction of one of the sleeping men.

"I pity you in more ways than one, then." Combeferre reached out and stopped Enjolras from pulling his hands back. He examined the busted knuckles. "It seems you put up a fight I did not see."

"Pfft." Enjolras snatched his hands away, rubbing at his injuries and turning his back to them.

Marius watched the quick exchange between the two friends with intense curiosity. It was the first time he had been nearly isolated with Enjolras, and to be truthful, it unnerved him. He was used to seeing him in a crowded room, or a more crowded street. Even if there were but a few friends in the café, Enjolras had a leaning towards remaining on the sides of the room so he could watch the action. While he was a formidable presence, there were times when it was possible to at least try and forget that he was in the room. But now he was mere feet away, and as far as he was concerned only his closest friend was with him. Marius was an intruder, but he could not tear himself away. His natural curiosity held him in check, and he watched the two men, feeling like a voyeur.

But Enjolras looked over his shoulder and noticed him, and met his eyes firmly before again facing the back wall. The visual contact felt like an electric shock, similar to watching a caged lion. Marius approached the bars, standing less than a foot away, allowing himself to completely take in the details of this man for the first time.

Enjolras was slightly taller, perhaps a few years older though he couldn't be sure, and his energetic eyes were vivid in the dim light. Marius realized he was holding his breath and wondered how many men it took to encase this mighty lion, who suddenly seemed too large for his cell. "What are the charges?" Enjolras asked him.

"That is to be ascertained," Marius said, "but I'm certain it will be disturbing the peace."

Enjolras waved his hand in irritation. "Of all things! I could be brought down for murdering a man, but I am here for inciting a scene which I, in fact, did NOT incite."

"You've murdered a man?" Marius frowned.

The leader's back was still turned to him. His head bowed down, and his shoulders shook in a chuckle. Enjolras peeked around, surprising Marius with the humor in his face. The vivid eyes suddenly held a sparkle. He hadn't thought his man capable of such! "Do you think me one who could kill a man?"

Marius spoke without thought. "I am afraid that if the situation came to it, you could."

"As could you. As could anyone, if the situation came to it." He sighed in irritation, stepping fully for the first time into a single, narrow beam of light which streamed in from the small window above.

His shirt was torn over his breast. With the natural low cut in front it seemed to hang in two strips over his body. Dried blood streaked his forehead, and as Combeferre had noted before, his hands were barked and bruised from his struggle.

Combeferre set his bag on the filthy floor. "Come over here. Let me at least try to clean you up. Wish you could pull that beam of light along with you."

Enjolras grunted. "I refuse to disrobe, I'll catch my death in here," he muttered wryly, walking up to his friend. He slowly curled his fingers around one bar. It was a pathetic motion. It wasn't meant to be, but it caught the three men as such. Marius met the leader's eyes once more, and saw sadness.

He thinks he's let us down, Marius realized.

"Pass your hands through the bars," Combeferre commanded. "Next thing you know Grantaire will be through that door, and if he sees his Apollo in this state he may not survive the walk back out of here."

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he did so, and muttered underneath his breath a phrase that Combeferre smiled at, but one Marius could not hear, for he was backing away with the intention of finding out just what the charges were. It seemed these friends needed a moment.

His return found the two much as they were before, only both sitting on the floor on opposite sides of the bar. Enjolras was leaning back against the wall in his cell, wiping at the dried blood on his face with the cloth Combeferre had provided. His wounded hands were lightly bandaged. Combeferre leaned against the bars in a similar way, nearly mirroring his friend, but with his ear tilted to hear every low word Enjolras said. And Enjolras was talking, non-stop it seemed, his hands gesturing little but his ideas flowing out. He studied the cloth as he spoke.

Again, Marius didn't make his presence known. He stayed in the shadows, watching the intimate moment between the two friends, realizing he was witnessing a rare time when Enjolras had his guard down completely, when his deepest thoughts were being listened to by a friend. He couldn't hear the words being spoken, not clearly. It made no matter to him. To see him almost peaceful, rather than masterful, yet still possessing the power which made him so popular - and somewhat intimidating - to see him smile and laugh at Combeferre's responses, it was a pleasure which surprised him. And suddenly, Marius decided he did indeed like Enjolras. And he was willing to know the man better, to see more of this side of him.

He approached the two men, noting regretfully that their guard rose slightly in his presence. The smoothness of Enjolras' face was replaced with a wary tension, almost imperceptible except when seen against its previous counterpart. "It is as we thought," Marius said, noting with further regret that his voice had a sharp edge to it, no doubt his unintended response to their reaction at seeing him, "he will be in for two days, no more, barring any further incidents." His eyebrows rose meaningfully at Combeferre. "We must behave ourselves."

"Bah!" Enjolras exclaimed, to Combeferre's delight.

"I'm completely serious," Marius said with a smile. "No taking to the streets and inciting madness for two days, lest we wish our noble leader clapped in irons for life, or shot through the chest for treason."

"It is a wonder they chose to forgo that rationale, seeing the topic on which I was elucidating," Enjolras mused.

"God above! If you are going to start writing speeches in your head, I'm leaving," Combeferre threatened. "Even I know to retreat when you start in with the large words."

"As a philosopher and medical student, one would think you could match me word for word."

"I could! I could teach you several new words as well. But I am tired, and since you are not dying or a threat to have your head on the block, I'm taking my leave of you. One of us deserves a restful night, and I warrant it will not be you."

"You know me too well." Once more the reserve had slipped, but only briefly. Now that Marius knew what to look for, he would be waiting for this newer Enjolras to show himself, one that perhaps the other men had seen but not realized.

A commotion behind him made him spin, his hands raised for an attack. Combeferre had pushed to his feet, as had Enjolras, whom Combeferre signaled to back away into the shadows as though bars did not protect him.

Grantaire emerged, and stopped dead still when he saw Enjolras. Enjolras endured the stare with a hint of humor.

"What's the charge?" Grantiare asked Marius sidelong, his gaze not leaving the expressive eyes locked with his.

"Two day and he's a free man," Marius said deliberately.

"HA!" Grantaire threw his head back as he barked out a laugh. "The threat of being a free man is what landed him here in the first place!" His face filled with anger, and he marched to the bars. "The next time I say your idea is, in fact, a bad idea, you listen to me!"

"We should go," Combeferre took Marius' arm, "before this becomes unpleasant."

"I agree," Marius said, and the two left quickly, both feeling amused and ignoring the sudden look of panic on their leader's face.

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Word spread quickly of the imprisonment, and Enjolras had a steady supply of visitors pass the tiny street-level window. The window was no easy feat to get to; smashed between two old, tilted buildings it sat in an alley way hardly fit for cats to run through. One hardly had room to squat, never mind kneel. Enjolras had managed to grab hold of the bars and pull himself up to see through, and was surprised to find if he stuck his hand outside, he could almost touch the opposing wall.

His bread and water was supplied, but left untouched. It was raining, and he had moved his pathetic cot as far from the window as possible. The water ran down the wall in rivulets, splattered against the brick. He sat on his cot, knees pulled to his chest, arms tucked close to his body. The air was chilled from the passing storm. The cell was damp. He stifled a cough and cleared his throat, trying to pull the remnants of his shirt closer around him. For the moment the rain kept his friends away, giving him time to think. For once, he did not welcome that opportunity.

The warden had brought in one visitor that day, a face he didn't think to see again. A man he'd never understood. A man who never understood him.

His father had looked at him through the bars, his blue eyes gleaming in the dim light, his square jaw clenched, his dark hair glistening with rain. Enjolras remembered standing slowly, unable to believe his eyes, and suddenly felt so ashamed of his deeds. But he raised his chin and walked to the bars, meeting his father, a military man, face-to-face.

His father said nothing. He was nearly a head taller; a strong, imposing man with a powerful voice, one his mother used to say Enjolras inherited from him. To see the two, there was no doubt they were father and son.

It had puzzled Enjolras. His father was military. He believed in France. But he could not seem to accept his son's patriotism. Enjolras was supposed to be a lawyer. That was how he would serve. But it wasn't where his heart was, and he was hearing the same tired argument from all quarters, hell, even Grantaire was siding with his father without realizing it!

Enjolras had looked at his father. Just looked at him, not knowing his own eyes were pleading.

And his father had turned slowly, his eyes drifting in a deliberate line from Enjolras to the bars that divided them. He walked away, his boots thudding dully in the gloom.

No words were exchanged. Words had not been exchanged for a very long time. His father was merely letting Enjolras know that he was aware of the predicament. Just awareness, no advice, and certainly no words of consolation. Enjolras had silently watched him leave and leaned forward, resting his head on the cool bars where his father had been standing

Now, his cot was near the bars in that same spot. He could hear a whore further down the stifling corridor, railing and pining at the inhumanity which placed her there, yelling that she had presented her documentation., she was legal! He wondered, if under different circumstance would she have gone to school? Her shrill voice made her age impossible to place, but he assumed she was older than he. Most of the whores seemed to be. Was he truly throwing everything away by pursuing this cause? Would it matter? Would they still end up in these dank and damp cells, only for other reasons?

No, he told himself. One day, everyone will have the chance that I've been given. It is worth the fight. For the people like her, who had no choice, it is worth the fight.

It was worth the distance between him and his father.

The chill cut deep through his body. He pulled himself inward and lay on his side, folding himself beneath the bitter, pitiful excuse for a blanket.

He closed his eyes, and listened to the rain.

to be continued...