A/N: Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews, and my apologies for the late update! Just so you know, updates will not come often in the later half of July. And Marius finally gets his say in matters. Argot used can be found in the original text.

Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables or any characters recognizable from that novel.

Marius Pontmercy was at his assigned position, armed and ready.

He was standing atop a chair, peering into the little hole in the wall between his flat and the flat of the Thénardiers. He could see them now, conversing with each other. And with the white-haired gentlemen, who seemed to be their benefactor of sorts.

It was six o'clock precisely. The white-haired man had just arrived, and he was now seated in a rickety old chair. His voice was low, yet strong, and Marius could just barely hear him. Thénardier, on the other hand, had a gravelly, oily sort of voice.

The man asked as to the condition of the youngest daughter, and such banter passed without Marius raising the alarm. He had been told to wait until the time was right, so that was what he intended to do.

But then, surprise hit Marius right in the face. A man started to come in through the door, his violet waistcoat old and ragged, and his pants in just the same condition. His face was covered in black, Marius noticed, as the stranger sat down on one of the beds.

The gentleman seemed to notice this as well. "Who is that man?" he asked, staring directly at the stranger.

Thénardier brushed him off, replying that he was nothing but a neighbor. Marius let out a small sigh of relief. Perhaps his face was just blackened like so from work.

Then, though, a sound came from the doorway. Marius looked in alarm, and he could just make out a second man walking in, his arms bare and his face blackened as well. The gentlemen spotted him as well, stiffening in alarm.

Thénardier distracted him with the mentioning of a painting for sale, pointing to it with excitement in his voice. He raised the candle to it, illuminating it for the white-haired gentleman to see. "Look at this! It's valuable, very valuable! But…money's short in coming these days, my benefactor. I'm willing, though it pains me, to part with it…"

The gentlemen directed his gaze to the back of the room as Thénardier continued to speak. Marius gave a jolt when he saw four apparitions now, three sitting and one standing. All had bare arms, no shoes, and blackened faces. One seemed to be asleep and seemed fairly old. The other two were younger, one with a beard and the other with long hair.

Thénardier noticed where the white-haired gentleman was looking. "Oh, they're just some friends that live over here. They work in the coal business, chimney specialists, you know," he said, explaining their blackened faces. Don't think on them, think on my painting! What would you give for it, my benefactor?"

The gentlemen looked to Thénardier, his back stiffening and his eyes growing hard. "I wouldn't give much for it at all…it's just some sign. Maybe three francs, if that."

"I'd go for five, my benefactor!" Thénardier said, not a care showing on his face. The gentlemen moved to stand as far from him as he could, pushing his back up against the wall. He gazed at him to his left, and the four "friends" to his right, nearest to the door.

"But, if you don't buy it," Thénardier continued, whining. "I won't have anything! My daughters, and my poor wife! There'd be nothing left for us to do, my benefactor, nothing at all!"

His attentions were on the gentleman, but his eyes were on the door. "There's nothing, nothing, nothing!" he continued. "I'd have to go throw myself into the pont d'Austerlitz! Oh, oh, oh!" he wailed. "But don't you recognize me?"

At that moment, three new men came in all at once. All were in blue shirts with black masks made out of cheap paper. The first was all bones, and he carried a cudgel on his person. The second was gargantuan, and he had a poleax. The third had very broad shoulders, was of a composition more than the first but less than the second, and he carried a key with him.

Thénardier grinned. "Everything together?" he asked of the skinny man.

"Yes, all's good."

"But…" Thénardier did a small head count. "We're missing one. Where's Montparnasse?"

"He stopped to talk with your fée."

"Which one?"

"The eldest. He should be here soon, I think."

"Good. There's a cab down?"

"Yes, all's ready."

"The rattletrap's hitched and set?"

"It's hitched."

"Two horses?"

"The best we could get."

"Waiting where I said?"

"Yes, like I said, all good."

"Good," Thénardier said, a smile upon his worn face.

The gentleman, though, was not good. He was in fact, looking rather pale. His gaze swept over everything in the flat, studying the faces of the men around him. He gripped the back of his chair, his knuckles turning white.

Marius felt a surge of pride for this man. He seemed to have courage, and a fair amount of it, regardless of his situation.

But, silently, three of the "chimney specialists" assembled themselves around the doorway, each with a scrap of iron in their hands. The eldest stayed where he was, his eyes finally opening.

Adrenaline coursed like fire through Marius's veins. He stood to attention, the pistol held high in his right hand, towards the ceiling. The time would soon come for the shot, he knew.

Thénardier turned once more to the gentleman. "So, you really don't recognize me?" he asked. "At all?"

"No," the gentleman answered, looking him straight in the face. "Not at all, Jondrette." He called him by the name Marius and the gentleman knew him to be, but others knew better.

Suddenly, Thénardier moved closer to the gentleman.

"I'm not Fabantou," he shouted. "Nor am I Jondrette! I am Thénardier, Thénardier, Thénardier! Do you hear me? Thénardier! The innkeeper! Do you recognize me, now?"

"No."

But Marius had.

Thénardier.

The man responsible for saving his now-deceased father. His father. The baron Pontmercy. Marius had known to look for him, and look for him he had.

Thénardier.

This crook, this criminal, this thief! This was his father's savior!

What irony! The man he had been told to thank could possibly kill the father of his love!

The pistol nearly fell out of his hand at this epiphany.