Breakfast meetings of Les Amis had, historically, never been well-attended. So even though they were four short, when everyone who was actually in Paris showed up, it felt like a crowd at the Cafe Musain. Combeferre looked around the room, watching Jehan feed Courfeyrac pieces of a croissant, and rolled his eyes. "He can feed himself, you know."

Jehan grinned. "I know, but c'est beau! Especially when he licks my fingers!"

Combeferre shook his head. Those two were hopeless. Both passionate about everything they did. Everything. "More information than I needed." Gavroche was perched on the counter, completely ignored by Eponine, who'd been working the morning shift lately. "And shouldn't you be getting ready for school?"

Gavroche bit into a chocolate-chip muffin – provided, no doubt, by his sister, much as she pretended to overlook him as he pestered her. "Eh?" He pretended like it was a foreign concept. "No school today. C'est mercredi."

Eponine smiled as she shoved Gavroche off the counter when a potential customer came into the cafe. "Oui, he does have that." Gavroche had been know to convince more gullible members of the group that he didn't have school when he, in fact, should have been there.

"See?" Gavroche stuck his chin out proudly with all the impudence an eleven year old could muster. "Sometimes Gavroche is right."

"And sometimes Eponine bops him anyway," Eponine murmured as she turned back to her work.

Gavroche snorted. Despite their pasts, Eponine could threaten her brother with mild violence precisely because everyone knew she'd never follow through on it. "Oui, oui. A real comedian, that 'Ponine." He grinned at her devilishly. "You're just mad because Lover Boy's not here."

Eponine rolled her eyes. "S'il vous plait."

Gavroche struck a dramatic pose, starting to sing. "Oh, how can he not feel the same way, when we're strolling down the Champs-Élysées? In the City of Love..."

"Gavroche!" He was probably the only one who could get away with teasing her about her crush on Marius, and even then, she wasn't going to just sit there and take it. Eponine plucked a piece of bagel out of the day-old bin and winged it at her brother. "No one comes here to listen to you sing."

Gavroche was undeterred, continuing to sing the tune. "I wish that he would whisper, 'Ma cherie, je t'aime,' but then he went and got his ass on a plane..." He was only encouraged by the snickers around him. Eponine was glaring at him, blushing a little, trying to maintain her composure. "Au revoir!" Gavroche flashed an impish grin and was out the door into the cold morning, Eponine leaving the counter long enough to chase after him with his coat.

"That boy," Eponine muttered fondly.

Combeferre chuckled as he glanced around the cafe again. He smiled, watching Feuilly and Bossuet staring into their coffee cups. They rarely showed up to these morning gatherings, so he could hardly blame them for only being half-awake. Especially considering that as far as Combeferre could tell, they hadn't actually been to bed yet. Only those two could find themselves that much adventure on a Tuesday night.

Combeferre slid into an empty chair across the table from Bahorel, who smiled at him. "So, do we actually know anything about the apparent future Madame Pontmercy?" Bahorel asked. He didn't shrink when Eponine threw him a dark look. "Well, Gavroche brought it up."

"She's Jean Valjean's daughter," Combeferre said, shrugging. "Impressive lineage, that." Jean Valjean was a passionate activist for the poor, which made him an honorary Friend of the ABC whether he knew it or not. No one knew all of the details about his past, but he'd been forced to seek political asylum in the States not long after he'd adopted his daughter. Les Amis were not exactly strangers to run-ins with the law, so they understood.

"She's adopted," Eponine interjected – not jealously, but teasing.

"Well, I doubt that much matters to the way she was raised," Combeferre pointed out.

Eponine shrugged. "I know her, you know."

"Well, of course." Courfeyrac grinned. "You know everyone."

Eponine laughed. "No, really, I do. She lived with me. Haven't seen her since we were children, but...je ne sais pas."

"That's right." Combeferre nodded. "I remember, the media was making a fuss over it when he adopted her after the bust." They generally tried to avoid the subject for obvious reasons, but the "Thenardier scandal," as it had come to be known, was fairly infamous, especially in this area. Eponine and Gavroche's parents had been scamming the foster care system for several years, heaping abuse and child labor on most of the children they so publicly championed. In the meantime, they sold their toddler son for what was rumored to be a pretty steep price. Eponine had been forced to become a pawn in their game – but when the government finally busted the case, several years too late, she had gotten out, at least temporarily. After a few years, her parents successfully petitioned to have her returned, claiming they'd reformed. They hadn't, but they knew how to play the game and so did Eponine. It had taken her a long time to break from that toxic cycle. Gavroche had been more or less left to raise himself, though Eponine interceded when she could find him. He'd bounced through the system, dodging it most of the time. Gavroche took a certain pride in being able to fend for himself. Legally, at the moment, Eponine was his guardian, but he mostly only slept and ate at her place. She knew not to cage him or he'd just disappear until he'd figured she'd learned her lesson.

"Well." Eponine was trying just a little too hard to be breezy about it, but that was understandable. "Like I said, we were children. I haven't been having cocktails with her or anything."

The silence that followed was awkward. Normally, it would have been up to Grantaire to make some outrageous remark; even when he wasn't drunk, he was a master of sarcasm who loved to push the limits. Whenever things exceeded whatever emotional threshold he'd deemed acceptable, he was quick to defuse the situation. After a moment, though, as if sensing the lag, Bossuet stood up and approached Eponine, sighing melodramatically. "Oh, Monsieur Pontmercy!" He had adopted an absolutely terrible imitation of the average adult female. "Whatever have you done to my poor heart? We've but just met!"

Eponine hid a smile behind her hand, then fluffed her hair a bit and leaned across the counter. "Cosette! We must be connected somehow!" Her impression of Marius actually wasn't that bad.

Bossuet laid it on thick. "This isn't...strange, is it?"

"Of course not." Eponine put a hand on his cheek. "Just...take it for what it is."

"Oh, Marius!" Bossuet gasped. And that was what sent everybody over the edge into helpless laughter. Bossuet grinned and took a bow. "Thank you, gentlemen." He kissed Eponine's hand. "And my lovely leading lady."

Combeferre shook his head. "Idiots," he sighed affectionately.

Bossuet shrugged and slipped back into his chair. "Oui, mon ami, but yet you stay."

Combeferre laughed. "I didn't say that was a bad thing."

It had no doubt been fate that caused Marius to get turned around in the parking garage. It had only delayed him about five minutes, but that had been just enough. He'd jogged from the parking garage to the Emergency entrance, where Joly was waiting. Marius had jumped at the sound of an ambulance hurrying into the adjacent bay. The paramedics were shouting in their medical jargon as they worked on their patient, and Marius and Joly stepped back as they hurried by. Then they'd exchanged a look of horror.

They'd both seen different things, they'd find when they compared notes later. Joly had noticed the mess of dark curls and forced himself to look down at the face to confirm he was wrong. He wasn't. Marius' attention had been drawn to the limp arm hanging off the cot – and the bracelet around the wrist. A young girl had been selling braided bracelets at one of the rallies they'd attended and she'd happily tied each into place around its new owner's wrist. Grantaire had never removed it. The color had faded over the months, but it was still instantly recognizable to Marius.

The two friends had immediately rushed back inside, Joly listening carefully to the medical babble and relating it to Marius. But Joly hadn't been at the hospital long enough to have connections in the emergency department yet, so they'd been left in the dark as soon as the trauma suite door shut. The next half hour was a blur; Marius vaguely remembered retreating to the waiting room and trying to calm Joly, who was pacing as he called Enjolras. After making the call, Joly sank into a chair, wringing his hands. He rambled for a bit, going over the few facts they knew – it was some sort of stab wound, significant blood loss, collapsed lung. Marius wasn't sure if knowing so little was better or worse. It left a lot of room for anxious guessing – but at the same time, he didn't know if he was prepared for the full story.

Enjolras burst into the waiting room before long, and Marius rushed to meet him. "Enj." He wanted to hug Enjorlas desperately, but he held back, seeing their leader's rigid stance. Enjolras wasn't going to allow himself to be comforted, not yet. To anyone who didn't know him, Enjolras would have appeared to be the epitome of calm, but Marius knew him too well to be fooled. The tense posture, the way his eyes darted around the room...for Enjolras, that was akin to barely controlled panic.

"Parlez-moi," Enjolras snapped.

Joly shook his head. "We still don't know anything." His face lit up with inspiration. "But you, you're family; you'd be able to get information." In a relational sense, they were all family, but Enjolras was the one listed on Grantaire's forms.

Enjolras nodded, and moved immediately to the reception desk. His expression was stormy as he returned. He relayed what little report was readily available. Grantaire was in surgery. The knife had gone between two ribs, puncturing the lung and damaging a blood vessel. He had mild head injury, but the stab wound was the life-threatening concern. Enjolras made a half-hearted attempt at a joke about the number of concussions Grantaire had sustained already, and what was one more, but it fell flat.

Joly was the first to dare to offer sympathy – but he was the better person for it, with his sensitive nature. "Gabe..." Outside of that night, Marius could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard Joly address Enjolras by his first name. "I know-"

Enjolras cut him off. "No, you don't."

Joly didn't so much as flinch. "Well, I can't know, exactly, but-"

"No." Enjolras raked his fingers through his hair. "I didn't know where he was."

Marius shrugged. "He keeps his own schedule."

"I should have known," Enjolras insisted.

Joly seemed to sense that they weren't going to talk him out of that one. "But you knew how to find out. You went looking for him."

"He always knows where I am," Enjolras sighed, dropping his head to his chest.

"That's because he's obsessed with you," Marius offered, only half-joking. He might have reconsidered had he actually thought about the words before they left his mouth, but his brain was a step behind and not just because of the late hour.

Fortunately, Enjolras seemed to see the truth in Marius' words. "But I'm not obsessed with him." It was a simple statement of fact. He loved Grantaire, but the only thing anyone could truly say he was obsessed with was his cause.

Joly shrugged. "It's not your way."

"He deserves someone who's obsessed with him," Enjolras said quietly.

Marius sighed. They'd been down a road like this one before – though the circumstances hadn't been as dire. Enjolras, who never doubted himself when he was on fire for justice, was apparently capable of doing a complete turn-around when it came to his relationship. Of course, he didn't have much experience in the matter, either. Enjorlas never had time for anyone's lonely soul, not even his own, before he'd been forced – perhaps not so gently – by his friends to see what was in front of him. Marius draped an arm over Enjolras' shoulders, after hesitating to see if Enjolras would allow it. "R's never wanted more than you're comfortable giving."

Joly nodded. "He loves just being around you."

That didn't seem to make Enjolras feel any better. "Heaven knows why."

"As Jehan would say, c'est l'amor." Joly shrugged, then looked alarmed. "We should call them."

Enjolras shook his head. "Let's not worry them until we have news."

Marius frowned. "If it was one of them..."

Enjolras glared at Marius briefly, that look that said Marius was right and he hated to admit it. Marius was normally far more pleased with himself when he got that look, but he couldn't muster the excitement now. "I'll call them."

"Enj, we can-" Marius broke off as Enjolras pulled away and stood up. Enjolras' phone was already in his hand. It was probably just as well. Marius suspected it would be good for Enjolras to talk to the rest of their friends, to get that support. Marius sighed, leaning back against the uncomfortable waiting-room chair. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he grabbed it distractedly.

Cosette: Are you still alive?

Marius jolted. He'd been in the middle of a chat with Cosette when Enjolras had interrupted and Marius had no idea what was going on, so he'd just told Cosette he'd be back. He felt bad for leaving her hanging, but he knew she'd understand. Sorry. Emergency. He managed to hit send before he considered how alarming that might sound.

Cosette: Are you okay?

That was a relative term, considering someone had tried to kill one of his best friends. I'm okay. R was attacked. Waiting for news.

Cosette: OMG. Where are you?

Marius might not have been the quickest draw when it came to women, but he was able to figure that one out. You don't have to come.

Cosette: I'm coming. Where are you?

Marius hated the idea of her coming out at this time of the night, but she lived with her father, so hopefully he'd be able to intercede – or at least make sure she got there safely. St. Vincent's. Be safe.

Courfeyrac watched with concern as Combeferre talked with Enjolras. The conversation was serious, Courfeyrac could tell, and Combeferre was worried. He was asking for details about some kind of injury, and Courfeyrac settled nervously next to Jehan as they waited for the news. If it was minor, Enjolras probably wouldn't have even bothered to call. This had to be serious, to get Combeferre that rattled. Courfeyrac was already making plans in his mind.

"What's wrong?" Jehan asked as soon as Combeferre hung up. They'd lingered in the cafe after breakfast and now Courfeyrac was glad for it. Combeferre had been studying when he got the call and Courfeyrac probably should have been, but Jehan was so much more interesting.

Combeferre sat down at the table. "R's hurt. Someone attacked him."

Jehan gasped and Courfeyrac reached out to rub his arm. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Don't know yet." Combeferre sighed. "It's pretty bad. Enjolras is really shaken, though he'd never admit it."

Courfeyrac nodded. That decided it. It was going to take serious, liberal use of his connections, but he was pretty sure he could pull it off. "Then put the word out. I'd suggest you update your passports."

Jehan smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Thanks so much for all your support! More to come, for sure. Les Amis, assemble! (Yeah, mixing my fandoms a bit.)

Translations:

C'est beau! - It's beautiful!

C'est mercredi. - It's Wednesday. (Most schools in France are out on Wednesday. Must be nice.)

S'il vous plait. - Please.

Ma cherie, je t'aime – My darling, I love you. (Though the actual lyric is in French. :-D)

Au revoir! - Goodbye! (Or, as Gavroche means it, "I'm getting out of here before I get my butt kicked.")

Je ne sais pas – I don't know.

Idiots – Yeah, it's exactly what it looks like. :-D

Oui, mon ami – Yes, my friend

Parlez-moi – Talk to me.

C'est l'amor – That's love