Three

Answers

Cosette woke the next morning to find herself staring at pale grey, concrete walls. Her heart sank. It had not been a dream, not any of it; the ache deep in her bones was a testament to that. Her head felt fuzzy, like she hadn't slept enough and had slept too much all at once, and her eyelids felt like there was sand beneath them every time she blinked.

Grantaire was sat cross-legged on the airbed, the blankets pooled around him but tucked over his knees. The gun lay on the bed in front of him, and he was just staring at it.

"That man from last night just came in," Grantaire said, his voice muted and somewhat distracted. "The one with the glasses. We've been asked to eat breakfast, and then we'll be filled in on what's happening."

"Grantaire," Cosette said, softly, swinging her legs out of bed. She crouched on the bed next to him. The bed appeared to have deflated over night, so there wasn't much to actually crouch on, and she could feel the hard concrete beneath her knees. "Are you all right?"

She put her hand on his shoulder. He shook his head, raven black curls bouncing. "Not really," he said. "We shouldn't be here, Cosette. I don't like this. I don't like any of it." He dug the heel of his hand into his eye, a small groan of frustration escaping his throat. "I think we should try and leave."

"Let's see what they want, first," she suggested. "This is serious. We were attacked last night, and these people seem to think they can protect us. Let's find out what's going on, then we can work something out from there." She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and squeezed him, pressing her mouth against his neck.

The door opened all of a sudden, and an unfamiliar man burst in.

Cosette pulled away from Grantaire.

"Oh – sorry – shit, I'm sorry, I should have knocked," the man said, freckled cheeks flooding with red. He was tall and lanky, a little too skinny, blue eyed with messy, pale brown hair with a reddish hue to it. He was good looking in a cute, almost baby-faced way, but she tracked her eyes over his body and saw the strength behind the lankiness, and his hands, God, he had big hands and she'd always liked big hands.

She realised too late that she was staring, and the man's blush had become even darker.

"What did you want?" Grantaire said, a tad rudely.

The man stepped backwards. "Combeferre asked me to come and take you to breakfast," he said. "He's busy, and he wasn't sure you'd be able to find your way and I'm really sorry, I should have knocked."

"Yeah, you should have," Grantaire said, getting to his feet. He held out his hand to Cosette and pulled her into a standing position. "We don't even have any fucking socks," Grantaire muttered under his breath.

"I can get you some socks," the man said. "I mean, I don't – I don't actually have any socks on me right now, but, I'm sure we could arrange some socks for you."

"We're fine for the moment," Cosette said, not wanting the man to become any more flustered than he already was. "What's your name? I'm Cosette."

"I know," the man said. "I mean – everyone knows who you are."

Grantaire ducked down to pick up the gun and put it in his pocket. Cosette spared him a glance, then turned her attentions back to the other man in front of her.

"This is Grantaire," she added, gesturing at the man in question. She stepped forward, careful not to let her feet become tangled with the blankets, and snared Grantaire's wrist as she passed him, pulling him forwards.

"Marius," the man said, stepping out of the room and then to one side so that they could leave as well. He pulled the door shut behind them. "My name's Marius."

They walked in a somewhat uncomfortable silence through the network of corridors. On the way, they passed the bald man they had seen the night before (Marius greeted him with a quick, "Good morning, Bossuet"), and Éponine, who managed a bright, wide smile for Marius as they walked past him.

The kitchen was a flurry of activity when they arrived.

Bahorel was there, twirling from the stove to the island with a frying pan, sliding what looked like pancakes onto waiting plates. Courfeyrac was spinning on a stool, singing along to the radio. Joly was crushing something in a mortar, swinging his hips in time to the music. The blond man from the night before – Enjolras, was it? – was rifling through a pile of papers, whilst Combeferre stood behind him.

There were also two more people there that Cosette hadn't seen before, both men. One was a fairly short, but sturdy looking man with dark hair, the curls cropped close to his head. He was sweeping up what looked like flour, but he was sweeping in time to the music resonating throughout the room. The other man was sat beside Courfeyrac, swinging his legs; he was slim, pretty, with big hazel eyes, and wavy auburn hair. She recognised the flowery jumper that he was wearing as being one she owned herself, but his was far too big for him, the extra material swamping his slender frame.

All of the men were grinning hugely, aside from Enjolras and Combeferre who were fixed on reading the papers in front of them, and looking rather serious about it to boot.

As they entered, Combeferre looked up and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Good morning," he said, and effectively ended all of the activity in the room until the only thing that was anywhere near motion was the music playing.

The dark-haired man stopped sweeping to rest his arm on top of his broom, and Courfeyrac winked at her. She felt Grantaire's hand at the small of her back.

"Stop gawping," Enjolras commanded with a small roll of his eyes, placing his hand over the top of the papers in front of him. "It's almost as if none of you have seen a female before."

Cosette felt her face heat up.

Bahorel was the first to move, nudging the dark-haired man and his broom out of the way. "Pancakes!" he said, pointing enthusiastically at the plates. "You two like pancakes, right?"

"I love pancakes," Cosette said, stepping forwards and slipping onto the stool. She pulled one of the plates towards her, and Bahorel pressed a knife and fork into her hands.

"There's the pancake shit," Bahorel said, gesturing towards a selection of condiments in the middle of the table. She spotted butter and syrup and lemon juice and sugar and some fruity syrups and some chunks of fresh fruit; she set about scooping a knob of butter onto her pancakes as Grantaire sat down next to her.

She looked up from spooning some of the golden syrup onto her pancakes to see that she was still being watched by some of the men. She paused, pushing the pot of syrup back towards the centre of the island.

Then she braced her elbows on the table and held the knife and fork in one hand, whilst reaching across the island towards the man in the flowery jumper, who was more or less sat in front of her. "Cosette," she said.

"Jehan," the man replied, shaking her hand. His grip was firm.

"I'm Feuilly," the dark-haired man chipped in, appearing at the other end of the island and propping the broom against the edge.

"This is Grantaire," Cosette said, smearing the syrup over the pancake's surface with the flat edge of her knife.

Grantaire made a short noise under his breath and stabbed at his plain pancake with his fork. Cosette didn't need to look to know that this action had garnered some raised eyebrows from the other men in the room, but she ignored him, instead slicing into her pancakes and taking a bite.

Pancakes had been a comfort food for her when she was little – they were what her father made for her when she was very tired or not feeling very well or, memorably, when she got her first period and neither of them had really known how to feel about it. These pancakes were possibly a little nicer than the ones she'd had as a child, as her father always had a habit for accidentally burning them around the edges, and they never seemed cooked through, but she found herself yearning for her father's less-than-perfect attempts.

Scratch that, she thought to herself, licking some stray syrup off the back of the knife; she just wanted her father to be there. Grantaire was always good to have around, and she loved him, but there was something slightly sinister in the way he was chopping up his pancakes.

"Right," Grantaire burst out, setting down his knife and fork. "I'm sure that these pancakes are lovely, really, but when are we going to get some fucking answers about what the fuck is going on? Because I'm really losing my patience with the whole situation."

Cosette had just placed a rather large forkful of pancake into her mouth and promptly almost choked on it. "Grantaire," she managed to splutter around the food, but he shot her a glare.

"No," he said. "Don't give me that look, Fauchelevent. No."

She managed to swallow, and opened her mouth to shoot something back at him. She only became Fauchelevent when he was annoyed at her, the same way she referred to him by his first name when she was annoyed at him.

"We're demons," Enjolras said, and all thoughts of what she was about to say flew out of her mind at his words. She turned to stare at him, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Yeah," Grantaire murmured under his breath, "I had a feeling you might say something like that."

"Demons?" Cosette echoed. "Like…What? Demons? Are you being serious?"

"Unfortunately, Cosette, I think they're being very serious," Grantaire said, spearing a piece of pancake with his fork and putting it in his mouth.

Cosette felt sick. Her pancakes were in danger of coming back up her throat at this rate.

"That's…that's impossible," she said.

"And yet, here we are," Enjolras said, gesturing at all of his friends. "Think about what you saw last night." She did – she thought of the odd creatures, the green goo exploding from under their skin, Musichetta's glowing eyes and the mysterious door, and the way Joly's pastes reduced her injuries to more or less nothing at all. "Now, thinking on all that, are you going to tell me it's impossible?" Enjolras finished.

She put her head in her hands.

"To be fair, it could be entirely possible that we're figments of Cosette's imagination," Jehan piped up, spinning on his chair.

"We're not, though," Enjolras said, patiently.

"How would you know, though?" Courfeyrac chipped in. "If we're figments of her imagination –"

"Let's not confuse the poor girl any further," Bahorel said. "Cosette, would you like a cup of tea? You're looking a little peaky…"

"She'd love one," Grantaire answered for her. "Lots of milk, two sugars, but leave the teabag to stew for a little longer than normal. Thanks."

"So demons…Demons exist," Cosette mumbled through her hands.

"Yes," Combeferre replied.

"Demons." Cosette lifted her head, her mouth still pressed against her hands.

"We exist, but not necessarily in the biblical angels and demons way you might be thinking," Enjolras explicated. "In our sense, demon refers to any magical being. There are lots of different races of demon…"

"Some are synonymous to ones from human folklore," Combeferre added. "There are demons who closely resemble your lore's witches and vampires and shapeshifters."

"The important thing to remember, though, is that we're not all evil," Courfeyrac piped up. "There are good and bad demons, just like there are good and bad humans –"

"And some demon races typically fall under one category more than the other," Feuilly said. "But even then you can find good demons in the so-called bad races and vice-versa."

"Combeferre, for example," Enjolras said, waving a hand in the general direction of Combeferre. The man in question slid his glasses up his nose. "Combeferre is the type of demon you would probably call a vampire, and typically, they tend to be more hardwired to be 'evil', so to speak, but Combeferre is not."

"You're a vampire?" Cosette said, incredulous.

"I don't like the term," Combeferre said. "But I do have to ingest blood to survive, yes."

"Not your blood," Joly hastened to add. "Combeferre gets his blood from blood banks."

"I don't drink from living beings," Combeferre said.

"Well, that's something, I suppose," Grantaire said, a touch of sarcasm to his voice. He spoke around a mouthful of pancakes.

"So – uh – demons…Demons exist," Cosette said. "And you're all demons? All of you?"

"In a nutshell, yes," Enjolras said.

"But…" Cosette pursed her lips. Bahorel placed a mug of steaming tea in front of her and she murmured a thank you before continuing her question. "What – what does that have to do with me?"

Enjolras glanced at Combeferre, who bowed his head. Enjolras began to speak. "The demons have their own realm," he said. "Their own world. And that world is governed by the Demon King."

Joly made a small spitting noise at the back of his throat. It was clearly a noise of distaste, and Cosette spared him a glance before turning back to Enjolras.

"The Demon King resides in a specific area of the demon realm known as the Demon Court," Enjolras continued. "Our current king – he's been on the throne for about fifty years – is not…He's not a good king. The race the royal family is a part of is a typically good race, and mostly, they've been good kings. But he's an exception."

"And by good king, you mean…" Cosette bit her lip.

"He's cruel," Enjolras said. "He abuses his people. The demons who live in the demon realm live in poverty, and are starving. He doesn't care about his people anywhere. Those who had their suspicions in the early part of his reign fled to live in the human world, where he has less reach, but even that isn't much of a protection these days. He's out of control. People fear for their lives."

"Get to the point," Grantaire said. "I mean, this is all interesting, but it hasn't got anything to do with Cosette so far."

"The King wants a bride," Enjolras said, shooting Grantaire a dark frown. "And for some reason – a reason we're not sure of – he's decided he wants Cosette as his bride."

Cosette pressed her face in to her hands again.

"Why Cosette?" Grantaire asked. She heard the sound of metal against china and when she looked she saw he'd put down his knife and fork again.

"We just said, we don't know," Enjolras said. "She's – well, she's just a human girl. We don't know how she's caught his interest, but she has."

"So last night…" Grantaire said. "Those creatures – were they sent to collect Cosette?"

"Yes," Enjolras said.

"But you stopped them," Grantaire said. "Why?"

"We actively oppose the Demon King and all he stands for," Combeferre said. "We've been working against him for many years – giving refuge to those escaping the Demon Court, helping to set them up in the human world, providing protection when the King's men come to visit – and that includes humans, because the King's men love abusing humans as sport. So, when one of our spies in the Demon Court told us of the King's plans involving Cosette, we decided it was our job to get there first and bring Cosette here, where we could provide her proper protection."

"What might have been easier would be knocking on her door and telling her this," Grantaire said.

"No, you see, there were protective barriers on her house, specifically blocking demons from entering the house; basically, it meant that we couldn't go within six feet of the house's perimeter," Courfeyrac said. "It had us stumped for a while. They were strong barriers, too. The Squalidus demons sent were working for ages to break down the barriers, just as we had been, and unfortunately they broke through first when we happened to be on a short coffee break."

"Why would there be protective barriers on my house?" Cosette demanded.

"For your protection, presumably," Grantaire said.

"Yes, but who would have done it?" Cosette looked at him, feeling desperate.

"Don't look at me," Grantaire said. "I'm just as human as you are."

"There were also barriers around you," Combeferre said. "Stopping any demons from coming within twenty feet of you."

"I managed to break that one just before we took our break," Courfeyrac said, looking a little sheepish. "Hence the decision for a break – you know, to celebrate."

Grantaire fixed him with a very hard look, but before any more could be said, Enjolras spoke. "We plan on protecting Cosette," he said, slowly. "In that sense, our aims are the same, Grantaire. You can work with us."

Grantaire turned his head to look at the blond man.

"You're asking me to trust you," he surmised.

Combeferre nodded. "In a sense, yes. We appreciate that this is a difficult situation, but –"

"Look." Grantaire rested his elbows on the tabletop and linked his fingers together. "Me, not trusting you – that's nothing personal. I don't trust anyone. Cosette will tell you. Now, the problem is, Cosette, by nature, is a very trusting person. She's too kind for her own good sometimes. That means it's my job to be the wary one."

Cosette nudged him with her shoulder. "I am not too kind for my own good," she muttered.

"Yes, you are, sweetheart," Grantaire replied, not looking at her. His eyes were still fixed on Enjolras. To his credit, the other man met Grantaire's dark look without flinching. "I'm not having a go at you, Cosette. It's one of the best things about you, even if it is also the most potentially problematic at times – anyway, the point I was trying to make is, I am going to allow you to look after Cosette. I'm going to be completely honest with you here…"

"Please," Combeferre said. "I think complete honesty on both sides would be best."

"I'm going to wager that you have enough weapons in this building for a small army," Grantaire said. "I am one man with a gun. I know what I'm doing, but I'm also not stupid enough to think that myself and one gun could take on the lot of you, especially considering that you're all demons and I would have one completely untrained person in tow. So I have no chance of breaking out here. Not at the minute, anyway – so for that reason, I'm going to…" He pulled a face before continuing. "I'm going to trust you to look after Cosette."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Cosette muttered.

Grantaire ignored her. "But as I said before, it's my job to be wary," he said. "So my trust only stretches so far. The minute I get inkling that something is wrong…"

"You'll do whatever it takes to get Cosette out," Combeferre guessed. "Which is fair enough. We were also going to propose that Cosette be trained to fight in case the situation arises where we – or you – are not around to protect her."

"Fight?" Cosette raised her eyebrows, and glanced at Grantaire. He gave her a small wink in response, and the wink was enough to comfort her slightly.

"Is that enough answers for you?" Enjolras asked, quirking his eyebrows.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "It'll do for now, Apollo," he said, and Cosette had to suppress a snort. The other men – or was the correct term demons, now? She had no idea – were not good enough to hide their amusement and she heard Courfeyrac cackle loudly and Jehan giggle, and a booming laugh she assumed belonged to Bahorel came from somewhere behind her.

She tipped her head up to look at Grantaire and mouthed, "Apollo?"

She got no response, so she looked back to Enjolras. He was tucking the papers he had in front of him into a red file, and she swore she could see the faintest of pink blushes over his high cheekbones.

"I think our conversation here is done," he said, placing the file under his arm before sliding off his stool and walking briskly out of the kitchen.

OOO

Days went by slowly.

Cosette and Grantaire voluntarily spent their days confined to their room, leaving to eat and to shower.

Feuilly, who was apparently a 'maker demon', made them lots of clothes on their second day. He lamented to them the fact he was usually relegated to creating their weapons when he preferred to make more artistic things. Cosette had been amazed watching him take swathes of fabric and watching them mould into perfectly shaped clothes before her eyes. There were no seams to these clothes; Feuilly's magic allowed him to force the fabric to fuse together. He added details with threads and beads and buttons afterwards, the needles controlled by more magic. Cosette was fascinated and stayed with him an entire afternoon as he crafted wardrobes for herself and Grantaire.

Grantaire was not as interested in this display as she was, but he had other things to occupy him as he waited with her; Jehan popped by the same morning with lots of different books for them to read, and Grantaire sat with his head buried in a copy of Kafka's The Trial whilst Cosette watched Feuilly's magic needles stitch golden flowers around the collar of a red skater dress.

They saw most people at dinner in the evenings – with the exception of a couple of this little group of demons, dinner was a group event, very loud and busy and often messy, and Cosette often felt like she faded into the background during them.

The only person they talked to on a regular basis outside of mealtimes, however, was Bahorel, who became rather fond of Cosette and her willingness to try any new recipes he had cooked up that day.

He also found Grantaire interesting for very different reasons, those reasons centring Grantaire's snappy tongue.

"I think we need to lock you and Enjolras in a room at some point," Bahorel said, icing cupcakes with pale lavender butter cream.

"No," Grantaire said. "You don't. It would only end with one of us dead."

"Hmm," Bahorel said, licking a splotch of butter cream from his thumb before moving on to the next cupcake. "Which one, though?"

"I'd put my money on Enjolras," Cosette said, eyes twinkling.

"I object to that," Grantaire said. "I could easily take on Enjolras, thank you very much."

"Oh, right," Cosette said, prodding his shoulder. "Like you'd want to damage that face!"

Grantaire rolled his eyes.

Bahorel finished icing a cupcake with a little flourish, and eyed Grantaire speculatively. Then his dark eyes flickered to Cosette. "And that would be because Enjolras is pretty, of course?"

"Of course," Cosette agreed. "He's more than pretty."

"Yeah, I think 'beautiful' is nearer to the right term," Grantaire muttered.

Bahorel snorted. "Yeah, Enjolras gets that a lot," he said. "It's his breed. They're…" He snapped his fingers a couple of times. "I can't remember the word for it, but they're all fucking gorgeous. You should see the women. But yeah, Enjolras is pretty hot."

"See, I was beginning to wonder if it was just a demon thing," Cosette admitted, swiping one of the freshly iced cupcakes and licking the icing off the top. "Being attractive, I mean."

"Aw, Cosette." Bahorel batted his eyelashes at her. "You think I'm attractive?"

"Yes," Cosette said, unabashed. "I mean, you're not my type, but I'd never deny the fact you were a good-looking guy."

"Wait, I'm not your type?" Bahorel paused, glaring at her. It was hard to take him seriously with a smudge of pale purple butter cream on his cheek.

"Nope, she only dates skinny pretty boys," Grantaire said.

"That's not true," Cosette denied. "Wes wasn't skinny."

"Or pretty," Grantaire said.

"No, he was pretty," Cosette said. "He was very pretty."

"You need your eyes tested," Grantaire said.

"So, if skinny and pretty is your type," Bahorel said, putting down the icing bag, "That would put Enjolras right up there, right?"

"Not really," Cosette said. "He's too pretty."

"Seriously?" Grantaire raised his eyebrows. "Too pretty?"

"Yep," Cosette said. "Way too pretty. I'll leave that to you, R."

Grantaire snorted. "Not interested. I admit he's beautiful, yeah, but his personality –"

"He grows on you," Bahorel interrupted.

"Yeah, and so does fungus," Grantaire said.

Bahorel barked out a laugh. "For that, you can have a cupcake," he said, shoving the tray towards Grantaire.

"Thanks," Grantaire muttered, accepting one.

"So, Cosette." Bahorel braced his hands on the countertop. "Skinny and pretty. Joly?"

Cosette swallowed a mouthful of cupcake and shook her head. "No."

"Hmm." Bahorel chewed on the inside of his mouth. "Fortunate, though, because I think that Musichetta would skin you if you touched him. What about…" He snapped his fingers. "Jehan? I mean, you're barking up the wrong tree, but –"

"Nope," she said.

Bahorel cocked his head to one side. "Well, that only leaves one person, then," he said, a slow grin stretching across his face. "What about Marius?"

Cosette thought about freckles and long limbs and big hands and gave a small shrug. Bahorel pushed off the counter and did a little dance.

"I knew it!" he said.

"Thank God," Grantaire muttered, "I wasn't the only one that noticed the way she blows him with her eyes at dinner."

She threw her empty cupcake case at him, and then nearly fell off her stool when someone spoke behind her.

"Who blows who with their eyes?"

It was Marius. Cosette hadn't realised her face could get that hot but it was. She turned to look at him, nearly falling off her stool again. He was cocking a curious eyebrow in her direction, and his hands, those hands were playing with the braided leather at his wrists.

She swallowed, knowing that behind her Bahorel was trying not to laugh out loud.

"No one," she squeaked.

"Oh." He nodded, slowly, and then said, "Enjolras thinks that your training should begin today, so I've been sent to collect you."

Cosette spun back around to stare at Grantaire.

"Training, huh?" Grantaire wrinkled his nose and shoved the rest of his cupcake into his mouth. "Well, c'mon, Cosette. We wouldn't want to keep Apollo waiting, would we?"

He slid off his stool and she mimicked his actions.

"Does Enjolras want us all there, Marius?" Bahorel asked, grabbing a cloth and swiping it over some stray spots of butter cream.

"He didn't say," Marius said. "But I think everyone is heading over there regardless…"

"Is everyone so eager to see me fail miserably at punching someone?" Cosette asked, quirking her eyebrows at Grantaire.

"I'm sure you won't fail miserably," Marius said kindly.

"Yeah, I agree with him," Grantaire snorted, amused. "I've been one the receiving end of one of your punches, Cosette, and they hurt."

"They do not," Cosette denied.

"We'll see," Grantaire replied, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "They'll see."