A/N: Thanks for the reviews! This story is winding down fast; just about 5 or more chapters give or take.

Chapter 37: A Game of Evidence

As far as Combeferre is concerned, the biggest drawback to being a junior consultant is his suddenly gaining an unwarranted reputation for stringency and terror. 'Mostly because the younger consultants are often said to be more terrifying and prone to power-tripping than their seniors,' he reminds himself as he watches a team of interns scurry off to their duties after morning ward rounds. While he has not heard any particular complaints about his behaviour he can still feel the newfound distance between him and younger doctors like Navet; the candor and banter that once existed between them as residents now has an air of formality that is as unwelcome as it is expected.

After making one last check of his notes he goes over to the nurses' station, where Eponine is explaining some orders to the head nurse on duty. "You're done with rounds already?" he greets, noticing the pile of charts near his friend's elbow.

"I need an early start since I'm the one on call today," she explains with a smile as she starts putting the charts back on a stand. "It's your turn tomorrow, so you should take it easy."

"You on the other hand need to slow down," he points out. "Standing for too long ups the odds of going into premature labor."

Eponine rolls her eyes. "In other parts of the world, pregnant women work in the fields standing and carrying loads-all the way till full term." She dusts off her hands with a smile. "I bet that when you and Florence have kids, she's going to be teaching almost up to her due date."

This prospect has Combeferre blanching, but even then he knows this is a battle already lost. "So who is Auguste terrorizing today?"

"The fiscal," Eponine replies. "All the depositions basically say that Fouche engineered that attempted murder of Magnussen as well as what happened to Johannes. He'll be doing a lot of time for those, on top of what he'll get for his labor and civil cases."

"That is progress."

"Oh it is, but now we need to find out what all of this is leading up to."

"Are you saying that there's an even bigger plan that Fouche has up his sleeve?" Combeferre asks in disbelief. "That's already in the realm of conspiracy theory."

"It's just differential diagnosis, Combeferre. When you have all these things going on, it's something like a syndrome. One has to find the underlying cause and treat it." Eponine bites her lip before speaking again. "From my experience, people don't resort to murdering close friends unless they're truly desperate. I want to know what's made Fouche so desperate. I think it's because of the appointee that Lafayette still hasn't confirmed."

Combeferre sighs deeply. "Don't bite off more than you two can chew," he warns as he and Eponine head down to the surgery department's main office, where they are set to listen to some reports from their senior residents. While waiting for the rest of the group to arrive Eponine sets up her laptop while Combeferre mixes up a cup of coffee. Just as he sits down with a large mug of the brew he hears Eponine swearing as she taps repeatedly on her computer's touchpad. "This hospital still needs to score a better deal on broadband," he points out.

"Someone moved or took down a file in the Ministry of Trade's database. This year's gazettes of bidding and procurements are gone." She shakes her head as she types in another code into the browser's navigation bar, only to come up with another error screen. "Someone has been fiddling with this."

"Maybe it's just site maintenance?"

"Maybe but everything else still works, even other gazettes."

"Check again," Combeferre suggests calmly. Even so the timing of this little change is ominous, and he cannot quite bring himself to look away as Eponine tries to access some other parts of the ministry's database, then sets to saving and backing up files. In the middle of everything he hears a phone ring but Eponine picks it up before he can get to it. She hums and then sighs while she sets down the receiver. "ER call?" he asks warily.

"Navet thinks that this case will be of particular interest to me," Eponine replies as she grabs her work tote and heads to the door. "I'll catch up with the lecture. Don't mind me."

Combeferre nods as Eponine shuts the door, and then gets up to check the bulletin boards, which are filled with memos and schedules. This quick survey followed by a surreptitious trip to the operating room complex tells him that all the residents are still scrubbed in for various elective and routine procedures. Having nothing better to do, he hurries downstairs towards the emergency room, only to be greeted by the sight of one of the janitors mopping up crimson stains from the lobby floor. "What happened?" he asks.

"Break in, Doc," the janitor replies, shaking his head. "Someone tried to break into Doc E's office."

Combeferre's jaw drops as he looks around, and that's when he sees an ominous red trail from the office door all the way to the emergency room entrance. 'Was there some sort of fight?' he wonders as he rushes into the rather quiet emergency room. Sitting on a cot is a spindly man in a blood-spattered long sleeved shirt and slacks, cursing vehemently as Eponine and Navet stitch up his wounded hand. "Was he alone?" he asks.

Navet nods. "He stumbled in here, yelling about the wounds."

The frustrated thief gives the young surgeon a poisonous look. "Can't you give me general anaesthesia and be done with it?"

"That's unnecessary," Eponine snaps. "Remember that next time you try poking around in people's things instead of asking for them."

It is only now that Combeferre gets a proper look at this criminal's injuries: there are thin but deep gashes across his fingers and the upper part of his palm. 'Only a blade can do that,' he realizes as he inspects the injury. "Knife slipped?"

The criminal swears and whimpers. "I wish that it was!"

"I'll show you in a little bit," Eponine replies as she ties off a line of stitches. She finishes suturing another wound before leaving Navet to dress and bandage the injuries. "The hospital security will pick him up. Keep him here till then," she instructs as she takes off her gloves and tosses them into a bin.

"You're oddly calm about this," Combeferre observes as he follows Eponine to her office. He watches as she fishes a pair of forceps out of her work tote and yanks at something attached to the inside of the handle of the topmost desk drawer. "What is that?"

"This bit him, as we used to say," Eponine says triumphantly as she sets down a bloodied scalpel blade on the desk top. "It's neater than a box cutter blade."

"You booby-trapped your desk?" Combeferre sputters.

"What does it look like? He wasn't supposed to be poking around here anyway!"

"What if someone else had come along, like one of our cleaning staff or even one of your patients? They could have gotten hurt!"

"That's exactly why I didn't rig the doorknob or anything else," Eponine retorts. "If you look, everything here has a lock, even the drawers, but I know how easy it is to pick those. That's why I had to do a little bit more."

Combeferre gapes with disbelief as he takes a seat, but then again he figures he should have expected such a thing from his friend, especially given her considerably gritty experience. "So you knew, you guessed that something like this would happen, today specifically?"

"Mostly since Auguste and Courf now have the evidence," Eponine replies. "Now I suppose I shall have to think of another scheme, and move the files again."

"Where did you put them?"

"I'd rather that you guess."

'This is why arguing with her was always dangerous in more ways than one,' Combeferre recalls. "How much longer till this case wraps up?"

"It depends on the fiscal." She looks up in time to see Musichetta and Joly now standing in the doorway, watching this entire scene incredulously. "News travels fast."

"We could hear the commotion all the way down from the obstetrics ward," Musichetta replies. Her eyes dart from the blade on the desk to the stains on the floor. "That's nasty!"

"Did you remember to give him a tetanus shot?" Joly asks.

"That was the first thing Navet did, just to rile him up," Eponine quips.

"Good. Tetanus is a very bad way to go-not the worst but we've seen enough of it," Joly remarks, cringing slightly at the memories that are certainly coming to mind. "Combeferre, I've got some forms you need to fill out about the antibiotics you're using for your patients. Infection control."

"You'll have it in a while," Combeferre says as he holds out his hand for the papers. "Is the rest of your desk safe to use?" he asks Eponine, who is carefully wrapping up the soiled scalpel blade.

Eponine pats one side of the tabletop. "You're best off here." She checks her phone and shakes her head. "Ward call. Just lock this door on the way out, guys," she says as she picks up her things again.

Joly whistles as he watches her leave. "If this is happening, then that means the case is coming to a head," he says. "Bossuet has been up and about working on it."

'While I'm here watching and feeling like I'm just waiting to clean up the mess,' Combeferre almost says bitterly. "You guys are safe now. You've taken care of Clara and Macky, and now the rest of the story is in the hands of the law."

"If 'safe' means never being in danger, then that's never going to happen," Musichetta retorts. "We knew this when we all signed up to work here in Saint Michel years ago instead of staying at the Hospital Royale. We wanted to help and learn, not have easy lives."

"Besides, if we stayed on at the Hospital Royale, so many things would have gone differently. Enjolras would not be alive today, for one thing," Joly says, holding up a thumb. "Courf and Azelma might not have met, and then we wouldn't have Alex. Elodie Chenier might have died, then that would mean that Marius and Cosette wouldn't have their daughter. You might not have met Florence. In the end, I think this is all for the best."

"I want to be able to say that when we're all old and gray," Combeferre points out.

"We'll get there," Joly promises. He winces at a screech coming from the general direction of the emergency room. "Not so sure about the guy they're stitching up. He'd best reconsider his line of work."

Combeferre doesn't say anything for a few minutes as he finishes filling out the forms and then hands them back to Joly. "I may as well ask if there's a new betting pool going on."

Musichetta and Joly exchange looks. "Your name is in it. Are you sure?" Musichetta teases.

"I bet twenty that the next wedding will be Bahorel and Karen's," Combeferre says as he brings out his wallet. He's not sure why this is something he can easily see happening. "I think it's going to be a while till Elodie, Alex, or Darren will get a younger sibling."

Joly nods solemnly as he pockets the bill that Combeferre hands to him. "The next ramen night is at Karen's place. She offered to host."

"That should be quite the experience," Combeferre concurs as he and his friends leave the room, taking to lock the door just as Eponine instructed. 'One of these days Florence and I should have our turn too,' he decides silently as he heads back up to the office. It would only be fair after all.

When he next sees Eponine, it's much later in the afternoon at the hospital cafeteria. Even from afar he can easily spot Eponine seated at her favourite table in the corner, talking avidly to her husband. Enjolras is the one who notices Combeferre first and he waves to him. "News."

"It's an odd day when you don't have any," Combeferre points out as he takes a seat. "Were you able to get a warrant for Fouche?"

"Only for some of the charges," Enjolras replies grimly before taking a sip of his coffee. "More importantly though, Fouche intends to meet with Lafayette himself by the end of the week. He wants his man's appointment confirmed."

"In short his puppet," Eponine chimes in with disgust. "I bet he'd go over for a position himself."

"Legally that would be a conflict of interest," Enjolras points out.

"Is that going to stop him?" Eponine scoffs. "It makes sense that he would erase the database or do something to it. I contacted Gavroche and I found out that some of the access codes he's got don't work anymore. It shouldn't usually be the case!"

A chill courses down Combeferre's back. "You're running out of time then. Even if you nab Fouche-"

"It won't do any good without the evidence," Enjolras finishes. He takes a sip of his coffee again. "I have set up a meeting with him in two days. In the meantime there is a task that all of us should do."