A/N: Thanks to all for tall of the nice comments that I have gotten on the last chapter! It indeed fuelled my inspiration.

While writing this chapter, I have been pondering my sources of inspiration... and I've found, that for most, I cannot clearly place which Les Miserables source I am basing my characterizations on. However - the Courfeyrac/Gavroche dynamics is strictly 2012 movie... so much I can say.

So, you may guess, this chapter goes back to Les Amis again. I'm a bit nervous about it - I felt very flattered, that many of you liked my characterization of the Amis and especially Enjolras, so now, you may imagine, pressure's on... I hope it turned out okay.

On a sad note (probably not sad for me) - I'll be away all weekend starting tomorrow afternoon, and will have no time to write... so unfortunately, the next update will not be earlier than monday, I fear. Don't forget me in the meantime ;-) (I'll try not to forget the story, but I just made the outline for the next couple of chapters so I think we are on the safe side)... and it would make me very glad to see many new comments once I'm back...

But now - without further ado - enjoy. And leave me a word how you liked it!

Cheerio

Spirit

PS: Thanks again to judybear236

Chapter 9: Gentle, the night

"I'll have to apologize." Gavroche raised his head towards Courfeyrac, who had, after opening the door, turned back to look at him with a twinkle in his eye. "I fear, my humble dwellings are nowhere near as glamorous as an elephant statue", he continued ruefully, blindly pushing open the door with an all too familiar movement. "Though I hope, they will be sufficient for the night."

Gavroche grinned.

"I'd have taken ya with me", he offered, pushing past the two students into the dark apartment bent on inspection of the place. "But ya wouldn'a fit. Y're too big. Plus, I'm not sure what the boys would have said to it."

For a moment, the thought made him pause. Jean, Sylvain and Pucet would be alone in their hideout place today. It was not the first time, that this had happened, but Gavroche worried none the less. They fended for themselves well, now, after all that they had learned since he had found them, one by one, but still, a family remained a family, however strange it was. And if it was a bunch of boys who met by coincidence, called home an abandoned memory of former glory and found their way in the world in the manner of everything, that is clever, resourceful and just the tiniest bit ruthless it was not to be helped. Gavroche decided to make it a point tomorrow to check out their regular haunts to see that everything was fine. Which it would be. The elephant statue was as safe a place as one could imagine.

Therefore it was actually quite pointless from a safety perspective, that Gavroche had joined Courfeyrac and Marius to stay the night in Courfeyrac's apartment. He agreed with his sister, the likes of them were safer on the streets, on their own, in their regular haunts, because this was the world they knew, but Gavroche could also not help agreeing with Enjolras, that someone had to look out for his two friends, and he did not mind it.

Getting a good peek at the place Courfeyrac lived in was a bonus. Gavroche had been curious for a while.

Not minding the fact, that the inhabitant of the apartment was well behind him, and that the only light coming into the apartment was, what little moonlight passed between thin curtains, he set about exploring.

It was a single room, and fairly large, a small wooden door at the side leading presumably to a small wash room. Gavroche gave a quick look around in the dark, but before he could set off to explore in more detail, Courfeyrac called him back.

"Hey, Gavroche!" It was barely more than a whisper, but it sounded anxious. He hesitated. The room seemed empty and deadly silent, but Courfeyrac was right. You never knew.

Gavroche backed off to the two students, still standing at the door. Courfeyrac took his shoulder, in an almost unconscious gesture, to push the boy behind him, before he turned up the glow of his oil lamp to shed a better light into the room.

"Marius?"

The baron's son took a pistol out of his pocket, checking the weapon before he took the first steps into the room.

Tedious, nervous moments they searched the small apartment, that luckily was sorely bereft of hiding places. Gavroche, while watching the two and following them at a small distance, passed his time with inspecting the room, satisfying his curiosity as much as time would allow.

The room was well furnished, comfortable, but not lavish. The wall opposite the entrance hosted a number of windows, the left part of them was blocked by a huge wooden desk, that was littered with papers, open books, and a forgotten plate with the remnants of a previous meal. Old ink-stains covered the table in various places.

On the other side, beneath the windows on the right side, there was a couch and an armchair, standing on a carpet that seemed distinctly past its prime. A bed occupied the right back corner of the room, a stove and a cast-iron oven stood in the final corner. The center of the room was blocked by another table, on which stood a second oil lamp that Courfeyrac lit as soon as he was certain that the room was devoid of unwanted guests. Two cupboards and a number of shelves completed the picture. The apartment had a chaotic, slightly worn, lived-in feel to it.

Gavroche took to it immediately.

"It's no elephant", he confirmed, when the two students finally relaxed, their manner becoming less tense, their gazes less anxious, when they looked around the room. "But it'll do."

"I had hoped so", Courfeyrac answered with a grin, that clearly showed his relief – though probably not mostly at Gavroche's statement - and ruffled the boy's hair, before he closed and locked the door.

"So, there's the couch and there's the bed." He stood in the middle of the room, next to the table and thoughtfully scratched through his unruly, dark locks. "We'll see how we sort that out."

Half an hour later, they had installed themselves quite nicely. The stove had been lit, and a kettle with hot water was boiling merrily in case someone felt the need for tea. They had decided on the watches – Courfeyrac, still wound up by the events of the day, would start, to be then replaced by Marius, whom a little rest would do well after his two near brushes with death, while Gavroche would take the early morning hours, when light was creeping back in and no attack was expected any more.

He had protested, of course. And lost.

As of now, however, it did not seem as if any of them would get any sleep soon. Courfeyrac had dug out some of the remaining roast that Madame Allevesse, the wife of the owner of the tenement, who had taken a liking to the young student, had brought yesterday, and the three of them were enjoying a late-night meal and, likewise, late-night conversation.

"So, you got patched up by Cosette. Well played, Marius." Courfeyrac grinned broadly.

There was a smile on the young baron's face that he tried to hide.

"It's not funny", he contradicted, without being able to completely suppress a laugh. They had accompanied the roast with a bottle of wine, and consequently, spirits were high and the shadows of the day past seemed less dark and dreary. "Well…", he backed off, "maybe a little."

"She didn't throw you out after you led an assassin practically to her doorstep", Courfeyrac continued his friendly teasing. "Sounds like love to me."

Marius' face was practically glowing. He was easy to embarrass, and even though Gavroche was currently only a spectator to that particular game, he had to admit that it looked like fun.

"I would hope it", Marius answered, more quietly. His fingers were thoughtfully playing around his glass of wine, when suddenly a frown entered his features, clouding the expression on his face. "Her father though…"

"Less than amused, hm?"

Marius laughed, despite himself.

"Oh yes", he confirmed with a world-weary sigh. "But what's done's done. He practically threw me out, of course, but he didn't forbid me to come back."

"Not that he could, eh?" Gavroche piped in. "Don't worry, if he really shut's you out, I'll find ya a way in. Even one big for a big fella like ya."

"I have no doubt about that", Marius replied fondly. "Although I think Eponine would surely also find a way. She is remarkably resourceful…"

Gavroche liked Marius. He really did. On his better days, he was almost as much fun as Courfeyrac, good company and someone to go to when things took a turn for the worse. Like Courfeyrac, he treated him like a person, and had not chased him away from any places Gavroche thought he had business being. However, when it came to the point of his sister, the man was remarkably stupid. Gavroche saw Eponine only rarely these days, but a blind man – unless going by the name of Marius Pontmercy – would have seen how much she was attached to him. And Marius had nothing else to do than to rub whole handfuls of salt into that particular wound, and causing pain to his sister was something that Gavroche did not appreciate. However, Eponine, in turn, would probably not appreciate him being all too open about either of these points.

She was the only one left from the ruin that was their mutual family that was still on speaking terms with him, and Gavroche did not intend to jeopardize that.

"Bah", he piped in, making a dismissive movement with his hand. "Don't bother her for that." He forced a grin onto his face and fixed Marius in a challenging stare, "she'll lead you through thorns and ya'll arrive at their house properly scratched and bloody. Wouldn't want that, eh? Plus, don't ya trust me?"

Courfeyrac, as always, picked up quickly where he was going. But the quick look Gavroche got from his friend told him, that at some point in time, there would be questions about himself and Eponine.

Drat.

But now was obviously not the time.

"Probably scared of tight, small places", he mentioned to Gavroche, in an almost conspicuous way. "Anyhow, Marius, the little one has a point there, I think."

"I wouldn't dream of doubting you", Marius smiled to Gavroche. "I will let you know, when the opportunity arises. Although I seriously hope that there will be no need for it."

"You have to be optimistic, my friend", Courfeyrac grinned. "You're young, good-looking, probably any day now wanted by every policeman with half a gun in this city, and high on the list of people to die by the stray shot of a madman's gun. How could a girl resist that?"

Marius snorted, but could not hide a smile.

"How indeed", he mused, his gaze straying without much of a decision on his part to the cloth at his arm, as if now, that he was calm, at rest, the events of the day were catching up with him. He barely suppressed a yawn.

"I think it's time", he said, finally, whether it was to escape Courfeyrac's teasing or because he was really tired was anyone's guess.

For a moment, the other student looked as if he would contradict him.

But in the end, he didn't.

"Is it curious, to all of a sudden feel old at an age like ours?"

There was a slightly rueful, ironic quality to Combeferre's question, as he took a deep breath from his pipe, the ember glow a warm source of light and comfort. The response was a soft sound, somewhere between a snort and a laugh, but otherwise, Enjolras chose not to answer right away. He was standing at the window in the only dimly lit flat, gazing out to the silent back street that was Rue Pascal.

They were in the living room of what was Enjolras' two-room apartment, and Combeferre was sitting in an armchair, thoughtfully gazing towards the wide open door that led into the bedroom.

There, Marc Lamarin was sleeping peacefully – the source of his comment from just a moment ago. Unlike Enjolras, Combeferre had met the young law student for the first time, and the innocence and fear in the youth's eyes as he haltingly told of what he remembered, had not left him untouched. Shy as he was, frightened to the bone and desperate for any source of a security, however false it would have been, he seemed indeed younger than little Gavroche, who had proudly claimed, that of course he would not need to stay with anyone this night, because he knew his way around, but that he would comply for Pontmercy's and Courfeyrac's sake, all in generosity.

"You were born old, my friend."

He took a moment to connect the seemingly disjointed comment from Enjolras to his previous question and raised his head to look at his friend.

Enjolras had refrained from his silent pondering and turned back to the inside of the room, looking to Courfeyrac, at first cool and serious before the moment was broken for a fleeting smile. He had a restless quality about him that seemed intrinsic to the man. Naturally his thoughts were still occupied by the events of the day, as well as their consequences, that he longed to tackle as he longed for dawn, or for things to get into motion.

Not caring, that it was actually Enjolras' own apartment, Combeferre invited him to sit with an inclination of his head.

"Tell me", he said.

They knew each other well. In their time, eternities had passed, worlds had turned and dreams had grown and been shattered, and they had grown with it, until time, circumstances and determination had made them who they were today. Enjolras was probably more of a brother to him, than his own flesh and blood had ever been.

"It's obvious", Enjolras began, "that whoever has initiated these attacks has done so to stop us from trading the path we are walking. Naturally, as a consequence we have to meet their discouragement with determination. It will not do for us to slide into the shadows unnoticed. Nothing else could give them better victory."

Combeferre drew on his pipe thoughtfully, watching as the clouds of smoke wavered through the room.

"Bravely spoken, Enjolras", he answered, "and not untrue, for certain. Especially those who value free speech, will not appreciate that knifes in the dark have been drawn for mere words. Still…" he snipped away some of the ashes from the pipe, "… still our prime objective should be to find out what is going on. It is true, we have an opponent, but one we know neither face nor shape of. The guard, we know. The king and his minions, we know. But what of those?"

Enjolras shook his head.

"Whose men could it be? Saint Michel beggars attacking students and revolutionaries, because they are fond of their situation?" The tone said that even the thought would be ridiculous, and Combeferre raised a calming hand.

"Peace, friend", he answered. "I do have the same suspicion as you do. But still. Let us think this through. We continue with what we did before…"

"We rally support. We open to the public what has happened. Speeches. Leaflets. Whatever it takes. Shadows fear the sun. So let us give them enough light to drown them in. Whoever they are, how shall they move, when every one of our supporters will watch around for them, will drive their fury towards those hidden knifes?" Enjolras leaned back in the armchair, his whole posture an image of barely suppressed challenge.

"That is a good direction, Enjolras", Combeferre had to concur. His gaze wandered around the shadows of the room. "Eponine was right – there is certainly protection in numbers, and to rally numbers, we need to expose the secret to those willing to help. But that is a two-edged sword. We have to tread carefully."

"Careful, slow, will get us nowhere, Combeferre", Enjolras disagreed, shaking his head. "Time is of the essence. Things are converging, and you know it. We do not have the time to step tenderly around each puddle of mud, around every worried whisper. The public will be with us, don't worry, but only if taken in a storm, not with wise words and tender dealings."

"In this you are right", Combeferre concurred, his look as if on its own wandering back to the three pistols, that were lying on the table between them. Ready. Just in case. He shuddered. "Determination and strength of movement are mandatory. If we do not have confidence, no one will. However… just think about the boy there." He nodded towards Lamarin, sleeping soundly in Enjolras' bed. It had taken some coaxing – and a big, calming sip of brandy – to get the boy into this state, overwrought and scared as he had been. "This was not determination. This was fear. And fear will cripple what we intend to inspire. Fear will turn them from us in an instant."

"Then we must erase these doubts, for sure." Enjolras was tapping the armrest of his seat thoughtfully. "It needs to be done. Strength will sway some, but not all."

"Here a face of the enemy may help", Combeferre came back to his original tran of thought. "Again, not with all. But like a good meal, we will have to mix the ingredients to make the people swallow the dish in one and ask for more."

"Bah.."Enjolras snorted softly. He knew when he was being manipulated, but by the time he had realized it, he had apparently also realized the wisdom in Combeferre's words. It was a long-standing game between them, one, that despite the heated discussions, that it sometimes inspired, was appreciated and fruitful. Enjolras was a man of action. He saw path and goal, and would not fear to step into darkness to connect both of them, his determination unwavering and strong. And Combeferre would be right beside him, to see the path and recognize its windings, pitfalls and dangers, build bridges across rifts Enjolras would jump out of sheer willpower, merging the clear way forward with the complete picture. Both knew they were doomed on their own. And hence, Enjolras' face showed a hint of a rueful smile. "How to win friends and influence people, you mean."

Combeferre laughed at this. That was an expression of Grantaire's, of all people, one, that he usually used when talking about Enjolras' public speeches in the man's absence, but Enjolras himself had heard that expression only recently, from Joly, who had referenced to it after a few cups of wine, and he had, surprisingly, taken an amused liking to it, not knowing where it originally came from.

"That, my friend, is entirely in your domain."

He drew on his pipe again, that had begun to go cold, the smoke like ash in his mouth. He made a face. "However", he continued, "the mixture between fear and determination is one that we will have to temper well, also when we deal with our comrades from the other sections. We do not know yet fully what has happened to all of them, and what it has wrought. We have lost none of our number, but to be honest, I am not sure how we would have been, had we been mourning Jehan tonight."

"It is no game, that we play", Enjolras contradicted impatiently. "We have known that all along."

"Knowing and seeing are two different things, Enjolras. Nevertheless, what I am trying to say is that we must have a watchful eye on this, no more, no less. We also have to consider, that most of the targets were figureheads of the movement. Jacques from the Cougoude. Marcel Devereux in Saint Antoine. The Virille brothers. And god knows who else. We should expect disorientation. Chaos maybe even."

"Then we shall expect it and meet it", Enjolras concluded firmly. "Loss is nothing unfamiliar in this land. It is the cruelty of the king himself, him and his minions, that has brought us into the positions where we are. If we have to suffer the same hand, it may also form our ranks even closer. Fear can turn to rage. Love to thirst for revenge."

"A dark path", Combeferre mused, slightly worried. It was not unlike his friend to get carried away in this. And for a moment he was indeed incredibly glad for another reason that they had lost none of their numbers today. Enjolras' outrage would have been terrible. Retribution swift.

Silence settled in for a moment, both men lost in thoughts of the days to come. Finally, his pipe gone out, Combeferre began to speak again, voicing a slowly forming thought.

"Speaking of knowing the face of our enemies…", he mused, "what do you think the bourgeoisie would do, were they to know that free speech may bring them a swift death at the hand of a cold knife in broad daylight? Given the fact we could convincingly prove it?"

A muscle in Enjolras' cheek twitched, and he raised his brows at the implications of this. Combeferre already knew, what he would say.

"Interesting…."

"She's my sister."

Courfeyrac turned away from the window he had been gazing through for what felt like an eternity to the source of the voice, Gavroche, curled up on his couch, covered in a woolen blanked, huddled in so deep, that only nose, eyes and a mop of blonde hair were to be seen. He felt a sudden rush of affection at the sight of the boy, who was doing a convincing show of being asleep. But he was sure of what he had heard. And he did not need to ask whom he meant.

"I thought you didn't have any family", he replied, for indeed, there had been a day where he had asked Gavroche, whether there was any form of home he could go back to if he wanted, and he had gotten rebuffed, probably more strongly than ever before or after.

"I don't. I have a sister." Gavroche's voice was muffled by the blanket. "'Ponine."

"Ah", Courfeyrac answered, with a smile. "I was wondering."

"Tellin' ya cause I knew y'll ask", Gavroche murmured. "Don't wanna lie to ya." He sounded tired.

Courfeyrac, curiously touched, stepped away from the window and up to the couch, tucking the blanket closer around the boy.

"That's nice of you", he commented. Gavroche yawned.

"I know."

"So she saves some of us today", Courfeyrac concluded, with humor in his voice. "And she's the sister to my little brother. Makes her practically one of us, hm?"

There was a quick smile on Gavroche's face at the address given to him by Courfeyrac, but his face turned serious again soon enough.

"She's one of no one", he retorted. And while Courfeyrac was still pondering this, the boy opened one blue eye to look at him suspiciously.

"Tell no one", he said. "Especially not her. Promise."

"I promise, little one", he answered, still unsure what to do with this information. "Now go back to sleep."

The boy yawned and nodded.

"Sure do", he said, and was out within seconds, leaving Courfeyrac to stand at the window, and watch, and wait for dawn.