A/N: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews. I hope you like this one!

Thanks also to judybear for smoothing the wrinkles out of my english!

Chapter 40: Dusk

"You know, collusion, politicking, scheming, innuendo, gossip. The same old thing."

Éponine pushed through the streets of Paris without any clear notion of where she was going or why. Streets, and buildings, and people passed without her taking notice, and she roamed the Latin Quarter, then crossing the Seine, walking through less familiar dwellings, turning back when she met with Boulevard des Italiens, where she could – still at some distance – see the headquarters of Le Globe, which immediately reminded her of Marius again.

Snorting angrily, she turned back to walk towards better known regions again.

Walking in itself, at least, helped. The exertion of a quick, purposeful stride had her blood pumping, and it was a good manner to vent the anger that had gripped her at Marius' judgmental words.

Had she ever really known him?

Had he ever really known her?

She would have given anything, almost anything, to avoid for Marius to learn the details of what she was doing to earn a living. Of course she had been slightly afraid of what he would think of her, but the main reason had been something different.

She would not have him think her weak. She would not have him think her a helpless victim.

Yes, of course, she would have loved for him to pick her up from her life, to bring her from darkness to the light, figuratively speaking. Marius had been the image of salvation for her, her opportunity at leaving the world she was caught in. A prince on a shining horse.

A beautiful illusion.

They had been akin to one another in a strange way, Éponine realized only now. Both had printed their wishes and imaginations on the other, not bothering to see the real person behind. They had been living in a world of make-believe that was born, maybe of desperation, maybe of naiveté, maybe of a combination of both.

Now, that both had had a glimpse at reality, it seemed as if both had realized that they did not like the view.

That was a revelation that shook her to the core. She had no idea what to do with it.

And so she ran through the streets of Paris, as if the physical motion could help her sort her thoughts. Time, as it were, passed unnoticed.

Only when she was back in Saint Michel again, walking through haunts as familiar as the back of her hand, something interrupted her stride and her reverie, a well-known voice with equally well-known nonchalance.

"'Ponine, sweetest."

She hesitated for a moment, then turned around to the speaker, who was leaning against a wall with studied nonchalance.

Montparnasse was a picture of splendor in a brown waistcoat and a jacket in a slightly darker tone, trousers that appeared to be almost new and a top hat that was at least carefully brushed. It would have been easy to mistake him for a respectful bourgeois, and while Éponine knew that he was capable of putting up this show, the outfit seemed to be almost a bit too subdued for him, too understated.

It was lacking his usual attempt at exuberance and brightness. Usually, when dressing up, Montparnasse made an effort for conspicuity, but today, he had certainly aimed for a different kind of impression.

Éponine felt her brows rising as she measured his dress up and down with a slight smirk.

"Nice", she commented, and Montparnasse gave a stiff, measured bow.

"I am glad it find's Mademoiselle's approval", he gave back smoothly, with only the slightest hint of insolence in his eyes. "I trust I find you well?"

There was earnestness behind the question, and Éponine nodded, smiling despite herself. Whatever Montparnasse was, he was an old confidant. She knew, what he was aiming at, and she felt no inclination to tell him of what had conspired between herself and Marius.

"I have been better", she replied. "But no lasting damage from yesterday."

Subtly, something within his posture relaxed slightly, the studied nonchalance gained honesty.

"I'm infinitely glad to hear it. So. You spent the night with these new friends of yours?"

"Rather the morning", Éponine replied with a shrug. "But yes. Safe places to sleep shouldn't be dismissed." She felt a grin creeping on her face. "Especially if they involve comfortable beds instead of a bit of straw on the floor."

"Oh." He feigned something that was probably astonishment, probably amusement. "Should I be envious?"

Éponine measured him with her gaze, the new attire, the attempt at bourgeoisie.

"I'm not sure you need to."

Montparnasse smiled.

"Considering that my gem spent the night in another man's apartment, do I not retain the right to be a bit… wary?"

Éponine sighed. They kept coming back to the same thing, a circle she seemed unable to escape from. And yet, she took his bait, wondering why he never tired of hearing this.

"I haven't been your gem in a long while, Montparnasse."

"I'm offended", he responded, placing a mock hand onto his heart, but there was at least a remnant of earnestness in his eyes. "You should remember, sweet, that I saved your pretty little butt yesterday. One might say, you owe me. In fact, I think you said that yourself."

Éponine narrowed her eyes, immediately wary. She trusted Montparnasse – as far as she was able to trust someone she had grown up with in the streets of Paris – but the invisible net of favors that held together the underworld was a dangerous thing. And she could never be sure.

"What do you mean?" she asked, and he held her gaze for a moment, before he laughed, deeply and with amusement.

"Ah, Sweet, you're a spoilsport. So. But yeah. I've come to ask you a favor."

Éponine crossed her arms before her chest.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying to keep annoyance out of her voice. Her patience for capricious acquaintances was definitely wearing thin.

"Nothing that should worry you. I need you to watch someone, sweet. Tonight."

Éponine frowned. Tonight was the meeting in the Corinthe, and while the Friends of the ABC had not asked her to come, she had certainly not been excluded. Worse still, Courfeyrac had somewhat implied that he would be counting on her assistance in organizing these meetings in the future, due to the fact that she had held her own during the first assembly in the Musain – and actually somewhat enjoyed herself.

This, and her curiosity at the continuation of this strange story she had been drawn into, beckoned her to the assembly place in the evening. She would not have wanted to lose track of what her new associates were doing. She had started to take a liking to the possibility of making a difference, of participating in their dealings and plans that – ultimately – aimed among other things at offering a new set of choices for people like her.

On the other hand, Montparnasse was right. She owed him a favor, and he had come to call it. In addition, the quarrel that she had just left did not encourage her to face the full assembly any time soon again. Éponine sighed.

"What do you want me to do?"

Montparnasse pushed himself away from the wall and stepped up to Éponine.

"There is a little restaurant in Rue Clopin", he explained. "It's called Le Trésor d'Alsace, a wine shop that serves fairly good food." He shrugged. "I have it on good authority that a man named Johann Armbruster", his voice hitched and stumbled on the unfamiliar, rough consonants, "will be there tonight. I need to know what he does. In the restaurant and afterwards. Find out if he goes home. Where his home is. If he stays there the whole night."

"You want me to trail him", Éponine summarized. It was not a question, but Montparnasse nodded none the less.

"I need to know what he does until the morning."

"The whole night?" Éponine was not too keen on spending another night on strange and potentially dangerous errands. "That's a lot of dirty work."

Montparnasse rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.

"I saved your life, remember? That should be worth a few hours of your time, don't you think? Come on, 'Ponine, don't be coy."

"Why is he of interest to you?" she asked, and he grinned broadly.

"The questions you ask, 'Ponine…"

She huffed in annoyance. She knew better than to press him if he was intent of avoiding her.

"Fine", she retorted. "Keep your secrets then. I'll try my best to keep him in sight then."

"Ah yes." Montparnasse grinned. "I almost forgot. Found this." He took a bag from behind him and handed it over to her. "It seemed to be abandoned, and I thought it would suit your eyes."

Frowning, Éponine threw a gaze into the bag and realized that she was looking at a dress – a simple one, but clean at least, and when she took it out of the bag, she found that it was also only mended in very few places. The color had been green to start with, but was now slightly dimmed already, by age and too many washings, but it was nicer than anything she owned.

And this immediately made her suspicious. She had no intention of indebting herself further to Montparnasse than she was already. He rolled his eyes.

"Come on sweet. Nothing hidden. Just a gift from an old friend."

She knew it was not true. But Montparnasse was difficult to guess at the best of times. None the less, she waited to see if he would offer more.

"Well", he continued after a moment. "Which will have you sticking out less in that restaurant while you watch that man."

Éponine raised a brow.

"The debt's repaid", she said, cautiously. "I watch that man for you and the debt is repaid. Both that for the rescue and the dress."

Montparnasse shrugged.

"You drive a hard bargain."

She did not chose to respond to this, and after a while he shrugged and nodded.

"Well. If you will have it so."

For a moment, Éponine wondered what she was missing. He hardly ever gave in so easily, and, all things considered, he was letting her off the hook in a fairly acceptable way..

But the task sounded like a relatively easy way to rid herself of the favor that she owed Montparnasse, and that might be even less convenient later, if she continued to entangle herself with Enjolras and his friends. Of course, she did not know exactly what sort of man he set her up against, but she hoped that he had not saved her from one murderer to give her into the hands of another. As to everything else, Éponine was a child of the streets and hard to scare off.

She decided to count her blessings, take the deal and run.

She stuffed the dress back into the bag.

"All right then", she said reluctantly. "I'll need a description of that man, though. Would be a shame if I were trailing the wrong one."

"He is an idiot."

Uttering the statement with a certain satisfaction, Gavroche let the pebble that he had turned in his hand, while his sister had ranted to her heart's content, jump elegantly over the murky waters of the Seine.

Noon had faded into afternoon, but the heat was still present, lying in the streets of the city like an animal waiting for prey. Éponine had appeared out of nowhere, just as he had been discussion things with Navet, and taking one look at her face he had decided that whatever news his friend was intent to deliver, it would have to be delayed for the sake of his sister.

For the better part of an hour she had ranted, vented her anger at the situation in general and at Marius in particular – with a healthy side dish of annoyance at Combeferre, who had apparently failed to stay silent on the subject – and he had listened with all the patience that a boy his age could muster.

Throwing pebbles helped.

On the bright side, the way Éponine was talking about Marius and the situation on the whole was significantly more lucid than anything Gavroche had recently heard of her on the subject. There was no denying that this was a good sign, despite the obvious pain involved. There had been nothing healthy about the way his sister had followed the impoverished son of a baron around.

"You can say that again." Éponine snorted in hearty disgust and threw a pebble of her own, with a lot more rage and a lot less skill than Gavroche had done. For a moment, the gamin wondered if he should comment that she was becoming rusty, but he decided against it.

It was clear that their relationship had temporarily improved – Éponine seemed less angry at him, more willing to share thoughts and plans – and he had no intention to risk this unexpected change of behavior.

Gavroche had often told himself and the world that he needed nothing of what remained of his warped family. While this was certainly true, he was much less outspoken about what he would have wanted if given the possibility. To have Éponine actually coming to him to vent was a pleasurable continuation of a development that had even Azelma on speaking terms with him again.

It was surprising, what sort of bonding experience a prison break could be.

"So he was really surprised", Gavroche picked up Éponine's thread of thought. "What about me? They should know what I do. Am I everyone's unpopular pet now as well?" He tried to hide his anxiousness – not that he really thought that the likes of Courfeyrac would have the same delusions Marius had, but one never knew; and losing his group of friends at the Musain would be a blow that he could do well without.

There was some guilt on Éponine's features as another pebble vanished in the murky waters.

"I may have dragged you into that discussion", she confessed uneasily. "Was probably not nice of me. Sorry. I was angry."

"Hm." Gavroche, bereft of pebbles, stared to the other riverbank thoughtfully, where a couple of women were busy doing laundry. "What'd they say?"

Éponine shrugged.

"Not sure. They were too busy condemning me."

Gavroche wondered for a moment where the difference between his deeds and hers were, but he came to no conclusion and shrugged.

"I could talk to them if you want to", he offered nonchalantly. Not to mention that he wanted to get a glimpse at the mood within the group himself, if only to understand what he had to expect in the future. Éponine huffed in annoyance.

"Do what you want to, Gavroche", she answered. "I don't think you're in the line of fire. It was all driven by Marius. I don't think the others caught on so much. They seemed to want to stop him, actually."

"Sounds more like them", Gavroche concurred relieved. "I couldn't imagine them going down that road so easily. Now Marius, there's one who lives in his own world."

"That's a nice way of saying it", Éponine replied, more calmly. Sometime during the last hour, her anger had run out and made way for a mixture of sadness, annoyance and exhaustion. "He only sees what he wants to."

Gavroche kept silent at that, for there were quite a lot of comments he could have made on this, none of them productive. But, as he suddenly realized looking into the face of his sister, that was lit by a wry, almost self-deprecating smile.

"Much like me, right?"

He wondered, how he should respond to that, but Éponine already continued.

"Don't say it. I don't want to hear it. Never mind. Maybe it's all for the better that I know now."

"You don't need him, y'know?" Gavroche reminded her carefully. "Especially not now. I told you. They're good. You can trust them. Well – maybe not Marius. But the rest of them. I'm sure they like you."

Éponine shook her head in something that was probably exasperation.

"Your world must look very bright, baby brother."

He could not help grinning.

"Oh, but it does", he confirmed. "It's much nicer that way. But – tell me I'm wrong. They're good. Good company, and they want to do the right things. That's good enough for me, and it should be good enough for you."

For a moment, Éponine silently pondered this, gazing into the sunny reflections on the water surface.

"Maybe", she answered, after a long moment of silence.

Gavroche wondered what was going on in her mind, but he knew better than to ask, and Éponine all too soon found a diversion herself.

"So what have you been up to in the mean time? I'm sure Courfeyrac is worried, he's seen neither hair nor hide of you since the day before yesterday."

Gavroche grinned at the thought of the man he considered for all intents and purposes his older brother.

"I got to keep him on his toes… he's old enough as it is. A bit of worry keeps him young." Éponine's gaze was predictably reprimanding, but she knew that Gavroche spoke in jest, nothing else, and so he continued, unfazed by her displeasure. "I've been asking around, you know? Things here, ideas there, the usual, I guess. Been talking to Navet for a bit, and I had the others running around the city trying to find traces of the assassins."

Éponine frowned slightly, but she did not comment. He had to give her credit, she was well capable of looking past the fact that he was her younger brother. It was one of the grand things about Courfeyrac and his friends – they mostly treated him like an adult – and slowly but surely his sister was learning this lesson as well. So, instead of reprimanding him she asked

"Any luck?"

"Of sorts", he replied, "although I haven't had all the news from Navet yet. He told me though, that he heard from old Gerard that there had been a particularly small man that was doing burglary, some ten years back. He was pretty sure that man got arrested some time, though, and put it how you want it, he's full of absinthe on his better days and full of cheap brandy when things are worse, so you never know what to believe. Still it's interesting."

"Like with the man who caught me", Éponine said thoughtfully. "Marius received a letter – anonymously though – that said that this man was from the north, and he had been to prison as well. His trace was lost there, just as apparently the little man's was, if it's even him."

"Interesting to think about", Gavroche mused. "Oh, and word has it that this wretched Inspector Javert has had some trouble with the gypsy family that lives close to the Colline tailor in Saint Germain. At least some of the younger ones of them were mentioning something like that, but I haven't heard the full of it yet. Seen as one of the attacks was at a gypsy fair, and that it seems that Javert is investigating these murders, it seems he's on a track as well. And surprisingly kind of on our side. What a joke."

"Somehow", Éponine replied, "he didn't seem the laughing kind to me."

"Oh, he has no sense of humor that he would know of", Gavroche commented lightheartedly. "But still. I find it very funny."

Éponine grinned, somewhat despite herself.

"I can imagine", she said. "So much interesting news, but nothing concrete yet."

Gavroche nodded.

"I'll go to Corinthe tonight to give the news and calm Courfeyrac", he said. "You'll be there, I guess?"

Surprisingly she shook her head.

"Can't. Got places to be."

"Things to do", Gavroche completed a phrase both of them had used in abundance. "Something I should know of?"

She shook her head.

"No big deal. Don't worry yourself over it. Just a favor."

That, of course, in itself was not calming, but apart from appearing slightly thoughtful, Éponine did not seem overly concerned, and that was a good thing. None the less, Gavroche made a mental note to try and find out what she had done in the evening. Maybe Jean or Sylvain would be back in time to trail his sister. If not, then he could put to use the spare pastry that he had nicked at Place Notre Dame with the intention of using it as a bargaining chip should the need during investigations arise.

When dealing with the children of the streets, food was just as good as money.

He decided to let the matter of Éponine's occupation drop. She had not questioned him, and he intended to return the courtesy.

"All right", he answered. "I'll give them your love, though."

She looked slightly doubtful, but Gavroche, being what he was, had no intention of letting this stop him.

By the time they decided that time for dinner had come, Courfeyrac was already sporting a headache. His eyes hurt and he was severely annoyed and more than grateful for the break.

They had spent the whole afternoon bent over books of the more legal kind – the Code Civil itself and a number of collections of popular, curious or interesting cases – in the search for possible loopholes and argumentations that would help in a potential lawsuit. Some time around three in the afternoon they had changed their headquarters from the apartment in Rue de la Verrerie to the Corinthe. The distance from one to the other was fairly small, and while Courfeyrac had already warned Madame Houcheloup of the assembly that was to take place in her premises a day ago, given the nature of the widow it was never wrong to actually create facts and pressure by simply being there already.

Since then they had sat in the gloomy surroundings of the wine shop.

The place exhibited a certain rustic charm. It was constructed mostly of wood, only the ground floor walls were made of brick, but the interior was camouflaged with wood as well. Barrels stood between the rustic tables, some used as decoration only, some actually wine barrels still completely or half full.

It was comfortable in winter, but in summer it was hot, stifling and supremely unpleasant. Courfeyrac had started to curse Enjolras' choice of premises about half an hour into their work, but of course their comrade had not been very receptive to the complaints.

Also, working together with Enjolras in the legal field was no pure pleasure.

It was no secret that Courfeyrac had been less than diligent in his studies – but that was his nature. He did not like being stuck with the same task for too long, especially if the task in question was boring or – worse – passive, but this did not mean, that he had not retained a certain interest in law as well. He was, however, no match for his friend's dedication.

Enjolras had thrown himself into the world of paragraphs and court cases with the diligence he showed for everything that he deemed of a certain importance, and soon Courfeyrac was showered in facts and possibilities of the most diverse kind.

To make matters worse, after a while Bossuet, Joly and Lamarin had shown up – bringing slightly disquieting news on the subject of Joseph Sicar, but it was not to be helped at the moment . While Joly retreated to another table to measure together a couple of ingredients that he had bought underway in an attempt at creating a contraceptive against the cholera, Bossuet and Lamarin had joined them in their efforts.

It became obvious fairly quickly that Enjolras and Lamarin were of one mind when it came to matters of the law. Of course, Lamarin lacked experience and, as far as Courfeyrac was concerned, was slightly less single-minded, but the approach he took was the same, and he immediately found his pace within the work that Enjolras was directing as he was prone to do.

Courfeyrac, however, could not shake the notion that things were taking a wrong turn.

"That's all good and well", he commented, after another round of discussing the finer details of a paragraph. "But I'm not sure that's the most promising route." Enjolras stopped what he was doing and raised his gaze to look at Courfeyrac, a brow slightly raised in a sardonic gesture. "I beg your pardon?"

Courfeyrac sighed.

"Let's face it. If we don't want to drag Éponine into this", he ignored the slight darkening of Enjolras' face at the mention of Gavroche's sister, "then things are looking grim from the facts side. So all we have is Madame's good name. Her charisma and the fact that she's a young, fairly pretty woman in a terrible predicament. If we can have them swallow that, they'll be more prone to buy a story with loopholes."

"Lawsuits are the domain of facts, Courfeyrac." There was a clear reprimand in Enjolras' cool tone. "What you are suggesting falls more into the realm of fiction and cheap journalism."

"Both of which we may need before this is out. Obviously we can't use Le Globe – it would be seen as biased, of course, and maybe even rightfully so, but still a bit of sympathy for her would help."

"It would irrationalize the discussion and therefore do injustice to the process and the cause itself", Enjolras disagreed. "Not to mention that we would be doing Madame a disservice."

"A disservice in doing what?"

The voice came from the entrance of the door and was well-known enough to herald the newly arrived without a doubt. Courfeyrac refrained from closing his eyes but counted silently to ten, before he turned around to Combeferre.

He stood in the door, pale, but angry, and at his side was Marius, who did not look much better. By the way he was holding himself – standing half behind Combeferre – he was rightfully assuming his welcome might not be as open as it had been before. Courfeyrac felt a mixture of anger, annoyance and worry flare up at the sight of the two, but instead he turned to the first question at hand.

"Where's Jehan?"

"He took off with Jean and Pucet – Gavroche's little comrades", Combeferre explained. "Seems as if the gamins found out what happened to the rest of the Picpus group. And by what would we be doing Madame a disservice?"

"Hold on… what happened to the rest of the Picpus group?"

"And didn't we agree not to take off on our own?"

"He was with the two gamins", Combeferre repeated, tiredly. "Who if not them would know the streets?"

"One might bring up the unfortunate example of Éponine", Enjolras responded with a certain bite and by the way Combeferre's eyes widened, Courfeyrac had to conclude that his friend had honestly not even thought of this.

He definitely, definitely needed to sleep.

"I…", he began, faltering, then starting at another angle. "Maybe we should go…"

"Wherever they went", Marius completed carefully, "It's been quite a while ago…"

Enjolras turned around quickly.

"Bossuet", he said, and then, without looking at the baron's son: "Pontmercy." Both of them reacted on instinct, sitting up and responding with a nod. "I want you to go to Picpus and see if you can find out what happened to Jehan, and if he is in any sort of trouble. If not, try and find the gamins, or Gavroche, if everything else fails."

"But… the meeting?" Marius responded, but Enjolras only shook his head in annoyance. "There are enough of us as it is. That should be no problem. Come back when you have the information."

His tone allowed no contradiction.

"The sewers", Combeferre prompted, all of a sudden. "They said the remains of the Picpus people were in the sewers somewhere in Picpus."

"The remains", Bossuet echoed. "Oh sweet mercy…"

Combeferre nodded, passing two weary, trembling hands over his face and through his hair.

"The blood toll was apparently high."

Bossuet nodded.

"Come, Pontmercy", he said, possibly slightly kinder than any of the others would have done, given that he had not witnessed the scene in the morning. "Let's go."

They lost no time in leaving. And Combeferre came back to the original point.

"So… what's that talk of disservice?"

Enjolras sighed.

"Courfeyrac here is of the opinion that we should throw Madame de Cambout to the wolves that are the more sordid corners of the Paris press."

That could have been formulated kinder, Courfeyrac supposed, but he had expected nothing else and hastened to intercept.

"That's neither what I said nor what I meant. What I did mention was that it would be a good thing to consider that this court, apart from the fact that it is populated by lawyers, is also populated by human beings. And that Madame would do well to deal with that human side as well."

"Convince the judge of her honesty?" Combeferre shook his head. "That will never work that easily. And it's too risky. Imagine if it goes wrong. There are those who react badly to it. Also, that's no guarantee that she will be set free."

"Indeed", Enjolras responded. "Although I do have to say that such a guarantee does not exist. And the facts speak their own language. There is no proof that she has killed him."

"But the circumstances!" Combeferre's voice trembled as he shook his head. "I mean… imagine what it must look like from the outside. There…"

"Indices are not proofs", Courfeyrac tried to calm him. "And there are plenty of possibilities and accounts that might make her story plausible, even without the account of Éponine. Not the least yours and Enjolras'. If you make a convincing argument…."

"… that will not quench the idea that she killed her husband before she came to us", Enjolras disagreed. "And unfortunately people have been sent to the guillotine on indices alone before, which is of course one of the issues of the current legal system." Courfeyrac wondered if anyone would fault him for strangling Enjolras for this comment, but given the fact that Combeferre could, for a moment, not help uttering a small sound somewhere between a gasp and a keening cry, he decided to focus on his other friend instead.

"But you know we won't let that happen", he reassured him. "That is for certain."

"We could try a formal route", Lamarin said, carefully. "Try and find fault with the process itself. What brought the police to their house in the middle of the night if not Madame's scream for help? And why was Madame in La Force instead of Saint Lazare? All of this sounds very constructed."

Enjolras pondered this for a moment.

"Coming from this angle it does give an interesting light."

"Oh please for the love of God, don't make more enemies for her than she already has." Combeferre shook his head in despair. "She is good enough at this herself, she surely does not need your assistance on that accord…"

"Yet it would give us an opportunity to face the enemies head-on. I would prefer a barricade, if I had the choice, but I will take the fight where it presents itself. If the trial of Madame de Cambout is the rallying sign that rises the people of Paris, so be it."

"And simply sacrifice her?" Combeferre asked in horror. Courfeyrac was fairly sure he had misunderstood Enjolras – but he had chosen a singularly bad wording.

"No one", he disagreed sharply, "is sacrificing anyone. And now, Combeferre…" His friend blinked quickly a few times, having trouble to focus on him as he got up and stepped to him. "I hope you'll forgive me for being blunt, but you're not exactly help. Quite to the contrary, actually. Which is probably because you're in no condition to think clearly. Therefore let me be of assistance and tell you what to do. You'll go over to Joly and have a nice little chat with him over some obscure medical topic or other, have a glass of wine and – for the love of peace – calm down. I'd prefer you sleep, but looking at you I can see that that is one advice that get's thrown in the wind, so I'll settle for relax. And if – you'll notice I'm saying if, not when – you look and sound more like yourself afterwards you might convince me for not filling in for you in that assembly."

Combeferre passed both hands through his hair, as a kaleidoscope of emotions ran over his face. Anger, worry, fatigue, shame, and finally, to Courfeyrac's infinite relief, acceptance.

"You may be right", he said quietly, throwing an uncertain gaze back to Lamarin and Enjolras, who were already discussing the details of Lamarin's comment. "I'll… I'll do that."

Without another word he turned around to walk to the table where Joly was sitting and Courfeyrac, breathing out a sigh of relief, only barely refrained from sagging back into his chair.

It was going to be a very long night.