Author's Note: Alright, finally did it. I apologize for taking so long to update this, but winter break ended, then there was school...(Hopefully the length makes up for the delay.)

Also, there's another Author's Note at the bottom describing where much of this came from, if anyone's interested in that.

Enjoy!

"What do you mean, 'the engine isn't working'? It was just fine a few hours ago, if it was capable of getting us here!" Joly fumes, berating the pilot of the aircraft, perhaps an unwise decision on his part, since they are both standing out in the snow, donning the thickest coats they own, the hypochondriac bundled in his with earmuffs and a thick pair of gloves, his booted feet freezing in the few inches of snow. "I may not be an expert of such technology, but I don't see how there is any sense in it!"

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir, but there is no way that this particular aircraft will be taking another flight tonight!" the man tells him. "You may search for another at such short notice, but it's not likely at this hour, near to impossible, and with the sky conditions and the possibility of ice forming on the wings… We do not want to be risking the safety of either of you."

"Risking our safety? We've been risking our own safety for seven months! One of us nearly died, and I am saying that with no exaggeration! That man," Joly points in the direction of closed doors. "That man in there was near death only a few short days ago. Flat-lined twice, not once, twice! Don't you dare tell me anything about risking safety!"

"Look, I understand you both have probably been through a lot the past half-year, and that you both are eager to go home and reunite with your families, but there is absolutely no way that plane is leaving the ground tonight, I'm sorry."

"They are expecting us home by tomorrow afternoon!"

"He's up!" a voice calls from behind him, nearly scaring him half-to-death. The hypochondriac turns to face the young medic that will most likely be taking the place of Combeferre's successor at their camp. "Sorry to interrupt, but you did want me to fetch you, am I wrong?"

"No, your memory serves you right." Joly replies with a curt nod, his eyes taking a glance at the pilot behind him. "Thank you, Rose. Now, go take a break—you look as if you need it, and I'll keep watch on him for now."

"Are you sure, Doctor?" the medic teases. "The snow's biting at your feet?"

"I would rather not repeat myself, so run along and have a long rest, and I'll wake you with enough time for preparations before the flight leaves. Am I clear?"

"Affirmative." Rose salutes before taking off, and Joly turns to the direction from where the medic came, heaving a quiet sigh before going in that direction.

He opens the doors to see the man lying in the bed (thankfully), and instead of seeing the closed eyes of an injured man, he sees the blue drowsy ones of a suffering man. Joly can tell he's using all his might not to close them, perhaps for the fear of never opening them again, and for that, he doesn't blame him.

"It will be a few hours yet." Joly says rather casually. "No need for you to stay awake. Get some rest while you can, Enjolras—It'll be a long trip home."

"I just want this trip to be over." Enjolras croaks, his voice not up to its normal sound after not being used as much as it usually was for a few days.

"So do I. Seven months is way too long to be apart from anybody." He takes a look at the clipboard that had been placed on one of the seats, going through the many reports and charts scattered upon its sheets. "Everything seems to be normal, vital signs on normal levels, which is a good thing. Shows you're healing quite well, and rather quickly, I might add. Almost as fast as that of a child."

"You say it as if that eases any of the pain." Enjolras counters with deep breath before letting out a sharp hiss of pain that startles Joly almost enough to drop the clipboard.

"Careful!" he advises, setting the clipboard aside and holding out his hands as if he could stop him from doing anything. "Just because you are stable and conscious does not automatically mean that you are entirely in the clear, mon ami. As far as healing goes, there's still quite a bit for you to do. Your stitches need to heal up and be removed, your ankle has a few more weeks, and then there's therapy, which is intended to be a benefit, not a burden. Don't push yourself too hard because it will not work in your favor, and I think you and I agree that the last thing Éponine needs is more stress."

"Have you contacted her?" he asks, his tone pained and concerned, a contrast to the protesting voice moments ago. "How is she?"

"She's worried, and in all honesty, I can't say I blame her." Joly heaves a sigh, cautiously taking a seat at the foot of the bed. "She's been through a lot without you there, and this doesn't make things any better."

"You don't think I am aware of that?" The words are harsh, but the feeling of guilt is there. He takes a breath, an attempt to calm down, and then tries to speak again. "She shouldn't have to go through all of this, in my opinion, but I'm glad she's not alone, between Matthieu and Gavroche and Azelma and the Amis…at least she has some support back there without me."

"Yes, but she needs you, too. They can't give her everything, and there are so many things only you can do." Joly pulls out a small photograph out of his coat pocket. Its corners are bent and there are signs of creases where it had been folded. The image, despite its bends and areas where the ink is worn, is a familiar sight, a common image for the both of them as of late. The hypochondriac smiles with the slightest hint of pride, and all Enjolras can do at this point without causing any pain is nod.

"Musichetta sent this to Bossuet and I about two months ago, and I don't think a day has gone by where I haven't looked at it at least once."

"The most recent one Éponine sent me was a week or so ago." Enjolras says thoughtfully. "Thirty weeks, or about that."

"Has she found out if you two are having a boy or a girl?"

He barely shakes his head. "No. We decided to be surprised. And you?"

"A girl." Joly replies nonchalantly, as if speaking such a phrase was commonplace for him. "Going to be just like her mother, I know it."

"You don't sound too thrilled about it."

"Oh, I am! Do not let my tone betray you." The hypochondriac says with a hint of an edge in his voice, despite his optimistic-sounding tone. "I am not as calm as I appear. Almost any second now I could get a phone call from her and/or Bossuet, and the moment that happens I hope my feet are on the other side of the Atlantic."

There a pause in the conversation for a few moments, and the reason as to why is unknown. Things remain still, whether it's tension, grief, or pain, neither of them dare to speak until Enjolras' voice suddenly cuts through.

"With this wrench in the plans, do you know when we will leave here or get home?" Enjolras asks warily, a trace of pain evident in his voice. His pain medication was probably wearing off.

"If the plane leaves by sunrise, we could get home sometime early the following morning." Joly states matter-of-factly, but as he continues on, there's doubt in his words. "However, by the sounds of it, we could be here awhile, 'less there's another plane, and the weather isn't helping the situation out much either, with the oncoming storm and the frigid temperatures."

"Define 'awhile.'"

"A few more days at most, which on some level, could be to your benefit. Given a day or so, I'll be able to monitor how much the flight affected certain conditions, positive and negative, so I know what to expect and be prepared for it while we're in flight."

"Shouldn't that have been done already?" Enjolras questions, with the suggestion of anger in his voice.

"To a point, yes, but flight affects some aspects, and that could not be tested until we were sure you were in stable condition, for it would be unwise to travel if you weren't." Joly replies, getting off the bed before going through his supplies. "How do you feel? On a scale of one to ten, how much pain do you think you're in at the moment?"

"Three."

The hypochondriac's eyebrows furrow in confusion, before giving a knowing look in Enjolras' direction, mostly out of the belief that his friend/patient is being modest and doesn't want to cause him much trouble by saying otherwise. "Are you sure about that?"

"Possibly six, but I would not say much more."

"Are you sure about that?" Joly repeats, based upon the unconfident reply. "Note you are not a burden and I am only trying to help you. I want an honest reply from you to ensure that I am helping you to the best of my ability."

"I feel rather uncomfortable at the moment, Joly, and I cannot say much more without causing repetition. Does that satisfy you enough?"

He nods in reply, and obtains the appropriate amount of medication before passing it on to Enjolras. "If you feel tired, don't fight it. Rest, if you must. Actually, I should be telling you to rest, as an order. Do you understand?"

He replies with a curt nod.

Joly sits on the foot of the bed for the next few moments, and not just for observational purposes. Even as he watches him slowly relax and allow the presence of sleep, he remains. For a reason he cannot name in his mind, he feels as if he cannot leave, as if he has been frozen there, becoming a statue.

He recalls the night well. He hates to think about it, but it's there, a memory forever branded in his mind. He remembers the panicked faces of Courfeyrac and Bossuet as they rushed to inform their superiors of the incident. He recalls the many men he considered comrades leave the camp, asking himself how many would come back. He can see the frightful look in Combeferre's eyes as he arrived at the camp with Enjolras in his arms, his uniform seemingly covered in their friend's blood, some of the scarlet liquid dripping down on the ground at his feet.

He prays that Enjolras doesn't have such detail of the event in his memory.

She can hear the sound of gunshots ringing in her ears. She can hear his voice shouting commands she cannot make out. She can see dust everywhere, blinding her sight to the point where she can barely see a foot in front of her. She can feel the ground shaking beneath her feet as a grenade goes off nearby, so loud she swears that she was deaf for a few seconds. She can hear countless of anguished cries and dying screams as she sees faceless soldiers fall to the ground, forever lost in this desert battlefield.

His voice grows louder, more fearful, more panicked all-too-quickly. She can see his face, covered in soot, sweat, and a dark red liquid, as he runs towards her. She cannot help but feel relieved yet fearful at the same time as he draws near. He's barking something at her, something she cannot make out still, and his voice repeats it, growing in urgency as he gets closer, and it isn't until he tackles her to the ground does she pick up on his reasons.

They're all that's left.

His breath is ragged as he shields her from whatever harm she can't see, and that's when she feels a drop of liquid upon her skin. She tries to look at it, but finds it unnecessary, knowing there's only one possibility in which it could be, and she doesn't have to search for long to find its source.

She can see the weakness in his eyes, and she begins to plead with him, begging him to hold on as he lies on his back, his breathing becoming more difficult as the sight of blood is more apparent. He's fighting death with every breath, and she continues to demand that he holds on, to not give in. She screams at him helplessly, her eyes not leaving him at all as she hopes help will arrive in time.

Her cries become more desperate with each ticking moment, as his breath grows shallower, more scarlet on the ground.

"Stay with me, please!" she begs, the tears streaming down her face. "Just hold on, Enjolras, hold on."

She feels someone wrap their arms around her as she continues to scream. He's getting further away from her as his chest shakes with every breath, she knows it, and she grabs onto him without letting go, her pleading starting to quiet as it evolves into sobs of desperation.

"Éponine!" a voice calls out, but it's not his.

"Momma!" another voice, not his.

Her eyes flash open, and she finds herself in almost complete darkness, Gavroche with his arms around her and Matthieu standing at the foot of the bed with fear in his eyes. She can feel herself shaking as she clings on to her brother tighter and he slowly rocks back and forth in hopes to bring her some kind of comfort. The tears on her face are there as she tries to gain control, but she can't, and her whimpers are just loud enough for her son to hear as the young boy crawls onto the bed and hugs his mother.

"It's only a dream, momma." Matthieu says calmly, despite witnessing who knows how much of his mother's episode. "It's not real."

She shakily reaches over and strokes her son's cheek, a small smile forming on her face. The fear and shock of the nightmare slowly begins to wear off, and neither Gavroche nor Matthieu let go of her, the alarm starting to diminish as the feeling of warmth and comfort takes over.

She can't help but feel nervous as she once again waits for him in the hangar, her coat, hat, and gloves not enough to avoid the winter chill. She had had trouble getting there on the snowy roads, and was unsure if she would make it there in time to see his plane land. She had seen a couple results of collisions as she drove on, hoping none involved fatalities this close to the holiday season, keeping in mind how close she had been to such a scenario.

Little Matthieu sat by her side, drawing in the sketchbook Feuilly had given him for his birthday earlier that year. It was halfway full with dozens of sketches, some of which she believed were well-done by a boy his age. Every now and then, she peaks over to see what her son had been drawing, and from the looks of it, people were starting to take shape, four of them, from what she could tell, a house resembling their own slightly in the background.

"What do you have there?" she asks, curiosity winning her over as she shifts in her seat. The little boy apparently had not noticed his mother had been watching him, and he quickly shuts the sketchbook.

"Nothing, momma!" he replies, hugging his sketchbook, fearing she might snatch it from him.

"Alright." She returns to her original position, looking away from her son's direction, but enough to still see her son cautiously open the sketchbook once more, obviously making sure she isn't looking at his artwork before continuing onwards with it.

An hour passes, and nothing of the plane.

It should have been here by now…Éponine thinks to herself, worry starting grip her. Surely if the weather delayed the plane, we would have heard of it by now.

Another hour goes by, and still no sign of him.

She has the sudden thought to get up and ask about the delay, when her phone goes off. She hesitates for a moment, not so much concerned over answering what is most likely a petty phone call (probably Gavroche asking what drawer the silverware is…again), but then grabs it quickly to answer it before she can give it a second thought.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Éponine—It's Bossuet. Have they landed yet?"

"Not yet, from what I know, but I suppose I should be asking why I see no sign of either you or Musichetta here. You have noticed Joly's absence, correct?"

"We most definitely have!" he replies, sounding slightly offended. "And we would be, too, if it weren't for the baby."

"The baby? What happened?!" she asks, her voice concerned.

"We were on our way there, but then Musichetta was suddenly in terrible pain, by the sounds of it. She told me not to worry, but then there was the on-and-off pattern, and after the second time, I felt as if I had no choice but to take her to the hospital."

"You mean she's in labor?" Éponine asks in astonishment. "When did it start?"

"A couple of hours ago, and from what I am hearing, everything is moving along smoothly but slowly." Bossuet reports. "Anyway, Éponine, by any chance could you drop off Joly here after they land, or at least have him ride home with you? Otherwise, he might have to call a cab or something, but you know we'll never hear the end of it as he can't stand those things."

"Of course I can, no trouble at all."

"Oh, thank you, Éponine!" he says quickly. "Have to go! Thanks again!"

"No prob—" she doesn't have a chance to finish her sentence as the other end hangs up, and she leans back in her seat, heaving an exasperated sigh before returning her phone to her coat pocket. At least Matthieu isn't complaining…yet…

About fifteen minutes go by when she hears the roaring over her head, and she doesn't have to think twice about what that means.

"Plane!" Matthieu says excitedly, almost throwing his sketchbook onto the painted concrete floor. "Momma, that's a plane!"

"Yes, it is!" Éponine replies, standing from her chair. "And you know who is on that plane?"

"Daddy!" he almost shrieks, and hurriedly shoves his sketchbook into his mother's messenger bag along with the pencils he had been using. The little boy jumps up and down, taking hold of his mother's hands. "Let's go, let's go!"

"Hold on, Matthieu. Just give me a moment." she tells him as she stiffly stands up, placing a hand over her stomach as she does so. The two of them walk hand-in-hand as they approach the outside of the hangar.

She takes a deep breath, watching the plane's descent before it makes its landing on the snow-cleared runway. Even amidst the darkness of the night and the flurry of snowflakes, she can make out the plane maneuver along the paths, taking great care with every turn.

There are tears in her eyes before the plane comes to a complete stop, a good two-hundred meters away. She is holding her son close, firmly grasping his shoulders as her eyes remain locked on the plane's entrances and exits, not sure of which one he will emerge from. At first he tries to fight with her because of it, but then ceases just as quickly.

For her, the remaining moments of waiting take forever, as she is highly anticipating seeing him again after all this time. She doesn't know whether he'll need assistance in walking or if he'll be still lying down in a bed, but finally have him home alive is enough for her.

Joly is the first one she sees emerging from the back end of the plane, she's sure of it, turning around to speak to someone close behind him, but she can't see who. He seems to be rather direct with the person, whether it's making sure everything is taken care of properly or making a complaint in regards to sanitation, something he has done as long as she has known him.

"Are you sure you're fine like this? You shouldn't be straining yourself if you aren't."

"Joly, I'm sure of it." comes the confident reply.

"Alright, but let me know if something is bothering you, and don't be afraid to say it. That last thing anyone needs is you hurting yourself even more."

She notices the hypochondriac quickly dart back into the plane, and a shred of worry is felt, without the knowledge of why he did so. She holds her breath for a moment, wondering if something had happened during the landing that had been missed up until then, but she relaxes when he emerges once again, this time with a crouched over figure at his side, as if guiding him.

She doesn't find the need to question who the figure was, it was instinct. She lets the tears fall, and a part of her doesn't completely understand why she is shedding the tears. She feels a small tap from where her hand was placed on her stomach, as if the baby picked up on what was going on, and she smiles a little bit more.

She doesn't even try to stop Matthieu as he takes off in their direction, wasting no time in making it towards the hypochondriac and the figure beside him. She takes off after him in a hurried walk, careful not to slip on the pavement, her eyes not leaving the nearing men. The figure appears to be hurrying in his pace, as fast as Joly and his crutches will allow.

"Daddy!" Éponine hears the little boy squeal as he almost tries to leap into his father's arms, but hesitates and stops at the last possible moment, obviously taking note of the crutches that his father was using to keep his stance with his left ankle not touching the ground at all. "You hurt!"

He smiles a bit and nods, slight laughter in his voice. "Yes, I got hurt, Matthieu."

"Are you okay?" Matthieu asks with a concerned voice, his eyes observing the crutches.

"He will be." Joly answers quickly, and Enjolras rolls his eyes at the hypochondriac's words.

"As long as he doesn't push himself too far." Éponine quips, and Enjolras' eyes dart in her direction, as if he had only just noticed her presence. The light in his eyes is difficult to be mistaken, and she does not have to be told to know that had it not been for his injuries, he would have embraced her on the spot. She comes closer, a few feet and Matthieu between them as they both struggle not to let their emotions get the better of them.

"Éponine…" he breathes, as if his voice is overcome with awe. He looks up and down, taking everything in that was difficult to do so with the lack of her physical presence. "My…Look at you…"

"I'm huge, I know." she says to complete the phrase, knowing most likely that was what he was about to say, a cliché, she thinks. She can feel the red rush to her cheeks as she tries to avoid meeting his gaze, but she cannot help but notice the slow shake of his head as she does so.

"No, not that…I mean, yes, you are, but that wasn't what I was trying to say."

"Have I put the grand orator at a loss for words?" she asks with a tease in her voice, a hint of her younger self shining through, and she can see the small chuckle he tries to avoid letting out, as does Joly, who is not as successful in such a feat. There is a short silence among them, before Éponine comes to a sudden realization of what she had been asked to do.

She immediately directs her attention towards Joly, no hesitation before she says, "We need to get to the hospital."

The hypochondriac's eyes glance at the ground before turning his head towards Enjolras, then looking back at her again. "What?"

"The baby waited for you to get home, as luck would have it, and Bossuet asked me to take you there." Éponine unintentionally explains vaguely, and much to her surprise, he nods, before his eyes go wide as he realizes what she means. She notices how he begins to take deep breaths, trying to keep himself calm in front of them.

"We should be going then." he exhales, and within fifteen minutes, they are in the car and ready to go.

She isn't surprised when Joly bolts from the car the moment she puts the car in park, nor is she surprised when she watches him nearly trip over the curb when he reaches the sidewalk.

"He would have been an excellent sprinter on the track team had he joined." Enjolras comments as Éponine carefully helps him out of the back seat, crutches and all, Matthieu standing there to watch, and she can't help but smirk at that. "The physical education teacher pleaded him to, countless numbers of times in high school."

"I've heard the story." she replies, handing him his crutches before the trio of them make their way to the hospital's entrance.

When they arrive at the waiting room, she is a bit surprised when she makes the observation that other than them; only Corinne and Combeferre are there, as well as a pacing Bossuet and hyperventilating Joly. Combeferre appears to be telling the hypochondriac to calm down and takes deep breaths, but isn't so successful, while Corinne calmly sits and watches everything happen around her without getting involved, perhaps because she knows that there is nothing she can do at this point in time.

"Is everything alright?" Enjolras asks after seeing the scene before him. Joly looks up at him but remains silent in voice, while Bossuet appears not to hear him. Combeferre shakes his head, and Corinne gets out of her chair and approaches them, pulling them aside.

"All we know is that something was wrong, and around the time Joly walked in, he and Bossuet were told to leave the room. No explanation." Corinne explains. "And it must be bad, if they wouldn't let them stay."

"That doesn't sound right." Éponine responds, her eyebrows furrowed. "Even if it was bad, they should have let them stay, or at least told them why."

"They didn't, which as you can see, doesn't help the situation much." Corinne sighs, looking back at Joly and Bossuet. "Poor guys. One barely home for two weeks and another for barely a few hours, and then this happens."

The next ten minutes are long for them, but when Joly and Bossuet are called back suddenly, they don't hesitate. Both are stopped for a moment, perhaps on the grounds of paternity, but when Joly's fretting gets worse as he explains everything, the two of them are allowed in, seemingly with reluctance.

About an hour passes, and restlessness appears in all of them, with the exception of Matthieu, who had fallen asleep and was using his father's lap as a pillow. Combeferre and Corinne are conversing back and forth, the topic shifting from what could possibly be going on back there to possibly starting a family of their own soon to what their plans are for the next few days. Éponine absentmindedly was running a hand over her round stomach, worrying about what may and would happen in a few months' time, what has already happened. Enjolras must have noticed this, at least the part of which some unpleasant thoughts were running through her mind, and he places a hand atop hers, which distracts her from her thoughts.

"Everything is going to be alright." he tells her softly. "Musichetta and their baby will be okay, you and our baby will be okay. There is nothing to worry about."

She heaves a nervous sigh, her eyes staring downwards. "You can't say that for sure, that everything will be okay, especially after what happened to you."

He remains quiet, as if shocked by her words and unable to respond. She glances at him, wondering if he's still there, which he is. She knows he's fine now, out of danger and currently away from death's door, but she cannot shake the feelings of loss and hurt. Though on the outside, he behaves like the same man she knew when he board the plane seven-and-a-half months ago, deep down he's different. The only injury visible to her at the moment is his badly sprained ankle, but underneath his uniform, she knows there are places where his skin will be forever scarred by bullets, no matter how much time passes. She is aware that the depths of his mind are forever changed by his experience on the battlefield, by the countless number of men forever lost around him. There is so much he has seen that time will most likely never erase, no matter how hard they try. Everything he went through will be branded in his mind, things she will never be able to understand fully, no matter how many years pass.

"Stop stressing yourself over that," he says finally, his hand gently sliding underneath her chin as he turns her head to face him, careful not to disturb their son's slumber. "Everything will be fine."

"Saying that isn't going to automatically make it true." Éponine says bitterly, removing his hand from her chin.

"It will be if you believe enough." Enjolras replies quietly, looking her in the eye before directing his gaze towards her swollen stomach. "And I promised I would come back. You know I wouldn't break such a promise."

"You would have come home regardless if you were standing on two feet or if a flag was draped over your coffin."

"You don't need to worry about that anymore because I'm right here, and I am not going anywhere anytime soon." He once again places a hand on her stomach, and smiles, returning his attention to her. "I will be right here, not missing another thing. Time is too precious, and I don't think it takes much for anyone to agree with that."

"Life is a precious thing, too, Enjolras." she counters, her voice a little softer now. "All life is."

"Life gave me something to come back to." At first, she thinks he is just referring to their unborn child, but then, knowing Enjolras, there's more to it than that. He continues on. "You, Matthieu, the baby…you are all important to me, and losing any of you would break me down. On top of that, there's the Amis, and so much beyond that."

"Don't forget we think about you the same way." Éponine reminds, leaning over a bit, brushing a hand through his hair slowly. She jumps slightly, feeling a small kick from the child within her. "And so does she…or he…"

"I won't. You won't let me." he says with some amusement in his voice. His focus turns once again to her round stomach, rubbing it gently with his hand. "You won't let me, either, will you?"

"Enjolras…" she rolls her eyes before returning her attention to the bonding between her husband and their baby. She is tempted to remind him that they are in a public place (since he would rarely do something like that outside the privacy of their own home), but seeing him behave in such a manner, after such a long time apart, brings her comfort. It's something from him she hasn't seen in months, and reveals to her that though the fighting was a traumatic experience for him, the fact that he can come home and act as if nothing has changed or affected him at all…she knows that not all of those who return from war adjust to life back at home so easily and so quickly.

He must have felt her watching him (not that that was avoidable), based upon how his eyes flicker up at her. "I know, but I've missed out on a lot, not being here."

"Was I complaining?" Éponine asks with a hint of laughter in her voice. She sees a small shake of his head before he sits back up at the sound of doors opening, either because he didn't want others to notice or because there was the possibility of hearing something about Musichetta and the baby, or maybe even a mixture of the two.

She turns her head to see Joly, dressed in scrubs, his uniform underneath. He smiles, which is good, but when he tries to speak, it appears he just can't find the words, and the sound comes out at a short and quiet squeal. Bossuet emerges from behind him, rather calm compared the hypochondriac.

"She's here!" he announces, pride in his voice, and Joly nods eagerly as in agreement.

"How's Musichetta?" Combeferre asks, slowly rising from his seat, Corinne standing beside him.

"Both mother and baby are in perfect health, the best we can ask for." Bossuet reports without hesitation.

"Any reason given as to why you two were asked to leave?" Corinne questions.

"To run a few tests, I suppose, but why we couldn't be there for them is a mystery to me." Joly answers, finally able to speak. "But everything is alright now. No issues whatsoever."

"Have you held her yet?" Éponine asks, and both nod in reply.

"Only for a few moments, but we figured it'd be best not to keep you all waiting." Bossuet replies, looking in Enjolras' direction. "There's been enough waiting around as there is."

"Hm?" He looks up quickly, apparently his attention taken away from the conversation by Matthieu, who momentarily stirred on his poor excuse for a bed (a few armless chairs), turning his head on his father's lap.

"Enough for all of us to last a lifetime." Joly adds, Enjolras still having a look of confusion on his face.

"Pardon?"

Éponine places a hand upon his shoulder. "Nothing to worry over, dear. Musichetta and the baby are fine, and speaking of which, do you three have any names picked out?"

Bossuet looks at Joly, who shrugs, in hesitation. "In a manner, yes."

"Elizabeth Jeannine." Joly says, almost unsure of himself. "It's not set in stone at the moment, but it is one of the few we could agree on or bring compromise to. What about you two, in regards to your future little one?"

"Not at this time, no, but some ideas have surely crossed our minds, right, Enjolras?" Éponine turns her head towards him, his reply being nothing more than a noncommittal 'hm.' He appears to be tired, and she assumes it's a mixture of whatever medication Joly has him on and the long trip he had coming home.

She takes that as a sign that it's time for the three of them to head home. Home, home. They say their goodbyes and make their exit, Enjolras gently rousing Matthieu from his sleep to do so.

The half-an-hour car ride is a quiet one, as Matthieu falls asleep before the car makes it out of the parking lot and Enjolras dozes off ten minutes in, finally giving in after startling himself awake a countless number of times. She has the radio on the whole ride on a normal-yet-quiet volume, as to avoid waking either of them until they get home. Gavroche meets them outside, acknowledging Enjolras finally being home before collecting the still-sleeping Matthieu from his car seat as Éponine helps her husband out of the car. Few words are said otherwise, until they are settled in for the night.

"Is it strange being home?" Éponine asks him as she crawls into the bed beside him stiffly, careful not to hit his ankle with her feet.

"What?" he asks with a yawn before sitting up a little bit. "Oh. In a way, yes, because I know tomorrow on can wake up and not worry about whether or not I'll see the next sunrise. No, because I'm finally where I need to be."

She rolls over to her side, facing him. "So you don't find it strange that you can peacefully sleep over constantly fretting over a possible attack?"

"No…possibly…on some scale, yes." Enjolras answers with a slight shrug. "And though I have less to worry about, it doesn't mean I'll sleep any easier."

"How so?"

"Well, there's you and Matthieu. Don't think that I don't worry about you two on a day-to-day basis, regardless of where I am."

"I know." she smiles a bit before she decides to stick her hand in his hair to mess it up (not that the curls make it look like he just crawled out of bed anyway).

She gets a small rise of laughter out of it, perhaps a hint of a smile as well, before he suddenly twitches and lets out a small hiss of pain. A part of her panics for a moment because it slipped her mind that he hasn't fully recovered from his injuries yet, but a slight raise of the hand is his signal that he's fine.

"It's alright, Ép—nothing to worry about." he tells her quietly, lying back down on the bed. "I have trouble remembering, too, at times. I just have to be careful."

She only nods before she reaches from behind her to turn off the light before lying down on her side, facing him. Even in the darkness, she can see the outlines of the bandages wrapping his torso from underneath his shirt. She's nervous to reach out and touch him, afraid to even lean her head against his shoulder, not wanting to hurt him anymore than he already has been. She can make out the healing, practically faded scratch along his forehead, perhaps from the same event that left him in a near-death state.

"Matthieu waited for you to get home to put the ornaments on the tree." she says once she can no longer stand the silent darkness. "According to Gavroche, when they put up the tree, he made a fuss of it."

"He didn't have to."

"He didn't want to put to put them up without you there. It didn't feel right without you there, and neither of us fought him on it, well, because…you weren't here."

"Éponine…" he breathes, and she only now realizes that her breathing was uneven, that she was beginning to get herself worked up about this once more. "It's alright. I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere, you hear me?"

"Mhm." She takes a deep breath, her body shaking as she feels his arms wrap around her, her head nuzzled up against his chest. She tries to slide closer to him, but she'll have to do with what she's got, her swollen stomach preventing her from getting any closer.

She expects him to let go once she calms down, figuring he might be ignoring the pain he's in for her sake, but when she hears the sound of his soft snoring beside her, the thought leaves her mind, her worries ceasing.

"Good night, Enjolras." she whispers. I'm glad you're finally home.

Author's Note: First off, I want to thank everyone for their support. Honestly, I was surprised by the response this got, and it was well-appreciated.

When I started writing this, my main goal was trying to make this as "realistic" as possible. I had to do some research, and having family members in the armed forces helped me out with that. Though I am not familiar with the experience of losing a loved one during their service, I am familiar with family members leaving and coming back (more than once).

For those interested in knowing this, my original inspiration for this story was the song, "I'm Already There" by Lonestar. There's a version out there somewhere that includes messages from family members to those serving overseas. I highly recommend listening to them. (If you go through Part 1 again, you might be able to catch some of the lyrics woven in there.)

Originally, as in the early stages of Part 1, I had almost every intention to kill off Enjolras, but then halfway through it, I realized I couldn't do it, not in this. I tried to lessen things, but during my research, I found out certain aspects just wouldn't work, so I tried again and again until something clicked. I hope it was satisfying enough.

I don't know what I'll do next, but I'm considering writing a series of one-shots from the perspectives of other characters (Musichetta, Gavroche, Corinne, etc.) within the same universe. Let me know what you think of that possibility.

Once again, thank you so much for reading this and cannot wait to hear what you think!