"Enjolras," his voice is soft, but there's an anger to it. One that cannot be rivalled by anything Enjolras could feel. There's an echoing pain in the way the mouth shapes his name, he knows this is the last time. "please, don't do this."
"I have to." The blonde boy looks up from his table. There, stood in front of him, is a god. "You've seem what it's like out there. The people..."
The suited man walks forwards, his strides full of purpose. He pulls Enjolras up from his seat and looks him in the eye. The boy is just shorter than the dark haired man. "You'll die for nothing, you know that."
"The people will come." Enjolras says calmly, the smile on his face is wiped away by a quick look. The strength of his conviction scares the Doctor. He can't see what will happen, what will become of him and his... Amis. "They need us to start this, so we can change everything. Together."
The Doctor takes a step back. He can feel both of his hearts breaking as he looks at the boy stood in front of him. His halo of golden hair was gently caressed by the sun streaming in through the windows. The red of his jacket was only a shadow of the red that would be spilt because of his ideals.
"You taught me that we need to change this." Enjolras gestures at the windows and out into the Parisian streets. "This is something that needs to stop."
"Enjol-"
"Doctor. Please, help us." Enjolras steps forward, his eyes ablaze with fervour and hope.
The Doctor can feel his heart being tugged at by the boy, the way his beliefs were so steadfast and righteous. He shook his head, "I can't."
"You won't fight with us?" Enjolras' voice lowers until he's barely whispering. "You're not the man I knew when I was younger anymore, are you?"
"I... Changed." The Doctor shook his head.
Enjolras set his jaw and clenched his fists. "We both did." His voice was harsh and cold. He had made up his mind and no one, not even the Doctor, could make him change it.
"I'm sorry." The Doctor's voice was barely more than a whisper, but it hit Enjolras in the chest. This was a finality only reserved for those on their deathbeds. He knew he was going to die, he did know it. But the Doctor saying that, being like this, made him realise there was no hope.
"Leave." He said, his voice completely deadpan. His world was crumbling before his eyes and he could do nothing but breathe steadily. No one would see him break, not even his mentor and guide.
The Doctor looked up, "En-"
"LEAVE." The boy's despair turned to anger and he became a marble God in his own right. His hands clenched tight, his jaw set, his halo of hair aflame. Enjolras was the pure embodiment of the righteous man, an avenging angel. He was the human counterpart of the Oncoming Storm, and that was why the Doctor had loved him so. But it was why the Doctor could do nothing to make him see sense.
The Doctor knew that look, he'd seen it on himself. He knew there was no reasoning with Enjolras anymore. He turned slowly and left the boy to his planning. He paused by the door of the cafe, looking around at the Amis. Each one was going to die, that much was certain.
Joly looked up, his brows knitting together. He moved to get up, but the Doctor stalked out of the cafe. No one that saw him marching the streets of Paris that night ever forgot him.
They hadn't even moved his body. They'd left him hanging from the window. His hand still grasped that flag. The Doctor felt an anger beginning to boil in his stomach.
He looked over the corpses laid out on the floor of the cafe as he strode into the room. The boys that lay there were all far too young, they were children. He looked over them, feeling his heart break for each family that had lost a son, each girl that had lost a lover, each man that had lost a friend.
The Doctor pulled himself up the makeshift stairs and reached the top floor. There, in the corner, were two boys. They had fallen out of the window, and no one had bothered to bring them back in.
He strode through the broken glass and gun powder, his hands curled into fists. Anger and pain warred inside his hearts. He was fire and ice, he was a time lord. Surely he could have stopped this. He could have done more...
But it was a fixed point. He couldn't have done anything.
The Doctor reached the window and reached out. He pulled the first boy back up. His eyes burned as he saw the men and women cleaning up the debris from the street. No one turned to look at him, they hid their eyes from him. Ashamed, as well they should be. They had allowed the slaughter of these boys.
As had he.
The Doctor looked down at the young man in his arms. He recognised him. This one was the cynic, the dark haired drunk of the Amis. Grantaire. He had been unwavering, according to Enjolras. His eyes had lit up when Enjolras talked, that was something the Doctor had noticed himself.
He picked up the boy, holding him under the shoulders and knees. The Doctor took him downstairs, being careful not to let the boy slip. He laid the curly haired boy down by his friends.
"I'm sorry, I should have saved you."
The Doctor turned on his heel and nearly sprinted back upstairs. This time he didn't hesitate to bring the corpse back up. The boy gripped his flag tight, and the Doctor wrapped him up in it, hiding the wounds that had killed him.
He pulled the boy to his chest and cradled him like a father would a child. There weren't many tears shed for the Amis, but the Doctor shed many for his friend. He held Enjolras' corpse and cried openly.
The blonde man's hair was wet with the tears of the time lord. The Doctor cupped the boy's face and closed his eyes. He placed a careful kiss on Enjolras' forehead. He wanted nothing more than to fix everything for the boy, but he could do nothing.
"I'm so sorry."