Er..Bonjour again.

Yes, I've written something else (ducks) but I'm hoping that this reads better than the last atrocity I posted, which by the way I've deleted. I still haven't really got over the writer's block but I've been really bored all day (I can't get out because of the snow) and so I wrote this.

It is based on the chapter 'Enjolras and his Lieutenants', where Enjolras gives Grantaire a chance, and Grantaire fails him. The domino dialogue is straight from that chapter.

PLEASE review and let me know if you think this is any better than my recent stuff. If it is, then I'll continue with it. If not, I'll stop posting rubbish until I get some decent ideas.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own the boys. If I did, they'd be hidden under my bed and NOBODY would be getting them back!

In a shadowy, cobbled Paris street, a young man was walking. He walked with smart, confidant steps; his fine quality boots making soft clicking noises as his heels made contact with the ground. He was dressed in tight black breeches, a white shirt with loose sleeves, a simple black cravat and a dazzlingly bright Robespierre waistcoat, embroidered with gold braid. His face was strikingly handsome; flawless and smooth, and framed by shining blond hair that was tied back with a red ribbon. His expression was one of intense concentration and his blue eyes fairly glittered with gratification. His name was Julien Enjolras.

The night was dark and the air was uncomfortably still and hot, but despite this Julien Enjolras felt uncommonly satisfied. Finally, after more than a year of debating, planning and envisioning the future, the Amis de L'ABC were ready to make their stand.

Well, almost ready. At the moment, his trusted friends were on their respective errands across the city, summoning support and finding out who precisely they could count on when the time came to take action. He himself was on his way to meet with the men of the Cougourde d'Aix, and he was confidant that this meeting would conclude satisfactorily.

The thought of so many prospective comrades sent a shiver of joy down his spine. At last they could make a stand against the heinous injustice in France. At last they could make a difference! At last they could finally change life for good! Enjolras was a young man of only twenty two – and he looked even younger than that – but his thoughts were unencumbered by the normal distractions of such an age. Revolution was his only ambition.

He tugged on his cravat; loosening it slightly, but not enough to make it untidy. Though everyone believed Enjolras to be a somewhat emotionless sort of fellow, most of his confidence, at the moment, came from the fact that it was Les Amis who were assisting him. While he did not betray it very often, except perhaps to his closest friend Combeferre, Enjolras trusted his friends inordinately and took a great comfort in their faith and devotion both to the cause and his abilities as a leader. He had a great respect for them all, from the cheerful Joly to fiery Bahorel.

He did not fail to recognise any of their merits either. He expected a lot of success tonight, due to the Amis' own valuable abilities. After all, who could fail to be moved by the gentle determination of Combeferre; the witty exuberance of Courfeyrac; the wise gaiety of Joly or the passionate affirmations of Feuilly? They were all admirable young men who cared about their countrymen and about each other; united through unbreakable friendship and a desire to alter the future for the better.

There was, however, one ami – if he even could be called that, really – whom Enjolras was not so confidant in. Grantaire.

There was no mistaking it, Grantaire was a clever fellow – he often spoke of the Gods of ancient Myth; he could make a speech where he cited a textbook's worth of historical facts and he could be very witty in his own ironic way. The trouble with Grantaire was that he seemed determined to waste all the good qualities he had by drowning them in alcohol. He would drink himself insensible and be reduced to rambling and Enjolras who, having no real vice of that kind, failed completely to understand his addiction. Yet, earlier that evening, Enjolras had given Grantaire a chance to prove himself.

When conversing about their destinations with his friends, they had realised that they had left one key point uncovered: the Barrière du Maine. Enjolras's first instinct had been to take both the Cougourde and Barrière du Maine himself that evening, but Grantaire had earnestly begged to have the task entrusted to him instead.

Julien had been disbelieving, asking Grantaire how he could possibly do the task properly, when he believed in nothing. But Luc Grantaire had beat down his arguments. He had reappeared in a Robespierre waistcoat, and promised to talk of revolutionary principles, of changing the future, of everything that the others would speak of. He'd said he was capable of rousing speech, that he knew the Constitution of the Year Two; that he would not fail.

It had been on the tip of Enjolras's rather sharp tongue to say that he would never entrust so important a mission to the group sceptic who was inebriated more than he was sober, when he met Combeferre's eyes. Etienne Combeferre, who saw the good in everyone, had given Enjolras a look of gentle reproach. They'd argued about Grantaire the night before, and it flooded back to Julien's mind.

flashback+

"He is no use for anything, Etienne." said Enjolras heatedly. "Before, when we were only debating, his presence bore no threat, but now it is different! It is serious now, and he has far too careless a tongue. Besides, he does not believe in our cause anyway!"

"You are so quick to condemn him, Julien." Combeferre had scolded him softly. "Yet he never misses a meeting, and he can usually recite most of what's been said by heart. Does that not say something of his beliefs?"

"But he mocks the whole thing!" cried Enjolras. "Whenever I try to have a conversation with him, he brings out all this 'Marble Statue' nonsense. He looks upon a revolution as one big joke!"

"Are you so sure of that?" asked Combeferre, his brown eyes glowing with compassion. "Julien, mon ami, men like Luc will not follow you if you disdain them so. Give him a chance – you mat be glad to see yourself proven wrong."

end of flashback+

Combeferre had smiled encouragingly at him, so Enjolras had swallowed his doubts and allowed Grantaire to be his representative at the Barrière du Maine. And Combeferre had smiled at him warmly.

But now, though…now Enjolras was beginning to have second thoughts. Could Grantaire really be trusted with a task so important? Would he keep his promises? There was only one way to find out!

The Barrière du Maine was in reasonable proximity to his own destination. It would do his schedule no great harm if he were to drop past for a moment or two, and check on the progress of Grantaire.

He strode briskly along towards the café, and when he got there, he swung the door open forcefully and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. No one looked across at him, but had they torn their gaze from their liquor and pipes, they'd have seen what looked like a living incarnation of Saint-Just in the doorway, his glittering eyes fixed icily on the man in the corner with the bright waistcoat.

Enjolras glared at the oblivious Grantaire with a rage so profound, he could barely think straight. Granted, he was relatively sober, but instead of doing what he'd been asked to do…

'Double Six'

'Four'

'Blast! I can't go!'

'You'll have to pass. A two.'

'A six.'

He was playing dominoes, and so taken up with the game, he didn't even notice what was going on around him!

Enjolras's beautiful countenance was so fierce, it was barely recognisable. He longed to simply run over and tear the waistcoat from Grantaire's back. He looked down at his own Robespierre waistcoat, fingering the gold braid softly and reverently, as if in apology to the guillotined revolutionary, on behalf of the man who sat in the corner of the smoke-filled room, without a care in the world for what Robespierre had done.

With gritted teeth and a glower that could freeze water, Enjolras slammed the door again and continued on his way. His fists were balled and he was shaking with sheer rage. He was an honest-minded and fair young man for the most part (if a little stubborn), but he found Grantaire's failure utterly unforgivable. Had Joly or Combeferre done this, he would probably have overlooked it, but who could accept such behaviour from the man who only two hours ago had begged for the task, and called him ungrateful for wanting to refuse him. Anyway, Joly and Combeferre would never have let him down like that. They were both far too dedicated and eager to change Paris for the better.

"You were wrong, Etienne!" he said to himself grimly. "I wish you weren't; but you were completely, utterly wrong!"

And so, irritably pushing his shining blond hair out of his eyes, Enjolras continued towards the Cougourde d'Aix feeling very bitter indeed, while Grantaire, inside the café, slammed his final domino down on the table and cried triumphantly:

"Ha, a three! I win!"

btw: I did check the book and couldn't find anything about what Enjolras was wearing that night, so I gave him a Robespierre waistcoat.

If you think it is worth continuing, I'll have Enjolras confront Grantaire and brew over with Combeferre next.