Cracking the Marble Man
Summary: Modern Day AU in which Grantaire argues with Enjolras over his revolution against the fascist French government.
Enjolras was taking notes from his battered copy of The Anatomy of Revolution. The sun had barely risen, and Enjolras was already hard at work. It was April. The people were beginning to stir; they were beginning to listen. He had felt the unrest in the air after his rally last night. Enjolras knew that the time for revolution was drawing near. Not my revolution, the people's revolution, he mentally amended. A corner of his lip turned up at the thought.
Grantaire strolled into the Musain. The youth of the day was the main reason for his sobriety. Enjolras silently cursed. He would have trouble concentrating with the walking, talking beer can about. Enjolras noticed Grantaire's clothes were creased and crumpled, but he was not surprised. Grantaire had probably passed out in his home and slept in them last night.
Grantaire sat down opposite Enjolras and did not offer his usual greeting. Enjolras ignored the strange behaviour because even after two years worth of friendship Grantaire was still a mystery to him. He had never understood why Grantaire hung around the Musain anyway. He didn't share their beliefs; he wasn't even in the same class as them. He was always there though, every rally, every meeting. Enjolras sighed and put down his pen, massaging his aching hand. He almost tsked under his breath. Grantaire was already distracting him, and the drunkard hadn't even said two words to him yet!
Enjolras refused to look at Grantaire, he was sure the man was waiting for something. He carried on taking his notes.
He could feel Grantaire's eyes on him. Enjolras was, of course, used to being the centre of attention and having people look at him, but few people looked at him with the intensity as Grantaire did. Enjolras tightened his grip on the pen. He would not look at him. He would not play along with Grantaire's silly game. He had a revolution to organise.
Finally, the heavy gaze was lifted. Grantaire's chair scratched against the floorboards, and Enjolras found him listening to the sound of the other man's footsteps as he walked away. Enjolras changed his grip on the pen. 'He's probably gone to purchase copious amounts of alcohol, focus on the task at hand, Enjolras,' he thought.
He scribbled down more notes and pushed his glasses back up his nose as Grantaire came and sat back down with him after a few more minutes. Enjolras pretended his neck wasn't straining with the effort to not look at Grantaire.
Enjolras sighed and put down his pen, throwing a dark look in the drunkard's direction. 'Only Grantaire was this annoying when he was doing nothing', he internally complained.
"Morning, mon ami," Grantaire greeted once Enjolras finally met his gaze.
"Can I help you?" Enjolras replied.
"No," said Grantaire, looking away.
Enjolras studied Grantaire a moment longer, concluding nothing was wrong with the man before he returned to his book and notes.
Several minutes passed, and the silence was almost companionable Enjolras had to admit.
"You're going to fail," Grantaire said suddenly.
Enjolras paused and lifted his gaze to the man opposite him.
"The people won't rise. You're going to die. You saw how the police treated the last group who tried to start a revolt..." Grantaire continued. Enjolras was surprised to see that there was no amusement or mocking in Grantaire's eyes.
"You're going to throw away your life," Grantaire added, frowning at Enjolras.
"You only have one life, Grantaire. I'm doing something meaningful with mine, unlike some," Enjolras replied icily.
"Yes, you only live once, but that's no reason to waste your life. You can do other things," Grantaire said. Enjolras realised that he preferred him drunk. He was less likely to argue back then.
"Patria is the only meaningful thing in my life," Enjolras replied, "She's the only thing worth fighting for."
"France is the only meaningful thing? What about your friends? Your family? Don't they mean anything to you?" Grantaire asked, anger creeping into his voice.
Enjolras hesitated. Yes, they meant something to him, but a better France meant more.
"Do you care that you might be leading our friends to their deaths?"Grantaire asked.
"There are always losses in war, Grantaire; it is a fact of life." Enjolras responded evenly. He knew the price that he might pay.
"This isn't a war though!"
"It is a war against injustice, against the corrupt."
"It's not one you can win! Are you really so ready to die when you've barely lived?" Grantaire asked. There was a strange emotion in his voice then.
"I am," Enjolras said. His conviction was obvious.
Grantaire stood up quickly, his chair toppling backwards.
"Fine. Waste your life on your revolution, but don't expect me to stand around to watch you fall," Grantaire growled, knocking the book off the table as he stormed past Enjolras.
Enjolras stared after his retreating form. He had never seen him so angry. Grantaire had always been a happy drunk. Enjolras tried to think of another time he had seen Grantaire so furious. He remembered a protest the Amis de l'ABC had organised. It had ended in a riot, the police barreling in, truncheon's raised, riot shields in hand. Enjolras had ended up with some pretty nasty souvenirs and a trip to the hospital courtesy of the police. Grantaire had been beside himself when he had found out.
Enjolras shook his head. He really had never understood Grantaire at all.
'There is a higher cause here, Enjolras. Stop thinking about the human beer-can and focus on what you have to do,' Enjolras internally berated himself.
Enjolras looked back at his book, but somehow it had lost its appeal.
He leaned back in his chair and rolled his shoulders.
Grantaire had planted the seed of doubt, now Enjolras was nourishing it, and it was growing. 'What if Grantaire was right? What if the people don't rise? What if we don't make a change? Is the time right? Are the people ready to stand up and join the fight?' Enjolras ran a hand through his hair. 'No, I cannot afford to doubt now. If my cause is as righteous as I believe, then the people will come.'
The seed of doubt was still there though, growing bigger, digging its roots deeper into Enjolras' mind. 'What if?' it asked.
Enjolras threw his pen across the table.
"Bloody alcoholic," he cursed.
Grantaire had always made things difficult for Enjolras. He made him doubt when he had never doubted before. He made him question what he had taken as gospel. More than that though, Grantaire reminded Enjolras that he did want to live, and that was far more detrimental to the cause than doubt could ever be. Enjolras was made of stone, of marble. He could not waver. He could not crack.