A Flock of Memories

by Marine is hope2

With raising three semi-adopted kids and working a full-time job, Grantaire doesn't have enough time to decipher the nightmares and whispers. He paints and drinks to forget. Gavroche has seen too much and knows too much to be called a kid anymore. His wings were clipped long ago. Enjolras can't help but remember and wants a chance to make it all right. So they struggle and love.

Singing. Singing and gunshots. Gunshots that filled the air. Blood, blood everywhere. Desperate cries for lost boys and innocence. All Grantaire could think about when he heard the gunshots was, "Why?" Why was there no more soft singing? Where had all the birds gone? So he screamed.
Grantaire awoke, screaming and sobbing. "Gav! GAV!" He did not know that he could make that tone of voice. It was one of high-pitched hysteria that bordered on madness. He had never spoken in it before. It scared him. It terrified him more than the golden angel that plagued his dreams did. Paranoia and desperation clawed had his veins, working upward, guided by tattoos until they clutched at his heart. Grantaire threw aside the covers and got to his feet. He swayed, clutching at his throbbing head. He cursed his body for its utter dependence on alcohol. He made his way into the studio, which doubled as Gavroche's bedroom. The boy was fast asleep in his nest of pillows and blankets. Grantaire was not brave enough to leave the boy alone. He would not allow for him to return to the darkness and shadows. So, instead, he flopped down beside the boy. He curled around Gavroche protectively and listened to his even heartbeat. He smiled slightly when Gavroche moved closer. Grantaire closed his eyes. That was how Eponine found them in the morning.
Grantaire's mind was dragged back to consciousness when there was the creaking of a door opening. He watched as Marius tried to sneak out of the house. Grantaire rolled onto his stomach, rested his chin on his head, and cocked an eyebrow. "Really man?Come on, don't give me that shocked and or terrified look: it doesn't work on me. Quit acting like I've caught you red-handed with your hand down your pants." Marius, as expected, turned beet-red at Grantaire's words.
"But... she and y-you, you both...you're living... Gavroche... I-I..."
"For the last time, Puppy-boy, she's not my girlfriend. Yes, we are living together. Yes, we have a non-official joint custody over Gav and Azelma. That does not mean that we are fucking. Besides, you are ten times better than that Monty kid, so all that more power to you. I grant you my blessing and all that jazz. Now, quit looking at me like I'm going to rip your throat out. Just don't sneak around me. Now, go get some sleep 'cause, God knows, you didn't get any here." Again Marius blushed and looked adorable. Then he ran out of the house like there were demons after him. Grantaire shrugged and got to his feet. Without much adieu, he started painting.
Someone once had the audacity to say that his work was beautiful. Grantaire had laughed and barely resisted the urge to spit in her face. His works were not beautiful, in the least. To him, they were the bleak landscapes of Hell. They were all dark, highlighted with red. They were swirling vortexes of madness and despair. Barricades of long-lost times and forgotten memories were slashed across once white and pure canvas. Grantaire hated them. He wanted to burn them all. He could never do it. Something always stopped him when he threw the paintings in the fireplace an lit a match.
The angel of gold was always looking at him with cold defiance and burning intensity. No matter what, he could never hurt his angel. So he just hid all of his completed works in his closet, or gave them to Gavroche to do what he wanted with them. One time, he used one as a sled. Grantaire didn't care. He refused to look at the pictures. He refused to even acknowledge their existence until his agent called him up and told him to get some ready to be put into a gallery. Even then, when he was there at the show, he could not look at them. If he did he would hear whispers. Faded voices calling out, "Do you permit it?" and "I am one of them!" would plague his mind for days on end. They would be accompanied by an undeniable, inexplicable sense of guilt. He hated it and would normally end up piss-ass drunk by the end of it all.

Gavroche woke up around ten when Eponine left to go to her job. She was a waitress at Musichetta's quaint little cafe down the road. Grantaire could never remember its name. Grantaire was quite bad with names. The eight year old boy blinked rapidly and looked at the half-finished painting Grantaire had spent the good part of tree hours on. Yet another barricade. Gavroche always liked the barricade paintings. He never told Grantaire that. He crawled over and reached up to touch the lone figure garbed in red. "Taire?" Grantaire winced. He hated his name. He hated it almost as much as he despised the words 'barricade', 'freedom', and 'democracy'.
"What's up, kid?"
"I wanna go visit Ponine tonight." Grantaire nodded as he began to mix red and black paints to get the desired scarlet.
"Where's that again?"
"The Musain." Grantaire stopped short. His mind rang at the name. He felt a headache coming on.
"We'll see."
"You said that two days ago."
"No, I-"
"And the day before that."
"But-"
"And the week before that. Please Taire." Gavroche crawled up the artist's back like a monkey. He rested his chin against the man's shoulder.
"Fine. Fine. We'll go. We'll go." Gavroche let out a whoop and scurried down. Grantaire smiled, "But only if you finish the work your teachers gave you for the weekend." A chorus of whines was heard.
"You never had to do this sort of thing! Your dads never cared!"
"My many loving fathers were always too busy beating me bloody to have time to worry about my grades." Grantaire muttered as Gavroche dragged his book-bag into the studio. He pulled out his vocab book and listed out the words. Grantaire made a show of not knowing half of them, even though he really knew them all. Gavroche laughed at his feigned ignorance. Grantaire flicked a splatter of paint at the boy, making him scream. Needless to say, not much work got done.
The Musain was a hipster-haven: a dimly lit, eco-friendly, hole-in-the-wall place. The moment Grantaire stepped into the room, he felt like was finally at home. He wanted to stay, sleep, and dream there. He saw Eponine running around hurriedly and made sure to catch her eye. She smiled at him and blew a kiss.
He took a seat at the bar and kept a close eye on Gavroche as the boy ran around the room with the energy of the sun. He took in everything and nothing. Grantaire thought it was adorable. He ordered drinks. He got Gavroche a cream-soda and the boy shouted his thanks. Grantaire got himself a glass of wine and listened to the different conversations going on around him. One in particular caught his attention. A group of young men were gathered in the corner, talking in fevered whispers. They caught Gavroche's eye as well. He ran up to Eponine, who, in turn, asked Musichetta something. The slightly older woman nodded enthusiastically. She handed Gavroche a platter of drinks. The boy bounded over to the group of students. With every step he took, the drinks sloshed and clinked together. He put the drinks down on their respective coasters. He was reaching to place the last glass of water when he lost his balance. Glass shattered. There was a shocked cry. Grantaire jumped to his feet and immediately started over to the boy. A hand reached down, hovering, almost like it was waiting to strike. A slight shade of panic shadowed Grantaire's mind.
It was perfectly explainable. After all, how many times had he had to go to school with handprints branded across his cheek. The hand came down and Grantaire bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. Gentle fingers lifted Gavroche back onto his feet and brushed the dirt off the boy. Grantaire reached his charge and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.
He muttered apologies and looked up. Blue eyes looked at him from underneath blond hair that created a shimmering halo when the light struck it. They sharpened with shock and the softened to look like the sky. Grantaire felt like he had been punched in the gut. "Apollo..." The name passed through his lips unconsciously. Gavroche grabbed at his sleeve with worried eyes. The little boy pushed himself in between the men and held up a bunch of paper towels.
"I'm sorry." He muttered sullenly, pressing the paper to the wet spot on the man's hoody. Grantaire thanked God it was only water. The blond man smiled down at the youth, shaking his head. The man himself looked shaken over something.
"No problem, no problem. It was a mistake, right?" He asked, to which Gavroche nodded. "Then there's nothing to worry about." The man's grin moved back to Grantaire. The artist was frozen in place and growing redder by the second. Someone in the golden angel's group laughed.
"If anything, Kid, you have impeccable timing. I don't think I could have taken one more sentence about abortion without needing another drink." Enjolras frowned and glared at his friend, who only smiled.
"No one is keeping you here, Courfeyrac."
The accused shrugged, "Ah, but if we left you to your own devices you'd have the country in a Neo-Jacobin uproar. We can't have that now, can we?" The friendly male sashayed up to Grantaire and took his hand. "Well, since Enjolras seems to need a refresher course in edict... I'm Courfeyrac, at your service."Grantaire's head rang at the name and he thought he remembered that smile from somewhere. The man bowed cockily and placed a kiss on the back of Grantaire's hand. Grantaire raised an eyebrow and grinned widely as the man continued speaking. "What's your name, Beautiful?" At the nickname, there was a soft whimper from a nymph of a boy dressed in floral prints. Gavroche gagged, as did Enjolras. Grantaire decided to play along, if only for the sake of annoying Gavroche.
"Oh my!" He let himself slip back into his old Southern accent, "Well, good sir, my name is Grantaire... But you can call me R, if you like." He stage-whispered the last part. That caused Flower-Boy to whimper again. Both of the flirting men burst out laughing and clapped each other on the back as if they had been friends for ages. Eponine rolled her eyes and Gavroche made a face. Enjolras looked as though he was a step away from decapitating puppies.
"Courfeyrac, if you would be so kind as to retake your seat so we could continue?" The blond man asked coolly, indicating to an empty seat. Courfeyrac did as he was told, but dragged Grantaire away with him. Gavroche followed Grantaire, like always.
By the end of the meeting, Grantaire knew that the group was a part of Amnesty International with a side interest in every issue known to man. He had learned that Flower-Boy's name was Jehan and that he had been in love with the oblivious Courfeyrac since the beginning of college. He learned that Marius was Courfeyrac's roommate. He found out that about six months ago he, Fueilly, and Bahorel had gotten thrown out of a bar together, and that Joly and Lesgle were together and in a relationship with Musichetta. He and Combeferre had gone to the same high school. He also learned thatA) Enjolras was absolutely beautiful, B) Enjolras was a headstrong idealist, and C) Enjolras hated being interrupted in the middle of a speech to be reminded about the faults of the dark earth.
By the third time Grantaire had done so, Enjolras was about ready to spit fire. Even Gavroche was eyeing the blonde warningly. Combeferre placed a hand on his best-friend's arm in an attempt to calm him down. Enjolras ran a hand through his mob of spun-gold hair and sighed. "This meeting's adjourned." He muttered, all the while glaring at Grantiare, who was busy drinking his third glass off single-malt whiskey.
When they left, both Gavroche and Grantaire were skipping down the street. Enjolras had even asked them to come back next week. He had said something about having someone to critique them and give them counter-arguments. He had made Grantaire promise he would not come drunk, which Grantaire found odd as, comparatively, he had not had that much to drink that night. Grantaire was also ecstatic, an emotion that was quickly rubbing off on Gavroche. Halfway home they had burst into dance. They were happy.
So,they soon fell into a routine. Gavroche would get home from school, quickly finish his homework and get changed. Grantaire would finish up painting and drawing. Then they would head down to the cafe. Musichetta would be there to greet them and wrangle Grantaire into giving her another one of his less dark paintings for the cafe. The barter was half for show:Grantaire would have simply given her whatever she wanted. She insisted he let her buy it.
Courfeyrac would be the first to show up after them. He would all-but-throw himself at Grantaire, before lifting Gavroche onto his shoulders. He and Gavroche had hit off instantly after the first night. Their antics were one of the few things that sent Grantaire into full-fledged laughter. Though he smiled quite a lot, his laughter was in fact quite rare. Enjolras wasn't sure why he seemed to be the only one who realized that perhaps, just maybe, Grantaire wasn't exactly happy with his life. There were times when his eyes glazed over with the mists of memories and by the time he snapped out of it, he looked like he was about ready to cry. He looked like Jehan did before Jehan began to remember the barricade.
Enjolras never brought this revelation up with Combeferre, or even Grantaire himself. Instead, twice, he spoke in hushed tones to Gavroche after the meetings. At first, the boy had been tight-lipped about his guardian. Enjolras had slowly wormed a few statements out of the boy. Like how Grantaire would often wake up screaming in archaic French when he had never even taken the language in high school. How he continuously dreamed of death and drowned himself in alcohol because of it. At the end of the second talk, Gavroche clinched his small fists and set hard eyes on the fearless leader.
"Enjolras," he said, his voice soft but firm and all-together far too wise to belong to an eight year old, "do you like Taire?"
Enjolras's mind had to take a moment to sputter back to life and he scrambled for an answer, "Of course, he is highly intelligent and-"
"That's not what I meant." At Gavroche's words, Enjolras made a sound akin to one that an animal would make if it were being run over by a truck. Repeatedly.
Contrary to popular belief, Enjolras had, in fact, had sexual relationships before. He didn't like to think about them. He had always felt like he was doing something wrong in them. He would be plagued by sharp tones, regret, and guilt. So much guilt. So, naturally, his relationships were quick, short-term things that never had the chance to get serious.
Gavroche just watched him out of the corner of his eye, his gaze sharp like a hawk. Enjolras licked his lips, then began to speak, "I find Grantaire... appealing?" Gavroche nodded and pursed his lips, so Enjolras continued. "He is a brilliant man, and I feel that we could get along very well if he were only slightly less cynical."
"Or if you were less idealistic." Enjolras frowned at Gavroche's input.
"However, yes, I do feel drawn to him."
Gavroche nodded. "Are you going to do anything about it?"
Enjolras was taken back at the boy's bluntness, "I-I wasn't planning-I barely know the man, Gavroche."
The boy looked at him strangely for a minute, then said, "Don't lie to yourself."
"What are you-"
"Come on, you have to have the dream too, right? About the barricade."
Enjolras was stunned. "How do you know-"
"'Cause little people know, when little people fight, we may look easy pickings but we got some fight..." Enjolras smiled at the words. He remembered times gone by. Things that could have been. Things that should have been.
"Does Grantaire..."
"Sort of. It's always been really blurry with him. I thought that if we came here... He might've remembered something solid. But I just think that he thinks he's going insane."
Enjolras bit the inside of is lip. "You think that with us getting together, he might-"
Gavroche sent him a withering look. "If there's one constant in Grantaire's life, it's that he loves you. Even if he doesn't know you." Enjolras couldn't argue with that logic. "He has an art gallery this Sunday at 5. You could come. Nobody else has to know."
Enjolras laughed despite himself, "Are you seriously trying to hook me up with your father? I thought boys your age were supposed to shy away love in fear of cooties."
Gavroche had the audacity to look smug, "He's not really my dad. Besides, I know how to give myself a cootie shot. So I'm in the clear." With that, Gavroche went back to Grantaire's side. Combeferre came over.
"Is everything alright?" He asked his friend. Enjolras could only nod.
"Gavroche remembers. Grantaire doesn't." Combeferre clicked his tongue lightly and placed a sympathetic hand on Enjolras's shoulder.

And so, Enjolras was there on Sunday, gripping the handle to the door of the gallery. With a steadying breath he opened the door. He was amazed by what he saw inside.
He had always known that Grantaire was a good artist, but some of the paintings rendered him speechless. Red and black. Desire and despair. Enjolras understood what Marius had been trying to tell him all those years ago. Enjolras stopped in front of the first painting he saw. Within the scarlet swirl, there was a hint of gold. Enjolras found himself looking closer and seeing... himself. Yet it wasn't. This being was inhumanly beautiful, without any flaw. Enjolras could only wonder if that was how Grantaire really saw him. A part of him hoped not. Enjolras turned when he heard a familiar voice. There was Grantaire, with his head-full of curls carefully styled. His bright blue eyes were trained firmly on the ground in front of him. He looked incredibly uncomfortable. A young woman was quite blatantly flirting with him. So, Enjolras decided it was high time to make his appearance known.
"Grantaire." The man in question spun on his heels toward the voice. A mixed look of shock, embarrassment, gratitude, and pure disbelief crossed his face.
"A-Apollo," Enjolras let the nickname slide for once, "what are you doing here?"
"Gavroche told me that you had an exhibit."
"It's not really anything special."
"I think they are very good." The girl butted in, but both the men ignored her, so she stalked off with a miffed expression.
Enjolras made himself smile. "They're interesting, to say the least. Captivating." Grantaire looked at him while he talked, tight lipped. Enjolras wasn't sure if he had said something right or something wrong. So he switched the subject. "Why so many barricades?"
Grantaire shrugged, "Gav likes them." His eyes darkened and he worried at his bottom lip. Something was eating at him. Enjolras reached out, but drew his hand back at the last moment. Grantaire rubbed his face with his hands and searched his pockets. His expression became even more caged when he realized his pockets were empty. Enjolras sighed and felt around his own pockets. He took out a cigarette and handed it to Grantaire. There was a look of incredulous wonder on the dark-haired man's face. Enjolras couldn't help the half-annoyed, half-fond smiled that stretched across his face.
"It's exam week. They're Fueilly's." He whispered, ushering them both to the doorway. The moment Grantaire got outside, he stuck the unlit stick in his mouth. Enjolras lit it for him. After the first couple of inhales Grantaire had relaxed slightly. "Are you alright?" Enjolars asked.
"Fine,fine, Apollo. What's with you today? You're all... Not you." Enjolras tried to ignore the hurt that came upon him at the words. It was hard.
"What do you mean?"
"You're not impassioned or pissy. In fact, I could even say you're being nice." Grantaire smiled up at him. Enjolras was torn between being angry at his words or happy that he was smiling for him. Grantaire chuckled quietly. "Come on, Apollo, out with it. If you have something you want to say, just say it. Constipated is not a good look, even for one as great as yourself."
Enjolras open and closed his mouth. The words had died in his throat the moment those blue eyes met his own. So instead, he leaned forward and connected their lips. It only lasted a second before Grantaire broke it off with a soft laugh. However, it was not a happy laugh. It was hollow and sounded like the tolling of funeral bells. "Oh Apollo." Grantaire whispered, his voice soft although he was saying a prayer. "What did you do that for? What did Courfeyrac tell you?" Enjolras took as much, if not more, offense to the man's tone as he did to the words.
"What?"
"Is this a joke?" The softness masked the depression and self-hatred well, but it was clear in Grantaire's eyes.
Enjolras ground his teeth. "You think that I would joke like that, Grantaire?"
"Well, what else would you do that for?"
Enjolras grabbed the man's wrist with a soft hold and looked at the tattooed skin. "Why do you insist on downgrading yourself so?"
Grantaire laughed, his smile showed trembling lips and no teeth, "I am only human, Apollo. I cannot be perfect like you."
Enjolras finally lost it. "Damn it, Grantaire! I am not perfect! I am temperamental and hurtful and stubborn and blind! I obsess over the littlest of things! I forget that my friends are human and therefore should be allowed to make mistakes! I. Am. Not. Perfect." Grantaire stood frozen as Enjolras continued. "You are right in that you are human! You are right that you have made mistakes in the past. Some of them could even be considered self-degrading and foolish. But that does not change the fact that not only were you able to get through college on your own dime, but you were able to get a steady enough job to support three other people! You sacrificed a lot of your own comfort in order to save Gavroche, Azelma and Eponine! Don't tell me that was what normal people do, because they don't. They would simply click their tongues sympathetically at others' pain and make their merry way through life. You were different. You tried to help others because you believed that they could become good people, Grantaire. You believed in them." Enjolras forced himself to stop. He let Grantaire take in his words. The man looked like Enjolras had just slapped him. He shuffled from foot to foot, his eyes looking down.
"But I don't believe in anything, Enjolras."
"Yes you do, Grantaire, can't you see that? You believe in Gav and Eponine and Azelma having a future. You believe that one day, Fuilly may be able to get a house of his own. You believe that one day Joly, Lesgle, and Musichetta will be able to show their love for one another freely. You do believe."
"Believing and wanting are two different things."
Enjolras shrugged, "Perhaps, but maybe there is an overlap."
Grantaire started shaking, his fingers reaching out to tug at Enjolras's sleeve. "I believe in you." The voice was hesitant, almost scared. If spoke as though it was afraid of the answer that it would get.
Enjolras leaned down and nuzzled dark curls, "And I believe in you." He kissed him again. This time, Grantaire didn't back away.

Grantaire didn't come home that night. So, Gavroche called up Courfeyrac so he could get to school without taking the bus. After he was dropped off, Courfeyrac rushed over to Enjolras's apartment, but not without picking up the rest of the crew. By the time that they managed to get downtown, Joly's van was full of questioning people. Courfeyrac was thanking God for making Enjolras give him his spare key. Jehan was leaning against him, looking out the window at the city-scape. He was warm and adorable. For just a minute, Courfeyrac wanted to kiss the poet. But then they arrived at the apartment. Courfeyrac got out of the car, not seeing the look of regret that passed over the literature major's face.
They all raced each other up the stairs to the room, trying to create as much noise as possible. It didn't help much, it just pissed a whole bunch of neighbors off. Courfeyrac was the one to open the door. "Enjy! You up yet?" There was no answer. "Is Grantaire still with you?" He bounded down the hallway and opened the door to Enjolras's bedroom. "Dear God! What the Hell are you two doing!?" All the others snuck in to take a look at what made Courfeyrac so confused. There were the two culprits, one of which was nude on his bed while the other was covered in paint, battling with the canvas on his easel.
"What are you doing here?" Enjolras asked, his tone neutral as he moved to wrap the sheet around his waist more.
"You two are supposed to be having sex! Jehan and Fuilly even made a cake! I am ashamed of you, Grantaire!" Grantaire blushed down to the roots of his hair.
"I-I-" Grantaire was at a lost for words. Enjolras frowned and glared at all of his friends.
"Get out! All of you! Now!" Enjolras was using his 'leader voice'. That meant that he was serious. All of the Les Amis fled the residence. Enjolras flopped back down onto his mattress. Grantaire licked his lips and went back to painting. For once, he wasn't only using red and black. Enjolras watched him. He couldn't tell if Grantaire remembered anything. He didn't want to bring it up. So, instead, he shifted into a different position and began to talk. "There's a rally coming up next month. For equal marriage rights." Grantaire gave a noncommittal hum and flicked a strand of hair back. His hand left a streak of red burning across the left side of his face. It looked like blood. Enjolras bit his lip and looked away. "I was wondering if you would like to go... with me." That stopped the brush strokes. Blue eyes met their mirror.
"I'll go."
Enjolras smiled and grabbed Grantaire to drag him to the bed. Grantaire grinned, "Enjolras, I have to go. Gavroche. Besides, I'm going to get paint on your bed."
The blonde stared at his new partner, then pulled him on top of him. "Gav is at school. And do you really think I care about what happens to my bed now after what we did last night?" He mouthed the words against Grantaire's neck, making the man shiver delightfully.
"Don't you have classes?"
"I have never missed a day in my college career. A day or two won't matter.
Grantaire choked at the word 'two'. Enjolras smiled at him and began to nibble at his earlobe. Grantaire's squirming turned to writhing when Enjolras's hands travelled down his sides, along his tattoos. "Now," Enjolras's voice caressed Grantaire's left ear and was followed by his tongue, "will you come and stay this time? I do not want to wake up to a cold bed again." Grantare could only nod weakly. Enjolras smirked and slid down Grantaire's body with the grace of a cat. Gantaire went stiff and ridged when he felt Enjolras's chin brush against his inner thigh. Enjolras hadn't shaved that day. Grantare found that odd. Enjolras was normally clean-shaven. For as long as Grantaire knew him, Enjolras was always smooth skinned. Mind you, Grantaire had not known him that long. But it felt like he had.
"Oh, Enjolras." He fisted his hands into blonde locks when he felt that tongue run along him. "Enjolras, Je t'aime. Je t'aime." Enjolras stopped short for a moment, for some reason that Grantaire's lust-addled brain could not understand. He pulled up, making Grantaire whimper and cling to him tightly, whispering apologies. He promised he would ever say it again. Enjolras shook his head.
"You know French?"
"What? No, no, I don't, Enjolras... please-" Perhaps it was just a spark of Grantaire's imagination, but he thought he saw a spark if hope fly out of Enjolras's eyes. Enjolras shook his head and smiled softly.
"Of course you don't." He whispered, but before Grantare could ask what the matter was, the blond had dived back down. Soon all that Grantaire could think of was, ' .Mine.' as he dragged his nails across Enjolras's back. Once they were done, and he was nodding off, he thought he heard a ghost of a whisper say, "Je t'aime, mon ange, mon Nicholas." He had never told anyone what his first name was.

Grantaire awoke to gentle fingers tracking the tattoos along his spine. "Mmph, Enjy."
"What's with these, Taire? They're pretty but... you don't seem much like a tattoo person."
Grantaire was still halfway asleep, enjoying the feel of the hands spread out across his shoulders, "They cover the scars." The fingers stopped and before Grantaire had time to think over what he said, he was turned over to meet worried and angry eyes.
"What do you mean by that?" Enjolras's voice was sharp. He grabbed one of Grantaire's arms and looked closely. Sure enough, there were faded scars. "Grantaire," Enjolras growled, his eyes narrowing into slits.
Grantaire smiled and kissed the blonde's temple, "I only did the 'E' on my left arm. The rest is from my fosters." There was a look of absolute fury on Enjolras's face.
"What?"
"I was in the foster system until I was eighteen, Enjolras. No one wanted a messed up, plain-looking brat when they could have the one or two year old angel who would call you 'mommy' and 'daddy' until you die. So I got shuffled around by fosters a lot. Some were pretty bad. I met Eponine, Azelma, and Gav when I was 16. I was on my 27th foster house." Enjolras's mouth was set in a hard line. Grantaire continued, "I ran out the moment I graduated. I took them with me. Their parents ever even filled out missing child reports."
"Taire. Look at me." The man did as he was told. Enjolras could not think of anything to Say,so he simply kissed the artist soundly. Grantaire smiled and nuzzled his blonde colleague.

Gavroche came home from school to screaming and the crashing of glass. "God damn it, Enjolras! Am I just another one of your crusades?! I am not a fucking cause! I am never going to be perfect!"
"I don't want you to be perfect! I want for you to be safe! Drinking yourself into a stupor every other night is not safe! I want for you to be alive at Gavroche's graduation!" Gavroche bit his lip and carefully tread down the hall until he got to his room. He flinched when he heard that back door slam. The house was silent. He trotted back into the kitchen. Grantaire was on the tiled floor, his head buried in his hands. Gavroche moved over and wrapped his arms around his guardian. Grantaire was trembling and trying desperately to stifle his crying. Gav thought back to when he looked like that. He remembered that night.

It was the night of Eponine's graduation. But she wasn't allowed to go. Instead of throwing a party, her parents were working on yet another heist. Her father's friends were getting drunk and rowdy. One of them made a grab for Azemla. Their father made no move to stop them. That was enough encouragement for them.
Gavroche raced upstairs to hide in his mother's closet. He heard Eponine screaming and Azemla crying. He gripped onto Eponine's phone and began to shakily dial the one number he knew by heart. It was picked up immediately.
"Ponine?"
"Taire? Taire? Come over. Please. Papa, he-"
"Gav?Shit! Hold on. Give me three minutes. I'll be over."
True to his word, about five minutes later, Gav heard the door burst open and the screaming rose to a whole new level. There was the shattering of glass and a clang of metal. Grantaire knew how to do single-stick and he could improvise. Then it was quiet. Gavroche shivered in the dark, then the door opened and the closet flooded with light. Grantaire was smiling down at the boy. Gavroche clinged to him tightly, ignoring the blood on his hands and the cuts on his face. Grantaire whispered comforts into his hair as he took him into his room to grab him a spare change of clothes. Eponine was waiting for them, with her sister, downstairs. Both the girls hand suitcases already packed. Without a word, they all left.
Shaking his head at the memory, Gavroche was reminded once again that though Grantaire was strong, he was, at times, very weak. But Grantaire had saved him and therefore, to Gavroche, Grantaire was just as much a hero as the rest of them.
Later that night, when Gavroche was almost asleep, his bedroom door opened. Grantaire snuck in and curled around him protectively. About an hour later, another person came in. This person was much more hesitant and carried a more hurt feel. He laid down beside Grantaire. "I'm sorry." He whispered, "I just worry about you." Grantaire said nothing, but pulled Gavroche tighter to him and leaned back into Enjolras's arms. Enjolras's fingers brushed by Gavroche's arm. Gavroche knew that was as much acceptance as Enjolras was going to get that night. About an hour later, Gavroche began to talk as he knew that Grantaire slept like the dead.
"Enjolras?" The man in question grunted at the question.
"You're still up?"
Gavroche ignored the question, "I want to go to your rally."
"Why?" There was no patronizing tone in Enjolras's tired voice. Only confusion.
"Grantaire is going. He's my family. I want him to be happy, too."
Enjolras nodded, "Okay, alright, you can come. Now go to sleep."
Gavroche did as he was told.

Grantaire did not consider himself particularly paternal, yet here he was, going not only against Enjolras, but also Gavroche. But he refused to back down. "I don't care what Enjolras says. You are not going to the rally. That is final." Gavroche pursed his lips, trying hard not to cry.
"I hate you!" Grantaire flinched at Gavroche's scream. The boy ran out of the cafe, leaving the artist staring at an empty space. Jehan walked up and placed a hand on the artist's shoulder. Grantaire shook off the hold. "I'm getting a drink." With that he walked out of the cafe as well.
Courfeyrac walked up to Enjolras, "What was that about?"
The blonde leader had an expressionless mask on his face. " I told Gavroche he could go to the rally."
"Enjolras, there are cops there. People can get killed there."
"That's what Grantaire said. But Gavroche is growing up. He should be able to make his own decisions. He wanted to go. He asked me if he could go."
"Enjolras, he's eight. That's not an adult." Enjolras pursed his lips.
"He was there at the barricade."
"Those were different times, my friend. Here, he has a family. Here he's still quite young." Enjolras sighed and put his head in his hands. Outside, Grantaire was leaning heavily against the wall. At home, Gavroche was crying.

When Enjolras got to the rally, Grantaire was already there, painting signs. Eponine was beside him keeping him company. The moment that she saw Enjolras, she got up to find Marius. Enjolras sat down in her spot. He watched his artist. Grantaire's hands were shaky and his face was paler than normal. "Grantaire? Are you alright?"
The man shrugged, then clutched his head pitifully. "I don't know, Apollo, am I? If I'm not responsible enough to even tell my own kid was he can and can't do, then obviously I'm not responsible enough to look over myself." The man went back to painting in silence.
"I am sorry that I did not ask you about it before hand. I am sorry I made Gavroche mad at you." Again, Grantaire shrugged.
"It's fine, Apollo."
"No. No it's not. Please Grantaire-"
"Please what, Enjolras?" Normally happy blue eyes were clouded with hurt and anger. Enjolras bit his lip and grabbed one of the red equal marriage flags. The two drifted apart in silence.
Though soon, the streets were crowed with people and blazing with screams. It only intensified with the polices' entrance. Everyone began surging forward. Enjolras was the piece de resistance with his blue eyes ablaze and hair askew. Then the Pro-Marriage Law supporters came in with looks of righteous fury etched upon their faces. They shouted slurs and shot out curses like bullets. Even Grantaire found himself getting involved to defend Jehan, Joly, and his dear one knew who threw the first punch. One minute it had been words, then it was fists. Shots rang out.
Grantaire reached for Enjolras, fear coming quickly. Then he found himself on the ground. He saw hysteria cloud his sun's eyes, but he couldn't reach out. He was too busy shielding himself from blows. There was a savage scream of fury and a small blur flew over the down man. It latched itself onto his attackers, clawing, scratching, and biting at any exposed skin it could find. There was a panicked cry and a very loud, single shot rang out. A small body fell to the ground. Grantaire started screaming. Enjolras looked down. Gavroche lay in a pool of his own blood.

Grantaire rode in the ambulance with Eponine. His eyes were misted and blank. Enjolras and Marius rode to the hospital as quickly as the downtown traffic let them. Grantaire and Eponine were curled together in one chair. The receptionists looked at them sympathetically and gave them many tissues. Eponine ran over to Marius and threw her arms around him. She started sobbing into his neck. She had already called Azemla, and the girl was driving down from UMass Amherst as they spoke. Enjolras made his way over to Grantaire. Stormy eyes looked at him. "You said you told him not to come." Grantaire's voice was accusing. Enjolras knew he deserved it.
"I did."
"Then why? Why the Hell was he there? Damn it, Enjolras, tell me!"
Enjolras shook his head, "He wanted to support us. His family."
All was quiet for a minute. Then Grantaire broke down. His hands fisted into the material of Enjolras's sweatshirt. He wept openly into Enjolras's chest. "If he dies-if he dies-Enjolras I-I can't, I won't be able-if he dies..."
Enjolras, in turn, gripped the older man to him tightly. He carded his fingers through thick curls. He spoke anything and everything that he could think of. The rest of the Amis came about an hour later. They found Enjolras wrapped around Grantaire, his body curved around the other man like a comma. Grantaire was fast asleep, his grip on Enjolras was still strong.
Jehan stepped forward, wringing his hands with an absolutely pitiful expression. "Is he okay?"
"Gav is in surgery." Enjolras's whispered, careful to be quiet.
"Grantaire and Eponine?"
"Eponine's pulling through. Grantaire is... trying." He rested his chin on those black curls and breathed it. He didn't smell alcohol for once. All he smelt was the faintest trace of cigarette smoke and salt. The Amis all crowded around the waiting room and settled in for a long night. Grantaire opened his eyes ad blinked blearily, "Enjolras." He whispered. "Enjolras, I can't lose him. I can't lose him again." Enjolras was sickened when he felt hope swoop through his gut at the word 'again.' Then he realized that Grantaire was speaking in the Parisian dialect of French.
"What to you mean?" He asked in French.
"He's been shot down twice, both times I could do nothing but watch. He died last time. If he dies again..."
"Shh, Grantaire, he will be fine. He will be fine." Enjolras nuzzled Grantaire, trying to ease the worry lines. "He knows not to leave you alone too long."
"How can you act as though I am not insane? Reincarnation is not real."
"You are sane. You were there with me. There at the barricades. We were the last to fall."
Grantaire looked at him with sad eyes. "I didn't fight with you. I just got drunk in the back."
"It does not matter to me. You died for the cause."
Grantaire shook his head, "It was never for the cause, Enjolras. It was for you. It was always for you. Do you permit it?"
"Always for you, Grantaire." Enjolras kissed Grantaire's forehead.
A doctor came out and Eponine jumped up. Grantaire's grip tightened. The doctor began speaking to her in hushed tones. She began to cry. Grantaire all-but flew to her side, panic in his eyes. Enjolras ran over to support the man when his legs gave out.
"He's fine. Oh dear God, he's going to be fine!" Grantaire had slipped back into his Southern accent and was shaking with relief. Enjolras smiled when the artist began to laugh.

And so, life went on, much as it always had. Grantaire still painted, Gavroche continued hating school, and Enjolras kept at his causes. They were happy, not without arguments, but content. So, two summers after The Amis had finally regrouped, they went back to Paris. They walked along the river Seine and danced in the rain. Jehan and Courfeyrac finally kissed, and what a commotion that turned out to be. They blissfully ignored all the cat-calls and wolf-whistles sent their way. They promised each other that they would find better friends.
Late one night, Marius and Eponine ran into a brunette angel with a sweet smile and gentle disposition. Both all-but instantly fell in love with her. They took a page out of Joly, Lesgle, and Musichetta's book and began seeing each other. As for the original trio, Lesgle managed to not get himself killed and Joly got his doctoral degree, along with Combeferre. Musichetta was expecting a baby girl in the next few months. Fueilly and Bahorel still managed to assure their friends that they were truly one of the few straight men in the group. But when they got a room together,everyone began to wonder. It led to interesting jokes to say the least.
About halfway through the trip, Gavroche noticed something different about his guardian and said-man's lover. Nothing too spectacular. Only that a ring of gold had wrapped itself around Grantaire's left ring finger, and a similar silver one found its place on Enjolras's. True to his form, Gavroche said nothing. He only smiled knowingly at the two and said that he would move out if they got any louder during the night.

They weren't all happy.