Title: Too Late
Rating: PG-13-ish? Mostly for canon character death/blood mentions
Characters/Pairing: Grantaire-centric, one-sided Grantaire/Enjolras
Word Count: 1479
Summary/Notes: Okay, so I saw Les Miserables live this week, and one thing that struck me about this particular production that I hadn't really seen done before was the rather interesting dynamic that Grantaire had toward Enjolras, or rather, the way that Grantaire reacted toward the relationship that Enjolras and Marius had. So this is an exploration of some of what played out on-stage during that show. It's angsty, and it's not necessarily happy, but it was a plot bunny that grabbed me after watching and I'm really no expert on writing Grantaire but I hope I've done him a bit of justice here.
Too Late
He isn't jealous.
The feeling festering inside of him isn't envy, it isn't because he feels slighted, and it's certainly not because it makes his entire being ache to see how close they are. He's above that, he thinks, even though sometimes those raw human emotions break through the haze of alcohol he surrounds himself with and the force of them literally makes him lose his breath.
It shouldn't be like this, anyway. Marius is young, and naïve, and completely unlearned when it comes to…well, mostly everything, and by all rights Enjolras should just be annoyed by the boy. But…for some reason…he's taken him under his wing in a way that seems much too human for his normal behavior.
And the real knife to the stomach in all of this is that Grantaire doesn't hate Marius. In fact, he rather likes the boy, he finds his optimism and romantic notions endearing, if incredibly foolish, but he's completely inoffensive and there are so many times when he thinks it would all be easier if he just hated him.
000
He knows what he's doing is only going to get him into trouble in the long run, but he's had a little too much to drink and really, Marius comes in spouting about love and some girl and his eyes keep going to Enjolras, because by all rights this should be enough to make him angry.
But he doesn't get there. He's annoyed, certainly, and he tries to get them back onto the subject, and in hindsight encouraging Marius doesn't make him look any better, but it's gotten to the point where he'll seek any recognition from Enjolras, even if it's merely a sneer and a few harsh words.
And Marius sits there, his eyes alight with young love and his laughter bright even as Grantaire decides to sit on his lap and kiss his cheek, crossing oh-so-many lines all at once, but the knowledge that nobody seems to care almost hurts worse than if somebody had reprimanded him for it.
He slumps down against the table, watching as Enjolras and Marius clasp forearms, the younger man's devotion to the cause still evident even with half of his heart going in a new direction, and decides that he needs more wine.
Or maybe some absinthe. The stronger the better.
000
There's no turning back now. Not after the first gunshots have been fired and the first lives have been lost. His arm is curled around Gavroche's thin shoulders, the boy crying into his shirt and Grantaire has no idea how close he and his sister were but seeing the girl's lifeless body is difficult even to those of them who hadn't known her at all.
And the fact that she'd risked herself for Marius should only give him more cause to hate the boy, but once again he can't bring himself to. Not seeing how devastated he is, hunched over himself and sobbing into his hands. The others are giving him a wide berth, all of them seemingly unsure if offering comfort would be wise, and even Enjolras himself looks indecisive.
He's still beautiful, even with his golden hair soaked by the June rainfall, leaning on the butt of his rifle and staring at Marius as if he's the only person he can see, and Grantaire has to stop himself from reacting when he picks up the gun and hops off the barricade, kneeling down in front of Marius. He reaches to tip the boy's head up, his hand lightly stroking through his dark hair before coming to rest on his shoulder.
It's almost intimate, far more than Grantaire has ever seen Enjolras give to anybody else, and he holds Gavroche a little tighter and tries not to hope too hard that, if even for a moment Enjolras might look at him and touch him like that.
000
He loses it later that evening.
It's inevitable, perhaps, once again watching them all doing what they can to make the barricade stronger for the fighting that would happen in the morning. And once again seeing Enjolras tell Marius and only Marius to rest, looking after him even now as if he's the only one that's been affected by all that's happened, as if he deserves some special treatment.
This time his rage isn't for Marius at all, and he's never been outright angry toward Enjolras but when the words slip past his lips, a clear challenge, his eyes locked to the blond's as he sneers out, "can it be you fear to die?" he should expect the response. What he's done is the ultimate form of disrespect, after all, a question that perhaps hits home for far too many of them but if there is one thing Enjolras cannot show in these moments, it's fear. A crack in his resolve could send the entire lot of them plummeting.
All of them are just powder kegs waiting to explode, and he almost welcomes the fight, Enjolras flying down the barricade like some sort of avenging angel, and everything around them is just a blur of sound and color and he knows, he knows Enjolras sees him now.
It's not for the right reasons, there's no tenderness and protection like in the way he gazes at Marius, it's contempt and rage and Enjolras in this moment is almost frightening. He takes a step back, not willing to bow down entirely, and the only thing that stops them from coming to blows is Feuilly physically pulling Enjolras away.
Grantaire sees him blink, sees the blood-fueled haze fade from his eyes, and he barely takes the time to spare Grantaire a last haughty look before he moves back up the barricade, patting the fan-maker's shoulder on the way by. The look Feuilly gives Grantaire then is a little too close to pity.
He doesn't need pity. He takes his bottle and goes back to sit in a corner by himself, no longer caring about life or death or damned emotions.
It's better to drink it all away.
000
He sees Marius fall, and it's only pure human instinct that has him moving, shaking off his own cloud of despair (hearing Gavroche get shot, knowing in his heart that it had been fatal, it's broken everything within him) to scramble over to the younger man.
He's still breathing but his face is twisted in pain, bright blooms of red spreading across his shirt and then Enjolras is there, shoving him and the old man who'd come to aid them last night aside as he bends over Marius, his eyes scared and wide.
There's a moment's pause, a moment through the screaming and the death and the acrid smell of blood, before Enjolras seems to reach a realization, and he touches Marius gently one final time before standing up with a strange resolve in his eyes, rifle clasped in one hand while he picks up the red flag in his other.
Grantaire knows what's going to happen a second before the golden-haired man moves, he knows that he's going to die, that he's seen his own death, and he's not sure what prompts him to reach out then.
His fingers curl around Enjolras' wrist, although whether he's pleading for him not to die or merely asking him for some form of acknowledgment before he does even he doesn't know, but Enjolras angrily shakes him off and runs up the barricade.
Grantaire falls back against the rubble, knees curled into his chest and for once completely sober as the tears dry on his cheeks and he hears one gunshot, somehow louder than the others, and knows that it's over.
He's going to die here. He's going to die here, and he doesn't know what comes after death…he doesn't believe that strongly in Heaven or some brilliant afterlife, but he raises his eyes to the dawn and sends out a fervent wish that whatever comes, maybe he can meet Enjolras on the other side and maybe, just maybe, he can fix everything and get the other man to see him as an equal, if only for a moment.
His fingers close around a pistol and he stares at it, knowing it's better to go out fighting than shivering in the corner like a trapped rat, and even if Enjolras can't see it, he has to believe that it's an action that would earn him a little bit of respect. His mind is swirling, thoughts of how he could have changed everything before it became too late, but he angrily brushes them aside because it is too late, and he can't change it, and the only thing he can control now is how he faces death.
He gets to his feet, gripping the gun as if it's the only thing holding him to this world, and prepares to meet his end.
Notes:
1. I really am sorry about the angst, but there was no other way to write this. Feedback is always appreciated.