A/N: Hello! This is my first fanfic, so be nice.
"Drink with me: to days gone by!" Enjolras looked up from the gun he was cleaning as he recognized his Grantaire's voice. As more voices joined the song, Enjolras' heart began to ache. What if he was leading them to their deaths? He stood and moved to a position where he could see his friends through the window of the cafe', huddled together on the barricade.
"To the life,"
"To the life!" Gavroche's small, strong voice echoed as his fingers closed around the bottle. He took a swig and passed it to the next man, his face almost glowing with a toothy grin.
"...That used to be!"
Maybe their small act of rebellion was futile and would only result in more bloodshed and fear, Enjolras thought. What if this was the last night he'd see them all together? Forcing back the tears that had begun to form, Enjolras found his mouth moving along, though the words only made him more miserable. He slumped against the wall and absently stroked the barrel of the pistol in his hands.
"At the shrine of friendship, never say 'die'. Let the wine of friendship never run dry." He swallowed, his mind returning to the image he'd dreamed of for so long: the streets full of joyful banners, the land bright with flowers, the world rejoicing. Rejoicing because they were free. It all seemed so far away now.
"Here's to you, and here's to me." Comberferre raised the bottle in enthusiasm, smiling fondly at Joly and bumping him with his elbow.
\All of them are counting on me, Enjolras thought. He knew he had to see that they made it out alive. He bowed his head and made a silent vow that he would save them, somehow.
"Hello there!" a loud, flamboyant voice came from the door.
Enjolras quickly changed his face into an indifferent mask, a disguise he had to wear constantly to avoid betraying his feelings, "Grantaire, put the bottle down and go help make bullets or something." He barked through the lump in his throat.
The man made a funny noise, like he was sucking air through his teeth, "Weeeell..."
Enjolras turned, his brow furrowed in confusion. That wasn't Grantaire.
Standing in the doorway was a pair of shoes. Enjolras wouldn't have thought them strange, had they not been bright red. The trousers were brown and wrinkled, with a faded seam down the fronts of the legs. The man's hands were thrust deeply into the pockets of a brown coat that reached from his shoulders to the dirt floor. The collar of his blue shirt was loose and the corners peeked out of his chocolate colored jacket. The man was wearing square glasses and his dark hair stuck up in the front. One eyebrow was raised quizzically. He scratched one of his sideburns and looked over the rims of his glasses.
"Actually, It's just 'The Doctor'." He said frankly, rocking back on his heels.
"What? A doctor? Doctor who?"
A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review!