Grantaire, Grow Up
Chapter 2: A Worse Evening for Grantaire
Combeferre was just putting the finishing touches on his notes for that evening's Les Amis meeting when Enjolras returned from the backroom. His hair was still an absolute mess, but now he was dripping water instead of mud. His face and clothes had been largely cleared of mud as well, so that was an improvement. He was still limping slightly, and moved stiffly to sit at Combeferre's table, soup bowl in hand. He mumbled something along the lines of "thanks" towards his friend as he began to eat.
"You're welcome, though I do wonder at times why I put up with you," Combeferre responded cheerily. Enjolras didn't quite see the humor in it however.
"Well, if I'm that much of a burden to you, then stop putting up with me; I didn't ask for your help."
Combeferre groaned slightly. "Come on Enjolras, you know I was only teasing. You are not a burden; you're my best friend. It's only natural for me to worry about you." Enjolras seemed to relax a bit, so he continued. "I take it you must have had a fairly bad day; want to tell me about what's got you so on edge?"
"No," Enjolras replied flatly. Then looking up, he met Combeferre's eyes and gave a slight smile, "but I suppose you are going to force it out of me anyway." He sighed and leaned back in his seat before going on, "I woke up sore and not feeling well, I hurt my foot and hand before I left my apartment, I've been soaking wet from the rain since this morning, and I got drenched in mud on my way here."
"That certainly doesn't sound like fun. But I also know you are too level headed to be this upset by some minor inconveniences like those. What else happened?"
"General Lamarque is ill. He collapsed during Parliament yesterday and had to be taken to the hospital. He's home now, recovering, but it got me thinking. We've been Les Amis for a long time now; we talk about the time when we might have to take up arms and fight for our freedom. We talk of revolution. But we don't talk about when that will be. I think we see it as some distant thing, and that we will have all this time to plan and prepare. We think Lamarque will be there for years to come defending the rights of the people until we are ready to take his place and take our stand. But Lamarque is old; even if he fully recovers from this illness, he won't be around much longer. The time is near for us to do what we've been planning; and we aren't ready. All we have are a handful of friends and a closet of guns and ammunition. We aren't ready, but we need to be." Enjolras would have kept going, but his sore throat irritated him the more he talked, and he had to stop to try and stifle a cough.
"I see" Combeferre replied solemnly, pausing and looking lost in thought. He took his glasses off and rubbed his forehead before continuing. "Enjolras, my friend, you are right. We are not ready. Not yet. But, when the time comes, we will be. That is why we hold these meetings, is it not? That is why you give passionate speeches about the revolution and the future we will win for the people. That is why we strategize, why we plan. We will be ready, and when the time comes you will lead us to victory."
Enjolras did not look altogether swayed by what Combeferre said. After a moment he simply said "I hope you are right," before returning to his soup. As Combeferre thought about how best to respond, he was interrupted by Courfeyrac and Jehan walking into the café and calling him over to them. He left Enjolras to eat, and brood, in peace, and went to join his friends.
"How are you guys doing?" He asked with a smile.
"Great!" Courfeyrac replied, then lowering his voice he added, "is Grantaire here yet?"
Combeferre laughed, "Of course not, you know he never arrives early."
"Yeah, but you never know, "Courfeyrac said with a pout, "this is Grantaire we're talking about. He loves being unpredictable. I wouldn't put it past him to have found out about our surprise birthday party for him; and knowing him he would probably do something obnoxious just to make sure the surprise was on us instead."
"Ok, ok, I concede defeat," Combeferre said with a laugh, "but, as far as I know, he isn't here right now. So you are all clear. What did you bring?"
"Well, let's see," Courfeyrac began as he dug into the box he was carrying, "I have some decorations we can put up really quickly after our meeting, some special birthday candles, and, for the man who has everything, my gift is a bottle of Grantaire's favorite wine."
"I brought along a cake! I spent all day working on it; I think it turned out ok, or at least I hope so," Jehan added in his bright, lilting voice.
"I'm sure it will be as good as everything else you've made, Jehan. Musichetta already said we could keep our things in the back until we are ready for them. That's where my present is - I found a book on Greek mythology I think Grantaire will enjoy," Combeferre said. After a moment he added, "It would probably be best to not let Enjolras know though, especially about the wine. He's had a rough day and isn't in the greatest of moods."
"Aww, but the party was meant to get him to unwind and have a little fun too. He's too high strung," Courfeyrac goaned.
"I know, but he's not feeling well and I really don't think he would be able to enjoy himself tonight, even if he wanted to. It would probably be better to let him go home, and maybe save some of Jehan's cake for him."
"Alright, fine. But we're doing another party when it's Enjolras' birthday, and he has to come to that one," Courfeyrac pouted once more. Before Combeferre could respond Joly and Bahorel had entered the café as well, gifts and paraphernalia in tow. After greeting one another, they took their things into the back room for safe keeping before joining Enjolras at the table in the corner for their meeting.
After a few more minutes most of the Amis had arrived at the Café, stored their gifts or party supplies, and joined the growing group surrounding Enjolras, who was engrossed in some of the books Combeferre had left about revolution and was not paying much attention to clamor around him. It was not until the church bells struck the hour that he looked up and fully realized that all of his friends had already joined him at the table. Well, all of them except a certain cynic, who was apparently running late. Enjolras made a mental note of this, deciding he would have to have a few words with the man as soon as he arrived, and then called the meeting to order.
-o-
Grantaire was starting to get tired. He'd been working on his painting since he woke up early in the morning, barely pausing to grab something to eat or drink. This must be what it feels like to be Enjolras, he thought to himself. I think I'll stick to my own ways from now on, he added with a grin. He was quite pleased with how the artwork was turning out and growing excited about showing it to his friends. They all knew he was an artist, of course, but very few of them had ever actually seen any of his work. It wasn't that he didn't want to show it to them, it just hadn't really come up or been a good time. It wasn't often that anyone came to his home either, and usually his sketch book was the only thing he carried around with him. That, however, he was reluctant to show the Amis, since it was filled mostly with sketches of a blond revolutionary Grantaire happened to know. He wasn't sure how his friends would react to knowing Grantaire drew pictures of Enjolras all the time, and must also therefore think about Enjolras all the time. No, it's better that they don't know that detail right now.
As he placed the finishing touches on his painting, he stepped back slightly to admire his handiwork. A sparkle came to his eye as he saw what he had achieved. It was a fairly large oil on canvas painting. At the bottom were several rows of people, all with their backs to the viewer and staring up at a raised dais that dominated the painting. Standing on the dais in a semicircle were all of the Amis, all connected to one another; some were holding hands, others had arms draped over the shoulder of the person next to them. Their semicircle surrounded the man in the absolute center of the painting, which, of course, was Enjolras. Grantaire had given Enjolras a bright glow so that he was the most vivid portion of the painting and where the eye was drawn first. The Amis, being so close to Enjolras and encircling him, were the next brightest. At the far left of the dais flew the French national flag, and on the right stood the all red flag of the revolution Enjolras had adopted. Behind them, towering above the dais, stood the Notre Dame Cathedral. And at the top, interwoven in the clouds, was the title of the painting, taken from one of Enjolras' recent speeches "At the Shrine of Friendship, Never Say Die." The painting exuded joy from the radiant expressions on the faces of Grantaire's friends. This, he thought to himself, is what Enjolras is fighting for: freedom, happiness, and peace. And, though he still felt they would never succeed in winning a revolution, seeing it on canvas made Grantaire realize that, just maybe, it would be worth fighting for anyway. He believed in the man at the center of the painting, shining light upon the rest of the world. Perhaps that was all he would need. He leaned forward to add his signature R at the bottom right corner, then stood once more lost in thought.
He only stood there for a few minutes before he was struck out of his reverie by the ringing of the church bells in the distance signaling the top of the hour.
"Oh no! I'm late," he exclaimed aloud, though no one else was there to answer, "Enjolras is going to kill me." He debated taking the painting with him; he wanted to show it off and see his friends reactions. But it was still damp in places and needed to dry some before he could take it anywhere without damaging it. I'll just have to wait until next time, he thought to himself as he grabbed his coat and sketchpad on his way out the door. At least it has stopped raining, I won't get wet on my way to the café. He locked the door behind him and set off for the Musain at a run, hoping Enjolras would be in a relatively good mood today and not bite his head off for arriving late.
-o-
Twenty minutes later Grantaire had made it to the Café Musain. He paused outside the door to catch his breath and put himself back together before entering the café. His friends were easy enough to spot, and several turned and gave him a smile or waved as he made his way over to them. Grantaire was surprised to see that Combeferre was the one doing the talking. Enjolras was never late to a meeting, and he definitely was never absent for one. A closer examination revealed Enjolras was indeed present, but Grantaire could tell he wasn't quite himself. The mighty Apollo's complexion was a few shades whiter than normal, and he looked very tired, or sick, or both. Grantaire winced slightly at the thought, because it meant Enjolras was almost certainly already in a bad mood; the late arrival and minor interruption was probably not going to go over very well. He took the remaining empty seat as quietly as he could, taking his coat off to drape over the chair, laying aside his sketchbook, gratefully accepting the bottle of wine offered to him by Feuilly next to him, and tried his best to listen to what Combeferre had to say.
Combeferre finished his speech just a few minutes later, and sat back down, opening things up for discussion amongst the Amis. Grantaire sat in silence for a while, listening to what his friends had to say and trying not to draw attention to himself. He sipped at the wine a bit, and was soon asked his opinion on a matter Feuilly and Bahorel were debating next to him. He joined in with their discussion, and soon was caught up in the debate between the two enough that the next hour passed without his really noticing. Everything seemed to be going reasonably well, at least until Courfeyrac spoke up.
He, Combeferre, and Enjolras sat at the head of the table locked in intense debate. Enjolras, who had looked almost ghostly white when Grantaire arrived, had gone red in the face as the discussion between the three became more heated. Though several conversations had broken out after Combeferre's speech, most had died away as the participants listened to their three leaders going back and forth instead. Finally the only other conversation at the table was the one between Grantaire, Feuilly, and Bahorel at the other end. It was then that, without warning, Courfeyrac called down to the other of the table, "hey Grantaire, what do you think of all of this?"
Grantaire looked up from his own conversation and realized every eye was on him once again. Courfeyrac was grinning, clearly hoping to make things a little more interesting. Combeferre was shaking his head slightly, mouthing the words don't do it silently. Enjolras had gone stone faced and impossible to read, though his cheeks were still rather flushed from what the three had been arguing about. Glancing between the three, Grantaire decided it would probably be a good idea to follow Combeferre's advice. "Um, I'm not really sure what you were talking about, so maybe it's best if I keep out of it."
"Well of course you don't know what we're talking about!" Enjolras exclaimed, temper obviously rising. All eyes shifted from Grantaire to the revolution leader and Combeferre let out a slight groan before grabbing Enjolras' arm in an attempt to calm him. It didn't work. "That's what happens when you decide to show up to an important meeting half way through. Maybe if you spent a little more time paying attention to what you are doing instead of the bottle you are drinking from you could actually contribute something worthwhile to our cause!"
"Enj…" Combeferre tried intervening again, but there was no stopping their leader once he got started. Everyone else looked on in increasing amounts of worry or, in Jehan and Joly's case, horror as Enjolras continued his tirade against Grantaire, rising to his feet to stand at the head of the table.
"No, Combeferre, don't try to stop me and don't try to defend him. Grantaire you are always doing things like this. You show up late, you get drunk if you aren't already when you arrive. All you ever offer is criticism and cynicism, neither of which are helpful. You don't believe in our cause. The time is coming when we are all going to have to decide which side we are on, where we stand. Lamarque is not going to be around forever and the mantle will fall to us. And I refuse to have some cowardly drunken fool ruining our revolution. I can't have someone on the barricades of freedom who doesn't believe in anything."
Grantaire by this point looked incredibly crestfallen and hurt. He refused to meet Enjolras' eye, instead looking straight down at the table while the other spoke. When Enjolras finished the room remained silent for a few moments before Grantaire mumbled a response.
"What was that winecask? I couldn't hear you," Enjolras said, his sore throat kicking in again and causing him to rasp slightly.
"I said," Grantaire began, looking up to meet Enjolras' gaze, "that I believe in you."
"Oh don't give me that. If you truly believed in me like you claim you would change. You would give up the alcohol, you would take up our cause with honor. But you haven't done either of those things. You are the same bumbling, stumbling fool who walked in here almost a year ago and started a debate. That's all you ever do, that's all you've ever been. I don't understand why you are here, why you keep coming back. For that matter, I don't understand what you are doing with your life. Our little lives don't mean a thing to the political tyrants of our land, but your life just simply does seem to mean anything at all. Your lack of belief means you have no purpose, no reason to live. Grantaire, you are just a child. You need to grow up!"
Grantaire was on his feet and at the opposite end of the table before anyone could register what happened. He grabbed Enjolras by the lapels of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. Seething, he drew close to the blond man and half shouted at him, "don't ever say those words to me again! You know nothing about me!"
After his outburst Grantaire looked down and realized what he was doing. He quickly let go and backed away from Enjolras, who remained up against the wall stunned into silence. Grantaire looked from Enjolras to his friends at the table and back again, his expression switching from fury and anger to horror and finally sadness. Those towards the head of the table could see a few tears starting to form as he turned suddenly and ran for the door. Those at the foot of the table could hear a few muffled sobs as he passed them. Before anyone could say a word or react, he was gone, disappearing into the night.