25/2/13

Disclaimer – Victor Hugo owns everything but alas I am not he!

Thank you so much for the support I have gained from you lovely people! I will reply to every review I have been sent at the beginning of each chapter!

Brightleaf – Thank you for being my first reviewer! So glad you enjoyed the first chapter and I sincerely hope this one lives up to expectations

Audrey Lynne – Your wish has been granted and I hope you also enjoy this chapter

Guest – I have done! And I hope you like this as much as the last

S.B – Thank You and I know, Poor Taire no one ever appreciates his feelings!

Julliet116 – Thank you for your vote of confidence in my abilities! I really hope I don't mess this up either … fingers crossed

The Serene Dancer – I really do appreciate your support and enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 2

"Grantaire," Enjolras whispered horsely. "Oh god Grantaire," he shouted with tears threating to spill from his usually cold eyes. A cry hitched in Enjolras' throat as he fell onto the blood soaked floor in front of his lifelong friend. "Ferre! You're a doctor help him," Enjolras pleaded and Combeferre snapped into action from behind him. Thank Lord for the small mercies that included Combeferre being on the way to a meeting with his college mentor, meaning that he had his medical bag with him. "Lift him onto his bed and find me some form of alcohol," Combeferre ordered in doctor mode. Enjolras carefully lifted Grantaire surprised by the unnatural lightness of the larger man. Deep crimson blood dripped ominously from his shredded arm and blood seeped into Enjolras' shirt, from his head, making it a deeper, threatening red. Tears welled up in Enjolras' eyes and his thoughts raced. Did I do this? Is this all my fault? Oh God Grantaire … I'm sorry. He tried to lay the unconscious drunkard on the bed gently but despite his best efforts, blood made a renewed effort to push out of the limp figure and began to flood the floor again. "Damn!" Enjolras cried trying to use a sheet to put pressure on the gashes that tore through Grantaire's arm until you could see a glimmer of white bone.

Combeferre took over staunching the crimson river and Enjolras went hunting for alcohol. "Who thought that finding an alcohol in winecask's residence would be so hard?" Enjolras exclaimed frantically throwing various items from his cupboards until he found a cleverly hidden bottle of Green Fairy and darted frantically to the drunkard's side. Thank God for Grantaire's hidden stash. Combeferre softly poured the alcohol onto the bandage and winced. "I am so sorry," he whispered and hurriedly pressed the bandage onto Grantaire's wound. Grantaire cried out in pure, unbridled agony and his back arched raising him off the bed.

"What are you doing to him?" Enjolras screamed trying to comfort the broken cynic while glaring at Combeferre.

"I am cleaning infection from the wound," he murmured wrapping the whole arm in layers of bandages, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the tears streaming down Grantaire's face. "I am so sorry Taire," he apologised. Enjolras held Grantaire's other hand and squeezed it gently, wanting to feel useful somehow. "This is my fault," Enjolras whispered holding the tears in, promising he would stay strong … what was I thinking saying things like that.

Combeferre finished wrapping the arm and bandaging up Grantaire's head and stepped out of the way slowly. "He's still breathing and should get out of this alive if we prevent any infection growing," Combeferre sighed, solemnly washing the blood off himself. Grantaire's chest was slowly rising and falling but the movement was hardly visible if you weren't desperately hunting for life signs. "But we should still keep an eye on him at all times," Combeferre explained. Combeferre then left for his meeting and Enjolras sat by the ghostly pale Parisian as if he was the marble statue Grantaire always accused him of being. Even that thought cause cries to hitch in his throat. After a couple of hours of this strage limbo like state, Enjolras could sit still no longer. The smell of blood overpowered the apartment and Enjolras couldn't think about anything with that constantly lingering in the back of his mind. He jumped to his feet and pulled out a bucket and cloth and set to work with a methodical efficiency. He checked on Grantaire every three minutes … on the minute and the floor was slowly being restored to its rightful colour.

Enjolras had worked his way to the door where the majority of blood was pooled together. He washed and scrubbed, washed and scrubbed; washing and scrubbing away his misery in a repetitive motion. He pushed the cloth along but it caught on a completely buried item. Reluctantly he pulled out the mysterious object and wiped of the almost dried blood coating it. The object was a thin worn piece of paper that has obviously been folded and opened and folded again numerous times. Enjolras knew that for most people a picture this worn would be an image of his true love or parents but … well … no one really knew Grantaire's history. Enjolras sat down with the piece still in his hand, almost forgotten. They had all been friends with Grantaire since he was seven but no one had actually ever met his family or known his history. If he was to die would there be any family to tell? Enjolras' heart sunk even lower at the disrespect they all had for Grantaire. Eventually, he remembered the piece of paper and slowly turned it over, almost dreading what he might see about Grantaire's life.

The sight that met him caused the tears to eventually fall freely down his usually stoic marble cheeks. In the place of a photo showing Grantaire's loved ones was the only photo of all the amis, they all had a copy. Enjolras had never realised how much the little group of misfits mattered to Grantaire, he had always assumed that the drink was the only thing Grantaire cared about. The blood had stained the paper a bright crimson but the faces and valued expressions still remained unchanged. He remembered that day with outstanding clarity but the thoughts caused him to sink into a greater pit of despair and horror.

"Mes Amis, I have borrowed this painting device from some of my …acquaintances," Feuilly chuckled mischievously. Everyone laughed and swarmed round the new arrival.

"We wish to remain ignorant of your methods Feuilly but what is this device?" Combeferre asked with a beaming smile. Everyone laughed as Feuilly stood it up on the three legs.

"You press this and it does an automatic picture of whatever it is pointing at," he explained.

"Let's get a group photo, all of the amis de ABC when we begin," Jehan exclaimed in unbridled joy. Everyone agreed except for one.

"We have more important things to be doing, mes amis. We should be spreading the word not playing with Feuilly's dubiously acquired trinkets," Enjolras muttered. Combeferre sauntered over to his best friend.

"Just one of these pictures, Enjolras. We can use this to remind us all of the cause if we seem to falter in our belief," Combeferre exclaimed pushing him towards the crowd.

"If do will you all stop staring at me like I just admitted to killing someone?" Enjolras moaned and everyone burst out laughing.

"Yes we will!" Jehan laughed and the group pushed all the tables together and they crowded round in front of the strange contraption while Feuilly taught Molly the waitress how to work the box. Feuilly slid in and Grantaire spontaneously appeared leaning on Enjolras and Combeferre's shoulders as the box flashed and clicked signifying that it had worked its magic.

"I will get it made," Feuilly exclaimed pulling out the film and packing up the box. Enjolras tried to stand up but Grantaire wouldn't move in his drunken stupor. He was talking to Combeferre but would not stop leaning on the grumpy blonde's shoulder.

"Move Grantaire!" Enjolras snapped and darted away and Grantaire fell onto the floor breaking one of the chairs. Grantaire moaned holding his head. Everyone assumed Grantaire was just his drunken self but until later no one realised the blood seeping into his ebony hair.

"Get up winecask," Enjolras moaned pushing past his body. Grantaire just moaned and tried unsuccessfully to sit up. Combeferre helped him stand up but Grantaire just wobbled and fell into a chair. "Why do you even come if you are going to sit around the whole time moaning?" Enjolras moaned pushing the tables back to their previous arrangement.

"My head," Grantaire murmured.

"You don't believe, you don't care. Why are you here? You don't contribute anything to our plight. Why don't you go drink elsewhere?" Enjolras snapped standing in front of Grantaire as the winecask stood up. "We don't need you," Enjolras shouted. In a moment of pure hurt and anger, Grantaire lashed out and punched the Apollo in the face before stumbling out of the café.

Enjolras thought back in a painful haze with more tears streaming down his face. He had felt so bad, so ashamed when he found out how hurt Grantaire had been. But their prides never let apologies occur … they both agreed silently to leave that heart-wrenching occurrence behind them. He never thought that the seemingly heartless Grantaire would treasure this little souvenir to remember a horrible day. Enjolras used the slightly damp cloth to wipe excess blood off what was now a precious artefact. In a strangely emotionless haze, he slowly stood up and trudged to his bedside making sure not to disturb the peacefully sleeping Grantaire. He pulled out an old revolutionary poster from an exquisite frame and carefully slid the prized picture into the frame and placed it by Grantaire's side gently and returned to his seat by the resting drunkard.

The revolutionary playing at nursemaid, inexorably began to drift asleep with his eyes flickering shut every few seconds before he shook himself awake. As he was drifting into slumber, an agonising cry erupted from next to him and he jumped to action. Grantaire was rolling in pain crying out at the ceiling with his eyes widely spread open. Some of the stitched on his arm reopened and Enjolras panicked while trying to hold him down but not cause his friend anymore pain than was vital. After what was approximately ten minutes, but felt like it could have easily been hours, Grantaire's struggles slowed and he was reduced to a shivering whimpering corpse like figure as the inevitable fever began to grab onto him with thin ghostly fingers. Enjolras tried to calm Grantaire down but found himself in a position he hadn't been in for years, he was entirely overwhelmed and helpless.

A/N – Please, please, PLEASE review for me! I really need the support and really hope I am not murdering Grantaire and Enjolras' emotions and the flashback scenes!

Also thanks to my beta Ellie … she is the best and really helps with my confidence and writing ability as well as keeping me motivated with constant pestering of "have you written any more yet? … well why not?" Merci beaucoup mon ami!