2

Enjolras

His head throbbed. It really hurt. So much so that he was sure that he would scream. It felt as it lightning bolts were crashing into his skull. Or maybe it was more like someone was squeezing his temple. Whatever pain he felt, he couldn't think of anything else. A small part of him must have recognised the cold, hard ground underneath him as he tried to roll into a more comfortable part of his bed. He groaned as the movement caused his head to throb again.

"So you're alive then?" A female voice. That was strange, Enjolras thought. And then he was gripped by a sense of panic. The protest, those people, the guns. The police. He suddenly shot up, ignoring the screaming pain and opening his eyes to look around him expecting a prison cell. He had been standing on the stage, watching the terrible events unfold and then, what had happened? Surely he'd been arrested, he certainly hadn't made any moves to escape. Even when Grantaire had tugged on his arm, begging him to run away Enjolras had stayed put. He'd seen that woman fall to the ground. Someone had died because of him. He couldn't run away.

Instead of a prison he was sat on a street. A girl sat next to him. She had long brown hair that fell, slightly matted, past her shoulders. She was staring at him unabashedly and Enjolras wondered whether he was supposed to recognise her. She seemed to be around his age but her clothes suggested… well they were tattered and dirty. He didn't know any girls that dressed like that. "Well?" The girl said. He just stared back at her, confused. She sighed seeming disappointed. "I think I might have preferred you unconscious." She looked back at him again. "If you're not going to say anything I may just dump you back at the stage, see whether the police would reward me for bringing in the man that brought Hell to Biding."

"Who are you?" Enjolras said finally.

"I'm someone who saved your arse."

He looked around. This was a part of Paris he'd never seen before but he was certain he wouldn't class it as safe.

The girl rubbed her eyes quickly and stood up, brushing her skirts, a motion which Enjolras didn't think was necessary. "Well now you're alive and kicking I can go," She made a move down the alley but Enjolras quickly called her back.

"Wait!" He called out. "Where are we?"

"The backstreets of Lanet." She said, turning back a little.

"How do I get to Raicourt from here?" He knew his voice sounded a little whinier than it should. But he couldn't deny the panic he felt, he had been hoping that the name of the street would spark a memory in him. Bring back the lessons of geography from his youth. But it gave him nothing.

"You're a long way from Raicourt." The girl told him. "But that explains that suit." He tugged on the corners of his jacket self-consciously.

"Just tell me which direction to go." He asked.

"You wouldn't last an hour on your own." She said and he felt that perhaps she was taking some joy out of this exchange. "I could show you where to go…" She trailed off and it was his turn to sigh.

"How much?" He asked.

She paused then, weighing up the price in her head. She quickly came to a total. "8 francs." She said.

He balked, "8 francs?" He asked.

She shrugged and made a big show of turning away, "Well then, bon voyage!" she gave a little wave over her shoulder and he quickly shouted after her, "Okay!" He said. She smiled.

As he tried to stand up he finally noticed how much his limbs seemed to hate him. They groaned as he rolled over onto his knees to try and pull himself up to stand. "Well," He said through his exertion. "At least can you tell me your name now?"

"Clere." She said easily.

Enjolras extended a hand which she just scoffed at. It dropped to his side as he introduced himself. "Enjolras."

"Such a pleasure to meet you." She said dipping into a deep curtsey.

And then she was off, walking through the streets seeming carefree but making sure to keep close to the houses and small shops that lined the streets. The people they passed paid her no mind but all stared at him. He felt exposed in his fine suit. Clere seemed to notice the glances as well. After a few minutes they passed a man laid on the street and she bent down to speak with him. The man shot Enjolras a look before nodding and holding out his hand. Clere dropped a coin into his palm and then gestured for Enjolras to come join them. "Our lovely friend here is going to let you swap clothes with him."

Enjolras' eyebrows shot into his hair line. "What?" Enjolras asked.

"You stand out from a mile in that ridiculous coat and we need to blend in. After your little Napoelon act back there probably put a high price on your head. Does prison seem like a better alternative?" Her eyes had been suddenly shaded with a darkness he hadn't seen before in her. He quickly agreed and followed them both in a side alley.

As he stripped down to his shirt and under shorts he felt ridiculous. What was he doing? Who knew how many diseases lived in this man's clothes? Clere was smirking in the corner and he wanted to slap that look off of her. Only a perverse mind could find anything about this situation humorous. The man was around his height but noticeably thinner although, that shouldn't be a problem as the clothes he wore hung off of his shoulders. But he had a large scar that ran across his left eye, literally scarring through his pupil which had turned a ghastly pale grey. His other eye was brown and seemed to dart around as they swapped clothes. His hands were grubby and the bones seemed to be trying to burst from the thin skin that was tightly strung around them. The clothes were cold and damp but as they walked back out into the street, he could admit that he looked far less noticeable.

But he felt miserable. His brain still seemed to be swelling and bruises had begun to form on his back, they creaked with every step and he felt the pain coarse through his body. "How did you save me exactly?" He asked after they'd dashed across a road, risking the hooves of the horses.

"Well, if it wasn't for me you would have been trampled." She explained briefly.

"Were you at the protest?" He felt a shock of anger run through him when she scoffed.

"I wouldn't call that a protest."

"Oh no, what would you call it then?"

She shot a look in his direction. "A death wish."

He looked at his feet, the image of the blood spilling from the woman clouding his vision. "If the police hadn't…"

She cut him off. "What did you expect to happen? Did you really think a crowd like that wouldn't draw attention? Your words were treasonous, you do understand that treason is illegal don't you?"

"I'm not an imbecile, don't talk to me like that."
"How should I talk to you?" She snapped. "Should I avert my eyes and call you sir like your servants at home do?"

"I don't have servants." He told her.

"But your parents do." She retorted and smiled when he had no reply. He couldn't deny how he grew up. But it was the privilege he experienced that he was trying to fight against. He shouldn't be treated as any less aware just because his father happened to be rich.

"Why did you save me then?" He asked.

She ducked under an archway that he had to quickly jump over to keep up with her. "I thought if I got caught I could trade you." He eyed her. Was he being stupid? She could be a trap. She could be leading him straight to the police. But what else could he do? He had no idea how to get back to the Café from here and he thought that if it came to it, he could best her in a fight. He would be able to recognise Voirat where the station was and if he sensed she was leading him there, he would shake her off. But he wouldn't engage her in any more conversation. He wasn't paying her to insult him.

They walked in silence after that, both stewing hate in their veins. "Where are we now?" He eventually asked as the sun started to wane. The streets all seemed to blend into one. Grey walls and cobbled streets. Everything seemed to be cast in a blue shadow, the people they passed included. It was a far cry from the neat, clean streets he was used to. Rats crawled along the gutter with the odd couple, occasionally Enjolras would make them stop when the pain got too much. Clere would sit next to him and stare ahead. Occasionally a carriage would pass and they'd have to cling to the shadows, hoping to blend in. Enjolras walked with an overwhelming sense of dread. He'd never had a feeling like it. He was a criminal now. In the eyes of the police at least. He comforted himself with the thought that all revolutionaries are initially called criminal before hero. He tried to invigorate himself by imagining what these streets would look like when he won. They'd been clean, the people would be happy. Earning enough to live comfortable lives, they'd be able to save and the decrepit remains of corner shops would be re-animated. He filled his senses with this image and tried to ignore what he was really seeing. The little girl with the swollen belly and fear in her eyes. The people who littered the streets, sitting in the stoops which they called home.

He watched as Clere looked around. She didn't seem upset or even a little concerned for the people around her. She hopped over the bodies of sleeping people and even stopped to pilfer some bread that was enclosed in a bag next to a sleeping woman. "You would really steal from her?" He had asked.

"Feel free to starve but in my world it's eat or be eaten." Her voice had seemed level but he noticed her hand move to rest on something concealed beneath her skirts.

Eventually darkness fell and they had to stop. "We're in more danger walking in the dark." She had said. "You're okay with sleeping rough tonight sir?" He hadn't deemed her dig at him with a response. Instead he had dropped to the floor, bundling up the man's coat underneath his head and closing his eyes. It was a battle but he eventually felt the waves of sleep rush over him.