A/N: The second instalment of 'Out of the Darkness' is officially here! This is for all the wonderful people who have favourited and followed this story as well as Sarahbob who has the honour of giving my baby its' first review- thank you, you are all amazing and you have no idea how much it means to me to think that my work is appreciated!
Disclaimer: As I am not Male, French or living in C18th Paris- how can I possibly own Les Miserables? Please don't sue me- I am simply trying to convey my love for Les Amis de l'ABC into something cohesive! Much love and enjoy x
A Light in the Dark
The world returns in pieces. The weight of the cotton sling that caresses his whole left side, resting like a dead weight against his chest. Soft voices washing over his shattered mind, slowly bringing him back to this strange, new reality. Pressure in his palm, fingers grasping, falling through skin still warm from another's touch as a body rises. Soft, nimble hands softly brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes as lips brush his forehead and hands caress him, reassuring him that everything is alright. The impatient snorting stamp of the horses and the sound of unknown footsteps hurrying over gravel as the fiacre door is pulled open to reveal a cold, wet night studded with silver stars. His head swims painfully as the cold wet night air swirls through the open door and enfolds the sticky stench of icy anxiety, painful fear and heady body odour in a swirling, frigid embrace. Unknown voices wash over him, voices that are tight with concerned worry as he struggles to wake up. Everything hurts. He feels hands on his shoulders, his neck, his back as an unknown presence slowly gathers his useless, exhausted body into their arms; whispering a stream of nonsensical epithets as he leans into the waiting security of an elbow; slowly rocked back to unconsciousness by the steady throbbing iambs of a heart straining through a cotton shirt. 'Ferre? 'Ferre...I…' The name scrapes painfully against his tongue as he feels the body slowly manoeuvres itself and its precious cargo down the fiacre steps and into the night, a name that falls and dies as the flickering lights fall away and he is once again in darkness.
'Ssh Enjolras', the voice continues to whisper as the steps fall away on the crunching mass of gravel and into the cold, wet night. 'Ssh, it's alright. I'm here, I've got you'. An ice-cold hand lying palm down against a burning forehead as the faint shadow of a lamp bobs in and out of his shattered vision. Voices. An unknown hand grips his shoulder, trying pull him away from Combeferre's clutching embrace, but he buries his head further into his best friend's chest; biting back the sudden, icy fear that is threatening to overwhelm him; refusing to let go. He can't let go, not now. More voices. Unknown vowel sounds jar painfully on his ear as he hears a woman's voice; a bright swallow dancing through the confusion; the flute like notes dancing through his exhausted brain as he feels Combeferre stiffen, the hands tighten instinctively on his slumped shoulders as he cradles him to his chest as the voice dances closer through the sticky heat of fearful anticipation. A voice that sounds vaguely familiar… But no… They couldn't be… Why…
A voice that makes him think of long, languid summer days spent romping through the orchards in shirt sleeves following a twinkling laughing smile as she ran barefoot; her hair fanned out behind her in a mane of golden brilliance as she spun him round and round, her eyes shining with the golden light of childhood innocence. A final, graceful Minuet as they dipped in and out of the steps like silver dreams, revelling in their escape as she pulls him towards the grass; silver tears of laughter brimming out of eyes the colour of cool water, her cheeks with their dimples flushed with happiness… A cold, shaking hand stroking his cheek; brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes as fingers clutch at his own, desperately trying to rekindle the flickering flame of life. He squeezes back with all the strength that his shattered body can muster, his limp fingers falling as the fight slowly ebbs away. Whispered words; a name floating through the dark corners of his shattered mind; floating, falling as he feels himself slowly succumb to the blissful blackness of oblivion, the sparkling syllables dying on icy, bloody lips… Henriette… 'Riette…
The sound of hurried, anxious footsteps on the stairs and sharp, soft vowel sounds pierce his tender ears as he feels another hand slowly reach for a pulse; fingers dancing over the taught tendons of his neck as the faint whiff of alcohol tickles his nostrils. Grantaire. The fingers shake slightly as they softly brush his lips as a shiver snakes down his spine and he feels himself slump into Combeferre's waiting embrace as the fingers grope and grasp; desperate for the security of another's touch.
Whispered words mixed with the sound of door being pushed open as a chair is scraped back; the wood groaning slightly as it makes contact with the floorboards. Dimly, he feels himself being lowered down onto something soft and warm; the cotton embracing his broken body as a soft, tear-stained kiss sweeps his forehead. The guttering crackle of a candle flaring into life mixed with the scrape of a shutter bolt being slid into place as a shaking hand grips his own in reassuring friendship. The callouses left from years of leaking ink pens rise to his shivering palm and he inwardly smiles as he imagines Combeferre's wide, dark eyes alive with worry behind the wire framed spectacles as he sits as close to the bed as he dares; refusing to let go of the limp, white, blood stained hand. The sound of a gutter French accent mixed with soft hints of Polish as a door is slid shut and is answered by a lisping alto voice dancing through the silence. The warm, comforting weight of a skinny ball of fiery life as it scrambles up onto the sinking mattress which groans in protest as quivering lips brush themselves against a marble forehead and stubby fingers tail themselves in golden curls before capable hands softly scoop iaway and all comforting weight is evaporated. A soft kiss to his cheek as he feels himself lean into Courfeyrac's musty, smoky smell; nimble fingers dance over the coverlet smelling faintly of lavender giving his hand a tight, reassuring squeeze before he finally allows himself to be lost to the comforting oblivion of sleep; secure in the knowledge that they are safe and in time can try to pick up the scattered jigsaw pieces of their lives and start again.
A/N: Please feel free to read and review! Questions, comments, suggestions and constructive criticisms are my virtual chocolate at the moment and will keep me motivated through revision so if you want to hear more, keep them coming! Much love and enjoy x