Chapter IV

The next few days passed agonizingly slow. They were long and miserable; first, little Louisa's funeral, and then the incessant waiting. It was never-ending and horrible. June 1st, June 2nd, June 3rd, June 4th, and finally...June 5th.

Gabrielle spoke to no one and didn't leave her room. She sat at the open window and stared, wondering what was happening, feeling restless and exhausted at the same time. When the afternoon came, Gabrielle knew the fight would be starting, and imagined her brother following the funeral procession, Enjolras waving the red flag of liberty, the men on the barricade with guns and swords ready.

The afternoon soon faded into evening, and darkness fell over Paris. She had had no word and was seriously contemplating breaking her promise to her brother when a small and lonely figure suddenly came into view, stopping in front of the house. He stared up at it's facade, as if trying to decide whether it was the right one or not, and as the moonlight hit his face, Gabrielle sat forward. She recognized him – she had seem him with the Les Amis before, the little gamin that followed them all around.

She stood and ran down the stairs and out the front door. He gave a toothy grin when he saw her and bowed gallantly. "Good evening! Are you Feuilly's sister?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Yes. Who are you?"

"Gavroche. I've come from the barricade! Your brother sent you a letter." He held both hands out, expecting payment, and Gabrielle gladly gave him a few sous in exchange for the letter.

"Tell me, Gavroche, what is happening there? Are they alright? Has there been much fighting?"

"There's been a little, but they're not going to lick us!"

Gabrielle smiled. "Gavroche, if you come back again before dawn to tell me more news, I promise you will be well rewarded."

The young gamin grinned. "Sure. Enjolras has me running all over Paris, anyway, checking the other barricades. And now I have to go deliver another letter for Monsieur Marius. They think I'm their regular messenger, they do..."

Gabrielle pressed another sous into his hand. "Get to it, then, Gavroche. And stay safe tonight."

The little boy turned and continued his way down the street. He had seemed in good spirits, so perhaps things were going well. Gabrielle clutched the letter to her breast and hurried back inside. Once she was safely in her room, she opened the paper and read hungrily.

Dearest Gabrielle,

The fighting has begun. We are on the Rue de la Chanvrerie, in front of the Musain, and have built an enormous barricade. There has been a little fighting, but only one casualty so far, a girl maybe your age or perhaps even younger, that followed Marius. Pray for her soul, Gabrielle, for she saved Marius' life with her own. She was truly selfless.

Enjolras is rallying everyone with his speeches, Grantaire and Courfeyrac are drunk (as usual) and now we wait for the soldiers to make their next move. We are lucky to have little Gavroche here. I know you will be grateful to him for getting word to you. Please rest easy tonight and keep your promise to me. I will try to send word again if I can.

Your loving brother

The letter did ease Gabrielle's mind...for about an hour. Then the restless energy came back, and her imagination ran wild. Events could change in only minutes, she knew, and what had happened since little Gavroche was here? Gabrielle spent the hours pacing restlessly and wringing her hands, but her eyes were dry.

The hours crept by, and Gabrielle knew dawn would soon be approaching. She kept her eyes trained on the street, hoping Gavroche would soon appear and ease her mind again, and suddenly, he popped up in front of the front gate. She hadn't even seen him approach, he was as stealthy as a cat.

Gabrielle went downstairs again, trying to be quiet, and met him at the edge of the yard. Her heart constricted when she saw the look on his face; instead of his confident smile, he looked almost grave.

"Gavroche?" she whispered.

"My news isn't so good this time, Mademoiselle. I've just been through the streets..."

"And?" Fear was settling in her chest and making it hard to breathe.

"The other barricades...they're gone. Our boys are the only ones left." He scuffed his worn shoe on the sidewalk and sighed.

"The only ones? How...how can that be? Enjolras said..." she sucked in a breath and leaned against the iron fence.

"...that the people would rise, yeah. Well. They ain't," Gavroche said irritably. "I don't mean to bring bad news, but you did ask me to come back. But now I need to go report to Monsieur Enjolras." He stuck his hand through the bars, patiently waiting for his payment, and Gabrielle gave him all she had on her. His face lit up as he took in the money and his step was a bit more animated as he thanked her walked away.

"Be careful, Gavroche!" she whispered after him, and he lifted a hand and waved as he ran away.

Gabrielle slowly made her way inside and climbed the stairs. She had just made it to the top when the weight of Gavroche's words fell on her shoulders. A tight panic gripped her, squeezing her insides. They were all there, alone at the barricade, and the people were not rising as Enjolras said they would. No one was there to help.

What would become of them, those boys at the barricade?

They would all die.

Gabrielle gathered her skirts in her hands, hesitating for only the briefest of moments, before flying down the stairs. She grabbed her shawl from the hook near the doorway and was prepared to flee into the night, to her brother and the other Les Amis, when a voice stopped her.

"Mademoiselle, where in the world are you going at this hour? And with all of the unrest tonight..."

Her hand frozen on the knob, Gabrielle slowly turned to face the baron. "Monsieur, my brother is there. At the barricade on the Rue de la Chanvrerie." Her voice trembled.

A cloud passed over the baron's face. "Your brother? The fanmaker?"

Gabrielle nodded tersely and the baron continued. "Mademoiselle Feuilly, of course I cannot force you to stay. But what do you expect to gain by going, may I ask?"

"I don't know. I just...I just feel I should be there. He is my only family," she added desperately.

The baron took a step towards her. "Of course you feel loyalty, Mademoiselle, but think logically. How would you get there? The streets are dangerous at this hour and no one is about tonight. How would you even make it to the barricade? Once there, what will you do? Take up arms and fight yourself? I somehow doubt that is what your brother would want." All the time he spoke, the baron had gently taken her arm and led her into the parlour.

She stared at his face as she sank down into a soft sofa and silently accepted the glass of wine he gave her. The baron's words made sense, of course, but she still felt a fire in her veins urging her to move, to do something. Gabrielle was not one to be idle.

"Now, do I not speak the truth, dear Mademoiselle?" the baron asked, as if he were talking to a dog or trying to reason with a small child. As a woman, she was no better to him than a small child.

Still, there was some truth in his words. She had promised her brother she would stay away, and she never broke promises.

"You speak truly, Monsieur. I will not leave the house this night," she said resignedly.

"No. Better yet, not until the fighting is over. Now," the baron stood and adjusted his coat. "It is late, Mademoiselle, or early, rather, and I suggest you try to get some sleep while you can. I bid you good night."

"Good night, Gabrielle replied quietly, and watched his form retreat up the stairs.

Sleep! She scoffed. As if she would get any sleep tonight. The wine was making her feel more relaxed, however, so she poured herself another glass and resigned herself to keeping a silent vigil by the window in her room until the morning. It faced in the direction of Les Halles and the Rue St. Denis. Perhaps if she opened it, she could even hear.

Gabrielle slowly ascended the stairs and entered her bedroom, settling into her chair by the window once more. When tomorrow dawned, what would it bring? The same world of darkness and monarchy, or the new republic her brother and Enjolras dreamed of? In only hours, they would all know.

Gabrielle must have dozed, but in what seemed like only minutes, she was awoken by an echoing boom. In her groggy state, she immediately looked at the sky expecting to see a storm, but while their were clouds, there was no rain.

She stood and leaned as far out the window as she could, straining towards Les Halles. There it was again, a faint crash that sounded like thunder, only a bit weaker. It took her a moment before she suddenly realized. A cannon! They are firing cannons!

Her chest felt so tight with fear she could barely breathe. Gabrielle closed her eyes and began to pray. There was nothing else she could do.

Only an hour later, the sounds had stopped and the sun began to rise in the eastern sky. It seemed a day like any other from her window vantage point, except for the eerily quiet streets. It seemed like most people were staying inside until official news of the outcome reached them, but Gabrielle was so anxious she could barely stand to sit anymore.

She rose, and with one last glance out the window, left the house to meet the new day.

Gabrielle steeled herself as she neared the Rue de la Chanvrerie. The streets were empty, most shutters still closed on the homes and businesses that lined the streets. No, it did not seem the people had risen. Instead, they had shut themselves away inside their walls, shying away from the gunfire that could have brought them a better tomorrow had they been brave enough to join. If she were a child, she would have been tempted to throw rocks at the closed windows and scream at the cowards.

Instead, she kept walking, though it took all of her strength to keep one foot moving in front of the other. If she never went, if she never saw, she could pretend it never happened. She almost couldn't bear the thought of seeing her brother's body dead and broken, but then, not seeing it seemed almost as unbearable. And there was always the smallest chance that he was alive...

She was only a street away now and there were soldiers milling about. She hesitated as she saw a larger group of them up ahead, blocking the way onto the street. Gabrielle raised her head and continued walking. The soldiers soon caught sight of her and a young sergeant stepped into her path.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle. I'm afraid I must stop you here. There was fighting in this street only a few hours ago, and it is still too gruesome a sight for a young lady to see." He tipped his hat, expecting her to simply walk away, but she stayed rooted down.

"Yes, Monsieur, I am aware, and I intend to pass. My brother..." she swallowed around the lump in her throat. "My brother was fighting here, and I would like to...to see..."

She hesitated as a soft wind suddenly blew, bringing with it the already present scent of death and the tangy iron smell of spilled blood.

The soldier frowned. "I am sorry, Mademoiselle. Do you mean your brother is a soldier?"

Gabrielle hesitated, but shook her head slowly. "No. No, he was not. I intend to find his body, if it is there, Monsieur. He is my only family," she added, hoping the soldier would sympathize with a pretty, lonely young woman.

The soldier shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose I could let you pass. Would you like an escort, Mademoiselle?"

"Thank you. And no, I prefer to go alone." With a sad smile of gratitude, Gabrielle moved past the soldiers and onto the street. Almost immediately, she was overtaken by the strong stench of death. The rain that had fallen in the night left puddles scattered along the street, tinged red with blood. Gabrielle raised a handkerchief to her mouth and slowed her pace as she began passing by the first fallen soldiers. Only a short way down the street, the barricade was already being disassembled.

Behind the barricade stood the dilapidated Café Musain, where she had spent so many nights listening to her brother and his friends speak of their revolution; where her own views on the equality and education of women had been heard and even championed by Enjolras. Where their had been drinks, laughter, friendship, and the deep passion born of a common cause.

Gabrielle's eyes strayed up the facade and froze on the second story window. Her handkerchief fluttered to the ground as she stared in horror. Enjolras, his body beautifully broken, was hanging from the window, the red flag of revolution still gripped tightly in his hand. She was too shocked to even cry out, but realized her body had begun trembling violently. That beautiful, passionate man. He had given everything to his cause, to his Patria. And this is how she thanked him.

As Gabrielle stood watching, two men began to gently move Enjolras' body inside the café. She quickly turned away, tears finally blurring in her eyes, and then noticed the row of bodies being laid side by side in the street. Oh, so many of them. Too many she knew. Too many she loved. Did she have anything left now?

There was little Gavroche! And Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel...almost all of the Les Amis. But where was her brother? His body was not with the rest.

She turned, a mad hope springing to life inside of her. Maybe he had escaped! Maybe he wasn't here! A flash of blue from a corner of the barricade caught her eye, and there she saw what she had been dreading to see. There he was, still sprawled, lifeless, on the barricade, covered in blood. Gabrielle stifled a cry and closed her eyes. She counted to ten as she had told little Louisa to do, then looked up at the sky, anywhere but at her brother. She began saying a silent prayer for his soul, but stopped as the men who removed Enjolras from the window came outside, grunting with the effort of carrying his still form. They laid him next to the rest of the bodies, the red flag still trailing from his hand.

Gabrielle suddenly felt an irrational sense of anger at Enjolras, for his perfect, impassioned speeches and inspiring leadership. Yes, his friends had all shared his beliefs, had been willing to die for them, but were it not for him, they never would have acted on them in such a manner. Before she knew it, Gabrielle was standing next to his body, then kneeling on the blood-soaked cobblestones. She knew the anger she felt was silly and petty. He was dead, too, after all. His friends had their chance to walk away and they had all chosen to stay and fight. And die.

At least they had died honorably. Gabrielle slowly reached out for the red flag, gently taking Enjolras' hand and coaxing the fabric from his stiff fingers. She intended to lay it across his body, but as she carefully placed his hand on his chest, she abruptly froze and stared at his face. She could have sworn she had just heard a soft moan pass from his lips. Quickly looking around to see if anyone else was paying attention, for Gabrielle had no idea who was friend or foe at the moment, she leaned down and placed her cheek close to his mouth. The lightest of breath fluttered against her cheek, but she might have wanted to feel it so badly she willed it into being. Even though his shirt was blood-soaked and dirty, she gently laid her cheek against his heart, the picture of grief, weeping over a fallen love, to any passerby. She waited, hoping to hear or feel the faintest whisper of a heartbeat...and there! There it was. He was alive. Against all odds, Antoine Enjolras was alive.

Her heart beating wildly in her chest, Gabrielle sat up slowly. Her fingers and toes began tingling as a new, vigorous energy coursed through her body. How could he be alive in this wasteland of bodies, with all of his other friends dead? It seemed impossible, but then, he was an absolutely impossible man. And, if she didn't do something soon, he would surely die. Perhaps he would anyway, but she had to try.

Asking the soldiers for help was out of the question. They would just shoot him (again). But would they object to her taking her brother's body away to be buried in his own family plot? She didn't know, but it was worth trying. Maybe they would say nothing at all. Of course, claiming Enjolras as her brother would mean leaving her true brother's body behind...but Gabrielle felt no real hesitation. Her brother would urge her to save his friend's life if it was in her power to do so.

But how would she get him out of here? He was so near death already she was afraid to move him. Gabrielle surveyed the barricade; since her arrival, a few other men had appeared, all of whom were slowly untangling the mess of broken furniture that made up the ramshackle structure.

Two men had brought a hand-cart, large enough to fit Enjolras' body, and were slowly filling it with debris. Gabrielle jumped up with a new sense of purpose and hurried over to the two men.

"Monsieurs, please! I can pay you. Will you use your cart to transport my brother's body to our home? Please, good Monsieur's, I beg of you..." Gabrielle didn't have to fake the tears welling up in her eyes.

The two men looked uncomfortable and the shorter, balder of the two spoke quietly. "Well, Mademoiselle, I would be happy to help you, but I just don't know if it is possible..." His eyes shifted to the soldiers.

"How much are they paying you? I will double the sum," Gabrielle said boldly. She hoped she had enough.

"I dare say 5 francs a piece will be enough," the other man said gruffly.

There was no doubt they were being paid less than that total, but Gabrielle couldn't care less.

"Done. Please, hurry. I don't wish to be here any longer," Gabrielle said tearfully.

The men followed her over to Enjolras' body with their cart. She had no time to check if he even was indeed still alive. "Be gentle," she murmured as they carefully lifted his body and placed it in the cart. She said a prayer that he would not cry out or move on the short journey to his apartment.

Gabrielle told the men Enjolras' address, which thankfully, was very close to the Café Musain. Once there, she had no idea how she would get his body up the stairs and into his apartment. Hopefully, his landlady would be there to let them in.

And then, what would she do about a doctor? Well...one step at a time.

The strange little group slowly began heading down the street and away from the barricade. Gabrielle looked back at the gruesome scene one more time and touched her fingers to her lips in a silent farewell to her brother and his loyal friends. They were all such good, brave young men. She believed all of them would have done such good in the world and for their country had they lived long enough. All of them had mothers, fathers, lovers, that they were leaving behind. They all had loved ones who would miss them, whose lives would never be the same without them in it. Yet, most of Paris would probably forget their failed little revolution within the month. Gabrielle turned away, feeling sick to her stomach. It was better not to think right now; just concentrate on the moment.

The soldiers barely glanced at them as they moved past and Gabrielle was grateful. She didn't think she had the energy to beg and grovel. They must not think any of the schoolboys important enough to bother with in death.

Every time the cart hit a bump in the uneven street, Gabrielle cringed. Enjolras never stirred, though, and once again, Gabrielle wondered if he was still alive. She walked next to the cart, her hand resting lightly on the side, and was thankful that the streets were still mostly deserted. Those that were about only looked at them with a frown, but no one spoke, including the two men. Soon, they arrived in front of Enjolras' building and Gabrielle looked up uncertainly, weighing her options.

Suddenly, the door opened and a most unexpected figure stepped out.

"Monsieur Joly!" Gabrielle shrieked. "Oh, Joly, you are alive! Enjolras is..." she gestured to the cart, but was afraid to say more.

Joly started at her cry and stared at her. He was a filthy, bloody mess. He looked like he had been through ten battles and fought for months, his eyes raw and red-rimmed and cheeks sunken in. He silently surveyed Enjolras and the men, his chest heaving. Gabrielle quickly moved towards him and whispered urgently, "He was alive when I arrived at the barricade, but only just. These men think he is dead...he might be by now..." she trailed off.

Still, Joly said nothing, only nodded tersely. After a moment, he finally spoke. "Follow me, Monsieur's. We will carry him up the stairs to his rooms."

Gabrielle stepped back and allowed the men to do their work. Soon, they were standing outside Enjolras' door. It was unlocked and opened easily at Gabrielle's touch, and the men carefully laid Enjolras on the bed in the corner of the bedroom. Gabrielle hastily took the agreed upon money out of her purse and handed it to the men, along with her thanks.

As soon as they were gone, Joly began to check Enjolras for signs of life. Gabrielle stood just inside the bedroom doorway wringing her hands and hoping...

After what seemed like hours, Joly turned to Gabrielle and said quickly, "Fetch water. I'm going to get my things." In a second, he was gone, sprinting down the stairs. Gabrielle had no idea where Joly's things were, or even how he was alive himself, but guessed that meant that Enjolras had made it. She quickly set about her task, still careful to keep her mind free from all thoughts save those on what she was doing. She couldn't stand to think now.

Soon, Joly and a woman Gabrielle didn't know were back in the apartment. Joly set to work on his friend with the woman's help and Gabrielle sank into a hard wooden chair at a small table in the front room. She didn't speak, and tried not even to watch through the open doorway. The earlier rush of energy that had come with finding Enjolras alive had faded and she was beginning to feel exhausted.

And the sadness was becoming unbearable.

She didn't know how long it had been when Joly was finally done. They were all so quiet. She supposed no one knew what to say or how to begin.

Gabrielle finally met Joly's eyes as he tried to clean Enjolras' blood off his hands with a rag. "Will he live?"

"I do not know. He has four bullet wounds, three of which passed straight through him. He was fired upon at close range and can't be left alone. We will have to tend to him constantly." Joly swallowed hard and asked in a quieter tone, "Were there any others? Anyone else you saw alive?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "No. Everyone was...my brother..." she stopped, a sudden thought occurring to her. "Monsieur Marius. I did not see him..."

A small spark ignited in Joly's eyes. "Perhaps he made it out, as well. We can only pray." The woman squeezed his arm in comfort, then looked sadly at Gabrielle.

"I am sorry about your brother, Mademoiselle Feuilly. My name is Musichetta. I am a friend of Joly's and..." Musichetta choked a bit and couldn't finish her sentence.

"And Bossuet," Joly said sadly. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips, and Gabrielle guessed that the two of them were involved.

"Thank you. But please, tell me what to do to help Enjolras. What does he need?"

Joly looked surprised. "Don't you need to get back home, Mademoiselle? To your job?"

"I suppose I do," she muttered. "But I am coming back. My brother would want me to care for his friends, as he would," she said firmly. "I do not want to abandon Enjolras in his hour of need."

Joly nodded and reached out to shake her hand. "I understand, Mademoiselle. Thank you for bringing him back here. Musichetta and I will care for him until your return."

Gabrielle managed a small smile and stood. She looked back once at Enjolras' still form before she left the apartment and ran all the way back to the de Sauveterre house. Running kept her tears at bay. She knew she looked frightful, but perhaps she would be able to sneak in and change.

She had no such luck, however, for the children's nursemaid was just coming down the back staircase as Gabrielle opened the kitchen door and stepped inside. Her eyes grew big as saucers and she let out a loud shriek. "Mon dieu! You are covered in blood, Governess!"

Gabrielle winced, horrified, as the butler appeared in the doorway and gasped at the sight of her. There would be a scene, the rest of the servants would talk about her incessantly, and then word would spread like wildfire about the appearance of the de Sauveterre's governess. They would put it together and know she was somehow connected to the barricade, and the other bourgeois friends of the baron would not be happy to associate with someone who employed a Republican. She would lose her job, as she had already lost her brother. What would she do?

Stop it, she told herself. You aren't thinking clearly, you can explain...

"Are you hurt, Mademoiselle Feuilly?"

"Oh, no! No, I am fine, I promise..." The butler had already taken her arm and was dragging her towards the parlour, ignoring her words.

They stopped in the doorway. "Monsieur?" the butler interrupted the baron's reading. "I believe we may need to call a doctor for Mademoiselle Feuilly."

The baron's eyes widened as he caught sight of Gabrielle's blood-soaked skirt and hands. "Mademoiselle Feuilly? Are you hurt?" She frantically shook her head and was about to reply when the baron asked coldly, "Do I even need to ask where you have foolishly been this morning?"

"No, Monsieur." She took a deep breath and continued, "You know where I have come from. I needed to see for myself."

"And what did you see, Mademoiselle? That your brother and his nonsensical friends gave their lives for nothing?" the baron spat. His eyes narrowed. "They deserved what they got, Mademoiselle, and I do not want any of their Republican nonsense being taught to Armand. I cannot believe you dared to enter my house in such a state, to alarm innocent people who have no idea what is happening outside their doors. No more, Mademoiselle. Do you understand?"

The baron was not used to anyone disagreeing, and took a step back when Gabrielle said fiercely and without any thought, "I resign from my position. I will take my leave at once."

He spluttered behind her as she spun on her heel and stalked up the stairs, her blood boiling. Her brother had not died for nothing – he had died for what he believed in: a better tomorrow, an equal chance for everyone to progress and thrive through hard work and education. No, he had not died for nothing, but for an honorable dream. Gabrielle would not stay employed by a man who looked down so on her brother's sacrifice, who was content to keep others suffering at the bottom of the heap while he rose to the top.

Gabrielle packed quickly, and was happy for once that she had so few belongings. She carried her things back to Enjolras' and ascended the steps, stopping at the landing outside of his door. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, feeling tears sting her cheeks. What had she done? What would become of her now?

Thank you so much to everyone who has added the story to their favorites and taken the time to review. I'm glad you're giving it a chance, even though it's a little bit different and I'm taking quite a few liberties!

Also. AARON TVEIT ON THE OSCARS. Aaronjolras freaking OWNED that stage. :)