Summary: Many can hear the beating of the drums, but to each they can play a very different tune. Some have everything, others nothing to lose. What does an ambitious, obsessive man do when his path is crossed by someone who soberly sees the possible consequences of his venture? Enjolras/OC...somewhat. Based on both book and musical.
Thank you very much to Deplam for the reviews :)
IV. Of bushes and hot situations
Enjolras and Marius sat in the backroom of the Musain. They had both decided to contribute their time to work concerning the aims of the Amis. Enjolras was leaning over sheets of paper, writing a speech for the next rally the group was to hold. Marius was supposed to count the number of willing men reported by other revolutionary circles. Supposed to was, however, the best way to describe the progress of his work. The young baronet kept turning away from the documents before him, every few moments leaning back on his chair. He stared aimlessly out the only window in the room as if waiting for a vision to be bestowed upon him.
"We are supposed to be concentrating on bringing down the monarchy, not rain from the clouds by staring at them." Enjolras broke the silence in the room after seeing his companion abandoning his work for perhaps the dozenth time.
"I'm sorry. I got lost in thought." Marius shook his head as he was torn from his pondering.
"I noticed." the blonde replied dryly, continuing his writing.
"I just cannot stop thinking about Cosette." Pontmercy sighed, dropping his quill. "She's just so extraordinary..." he trailed off, imagining his beloved. He remembered the first time he saw her on the street, giving charity to the poor. She seemed to almost glow that day. "So beautiful..."
"Marius." Enjolras' tone was tinted with warning. He tried to bring his friend back onto the ground, seeing him begin to drift away into another daydream.
"Her eyes are as green as meadows in spring..." Marius kept going, deaf to his friend's voice. The blonde rolled his eyes. He was not capable of comprehending how someone given a specific task, can so easily allow his mind to wander. Not to mention tread onto grounds of such ridiculous comparisons.
"She's like a mythical nymph, shining in the sun..."
"Pfff" Enjolras could not stop himself. The last sentence was one too much. He had never possessed an ear for poetry and most certainly not for pseudo-poetic, amorous odes.
"If you would have met her, you would have understood." Pontmercy stated, sure of his words as he crossed his arms over his chest. Cosette was such a charming creature, even Enjolras would have to see it. Marius had to admit he wanted the blonde to understand. They had been close friends for years now and he cared for his opinion. It was why he had not dropped the subject in his company completely, hoping to be eventually given at least a small amount of approval. So far his efforts remained unrewarded.
"As if I have never seen a girl before. The streets are full of them." Enjolras replied blankly. He was never one to swoon over maidens, no matter how charming they were trained to be. Many times his mother tried to push various bourgeois girls onto him after he had returned from boarding school and before he moved out of his family home.
"She's different."
"How so? Till now I assumed all of her limbs are in place. Unless you want to tell me she misses some or has an excessive one." the blonde jeered, straightening up from his work.
"You do not understand anything." Marius waved his hand. His friend sighed heavily with annoyance.
"I understand that there is an uproar among the citizens and we are closer than ever to achieving our goal. Yet while this is happening you, instead of focusing, are floating away into some naive, trivial dreamland." Enjolras spoke harshly. He had little to no patience when his closest friends and co-revolutionaries got distracted from their main cause with matters of lesser importance. Or matters that he viewed as ones of small importance.
"What is the point to fight for the future if you have no dreams of it?" Pontmercy asked, but continued speaking before the blonde could reply. "You just cannot understand it because you never loved anyone."
"I love France." Enjolras stated.
"I meant someone made of flesh and blood." Marius sighed, knowing his efforts to convince his friend to his perspective will most likely remain fruitless. Over all the time they had known each other, he had never seen Enjolras show even the slightest romantic interest in anyone. "You have no idea what you are missing out on by being so..." he searched for the right words to describe what he thought.
"So?" the blonde inquired raising an eyebrow.
"Indifferent to higher feelings." the young baronet finally said.
"Higher feelings? Do you even know what higher feelings are, Marius?" This time Enjolras was the one not waiting for an answer. "Higher feelings are pride, love of your country and a cause you sacrifice your life to. Not some petty infatuation with a skirt like any other." After years of planning and work, the recent turn of events with Marius being so distracted by his love affair was highly irritating for Enjolras. It was not that he did not wish his friend well, but in life certain priorities needed to be made. The future of an entire nation was more important than the emotional quandaries of one man.
"You want to reform the country but you yourself are completely irreformable." Pontmercy joked. Their conversation had reached a point where he had a choice between arguing with his friend or trying to ease the atmosphere. He had no desire for the first so he decided to do the latter.
"Some things need to stay consistent."
"Like you, consistent as marble." Marius once again jested, recalling how some referred to Enjolras like he was some sort of statue.
"What is wrong with marble? It's solid."
"It's a cold rock. It does not do anything human."
"You have no idea what I do when you are not around." the blonde smirked. "Unless you hide under my bed like you enjoy stalking that damsel of yours from under her fence." The baronet's eyes went wide. "You thought I was not aware of it? All the Amis know you hide like a poor man's Romeo in the bushes."
"Alright, that is not a subject I want to continue." he smiled, a blush involuntarily creeping onto his face. One of his friends must have accidentally seen him, when he observed Cosette from afar at her home, and told the others of it. "Mind you, I do not hide in the bushes."
"Of course. Bushes are below the level of a baronet." Enjolras nodded his head in a mocking manner.
"Of course." Marius confirmed, trying to be as serious as he could.
"You climb into a tree then?" They both started chuckling. Pontmercy struggled to find a reply for his defense. One, that would not end up being used against him.
Suddenly running up the stairs could be heard. Courfeyrac entered the backroom, a look of terror mixed with despair on his face. His clothing was disheveled and soiled black. His breathing was ragged. Clearly he had been running all the way from where he had come from.
"Courfeyrac, what happened?" Marius asked, his eyes widened in surprise. The same question was on Enjolras' lips as he straightened out in his chair.
"We have a problem." Courfeyrac panted out.
Enjolras, Marius and Courfeyrac ran down the street heading to the river, the sun shining in their eyes over building rooftops. The men rushed in its direction as fast as their legs would allow them.
For months now the Amis had been secretly gathering arms and gunpowder for the coming revolution. They had stored all in a rented basement of a rundown building near the Seine's bank. Far enough from the Musain to avoid unnecessary suspicion but close enough to allow easy transport when the appropriate time came. Along with the arms, they kept registers of what they acquired and maps of the city with planned locations of barricades. The paperwork was kept in the basement itself along with muskets, carabins and rifles. Gunpowder was hidden in a small cellar accessible through a hatch in the upper substructure's floor. The barrels stood among torn open bags of rice, its grains absorbing the underground humidity and protecting the powder. Everything was hidden away from the prying eyes of the people and secret agents of the police.
When the men reached the front of their hitherto storage they stopped in their tracks. Smoke was slowly coming from inside the old house.
Combeferre and Grantaire stood on the street, their faces and clothing dirtied from the fire even more than Courfeyrac's.
"Enjolras, the storage caught on fire." Combeferre said, breathing heavily as the three other Amis approached them. "We tried to put it out, but we failed. The flames spread too much. The whole thing had not exploded till now only because the fire did not reach the lower basement yet." He tried to explain the situation as neatly as possible - considering the circumstances. Their entire supplies threatened to go up in smoke. "Bossuet, Bahorel and Feuilly were with us. We carried out as many guns as we could. They went to hide them before the police would start showing up." Enjolras nodded at his words.
"What about the documents? The plans of the city?"
"We did not have time to retrieve them." Combeferre shook his head.
"Bloody hell." Enjolras cursed through gritted teeth. The maps in question were of high strategic value. The locations marked on them had been discussed with other groups planning to revolt. They were a detailed chart of the most important barricades to rise. Time was running short, the building could explode any minute and more than enough unwanted attention was already upon them because of the fire.
Not giving it more thought, Enjolras made a decision. He darted towards the building and ran inside it. When the others saw what he was doing they shouted to stop him, but he had already disappeared in the house.
The old structure was full of smoke that bit his lungs, but he would not go back. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against his mouth and nose to be able to breathe easier. The young man made his way down to the basement, flames already licking the left wall of the staircase.
It was hard to see through the smoke in the upper cellar. Enjolras felt his eyes sting from the close fire, but he could make out that not all of the gathered documents have been consumed by the scorching element yet.
He quickly looked through the papers he could reach, unceremoniously throwing them on the ground as his frantic search continued. The young man hoped the maps had not been among the documentation that already perished. Between the stacks of paper he finally found a red, leather folder that contained the plans of the city with marked locations. He grabbed it quickly and hid it under his jacket.
Enjolras made his way back up the stairs as fast as he could. As much as it was possible, he shielded himself with the side of his jacket from the wall that was already well ablaze. He struggled not to suffocate from the smoke, barely able to breathe anymore. He kept blinking constantly, the heated air from the near fire forcing him to close his eyes every few seconds. Each step he took seemed to be harder. He half-consciously started counting the stairs left before him, telling himself in his mind that his breath had to last him only a brief period of time more. The lack of air was beginning to make him hear a deaf, ringing sound in his ears.
When the young man reached the ground floor corridor, the sight of light coming from the open front door gave him new strength. It had become slightly easier to breathe. He could finally see the end of this suffocating inferno.
As he exited the building, he inhaled sharply at the fresh air. Perhaps he had not spent a long time in the burning house, but those moments seemed like an eternity. It took minutes for his face and clothes to become soiled in black, his skin wet with sweat from the heat. The experience he just endured was not one he wished to ever repeat again.
The moment he was on the street, his friends gathered around him. They all decided to leave the scene as fast as possible. The stored gunpowder was a continuing threat and when the police would finally arrive, it was best to be far away.
The group of Amis separated themselves a block's distance from the burning building and moved off the street into an empty alleyway in order to catch their breaths. When the flames will finally reach the gunpowder, the blast could not cause too much damage - they told themselves. The powder was two levels below the street, the bottom one of them made of solid stone. The explosion would most likely only end the already prolonged existence of the old house. Surrounding structures were threatened with only small breakage as the building stood freely. However, the men could not be so sure of the people's safety though. It was their greatest concern. Occurrences like this always attracted the attention of the populace.
"Have you gone mad?!" Combeferre suddenly shouted at Enjolras. The blonde stood leaning back against a brick wall, still panting. "You could have gotten killed! Burned alive!" Enjolras looked at his friend and revealed the folder he hid under his jacket to protect it from the flames. The present Amis' eyes went wide at the sight of it. Then, they started smiling.
"Put it somewhere safe." Enjolras said, shoving the documents into Combeferre's hands. "How did that fire start anyway?" he asked. There had not been time to waste on questions earlier. He was more than curios why have months of their work gone up in flames. A fire does not start by itself. Thinking of it made his nerves tense up. After all it was not a malicious mouse that lit the damaging flame.
"We brought a few pistols to the storage and sat down to rest for a while. Grantaire was a bit dazed with wine and he tipped over a candle stick onto a pile of papers. We tried to put it out but it caught onto the wall and started spreading." Courfeyrac blurted out. He only considered his words when he saw the look in their leader's eyes. The boy could have as well signed a death sentence on his often alcohol stunned friend.
Enjolras' features turned stone-like, but if a single glare could kill, the one he gave Grantaire would have rendered the man dead a dozen times over. He had always considered the drunk useless, never contributing to the group's work. His alcohol propelled rants were only a nuisance. The blonde only tolerated Grantaire because the rest of the Amis liked him and his questionable sense of humor. This time, however, the drunkard had gone too far.
"You worthless..." Enjolras set off from under the wall towards the dark haired man like an enraged bull. Grantaire instinctively took a step back. Seeing this, Combeferre and Courfeyrac darted to stop their leader. They both knew the blonde's attitude towards the drunk and feared that because of what happened, this could end in bloodshed.
"Enjolras, stop. It was an accident. He did not do it on purpose." Combeferre tried to reason with his angry friend.
"Of course he did not." Enjolras briefly looked at Combeferre and then turned his gaze towards Grantaire. "He does not have a purpose." he said icily, his anger taking a cold form. It was worse than if he remained enraged. When the young man's fury appeared to subside on the outside, it had in fact turned into a cruel blizzard inside of him. In that state he was no longer after physical violence towards the one that enraged him, but aimed at his opponent's soul. His friends had witnessed him capable of saying cruelly wounding words. All in a manner so calm and emotionless, that it seemed he was speaking of the weather. This detached demeanor made the content of his speech even more piercing.
"Enjolras..." Combeferre started, but he was interrupted by Grantaire who finally decided to speak for himself.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause damage." he apologized, walking closer towards the blonde and two other of his friends. 'Sorry' was quite the infantile thing to say in a situation like this. Yet, there really was nothing else he could do.
"When do you mean to cause something other than damage?" Enjolras retorted blankly.
"I mean it, Enjolras, I'm sorry. It was my fault." The drunk spoke with regret in his voice. He was like a child trying to apologize for playing with a tinderbox and setting a tablecloth on fire. "I want to make up for it. What can I do? Let me help. I want to do something."
"You want to do something? Be of assistance, hmm?" The blonde raised an eyebrow. "Then do everyone a favor, go back there and jump into that cellar." his tone remained cold and emotionless.
A dead silence fell among the gathered Amis, some of them taking brief glances at each other. Grantaire stood still, his mouth slightly open, a devastated look in his eyes. He had always adored and admired Enjolras. One would think at that moment he was actually capable of doing what his leader told him to.
The sound of an explosion tore through the air. Some of the men jumped at the sudden, thundering noise, knowing what it had meant. The fire had finally reached the gunpowder.
"Too late. A pity." Enjolras said matter-of-factly to the drunkard still staring at him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, turned on his heel and simply walked away. He did not spare another glance at the culprit behind today's unfortunate event. The young man needed to get home and wash the filth from the fire off of himself. Also, he had to find a way to somehow replace the lost supply of gunpowder and weaponry. It would not be an easy task.
Thank you for reading! Reviews will be greatly appreciated.