FINALLY! Chapter 7 is done! Of course, I don't own any of this.

The chapter title is taken for a line spoken by Enjolras. Knowing the line is this chapter's trivia question.

I am suffocating in oppressive heat. My body is shaking, perhaps trying to rid me of whatever is burning my flesh. Something cold and wet is slithering over my face, making it easier to breathe. I relax, knowing that this thing that is now inching its way down my neck will protect me. The darkness consumes me again.

The warmth around me is as comforting as the coolness that has settled on my forehead. I am lying on something soft. My body is weak; I doubt I could move if I wanted to. But the ache that has been in my muscles for so long has dissipated. Something is moving slowly through my hair, smoothing it and pushing it away from my overheated face. A low noise resonates in my ear; a sort of spoken lullaby of meaningless words. I still hear it in my dreams long after I have drifted off to sleep.

There is a warm pressure on my chest; I wonder if some small animal has fallen asleep on me. Opening my eyes causes a dull pain to shoot through my temples, but I ignore it as I have always tried to dismiss my body's weaknesses and attempt to locate the source of the pressure.

A large hand is resting over my heart. My eyes travel up the arm until they reach two mud-coloured orbs staring down at me with a relieved expression that still holds a touch of fear. "Finally decided to rejoin the world of the living, Apollo?" Grantaire tries to make the remark sound offhand, but I can hear the concern in his voice.

"What are you doing here, Winecask?" He flinches and turns away. I didn't mean it that way; I am truly surprised to find him here, for I know how little I deserve it. But should I be surprised? Where would he go if he gave up following me?

"Grantaire…" I take a deep breath. The pain in my head has doubled. "Grantaire, why are you here?" He notices the gentle quality of the words and turns back, though the tense manner with which he holds himself implies that he expects me to lash out again.

"You were so ill. I- I was afraid to leave you. But your fever broke last night… How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright." And this is mostly true. Yet I am confused by Grantaire's reference to 'last night'. Was it not only last night that the fever developed? He looks uncomfortable when I question him, innocently asking the time.

"The fever was so high, Apollo... You were delirious… The doctor talked about cutting off your hair to cool your head… I- I wouldn't let him." He looks as if he is about to cry and I wonder briefly if he is drunk. I am surprised by my lack of revulsion when he reaches out and strokes my still-long hair.

"How long was I out?"

"Three days."

My mind is flooded with a list of responsibilities. I remember with horror that I was already falling behind in my classes. I had arranged to meet with Monsieur Sorel on Sunday night. The men were due to report the results of their travels to whichever part of the city they had been assigned at our last meeting.

Ignoring the ache in my head, I kick back the blankets that Grantaire used to quell the chills that I do not remember experiencing and stagger across the room, shoving papers in my bag while simultaneously attempting to change my shirt.

My body is still weak and my fingers are trembling; I cannot manage to button my vest. Though I know it is foolish, considering all that has happened over the last several days, I find myself suddenly ashamed to be fumbling in the presence of my most loyal follower.

Most loyal. Vivien Grantaire, the drunkard who mocks me at every turn, cares more for me than all of the others combined. I wonder if I have always known that his behavior does not represent scorn for my cause, but love for me greater than that which can be felt for a mere idea. Perhaps I have, but was merely afraid to admit it to myself.

His hands are rough and calloused but so very gentle when they touch mine. I do not fight him as he removes both my vest and my bag from my hunched shoulders and guides me back to the bed.

I am glad that he does not force me to lie down, but the dizziness I thought I had shaken returns when he sits beside me, leaving his hand resting on my back.

"Don't worry about it." His voice is as soothing as his hands. Am I so starved for personal attention that I can be comforted even by Grantaire? Or does my caretaker's identity make it all the more pleasing? "It was only one day of classes, Enjolras, and we'll help you finish the other tasks. You needn't run this entire revolution by yourself."

'Enjolras'. It still has that prayer-like quality when he says it. 'We'. He is including himself in the group of people that will assist me, and I somehow believe him completely.

I want to put my head on his shoulder and stay safe within his grasp until the world rights itself without my help. The walls I have so carefully built are lying around me in pieces and I desperately wish I did not have to resurrect them.

My spirit nearly breaks as I look at Grantaire with calm approval and flatly say, "Thank you."

He looks as crushed as I feel. Please, Grantaire, the human inside me begs. Say something. You've been here caring for my body all these days. Now help my soul. I don't want to shut you out. I'm afraid!

"Of what?"

My face drains of colour as I realize that I have spoken the last sentence aloud. How do I explain this away? How do I-

Something within me snaps; some dam I built without even realizing what I was blocking cracks. Grantaire draws back when I look at him, for he is startled by what he sees in my eyes. It is the expression a drowning man gives his rescuer as he tries to grasp the proffered rope.

"Of losing. Of destroying the lives of all these young men who have put their faith in me. I am afraid that my life is drawing to a close and I will have nothing to show for all my time here; that when it is all laid out for the angels, I will find that my words were never heard." Something hard presses against my throat, making it difficult to continue speaking. "I am afraid to be afraid, or to feel anything at all, for it may weaken me… and my ability to lead. I am afraid to let them see beyond the mask of marble. I- Why is it such a crime for me to be human?"

I bury my face in my trembling hands and sob. My mind scolds me, shouting that I am behaving like an obnoxious child, that what I am doing is embarrassing and undignified, but I cannot stop. And despite the dull shame burning in the pit of my stomach, it is a comfort to release my pain at long last. Grantaire pulls me tightly against him; I lean into the embrace, overcome by a feeling of safety.

"You are the only person who believes you should be inhuman, Enjolras. The others simply accept the fact that you are due to your behavior. But I'm smarter than they; it's why I pester you so terribly. I want to pull you off your gilded pedestal, Apollo, so you'll take a moment to be yourself. You're a better man than that cruel statue."

They are the words I have needed for so very long. I know that I cannot be anything other than a gilded idol for the others, but perhaps, with this one man…

I do not respond to Grantaire; there are no words suitable for what I feel, which I myself do not fully understand. He holds me tighter, acknowledging that he has felt my nod of gratitude and wordlessly responding that he understands once again.

I awake without having any recollection of falling asleep. Grantaire has placed me back under the blankets and left the room. He is at my side in an instant, however, when I groan after a failed attempt to sit up in bed. Was he watching me from the doorway?

We do not mention what transpired before I fell asleep. He asks me if I am hungry; I answer in the affirmative. I thank him when he brings me food and when he clears the tray. At eight o'clock, he insists that I go to sleep and assures me that he will not prevent me from returning to my hectic routine as long as my fever is completely gone by morning. I assume that he is going to spend the night, but I do not know precisely where and cannot find the courage to inquire.

He sleeps in the hard wooden chair beside my bed, not even borrowing one of my many blankets to keep comfortable. His large eyes are already open and staring at me when I finally manage to pull my heavy eyelids back. He smiles warmly at me, the sort of look only shared between friends. Are we friends? I hope so.

"Morning, Apollo. Going to try to face the world today?"

"If you'll let me, doctor." I don't know why I said that. Neither, apparently, does Grantaire.

"My God, Apollo! An offhand, jocular comment directed at your pathetic Winecask? The fever must have damaged you mind." He flashes me that lopsided grin I have so often wished to tear from his face. "Get yourself ready; I'll fix breakfast."

My table cannot be used for eating; it has been swallowed up in books, papers, maps, and far too many unfinished speeches. Grantaire therefore pulls two chairs next to my unoccupied bed and places plates of toast and cheese on the mattress.

We eat together in comfortable silence, though I notice Grantaire shooting me several worried looks. He presses money into my hand as I step out the door of my flat, making me promise to take a cab to the university. I agree without protest.

"Enjolras!" Even when shouting, he makes my name sound lovelier than if it were sung by an opera star. The cabby stays his whip just an inch from his horse's flank as Grantaire leans in the small window to speak to me. "If you feel ill, come back and rest. I'll come by in the afternoon to see if you need anything. Just swear to me that you won't push yourself."

The concern filling his eyes somehow makes his unappealing features align in a way I had never before seen. He looks- not handsome, no- but peaceful and strong, descriptions I could never before have believed he would achieve. "Of course I will. I wouldn't want to end up back in your care." I smile as I say it, and he smiles back.

Though I am plagued by a slight headache throughout the day, I do not return to my flat and am quite looking forward to tonight's meeting at the Café Musain. Hopefully, the men were responsible enough not to abandon their tasks in my absence.

I am greeted by cheerful shouts as I enter the back room of the café. The men declare that they have missed me and are glad I have returned. (How can they miss me, I wonder; they do not know me.) Comberferre claps me on the shoulder and asks if Grantaire cared for me well. I very nearly answer that if he were concerned, he could have checked in on me, that Grantaire was a better caretaker than any of them. But Marcellin has spoken out far too often as of late. I assure him that Grantaire was quite sufficient, I did not need looking after, and we had best get on to the meeting if they wanted to go home before midnight.

I am pleased at the productivity of my men; our weapons count is slowly increasing, as is the number of men who will be bearing them. We will be ready to fight by the end of May, or mid June at the latest. Four months, then. In all likelihood, I have four months to live.

Best make them count, then, a voice in my head suggests. Four months to live. It'd be a shame if you didn't live them to the fullest.

I turn to Grantaire, sitting at his table as always, once all the others have gone home. But something is different tonight. His eyes are clear and focused unwaveringly on my face. The expression on his ugly face is not the least bit mocking; I cannot fathom the look he is giving me, but I believe it most resembles loneliness.

"Something on your mind, Grantaire?'

"You sounded amazing tonight, Apollo. Did you make the speech more powerful than usual to make up for the lost nights?"

"Perhaps this was the first time you listened properly to what I was saying."

It wasn't meant as a reprimand and he does not take it as such. He thinks about his answer; it is the first time I've ever seen him consider his words. "I always listen, Enjolras; I'm just usually too afraid to hear." He stands, emerging from the safe shadows that share his corner, and sits by me in the center of the room. "I don't know if we'll win, Apollo; even you can't answer that. But is it worth dying for? I want it to be, but…I'm sorry. Am I talking my usual nonsense?"

"Of course not. You saw me just yesterday hesitate. It's a hard choice to attempt what we are doing."

The familiar wry smile creeps onto his face, but tonight it is marred by sorrow. "You worry about the others, great leader, about hurting them, and whether or not you'll bring change to France. Have you ever thought of running for your cause simply because you don't want to die?"

"No," I answer honestly.

He takes my delicate hand in his rough ones, swallowing the cold marble in coarse calluses, tense with emotion. "Give me that strength. Please, Enjolras!"

My mind struggles to form words that his cynicism can comprehend, but my heart answers before it has the chance. Somehow, I have always known the truth of what I am saying, though the words never occurred to me before. "You have it Grantaire. You see the unfair nature of our country, and of course you want things to improve. Hiding down a bottle was your method of escape, but as drunk as you were, you always came here, always listened. You heard my words and paid enough attention to see more of me than any of the others have. You're sober tonight. You were sober all those days you spent looking after me. Because I needed you, and you care enough to leave the haven of the green faerie to do what is required. If France were to ask, I do not believe you would hesitate in offering whatever you could to save her."

He looks away, and I fear I have said too much. I am about to stand and leave when he speaks, the words are soaked with unshed tears. "You believe in me."

Somehow, he is in my arms, sobbing unabashedly and clutching my neck. It is strange, I muse, that I reached such an emotional low yesterday that I was reduced to weeping on his shoulder, and today I have found the strength to comfort him, something he has silently begging me to do for years.

Why does this feel so right? I run my fingers through his hair, smoothing each tangle and knot along the way. He is apologizing for his behavior, but cannot stop the torrent of tears washing his face. "Shh. It's alright. We'll be fine. If we die, we die knowing it was right. Hush, now, Vivien."

In several minutes, the sobs have subsided into gentle sniffles. He looks up at me, a warm smile glowing like a rainbow through the residue of sorrow on his cheeks. "I know you aren't a god, Enjolras, but sometimes I think you truly are an angel."

Without another word, he disentangles himself from my arms, stands swiftly and leaves. But as he passes me, he pauses for a fraction of a second and kisses the top of my head.

I have but four months to live, yet this is the first moment I feel truly alive.

Hope you enjoyed! PLEASE REVIEW! I really need help with this.

PS. Is this really OOC and awkward? I think OOC, no; awkward, yes!