Les Hommes de la Miséricorde
(Men of Mercy)
A/N: Hi all! Wow, thank all of you again for the support this story is getting, it's just amazing! I'm doing my best to respond to everyone's reviews, but if I didn't last time around, I will this time. Thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing, and following. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter 7: Revelations
Grantaire feels five pairs of eyes staring back at him.
"Did you…hear me?" he asks slowly. "I said I overheard…"
"We heard you," Combeferre says, placing a friendly hand on Grantaire's shoulder. "We're just…processing."
"Let me get this straight," Courfeyrac says, running his hands through his tuft of dark brown hair. "The inspector who infiltrated our barricade, the inspector we all thought killed by Monsieur Fauchelevant himself, accosted Monsieur Fauchelevant outside the sewers and let him go with Marius?"
"Yes," Grantaire answers. He knows full well it sounds insane, but he saw what he saw.
"And called him by the name Valjean and… 24601," Feuilly adds, perplexed.
"French prisoners are branded with numbers," Enjolras adds, finally speaking up. "Usually on their arms."
"That's what I remembered," Grantaire says, nodding. "But if he's some sort of of ex-convict, I mean, that's almost in our favor, isn't it? At first I was suspicious, but…"
"He'd certainly know how to keep out from under the police," Combeferre finishes. "Unless he's actually dangerous, although he hardly seems it…"
"He's not," Gavroche pipes up, ever ready with a piece of information. "I've known him for a while…him and Cosette, they give money and food to the poor a few times a week, me included. He wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Unless they're a member of the National Guard," Courfeyrac says. "He's a damn good shot."
"But why would the inspector let him go?" Enjolras asks, his brow furrowed. "That doesn't make any sense, especially if he had Marius in tow. It would have been obvious he was one of us. It seems Monsieur Fauchelevent risked more to save us than we even realized."
"We need to ask him about it," Grantaire says, firm. "He's said he wants to do whatever he can to help us and even though I normally wouldn't trust a stranger, my gut tells me to trust him. But I would like to know who he really is. There's too much danger afoot to keep secrets at this point."
"Even if he was a convict," Feuilly muses, looking around at his friends. "I don't know that it makes me trust him any less. We're all well versed in the injustice of the French penal system, and he saved our lives with every risk to his own. But I agree Grantaire, talking to him seems best."
"Providing he wants us to know his true identity," Combeferre remarks. "But who are we to care what his past is, if he saved our lives?"
"I agree, but before we speak to him we need to impart this information to Marius," Enjolras says. "It only seems right, considering that he's Monsieur Fauchelevent's potential son-in-law, and he might help us convince Fauchelevent that we don't care about his past, that who he is now is what matters. Although I don't know how that's possible at the moment with him at his grandfather's home and us unable to safely leave this house."
"If I know Marius," Courfeyrac says, with the tiniest hint of his usual smile. "And I think I do, he'll find his way here soon enough, no matter how injured he is. Cosette tells me he'll hardy settle down for worrying about us. Man's stubborn."
"Cosette told me that as well," Enjolras responds, his eyes drooping slightly, heavy with a toxic mix of pain and sleep, patches of red popping up on his skin again.
"Enjolras," Combeferre says almost immediately. "You need rest; your fever's going back up. How's the pain?"
"It's…" Enjolras trails off, clenching his teeth against a fresh onslaught.
"You need more Laudanum," Combeferre says, reaching for the bottle and leaving absolutely no room for argument.
An expression of weary defiance crosses Enjolras' face but he nods, shutting his eyes against the foul taste of the medication.
"Go get some sleep in some actual beds, the lot of you," he murmurs. "That's not a request."
"Absolutely, Apollo," Grantaire teases lightly, melancholy filling him to the brim; he can't stand seeing Enjolras like this, and if he's honest, the thought of anything happening to him fills Grantaire with more fear than seeing the National Guard burst through the barricade.
But Enjolras is already asleep.
Silence, anxiety, and grief cloak the room, hanging over their heads like the blackest rain cloud. They've been so busy escaping from the barricade and worrying over Enjolras and Marius that there's been little time to process what they've been through, to process the massive loss that hurts far too much for discussion just yet. Gavroche has fallen asleep so quietly that none of them noticed, and Grantaire retrieves him with gentle hands and curls him up in a vacant chair in case Enjolras wakes up thrashing from another nightmare.
"Combeferre," Feuilly says seriously. "Is Enjolras honestly going to be alright?"
Feuilly's never been one to mince words, and Grantaire watches Combeferre meet his eyes directly over his glasses, a shimmer of very real fear there.
"I…he should be," Combeferre answers. "I just…I need this fever to go down because it could turn ugly before I even know what's happening. Monsieur Fauchelevent sent a note to Doctor Figueron asking him to come tonight so he can check in. Marius is lucky; I don't know how he escaped that sewer without an infection, but I'm immensely grateful he did, especially with that abdomen wound."
"Probably because Monsieur Fauchelevent carried him," Grantaire says, a rush of hot guilt spreading through him. "Enjolras got stuck with me."
"Don't you dare say that," Courfeyrac says, harsher than Grantaire's ever remembered hearing him. "You were ready to get shot with him if that National Guardsman army general hadn't changed his mind and helped us instead. And you carried him all the way here with almost no assistance."
"He's right," Combeferre replies. "We can't blame ourselves…we…it won't bring our friends back, and it won't make Enjolras or Marius better. Enjolras feels guilty enough for all of us, and I did my best to soothe that."
"Rationally he knows we were all in this as much as he was, that all of us knew what we were getting into," Feuilly says wisely, hand absentmindedly smoothing Enjolras' covers. "But the emotions of a person are less forgiving, and I'm certain the fever isn't helping."
"They'll be hunting us, won't they?" Grantaire asks, unable to keep that particular idea to himself anymore. "For all of us, but for Enjolras especially. All the police in the city know him, know he led us."
"We're all considered traitors," Combeferre answers. "They'll have noticed Enjolras' absence for certain, and that inspector seeing Monsieur Fauchelevent with Marius complicates things…" he pauses briefly, unsure how to continue. "We're together and we're alive, and right now that's what matters. We will keep each other safe."
Silence falls amongst them again, the ghosts of their so recently deceased friends present in their overwhelming, crushing absence.
Valjean is near a set of shops looking for spare clothing for the boys when he lays eyes on the first one.
A poster with a strikingly accurate sketch of Enjolras' face.
Wanted alive for treason against the state…
The barricade fell barely two days ago and they're already hunting the boy.
Valjean decides that when Cosette goes to visit Marius tomorrow he will speak privately with M. Gillenormand; sooner rather than later, he imagines, these boys will need to get out of Paris, and the assistance of Marius' grandfather would be an immense help. Grandfather and grandson might have had a falling out over politics, but now the elderly man is relieved beyond measure that Marius was alive. He'd offered assistance to Valjean in any way he could, and took to Cosette almost immediately; Valjean's quite sure the man's already planning the wedding.
"I'll be damned if Marius or any of those boys come to harm if I am capable of preventing it," he'd said. "I might not understand their actions, but they're just school boys."
Valjean steps closer to the poster, amazed at its accuracy. Enjolras is wanted alive, he suspects, so that the government can make a very public example of him, and Valjean feels a sharp surge of protective instinct flood through him. He's only known these boys for a few days, but affection for them already burgeons in his heart. He'd caught Grantaire looking at him for longer than seemed normal this morning while they ate, and a sharp anxiety twinges in his stomach; he wonders if Grantaire overheard his confrontation with Javert.
His past and his potential future are colliding, and he knows now that he cannot wait until he's gone from this world to tell Cosette the truth.
And if Cosette knows, Marius will have to know.
And if Grantaire heard him, there's no way around the truth. But, he tells himself, they are also running from the law.
A voice snaps him not so gently out of his musings and he turns around, a young police officer standing behind him.
"That's the leader of the last barricade that fell," the officer says, stepping up next to Valjean. "He wasn't among the bodies. You're looking at the poster awfully intently monsieur, have you seen him?"
"Oh, no," Valjean responds, hoping he sounds nonchalant, believable, and not like he wants to run away as fast as his legs can take him. "I read in the paper about the barricades, but I've never seen this boy. He looks young," he says casually, stepping back.
"Ruddy schoolboys," the officers says, and Valjean thinks he looks like no more than a schoolboy himself. "There's a great deal of dead bodies because of them and their ridiculous ideals." His eyes look down, landing on the rather large amount of bags in Valjean's hands. "I see you've been doing some shopping, monsieur. Do you have a big family?"
"Seven sons," Valjean says, smiling. "One daughter. It's a bit…hectic in our house at the moment, so I'd best be getting back."
"Of course," the officer says, apologetic. "But if you see this rebel, do come into the station."
"I will," Valjean says, tasting the lie on his tongue before walking away at a normal pace so as not to arouse suspicion.
He rounds the corner and goes out of sight, watching as the officer walks away and exhaling a breath he'd been holding for longer than he realized. He remains there for a moment, cautious eyes flitting over a pair of women standing near the poster, carefully observing the officer depart before breaking into whispers he can't make out from his position. One is younger, probably somewhere around twenty-eight with long brown hair, but the other woman is a bit older, long blonde hair shining in the sunlight, her clothes suggesting she comes from wealth. She turns her head, and he's taken aback by her eyes.
They're bright, piercing blue, and they look identical to Enjolras'.
He moves closer, feigning a glance at one of the shops, their soft conversation floating into his ears just enough to make sense of.
"There's…" the blonde woman says, very clearly trying to keep her composure but only partially succeeding. "There's already posters up."
"That must mean they're alive," the younger woman says in a whisper. "I just…"
"Don't know where," says the blonde woman, who looks over at Valjean again. She catches his eye and he waves them over. They're hesitant at first, but after a moment the older woman takes the brunette's hand and walks over to him.
"Monsieur," says the older woman, one brow raised. "Were you listening to our conversation?"
"Am I correct in assuming that the both of you are relatives of boys who have been at the barricade?" he asks in response.
"Are you a police officer?" she shoots back, and he knows instantly that this must be Enjolras' mother; the resemblance is uncanny in more ways than one.
"No, Madame," Valjean says, very nearly laughing at the irony. "I am not. But I need you to answer my question."
His eyes dart around the surrounding area, but there's no sign of any more officers.
"Yes," she whispers, a fragile sound edging into her voice. "Yes. My son was there, and her brother," she continues, pulling the other woman forward slightly. "Rene Enjolras and Lucien Grantaire." She says the names so quietly Valjean barely hears them.
"They're at my home," he says, matching her volume level and leaning in closer. "I helped a few boys escape, your son and your brother included."
"Who?" the younger woman asks.
"Enjolras, Grantaire, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Marius," Valjean answers. "And their young friend Gavroche."
"Just who you said," Enjolras' mother breathes, glancing at Grantaire's sister. "What kind of state are they in? Are they hurt? Is Rene hurt?"
Valjean hesitates, and that's all the evidence Enjolras' mother needs.
"How badly?" she asks, absentmindedly squeezing her companion's hand. "What happened?"
"Enjolras was shot twice," he says, gentle as possible with such harsh news. "Once in the shoulder, once in the leg, and he acquired an infection, but I summoned a doctor who is very positive about his prognosis as long as the infection doesn't get out of control. I promise you Madame, they're well taken care of. The others are fine…or as fine as would be expected."
"Why would you rescue them?" she insists. "I don't…"
"My daughter is in love with Monsieur Marius," Valjean says, putting a very careful hand on her shoulder. "And when I saw my opportunity to save some of the other boys, I took it."
"Thank you," Madame Enjolras says, softening. She reaches out for his hand and clasps it briefly, trusting him.
"You are a blessing monsieur…" Grantaire's sister says, realizing she doesn't know his name.
"Fauchelevent," he finishes. "And please, come with me. My carriage is just down the street."
And so they follow.
Combeferre doesn't expect the sudden, horrified shout that echoes through the room.
Across from him, Grantaire jolts from his slumber, Courfeyrac's eyes go so wide they look about to pop, Feuilly jumps, and Gavroche's hands clench into fists at his sides.
Enjolras sits up, the scream turning into a hoarse cough on his lips, his breaths shallow, ragged, and sharp.
"Enjolras," Combeferre says, heart throbbing with agony at seeing his best friend like this, and fights to keep his emotions in control. "Enjolras, you were dreaming, it's alright."
But it's not.
Enjolras' cheeks are flaming red and he's shivering to the point of convulsing, goose bumps racing up and down his arms in droves. Enjolras looks up at him, eyes shining with a fever that rages like wildfire.
"Combeferre?" he asks. "Is that you?"
"Yes Enjolras, yes," he says, placing a hand on Enjolras' head, heat radiating from his skin.
"Tell," Enjolras stammers, a far cry from his usual eloquence. "Tell Joly to come over here and help you."
Combeferre feels a metaphorical fist punch him in the chest at the sound of their dead friend's name, at the idea that in his feverish state, Enjolras has forgotten he's dead.
Or worse, he's hallucinating.
"Enjolras," he asks, slow and deliberate with his words. "Do you see Joly?"
"Of course," Enjolras responds, annoyed. "He's right outside the door."
Combeferre closes his eyes for a moment, a whirlpool of dread starting in his stomach and growing with each second.
"Enjolras," he says, forcing the long withheld tears from his voice. "Joly died at the barricade."
"No," Enjolras insists, angry now. "He's right there. You see him, don't you Courfeyrac? Grantaire? Feuilly?"
"Enjolras," Feuilly says, voice tremulous with emotion. "He's not here."
"He is!" Enjolras roars. "He…"
A furious convulsion cuts off his protest and he falls against the pillow, wrapping his arms around himself, blonde hair sticking to his forehead. Before Combeferre even asks, Cosette appears at his side with cold cloths.
Enjolras, however, is not ready to cooperate, thrashing violently when they come near.
"Grantaire, Courfeyrac, hold him please," Combeferre says. "Feuilly, if you will please take Gavroche, he doesn't need to see this."
All three do as Combeferre directs, and for once Gavroche doesn't argue.
Combeferre pulls the blanket off and Enjolras attempts to curl into himself, but Grantaire and Courfeyrac's hold on him makes it impossible.
"We need to cool his whole body down, and he's not going to like it because he's freezing even if his body is far warmer than it should be," Combeferre says. "So keep a firm hold on him."
"Papa hasn't returned with the carriage yet," Cosette says, a resolute expression on her face. "But I'm taking a fiacre and retrieving Doctor Figeuron, and then dropping a note at Marius' grandfather's home. He needs to know what's happening."
"Thank you, Cosette," Combeferre answers, grateful.
"I'll go as quickly as possible," she answers. "And I'll tell Toussaint to bring more towels up."
The moment she's gone Combeferre looks at Courfeyrac and Grantaire; terror flashes in their eyes, but they're determined to help their friend.
"Enjolras," Combeferre says, leaning down and speaking softly so as not to alarm him further. "I'm going to remove your shirt so I can try and cool down your body, alright?"
For a brief moment the man beneath the fever emerges and nods, limping against Grantaire and Courfeyrac's grip, exhaustion winning out.
But Combeferre knows full well it won't last, and he silently prays to whoever might listen that Enjolras survives the night.
A/N: Before anyone freaks out, I promise you I'm not going to kill Enjolras, not after I've already saved him! :) His getting worse leads to a couple of other planned plot points, so never fear.
