LOVELIES! Where art thou lovelies? Few people are reviewing and it makes me sad :'( so i gave you a fast update, b/c i'm bein nice! This one's a little fluffy and hints at the upcoming E/R.. And I know Javert is WAY OOC and it was weird, but that's how i'm taking him...

I hope you enjoy this chapter, its a poignant filler(ish) and slightly cheesy, but I hope you enjoy it! So.. PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT OR REVIEW!

Warning: Fluff

Disclaimer: Nope...


Chapter 9: Peace amidst War

The very though made him shudder, but still he marched on, praying to God on High to bring these children home.

As the moon made her ascent and soon descent across the somber sky, the boys found their places scattered among the nooks and crevices their barricade had to offer.

Wedged between the broken piano and someone's university desk (he wouldn'tve been surprised if Courfeyac, in his excitement, had been the one to give this particular donation.), he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, releasing a breath he felt he'd held since the Inspector had disappeared with two members of their group, members who and fallen into harms way because of his cause.

Pulling his eyelids closer together, as if to shut out everything around him, Enjolras wanted to scream out loud, to walk over to the other side and personally beat every last officer who even thought of raising a gun to his friends, his family. Was he really as blind as people spoke of behind closed doors? Whispered behind his back? Was he leading his friends to slaughter? Not intentionally of course, for had he known the other side would be fully weaponized, he too would've armed his men.

Enjolras's eyes snapped open at the thought. Would, if they had the proper equipment, they fight back? Fight fire with fire? Would he be a reincanation of that forgotten student leader of the rebellions of the 1830s, bringing arms against a far more powerful force and knowing hours before it'd be his last day on earth? Was he the man willing to die for Patria?

He snapped his eyes shut once more, a far more fearful question coming forth in his mind. Was he a man willing to risk the lives of his friends for Patria?

His personal torment was ended by a soft cough near by, alerting him of someone's presence.

He opened his eyes to see Grantaire seated by him, his large bloodshot coffee eyes were full of worry and guilt and Enjolras had a feeling he knew the reason for the latter.

"Apollo? Are you all right? You've been blinking oddly for the last ten minutes." The drunk spoke quietly, it was this hushed tone that brought to Enjolras's attention that everyone else upon the wooden structure was either asleep or nearing sleep, the days events and the fear of tomorrow wearing the young men's energy.

Before he could answer, or truly comprehend what the cynic had asked him, he did a mental scan of the structure, making sure all of his men were accounted for. Joly was curled into Bousset's lap, the latter was leaning against the door to the Corinthe, or, as it had been earlier, the makeshift hospital. Bahorel was propped up against a stack of crates, his heavy eyelids drooping every once and a while, but he'd attempt to snap them open. Feuilly was not far from the fighter, thought from his perch on the top crate, he was fighting the sandman, in fact, (despite the uncomfortable position.) he seemed to welcome sleep like a worthy friend. Marius leaned against a large bed frame, a paper, most probably a love letter from Cosette, clutched lightly in his hands. Enjolras's heart clenched when he found his two closest friends, huddled close to each for comfort, each pining for the loss of their loved one. Courfeyac was resting his head in Combeferre's lap, his lean form still shaking slightly with dying sobs while Combeferre's head was leaned back and his usual thoughtful blue eyes were sealed behind their magnifiers, creases of worry marring his usual calm face.

Finally Enjolras's eyes found his last member expected at the barricade, the cynic. The cynic who's large fragile eyes were sopped with unspent tears and heavy with a longing for not only an answer to the question asked, but also to something more that Enjolras could not yet understand.

"Pollo?" Grantaire questioned once again, his voice even softer.

The leader sighed and hung his head, his halo like golden curls falling mortally around his weary face.

"Have I led you all to slaughter Taire? Am I a horrible leader?" He asked, cringing at how pathetic his voice sounded.

Grantaire looked affronted by the question, how could his Apollo feel guilt for something he had to guilt to feel for? He didn't know the opposition would have guns! And if he had, he wouldn't lead his friends into battle without protection, if at all!

"Enjolras look at me." The drunk commanded, trying to keep the multiple bottles of wine swimming in his system under control.

The leader for his sake looked surprised to hear such authority uttered by the drunk and he could not help but comply to the request.

Icy sapphire blue met watery warm brown and something stirred inside Grantaire enough for the cynic to reach an hand up and cup the back of Enjolras's neck, forcing the eye contact that much more.

"Enjolras listen to me." He began. "You have not led us into an suicide mission, we have are all here willingly to fight for a cause that's not only yours, but so many others as well. I don't think anyone at this barricade would ever think of abandoning you or that you forced them to be here. You are our leader Enjolras, if you lose faith, if your beacon of passion goes out, then we are ships lost a sea without a lighthouse to guide us home. Enjolras don't blame yourself for the evils of a president who should very well be fired. We might not have guns, but we have a structure that was built by people who believe in what you say, stand for what you say. Enj, you are the guiding force in seeing this cause survive. Yes, it's not only you fighting it, but if we didn't have a man like you at the helm, this whole operation would've grounded out eons ago. Don't lose faith mon ami, you're all we have to keep the flame alive."

Grantaire finished his little speech, but he could almost feel the remaining dregs of alcohol dissipate from his system, along with any confidence he once had brining himself up to speak with the golden leader.

It was the resounding silence that brought Grantaire's confidence down further, he dropped his hand from Enjolras's neck, broke the contact with him and turned to leave him alone, but a hand on his wrist pulled him back around.

"R, what is all of this, I thought you didn't believe in fighting for this cause." Enjolras questioned, his eyebrows long since missing within his haloed curls.

Grantaire couldn't help but smile shyly. "I might not believe in fighting for it, but I believe in you and that single belief has kept me coming back for years, so if you go out, then there'll be no one left for me to believe in."

Enjolras was silent for a moment, soaking in what Grantaire had told him. The fears of the earlier evening seemed to lessen and a small smile even played on the leader's lips.

Grantaire, noticing this, lifted his bottle slightly before breathing in to take up in an old drinking song they once sang together.

"Drink with me, to days gone by."

"Taire," Enjolras chided, but couldn't help but smile as he was pulled into the soothing melody.

"Sing with me, the songs we knew."

Combeferre, who'd been awake throughout the two men's conversation also managed to smile as he heard the old tune, the line he intoned bringing one particular girl to the forefront.

"Here's to pretty girls who went to our heads."

Courfeyac smiled from the guides lap.

"Here's to pretty girls who went to our beds."

Combeferre slapped him slightly over the head, but all four managed to sing,

"Here's to them and here's to you."

The other's turned their heads to hear their comrades sing of days of old. Nights at the Musain, curled around the couches, laughing over something long forgotten. Rainy days when the fire placed roared and Musichetta made the best espresso hot chocolate concoction anyone had ever experienced. Winter nights where they closed shop early and all gathered around the couches in the back curled and cuddled around blankets and each other, singing the song they all found so familiar, though swore Grantaire made up one night in a drunken haze.

They all knew the last verse, the one they'd added together,

"Drink with me, to days gone by, to the life that sued to be.

At the shrine of friendship never say die. Let the wine of friendship never run dry

Here's to them, and here's to you."

They finished and once more silence fell over the barricade, but somehow the tension in the air lessened and sleep came easier to the young men as they re-nuzzled into their spaces.

Grantaire made to escape back to his hole in the Corinth, but a single hand on his own stopped him.

He turned to find Enjolras's cooling blue eyes boring into his own.

"Can you stay up here with me?" He whispered, Grantaire's eyes widened comically. "To help me keep watch." The leader quickly amended, a blush as red as his jacket creeping onto his cheeks.

"Of course Apollo." Grantaire smiled, settling himself down next to the marble leader and letting his eyes drift lazily out to the seemingly quiet street.

As sleep began to take its tool on the young cynic, he found his head sinking onto the leader's shoulder. Nearly snapping awake to remove it he froze when he heard his Apollo chuckle slightly.

Testing his fate once more, he hovered his head over the blonde's shoulder whispering his very simple request.

"Permit-tu?"

He smiled and nuzzled onto the shoulder when he heard a soft and sleep laced.

"Bien sur."

And there on the Barricade, despite the imminent danger of the next day, the boys found their sleep and even, in the heat of the fight, the cynic and his Apollo found peace.

Valjean observed from his ever vigilant post in the Corinth and as he watched silently as the young leader's body sagged with sleep, he knelt to the floor and began his evening prayer.


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Until next time ;) 3