Joly

Their first case had Enjolras internally nervous. Courfeyrac had briefed him fully. Bossuet had given him a smile, and then he was putting on a show for the judge and jury. He spoke with confidence and precision, knowing that he'd always have such gifts, that he could be forceful, make them believe in the truth that he encompassed. Make them believe this because if they didn't, a life was on the line.

Granted, this was smaller in scope as compared to what he used to do, but speaking out to a smaller group of people felt less restricting. The people were here because they wanted to be convinced of something. They wanted to believe either innocent or guilty, and their minds could be changed.

Nothing was set in stone. He wasn't dealing with an angry mob. He could speak freely, not have to watch what he said, and for a few minutes, he felt what Courfeyrac had felt before. This was what freedom felt like.

And for just a few minutes in that courtroom, he was soaring.

"Objection!"

His momentum halted as Enjolras paused in his speech, mental wheels turning. Did he hit a snag somewhere?

"I object on the grounds of this man. What does he know about freedom?"

The rest of the speech sizzled out within his head. Enjolras didn't dare turn his head to regard his own persecutor.

"Objection sustained." The judge leaned over his pedestal to regard Enjolras. "You shouldn't be speaking at all. You went against liberty. You betrayed your country."

Enjolras stepped back, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to - it wasn't like that.." But there was nothing he could say that dismissed the truth. Bossuet turned his head away while Courfeyrac looked so disappointed. "Please," Enjolras said to no one, even though he had the impression that he was speaking to himself. "Please, another chance! Let me have another chance!"

But the barricade was fallen and the Republic was restored. He was lost in what to do and the sea of faces who had once hung on his every word now looked to him with scorn and derision.

"It wasn't my fault!"

Their faces changed into those of his attackers, their outfits becoming uniforms. They shifted together, becoming one mass flood of people that swarmed over him, and he could feel the knife, the fire, the various fluids that they tried to drown him within, and the humiliation and grief that he couldn't relinquish.

When they parted, he was left a bleeding wreck. Tears threatened to fall as he hoisted himself off the ground. Within his mind, he can see the distant world of the abstract start to emerge, still pitch black, but there were some parts within it that called out to him.

The light of the sun came down against the floor. Enjolras yearned to move into it, to crawl into it if need be, but it was already occupied.

Bahorel stared up at him, his eyes sad. "Why didn't you save me?"

Enjolras jolted awake, draped in a cold sweat, one hand clutched firmly on the covers. He immediately felt another presence in the room and looked over at Grantaire, who was still sitting in his chair but his lower body was upon Enjolras' bed. His arms cradled his head while he lay there, his eyes slightly open.

Despite his close proximity, he looked like the most unintimidating man Enjolras had ever seen.

"I heard you in the other room," Grantaire said as he lifted his head. He rubbed any residual sleep out of his eyes. "You were crying out."

Enjolras wiped away some of the sweat from his forehead. "Just a dream."

"I know. Still, I was hoping my presence could cheer you up. Combeferre once said that you could talk to comatose patients and they would hear your voice. They may not understand what you're saying, but your voice would pull them back a little."

"I wasn't comatose."

"What is sleep if not going into something of a coma? Can you imagine if we had to explain to someone who never slept what sleeping actually is; from the action to the cause of? Who would believe it?" Getting more invigorated with each word that passed through his lips, Grantaire gave Enjolras a smile. "It's when the body lays down and goes into a static position for multiple hours in the night. It responds to very little, unconscious of the world. The brain alternately shuts down and speeds up. The person sometimes will hallucinate either beautiful or terrible imagery. Then suddenlt the body switches back into its active stance and the person goes on as normal. And chooses to do it all again the next night."

Enjolras glanced at Grantaire. The small smile that toyed at the corner of his mouth gave Grantaire enough confidence to reach out and push away a strand of Enjolras' hair behind his ear.

"Perhaps you have dreamed too much," he said, his voice descending to a soft whisper. He couldn't outright state just how scared he had felt when Enjolras had been tossing and turning, grappling with the covers, and crying out. There were no precise words, which left Grantaire thankful. What would words help in such a situation? He knew the general feeling of what was happening with Enjolras. The dream would be easy enough to decipher even if he didn't have the details. Nothing in Enjolras' life that Grantaire could see would make such a large impression save for that night.

He yearned to make things better, not just for Enjolras' sake but for his own. How could he possibly sleep knowing that in the next room, Enjolras was fighting a battle that he couldn't even watch let alone fight with him? Things had been getting better since he first stayed over at Enjolras' place. Combeferre had him talking more, and Enjolras had sounded almost eager when he told them of Courfeyrac's suggestion. It wasn't the enthusiasm that Grantaire had been hoping for, but he knew better than to expect the recovery to come at leaps and bounds.

Courfeyrac and Bossuet had granted him another lease on life, which absolved them a little in Grantaire's mind.

He hadn't been awake for that night. He had slept on in a drunken haze while Enjolras was violated in the worst way possible. It hadn't mattered to him that even if he had been awake there likely still wasn't anything he could do. It was still enough for him to give up drinking in repentance, a punishment that still made him nauseous and added to his restless sleep.

But the others?

They had been awake. Conscious of the screams. Did they count them? Did they try to stop Enjolras' suffering? There was precious little Grantaire heard about their reactions that day, but the fact that Enjolras had continued to be tormented while his friends stayed safe on the other side of the barricade did not sit well with him.

Not that he spoke of his feelings to anyone. The closest person who was there was Combeferre, and not only was the man putting Enjolras' physical recovery all on his shoulders, but he was forever in the earshot of Enjolras. Grantaire wasn't about to rage at Combeferre and chance upsetting Enjolras.

Enjolras had served his time. Had served all their times. He took enough onto himself, and it was because of doing so that his recovery wasn't progressing as quickly as it could. Grantaire could understand that. Enjolras just wouldn't be Enjolras if he laid the blame at another's feet.

It didn't mean that Grantaire had to like it.

So he slept over at Enjolras' place, making dinner for all three of them, and promised Combeferre that Enjolras would be safe with him. Combeferre allowed it because Enjolras allowed it. Enjolras allowed it because, deep down, he did feel safer with a guard. Grantaire also knew Enjolras well enough to think that Enjolras wasn't all that pleased with his fear.

Grantaire still took advantage and kept himself useful. He stayed out of Enjolras' way for the most part, but made sure his friend had something good to come home to, either a clean apartment or some food, or just a friend to talk to in case the day had been a particularly bad one. He wanted to make himself a fixture physically in Enjolras' life since he doubted he could make himself an emotional place of stability.

So on nights when Enjolras nearly shook the walls with his pleas or cries that never formed the word 'help', Grantaire was there by his side, keeping his head down because he didn't want Enjolras to wake up and be terrified of the looming figure that sat by his bedside.

The moments of vulnerability tugged on Grantaire's heart ferociously, and he ignored the feelings of doubt that plagued him. Enjolras would recover. He had seen it before. Nights like these or days in which Enjolras came home in silence were still coming, but they were growing further and further apart.

"I've been thinking about asking Combeferre for something to help me sleep," Enjolras admitted. "But to do so would be to worry him and I've little desire to have him monitor my condition when I'm unconscious. It's bad enough I presume upon him as much as I do."

Grantaire shrugged. "I doubt he sees it as presumption. He's a friend. Friends do things for friends. And you can't tell me that you wouldn't be there for him were your positions reversed."

"He would likely be far stronger if that was the case."

Highly doubtful, Grantaire thought.

"But I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

Grantaire clasped Enjolras' hand. "Then let me go and ask him and I'll make sure he won't inquire further about your case. If necessary, I can lie and tell him it's for me."

"I couldn't ask you to lie for me."

"You're not asking. See? Loophole. You'll soon be working with Courfeyrac and from what I hear, he's very good at finding them. You should talk more with me, Enjolras. You'll get very good at countering them."

This brought on another smile. "It will be nice to feel useful."

"You're always useful to me." Grantaire knew he shouldn't have told him that as he feared putting a bit more pressure on Enjolras' shoulders, but he wasn't accustomed to keeping his thoughts inside his mind. His tactfulness was probably the first to be eroded when he started drinking. "Probably not in ways you can see, but even like this, you're still a support. Just keep breathing, that's all I really need from you. Breathe and recover at your own pace. Ah, look at me. I'm rambling when you have spoken your need for something. Shows you what sort of friend I am! I tell you I need you and ignore your requests. Albeit, it wasn't truly a request, merely an offer I made, and you were kind enough to take me up on it."

"Grantaire?"

"That would be me."

And Enjolras paused because he wasn't expecting that sort of answer, so he just turned his head a little, but he was smiling so Grantaire's heart leapt. "You speak too much."

"You have little furniture within your apartment. I need to fill it with something. It may as well be my vocabulary." With that, Grantaire stood up. "You needn't sleep, of course, until I return. Ah, let me get you some books."

He only left Enjolras' flat when he was assured that Enjolras was comfortably set up with Thiers and one of Grantaire's fictional romance novels that he had borrowed long ago from Courfeyrac. He didn't think Enjolras would care at all about it, but better safe than sorry.

In the middle of his trip, Grantaire changed direction. Combeferre's place would take a good twenty minutes to walk to, whereas Joly's apartment would take considerably less.

It wasn't about miles, however, and Grantaire couldn't delude himself otherwise. It was about the simple fact that he hadn't seen Joly in a long time, and Joly hadn't tried to maintain any communication with Enjolras as far as Grantaire could tell. Courfeyrac and Bossuet were trying to give him a direction. Combeferre was trying to get him physically healthy. Feuilly was…well, Combeferre warned Grantaire not to bring up Feuilly to Enjolras and when Grantaire inquired, all Combeferre would say was that Feuilly made a vow.

"He'll come back when he's fulfilled that vow, but until then no news is good news for Feuilly."

Bahorel was dead. Jehan was, as far as Grantaire could see, sending flowers and continuous newspapers to Enjolras' place with the pertinent bits circled in red. He had gotten a job working as an editor of a paper, ironically the same one that had turned down his poetry before the revolution. His job kept him busy throughout the day, but he was still taking the time to send Enjolras what he thought Enjolras truly wanted.

Joly, on the other hand, maintained his distance and Grantaire wanted to know why. It wasn't his business on the one hand.

On the other hand, he was very angry.

He did not want to hold an irrational grudge. As far as he knew, Joly could have been injured as well, but not as badly as Enjolras so he was left to his own devices to recover because he had Bossuet and Musichetta to tend to him. There were many reasonable explanations for Joly's silence. So Grantaire pushed down his rage and calmly knocked on Joly's door.

Thankfully it was Joly who opened the door. Grantaire didn't really want to make demands of either Musichetta or Bossuet. All the same, Joly looked a little strung out, as though he hadn't been sleeping that well either.

"Hello," Grantaire volunteered.

Joly blinked warily at him. "Grantaire. What brings you here?"

"Enjolras isn't sleeping so well. I was hoping you had something to help?" Though looking at Joly now, Grantaire considered telling him that he should take a little of whatever he had as well. "I would've asked Combeferre, but he's across town and I didn't want to worry him. I'm supposed to be looking after Enjolras."

"Oh, of course. One moment." Joly left him by the door, not bothering to invite him inside. Grantaire took no offense. It was fairly early in the morning and he didn't want to wake up the other residents in Joly's place.

Joly soon returned with a small bottle. "Just place this in his drink. Goes well with tea. A few drops should be enough, but if he needs more, it's safe to give him a bit extra."

"Thank you. Oh! And are you feeling all right?"

Joly shrugged. "Early morning shift hours make sleeping a chore. That's all."

"That's good to hear." Grantaire pocketed the medicine. "I was thinking that maybe you were injured or something and that was why you couldn't come to call on Enjolras."

"I'm not injured," but the flatness of Joly's voice stated that he didn't care to continue the conversation. "Give him my regards."

With that, Joly moved to shut the door, and Grantaire acted on instinct. His foot wedged in the door and he ended up pushing the smaller man back into the apartment as he violently shoved the door open to allow for his wider frame. The leash on his anger had been snapped and he wasn't sure just what the final straw had been, either Joly's tone or the few cursory words he had for the man who had helped lead them to freedom.

"Our freedoms are hewn within his skin," Grantaire growled, looming over Joly. He knew he could be intimidating when pressed, but right now he was going more for fury than threatening. "He is quiet, withdrawn, and afraid. And you want me to give him your regards? When you're too busy hiding within your rooms, in your clinics, and within the breasts of your lover to do so yourself?"

Joly had stepped back, his face wasn't a mask of terror, in fact he looked more guilty than scared. "It isn't like that!"

"It shouldn't be like that!" Grantaire cried. "We are friends! We fought together! Or at least you and he did! You were there in 1830! You were there again in 1832! And do you know what you did, Joly? You did nothing while he was getting tortured! You may have sat in the damn Corinthe, attending the wounded, while listening to him scream. You probably even watched as he was raped! Ah, that made you flinch didn't it? Yes, I said it! The word is out there now, within your apartment, tainting your existence here! I'll say it again! He was raped violently, repeatedly! His skin will forever hold the markings of what they did to him that night! And you don't have the time or even the inclination to see him! Well, so be it! I can give you an update! He barely sleeps and often than not, he has nightmares. He eats little but at least he's since tried in order to mollify myself and Combeferre. I prepare him his meals because if left alone, he would probably feel too unworthy to eat! I watch Combeferre tend to his wounds and his eyes go dead whenever his bandages are removed, like he can't bear to be within his own body anymore. I speak to him of anything I can think of, topics he normally doesn't care about, and he'll answer me because he feels like he has to make up for past transgressions! Because he feels guilty for daring to upset you! There's your update, Joly! There's his status report! Aren't you glad that you don't have to see how much he suffers every day? Aren't you glad you can just stay in your quaint little home with your mistress and your lover and ignore the fact that you're part of the reason why he's so miserable?"

Grantaire had to pause to catch his breath. It used to be he could deliver long-winded speeches on everything and nothing, but without a drink to cool his throat, and the fact that he was far more passionate right now about his current subject, he had to pause.

Joly had stumbled over to the couch in the living room through his speech and sat down, his head in his hands. It was a look of distress that Grantaire wasn't used to seeing on Joly's face and he would have regretted his outburst had it been on any other topic. When it came to Enjolras, Grantaire never looked back.

"It isn't like that," Joly finally repeated, moving his hands down. There were no tears but the look on his face indicated that Joly had gone past them into a deeper sorrow.

"Then explain it to me." His rage gradually subsiding, Grantaire stood a good distance from Joly, hoping that if he had woken up the others with his shouting that they'd have the sense to stay in their rooms.

"I can't see him like that. I can't. It's a reminder." Joly's breathing hitched a little. "I can stand there and stare at dying patients in my clinics, knowing that I didn't help put them there. I can fix them. I can handle anything medical, but I can't help Enjolras, and I know I'd only make things worse."

It was a short speech. An explanation that didn't go into depth, but Grantaire didn't need him to.

He understood.

It was difficult for him after finding out what Enjolras had been through. Even more difficult to think that his idol had potentially burnt out, wouldn't be there to soar for him, wouldn't raise his voice in triumph, wouldn't speak of the future. And Enjolras had spoken very little, confirming a few of Grantaire's misgivings. But from what he saw of Enjolras gave him hope.

In the beginning, he hadn't any hope at all. He believed in Enjolras, but after hearing about the aftermath of the wretched series of events, he had argued with himself, held conversations and debates with himself, had neglected to check in on Enjolras because of his fears and doubts. He had only managed to conquer them when he figured out that if Enjolras was well and truly broken, he may as well just end his own world and follow him into oblivion. Only his would have been more permanent.

The fact that Enjolras was not a walking zombie not only made Grantaire's belief in Enjolras grow, but also made Grantaire furious with himself for even thinking that Enjolras had been broken.

So how could he fault Joly for not being able to witness the same? Joly didn't need Enjolras the same way that Grantaire did, so he had no true reason to see for himself that Enjolras wasn't entirely shattered.

All the same, Joly was a friend, and to see a friend pull away from such a traumatic event made Grantaire a little sick inside. "You should still talk to him. Write to him if you can't manage to see him face to face, but he needs to know that you're there for him." Anger now gone, an explanation given, Grantaire's voice had returned to normal and he turned toward the door. "But if you let this go on and choose not to be a part of his life or his recovery, then I can't see you as being his friend. Staying away may be easier for you, but this isn't about you. It's not about me. It's about him, and you're causing him pain. I forgive you on that because you're my friend and I understand what you're going through all too well. But because you haven't sunk into despair yet, you can still remain afloat. You have others to hold you up. He has us, and there's a gap where you ought to be. It's noticeable, Joly. And it's deplorable."

With that, Grantaire took himself out of the apartment, not wanting to remain there any longer. Enjolras needed him and he understood his priorities. What happened to Enjolras was heartbreaking, but it was only through his absence from Enjolras that Grantaire learned that he couldn't live without the man. A new goal had been formed in his life because of this.

He could only hope that Joly would one day have some sort of epiphany that would allow him the same hope.