1/4/13

Fanfiction for this chapter: Bulletproof by stagepageandscreen. It is a beautiful one-shot … it's not long but so much emotion is crammed in!

Also this is the point where Compromised will split with this. For the next two chapters, they will have the same events but each section will be told from different character's points of view.

Thanks again for all the support I have received and I am so honoured to have such great readers!

Sarahbob – Thank you so much … and he will do anything for his Apollo! The one-shot is going really well and should be up soon!

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – So you have worked out my plan muhaha. But you haven't got the finalities done yet … glad you found that chapter better

Almost An Actress – Glad you enjoyed and I hope this update is good enough!

S.B – No need to apologise … I am just glad people are reading this! I felt that was the sort of character Enjolras is and I am glad you agree with me. I am so glad you have enjoyed it so far.

Stagepageandscreen – I am so glad you like the references to the past; I love working with that and coming up with my own theories behind it.

Juliet116 – I am so glad that people have worked it out from my hints (subtle and not so subtle ones). I know poor Taire … :(

ForeverFlamingFire - *blushes* aw you. I am so glad you enjoy my work … it makes me feel good inside when people write things like that.

Enjy and Taire – Thanks so much and by the way, love your username!

Chapter 12

The day had come. The city was abuzz for the coming execution. Preparations had been made weeks before for the first proper execution Paris had seen in a long time. Everyone was excited and bustling about the square, French flags hung everywhere and the king's crest was on every available surface. Guards roamed the streets ready for a rescue attempt or a revenge uprising. The government was not leaving anything to chance when it came to the mysterious revolutionaries. They had spent the weeks they had Enjolras trying to find the rest of the group. Enjolras had stayed true to his word and not leaked an ounce of information about them, and the Musain was still a secret. Courfeyrac had heard people asking around about Combeferre but no one knew where he was and no one had any suspicions. The Musain was full of maps, sheets, firearms, costumes and anything the lads could get their hands on for the mission. It was almost time and their hideout was humming with nervous energy. They all hadn't had a proper night's sleep in the two weeks they had been working and were all running on panicked adrenaline.

Combeferre sat in the Musain with his pounding head resting in his trembling hands. Poisonous doubts swirled in his mind; what if we don't succeed? They'll kill us all! He shook his head trying to shake his thoughts away. The fog gripped his soul covering his determination and passion. He needed Ricard. He couldn't lead, he could never lead. What was he thinking doing this? It was too late to back out now. Oh Dieu, what were they thinking? "Ferre, Ferre!" a voice shouted through his panicked haze. He tried to latch onto it to stop himself sinking even further into his pain filled delirium. "It's alright Lucien," the comforting voice mumbled and a light, soft hand landed on his shoulder. The physical connection drew him out and he could finally think again. His rescuer was none other than the little poet, Jehan. "Everything is going to be fine Ferre, and you have been a wonderful leader," he murmured with his signature little smile. How does Jehan always seem to know what you are thinking? The words from the poet comforted him greatly and he found his iron resolve returning in a trickle.

"Thanks Jean," he murmured with a weak smile. "You always seem to know what to say," he chuckled slightly.

"It is part of being a wordsmith," he giggled and tucked a flower into Combeferre's lapel. "It's a Hyacinth ... Flower dedicated to Apollo. We're all going to wear them," he mumbled and Combeferre nodded.

"Thank you so much Jehan," he said while admiring the flower.

"It's time!" Courfeyrac exclaimed.

Everyone stood in their different areas of the square. It was always busy for public executions but never as busy as today. Everyone wanted to see the famous revolutionary die. The rich were gathered to laugh and joke as the threat to their power was eradicated. The poor were gathered to mourn the loss of their brave new world and the loss of a life that had so much potential to give. Combeferre would not let this happen. He would not stand by and watch as his best friend was brutally murdered. Either he would save Ricard Enjolras ... Or die alongside him. They had made a promise when they were younger; they would be together forever. They would fight, live and die by each other's side. Enjolras, Combeferre and Grantaire bound by the same oath. He could not see Grantaire in the dense crowd but he knew the winecask would be here somewhere with his own plan to save his Apollo incarnate.

"You ready boss?" Courfeyrac asked appearing behind him. Combeferre jumped slightly and let out a tense sigh.

"Sorry Ferre," he apologised and Combeferre just shook his head.

"Sorry, just a bit tense now," he admitted nervously. Combeferre was certainly worse for wear and the tension was clearly visible on his face. The usually unfazeable doctor and philosopher was ragged and his face was sunken and pale. Everyone knew that Enjolras was Combeferre's little brother in all aspects apart from the legal; but no one expected the blonde's absence would affect him this much. His normally steady hands were trembling uncontrollably and hovering over his pistol for comfort.

"We all are," he reassured their temporary leader with a slight smile. Combeferre nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. The crowd fell silent as the bells were rung. It was time.

Combeferre had a direct view of the stage from where he was stood. His job was to shoot into the air then duck round to attack the stage from the side. All the amis were in disguise but Combeferre the least. Enjolras had to recognise at least one of them if he was going to trust them to get him out of there. Combeferre was in a simple torn shirt and worn trousers. He had dust smeared and ingrained on his face and his unruly blonde hair was tucked inside a dirty brown cap. Joly was on the other side of the stage and Bahorel was in the middle. They were the team in charge of getting Enjolras out of there in the midst of the chaos. Feuilly, Bossuet, Marius and Jehan were in charge of causing the distraction they needed. He was sure Grantaire would be hidden in the crowd and hoped the drunkard would join in their fight. That was if he didn't have his own plan to save his idol. When Courfeyrac had returned from his mission to seek out Grantaire, he explained that something strange was up with the winerat. He seemed distracted, mysterious, and that worried Combeferre. His plan better not mess up theirs.

A man stood at the front of the stage right by Combeferre. He unrolled a scroll and brashly cleared his throat. "Today is the public execution of Ricard Enjolras. He has been found guilty of conspiracy to commit high treason and repetitive charges of disturbing the peace," he announced and a drum thumped in the background. Each thwack of the drum made Combeferre jump and his heart skip a beat. He was way to tense for this. Combeferre tried to calm himself down but he was still twitching nervously. He had never felt like this before. He was usually the level-headed one; it just showed how much he needed his other half to be there. He couldn't live without his petit frère. The drum beats increased in speed and the doors at the side opened.

Enjolras was lead out with his hands chained behind his back. His time in prison had obviously not been kind to him and Combeferre felt his soul-twin's pain. Enjolras was limping heavily on his right leg, wincing every time he put weight onto it. His left arm was hung limp; obviously dislocated at the shoulder. His face was not marked at all but his skin was unnaturally pale and sunken against his pronounced cheekbones. He looked starved and exhausted … practically asleep on his feet. Enjolras' angelic hair hung in knots around his face. But yet he was still standing tall and proud, like he always was. The drum beats increased in their deadly tempo and Enjolras was lead closer to the block. Combeferre's signal to shoot was when the drum beats faded into a steady drum roll.

Enjolras was stood in front of the blocks, still looking resolute and like the marble statue he was often called. Nothing flickered across his face as the guard pushed him painfully to his knees. Combeferre silently drew his pistol and prepared to shoot. The drum beat faded and time seemed to slow to a painful rate. His hands were trembling and all those poisonous doubts returned with a vengeance. "I can do this, we can do this," he repeated in his head like a holy mantra. "We can do this!" he continued as he raised the gun. Then another shot rang out. He hadn't fired, he was sure he hadn't fired. The drum stopped and everyone stared at the shooter. A circle of space had formed round a man and the guards were closing in on him. "Stop!" he shouted firing into the air again. The shot rang throughout the square, ringing in everyone's ears. The mysterious man's voice had deep power and authority that no one dared challenge. Combeferre stepped up onto a step to try and get a glimpse of the man who had ruined their plan. He looked up at Enjolras who was stood on the stage gawping, actually gawping at the scene in front of him. Combeferre finally managed to look at the figure and his face mirrored Enjolras' down to the last detail.

It was Grantaire. What pour l'amour de Dieu did he think he was doing? He stood with gun raised in in the centre of the crowd. He cleared his throat and addressed the stage, "You have the wrong man … I am Ricard Enjolras!"