10/4/13

Thanks so much for the support and I have hit 100th reviews! *virtual confetti and balloons* This means my 100th reviewer will receive a multi-chapter fic written by me on a subject of their choice. The 100th reviewer was Almost an Actress, your fic will be making an appearance soon!

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – Please don't cry … why am I saying that? The stuff I write is designed so people cry … carry on!

Almost an Actress – 100TH REVIEW! And thanks for your support. Enj's self-argument was amusing to write!

Sarahbob – Sorry for the heart-ache … it sorta comes with my writing as a guarantee. Hope you enjoy this chapter, more Enjy angst for you!

Juliet116 – Sorry! Don't go, I promise it will all get better in the end … *cough* just a few angst bits *coughs* then all will be fine!

Alix – Thanks a lot you are so good to me. Pulling on those heartstrings is what I do best and I am so glad you feel with them.

PhoenixGirl97 – Sorry! Don't kill me *raises chair in self-defence* I love Taire as well, I assure you!

MsTonksLupin – Thank you so much for reviewing each chapter! All your comments are much appreciated!

stahp-the-feels - *blushes* thanks so much for your comments. Enjy does need a good hug every so often!

One last note: the viewpoint jumps a lot in the chapter but I hope it is still understandable!

Chapter 14

Tears refused to stop pouring down Enjolras' cheeks. He had never felt this way before. He had never felt so weak and helpless as he did that night. Combeferre was the rock he needed; he was a willing shoulder for Enjolras to cry on and for that he was incredibly grateful. Who'd have thought the drunkard's sacrifice would take this much of a toll on him. Slowly the rest of the amis trickled off to their respective homes with murmured apologies that never reached their leader's ears. It was late into the night before Enjolras finally ran out of tears and his sense returned. "So sorry," he mumbled trying to regain his lost composure.

"It is alright Ricard," he sighed, slowly brushing his matted blonde curls away from his face. "How about we get you cleaned up then you can rest," Combeferre whispered and Enjolras reluctantly nodded. He still didn't trust his voice not to betray all the emotions he was trying so hard to keep pent up. Combeferre help him to his feet; also taking the entirety of his weight so his tired feet did not have to cope. It was moments like this Enjolras realised how much he needed his best friend. Combeferre was the one man who could tell exactly what he needed without needing any words to be exchanged. Actually he could even work out what Enjolras needed before he did.

"Thank you Ferre," Enjolras murmured and the other man smiled.

"Anytime Enj," he replied with a small smile growing.

After Combeferre had methodically helped Enjolras clean all the prison grime and blood of his body, he set work on all Enjolras' plethora of wounds. Cuts and bruises coated every inch of his body, one arm was dislocated and his shin was shattered. Thankfully everything should heal up fine and their passionate leader should be back on his feet within a couple of weeks. The only problem was the leg. They couldn't take him to a hospital; and no doctors would want anything to do with a just released convict, even if he was acquitted. It was all down to Combeferre and Joly; the pressure was unbearable on him. He had to do it though, Enjolras needed him. Combeferre helped him onto the bed; for once Enjolras was allowing people to help him. This little change in his demeanour relieved Combeferre but also scared him. He had prayed that everything would be the same once Enjolras was returned to them. It wasn't. He doubted things would ever be the same throughout the Amis de l'ABC anymore.

Enjolras was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep but Combeferre knew best when it came to medicine. "Ricard, I need to relocate your shoulder. This is going to hurt, mon ami," he sighed and Enjolras clenched his teeth and nodded slowly. The pain spread like a wild fire from the top of his arm to his mind but Enjolras did not cry out. He was fed up of crying in pain. He was strong; he would not cry. When the vicious pain subsided, his arm was not hurting at all. It was still a little sore but the relief was instantaneous. He sighed in relief and Combeferre smiled weakly. "I'll put it in a sling to rest it but it should be fine now. Your leg is of more concern," he mumbled and Enjolras' heart dropped. He was certain he would never be able to walk again. This was it; he would be a bed-ridden cripple for the rest of his life. "If I set it well then you should be back on your feet in a week or two," Combeferre explained and Enjolras' face brightened slightly.

"A w-week," he stuttered and Combeferre smiled.

"Yes but only short spells of time on your feet and no serious excursion," Combeferre replied sternly and Enjolras nodded frantically. "And I will need Joly's help to do it," he added. "Can he help?" Combeferre asked.

"Of course … but no hospitals, please," Enjolras asked and Combeferre agreed.

Someone knocked at the door and Enjolras flinched at the loud noise. The person had obviously taken care to knock quietly but everything seemed loud to Enjolras at the moment. Combeferre stood up to open it cautiously. Enjolras slowly sat up, wanting to see who their mysterious visitor was. Courfeyrac walked in solemnly holding a large bag in his arms. "Enj … he left this for you," Courfeyrac mumbled and Enjolras instantly knew who he meant. Enjolras frantically sat up straight ignoring the room beginning to spin around him. He didn't notice as Combeferre supported him and used the pillows to prop him up. He only saw the bag. Courfeyrac gently placed it on his knee and he opened it slowly. Emotions battled each other in his battered mind. Enjolras was intrigued, uncertain, afraid, depressed, nervous, and much more but one thing overrode all those; he had to know what was in the bag.

His head pounded. Everything hurt. The darkness swarmed around him but refused to take him in its sweet embrace. Grantaire had only been in this prison for a few hours but the head guard was angry. He is violent when angry. Needless to say, Grantaire soon became the recipient of that anger through intense violence. Maybe the witty retorts he replied with after every strike didn't help either. At least Enjolras was safe; at least his Apollo would not be hurt anymore. He still wore Enjolras' red waistcoat. They had let him keep his original clothes so 'he could watch as the symbols of liberty were tattered and ruined in front of his eyes!' Thank Dieu for small mercies. He was willing to endure this for an eternity if it meant his Apollo could stay free and safe.

The door thumped open again and bright beam of light pierced the cloudy gloom that smothered him. "We need to validate your story," the man snarled at Grantaire's limp figure. "Tell us things from your childhood only one other person would know and we will leave your little friend alone," he commanded and Grantaire instantly launched into the long story of Enjolras' childhood leaving out his involvement obviously. "So this 'brother' of yours will be able to clarify this?" the guard asked and Grantaire nodded. "If even one second of his story does not match up or it seems planned in anyway, all three of your will be brought in!" he threatened before hitting Grantaire in the head with his truncheon. The room spun again and he could feel his heart beat in his head.

"Tough love," he whispered with a chuckle and received a blow to the stomach for his troubles.

Grantaire needed a drink. He needed one now. The alcohol was speaking to him and his throat burned with the absence of his vital nectar. The blows to his head didn't help either. He would close his eyes and all the drunkard would see was the Green Lady calling to him. He kept his eyes open but the fairies flew round singing in a sweet symphony into his head.

"Stop it!" he cried, clamping his hands over his ears but the sound continued to beat into his skull. "I said stop!" he screamed hitting his own head in a vain attempt to rid himself of the poisonous melody. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard footsteps hurry towards the door but the tune just increased in strength. Grantaire needed a drink. He didn't know how long his mind and body would be able to cope with this forced sobriety. The amis were right; his body was more wine than blood. He needed the red liquor more than he needed blood in his veins. It was still singing to him. "I want it but there is none," the winecask cried out but the song just grew louder. He hit himself again and again until the song backed off and he finally sighed in relief and moved his hands. A crimson liquid stained them from knuckle to palm. The world went woozy and he fell forwards with an echoing thump.

A/N – Short chapter but two cliffhangers in one chapter … I do believe I have out done myself :) Review please!