Chapter Fourteen: The Long Night Ahead

A/N: I would just like to note that this is NOT intended to be slash between Grantaire and Enjolras. They are very close and I know some of you will read it as slash, and go ahead, but it's not intended to be that way, I swear. Anna, stop laughing. I know you don't believe me, but it's true. Bah!

-----

News traveled like wildfire through Paris. It wasn't long before Gavroche found himself at the door of Jean Valjean, pounding as hard as his small fist could pound and screaming for Marius. The door was opened by none other than Valjean himself and Gavroche suddenly felt very, very small.

"Please, Monsieur," he begged, "I've come to see Marius Pontmercy."

"What business do you have with him?" Valjean asked, eyeing the boy.

"Surely you know his friends, Monsieur! And surely you've heard what's happened!"

"I'm afraid I have not. The lot of us have been cooped up for the past few days…"

"The king is dead and Enjolras framed for it! I went by the jail and his execution is scheduled for tomorrow midmorning! I need Marius' help, Monsieur, as everyone else is locked away too! Please…" The boy erupted into sobs and Valjean lead him into the house, handing him something to drink and when he'd settled down he sent a very worried looking Cosette after Marius.

"What's happened?" the young student asked as he entered the room.

Gavroche retold the story in all haste to the elder man who sat down hard at the end of it. His eyes were wide with shock and Cosette was gripping his shoulder in fright. "I have to do something. There has to be a way to get him out," Marius murmured.

"You expect to break the revolutionary free?" Javert asked from the doorway leading to the kitchen. He was propped there, eyes looking tired and lines deep in his face from the past few days. His hair, surprisingly enough, was loose around his shoulders. "How do you know that this Enjolras did not kill the king? He was the one behind the barricades."

"Because that is not Enjolras! He would never kill a man in cold blood. He's honourable."

"Honourable," the former inspector spat.

"Javert, would it be fruitless to ask how we might be able to get to Enjolras?" Valjean asked quietly.

The smaller man looked horrified at this.

"I thought as much," Valjean responded.

"My son has little to do with it, but I might have more so," DeLancy's voice drifted in after his son. After the two's conversation had been broken off by the sound of the weeping child in the main room he had waited only a moment to follow Javert to see what was happening. "I will not let an innocent man die tomorrow," he swore.

"And if he's not innocent, you will be guilty of breaking a man out of jail who deserved to die," his son retorted.

"Then let it be on my head."

"Do you have a plan, Monsieur?" Gavroche asked, eyes wide.

DeLancy smiled, ruffling his hair. "I just might, my boy. I just might. I want to you to go to everyone you think loyal to this fledgeling Republic of yours and get them as riled up as possible. We'll meet at the scaffolding tomorrow."

-----

Enjolras had been tossed into his cell to find that he was no longer alone in it. If it were one last kindness or a simple oversight, Grantaire sat in his cell, back against the wall, gazing at his god. "Are you afraid now?" he murmured quietly.

"'Those who would make revolutions in the world, those who want to do good in this world must sleep only in the tomb.' I had little other end."

"Your pretty quotes," Grantaire spat. "I've heard you use them before. You both hate and worship those two men, don't you? Robespierre and Saint Just, and look at us now! We're no better off."

"I thought perhaps you'd grown out of your cynical ways, Grantaire," Enjolras answered him.

"Me? Never. It's all I have to cling to. After all, if even the mighty Apollo falls, whom do I have to look to? You were what I lived for and tomorrow by ten o'clock your head will roll. It's rather distressing, wouldn't you say? Though I suppose your heroes were dead before you were even born."

"So that's it then, is it? Your last words to me will be ones of spite because I've gone and gotten myself killed for my cause. No, I'm not afraid to die, but you were right on all other accounts, Grantaire. They won't remember me, my death means nothing, and my life… It's just another lie that people tell because there is nothing called freedom!" The end was shouted and Enjolras fell forward, exhausted and felt hot tears streaming down his face. "It's worthless," he murmured brokenly. "All completely useless…" His breath was hitched with sobbing and his whole body shook under the pressure of dammed up emotion that was being let loose.

He heard Grantaire stand and move to the bars. "Guard!" he called out. "Get me out of this cell, won't you? I don't have to sit here and listen to this. Let me talk to the man in charge. I have something he might find useful."

Enjolras looked up at his friend and looked horrified.

"Don't do that, Enjolras. It doesn't become you," the drunkard said in is most haughty voice that he could muster. The guard led him off and the fallen god did not hear what he next muttered. "And don't you dare die on me while I'm gone."

--------------

"What could a winecask like you possibly have for me?" Nicolas Enjolras asked coldly as Grantaire was led into the room.

It was the moment that he was released that the drunkard fell to his knees. "I don't really believe this to have any effect on you, as I try not to believe in anything, but I have to try. I will do anything to save Enjolras. Please. Anything, Monsieur. He is my dearest, dearest friend and he is the only one that has ever made me hope for anything. Please!"

"Why that show in there?" Nicolas asked as he waved back towards the cells.

"I… I couldn't let him stop me. If he'd told me to stop, I would have, but I couldn't stop. He has to live, you see, even if his dream isn't realized. I think the world might stop without him."

At this the aristocrat broke out into fits of laughter. "Might it?" he asked sarcastically, not taking the drunkard's heartfelt confession seriously. "Well then, surely we should let him live then, because the world really must go on, mustn't it? Throw him back in with his savior. Let them rot together. He'll have a front row seat tomorrow and perhaps he'll catch the boy's head!"

"No!" Grantaire screamed. "You don't understand what you're doing!"

"I know exactly what and I will not have it. His people never rose up and they never will. He has lost and if I hadn't ordered the white flag he would have died on those forsaken barricades with a chair and a table as his marker, blood spilling for hishalo, andhis bloodied gold hair that would have been loose around his head. He would have been dead long ago. He owes me this, if you look at it that way."

"I'll see you in hell," Grantaire snapped. "You deserve it most of all!"

-------------

Grantaire was tossed into the cell and lay there for a moment, on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He heard no movement around him and wondered if they'd taken Enjolras from the cell while he'd been out. He sat up slowly and his chocolate eyes came to rest on the very still form of the blond, huddled against he far wall. "'jolras?" he called quietly and received no response.

The drunkard inched towards his idol, shaking him slightly. "Enjolras? Wake up. You can't sleep right now. I need to talk to you… Please?" Panic began to rise within him and he shook the younger man harder. "Enjolras! Wake up, damn you. You can't die yet! You hear me, you can't die! We've been through too much for you to die now! Wake up!" He cried and clung to the smaller man, willing him to live and to move.

Finally, as if his prayers had been answered, Enjolras twitched in his embrace. A groan came from the blond and his blue eyes fluttered open. "Grantaire?" he rasped.

"My word," the other cried. "I thought you were dead."

"Wouldn't matter," Enjolras murmured, trying desperately to pull away.

Grantaire tugged him back and the smaller man fell against him and they sat there for a moment before the drunkard shifted around so his back was resting against the wall. Enjolras had little energy to move away and he rested his head back against the other man's broad chest. "Why?" he whispered, hot tears stinging his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Grantaire whispered softly. "I'm so sorry…"

"For what?"

There was something in the revolutionary's hollow whisper that caused the cynic to feel as if all was lost. "For pushing you to say what you said. Surely you don't really believe-"

"And if I do, then what?"

"Then I'll die along side you, because I'll stand by what you believe, even if you feel it's not worthy of you any longer."

"The people deserted us, Grantaire. They never came. They'll never come. They don't care, don't you see? I hand them freedom bought with my toil, sweat, and blood and they turn away."

"They'll come around," Grantaire promised.

"When? When I'm dead and my father holds them captive? Wonderful timing."

The cynic stroked the younger man's blond hair soothingly. "Something will happen. I can't imagine that we could have come this far and lose it all now."

"I hope you're right, Grantaire."

A goofy grin spread across the other man's dirtied face. "I am. Now get some sleep, Apollo. I'll watch over you."

"Grantaire," Enjolras murmured sleepily as he nestled in against the other.

"Hmm?"

"I never told you… You are my dearest friend. I'm sorry I never told you."

Grantaire felt his breath hitch and his friend fell silent, asleep against him. The drunkard settled in for the longest night of his life, and said a silent prayer that it not be Enjolras' last.

TBC

TS