A/N Thank you to the few people who did review, though I can't say I wasn't a little disappointed, especially since I have such a high number of followers.
Okay, enough of my whining; here is chapter twenty-four!
Disclaimer: Not Victor Hugo. Deal with it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sharp scratch of his pen across the parchment was the only sound in Enjolras' apartment. The fire that he had lit that morning had withered away to a pile of dully glowing coals due to his lack of attention, but he did not notice the cold that seeped through his shirt to chill his skin.
His pen stopped abruptly, leaving a small slash of ink, as he paused to reread the last paragraph or two of his work. A small valley formed between his brows as he brought them together in thought and he gnawed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "Aimee?" he called out, still lost in thought, "could you bring me the dictionary please?"
There was a short beat of silence before comprehension appeared in his eyes, along with a hint of sadness. As he stood to complete the short trek across the apartment in search of the dictionary, he noticed how cold it was.
With a sigh heavier than his heart he set about bringing the fire back to life, grateful for the burst of heat across his chilled skin. He sat before the fire for some time, his arms wrapped around his knees, his body motionless apart from the slight rise and fall of his breathing. Numerous topics fought for space in his thoughts, but he only paid true attention to a select few, the most prominent being Le Faucon.
In the few days since his announcement to the Amis, a meeting had been arranged with the underground revolutionary, a meeting that would be taking place in a few hours. After some serious deliberation, Enjolras had eventually decided to only take Combeferre, as he was his second in command, and Feuilly, who had orchestrated the whole allegiance in the first place. This would be the first time that any of them had ever met the man himself face to face, and Enjolras couldn't help but feel a little nervous, not matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.
However, the meeting wasn't the only cause of his nerves. Combeferre had tried several times in the last few days to talk to him, but Enjolras had always found some way to misdirect or delay the conversation the two of them would inevitably have to have. He passed a hand through his hair in frustration, the dull orange glow of the fire burnishing his curls to bronze, trying to organize his inner thoughts regarding his closest friend.
Combeferre had been beside him through the best times and the worst times, never faltering in his belief of a better world. He would always find some words of encouragement to spur Enjolras on when he was flagging or use his cool logic to temper the blaze of his chief's passion when it raged too hot and threatened to burn rather than illuminate and warm.
Combeferre was as necessary to him as his right arm, as essential as the very air that he breathed and yet…the two of them were so very different in some ways. Enjolras had the seen the disapproval on the medical student's face upon learning of their alignment with Le Faucon's forces, had felt the hurt radiating from his friend when he realised he had not been included in the process of creating the deal and that his opinion had not been sought. Since that night, Combeferre had been somewhat distant, barely speaking to Enjolras. His forehead hit his knees with a dull thud, the action being repeated several times as he cursed his own foolish single-mindedness, cursed the fact that his position as leader could damage the relationship between him and his best friend.
With his front thoroughly warmed he turned to repeat the procedure on his back. With his face now turned away from the dancing familiarity of the flames, Enjolras glanced around his rapidly darkening apartment and he was struck with a distinctive pang on loneliness, a sensation as painful as it was unfamiliar. His focus on his education and the somewhat contentious decision of Le Faucon had separated him from his friends over the last few days. A darker, more melancholy thought entered his mind: was this all that lay ahead of him? Would the role of being the leader, the ever-confident, untouchable leader, see him always alone?
'Now you're just being melodramatic,' chided a teasing voice inside his head that sounded distinctly like Aimee.
Ah, yes, Aimee, the other topic monopolizing his thoughts. He had seen and heard very little of her since the night of his announcement, only learning from Grantaire that she had secured the job at the Theatre de la Reine. He was pleased for her, he honestly was, but…he missed her. The realization was sudden and overwhelming, like stepping straight into pouring rain. He missed her and he couldn't allow himself to do anything to get her back.
The sharp rapping of knuckles on wood wrenched him from his brooding thoughts. Lighting a candle directly from the fire to provide a little more illumination, Enjolras hurried to open the door, his heart sinking slightly upon seeing that it was Combeferre, his face inscrutably bland.
"May I come in?" The formal tone of voice made Enjolras physically wince, but he opened the door wider and ushered his friend inside.
For a moment, the stiff façade disappeared as Combeferre exclaimed, "My god, Enjolras! It's freezing in here!"
"I got a little caught up in something," Enjolras mumbled, lighting a few more candles, "and the fire went out."
"Yes, well, you often forget important things when you're lost in your work." Combeferre's voice was low, the tone slightly accusing.
Enjolras sighed. This was going to be a very uncomfortable conversation; an uncomfortable conversation he didn't really want to have. "It was not a conscious slight on my part to exclude you from the process, 'Ferre. I wasn't even sure if the deal would come to fruition."
"But you didn't even ask." The words were bitten out, revealing the true depth of hurt. "We have worked together, side by side, along every step of this journey. Why would you ignore my council now, unless you knew that the idea was a bad one?"
"What are you disgruntled more by; the fact that I didn't include you, or that we have aligned ourselves with Le Faucon?" Enjolras' voice rose slightly. "With him we have a better chance of actually achieving our goals, our dreams! Why can you not understand that?"
"But at what cost, Enjolras?" Combeferre's words turned desperate, hurried, so at odds with his normal calm arguments. "He is violent and ruthless; he kills without a thought. Where is the progress in that? He steals and manipulates, living in the shadows as if he has something to hide. Where is the honour?"
"He kills the enemies of the Cause! Everything that he steals finds its way to pockets of the destitute!" Enjolras could feel his temper rising. Why was his friend so determined to end this possibility before it had even begun?
"He is a murderer who will not show himself to the very people he claims to protect! He is a coward!"
"You are building a picture of him based on the lies of the monarchy!"
Combeferre fell still, his bunched fists relaxing as he processed the thought. Using the silence, Enjolras pressed home the point.
"Almost everything we know of Le Faucon is based on monarchy written reports or ale house stories. You are a rational man, Combeferre. Why are you jumping to such conclusions now?"
The silence was deafening after the angry ring of raised voices. A log settled in the fire with a pop, the sound seeming as loud as gunfire.
It was several minutes until Combeferre spoke again, and when he did his voice was soft and very slow. "I worry that aligning ourselves with such a militant character will end with us trapped in a war we don't agree with and cannot win; a war focused on politics, greed, and backbiting rather than the fate of the people." He met Enjolras' eyes for the first time. "We could be signing a deal with the Devil without knowing it."
Enjolras pondered slightly on his friend's words, weighing his next words carefully. "Do you remember '32?"
Combeferre's eyebrows furrowed at the change of topic. "Of course, how could I forget?"
"We were ill prepared for the battle we wished to fight. We had the heart, but not the experience and certainly not the firepower." A gust of breath, filled with melancholy, escaped his lips. "We would have died, Phillip; every single one of us."
Combeferre remained silent, the enormity of the statement stealing his words.
"All I am trying to do I make sure we have a chance this time." His voice remained quiet but was filled with power and passion. "Before, we remained too solitary, so caught up in the fervour of the moment that we failed to truly consider the enormity of the task we were undertaking. I will not make the same mistake twice."
"I do not doubt it, my friend," Combeferre interjected gently, "but will selling your soul to the Devil be worth it?"
Enjolras shook his head slowly. "We will enter this alliance with caution, as we have with everything else. I have no intention of 'selling my soul' as you keep putting it, but if I have to take a few turns with the Devil around the dance floor to further the Cause, then I will."
The side of Combeferre's mouth quirked up in a smile and his eyes softened. "That is truly admirable, Julien, for I know how much you despise dancing."
Enjolras chuckled, once again at ease with his friend. "You deliberately missed the point of that metaphor."
"So what if I did?" came the teasing reply.
The two indulged in a moment of laughter before Combeferre stepped forwards and clasped his younger friend firmly by the shoulders. "Whatever the outcome of this meeting, we shall face it together, as we always have."
Enjolras briefly embraced his brother in all but blood. "And as we always will."
A tentative knock sounded at the door, and Enjolras turned to answer it, giving Combeferre a moment to dash his hand conspicuously across his eyes.
The individual who stood framed in the doorway was none other than Feuilly, his workingman's cap held tensely between the knotted fingers. "I've got the location for the meeting," he said by way of greeting, his nerves evident in his voice. "We need to go, now."
The sentimental mood that had hung over the room rapidly dissipated. Enjolras' mouth set into a firm line and his eyes hardened with resolve. "Let me get my jacket."
Two minutes later the three men slipped softly out of the back door of the house, their booted feet light, their eyes and ears keen. Barely a sound was made as they wound their way through dark, dank streets on a journey that would lead them to Le Faucon.
The building they finally arrived at was nondescript to say the least. A ramshackle affair of three stories, it appeared to have served the function of being a warehouse at some point in time.
As they approached the building, Enjolras got the distinctly uncomfortable feeling along the back of his neck that indicated that they were being watched. He swivelled his head from side to side a couple of times, eyes straining to distinguish something, anything, amongst the shadows that shrouded both sides of their path.
"Don't react," Feuilly muttered to them, and before Enjolras could query the statement, he felt the cold touch of a pistol kiss the top of his spine.
"What business 'ave you 'ere?" a gruff voice growled in his ear.
"We are merchants looking to enter the hunting market," Feuilly replied smoothly, obviously used to the less than warm welcome. "We have some queries about birds of prey, more specifically…falcons?"
It took Enjolras far longer than it should have to realise that Feuilly was speaking in a code, but the unpleasant contact of the gun barrel was removed from his neck.
"The boss said you'd be coming." The man who spoke was short and stocky, almost as wide as he was tall, but Enjolras was not under the illusion that the man was overweight. His coat seemed ready to burst from the amount of muscle packed inside it and his eyes, glinting in the light of a lantern carried by one of the other men, were shrewd and intelligent.
He knocked three times in a particular rhythm on the front door. Much to the Amis' surprise it was not the door in front of them that opened, but a smaller door set in the wall a few steps to their right.
"Ingenious," muttered Combeferre admiringly as the three of them, still accompanied by the stocky man, entered the headquarters of Le Faucon.
In the twisting and turning passageways Enjolras soon was lost, though he was certain they doubled back on themselves at least once. Finally they reached another door made of dark wood that looked in better condition than any of the others they had passed. Another particular knock was performed, followed by a deep, melodic baritone bidding them to enter. The door opened silently on well-greased hinges and Enjolras got his first glimpse of the infamous Le Faucon.
His first thought was that his pseudonym was well chosen. Dark, piercing eyes shone out above a strong, slightly hooked nose, set above thin but expressive lips. His skin was tanned, though from ancestry or a life lived among the elements Enjolras wasn't quite sure. His dark hair was cut unfashionable short, though Enjolras doubted that this was a man who cared much for fashion. Overall, he was a truly intimidating character, exuding an air of repressed danger and menace. His smile, however, was bright and easy, the lines on his face proving it was something he did often, and his handshake was firm but inviting.
Once the group was seated and the stocky bodyguard had returned to his post, the dark man regarded them for a minute over steepled fingers. When he finally spoke, his voice was rich and slightly accented. "I have heard much about the Les Amis de la ABC, all of it good. We fight towards a common goal, mes amis, and I hope that together we will have a better influence than we did apart."
Combeferre made as if to speak, but retrained himself at the last moment. Le Faucon noticed however and spread his hands encouragingly. "Speak, brother, for you must have queries, questions you wish to ask?"
Enjolras, who had a good idea what his friend meant to say, levelled a warning glance Combeferre's way. He need not have worried, for Combeferre spoke with polite coolness, his logical thought process once again in place.
"I merely wish to point out that you seem to know much more about us than we do about you. How do we know that you are fully aligned with our beliefs and goals?"
"You doubt your friend's judgement?" queried the older man, his hawk-like gaze flicking to Feuilly.
Combeferre did not rise to the bait. "I have every confidence in Feuilly. All I mean to ask is how do we know you are not in it for your own gains? The monarchy has very little good to say about you."
"The monarchy has very little good to say about anyone," Le Faucon observed drily, though he did not seem offended. In fact, he looked a little impressed. He turned to Enjolras. "What do you think, citizen?"
Enjolras spoke carefully, weighing his words, feeling as if some sort of test had been sprung upon him without his knowledge. "We are at the beginning of an alliance; it is natural for us to have some suspicions about one another."
Le Faucon inclined his head in agreement, his eyes indicating for Enjolras to continue.
"Your reputation is less than…flattering, shall we say, and I understand my lieutenant's concerns, for we have no desire to get caught up in a war led by men who seek only to better themselves. However, I have found other facets of your character, and consider you a man worth aligning my group with and a man, in time, to trust. A leap of faith is sometimes needed and, for the sake of Patria and the Cause, I am willing to take it."
"Well spoken, Enjolras," their new ally complemented. "You have a wisdom that greatly belies your youth."
The scattered knock sounded at the door once again and a flash of irritation crossed Le Faucon's face before he bid them to enter.
"Ah, Giles." He waved the stocky man in, reaching for the letter the other man held.
Enjolras' shoulders stiffened in indignation as Le Faucon proceeded to ignore them and, as if sensing this, Le Faucon looked up with an apologetic smile. "My apologies, but when you have fingers in as many pies as I do, there is rarely any rest. In this particular case, however, I am hoping you could help me." He fluttered the paper briefly. "Despite my less than stellar reputation amongst the higher classes, I am actually in contact with several fairly prominent politicians."
Enjolras felt a flicker of excitement at the news, and respect at the difficult game Le Faucon was playing. He leant forwards, joined in his interest by Combeferre and Feuilly as the task was laid out before them.
"I am currently attempting to convince this political figure to give me certain…information that is essential to the Cause. He is insisting that the meeting be done in public, a fact that limits my involvement. Despite it being a difficult condition, it is his only one and so I am inclined to, for once, bend to his will. What I am hoping is that one of your group may be able to undertake this mission when more of the details come through."
"If we can be of use, we shall, though obviously we will need a little more information about the task." Enjolras rose, followed by his lieutenants, "We are grateful for the time you have been able to give us, but I can see you have urgent business to attend to and we will not detain you any longer."
Another round of handshakes followed, with everyone seeming a little more at ease with one another. As the three Amis made to follow Giles out of the room, Le Faucon called Enjolras back for a moment.
"I do not want for you see me as your superior, more as your equal." He offered his hand and Enjolras accepted it, clasping his hand around the other man's bicep.
"Brothers in arms, Le Faucon. I hope that this alliance will be of use to all." They parted once more.
"Call me Rene," was the last thing Enjolras heard before the door closed behind him.
A/N Hope you enjoyed this. It was really easy to write for some reason; it basically wrote itself. Please review, I need them like air!
Just so you know, in my head, Le Faucon or Rene looks like Ramin Karimloo
Until next time, mes amis!
Libz