A/N: Ehh, so I finally decided to update this again. I don't know where this is going because this is such a weird concept that I'm pretty sure has never been done before. But I wanted to write more because my friend and I had a Les Mis party last night, where I dressed as Javert and she was Eponine and we watched the concert, and basically, we were total nerds. I was reading all the Grantaire parts again, and still loving the quote where he says he won't go to Enjolras's funeral. Hehe. …Why is my computer beeping at me?!
Disclaimer (which I forgot to do last time): They're all Victor Hugo's and if I randomly quote songs they're Boublil and Shonberg's. It would be nice if I had my own Javert and Grantaire though.
Grantaire was surprised at how easily he had reached the sewers. Outside of the barricade, the National Guard was occupied searching for survivors, and it was common place to see family and friends carrying out the corpses of their loved ones, faces wet with grief. In this way, Grantaire remained inconspicuous. The only thing that ever caught anyone's attention was the fact that the body he carried was almost twice as heavy as he, and he stumbled occasionally.
At the end of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, Grantaire dropped the large man harshly onto the street, eliciting a groan of pain from his passenger. He muttered a winded apology, doubling over to catch his breath. This wasn't going to be easy, but Grantaire would do it. He would justify himself in the eyes of the dead, so that perhaps one day when he too passed on, he would sit beside them, accepted at last.
It was in this bent position that Grantaire heard soldiers pass near him with their first load of bodies. Their voices remained passive, as if they carried cargo, not the shells of human lives. Grantaire observed nonchalantly, as he had always done, noting that he could recognize some of the bloody faces.
Towards the end of the line of marchers, sunlight caught on a flash of golden hair. Grantaire closed his eyes, imagining himself at a funeral. A funeral which, he reminded himself, he had recently promised he wouldn't attend. And by closing his eyes, Grantaire began to shut the door on a chapter of his life that he knew would never reopen. However, he could not stop a tear from escaping when he heard a soldier order that all the unclaimed bodies be burned. The same voice shouted angrily that they were criminals and deserved no better. Grantaire stood, shakily at first, but then with strength. He stood for those who would burn for freedom. Apollo was used to fire. The light of the sun already burned within him, and perhaps a phoenix could still arise from the ashes.
With this moment of hope, Grantaire returned his injured and silent companion to his shoulder, taking large strides towards the sewers, renewed by determination.
~
Inspector Javert groggily opened one eye, only to close it again. Even the slightest movement hurt. He was cold, and he could feel dried blood on him. He knew for certain a few bones were broken, and wondered about others. He also wondered where he was.
It was dark, that much he knew. Dark and damp. And someone was carrying him. The sensation was odd. No one had ever carried him anywhere before. No one had ever had a reason, and he would never have allowed it anyway. Javert believed that when he stopped being able to support himself, he was not fit to live anymore. He strongly followed the survival of the fittest principle. This was precisely why he resented the fact that he had been slung over someone's shoulder, and that someone wasn't being very gentle. But he had no idea why that someone even bothered to care.
He had begun to awaken when he had hit the ground roughly earlier. That was when the cold sunk in. Leaving the protective arms of someone else had left him freezing. And even when he had been picked up again the deadened feeling was still there. And that was how he felt now, numb. There was pain, but he ignored it. Javert felt that he shouldn't be alive anyway, so he let the pain slowly kill him.
However, he could not stop his senses from slowly returning. His eyes understood when he was brought into a dark tunnel, and his ears comprehended distant sounds of dripping water. His nose certainly didn't miss the stink. Even half dead, Paris's toughest inspector was still a perfectionist. He didn't miss any detail that he was awake enough to notice, but he still couldn't recognize the man carrying him.
This man stopped briefly again once inside the dark tunnel, catching another breath. Javert felt himself being propped against a cold, wet, stone wall. The jagged stones dug into his back, cutting his wounds deeper. He struggled to move but was met with only more pain, so remained stoically still. His companion noticed his attempted movements with a sigh of relief.
"I'm going to get you out of here soon, sir. It's probably best not to move. Oh…here, drink this," the shorter man said, voice laden with failing breaths. He pulled something out of his coat and handed it to Javert. It was a bottle of aged of brandy.
Javert moaned, whispering huskily, "Should've let me die." He downed the brandy, and slipped again into the welcome darkness of unconsciousness.
~
Grantaire stopped quite suddenly in his tracks, backing against a wet wall. He accidentally heard his passenger's head hit the wall as well, but at least he was already unconscious. He stood frozen, not daring to move, and feeling his knees automatically lock themselves and begin to fail his body. There were hushed voices ahead.
Grantaire could hear two men conversing, and in the dim yellow light thought he could make out their figures. He inhaled sharply upon noticing one was in the same situation as he, carrying a limp body. But this other carrier was having a much easier time of it. Perhaps this man would help him. But Grantaire dared not risk it at the present moment.
He heard what he hoped was the final exchange, "Now, friend, you've got to get out. This is like the fair, you pay as you leave. You've paid, get out" There was mocking, cynical laughter, and this joker ran off into the murky darkness. The older man, the one with the body, began fumbling with a key and a rope.
Grantaire decided to seize the moment, knowing that he too had a high chance of death within these sewers if he did not receive aid soon. So, with fear and ailing strength leading him on, he rushed forward, dragging the large body with him, and fell harshly through the gate that had just been opened. The other conscious man jumped back in surprise, taking on an immediate defensive stance. "I've given you lot money already, what do you want of me now?" he pleaded in a whisper.
Grantaire shook his head, trying to indicate peace while regaining his strength. He put the body he carried down gently on the shore, checking for a pulse and heartened slightly to find a faint beating. The other man once again jumped in surprise, staring at the unconscious body with an odd expression. He still clung to his passenger, but drew himself up to his full height, taking on a serious tone. "I ask again, what do you want of me?"
Grantaire stood too. "Merely your help. I see, friend, that we are in the same situation. That boy - is he from the barricade?"
The older man nodded, finally lying the body he carried onto the ground. Grantaire widened his eyes. "It's the lawyer…Marius Pontmercy! Is he alive?"
Once again the old man nodded. "Yes, but barely. I need to take him to his relatives' house, but I doubt I can do it alone. What of…what of your friend?" He seemed uncertain at this last statement.
"Oh, sir, he is not my friend. I in fact do not know his identity at all. I found him at the barricade, after all the others had fallen," Grantaire said with a sigh. He added, shifting his gaze downwards. "I would have gone with them if I had been in my right mind."
The old man's eyes gazed, with something perhaps like empathy. "What is your name, young man?"
"They call me Grantaire. Sometimes just 'R'. I don't know…names never seemed to be too important during the revolution. We all had one name to our leader. La Patria," Grantaire muttered, his eyes clouding for a moment.
"And I am Fauchelevent. But let us speak briefly. I will help you with…that man, if you will help me with mine. However, I cannot take care of him for long. Mine will not be the face he shall desire to see when he awakes," the man responded.
Fauchelevent crouched down over the man Grantaire had previously carried, laying a hand on his forehead for a moment. Grantaire thought fleetingly that he was reminded of a saint. Then Fauchelevent hoisted the large body up to his shoulder, with a look that mirrored a mixture of terror and resolve.
Grantaire in turn gathered up Marius, looking in wonder at the man beside him. "Do you know him, M'sieur?"
They had begun to walk. The man didn't respond for a moment, and instead just gazed out to the water. He looked so incredibly tired, and somehow conveyed the feeling that this mission would be the last of his life. But for an old man his strength was nearly ten times that of Grantaire's, and he carried the heavy body with ease. "I…ahh, excuse me. We have met previously, a few times." And the matter was closed. But Fauchelevent continued speaking slowly. "Where do you want me to take this man?"
Grantaire blinked. He had not considered a destination. He had no place that he actually could call home, and could pay for no doctor. But he had often Courfeyrac, and remembered vaguely that at one time Marius had slept there as well. So he directed Fauchelevent to the Hotel de la Porte-Saint-Jacques. He knew the tenant well and was certain he would be allowed into a room.
Before they went to the hotel, however, Grantaire carried Marius, under Fauchelevent's directions, to his grandfather's house. Grantaire stood back, reverting into his noninvolved observant mood, staring silently as the doorkeeper hurried off in a slight panic to find Marius' family. He also noted the look of loving relief upon Fauchelevent's face, and wondered what kind of connection these two families had.
Shortly after this they reached the hotel, once Fauchelevent had seen Marius securely settled in a bed with his family watching over him. Grantaire convinced the tenant to allow him entrance into Courfeyrac's old room, and as she had allowed him entrance many times before, the old woman did not think twice.
Fauchelevent laid the unconscious form down on a thin, broken mattress, taking care not to hurt the man's head. He seemed to flinch once he had situated the body, backing off immediately with a sort of jump. "I must go," he said quickly.
Grantaire took the man's arm for a moment. "Good sir, I would pay you for your efforts, but alas, I have nothing."
Fauchelevent gave a slight smile, already on his way out the creaky door. "I do not save a man's life for profit. That could almost be considered a crime." And he was gone.
Grantaire turned back to gaze upon the unconscious man before him, and after a moment's contemplation began to treat his wounds. He now merely had to wait for this man to awake.
Disclaimer (which I forgot to do last time): They're all Victor Hugo's and if I randomly quote songs they're Boublil and Shonberg's. It would be nice if I had my own Javert and Grantaire though.
Grantaire was surprised at how easily he had reached the sewers. Outside of the barricade, the National Guard was occupied searching for survivors, and it was common place to see family and friends carrying out the corpses of their loved ones, faces wet with grief. In this way, Grantaire remained inconspicuous. The only thing that ever caught anyone's attention was the fact that the body he carried was almost twice as heavy as he, and he stumbled occasionally.
At the end of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, Grantaire dropped the large man harshly onto the street, eliciting a groan of pain from his passenger. He muttered a winded apology, doubling over to catch his breath. This wasn't going to be easy, but Grantaire would do it. He would justify himself in the eyes of the dead, so that perhaps one day when he too passed on, he would sit beside them, accepted at last.
It was in this bent position that Grantaire heard soldiers pass near him with their first load of bodies. Their voices remained passive, as if they carried cargo, not the shells of human lives. Grantaire observed nonchalantly, as he had always done, noting that he could recognize some of the bloody faces.
Towards the end of the line of marchers, sunlight caught on a flash of golden hair. Grantaire closed his eyes, imagining himself at a funeral. A funeral which, he reminded himself, he had recently promised he wouldn't attend. And by closing his eyes, Grantaire began to shut the door on a chapter of his life that he knew would never reopen. However, he could not stop a tear from escaping when he heard a soldier order that all the unclaimed bodies be burned. The same voice shouted angrily that they were criminals and deserved no better. Grantaire stood, shakily at first, but then with strength. He stood for those who would burn for freedom. Apollo was used to fire. The light of the sun already burned within him, and perhaps a phoenix could still arise from the ashes.
With this moment of hope, Grantaire returned his injured and silent companion to his shoulder, taking large strides towards the sewers, renewed by determination.
~
Inspector Javert groggily opened one eye, only to close it again. Even the slightest movement hurt. He was cold, and he could feel dried blood on him. He knew for certain a few bones were broken, and wondered about others. He also wondered where he was.
It was dark, that much he knew. Dark and damp. And someone was carrying him. The sensation was odd. No one had ever carried him anywhere before. No one had ever had a reason, and he would never have allowed it anyway. Javert believed that when he stopped being able to support himself, he was not fit to live anymore. He strongly followed the survival of the fittest principle. This was precisely why he resented the fact that he had been slung over someone's shoulder, and that someone wasn't being very gentle. But he had no idea why that someone even bothered to care.
He had begun to awaken when he had hit the ground roughly earlier. That was when the cold sunk in. Leaving the protective arms of someone else had left him freezing. And even when he had been picked up again the deadened feeling was still there. And that was how he felt now, numb. There was pain, but he ignored it. Javert felt that he shouldn't be alive anyway, so he let the pain slowly kill him.
However, he could not stop his senses from slowly returning. His eyes understood when he was brought into a dark tunnel, and his ears comprehended distant sounds of dripping water. His nose certainly didn't miss the stink. Even half dead, Paris's toughest inspector was still a perfectionist. He didn't miss any detail that he was awake enough to notice, but he still couldn't recognize the man carrying him.
This man stopped briefly again once inside the dark tunnel, catching another breath. Javert felt himself being propped against a cold, wet, stone wall. The jagged stones dug into his back, cutting his wounds deeper. He struggled to move but was met with only more pain, so remained stoically still. His companion noticed his attempted movements with a sigh of relief.
"I'm going to get you out of here soon, sir. It's probably best not to move. Oh…here, drink this," the shorter man said, voice laden with failing breaths. He pulled something out of his coat and handed it to Javert. It was a bottle of aged of brandy.
Javert moaned, whispering huskily, "Should've let me die." He downed the brandy, and slipped again into the welcome darkness of unconsciousness.
~
Grantaire stopped quite suddenly in his tracks, backing against a wet wall. He accidentally heard his passenger's head hit the wall as well, but at least he was already unconscious. He stood frozen, not daring to move, and feeling his knees automatically lock themselves and begin to fail his body. There were hushed voices ahead.
Grantaire could hear two men conversing, and in the dim yellow light thought he could make out their figures. He inhaled sharply upon noticing one was in the same situation as he, carrying a limp body. But this other carrier was having a much easier time of it. Perhaps this man would help him. But Grantaire dared not risk it at the present moment.
He heard what he hoped was the final exchange, "Now, friend, you've got to get out. This is like the fair, you pay as you leave. You've paid, get out" There was mocking, cynical laughter, and this joker ran off into the murky darkness. The older man, the one with the body, began fumbling with a key and a rope.
Grantaire decided to seize the moment, knowing that he too had a high chance of death within these sewers if he did not receive aid soon. So, with fear and ailing strength leading him on, he rushed forward, dragging the large body with him, and fell harshly through the gate that had just been opened. The other conscious man jumped back in surprise, taking on an immediate defensive stance. "I've given you lot money already, what do you want of me now?" he pleaded in a whisper.
Grantaire shook his head, trying to indicate peace while regaining his strength. He put the body he carried down gently on the shore, checking for a pulse and heartened slightly to find a faint beating. The other man once again jumped in surprise, staring at the unconscious body with an odd expression. He still clung to his passenger, but drew himself up to his full height, taking on a serious tone. "I ask again, what do you want of me?"
Grantaire stood too. "Merely your help. I see, friend, that we are in the same situation. That boy - is he from the barricade?"
The older man nodded, finally lying the body he carried onto the ground. Grantaire widened his eyes. "It's the lawyer…Marius Pontmercy! Is he alive?"
Once again the old man nodded. "Yes, but barely. I need to take him to his relatives' house, but I doubt I can do it alone. What of…what of your friend?" He seemed uncertain at this last statement.
"Oh, sir, he is not my friend. I in fact do not know his identity at all. I found him at the barricade, after all the others had fallen," Grantaire said with a sigh. He added, shifting his gaze downwards. "I would have gone with them if I had been in my right mind."
The old man's eyes gazed, with something perhaps like empathy. "What is your name, young man?"
"They call me Grantaire. Sometimes just 'R'. I don't know…names never seemed to be too important during the revolution. We all had one name to our leader. La Patria," Grantaire muttered, his eyes clouding for a moment.
"And I am Fauchelevent. But let us speak briefly. I will help you with…that man, if you will help me with mine. However, I cannot take care of him for long. Mine will not be the face he shall desire to see when he awakes," the man responded.
Fauchelevent crouched down over the man Grantaire had previously carried, laying a hand on his forehead for a moment. Grantaire thought fleetingly that he was reminded of a saint. Then Fauchelevent hoisted the large body up to his shoulder, with a look that mirrored a mixture of terror and resolve.
Grantaire in turn gathered up Marius, looking in wonder at the man beside him. "Do you know him, M'sieur?"
They had begun to walk. The man didn't respond for a moment, and instead just gazed out to the water. He looked so incredibly tired, and somehow conveyed the feeling that this mission would be the last of his life. But for an old man his strength was nearly ten times that of Grantaire's, and he carried the heavy body with ease. "I…ahh, excuse me. We have met previously, a few times." And the matter was closed. But Fauchelevent continued speaking slowly. "Where do you want me to take this man?"
Grantaire blinked. He had not considered a destination. He had no place that he actually could call home, and could pay for no doctor. But he had often Courfeyrac, and remembered vaguely that at one time Marius had slept there as well. So he directed Fauchelevent to the Hotel de la Porte-Saint-Jacques. He knew the tenant well and was certain he would be allowed into a room.
Before they went to the hotel, however, Grantaire carried Marius, under Fauchelevent's directions, to his grandfather's house. Grantaire stood back, reverting into his noninvolved observant mood, staring silently as the doorkeeper hurried off in a slight panic to find Marius' family. He also noted the look of loving relief upon Fauchelevent's face, and wondered what kind of connection these two families had.
Shortly after this they reached the hotel, once Fauchelevent had seen Marius securely settled in a bed with his family watching over him. Grantaire convinced the tenant to allow him entrance into Courfeyrac's old room, and as she had allowed him entrance many times before, the old woman did not think twice.
Fauchelevent laid the unconscious form down on a thin, broken mattress, taking care not to hurt the man's head. He seemed to flinch once he had situated the body, backing off immediately with a sort of jump. "I must go," he said quickly.
Grantaire took the man's arm for a moment. "Good sir, I would pay you for your efforts, but alas, I have nothing."
Fauchelevent gave a slight smile, already on his way out the creaky door. "I do not save a man's life for profit. That could almost be considered a crime." And he was gone.
Grantaire turned back to gaze upon the unconscious man before him, and after a moment's contemplation began to treat his wounds. He now merely had to wait for this man to awake.