Enjolras sat back down again near Grantaire's head. Not sure what else he
could do, he laid a hand, palm flat, gently on Grantaire's forehead. The
skin was damp and cool. Enjolras felt the side of Grantaire's face down to
the neck, as he remembered his mother doing when he was sick as a child.
Grantaire's neck was hot, almost dry, compared to his forehead.
He moved his hand back to the forehead and tried to relax while he waited . If Grantaire's life were in any danger, Combeferre would not have left him in Enjolras's care. "I'm sorry, Grantaire," he whispered. "I used you badly."
Leaving his hand pressed against Grantaire's cold forehead, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound of Grantaire's breathing, that steadily reassuring rhythm to which he matched his own. So he immediately noticed when the it changed. He opened his eyes to see Grantaire staring at him with mixed horror and awe in his brown eyes.
"Saint-Michel?" Grantaire grated.
"No, no," Enjolras said soothingly, "only Enjolras."
"I'm not dead?" The fingers of one of Grantaire's hands were straying toward Enjolras's hair, for once a bright cloud of curls. "You-your hair?"
"A disguise only." Enjolras let Grantaire's curious fingers touch one curl then gently detached them.
"What happened?" Grantaire asked feebly. He tried to sit up. Firm hands on his shoulders held him in place.
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
"I don't know." Grantaire closed his eyes again, his skin suddenly gray.
Only a steel will kept Enjolras's concern from his face. He could tell that Grantaire was in pain, but he had to keep faith that the man was not in danger. Yet his helplessness against such pain tore at his gut. He could hardly bear this role of patient guardian, and tried to swallow away some of the sourness that had collected in his dry mouth without quite succeeding.
He wondered how he would be able to stand a similar or worse injury in one of the men he counted as a dear friend. What if this were Combeferre? What if the damage were fatal? This was only Grantaire, and his sympathetic pain was agonizing.
After several minutes he heard himself say, "Don't worry about it. Combeferre will be back soon, and everything will be all right." As he spoke, he glanced down to see that Grantaire was staring at him again. The man's dark eyes reflected pity, and the awe had not faded yet. Both emotions horrified Enjolras and oppressed him. How could he escape such responsibility? Not wanting to follow those thoughts, he examined how Grantaire was embedded in the bushes.
Twigs twisted into the cloth at several points. The man was firmly caught on all sides. Tears and dirt marred the distinctive Robespierre waistcoat Grantaire had donned the other night. Without shifting from his position as pillow to the injured man, Enjolras began breaking off twigs.
"What're you doing?" Grantaire asked immediately, alarm sharpening his voice.
"Getting you ready to move."
"Ah. I'm sorry, 'Jolras. I really did try."
"I know you did. I saw you."
"I began well enough, you remember? But it got ugly as soon as you left. They wouldn't let me finish." Grantaire's words began to soften and slur with his tired effort. "There was this one man, your mate in majesty, but dark--"
"I know who you mean. I met him later."
"You? I don't-- when?"
"Last night. We looked for you."
"Looked for me?"
"And found you."
The dusty gray face was suddenly suffused and a few tears sneaked through the cracks to dampen the whiskers near Grantaire's ears.
"Don't-- don't," Enjolras said. One hand moved to wipe away the tears, but stopped before the goal. "I know how it went there. That was no fault of yours. I'm sorry. I... misjudged the situation. I also know some about Pere Bayon's."
"Pere Bayon's? Is that where they took me?" Grantaire swore softly. "Well, no wonder--"
"What do you remember?"
"Not much." Grantaire's eyes closed and his brow hardened with concentration. "Shouting. And the police came."
"And you ran away?"
A nod. "I tried to lose them by climbing a tree."
The hat, thought Enjolras, and looked over to it. "I found your hat."
Grantaire strained to see where Enjolras looked. "Yeah? Merci. I fell out of the tree. And all I could think to do was hide in here. I don't remember much else."
"You don't need to. I'm the one who should apologize." When Grantaire didn't reply, he glanced down and saw that Grantaire's eyes were closed. Enjolras waited for several minutes, listening to Grantaire's even breaths. He fought slipping into a second reverie. And with his efforts came his worries. Had he used this man too hard? Was the task he'd set Grantaire beyond the man's capabilities or had Fate merely been capricious with them both, robbing both cynic and dreamer of their desired goal? What was Grantaire's goal?
"Grantaire?" he said softly, so not to awaken him if he had fallen asleep.
"Yes?" Grantaire murmured sleepily, not opening his eyes.
"What do you want?"
"I want Combeferre to get his slow, sympathetic self back here before I expire of boredom." 'Grantaire smiled and peered up at his protector.
Enjolras shook his head. "Not what I meant. Why did you offer to go? You know your own nature."
"You mean, 'why did you get my hopes up, you lying cynical weasel?'"
"Not exactly."
Grantaire snorted. "Bah! Even in your head you must pretty it up. That is the sense of it, non?"
"I suppose. Can you give me an answer?"
"Perhaps. Do you ever listen to yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you practice the things you say to us? Do you have any idea what you sound like?"
"I practice some things. some speeches." He'd been practicing that night, before checking on Grantaire. "But no, I can't say I really know what you mean."
"Your voice, your manner, your gaze and every breath. you are like Moses bringing the Law down the mountain to the Hebrews. You are the angel driving Adam and Eve from Paradise, although it would seem, so you say, that you are trying to drive us all from the World back into Paradise. Do you know what that does to us, to mere mortal men?"
"I am a man, same as you," Enjolras snapped. "Not some saint or angel. If I can see, hovering there before us, a Future within our grasp, surely you could see it too. All we have to do is reach out and take it."
Grantaire shook his head with much effort. "No, we don't see it as you do. Or at least I don't. All I see is you."
"Pardon?" Enjolras blinked.
"Nevermind."
Enjolras frowned and tried to keep his temper in check. This conversation was no less frustrating than any he had ever had with Grantaire before. Around and around the argument went, retreading the same tired ground.
"Enjolras?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm sorry."
"Didn't you say that before?"
"Might have. I don't remember." Grantare's voice was growing fainter.
"Hold on, Grantaire." Did he manage to keep the alarm out of his voice? Enjolras no longer cared.
"I'm cold and things keep swimming around."
"What things? Maybe you should close your eyes." He reached out with one hand to gently close them himself, and Grantaire grasped his hand. Enjolras bit his tongue and locked his muscles to keep from recoiling. He looked at the large hand wrapped around his own. Grantaire had a fine down of dark hair covering the back of his hand. Rather than look into Grantaire's eyes, he stared at the hairs.
"No," Grantaire said softly. "I want to be awake when Combeferre gets here."
"I'll wake you." Enjolras tried to extricate his hand.
"What if you can't?"
"If you were going to die of concussion or somesuch, I'm sure you would have done it before now."
"You're not a doctor. I'd prefer not to risk it. I'm alive and help is on the way. This is not the time to take stupid risks."
"If you wish," Enjolras reluctantly agreed, and Grantaire released his hand. "Talk to me to keep yourself alert."
So for the next several minutes, Grantaire talked. For once, the sound of his voice was peaceful to Enjolras's ears. Every sentence seemed to confirm that Grantaire was still in his right mind if a trifle worn from his ordeal. Enjolras listened and occasionally commented. He was smiling faintly when Combeferre arrived with a cabriolet and his bag.
"What took you so long?" Enjolras and Grantaire said at once.
"I thought we might not want to carry Grantaire back to his flat," Combeferre said patiently.
"Right," Enjolras nodded. He did not move immediately.
"Are you all right?" Combeferre asked.
"Of course he's not alright," Enjolras snapped. "He fell out of a tree."
"I meant you," Combeferre said and knelt to take the burden of Grantaire's head.
He moved his hand back to the forehead and tried to relax while he waited . If Grantaire's life were in any danger, Combeferre would not have left him in Enjolras's care. "I'm sorry, Grantaire," he whispered. "I used you badly."
Leaving his hand pressed against Grantaire's cold forehead, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound of Grantaire's breathing, that steadily reassuring rhythm to which he matched his own. So he immediately noticed when the it changed. He opened his eyes to see Grantaire staring at him with mixed horror and awe in his brown eyes.
"Saint-Michel?" Grantaire grated.
"No, no," Enjolras said soothingly, "only Enjolras."
"I'm not dead?" The fingers of one of Grantaire's hands were straying toward Enjolras's hair, for once a bright cloud of curls. "You-your hair?"
"A disguise only." Enjolras let Grantaire's curious fingers touch one curl then gently detached them.
"What happened?" Grantaire asked feebly. He tried to sit up. Firm hands on his shoulders held him in place.
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
"I don't know." Grantaire closed his eyes again, his skin suddenly gray.
Only a steel will kept Enjolras's concern from his face. He could tell that Grantaire was in pain, but he had to keep faith that the man was not in danger. Yet his helplessness against such pain tore at his gut. He could hardly bear this role of patient guardian, and tried to swallow away some of the sourness that had collected in his dry mouth without quite succeeding.
He wondered how he would be able to stand a similar or worse injury in one of the men he counted as a dear friend. What if this were Combeferre? What if the damage were fatal? This was only Grantaire, and his sympathetic pain was agonizing.
After several minutes he heard himself say, "Don't worry about it. Combeferre will be back soon, and everything will be all right." As he spoke, he glanced down to see that Grantaire was staring at him again. The man's dark eyes reflected pity, and the awe had not faded yet. Both emotions horrified Enjolras and oppressed him. How could he escape such responsibility? Not wanting to follow those thoughts, he examined how Grantaire was embedded in the bushes.
Twigs twisted into the cloth at several points. The man was firmly caught on all sides. Tears and dirt marred the distinctive Robespierre waistcoat Grantaire had donned the other night. Without shifting from his position as pillow to the injured man, Enjolras began breaking off twigs.
"What're you doing?" Grantaire asked immediately, alarm sharpening his voice.
"Getting you ready to move."
"Ah. I'm sorry, 'Jolras. I really did try."
"I know you did. I saw you."
"I began well enough, you remember? But it got ugly as soon as you left. They wouldn't let me finish." Grantaire's words began to soften and slur with his tired effort. "There was this one man, your mate in majesty, but dark--"
"I know who you mean. I met him later."
"You? I don't-- when?"
"Last night. We looked for you."
"Looked for me?"
"And found you."
The dusty gray face was suddenly suffused and a few tears sneaked through the cracks to dampen the whiskers near Grantaire's ears.
"Don't-- don't," Enjolras said. One hand moved to wipe away the tears, but stopped before the goal. "I know how it went there. That was no fault of yours. I'm sorry. I... misjudged the situation. I also know some about Pere Bayon's."
"Pere Bayon's? Is that where they took me?" Grantaire swore softly. "Well, no wonder--"
"What do you remember?"
"Not much." Grantaire's eyes closed and his brow hardened with concentration. "Shouting. And the police came."
"And you ran away?"
A nod. "I tried to lose them by climbing a tree."
The hat, thought Enjolras, and looked over to it. "I found your hat."
Grantaire strained to see where Enjolras looked. "Yeah? Merci. I fell out of the tree. And all I could think to do was hide in here. I don't remember much else."
"You don't need to. I'm the one who should apologize." When Grantaire didn't reply, he glanced down and saw that Grantaire's eyes were closed. Enjolras waited for several minutes, listening to Grantaire's even breaths. He fought slipping into a second reverie. And with his efforts came his worries. Had he used this man too hard? Was the task he'd set Grantaire beyond the man's capabilities or had Fate merely been capricious with them both, robbing both cynic and dreamer of their desired goal? What was Grantaire's goal?
"Grantaire?" he said softly, so not to awaken him if he had fallen asleep.
"Yes?" Grantaire murmured sleepily, not opening his eyes.
"What do you want?"
"I want Combeferre to get his slow, sympathetic self back here before I expire of boredom." 'Grantaire smiled and peered up at his protector.
Enjolras shook his head. "Not what I meant. Why did you offer to go? You know your own nature."
"You mean, 'why did you get my hopes up, you lying cynical weasel?'"
"Not exactly."
Grantaire snorted. "Bah! Even in your head you must pretty it up. That is the sense of it, non?"
"I suppose. Can you give me an answer?"
"Perhaps. Do you ever listen to yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you practice the things you say to us? Do you have any idea what you sound like?"
"I practice some things. some speeches." He'd been practicing that night, before checking on Grantaire. "But no, I can't say I really know what you mean."
"Your voice, your manner, your gaze and every breath. you are like Moses bringing the Law down the mountain to the Hebrews. You are the angel driving Adam and Eve from Paradise, although it would seem, so you say, that you are trying to drive us all from the World back into Paradise. Do you know what that does to us, to mere mortal men?"
"I am a man, same as you," Enjolras snapped. "Not some saint or angel. If I can see, hovering there before us, a Future within our grasp, surely you could see it too. All we have to do is reach out and take it."
Grantaire shook his head with much effort. "No, we don't see it as you do. Or at least I don't. All I see is you."
"Pardon?" Enjolras blinked.
"Nevermind."
Enjolras frowned and tried to keep his temper in check. This conversation was no less frustrating than any he had ever had with Grantaire before. Around and around the argument went, retreading the same tired ground.
"Enjolras?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm sorry."
"Didn't you say that before?"
"Might have. I don't remember." Grantare's voice was growing fainter.
"Hold on, Grantaire." Did he manage to keep the alarm out of his voice? Enjolras no longer cared.
"I'm cold and things keep swimming around."
"What things? Maybe you should close your eyes." He reached out with one hand to gently close them himself, and Grantaire grasped his hand. Enjolras bit his tongue and locked his muscles to keep from recoiling. He looked at the large hand wrapped around his own. Grantaire had a fine down of dark hair covering the back of his hand. Rather than look into Grantaire's eyes, he stared at the hairs.
"No," Grantaire said softly. "I want to be awake when Combeferre gets here."
"I'll wake you." Enjolras tried to extricate his hand.
"What if you can't?"
"If you were going to die of concussion or somesuch, I'm sure you would have done it before now."
"You're not a doctor. I'd prefer not to risk it. I'm alive and help is on the way. This is not the time to take stupid risks."
"If you wish," Enjolras reluctantly agreed, and Grantaire released his hand. "Talk to me to keep yourself alert."
So for the next several minutes, Grantaire talked. For once, the sound of his voice was peaceful to Enjolras's ears. Every sentence seemed to confirm that Grantaire was still in his right mind if a trifle worn from his ordeal. Enjolras listened and occasionally commented. He was smiling faintly when Combeferre arrived with a cabriolet and his bag.
"What took you so long?" Enjolras and Grantaire said at once.
"I thought we might not want to carry Grantaire back to his flat," Combeferre said patiently.
"Right," Enjolras nodded. He did not move immediately.
"Are you all right?" Combeferre asked.
"Of course he's not alright," Enjolras snapped. "He fell out of a tree."
"I meant you," Combeferre said and knelt to take the burden of Grantaire's head.