When Joly finished up his shift that night, he didn't know how he would ever sleep. Fourteen hours of almost nonstop running between patients, answering calls, and hearing what he was beginning to believe would be one of the most important stories ever told - he should be exhausted. Dead on his feet. He usually was on these nights. On these kinds of nights he was supposed to get a ride home, prepare tea, and fall asleep before the water had even started boiling.

But tonight was different. After hearing what bits and pieces Enjolras had managed to share with him, Joly had gone home. He didn't make tea, and he didn't go to bed. He went to the ancient oak dresser in his room, one of the few pieces of furniture he had, and dislodged a journal stuffed in one of the shelves.

Joly took that journal, seated himself on his bed, and began to write.

Joly returned for his next shift a couple of days later. This time around, Dr. Dupard hadn't given him a hard time about the night shift; Joly supposed the doctor had nothing to hide from him anymore, and now just wanted work to get on as usual. Though Joly couldn't help but hope that Dr. Dupard was beginning to have more faith in Joly, considering his recent successes.

According to reports, Enjolras was sleeping more or less peacefully. After Enjolras had started his story those few nights ago, he'd fallen quiet for a while, answering Joly's questions and concerns with monosyllabic words or not at all. Joly knew better than to press him. So far, the part of Resistance leader that Enjolras had played just a few years ago struck Joly as both terrifying and fascinating. He knew that whatever Enjolras was getting ready to tell him, it wasn't going to be without pain for either of them.

When Joly was on rotation, he stopped by Enjolras' cot to check up on him. Giving him a quick smile, Joly skimmed the notes Sister Perpetue had added for him on the little nightstand. No nightmares in the past few days, sometimes unresponsive, continued labored breathing (ribs unhealed?).

"You're back."

Joly looked up, quickly tucking the notes away and greeting Enjolras.

"I am. Did you miss me?" Joly asked, attempting a light and teasing tone as he tried to gauge just where he and Enjolras stood for now.

Enjolras said nothing, as usual. Joly didn't expect an answer anyway, so he sat down next to the cot for a moment to steady himself.

"So no more nightmares?" Joly asked, meeting Enjolras' eyes, trying to hold back the triumphant grin. Enjolras looked as though he were about to roll his eyes and respond with some hidden wit, but as he opened his mouth he abruptly stopped. Enjolras simply shook his head.

"I'm fine."

Joly wasn't sure what this meant. He felt the beginnings of a disturbance bubble in the cauldron of his patience. It was so very difficult - he knew "fine" was never really fine. Fine wasn't sleepless nights and painful memories. Why couldn't Enjolras just tell him how he really felt? How was Joly supposed to know how to help him otherwise? Joly didn't want to be useless. Enjolras needed his help, and he would get it whether he liked it or not.

"Are they gone?" Joly pressed. "Sister Perpetue says you're finally getting your rest now, though still not enough of it. Are you sure you don't want to try the sedative, now that the nightmares are gone? I know you said -"

"No." Enjolras suddenly fixed his eyes on Joly, with perfect intensity and clarity. Joly found himself unable to speak for a second, and it took him a while to recover from the unearthly effect Enjolras had, even in his broken state.

Joly nodded and rose. He avoided meeting Enjolras' eyes, though he could feel Enjolras watching him. What could Joly do now but worry? He went to the intravenous infusion line hooked up next to Enjolras' cot, inspecting the pump pressure in the bottle. The antibiotics dripping into Enjolras' bloodstream through the IV wouldn't be enough to fight off infection in Enjolras' body if he didn't get his rest. Joly was beginning to wonder with a heavy feeling in his stomach whether Dr. Dupard had been right, whether he should have let him put Enjolras under, much as he hated himself for it.

They went through their regular routine in silence. Joly replaced the bandages for Enjolras' hand, noting with satisfaction that his skin was growing back normally where it had been surgically cut away. Joly made a mental note to let Sister Perpetue know that her struggles to keep Enjolras from scratching at it hadn't been in vain. Moving on to the sutured cuts on Enjolras' torso, Joly winced at the angry welts that had formed around them. He worried that the infection they'd been fighting so hard to keep out was finally setting in.

Joly couldn't help but think about how many scars Enjolras would be left with by the time he was well enough to leave.

Joly swung his stethoscope around his neck and unbuttoned Enjolras' hospital pajamas. Helping him sit up, Joly checked his breathing, ignoring Enjolras' constant stare until he finished up.

You should go check on your other patients, the rational part of his brain told him. There are still so many things to get done, to keep in order…

One minute, Joly promised himself. Enjolras was facing away from him again, and Joly might have been tricked into believing he was asleep were it not for the nervous tapping of Enjolras' fingers.

"I never gave you my side of the story, did I?" Joly asked, willing some sort of response. He waited, not quite ready to give up and leave, when Enjolras finally turned to face him.

Enjolras' mouth twitched. "No, you didn't."

Joly forced himself not to smile. It never seemed to have the desired effect on Enjolras. "Well, before we get into that, I've been wanting to know. Did you get caught before curfew that night? Where we left off, I mean?"

Enjolras raised his eyebrows slightly. "You have to honor our agreement."

Joly nodded reluctantly and looked down at the floor. He tugged at his coat sleeves nervously, wondering how to start.

"You lost your leg," Enjolras prompted him, his eyes careful and guarded. "How did it happen?"

"Fell out of an airplane," Joly said, the words falling out of his mouth too easily. He shut his mouth before he said anything else, just for the time being.

Funny, he hadn't thought about it in all of the years since. Speaking the experience aloud suddenly brought the memories rushing back all at once, and Joly felt as though his senses were being flooded. Such a long fall - weightless in the air, wind slicing his cheeks and stinging his eyes. Screaming from above, screaming coming from somewhere - but not Joly. His mouth was dry as he hurtled through the sky, his hands freezing and numb as they desperately tried to open his parachute, and he was dizzy - so dizzy -

"Joly?" Enjolras asked, his voice rising in volume. Joly blinked, realizing he had a deathly grip on the nightstand, as though it could anchor him. As though it could have possibly saved him.

"Sorry." Joly cleared his throat, standing up so suddenly that Enjolras flinched back a little as he did. "You'll have to excuse me. I have - I have other patients waiting for me. Forget what I said." Joly pasted on an assuring smile as he stumbled away from Enjolras' cot, feeling what remained of his missing leg ache more than ever.

"How's your patient?" Sister Simplice asked Joly later as she rolled out new bandages and lint dressings in the supply room. Joly had come to fetch something but couldn't remember what it was for the life of him.

"Fine," Joly said. "At least that's what he says. It's really all he says, actually."

Sister Simplice pursed her thin lips in what Joly guessed was her attempt at a smile. "Monsieur, I think you underestimate the progress you've made with him. Then too, you forget everything he's been through."

Joly shook his head in embarrassment at her praise. "Have I, though? He still doesn't trust me."

"He doesn't trust anyone," Sister Simplice reminded him gently, tucking away the bandages back in the cabinets. "He trusts you enough with what he's given you so far, hasn't he? I know the Doctor wants everything done quickly," she said, the corners of her mouth turning down a little, "but I don't believe that's the way. Time is what he needs, what you both need."

Joly opened his mouth to argue, but Sister Simplice shook her head and raised her hand up to stop him.

"Now I suggest you go back to work." Her tone was brisk and told Joly that the conversation was over. "Here's that penicillin you came in for." She handed Joly the little glass bottle seemingly from out of nowhere and swept out of the room. With the sudden quiet of her absence, it was as though she had never been there. Joly remained standing in the small room with its white walls, believing he'd never felt so suffocated as he did now - clutching the medicine in his hands as though it could tell him what to do.

Get back to work.

On his break, Joly flipped through the old sketchbook again. By now he'd memorized all of the different faces and names, but they still felt meaningless to him. He tried to form some idea of them from the drawings, tried to connect what pieces he was given to recognize each individual. Sometimes it worked; with the man named Bahorel, Joly could almost hear a voice like the booming of a cannon, a fist whipped out in a flash. He traced the lines of Combeferre's sketch, feeling a somber warmth spread through his chest. Something was there, reaching for him, but not quite.

He had better luck with Courfeyrac.

Joly ran his fingers over the page depicting that jovial young man described by Enjolras. He felt that from Enjolras' brief description of him he could almost see that peculiar way his eyes sparkled. He almost felt he knew him, and could imagine what it was to laugh and experience life in full color with this man.

Joly flipped through the book one last time, skipping the pages of Enjolras so he wouldn't have to feel that painful twinge on seeing that brilliant, unblemished face so full of hope.

Yet there were so many.

Joly slipped the book back inside his jacket next to his notebook, lingering a few seconds in his seat. He was due to give Enjolras his medicine right about now, and to hand in Enjolras' report to Dr. Dupard. He was expected, relied on.

With a sigh Joly stood, a little slower than usual, and put his apron back on for duty.

Dr. Dupard met him halfway down the hall, signalling him to stop. "A word, Joly."

Joly tried not to worry as he approached, counting off the dozens of things the head doctor could be preparing to berate him for.

"How is your patient?" Dr. Dupard asked, his tone casual but his eyes piercing. Joly swallowed nervously and smiled.

"I have many, Dr. Dupard, and they're doing well enough."

"Don't fool around, boy," Dr. Dupard said, shaking his head seriously. "How is Monsieur Enjolras? It's about time you'd gotten somewhere with him. Remember, I can send a nurse to take your place if you're not up to the task." As always, there was that extra meaning behind Dr. Dupard's words, warning veiled behind concern and interest. Joly shook his head passionately.

"No, no, everything's fine." Fine. Isn't that what Enjolras said that got you in such a twist?

"Where's his report?"

Joly hesitated. He knew what he was supposed to say. Yes, Enjolras is talking about his past. Yes, the report's finished. Yes, I can give it to you now.

"Joly." Once again, Dr. Dupard gave him that look, that mix of disappointment and regret. That look that said Joly had let him down. Joly shuddered, and remembered where he was. Who he was. He pushed what Enjolras had said to him last week out of his mind about Joly manipulating him for his own gain. But, Joly reasoned, this was the only way to help him.

"Yes, Dr. Dupard, I have my report ready for you."

Dr. Dupard relaxed and took a step back. He smiled at Joly, clapping him on the back. "I'm glad to hear it, Joly, really I am. You can turn it in once you've finished your shift."

As Dr. Dupard turned away, leaving Joly in the hallway. Joly's stomach had come alive, twisting and churning angrily, sending him a more painful rebuke than Dr. Dupard ever could have.

You have betrayed your friend.

When he reached Enjolras' bedside, Enjolras was awake and waiting for him. He watched Joly as he approached, the most peculiar expression on his face. It unsettled Joly to see that it too closely resembled pity.

"Did you do it?" Enjolras asked, taking the little cup of medicine Joly gave him, wincing as he swallowed it down. Joly eyed him curiously.

"Did I do what?"

"Give that doctor - your supervisor - what you wrote? About me, I mean?"

Joly took a sharp breath at his words, and started to look anywhere and everywhere that was not Enjolras. He busied himself with preparing the fresh bandages as he considered and weighed what Enjolras had asked. Enjolras' tone wasn't accusing. It was sad, perhaps, curious, certainly - and Joly decided to tell him the truth. After all of the lies Enjolras found himself surrounded with each day, it was what he deserved. Joly braced himself for the impact of what he had to say.

"Not yet." Joly raised his eyes to Enjolras midway through undressing his bandaged hand. Enjolras nodded, as though he'd already known.

"But you will?"

Joly nodded.

Enjolras looked thoughtfully at Joly's hands, which, quick and nimble at their task, now applied a salve and rebandaged Enjolras' damaged hand with practiced precision.

"We haven't even gotten to the good bits yet," Enjolras said with the barest hint of bitterness, staring up at the ceiling.

Joly finished his task, taking his usual seat next to Enjolras. He wanted so badly then and there to assure Enjolras of his loyalty, to bring out the report and tear it to pieces in front of him. A sudden surge of impulsiveness and hope bloomed in his chest, and he imagined doing it. How unlike him it would be - it would be sure to shock someone. But sense grounded him and shut the impulse down, at least partially. "I can misplace it, you know - if you'd like. It'd buy us a few days, though I'll have to give it to him eventually.

Enjolras just looked at him for the longest time, his expression, as usual, stony and unreadable. "Would you really do that?"

Joly didn't need to consider the question as he offered Enjolras a grim smile. "Whether you like it or not, you're my friend first, patient second. Unless it's life or death and you need to be resuscitated, but that can be figured out later."

Enjolras nodded, returning to his serious train of thought. "Rather stupid of you."

Joly didn't deny it. Perhaps Enjolras was right and it was stupid to be so presumptuous - but he couldn't help himself. More so, it was wrong to pry into painful parts of Enjolras' life that he didn't want revealed, when he was already in such a weak physical condition. That much he knew. If Joly could put off his "national duty" for a while, however long it could last, he would. After all, Sister Simplice had said Enjolras needed time. He couldn't knowingly cause pain when he was supposed to be easing it.

"I'll go hide the report now." Joly stood, a feeling of finality sinking into his chest. He didn't want to imagine the conversation that would follow his next confrontation with Dr. Dupard.

"Joly."

Joly turned, expecting one of Enjolras' usual nods or serious looks.

"Come back," Enjolras said, his voice unusually gentle, shifting his weight on his bed so that he was almost sitting up. Joly let out an offended exclamation.

"Not on your own, Enjolras." He hurriedly helped Enjolras into a sitting position before he could do any more harm to himself, and was shocked at the uncharacteristic touch when Enjolras placed his thin and unhurt hand on Joly's shoulder. Joly sat down, waiting.

"I agreed to tell you - so I will."

"Are you sure you want to?"

"No," Enjolras said, "but it doesn't matter. There are people - they don't deserve to be forgotten." His voice was thick with emotion, and Joly was worried it would be too much for him.

Joly clasped Enjolras' hand, and for one moment, he allowed himself to sit idly, to be in the presence of someone who was more than a patient under his care. God, it had been too long since Joly had so fully trusted and respected somebody - he'd known Enjolras only these short weeks and he felt already as though he would gladly go into battle with him.

Joly removed his hand, withdrawing the notebook he'd been tracking Enjolras' story in. "So I suppose we keep going."

Enjolras nodded, taking a deep breath. "Since you asked before, no, I didn't get caught after curfew that night. Looking back on it now it really was foolish of me to be out." He paused for a beat, staring at his hands. "That next week - the eleventh of November, 1940, the demonstration - that was the first real sign of resistance in France that year."