Disclaimer: Wow... Chapter 6 and I still don't own anything.
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Marie felt so warm in his arms, despite the cold night air that whipped around them. One one hand, she was mortified that she had fallen apart in front of so many people, but on the other, she was happy she had. She was tired - so tired of being strong all the time, so tired of biting back tears wen all she wanted to do was sob, so tired of crawling into bed every night sore and wishing she wouldn't wake up in the morning. Crying alone made her feel empty. Crying into Grantaire's chest was more of a release, as if he were a reminder that she was not alone.
His fingers running through her hair sent shivers down her spine, but the good kind, not the kind one got from wandering the less than safe streets at night. She pressed herself closer to him, breathing him in as her breath finally started to slow, her tears slowly stopping. He smelled like wine, but not in the bad way - not the stale, dirty smell of alcohol that so many of her nightly customers did. No, in more of a sweet musky way that was so comforting.
He could feel her small hands pulling at his shirt as she clung to him. No one had ever clung to him like that. No one had ever needed him. With one hand he began to rub her back gently in attempt to soothe the small hiccups and sobs that still occasionally made her gasp for air. The fabric of her dress was thin, much too thin for her to be walking around in at this time of year. Beneath the scraps of fabric, he could feel her bones - how they protruded too far through her skin. His hand ran over her lower ribs and she flinched. He moved his hand immediately, looking at her with concern.
"Are you hurt?" he murmured. He knew that she probably would not tell him if she was, but he was hoping. "Honestly, if you are, tell me. Joly is studying to be a doctor - He isn't one yet but don't let that scare you - he's brilliant."
Marie froze. Her side had been hurting for two days now. The other night, she had tried to refuse a customer. He hit her. Of course, Madame Fosse allowed it. In fact, she encouraged it.
"That little whore," she hissed, "Maybe you can beat some sense into her. Teach her not to refuse money when it comes. After all, little mademoiselle it's your job now."
Of course, it wasn't as if Marie got to see much of the money she earned. Madame Fosse pocketed most of it, leaving her with barley enough to live by. Of course, it wasn't as if she could complain to the law about her unfair work conditions. It wasn't honest work. Not like she hadn't tried... But no one would hire a gamine like her. Pretty little grisettes got the factory jobs, and people like her took to the streets.
She couldn't just tell them how it had happened. Though, perhaps they would not ask questions. People got mugged on the street all the time. She could lie. Normally she would just wait it out, but it had been two days, and every breath still came with a sharp pain. So, instead of protesting, she merely nodded, hesitating before she spoke.
"Thank you, Monsieur... But.. I cannot pay."
She supposed they knew this about her, but she felt the need to warn him anyway. She couldn't very well just go in there and leave if some sort of payment was required.
"It is really no trouble, Marie," he told her, "Joly will be happy just to have a patient to practice on. Really, you'll be doing him a favor."
Marie felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. "Well, I'm glad I could be of assistance."
"Are you ready to go back inside?" she checked with her, placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her away from him gently, so he could look at her.
She gave him a small nod of approval and he smiled at her, hoping it was comforting on some level. She smiled back, so he figured he was doing a good job.
A half hour later, Marie found herself upstairs. Apparently, the leader of the group lived in a flat above the café, and he allowed the man called Joly to take her up there, Grantaire following not far behind. The others had stayed downstairs, still discussing the same plans she had heard them discussing when she had last visited.
"Okay, I need to get a look at your ribs..." Joly told her. It had become clear to the group how skittish the young woman could be, which was no surprise when they considered the bruise on her cheek and whatever was hidden beneath the thin fabric of her dress. "I won't try to-"
"It's fine," Marie assured him. It was strange, how careful they were being with her - as if she were too easily breakable or something.
Nodding, he peeled the fabric of her bodice off of her. Grantaire, she noticed, averted his eyes politely.
She lay in the bed silently, her eyes focused up at the ceiling. The mattress was much softer than any she had slept on in quite some time, and so comfortable that she could have fallen asleep right there if not for the stabbing pain whenever Joly touched the sensitive area.
"Oh," she gasped when he pressed just a little too hard, tears welling in her eyes in spite of herself. She knew the man was not trying to hurt her.
As soon as the sound escaped her lips, Grantaire was there, gripping her hand. She squeezed back. His eyes were still averted, focused somewhere on the wall behind her. For a drunk, he was incredibly polite.
After a few more minutes, Joly sighed. "There is a lot of bruising," he told her. Of course she could have noticed that. "And there may be a small fracture." Marie's eyes widened slightly. She hadn't expected that.
"There isn't much I can do, but I recommend bedrest, as much as possible," he told her.
Marie almost had the urge to laugh. As if she could afford to spend a few days just resting. The idea was nice, but she'd starve, spending that much time off the job. She would just have to let it heal like the rest of her injuries, deal with it until it was gone.
Joly helped her back into her dress, as it was difficult to move, and far less painful with the help of another person. Grantaire didn't look at her until she was decent again.
"I don't want to sound rude," he said quickly, glancing from Marie to Joly, then back to Marie. "But... do you have any place to rest?" he asked her. Of course he did not want to assume that she had no home at all, but there was a good chance. And, even if she did, whoever did this to her might be there - The thought of her going back there struck a chord, and he didn't want to allow it to happen.
"I'll be fine, Grantaire, really," she assured him, shrugging.
He ignored her. It was the answer he expected.
"You are welcome to stay with me until you're healed," he offered.
Marie shook her head, "No I couldn't," she protested.
"Marie," he told her, dropping his voice, and making eye contact with her. "I know you don't want help. But you need it. I don't know who did this to you, or why, but I do know that you need a place to go. I also know it is far too cold outside for you to be wearing that, the wind probably cuts right through it. You'll get sick."
If only he knew.
"I told you, I'm not your charity case."
"No, you're not. You're a friend. What are friends for?"
Marie was going to protest and say that they were strangers, but she couldn't. Honestly, she had cried in his arms. That was something, given the fact that she was so closed off from everyone. She hadn't told him a thing about her life besides her name, but he had seen her in her must vulnerable state. And instead of leaving, he stayed, and he actually cared. And his friends cared.
For a moment, she thought about it - he could be her friend. The others could be her friends, too. She could actually have friends for once in her life. She would be lying if she said it wasn't nice.
She had not given him an answer, but Grantaire had moved over to the end of the bed, opening a trunk that sat there. For some reason unknown to him, despite that fact that Enjolras seemed to detest him, he found himself laying on the floor in that very room, the morning sun piercing through the window making his head throb. The blankets always went back in the trunk. Surely Enjolras wouldn't mind.
He pulled out a quilt and wrapped it around Marie's shoulders. It practically swallowed her small frame.
"Come with me," he pleaded with her.
He had gotten through to her so far, and hell if he was going to let her wander back out onto the street. Joly would have a heart attack, all the health risks that involved.
"Really, Mademoiselle, it will be better. You will heal faster," Joly urged.
Marie was already nodding, preparing to stand up, but Grantaire had already tucked his arm under her knees, the other under her shoulders. He was not the strongest, but the young woman barely weighed anything. She was too exhausted to insist that she could walk, and so she instead just let her head rest on his shoulder, her eyes closing mostly so she wouldn't have to look anyone in the eye - it was almost embarrassing, that she wasn't supporting herself. Part of her wondered if he might stumble and fall down the stairs, because she was certain that he had probably had a decent amount to drink. But somehow, he didn't.
"I'm taking her home to rest," he told the others. Marie could tell, from his tone of voice, that he was in some way asking for permission. His heart sort of raced slightly in her ear, and she felt bad. She hoped she wasn't getting him into some sort of trouble.
"Of course," she recognized it as the voice of their leader, "I hope she recovers quickly."
Not long after she heard the voice, they were back out in the streets of Paris once more.