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Disclaimer: Shockingly, I still don't own Les Mis.
It was nearly one in the morning, yet none of Les Amis had made any move to leave. It was later than usual, but they were all talking, laughing, drinking - just enjoying the evening. There was no more talk of revolution that night. Grantaire assumed it was because, thanks to Lamarque's falling ill, all at once their revolution had become more real. Before, it had simply been pretty words - an idea. Now it was much more tangible than that.
Even Enjolras seemed slightly unnerved, though Grantaire and the others were not foolish enough to believe that it was because of shock. For Enjolras, it had always been real. It was his revolution, for the most part. He was their chief, their leader - it was no surprise that he had been the most faithful in their cause, and the most willing to risk his life for it. They all pretended not to notice the way their marble statue seemed to crack just a bit, and they all pretended not to see him wander off to go sit with the girl.
They often teased, but tonight did not seem like the night for that.
They effectively ignored this, but it was a bit harder to ignore the other things going on in the room. They were talking and laughing, not paying a great deal of attention to the way Marie had drank a great deal more than usual, the way she spoke in slurred words and slumped against her seat. Grantaire was not drunk, but it seemed that someone had taken his place.
It worried him slightly. She had seemed upset earlier, and there was no doubt in his mind that she was drinking tonight for the same reason he often did. Obviously, intoxication was not uncommon in the café, but he could not help but worry that this would complicate the walk home. He did not want to take any unnecessary risks when they involved Marie's safety.
He knew it was not a good idea, given her usual temper and the way one often reacted to the suggestion when they were drunk, but he attempted to take the glass of whatever it was she was drinking from her hands.
"Marie, I think you've had enough, you don't want to be sick in the morning..." he coaxed.
Marie rolled her eyes.
"You're one 'ta talk, Messieur," she slurred gripping tighter to the cup.
Grantaire sighed and glanced towards his friends, a slight smirk on his lips. They all smiled back. How was it that they dealt with him nearly every day before he had toned down his drinking a bit?
He turned back towards Marie, who had chosen to drain the rest of her glass rather than give it up. Grantaire frowned. "Okay, no more," he said, this time easily taking the glass out of her hand. She wasn't really in any condition to be fighting to grab it back, anyhow.
She slumped over the table with a sigh of frustration. Her words were barely audible due to her face being buried in her arm - "Why aren't you drinking?" she mumbled, "You ca' get drunk whenever you want to, buh I can't?"
"I can barely understand you," Grantaire told her.
"I SAID, you can get drunk whenever you want, buh I can't?"
"It's just that you don't usually drink," he said, leaning closer to her so he didn't have to speak as loud. He knew the others could hear regardless, but at least they would not be yelling.
"D'you 'spect me not to drink when you're all talking 'bout this revlution that'll get you killed?" she asked.
Silence fell on the room after that. Grantaire swallowed. The other Amis all turned to look at them, the smiles vanishing from their faces. They knew the words were likely true. Some of them would fall, it was a fact they were all well aware of, but no one had said it so bluntly. Expect perhaps Enjolras, but somehow the way he said it was inspirational, the way it sounded when Marie said it was simply depressing. She never would have said such a thing were she sober.
"I think it's time to go home, Marie," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Buh everyone still here."
"We'll all be leaving soon," Joly came to Grantaire's aid. Of course Joly would. He smiled gratefully and Joly just nodded and continued, "It'd be best to get back while you can still walk," he pointed out.
Marie knew he was right - her eyelids were growing heavier by the moment, and she knew it was going to be difficult enough to walk home already. She tried to stand up, but the task proved to be nearly impossible. Grantaire laughed slightly and wrapped her arm around his shoulder so she could lean on him.
"Come on..." he said as he eased her up.
"Less go," Marie said, stumbling along next to him towards the door. "Bye!" she said cheerfully to the others, who seemed amused, but still concerned at the same time - probably due to what she had said. It had been a stupid thing to say, especially to that group, but she was quite blunt when she was drunk. She wondered why she had drank so much in the first place. She wanted to forget the fact that the only good thing in her life - or good things, rather, were Grantaire and his friends. Of course they would want to risk their lives. It was selfish of her, but she didn't want them to go on with their revolution, she didn't want to lose them. She honestly just couldn't.
But she wouldn't have a choice, would she?
Of course nothing good in her life would last.
She was glad she was drunk because if she were not, she would probably be sobbing at the thought.
Grantaire pushed open the door and helped Marie stumble through the streets. Luckily, there were not many people in the streets at this hour. However, every time anyone did appear, he couldn't help but pull the two of them farther into the shadows. What Brujon chose this night? Marie was in no condition to put up any sort of fight. He should have asked one of the others to accompany him.
They were half way to his flat when the trouble started.
"Pretty little thing you've got there."
Marie was nearly unconscious and didn't even seem to notice the voice. Marie looked entirely confused, Grantaire looked borderline panicked. What if it was the man they had spoken of before - Montparnasse?
"Brujon been lookin' for her."
Instinctively, Grantaire wrapped his arm tighter around her. "I'm sorry?" he faked confusion. "I do not know who that is."
"Oh, I believe you do."
He reached a hand for Marie, but Grantaire gripped tighter. Marie's vision came into focus as she was jolted by the motion, her eyes widening in panic when she saw the man in front of them.
Nothing felt real, but she knew who it was - Montparnasse.
Get away, you have to get away.
The little voice in her mind was screaming, but her movements were sluggish. She knew they could not go to Grantaire's flat, they would have to return to the café. They couldn't let the assassin know where they lived.
Grantaire knew what he had to do. He had the gun tucked into his pants, just in case. He had never pictured himself doing this - but he had to stop him somehow. But somehow, in the time it took him to grab the gun, Marie had tried to take off back toward the café and Montparnasse had grabbed hold of her arm.
Grantaire held the gun toward him.
"Let her go," he hissed.
"Put it down," the man said, the silver glint of a knife pressed to Marie's throat.
Grantaire couldn't breathe. This was not happening, this could not be happening.
He had one person to protect, one goal. And just like with everything, he had somehow failed.
"Grantaire..." Marie's voice sounded strangled and tear-filled.
She had been right, her life could not be happy for more than a few days at a time. She was destined to be miserable forever, and thanks to her, Grantaire was being dragged down with her.