A/N: Forgive muses willing mind wasn't putting two and two together and making four. Once more thanks to sparrow for filling in Grantaire and been general epicly good where I fail at times
Enjolras gaped at the doctor, unable to help the stupid blink that he finally gave at the words as their meaning sank into his brain. He understood what each word meant on its own, but strung together his mind wasn't willing to recognize them. Much less the truth in the statement. A frown creased his brow as he searched for any sign of a joke, lips working into a thin line, then pursing out once
again. It had to be a joke–a joke in poor taste, but a joke nonetheless. It was impossible that it could be true… He looked toward Grantaire, where the man leaned against the wall outside the room, his hand covering his eyes, fingers and thumbs pressed to his temple, as if weeping.
"No," he whispered out. A smirk curled his features. "You're joking." The doctor shook his head. The smirk faded. "Then you must be lying to me." Another shake. A laugh burst from him as he shook his own head, almost in mockery of the man before him, "Oh, no, no, no, no. You must be some sort of quack; it's a misdiagnosis if not that. Nicholas, do you honestly believe him?" He looked toward Grantaire, who kept his position stalwardly, seeming unable to deviate from it. Enjolras bowed his head as, denying no longer, he groaned and pressed his face into his hands, rocking back and forth as he let out a gutteral sob. After a few moments of this, he said, "Get out."
"Monsieur," the doctor began.
"GET OUT!" Enjolras bellowed, lifting his head as quickly as if he would follow it up with a punch squarely to the man's big-nosed, sunken face. Grantaire was by his side in a trice, grasping his shoulders. "Adrien, enough," said the drunk, not quite so much a drunk in the past few weeks. Grantaire had remained determinedly sober as he helped him to recover enough to stand the doctor's visit. Now Enjolras wasn't sure if he wouldn't strangle or kiss the man–or both–before him. "Enough, mon ami."
"Monsieur," the man began again, "as I was going to say, there is hope that–"
"All I hear from you is meaningless yammering!" Enjolras roared. "Get your equipment and get out of my house!" Grantaire released his friend's shoulders and sighed, turning to show the man out. "Nicholas, where are you going?" A hint of fear showed in the man's voice where rage had been before. "I'm showing the man out," said the other man, gazing over his shoulder. "Fear not, mon soleil. Your wasted drunkard will return." Leading the doctor down to the door, he paused long enough to listen to what the man had to say before returning to the room above. Perhaps later he could have the former leader of the students' revolution see sense. For now, he would do as he had the last few weeks: comfort, encourage, and more than likely make him some food.
Enjolras had almost slumped in on himself once Grantaire had left with the doctor. Those words were what he was focusing on, he couldn't help it, nothing was there to distract him and they left a curiously hollow empty feeling coupled with absolute nausea. Maybe it would have been better had he died then stay living in this cage. To be trapped like a bird with clipped wings. What use were even dreams now? It wouldn't be like he could carry them through any time soon. He was stuck, left to waste away, stripped even of his own ability to remain independant. A small voice whispered that there was no need for true independance, that he had Grantaire now. But he was quick to quash that down. How long would that drunkard be willing to stay beside him before he got tired, bored of
effectively playing nursemaid. Not long he was sure. There was so much more that he deserved, that he couldn't give him.
Grantaire peered into the room, looking at the downcast face that was almost to tears. He slipped his arms around the other man and pressed his head to his chest, stroking the dark hair. "Ne pleur pas, mon cher." He kissed his head. "We'll come through this." Enjolras looked up at him "how long before 'we' becomes just 'you'll' Nicholas?" he whispered out taking the comfort while he could. Part of him knew he should be trying to push him away but he didn't want to. He wanted to enjoy the comfort, the contact while he could. Before he lost the one human he'd had regular contact with since….. then. "You'll grow bored, tired of having to care for me… you deserve better then what I can offer Nicholas," he added on "I'd… just be…holding you back as it is now, after all what have I got to dream for now?"
Grantaire looked at him, apalled. "Never say that about me again, Apollo." His fists shook as their clenched around Enjolras' shirt sleeves. "If those men from the guard had lined you up in a firing squad and asked any of those men from the ABC to step forward, none would have but I!" He shook him furiously. "What gall gives you the right to–to–" Words failing him, Grantaire left him to rampage about the room to and fro, throwing out various insults and expletives at no one, grasping at his hair, kicking the wall until he was calm. Then he stood breathing heavily, his brow pressed to the wall, the flat of his fist beating the wood as a choked noise left his throat.
Enjolras watched him quietly…sadly almost. He couldn't stop the doubt in his mind, part of him was even saying he deserved it. Deserved to be alone. After all those students that had died. Maybe this was his punishment? He just knew that was what happened though. Despite every good intention the cripple, the dependant eventually died, either they killed themselves dooming themselves to hell or they were killed. Grantaire turned toward him slowly, tears streaming from his eyes down his red-cheeked face. He fell to his knees, grasping Enjolras about the waist and burying his face into his belly. He mumbled brokenly into his shirt, not really noticing what came from his lips other than it was meant to bring his Adrien out of this despondancy.
Enjolras sighed softly, he could…pretend though….couldn't he? Pretend that he truly believed that Nicholas wouldn't leave him? Surely that was…just a dream? An…unattainable one but…it was a dream right? "I'm…. sorry to doubt you," he said quietly gently stroking his hair gently, he couldn't kill the doubt in his heart or mind, but he'd…at least try and pretend. Whimpering, the blubbering man keened and nuzzled at his belly, kissing his thigh, trailing his lips up to his Adam's apple and beyond to press salty lips over his sun's. "I won't leave you, I swear. I swear, I swear, I swear on me favorite bottle, I swear on all the Bibles of the world, I swear," he said, feeling that if he said it often enough, fervently enough, he could impart the truth of his words to the man that now was sprawled beneath him.
Enjolras couldn't help but to return the kisses hiding the doubt as best as he could manage mentally throwing himself the task of dreaming this dream and hoping it to be a reality "I can't…walk…." he whispered out "I can't….use my legs…. I'm…damaged…." he was almost parroting the doctors words his mind coming back to them despite his attempts to push those away kissing Nicholas again. This…. sudden dependancy didn't particularly sit well with him…. the fact he'd need help with almost everything. It… just left him feeling useless. "You can still get around." An idea had formed in Grantaire's head. The man was grinning lopsidedly. "I'll have a present for you in a few days, if you'll give me that time, oui?" He tilted his head, eyes almost pleading with Enjolras. The frown that had been present only deepened at the strange words the strange request.
He nodded though trying to quash the growing doubt that was just accelerating at hearing that sure that it meant that he was going to leave him in those few days "Oui…." he said quietly, hesitantly. Grantaire smiled, then snapped back to what he'd been secreting away after leading the doctor to their place. "A moment, mon amor," he said quickly, hurrying down the stairs so quickly he mistepped and tumbled the rest of the way down on his ass. "Sacre bleu!" he swore, before hauling himself up and stumbling to the hiding place.
Enjolras tried to rest, finding himself staring at the ceiling instead, everything echoing in his head. He frowned feeling a ghostly hand touch his own. He turned his head, no one was there… a shape in the window… "Feuilly?" he asked more to himself than anyone else, not that there was anyone in the room, he'd cracked he was certain. But it seemed so…real. He had to be t-no he'd died! His attention drifted as he heard the sounds of Grantaire climbing back up the stairs, looking away briefly, when he looked back Feuilly had disappeared… if he'd even been there at all.
Grantaire climbed up the stairs as quickly as he'd come down, slipping and landing hard on his chest. Grunting, he pulled himself up and into the room again, grinning. "I've got it, Adrien. Close your eyes." Enjolras frowned, shakily closing his eyes though sure he'd just seen Feuilly, making a note to bring that up with Grantaire after this…whatever….this was…. he wasn't sure but anything to keep him happy till he left him right? Kneeling down, Grantaire took his hand and said, "Open your eyes, cher." When he had, the man slipped a small wooden band around his finger–a ring. Enjolras looked at the ring, then at Grantaire, his mind not quite understanding "a…. a ring?" he asked curiousity piqued a faint frown showing through, indicating the lack of comprehension, his mind once again not getting four from putting two and two together.