Chapter Two: No Time to Spare
"Courfeyrac! Did you see the flag?" Combeferre shouted as he flung open the door to the sight of his lady-chasing friend kneeling over their two injured comrades and a soldier standing a bit away with a bloodied bayonet. The young med student began to shake. "Enjolras! Grantaire! What…"
Courfeyrac stood, eyes blazing. "I say kill him!" he shouted, trembling, eyes locked on the soldier. "He's killed Enjolras, surely!"
"He's not dead yet," Combeferre murmured as he knelt by Enjolras' still form and felt a weak pulse in his wrist. "And Grantaire as well. They need help, now."
"You: stay put," Courfeyrac growled at the soldier and moved to help lift Grantaire as the smaller man took Enjolras in his arms awkwardly. They shuffled down the stairs as best as they could with their limp friends, hearing a groan from each before reaching the bottom and stretching them each out on a separate table.
"What happened?" Joly demanded with a gasp.
"They got in upstairs," Combeferre murmured as he searched desperately for a clean rag that was not stained already with crimson. At last he found one and semi-clean water. He moved toward Enjolras first, instructing Joly to take a look at Grantaire until he could. As the young hypochondriac did so, Combeferre pulled back his friend's tattered red vest and blood-soaked shirt that was now a deeper colour of the vest. His patient moaned in pain at the first contact of the luke-warm water to the wound. "Shh… It's all right, Enjolras. You're with friends."
"What's the count?" the blond man murmured, eyes fluttering open ever so slightly. Those keen blue eyes that always appeared to be calculating every movement were now glazed with pain. Though, even saying this, he was asking about the men and Combeferre had to smile.
"We've won, my friend," he whispered, touching a hand to the injured man's forehead and smoothing back filthy blond hair. "We've done what we came to do."
"Won?"
"Yes. Now rest. I'll take care of you."
"And… Grantaire?"
Combeferre glanced over his shoulder to where Joly was working steadily. "He's just fine," he assured the revolutionary leader. "He'll be up and drinking and irritating everyone in no time."
Enjolras nodded, allowing his eyes to slip closed and his head to lull back. His breathing evened out and Combeferre laid a hand against his cheek softly, praying to God that He bring his friend from death's door that he seemed to be at.
"Where is your leader?" a voice said from behind.
The medical student whirled around, startled, to see an aged man, though not old by any means. He wore a National Guard's uniform. "Why?"
"My men raised a white flag, haven't you heard? I need to talk to him now."
"I'm afraid that is impossible."
"And how's that?"
Combeferre motioned to the still form of Enjolras that lay - still bleeding - on the table. He pressed a rag against his wounds and it brought a gasp from the boy. "As you can see, he's got enough to deal with without being burdened by you. You'll have to settle for me. When I'm done here, that is."
The man's dark eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of Enjolras. "He's nothing more than a child… Will he die?"
"If I leave him now, yes. But I still might save him, so I'd ask you to leave me to my work."
"Pull your men out of here," Courfeyrac said coldly. "We'll discuss what needs to be discussed after the wounded are dealt with."
"And you have authority to give this order?" the Guard growled.
"Yes."
"Then I'll return in twenty-four hours. I will speak to him then, if he's alive."
The young students watched the elder man leave, all letting out a sigh as the air seemed less threatening now that he was gone. But they could not breathe freely yet. "Try to find some hot water," Combeferre instructed. "And blankets."
"That's asking a lot in this place," Joly murmured softly.
The other med student looked at him, eyes sad yet holding just as much conviction as his voice. "I will not let them die."
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The sun was low in the sky when Grantaire's eyes fluttered open. He blinked twice, forcing them to focus, then made the mistake of trying to sit up. With a yelp of pain he fell back against the makeshift pallet and turned so his face was buried in the blankets.
"You're awake."
He forced himself to turn again, so he could see the owner of the voice. "Feuilly?"
The fan-maker nodded and moved closer, kneeling next to his injured comrade. "Do you remember what happened?"
"Not really," Grantaire admitted slowly. "Well… I woke up. And Enjolras and Courfeyrac had come upstairs…" He stopped suddenly. "Enjolras… is he alright! He stepped in the way. They stabbed him, shot him too, I think… I have to see him! Where is he?" The drunkard's words were quick and chopped and he struggled to sit up.
Feuilly pushed him back down, calling for Jolly as he did so. "Lie down."
Jolly rushed into the room, stumbling over himself as he did and finally came to kneel clumsily next to the injured man. "Lie back, Grantaire. You're only going to make it worse."
"Where's Enjolras?" he demanded.
"Resting in the next room."
"I have to see him… He's all right, isn't he? Of course he is…Apollo's invisible. I have to see him!"
"He's resting, Grantaire. He was injured, as were you. You both need time…"
"No, I have to see him!" Grantaire all but yelled, panic rising in his eyes and voice.
"You can't!" the young hypochondriac said as forcefully as he could.
Grantaire sat shaking for a moment, his eyes glancing around the room wildly and he wrapped his arms around himself. "He's dead, isn't he? That's why you won't let me see him…" he murmured.
"He's not dead, Grantaire, only wounded," Feuilly said as soothingly as he could, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Please understand, you both need time to rest and heal."
"It wouldn't hurt to have us in the same room," Grantaire continued on. "The only explanation is he's dead and you just won't tell me."
"Who's dead?" Combeferre asked from the doorway.
Grantaire looked up at him, his eyes pleading. "They won't tell me, but I know it's true."
The young doctor motioned for Feuilly and Jolly to move back and he took a seat next to the panicked man. "What won't they tell you, Grantaire?" he asked gently.
"That Enjolras is dead… It's the only reason they won't let me see him."
"You both need rest, Grantaire…"
"You too!" he growled. "Won't any of you tell me?"
Combeferre frowned and stood. "Jolly, go check on Enjolras, if you please. Feuilly, would you help me get Grantaire to his feet?"
"To his feet? But-"
"Please."
Feuilly nodded as he and the med student each took one of Grantaire's arms, pulling him upward gently. It wasn't far, but only in the next room over. Jolly was next to Enjolras who lay on a pallet much like Grantaire's. The blond revolutionary lay silently, eyes closed and face pale. Beads of sweat had formed on his face a tinge of blush on his high cheeks were clear signs of the fever that plagued him already.
"He's not awake," Combeferre murmured to his distraught friend whom he held up. "But you can see he is alive."
Grantaire pulled away and stumbled a couple of steps before falling down next to his leader. "He's so pale…" he whispered as he reached a shaky hand to touch his face. "Has he woken up?"
"Once, when we first got the two of you downstairs, but not since."
"We're running out of time," Feuilly said from his place. "Do you think he'll be awake by tomorrow morning?"
"I don't know. Twenty-four hours isn't time to heal from these wounds and that man should have known it. He didn't leave a name, did he?"
Jolly frowned and leaned against the wall. "How can he give us orders, anyway? We won the battle."
Combeferre gave him a tired smile. "We'll deal with it as it comes, my friend. For now, let us focus on getting Enjolras well enough to talk to him by tomorrow morning."
"You could talk to him," Feuilly murmured.
"I could, but I'd rather Enjolras do it. He is our leader in all of this and he is the one with the clear vision."
"What will happen if he doesn't wake up in time?" Grantaire asked quietly.
"We'll deal with that if it happens. For now, let's do all we can for him." Combeferre watched the drunkard for a moment. "Would you like us to bring your pallet in here?"
Grantaire nodded absently, his eyes still focused on his injured friend and he smoothed back the sweat-soaked blond hair. "You'll live to see all you fought for," he murmured. "I'd do anything to see it. Even… give up drinking if I must."
Combeferre smiled down at him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We'll pull through this, Grantaire," he promised, then turned and ushered everyone else out of the room. They had a little over twelve hours until the nameless National Guard came back to speak with Enjolras. It would be that conversation, Combeferre was sure, that would settle all the rest, leading them to peace and to the poor of France's freedom. It was what they had all longed for, and for now he simply hoped that Enjolras would live to see it.
CaliGirl-HPLVR: thanks muchly :D
Cecilia Carlton: Thank you for the correction of the French. I'm actually planning to start taking the language the second semester of this year, so perhaps it'll get a bit better by then lol. Oh dear… that is a blaring mistake, isn't it? Hmm.. I thought I'd read over it well enough. Terribly sorry but thank you for pointing it out. My mind tends to work faster than my fingers and I'll come out with some of the most random of words… I'm still working on the 'how they won' issue. I hardly ever have a clear view of exactly what I want to do with a story when I start… the stories write themselves, it seems. I've got one idea I'm playing with that seems like the most believable of my different paths I can take, but one path will be chosen soon and it will be explained, so don't worry :) Thanks for the review! (oh yeah, btw, read your profile and yay! Another Laurie R King fan with Mary Russell:) )
Anna:glomps: you read it! Yay! You should like this chapter, much Grantaire/Enjolras angst… Gotta love it, right?
Melissa Brandybuck: Sorry… I specialize in angsty fics… but it'll get better by the end! Don't worry! I hate sad endings and rarely write them