Chapter Three: At the End of Twenty-four Hours

Grantaire awoke sometime in the middle of the night to the sound of moaning. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the moon's beams through the window, then a moment longer to remember where he was and just what had happened. It was Enjolras, he realized, who had moaned in his restless sleep. The revolutionary was tossing a bit and finally cried out, the sound breaking the drunkard's heart as he struggled to sit up. "Enjolras?" he murmured. When he received no response he reached a tentative hand to the other man's shoulder, shaking him lightly.

Two blue eyes shot open he lay there for a moment like that. He did not move other than his ragged breathing and the shudder that shook his body. Finally he blinked once and turned his eyes to Grantaire. He simply stared silently.

"Hey there, Apollo," the drunkard greeted with a forced grin.

"Hello, Grantaire," came the raspy response. "So you're alive."

"You don't have to sound so disappointed," the other grumbled.

"I'm not."

"Really?"

"No."

Grantaire stopped and sat in silence until he saw a very small smile perk his idol's lips. "You're playing me," he said slowly, unsure.

The smile grew a bit. "Yes."

"The fever's gotten to you."

"No…" Enjolras murmured, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. "We've won, Grantaire."

"Did we? I think I remember something about it… Is that what's put you in such a fine humour?"

"Doesn't it you?" Enjolras paused, letting one eye open so that he might be able to look at his companion. "No, of course it doesn't."

"I'm not unhappy over it, certainly," Grantaire assured him. "I simply thought it wouldn't happen. What chance did we have, honestly? I still would like to know how it happened…"

"The people must have risen up," Enjolras responded quietly, the smile still on his lips. "They heard us call and they answered. They are free."

"It's not over, you know. Now come all the boring talks that you'll have to be apart of. Combeferre and them were talking about someone coming back tomorrow for you…. to talk."

The injured revolutionary shifted, grimacing as he did so. "Me specifically?"

"I suppose."

Enjolras nodded, and let his eyes slip closed again. "Grantaire…I fear I won't make much of a companion for conversation at the moment," he murmured, exhaustion evident in his voice.

"Then sleep."

"I think I will." He opened his eyes again, briefly, and looked up as if unsure if he should say what he was about to say. "Will you…?"

"I'll be here."

The blond man did not respond other than to allow himself to relax against the makeshift pillow under his head and drift to sleep.

"I don't like it," Courfeyrac murmured. "He's not well enough."

"I agree," Combeferre answered in equally hushed tones. "But…"

"But what? We simply won't let him in. Enjolras is-"

"Enjolras is what?"

Both men spun to see a very shaky revolutionary leaning against the doorframe. His face was ashen pale and his eyes bright with fever, but there he was, up and dressed, even if a bit sloppy looking. One would have to give him that… He could only do so much.

"What are you doing up?" Combeferre demanded, moving towards him to usher him back to the pallet.

"Grantaire said someone would be by this morning."

"Grantaire needs to keep his big mouth shut," Courfeyrac growled. "Where is the winecask anyway?"

"Sleeping."

"As you should be," the med student grumbled. "Enjolras, if you must be the one they speak to, they can do so with you lying back and resting. What good does it do any of us – or yourself – to die of infection or breaking the stitches I worked so hard on."

"I'll do my best to keep from doing so."

"The National Guard from yesterday is here!" Joly hollered as he turned into sight at the end of the hallway. "Enjolras!"

The blond man nodded and forced himself away from the doorway, stumbling a bit, but then regaining his footing. His shaking hand hovered right over his wounds as if he were forcing himself not to wrap his arms around himself and sink to the floor in pain. He shook his head as Combeferre reached towards him. "No… I must… do this on my own."

The smaller man nodded. "At least let me come with you."

"That you may do," Enjolras said with a small smile.

The revolutionary leader had not been in the main room since earlier the day before and he'd seen little of what they'd made it into. They had given him his own room – though be it only a little more than a large closet – until Grantaire had decided to join, but in this room there were men and boys lain out wherever there was space for them. Drinking tables had been turned into operating tables and still more who were not as badly wounded sat upon the stairs, waiting.

"How many?" Enjolras breathed.

"Many," Combeferre admitted quietly.

"And… of Les Amis?"

The other man sighed as he took his glasses from his nose and tried to clean them as best as he could. His voice was quiet, sad. "Lesgles was the first to go," he murmured. "And Bahorel died on top of the barricade. He would have lived, I think, had he not come crashing down as he did." Combeferre shuddered slightly as he replaced his still-dirty glasses. "Jehan… I couldn't save him. I tried. How I tried…"

"They did not die in vain," Enjolras whispered. "Just like that girl that came looking for… Where's Marius?"

Combeferre blinked. "I haven't seen him."

"Not amongst the patients?"

"No, nor… the dead."

Enjolras shook his head, regretting the action as he did so. "He could not have disappeared completely."

"Surely he didn't…"

"Marius wouldn't have deserted us. Not while it was under his own power."

"That man… The one that came in the National Guard's uniform and took the spy away… He acted funny around him, don't you think?"

"Funny how? I was rather preoccupied."

"Of course. I don't know how, per say. Just that it was odd. As if perhaps he knew Marius and Marius acted as if he'd seen him before."

Enjolras nodded. "If you can find someone to spare, send them to look for Marius and that man. Do you know his name?"

"No, I'm afraid not, but it must wait. I will not leave you to this man alone."

"I can handle it."

"On any other day, Enjolras, but you and I know that you're barely standing here now. He'll be here shortly, I'm sure. Joly said he was lurkng around.Early and certainly not late."

"Very good prediction, Monsieur."

Combeferre turned to see the man from before. "I'm not surprised."

"And you," the Guard said, "look only a little better."

Enjolras frowned, eyes taking on a cold glare. "I'm here, though not on demand."

"Surely not, Monsieur Enjolras."

The younger man stiffened. "I'm afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, Monsieur, as you seem to know my name but I am unaware of yours."

"Bouvet," the Guard said simply. "Come, we have much to discuss."

"We can do so here."

Bouvet grimaced at the idea. "Surely not. Amongst all of this?"

"You may see what you've forced the people of France into."

"I have?"

"You and your people."

"You make it sound as if you are not of this class. Your father would very much disagree with you there, as you were born into high privilege."

"My father disowned me some time ago. Whatever I might have been born into was forfeit – gladly so – the day I opened my eyes to see the world as it is, not as they say it is."

Bouvet sneered and motioned to a door. "I'd like privacy speaking to you, Monsieur. If you'd please?"

"I'll come to," Combeferre piped up.

"I'd say not," the Guard responded, waving him off. "Go about your business, doctor. Many men seem to need your assistance."

Combeferre glanced at Enjolras, a silent question in his eyes. When the blond man nodded he sighed and turned away to go about his business.

Bouvet ushered Enjolras into the room and shut the door. Surprisingly enough, it was empty. "Why do you think your men won, Monsieur Enjolras?" he asked abruptly.

"The people of France rose up against those that oppressed them," Enjolras answered steadily. He frowned when the taller man laughed outright.

"Is that what you think, young fool?" Bouvet laughed. "You think the people rose up for you?"

"For themselves! For France!"

"You are an idealist, your father was right." He shook his head and moved to the window. "Have you seen it? Out there? I heard your doctor friend saying that you lost some of the original members of your little group of rebels."

"They died for our cause."

Bouvet turned, dark eyes flashing dangerously. "Is that so? And do you think that you've truly won or do you know nothing of the revolution that took place at the end of the last century? Yes, the people rose, and lobbed off the heads of anyone who had money. They became the tyrants themselves." He faced Enjolras fully now. "What of you, young revolutionary? Will you become the next tyrant?"

"I'm no tyrant. I fought for the freedom of the people. This will not be a bloodbath."

"It already has been," Bouvet said with a shrug. "Look about you. The air is rank with death and the streets run with blood. Chaos is erupting the streets. We'll have another Reign of Terror?"

"I'll tell you again: this will not be a bloodbath. I don't look to kill those with money, do you hear me? I look to liberate the people with nothing. I doubt you've seen that, sir. Have you? Have you seen the men that work days and nights, the women that leave their children to roam the streets because they too have to take a job in a factory that pays little more than nothing? Tell me, Monsieur Bouvet, have you seen it?"

Bouvet frowned, his lips twitching slightly in irritation. "You're revolution will not hold."

"It already is."

The other man moved quicker than Enjolras could follow, grasping the boy's chin firmly in his large hand and jerking him upward so that he was looking straight at him. The sudden movement caused Enjolras to have to bite back a cry of pain. "You are blind, child. Your illusions blind you to what will happen. They may rally behind you for a while, but when they do not get exactly what they want from you, you will suddenly become the enemy. You have wealthy and royal blood running through your veins. They will seek to spill it. You will bring around a second Reign of Terror and I will not see it come to pass, do you hear me?"

"My blood is no different from theirs," Enjolras murmured. His eyes had taken on a glazed stare of sorts through the pain, but he looked up suddenly, those blue orbs becoming sharp once more. "You forget, Monsieur, it is people like you that we rise against. Those that think they can rule simply because they are born into wealth."

"And you?"

"I matter little."

"You will be the key in all of this." He dropped the revolutionary back down, watching as he struggled to keep his footing. Bouvet shook his head and turned towards the door. "You may not have been the only barricade in Paris yesterday, but yours was the one that the white flag was first raised at. You will be a key in all of this. We shall see where it goes."

"So that's it?"

"For today."

"And when do we discuss something of value, Monsieur."

"What would that be?"

"The people!"

Bouvet allowed a wicked smile to cross his lips. "When you aren't about ready to collapse. I'll be around, Monsieur le revolutionary. Count on that."

As soon as he was gone Combeferre was in the room. He caught Enjolras as the latter's knees finally gave way and he tumbled forward. The med student gathered his friend up as best as he could and laid him out on the floor. Enjolras took in a sharp breath and his eyes opened widely. He gasped for a moment before finally settling back down.

"And you said you could handle it," Combeferre murmured softly as he smoothed his friend's hair back. "Easy, Enjolras. Shh…"

"Anything… about Marius?"

"I sent Gavroche. He knew something of it all."

"Gavroche? I thought I saw the boy fall."

Combeferre gave his friend a grin. "Took a tumble, but he patches up very nicely. He's just fine and ready to be of use once more. He'll be back soon enough, I should say."

Enjolras nodded silently.

"Do you think you can make it back to the other room?" At the injured man's silence, Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder. "If I were to help you?"

Enjolras seemed to think on this a moment and finally nodded. "Yes, that could do," he murmured at last.

Caligirl-HPLVR: Thanks so much! Glad you're liking it :)

Melissa Brandybuck: It'll be happy, but it always gets worse before better. Poor Enjolras and everyone else…

Sparxxa: Thanks very much!

Cheese: interesting little thing you recommended there… Thanks for reading :)