"What're you doing?"
With his hand hovering over the keypad, the wildcard slowly turned to face the group that he was a mere five digit code away from sending to their deaths. The scene was almost grotesquely picturesque, with the wildcard framed by the horrific image of the outside world – burning and toxic and shades of black that had never existed before now. Truly a terrible sight, but still only a sight to those safely behind the bunker doors. Enjolras was the closest to him, but even then he was some distance away, afraid that any more proximity to each other would cause the doors to open, code or not.
"This isn't logical"
"And neither is how you're all handling this exercise. When we entered this round, you all knew we were stepping things up. The priority in this situation is repopulation, and hopefully with the genes of the people you cherry picked from the jaws of death to ensure the human race's survival. But then, 'philosophy isn't morality', is it?"
"No. It's not." With another, cautious step forward, Enjolras motioned away from the doors. "Come on. Come away from there, we can talk this over – you're talking about a permanent solution to a temporary problem."
"There's nothing to talk about." The wildcard replied evenly, looking pointedly at the girls. "I apologize for being so crass before, but that doesn't change a thing; desperate times call for desperate measures, and in a situation such as this, you sometimes have to put personal preference aside for the greater good."
"Utilitarianism isn't the only way to go about things." Cosette said, her voice fearful but firm.
"Do you know why women will always be favoured over men in times like this? Why they were the first to be given spaces in lifeboats if a ship sank? It's because we're trained by evolution to preserve our species. Child rearing becomes the most important job in the apocalypse, so when I saw you both being voted in this time, I assumed it was because you were all thinking practically. Logically."
Nobody had an answer, or at least, not one that came fast enough. What happened next went frame by frame. Four out of the five digits were entered, and with a sickening 'crack', the wildcard's head was smashed into the door.
Again. And again. And again.
And when he fell to the floor, if it wasn't for two of the students pulling Montparnasse off of him, the attack probably would have continued. For the next dreadful few minutes, all were too stunned to do anything. Freeing himself from Marius and Grantaire's grasp without much struggle, the dark eyed criminal pushed a hand through his hair and took a breath as he cast a look around at his peers' expressions.
"He's not dead, so you can all stop gawping like that. It had to be done."
"You could have killed him" Came one reply, the shock of what had happened and what had nearly happened still apparent on Marius' face.
"But I didn't."
"That's hardly the point!" Enjolras added, looking from the unconscious man to one who'd put him in that state, to which he simply rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.
"I suppose you're right. Next time someone is about to wipe you all out via volcanic lava and deadly gas, I'll be sure to let it happen. God forbid the man get a concussion instead of killing us all." He replied dryly, the sarcasm not lost on anyone in the group – but, few of them could argue his logic. With that, he made his way back to the dorm, and falling asleep in his still-warm bed without much trouble.
The wildcard was carried carefully to one of the sofas, and after Feuilly had checked him over, he opted to stay with him until he woke up, with Marius offering to keep him company in the interim.
On his way back to the artificial garden, Grantaire heard someone following after him, though he didn't need to turn to know who it was. With a small, private smile, he let Enjolras come with him, neither uttering a word until they were sat back on their own respective benches. For some time, neither said anything; they'd both come so close to dying for the second time, and yet, the atmosphere wasn't one of fear or anxiety. After around ten minutes of letting himself ease back into the tranquil mood the room offered, Grantaire spoke, prompting Enjolras to let his eyes open.
"Do the others know?"
"Know what?"
When he just raised his brows at him and smirked softly, the blond realized what he meant, smiling himself in return.
"Ah…that. Combeferre does, so does Courfeyrac. But it's not common knowledge, if that's what you meant."
"Why have you not told anyone else?"
Turning his palms skyward, he fixed Grantaire with an earnest expression. "Honestly? Because I don't see what difference it'd make. It's only a small part of who I am, and why should anyone care anyway? Unless people feel like telling me, I don't make it a point to wonder about their sexual orientations. I can't imagine doing the same for me is too entertaining."
"That's true, and it's fair enough."
"It is. Why? Do you tell every person you meet?"
"…Touché."
Both boys laughed, lightly and under their breath, the last of their energy beginning to fade gradually. Neither knew was time it was, not that it mattered much; it wasn't as if their needed to be up and awake for anything the next day. Shifting a few inches closer while his companion's flickered closed again, Enjolras spoke again, his tone softer than before. This wasn't a side of him Grantaire was accustomed to seeing or being around – this wasn't a side of the authoritative, impassioned future leader they had all learned to gravitate to that was seen often, and yet, it was a side that Grantaire made sure to remember.
"You never answered my question. Who you'd choose to stay with for the rest of your life in a bunker."
Ah, yes. He'd nearly forgotten about '20 questions'. Sighing deeply, Grantaire rubbed at his eyes before motioning at the blond vaguely. The next few questions were asked through raised, surprised brows and sincere nods.
"I've heard you say more than once that being stuck anywhere with me would be like vacationing the fifth layer of Hell – you'll have to forgive me for being sceptical."
"I say a lot of things - stupid things, for the most part. I say even less of anything of substance where you're concerned, so…I wouldn't take what you've heard seriously…"
Giving himself a moment to process what he thought he was being told, Enjolras nodded slowly, leaning back against the wall.
"…Why me?"
"Don't make me answer that…" Grantaire shook his head, his mouth turned up into a smile, though the nervous panic in his eyes would have been hard to miss. "I have a feeling I've already embarrassed myself enough for one night."
"It wasn't my intention to embarrass you." Enjolras said honestly, despite his curiosity only growing by the second. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to know more, though…most of the time when we talk, you're either making fun of me or telling me to lighten up."
"And you're…well, probably doing the same, to be fair."
"I don't make fun of you."
"Okay true. But I've heard you call me a number of things in the past." Holding up a hand to quell the oncoming barrage of questions, the farmer finally managed to look at Enjolras properly.
"It doesn't matter – you're usually right anyway. The point is-"
"I'm sorry."
"…Thanks, but I wasn't expecting an apology. I was just saying, the point is – I say stupid things, things I don't always mean…but, it's always the stuff I want to say that is the hardest to put across. And I probably worded that terribly…"
"No, I understand."
Pushing to his feet, Enjolras didn't leave as Grantaire feared he was, but instead he just paced the room. To stretch his legs or what, he wasn't sure. But this was a conversation they may never have again for a long time, and it was one that, while he'd never really prepared himself for, he wanted to have with him so badly.
"In the classroom, then…were you being stupid, when you said that you believe in me?"
"Ah – no. No, that was true."
"I did wonder, I'll admit…Grantaire, I -" Turning on his heel to face the other student, Enjolras took a breath, wanting his next sentence to come off as sincerely as possible.
"I am sorry. You're not the only one guilty of running his mouth without thinking now and then, and evidently you've overheard me on more than one occasion. I don't have an excuse, only that you're one of the most infuriating people I've met, and also one of the most intriguing. On paper, we shouldn't get on-"
"I wasn't aware we really did in practice." Grantaire cut in, tilting his head up at Enjolras. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I do want us to talk more, to get on better. But like you said, I'm infuriating, you are as well, as well as idealistic."
"You're argumentative."
"You're bossy."
"You have a terrible sense of humour."
"My jokes are hilarious; that only proves my next statement – you wouldn't know something funny if it approached you and offered to blacken your boots."
The exchange, despite its content was playful, and left both of them chuckling. The fatigue tugging at their eyes and minds probably had something to do with how much both were smiling, but it was the kind of tiredness both were willing to fight through.
"This certainly wasn't something I saw happening. You remember me telling you that you didn't smile at all in round one? Well, now look at you. Smiling, laughing, and all because of little old me."
"Little old you is easy to talk to. I suppose that's why everyone flocks to you, to hear your anecdotes and stories?"
"Eh, maybe. My knack for story telling is one I take pride in."
Gesturing for Grantaire to move up, Enjolras sat himself at the end of his bench, bringing both feet up so that he could curl into the corner and rest his head back against the wall.
"Go on then."
Frowning curiously, Grantaire scratched at his chin absently. "What?"
"Tell me a story."