Montparnasse was, despite habit, the first to wake the next morning. It was early – around seven thirty, but his hunger was what drove him to climb out of bed at long last, long limbs tangled in his covers and normally well-kept hair stuck up at odd angles. He made no special effort to keep his movements quiet as he made his way through the bunker, noticing on his way out of the dorm that five of the beds, not including his own, were empty. One was the wildcard's, one was Marius', and one was Feuilly's, and as far as he knew, they were accounted for on the couch. He was only reminded of the final two names as he passed the 'relaxation room', as it'd been named. The sound of soft snoring was coming from the section of the room that held the day bed – a place constantly lit with a weird, warm light. According to their resident psychiatrist, it was a good way to help alleviate depression in some way or another. In all honesty, he hadn't been listening too closely.
However, he was a little surprised to see both Enjolras and Grantaire fast asleep on the aforementioned piece of furniture; they were far enough apart to make it seem innocent enough at first glance, and yet close enough to make the petty criminal think other motives were in the works. With a casual roll of the eyes, he let the door close on its own as he continued on his way to the kitchen. However, the click of the door shutting stirred both boys in their sleep, and on instinct, made Enjolras curl a little closer to his companion.
Once he had a mug of coffee in hand and something that passed for a plate of eggs, he went through to the sitting room area, sitting down with as little grace as could be expected from one who' just woken up. Whenever people are described as looking peaceful or beautiful when they sleep, Montparnasse had always called bullshit – and moment's like this proved him right. Marius could easily have passed for a sedated Labrador with the way he slept, what with his mouth hanging open and a steady stream of drool happily staining one unfortunate sofa cushion. Feuilly just looked strangely angry and confused, like he was being fired in a vivid dream world where the economy was just as poor as it was in real life. And then the actor's attention was drawn to the wildcard. The man he'd very cleanly knocked out several hours before. Something about him was…amiss, for lack of a better word. While his keepers were both breathing slowly and heavily, the oldest of the group lay totally still. Narrowing his eyes briefly, he took another mouthful of coffee and finished his breakfast in good time, and only then did he pull his feet off the coffee table and put his dishes in the sink.
As he passed back through the room, he casually wandered behind the sofa where the wildcard lay, Montparnasse glanced at both Feuilly and Marius as he paused to a stop, leaning over carefully and holding a hand a few centimetres away from the wildcard's nose and mouth.
Nothing.
He then proceeded to press his index and middle fingers to the man's throat.
Nothing.
Well this was going to be a headache and a half. Going around to Feuilly's part of the couch, he gave him a hard, sharp tap to the collarbone to wake him – oddly enough, it worked the first time around, though the chemist did not seem happy to have been woken up, least of all by who was looking down at him.
"What?" He groaned, keeping his voice low.
Montparnasse did not extend his bunker-mates the same courtesy. "You may want to check your patient; he's having a hard time being alive."
Once he realized what the actor had said, Feuilly sat bolt upright, and was at the wildcard's side in a second. Pressing two fingers to his wrist, then his throat, it was his cursing that finally woke up Marius. He was filled in on the situation, and soon the girls were woken up as well. Flicking her eyes over the people collected in the room, Musichetta shrugged at the confused faces of the others as she began to tug her hair out of its plait.
"Enjolras and Grantaire aren't in bed. I thought they were out here."
"Neither of them are..? Then where-"
"I'll get them. Though we may want to consider changing the sheets on the day bed once this has been sorted."
Montparnasse said airily, walking just as casually as he had when checking the vitals of their exit-strategy. Perhaps it had been a little mean spirited, planting idea's and rumour in the minds of his, in his opinion, gullible peers. He didn't know what had happened between the farmer and the survivalist. But he'd seen enough of their fights and heard enough of their banter to make an educated guess.
Knocking loudly on the door, he let himself in without invitation, revelling in the startled way both men half-sat up, mops of blond and brown hair completely askew and eyes still weighted with sleep. Giving them both a moment to adjust to the light of day and the fact there was someone next to them, Montparnasse whistled – a shrill, quick sound from between his teeth – grabbing their attention once more.
"Up and at 'em, gents. You're being summoned."
"What time is it…?" Grantaire asked blearily, collapsing back against his pillow.
With a glance from him back to the slender man stood in the door way, Enjolras quickly came around. "Why? What's wrong?"
"Not much really." Montparnasse shrugged. "The wildcard's just up and died in the night. No big deal."
Back in the classroom, Grantaire couldn't help but protest the new development.
"Wait, wait – what? You're dead? Again? So basically we're all going to die…again."
The teacher just shrugged. "It's a logical result to what Montparnasse chose to do. Repeated blows to the head can cause all manner of internal injuries. That's something he should have thought about before stopping me so abruptly."
"You were planning to kill us all off early, bear in mind." Montparnasse said coolly, giving Grantaire a smirk. "Besides, you assume I didn't plan for that?"
"You planned to murder him?" Enjolras muttered, shooting him a cold look. "And to think, Grantaire was the one we were hesitant to let in."
"Hey, he still has a criminal record – maybe he's yet to prove that to you."
"I doubt he'll have the opportunity."
"We're getting off topic, guys." Musichetta cut in, somewhat irritably. "Are we all dead, or not?"
"Oh, come on. You lot have absolutely no faith in me. I've got a plan – a logical one. Just go with it. I promise we won't die."
Looking to their teacher for the final decision, he allowed it, giving Montparnasse the reins as he stepped out of the bunker, and went to join the students who'd been lost their chance to experience the comforts of living through this particular apocalypse.
Back inside the bunker, Montparnasse had returned to the sitting room, followed shortly after by Grantaire and Enjolras. It was apparent that the suggestion the actor had left hanging as he'd left the room had had an impact on how the others seemed to look at the two of them, but Enjolras was quick to turn their focus to the dead man on the sofa.
"How long has he been like that?" He asked, looking to Feuilly for an answer he knew he likely couldn't give.
"It could have been any time from when Marius and I brought him in here, to an hour after that or more. He's pretty cold, though. I'd say a few hours at least."
"So…we have the same problem as before. We're trapped in here." Said Cosette quietly, rubbing the back of her neck gingerly, eyes filled with a weary concern.
"You said you had a plan. So, tell it." Feuilly stated, taking a step towards Montparnasse, who only regarded the semi-threatening movement with a raised brow.
"Calm down, Doctor Banner. I've got this." Addressing the rest of the group, he combed his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it as he explained himself.
"The entry code is only five digits long, and before we very nearly got incinerated, I made sure to check how many numbers he punched in. Once he hit the fourth button, I knocked him out so that he couldn't put in the last and open the doors."
"Alright. You have good timing. But that won't help us when the year comes to an end."
"I remembered what the number sequence was. And so, it won't take us long to find out which is the remaining digit is – come on, we've got between one and nine to figure it out. We're all smart enough to work that out in a minute or two."
When his solution was only met with silence, he pulled an expectant face.
"Oh, and you're welcome."
"No one's thanking you." Enjolras replied sternly, meeting the look of resentful disbelief with a frown of his own.
"You should be. You ungrateful prick's would have lost the round hours ago if it wasn't for me."
"He's right, Enjolras." Came Marius' contribution to the conversation, though Montparnasse didn't seem bothered about having back up or not. Though before he – or anyone - could give him the thanks he deserved, the actor just shrugged, and went to leave the room.
"Whatever. Next time, I'll let you take the spotlight, Blondie. I know how much it pains you to have the likes of me steal it away for a second or two."
And with that, there were six. Giving the wildcard's body another once-over, Grantaire pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the tiredness that only a few hours' sleep had caused. He wouldn't have changed a thing about the small hours of the morning he'd spent in deep conversation with Enjolras, but he hadn't expected to be awake so soon after crashing out next to him.
"We need to deal with him…"
"But how? We can't dump him outside, we can't bury him anywhere, or burn him."
"Look…we could all use a few more hours sleep. Feuilly, help me move him. We can put him in the utility room until we can figure out what to do with him."
"Why in there..?"
"It's cold, for one. And it's the furthest room away from anywhere communal. He won't be in the way."
Accepting the task, Feuilly just nodded, and waited for Grantaire to finish talking to their unofficial leader.
"Do you need a hand?"
"…No, we should be fine."
Keeping his voice low, he tried to read Enjolras' face, trying to see any indication that his next request wouldn't be flat-out rejected.
"Okay, well…I'll be in the other room, if you, you know…wanted to join me again."
Despite the circumstances, and the dead body not more than a few feet away, the blond managed a small, tired smile.
"Sure."