3. Do You Permit It?
The final act is nearing. Grantaire can feel it in his bones as everyone runs around him and bumps into him, some ignore him even more than before. No one is in the mood for jokes now, not anymore. Grantaire's ears ring with the sound of gunfire and his nose is clogged with the smell of chaos and burning, he feels as though there's only one option for him as everyone settles in for the night.
Enjolras darts away to check on the men that have taken up with the barricade, which is essentially everyone but Grantaire. He decides to do something he's good at with the time he's got left, since there's no way in hell he's abandoning this cause. Belief or not, he won't let Enjolras go down alone. He vows this to no God, just himself. But this does not mean he's going to spend his last night in sorrow for what is to come, surely death will still be waiting after a bottle of absinthe. He downs the bottle as though it's water and ignores the acidic taste slipping down his throat as smooth as silk.
He must have fallen asleep where he sat, bottle empty in front of him, because he wakes to a glow so bright it feels like the sun has a personal vendetta against him as his head pounds and his eyes can only stay open for a pinch before they shut resolutely, leaving his mind to sift through so much of his hangover ridden thoughts. There's the smell of smoke and gunpowder all around him, some things can't even change in one night. He even has a sick feeling deep in his gut that if he were to stagger over to the large open - and cracked - window, he would see the bodies of his friends littering the streets, their blood painting the cobblestones a muddy crimson.
Grantaire wants to shout in anger but he's still too drunk to do much of anything, he falls out of consciousness when he hears more pangs of bullets hitting their mark; he wonders which of his friends that bullet has ridden him of.
The sounds of the fights have all but stopped and that is when Grantaire awakens, when the battle is already lost, and he looks around him as his eyes peel open. The soldiers have cornered Enjolras, leaving Grantaire to wallow in his drunken sleep, not deeming him important enough to be added to the message of death they have left in their wake. That just won't do.
Enjolras is startled by the sound Grantaire makes as he stumbles forward, he's eerily pleased to meet the eyes of the reason behind his devotion. At least he was granted this much before deaths embrace. The soldiers are surprised too as he lets out a small cry, "Viva La Rebellion!"
Hell, Grantaire shocks himself with that statement. He still does not believe, he never will, not in causes such as these. Not unless he can find Enjolras leading the way; ever the beacon of light and life.
Enjolras is stunned but he holds it together as though he expected Grantaire to come through in the end, and maybe he did, but there is no time to ask or hope that Enjolras wanted anything more from him than subordination as opposed to Grantaire who had always wanted companionship and something he never dared to admit out loud; even if he could feel the way Enjolras responded to everything he said with a little bit of spite but never hatred, something very far from hatred, something Enjolras would call a bit of admiration but Grantaire would label as a bit of love. He understands now, that what he's wanted all along is this. The rewarding look Enjolras slides over him as he staggers through the crowd of soldiers - even they respect Enjolras enough to allow him the one courtesy of dying on his own terms - until he is right by Enjolras' side.
"Do you permit it?" Grantaire questions, looking straight at Enjolras, his eyes soaking up everything of this marvelous man in front of him before he no longer has the chance.
Enjolras knows what Grantaire is asking of him, and Grantaire knows he will not deny him this right to die on his own two feet...for a cause he never wanted to give himself over to, but for a man he'd always believed in.
Grantaire feels something warm slip into his hand and he thinks for a brief second that it's Enjolras hand, only letting that be confirmed as Enjolras lifts their joined hands in rebellion one last time. He doesn't even feel the first bullet hit, but he's grateful that he won't live long enough to see Enjolras die. Instead he feels the world drop away and his knees hit the ground.
The scene is poetic really, to outsiders looking in, the soldiers feel a pang of remorse as they realize what they have done to someone so devoted. They do not bother moving the bodies for a very long time, out of respect or duty it's unclear. Grantaire would be pleased to know that his body ended up slouched next to Enjolras' who had died standing against a wall. Even in death he would not fall. There they were, the patriot and the man who never believed in anything.
The man who only ever believed in Enjolras.