8
Grantaire took a long swig of his wine in an attempt at clearing his brain. His heart hurt and the wine was beginning to go to his head. In all honesty, Grantaire pretended to be drunk more often than he genuinely was. His "drunk" was beginning to be sincere.
It's all to get to Enjolras, he though sadly. Another swig. It's always for Enjolras. He finished off the bottle and sat down on the barricade with a loud sigh. The heavy rain was slowly to an annoying drizzle and the children of the barricade were moving from beneath the eaves of the surrounding buildings to sit atop their fortress once more.
"What's wrong, Grantaire?" asked Lesgle cheerfully. Although he had a nasty gash on his forehead from the butt of a Guardsmen's carbine, he was being optimistic. Sickeningly optimistic, actually. What an unlucky fool, thought Grantaire with a soft chuckle.
"Oh nothing, Lesgle, nothing is the matter at all!" His smile did not quite reach his dark eyes. "I love to see my friends die for a lost cause."
Lesgle's thick eyebrows shot up in shock and offense. Grantaire had said it loud enough so that it reached Enjolras' ears on the other side of the square. All eyes turned from Grantaire to Enjolras and back again, as though Les Amis were watching an invisible tennis match. Enjolras was busy moving gun powder into the tavern and out of the rain with Marius and Courfeyrac, and the two men with whom he was working were also eyeing him cautiously. Enjolras' broad shoulders stiffened and he paused briefly mid-step, but he made no response. Grantaire's lip curled in dissatisfaction.
If there was one thing in which Grantaire held all of his hopes and beliefs, it was Enjolras. Not God, not the bottom of a wine bottle, not even himself; only Enjolras, the fearless leader. He acted out to get the attention he craved from his idol like a small child and, more often than not, it worked. Grantaire hated it when it did not.
Hoisting himself up from his seat on the barricade, Grantaire carefully made his way across the little street. He threw the empty bottle onto the pavement. The fragile green glass shattered against the cobblestone, the shards floating for a moment in the puddle in which the bottle had landed before settling to the bottom of the murky liquid. The loud noise succeeded in drawing the attention of Enjolras, who turned around with the last barrel of gun powder in his arms. He had a calm smile on his face and the beauty of it softened Grantaire's frustration a bit, but not enough for him to back down now. Marius and Courfeyrac exchanged a sheepish glance but did not move from their spot next to the Café, just in case.
"You should try and not drink as much as you usually do, Grantaire. No one likes it when children throw tantrums."
"Then perhaps, dear Enjolras," retorted Grantaire, raising an eyebrow mockingly. The alcohol was giving him courage and a bothersome case of the hiccups. "You should also stop moping about. Your sad eyes shan't make you better than our Pontmercy."
The moment immediately following the end of Grantaire's speech, Enjolras' mouth hung open like a church door. His immaculate feathers had been ruffled one too many times and his well-practiced self-control was beginning to crack. Enjolras set the barrel down and undid his cravat. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders once more. I just want to speak with Éponine, he thought, glancing into the Café through the broken side window by which he was standing. He could see that Joly was almost done with his work on the poor girl.
Grantaire crossed his arms over his chest, following Enjolras' gaze. A jealous lump formed in his throat when he saw that Enjolras was looking at Éponine. It was time to act out again, to reclaim his attention.
"So you really are lusting after the little gamine, eh?" Grantaire asked, relishing in how quickly Enjolras fixed his cornflower blues eyes on him once more. His gaze, and the wine, emboldened him.
"You may want to give up on her, Enjolras. She may say she loves you, but we all know it is Marius she truly fancies. Perhaps she just felt sorry for your lonely soul, or wanted you for your money. I'm sure little Gavroche would know! Why don't we ask him?"
Grantaire turned around himself in a circle, looking for the boy. He was nowhere in sight. Bahorel remarked that he had seen Gavroche leaving the barricade almost an hour ago. Deep down, he was glad that Gavroche was not there. Grantaire adored the little gamin and was ashamed of how he was acting; he didn't want the boy to see him like this. He couldn't stop now though.
"Where is Gavroche?" Enjolras demanded, his displeasure evident. His commanding tone was weary around the edges.
"Ask Marius, he spoke to him last," answered Bahorel. He was lounging against the barricade and cleaning his gun lazily, attempting to look disinterested. The eagerness in his voice betrayed him however.
All eyes turned to Marius questioningly. It seemed that the students were thinking the same thing: Why would he know? Marius fiddled with the buttons on his undone vest, his eyes flitting between Enjolras and Grantaire uneasily.
"I sent him to deliver a letter for me. To my darling Cosette!" he explained, opening his palms in front of him as though he was making an offering. He knew the romantic and idealistic Amis like Prouvaire, Lesgle, and Fueilly would understand, and perhaps even his best friend, Courfeyrac, but he was worried most about Enjolras. He chose to plead with the emotions beneath the marble.
"I did not want to die without so much as a letter to my beloved. I did not live until she was in my life, Enjolras. Éponine had been keeping the letter with her address from me this whole time, anyway!" Enjolras' ears perked up at the mention of her name, but his face remained stony and his body still.
"Besides, she could not know what love is. Had she not been so childish and given me the –" Marius didn't have a chance to finish.
Enjolras had moved as though he were uninjured, as though Joly had not just finished stiching his wound. His rage numbed him and his weariness and pain left him vulnerable, human. Before anyone, even Enjolras himself, was aware of what was happening, he had moved to stand in front of Marius. Rational thought stood on hold. The acceptance of his feelings for Éponine had changed him, had softened the granite from which he was made and the events of the evening thus far had temporarily broken his moral compass.
Marius' brown eyes were the size of moons and he held his hands up as though trying to tell Enjolras that he was unarmed. Grantaire watched, a small smile playing on his lips, mesmerized by the glory and hilarity of it all. Enjolras balled up his right hand into a tight fist, grabbed Marius roughly by his loose navy cravat, and took a swing.
His fist made contact with Marius' left cheek with a loud thud and Marius' cheek began to bruise almost immediately. The sound seemed to echo through the Rue de la Chanverrerie in the shocked silence that followed. Enjolras dropped Marius' cravat and bowed to him, a gentlemanly gesture that was juxtaposed with the blow he had just delivered. He cleared his throat, sense and rationality returning. He was not apologetic and knew that standing up for whatever it was he was protecting was the right thing to do, he just couldn't quite place his finger on what the thing was.
"That was for jeopardizing the safety of a young boy, and for insulting a woman in my presence." Marius nodded, but hadn't comprehended a single word.
Courfeyrac took one look at Marius' confused face and Enjolras' agitated straightening of his vest – a bad habit he seemed to have – and began to laugh. He doubled over and held his side, a picture of pure enjoyment. Feuilly took off his flat cap and slapped his knee with it, and Bahorel joined in with a deep, throaty chuckle. The laughter spread like fire: Combeferre, Prouvaire, Lesgle, even Marius and Enjolras were affected. They laughed at the unexpectedness of the situation, at the reality of their position behind the barricade, and at themselves for all getting so worked up over a mole hill when the mountain of the revolution loomed before them.
Grantaire was the last to join, his mind still focusing on the memory of Enjolras swinging at Marius, his eyes flashing hard rage and soft love simultaneously. A love which Grantaire recognized was for Éponine, even if Enjolras was unwilling to admit to it. He was never mine to lose. Grantaire began to laugh then too, but it was not the same happy, crazed sound of the other students. It was dark and stoic; a laugh that sounded more like a sigh.
The students' revelry was interrupted by a shout from Feuilly. He was on the watch and had seen a man in an army uniform approaching the barricade.
"Don't shoot!" the old man called back, his voice a loud whisper. "I come here as a volunteer."
Feuilly looked down at Enjolras for guidance. The leader sobered up quickly and nodded, making his way towards the barricade and forgetting the last of the gun powder. The rain had stopped long ago. Feuilly signaled for the old man to come into the barricade reluctantly. All sounds of laughter and feelings of light-heartedness died away when the stranger in the enemy uniform crawled through the entrance.
Grantaire was the first to draw his pistol and press it against the new comer's head. He was trying to redeem himself and stifled a nervous hiccup rising in his throat with a gruff cough. The rest of the students flocked around the man, pointing their guns in his face, protecting their "lost cause" as a mother bear would look after her cubs.
"Why should we trust you?"
"See that man in that Café? He's a spy!"
"Calls 'imself Javert."
"He's going to get it, too!"
The stranger's eyes widened at the mention of Javert, but he made no attempt to defend himself or to lash out. The students poked and prodded, searching his person for any weapons other than the musket he held in his hands. They couldn't be too careful.
"Don't kill 'im! I know 'im." shouted Gavroche, climbing down from the balcony of the Café Musain. He had been trying to take a nap after his frantic run through the city to deliver Marius' letter, but hadn't gotten a chance. The commotion of the argument below had kept him awake.
Grantaire felt a pang of shame and sympathy when he realized that Gavroche had seen everything he had done and all that Marius had said about his sister. His already aching heart began to hurt worse.
The look of surprise and relief at seeing Gavroche was plastered on the faces of every student. Enjolras looked down at Gavroche's young face as he moved to stand beside him. The boy met his gaze with pleading eyes that were wise beyond their years. Enjolras signaled for the men to lower their weapons. Whatever speech he was about to make however, was drowned out by a frantic cry from the stranger.
"Enemy marksmen on the roofs!"
He raised the musket he carried with speed and agility that were uncommon for a man his age. The shot he fired hit the soldier, who had been crouching on the roof of the Café Musain. He fell to the ground with a thud, followed by another sniper who was felled by Grantaire.
When the dust settled, Enjolras patted Grantaire on the back for his good work and ordered the men back to their posts. Combeferre was busy shouting about keeping their eyes to the roofs and their guns at the ready while Les Amis scrambled about with new and excited fervor. Enjolras stayed where he was in front of the white haired man, his appreciation written on his hard features.
"How can we thank you, monsieur?" he asked, resting his hand respectfully on the stranger's shoulder.
"Give me the spy, Javert."
A/N: My cold is almost all gone! Woohoo. Anyway, to business: this chapter is pretty E/R heavy, but it's all for a reason. You'll see in a chapter or two what I mean. I apologize for the punching scene, but it's just something I seriously wanted to happen and I figured, well, it's my fic so why not. Tell me what you think of it though! I tried to justify it so that it was as in character as possible, but perhaps that didn't quite work. I dunno, you tell me! I'll update soon, I promise. Going on a road trip tomorrow, so that means I'll have four hours to write Chapter 9. Have a great day!