14/3/13

Disclaimer – Do I really have to say it …

Wow thanks for the support I have gained I love you guys … I really do.

Barfanichita – Thanks for your support, unfortunately there will not be much Eponine in this fic as I struggle to write her properly but she will be featured

Sarahbob – Thanks for your support … it means a lot to me as I love your work

O – Thank you and I warn you … I probably won't be pleasant!

Juliet116 – hehe You are my favourite reviewer, a regular on both my Les Mis fics *hugs* and their plans will be revealed more later in this chapter

J91 – Well you find out a little more later in the chapter!

Magpie of Silver – Thanks a lot for your review – they make me feel good inside

Chapter 2

Water splashed his face and Enjolras was shocked awake. He slowly blinked away the water and the dark splashes in his vision. Enjolras was held firm on his knees in front of the savage who had shot him before. From this position down on the cold stone floor, his assailant looked even more intimidating that in that dark alley. "Wakey wakey princess," the man chuckled as Enjolras shook the last traces of unconsciousness out of his mind. "To start with, will you co-operate and tell me the names and addresses of your friends?" the guard asked with a sly smile. The continuously stubborn revolutionary just spat in his face but before he had anytime to gloat; he was dunked. The men held Enjolras' head under the surface, despite his frantic struggles, until they started to fade. With vicious brutality, he was yanked back up by the hair so his head was held up to the guard. "Now I have two weeks to play around with you and I always get what I want. Will you make it easier on yourself or do I have to fight you?" he asked and Enjolras smiled. "Vive la France!" he shouted with a smirk.

They repeated a painful routine for what seemed like an eternity. The guard would ask Enjolras a question; Enjolras would reply with a witty republican response; he would get dunked or kicked; they would do it all again. Enjolras was not going to back down. He would not let his friends get hurt and his beliefs will never be mocked. If one word could be used to describe Ricard Enjolras, it was stubborn. He would never crack. Never. It was this resolve that kept his mind an impenetrable fortress despite the terrifying water boarding experience. Time had no meaning in that room; the only light came from two candles in the corner and they cast ominous shadows of all the figures. Despite all the precautions he set up just in case of an arrest … he had always assumed that it would be someone else not him. Even though, thinking back, he was the one that was most likely to be arrested. At the end of one of their 'sessions', Enjolras was thrown, ridiculously hard, back into a windowless, dark cell; he was left with his arms tied behind him back and gagged. They were trying to rob him of food and sleep. They obviously hadn't done that much research into their prisoner. Enjolras could go a lot more than two weeks without eating or sleeping. As he lay there, he could not help thinking of his friends, of all the amis. How were they coping … did they follow what they had planned?

"We cannot break into the bastille!" Bossuet shouted over the cries that echoed round the upstairs of the Musian. "Are you all mad? We would all be either killed or captured and Enjolras would be no better situation than before," he shouted and everyone fell silent.

"He's right," Combeferre reluctantly agreed. "I believe our best bet would be on the execution day. They have already started advertising for it. Two weeks yesterday … that means we have twelve days to plan our attack," Combeferre announced taking charge. The amis nodded and calmed down slightly. Combeferre looked around the room at all the expectant faces staring back at him. He wasn't cut out for leadership, he didn't have Enjolras' charisma or motivational speeches; he was perfectly happy being the one to support and care for the leader. He couldn't take that role himself. But he had to now. Courfeyrac edged closer to Combeferre.

"You are doing fine Ferre. We will all stand by you," he murmured with a weak smile. Combeferre looked at the young revolutionary; his eyes were also troubled and his hands shaking almost unnoticeably. He looked around the table to where the rest of the ami's were murmuring amongst themselves. They all looked worried like he was. They needed a leader ... And he was the one most qualified for the position. "We need to split up. If too many people walk out of here to go to the same place then they will begin to get suspicious," Combeferre explained standing up and leaning on the table. "I will stay here as i am the one most likely to be recognised as being with Enjolras on a regular basis. I can work on the plan itself and strategies," Combeferre muttered and everyone agreed. "What do we need for this to work?" He asked the assembled group.
"Disguises!" Marius exclaimed.
"Yes, we need two people on disguises. Marius will you take Jehan to gather as many items as you can; hair dyes, hats, tattered clothes, glasses anything," he asked and Courf nodded and the boys sat next to each other talking. "What's next?" Combeferre asked finally sinking into the leadership position.
"Weapons!" Bahorel shouted with everyone beginning to get involved in the planning.
"Bahorel take Feuilly and collect weapons and ammunition. The weapons need to be able to be carried on our person without being noticed. Also spare ammunition back here just in case we are pursued," Combeferre instructed and Bahorel nodded calling Feuilly over. "Next!" Combeferre started.
"Medical supplies, who knows what will happen," Joly exclaims sorrowfully.
"Great thinking, Joly you go with Bossuet and gather all you think we may need," he explained scanning over all the little groups. "Everyone, while you are out gather any information you can find about the placement of guards and the events if the day. Everyone plan what we will do in the morning ... Courf I need to speak with you," he muttered and Courfeyrac walked over and they stood in the corner. "You will be on a private mission. I only know one person who will be able to gather all the facts we need to succeed," Combeferre whispered.
"Grantaire," Courfeyrac sighed and Combeferre nodded.
"Out of the assembled people here you are the one that knows him the best and who he is more likely to talk to. I need you to talk with him and get him to help," Combeferre sighed.
"I will boss ... I am sure he will want to help. No matter what he feels about Enjolras now he would never leave him," Courfeyrac nodded.
"Here's the address," Combeferre smiled passing a scrap of paper over.

Grantaire was as busy as the Amis were. He had his own plan. It was in no way foolproof and had a massive risk that someone would blurt something out and both of them would be killed. It was a risk he had to take. He could not leave his Apollo to die. He had over reacted ... It was all his fault. If he had just kept quiet, if he had stuck to the agreement they had made all those years ago. No one would tell, no one would speak of that time and everyone would be happy. But no! He had to go break that bond of trust, speak of the one thing Enjolras hated people to know. His family.

He couldn't do anything properly and always ended up getting those he loved hurt. His plan, however foolhardy it was, was more likely to succeed without any innocents getting injured and all the Amis would be safe. He had thirteen days to solidify his routine and prepare the disguise. The problem is ... Stage one was to get into Enjolras' flat without being arrested. His old skills were nowhere near up to scratch but hopefully he could fluke his way through. That is if they hadn't cleared out all his belongings yet. If they had then that was another problem entirely. Grantaire sat assembling his fire arms in preparation and his fingers brushed in the pistol that Rene had given him.

The young Grantaire sat with a pint of ale in the corner watching Combeferre and Enjolras dart around excitedly. The energy and rebellious nature had been beaten out of him and replaced with grim indifference. He was only ten but his mind already relied on at least a pint a day. He felt a body sit down next to him, which loomed over his small figure. "You shouldn't be drinking at your age Nicolas," Rene spoke with a friendly smile. Those words almost made Grantaire put the drink down but a small movement twitched the cut in between his shoulder blades. He remembered why he was drinking and took another swig. "I need to speak to you about something very important," Rene murmured and Grantaire turned to face the man. "I need to give you this," he whispered and offered Grantaire a pristine pistol. Grantaire gasped and softly took the gun.

"Why?" he murmured.

"Because I need someone to keep your friends safe when I cannot be there. Julien will not be entirely focused on those he cares about. I doubt that Lucian will be able to shoot. And I trust you Grantaire, you are the realist," Rene explained making Grantaire blush. "Keep it hidden and use it for the cause and safety of your friends," Grantaire nodded sliding it carefully into his hidden pocket.

"I will," he side with a smile, feeling proud of the firearms he wore.