30/3/13
I have decide that partially as an excuse and partially to help other writer I am going to recommend a fanfic each Chapter – so this chapter: Angel With A Shotgun by ChangingTheCircumstances! E/R fic which is emotionally adorable and amazingly written
Thanks for all your support! I love you guys so much!
ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – Sworry Angel! This chapter is different I promise!
Magpie of Silver - I love Courf so much :) Thanks so much
Chapter 4
The sickly summer heat pressed down on Paris. Everyone was moving around quickly trying to stay out the blazing sun and the oppressive heat. All apart from one. One figure stood in the direct light of the blood boiling sun; he was completely oblivious to the hustle of the city going on around him. That figure looked as if he was staring at the gates of heaven not some average Parisian building. It was in no way high class but it was known you have to have money to live in this end of town. The figure was an odd character, he looked as if he didn't belong but yet he was lost in a crowd the instant you looked away. Nicolas Grantaire was stood on the doorstep of Ricard Enjolras' apartment building. He calmed his fluttering heart and closed his eyes. His plan was flawless; anything that could happen he had a response prepared. He knocked on the door.
A petite old woman opened the door and smiled at him. "Can I help you Monsieur?" She asked politely and Grantaire forced an overly sweet and friendly smile onto his usually somber face.
"Bonjour mademoiselle! I am here to see my cousin Ricard Enjolras but I am afraid I left my key for the front door at home," he chuckled and watched as the kind woman's face dropped.
"Monsieur Enjolras?" She stammered and Grantaire nodded chirpily.
"That's the one," he chuckled.
"I am so sorry but I am afraid M Enjolras has been arrested," he mumbled and Grantaire let his facade of joy drop.
"R-r-Ricard ... Arrested? Dieu!" He stuttered, planting an expression of pure horror onto his face.
"I am so sorry," she added and Grantaire looked like he was about to faint. Nicolas was a convincing actor; finally he had a skill that was needed in life.
"Would you like a sit down?" The kind landlady asked and Grantaire nodded slowly.
"Thank you Madame, this is just a great shock," he murmured with his hands trembling convincingly.
Maybe it wasn't all acting; his hands really were trembling, his head pounding. A sit down sounded really good right now. He followed her into the building with shaky unsure steps. He had to do this; the plan had to come through. For Apollo's sake. It was all for his Apollo. They had left each other with harsh words and poisonous feelings but Grantaire could never keep hold for long. The guilt tore his heart and made his iron resolve even stronger. Apollo was his idol, even though, that idol hated him at the moment. But it's that the point of having an idol; you don't care if they hate you or scorn you, they are a god. They are … well … Apollo incarnate. The nice lady opened her door for him and he stepped inside politely. "Thank you mademoiselle, you have been very kind," he murmured slowly sitting down. "I just can't believe little Ricard is … is," he choked holding back floods of fake tears. The landlady made him a strong coffee and he sat their cradling the non-toxic drink.
"Were you two very close, I am afraid I do not know about M Enjolras' family," she admitted also sitting down.
"We used to be very close but Ricard severed all ties with his family when he left. We have remained in brief contact since," he whispered.
"I am afraid I didn't catch your name," the landlady said softly.
"Oh my apologises, my name is Raoul Enjolras," he smiled weakly and offered his hand; she shook it courtly.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, I just wish it was under better circumstances," the old woman murmured and Grantaire nodded.
"Would you, would you mind if I … I look in his apartment. I would like to save some of his most treasured things. I've got my own key," Grantaire murmured while a forced tear dripping into his coffee for effect.
"Of course darling," the landlady exclaimed. "We can't have those scoundrels getting their hands on M Enjolras' stuff," he nodded and Grantaire smiled softly.
"Thank you," he said softly passing the cup back to her. He stood up slowly and walked to the door and out towards Enjolras' door. He unlocked it and slid inside. He hurriedly pulled out a black bag from under his coat and lined the bottom with clothes of Enjolras' before Mme Landlady walked in.
Grantaire picked up some of the pamphlets and incriminating pages and slid them into the bag along with what he knew were Enjolras' favourite books.
It had been years since he had been in this apartment. Yet every single detail was etched into his mind; the French flag hung on the wall, the waistcoats strewn on the floor, the books open everywhere. He sighed and made sure everything was as it should be. "Can I just have a moment?" Grantaire stammered with fake tears welling up in his eyes.
"Of course," the landlady said softly and shut the door. As soon as the door clicked shut, all pretences were gone and he set to work. He knew that Ricard Enjolras always kept all important documents under a loose floorboard under his bed. Don't ask how he knew … he just did. There was no time to think about that now. He pulled the loose board up and pulled out all the official documents he would need to play Enjolras realistically. Lining the base of the hidden compartment was an old scrapbook that Grantaire had not laid his eyes on in about ten years. He pulled it out with immense care and the dust bloomed into a cloud surrounding him. The coughed wafting it away and laying eyes on the worn blue cover he knew so well. It was the scrapbook Combeferre's mother had bought them as a present when they were eight after Ferre's accident. He opened the front cover and Enjolras' familiar scrawl was spread out on the back of the cover. Dear future selves, we have all written this scrapbook in case one of the three amis ever forgets about the others or the cause. We pray this will never come to use but it will also serve as a good memory for us. Please keep this going and maintained. Julian Enjolras-Combeferre, Lucien Combeferre and Nicolas Grantaire Age 8
Grantaire sat down slowly flicking through all the pages looking at pamphlets taped in, letters, Enjolras' speeches, Grantaire's drawings … Rene's drawing. Rene's pin, drawings of the four together. They had started it after the day that Enjolras' dad had attacked the pair. And Combeferre had lost his memory of the previous year.
"Come on it is a great idea Ferre!" Grantaire exclaimed and Enjolras nodded.
"I just don't know," Combeferre murmured.
"Just in case it happens again. Then we'll be prepared," Enjolras reassured him.
"And it will store all our memories in it and it will be fun to keep going," Grantaire pouted until Combeferre reluctantly agreed.
"Well … what should we put in first?" Combeferre asked and Grantaire grinned.
"We will need a note to tell us why we did this and to remind ourselves. Enj you write, you have the neatest handwriting," he chuckled, excited by the prospect. Enjolras scribbled a note on the cover and they all approved.
"What should go in first?" Combeferre asked and Grantaire took the book.
"Why don't I draw us?" Grantaire suggested and the idea was met with approval between the two other parties.
Grantaire lightly stroked the drawing as the memories flooded back; they all looked so happy together. What went wrong? He chuckled slightly at Enjolras' signature of Enjolras-Combeferre; Combeferre's parents had taken him in to keep him away from his father and he fitted into the perfect family like he had been born into it. The images of Rene still tore into his heart. Their idol, their inspiration … dead. Grantaire could not see how Enjolras could bear to start another barricade after Rene. The barricade had killed their best friend and was now going to kill all of them as well. He carried on reading until he reached the point where he no longer featured in the book. That when his Apollo began to hate him. Pages after pages were full of the amis and revolutionary items but there was no more Grantaire. He stowed that in the bag along with the other book and stood up. After returning the room to its rightful order, he left; the landlady said a kind goodbye as he filtered into the crowd.
It had been a long couple of days for Ricard Enjolras. The abuse both physical and mental had begun to take its toll on his body and morale. He had run out of creative republican quips long ago and was now exhausted. The door clunked open and Enjolras supressed a groan. "Afternoon pretty boy," he chuckled stepping it. Enjolras sat as tall as his battered body could manage but the man just laughed. "Loyal and proud, I am going to enjoy breaking you. I can do whatever I want to do to you, as long as it doesn't harm your pretty little face. We want your petty friends to recognise their fallen leader," he chuckled.
"Don't you dare insult my friends!" he shouted standing up. No one insulted the amis de l'ABC, no one. The guard slapped him.
"I can do what I want," he snarled and Enjolras turned away unable to hold his sore cheek because of the manacles. "Whereas you on the other hand are chained up like a prized hound," the general hissed and Enjolras bit back a retort at the dent in his ego. "Like a dog, I own you for the rest of your life. Which I can promise you will not be long. Tell me about your friends," he growled. There was a long silence as Enjolras regained his composure before turning back to face his captor.
"Woof," he whispered and keeled over as he was kneed in the gut.
"I will break you dog! Take my work for this, you will fall so low you are begging to tell me your secrets," he snarled. "Gag him and tie his up properly. I am fed up speaking with him," his captor growled kicking Enjolras in the chest one more time before leaving. The guard set to work toeing him up again despite Enjolras' calculated strikes. He was left there in the darkness, alone, bound, tired and hungry. But still his mind fell back to his Amis and praying that they were all still free and unharmed.