12/4/13

Thanks for all the support and this is another chapter reliving the events of WMAL in other characters eyes but some major plot points have to remain the same and for this I apologise.

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – sorry you know what is going to happen when you get an update from me!

Sarahbob – Thanks so much … the support I receive it just breath-taking! P.S – I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER OF "NO PLACE FOR A REVOLUTIONARY" NOW!

Stagepageandscreen – Although there is Grantaire in this I am afraid it is still a couple of chapters before we know the outcome!

Juliet116 – Sorry sweetheart! And you know behind the calmest exterior can be the most ferocious of storms

Magpie of Silver – Thanks so much for the outstanding support!

Chapter 7

Combeferre held the trembling figure close to him. Grantaire's sacrifice had effected their marble leader in more ways than any of them could have imagined. He sat there comforting Enjolras as the pent up emotions flowed out. Despite what people thought, Enjolras was not marble through and through; he wore a marble façade but inside was a whirling storm of anger, passion and emotions he would never show. Until now that is, now all those emotions bubbled at the surface and poured out of his cracked shell. Combeferre mouthed goodbyes and thanks to the rest of the amis as they slowly left the pair alone. He felt Enjolras' tears run out and his marble repair itself slowly. "So sorry," he mumbled, obviously trying to regain his lost composure as Combeferre expected.

"It is alright Ricard," he sighed, slowly brushing Enjolras' matted blonde curls away from his face. "How about we get you cleaned up then you can rest," Combeferre whispered and Enjolras reluctantly nodded. He helped Enjolras to his unsteady feet but soon took the entirety of Enjolras' weight as he saw the pain flicker over his little brother's face. He was sorely tempted to pick up the slightly younger man but knew Enjolras would not appreciate another dent to his pride.

"Thank you Ferre," Enjolras murmured and the other man smiled.

"Anytime Enj," he replied with a small smile growing.

After Combeferre had methodically helped Enjolras clean all the prison grime and blood of his body, he set work on all Enjolras' plethora of wounds. Cuts and bruises coated every inch of his body, one arm was dislocated and his shin was shattered. Thankfully everything should heal up fine and their passionate leader should be back on his feet within a couple of weeks. The only problem was the leg. They couldn't take him to a hospital; and no doctors would want anything to do with a just released convict, even if he was acquitted. It was all down to Combeferre and Joly; the pressure was unbearable on him. He had to do it though, Enjolras needed him. Combeferre helped him onto the bed; for once Enjolras was allowing people to help him. This little change in his demeanour relieved Combeferre but also scared him. He had prayed that everything would be the same once Enjolras was returned to them. It wasn't. He doubted things would ever be the same throughout the Amis de l'ABC anymore.

Enjolras was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep but Combeferre knew best when it came to medicine. "Ricard, I need to relocate your shoulder. This is going to hurt mon ami," he sighed and Enjolras clenched his teeth and nodded slowly. The pain spread like a wild fire from the top of his arm to his mind but Enjolras did not cry out. He was fed up of crying in pain. He was strong; he would not cry. When the vicious pain subsided, his arm was not hurting at all. It was still a little sore but the relief was instantaneous. He sighed in relief and Combeferre smiled weakly. "I'll put it in a sling to rest it but it should be fine now. Your leg is of more concern," he mumbled and Enjolras' heart dropped. He was certain he would never be able to walk again. This was it; he would be a bed-ridden cripple for the rest of his life. "If I set it well then you should be back on your feet in a week or two," Combeferre explained and Enjolras' face brightened slightly.

"A w-week," he stuttered and Combeferre smiled.

"Yes but only short spells of time on your feet and no serious excursion," Combeferre replied sternly and Enjolras nodded frantically. "And I will need Joly's help to do it," he added. "Can he help?" Combeferre asked.

"Of course … but no hospitals, please," Enjolras asked and Combeferre agreed.

Courfeyrac hurried up the stairs to Enjolras' apartment. Gavroche had arrived on his doorstep carrying a black bag that was about the size of the child himself. He said it was from Grantaire and no one was to look at it apart from Enjolras. A note was taped to the top addressed to Courfeyrac.

To my closest friend Courf, if this note and bag has reached you courtesy of Gav then my plan is succeeded and I doubt I will ever see you again. But that is not a bad thing if Apollo is safe. Please take this to him … I am not one for sentimental goodbyes but this is better than no goodbye at all. Thanks for all you have done, R.

Courfeyrac felt like hitting the drunkard but also felt this urge to hug him and promise him everything would be alright. Taire had been through so much and he needed support, not a reason to sacrifice himself. He knocked on the door as lightly as he could and stood there fidgeting. Combeferre opened the door, looking incredibly worse for wear.

"For 'Jolras," Courfeyrac murmured and Combeferre nodded. "How are you coping?" Courfeyrac whispered as Combeferre gently shut the door behind him.

"Alright … it just hurts to see him like this," Combeferre admitted and Courfeyrac agreed whole-heartedly. He wasn't looking forward to getting his first proper look at the weakened Enjolras but this needed delivering. "And he is not taking Grantaire's trade for him well," Combeferre mumbled running a hand through his blonde hair and chewing on the end of his glasses.

"I didn't think he would be," Courfeyrac mumbled clasping Combeferre on the shoulder supportively. "I'll pass this over and be out of your hair. It's from R, Gav delivered it this evening," Courfeyrac explained passing him the bag. Combeferre shook his head.

"Can you stay … if it is from Grantaire I may need some help," he murmured unsure and Courfeyrac reluctantly agreed. He stepped further into the apartment and hesitantly in Enjolras' room.

"Enj … he left this for you," Courfeyrac mumbled, not needing to say who. Combeferre supported Enjolras and used the pillows to prop him up but the man did not notice at all. He only saw the bag. Courfeyrac gently placed it on his knee and he opened it slowly; everyone wanted to know what was inside.

His head pounded. Everything hurt. The darkness swarmed around him but refused to take him in its sweet embrace. Grantaire had only been in this prison for a few hours but the head guard was angry. He is violent when angry. Needless to say, Grantaire soon became the receiver of that anger through intense violence. Maybe the witty retorts he replied with after every strike didn't help either. At least Enjolras was safe; at least his Apollo would not be hurt anymore. He still wore Enjolras' red waistcoat. They had let him keep his original clothes so 'he could watch as the symbols of liberty were tattered and ruined in front of his eyes!' Thank Dieu for small mercies. He was willing to endure this for an eternity if it meant his Apollo could stay free and safe.

The door thumped open again and bright beam of light pierced the cloudy gloom that smothered him. "We need to validate your story," the man snarled at Grantaire's limp figure. "Tell us things from your childhood only one other person would know and we will leave your little friend alone," he commanded and Grantaire instantly launched into the long story of Enjolras' childhood leaving out his involvement obviously. "So this 'brother' of yours will be able to verify this?" the guard asked and Grantaire nodded. "If even one second of his story does not match up or it seems planned in anyway, all three of you will be brought in!" he threatened before hitting Grantaire in the head with his truncheon. The room spun again and he could feel his heart beat in his head.

"Tough love," he whispered with a chuckle and received a blow to the stomach for his troubles.

Grantaire needed a drink. He needed one now. The alcohol was speaking to him and his throat burned with the absence of his vital nectar. The blows to his head didn't help either. He would close his eyes and all the drunkard would see was the Green Lady calling to him. He kept his eyes open but the fairies flew round singing in a sweet symphony into his head.

"Stop it!" he cried, clamping his hands over his ears but the sound continued to beat into his skull. "I said stop!" he screamed hitting his own head in a vain attempt to rid himself of the poisonous melody. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard footsteps hurry towards the door but the tune just increased in strength. Grantaire needed a drink. He didn't know how long his mind and body would be able to cope with this forced sobriety. The amis were right; his body was more wine than blood. He needed the red liquor more than he needed blood in his veins. It was still singing to him. "I want it but there is none," the winecask cried out but the song just grew louder. He hit himself again and again until the song backed off and he finally sighed in relief and moved his hands. A crimson liquid stained them from knuckle to palm. The world went woozy and he fell forwards with an echoing thump.