15/5/13

Thank for the support this fic has gained during it's time. This is going to be the last chapter of Compromised. I hope you have enjoyed (… okay maybe the wrong word) reading this and can we reach 50 reviews by the end PLEASE!

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – Feels are my speciality ;)

TotaltotheMax – Don't apologise passion is good … and you will have to wait and see

Juliet116 – They do have different endings, the stories split apart now

Chapter 12

The Musain was quiet. The only sound was the frantic scratching of quill on paper coming from one corner. Enjolras had not eaten or slept since Combeferre had let him out of the apartment the day before. Grantaire being in prison was his fault and there was no way on earth Enjolras was going to let him die for a cause he did not believe in. Maps, notes and random papers were scattered around him, all with notes in his slanted scrawl. No one felt the urge to talk and joke while one of their friends was facing impending doom. Combeferre sat near Enjolras as a comforting presence for his best friend and sort of younger brother. Combeferre knew better than to pester Enjolras to eat or sleep now and for that, Enjolras was glad. He had not been the same since this whole affair started when he said those fateful words "You don't believe in anything". Enjolras still didn't know what he was thinking when those words flew out of his mouth. And now Grantaire was going to die because of them. He never wanted this to happen. What kind of person would he be if he had said he did want this to happen to them all? But he was not going to let this end the way fate seemed to want it to.

Courfeyrac and Feuilly were asleep on a table with blankets surrounding them. All the amis refused to leave the back room of the Café Musain while Grantaire was still in harm's way. Jehan was the only one missing but that was only to go gather supplies and maybe try to find intelligence on the fate of their cynic. Bahorel sat guard by the door but even he was dozing off against the wall. Marius was sat in the corner already completely out and snoring lightly. Soon it was only the two almost brothers that remained in a nervous state of energy. "I have to save him Ferre," Enjolras mumbled, partially for his own benefit.

"I know 'Jolras … we will," he replied with a sigh. However on the inside, Combeferre didn't know what they could do to save him. Security had been doubled and the two of them were clearly being watched by the Surete. Any move that was even slightly suspicious then they would all be joining him in the cells.

Jehan slid into the Musain with tears streaming down his face. Everyone instantly awoke at the sobs of their little poet. "Jehan what's wrong?" Courfeyrac asked, softly; they were all concerned for their youngest member.

"It's Taire," he sobbed onto Courfeyrac's shoulder as he was locked in a friendly embrace. Enjolras froze as he stared at Jehan. "They've killed him, they've gone and killed him," Jehan sobbed and the world seemed to stop in shock. The usually stoic marble statue felt his chest tighten like an iron band was crushing his chest in a tight embrace. He couldn't breathe as shock took control of his body. Tears were falling down his cheeks but no sound or feeling escaped from his broken mind. I couldn't be true … it just couldn't. He could hear people talking but no words reached through the fog that surrounded his mind once again. The only thing that snapped him out of the shocked haze was a national guard's man bringing in a bundle wrapped in a red cloth. Everyone knew what lay under that cloth, but it still tore at his heart to see Grantaire's limp form lain on the table. They had seen him passed out on these tables so many times. But this was in no way the same. And it would never be like that again.

He did not look like the lively vivid Grantaire they all knew, and hated sometimes. He was smaller, thinner and his skin was a ghastly white compared to Grantaire burnt bronze complexion, which never did match with the Parisian weather. Eight bullet wounds stood out a vivid red, matching the striking colours of the fabric he was lain on. At least it looked like the bullets killed on impact; Grantaire had died instantly without pain. That was a slight relief; that he had not suffered at all in his final moments. It was as if the world had stopped still to mourn for the falling of this vibrant spirit. Despite his many flaws, and there were many flaws, Paris would not be the same without him. Nothing would be the same without him. "We will not let him die in vain," Combeferre murmured what they were all thinking. Grantaire died so Enjolras could carry on the cause. So that was what they would do. They would fight in his name.

"Make them pay through the nose," Bahorel growled.

"Make them pay for every man," Courfeyrac agreed. Enjolras had never noticed before how close those three had been. They were brothers in arms, just like he was with Combeferre. He thought about it. Enjolras was certain he would never be able to be as composed as Courfeyrac and Bahorel were, if Combeferre was lying dead on a table. Subconsciously this revelation made him shuffle closer to his older almost brother in comfort.

Enjolras couldn't take the sight of Grantaire's lifeless brown eyes staring at the ceiling anymore. He slowly shut Grantaire's eyes. Their cynical, heroic, drunkard was finally at rest. It hurt so much; the knowledge that someone died so you can live is not a pleasant feeling. The guilt tears your body to shreds like a manic dog is devouring your whole being. It is not a feeling you can live with. The tears threatened to flow and Enjolras did the only thing that came to mind. He ran and ran until he found himself stood on a bridge over the Seine. "I can't do it! I can't live like this!" Enjolras cried. The emotions and guilt poured through him like the Seine poured under the bridge. The whooshing noises coming from the torrent of water storming along the river bed suddenly became everything in his mind. Enjolras knew what he had to do to get the emotions to stop. As he stepped closer to the edge and peered over, a chill rushed through his very core.

"Whatcha doing Apollo," a wispy voice asked from next to him. He turned suddenly and everything fell still; it was as if the world was in slow motion. Grantaire was there; he looked like a faded image but he was there.

"R? You're not dead?" Enjolras asked in a delirious haze.

"Of course I am dead you beautiful idiot," Grantaire sighed. As Enjolras' mind cleared he saw the in continuities and the spectre like figure that stood next to him.

"What are you?" Enjolras asked with a slight stutter as an undertone to his usually strong voice.

"I am either a ghost of Grantaire's spirit or a figment of your imagination … I am not sure which," the spirit pondered, lightly biting his tongue in the adorable way Grantaire used to.

"How can you not know?" Enjolras questioned but the only reply he received was an offhand shrug. Typically Grantaire. "Well what are you doing here then?" Enjolras asked grumpily.

"Something about helping you make a decision," the not-really-Grantaire replied nonchalantly. "To jump or not to jump?" he chuckled.

"Well what do you think?" Enjolras asked as he slowly sunk back into that pit of despair.

"Are you happy?" the ghost asked. Enjolras thought about it and to be honest … he wasn't happy. And he probably never would be again; but the words stopped in his throat. In the end he had to settle for a shake of his blonde curls. "Then," Grantaire shrugged and dived off the bridge into the torrents. Enjolras looked over for any trace of the spirit but there was none. He stepped up to the ledge so he could jump but yet he could not bring him to. The world took on a sorrowful numbness until strong reassuring arms grabbed him from behind and lifted him down.

That was the last straw. Enjolras broke down and wept on his best friend's chest. Combeferre stood their holding him tightly. Combeferre would never let him fall; they had promised to be there for each other and this time it was Combeferre's turn. Things would never be the same but they would fight because that's what the amis do. They never stop fighting.

THE END