Chapter XXI

"You've really done it this time, haven't you?"

Enjolras jerked awake at the sound of Feuilly's voice. His neck was stiff from resting on the table, and he looked around, baffled at his surroundings. How had he ended up at the Musain? It seemed perfectly natural that Feuilly would be here, though Enjolras knew he was dead, but waking up in a different place than where he had fallen asleep...that he couldn't accept.

"How did I get here?" he mumbled.

Feuilly rolled his eyes and sat across from him at Enjolras' usual corner table, tucked away from the noise and chaos of the usually busy room. "I don't really think that matters, Enjolras."

"No, it doesn't," Combeferre agreed, suddenly appearing at the top of the stairs. "We have much more important things to discuss. What matters is how in the hell you're going to get yourself back home and out of trouble. You're really in prison right now, you know. This is just a dream," Combeferre said rationally.

"I'm aware. Though my dreams about all of you usually turn into nightmares," Enjolras admitted, frowning.

"Thanks," Grantaire said sarcastically, and Enjolras turned his head to see him hidden in the shadows across the room, his usual bottle of wine glued to his hand. "It's absolutely wonderful to see you, too, Chief."

Enjolras gazed evenly at Grantaire, expecting him to begin his usual accusations against Enjolras at any moment. That's what usually happened when he dreamed of his friends, along with the shockwaves of guilt seeing their faces still caused. It didn't come this time, however, and Enjolras asked curiously, "Where is everyone else?"

"Around," Combeferre shrugged. "You never know these days. Back to the subject at hand, though..."

"What were you thinking, talking to that scum? He shot us, you know," Grantaire said disdainfully.

"I'm aware of that, also," Enjolras sighed. "I don't know what I was thinking. It was stupid and completely foolish."

"Did Enjolras just admit he made a mistake?" Feuilly laughed. "My, how things have changed!"

"I've always been able to admit my mistakes. I just...well, I just rarely made them," Enjolras protested weakly.

Combeferre smiled indulgently. "You've made plenty of mistakes, Enjolras. Revealing yourself to Martin was just your most recent. And I don't know if you can do anything yourself to fix it now."

"I think he's stuck right where he is," Grantaire agreed. "You can't do much from behind bars."

"It seems you're going to have to rely on others to set you free," Feuilly said gravely. "Like my sister, perhaps...and that I'm not happy with."

Enjolras frowned and looked away. He felt distinctly uncomfortable talking about Gabrielle with his friends, but especially with Feuilly. After the things he had done with her, still longed to do with her and the nights they had spent together as husband wife, how could he even look him in the eye? He felt his skin flushing just thinking about it.

"He blushes!" Grantaire exclaimed. "I remember teasing Marius about this same thing once. And what was it Enjolras said? 'No one cares about your lonely soul, Marius.' Have you changed your tune now, Enjolras?"

"I only meant that it wasn't exactly the right time for Marius to be falling in love. I don't have an aversion to the emotion itself. You make me sound like I'm made of stone." Enjolras wondered if his friends really did think he was heartless or if they were just teasing. He could never really tell in these dreams...

"Now that you're in love yourself, you mean. How is your beautiful wife? Lonely, I'd imagine. Sad. Heartbroken. Panicked. I could go on."

Grantaire's words cut to the bone and Enjolras winced, risking a glance at Feuilly.

"Shut up, Grantaire," Feuilly said mildly. "But he is right, you know."

"I know. Believe me, I know..." Enjolras glared at the wooden table, crossing his arms across his chest. "I hate myself more than any of you can possibly hate me. And I'm sorry, Feuilly, for letting you down." Enjolras couldn't meet his eyes.

"You haven't let me down, Enjolras. Not yet, anyway. This isn't over. You aren't dead. There's still time."

"But what can I do? I'm stuck in prison. They will let no one but my lawyer in to speak to me, and I'm lucky they're even allowing that. I'm completely helpless, worse than a baby. And I hate it," Enjolras growled.

"What does Durand need to know to get you out?" Combeferre said rationally. "What would it take?"

"For me to be someone else," Enjolras said immediately. "And how do I go about that?"

"Obvious. Say you weren't there," Grantaire said. "Deny any involvement with the rebellion. Act like they have the wrong man. You could even go so far as to declare your love for our good king, Louis-Phillipe!"

"But they don't have the wrong man. And I can't pretend it didn't happen. It would be like denying all of you, denying that you mattered, that your sacrifices mattered. I can't do that. And I certainly won't declare my allegiance to that phony they call a king," Enjolras added.

"You can do all of that, and you will if it will help set you free. Not that they will take your word alone as the truth. So, who else needs to be convinced? And who else can help convince them?" Combeferre asked.

Enjolras was silent as he thought. He pictured Captain Martin's face, the conflict in his eyes and voice just before he ordered the shots to be fired in June, and the same conflict that was present when he recognized Enjolras the other day. So what had made him turn Enjolras in, if he possibly regretted what he had to do?

And why was he no longer a part of the National Guard?

"Durand has to speak to Martin. Why did he go to the authorities? When I think about the way he looked that day, and the way he told us we could still turn back just before the final blow, I feel certain that he wasn't happy about being a part of the rebellion at all. He didn't want to kill any of us. He felt absolutely no pleasure in it. So why did he turn me in?"

Combeferre leaned back in his chair and nodded. "You have to start somewhere, and that does seem like the logical place."

"I agree," Feuilly said quietly. "But what do you intend to do about Gabrielle, in the meantime?"

"What can I do?" Enjolras whispered. He felt short of breath just thinking about it, the pain of missing her manifesting itself physically. "I don't even have a way to write to her. Surely she knows that..." Enjolras stopped and swallowed, turning to look out the window.

His mind flashed back to the last time he had seen Gabrielle before the June rebellion. She was walking away from the Musain, silhouetted in moonlight, and had turned to look back at the café. Their eyes had met, and even then, Enjolras had been struck by her beauty, though he tried not to let his feelings show.

"Knows what?" Feuilly pressed.

"She knows that I love her. I would do anything for her, Feuilly. Surely you know that." Enjolras finally met his eyes. "I promised you I would take care of her. And I will."

Feuilly grinned and clapped his shoulder. "Are you sure she isn't the one taking care of you, my friend?"

Enjolras awoke to perfect darkness after yet another dream of the other Les Amis. He had dreamed of them every night since he'd been in prison, having a different conversation every time and trying to work out his situation with their help.

It was so dark Enjolras couldn't even really make out the inky blackness of the night sky through the lone window at the top of his cell. He couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. No candles were permitted at night, so from the time the sun set until it rose the next morning, all he could do was either sleep or think.

Neither option was pleasant. His dreams were haunted either by his friends or Gabrielle, as were his thoughts. He couldn't escape from his mistakes no matter where he turned. He tried his hardest not to think of his wife, but he couldn't stop worrying. He knew she must feel as much anguish as he did at being parted. He had been in prison for four days, and missing her wasn't getting any easier.

Before June, Enjolras hadn't cared whether he lived or died; in fact, he had been prepared to die for his cause. He wasn't afraid of death, living only for his Patria, as he always had. He still wasn't really afraid of dying. What did terrify him was what he would be leaving behind, and the things he would never get to do with Gabrielle. Just the thought of never seeing her again was almost too much to bear. He wanted to grow old with her, watch her accomplish all of her dreams, travel the world with her and see it all through her eyes. She had showed him what truly loving another person felt like, how wonderful it was to feel needed and supported. Just when things were going so well, he had to go and make such a grave error, one that would probably cost him his life.

Maybe giving him such happiness for such a brief period of time only to have it ripped away was just punishment for what had happened in June, though. Maybe he truly was supposed to die with his friends.

But Gabrielle didn't deserve such a punishment, and that angered him. So, he resolved himself to fight against death with every fiber of his being, for as long as he could. There would be a special place reserved for him in hell were he to let her down, he was sure.

Enjolras brooded over his thoughts until he finally began to see the first orange rays of sun streaked against the sky outside his window. A guard shoved a meager breakfast into his cell and Enjolras ate the tasteless goop in only a few bites. Having no taste at all was better than being horrible, he figured, trying to look on the bright side. After another few hours, Durand came to see him.

They were cramped in his tiny cell, but Enjolras was grateful for the company. He knew he must look awful still, since Durand kept glancing anywhere but at his face as he entered, unwilling to stare at the bruises and welts that had turned from a deep purple to a sickening yellow. The guards had not been kind as they arrested him, but Enjolras knew he could have gotten it worse, so he refrained from complaint. Durand sat at the little table in his cell and Enjolras perched on the edge of the bed, eager to hear any news.

"How is Gabrielle?" Enjolras asked anxiously, even before offering a greeting.

"She is still fine," Durand said gently. "Worried, and sad, of course, but I am impressed with her strength. I talked with her yesterday and she wanted to know what she could do to help. Again...it isn't the first time she's asked me."

The corner of Enjolras' mouth raised, picturing Gabrielle with her determined stance, shoulders back and chin raised, ready to take on the entire French army if she had to.

"I hope you told her to stay out of trouble."

"I did, though I can't promise she will listen. She reminds me of my own wife. Most men are so afraid of a woman with a brain, but I never quite understood why. They're much more fun, aren't they?" Durand said lightly, obviously trying to lighten the heavy mood in the cell.

Enjolras smiled and nodded. "I've come to think so, yes. Did you find anything out that could help me?"

Durand sighed and took a few papers from his case, glancing at the notes he had written.

"Well, I have been doing some investigating, trying to discover why Martin was honorably discharged. What I found is rather intriguing." Durand's eyes sparkled and Enjolras felt a flicker of hope. He waited for Durand to continue. "It seems Captain Martin is not as heartless as I thought. He was trying to help your client, Philip Roux, from the start. They let him go because he was speaking out against the soldier that was killed, telling people what really happened. The National Guard didn't like it much, obviously."

Enjolras was a little taken aback, but not much. He had seen the conflict in Martin, had sensed that he wasn't just a cold-blooded killer. Maybe there was hope for both of them yet.

"Have you been able to track Martin down?"

"No. That's where my luck has stopped so far. I can't seem to find him anywhere." Durand put his papers down and tapped his fingers against the desk. "You don't have any ideas about where to look, other than the address you gave me?"

Enjolras shook his head. "No. Damn it. He can't be that far, not unless he's left Paris."

"Well, I'll find him soon. I won't rest until I do, and I'll put out word to everyone I know. I doubt he's left the city."

"And am I still to claim ignorance? Act like they have the wrong man?"

"Yes. It's the only way we have any hope. When I find Martin, I'm hoping I can convince him to say he misidentified you. Then, they really have nothing to go on at all. And I may be able to pull a few more witnesses out of my sleeve to say you have never had anything at all to do with any thoughts of rebellion." Durand grinned wryly.

Enjolras didn't even want to know what Durand was up to. There was nothing he could do from inside these walls, anyway.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

Durand hesitated, then said slowly, "Well...Gabrielle expects your mother to arrive any second. She wrote to her straightaway, even though she knew you would probably disapprove."

Enjolras winced and rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "Jesus. She's going to be worried sick."

"She still deserves to know what's happening, Enjolras. And you can't expect her to sit idly by, a hundred miles outside of Paris, waiting for word of either her son's release or execution."

"I suppose not," he mumbled. Maybe his mother's presence would be good for Gabrielle, too; even through her own worry and anxiousness, she would still try to take care of Gabrielle, and Gabrielle would do the same for her. That thought was comforting to Enjolras.

"Oh...I brought you this." Durand pulled out a few blank pieces of paper, a quill, and ink and laid them on the table. "If you write quickly, I can smuggle a letter out today."

Enjolras looked at the items gratefully and rose, clapping Durand on the back. "Thank you. I'm sure Gabrielle is anxious to hear from me."

The men switched places and Enjolras settled himself at the table, taking up the quill in his hand. Now that he was faced with it, however, he wasn't quite sure how to begin...

Gabrielle,

Now that I'm actually able to write to you, I find myself at a loss. I don't know how to put everything I'm feeling into words. No sentiments seem adequate enough to make you understand how much I miss you, how worried I am about you, and how fiercely I wish I could hold you in my arms. I think about you constantly, I dream of you at night, and my narrow bed seems cold and lifeless without you beside me.

I'm so sorry for getting us into this mess. I can't stand thinking that I'm causing you pain. I hate myself for it. I'm sorry isn't even good enough. If I come out of this alive, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

This may be my last opportunity to write, so I can't let this go unsaid – I will regret it if I do. I need you to know that no matter what happens, I regret nothing that has happened between us. I'm grateful for the time I've been able to be with you, even if it turns out to be fleeting and brief. No time on earth, though, would ever be enough with you. I will always want more. You have made me the happiest man alive, and certainly the luckiest. Whatever happens, Gabrielle, please know that you are fiercely, deeply, passionately, and unconditionally loved. I will love you to the end of my days, whenever they may be.

Yours,

Antoine

Enjolras finished his letter, a lump in his throat, and stared at the parchment, swallowing the despair he felt. He didn't want to sound so grim, but he also wanted to leave Gabrielle with truly meaningful and heartfelt words, just in case they would be the last she ever got from him. After the ink dried, Enjolras folded the letter and handed it to Durand.

He nodded his thanks, and Durand briefly embraced him before leaving the cell. For the first time since his arrest, Enjolras felt like breaking down. His chest was tight with panic, his hands shaking from suppressed emotions. He wouldn't let himself admit defeat, however, and stared stubbornly up at the window, forcing himself to think of life outside of the prison walls.

He planned his life with Gabrielle, playing out every scene, every look, every touch, every memorable occasion. He would not rest until he was back at her side.

Another update, yay! This chapter is the shortest one in quite a while, and I apologize for that, but it felt finished here. And uh, again...super sappy. Sorry about that. Hope you liked it!

Thanks for all of the reviews on the last chapter - I'm glad most of you are liking the new drama! I hope that continues to the end, because even after this bit ends, there's still one drama filled section left before it's over!

Also, I did end up trying to get tickets to see Aaron, but it was such a mess and they were gone so fast, I didn't stand a chance. BUMMER! If anyone is going, let me know, because I NEED VIDEOS. AS MANY AS YOU CAN POSSIBLY TAKE. :)

~A