Chapter XXX

The Musain was dark. No lights shone through the window, and when Enjolras stepped inside the main door, glass crunched under his boot. That was strange; usually, in these dreams, the Musain was as alive as it used to be, restored to its former glory. Now, it looked just as it had that afternoon, as run-down and abandoned as it had in his waking hours. Clearly, his friends weren't here this evening. So why was Enjolras?

Despite the fact that his friends were not present, Enjolras was drawn to the back stairs, probably out of habit, he assumed. He climbed slowly, the worn wood of the banister shaking beneath his hand. He stopped when he reached the top, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and scanning the room. A dark shape sat huddled in the corner, half slumped over a table. There was only one person that could be.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras asked incredulously. "Why are you the only one here?"

Grantaire looked up slowly, and Enjolras was unable to read his expression in the dark. "Where else would I be?"

Enjolras shrugged and scuffed his boot against the floor uncomfortably. "I don't know. Heaven, I suppose?" He was only half joking.

Grantaire grinned and raised the bottle in his hand. "Who says this isn't?"

Enjolras glanced around. "I'd feel cheated if this was heaven."

Grantaire didn't respond, but reached over to light a candle. The room was soon illuminated in a soft, ethereal glow, and Enjolras slowly crossed the floor to Grantaire's table. He sat heavily across from him and stared. Grantaire's eyes were bloodshot, his clothes dirty, and his hair sticking up wildly. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, much like he had when he was alive.

Enjolras felt the familiar urge to fuss at him, but suppressed it. He had no right to treat him that way anymore. So he tried a different, and stranger, tactic.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his face a mask of concern.

Grantaire eyed him. "Nothing. I'm my usually pleasant self."

"Why are you still here?" Enjolras asked bluntly.

"Like I said, where else would I be?" At Enjolras' poignant look, Grantaire cleared his throat and took a swig from the bottle, setting it down heavily on the table afterward. His brow furrowed and he glared at the flickering candle in front of him. "There are lots of reasons, I suppose."

"Is it because of me?" Enjolras whispered. "Because of what I did?" He figured it was best to get straight to the point.

"What do you think you did exactly?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes, his annoyance rising. "Do we really have to get into that? We both know what I've done."

"Your version of events and my version of events may be two completely different things," Grantaire said calmly, and finally met Enjolras' eyes. "We've never seen eye to eye, have we? Why would we now?"

Enjolras paused and glanced away. He clenched his jaw and said stiffly, "What do you wish me to do? Confess my sins to you?"

"If you must."

Grantaire was the last person Enjolras wanted to talk about his feelings with. But, he realized, also probably the one who was most in need of hearing them. Enjolras had a sinking suspicion that it was all his fault Grantaire was still miserable in the afterlife...if, indeed, that was where they were.

"I failed you," Enjolras said quietly. "I've gone over this so many times with Gabrielle, but..." Enjolras stopped at the sneer that crossed Grantaire's face at the mention of Gabrielle's name.

"Go on."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes a bit, but kept going. "It's my fault you're all gone. It's my fault you're dead. I failed you, I failed France, I failed myself...but I'm trying to move on. I can't change the past. I can only keep going, and try to do better. For my wife, and my child." There it was again, that unmistakable, bitter sneer. "What is that look for?" Enjolras asked impatiently. "You told me to confess, and I have, yet you mock me. I don't know why I'm surprised."

Enjolras crossed his arms and glared at Grantaire.

Grantaire's sneer turned into a full on boisterous laugh, which further enraged Enjolras. Honestly, he had never understood this man...

"Easy, Apollo." Grantaire's nickname for Enjolras flew easily off his tongue. "I do not 'mock' you, as you say. You say you failed us? Me? I'm assuming you mean because we didn't win at our little game of war?"

Enjolras nodded tersely, and Grantaire continued. "And what if I told you that it isn't our failure at playing revolution that irks me, but rather...your failure at dying?"

Enjolras blinked. Even though he had the thought many times over the last year that he should have died with his friends, that he deserved it, it was still rather disconcerting to have Grantaire so openly state that he felt the same way, that he wished Enjolras would have died with them, too.

"You're mad at me because I survived?" Enjolras said softly, feeling guilt wash over him.

Grantaire cocked his head to the side, deep in thought, which must be a rather difficult concept for him, Enjolras supposed.

"Mostly," Grantaire said cryptically.

"Mostly?"

"Your failure to die irks me, yes."

Enjolras leaned forward, trying to make sense of this riddle. "Do you hate me?"

"No. Quite the contrary," Grantaire admitted easily, his eyes burning holes through Enjolras. "If we're confessing, Apollo, then I fear I must tell you...I very much do not hate you. It's more the opposite emotion, though I doubt that will make you any happier."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "The opposite of hate is love. You love me? Surely not, Grantaire. All you've ever done is mock my ideas and my passion, tease me about how I was going to die with only Patria as my mistress..."

Grantaire shook his head and laughed to himself. "Little you see, Enjolras."

"I've made my confession. So now yours. I've never understood you, R. Help me to."

Grantaire sighed and looked at him, suddenly seeming very sober. Enjolras wasn't actually sure he had ever spoken to a sober Grantaire. "You're right. I've never believed in your little rebellion, or your cause, or your ideas, or...anything you preached about. I listened every time you spoke, even when you thought I didn't, and there was only one truth I ever saw. That truth wasn't the words you said. It wasn't your ideals. It wasn't your dreams. The truth was you. I believed only in you."

Enjolras swallowed, his heart speeding up. He knew Grantaire spoke the truth, but he just didn't understand it. Why? Why had he believed in him, if he believed in nothing Enjolras stood for? He gave voice to his question and Grantaire cocked his head, letting out a bitter laugh.

"Why do you love Gabrielle, Enjolras? We don't choose the people we fall in love with. It just happens."

Enjolras froze, trying to judge whether or not Grantaire was just playing with him, having a bit of a laugh at his expense. "What?"

"You heard me. I won't say it again. So, yes, Enjolras. I didn't believe in those things, but I believed in you. I followed you. And I don't regret that, not at all. But..." he laughed, and this time it sounded bitter. "You did a piss-poor job of dying, my friend."

Enjolras was still too stunned to respond, so Grantaire continued. "You know, in the end, I didn't think it was that bad. Yes, it was awful. It was horrifying, waking up to see everyone dead on the floor around me. But then I saw you there by the window, looking exactly like the name I'd always given you, and I thought, 'Okay. There's no better way to go. If I can't be with him in this life, I will be in the next.' And you looked at me, and for the first time, I thought you truly saw me. I thought you understood. And I thought you were happy to have me by your side in your final moments. The only way I ever wanted to die was with you. We were supposed to die together. Except...you didn't."

Grantaire didn't sound angry. Just...disappointed?

"So you're...unhappy...that I didn't die?" Enjolras asked.

"It's hard to explain," Grantaire muttered. "I...there was a poetry in it, Apollo. A bittersweet, ironic sort of poetry, the kind that Jehan would write about, and I...I wanted to die with you. I was supposed to die with you. But you didn't die."

"I'm sorry," Enjolras whispered. "I know I was supposed to. I should have, I..." Gabrielle's face obscured his vision for a moment and Enjolras stopped. Grantaire smiled bitterly, almost as if he could read Enjolras' thoughts.

"You did feel that way," Grantaire said. "I know you did wish it. But now you don't. There's no use pretending. You're very much happy you're alive now, Apollo."

"Stop calling me that," Enjolras muttered. "And yes, I am happy now...I'm glad I didn't die. I would give anything to bring you all back but, really, Grantaire, what's the point of me wallowing in misery for the rest of my life? I'll never affect any change like that."

"She has everything in you I wanted. The way you look at her, bare your soul to her. For fuck's sake, she's carrying your child. Giving you things I never could." Grantaire glared at the wall for a minute, his nostrils flaring.

It truly hit Enjolras at that moment how serious Grantaire was about what he'd said. He was clearly in love with him. And insanely, bitterly jealous. Everything made a little more sense now, and the usual annoyance Enjolras felt when he thought of Grantaire was replaced by a gentle feeling of empathy.

"Like you said, R, we can't help who we fall in love with. You would know it was a lie if I told you I loved you, when you so clearly understand and see my feelings for her. She is my life. My family is the reason I now have for getting up every morning."

"I know," Grantaire whispered. "And I don't...or I'm trying...not to begrudge you that, Enjolras. I really am. Sometimes, I just feel a bit...stuck."

"I don't want you to be," Enjolras said passionately. "Grantaire, I was happy to have you by my side in those final moments. It was comforting, to not be alone. For the first time, I respected you. I really did. I still do."

Grantaire took a deep breath and folded his hands in front of him. "Thank you."

They sat in a slightly awkward silence for a several minutes, looking anywhere but at each other. Enjolras didn't know what else to say. He felt more compelled to try and help Grantaire than worried about himself, he realized in surprise. He had been so caught up in his own guilt for the past year, that feeling it lessen was strange. Accepting life had been much more difficult than accepting death.

"It would make me happy, Grantaire," Enjolras said hesitantly, "to know that you aren't angry at me...to know I have your blessing."

Grantaire raised his eyes slowly, clearly surprised by Enjolras' words. "You have it, Enjolras. There's no need to ask. Even if I'm unhappy and bitter and jealous, I don't...I don't wish unhappiness on you. Or Gabrielle."

Enjolras sucked in a breath and nodded, reaching over the table to clasp Grantaire's hand in his own. Again, Grantaire looked surprised. "Thank you, mon ami. What else can I do to help you?"

Grantaire slowly shrugged and sighed, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Nothing. I think I have to help myself." He rose, keeping his gaze trained on Enjolras. "But I don't think sitting around here is going to do anyone any good anymore."

Enjolras stood and nodded in agreement. Grantaire held out his hand and Enjolras took it, unexpectedly pulling Grantaire firmly into his body. Grantaire clung to him tightly for a minute, and then clapped his back.

"You're going to be one hell of a father, Enjolras. Baby Patria is lucky to have you," Grantaire said lightly, trying to clear the heaviness that had settled over the room.

Enjolras grinned and shook his head. "I'm not naming my child 'Patria.' I won't go that far. But thank you."

Grantaire pulled away and squarely met his gaze for several moments before nodding. "Goodbye, Apollo."

"Goodbye, Grantaire."

Enjolras watched him cross the room, and with one last glance at their old meeting place, descend the stairs. Enjolras stood at the window and gazed down at the street, smiling faintly as Grantaire's shadow emerged from the Musain and began to trudge down the street. He wasn't swerving in a jagged, drunken line as he usually was, but walked with his shoulders back and head upright.

And he didn't look back.

Enjolras slowly awoke from his dream, blinking in the early morning light. Everything that had just happened was fresh and vivid in his mind. And he felt strangely, eerily calm. He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, thinking about everything Grantaire had said. Was it all true? Or was it only something his own mind concocted, nothing more than a dream?

It felt like much more than a dream, as real as Gabrielle felt beside him. He turned his head to study her sleeping form, the way her hair fanned out around her on the pillow; how her eyelids gently fluttered, caught up in a dream; how she always slept with one hand curled protectively around her stomach now. Enjolras turned on his side to face her, thinking about what he had said to Grantaire. For the first time, every part of him really meant it. He was happy to be alive. He was happy to be in love with a wonderful, beautiful woman. And he was happy they were about to bring a child into the world.

Wasting time worrying, focusing on all of the negative things that could go wrong wasn't the way to live. He wanted to enjoy every minute of life with his family.

Enjolras didn't want to wake Gabrielle, but couldn't resist brushing his lips against hers. He slowly reached down and pulled her nightgown up, exposing her swollen stomach. The more he looked at her, the more infatuated he was with the little being that was growing inside of her.

He scooted down the bed and gently placed his lips on her stomach. "Good morning, little one. I'm very, very anxious to meet you," he whispered. He was rewarded with a soft kick, as if he had roused the baby with his voice, and he grinned, placing his hand over the spot his lips had been. He glanced up to find Gabrielle's eyes open, sleepily watching him. He smiled sheepishly.

"Good morning," she mumbled, and tugged at his shirt to pull him back up to her.

Enjolras pressed his lips to her neck and wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her firmly against his chest. "It is," he agreed quietly.

Hiiiiiii, guys. So, this chapter is shorter than normal because I split it from the last one. I feel like it kind of stands on its own, though, and the bit of fluff there at the end is just that. :)

I'm sorry I haven't replied to reviews from the last chapter. I got super sick on Wednesday night and have been battling strep the last few days. Today is the first day I've felt like a human, so I hammered this out for you just now. Thank you so, so much for the reviews last time, and I really look forward to hearing what you have to say about this one. HOPEFULLY I'll be able to update this week, but don't count on it. I still don't feel good and I have a feeling work is going to make me exhausted this week, which means I probably won't come home and write, but GO TO BED. I swear I'll update next Sunday at the latest! Enjoy your week and please review!

~Aimee