Thanks so much for the reviews on the last chapter guys, it means a lot! It was also really awesome to hear someone had recommended this story to a friend... thank you so much! I really cannot thank you for that enough, and I'm so glad you're enjoying my story that much!
I was also laughing with MaryEvH the other day about how this idea started out as a 20-chapter summer project for me before I started uni... and now I'm in second year and it's three times that long and we're not even at the barricade yet! So thanks for sticking with me, everybody, I promise I'll try and end it at some point!
Do I even need disclaimers any more at this point? Ah well, I'll put it anyway: I don't own any of Les Miserables. More's the pity.
After the wedding, the Amis' campaigning resumed in earnest, with not a day passing by where at least four Amis weren't out on the streets of Paris handing out leaflets, talking to citizens, and trying to convince people to stand with them when the time came. At Pierre's suggestion and Combeferre's insistence, they'd stopped holding rallies and giving really big public speeches; it seemed the Parisian police had decided to take a zero-tolerance approach to revolutionary suggestions. They also apparently didn't like it when the people they were trying to shut up started shouting about the French right to free speech, or the evils of government censorship, or the tradition of the French people standing up to oppressive regimes, or excessive police force… as most of the Amis had discovered to their cost over those past few weeks. Grantaire's "Official Arrest League Table" had Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Bahorel at the top with four apiece (in a fortnight), closely followed by Pierre, Grantaire, Jehan and Feuilly with three… you get the picture. Even Éponine had had her first brush with the law for a while, spending a terrifying night in the cells for shoving a police officer (he threatened Gavroche and Jacques). Because she was the only one to get arrested on that particular day, she'd had to spend the night alone; this wouldn't have bothered her if she wasn't so worried she'd bump into her mother or father or one of the Patron and have to go back to the inn... after that night, she'd vowed not to get arrested again, so she'd fully backed the "spread the word more secretively" plan when it had come up. Enjolras didn't like it – he'd never been a subtle guy – but he understood and put up with it. In truth, the whole thing worried him more than he cared to admit; free speech was now clearly under direct threat and the police seemed to have decided to start using more force… if that was how they reacted to a simple speech, what would they do to the Amis?
Actually, as the plans came together, Enjolras felt like he did hardly anything but worry. When he wasn't worried about specific parts of the plan – how much ammunition they'd need, how they'd convince people to give up their furniture for the actual barricade, where to build the barricade and more questions and more worries – he was worried about whether it was even a good idea, or if it was just too risky and he was needlessly endangering his friends, or he was worried about Éponine and Montparnasse and her father, and just her general health because that night in jail really freaked her out or… suffice to say Enjolras was basically a big bundle of worry quite a lot of the time. He bottled it up of course, like he always had, throwing all his energy into the campaign, just like every other time he got stressed. As usual though, he hadn't accounted for Éponine; unlike every past worried patch, he now had someone there who could always tell what he was feeling. She tried desperately to help; helping out around the house, keeping Gav and Jacques occupied when necessary, making sure he slept and showered and ate… the only trouble was when she tried to get him to talk about what was worrying him. He tried – he honestly tried – not to be snarky with her, or get angry, but… it was all so new to him, the whole relationship thing. He wasn't used to explaining what was bothering him to people who weren't Combeferre, and he couldn't even tell her a large part of it, which just stressed him out even more. And what was worse was that the arguments actually helped him release the tension, which made him feel guiltier than ever. It seemed like no matter how hard he tried, the campaign would always put a strain on his and Éponine's relationship. Even with all the steamy make-up sex, of which there was a lot. Enjolras supposed it was a mark of how well Éponine understood him that she'd never suggested he take a step back from the cause, or slow down. She knew it was important to him, and supported him instead. Just one of the many reasons I love her he thought to himself more and more frequently as the weeks went on.
So their relationship went on, and so did the campaign. The upstairs room of the Musain (dubbed the Bunker) with the table in the corner becoming the centre of all things strategy (Grantaire had taken to calling it the Cabinet War Room), rarely completely empty before 1 in the morning. A similarly rare event was an evening where Pierre didn't have to stand by the door to the café waiting for Grantaire to be ready to leave.
The night of the 23rd of May was not one of them. Leaning against the doorframe of the entrance to the upstairs room at the Musain, Pierre checked his watch for about the third time: 00.24. He'd been standing there since quarter past, watching as Grantaire agreed it was time to leave, and then kept talking as he collected together his papers, sketches and posters. He didn't even have that many tonight, but Pierre knew that wasn't really what held Grantaire up anyway.
God, what was it about Enjolras that inspired such devotion? Ok, so the guy was gorgeous – that jawline could cut and there was certainly something to be said for the whole passionate leader, fighting for the poor thing. But he was so mean to Grant, so scathing! And it's not as though there weren't other handsome, passionate blokes about – and some of them were also nice, and could actually loosen up once in a while!
His train of thought was interrupted by a loud laugh, the source of which seemed to be something Grantaire had said – Éponine was cracking up, and Courfeyrac was literally leaning on a chuckling Combeferre for support as he tried to choke out a reply through his laughter. Even Enjolras had a twinkle in his eye as he glared: first at Grantaire, then Combeferre, then Éponine… and then back to Grantaire, whose very complexion seemed to lighten at the attention.
He was trying so hard not to get annoyed. He took a deep breath, he counted to ten…
Actually, no. He was pissed.
Enjolras was rarely anything but rude to Grantaire. He put him down all the time, he called him a drunk and a cynic, and told him he was good for nothing, but this just seemed to spur Grantaire on! How, and why, had Grantaire managed to stay so certain of a change of heart all these years?! God, he never made Grantaire happy for more than about ten minutes at a time, he was almost invariably depressed – didn't Enjolras realise he drank for a reason?! – and some days barely got out of bed he was so angry with the world. How could a man who cared so deeply about really important things and had so much talent just waste it all on some guy who couldn't even see him for the great man he could be… the great man he was!
And that's not even including the fact that Enjolras had SAID HIMSELF he was heterosexual. Or that something was so clearly going on with him and Éponine; one look at those two and you could feel the sexual tension in the air like fog, never mind the looks of pure wonder in their eyes when they looked at each other. He knew it so well because it was how Grantaire looked at Enjolras, too. AND how he looked at Grantaire!
No, he tried not to think about it like that. It wasn't just a choice between them, that wasn't the point. He liked Enjolras a lot, and besides, he wasn't just nice to Grantaire because he was trying to get something out of it – although, that would be nice, obviously – he genuinely cared about him! But months on end of shameless flirting – which he was getting in return by the way, he was sure of it – and being the shoulder to laugh on and cry on… it was getting tiring. There were only so many supportive things he could say, and he felt like he'd said them all a thousand times over. How could he help Grantaire when he wouldn't listen, when he had no desire to even TRY to change?! God, what was the point of it all, why did Grantaire even bother talking to him, when he clearly had no interest in –
"Ready to go?" Grantaire said brightly, from right in front of him, a crooked smile on his irritatingly cute face.
Pierre checked his watch again: 00.28. "Sure" he said shortly. "I'm ready when you are."
"Great!" He replied, apparently unfazed. "Bye, guys!" he called back.
They shouted back their farewells, and the two men left the café.
As he mopped the floor of his empty inn, Thénardier seethed. He was starting to get downright furious; Aileen had been dead over a month, and he was still here doing his own fucking dirty work. The boy had never taken this long to get information before – shit, he got the Chief of the Paris Police's address in under a day, but Éponine took over a month? Ok, so she was the smartest of his kids, and was partly so useful in his line of work because she was good at not getting caught, but a month? He was pushing Thénardier over the fucking LINE… he'd have thought the boy would WANT to find her, hadn't he always had that ridiculous soft spot for the stupid little hussy…?
Thénardier stopped mopping and stood up straight.
Surely the boy wouldn't betray him like that?
He'd been like a father to the boy. Treated him like one of his own – better than one of his own! Everything the boy knew he learned from Thénardier!
He dismissed the thought. But that didn't mean he couldn't do a bit of digging of his own, just to be sure.
"If ye want somethin' fuckin' done…" Thénardier growled to himself, throwing the mop down to the floor and heading for the door.
Their walk home was a pretty one-sided conversation, and even as the flat door swung shut behind them, Grantaire was still talking away. "So yeah, Ép and me are pretty sure Combeferre's hiding someone. I'll have to ask him at some point. Why would he hide them though? Is he embarrassed of them, maybe? Or embarrassed of us?"
I'm embarrassed of you Pierre grumbled to himself as he removed his coat and shoulder bag, and hung them on a hook.
"Unless they aren't together yet or whatever. Maybe it's still just feelings, or they're just starting out or whatever." Grantaire continued thoughtfully, as he put his sketchbook down on the table and started to take off his worn old, green hoodie.
"Wouldn't be the first time one of you hid their feelings from the group" Pierre muttered to himself.
Grantaire paused, his hoodie halfway over his head. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, more than a little defensively.
Pierre walked through into the kitchen and started taking mugs out of the cupboard for a cup of coffee, avoiding Grantaire's searching gaze as it followed him across the room. "You know what it means" he replied, determinedly calm.
"No. No I don't, actually. Please enlighten me!"
Fuck it he thought as he slammed the mugs down on the bench and whirled around to face his best friend. "Ok, fine! Why do you still, after all this time, pine after Enjolras when he is nothing but rude to you?!"
"I don't pine –" Grantaire countered, pulling his hoody off and dumping it on the couch.
"Yes, you do! You watch him with those big old googly eyes, you hang on his every word – Jesus, R, you fucking light up when he so much as looks at you!"
"You're exaggerating –"
"NO. I'm not! Even when he is outright rude to you – which is NINETY-NINE PERCENT OF THE TIME - from the look on your face it's like you're torn between smiling like just won the fucking lottery and crying your heart out right there and then!"
"It's not ninety-nine percent of the time!"
"YES IT IS! Come on then, prove me wrong. What was it he said to you before you said whatever it was that cracked everybody up?"
"He said –" Grantaire sighed and scratched the back of his neck, his fingers disappearing into the mass of dark curls just barely contained under his red beanie hat. "He said I was good for nothing, so I said 'I happen to be a man of few talents, but they're all extremely useful and most help release tension for uptight blondes.' He was all 'be serious' so I said 'I am WILD' and –"
"Are you even listening to yourself, R!? 'Good for nothing' 'be serious' – he doesn't respect you at all!"
"He does!" Grantaire snapped back, glaring furiously at Pierre from beside the door. There was a moment's pause, before he continued "He doesn't need to, but he respects me just as much as you do. And eventually –"
Maybe it was the way he compared the two of them, or maybe it was the suggestion that he didn't need respect, or maybe it was the "eventually" but something in Pierre snapped, and before he knew it, he was ranting.
"You know what, Grantaire? You're full of shit. You don't believe that he respects you, you don't even want him to respect you, because you don't even respect yourself, so why the fuck should he!? You follow this guy around like a lost puppy, completely blind to the real Enjolras; you blatantly ignore the way he treats you, and even convince yourself you're in love with him, when you're actually just using him as a distraction from how miserable you are, and an excuse to drink yourself into the gutter! You've built him up into this ANGEL when he's a just a MAN, and it's not healthy for you or him!"
"EXCUSE ME?!" Grantaire stomped into the kitchen, outrage all over his face.
Pierre was vaguely aware his arms were gesticulating wildly but at this point he was too far gone to care. " – AND WORSE, you're STILL convincing yourself that one day he's going to turn around and love you back. Well, I hate to be the one to actually say it buddy, but it's never going to happen! HE'S NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU! HE DOESN'T EVEN LIKE GUYS!"
"SO HE SAYS, BUT –"
"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" Pierre actually laughed. "You MUST be joking?!"
Grantaire just looked at him, and Pierre looked back, searching his friend's face for just a hint of humour, because surely, surely, he didn't really believe that? But there was no hint of humour in his pale blue eyes, narrowed under the dark, furrowed brows. His mouth was open slightly as he breathed deeply, but there was no smile twitching at the corners. His stubble-covered jaw was tensed.
"R, he's so obviously in love with Éponine" he said. All the anger was almost gone, and the volume was back to normal, replaced with an almost breathy incredulity as he held Grantaire's gaze. "And Éponine loves him too."
Grantaire closed his mouth, kneading his lips together as he held back his words… whatever it was he was going to say. For the first time, Pierre felt a knot of guilt and worry building up in his stomach.
After what seemed like forever, Grantaire broke the silence, spitting out angry bites of his fragmented thoughts. "Why would you –?!... How can you –?! What's your -?!... in love, for FUCK'S sake… just…" Grantaire shook his head furiously, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles, before bursting out into a rant of his own. "OK then Jerry Springer, now that you've finished your fucking psychoanalysis on us all, let me set you fucking straight.
"First of all, you have known Enjolras five MINUTES compared to me, and I'm not going to stand here and listen to you bitch about one of my best friends, let alone the man I –" he bit his lip and looked away, shaking his head again.
"If you knew Enjolras at all" he continued furiously "you would know he doesn't date anybody, because he's married to his ideals, to France, or whatever, and THAT is why he doesn't look at me twice, NOTHING to do with anything else, and CERTAINLY not to do with my best friend in the world! Who, by the way, would definitely have told me if she was 'in love' with Enjolras!
"SECONDLY: I am twenty-four years old. I eat what I want to eat, I drink whatever the fuck I want to drink, and I do whatever the fuck I want to do with whoever I want to do it with. It is none of your damn business who I spend my time with, and I can't exactly help what I fucking feel, can I?!"
"Come ON –!" Pierre started, shaking his head in exasperation, but Grantaire cut him off.
"NO. I WON'T 'COME ON'" he shouted back. "I FEEL WHAT I FEEL. I LOVE HIM! I'M SORRY THAT DOESN'T FIT INTO YOUR NICE LITTLE PLAN TO SAVE ME FROM THE NASTY MAN, PIERRE, BUT IT'S TRUE. I'M SORRY I'M NOT AVAILABLE FOR SHAG ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR FOR YOU, AND I'M SORRY IT'S NOT ONLY BECAUSE YOU'D HAVE TO TAKE YOUR OWN HEAD OUT YOUR ARSE BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE COULD FIT THERE!"
Grantaire turned around - his every movement filled with rage - and grabbed his hoody off the sofa before storming to open the door. Just before entering, he turned back to look at Pierre one more time. Pierre could see the tears in his eyes from the kitchen.
"I thought you were my fucking friend, Pierre. Go fuck yourself in your self-righteous asshole." He spat out, before storming out and slamming the door, leaving Pierre stood alone in the kitchen. He stood there for a good while longer, until he could finally hear the world again over the screaming white noise in his head and the beat of his own heart. Pierre's head was bowed, and his heart was broken, as he leant against the counter with his hands; his arms locked to support him as the tears fell from his shaking body.
I knew I shouldn't have let myself care about him he thought to himself. It never ends well when I let myself care.
Grantaire burst angrily out of the building and onto the streets of Paris, his steps heavy and purposeful as the anger coursed through his veins. Who was Pierre to tell him what to do, what to feel?! Did he think none of these things had occurred to Grantaire before?! He'd known Enjolras for what, a few months? Grantaire had known him years! He obviously knew him better! Self-righteous little prick, telling him he was blind to the real Enjolras – he was fucking blinded by Enjolras, that was the fucking problem!
The cold night air was biting at his bare arms, and he shoved his hoody back over his head, irritably re-adjusting his beanie once he had.
Was this all because he didn't want to be with Pierre? That must be it… but he'd explained! He liked Pierre a lot, but frankly, what was the point in any of it when he knew who he really wanted, and he was right there?!
Especially once this revolution bollocks was out the way, then Enjolras wouldn't be focussing on that any more, and he'd finally have time in his life for something else… like him!
And to actually suggest that Enjolras and Éponine might actually have something going on…
"WHAT A FUCKING STUPID SUGGESTION YOU IGNORANT DICKWAD!" He yelled back in the general direction of Pierre's apartment building. "I'D FUCKING KNOW ABOUT IT!"
Enjolras wasn't in a relationship for the simple reason that Enjolras didn't do relationships, God, isn't it OBVIOUS?! Why do I have to fucking explain it to fucking Pierre every ten fucking minutes…?!
And ÉPONINE?! She hated him! The only reason she didn't still hate him was because she lived with him! That was hardly a foundation for a relationship, was it?!
Grantaire knew all this, for Christ's sake!
In fact, he was so confident, he was going to fucking prove it. He'd go over there and ask the pair of them, face to fucking face! They'd laugh at him, shaking their heads at the stupid question!See if he couldn't wipe that stupid, irritatingly cute smile off stupid Pierre's face…
And then, THEN…
Well, he'd tell Enjolras how he felt.
That'd fucking show Pierre!
Why not?! Realistically, what did he have left to fucking lose?!
Fuck it Grantaire concluded. Let's fucking do it! See how smug he is when I'm fucking right about this!
Asshole. I'll show him. Grantaire grumbled internally as he stormed off in the direction of Enjolras' apartment, determinedly ignoring the twinge of doubt in his stomach. Must be something he ate.
Any and all thoughts are welcomed, encouraged and appreciated! :)