10It's been a long while and I know I've got a lot of stories that need updates. I'm going to work on those! For now, this is a little something I worked on to try and get back into the writing world. I hope you like it. It's based on a drawing I saw floating around on Tumblr. Please review and let me know what you think? Thanks!
It's a hectic day at the emergency department. Not that there is ever a quiet day at the emergency department, but today it's really hectic. People keep coming in with casualties ranging from finger cuts and broken ankles to concussions and bullet wounds. Crying babies, cursing teenagers and confused seniors. There is no time for coffee or lunch breaks, so the doctors and nurses have to do with a quick bite of a sandwich and a sip of coffee from the coffee machine before they continue on their rounds.
Combeferre has been going for eleven hours straight. The only break he had happened nine hours ago and only because he had to wait fifteen minutes for some X-rays to be done. For the fourth time in twenty minutes, his eyes search out the clock in the examination room. He puts on a polite smile and nods as the young girl in front of him tells him how she has had a cold for three weeks and what she can do about it.
He really wants to call it a day. Sleep didn't come at all to him last night and he has practically been up and running for at least 28 hours. He loves being a doctor, he really does. But sometimes it can be exhausting to listen to patients go on and on about their symptoms when really all they need to do is use their common sense and don't go outside without a jacket when it's freezing. What makes it even more tiring is that when he comes home he has to repeat all those things to his roommate who thinks he can live on black coffee and crackers and function on five hours sleep a night.
When the girl is done telling her story, Combeferre nods again and checks her lungs for good measure. Then he prescribes her some cold medicine – something he knew he was going to do twenty minutes before this whole examination started – and urges her to make sure she eats and drinks enough vitamins. He stays behind in the room for another few minutes after the girl leaves and lets out a deep sigh. In the back of his head he wishes that this was his last patient. He hopes that when he leaves the room, he can just go home and sleep.
And for twenty blissful minutes that seems to be indeed the case. In those twenty blissful minutes, Combeferre can greet the doctor who takes over his shift, drink his first cup of coffee in peace and say goodbye to the nurse he secretly likes. But then – just when he's about to go change and call it a day – the doors to the emergency department open to reveal something Combeferre dreads every single day. In walk two bulky policemen, looking anything but amused, dragging a cuffed blonde man behind them, who Combeferre knows very well.
For a second, he is too shocked to move. His hearts skips a beat when he takes note of the blood trickling down the side of his best friends face. Deep concern mixed with anger and disappointment course through his veins as he realizes Enjolras is trying his best to keep his head down in an attempt to avoid being seen. Combeferre narrows his eyes at his younger roommate. Enjolras knows perfectly well that he is working today, so there is only one reason why he would avoid eye contact. It's because he knows Combeferre is so very utterly, entirely annoyed with him.
It's only when one of his colleague's steps forward to take the case that Combeferre snaps back to himself. He reaches out and takes his fellow doctor's shoulder.
"I'll take this one, Dr. James…" he says softly.
The doctor gives him a confused look and checks his watch. "Dr. Combeferre… you're shift is long since over… You should go home and get some rest. I'll take the patient, it's no problem. I know the procedure when there's cops involved."
Combeferre just shakes his head. "I want to take this case. After this one, I'll go home. Do you mind?"
The other man huffs a breath and shrugs his shoulders. With a quiet "Whatever man, knock yourself out…" he turns on his heels and moves on to another case.
Combeferre watches him go, takes a couple of seconds to prepare himself and then walks up to the policemen who still have a firm hold on their prisoner. Before either of them can say anything, Combeferre introduces himself. He briefly glances at Enjolras when he starts talking only to see his friend go tense for a moment and then look up. Their eyes meet and it's painfully clear that his friend had not meant to end up in here, least of all in handcuffs.
"What seems to be the problem here?" Combeferre asks kindly, perfectly masking the exasperated look he just gave his best friend. "Why is this boy in handcuffs and why is he bleeding?" A dash of satisfaction runs through him when Enjolras narrows his eyes at him at being called a boy. Good for him.
One of the bulky police men shakes Combeferre's hand as his form of introduction and starts explaining. "We caught this one red-handed. He and a couple of his friends were protesting outside the court without legal permission. They were disturbing the peace and when we intervened after several warnings, some of them got violent and we were forced to take action. There's not much wrong with this one. He just knocked his head on the pavement and he might have twisted an ankle. He was offered to bail himself out, but he refuses, so after this little trip we'll be taking him back to the station."
Combeferre clenches his jaw. Of course Enjolras was too proud to bail himself out. It wouldn't be the first time that his friend spent two or three days in jail because he refused to be released on bail. According to Enjolras, he stood his ground by staying put. A form of principle. Combeferre just thought it was pure stubbornness.
"Alright," he says kindly, faking smile. "I'll take him to an examination room to take a look. Could you please uncuff him?"
"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," one of the policemen says hesitatingly, "We've caught his kind before, they're traitorous, he'll try to escape for sure."
Combeferre feels a cold shiver run down his spine when the man refers to Enjolras as traitorous. His best friend is the most loyal person he knows.
"I don't think he'll be much of a threat. First of all, he's probably suffering a concussion, which means he'll be far too slow to plan an escape route. Second of all, the two of you will be right outside. He won't get past you, I think."
"We're coming in with you," the younger policeman says, frowning. "He's our prisoner and…"
"And I don't work well when there are policemen breathing down my neck as I examine a patient," Combeferre says curtly. "Surely you won't think that is a problem. It's not like you've got a dangerous criminal on your hands. He's just a boy who has caused a little unrest."
"Well, that boy has got a criminal record. He's well-known back at the station for playing these annoying games and making mischief. He's always planning these demonstrations and protests and he rarely has permission for organizing them. Because of these tantrums he and his friends throw, we are wasting precious time that could be better used catching the real 'dangerous criminals' as you say."
Enjolras twists a little in their hold and is about to speak up to defend himself, but stays silent when Combeferre gives him a warning look.
"Finn…," says the older policeman, who is clearly in charge. "Leave the poor doctor be and let him do his job. He's right, the boy isn't going anywhere."
Combeferre smiles his thanks at the older officer and takes Enjolras by the arm when he is released. He gently guides his friend into the examination room and closes the door as soon as they're in. When he turns back around he looks right into a pair of apologetic blue eyes. It's enough to make his annoyance spike and he roughly – though not too roughly – pushes Enjolras towards the bed and sits him down.
"Ferre…," Enjolras begins quietly, "I can explain…"
Combeferre huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "Save it Enjolras. We agreed we wouldn't go through with this specific demonstration last week at the meeting and you went anyway. You know they're already keeping an eye on you and on our group and there was a reason to wait for permission this time. If you go on like this we'll never get any licenses to demonstrate for anything anymore. Sometimes it's better to be patient and lay low. Why don't you get that?"
He presses a cloth with disinfectant against the cut on Enjolras' head – ignoring the way his friend hissed in pain – and then replaces his hand with Enjolras' so he can move around again. "Keep that there for a minute," he mutters quietly.
"I do get that, Combeferre, but sometimes it's worth the risk to go out there and make a change. The sooner we get attention for this man's corruption, the better. If we wait, we give him the time to launder all his wrongs," Enjolras counters, closing his eyes against the sudden nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. He feels bad for going against Combeferre's wishes and he knows his friend is disappointed, but he won't apologize for what he thinks was the right decision.
"We agreed at the meeting not to do it," Combeferre repeats through clenched teeth. "It wasn't just me, the majority voted against it. You went against a group decision. And you didn't even tell me you were going to go… Who did you go with anyway?" Combeferre suddenly feels more tired than he had all day. Sometimes it was so exhausting dealing with his friend. The man was righteous, honest and always ready to fight for the right of others, which were all honorable values. But it was also very tiring, because something always went wrong and Combeferre was left to pick up the pieces.
Enjolras sighs and bites his lip. He knows his friend feels betrayed and what he is about to say isn't going to make it any better. "Courfeyrac, Bahorel and some of his colleagues…"
And just as he expected, Combeferre visibly tenses when Enjolras mentions Courfeyrac's name. Now two of his best friends went against his wishes without even telling him. For that Enjolras does feel guilty.
Combeferre knows he shouldn't be surprised. Courfeyrac is almost just as bad as Enjolras when it comes to social justice, but the fact that his two best friends didn't even tell him anything about it stings a little. "Well that's just perfect, isn't it…," he mumbles quietly. "I assume they are at the police station now?"
Enjolras feels a blush creep up his cheeks and nods. "I'm sure they are already out… Bahorel said he was going to bail us all out, so… It's not like they have much reason to keep us locked behind bars."
At that moment Combeferre wants nothing more than to yell at his friend, chastise him for being stupid and improvident. Because the more Enjolras gets himself arrested, no matter how small the crime, the more reason the officers will have to keep him locked away. Or at least drag him to court. Combeferre doesn't understand how someone as smart as his friend can't see how risky the decisions he makes are.
But he doesn't yell, because Enjolras looks positively miserable and needs his care now first. And no matter how annoyed or disappointed Combeferre may be, his friend's wellbeing always comes first. So he takes a deep breath, counts to ten and places a gentle hand on Enjolras' shoulder.
"What happened to you? Where does it hurt? And don't tell me you're fine, I can tell when you're in pain."
Enjolras looks up at him and tries a little smile. When Combeferre doesn't smile back, he sighs and starts talking.
"When the police intervened, they weren't as gentle as they will probably tell the outside world," Enjolras says, voice bitter and flat. "They used their bats without reason. We were…"
"Were you trying to run?" Combeferre interrupts.
Enjolras frowns. "Well, yeah, of course we were trying to run…"
"Then you could have known they would use their bats. You've been there before Enjolras. No matter how unjust it often is, they are allowed to use their bats when suspects try to run."
Enjolras opens his mouth, but doesn't think of anything to say. So instead he rolls his eyes and mutters a quiet 'whatever'. "Anyway, if I'm allowed to continue my story, I tried to run but I tripped over a beer bottle. That's when I twisted my ankle and I fell. As I fell, I tried to turn around to see if the others got away, and that's how I knocked the back of my head against the pavement."
Well that didn't make sense… Enjolras had a wound near his forehead. "You fell on the back of your head?" Combeferre asks. When his friends nods, he reaches out to take the cloth of disinfectant away and says: "Then how come you have a bleeding cut there?"
Enjolras looks at him as if he should already know what happened. A part of him has quite a good idea, but Combeferre hopes it isn't what he thinks. Because if it is, then his friend has fallen victim to police brutality and that's just so far from okay.
"They hit you when you were down?" Combeferre asks quietly, tracing the back of Enjolras' head with his hand to search for a bump.
Enjolras nods and brings his hand up to his chest. "I was still on the ground when one of them hit me on the chest with his bat. Well, that hurt like hell, so I tried make myself small, but I guess it must've seemed like I was about to fight back, so the guy hit me on the head as well."
Combeferre curses under his breath and Enjolras can see how angry that small detail has made his friend. The young doctor tries to hide it, but his hands are slightly shaking and his jaw is clenched.
"Those guys who brought you in here…," Combeferre asks softly as he searches for light to check Enjolras' eyes. "Did one of them do this to you?"
"No," his friends says immediately. "The older one saw what happened and stopped the other officer. I'm not sure if he would have hit me further… but, yeah. The younger one he has with him is just a rookie, I guess."
Combeferre shakes his head. "You're going to report this, Enjolras. And if you don't do it then I will. If not as your friend, then as your doctor."
"Yeah, okay," Enjolras whispers weakly, shutting his eyes against the bright light Combeferre is shining into them. He was already suffering a headache, but the light made it a hundred times worse and the nausea is washing over him in swirling waves. A small moan escapes his lips.
Combeferre frowns and gently pushes his friend down so that he is lying flat on the bed. The young doctor had suspected a concussion from the beginning and it seems he was right. It worries him though. A person can only take so many knocks to the head. And Enjolras had already suffered more head injuries than he should at his age.
He sits down in the chair next to the bed and lowers his voice a little as he asks the same row of questions he always asks a patient who is suffering from a head wound. Enjolras answers all of them obediently.
After fifteen minute of quiet examination, little tests and gentle prods, Combeferre pulls his friend back up in a sitting position and hands him a painkiller and a glass of water. Then he reaches into his pocket for his phone and sends a text message to Marius, who lives near the police station. He is quite sure the story about his friends' demonstration and arrest has already gone to all members of their group.
"Here's what's going to happen, Enjolras," Combeferre says softly when his friend has swallowed the painkiller and Marius replied to his text. "Marius is on his way to the police station right now. He's bailing you out and you're paying him back. When we step outside in a minute, I'll explain to the officers that you're in no state to go with them. We'll give them Marius' number and your home address, so that they can come get you if your bail isn't paid. But that won't be the case."
As expected, Enjolras shakes his head. "No, 'Ferre… I don't want Marius to bail me out. I'm fine to go there and spend a night…"
"You suffer from a concussion and quite a severe one, I might add. You need rest so you're coming home with me. This is not up for discussion." And with that, Combeferre steps out of the door and leaves a frustrated Enjolras behind.
It takes another half hour before the two friends are finally on their way home. After Combeferre explained the situation to the two officers, they first wanted to get a statement out of Enjolras and a formal promise that he'd come by the office in a weeks' time. Enjolras reluctantly agreed. Even though he'd rather spend the night in jail instead of paying for something he didn't believe was wrong, he felt miserable enough to long for a warm bed and a dark room. Apart from that, Combeferre had that look in his eyes that told him there was no room for debate and he'd regret it if he tried.
The ride back home was spent in silence. Combeferre needed some time to brood and Enjolras felt too sick to talk. Both of them knew there was going to be a discussion. A discussion that would probably turn into a fight at some point. But neither felt like going into that right now. It could wait a day. Or two.
Once they're back home, Combeferre sends Enjolras straight to his room to change and go to bed. He only enters the room after fifteen minutes with a glass of water and a bowl in case his friend needs to throw up and won't make it to the bathroom. He hardly looks at Enjolras, but when he does, it's a sad, hurt kind of look and it makes Enjolras' heart twist with guilt.
"Ferre…," Enjolras says quietly after the umpteenth disappointed look Combeferre throws his way. He sits up in his bed and grabs his friend's hand before he can pull it away. "Look… I'm sorry we didn't tell you about this… I am, I didn't like it at all. And neither did Courfeyrac. But we both felt really strong about this particular protest and we wanted to go through with it. If we'd told you, you'd either come with us against your will or you'd be worrying yourself sick… We didn't want that for you, because we honestly believed that nothing would go wrong…"
"It always goes wrong, Enjolras," Combeferre counters. He tries to keep his voice soft and low, but it's hard because it's shaking from emotion. "This is the sixth time in less than a year you were sent to a hospital. The sixth time! You put yourself in danger over and over again and you don't even realize it. You don't think things through! I'm always afraid that there will come a day when things go really wrong and I… Every day I'm scared that I'll lose you because you're acting reckless… And to think that you are out there fighting justice without me even knowing about it… How do you think I'd feel if something really bad happened and I wasn't even there? Damnit, Enjolras… Do you even know how much I care about you?"
Enjolras looks down at his lap and swallows thickly. Of course he knows how much Combeferre cares about him. Just as much as Enjolras cares about Combeferre. "I can't change who I am and what I stand for, just because something might go wrong one day, Combeferre. We've talked about this before…"
"I'm not asking you to change anything about yourself. I would never ask that of you. All I ask is that you start taking your own life seriously. There are people out there who care about you. You don't have to jump into every little thing head first. There is always time for discussion and debate, for words instead of deeds. And if we – as a group – decide not to do something, you don't go and do it anyway. What's the whole point of a vote or a group decision then, anyway?"
Enjolras shakes his head. "I specifically stayed out of that vote. I didn't agree with your decision and I never agreed to stick to it. This is something I feel really strongly about, Combeferre, and.."
"You feel strongly about every case!" Combeferre snaps, his voice raising. "You always find a reason to go out there and show everyone what you stand for. Those officers weren't joking, Enjolras! You've got a criminal record and they're watching you. What good will you do when they finally have enough reason to lock you away? What good will you do when your illegal protests go so wrong, you'll get yourself killed?"
Silence fills the room after that. Enjolras has turned his head away from Combeferre and is now staring hard at the wall of his room. Combeferre knows he's fighting against tears. For some reason he is the only one who can reduce Enjolras to tears so easily. Combeferre feels like crying too. And the fact that he is exhausted and Enjolras is injured really doesn't do much to help the situation.
He wordlessly sits down on the bed and reaches out to pull his best friend in a hug. Enjolras goes willingly, like he always does. "I don't want to do this now," Combeferre says quietly, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of Enjolras' head. "I know you're in pain and I'm exhausted… This is not how I want to have this discussion."
A quiet sob gets caught in Enjolras' throat and the younger blonde buries his head further in Combeferre's shoulder.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you and I'm sorry for calling you reckless. You know I'm proud of who you are and what you stand for… I just… I'm just so worried about you sometimes…"
They sit like that for a while. Enjolras mutters his own apologies to Combeferre's shoulder until his eyes start to droop and he's almost asleep against his best friend. That's when Combeferre pushes him back against the cushions, climbs into the bed after him and pulls the blanket over them both. He smiles a little when Enjolras' breathing evens out almost immediately after.
"Sleep well, mon Ami," Combeferre whispers softly, turning on his side. It only takes seconds before exhaustion takes over and sleep claims him.
They will have to talk what happened and they'll probably fight some more. Combeferre knows he has some words to say to Courfeyrac and Bahorel as well. But for now he can sleep happily with the knowledge that his best friend is relatively well and right there next to him.
The end.
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