156A week had passed.
Seven days since Enjolras fell through the rotten floor of the backroom in the Musain.
Six days since the Amis had said their goodbyes.
Four days since Enjolras' fever broke.
Since then Enjolras had been drifting in and out of consciousness. And despite Combeferres and Courfeyracs attempts to get his attention, Enjolras never did more than open his eyes, stare at the ceiling, and close them again. He didn't speak, he didn't look at them. Sometimes he made a noise of distress, but even those were rare. He just lay there, too pale, too still. It was frustrating.
"It's nothing to worry about," Joly had told them the night before. "You know he has gone through major trauma, and he still is going through that. His body and his mind are just too exhausted to focus on anything but healing right now. The fact that he's even opening his eyes is very good news in itself. He's trying, he's fighting. Don't be too disappointed. He'll acknowledge you in time."
But Combeferre and Courfeyrac were disappointed. They came so close to losing their best friend. They'd had to watch their friends say goodbye. They'd monitored Enjolras' pulse, just so that they would know it right away when his heart stopped beating. They'd almost accepted the fact that Enjolras wasn't going to make it. Waiting can be exhausting. It can be torturous. So, when Enjolras' fever finally broke, and when he opened his eyes for the first time, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were ecstatic. They got excited and their expectations were too high. And now, it was difficult to come around to the fact that though Enjolras had beaten one obstacle, the road to recovery was only just beginning. The waiting wasn't over.
"Has he said anything yet?"
Grantaire was the only one of their friends who hadn't left Madame Hucheloups house yet. The other Amis started to go back to their work and studies after the news that Enjolras' fever had broken. They still stopped by once or twice a day, but now that the worst danger to Enjolras' life was over, they could no longer afford to sit and wait each day for little news. They had obligations. Grantaire didn't have any obligations. The only thing he lived for, was his bottle. And his bottle had been ignored for a week now. Grantaire didn't have anywhere to be, nor did he want to go away. So, he stayed, with Madame Hucheloups permission, and he slept on the couch.
"No," Courfeyrac said quietly, passing Grantaire without really looking at him. He walked through the tiny living room to the kitchen, took out three glasses and filled them with water.
"But he's still waking up right?"
Courfeyrac didn't answer. He leaned heavily against the kitchen table and stared at nothing in particular.
Grantaire swallowed. He knew Joly told them that Enjolras' fever broke and that he was pulling through. And he wanted to believe that, but the last time Grantaire saw Enjolras, the blonde man was writhing and screaming in pain. The last time he saw Enjolras, his friend was on death's doorstep. And Joly could say what he wanted, but as long as Grantaire hadn't seen Enjolras for himself, he didn't dare to believe the good news. He was afraid to. Because what if he started to believe it, and Enjolras took a turn for the worse? Grantaire didn't think he'd survive that.
"Courf, he's still waking up right?" He asked again, panic creeping in his voice.
This time Courfeyrac turned around to look at him. He sighed, took two glasses of water and brought them over to the couch where Grantaire was sitting. Courfeyrac sat down, offered one glass to Grantaire and gulped the other down himself. "Yes, he's still waking up."
Grantaire eyed his friend. Courfeyrac looked horrible; a mere shadow of what he usually was. His hair was greasy and flat; his eyes red, slightly swollen and surrounded by deep, dark circles. If Grantaire wasn't so unsure of himself, he'd pull the boy in an embrace. But right now, he couldn't quite determine if Courfeyrac would appreciate it.
Courfeyrac looked back at him and tried to smile. In Grantaire's opinion, he failed miserably.
"He's still waking up every now and then," Courfeyrac repeated, voice waver thin and shaking. "But no more than that… I mean, he opens his eyes, stares at the ceiling and then falls back asleep again. And me and 'Ferre, we keep trying and trying to get his attention, but he doesn't acknowledge us. It's like he doesn't know we're there."
"I'm sure he knows…" Grantaire said, but he's caught off guard by the soft sob that follows.
"Right," Courfeyrac sniffed. "I don't know, R… It's just… I mean, when he was burning hot with fever, he woke up and he saw us, and he tried to speak to us. And now the fever is almost completely gone, but there's nothing. He just lays there and he's so still that 'Ferre needs to check if he's even still breathing. It's like his body is there, but Enjolras isn't. There's nothing. No response whatsoever. Not even to the terrible pain he must be feeling. Which might be the only good thing about this ghostlike state he's in. But it's so frustrating, because he's supposed to do better now that the fever is gone. I need him to open his eyes and look at me. I need him to talk to me. He needs to tell me that I look horrible and that I smell. And he needs to tell Combeferre that he should sleep. It's been too long. He just needs to give us something."
At that point, Grantaire did feel confident enough to pull the other man into his arms. At first Courfeyrac stiffened, but then he melted into the embrace and clung to his friend as he cried. Grantaire didn't say anything, but just held Courfeyrac close. It was as much a comfort to himself as it was to Courfeyrac. These last few days, Grantaire was usually alone in Madame Hucheloups house. Alone with his thoughts. And that wasn't always the best combination. When he held his friend in his arms, he realized he actually craved the human contact.
The two friends stayed like that for a while. Then, in an attempt to lighten a bit of the tension, Grantaire said: "You know, you do smell."
It had the desired effect. Courfeyrac laughed, pulled away and swatted Grantaire's shoulder. For a moment, he sounded like his old, bubbly self again. "I know," Courfeyrac sighed. "I should really do something about it. Maybe that's the reason why E won't stay awake for longer than a few seconds. He smells me and passes right back out again."
Grantaire chuckled. "That must be it."
"But you know, Joly told us this was nothing to worry about," he continued, when Courfeyrac remained silent. "He told us Enjolras' body is just in shock or something. And it needs all the energy it has to fight the illness and the pain. There's nothing left for anything else at this point."
"I know," Courfeyrac said. "Joly told us the same thing. And 'Ferre is practically a doctor himself, so he knows it too. But it's just hard you know… I really miss him. I can't remember a week going bye without us talking. I speak with Enjolras every single day. And this is just... It's not right…" He sighed. "I just hope he'll wake up soon. You know I even started praying again?"
Grantaire smiled. He wished he had such a special bond with someone like Courfeyrac and Combeferre had with Enjolras. It was quite the thing to behold. And in all honesty, Grantaire felt a little jealous. He loved all his friend dearly, but sometimes he wondered if anyone loved him as much as he loved them. Would someone sit at his bedside if he was as sick as Enjolras? Would someone cry for him when he didn't wake up? Grantaire had his doubts.
"I wish I could be with him," Grantaire whispered.
"I know," came the response. "And when Enjolras is a little stronger, you'll be the first who gets to see him, I promise. It's just not time yet. Joly and 'Ferre say it's too risky and too crowded to have anyone else in that small room. And it might be egoistical of us, but neither me nor 'Ferre are willing to give up our spots just yet."
"I wouldn't dare ask you," Grantaire answered.
Courfeyrac offered him a rueful smile, then reached out to trace his fingers across Grantaire's cheek. "Your bruise has started to fade, you know."
Grantaire blushed and ducked his head as he turned away. He had almost forgotten about that. Everyone was so occupied with worrying about Enjolras, that they seemed less interested in how Grantaire got his blue eye. For which Grantaire was grateful, because he'd rather not talk about it. Only he and Combeferre knew the truth and as far as Grantaire was concerned, it stayed that way. He was afraid the others would send him away if they knew. What if they'd kick him out? He thought he deserved it, but not before he spoke to Enjolras. If only for the last time.
"Does it hurt?" Courfeyrac pressed.
Grantaire shook his head and tried to laugh it off. "Nah, it's fine. Just a stupid accident. Missed a step."
Courfeyrac lifted an eyebrow and seemed unimpressed by his lie. "R, I know Enjolras hit you."
Oh. Grantaire looked away and swallowed. He was certain that his face got even more redder than it already was. It must've coloured beautifully with the black and blue already decorating his skin. What would Courfeyrac do now? Was he angry? Would he tell him to leave? Grantaire sniffed. "H-How did you know?" He asked, though he thought he already knew the answer.
"Well, first of all, I know you didn't have a black eye before at the meeting. So that must've happened after Enjolras sent us all away and before he fell through the floor. Second of all, there's been this weird vibe from the beginning. You and Enjolras were the only two at the café and you have been radiating feelings of guilt pretty much non-stop."
Grantaire frowned. Was it that obvious? How come none of the others had figured it out then? Or had they?
"Then thirdly," Courfeyrac continued, "I'm an observant kind of guy and though I'm not a doctor, I take note of injuries and other scrapes. Especially when they're on my friends. And E's hand and knuckles were definitely damaged."
Grantaire looked back up at Courfeyrac and expected to see an angry face. But Courfeyrac had this playful smile tugging at his lips. The one he always had when he knew something others didn't. Or when he was up to some kind of prank. There was no anger at all.
"And lastly, I don't know if you've noticed, but me and 'Ferre? We're kind of close. And though you'd think he's a good keeper of secrets, I always know when he's hiding something and how to pry it out of him. So, he told me."
"And you're not angry?" Grantaire didn't understand. Why was Courfeyrac still smiling?
Courfeyrac snorted. "Angry? With who? You or Enjolras?"
"Me of course. If Combeferre told you Enjolras hit me, then he probably also told you why he did that. I've humiliated him. He gave me one chance and I screwed it up and then I offended him. I don't understand why you're not angry! Why 'Ferre isn't angry. I don't deserve this kindness. If it wasn't for me, none of this would've happened. Enjolras would've been fine. I almost killed him!"
Grantaire wasn't aware of the tears that fell from his eyes until Courfeyrac took his face in his hands and brushed them away.
"Gosh, R. I wish you had a bit more self-esteem. Of course, we're not angry with you. It was a misunderstanding. You went to Barrière du Maine with the best intentions and you played along with the workers to get them to like you before you dropped the republican bomb on them. And it was unfortunate that Enjolras had to check up on you right at that point. But he should've let you explain before storming off."
Courfeyrac turned more serious then. "What you said to him, about him being privileged and no better than those he opposed? That was a low blow. But it only triggered such a reaction from Enjolras because you hit too close to home. And everything that happened after that can't possibly be blamed on you. I know it's easy to point at someone when disaster strikes, but you're not going to be our scapegoat, R. This was a horrible twist of fate. But it would've happened anyway, maybe not to Enjolras, but then to someone else."
"Besides," Courfeyrac continued. "Thank God that you followed him back to the Musain. If you hadn't, we'd lost him for sure. I think you might have saved his life."
Grantaire shook his head. He still didn't understand why they were so nice to him. Maybe it was his own low self-esteem, but he thought he deserved all the hate in the world. "I just figured you'd all hate me after this… Enjolras hates me already, but I'm used to that."
Courfeyrac sighed. "Enjolras doesn't hate you, Grantaire," he said, his voice a little more frustrated. "We've talked about that before. He hates your cynicism, your scepticism, and your drunkenness. And he doesn't understand you because he sees so much potential but at the same time he sees you sit around and squander it. But he doesn't hate you."
Grantaire just shrugged and huffed in disbelieve.
"Look, R…," Courfeyrac said, placing a hand on Grantaire's shoulder. "I love you, you know I do. But I don't have the energy to have this conversation with you right now, I'm sorry. I have to get back in there and force that glass of water down Combeferre's throat, because he keeps forgetting he needs to drink to stay alive and I swear at times like his he's worse than Enjolras…"
He stood from the couch and took the third glass of water from the kitchen table. Then he turned back around and smiled at Grantaire. "Just know that I'm not angry with you. And neither is Combeferre. Why don't you go home for a bit? Sleep in a real bed, paint something?"
Grantaire tried to smile back and waited for Courfeyrac to enter the tiny spare bedroom. When the door closed he mumbled: "I'll stay."
"Here," Courfeyrac said, offering Combeferre the tall glass of water. "Joly's orders. And mine."
The medical student looked up from the book he pretended to read and smiled. "Thanks, Courf…" He reached out one hand to take the glass from his friend. The other hand was loosely curled around Enjolras' wrist. Even though Enjolras' fever was nearly gone and his heartbeat steady, Combeferre never stopped monitoring his pulse.
"You were gone for a while… Grantaire still here?"
Courfeyrac nodded and took a seat at the other side of the bed. "Yeah… I told him to go home, get some sleep, but I don't think he will. He really wants to talk to Enjolras."
Combeferre sighed. "I know. I hope he can, soon. Doesn't feel right to keep him outside the room… Is he doing alright?"
Courfeyrac looked up and shrugged. "Not really, no. He feels guilty. Thinks we ought to be angry with him. And he's sure Enjolras hates him. I told him none of that is true but left it at that. I honestly don't have the energy to have that conversation again. I've tried to convince him of it many times before, but it's like it doesn't matter. He doesn't even hear it."
"He probably needs to hear it from someone else, then." Combeferre turned his attention back to Enjolras and squeezed his friend's hand.
"Did he wake up again while I was gone?" Courfeyrac asked.
Combeferre shook his head. "No, he's still the same. He hasn't shown any sign of consciousness since early this morning."
Courfeyrac hummed. He leaned forward to press a featherlight kiss on Enjolras' forehead. He'd known the blonde man for such so long now. This wasn't the first time he saw Enjolras sick or injured. And it probably wouldn't be the last time either. Still, Courfeyrac couldn't get used to the image of Enjolras laying so still in a bed. It was just wrong. It didn't suit him.
"I wish he'd wake up." Courfeyrac's voice was so small, so soft. A quiet plea that brought tears to Combeferre's eyes. The two friends were both tired, emotionally drained. The past week took such a toll on them, that neither really knew how to function properly anymore. They needed the third member of their little group to fix them.
"Me too," Combeferre whispered, squeezing Enjolras' hand another time.
It was far past midnight and darkness flooded Madame Hucheloups little spare bedroom. The only light came from a fire that burned merrily in the fireplace. Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac had given into their exhaustion and were fast asleep: one slumped in a chair with his feet against the bedframe, the other hunched towards the mattress using his arms as a pillow.
Neither of them was aware that the third boy had once again opened his eyes.
Enjolras blinked slowly as he stared at the ceiling. His whole being felt numb. Like he was under water, far away from everything on earth. He knew he'd been in this state before. Drifting in and out of sleep for days, hearing voices around him. But he was never able to really grasp the meaning behind it all. And each time he tried to understand, his body and mind gave up on him and he fell back asleep. He remembered a barricade and a girl. He remembered a steady drum. And darkness. So much darkness.
This time, however, it was different. He was still drifting, but it almost felt like he was floating just below the surface. His vision still blurry, but not so much as before. Enjolras realized that this time, he could move his eyes. He was able to look around and see different shapes and colours.
His mind was blank. There was nothing to think about except that girl and that barricade. But at the same time, Enjolras knew he was missing something. Something important. The reason why he was in this state. There was a dam in his mind that just waited to break open and spill all its secrets and memories.
Very slowly, Enjolras looked around the room and tried to make sense of his surroundings. It didn't tell him much. He did not recognize this place and he was sure that he'd never been there before. But then his eyes fell upon the two figures next to his bed, and his breathing stopped for a moment. Though he couldn't get his vision to clear, he knew who these people were. They meant love, safety, kindness. He trusted these people with his life.
But they weren't looking at him. Should he wake them? How? His body was still under water and his mind too numb, too heavy to cooperate. Could he swim towards the surface? With every bit of strength left in him, Enjolras tried to move his arm. But it didn't work. Why couldn't he move? What horrible curse did they cast upon him?
And then, finally, a twitch.
It frustrated Enjolras that it felt like he was trying to move concrete, but it resulted in only a twitch of his hand. And yet, it had the desired effect. The person slumped forwards to the bed, bolted upright. And the sound of that, awakened the other boy as well.
Yes, Enjolras recognized these people. They were his two best friends. Combeferre and Courfeyrac.
And just like that, the dam broke. Images of Grantaire, the Musain and a scared Gavroche flashed before his eyes. Combeferre crying, Courfeyrac crying, Joly cursing. A doctor and a knife. Everything came rushing back to him with full force.
And then there was pain.
TBC.