onemorelie (onemorelie) wrote in the_tardis_trap, @ 2014-01-01 15:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | enjolras : franceb4pants, grantaire : onemorelie |
Who: Grantaire, Enjolras
Where: A lonely barricade at dawn, and then the swimming pool
When: 1832/now
What: Entrance
Warnings: Arguing, suicidal thoughts. Mentions of death.
It was here. The moment Grantaire had been dreading since he first met Enjolras, the one he always knew was inevitable but that he never wanted to happen.
He was on top of the barricade, wide open, and announcing their intent to die for their cause. Grantaire had never found the whole premise of their revolution so ridiculous, so pointless. Because Enjolras was about to die and nothing, nothing should be worth that.
Time had slowed, and everything seemed far away. Enjolras especially, high up at the very top of the barricade, dangerously exposed. He was going to die. And it struck him, suddenly, how this was… not right, but it fit. As if this was what he should do, and though that left Grantaire empty and powerless his moment of despair was brief.
Because if this was when Enjolras died, it would be where he died too. He grabbed a gun, not bothering to check if it was loaded. It didn’t need to be. There wouldn’t be time to fire. He started to climb, scrambling over the bits of furniture and something disturbingly soft that he thought might be Feuilly, desperate to reach Enjolras in time.
--
Enjolras was ready for this. This was the moment he had been waiting for. The moment when he fought for his Country. For France. He fully didn’t expect to survive this fight. His life didn’t mean anything. But if it lead to others rising and taking a stand, then his death meant something. Something that was worth dying for.
He stood at the top of the barricade, firing his gun as often as he could. He was about to fire the gun again when suddenly he felt himself falling and then he was wet. He expected it to be his own blood.
Except there was too much of it, and it wasn’t blood. It was….. water. And there was no pain. He could have expected getting shot to hurt more. He blinked and looked around. “Am I dead?” he asked, aloud, though not expecting any kind of answer since he believed himself to be the only one there.
--
Everything disappeared in the blink of an eye, and Grantaire gave a cry of frustration. Not yet. He couldn’t die here, not so far away from Enjolras…
But then he landed in some water, with a sharp sting. He was submerged for a second but quickly surfaced again, gulping for air. The water smelled strange, and the room containing the pool was oddly bright. And -
“Enjolras!” He moved towards him instinctively, reaching out a hand. His question registered, and he looked around. “If we are then the heavens are nothing like I would have imagined. I am here, for one.”
--
Enjolras turned around and looked at Grantaire. “Do not say such a thing, my friend,” he said. He looked around the room and then back at Grantaire. “Where are the others?” he asked. Surely, if they had gone to heaven, the others would be there also.
He ran a hand through his wet hair and moved to the edge of the water. He rested the gun on the edge and moved to push himself up out of the water. He turned and leaned down, offering his hand to Grantaire to help him out.
--
Grantaire glanced around, ignoring the brief flash of warmth he felt at Enjolras addressing him as friend. There was no sign of anyone else, they were alone. It was all very strange. He ran his hand along his chest, as if checking. How did you know whether or not you were alive?
He looked up to Enjolras just as he pushed his hair back. The water flattened his curls, but one clung to the side of his face in the most mesmerising way. He moved away, then, and Grantaire found himself staring at him as he pulled himself out of the water, his clothes clinging to his body. Well, that answered that. He was certainly alive, if the blood pounding in his veins had anything to say about it. He swallowed, taking Enjolras’ hand and doing his best to resist brushing against him any more than was strictly necessary. Once out of the water, he hooked the strap of his rifle and tugged it over to him as he sat on the edge.
“This is a strange place. Where do you suppose we are?”
--
Enjolras stood up once Grantaire was out of the water and he looked around the room. “I do not know,” he said. “Nor do I care. What matters is getting back. We still have a battle to fight.”
He picked up his gun. There was no way that his gun would work any more. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. “This is maddening.” He had no idea where they were, or how they would get back.
--
Grantaire had to stop staring. No matter how those wet clothes looked on Enjolras. His own were clinging noticeably too, nevermind that they had more important things to consider. He squeezed some water out of his shirt before opening the gun and attempting to shake some water out.
“The walls are metal.” He shook his head. “We need to find out who took us here, perhaps that will help us return.” He paused, glancing at Enjolras again. Right it may be, but he could not find this delay a bad thing. “Not that we should be in much of a hurry,” he muttered.
--
Enjolras furrowed his brow at those words. “Not in much of a hurry?” he asked. “How can you say such a thing?” he asked. And then he pursed his lips together. “You have never believed in this cause, of course you would be in hurry to return.”
He shook his head and started to move toward the door. “You may not be in a hurry to return, but I am,” he said.
--
Grantaire gritted his teeth as he shook his head. “To die?” he spat. Yes, in that moment he had believed it right, but wasn’t life a better alternative? To have this chance of escape - however odd - well, he was selfish enough to wish it for Enjolras even if he never would himself.
--
“To die for France,” he said, his voice low and firm. “”If that is what is necessary. My life doesn’t count at all, Grantaire. All that matters is France,” he said.
--
Grantaire shook his head, his hand clenched tightly around his gun so his knuckles turned white. You matter, he wanted to tell him. Enjolras was all that mattered.
“And when you’re gone? What will it have accomplished? How will you know it has benefited France?”
--
“Others will rise to take my place. The people will unite and fight for what is right,” he said. “That is what it will accomplish,” he said. “You do not have to believe it, but I do.”
--
Grantaire shook his head, glancing away. “I cannot believe that it will help.” The idea of a world without Enjolras being in any way an improvement seemed utterly impossible to him.
--
“Of course you wouldn’t,” he snapped. “You don’t believe in anything! But I do and I will find a way back and fight,” he said, storming away.
--
Grantaire slid a hand through his wet curls, his jaw tense as he watched Enjolras walk away.
“I believe in you,” he muttered to his back, but not loud enough to be heard. That was the second time they had this argument in the last number of hours. After the first, he had thought perhaps things might have changed, if too late. It seemed not. Enjolras thought just as highly of him as he had before.
It was that thought that stopped him from following Enjolras. Let him go. What would one more conversation accomplish, after all?
--
Enjolras reached the door and opened it. He stepped out into a large corridor. He took a deep breath and turned left, starting to walk in that direction, hoping that he would find someone who would take him home.
--
Grantaire’s shoulders sagged as he watched him go. He sighed as he tossed the rifle aside, and it clattered against the metal wall. He gave it a moment, then stepped towards the door. He turned right though, he didn’t want to see Enjolras again at this moment.
Except, of course, he did. He just knew it wouldn’t end the way he wished it would.