I come to fight. Or at least, to listen.

chapter 7

Chapter 7

~Fire~

Enjolras chose the seat where he could see both the staircase, for Evelyn's sake, and the barricade, for his. He swept the shards of glass off the broken table and plopped down in the chair and slid down to the most comfortable position he could get in. He cracked open The Republic and let the pages flop around. They landed on the only page currently dog-eared- where Evelyn had stopped. His mouth twitched in which one could possible interpret to be a smile.

Enjolras must've dozed off, because the next thing he remembered was seeing the early morning sunlight stream through the half-shattered window panes. He groggily wiped the sleep out of his eyes and let out a little groan as he twisted his sore neck. He didn't hear anybody else up.

Which made it more startling when he saw Evelyn.

She was cleaning glass off the other surfaces in the room. Now Enjolras could see her and Joly's battle station in full glory. Jars full of gauze and bandages occupied a two-person table. Underneath the table rested a basket, which was filled with various herbs and plants. Medical instruments that either were Joly's or on "loan" from the university were placed on the bar, among them stitching needles and spools of catgut.

"Bonjour, monsieur," Evelyn said gently. She looked better than when Enjolras last saw her. Evelyn's eyes were less blood shot and her posture was back to the borderline-arrogant way it was before. Her hair tumbled down her back in loose waves, the usual french braid absent. She tried to tuck it behind her ears, but the locks just fell back into her face.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he replied. His voice was a little hoarse from yesterday. He only got a few hours of sleep. He continued, "Did you sleep well last night?" He gathered his book and put on his jacket, which had somehow worked it's way off.

"Fine," Evelyn responded. Her voice had a different tone than it used to, almost... Enjolras couldn't quite place it. The best way to describe it would be mentally present, but emotionally absent. He shrugged it off and descended to the first floor.

...

It was like Evelyn had flipped a switch. Before she fell asleep, and long after Enjolras had, she vowed to not let emotion get in the way of her duty. And the cold desire for revenge replaced grief.

Evelyn had lied awake for forever until she heard Enjolras snoring softly. If she weren't so torn up she might've giggled. Besides the snoring, he was just a restless sleeper. He twisted around in his chair, making new awkward poses every fifteen minutes. Evelyn knew he wouldn't get any rest if he moved around like this. And if he was going to lead les Amis like he would have to, he needed some.

...

Enjolras walked outside to the barricade. It was humid, and the smell of gunpowder lingered in the air. He climbed the barricade and pulled himself up to the roof and scanned his territory. Please let the other barricades still be standing.

Enjolras's felt like he had been punched in the chest by what he didn't see. The barricades were completely obliterated. They were the last barricade standing. He jumped off the roof and clambered down the barricade.

He woke the Ami's with a wolf-whistle. They groggily stood up and attended to their various posts. Some rubbed their heads, attempting to suppress the hangover. Idiots.

Marius, while they were fixing the barricade, spoke to him first, "I was right. The rain damaged the gunpowder. We're low on ammunition."

Enjolras one-upped him, "We're the only barricade left." He shoved a chair in the mass of furniture.