The City That We Loved

The Dust Settled Around Us

A/N: Happy Bastille Day!!!! Just to make it depressing, have this final chapter (or is it?). And forget my vow in the discription when a really shippy part comes up. It's just one itty bitty part to satisfy my needs and the needs of some of y'all. And it's the last chapter. It's actually amazing I got this far.

June 6

Enjolras was woken by loud gun fire. He looked at Grantaire across the table from him. Still out like a light. The door opened and Courfeyrac ran in, his expression wild.

"They came back," he said. Enjolras stood up, grabbed his gun, and went outside. It had rained last night. The mixture of rain water and fresh blood ran into the gutter. Enjolras tried not to look at it and told himself that it was probably the National guards', even though he knew it wasn't.

"How are we doing?" Enjolras asked Courfeyrac. He watched as the rebels fired over the barricade, defending their Republic ideas.

"We're okay," Courfeyrac admitted. "I just thought you might want to be out here while the fighting is going on."

"Any more fighting and we'll run out of ammo before the day's done," Enjolras muttered under his breath. "What time is it?" He stretched his arms out with a long yawn. Delayed, much.

"Almost eleven," Courfeyrac explained. "You slept for a long time. Interesting how you slept near Grantaire." He raised his eyebrows and glanced at Enjolras with a smile.

"Don't you have a post to mind?" Enjolras asked him. Courferyac laughed and walked away to his post. Enjolras climbed the barricade, readying his rifle. The firing had stopped for a moment so the rebels waited for the National guard to make the first move.

In all the smoke, Enjolras saw someone moving through the maze of bodies on the other side of the barricade. Enjolras peered into the smoke, trying to make out who it was. He turned back and counted the rebels on their side, double checking for the Amis. All but one was missing.

"Gavroche!" Enjolras shouted. "Get back here!" The young blond boy kept moving through the smoke. Enjolras climbed over the barricade. He could hear people shouting his and Gavroche's name but he ignored them. He would not lose Gavroche, too. "Gav, stop. This is dangerous. They're going to start firing again."

"You said you needed ammo, chief," Gavroche said. He picked up one of the dead National guardsmen's magazines and put it in a bag. It looked like Courfeyrac's backpack.

"Not like this," Enjolras said. "Get back here, Gavroche, or so help me God I will--" A shot rang out. The two of them dropped to avoid it. "Are you hit?"

"I'm fine!" Gavroche exclaimed. "Stop being so parental. You aren't my father." Enjolras let out an annoyed breath and crawled over to the now fifteen year old boy. He grabbed Gavroche's wrist as another gun shot rang out.

"Enough, Gavroche," he said. "We have to--" Another shot was fired and this one hit Gavroche right in the chest. He fell forwards into Enjolras' arms and the young leader sat there shocked. One would give him the appearance of a deer in headlights.

"Gavroche!" Enjolras heard Courfeyrac call out. There was silence on the barricade, from both sides of the war. Courfeyrac had come around the barricade and he was now kneeling next to Enjolras. Combeferre ran over to them as Courfeyrac sobbed over Gavroche's body and Enjolras was as still as a marble statue.

"We have to go," Combeferre said. "Come on." He touched Courfeyrac's arm, gently. The centre of the Amis picked up Gavroche's body and carried him back to the barricade. Enjolras stayed in the middle of all the bodies surronding him. Combeferre knelt down next to him. "Enjolras, we have to go now or we will suffer the same fate as Gavroche."