♟ For Enjolras/Feuilly?

fixaidea:

♟ – Patching up a wound

Enjolras
was frowning down at the page in front of him. For the last couple of hours he
has been trying to compose a pamphlet but the words simply refused to come –
everything he wrote fell flat or rang empty. He leant back in his chair,
staring up at the ceiling, but alas the spider minding its own business in the
far corner didn’t prove all that inspirational either.

He bent
back over the paper, trying to force the words out when a loud banging at the
door broke his concentration, shattering the silence of the night. So loud in
fact, Enjolras worried it would rouse the whole neighbourhood.

Surprised,
concerned and somewhat irritated he darted to the door and tore it open, ready
to tell off whoever was making this unholy racket. His snarl quickly melted off
his face however: the offending knocker was no other than Feuilly.

The poor
man was clearly worse for the wear – white as a sheet, except for the places
where he was purple and blue or, most alarmingly, red. Enjolras quickly pulled
him into the room, shutting and bolting the door after him.

Feuilly
stumbled, legs buckling under him. Enjolras, keeping a steady grip on him led
him to the sofa and gently pushed him down. Feuilly opened his mouth to stay
something but Enjolras was already off to fetch water and bandages. Only when
he returned and helped Feuilly out of his torn coat and shirt did he ask what
happened.

‘My meeting
with the printers went well’ Feuilly started ‘Girauld agreed to print out a
batch of our flyers…’

‘That can
wait, tell me about the meeting when you’re all patched up and had a drink.
Your injuries, what happened?’

‘I was
mugged. On my way back from the press…’ his voice broke and he trailed off. He
took a deep breath and went on ‘There were two of them… I gave them my money
but they refused to believe that was all I had. I managed to break away and… well,
your flat was nearest…’

‘You did
well, coming here’ Enjolras murmured, trying with all his might to keep the
flaring rage out of his voice.

He
methodically cleaned the wounds and bruises, pausing to critically examine a
deeper gash on Feuilly’s forearm – presumably from a knife and, based on its
position, acquired while defending himself.

‘I wonder
if this needs stitches… mmm… Bahorel had a similar cut last month and Joly only
bandaged it… Yes, I suppose bandaged will do. Do try and be careful with it
though. And show it to Joly or Combeferre tomorrow.’

Feuilly
nodded with a shaky smile.

Silence
reigned for a while, as Enjolras cleared away his medical equipment and handed
Feuilly a clean shirt.

‘Come my
friend’ he whispered, lightly touching an uninjured patch of Feuilly’s arm ‘I
was just about to eat something, come and join me.’

Enjolras
was, of course, a dirty liar, he was planning no such thing. In fact if Feuilly
didn’t turn up he would have gone on agonising over his writing till morning.

Feuilly,
for his part, blushed and dipped his head.

‘I didn’t
mean to invite myself over or cause any inconvenience…’

‘You didn’t.’

‘It’s just…
I was frightened and unsure if they were still following me and your flat was
the first safe place I could think of…’

‘Like I
said, you did the right thing coming here. I’d also advise you to stay the
night. You’re injured and rattled, and your flat is far away.’

Enjolras
was careful to keep his voice calm and clinical, as if his offer was
coming from pure logic alone. For someone so generous, who was in full support
of charity when others were benefiting of it Feuilly sure abhorred being on the
receiving end of it.

But tonight
he was rather too shaken and tired to put up a fight.

Enjolras
quietly laid out the table, pouring Feuilly a generous helping of the brandy
which he kept around for guests. His friend was silent, staring ahead morosely.
Finally he spoke up in a quiet, bitter voice.

‘They took
everything I had. All three francs I made today. Such astounding wealth, no?
Worth beating and cutting a man for… What horrible place must these men come
from? I know the darkness they must live in… but these poor souls must have given
up the fight against it. We have so much to do, Enjolras… I sometimes wonder if
we’ll ever manage it…’

Enjolras
shook his head, smiling a little despite his anger. Feuilly was truly the best
of them, thinking of the hard lives others, his attackers even, must lead even
in his distress. Enjolras, for his part, would have had no qualms about cutting
up the bastards, ideals aside.

But this
was no time dump even more negativity on poor Feuilly.

‘I do
believe that the day will come when all of mankind will live in peace and
prosperity and such acts will not occur anymore. It will come. Maybe not in our
lifetime, but soon. It will come.’

He took
Feuilly’s hand in his and smiled down at the man, willing himself to believe
his own word once more.

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