The Red Flag

Grantaire kicked the waste basket over and Courfeyrac moved to pick it up.

“You know, it’s hard enough keeping this place somewhat clean with only having one useful arm,” Courfeyrac told him as Grantaire paced around the apartment.

“Why the hell did he do that?!” he ranted. “He’s still wounded! Not to mention he could have gotten out with us. There was no reason for him to turn himself in.”

“Probably because they’re not going to care about us now,” Courfeyrac mused. “They got the leader so most likely they’re going to leave us alone.”

“That’s not a good enough reason!” Grantaire yelled, knocking over the coffee table. Courfeyrac sighed. Grantaire finally lifted the table back up and crossed his arms. “What are we going to do then?”

Courfeyrac placed himself in one of the chairs around the table and leaned back. An idea crossed his mind, but he shook it out of his head.

“What?” Grantaire asked.

“No, it won’t work,” Courfeyrac whispered.

“Tell me.”

“No, I don’t want to go about giving you ideas and getting you in trouble,” Courfeyrac told him.

“Tell me right now Courf,” Grantaire said in a low voice, “or so help me God I will throw every piece of furniture in your apartment on its side and leave you here to pick it up on your own.” Courfeyrac grumbled.

“Fine, but if you do it and get caught, it’s not my fault!” he replied. He took a deep breath. “I was thinking, what if we broke them out from jail, Enjolras and Jean Valjean?” It took a second, but Grantaire’s face lit up.

“Yes...Yes! We can break them out!” he said with excitement. Courfeyrac groaned, wondering what he had started. “We’ll get Marius to help and Eponine can help with the locks...”

“And we can wind up arrested too,” Courfeyrac stated. “Or worse: shot.” Grantaire shook his head.

“We’ll be fine,” he said, still thinking over the plan. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.

“Enjolras was our strategist. Let’s face it. It won’t work,” Courfeyrac said firmly.

“Hey, I planned the bank robbery, didn't I? Eponine, Marius and I pulled it off without a hitch!” Grantaire boasted.

“A bank robbery is one thing,” Courfeyrac started. “Raiding a jail is another.”

“But we could do it...” Grantaire insisted. Courfeyrac racked his mind. He knew Combeferre had warned him once about what the law said the penalty for selling alcohol was. He ran back to the bedroom and emerged with a handful of Combeferre’s documents. He began flipping through them till he found what he was looking for.

“Here!” Courfeyrac pointed out, looking at a section of the Volstead Act. Grantiare sat next to him to get a better look. “It wouldn’t be worth it to break him out if this is what he’ll get. For maintaining a place that stores and sells liquor he would be sentenced to no more than one year in jail and / or a fine of $1000. For selling the alcohol he can’t be fined more than $1000 or imprisoned more than six months. The worst case scenarios would be a loss of $2000 or jail for a year and a half. Enjolras can handle that. It’s much better than what you would face if you try to get in there...and what he’d get if you got him out and they caught him.”

“But what if they connect him to other things, like the murder of Minette?” Grantaire whispered as if someone might overhear him. “Enjolras has done other things, you know? What if someone rats him out to get a deal or something? There’s enough against him that they’d send him to the electric chair right away if they knew.” Courfeyrac grimaced. He hadn’t thought of that. He neatly stacked Combeferre’s documents as best as he could and sat back in his seat in thought.

“We may have to wait till his trial then,” Courfeyrac mused. “If they only sentence him for the Flag, we let him go. If it sounds like someone is trying to make a deal, we’ll figure out a way to get him out of there.” Grantaire shook his head.

“It’s not good enough,” he said, standing up and pacing once more. “Enjolras has enemies too. Enemies that are already in jail. They could get him in there.” Courfeyrac rubbed his face.

“Christ, Grantaire!” he sighed.

“This is why I told you he shouldn’t have let himself get caught!” Grantaire yelled. “I swear if he winds up on that chair I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“His trial is in a week. We’ll see what they say and we’ll go from there,” Courfeyrac told him. Grantaire finally just nodded and accepted the idea. The phone began to ring and Grantaire rushed for it before Courfeyrac could move. Grantaire’s face warmed as he heard the voice on the other line. Once the call was over Grantaire smiled at Courfeyrac.

It was just hours before opening and Valjean stood behind the bar, wiping down the glasses. Enjolras nodded at him as he walked by, still a little starstruck from having the famed bootlegger working at his bar. As he walked, Courfeyrac rushed to him and whispered something to him in urgency. Valjean noticed the fear on the young man’s face and approached the two.

“Is there a problem?” Valjean asked.

“Yes,” Enjolras whispered. “There are policemen outside. They’re going to raid us.” Enjolras’s eyes grew wide. “We can’t afford to...They’ll...” He turned to Courfeyrac. “Get everyone out the back way as fast as you can. The fewer people they can catch, the better. Hopefully they aren’t aware of our escape exits.” He patted Courfeyrac’s arm as he ran to warn the others.

“It must be Javert...” Valjean muttered to himself and then turned to Enjolras. “Let me go talk to them,” he said. Enjolras gave him a bewildered look.

“Are you insane? They’ll take you on the spot if they don’t shoot you right there!”

“I know,” Valjean said, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “But if it’s who I think it is, he’s going to be more concerned about catching me. If I can convince him to leave you all alone, I’d gladly go in.”

Enjolras moved to stop him, but Valjean had already started making his way up the stairs.

Outside, Javert prepped himself to go in. He’d take a handful of men with him to help capture those running the speakeasy, but his goal was to grab Valjean. As he turned to go inside, he nearly ran into Valjean himself.

“Valjean!” he yelled, reaching forward and grabbing hold of him. He found no resistance.

“I’m yours,” Valjean stated calmly, “as long as you agree to leave these boys alone.”

“I can’t do that,” Javert scoffed. “These ‘boys’ are going against the prohibition laws and must answer for their crimes.”

“They’re not causing harm and they've just suffered greatly,” Valjean pleaded. “You have what you were after tonight. Let them go.” Javert eyed him warily. He motioned for his men to move downstairs as he handcuffed Valjean and put him in the back of the wagon.

When the men arrived in the main bar, they were welcomed only by one man. Enjolras sat calmly at one of the tables, facing them. He had his hands in the open where they could see them and no weapons nearby. Still, the policemen raised their guns as they approached him.

“Where are the others?” one of the policemen asked.

“There are no others,” Enjolras stated calmly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Courfeyrac forcing Grantaire towards the escape, his good arm trying to keep Grantaire silent while pushing him back.

The policemen pulled Enjolras to his feet and handcuffed him. They led him up the stairs and to the wagon with Valjean. As they sat inside, they heard one of the men report to Javert.

It had been weeks since the bank had been robbed and Javert was nowhere near finding Valjean. He walked through the abandoned hideout, using his pistol to move things about on desks and on the walls. It had been two weeks since the last time someone had reported a disturbance caused by the Minette gang. Since then, one of his men had located their hideout. When they had busted down the door, they had expected a shower of bullets. What they found was a hideout that hadn’t been touched for a good while. Dust had started collecting and it was left as if the residents had planned on returning.

Javert didn’t like it. Minette had always been one the most infuriating groups he had to deal with. For them to disappear like this was bizarre to say the least. As he looked at the leader’s desk he saw a picture of a young woman, an ad for her performance at a speakeasy. He noted the address on the bottom and pocketed the ad for future reference. One of his lieutenants ran into the room.

“Sir! We’ve found him!” he announced.

“Valjean or Thenardier?” Javert questioned, always desiring for the first.

“Valjean! He’s at a place called the Red Flag!”

Javert pulled the ad out once more and read it over. He gripped it in his fist and a sinister grin covered his face.

Once everyone assembled in the bar of the Red Flag, Enjolras cleared his throat and began to speak.

“I understand everyone has been having a really rough time,” he said quietly. “We have laid too many friends to rest over the past several days. However, I have some good news that might help lighten things around here.” Enjolras took a deep breath. “Jean Valjean has offered us his fortune so that the Red Flag might continue.” Murmurs were drawn from the group.

“Seriously?”

“Jean Valjean?”

“Will it be enough?” Joly finally asked. “I can see us being ok with money, but what about people? We’re sorely short-staffed now.”

“For starters, Valjean himself offered to be our new bartender,” Enjolras told him. “I’m a little tempted to ask Cosette if she’d be willing to help be a waitress for us,” he said turning towards Marius, who nodded slightly. “We could use a new accountant, but I can manage without. Really all we need is a bouncer.”

Courfeyrac stepped forward.

“I should be able to do that,” he said. Enjolras shook his head.

“But your arm...”

“Isn’t that necessary,” Courfeyrac told him with a smirk. “They will be aware that if they don’t calm down or leave they'll be dead.” The group froze, shocked by Courfeyrac’s new directness. Enjolras nodded slowly.

“I don’t like the idea of you shooting our rowdy patrons, but right now we don’t have another option. Just try not to be too trigger happy,” Enjolras told him.

“So the Red Flag is back,” Feuilly sighed, beaming a smile to the group. “Maybe now all this misfortune will be behind us!” Enjolras walked behind the bar and stood on a chair so he could reach the flag.

Courfeyrac stood on the rooftop, looking down at all the people walking around below. It always surprised him how much he could see from up there. He looked down and saw the cafe where he had first talked to Combeferre and felt his eyes start to sting.

The place was packed; it was hardly ever this busy. Courfeyrac took his coffee from the counter and went to look for a table. Every one of them was taken, but he spotted a table in the corner with only one man sitting at it, a man he recognized. He made his way over and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me?” he asked, drawing the man’s attention from his newspaper. “Would you mind if I sat with you? Everywhere else is taken...” The man smiled at him and motioned for him to sit.

“It’s fine,” he replied with a grin. He opened his mouth as if to speak a few times and then finally sighed. “I know you, don’t I?”

“You do,” Courfeyrac laughed, “or at least you've seen me around. We have the same boss.”

“That’s right,” the man nodded. “I don’t think I ever caught your name though. I’m Combeferre,” he said, extending his hand over the table.

“Courfeyrac,” he grinned as he accepted it. They both held on a little longer than was socially acceptable and then turned towards their drinks. They sat in awkward silence for a moment until Courfeyrac managed to catch Combeferre’s eyes again.

“So...There’s a really good sandwich shop down the street,” he started. Combeferre was watching him. “They make the best muffulettas I've ever had...”

“We should go,” Combeferre said with a smile. “It’d be fun.” Courfeyrac relaxed.

“Great. Tomorrow at noon?”

“Perfect.”

That was how it had started. Courfeyrac felt his heart breaking, knowing he’d never happen upon that face in a crowded room again.

“Courf?” a small voice called for him. He turned and saw Eponine looking at him from the door to the stairwell. “Are you alright?” she asked as she caught his eye. He nodded and turned back to his view. Eponine walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re here for you Courf,” she whispered. “We all are.”

“I know,” he sighed, “but I want him.” Eponine frowned as she looked down at the street.

“Well, then you should live how he would want you to,” she said. Courfeyrac looked over at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Live your life like he’s standing right beside you,” she said, giving him a smile. “If his love for you was anything like your love for him, he’s going to be there with you all the time. Don’t you think it’d make him sad to know that you were too busy being upset over losing him to live your life in happiness?” Courf frowned and thought it over.

“I still won’t get to feel him, or talk to him,” Courfeyrac said quietly.

“Well, no,” Eponine started, “but it doesn't mean he’s not listening to you.” She grabbed Courfeyrac’s shoulders and gently turned him to face her. “Courf, he was there that night because he wanted to make sure you would live.  He was so intent on making sure that you would stay alive that he was willing to risk and lose everything for you. If you spend what he gave you being angry and upset...Don’t you think that’s a little mean?”

Tears were silently streaming down his face. Eponine cursed under her breath and pulled him into a hug, letting him bury his tear-stained face into her hair. After a few moments of holding on to each other, Courfeyrac pushed himself away. He sniffed a little and breathed out.

“Thanks Eponine,” he mumbled. “You’re right. I need to...to pull myself together. It’s just going to take some time.” Eponine reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

“No one is asking you to rush,” she told him. “But we all want to see the old Courf again, not the enraged killer.” Courfeyrac grimaced.

“I’m really sorry you saw that,” he told her. “I mean it was bad enough, but he was your dad and all...” Eponine put a finger to his mouth to stop him.

“It happened,” she said. “It could have been any man there and it would have hit me the same way. Just don’t fly off the handle like that again.” Courfeyrac nodded.

“I won’t,” he told her.

Two days later, Enjolras sat at his desk, pouring over the books. He didn't know how he was going to manage the Red Flag now. He was short-staffed and while he had a cushion of money now, it wouldn't last. Enjolras ran his hands through his hair and sighed.

“You should be lying down, resting,” Grantaire told him as he took a sip of wine from the bottle.

“I can’t,” Enjolras sighed. He winced in pain as he stretched a little. “Without Combeferre I have to figure out these books. It never was my strong suit.” Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“The Red Flag can wait. You’re in pain and your wounds won’t heal if you keep pushing yourself.” Grantaire offered his bottle to Enjolras. He eyed it warily, started to turn away, and then grabbed it and took a sip. “You’re gonna need more than that to dull the pain,” Grantaire scoffed. Enjolras laughed.

“No I won’t,” he said. “My wounds weren't as bad yours was.” He shut the book in front of him and gently leaned back in his chair. “Could you do me a favor and grab me a glass of water, though?”

“Only if you promise to lay down for a while on the couch after you drink it,” Grantaire said as he gave him a look. Enjolras smiled.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Only for a little while though!” Grantaire nodded and left the office. As he walked down the hallway he almost ran into an old man.

“Can I help you sir?” Grantaire asked, a confused expression on his face.

“I’m looking for Enjolras,” he replied. “Is he down this way?” Grantaire eyed him hesitantly.

“He’s not feeling well, today probably isn't a good day to talk-”

“It’s important,” the man interrupted, “and I’m sure he’ll welcome the news.” Grantaire nodded and pointed him in the direction of Enjolras’s office and then continued to fetch the water.

Enjolras heard the door open and let out a huff of a laugh.

“That was fast,” he said without looking up.

“I’m not who you think I am, I believe,” the man told him. Enjolras nodded, still not looking up.

“Sorry, we've hit a bit of a rough time. The Red Flag is closed for now until we get back on our feet,” Enjolras informed him.

“That’s why I’m here. I want to help you. Cosette told me...”

“Cosette?” Enjolras barely whispered. He looked up at the man. “You mean you’re...”

“I’m Jean Valjean,” he said with a smile. “Cosette told me her boyfriend works for you and Thenardier’s gang hurt you all badly. I am incredibly sorry for your losses and I wish to help in anyway I can.”

“Sir, I am extremely grateful...” Enjolras started, not even sure what to say, “b-but I can’t accept...” Valjean laughed.

“Of course you can,” he grinned. “My days as a bootlegger has come to an end. I’m too old. I've set aside more than enough money for Cosette and her future and the rest I’d like to see invested in a wonderful place such as this. I heard also you’re in need of a bartender, a job that I can fill if you’re willing to hire me. You won’t even need to pay me.”

Enjolras sat there in shock. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“People will see you...” he murmured.

“I know,” Valjean told him. “I think people view me as more of a myth now. If they recognize me, it’s fine. As I said, I’m done with my business and I’m only here to help yours.” Enjolras nodded.

“T-thank you!” he said warmly. “You don’t know how much this means to me...and the others! You can bar tend here whenever you want.”

Valjean sat down across from Enjolras at his desk, pulled out huge stacks of cash and set them in front of him.

“This is just for starters,” he told him. “I’ll be bringing more later.” They shook hands and Enjolras thanked him several times more. Valjean left the office, passing Grantaire as he went.

When Grantaire walked back into the room, he saw Enjolras sitting behind several stacks of cash, cradling his head in his hands and crying. Grantaire rushed over, setting the glass of water down.

“Enjolras?” he asked. He had never seen the man cry in all the years he had known him. “Enjolras, what is it? What happened?”

“Jean Valjean just saved the Red Flag,” he mumbled. “We’re going to be ok!” he announced. He stood up and gave Grantaire a hug, not caring that his whole body screamed in pain as he did so. Grantaire held him and then gently pushed himself away.

“Will you rest now?” he laughed. Enjolras rolled his eyes and nodded.

The following night, Bahorel stood outside and watched for everything - patrons, police officers and Thenardier’s gang. It had been an oddly quiet night; he hadn't seen a soul on the street. It was a Tuesday night, their slowest night, but usually a few regulars would still come in. Bahorel sighed as he leaned against the archway. Something wasn't right.

He saw a man walking down the sidewalk. As he neared him, Bahorel gave him a nod of acknowledgement. Before he knew it, the man had stabbed him in the side, forcing Bahorel to fall to his knees. Bahorel pulled the alarm while the man was signaling for the rest of the group. He then reached for his gun and managed to down one man before he was shot himself.

Downstairs, everyone was in a panic. Joly, Bossuet and Feuilly had hidden in the kitchen area and were ready to attack if anyone came in. Marius and Jehan went backstage. Enjolras and Grantaire hid themselves within the hallways while Courfeyrac grabbed Eponine and hid in the closet. He pushed her in first, making sure she was well hidden within Enjolras’s coats and things and then stepped in and closed the door behind them.

It felt like forever that they had waited. They knew either Enjolras would come in and tell them it was ok or else they would hear others. They just continued to wait in silence. As Eponine watched Courfeyrac, she could see from the small sliver of light that came from the side of the door that he was shaking. She wondered if it was from fear or from rage. The office door busted open.

“So this is the office,” Thenardier said as he waltzed in. “I tell you, this kid has it too good. These guys have it easy nowadays.” He sat himself down in Enjolras’s chair.

Eponine felt Courfeyrac move, and she grabbed his arm to stop him. She felt him just barely relax.

“We still haven’t found Enjolras or Eponine yet. Want us to go look through these hallways?” one of men asked. Thenardier laughed.

“Sure. You’ll catch anyone before they come in here anyways. I’ll be fine,” he told them and sent them along. Thenardier reclined back in the chair and sighed.

Courfeyrac kicked the door open and immediately shot Thenardier in the chest and then aimed for his hands, making sure he didn't have a gun in them.

“YOU BASTARD!!” he yelled as he fired. Thenardier fell out of the chair and Courfeyrac kicked him so he could see his face. The man spit out some blood and looked up at him.

“Oh, it’s you again,” Thenardier groaned. “Why won’t you just die?”

“I can’t die,” Courfeyrac fumed. “Not until I avenge Combeferre’s murder.” Thenardier rolled his eyes.

“Cause that will bring him back.”

Courfeyrac kicked him hard in the stomach.

“No. No it won’t,” Courfeyrac spit out. “But it damn well will make me feel better.” He raised his gun and aimed at his head as began unload the round.

Eponine sunk further back in the closet, terrified of the new Courfeyrac she had witnessed. She didn't want to see or hear any more.

Courfeyrac’s rampage was cut short as someone began to shoot at him. He turned and began firing back, but was then shot in the right arm. He knelt down behind the desk, knowing he didn't have much time, and quickly reloaded his gun. Before he could get back over the desk to fire back, he heard more gunshots and the men fell. He peered up from behind the desk and saw Grantaire making his way to the closet first, a hysterical Eponine rushing to grab him in a hug. Courfeyrac stood up and made his way over to them.

“Christ, Courf, what happened in here?” Grantaire asked as he looked around. He saw Thenardier’s destroyed face, Courfeyrac’s arm and the number of other bodies lying dead on the floor.

“To be fair, I only killed one of them!” Courfeyrac told him. It was the first time a hint of his humor had appeared since he lost Combeferre. He held his handkerchief over his wound as they walked out of the office.

“What’s going on elsewhere?” Courfeyrac asked. “Where’s Enjolras?” He saw Grantaire swallow hard.

“He got a few minor bullet wounds, he shouldn't be too bad off,” Grantaire told him, his arm still around Eponine as the moved down the hallway. “Scared me half to death when he fell over though. Joly is patching everyone up right now.” He took a deep breath and looked Courfeyrac in the eyes. “We lost Bahorel and Bossuet. Jehan took a really bad shot to the leg that went deep. Marius, Feuilly and myself are doing ok, just a bit scratched up.” Grantaire was finding it hard to look at Courfeyrac as he saw blood streaming down his arm, the handkerchief not doing much to stop it. “You are probably in just as bad of condition as Jehan if not worse off,” he sighed.

Courfeyrac shrugged. He had avenged Combeferre’s death. No amount of pain could bother him right now. As far as he was concerned, Combeferre was finally sleeping peacefully and that was all that mattered.

Grantaire led him to Joly who immediately began to operate on his arm to the best of his abilities. Joly grimaced after he stitched it up.

“It was really deep,” Joly explained. “Deep enough it tore up your muscles something awful. You’re probably not going to be able to use your arm for much any more.”  Courfeyrac frowned and looked at his wound.

“What should I do then?” he asked. Joly shrugged.

“Wear a sling or something? Something to hold it out of your way,” Joly told him. “You could go for an amputation, but I think that’s a bit extreme and way too risky. A limp arm would be easier to deal with.” Courfeyrac nodded as he looked over to where Enjolras was sleeping. Joly had medicated him enough to knock him out since the pain of taking all of the bullets out was taking its toll on him. Grantaire sat next to him and wouldn't leave his side.    

Cosette was in awe from the moment she first walked into the Red Flag. Marius had explained to her that he would have to wait tables, but he would come visit her whenever he got a chance. She didn't mind in the least and used his absence to look around and take in her surroundings. Finally, Marius popped by again and sat down with her, setting a drink in front of her.

Eponine swore to herself as she watched the couple from afar behind the curtain. It had to have been a cruel twist of fate that he just happened to bump into a girl and immediately fell for her. A hand rested on Eponine’s shoulder and startled her.

“Everything alright?” Enjolras asked quietly. Eponine let out a sigh of relief and gave him a soft smile.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she told him. “I’m just watching Marius and his new girlfriend,” an air of bitterness in her words. Enjolras peered through the curtains above her head.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“What is it?” Eponine asked, looking up at him.

“That’s Cosette. Jean Valjean’s daughter.”

“Jean Val-who?”

“He’s one of the wealthiest bootleggers in the nation,” Enjolras told her. “What the hell is Marius thinking, bringing her in here when all hell could break loose at any moment?”

Eponine couldn't help a small grin as the thought of her getting caught in the crossfire went through her mind.

“Is that really a problem?” she asked.

“Yes,” Enjolras glared. “A very big problem. If anything happens to her, Valjean will have our heads. It wouldn't matter if any of us survived Thenardier’s attack because he’d come and finish us off!” Enjolras fumed for a moment. “That damn idiot!” he swore as he turned to go grab the boy and force him to take the girl home.

Enjolras had everyone who worked for him meet in the middle of the Red Flag. A new air had fallen among the group - a fear not of what might happen, but of what would inevitably come. While they all tended to avoid eye contact that night, everyone had tried their best not to catch Courfeyrac’s gaze. They all felt his pain when they looked into his eyes, and none of them could bare it. Enjolras finally cleared his throat.

“We’re going to have to take action,” he said quietly. No one said a word. “We’re going to take the fight to him. Thenardier is not going to take anyone else away from us.” Enjolras swore.

“Enjolras, just let me go back. It’s not worth...” Enjolras glared at her.

“You’re not going back to him,” he said firmly. “You’re one of us and he doesn't deserve you.” Enjolras folded his fingers in thought. “We’ll all have to go, maybe leave one or two behind in case he decides to hit the Flag while we’re gone.” Eponine rolled her eyes.

“It’s a bad idea. Thenardier knows his way around there like the back of his hand. He’ll trap you all easily and there’s no way you’ll survive,” she told him. “Just let me go talk to him at least,” she sighed.

“ENOUGH,” Enjolras bellowed, causing Grantaire to almost drop his bottle. “I said, you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here!”

“Then what are you going to do, have him come here?” she asked in a huff. Enjolras leaned back.

“Yeah...” he started. “He can come here.” He looked around the group. “If we can’t beat him in his place then we can’t allow him to beat us in ours.”

“That’s great and all,” Feuilly said lightly, “but how do we get him to come here?”

“He did say he’d come here and murder us all,” Grantaire mused as he took a sip.

“Isn't that a bit dangerous?” Marius asked. “We’ll have no idea when he’s coming. He could catch us by surprise...”

“We have to always be ready,” Enjolras murmured. “No matter what.”

“What if we send him a message?” Jehan asked. “Tell him we’re not letting Eponine anywhere near him?”

“Yeah, who’s going to deliver it?” Joly scoffed. “Anyone goes near there and they’ll be shot.”

“I’ll take it,” Courfeyrac said immediately.

“No,” Enjolras said firmly. “I don’t need you going off the handle yet. We can’t lose you at the beginning of all of this!” Enjolras thought through everything, trying to find something he missed.

“We continue running the Flag as normal,” Enjorlas told them.  “Bahorel, I want you upfront and on alert. If anything suspicious is going on, you activate the silent alarm. Courfeyrac, you’re to stay by me at all times. If the alarm goes off, you and Eponine will go into the back closet in my office and hide.” Courfeyrac moved to say something and then Enjolras stopped him. “I’ll will give you your chance, but I want you to protect Eponine first and foremost.”  Courfeyrac frowned, but nodded.

“I’m going to have you all stationed in various places should the alarm go off. Otherwise, you continue doing your jobs around the Flag as if nothing were going on, understood?” Enjolras made eye contact with everyone present. They all murmured words of acknowledgement.

Enjolras gripped the back of the chair as tightly as he could, his knuckles turning white. The whole thing had been a set up and he had lost one of his men...and a friend. When they had returned and Courfeyrac carried Combeferre in, Enjolras had been completely stunned, incapable of forming words. Not only had the shock of losing someone hit him, but the look on Courfeyrac’s face as he laid him on the couch in the office spoke volumes. Courfeyrac no longer had his ear-to-ear grin. It was replaced with a look of pain, loss and the desire for revenge. It was the look Enjolras wore as he destroyed the person who had shot Grantaire.

When the others finally left the office, Enjolras was left alone with Courfeyrac who still refused to leave Combeferre for the time being. He hesitantly stepped forward and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Go ahead and lecture me,” Courfeyrac muttered under his breath. “I know you’re dying to.” Courfeyrac turned and looked at Enjolras. “I know you’re going to say it was a mistake. We should never have admitted the way we felt about each other. It was a conflict of interests - him being so close to the money and me just being a runner.”

Enjolras shook his head, unable to figure out what he should say.

“I couldn't help it, Enjolras! That damn smile of his and just the way his eyes light up...” Courfeyrac trailed off as he fought off tears. “We met up outside the Flag, after he had been here a few times and we had caught each other’s eye. I don’t know, we just...clicked. One thing led to another and, before you knew it, we were living together. But we had to keep it a secret this whole damn time.”

Courfeyrac turned back and looked down at Combeferre. Aside from his bullet wounds, he looked as if he were only taking a nap.

“Damn it, Enjolras, I love him!” he exclaimed. “And if I had just listened to him. If I hadn't shown up to go on this job. I would be back at our apartment right now, in his arms, and everything would be fine.” Courfeyrac took a deep breath and turned around.

“I felt so sorry for you when I saw your face the night Grantaire was shot,” Courfeyrac told him. “I saw the pain you felt and I couldn't imagine what it felt like. Christ, I imagined it was probably worse than the pain Grantaire went through. Now I know,” he scoffed.

“No,” Enjolras finally said. “It’s got to be worse for you. At least for me, Grantaire was lucky and survived. It’s not fair Combeferre didn't get a chance to as well.” Courfeyrac nodded, trying to discreetly wipe tears from his eyes.

“Please, Enjolras,” he said quietly, “grant me one thing.” His bottom lip was trembling.

“I’ll try,” Enjolras told him.

When Courfeyrac got to Combeferre, he was lying on the ground, coughing up blood. He immediately collapsed beside him and pulled him into his arms.

“For fuck’s sake, Ferre! What are you doing here?” he said, barely containing himself.

“I knew,” Ferre tried to force out. “I knew something would happen to you. So I followed you.”

“You damn fool!” Courfeyrac pulled Ferre’s face close to his so they could touch. Ferre let out the softest of laughs.

“I know, you’re right. As always.”

Courfeyrac shook his head against Ferre’s.

“No, no I’m not!” he sobbed. “You’re gonna be ok! We’re going to get you to Joly and he’s going to patch you up and make you good as new!” He placed his hand on Ferre’s face, trying to keep him from closing his eyes. “We’re going to go home a-and we’re going to hold each other a-and everything is going to be like it was!”

Ferre touched Courf’s face gently and smiled.

“Not this time Courf,” he said softly. He gently wiped the tears from Courfeyrac’s face with what strength he had left. “Don’t be sad though. I’m finally going to be able to sleep.”

Courfeyrac’s lips tightened and he nodded, trying his best to smile.

“And I’m going to hold you and not let go,” he whispered back, his voice catching.

“Then it’ll be okay,” Ferre grinned. Courfeyrac lifted him just a bit so they could kiss. He didn't pull away until he stopped feeling Combeferre kiss back. He gently lowered his love and looked at his face. It was peaceful and no hint of worry or fear on it. He kissed Combeferre’s forehead and burst into tears, collapsing on top of him.

The group finally made it’s way to them and Grantaire knelt down beside Courfeyrac.

The five rode in silence across town. They were all too busy thinking about what could possibly go wrong between that moment and the time they got back to the Red Flag. They were all so focused on their thoughts that no one noticed the car that was following them.

Jehan pulled into the area that Enjolras had marked on the map. He gave a quick look to everyone in the car, making sure everyone was ready. He flashed the lights three times. They saw men coming out of a building and they slowly got out of the car, guns in hand just in case. As the two groups approached each other in the dark, Grantaire recognized the man in front.

“Fuck,” he muttered and motioned for the guys to go back to the car. Two men were standing behind them, guns already raised.

“I see we've got your attention now?” the leader asked with a laugh. Grantaire stepped forward.

“What do you want, Thenardier?” he said under his breath. The man shrugged.

“Just what’s rightfully mine,” he told him. “See I knew your boss would never agree to personally meet with me, so I figured I’d set this whole little thing up so I could send his own men to talk to him for me.”

“So the scotch...?” Jehan began to ask.

“Just a ruse,” Thenardier smiled.

“But that rich guy...” Jehan continued.

“I kidnapped his daughter and told him to set this up or she dies. Simple.”

Grantaire growled.

“So what do you want?” he asked again. Thenardier sighed.

“Well, I've heard about what a success your little ‘Red Flag’ has become. Actually, I've heard about the incredible entertainment your establishment has to offer. Entertainment that is mine,” he told them.

“‘Ponine ran away from you, you don’t own her!” Courfeyrac yelled. One of Thenardier’s men socked him in the jaw, knocking him over.

“I’m her father. I do,” Thenardier said quietly. He looked a little closer at Courfeyrac. “That’s right. You’re Enjolras’s best man. You’re the one I sent Claquesous to off.” He looked over at the dark man. “You missed,” he laughed. Claquesous shrugged.

“A problem easily solved,” he said as he walked over and placed his gun against Courfeyrac’s head. “This time I won’t miss.”

Before he could shoot, another shot came from elsewhere. Everyone immediately searched for the source in the dark, but when they looked back, Claquesous was dead.

“Up there!” one of Thenardier’s men yelled. They followed his finger and found Combeferre trying to hastily reload his gun.

“So the guy knew how to shoot all along,” Grantaire laughed. His laughter was cut short as Thenardier grabbed one of his men’s machine guns and fired a spray at Combeferre. He fell quickly.

“FERRE!” Courfeyrac screamed, jumping to his feet and running as fast as he could. Thenardier’s men lifted their guns, but their leader told them to wait. He turned to Grantaire.

“I think this works,” he said quietly. “Maybe Enjolras will understand how serious I am now. You tell him that I want him to personally hand over my daughter to me or else I’ll come into his precious Red Flag and murder every last damn one of you,” he said in a dark tone and disappeared into the dark with his men. The group had started to turn to join Combeferre and Courfeyrac, but Grantaire stopped them.

At seven o’clock sharp, the whole group sat at a table in the Red Flag. Enjolras eyed each of them, studying their faces. Courfeyrac still looked out of it, with his bandage still present on his face. Grantaire was silent, not wishing to start anything before the job began. Marius stared at the table, not sure what to say or do. Only Bahorel and Jehan looked somewhat excited about going. While not part of the group, Eponine hovered close by, hoping that maybe she’d get an invitation to join. Enjolras finally cleared his throat and began.

“I’m sure you’re all more than aware that this is quite possibly the most dangerous job anyone from the Red Flag has gone on,” he stated. “We should all be prepared for the worst to happen.” Enjolras’s words echoed in their minds.

“Not only are we uncertain about who we’re picking the scotch up from,” Enjolras continued, “the exchange is also taking place in Southside.” Eponine instantly tuned in. “We’ll have to watch out for Minette.”

“I could help!” Eponine insisted. “I’m from there! I know how Minette works!” Enjolras shook his head.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near this job,” he told her and turned back to the group, ignoring her hurt expression.

“You’re all to arrive outside the docks on this map,” he said as he handed it to Jehan. “Once you arrive to the place I have marked, you’ll flash the lights three times and they’ll come out. It’ll be a standard transaction from there.” He looked around the group once more. “Any questions?”

No one said a word.

Enjolras laid his head down on the desk. He cursed himself for reacting the way he did while he was at Grantaire’s apartment. He had spent years trying to push the memory of that night out of his head. Even at that point, Grantaire had been so familiar to him. He was Enjolras’s one constant.

Long before the Red Flag was his, Enjolras had to make a name for himself. He had started out as a runner, a mere kid at 15, running around on dangerous missions with the adults. Grantaire had joined in too, not long after Enjolras did. They took to each other quickly, mostly due to their closeness in age.

By the time he was 18, Enjolras was the most feared person in the group. He was extremely direct with anyone he had to deal with and was not afraid to shoot someone if necessary. Grantaire always stayed one step behind Enjolras. He was never as frightful or intimidating, but just as eager to pick a fight with anyone who asked for it. With the two of them together on a job, nothing was impossible. It didn't take long for Enjolras to decide that he would form his own group and brought Grantaire with him.

But that one night. That night shook his world.

His mind played through it once more.

Enjolras looked out over the lineup before him. Three men were standing, one was injured and two were already dead. They were the ones trying to take over Enjolras’s territory; he felt no remorse for the kills. On his side, it was him in the center, Grantaire to his right and the new guy, Courfeyrac, on his left. Bahorel was waiting in the back, in case he was needed. Joly sat in the car, also only around for emergencies.

Of the three that were left standing, only one seemed interested in continuing the fight. The other two encouraged him to give up. They could tell it was the only way they would leave the scene alive. After much arguing and words thrown about, the man turned away, until Enjolras heard Grantaire speak up.

“Let it be a lesson to all of you!” Grantaire yelled out. “You don’t mess with Enjolra-”

His boast was cut short as the man turned and fired a single shot as quick as he could at Grantaire. Grantaire collapsed on the ground instantly, blood pouring from the wound. Without hesitation, Enjolras shot the man and Bahorel began firing on the other survivors. Courfeyrac rushed over to try and stop the bleeding from Grantaire’s wound until Joly made his way there from the car.

Enjolras had not taken his eye off of the shooter for one second. He hadn't moved since he had been shot. Enjolras wasn't even thinking anymore. Instinct took over as he stood over the body. He lifted his machine gun and poured the entire round into the shooter. The blood that splattered on him never phased him. The grotesque visual of flesh and body being ripped apart didn't seem to bother him. He just held his finger on the trigger until it stopped firing. Over the sound of his gun, he hadn't heard Courfeyrac yelling for him.

“ENJOLRAS!” he called out. Enjolras finally turned and walked back. Courfeyrac cringed at the sight of his boss, covered in blood and with a distant, pained look in his eyes.

“Joly got the bullet out,” Courfeyrac told him quickly. “He’s stitching him up now.”

“Will he be ok?” Enjolras barely said above a whisper without looking him in the eye.

“We...We don’t know,” Courfeyrac admitted. “It was so close to his heart. Joly thinks he’ll be fine, but it depends on if the bleeding will stop and how deep the damage really went. Honestly, he should be dead now...” Enjolras pushed him out of the way, cutting him off. He walked over and knelt down next to Grantaire, watching as Joly rushed to stitch the wound together. Grantaire’s eyes were closed and his face was pale. For all Enjolras knew, he could have been dead then.

“Joly,” Enjolras said. Joly looked up for a second before Enjolras motioned for him to keep working. “Don’t stop, just listen!” he sighed. “Do whatever you have to to fix him,” he commanded. “I don’t care what you have to do, just make sure he lives.” Joly put the final stitches in and leaned back, his gloved hands still covered in blood.  

“I think he’ll live. The bleeding has stopped and from what I could tell, the damage wasn't too deep. But I could be wrong,” Joly told him. “Regardless, he will be in severe pain. He won’t be able to do anything for a long time. He really shouldn't do anything too strenuous ever just to be on the safe side. If that wound is too deep, it’ll easily tear.”

The two of them stood up and Enjolras gently lifted Grantaire and carried him to the car. He climbed in the back with him to help keep the wound elevated, in case it should decide to bleed again. Joly sat under Grantaire’s legs in the back as well, ready to act if something should go wrong. Bahorel drove them back to the Red Flag.

When they arrived, Enjolras stopped Joly from getting out of the car while Bahorel and Courfeyrac went inside.

“Joly, drive us to my place,” he whispered.

“But Grantaire...”

“Is going to need someone to watch him,” Enjolras finished for him. “I’ll do it.” Joly nodded and climbed out to move around to the driver’s seat. Enjolras effortlessly carried Grantaire into his apartment when they arrived. He laid Grantaire on the bed and tried his best to make sure he was comfortable. Joly followed quietly behind and watched the two. Finally, Enjolras turned around.

“What all do I need to do to keep the wound clean?” he asked quietly.

“Just use a washcloth and very gently clean it with soap. Make sure it’s not completely soaked with water; you want to do just enough to clean it and that’s it,” Joly explained. “He’s going to be in a lot of pain while he heals. My suggestion is to let him drink. The depressant effects of the alcohol will help reduce the pain for him.”

Enjolras nodded in understanding. Joly gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder and disappeared, leaving them alone.

Enjolras sat by the bed from that moment on, watching for any sign that Grantaire might wake up. Every so often he gently changed the bandage and cleaned the wound, grimacing every time he saw it exposed. Finally, a day later, Grantaire began to move. Enjolras moved to the edge of his seat. Grantaire’s face scrunched up in pain.

“Taire,” Enjolras whispered, grabbing on to his friend’s wrist. Grantaire clutched the sheets, trying to pull himself up. Enjolras quickly moved to hold him down to the bed. “Grantaire, wake up!” he yelled, worried he would rip his stitches out if he fought too hard.

“It hurts,” was all he could mutter as he tried not to fight.

“I know,” Enjolras said softly, trying not to lose it right along with Grantaire. He quickly thought about how to dull the pain. “Taire, promise me you’ll stay still and I’ll get something to help you.” Grantaire opened his eyes just enough to make contact with Enjolras’s and nodded. Enjolras flew out of the room and to his kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine he had stored from a long time ago. He knew it wasn’t strong enough, but it would be a start. He raced back to the bedroom, opened the bottle, and began helping him drink it.

After downing half of the bottle, Grantaire began to relax. He eased a little more into the bed and looked at Enjolras, sitting beside him with a panicked look on his face.

“What happened?” Grantaire asked.

“You were shot,” Enjolras said, pointing to the large bandage on his chest. “For a while, we kind of thought you weren't going to make it.”

“I kind of figured the first part of that,” Grantaire laughed. “I mean what happened with the rest of the group? Did anyone else get hurt?”

“No,” Enjolras told him. “We took care of those guys.” Grantaire nodded.

“Of course.”

“You shouldn’t have said anything,” Enjolras muttered. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d hadn’t pushed him.” Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“I know, I won’t let it happen again.” He had almost finished the bottle and was starting to feel much better.

“There won’t be the opportunity. Not for a long time,” Enjolras stated. Grantaire froze and his mouth hung open just a bit.

“But...”

“Your wound is too deep. It’s going to take time to heal. I doubt you can get out of that bed right now without disturbing that wound.” Enjolras sighed. “It’ll at least be months before you can do much of anything. Even then you can’t push yourself too hard cause you might tear something.” Grantaire frowned as he looked at his friend.

“So this is going to be my life for a long time? Just sitting around in incredible pain while everyone moves on with their lives?” he asked. Enjolras swallowed hard.

“In a sense, yes,” he said quietly. “But not entirely. Once you’re out of that bed, I want you back at the Red Flag.” Grantaire gave him a weak smile.

“You sure you want me hanging around, even if I can’t do much?”

Enjolras nodded.

“It wouldn’t be the Red Flag without you.”

Really sorry it has been taking me so long to update! The last week was pretty crazy, so hopefully I can get a few more chapters up this week. You'll definitely get one tonight! (Not to mention it's probably my favorite chapter so far) 

Combeferre watched over Courfeyrac as he slept. It was taking its time, but the wound was healing. Courfeyrac had finally gotten to the point that even when the pain was troubling him he was able to sleep through it. Combeferre, on the other hand, had gotten to where he could hardly sleep at all. Every time he tried, he only dreamed of Courfeyrac going off on that stupid job he was supposed to go on and being murdered on the spot. Occasionally, it would be of the job that he had gone on, the ‘easy’ one, and the bullet being dead on instead miraculously off.

The telephone’s ring pulled him from his thoughts. His hand hovered over to pick up the receiver, but the hand that grabbed his wrist reminded him not to. He wasn't supposed to be there.

Courfeyrac slid out of bed and walked around to the phone.

“Hello?” he said quietly.

“Tomorrow night,” Enjolras said. “Can you do it?” Courfeyrac bit his lips in hesitation.

“Do you need me?”

“Yes.”

Courfeyrac looked up and met Combeferre’s tired eyes. They were pleading him.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” Enjolras sighed. “I have a bad feeling and I need everyone I can get there. You’re my best man. Please.”

Courfeyrac swallowed hard. Enjolras never used that word meaningfully.

“What time tomorrow night?”

“We meet at seven at the Flag.” Courfeyrac silently nodded his head.  

“Ok. I’ll be there.” He hung up the phone and stood still.

“Courf...Why...” Ferre started. Courfeyrac could hear his breathing speeding up.

“I don’t have a choice. He needs me,” Courfeyrac whispered.

“I need you!” Ferre yelled. “Christ, you don’t have to do it!”

“I do. It’s my job,” he continued to whisper, unable to look Ferre in the eyes.

“Hell, I’ll pay you whatever Enjolras would pay you not to go! Please! Don’t do this!” Ferre pleaded. “He is going to get you killed!”

“Ferre, IT’S MY JOB,” Courfeyrac finally broke. “I've been doing this for years, before you and I had even really met. I swore to Enjolras that I’d stand by his side; that whatever task he’d ask of me, I’d do it. And now that things have gotten rough, I can’t just back out.” Combeferre’s shoulders sunk as Courfeyrac dropped himself on the bed.

“If I don’t go, Enjolras will want to know why,” Courfeyrac whispered. “I can’t lie to him. He reads me too well.” Ferre wrapped his arms around Courf as he knew where he was going. “I’d have to tell him about us, and I’d yell it to his face that I love you and I couldn't stand to see you cry one more damn time. And that I wanted you to be able to sleep again. But as much as I respect Enjolras and revere him, I still know he’s a terrible man at heart. We have conflicting interests. He’d kill us both on the spot.” Courfeyrac turned his head to look Ferre in the eyes.

“I don’t mind doing a job that there is a chance I might not come out of it alive,” he said, “but there’s no way I’m about do something that’ll end with you dead without question.” He kissed the trail of tears that was going down Ferre’s face.

“Damn it,” Ferre choked out as he cried. Courfeyrac pushed him down onto the bed.

“Ferre, could you sleep if I held you?” he whispered. “If you knew I was here, and we were in each other’s arms? Do you think you can sleep then?” A smile formed on Ferre’s trembling lips.

Grantaire’s apartment was a tiny one. In fact, it was all one room save for the tiny closet of a bathroom. Grantaire had never seemed to mind. He spent a majority of his time at the Red Flag, so it was only a place to pass out until he went back to the Flag the next day.

But seeing as Enjolras had effectively banned him from the bar, Grantaire had seen much more of his apartment than he had ever cared to. He pulled out one of the wine bottles he had stashed around the place and began to drink. He had shut off all of the lights, preferring just to sit in the dark. The silence was the most comforting thing for him.

A knock came to his door. He rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself as he pulled the door open.

“Busy?” Enjolras asked as he stood before him. Grantaire recognized the look on his face. He had forced himself to come.

“No,” Grantaire mumbled, making his way back inside and allowing Enjolras to follow him.

Enjolras shut the door and looked around the place. “Did you pay the electric bill?” he asked with the scoff.

“Off by choice,” Grantaire replied. Enjolras nodded. Grantaire had seated himself on the bed while Enjolras moved a pile of clothes to sit on a chair. They sat in silence for awhile, the only sound between them was the wine in Grantaire’s bottle sloshing about every time he took a sip. Enjolras’s eyes finally met Grantaire’s.

“I need you to come back,” he said quietly. Grantiare huffed.

“Three days and you already miss me,” he mocked. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“I’m short staffed and I have too much on my plate. As much as I don’t trust you right now, I still trust you more than most of the people at the Red Flag.” Enjolras rubbed his face. “I need you back.” Grantaire lowered his bottle and thought.

“I don’t believe that. There’s no reason you should trust me more,” he said.

“I've known you the longest,” Enjolras said quickly and quietly.

“Bullshit,” Grantaire laughed. Enjolras sighed.

“What else do you want me to say? I've worked with you the longest and I generally know what you’re likely to do! How many years has it been that we’ve been working together, huh?” Enjolras demanded. “Hell, I was there that night they shot you and we all thought...”

Grantaire put his bottle down as he saw something new in Enjolras’s eyes. Something he had never seen before.

“That really messed you up, didn't it?” Grantaire whispered.

“You’re my right-hand man.”

“You could have any other. Shit, get Combeferre to shoot a gun and he’d fit in just fine,” Grantaire told him.

“No, it’s not the same,” Enjolras said. “I know you too well and you, me.” He stood up and started walking towards the door. “Just come back to the Flag already.”

Grantaire stood up and started walking after him.

“That night,” Grantaire started, causing Enjolras to freeze with his hand on the doorknob. “You killed the guy that shot me, didn't you?” Enjolras was silent, refusing to turn around and face him. “Courfeyrac told me. That was his second job with us, remember?”

Enjolras was still silent. He felt his breath catch as that evening replayed in his mind.

“He told me,” Grantaire continued, “you shot him -- right, square in the chest and he fell over. Courfeyrac was sure he was dead then. But you walked up to him. You kept shooting him. God, you must have fired the whole round into him from what he told me. He said he had never seen a body so mangled and ripped apart from bullets.” Grantaire took a step closer to Enjolras. “Why?”