"Ah, le grand R," Enjolras says, soft-voiced among the sirens and the clamour of window irons and wheels being slammed into place. And while it is true that brandy and absinthe together create a terrible lethargy, Grantaire blinks awake.

Enjolras lifts his voice from the barricade.

"Friends. Mortal men and women all. Citizens! It is a dark night and I promise only darker for day. I call you mortal, and men. So you are. For tomorrow you and I shall bleed the blood of mortal men. We shall bleed for our fair Mother, the Republic, for our great Father, truth, and for our children, the days to come. Still we shall not die. Death will flee before us until our work is complete. And then, when mighty France stands, robed in white, that day we shall be undying heroes and every tomorrow ours."

There is a break in the sirens' wail.

"Hear, hear," voices come quietly from the tables. "Vive la Republique."

"Sleep, if you can, friends," says Enjolras, and crouches high on the mighty barricade to keep watch once more. He is brave and young and he is beautiful.

Grantaire, too, climbs the barricade. At the last he loses his footing and falls against a barrel at Enjolras' feet.

Breathless he starts, "If you-- had come for me, Enjolras, if you had come to Corinth--"

"--I would have found you drunk," says Enjolras coolly.

"If you had come for me," Grantaire ignores him, "I would have followed."

"And so here you are. But no use to man or gun."

"I would have followed you anywhere," says Grantaire again. Desperation feels like sobriety and he has lost his customary verbosity.

"For France?" asks Enjolras softly.

"For you." Enjolras begins to speak and Grantaire raises a hand. "I-- have taken every joy in your presence. In your faith I see everything that is noble in man. I admire you and I have followed you. I shall not love another."

The sirens' wail rises again and the gaze that holds Grantaire's is older than Enjolras' twenty two years. "I thank you, Grantaire, but what use is this love?" Enjolras waves a hand to indicate the barricade. "No use to me, or to France."

"You are wrong. You are wrong. Beyond war and even your hated oppression, beyond wine and food, beyond even death, there is love. I prove this by standing here."

"Beyond wine..." says Enjolras without smiling. He reaches out and there is a truth in Absinthe because his fingers feel like bones in Grantaire's. "You are drunk, Grantaire. You speak of love and you prove nothing." He drops Grantaire's hand.

"This I will prove," says Grantaire, low.

Enjolras turns to the street below. Night is fading. "Rouse the others and find your bottle, R." And then gently, "We shall speak of this again." Enjolras turns away.

Grantaire lifts the hand Enjolras held to his lips. Then he turns. He stumbles as he climbs down the barricade in the Rue Saint-Denis.

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