Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables

Grantaire remembered the way Enjolras had curls that haloed his scalp when they first met. He remembered wanting to run his hands through the thick mess that covered his piercing blue eyes, letting his fingers get caught in the tangles and pull, drawing that enticing sound from the back of Enjolras's throat when he did. It was ok when Enjolras finally cut the sweet curls for a sharper, straighter, biting look when he passed the Bar because his hair was still thick on top and the faintest trace of a curl would appear wildly throughout the mass. He remembered when Enjolras passed the Bar and Grantaire surprised him in his dress blues. Grantaire remembered when he made detective and Enjolras had surprised him at home with his naked body beautifully laid out on the bed like a painting. He remembered having breakfast with Enjolras that morning. He remembered meeting him for a spontaneous make out session on Enjolras's lunch break that had them rutting against each other like love sick teenagers. He remembered not caring that his insane hair looked like he had sex in the Starbucks bathroom after Enjolras's lunch break. He remembered kissing him goodbye at the courthouse.

He remembered finding the note taped to his car that read, "We've been to your home. We have your boyfriend. We will kill him if you don't cooperate." He remembered the way his heart fell into his chest after he raced home to find the place trashed and blood smeared on too many places that Grantaire knew could have been from a head wound and how some head wounds were fatal. Grantaire remembered receiving the text message from Enjolras's phone asking if he was satisfied and if he was ready to begin. He remembered getting a location and racing to that location while he called his partner, Bahorel to meet him at his house. Bahorel was going to be pissed that Grantaire gave him the slip and went without him but what was he supposed to do? This was Enjolras! They had Enjolras.

He remembered being on the docks where they had told him to meet and he remembered not seeing anyone when he had scanned the area, his gun steady in his hand despite the panic that was crawling at his skin like a thousand ants.

He doesn't remember how he got there, tied at the wrists above his head.

He does know that he's in a basement somewhere. The pillar he's leashed to is one of many, supports to the structure above them, and the walls are straight concrete. A cool dampness lingers in the air making him shiver under his dark green Henley. He can't help the surge of frustration and panic that swells in the depths of his chest and escapes through his teeth as he tries to pull his arms free. His biceps bulge against his face and the skin around his wrists string but the zip ties hold and he can't break free. Grantaire sagged against the bindings, letting his pounding head rest against his forearm.

"Idiot," he hissed under his breath. God, he was an idiot!

"Hello Detective." Grantaire startled at the sudden voice, the accent slamming into the walls like a bird caught in a room. From the shadows like the creepy fucker he was, appeared Albert Zhurov with the same expression of indifference on his face Grantaire had seen on him many times. Zhurov had been the prime suspect in a series of homicides that included two police officers. The manhunt had been extensive, expanding to four other states.

"Albert," Grantaire said trying to sound causal but withering that facade at his breathlessness. The same cold blue eyes stared at him just like they had five months prior when Grantaire had questioned him about the murders. Where Enjolras's eyes were blue with fire and passionate, Albert's were dead and frozen and made you feel like you took an icicle to the heart every time he bothered to glance at you.

"I'm glad you could make it. I hope you didn't have trouble finding your way." Zhurov fiddled with his dress shirt, flicking invisible dust off with his fingers.

"Where is he?" Grantaire said, his voice dropping low like he was whispering a secret while inside he was shouting for some sort of control.

"Who?" Zhurov smirked up at him and Grantaire had to grit his teeth to keep from screaming profanities at Zhurov.

"Where. Is. He?" Grantaire hissed and he hated how his voice cracked with barely concealed rage, letting Zhurov see just how much he had made the chip in Grantaire's armor a giant gaping hole. Zhurov rubbed a knuckle along his jaw, scratching at the stubble that lingered from his five o'clock shadow as he strolled towards Grantaire, his movements fluid and smooth as he crossed the room. He didn't say anything, stopping in front of Grantaire and sighing deep in through his nose. Grantaire had played this game with Zhurov before. When Grantaire and Bahorel had pulled Zhurov in for questioning and Zhurov had simply sat across from Grantaire, staring and smiling. The two of them stayed that way until their breath had started to fall in synch and Bahorel had taken over. But that had been different. Enjolras had been in court winning a case then.

"Do you want to see him?" Zhurov finally said scrutinizing Grantaire's mouth.

"If you've hurt him-"

"Do you want to see him?" Grantaire's fists curled as he pulled against his bonds, feeling his nails cutting into his palms. But Zhurov didn't flinch. His lips curled upward into a smirk as he leaned further into Grantaire, making the detective press back into the pillar.

"You have to say it," Zhurov said in a whisper like a caress. "You have to say 'please'."

Grantaire flexed against his bonds again. He could beat Zhurov at this game he seemed to think he mastered. He knew he could. But Enjolras was somewhere where Grantaire had no control. He was somewhere Zhurov ruled like a fucking king and wouldn't Enjolras just hate that. And Grantaire couldn't fight the growing need to see Enjolras, to know that he was ok. To know that he was still alive.

"Please," Grantaire spat at Zhurov. "Let me see him."

Zhurov rubbed his knuckle along his jaw again, tilting his head before he muttered something in Russian.

Grantaire felt a hand in his hair yanking his head back as a rag was shoved in his mouth, tied tightly around his head until his cheeks felt like they were going to rip in half. He grunted when the knot pulled on his curls and ripped his head away from whoever had been behind him. A flurry of activity erupted around him as Zhurov stepped back to let his men hurry around the room. Grantaire wasn't sure where they had all come from or why he didn't notice them but the pulsing ache on the back of head was as good enough of an excuse as any and he secretly tried not to panic at the growing number of men. He may have been terrible at math as a kid but the odds weren't growing in his favor and he was seriously starting to regret not bringing Bahorel along as back up. At least then he could have sent Bahorel after Enjolras while Grantaire distracted them.

The men began pooling into the room, leaning against walls and forming a massive circle. They weren't doing anything, simply watching and Grantaire felt a cold form of dread drop into his stomach. Zhurov was up to something.

Two men were dragging in something that was fighting back. Enjolras was practically smothering the room with an air of indignation as he struggled in between the men holding him. A tight black blind fold pressed his dirty blond hair up, rumbled and mattered with dirt and sweat. He was in a pair of sweats, the ratty red ones that cut off past his knee, and one of Grantaire's police t-shirts covering his torso. Grantaire had to hold in a swear as he saw the mottled skin of Enjolras's arms. Dark bruises shaped like hands encircled his wrists and his knuckles were caked in dried blood. Grantaire felt a swell of pride in his chest. Enjolras may have strength in his words but he packed a mean punch. The men around the room burst alive like they were watching a fucking baseball game as Enjolras was dragged into the center of the room, all of them jeering and laughing as Enjolras was forced onto his stomach. One of the men sat on his back, his knee pressing into Enjolras's neck and pinning him down as the other grabbed his wrists and wretched them behind his back.

Zhurov held a pair of cuffs on his finger, letting Grantaire see them before he handed them down to his man. They were his.

Fuck, Grantaire fumed straining against the zip ties. He hadn't even realized they had taken them off his belt until now. His badge and gun were gone too.

When Enjolras was cuffed, they lifted him onto his knees by a hand in his hair, making the lawyer cringe under the pressure on his scalp. Zhurov wrapped his fingers around Enjolras's jaw, forcing him to expose his neck.

"He's pretty, no?" Zhurov asked Grantaire but a couple of men from the sides chuckled darkly. Grantaire wanted to rip Zhurov limb from limb, starting with his hands for even touching Enjolras. But he refused to give Zhurov the satisfaction of seeing Grantaire lose his temper.

"Are you the detective's lawyer bitch he's been hiding?" Zhurov directed his attention back to Enjolras, his hand still wrapped around his jaw. "What makes you so special, huh?"

"Get your hand off of me." Enjolras said using a tone Grantaire had heard before. It was hard and authoritative and the complete opposite of the terror he should have been feeling in that moment. Zhurov's eyes narrowed, not used to the venom Enjolras had thrown at him in one simple command, and wretched his head farther back.

"I think," Zhurov said like Enjolras hadn't said a word. "You are like his trinket. A pretty thing to keep close."

Zhurov let his hand trail along Enjolras's face, his thumb smoothing over Enjolras's lip, his index finger drawing the bridge of Enjolras's nose. Stepping behind Enjolras so that Zhurov was facing Grantaire, Zhurov sighed and wrapped a hand around Enjolras's presented throat. Not squeezing but a presence that was threatening and just as deadly as a gun. Bringing his other hand, Zhurov patted Enjolras's on his head before resting his palm and entangling his fingers into Enjolras's hair.

"So then tell me, Detective," Zhurov said, his light tone replaced by something dark and deadly. "What makes this trinket so much more important than my brother?"

"'Taire?" Enjolras called, confusion making his face pinch. He searched the room despite the blindfold but Grantaire couldn't respond. Instead, he was battling his own inner panic that was fighting to take over as he took in Zhurov, trying to read the man's intentions. His brother. Alexei. Grantaire had shot him when he had started shooting at civilians in the little café they had chased him to when trying to arrest him. This wasn't a sick game that Zhurov had been playing. This was cold pure revenge on the man that had killed his brother and he was going to use Enjolras to do it.

"'Taire!" Enjolras said again but Zhurov held Grantaire's gun to Enjolras's throat.

"Tell me, Detective. Tell me the difference between your whore and my brother." Any humor Zhurov had was gone and the men around him were silent, waiting for the order. Grantaire didn't dare move while his gun was pointed at Enjolras and Enjolras was barely breathing.

"No?" Zhurov asked mockingly knowing Grantaire couldn't speak. A sneer marred his face and he took the gun away from Enjolras. Grantaire felt a weight lift from him but his relief was short lived.

"Take off his clothes. Let's see what makes this trinket different." The men swarmed and dragged Enjolras to the ground. Grantaire screamed into his gag and thrashed against his bonds and fought with a new vigor, spewing curses at anyone as Enjolras started to cry out in the worst pain possible.

"If you look away," Zhurov whispered, yanking Grantaire back by the hair. "I will make him watch as I shoot you in the knee cap."

No! Grantaire was screaming! He was screaming and Enjolras was screaming. All he could hear was screaming and then-

Grantaire awoke with a jolt, his body flinching awake and his arm reaching for his gun hidden beside the bed.

The dark familiar walls of his bedroom greeted him like a lulling lullaby. The ceiling fan swished softly above him, sending a tickling breeze down across his moist skin. Grantaire dropped into a pile of limbs, bringing his hand to his face as he forced himself to breath. His heart hammered against his chest and he could feel the growing ache in his joints from clenching in his sleep starting to twinge. A dream. It had been a dream.

As if to make sure, Grantaire glanced down at the bundle at his side. Enjolras was asleep, his head pillowed on Grantaire's ribs, arm tossed over his waist, and his leg tangled in between Grantaire's. He was going to wake up covered in Grantaire's sweat tomorrow but the steady rise and fall of his chest was enough to satisfy Grantaire for now. Grantaire slipped his arm around Enjolras and the blond sighed into his embrace. Then Grantaire made sure that his gun was within reaching distance. He wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep after the nightmare he had. He could remember the details too vividly. But he certainly remembered arresting Albert earlier that day and he remembered Zhurov's threat whispered to Grantaire before Bahorel marched him to the squad car.

"Your trinket for my brother. Remember, Detective, I'm everywhere."

Grantaire remembered meeting Enjolras at the courthouse and walked him home. Enjolras refrained from commenting on how Grantaire had scanned every corner, every car that passed, and every passerby with a very thinly disguised distrust. He also didn't say anything when Grantaire had kept his gun on his belt even when they got home and that was a feat in itself. Enjolras, love of Grantaire's life, was the nosiest asshole when he wanted to be. He would have been alerted the moment Zhurov was in custody and Grantaire wasn't exactly subtle. But he remembered the way Enjolras had kissed him to come to bed after he had checked the alarm and the locks for the third time.

Grantaire sighed as he rested his hand onto Enjolras's head, kneading the spot where Zhurov had grabbed in his dream. Enjolras's dirty blond hair curled around his hands reminding Grantaire of his curls he had when they had first met.

"Go to sleep, 'Taire," Enjolras breathed against Grantaire's chest. He kept his eyes closed, his face still limp with sleep but he wrapped his arm tighter around Grantaire's waist, offering what little protection he could give. His embrace soothed Grantaire's still erratic heart beat and with a forced sigh Grantaire allowed himself to relax deep within the confines of his mattress.

He remembered how much he loved Enjolras. Zhurov needed to remember that Grantaire wouldn't stop when it came to Enjolras.