Right! So, here's another Enjolras and Grantaire one-shot for you all! I hope you enjoy it. I've always been utterly obsessed with "Les Miz" and even more specifically with Enjolras, and then Aaron Tveit played him and made it even harder not to just collapse from Enjy feels. And let's not forget Blagdog as Grantaire... I think that movie was made just to make fangirls everywhere die from feelings.

Disclaimer: *facepalm*

~Rosey

Marble Can Bleed

"Ooh! We have a sword now?!" Feuilly's excited words were the first sounds that greeted Enjolras's ears as he walked into the ABC Café one afternoon in early May. "Where'd you get that, Enjolras?"

"My Grandfather gave it to me," Enjolras replied simply, hanging his jacket up on a peg before going over to sit at the table with his amis. "It was his Birthday gift to me."

Grantaire hiccupped from his chair a few down from Enjolras's, and raised his bottle drunkenly. "Happy Birthday to you-" he started to sing, but Enjolras cut him off.

"That was two days ago, Grantaire. You already gave me your drunken Birthday wishes. Please. Cease. Now."

Grantaire looked mildly disappointed that he did not get to serenade his noble leader with his intoxicated song, but only hiccupped again before flopping back down into his chair, taking another swig of his drink.

"So why haven't you brought it in before today, Enjolras?" Joly asked as he scooted slightly away from Grantaire, who was swaying dangerously close to his shoulder, looking for a resting place for his drink-heavy head.

"It needed cleaned and sharpened," Enjolras answered, laying the new weapon on the table. "It's still a little dull-"

"Looks sharp enough to me!" Grantaire piped up. He leaned over to examine it slightly, but not daring to touch it. "Get it any more sharp you'll hurt yourself with it before it can touch the enemy!"

"I think I can handle a sword, Grantaire, thank you," Enjolras snapped, his wild, shimmering blond hair falling into his eyes. "But I appreciate your concern."

Feuilly beamed with excitement at the beautiful young man, practically jumping up and down in his seat. "With a sword on our side, Enjy, we're sure to have an upper hand on the enemy-"

"Feuilly. First off, please, don't call me Enjy. Second, the enemy will not only have a sword, they shall have hundreds." Off his friend's hurt look, however, Enjolras softened a little and reached out, touching Feuilly's arm kindly. "However, it shall certainly help our chances. Besides, we have liberty on our sides, do we not, my friends?"

"That's right!"

"Of course we do!"

"That's all we truly need!"

The rest of the afternoon passed in a relatively uneventful way. Joly diagnosed himself with both pneumonia and influenza before the afternoon was up, Feuilly made a fan for a "special young lady," the thought of whom made him blush like mad, Grantaire finished off another bottle of wine before he dozed off into a drunken stupor, Marius said something about starting a musical group, but nobody listened to him, and Enjolras tried to give a speech about the republic, but when nobody really paid any attention to him, he just sat down and worked on sharpening the sword, ignoring the laughs of his friends around him, as always focused on his work.

Around eight o'clock, the amis began clearing out of the café one by one, each off to their apartments or homes for the night. The dozing Grantaire, fan-making Feuilly, and serious-faced Enjolras were soon the only ones left, and the room was oddly quiet as Grantaire slept, Feuilly took pained efforts to make his fan perfect, and Enjolras continued to sharpen the sword.

Finally, Feuilly broke the silence, looking over at Enjolras with a nervous smile. "If you were a girl, would you want a fan for your Birthday, or just for a random little 'I like your company so here's a gift for you' deal?"

Enjolras looked up from under his halo of untamed hair, a smile twitching at his lips. "Feuilly, I think she'd like it now, or ten years from now. It's up to you when you want to give it to her."

"Give it to her now," Grantaire suddenly piped up from behind Feuilly, who jumped a little before turning to face his now-awake friend, who seemed halfway between drunk and hung over. "Girls like those random little things."

Feuilly gave Grantaire a smile. "Thanks, Grantaire. I think I will." He got to his feet, going for his jacket and slipping it on, careful not to smudge the paint on his fan. "I'm off for the night, then. I'll see you tomorrow, mis amis."

"See you then," Enjolras gave him a little wave before going back to sharpening his sword.

Grantaire got to his feet and stretched as Feuilly left, and then looked down at Enjolras with an eye roll. "Honestly, Apollo, I think it's sharp enough."

"Unlike yourself," Enjolras offered his friend a teasing smile, looking up at him from his position in his chair. "And don't call me Apollo."

"Oh, come now, Apollo-"

"That's really annoying, you kn-Ow!" Enjolras's words were cut off by a jolt of pain coming from his hand and he winced, looking down. He had been so caught up in his argument with Grantaire he hadn't noticed his hand getting too close to the edge of the sword, and a deep cut was in his palm, leaking blood quickly across his hand and onto the table.

"Oh, Lord," Grantaire shot into a chair by Enjolras, his drunkenness seeming to fade slightly. "I told you-"

"I'm fine, Grantaire," Enjolras rolled his eyes, though he had to admit the cut was stinging pretty bad.

"I told you that sword was too sharp, Apollo," Grantaire stubbornly finished his sentence, reaching out and taking his friend's wounded hand in his own unblemished one.

"And I told you not to call me Apollo," Enjolras pulled back.

"Enjolras, just let me see it," Grantaire demanded, not unkindly, again taking Enjolras's hand in his. He winced a little at all the blood before cracking a joke, unable to help himself. "Who knew marble could bleed?"

"Oh, do shut up," Enjolras sighed, resting his head in his unwounded hand, his wild hair spilling around his face.

"Well, I may be a drunken idiot, but I know you need that cleaned and bandaged or it will get infected," Grantaire mumbled. He reached for his bottle of alcohol before yanking out his own handkerchief from his pocket. "This is going to sting a little-"

"Grantaire, for the last time, I'm fine. I can take care of it myself-"

"It would be one thing if I believed you would actually go home and get it cleaned and possibly even see a doctor. But as I know you won't, I must ask you to please hold still," Grantaire's voice held a note of seriousness in it that Enjolras was so unused to that it shocked him long enough for the bigger man to lay the wounded hand down on the table, dipping the handkerchief into the bottle of alcohol. "It's not ideal," he admitted, "But it should kill any germs."

"Grantaire-"

"Enjolras." The brown eyes locked with the eyes of blue, and Enjolras finally sighed a little, giving in and leaning back in his chair.

"Fine. But please do hurry. I have a speech to write."

"You always have a speech to write," Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Now just sit still."

The bigger man bit his lip in concentration as he lowered the alcohol-soaked handkerchief to the cut. Enjolras hissed in pain at the contact, jerking back involuntarily at the horrendous pain it caused him.

"Sorry!" Grantaire apologized quickly, hating causing his noble leader pain. "I'm sorry! It'll only be a moment, I promise!"

"No, I'm sorry for pulling back," Enjolras mumbled, reddening slightly, putting his hand back on the table. "I simply wasn't expecting it to...erm…have that particular sensation…"

"To hurt that bad?" Grantaire asked bluntly, winking slightly drunkenly at Enjolras. "Sorry, Apollo."

"It's quite alright," Enjolras muttered. "Just please hurry and finish."

Grantaire, solemn again, nodded slightly and began to clean the wound once more. Enjolras winced hard, but this time did not pull away, only tightened his shoulders as he tried hard not to show any signs of pain.

"I'm sorry, Apollo," Grantaire mumbled as he finished off cleaning the injury. "I know that stung like mad-"

"It's fine," Enjolras said, slightly breathless from the horrible feeling in his hand. "I appreciate your help."

Grantaire looked at the now-clean injury with a grimace before wrapping it up in the handkerchief, wincing along with his leader as the alcohol once again made contact. "It might need some stiches, Enjolras. If you haven't gotten it looked at by tomorrow I will drag you there myself by your ear, and that's a promise."

Enjolras couldn't help but chuckle a little at this as he got to his feet, putting the offending sword with the rest of their weapons. "Alright, Grantaire. I promise to have it looked at."

"Good," he beamed, taking a swig out of the bottle, hiccupping as he did. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Apollo?"

"I'll see you then," Enjolras allowed him a small smile, putting on his jacket and handing the other man his coat as well. He paused for a moment in the doorway, and then glanced over his shoulder one more time at the drunkard. "And Grantaire?"

"Yeah, Apollo?"

"Thank you."

And with that, the marble statue vanished into the night, leaving Grantaire alone in the doorway of the ABC Café.

El Fin! Well, I hope you all liked it! If so, let me know in a REVIEW!

~Rosey