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“Tonight,” Enjolras said solemnly, lifting his glass of whiskey, “we drink in honor of one who sacrificed himself for us, and for the cause. We drink in honor of one who was always the best of us, even if we never knew it.”
“Hear, hear,” Bahorel said, voice hoarse, whether from tears or from the fact that his throat was raw from yelling at the protest earlier that day.
Enjolras nodded at him before finishing, “To Grantaire’s indomitable spirit and absolute bravery today.”
All of the gathered Amis pounded their shots of whiskey with a subdued air, until Marius, who was sitting in the corner and was rather confused by the whole thing, pointed out, “You guys, they’re only holding Grantaire overnight. He’s going to be released from jail tomorrow morning. He’s not, like, dead.”
Courfeyrac cleared his throat to inform Marius in an undertone, “Enjolras and Grantaire have a running bet over who gets arrested and why. The stakes change, but most recently, they bet over whether Grantaire would get arrested for something other than drinking, and since Enjolras lost, since Grantaire was arrested at the protest today protecting Enjolras from the police, Enjolras now has to spend the night doing what Grantaire would do if their places were swapped.”
Marius paled, remembering the last time Enjolras was arrested and Grantaire wasn’t, remembering the drinking and the mourning as if Enjolras had died and not just been locked up for a 24-hour hold. “Oh. Oh, dear.”
“Yup,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully, passing around the bottle of whiskey so everyone could refill their shot glasses. “So drink up, because it is about to get sloppy in here.”
Enjolras was not a heavy drinker by any means, and could generally be considered what was referred to as a ‘lightweight’. In fact, Grantaire called him that quite often, though after they had gotten together, it had become more fond, and less mocking.
But now, confronted with the need to drink just like Grantaire would, Enjolras was in for a world of problems, and the Amis with him. Courfeyrac’s prediction of sloppiness came true in a surprisingly short period of time, with Enjolras falling off his chair and laughing from his position sprawled on the ground. “Ok,” Combeferre said, bending to help Enjolras up. “Maybe it’s time for you to go home.”
“No,” Enjolras said, stubbornly, swaying as he stood. “I wanna go see Grantaire.”
“You can’t,” Combeferre said patiently. “Grantaire’s in jail.”
“Can so,” Enjolras said, still stubborn.
“No, you really can’t.”
“Can if I want to.”
Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose. “Enjolras, that’s not how jail works. You can’t just walk in there and see Grantaire whenever you want.”
“I will take him!” Bahorel announced loudly, standing up on his chair. “I will take the drunk to jail. Though I do not know the way.”
Courfeyrac stood as well. “If by my life or death I can protect you, I will. You have my…” He cast about for something to act in place of a sword and drew a pen from his pocket. “My pen.”
“And you have my cellphone,” Joly pronounced, and Bossuet slammed his fist down on the table.
“And my glass!”
They all looked expectantly at Combeferre, and Courfeyrac stage-whispered helpfully, “You’re supposed to be Boromir and tell Bahorel that he carries the fate of us all.”
“If you think I want any part of the Fellowship of the Drunk, think again,” Combeferre sighed. “I just hope you don’t all end up in jail.”
As it turned out, it was slightly easier to break into the police station than sneak into Mordor, but only because the police officers inside, who were watching the entire scenario take place, found it too funny to stop them too soon, and in the end, Enjolras had managed to wriggle in through the bathroom window before a police officer finally came to stop him.
Bahorel, Courfeyrac, Joly, and Bossuet scattered, with Bahorel yelling, “I took him to the police station, that’s all I promised to do!”
And Enjolras found himself being frogmarched through the police station by the police officer, who couldn’t stop laughing at how ridiculous the situation was. Finally, they paused in front of the holding cell where Grantaire was staying for the night. “I believe I have something of yours,” the officer told Grantaire, who looked up, eyes widening at what he saw.
“The hell is he doing here?” Grantaire demanded.
The officer shrugged. “We caught him trying to break in, assumedly to see you, since all he keeps doing is babbling your name. We were going to put him in the drunk tank,” the policeman told Grantaire, amused by Enjolras, who had let out a wordless noise and tried to reach for Grantaire through the bars. “But we thought you might want him. Saves us from having to deal with him.”
Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Understandable,” he said dryly, stepping back so the policeman could open the barred door and push Enjolras in side, catching Enjolras before he fell flat on his face. “I appreciate that, Officer Kennex.”
“Not a problem. Just try to convince him when he’s sober that breaking into a police station is not the smartest move, especially with his arrest record being what it is.” The officer shook Grantaire’s hand before closing the cell door behind him, whistling as he headed back to his desk.
“Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed happily, reaching up to stroke Grantaire’s face. “Told ‘em I could see you if I wanted to.”
Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Congratulations,” he said wryly. “You’ve got yourself thrown in jail, just to see me. What do you have to say about that?”
Enjolras pondered the question for a long moment before announcing, “I’m going to throw up.”
“You’re an idiot,” Grantaire told Enjolras fondly, holding back his blond curls as he puked into the trashcan thoughtfully provided by the policeman. “You really couldn’t spend one night apart? I have to do it quite often, you realize, when you get your stupid ass arrested.”
Enjolras groaned and leaned his head against Grantaire, blinking blearily at him. “Let’s not do that again,” he whispered hoarsely. “Next time, we get arrested together, ok?”
Grantaire laughed and kissed Enjolras’s temple. “You know, most normal couples would promise just to not get arrested in general.”
“We’re not most couples,” Enjolras told him, groaning again, and Grantaire laughed and shook his head.
“You can say that again. Now come on, let’s try to get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Together, they lay as best as they could on the bench in the holding cell, Grantaire’s arms wrapped around Enjolras. “I have to admit, this feels a lot nicer than trying to sleep in here by myself.”
“See,” Enjolras yawned, burrowing his face against Grantaire’s chest. “Worth it.”