Chapter Text
2nd of October 1830
l'Ange Gardien had been plaguing Enjolras's thoughts for weeks.
He had always wanted to reach out to those who he was fighting for, the poor and oppressed. He wanted a republic with equality. But outreach was something Les Amis de l'ABC had been struggling to do. No matter how hard they tried to recruit others to the cause, Feuilly was the only one he had genuinely recruited from the streets.
Everyone else who attended l'ABC's meeting were friends of Enjolras, or friends of his friends. He knew that banding together a group of revolutionaries would be hard at the beginning; he expected a challenge. And while the group had grown, things were moving much slower than he had hoped.
Yet, on the other side of the river, in St Georges, a group of angry workers had banded together to form a union in an effort to fight against the monarchy. The union was led by a working man going by Gabriel Bohen, who the people had dubbed 'Ange De La Liberté'. People had been buzzing with excitement around Paris, as Bohen had announced a rally in front of the statue of Saint Mary in the la Madeleine neighborhood. It was all Combeferre had been talking about.
"We should go, Enjolras," Combeferre begged- no he whined. Enjolras had ignored his closest friend's pleas all morning so now Combeferre had resorted to dramatics. He held onto the wooden beam that loomed over their heads, towering over the round table l'ABC had claimed as their own.
"They won't like us intruding." Bossuet countered, slamming his stein of beer on the wooden table they all sat around, "I hear Bohen is very territorial."
"He's protective of his people," Combeferre shook his head before turning to Enjolras again, "Maybe we should speak to them. We stand beside them; they should at least know that."
"Where would we even go?" Joly piped up from his seat across the round table, "We don't know where to find them. I don't know about any of you, but I don't know my way around la Madeleine."
"We go to that side of town, and someone is bound to point us in their direction." Feuilly was perhaps the one who knew the most about l'Ange Gardien. He heard more about the union through his resources at work, something Enjolras was happy to have at this moment.
"Alright," Enjolras said finally, standing from his seat, "Then let's go."
"Eager aren't you?" Grantaire spoke into the bottle of wine he had almost drowned in earlier that morning.
"Do you have anything better to do?"
Enjolras had been right, no one had anything better to do. The six members of l'ABC quickly hit the streets, chatting, and joking amongst themselves as they went, Grantaire having brought a new bottle of wine along for the trip.
The neighborhood of St. Georges felt the same as St. Michele's, with gray and dirty alleys contrasting the colorful shops on the streets. Carriages full of laughter from the wealthy bourgeois drowned out the cries of families begging on the streets.
Most people on this side of Paris turned away from the students in waistcoats and cravats, their questions falling on deaf ears. Feuilly was the one to get clues as to where l'Ange Gardien met. He blended in, he was one of the people. By five in the evening, the students had finally been directed to the meeting place of allies of l'Ange Gardien, just as Feuilly had said they would.
Enjolras knocked abruptly on the door of a small home tucked in a back alley they would never have thought to look down, red paint on the door peeling from weather and age. The drapes were pulled over the single window by the door, with no signs of life inside. It felt like seconds passed slower, the group of students waiting with baited breaths. Enjolras went to knock again, only for the door to swing wide open.
A small girl, only two or three years old, stood at the door with a porcelain doll in hand. She beamed up at the men with wide blue eyes, only giggles and smiles as she took in the group. She wore a dirty pink dress, her wavy blonde hair messy and loose around her shoulders. Enjolras looked back at his friends, who all looked at him just as confused as he was.
"Salut," the little girl giggled, "password?"
"Password?" Joly repeated back.
"Do you know Gabriel Bohen?" Enjolras asked as if she was his equal, not a toddler barely as high as his knee. The little girl only nodded, giggling as she stepped away from the door. She only beckoned the boys, waving for them to follow.
Enjolras was the first to step inside the humble home despite Bossuet's protests. The bare walls had been a beige color at some time, but years of dust and smoke had aged them poorly. A simple wooden table and chairs are the only things in the large room at the entrance.
"Potes!" the little girl called; quick footsteps echoed through the house as someone hurried down the stairs.
"Marie, I told you not to answer the door. It's not safe." A young woman hurried to sweep the child in her arms; long black hair lay loosely along her back. She looked up, her eyes as grey as the clouds of a thunderstorm as panic set in, "May I help you, Monsieur?"
"We're looking for Gabriel Bohen," Enjolras said. The rest of the boys reached to pull their leader back, but the woman didn't look surprised.
"He's not here, I'm afraid." She smiled softly; freckles dotting her fair complexion as the setting sun caught her cheeks just right, "What's the nature of your visit."
"We are Les Amis de l'ABC," Enjolras gestured to his friends, "We heard he was the leader of l'Ange Gardien and hoped he was available to speak with us."
"Come in from the cold then," The woman waved them in, "He's heard of you. I'm sure he'll be happy to speak with you."
"Merci," Combeferre smiled as he stepped to stand beside Enjolras, "We appreciate the hospitality."
"Anything for those who fight for equality." The woman hurried the boys inside, locking the door behind them, "Please, make yourselves at home."
A chorus of 'merci' came from the students, all clamoring for a seat at the table to rest their weary legs. The woman hurried off to what could only be assumed as the kitchen, humming as she bustled about. The little girl, Marie the woman had called her, bounced over to the boys with her doll in hand. Joly smiled sweetly at her as she clamored into the seat beside him.
"That's a lovely doll. What's her name?" Joly cooed.
"Cosette." The little girl held her doll up to him proudly.
"Cosette," He repeated, "That is a beautiful name."
"Thank you," Marie grinned as she began playing with her doll's curly blonde hair.
"I hope you don't mind waiting," The woman hurried in balancing several wine glasses for the students. Enjolras noticed she had straightened her grey work dress and pulled her hair back with a well-loved quill; an attempt to look more presentable for them, "There's a rally tonight."
"Where?" Enjolras asked.
"Maybe we should ask our host her name," Combeferre kicked his friend's shin under the table, "Since she's been so nice to us."
"Just call me Bohen," she smiled sweetly as she passed Combeferre his glass first before passing out wine to the others, "And the rally is at one of the textile factories that has stopped paying many of their employees. The owner has been an ass, blaming it on taxes. But we know where the extra money is really going."
"Sounds about right," Enjolras mumbled, sliding his glass towards Grantaire who accepted gratefully.
"So," the woman sat at the head of the table, looking all of them over. Her grin turned from the sweet host to a stoic look, skepticism in her eyes, "Tell me who you are?"
"We're Les Amis de l-." Enjolras's words failed as the woman turned to look him over with a stony glare. He didn't appreciate it, but he admired it. That was the kind of look that could stop an army.
"I know what you stand for. You want to be a citizen of a republic not the subject of a monarchy," Her eyes didn't tear away from Enjolras's as she spoke with an intensity he hadn't expected, "We want the same thing. But who are you as people? What are your names? You don't look like you're from around here."
"Quite observant," Grantaire smiled a wide drunken grin, "Most of us are students."
"Students?" The woman raised her brow, "so you're a part of the bourgeoisie?"
"Some of us," Joly shrunk at her gaze, "But that doesn't mean we don't still fight for the cause."
"I understand," The woman nodded, "But you're the kind of people we can't seem to get to help the cause. My brother would be thrilled to work with you, if not only to help reach more people of higher classes for help."
"That's part of why we came," Enjolras stated with the passion he always had for the revolution, "To speak with Monsieur Gabriel about how we can help each other's cause."
"He'll like you," The young woman cracked a smile at him though it never reached her eyes.
"Uh, Mademoiselle Bohen," Combeferre spoke up after having shared hushed tones with the toddler beside him, "Your daughter wants your attention."
"Niece." She corrected. That made Enjolras perk up, though he wasn't sure why. The woman smiled softly at her niece, "Gabriel's daughter. Marie? What did you want to tell me?"
"They never told us their names."
"Very observant, Marie. You're very right," The raven-haired woman turned to Enjolras again, pegging him as the obvious leader of the group, "So?"
"I'm R," Grantaire stood, clapping a hand on Enjolras's shoulder before he could muster up an answer, "That there is Combeferre, the smartest man you'll ever meet. Beside him Bossuet, you'll love him. Feuilly is our resident working man, he's our eyes and ears. Joly is the happiest man we know. And at last our leader Enjolras."
"A pleasure to meet you all," She smiled coldly again.
"Mademoiselle, I hope we-." Enjolras was cut off by a rapid knock at the door. He hated being interrupted. Their host hurried to the door, cracking it open as Marie toddled after her, bouncing on her heels. Hushed words were exchanged before the young woman opened the door for a teenage boy who came bounding through.
"Stay with Marie." the woman commanded the frightened teen as she pulled on her boots that had been left by the door, "And make sure these men are safe until I return."
"Where are you going?" Enjolras's chair clattered backward as he stood.
"To the rally," She hurried to pin a red shawl over her shoulders, "Something's happened."
"Then we'll come with," Enjolras hurried to the door, the other boys clamoring to their feet as well, "You'll need help."
"No," She gave him that stony glare, "This isn't your fight."
"Of course it is." Enjolras placed a large hand on her shoulder, "It's why we're here isn't it?"
The woman stopped her rush and studied him a moment. His look was calm and collected but a passion waged war in his chestnut eyes. Of course, she thought to herself, they were fighting the same battle.
"Can you use a rifle?"
"Yes."
"Then keep up."
The raven-haired revolutionary led the students through the winding maze of alleyways and streets. She had been running so fast that Grantaire and Joly had almost fallen behind. But Enjolras was hot on her heels, leading his team into the fray.
The woman froze as she broke into a busy street, the rapid gunfire deafening. She held her arm up, stopping l'ABC from running head-on into the enemy's line of sight. She took in the scene, police and soldiers peeking from around corners and windows, while across the street members of l'Ange Gardien fought back with the same intensity they always had.
After a quick survey of her options, the young woman darted to her right, joining a group of men huddled behind an overturned carriage. Enjolras was quick to fall into the empty spot beside her.
"You started without me," the woman hissed to a broad gentleman, whisps of grey in his hair and heavy bags under his eyes.
"We didn't start without you," the man tossed the woman a rifle with a jovial smile, "You're just on time."
"Gael, we promised to start at eight," She passed the rifle to Enjolras, "What happened?"
"Philippe got into a scuffle, which turned into a shooting, which turned into this." Gael handed her a flint-lock pistol as well as a rifle before arming himself once more.
"Fucking Philippe." The woman cursed as she tucked the pistol into her apron.
"Watch your language, Nicolette." Gael playfully scolded.
The young woman, Nicolette, huffed in annoyance, peeking above the cover to fire off a few rounds before ducking back into safety, "Where is Yvette?"
"Last I saw, she was passing out fliers down that way." Gael nodded further down the street.
"Good. These men," Nicolette nodded to Enjolras and then to where the others had taken cover behind some crates, "They're with us. Arm and protect them best you can."
"Yes, mademoiselle." Gael nodded. And with that, Nicolette began her way down the street ducking behind cover every chance she could. Enjolras followed, Combeferre and Grantaire close behind after being handed guns of their own. Joly kept the others back, helping Gael and the other members of l'Ange Gardien.
Nicolette passed by many of her comrades, and many exchanges of Bon courage called over her shoulder as she made her way down the street. She kept ducking behind cover like she had done this a million times before; as if she had lived in battle. Nicolette's black hair fell again to lay loosely along her back, the quill that once held it up now long lost in the scuffle.
Nicolette had ducked into an alleyway, reloading her gun. She pulled more ammo from her apron, passing it out to her new fellows in arms. She checked on the three men in turn, each assuring her they were fine. Why Enjolras had been following her so close, he wasn't sure. But the storm in her eyes and passion in her strides had something to do with it.
"l'Ange De La Liberte!" A taunting voice called across the street, and Nicolette froze. The voice only continued, playful and bitter at the same time "Come now, I know you're here."
"Who's he?" Combeferre whispered.
"An officer of the law who swears he'll be the one man to stop the revolution, one martyr on the guillotine at a time," Nicolette muttered. Enjolras looked from Nicolette's stern face to the street. The police officer briefly came into view as his horse trotted down the street. His uniform still looked clean and neatly pressed, obviously not having taken part in any of the scuffles in the street.
"Come out, l'Ange De La Liberte," the police officer called, "Give yourself up now, or we make an example of the widow."
Enjolras watched Nicolette's knuckles go white as her grip tighten on the rifle, her face blanching at those words. She looked to her new friends, taking each of them in turn. Then her shoulders slumped with a sigh. Enjolras's brow knit in confusion as Nicolette set her gun on the ground, emptying her apron of what ammo was left.
"Don't follow me."