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The night was quiet and peaceful, its stillness broken only by the gentle crackle of the dying fire and the ubiquitous chirp of crickets, but Enjolras couldn’t seem to enjoy it, his own ears still ringing with the sounds of chaos from earlier.
As a general rule, Enjolras didn’t like robbing trains. Too high a possibility of innocent people being hurt or recognizing one of Les Amis, defeating the purpose of how they handled their robberies, and besides, word of mouth spread faster when robbing banks.
But when Combeferre got reliable word that the Corinthe, headed from back east out to the west coast, was carrying a stash of money belonging to none other than F. H. Tholomyès himself, one of the wealthiest and most exploitative robber barons the West had ever seen, Enjolras knew that not even he could pass up this opportunity.
Which was how Les Amis had found themselves that morning perched along the train tracks, guns and horses at the ready. As they waited for the train to round the bend in the tracks, Enjolras could not help but share a few words, knowing they would never have another opportunity like this one. “Gentlemen,” he started, sweeping his hat off his head to catch their attention, “where are we going?”
To his right, crouched behind a rocky outcropping, Courfeyrac muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “For Christ’s sake,” but Enjolras ignored him, instead glancing around at their compatriots.
Joly sheepishly raised a hand. “Are we going to the train?” he asked, barely managing to hide his smile as Grantaire and Bossuet sniggered on either side.
Enjolras’s eyes narrowed, and Joly’s smile disappeared. “Yes,” Enjolras said, with a bite of impatience. “We’re going to the train just as we are going to the future. And what we do here today is in service of all people. Gentlemen, we are no mere robbers—”
“We do not steal for riches,” Bahorel recited in what was clearly meant to be an undertone but carried a little too well.
“We do not steal for glory,” Feuilly added, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth as Prouvaire chimed in, with the cadence of an orator, “Thievery, I hate you, but I make use of you—”
“—For by stealing this money, so too do we steal our future from those who would keep it from us,” Bahorel, Feuilly and Prouvaire finished in unison, and Enjolras glowered at them.
Grantaire cleared his throat. “Maybe if you didn’t use the same speech at the start of every robbery—” he started, but Enjolras ignored him, barreling stubbornly onward.
“We are advancing the unity of man,” he said through gritted teeth. “The common man out from under the thumb of the rich, that is the goal. And whatever happens here today, through our failure or through our success, we are creating an alternative to those who think there’s no other way to live.”
He glanced at Combeferre on his left, who also looked a little like he was trying not to smile, and Enjolras scowled. He was saved from saying anything by the train finally rounding the tracks, and instead jammed his hat on his head before he raised his voice to shout, “Courage, and onward!”
From there, things had devolved into the usual controlled chaos that was the undercurrent of every robbery they had ever done, all leading to this moment camped out by the fire, their afternoon’s takings – even more than Enjolras had hoped – in a series of nondescript bags to be tied to a horse’s saddle.
As much as Enjolras disliked robbing trains, he disliked the aftermath of a robbery even more. He could never find a way to calm himself after the excitement, always ready to move onto the next. He reckoned it was part of what made him so successful, even if it meant always feeling a little like an outsider as his friends traded jokes and stories around the campfire as he brooded on their next plan.
Still, there was nothing else for it, and with a sigh, he sat upright, grabbing his hat from on top of his saddle and placing it on his head before standing. He bent to pick up the saddle, carrying it over to his horse, Mabeuf, who was drowsily grazing where he was picketed. “Sorry for the early morning, boy,” he murmured, rubbing the horse’s neck before lifting the saddle onto his back.
A similar movement caught the corner of his eye and he immediately turned, his hand automatically falling to the pistol at his hip. He relaxed when he saw it was just Grantaire tending to his own horse.
The relaxation was short-lived, seeing as how Grantaire had never been an early riser and had managed to drink enough whiskey to drown a lesser man, and Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing?”
Grantaire didn’t even glance over at him, adjusting the saddle with a practiced eye. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”
Enjolras scowled. “Looks like you’re packing up.”
Now Grantaire did look over at him, a small smile creasing his face. “I always knew you were more than a pretty face.”
Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why are you packing up?” he asked, ignoring Mabeuf nudging his shoulder in search of an apple or sugar cube.
Grantaire shrugged. “Because I’m going.”
“Going where?” Enjolras ground out. No one managed to irritate him quite like Grantaire did.
Grantaire shrugged again, squinting out at the horizon where the first hint of light was just beginning to break. “Well, now, that’s a good question,” he said easily. “Not sure yet.”
Enjolras sighed. “You know you can’t come with me.”
“I do,” Grantaire said.
Enjolras scowled. “You know why we do it like this.”
“Hasn’t changed.”
“Grantaire.” They’d had this argument so many times before that Enjolras really only needed to say Grantaire’s name in that tone for them to both know exactly how this would play out, just as it had every time before. It was as familiar to them as the sun rising over the plains, and almost as comforting in a strange way, as if a mission wasn’t complete without its familiar cadence.
Which was why Enjolras kept his tone calm but firm in the explanation he’d given a hundred times before. “I’m the one who has to go,” he told Grantaire. “We do the job, I split off with the money and distribute it to where it needs to go. That way, I draw all the attention to myself, and let you all get away. No one ever suspects you. You can’t be implicated.”
They hadn’t always done it this way, but after the first posse got together to track them down, Enjolras had insisted on the change, had insisted that everyone else cover their faces so that the only one anyone ever got a good look at was him.
There was a reason Les Amis wasn’t well known throughout the West, and it wasn’t because they weren’t damn good at what they did – it’s because to every sheriff from the Mississippi to the Rio Grande, they were known as Apollo the Kid and his Gang.
He didn’t need to remind Grantaire of that, though – Grantaire knew. Even in the dim light of the dying fire, Enjolras could see a muscle working in Grantaire’s cheek. “That is indeed the plan.”
Enjolras suddenly found he couldn’t quite meet Grantaire’s eye, and so busied himself with Mabeuf’s bridle. “Which is why you can’t come with me,” he said, his voice rough.
“You already said that,” Grantaire said, matching his tone. “I ain’t deaf.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Enjolras shot back.
Grantaire scowled at him. “Listen, the job’s done, right? So there’s no need for me to stay. Way I see it, I’m free to go.”
Enjolras jerked a shrug. “I guess.”
“You guess?” Grantaire repeated. “And here I thought freedom was the entire point of what we were doing here.” He paused before adding pointedly, “Isn’t it?”
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Of course, but that’s not—”
Grantaire gave him a look. “Ain’t you the one who keeps saying that the working people need to unite because the only thing we have to lose is our reins?”
“Chains, but—”
“Then let a man pack his horse in peace,” Grantaire finished.
Enjolras scowled. “Fine, if you’ll answer me one question.”
“What’s that?” Grantaire asked, not looking over at him.
“Why’d you suddenly decide to pack up now when I started to?”
Something that might’ve been a smile twitched at the corners of Grantaire’s mouth. “Coincidence.”
Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Helluva coincidence.”
“Sure is.”
Still, despite himself, despite everything, Enjolras had to admit that packing up seemed to go faster with Grantaire at his side. Or at the very least, it seemed just a little bit less lonely.
When they were both packed – and the money they’d stolen carefully stashed in Enjolras’s saddlebags – Enjolras pulled himself onto his horse, glancing over at Grantaire. “You heading out?”
“Yessir,” Grantaire said, patting his horse’s neck as he added in an attempt at casual, “Which way are you headed?”
Enjolras jerked his chin toward the horizon. “West.”
Grantaire nodded slowly. “Well, whaddya know,” he said. “So am I.”
Enjolras just shook his head. “Coincidence?” he asked wryly.
Grantaire half-smiled. “Sure is.”
Just as the packing was less lonely with Grantaire by his side, so was the ride. It was early enough that neither man worried too much about anyone else being on the road, though both kept a weather eye out, just in case.
But the ride in comfortable silence could only last for so long, and eventually, Enjolras reined his horse to a stop, Grantaire stopped as well. Enjolras nodded to the fork in the road up ahead. “This is where we part ways,” he said, a note of warning in his voice.
Grantaire’s expression was unreadable. “If you say so.”
“I do,” Enjolras said with conviction. He hesitated before adding, “Thank you for coming all this way with me—”
“It was nothing,” Grantaire interrupted. “I was headed this way anyway.”
Enjolras managed a small smile. “Coincidence.”
Grantaire smiled as well. “Well, something like that, anyway.”
Enjolras nodded, something sharpening in his expression. “Just like it’s coincidence how you always seem to be headed my way after every robbery,” he said lightly.
Grantaire’s smile faded, and he shrugged. “Ain’t the world a remarkable place,” he said noncommittally.
“I suppose it is.” Enjolras glanced over at him. “Where are you headed now?”
Grantaire shrugged again. “Oh, here, there, and around,” he said, purposefully vague, but Enjolras didn’t miss the way his hand twitched toward his gun in its holster. “Got some business to keep an eye on.”
Enjolras frowned. “You know I don’t need you to protect me,” he said bluntly, tired of playing this little game every single time.
To his surprise, Grantaire barked a laugh before running a hand across his mouth. “Enjolras, you don’t need me for a damn thing.”
“I don’t know that I’d go quite that far,” Enjolras said before he could stop himself, and he quickly looked away, feeling the back of his neck burn despite being protected by his hat. “In any case, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at the rendezvous.”
Grantaire nodded. “Yessir.” He kneed his horse forward, ostensibly toward the fork Enjolras wasn’t taking, then paused, turning back to face him. “Oh, and Enjolras?”
“Yeah?”
Grantaire raised his chin just slightly. “Anytime you want it to be something other than a coincidence, all you have to do is say the word.”
Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “I know,” he said, his voice low.
For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might say something more, but instead he just touched the brim of his hat before kneeing his horse forward again. Enjolras watched him go before starting forward once again, alone.