R with stretched ear lobes who puts pens and brushes and all kinds of weird shit in them. Joly makes sure he doesn’t damage them but also holds bets how many straws Bossuet and Musicetta can put in them when R falls asleep on their sofa
47. Fall (Les
Miserables- Sailing by Orion’s Star Pirate AU)
‘Rene, watch out!’ Feuilly shouts, voice already ragged because it’s
already too late.
the shout but doesn’t quite understand it.
why he’s on the deck of the Libertie, why
Courfeyrac and Jehan and Joly are streaking past him; dodging over the
creaking, salt stained deck that is tainted with blood which is not their own.
Rene who had
already gone through so much, too much to get to this moment and now…
Now he can see a
carbine curled in Javert’s fist, although how he managed to acquire one and how
he managed to escape the brig are questions that he cannot answer.
Now he can see his
oldest, closest friend, his brother in all but blood lying with his head
propped up in Feuilly’s lap; his face a deathly shade of pale that can only
Dear God, not Enjolras. Not now…
He moves without
thought, without acknowledgement; pushing his way through the gathering crowd,
all shocked into a stunned silence so that all that can be heard is the creak
of the ship and the whistle of the wind in the rigging.
The silence is
eerie, telling him things that he would rather not hear and Combeferre cannot
Your best friend.
beside him in an instant; eyes wild and breathing ragged, fire-filled gaze
falling in a blaze of desperate heat on Javert and it is all Combeferre can do
to catch the centre’s arm and try to pull him back.
Courfeyrac’s given name comes to his lips without hesitation, but the weight of
his friend is too strong as the centre desperately tries to get away; whole
body trembling with rage as he glares at Javert.
‘You shot him! You absolute bastard! I swear
to god, I knock you flat and then keep going!’
Each word is spat
into the silence; blistered, broken words fraught with a fire that is heavy
There’s no point Auden, Combeferre
thinks desperately, unable to speak; pressing the struggling body closer to his
chest; listening his friend’s frantic, tear stained breathing as the struggles
finally begin to cease.
Courfeyrac closer, carding shaking fingers through his friend’s hair; drinking in
the bloody perfume of sweat and gunpowder that covers them both like a cloak.
‘Enough Mon Ami. That’s enough,’ the words come
out choked, but he has no wish to swallow his tears; not when his oldest friend
is perilously close to death’s door.
Around them he can
hear the thud of the waves crashing against the Libertie’s hull; the broken breathing of friends and foe unsure of
where their lives will go in the next few minutes.
Courfeyrac stops fighting.
Combeferre feels the body so full of fire go limp against his chest; one trembling
hand reaching to grasp his own and squeeze.
fingers cry out for the third hand; the one still clasped in Feuilly’s.