The City That We Loved

Epilogue: See the New Day Dawn

Beep...Beep...Beep.

Enjolras slowly opened his eyes.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep.

The heart rate monitor sped up as he felt the most agonizing pain spread through his body. And as he realized, he wasn't dead. He felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down, and then euphoria seeping into his veins. He managed to focus and saw Joly standing over him, a small smile on his face.

"Welcome back," he said. Enjolras shifted in the bed uncomfortably despite the morphine Joly had just given him.

"H-How...where...how am I here?" Enjolras asked. He hated the way his voice sounded. Dry and cracked.

"You were lucky, that's for sure," Joly said. "Feuilly told us you went to the cafe but we already knew that there would be a group of the National guard waiting for you. We texted you but you didn't reply. So Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and I went looking for you and we found you and Grantaire riddled with bullets, half dead on the floor."

"Grantaire?" Enjolras said. "Is he...is he okay?"

"Oh yeah, he's fine now," Joly explained. "You got most of it. Eight bullets, my friend, and you aren't paralyzed so that is a feat in itself." Enjolras rested his head back on the pillow. "You've been out for almost a month now. The doctors here didn't think you'd ever wake up. I'll have to let Combeferre and Courfeyrac know."

"Are they here?" Enjolras asked. Joly nodded.

"'Ferre and Courf have been here everyday since the sixth," Joly explained. "They just went downstairs to get some lunch. They should be back soon. And they have some good news for you. I'll go get them." Enjolras stared at him as he left the room.

Good news? What kind of good news could they bring me? Half of my friends are dead, I'm half dead in hospital, and we lost. There's no good news that could ever make me happy, Enjolras thought. A tear rolled down his cheek as he recalled everything he'd lost during the uprising. His friends, his vision. Everything that ever mattered to him was gone.

Then, Courfeyrac came into the room, followed by Combeferre. They both rushed to his bed and hugged him tightly. Enjolras squirmed uncomfortably.

"Ow! Ow!" he exclaimed. They backed off.

"Sorry," Courfeyrac said, a big smile on his face. "Guess morphine doesn't help that much. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot eight times," Enjolras muttered. "And I'm really thirsty." He looked around the room and for the first time noticed all the flowers and other gifts. There was even a bear on the bedside table that was wearing a red jacket and had a red flag in his hand. The tag said it was from Courfeyrac. "I...thank you."

"You deserve it, Enjolras," Courfeyrac said. "Like you said, you got shot eight times. A man deserves gifts for surviving that."

"Joly said you had good news for me?" Enjolras said. Courfeyrac and Combeferre smiled at him and then at each other. "What? Are you two getting married or something?"

"I would mention the whole Grantaire kissy thing but I don't think this is the best time," Courfeyrac said. Enjolras sighed and let out a small laugh. Thinking back on it, it seemed so petty in those moments of pain and death. Maybe the kiss helped keep their hopes up a bit, providing a good laugh.

"What's the good news? Please, tell me. I'm dying with anticipation," Enjolras said. Courfeyrac and Combeferre looked at him, not very approving of the way he phrased that sentence. "Okay, bad choice of words. Please tell me. Before I pass out from all this morphine."