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Dinner that evening is canned soup, supplemented with vegetables grown under Jehan's loving touch. When he first pulls out the carrots and the potatoes Courfeyrac could have kissed him; he satisfies himself with hugging Jehan instead, and when he doesn't think the gardener is looking, pressing a kiss to the top of his golden head.
(Jehan has indeed noticed, and blushes under his bangs.)
"We haven't seen fresh vegetables for a long time," Combeferre tells him, as if to excuse his companion's wayward behavior. "I've tried to grow them before but the seeds don't seem to take in much of the soil I've used."
Jehan is about as passionate for gardening as he is for literature, and he comes and sits opposite Combeferre so they can talk. Bahorel is seated on the floor near a garbage sack and is popping the soup cans open with deft twists of his knife, Feuilly to his right accepting each one and dumping them into a large pot between his legs.
'R' had made it clear that his true name is Grantaire, and told them that he doesn't really care what they call him either way. He disappears behind the barricade after dinner and Enjolras can hear him scaling the blockade, imagines that the drunkard knows the best way to get to his favored perch near the ceiling. He's quiet once he settles and Enjolras finds himself continuously glancing up at him, able to see only the muzzle of his gun and wondering if he'd yet fallen asleep.
Courfeyrac and Marius take the first watch and situate themselves on the edge of the roof, where it's easier to monitor all sides. They have two pairs of binoculars and talk quietly as the night wears on, waking Feuilly and Bahorel for their turn at one am. Although nobody notices the mouth of Grantaire's gun tracks their movements while they creep in and out, and swings away from them when they resettle on the floor.
The morning brings no cruel surprises and Jehan and Grantaire pack up the little belongings they have. Grantaire rarely speaks to them--when he feels the need to talk he murmurs something to Jehan, who giggles and pats his head or kisses him fondly on the hands. Enjolras notices that both are tactile in different ways; while the blonde sits near the window organizing breakfast he watches the way they interact, and finds himself made curious by their relationship.
Combeferre, who misses nothing, lets Enjolras stew in silence for a while before he remarks, "I think they're only good friends."
Enjolras glances at him but doesn't seem surprised by his input (he never is--although multiple exes have complained of his cold exterior, Combeferre does not seem to have a problem translating his marble expressions). "They touch a lot," he comments, sounding unimpressed, and Combeferre chuckles.
Before either can comment further on it there's a shout from the roof, and Joly, keeping watch with Bossuet, calls down, "Seven walkers inbound."
Grantaire looks up and sets one hand on his rifle, uses the other to take a swig of whiskey. He walks over to the balcony and squints; when he focuses he can make out their trembling silhouettes trailing behind them.
"I got 'em," he says, and makes as though to lay down.
He's stayed momentarily by Enjolras, who arches his eyebrow and says incredulously, "You'll do it? You're drunk."
Grantaire sighs and stretches out on his stomach, setting his rifle up methodically. He peers through the scope and for him it's as simple as breathing; seven muffled booms and below, an answering thump of a suddenly motionless body falling down. He scans the horizon for more and when he's satisfied there isn't any, sits up.
Enjolras is staring with a partially opened mouth and clicks it shut when Grantaire glances at him. He's grinning when he says smugly, "I shoot better drunk."
He climbs to a stand and returns to Jehan, who giggles when Grantaire whispers something to him. Combeferre laughs quietly when Enjolras looks at him and says frankly, "If you want to make a friend, Enjolras, you shouldn't doubt his shooting abilities."
Enjolras sighs and one corner of his mouth twitches into a reluctant smile (Combeferre is faithfully capable of pulling him out of these moods). "I suppose I should say sorry," he allows.
Combeferre snorts, using the back of his hand to push up his glasses. "I suppose you should."
But when he gets up to try Grantaire walks determinedly past him, carrying a load for the truck downstairs. At his heels Jehan mouths, 'Sorry' and looks apologetic as he passes.
They load up the truck in short time, many of them congratulating Grantaire on his shooting. "I tried to snipe once before," Courfeyrac tells him proudly. They're seated in the bed of the truck, rearranging the supplies so everything fits. Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet and Feuilly are all working with them, the latter four carrying boxes to the second truck they've thieved--Combeferre had wisely pointed out that perhaps getting another vehicle would be smart and this way in case of emergencies each group would have a few weeks of supplies.
"I wouldn't have guessed that," Grantaire answers with a laugh, taking a drink from the whiskey bottle he carries with him religiously. "Why did you stop?"
"The dumb shit nearly broke his collarbone," Bahorel says as he picks up a crate loaded with bottled water.
Joly, balancing a box of cans against his hip, says, "It wasn't very pretty," and gives Courfeyrac a loaded look.
"Yeah, yeah," Courfeyrac says, waving one hand. "It was kinda stupid of me."
"Kinda?" Bahorel echoes dubiously. He looks at Grantaire when he says, "It was really stupid of him."
Feuilly trots up behind them, ready for a second load, and asks, "Are we talking about Courfeyrac?" A cigarette dangles from one corner of his mouth and it bobs when he smiles, Bahorel laughing as he turns away.
"Course we are," he answers. "Definitely couldn't be talking about anyone else--we've used the term 'stupid' to describe them."
The trio chuckle as they return to the other truck, and Jehan shows up from the library entrance, squinting against the sunlight and carrying a duffel bag across one shoulder. "Here," he tells Grantaire, hefting it into his lap. "This is the rest of ours."
He wears a purple crocus behind his ear this morning, and Courfeyrac doesn't realize he's staring until Jehan asks curiously, "Can I get you something?"
"Oh," he says quickly, tries to gather up his scattered thoughts. "A band-aid."
Grantaire snorts and roots through the bag (he knows where this is going) and maybe Jehan does too because he smiles a bit when he asks, "Why?"
"Because I scraped my knee falling for you," Courfeyrac says with a dazzling smile. This is territory he's familiar in; he's expecting Jehan to swoon, and is thus caught off guard when the blonde giggles instead.
"That's cute," he says, plucking another crocus blossom from further on down his plait. "Here: as a token of my affection." He tucks it into Courfeyrac's frizzy hair (who will not willingly admit that he blushes, or leans forward to make it easier) and blows a kiss at Grantaire before returning inside. Courfeyrac looks longingly after him, and starts when Grantaire slaps him on the shoulder.
"You might wanna rethink this," he tells him, grinning (but he's using way too many teeth). "Jehan's a real cutie but he won't take your shit, and don't think that I will either."
"Whoa, whoa," Courfeyrac says, putting up both his hands. "I didn't do anything."
"I know." Grantaire climbs to a stand and jumps over the siderails, landing hard on the cement. "Just keep it in mind."
By noon they're ready to go and Enjolras still hasn't found time to apologize. They've cleaned the town of food and water and Feuilly has sprayed 'NO SUPPLIES NO SURVIVORS' on the welcome signs on either end of the city. They split in half and figure out seating with the trucks and Enjolras ends up in the same one as Grantaire, Jehan, Courfeyrac and Combeferre. He's expecting his best friend to join him in the cab as he starts the engine so he's surprised when the door opens and Grantaire gets in instead, laying his Dragunov rifle across his lap and squeezing his flask between his knees.
Enjolras blinks at him and clears his throat, says pointedly, "I thought Combeferre was going to ride with me."
"He asked me to be in the front," Grantaire answers shortly. "Said if there were walkers in the way I'd be a better shot than him."
Enjolras stubbornly ignores the temptation to ask, "Do you really think you can shoot a running zombie in a moving car with the amount of alcohol in your system?" and manages to sound polite when he says instead, "Well I'm glad for your company."
Grantaire turns and looks at him and Enjolras' skin prickles under the attention (he has a sniper's eyes, Enjolras thinks. They're as focused as a scope, and the intensity behind them as dangerous). "Sure," he finally says, scooting down to slouch in his seat. He sits bonelessly, with his legs stretched out under the dash. "Always happy to entertain."
They're on the outskirts of the small city of Monticello when Enjolras passes the walkie talkie to Grantaire. He'd been half-asleep and he looks up at the radio, cocks an eyebrow when he takes it. "You want me to call someone?" He asks, sarcastic as always, and Enjolras makes a point to breathe through his nose before he says patiently, "Yes please."
Feuilly, who's driving the other truck, has the walkie talkie's twin, and the speakers crackle when Grantaire hits the microphone button and says, "Hey, Enjolras wants something."
Feuilly's voice comes on in the middle of a laugh, and he says, "I think you're supposed to say over. Over."
Grantaire produces a long-suffering sigh and Enjolras hides a smile and bites his cheek. "Okay, smartass," he replies, "Enjolras wants something. Over."
"What's the question? Over."
Grantaire looks at Enjolras and hits the mic. "Where are we going to stop tonight?" he asks and Grantaire tacks on, "Over."
There's a momentary lull, where Feuilly is no doubt discussing the options with the people in his cab and bed, and then he returns. "Bahorel thinks it's gonna take about five hours to get to Ashland if we keep on the back roads," he says. "Maybe we should just drive through the night. Over."
Enjolras looks again at Grantaire, who has his cheek pressed against the window and appears to be right about in the same level of rest as he did before. His eyelids are drooping and he yawns, but he turns his head all the same when Enjolras asks, "Do you think you can drive after me?"
"Sure," he says with an idle shrug that only one shoulder accomplishes (the other is too comfortable, leaned into the door as it is). He thumbs the button and answers, "We're good to drive through the night, over."
Grantaire dozes off and on for a few hours but he doesn't seem to get much sleep; Enjolras watches him from the corner of his eye and wonders if perhaps he has a sleep disorder. Every time he starts awake he takes a drink of alcohol, coughs through the burn and returns to looking out the window.
By six it's getting dark, and they've just barely made it into West Virginia. No one is familiar with the roads here and the going is slow; they have to keep stopping to double-check maps, and Enjolras' truck is practically running on fumes.
It's pure luck when they find a little gas station on the edge of a town that Joly says he thinks is Pineville, and the boys quickly set to work. They have a system in place and they've done this dozens of times before-- Courfeyrac and Marius hook their improvised generator up to the pumps and Bahorel slides out of the truck bed with a bat to provide coverage. Enjolras is standing out there with them and left Grantaire in the car, the driver's window rolled down to provide a breeze.
Grantaire suddenly says, "Mine," and Enjolras turns to ask what he means when his rifle cracks--a zombie stumbling out of the nearby tree line trips and falls. It twitches once but doesn't move again as Grantaire has blown a hole clean through its skull and even the zombies can't recover from that amount of head trauma.
"Jeeesus," Courfeyrac says, leaning around Enjolras to see. "How the hell can you do that?"
Jehan throws himself nimbly over the siderails and calls, "Mine!" over his shoulder, which Grantaire respects--he turns his rifle away from the zombie that's appeared behind the first one, and the boys watch in surprise as Jehan lunges at it. He's wearing floral skinny jeans he's 'borrowed' from a Wal-Mart and somehow is still a sight to behold; he kicks soundly the man in the chest and it falls backwards, catches itself on a splayed foot. The off-balance gives Jehan the opening he needs and he uses the sword he wears at his waist to behead it.
"You might want to hurry up a bit," he says when he looks back, and Courfeyrac is staring at him with a wide-opened mouth. He's never seen anyone move like that--Bahorel is strong but not fast, and he can't tango with the undead like Jehan can.
Marius elbows him with a knowing smile and Courfeyrac flushes, says, "Yeah, yeah, we're almost done." By the time they get the truck filled and the generator resettled Jehan has taken out two more, claiming them beforehand each time. Enjolras admires how they work together, that Grantaire has Jehan's back even when he's called it; he's aimed on the zombie's forehead and he's ready to take the shot if something goes wrong.
He returns to the truck and Jehan jumps in the back, where Courfeyrac scoots over to make room for him. Grantaire is leaning across the seats to keep his sight and he doesn't move when Enjolras gets in; he breathes steadily through his mouth and his chest brushes Enjolras' arm on each inhale.
He moves only when Enjolras gets the engine started and the blonde feels sorry for it (for a reason he doesn't like to try and name). Grantaire draws a knee to his chest and yawns as he rests his jaw on it, his rifle lovingly cushioned against him.
"You're a good shot," Enjolras tells him as they ease out of the parking lot. He's focused on driving, and misses the way Grantaire smiles (for once it's soft, and human, and is lacking the strength he usually shows that is so like the cold metal of his gun).
"Thanks."