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"So what's in Pennsylvania?"
It's eleven, and Enjolras and Grantaire switched places an hour ago. Enjolras is curled up against the door with a pillow jammed behind his head but he's having trouble sleeping--he's used to Combeferre's presence, and when they drove all night like this he'd stretch out across the seats and nudge his toes under the intelluct's thighs.
He doesn't dare do that with Grantaire, but apparently the alcoholic has noticed that he hasn't fallen asleep yet.
He clears his throat and says, "Pardon?"
"We're going to Pennsylvania, right?" Grantaire is a nervous driver, and Enjolras appreciates his carefulness; it's dangerous to drive recklessly at night, and his speeds are barely topping twenty. But the caution doesn't stop him from anxiously tapping a beat out against the steering wheel, a rhythm that Enjolras thinks belongs to a rap song he might have once heard. "So why there?"
"Oh." He yawns, rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes. "Joly's girlfriend lives there, and I promised him we'd look for her."
He says nothing of Bossuet, despite their relationship; how he sees it Joly is the heart of it, and Musichetta and Bossuet are together only thanks to him (besides, he isn't quite sure how Grantaire feels about a polyamorous relationship, and he's too tired for a fight).
Grantaire nods; he rubs his thumb against the inside seam of the steering wheel, where the stitching is rough and catches against his callouses. He's quiet again and Enjolras eventually dozes off to the soothing sound of the engine and the endless hum of the road disappearing beneath their tires.
When he wakes up next, Grantaire is mumbling. It's low and barely more than a whisper, and from the hoarse quality of his voice he suspects the sniper's been talking for a while. Very slowly he opens his eyes; the interior of the truck is nearly pitch black, and he can only make out the lit edges of Grantaire's profile from the light off the dashboard.
"I usually only tell Jehan things like this," he's saying, and Enjolras doesn't know why but he pretends to be asleep; this feels private, and he's afraid to interrupt (but shouldn't he? Grantaire doesn't realize he's awake; clearly this is meant for someone else, yet Enjolras stays true to his decision). "But I figure you're asleep, and he's in the back, and I've really got no other options, huh?"
His laugh is humorless, and his restless hands resume their dance against the leather. "I don't like Pennsylvania," he says softly. "The virus came out, what? Eight months ago? And I haven't even checked."
He sighs, glances sidelong at Enjolras, and he's glad that his blonde eyelashes are thick enough that they cover the thin gaps he's allowed himself to see through. He tries not to flinch (that would give him away) and Grantaire looks back at the road.
"I guess that makes me a pretty shitty son," he says, and he sounds so vulnerable that Enjolras hesitates to keep this charade up. "But that man... that fucker, he doesn't deserve anything from me, not even me seeing if he's alive. Right?"
Enjolras is tempted to answer him but he doesn't have a chance to do so; Grantaire is barreling on before he's made his choice. "I guess it's pretty fucked up that everybody abandons him though," he says doubtfully. "And I'd be pretty fucked up if I did the same.
"But eight months," he exhales. "That's a long time. Hell, he's probably dead by now anyway."
He enunciates 'dead' softer than he does anything else, as though he barely dares to say it. Enjolras wonders how Grantaire truly feels about his father and knows that not even the sniper understands the depth of their relationship, and for some reason that saddens him. He truly wants to help him but he doesn't know how, and he finally moves only when Grantaire is silent for a long while.
He looks over when Enjolras stirs, grins as though nothing is wrong. He says, "Good morning, sunshine."
Enjolras manages a smile in reply and he sits up, yawns as he reaches over to grab the walkie talkie. He does it without thinking (unconsciously he already feels closer to Grantaire, though it does not occur to him that Grantaire may not feel the same way) when he slides a hand into Grantaire's pocket and braces his weight on the sniper's thigh in order to tug the radio free.
He doesn't notice but Grantaire sucks a surprised breath in through his teeth, and has resumed his endless finger tapping by the time Enjolras sits back. He readjusts in his seat, turning sideways and putting the pillow at his back so he can rest comfortably against the door. "Who's driving?" He asks. "Over."
It takes a moment to get a reply, and Grantaire pulls himself together during the wait. He's grateful that Enjolras is picking at a hole in his jeans rather than watching him, and eventually manages to steady his hands.
"I'm driving." It's Marius, his voice scratchy over the connection, and he's talking in an quiet undertone (no doubt so as to not wake up his companion). "How's it going over there? Over."
"Good." Enjolras smiles warmly at Grantaire (who lifts an incredulous eyebrow in response). "But it's getting pretty cold, and I think the boys could use an actual bed, over."
The bed of the trucks are stacked full of supplies, water and gasoline and food and seeds, and although his friends don't complain, he knows it can't be too restful to stretch out over lumpy boxes. He glances back into their own bed and can only make out vague shapes curled under wool blankets, but thinks the three in there are huddled together for safety and warmth.
"I think that's a good idea," Marius answers, and has to pause to yawn. "I'm getting tired, and everyone else is asleep, over."
"Alright. Follow us, over."
He signals for Grantaire to slow down and pull over, which he does only with an appropriate amount of caution. Thankfully they're nowhere near the woods, and when he turns his headlights sweep over the meadow stretched out to their left (just as fortunately, it's completely empty). He kills the engine and both of them get out, watching Marius ease in behind them.
He steps out and apparently he's woken his passenger because Bahorel jumps down too, in the midst of a yawn smothered into the crook of his arm. The four circle up and Enjolras says decisively, "We need to wake up everyone and let them know what we're doing."
Bahorel cocks an eyebrow at him. "What are we doing?"
"We're going into this town to try and clear a house for the night," he says, gesturing at the 'Welcome to Cowen' sign behind him. "It's small, and I don't see any walkers out here, so I think just a few of us would be best."
"I'll come." The immediate volunteering comes from Grantaire, much to Enjolras' surprise; Bahorel snorts and says, "I'll come too."
They rouse the boys and explain their plan, and once they've finished Combeferre smiles a bit at Enjolras and nods. He knows that he must stay behind; while Enjolras officially leads them Combeferre's organizational skills are just as vital to their survival, and if they're both killed their group will have a difficult time recovering. He does not ask to come, as is expected.
Marius does, and is quickly shot down; he's too tired, and Enjolras can see the strain behind his smile. "Get some rest," he says, and gently squeezes his shoulder. Courfeyrac offers to fill his slot, and Jehan comes too because he apparently won't let Grantaire get too far away from him (Enjolras doesn't ask, but he is curious--Jehan sidles up to Grantaire and leaves no space between them, and he wonders if Jehan's worried the sniper will do something reckless).
Their smaller group of five (in the end it's whittled down to Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Grantaire and Bahorel) take the road into town on foot. Enjolras reconsiders not picking up a smaller car just for missions like this, and has decided by the time they reach the first building that he's going to find one, preferably somewhere on their way to Pennsylvania. He would not risk taking a truck laden with supplies into an unknown city, not when the possibility of them getting killed and their truck swarmed is nearly palpable.
Enjolras follows Main Street in the logical assumption that they'll be able to find an easily protected house there, and they find no zombies as they walk. Enjolras picks a house he likes--it's small and has few windows, but is also equipped with both a front and back door. He signals the boys over to get their opinions.
Grantaire is at the rear of the group to put his long-range gun to good use and Jehan is right in front of him, but it's the former who first hears the crunch of dry leaves. He quickly turns, his safety off, ready to beat a zombie to its knees with his gun if he has too, when he sees instead a human woman.
He makes a startled noise that garners Jehan's attention, who turns and instinctively grabs Grantaire's elbow, dragging him backwards. "Enjolras!" He calls, towing them both towards the other three (the woman disappears, her long blonde hair following her around the corner of a dark house). "There's someone here."
They put their backs to each other and form a circle like the settlers against the Native Americans, and Enjolras says loudly, "Hello?" There is no response, and he frowns a bit when he tries again. "We're not here to hurt you."
"That's good." It's a woman, husky and low, and her voice seems disembodied (but Grantaire thinks it's coming from somewhere above them). "'Cause we hate when you guys try to put up a fight."
"Set your weapons on the ground!" The blonde is back, holding a shotgun in her arms that Grantaire knows could seriously wound them all with just one shot.
Enjolras is stunned and not moving, so Grantaire takes the intiative and asks lowly, "Put 'em down or fight?"
That snaps him back and he says quickly, "Put them down," because there aren't enough humans left in the world and he won't be responsible for the deaths of two more. Begrudingly, the others follow his orders; Grantaire bends down to put his rifle at his feet and with his face turned away from the blonde, winks at Jehan.
He knows what this means, and sheds only the hunting knife he was holding in his right hand. His sword, strapped to his back and hidden underneath his braided hair and a ridiculously oversized sweater with a tortoise on it, is invisible, and kept.
"Nightingale," she calls, and her voice is soft and light; in comparison, the second woman who appears behind them, stalking around a building, is her exact opposite. Where the first is pallid and golden and soft, with large bright eyes and a mouth that is smiling even now, this newcomer, the 'Nightingale', is all angles; she's thin and dark and her eyes glitter like secret blades.
"You guys have supplies stashed around here?" She asks, collecting their weapons. She's quick, and it's obvious Bahorel is tempted to grab at her when she picks up his baseball bat; almost as though she knows she shies back at the last moment, safely sticking the bat under her arm.
Enjolras is frowning at them, looking somewhere between disappointed and hopeful. Grantaire knows where this is going before the blonde even opens his mouth. "We can share," he offers. "You don't have to steal from us."
Nightingale looks back at her friend, who is biting her bottom lip. "Lark?" She asks when she doesn't get a prompt response. "What do you want to do?"
They step a ways away but Lark does not turn her shotgun from them, and host a conversation in low tones. The boys can catch only a few snippets, and soon Grantaire tires of trying to eavesdrop. "Are you going to try and recruit them?" He asks Enjolras dryly, who frowns at him. "Because we could definitely use some women."
Jehan steps on his toes and Grantaire grinds his teeth together, but he stops talking. Enjolras is bemused; he's unsure why Grantaire sounded so bitter in that remark, but judging from the way Courfeyrac is looking at him he knows more than he's saying. Enjolras reminds himself to ask his friend later what that tone meant, but is interrupted from his thoughts by the women's return.
"We don't trust you," Nightingale says first, crossing her arms under her breasts.
"But we also don't wish to harm you, if we don't need to." The Lark smiles a bit at them, and lowers her gun. "We are letting you go in good faith, and believe that you are being honest; you may pick up your weapons."
Enjolras smiles broadly and slides his retrieved pistol into his pocket. "Thank you," he says. "You will not regret this decision. But we were planning to stay the night in one of these houses, and we would appreciate if you would still let us do so."
The woman exchange a look, and Lark says, "Certainly."
"I expect there are more of you?" Nightingale asks, and Enjolras nods. "Bring them in then."
"We may share supper tonight," Lark offers, "If you would like to."
Enjolras smiles and Grantaire snorts, beginning the trek back to the trucks. Jehan trots after him but Bahorel and Courfeyrac linger for a few more moments with their leader. "We'll be right back."
They catch up to Grantaire and Jehan, and the former is apparently giving everybody the silent treatment because he does not talk. Jehan looks dismayed, and trots to keep up with Grantaire's brisk walking.
For the most part everybody is still awake when they get back, with only a few of them dozing (Marius is among those numbers, Enjolras is happy to note). They drive the trucks into town and this time when Enjolras gets behind the steering wheel he's expecting Grantaire; he's surprised when Combeferre joins him instead.
He doesn't wish to ask over Grantaire but in the end he doesn't need to; Combeferre is practically his brother, and he answers the unvoiced question. "He's in the back with Jehan," he says. "He suggested I sit up front so I can hear about the women you found."
Enjolras sighs; he doesn't know how, or why, but clearly he's irritated Grantaire in some fashion. Considering the fact that Enjolras had barely got him to lower this armor enough to provide a toehold, Enjolras is certain that he's going to have to start all over again to win him over, and the idea is daunting enough that he says nothing more and merely drives.