The Darkest Night Will End

Saint Michelle, Paris, November 23rd, 1831

Jacquelyn worked to steady their breathing, retying their cravat from where it had come undone whilst running from the national guard.

The rally had been doing fairly well, and they were part way into the speeches when Bahorel had first reported the national guard was beginning to take notice, but Enjolras still insisted that they continue.

Now, their friends were scattered across the streets of Paris, last they'd seen Gavroche and his brats were running towards the Bastille, and as Charles was trying to pull Alexander out of the way of an officer on horseback.

Tugging their braids back into places and shoving them up into their hat, Jacquelyn pushed off the wall of the alley, nervously tugging at the cuffs of their jacket as they started into the street.

The streets were still in partial chaos, uniformed officers barking orders at the peasants and merchants, demanding to know where the insurgents had gone.

Pulling their hat lower over their face they set off, making sure to check every alley for their friends.

"Shit shit shit shit shit." They muttered, ducking out of the way of another officer, this one wiping blood from his baton.

A few minutes later Jacquelyn found themself rushing into an alley, "Basset!"

"Jack." He groaned. 

"What happened?" They asked, starting to help him sit up.

He winced again, pressing a hand to his side, "I'm not sure." 

"You think you can make it back to Musian?" They asked.

"Maybe." He groaned.

Jacquelyn nodded, grabbing his arm to pull him up and slinging it over their shoulder to help him walk, "We'll have to go through the alleys."

They began to hobble down the alley, following the winding maze between the buildings and only crossing onto the streets when necessary.

"Jack!"

Jacquelyn turned to see Charles stood near the opening of one of the many crisscrossing back alleys, "Charlie! Oh dear, are you alright? Where's Alex?"

"I'm here," The man in question groaned from where he was stooped against a wall, "Drunkards here too."

"Grantaire?" Jacquelyn helped Basset to lean on the wall to support himself before rushing forward, to where someone else was nearly sprawled across the ground, "Is he alright?"

Charles sighed, "Pushed me and Alex out of the way of the Paddy Wagon."

Jacquelyn knelt down, quickly doing their best to check over the man to make sure he wasn't in any major harm by just laying there, "He wasn't- run over was he?"

"No," Alexander shook his head, "Shoved us, fell, tried to roll out of the way and got a little stepped on by an officer."

"You sure it wasn't a horse?" They asked, pushed Grantaire's unruly hair out of his face to see what would soon become a bruise.

"Horse'd've broken 'is nose again."

"I'm fine," The drunk groaned weakly, trying to push Jacquelyn away, "Let me sleep in peace, Jackie."

"Grantaire you idiot!" Jacquelyn scolded.

Grantaire still tried to wave them away, already slipping back into unconsciousness.

They sighed, standing up, "We have to move."

Ten minutes later found Jacquelyn shoving open the door to the cafe and rushing Basset toward the stairs, calling to madame Hachaloupe, "Combeferre make it back?"