A/N: Okay, don't shoot me for this. This is, without a doubt, the strangest-and maybe the dumbest-thing I've ever written. Just sit back, relax, and I hope you enjoy the show!

Enjolras: I just read this and am highly disgusted!

Me: Well your fault for getting drunk!

Grantaire: She's right!

Enjolras: Shut up, winecask!

Grantaire: You are so sexy…..

Enjolras: What was that?! *FIGHTING ENSUES*

Me: *HITS THEM ON THE HEAD WITH THE RED FLAG*

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Grantaire sat in his usual corner of the Café Musain, holding his usual bottle of what everybody thought was absinthe. In all honesty, it was grape juice. He was afraid to drink. He was afraid to consume alcohol because he thought he was….well, you know! It was impossible, he reminded himself as he gripped the grape juice bottle even tighter in his hand. Men can't be….well, you know.

The cynic sighed as he recalled what was perhaps the best night of his shitty life. Him, in the backroom of the Café, with the man he loved. Grantaire had loved him for a long time, but had never dared to give so much as a blow of a kiss in his direction. Either way, that night, his golden god had gotten drunk at the suggestion of Courfeyrac, the cheeky Irishman….Grantaire made a mental note to thank him later. His Apollo downed the bottle of whiskey like Grantaire usually did. Apollo passed a boundary of drunkenness that even Grantaire had not, and that worried Grantaire. Grantaire was usually the drunk one, or, at least, the one who was in the greatest state of drunkenness.

()()()()()()()()o_o()()()()()()()()

Everybody had left the café and had headed home. The only two people left were the strangely sober Grantaire and the dangerously drunk Enjolras.

Enjolras had taken up a quill pen and was trying to write on of his speeches that he was to give tomorrow in San Michel. The words that the drunk man were writing were awkward and varying in size and shape. One thing was for sure, Enjolras was writing gibberish. Even Enjolras knew this, and he plunked his head in defeat to the wooden table. A THUNK! and a groan emitted from the golden man's perfect body.

Grantaire hesitantly approached his Apollo and touched his shoulder. "Apollo, are you okay? Do you need me to walk you home?" he asked, taking the quill sharpening knife away from Enjolras' grasp. No use in having him try and commit suicide or hurt himself on accident.

Enjolras sharply turned his gaze to Grantaire….who, suddenly, looked incredibly sexy. "Grantaire," he slurred, tackling the cynic to the ground. "Want you. Want you now."

Grantaire was trembling beneath him. He'd dreamed of this moment and, now, with Enjolras' strawberry-golden hair falling into his face, with Enjolras' perfect rosebud lips, and Enjolras' deep blue eyes so close to his face, it was too perfect. It was too innocent. How many nights, Grantaire asked himself, have I dreamed of this moment? But, know that his golden Apollo was drunk and probably wouldn't remember this (which was probably for the better), Grantaire knew that it was not the right thing to do.

"No," he said firmly, pushing Enjolras off of him. Enjolras tumbled off and landed on his back, his beautiful locks splaying out behind him like the halo that Grantaire secretly suspected that he possessed.

Enjolras tackled Grantaire down to the ground and trapped him in a fiery kiss. Grantaire gasped, opening his mouth to let a breath out, and Enjolras took the opportunity to put his tongue in the shivering man's mouth. Grantaire sighed, for it did not seem like he was going to get out of this situation any time soon. He could only comply as Enjolras stripped himself and Grantaire. He could only comply as Enjolras banged him against the bar of the café. He could only comply as he lay in his own sweat and finish, his Apollo splayed out next to him, with a look of peace and finality as his beautiful and elegant sleeping mask.

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Grantaire knew that there was only one person that he could trust with his secret, and that was Joly. Joly was a doctor-in-training, and, to hell with it, he would be the only one Grantaire could honestly say would not go and tell the secret to everybody.

"Um, Joly?" Grantaire asked, walking up to his friend. Joly was sitting with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who had convinced Joly that the bubonic plague was back and spreading rapidly through Paris. Of course, the young doctor was in hysterics, the hypochondriac. "Can I talk to you?"

Joly shivered. "Yeah, sure….just don't give me the plague! All the unsanitary things…."

Grantaire led Joly to the back room of the Musain and took a deep breath. He was not prepared for this, and hell, who was? It's not every day that a man thinks that he might be….well, you know what I mean. "I don't know how to explain this, but," Grantaire started, "I think I might be….well, I should tell you my symptoms before jumping to conclusions."

Joly sat down and nodded, nudging Grantaire to continue.

"Anyway, for the past three months, I've been experiencing nausea, vomiting, and….morning sickness. I know it's impossible, but I think I might be…."

"Pregnant."

"Yeah, pregnant."

"Well," Joly frowned, "I've never heard of this. I'll have to examine you and monitor you."

The doctor pressed and kneaded Grantaire's stomach area, frowning at some points and smiling at others. Finally, he pressed a cool stethoscope to Grantaire's stomach, listening for any unusual sounds. Joly also jotted down some notes and spoke to himself, mumbling under his breath.

"Well?" Grantaire asked. "Am I pregnant or what?"

Joly offered a sympathetic smile. "Yes. You're showing all the signs and symptoms of a pregnant woman. Congratulations."

Grantaire's mind swirled with emotion. Oh God, I'm pregnant! What the fuck am I going to do? How did I even get pregnant? Most importantly, how is this baby going to get out?!

His mind was also flooded with images of a cherubic little baby that looked just like his Apollo. The baby would have curly golden hair, gorgeous, deep blue eyes, a round, heart-shaped face, a grin that shone like the stars, and the heart of a revolutionary, just like…..his father. Shit, what was he going to tell Enjolras? He was knocked up by Enjolras, of all people….Enjolras would probably end up thinking that Grantaire had raped him or something else like that. Grantaire winced as he realized that he would have to tell Enjolras about the baby eventually, sooner or later. For this situation, Grantaire decided, later was better. No matter, as long as the baby got nothing of him. Grantaire didn't want an ugly little baby with his face running around, with his boorish personality or drinking habits. It would be a curse, and damn him if it happened.

"Grantaire?"

Grantaire snapped back to reality. "Sweet Jesus. What am I going to tell…."

"Enjolras?"

"How did you know?" Grantaire asked suspiciously.

"Come on, two of our members make love in the café and we don't know it? By the way that's unsanitary. Anyway, we found some…..mayonnaise, so to put it, behind the bar. I'm never drinking here again," Joly answered. He was well composed, considering the situation. "Do you want me to be the one to tell him?"

"No!" Grantaire snapped, sitting up suddenly. "I mean, no. It's my job to do that. It's my problem. He won't care."

"Yes he will. Believe it or not, Grantaire, Enjolras cares about you," Joly answered. Unfortunately, Grantaire had already left before he could hear Joly's words.

Grantaire stumbled up to Enjolras, who was arguing with Marius about Napoleon. Enjolras was degrading Napoleon, while Marius, who practically worshipped Napoleon on a pedestal, was arguing that Napoleon was the greatest man of the 19th century. "Apollo? I need to talk to you," Grantaire muttered, shooting a look at Marius, "alone."

Enjolras sighed and dismissed Marius, who gave Enjolras a wary look before prancing over to Combeferre and Courfeyrac in the opposite corner. "What is it, winecask?"

Grantaire sighed. "Do you remember three months ago when you got drunk?"

"Yes. I woke up with a terrible headache."

"Well, you did…..certain things to me."

"Like what things, cynic?"

"Let's just say that your flag gave a full salute."

"My fla-what are you talking about?"

"I think you know what I mean."

"My flag….oh. That."

"Yeah. After that, it kind of escalated into the flag being put in a holster."

"What are you talking about? Speak clearly."

"The flag….into a holster. If you know what I mean."

"Wha-oh. Oh God. Not that."

"Yes, that happened. Anyway, I know this is impossible but…."

"You did that with a girl and got her pregnant by me?"

"No, not exactly….though that's more likely than what actually happened."

"Well then, do tell me! If it's not that, it can't be anything worse than that."

"Well, Apollo, it's actually much, much worse. I'm the one who is pregnant."

Enjolras reeled back as if he had been slapped in the face. "No. That's not possible."

Grantaire nodded solemnly. "Indeed, dear Apollo, it is. Ask Joly."

Enjolras sighed and shook his head as if to rid himself of a nightmare or as if to try and wake himself up from a terrible dream. "This can't be happening."

"It is."

"I guess I should say this….I'm sorry. I ruined your life."

"Sorry for what? You have nothing to be sorry for, Enjolras. You did nothing wrong, in fact, you did something right. I should be the one thanking you. Now I won't be alone. I was always alone before this. Now I won't be, so thank you. I am indebted to you, I really am. Thank you." By this time, Grantaire had an onslaught of salty tears running down his face.

Enjolras looked shocked. "Grantaire, what makes you think that you were alone?"

Grantaire looked up, his dark brown eyes red and puffy from happy crying. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you aren't alone. You never were."