Chapter Text
Les Amis de l'ABC were known for their support of social issues, though in the past year the group had pretty much focused on LGBT-related issues, due to the legislation that was pending in France. They were a bunch of idealistic, well-intentioned students...and Grantaire was cynical, yes, but not so cynical he couldn't see that they were at least doing some good, even if it was only raising community awareness. He still couldn't believe that they could convince the average citizen to get involved with a cause that didn't affect them or change the minds of bigots, but the group at least provided a positive presence in the community. While, politically, their efforts were focused on equality, they never failed to remember their essential mission, helping to provide for the underserved in the community. And that, Grantaire could get behind. The way he saw it, maybe some mother struggling to feed her kids couldn't give two shits about whether two men had the right to adopt a child, but she would certainly remember the students who had showed up on her doorstep with a box of food that would get her family through the rest of the week.
Feuilly had been the one, a couple years ago, to drag him to a meeting for the first time. They knew each other through the art community of Paris, and Grantaire had been surprised to learn they had something else, something far deeper in common. Both men were transgender, which Grantaire had discovered when he'd not seen Feuilly around for a few days. Feuilly had been down with the flu, and he'd been shy when answering the door; it had taken Grantaire exactly two seconds to realize why. Because he knew that feeling of awkwardness all too well. He'd deflected with humor; his usual tactic. "Yeah, some days, just not worth putting the binder on, is it? I feel you, man." Feuilly had laughed, surprised but nodding, and just like that, they were out to each other. And it had been one of the best things for their friendship, because then they had someone to vent to, someone who understood most of what they were going through.
Feuilly had been really persistent about that meeting, too. Grantaire had put it off for a long time with the excuse that he was more of an internet activist, if anything. Feuilly had known him too well for that, but pointed out that the group could use another trans member, especially one with a critical viewpoint. And at that point, Grantaire figured he might as well give Feuilly a little backup. He'd opted not to come out to them, which Feuilly understood and accepted, because Grantaire had faced too much transphobia in his life to trust strangers, even those who supported the cause.
Grantaire had gone to the first meeting for Feuilly. He'd stayed for Enjolras. Enjolras, the beautiful blond god of a leader. Grantaire had fallen in love with the man, hard and fast. Which would have been great if only Enjolras weren't clueless. But, most of the time, Grantaire could convince himself it was for the better. Enjolras' sexuality wasn't ever something he'd asked about - it wasn't his place to ask if Enjolras didn't want to share - but Grantaire couldn't even be sure Enjolras would be attracted to him. It was complicated enough in most relationships, trying to negotiate how sex would work. Easier with other trans individuals, but still never simple. With a man shrouded in such mystery as Enjolras? Infinitely more difficult. Thus, despite his friends urging him to make a move, he never did. Better to live with only a glimmer of hope than none at all.
They were definitely a great group to hang around with, even if Grantaire thought they were idealistic nutjobs half the time. Marius would come in full of ideas and end up mooning over his girlfriend. Cosette was a lovely girl, though, very sweet and kind, and she seemed good for Marius. Enjolras had grumbled at first that Les Amis was not a lonely hearts club, but then he'd met Cosette and had quickly ceded that she was at least charming. Also, it didn't hurt that her father was well-known in social justice circles for his crusade for the poor.
Bets were taken before most meetings as to how long before Jehan and Bahorel started making out behind one of the cafe's menus. They'd recently gotten together and couldn't seem to get enough of each other. It was adorable, actually. Well, Enjolras didn't always think so, but Joly probably would have been checking him for fever if he hadn't made little noises of dismay upon looking up to realize what was going on and why everyone had stopped paying attention to his speech.
So, Grantaire liked them. And since he was taking the semester off from art school, it gave him something semi-productive to do. An excuse to get out of his apartment on days he didn't feel like it. And, he had to admit, it was kind of nice having people who cared whether he showed up or not.
The evening of The Incident, as Grantaire would later label it in his mind, trying to distance himself, they had taken some time off from rallies to plan for a food drive in the neighborhood. Everyone had been in good spirits; even Grantaire couldn't poke holes in this plan. Feeding people; it was kind of hard to argue with. Especially in the neighborhood surrounding the Musain, their favored hangout. It was a struggling area, and one Grantaire knew intimately. He'd grown up there, and Enjolras had actually been delighted to hear it. Or as delighted as Enjolras ever got about Grantaire, anyway. "That's great, Taire, we can definitely use people you know...we'll get them involved!"
Grantaire had snorted, declining to point out that most of the people he had known growing up had cut ties with him for one reason or another. And those who hadn't...well, this wasn't the most progressive neck of the woods, and even the well-meaning ones misgendered him all too frequently. But he nodded, not wanting to lose that brief moment of being in Enjolras' good graces.
The meeting had broken apart a little before midnight, and Grantaire grabbed his bag as usual and headed for home. Some of the others remained in the cafe, but it was just casual chatting, so he figured they'd be wrapping up soon. As he cut through an alley, however, wanting to get home - and to his bed - that much sooner, he realized that might have been a mistake. He was thrown off-balance, a pair of young thugs demanding his money. Which he'd have been happy to hand over, except he legitimately didn't have any on him. They didn't like that, slamming him against a wall while they searched his pockets. The blow disoriented him enough that he didn't fight back immediately. He boxed for fun; he could certainly have fought at least one of them. But he was in pain, his head swimming from the impact with the wall, and as they frisked him, they discovered his secret. And then the mugging turned into something far worse.
"Oh, you're one of those freaks."
"She thinks she's cute, trying to be a man."
Grantaire tried to block it out, tried to fight back, but they'd slammed his head into the wall again and had his hands tied behind him before he could recover. He curled into a ball, trying to protect himself from the kicks and blows that were being rained upon him. He felt a knife trying to cut away his binder; fortunately, it was made of a stronger fabric than it looked. The knife cut him a few times, not deep, but drawing blood. A sadistic part of him wished they'd just cut his breasts off and be done with it; if he survived, it was one less daily trouble to deal with.
Then there were other voices - his friends. Feuilly. Bahorel. Jehan. There was a scuffle, shouting, sounds of a fight. Half-conscious, he couldn't process it all. But he would always remember the one comfort of that horrible blur, Bahorel's rough arms safely around him. "Fuck, man, just...fuck. I've got you. You're safe now. Come on, Taire, hang on, man. We've got you."
+.+.+.+
Feuilly was walking back from the Musain with Bahorel and Jehan when they heard the sounds of a scuffle in the alley. Most times, he was the one holding Bahorel back from investigating, but a pained, almost animalistic cry had all three of them running. They couldn't see the victim at first, but the second Feuilly heard one of the attackers hissing, "Tranny," his blood boiled and all thoughts of strategy went out the window. He didn't fight for fun the way Bahorel and Grantaire did, but he was more than capable of holding his own. Jehan was a lot scrappier than he looked, too, but he let Bahorel and Feuilly handle the fight while he rushed to aid the victim.
Jehan's dismayed gasp, the note of horror in his voice as he called Grantaire's name, made the fight that much more personal. Once both Grantaire's attackers had been thoroughly beaten into unconsciousness, Feuilly hurried over to check on his friend. Bahorel was by his side. "Jehan, call an ambulance." Feuilly stroked Grantaire's cheek, offering what little comfort he could. Grantaire was barely conscious, but at least he was alive. They could deal with anything else later, as long as he recovered.
Bahorel shifted, practically cradling Grantaire in his arms, whispering reassurances. Grantaire's shirt had been torn, and he tried to rearrange it for privacy. To his credit, he barely blinked at the binder, except to examine where blood seeped through. "Um, Feuilly, would it be better if you checked that out...?"
Feuilly appreciated his friends more in that moment than ever before. It was the worst way for Grantaire to be revealed as trans to his friends, but they were taking it in stride. He inspected the cuts as Jehan relayed their location to the emergency dispatcher. "Looks shallow, but we need to get the binder loosened anyway to let him breathe." He pulled at the velcro, unfastening it, but didn't take the binder off entirely. He wanted to leave Grantaire what little dignity he could. "Stay with him; Joly's still at the Musain. I’m going to get him." The ambulance was coming, but he knew they'd all feel better if Joly kept an eye on things until it got there, and they were only a block away from the cafe.
+.+.+.+
When Feuilly burst into the Musain, Joly was indeed still there, talking with Courfeyrac. Enjolras was curled up in a corner with one of his textbooks. All three of them jumped and turned to look at him, but he had no time for niceties. "Joly, we need you. Taire's been attacked."
Not surprisingly, that had all three of them on Feuilly's heels, running back to the scene. Joly immediately went into medical mode, cataloging injuries, beginning to apply bandages from his omnipresent first aid kit. Courfeyrac took the hand that Jehan wasn't holding; no one but the paramedics would stand a chance of getting Grantaire out of Bahorel's protective embrace.
Enjolras was enraged, to say the least. They all were, of course, but Enjolras...he was beginning to take on the look of an avenging angel. If Grantaire's attackers stirred before the police arrived, Feuilly certainly wouldn't have wanted to be them. Though he would have loved to have seen it go down. "What happened?" he snapped.
"One in twelve," Feuilly said quietly, burning with anger. It was almost a code among them by now, the symbolism of all they fought for. One in twelve transgender individuals would be subjected, statistically, to violence because of their transgender status. It pissed Feuilly off on the best of days, but now, seeing one of his closest friends as that one...he was seething. And he would be sure that justice was served.