A/N I know this is slightly longer than normal, but it's still a cute one. And yes, the references made to other stories will be written as full length pieces at some point in the future.
Enjoy!
Unexpected Theft
"Ohhh," Eponine sighed in bliss as she closed the front door behind her. "I knew there was a reason to move in with you guys."
Earlier that year she had been kicked out of the tiny, mouldering flat that she lived in when the building had been rightfully sentenced for demolition. She had managed to spend a few nights with Musichetta, but the Italian girl's apartment was barely more than a cupboard.
"If I still had the old apartment you could stay no problem," she had said, her genuine regret warming Eponine's heart, "but when Joly and I split up for that little while I had to downsize and then when we got back together he was all settled in with the other Amis up at Hugo House and well…"
She stopped in her apologies abruptly, a sudden gleam appearing in her dark eyes. "I think there might be a spare bedroom in Hugo House if you wanted it," she suggested. "Joly offered it to me, but I'm not a student so I didn't qualify. That and it would take a braver soul than me to move in with those nine idiots."
Eponine was in fact a braver soul; she had moved in the next week.
From his place in the kitchen, lifting a batch of steaming brownies out of the oven, Jehan gave her a smile. "There's a box of muffins in breadbin, the cookie jar is refilled, and I've got a tray of rocky-road setting in the bottom of the fridge." He slid a kitchen slice around the edge of the brownie tray to stop the chocolaty goodness from sticking, then set it by the window to cool.
With a groan of relief Eponine dropped her heavy college bag off her shoulder, making a beeline for the cookie jar and then directly afterwards to the fridge for the milk. She didn't care if it seemed cliché; she had never got the chance to experience the 'cookies and milk in the kitchen after school' lifestyle growing up and she sure as hell wasn't going to pass up an opportunity that gave the chance to finish a busy day with a plateful of Jehan's chocolate cookies.
"Why the sudden rise in baking, Jehan?" she asked, licking a gooey chocolate chip off her finger. "Are we expecting company? Or did you just feel like it?"
"Enjolras is taking exams," Courfeyrac said as he walked into the room, obviously having overheard the question. He reached over her shoulder and swiped a cookie from her plate with catlike reflexes, retreating to the other side of the table with a smug smile. "We need them for the stress."
Eponine scowled at him, but knew that there was a whole jar to replace the one she had lost. Not that she needed another cookie; for the first time in her life she was actually starting to carry a little bit of weight around her middle. Maybe a trip or two the gym was in order…
"I know Enjolras has exams," she snapped, taking a drink, "but what has that…" – here she paused to wipe the white moustache from her top lip at Jehan's direction – "what has that got to do with baking?"
"Ah, I see you're stocking up, Jehan," Joly noted as he walked past, still in his scrubs from a shift at the hospital.
"Stocking up for what?!" Eponine asked, exasperated. She loved learning new aspects of the Amis history and the vague references they were making irritated the hell out of her.
"Exam stress," Joly explained, opening the fridge and gathering ingredients for an omelette. "The need arises because Enjolras always…"
"I think I had better tell this story," Courfeyrac imperiously interrupted, sitting down at the table and placing the cookie jar between him and Eponine. "And this one is one of the best yet – an unsolved mystery, a feud that nearly divided the house, stakeouts on dark nights, ninjas…"
"Ninjas?" Eponine interrupted.
"Ninjas," the three men answered solemnly.
Eponine looked from one to the other, searching for some sign of mirth to indicate that they were messing with her; there was none. Not even from Jehan, whose poker face was stunningly bad. She topped up her glass and flicked open the catch on the cookie jar.
"Tell me."
It was a few months after the Amis had all moved in together into the sprawling, ancient, construct that was Hugo House that the first bout of thievery occurred.
Jehan had spent much of the previous evening baking a batch of his famous organic blueberry muffins to take to a Sunday meeting for the drama production he was involved in. However, instead of quiet humming and the click of the front door behind him, he had awoken the entire house with his yells of distress the next morning upon discovering the number to have halved, leaving him with too few to feed his classmates.
"This is not okay, guys!" he snapped, hammering on every bedroom door, demanding a house meeting. "I bake enough for you lot anyway, and now someone is stealing muffins?"
Still groggy from a wild Saturday night (some had spent it drinking, some had spent it gaming, and some had spent it studying) all of the house's occupants converged in the living room, many muttering about the forced early morning.
"They're just muffins, Jehan," Grantaire groaned through a cushion, only his tangled black curls showing as he hid from the light streaming in through the window.
"Are you admitting to have taken them?" the youngest of the friends accused, usually mild eyes flashing angrily.
"We were so sloshed last night we could have cooked a full roast dinner and not remembered it," Bahorel chortled, sharing a pained high-five with Grantaire, both wincing at their sore heads and sensitive retinas.
"Let's not be hasty here," Combeferre cautioned. "We have no proof of who took them."
"No witnesses and no evidence equal no accusations," Enjolras added. "But this is a serious issue. Stealing in this house will not be tolerated…at all. Therefore, we will each contribute to paying Jehan back the cost of the ingredients used."
There were a few mutters, but eventual nods all round.
"I'm disappointed at the idea that one of us would even do such a thing," Feuilly broke in. "Friends don't do things like that, especially not intentionally."
"There is the possibility that someone may, for instance, have taken one accidently," Courfeyrac suggested, oh so casually. "And was completely unaware of the importance of such wonderful concoctions to their creator."
"Something you want to admit, Jerome de Courfeyrac, you little piglet?" Bossuet cried dramatically.
"Wait, wait, wait," Eponine broke in. "Bossuet called you a piglet?"
Courfeyrac nodded, picking another cookie out of the jar. "It was very hurtful. As somebody who is conscious of their weight but lacks the motivation to visit the gym regularly, his slur was extremely damaging to my psyche…"
"Your chubby bits are adorable," Jehan cut in absently from where he was lifting the brownies out of the tray and onto a cooling rack.
"You're making me blush, you little cutie," Courfeyrac replied, faking a coy fluttering of his eyelashes.
"Alright you two," Eponine cautioned, "less of the platonic soul mates routine and on with story."
There were several drawn out 'ooohhhhssss' at Bossuet's insult, and Courfeyrac threw a pillow at him. Naturally, being Bossuet, it hit him square in the face, catching his eye with the zipper on the cover and knocking him backwards off the back of the sofa onto a basket of washing and rolling into the side table.
As Joly fussed over his best friend, Courfeyrac fell to his knees at Jehan's feet, his hands clasped in penitent supplication.
"I swear to you, dear Jehan, my brother in all but blood, I only took one!" he wailed.
"Then why were seven missing?" Jehan hissed, still in a high bad humour.
"I don't know!" Courfeyrac turned the full force of his puppy eyes on the disgruntled poet. "I came downstairs at two in the morning after a truly epic run on Call of Duty and they were just there on the cooling rack, all warm and muffiny and delicious-looking." His lower lip trembled ever so slightly and Grantaire passed Bahorel a handful of euros as Jehan caved and bent to hug Courfeyrac.
"Told you the lip would do it," Bahorel muttered triumphantly.
"I thought this was a story about late night stake-outs and ninjas?" Eponine complained. She reached backwards to steal a piece of red pepper from Joly's chopping board, popping it in her mouth and taking an experimental bite of cookie.
"It is," Courfeyrac assured her, gesturing that he wanted a piece of pepper too. "We're getting there."
"Really? Because so far I've heard more about your wobbly bottom lip than about ninjas." She gave Courfeyrac a glare across the table.
"We're talking about Courf's wobbly bottom now, are we?" Grantaire asked as he strolled into the kitchen.
"Wobbly bottom lip," Eponine emphasised. "How's the film coming?"
Grantaire pulled a beer from the fridge and drained half of it before he replied. "It's coming," he said noncommittally. "But it is really freaking weird, even for us."
"I can't believe I missed that whole thing," Eponine sighed. "You'll have to show me when it's finished. Seeing Enjolras crying over a dog and everyone running around like they're in a bad horror film just sounds too good to miss."
"It is," Grantaire agreed. "Alright, I'm off to get back at it. Enjoy talking about Courf's wobbly bottom."
"It's not that wobbly," Jehan assured his friend, passing Joly the salt and ground pepper.
"Ninjas," Eponine demanded.
"They're coming!" Courfeyrac replied, exasperated.
The next theft was two days later.
"A whole jar of cookies gone!" Jehan shrieked. "I only made those yesterday and now every single one of them is gone! That's nearly thirty cookies…gone!"
Enjolras rubbed his eyes, exhausted. "I'm sorry, Jehan," he said apologetically, "but there's nothing I can do. I was up working until…I actually don't know how long I was up till. The cookies were for communal consumption though; we don't need to pay you damages. People will just have to go without cookies this week."
"But that's not fair!" Courfeyrac interjected, indignant. "Why should we all suffer because of the selfish actions of one individual? Does that sound very fair to you, Julien Enjolras?"
"No!" he snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "But there is not much I can do about it! I have exams to worry about, exams that will be crucial to not only my future, but the future of this country that I shall help form!"
"How exactly his in depth knowledge of nineteenth century literature is going to help, I'm not quite sure," Grantaire drawled from the doorway, stretching up at Jehan's behest to pass a large mixing bowl down.
Enjolras stiffened and Combeferre patted him gingerly on the shoulder.
"I think everyone needs to calm down," he said. "Enjolras, as your friend and your doctor I suggest you go and sleep for a few hours." His tone brooked no argument and Enjolras reluctantly agreed with a nod of his head.
"Do you want anything to eat before you do?" Jehan asked.
Enjolras shook his head, limp strands of hair drooping into his eyes. "No, I'm not really hungry." With a final haughty look to Grantaire he staggered out of the kitchen, unsteady footfalls marking his progress up the stairs and into his room.
"I'll go up and take his textbooks off him in a minute," Combeferre said wryly, putting the kettle on for his customary morning cup of peppermint tea.
Jehan began gathering ingredients for what Courfeyrac delightedly recognized as a batch of his double chocolate, extra-gooey, death-and-heaven-on-a-plate brownies and he eagerly darted around the kitchen gathering the necessary items. Combeferre made his tea in companionable silence and then departed to wrestle Enjolras textbooks and laptop away from him for a few hours. The length of his break really depended how sleep addled he was and how long it took for him to look in the airing cupboard.
"Ninjas!" Eponine commanded.
"In a minute!" Courfeyrac retorted.
Jehan was beating ingredients together almost violently, the sinews standing out in his wiry forearms as he whisked and beat and chopped and stirred. His jaw was tight and his eyes hard.
"No one gets away with stealing in this family!" he growled, scraping the dark, shiny batter into the baking trays less carefully than usual and smacking the back of Courfeyrac's hand when he tried to dip his finger in it.
"So what do you suggest?" Courfeyrac asked, rubbing at the red mark.
Jehan's eyes narrowed. "A stake-out," he pronounced, sliding the brownies into the oven. "And I have the perfect bait."
Darkness fell over the large house. Unlike many evenings when nearly every single one of the Amis was out for some reason or another – be it work, study, or pleasure – everyone was in that evening and had retired fairly early.
It was in this gloom that Jehan and Courfeyrac lay in wait. Well, and Grantaire, but only because he had insisted on taking part and he was going to film the whole thing for evidence.
His innocence had been proven by a mixture of editing logs on his computer, a night he could barely remember with Bahorel on the night of the muffin thefts, and an outstanding allergy to the nuts contained in the cookies.
The house was silent, dark, and sleeping. The three intrepid pursuers of justice were huddled behind the sofa, only the soft red glow of the recording light on Grantaire's camcorder to illuminate them.
"Are we sure this is going to work?" Courfeyrac whispered, playing with the focus on his binoculars. The piece of kit was not actually needed, but it added to the excitement of the moment.
"No one can resist my brownies," Jehan replied grimly, the soft lines of his face hardened the crimson light and determination.
An hour ticked by. Then another. Courfeyrac dozed off twice and had to be prodded awake. Grantaire ran out of battery on his camera and had to break cover to plug it directly to the mains. But finally, just as they were losing hope, there came the sound of tentative footsteps creeping down the staircase. Grantaire commando rolled to the plug socket to disengage the cable for freedom of movement, just making it back into cover as a tall, shadowy figure appeared in their line of sight, its footsteps most definitely heading towards the kitchen.
Courfeyrac flailed slightly with excitement, Grantaire gripped his camera tighter in preparation for the confrontation and Jehan rose, like a vengeful angel, to stalk after the figure. All three of them paused in the shadows outside the archway that led to the kitchen, watching as the still unrecognisable figure, shrouded as he was in sweatpants and a baggy hooded sweatshirt, began to devour the plate of brownies at an alarming rate.
"This is for the muffins, cookies, and now the brownies," Jehan hissed, preparing to strike the thief down with a well- placed roundhouse kick to the ribs.
"I'm assuming this is the ninja part of the story," Eponine enquired, moving over to allow Joly to sit down with his, quite frankly delicious-smelling, omelette.
"Correct," Courfeyrac confirmed. "Now for the big reveal…"
Jehan only made it two steps before a long arm snaked around his waist, the hand of its partner firmly covering his mouth. Grunting angrily, he kicked back against his captor but was only held more firmly and pulled into the living room.
"What do you think you are doing, Philippe Combeferre!" Jehan ground out, shaking himself free, ready to let loose a torrent of furious words.
"It's Enjolras," Courfeyrac whispered in an almost awed tone, finally recognizing the figure as the hood fell away to reveal messy blond hair.
"Yes, it's Enjolras," Combeferre replied tiredly, gaze flitting to the kitchen and his dearest friend.
Disappointment warred with anger in the poet's face. "So you think it's perfectly acceptable for Enjolras to steal whatever he likes because…what…he's the leader? Or because he's your best friend?" His slight shoulders drooped and Courfeyrac reached out instinctively to clasp him reassuring by the arm. "He's been lying to my face all this time?"
"He doesn't know he's doing it, Jehan," Combeferre whispered gently, tucking them out of sight as Enjolras made his return journey up the stairs, his midnight cravings apparently sated. "When he's stressed he sleepwalks, has done for as long as I've known him. When his parents were delayed a few days coming home from America once - he was about eleven - I found him the next morning on the swings in park down the road. This is a lot better than it used to be. The eating is a mixture of stress and genuine hunger – you know he doesn't exactly look after himself when it's exam season."
Jehan nodded thoughtfully, then sudden anguish crossed his face. "I was going to hurt him," he whispered. "I swore I would never use my skills to hurt anyone, anyone at all, unless it was absolutely necessary and I was about to seriously injure one of…one of my dearest friends over some…some stupid muffins."
Courfeyrac wrapped a secure arm around Jehan, Combeferre resting a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"You were upset, Jehan, and rightfully so. You thought that your trust in this weird little family we have had been misplaced, and that hurt you, I know."
Courfeyrac nodded in agreement. He knew his younger friend needed this verbal reassurance as well as a gentle tactile presence, always had since he was a child escaping a grief-addled and abusive father. "And you didn't hurt him, Jehan," he reminded. "There's no point in self-flagellating yourself over something that didn't even happen."
"So to conclude this highly emotionally charged occasion," Grantaire cut in from where he was gathering up his charger cable from the floor, "Enjolras has weird stress-eating habits, Jehan can be a total badass ninja when necessary" – this drew a smile from the man in question – "and Combeferre is also secretly a ninja because I did not hear you coming down here at all, dude."
Combeferre gave a startled but quiet laugh. "That skill comes from many hours of tiptoeing around Enjolras when we were roommates – I swear, he is such a light sleeper a butterfly flapping it's wings would wake him…when he's not sleepwalking that is. Then you could set a small bomb off next to him and he wouldn't even stir – and learning how to walk quietly in hospitals on squeaky floors." He gave a fond look at his three friends. "And, I don't know about you but I'm ready for bed."
"Absolutely," Courfeyrac agreed, "but since we're down here I might just grab a quick snack." An innocent, wide-eyed look around the group. "Brownie anyone?"
"That's it?" Eponine asked, bending briefly to check on the grilled cheese she had in the oven. Joly had long since left them to their storytelling. "The big reveal is that that Enjolras stress-eats?"
"While sleepwalking," Courfeyrac pointed out, finally pushing the cookie jar away. "And what about the ninjas?"
"There really weren't any ninjas, and for that I am genuinely disappointed." Satisfied that it was appropriately melted she pulled the tray out and pushed them onto a plate before returning to the table.
"Well, Jehan was almost a ninja," Courfeyrac argued, reaching for one of the triangles and getting his hand slapped for the trouble. "There was intent to be a ninja."
"I don't think it counts," Jehan said regretfully, finally done with his baking. "We really need to find a new way to market that story – everyone always misses the point and only focusses on the lack of ninjas."
"Do I honestly want to ask for context?" Enjolras spoke from the doorway, hair dripping water onto his collar proving that this time Combeferre had even managed to convince him to shower after his sleep break.
The three friends glanced at one another. Enjolras probably didn't want everyone knowing of his little…character...quirk – even Grantaire, who had the whole thing on camera, had never mentioned it to his face…at least not directly – and after some silent conference they decided it was probably better to leave it that way, at least for now. Having some mild blackmail material on the stubborn blonde was never a bad thing.
"Not really," Eponine said with a slight smile and a shake of her head. Taking in the hollowed lines of his face, proof of the diamond-inducing pressure he placed himself under, she added, "There's brownies in the fridge if you're interested, or else there's cookies in the jar."
If he was surprised at her sudden attention to his well-being (they didn't exactly talk very often) Enjolras didn't show it. In fact, he shook his head, almost seeming to shuffle from foot to foot nervously, but Enjolras was never nervous…at least never visibly. His nostrils flared slightly as he caught the smell of her meal and she saw the interest and slight longing flash across his face.
"Do you want a piece of this?" The offer was out of her mouth before she even truly registered the words. Somewhere in her peripheral vision she saw Courfeyrac's and Jehan's heads swivel to catch Enjolras' reply in a manner reminiscent of a tennis match.
Enjolras seemed to war with himself for a moment so she added, "It's brie and tomato, if you're interested."
She saw or rather heard his moment of capitulation. The grumble of his stomach could be heard across the room but they all ignored it for the sake of the flush that appeared on their friend's pale skin.
"Thank you," he mumbled, looking awkwardly from the floor to the wall to Eponine as she hopped up to get him a plate, even digging through the fridge for a box of bean salad, a dish of which he was rather fond.
She handed it to him – plate, box, and cutlery - with a smile that curiously felt shy, not even thinking about the small pang of disappointment that appeared in her chest as he returned the smile but then retreated back up to his room.
"Not a word," she warned as she sat back down, not that any note was taken of said warning.
"He likes you." Jehan opened the conversation tentatively.
"He also likes watching the news and ten pin bowling when he has the time," she retorted, trying not to think of the little dimple that appeared in the corner of his mouth when he smiled.
"No," Courfeyrac cut in, "he likes you likes you."
"What are we, ten?" The food on her plate disappeared faster than normally, the luxury of savouring it overruled by her need to discourage this conversation at all costs.
"You should ask him out." Jehan was done with being subtle it seemed. "Well, after exams are over."
Her shoulders sagged and she pushed the now empty plate away. "It would be a disaster," she murmured. With her track record of relationships – usually ex-convict, abusive, emotionally stunted, or unavailable/not interested – it was inevitable.
One hand was engulfed by Courfeyrac's solid, capable hands while the other was wrapped in Jehan's slender, elegant fingers. "Don't write it off just yet," he whispered nad Courfeyrac rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand in agreement.
They sat in silence, until the sappiness of the moment reached an unbearable level and Eponine pulled her hands away, wiping at a rivulet of saltwater that had spontaneously appeared on her cheek.
"Look on the bright side," Courfeyrac said eventually, as they all rose and prepared to part ways for the evening. "It couldn't be any worse than Marius and Cosette's first real date." He shuddered. "Three words: fire, wallpaper, and Asmodeus."
Eponine winced; anything involving Grantaire's 'devil-spawn of a hell-beast' cat – Grantaire's words not hers – was bound to end badly. "Maybe another time," she deferred, picking her bag up from on the floor in the hallway. Giving them both a gentle smile she ascended the stairs to her room. And if she paused for moment longer than usual at Enjolras' door, well, who had to know?