Note: No, I don't own them, any of them.  But for the moment, we can pretend I do, right?  Right?  Also, this is technically the sequel to The ABC Friends, and features the same Combeferre, who is at least a little mine, although knowledge of The ABC Friends is not at all necessary to understand the twisted permutations of this particular plotbunny.

            Combeferre was in love.

            He had only ever seen the girl once, of course, but it was a long and time-honored tradition among young law students to fall in love with beautiful young girls merely upon sight, and Combeferre was never one to flout tradition.  Not that Combeferre was technically a lawyer, either – he had come to Paris to be a teacher.  Still, extra knowledge never hurt, so when Combeferre had learned that Marius would rather stare mournfully at portraits of Napoleon than attend class, Combeferre had cheerfully volunteered to attend law school in his stead.  Marius, whose idea of taking notes was doodling 'Belle Ursula' in bubble letters in the margins of his textbooks, was quite happy with the whole situation.  It left him more time to pursue his hobby of stalking young girls.  This hobby, in fact, was why Combeferre was speaking to him now.

            "Oh, it's easy enough to find out where she lives," Marius was saying.  "All you have to do is find some nobody who obeys your every whim and hire her to follow the girl home, and –"

            At this point a painfully skinny shadow, which had been lurking in the shadows on the other side of the room, let out an offended wail and stormed out.  Marius looked confused.  "Was it something I said?"

            "Search me," said Combeferre, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses.  "If I understood women, would I be asking you for advice?"

            Marius shrugged.  "Well, I am sensitive, clever, well-mannered, considerate, passionate, charming, as kind as I'm handsome, and heir to a barony . . ."

            Combeferre gave him a dubious look, but contented himself with saying, "If you say so."  Now was no time to burst the poor boy's bubble.

            "Anyways," said Marius, cheerfully oblivious of any flaws in his self-image, "Once the nobody has found out where she lives, all you have to do is break into her garden one night, send her passionate love poetry, and wait until she falls madly in love with you!"  He lowered his voice conspiratorially and added, "If you're very lucky, she might even let you see her ankle.  But make sure you do it behind walls, otherwise it might come across as immodest . . ."

            Combeferre had no great experience with the opposite sex, but he had heard enough of Courfeyrac's stories to find something slightly odd about this.  "Just the ankle?"

            Marius' eyes widened.  "Degenerate!" he exclaimed.  "Radical!  Under the Emperor this sort of thing would never have been allowed!"

            "Marius," Combeferre said wearily, "Bonaparte collected beautiful mistresses by the score.  It was practically his hobby.  I think he got to see a little more than their ankles."

            Marius was struck speechless with indignation, and went off in a huff.  This was how conversations with Marius tended to end.  Combeferre had often thought that perhaps Marius was a little unstable.  Then again, instability was practically the chief requirement for joining Les Amis de L'ABC to begin with.  Every so often Combeferre was tempted to leave and get a real job, but then Enjolras would shout insulting revolutionary slogans at a high-placed political official or Bossuet would accidentally knock over a three-thousand-franc bottle of perfume and Combeferre would have to stay and deal with the ensuing fracas, and then he would realize all over again that without some stabilizing force they would probably all run out in an instant and be hit by a runaway cart.

            But however intelligent he was, Combeferre didn't know everything, and this time it was he who needed help.  In cases like this, medically speaking – Combeferre often took Joly's place in his medical courses, too; after all, a little extra knowledge never hurt – what was usually needed was a second opinion.  Abandoning Marius' now-empty chair, he ambled over to Courfeyrac, who was arguing with Grantaire over the relative benefits of Marie Antoinette and Anne Boleyn.

            "Sure, Boleyn was no great beauty," Courfeyrac was saying, "but all the history books admit that she had a nice ra-"

            "I hate to interrupt this intellectually enlightening discussion," said Combeferre, "but do you think I could ask you two a question?"

            "Hate questions.  More beer," mumbled Grantaire, and collapsed in a heap.

            "All right," said Combeferre patiently, "then could I ask you a question, Courfeyrac?"

            Courfeyrac grinned.  "All right, but if it's about Joly and Bossuet, I still say they're –"

            "It's not about Joly and Bossuet," said Combeferre.  "Really, Courfeyrac, not everything is about romantic gossip, you know.  I merely have a hypothetical situation to put to you."

            "Yes?"

            "Do you think jumping into a young lady's garden will make her fall in love with you?"

            Courfeyrac frowned thoughtfully.  "Depends on the young lady," he said finally.  "And on whether or not you're wearing clothes at the time."

            Combeferre decided not to ask.

            "In any case," continued Courfeyrac, "I don't see you as really much the garden-jumping type.  You'd probably trip over a branch, and accidentally break the lady's leg, and –"

            "Hey!" said Bossuet from across the room.  "I told you that story in confidence!"

            "What story?" demanded Bahorel, who often felt left out of things, and resented it.  "I never heard this story!"

            "I've heard it," said Joly smugly.  "I was there."

            Feuilly's brow furrowed.  "You were there when Bossuet was meeting with his girlfriend?  Isn't that a bit awkward?"

            "We share a lot," said Joly defensively.

            Courfeyrac leered.

            "Not that much," said Bossuet, turning scarlet, which only made Courfeyrac leer even more.

            "Oh dear," said Joly, eyeing his now crimson friend nervously.  "You don't have mumps, do you?  You aren't going to give me the mumps, are you?  You have mumps, I know it, and now I've caught it, and my beautiful face will be ruined forever!"

            "And how exactly did you catch it from him?" demanded Courfeyrac, his grin now so wide it looked like it was going to split his head in two.

            Combeferre decided at this point that it was time to leave.  After all, he did have a young lady to stalk.