A/N Here is the Bossuet/Joly/ Musichetta story hinted at in 'Unexpected chaos or the time Combeferre made paper aeroplanes'. Just as a quick note, I don't have these three in a threesome. I pair Musichetta with Joly and have Bossuet as Joly's best friend.

Enjoy, mes amis!

Edited on 23/10/15

Unexpected Heat

"Eponine, I need your help."

The desperation in Musichetta's voice caused Eponine to turn from her task of battling the coffee maker, surprised. While they had taken to hanging out more often, meeting at the café and going to the cinema a few times with Cosette, a friend of Musichetta's and Marius' girlfriend, Eponine wouldn't have counted herself as the one Musichetta would come to in a crisis. The few times they had shared shifts at the café they had talked about school and the Amis and never had Eponine heard the other sound this stressed. Usually the fact that Musichetta was a mature student became immediately obvious, the Italian beauty having the light-hearted and laid back attitude that made her the perfect match for Joly, with all of his worrying and hypochondria.

"How may I be of assistance?" queried Courfeyrac, sidling up beside Musichetta and draping an arm over her shoulder.

The glare he received was truly frightening. "Is your name Eponine?"

He paused as if to think about it for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Come on, 'Chetta, I thought you were good at matching names with faces."

He received another glare accompanied by the two words Courfeyrac dreaded hearing. "No cookies."

Eponine couldn't help sniggering at the flash of wounded horror that passed across Courfeyrac's face. His attachment to baked goods was legendary amongst the group and many of them used it to their advantage.

Ignoring Courfeyrac, Musichetta turned back to Eponine. "I need you to take Bossuet out this Wednesday night."

Eponine was momentarily caught off guard. While she and Bossuet got along well, they hadn't ever spent any time alone outside of the group. Partly because he rarely left Joly's side, as best friends are prone to do, and partly because of the chemistry student's habit of getting into bizarre and terrible accidents, a problem Eponine really didn't want to get involved with.

Musichetta must have read into her silence. "I'm not trying to set you two up," she promised, "but I need Bossuet to not be hanging around with Joly that evening."

"Why?" Eponine leant on the counter, curious. "I thought you guys all got along really well?"

"Usually, yes, I don't mind him tagging along when Joly and I hang out because I worked out pretty quickly that those two are basically a package deal, but this Wednesday is mine and Joly's three month anniversary and I'm setting up a surprise for him."

"Oooh, what have you planned?" Eponine leaned closer. "Come on, I have a right to know what I'm sacrificing my night in with Netflix for."

Musichetta fidgeted for a while, which made look less like the twenty-four year old she was and more like she was seven. "I've booked one of the massage rooms at the spa where I'm training and I'm going to treat Joly."

"Because that worked so well last time," Courfeyrac drawled from where he was changing the music that played out around the café, Philip Philips coming on a moment later. He had been warned previously to stop doing so, but his defence was that the normal soundtrack, 'sucked like a Dyson'.

"What happened 'last time'?" From the flash of colour across Musichetta's cheeks, Eponine got the idea that it was an interesting story.

Courfeyrac grinned slowly. "Have you not told her the story, 'Chetta?" He tutted and grinned again. "You know what this means?"

"You tell her and I'll make sure you get none of Jehan's cookies for a week." The threat was weak and Courfeyrac knew it.

"Nope. It means it's story time!" He flung his arms wide, then frowned. "Damn it, Jehan isn't here with the Mystical Music app. Oh, well!"

He hopped up onto a stool beside a fuming Musichetta and an intrigued Eponine, swinging his legs back and forth. "It all started so well…"

"Be careful with that!" Musichetta howled, running across the room just in time to catch the box of candles that Bossuet had knocked off the dresser.

He stepped back, a sheepish look on his face. "Sorry 'Chetta," he apologized, "didn't see those there." He read the label adorning the box and frowned in confusion. "Why have you bought a twenty pack of scented candles?"

"It's a surprise." Musichetta placed the box back on the dresser and, for good measure, moved the jar of scented oil to a safer home. "Joly's been complaining about how sore his back has been recently, and we've been together nearly two months now, so…I thought I'd combine being romantic and practical and give him a massage as part of our date tonight."

Bossuet's dark eyes lit up, his white teeth standing out in his dark face as he grinned. "Oh, please let me help, 'Chetta! Please? If I'm here helping you I'm less likely to bump into Joly and tell him because I forgot it was supposed to be a surprise."

Musichetta could see the sense of the plan and, after all, it was probably safer to keep Bossuet where she could see him. That way there would probably be fewer accidents or if there were, at least a First Aid box would be at hand.

"Fine," she agreed. "You can come and help me get the massage table up the stairs; it's in my car."

A few hours later and everything was set up for an evening of romantic relaxation. A shared favourite meal of chicken kievs with mash potatoes, green beans, and gravy, homemade of course, followed by a long massage to work out the knots and aches in his back. As a training massage therapist Musichetta had worked with Joly a few times before at the spa, but for this occasion she was aiming for full on romantic ambience: scented candles, relaxing music, and with the cocoa and vanilla massage oil already warm and waiting, gently scenting the room. The table had been difficult to manoeuvre into her tiny one-bedroom flat, but with Bossuet's help she had managed, laying down her favourite deep-pile, sheep-skin rug to stand on whilst she worked.

Satisfied, she looked around, revelling in the vision of peace she had created for her boyfriend. On a whim, she decided to light one of the candles on the dresser to allow the scent to circulate before Joly arrived.

"This looks great – it seems Joly's in for quite the heated treat tonight," Bossuet teased, stood in the doorway. "Lucky duck."

Musichetta felt herself flush slightly at both his insinuations and his praise. "Thank you," she brushed off the sentimentality with a wide smile and a huff of breath. "Would you be able to stay in here and keep an eye on the candle while I jump through a quick shower?" She checked her watch, a beautiful timepiece Joly had given her the week before that was supposed to be for their anniversary but he had got the dates mixed up. "Joly's coming over in just under an hour and I don't want to greet him looking like I've spent the day hauling a massage table up four flights of stairs."

Bossuet saluted in reply, dropping into the wheeled office chair that had been moved out of the way, along with the desk, to make room for the massage table, smacking his shaved head on the shelf behind it in the process.

Feeling more relaxed than she had all day, Musichetta hurried off to the bathroom and soon the sound of running water could be heard, along with an impressive rendition of 'Don't Rain on my Parade' from Funny Girl.

It was a mere five minutes until Bossuet became bored, three more before he stood and began to wander around the room, an additional one until he reached the candle, and then forty seconds until the candle was falling off the mantle piece and onto the rug at his feet.

Ignoring the fingers he had burnt touching the melted wax, he dived for the candle at his feet, a breath of relief escaping him upon seeing that the flame was extinguished. His greatest worry now was how he was going to get the deep red wax off the white rug before Musichetta came back down. He scurried off to the kitchen, hearing the hairdryer start up in the bedroom, and rifled through the cleaning cupboard in the search of something that would remove wax. When he returned, armed with something that according to the label would remove everything, including human flesh, he was a little surprised, and somewhat horrified, to find smoke and small flames curling up from the rug and lapping at the wooden legs of the massage table.

Three seconds later, the smoke alarm went off.

"The whole flat smelt of burnt sheepskin for weeks," Musichetta said, her face glum. "I did manage to get some compensation from the company who made the rug though as it was supposed to be completely fire-proof, which it obviously wasn't."

"Wow," Eponine said, stunned, patting Musichetta sympathetically on the shoulder. "I think you win the award for most epic screw-up involving a date."

"If it makes you feel any better, Joly told me the meal was delicious," Courfeyrac said in an attempt to be reassuring, "even if the whole apartment did smell of smoke and fire extinguisher foam."

Musichetta flicked him on the ear and growled, "Well, if you're so keen to tell 'Ponine about past escapades, why not tell her about the fashion show?"

Courfeyrac blanched and shook his head madly, begging, "Please, Enjoras said he would murder me, and I mean actual, literal homicide, if I ever spoke of that again!"

"Not so keen about spilling the stories of the past now, are you, Jerome?" Musichetta taunted, waving airily as she walked away, the damage done. "Thanks for the help, Ponine!"

Eponine waved after her, then turned her attentions to Courfeyrac with a sharp, mischievous smile Courfeyrac knew was the death knell of his existence.

"Oh, please," she purred, "do tell me more."

A/N Ta da! And there you have it! Hope you enjoy!

Libz