Author's note: Written for the ever-fabulous Vé. The dinosaur bone is quite real and was indeed discovered outside Caen in 1828. It's now known under the name Megalosaurus bucklandii, or just Megalosaurus. My apologies for the fact that there is not nearly as much paleontological geeking out in this fic as this intro would lead you to believe.
Enjolras took his coffee black and scalding. He drank for energy rather than for flavor, and as such devoted as little time as possible to preparing and consuming each cup. He had a habit of forgetting about half-full cups if he got too distracted by something, and so nearly all his essays and speech drafts ended up liberally splattered with coffee stains. His professors were rather less amused by this than his friends, but Enjolras had never been one to allow the tastes of those in authority to dictate his actions. The set of rooms he shared with Combeferre was habitually littered with empty cups and scattered papers, Combeferre being rather less neat in private than his public appearance would lead one to believe, and Enjolras having other things in his mind. Given their shared interest in treasonous activities they did not employ a housekeeper and so half the time Courfeyrac ended up tidying the rooms, usually accompanied by dramatic sighs and overly exaggerated shuddering.
Combeferre, by contrast, savored each cup. As protest for the inhuman conditions in which sugar was produced he too drank his coffee black or with a splash of brandy. Unlike his more easily distracted friend he made a point of finishing each cup, though he was only slightly better than Enjolras at ensuring that empty cups actually made it back into the kitchen.
On one afternoon in late September Enjolras sat at his desk, fully absorbed in reading Prouvaire's latest diatribe against conditions in the slums. Prouvaire wrote well, his voice coming through clearly even in a silent medium, and Enjolras felt quite certain that his words would convince many who currently stood at the sidelines attempting to ignore the problems under their noses. So absorbed was he in his reading and so quiet was Combeferre in coming in that it was not until his friend touched him on the shoulder in greeting that Enjolras even realized he was no longer alone.
He turned, intending to ask if Combeferre had read the article yet, but his words died on his lips as he took in Combeferre's haggard face. The doctor looked impossibly weary, lines of grief and tiredness etched deep into his usually smooth features. Enjolras rose and embraced him without consciously deciding to, frowning.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Combeferre sighed, returning the embrace. "Nothing," he said. "Well, nothing that is not always wrong."
"How many died?" Enjolras asked quietly.
"Too many," Combeferre said. "I would rather not relive it."
Enjolras nodded. A child then, or possibly several. He pulled away and made Combeferre take a seat on the once-elegant sofa. The valiant piece of furniture had endured rather a lot of abuse since being acquired by young men with a habit of being carried away with their passions, often while carrying liquids, and it was now stained and scratched in a way that would scandalize their more finicky classmates. Combeferre sat on it now, pulling into himself a bit.
Enjolras, meanwhile, made his way to the kitchen and began making coffee for them both, digging up clean mugs from the depths one one cupboard and, after a moment of hesitation, adding a generous measure of brandy to both. Combeferre had not moved when Enjolras returned, though he looked up at the sound of Enjolras' footsteps.
"Here," Enjolras said, pressing one of the mugs into Combeferre's hands. The doctor took it, staring into it without making any moves to drink. Enjolras sat next to him, just close enough for their shoulders to touch, and set his own mug down.
"I learned the most extraordinary thing today," he said conversationally. Combeferre raised his eyebrows slightly in an invitation to continue. "It seems that a truly enormous fossil has been found near Caen, one that certainly cannot belong to any living animal or even its ancestor."
Combeferre nodded. "I heard about that," he said. "And it doesn't. It belongs to a long extinct species of lizard, possibly the very same found in England only last year. I attended a talk on the subject several months ago, actually."
Enjolras sat back as Combeferre began to detail what he had learned at that talk, not even bothering to hide his smile as his friend momentarily forgot his troubles in the wake of scientific enthusiasm. Partway through his lecture Combeferre remembered his cup and took a long swallow. His eyebrows rose as he tasted the brandy and Enjolras only shrugged, completely unrepentant. There would be time to talk of injustice and revolution and outrage later; for now Enjolras listened attentively to Combeferre's description of the creature's hypothetical anatomy and sipped his own coffee, content because Combeferre was no longer unhappy.