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The poet slouched over his writing while furiously moving his pen across the paper. He was concentrating so hard on it he didn't even realize that there was a book flying towards his head until it hit him.
"Jehan!" Courfeyrac, the man who throw the book at Bossuet, but missed, screamed. The book hit the poet quite hard on the top of his head. A horrid thunk echoed in the ears of those who heard it. The poet then slumped forward over his writing. His light blonde hair fell over his face and arms. The other ABCs crowded around his usually barren table to inspect the poor Frenchman.
"Give him some air," Combeferre, a medical student, shouted inspecting Jean's head wound. "No open wounds," Combeferre said pushing his glasses that keep slipping down his oily nose up, "he's lucky he got hit with the spine instead of a corner."
"Oh, why did I throw that book?"
"We should carry him home and ice the wound," Combeferre said sternly. Joly, Jehan's best friend and only other ABC that knew of the location of said home, was not there. He was sick in bed, yet again, with another bout of the flu.
Bahorel suggested looking in Jehan's messenger bag to find a home address. Luckily Jean had taken the time to fill out a small 'if lost' card on the inside of the opening flap of the bag. After stuffing Jehan's things into the bag and grabbing his own things Combeferre slung the bag over his shoulder along with his own.
Combeferre and Courfeyrac decided they should be the ones to help Jehan to his apartment. So, by slinging one of the incapacitated man's arms onto each of the other two's shoulders they started to drag Jean out of the back room of the café Musain and onto the semi-dark Parisian streets. To any passerby they looked just like a few friends helping a man passed out by the drink home. Only the passed out man had a small goose egg sized bump starting to form on his head.
"He's lighter than I thought," Courfeyrac pointed out. Combeferre nodded his head while looking at the small piece of paper that had Jehan's address on it.
Jehan sadly lived on the 3 floor of the apartments so when it came time to go up the stairs Combeferre and Courfeyrac each grabbed one end of the man and lifted him up the stairs. Courfeyrac was in front, and being in front that meant not seeing where you are walking. At every turn the stairs made, and there was a lot, Courfeyrac would bump into the corner. A fair punishment for almost killing Jean.
"Wait, his apartment is right here," Combeferre said stopping Courfeyrac who was about to keep walking.
Combeferre dropped Jehan's legs, a tad bit too hard, and opened the door with his key. The apartment was in a nice area and, there for, nicely furnished.
Courfeyrac dragged Jehan in by his shoulders while Combeferre tried to find the bedroom. The medical student soon found the bedroom and directed Courfeyrac into it. Courfeyrac, with the help of Combeferre, helped Jehan onto the bed. Ferre looked at Jehan's head wound before checking his pulse. While this was happening Courfeyrac decided since he was probably never going to be invited back to the poet's home he should snoop around a bit.
After peeking into Jehan's closet and finding a 50/50 ratio of women's clothes to men's Ferre was done playing doctor.
"I think Jehan doesn't live alone." Courfeyrac said quickly shutting the door to the closet after Ferre had caught him.
"Why is that?"
"Half the clothes in here are women's!"
Ferre looked at Courfeyrac for a second. There was always another option for the woman's clothes.
"He's is too vanilla to do that, Ferre." Courfeyrac replied having already thought of and shot down the idea immediately after finding the clothing. Combeferre continued pondering the option as Courfeyrac moved on playing 'Nancy Drew'.
He looked through some small portraits and drawings in and around Jehan's desk and on walls of the living then came to the conclusion that there was none of Jehan. There was quite a few of a woman though. She resembled Jehan. Same nose and hair color. Jehan always said that he was an only son. Of course that means he could always have a few sisters, or even a twin.
The family panting above the mantel in the living room stopped the snooping ladies' man in his tracks. There was an old woman, probably Jehan's grandmother, the same young woman in most of the pictures and then Joly. Was Joly related to Prouvaire? They never disclosed a relationship other than being best friends.
"Combeferre?"
"What?"
"You need to see this." At Courfeyrac's words the medical student left his own snooping of Jehan's desk to look at the painting.
"That's Joly," Ferre said when he came into the room.
"Great detective work, Ferre, but look around. There are no pictures of Jehan anywhere. It's mostly that woman." When Courfeyrac pointed this out Ferre realized something.
"I think I know why," at this remark Ferre walked back into the room where Jehan was still unconscious with Courfeyrac hot on his tail. In the bedroom, Ferre went over to Jean and loosed the man's cravat. For some reason Jean never really took off his cravat and unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt. Most of the ABCs liked to get a little more comfortable at the café, but not Jehan. He was always completely proper with his dress.
After this was done Ferre slowly unbuttoned a fair amount of Jehan's shirt and vest. When he did this, it did not reveal a man's bare chest. It instead revealed a strip of fabric tightly wound around the poet's chest. The pair looked at each other with confused air. They didn't get much time to reflect because Jean started to stir.
"Oh, my head," Jean moaned as he sat up in the bed. The pair of snooping students quickly backed away from man as if he was a zombie. It took Jehan only a few seconds to realize what had happened to his clothing and why the pair across from him was blushing a tad bit. But he had no clue why he was in his room and not at the Café Musain.
"What happened?" Jehan's voice was soft with a female air to it.
"I threw a book at your head. B-by accident of course!" The flustered man quickly said sorry to Jean, but was still blushing.
"I can explain," Jean said.
"Oh, no it's alright we were just going…." Combeferre tried to leave because this whole predicament was starting to get embarrassing. Jean quickly stopped them by getting up and going towards the pair. His walk was like R's, drunk. He stumbled a little in the wrong direction, but made it there eventually.
"No, I really can. T-Tell me what you saw?" The pair stopped and told Jean of the wardrobe, painting and chest discovery.
"Sorry, Combeferre really shouldn't have been snooping."
"Courfeyrac!"
"I shouldn't have been either, but let me remind you, he was the one to undress you!"
"And I'm also sorry. I should have told you and everyone else this earlier, I'm a woman." Jehan said these words with his voice that was once called feminine, but now seemed right for a woman.
Both of the real men in the room felt stupid for not believing it earlier. Jean was the most girly man they knew. He read poetry and loved to stroll through fields of bluebells and wheat. Bluebells and Wheat. The pair had taken Joly's word when he had said Jean was an old friend and that he was a man, eventually. Jolllly had to tell everyone that at least 3 times because of the poet's habits. Until last week Bossuet still had he's doubts. This is quite good for him since he still believes Enjolras is a girl. Actually almost half of the ABCs believe that too since no one has, or ever will, see the inside of those trousers.
"And Joly is my cousin. Not just an old friend. He actually was the one to suggest this masquerade. Although, I was the one to suggest the fact I should bind my chest. You get used to it after a while.
"Oh, I almost forgot. My name is really Jeanette Prouvaire. I already went by Jean in my hometown. Why not carry it over?" Jeanette uncomfortably chuckled before going on. "I'm sorry I deceived you for so long. It's not that I like being a man; I just wanted you fellows to listen to me. Not that many women are in political groups like the ABCs."
"Don't worry Jehan, I still considered you a woman till only a few weeks ago." Courfeyrac said before placing a hand acceptingly on her shoulder.
"Wait, I'm still confused. How is there a…bulge in the…uh, front of your trousers?" Combeferre asked while both the others blushed, Jeanette more than Courfeyrac.
"A rolled up handkerchief; it's quite convincing." At this point her small delicate hand disappeared for a few seconds into her waistband to only reappear with a small rolled up handkerchief. The bulge was gone now and she now looked like a member of the correct gender. "Courfeyrac knows what I mean. He's been doing it for a while."
"I have no clue what she is saying! D-don't look at me," Courfeyrac's cheeks become a few shades darker than before as be backed away from the two.
"Please don't tell anyone. I know it's childish but…"
"We won't, I promise. Courfeyrac," Combeferre looked to the embarrassed ladies' man to see if he too would agree to keep Jean's secret.
"To me you were always a woman. Sorry, but it's true."
"Well, alright. I guess I'll take that. Thank you for getting me home from the café."
"The least we can do. Good night, Mon Amis." Combeferre and Courfeyrac left after Jehan replied with a goodnight of his own. They were walking down the stairs when Courfeyrac turned to his companion.
"Well, I guess Bossuet was right. Jehan is a girl."
"So, about that handkerchief thing…?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Courfeyrac quickly ran down the stairs, taking two at a time, while Combeferre laughed happily in the background, vowing to ask him later in front of one of his current mistress.
This idea came to me a while ago while reading a fanfiction where Bossuet and R were really cross-dressing woman. It also hinted about Enjolras' gender really being female. It was a Bossuet/R slash fic….
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